Moore did as instructed, and it took him several awkward seconds to line up his body in the right position.
Climbing into his berth on the Rickover was child’s play compared to this, and trying his best to ignore a cramp in his foot, he managed to lift up his lower torso and ease himself into the spare seat.
“You’re going to be my copilot during this mission,” informed Barnes.
“There are some functions such as sonar and communications that only you can access.
I’ll talk you through, so don’t worry, it’s nothing you can’t handle. And please, we’re on a strict first-name basis here on Avalon. Do you go by Thomas or Tom?”
“Thomas is just fine.”
“Very well, Thomas it is.”
Barnes went back to his checklist, while Moore studied the complicated console that lay before him.
The only piece of equipment that looked familiar was a green-tinted CRT monitor, that appeared to be a condensed version of the screens found in the Rickover’s sonar room.
“Thomas, I’m going to need you to activate the echo sounder,” informed Barnes.
“To do so, push up on those two green toggle switches located to the right of your sonar repeater.”
Moore scanned the console and spotted the twin switches beside the CRT screen. As he pushed them upwards, a constant, hollow pinging noise began sounding in the background.
“Delta, Zulu, Foxtrot, this is Alpha, Omega, Bravo, do you read me?” spoke Barnes into his miniature, chin-mounted radio transmitter.
“That’s affirmative. Alpha, Omega, Bravo,” spoke an amplified voice from the elevated PA. speakers.
“We copy you loud and clear.”
“Am initiating unlock sequence. Delta, Zulu, Foxtrot,” informed Barnes.
“Alpha, Omega, Bravo, you are cleared to unlock.”
After this announcement the pilot’s hands addressed the various switches of the console with practiced ease. There was a loud clicking noise, and the muted, humming sound of an engine turning over.
“Here we go, Thomas,” said Barnes, as he gripped the thick, black plastic joystick that was situated between his knees.
The Avalon momentarily shuddered, and its pilot yanked back on the joystick, causing the DSRV’s bow to angle sharply upwards. This movement was accompanied by a rolling sensation, as the Avalon canted over hard on its left side, and Barnes readdressed his chin-mounted microphone.
“Unlock completed, Delta, Zulu, Foxtrot. We’re proceeding to target.”
“That’s affirmative, Alpha, Omega, Bravo. Good hunting.”
Barnes pulled back the microphone and exhaled a deep breath of relief.
“We’re on our way, Thomas. Now I’m going to need your help activating the video camera.
We might not have any windows in this little lady, but I’m about to show you the best underwater view in town.”
“Captain,” said the concerned voice of the Pantera’s senior sonar technician, “I’m picking up another transient coming from the direction of our target. I believe it’s the DSRV.”
This information caused both Alexander Litvinov and his Zampolit to rush over to the sonarman’s side.
Litvinov anxiously put on the auxiliary headphones, and he momentarily closed his eyes to focus his concentration on the sounds coming from the sea.
“Well, Captain, what do you hear?” quizzed the impatient political officer.
Litvinov held up his hand to silence Dubrinin, and didn’t vocally respond for another thirty seconds.
“It’s the DSRV all right, and it appears to be going somewhere in a great hurry.”
“We must inform Admiral Valerian of this fact,” replied the worried Zampolit.
“Because the DSRV’s most likely destination is Academician Petrovsky itself!”
Igor Valerian was in his stateroom, in the midst of his morning tea, when a knock sounded on his door.
“Enter,” said Valerian curtly.
The door swung open, and in walked Senior Lieutenant Alexandrov, looking pale and perturbed.
“Excuse me. Admiral. But we just received a priority-one communique from the Pantera.”
Valerian looked surprised by this revelation.
“The Pantera, you say? This is certainly an exciting turn of events, Comrade. What does the rodina’s most advanced undersea warship have to say?”
“It concerns the fly man G. Rickover, sir. It seems the Pantera has been successfully shadowing the American sub for sometime now. Minutes ago, the Rickover was monitored as it released its DSRV. And the Pantera fears that it’s headed back our way.”
“You sound surprised by this news, Senior Lieutenant.
Did you expect anything different?”
Alexandrov appeared perplexed, and Valerian compassionately added, “It was obvious from the very beginning that the American naval officer who visited us was nothing but a spy. And now our Yankee comrades are about to stick their ever-curious noses where they don’t belong.” “And what can we do about it?” asked Alexandrov.
“We have several options available to us, Comrade.
The fact that the Pantera has been able to secretly tail the Rickover gives us the advantage. And now it’s time to use our submarine to convey our displeasure.”
Valerian momentarily halted and thoughtfully stroked his chin, before continuing.
“If I remember correctly, the Pantera’s current captain was quite an accomplished strategist while at the Nakhimov Academy.
His zampolit, Boris Dubrinin, is a crafty old fox, and together they should be able to get our message across to the Americans.”
“And how will they do that, short of launching a torpedo salvo?” questioned the senior lieutenant.
“I see that you’ve never had duty aboard a submarine, Comrade,” observed Valerian with a wise grin.
“The Cold War taught us a variety of so-called peaceful ways to rid the seas of an unwanted trespasser. One of my very favorites is a sonar lashing. And then there’s always an old-fashioned love tap. Comrade, you’d be surprised how much damage the Pantera’s specially reinforced bow can do to the unsuspecting American vessel. The Rickover will soon enough be limping back to port, and the ironic part is that they’ll never know what hit them!”
Completely oblivious to the underwater confrontation that was unfolding in the sea around them, the crew of the Mir habitat went about their day’s business with an innocent naivete. To the five aquanauts, the habitat was their entire milieu, with the evil machinations of the outside world all but forgotten.
This state of innocence was especially apparent in Starfish House’s galley, where Lisa Tanner went about preparing for dinner with her usual exuberance. In honor of the first day of autumn, she was cooking a special meal. Back home in New Zealand, it was customary to greet the equinox with either fresh game or local fish. Since neither were readily available, she had to make do with sauteed orange roughy filets, that she had been saving in the freezer for just this occasion.
She also planned to serve canned yams, her mom’s famous broccoli-rice casserole, and jellied cranberry sauce. Pumpkin custard would replace the traditional mincemeat pie, with plenty of caffeine-free, apple spice tea to wash it down.
Her only companion during the entire afternoon had been Uige. The rest of her co-workers stayed busy with chores that took them out of the central habitat.