“Continue on course two-six zero until further ordered, Lieutenant. I want you to remain at the helm until this wave passes, so hang in there.
Willingham’s expression was all business as he pivoted to recheck their course and depth. The young man’s no-nonsense approach was continuing to impress the Captain. Too many rookie officers tried to hide their insecurities with humor. Though there was a time and place for wisecracks, this surely wasn’t one of them.
This would be the Captain’s first experience meeting a legendary tsunami at sea. Though a certain amount of nervous anticipation possessed him, he didn’t dare show it. His command position made it necessary that he set the example for the others to follow.
His eyes went to the clock and he saw that there were five more minutes until the wave was to arrive.
At their present depth, the tsunami’s aftereffects should be minimal. Just in case it were otherwise, he made certain that there was plenty of water surrounding their hull. Twenty-one miles from the nearest land, and with the nearest subterranean geological feature an additional 3,000 feet beneath them, the Razorback was buttoned down and ready for the worst.
Six and a half miles due east of them, Commander Will Pierce hoped he had the Marlin in a similar condition. Even though the DSRV was considerably smaller than the Razorback, its deep-diving capability should keep them well out of danger.
Exeter found himself subconsciously wishing that the wave would go ahead and pass. Only then could he get on with the patrol that had made the previous twenty-four hours extremely hectic, frustrating ones.
He still couldn’t get over the fact that the Soviet Victor had successfully evaded them. Yesterday, they had chased the bogy all the way to San Miguel Island. It was in those tricky waters that they lost it.
He could only assume that the Soviet skipper had put his sub down on the bottom there, and then scrammed his reactor. Unless he was utilizing some sort of novel anechoic-coating masking device, this was the only way that they could have disappeared so thoroughly, in so little time.
In an attempt to relocate them, Exeter had resorted to a variety of proven tactics. This had included ordering the Razorback to sprint and drift. By shutting down the sub in a state of ultra-quiet, he had known that their hydrophones would be better able to listen in on the surrounding waters without their own noise interfering. When a scan proved fruitless, he had ordered the boat to move on to an adjoining sector, where the same listening procedure had been repeated.
This process had continued on for a good portion of the night, until the Razorback’s prior commitment had ultimately forced them to return to Point Arguello.
As it turned out, this usually simple, two-hour voyage had turned into one of the most demanding trips he had ever embarked upon. Veiled by the night itself, and one of the thickest fogs that he had ever witnessed, the sub had been able to get back to the Arguello dock site without a single scrape, by the grace of God and the cool skill of his crew. Special commendations had gone to their radar operator, whose expertise had allowed them to stay well clear of the jagged rocks that helped earn these waters the nickname “the graveyard of the Pacific.”
No sooner had they arrived at port then preparations for reloading the Martin had had to be initiated.
Barely two hours had passed before the Razorback had been once again knifing its way through the fog shrouded waters.
Dawn was just lighting the ghostly horizon, when they had been informed of the tsunami alert. Since standard operating procedure would send them to sea to meet the wave anyway, they had decided to continue on with their mission as planned. Fourteen and a half miles west of Arguello, the Marlin had been dropped off. An hour later, the Razorback had attained its current position.
A slight shift of the deck beneath him diverted Exeter’s attention back to the bulkhead-mounted clock. He noted the time, 10:00 a.m.” as the firm voice of the seaman assigned to monitor the comm line broke the relative silence that had prevailed.
“Sonar reports the receipt of an unusually loud tidal surge topside!”
Instantly knowing what this meant, Exeter called out calmly, “Brace yourselves, gentlemen. It’s here.”
No sooner were these words delivered than the Razorback violently lurched forward, as the tsunami sucked back the waters that lay before it. This was followed by a massive concussion that sent the submarine reeling on its starboard side.
Thrown to his right, the Captain strained to remain standing. Held upright only by the grip his hands had on the bulkhead security railing, Exeter felt the cold steel bite into his palms. The lights overhead momentarily blinked off, then on again, as the sub was tossed in the opposite direction. This time the Captain’s grip failed, and he went slamming into the navigation table. The powerful grasp of his XO kept him from falling down completely. Unfortunately, this was not the case with Lieutenant Willingham, who was thrown to the deck immediately beside the harness-secured helmsman.
The deck canted again to the right, yet this time the angle was much less severe. Only then did the straining hull finally stabilize.
By the time the deck had settled beneath them, Willingham had already lifted himself up from his prone position. As he brushed aside his blond, wavy hair, it was evident that there was more injury to the young lieutenant’s pride than to his body. Quick to station himself back at the periscope well, he lost no time in regaining his composure.
“Damage Control, I need an immediate report on the condition of the boat! Helmsman, how’s she responding?”
As the control room drifted back into normalcy, Exeter was aware of a shooting pain in his right knee.
Fighting to ignore it, he limped over to the OOD’s side. Only when he was certain that the Razorback had ridden out the concussion with no serious injuries or mechanical failures did he turn back to the navigation station There the XO swiftly intercepted him.
“Are you okay. Skipper? That was a pretty wicked knock you took on that table.”
Rubbing his already swelling knee-joint, Exeter fought to control the pain.
“I’ll live, Mr. Benton, though if it wasn’t for your strong arms, things could have been a lot worse.”
The XO could see that the Captain was hurting, and found it impossible to hide his concern.
“I think that it’s best if you got off that leg for a while, Skipper. Some aspirin wouldn’t hurt either.”
Knowing that the XO was probably right, Exeter sighed.
“I’ll allow myself that luxury only when we know for certain whether or not the Marlin rode out that wave safely.”
“She was a huge one, all right,” offered Benton.
“I never dreamed it would touch us down here.”
“Neither did I,” said Exeter grimly.
“Now, let’s just pray that Will Pierce put that DSRV in the deepest damn hole that he could find.”
Only a few seconds after the tsunami passed over the Razorback, it bit into the waters where the Marlin was attempting to hide from its fury. Even though the DSRV was at a depth of 900 feet, the wave’s powerful currents lifted the thirty-six-ton vessel as though it were a mere feather in the wind.
Commander Will Pierce had been expecting the worst, and he valiantly fought to guide the mini-sub from the tidal surge that soon had them in tow. Much as an experienced swimmer meets a riptide, Pierce attempted to steer the Marlin in a lateral course. This routine tactic was just showing some merit when an agitated torrent of sea water struck their hull and sent the vessel tumbling on its side.
Shocked by the unexpected strength of this surge, the crew was caught totally by surprise. As the lights flickered, and finally faded out altogether, Pierce and his copilot, Lieutenant Lance Blackmore, felt their safety harnesses bite into their shoulders. Behind them, Ensign Louis Marvin tumbled backwards, and only escaped serious injury by grabbing hold of one of the bench-posts that lined the rear pressure capsule.