In the ensuing blackness, Pierce groped for the controls. Conscious that the vessel’s bow was abruptly pointed downwards, he struggled to re trim the Marlin.
When his hands finally grasped the ballast vents, he activated the proper switches even without the benefit of light. A feeling of sickening dread filled his gut when the familiar rush of venting sea water failed to meet his ears. Again he hit the switch, yet still the ballast mechanism would not trigger. He knew this could mean only one thing. The Martin had lost the use of its hydraulic system. Without it, they would continue to be pulled downward, unable to counter the force of the current that now had them solidly in its grasp.
Seated on Pierce’s right, the DSRV’s copilot was also quite aware of their precarious trim. With limbs heavy and his pulse beating madly, Blackmore fought to contain the panic that was rising to possess him.
Well aware that his first responsibility was to reset the circuit breaker to provide them with lighting, Blackmore struggled to raise his right arm upwards. As if caught in a recurring nightmare, the young lieutenant knew that this was no mere dream. His life, and that of two others, could very possibly rest on his current efforts. Oblivious to the terror that called him to escape in a tight, embryonic ball, Blackmore summoned his every last ounce of will, and somehow prevailed. His right index finger hit the plastic circuit breaker, and almost instantaneously the compartment filled with glowing, blessed light.
It took several seconds for his pupils to adjust to the illumination, and when they eventually did, he looked almost shamefully to his left. Expecting to meet the Commander’s disappointed stare, Blackmore was surprised to find Pierce cowering in panic.
Soaked in sweat and with limbs quivering, the grayhaired veteran officer sat rigidly forward, his eyes locked on the boat’s depth gauge. Blackmore’s own gut soured as he realized that they were in the midst of a spiraling, uncontrollable dive. Showing a depth well beyond twelve hundred feet at the moment, the gauge was spinning ever downward without apparent constraint.
His mouth was dry and throat tight, yet somehow Lance managed to speak.
“Commander Pierce, what in God’s name is happening?”
When this query didn’t even produce a blink in response, Blackmore screamed out desperately, “Jesus, Commander, pull us out of here!”
Pierce still didn’t budge, and his copilot could think of but a single course of action. Unbuckling his safely harness, he strained to his left and reached out for the steering yoke. Just as he was about to grasp this metallic handle, Pierce came alive and brushed his hand away.
“It’s useless,” observed the commander, his usually powerful voice subdued and cracking.
“The moment that second concussion struck, we lost all hydraulics.”
To demonstrate this point. Pierce pulled the yoke back into his lap with only a single finger. Completely ignoring this movement, the depth gauge continued its mad spin downwards.
“There’s got to be something that we can do!”
countered Blackmore.
“How about jettisoning the emergency mercury-filled ballast tank?”
“Not without hydraulics,” returned the commander weakly.
Still shocked with Pierce’s state of mind. Blackmore forgot his own panic as his being struggled for survival. Reattaching his harness, he hastily scanned the console before him. With a desperate coolness that he was only now discovering, the copilot activated the vessel’s sonar and triggered its bathymeter.
It didn’t take long for these systems to chatter alive, and he soon had an accurate picture of just what lay beneath them.
Three hundred and seventy-five feet below their hull was the jagged summit of this portion of Arguello Canyon. A thousand feet below this ridge was the floor of the valley itself. Even if they could make it to the bottom there without smashing into the surrounding volcanic walls, it would put them at the extreme threshold of their operational diving depth. Yet, without any effective means of steering the Marlin, there was little chance that they’d ever escape the razor sharp precipices that were all too quickly approaching.
They were less than 100 feet from the first of these serrated ledges, when a voice groggily called out from the rear pressure capsule.
“What in the hell is going on up there?”
Having completely forgotten about their ensign, Blackmore turned around to address him.
“We’ve lost our hydraulics, Louis. Right now, we’re in the midst of an uncontrollable dive, with the walls of Arguello Canyon directly beneath us.”
“Wonderful,” returned the ensign, without the least hint of panic.
“Anyone think of checking the aft hydraulic power unit?”
“Go for it, Louis!” replied Blackmore.
“But make it snappy. Time is definitely not on our side.”
Though Lance Blackmore had pretty well given up hope by now, there was always the slim chance that the ensign would stumble onto something. Consigning himself to meet death in the bravest manner possible, he took three deep breaths and turned to meet the glance of the man who sat beside him.
By this time, Pierce had regained control of his nerves. His stare was clear, his own breath steady, as he looked into the eyes of the young man who sat on his right. Appearing calm and collected, Lieutenant Blackmore glowed with an inner peace and maturity that had been absent beforehand. Invigorated by this show of strength, Pierce bravely smiled. Blackmore returned this grin, and the two officers found themselves closely linked by a common fate.
For men who daily risked their lives, panic was no stranger. Yet a thin line lay between those who controlled this natural anxiety and those who let it get the best of them. Both officers had seen each other in the midst of such an inner conflict. Both had also been around to watch their coworker conquer this oldest of fears. The result was a bond that not even death could fracture.
Less than thirty feet from a series of needle-sharp volcanic pinnacles, the Marlin shuddered in a sudden spasm. A long-absent electronic whine accompanied this movement, and Pierce knew instinctively what this meant. With a familiar delicacy, he reached forward to regrasp the steering yoke. His pulse quickened as this time his touch met resistance. Hydraulic pressure had been miraculously restored!
Conscious of just what was occurring beside him, Blackmore snapped into action.
“Turn hard aport to bearing two-seven-zero I” With one eye on the bathymeter, the young lieutenant determined the course that would keep them from the jaws of death. Trusting his judgment implicitly, Pierce followed his directions without question.
The Marlin’s hydraulics were still somewhat sluggish to respond, yet they provided just enough control to allow them to miss the first series of obstacles. As the ledge of rock passed only inches to their right, Blackmore couldn’t help but express his relief.
“All right, Louis! What in hell did you do back there?”
The ensign replied boldly, “It just ain’t my time to go yet, Lieutenant. Fortunately, after a good oldfashioned whack on the hydraulic pump, the good Lord concurred.”
“Well, don’t celebrate too prematurely,” interrupted Pierce.
“Though we’ve got our lateral control back, I still can’t brake us from this dive. Lieutenant, what’s it look like beneath us?”
Blackmore responded while rechecking the bathymeter.
“We’re angling in between the canyon’s walls now. The bottom still lies some seven hundred feet away. If we do reach it, that will put us at least twenty-five feet below our depth threshold, sir.”