They sped up and glided over the coral then down the other side and across another patch of sand.
“A few degrees north,” Caesare said.
Ahead, a larger ridge of coral rose above the sand which Clay skirted and angled away to starboard. Something in the distance reflected the sub’s bright light which prompted Clay to ease up on the stick. “This one isn’t buried,” he said. As they neared, the object became brighter indicating a highly reflective material or a relatively clean surface.
“Looks about the right size.”
“It sure does.” Clay let off the stick again to let the water slow the sub’s speed to a crawl. After several more seconds, the unmistakable shape of the Triton II materialized in front of them with its nose deep in the sand.
“Thar she blows!” declared Caesare.
Clay nodded. “Thank god. I was beginning to have my doubts.” Something occurred to him and he turned to Caesare. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we’ll be headed back tonight!”
“No,” Clay said, “the dolphins were right. We found it…” he looked at the GPS coordinates, “not more than a quarter mile from where they said it was. This validates the team’s translation system.”
“That’s true,” Caesare nodded. “Wait.” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Did somebody claim it didn’t work?”
“I forgot to tell you that part.” Clay inched up to the Triton and pulled back on the stick to stop them completely. “Stevas tried pretty hard to discredit them. It seems their information didn’t necessarily mesh which his larger view.”
“You’re kidding. What did he say?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t repeat the conversation. Let’s just say that he is aggressively considering our options.”
Caesare shook his head. “How did that guy ever make it to that position? Makes me really doubt the system sometimes.” He turned on another set of lights flooding the area directly below and grabbed the handle of their craft’s articulating arm. He gave Clay a smile. “Shall we make our pickup?”
Slowly from underneath the submersible, a long articulating arm unfolded and extended outward. Caesare controlled it from inside the sub, his fingers wrapped around and through the complex handle. The thin metal arm stretched out in front of the window reaching for the Triton sitting silently in the sand.
“Easy does it,” Caesare mumbled to himself.
Clay kept his hand steady on the stick, trying to maintain perfect buoyancy and keep the sub as still as possible.
The long, crab-shaped claw on the end of the arm approached the rear end of the Triton. Caesare slowly twisted his handle which caused the claw to twist in the same direction. He pushed it forward again and tried to loop the larger half of the claw under the Triton’s propeller. After several attempts, he finally managed to wrap the claw up through a small gap near the rear stabilizing fin. Tightening his grip caused the claw to close and grab the Triton’s tail. Very slowly, he pulled on the handle simultaneously retracting the metal arm. The Triton did not move. Caesare pulled harder, careful not to loosen his grip. The Triton still did not move.
Clay continued watching his instruments and tried to keep the K-955 still.
“Damn,” said Caesare, “this thing really managed to burrow itself in.” He pulled harder and finally the sand surrounding the buried end of Triton began to move. More of the sand fell away and the Triton came free. The rest of the sand slowly fell away as it slid out.
“Nice,” said Clay. “Now bring it in and we-” suddenly their sub shook violently and a powerful surge sent them and the sub smashing into the mound of sand. “What the hell?!” Clay struggled to regain control. He pulled back on the stick reversing the motor but the craft was dragging backward. Clay looked out and then up through a small window on top. “What the hell is wrong with our buoyancy?” He looked at the instruments. “Are we taking in water?” Clay was referring to the K-955’s buoyancy tanks which filled with water to increase the sub’s underwater weight and allow it to descend. To rise, the pilot would inject high pressure air into the tanks, forcing some of the heavy water out and increasing the craft’s buoyancy. Neutral buoyancy was that combination of air and water that provided the perfect weight and allowed the craft to remain at a desired level. Clay had suddenly lost control of it. He could barely move the sub which now felt stuck to the sandy bottom. He pushed a button above the control stick, increasing the air and decreasing their weight. The hiss of the high pressure air could be heard from below and outside the cockpit.
Caesare quickly shifted from side to side as they hit the ground and rolled sideways. He tried to brace himself with his only free hand, the other still on the articulating arm’s handle. He was trying desperately not to lose his grip on the Triton which was bobbing back and forth like a giant fish trying to escape his clutch. His forearm tightened while he squeezed as hard as he could.
Clay jammed the control stick back and forth trying to keep the craft from dragging. They were becoming more buoyant but it was too slow. Something caught Clay’s eye from above. He looked up into the darkened water, the sunlight from above now only a dull pinpoint far above them. He kept looking until he saw it again. “This isn’t a current,” he said to Caesare. “I think we have company.”
“What?!” Caesare twisted his head trying unsuccessfully to look through the small window above. “What is it?!”
“I don’t know,” said Clay. Again, they were suddenly slammed back against the ocean bottom. The K-955 groaned under the impact with a loud metal reverberation behind them. He looked up again just as a giant shadow passed above them. “Whatever it is, it’s big.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Caesare looked at Clay. “Do we drop the Triton?”
“No way,” Clay’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going down for this thing again. Hold on!” He pushed the stick forward and slammed his other hand down on the button, pushing more water out of the tanks in a loud rush of pressurized air. Almost immediately, the sub bounced up from the sand and the motor whirled at full throttle sending up a cloud behind them. The K-955 zipped forward, its nose pointed to the surface.
Something hit the sub, this time causing it to roll hard to one side. Clay quickly rolled against it to compensate and managed to level them back out, his hand still jamming the stick as far forward as possible.
“Oh my god,” said Caesare looking out the side window. “It’s a sperm whale!”
“Here? Are you kidding?”
“Not kidding,” Caesare said with a pause. “And there are two of them!”
Clay practically leaned on the stick, now trying to get every last ounce of speed from the sub’s motors.
“They’re coming at us!” yelled Caesare.
Suddenly, the K-955 was slammed sideways causing it to roll completely over. Clay tried to counter the movement but realized that the roll had too much momentum. He instead moved the stick back, allowing them to roll with the impact. As they came around, he compensated again and managed to keep them on an upward course.
“Clay,” Caesare said quietly.
“You don’t have to whisper Steve, they’re not going to hear you,” Clay replied, looking at their depth gauge. They were still almost eighty feet from the surface.
“Clay,” Caesare said again.
Clay looked at Caesare who was staring at him. He turned to show Clay the side window. Clay’s eyes opened wide when he saw the huge dent in the side of the hull. What was far more critical however, was the giant crack in the window, with water streaming down the inside wall. It was a major leak that would scare anyone even at a shallow depth. The strength of the hull was seriously compromised, and the thick Plexiglas window was ruptured. If it collapsed entirely, their inside pressure would be lost and the torrent of incoming sea water would drown them within seconds. Clay and Caesare both knew their only hope was in that tiny window holding together. They also knew that they would not survive another impact.