Twenty feet or so behind these planes extended the vessel’s sail. Unusually long and thin, the conning tower’s surface was void of any identifiable marks that would hint at its nationality.
As the Marlin continued its slow sweep down the sub’s hull. Lance spotted a strange-looking object sticking up from the deck behind the sail. Tubularshaped and over eight feet long, it appeared to be made of some sort of steel piping. It extended into the sub itself, under the cover of a partially extended piece of protective cowling. Having no idea what its purpose was, he picked out the smashed bulkhead that lay behind it. A gaping, jagged hole lay in this portion of the pressure hull. Though the inner hull still appeared intact, thick globs of black oil constantly strained from its seams. The torpedo appeared to have struck the upper portion of the stern with an upward, glancing blow. If it had hit it with a direct angle, he doubted if the vessel would still be in one piece. Appreciatively taking in this damage, Blackmore looked up when a deep voice sounded on his left.
“I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen a sub with this particular design before,” observed Pierce.
“The Soviets must have been hiding it from us. Though the engine room is surely in a shambles, I bet she can still support life. What do you say about attaching Marlin onto her bow escape trunk and us having a firsthand look inside?”
“Sounds good to me,” returned Marvin.
“If they’re still kicking in there, Ivan will sure be glad to see us.”
Blackmore knew that such an effort could be doubly dangerous. Beyond the threat of encountering a poisonous atmosphere inside was the manner in which they would be received if there were indeed survivors aboard. For what kind of reception could one expect from a crew that had just been torpedoed?
Yet, with all this in mind, he couldn’t help but find himself curious as to the nature of the crew. Would they encounter a group of iron-fisted Soviets or a boatload of crazed terrorists? Just knowing that the Marlin’s crew could be the first to reveal their identities provided reason enough for the lieutenant to nod his head in consent.
“Good,” replied Pierce, as he began turning the Marlin around to return to the sub’s bow.
“Ready the boarding equipment, Ensign. It’s time you earned your keep around here anyway.”
While Marvin ducked back inside the pressure capsule to initiate this task, Blackmore caught the boyish expression that lit the commander’s face.
Looking like a child who was about to break into a candy store, Pierce beamed in anticipation. This enthusiasm was contagious, for Blackmore felt his own nerves tingle when the Marlin dropped onto the submarine’s upper deck. A loud, metallic clap followed as the DSRV rested firmly on its hull. Using the viewing port to complete a flurry of last-minute maneuvers, Pierce inched the Marlin forward. He looked up only when a voice cried out from behind.
“We’ve got it, Skipper! The way it looks now, the transfer skirt just fits.”
An expression of relief filled the commander’s face as he released his safety harness. Reaching up to grab the DSRV’s underwater telephone, he dialed the frequency band that was reserved for international emergencies. His voice was firm as he spoke into the transmitter.
“Disabled submarine, this is the DSRV Marlin calling. We are presently attached to your forward escape trunk. We mean you no harm. We are here only to assist in your rescue. Do you copy?”
A blast of raucous static was the only answer that he managed to pick up. Replacing the telephone, Pierce began pushing himself out of his command chair. Careful not to hit any of the controls, he managed to crawl into the tight hatchway that separated the two pressure spheres. Before disappearing altogether, he took a moment to address his concerned copilot.
“Don’t look so glum, Lieutenant. You didn’t think that I could merely sit here and miss all the action, did you? I’ll be back soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll be leaving the Marlin in your most capable hands.”
With this, he turned and continued on back into the middle sphere. Blackmore watched as he took hold of the steel “bang-stick” that Marvin soon handed him. This spear-like object had an explosive charge on its tip. The Commander angled it down through the transfer skirt, and placed its tip up against the disabled sub’s hull. Pierce wasted no time triggering it. With a sharp blast, the charge activated and the submarine’s hatch was penetrated. It was Marvin who lowered the miniature testing device through the tiny hole that this blast had created.
Using this instrument, he would determine if the vessel’s atmosphere were dangerous or not.
“There’s no radioactivity apparent, Skipper. What little air that remains is sour, but it should be breathable for a short amount of time.”
“That’s all I’m going to need,” answered Pierce, who began climbing down into the transfer skirt.
Using the end of his flashlight, he rapped sharply on the visible portion of the hatch cover. Seconds later, the grating sound of twisting metal could be heard down below.
“It looks like someone’s home after all,” added the commander, as he took a last fond look at his crew before descending into the now-open hatchway.
“Give my regards to Ivan!” offered Marvin.
Shutting the transfer skirt behind Pierce, the ensign stood up and caught the serious glance of the Marlin’s copilot.
“I pity those poor Russkies if they try to pull any shenanigans with the Skipper. If they do, they’re going to wish that they were sunk for good.”
Absorbing this comment, Blackmore wondered if he would have the nerve to do what Pierce was attempting. Shifting around in his seat, he placed one of his hands around the emergency disengage lever, just in case it were suddenly needed.
It was pitch black as Will Pierce climbed down the steel ladder of the disabled sub’s escape trunk. The air was cool and smelled vaguely like rotten eggs.
Careful to take only the shallowest of breaths, he reached the final rung and dropped down onto the deck. Switching on his flashlight, he angled its beam upwards. A rack of torpedoes was visible to his right, and he knew that he was in the torpedo room. Only when he slowly pivoted did he illuminate the face and figure of the individual who had opened the hatch for him.
Tall and blond-haired, the muscular figure was dressed in black slacks and a matching turtleneck.
His ageless, weather-worn face was dominated by a piercing blue stare. Little emotion showed on his face as he nodded in greeting. When he spoke, his accent was thick his very tone clearly admitting defeat.
“Bonjour, Commandant. Welcome aboard the attack submarine Ariadne.”
In instant response. Will Pierce’s face blushed with astonishment. For this was far from the type of reception he had planned on receiving.
“Captain, you’re never going to believe the message that we just picked up from the Marlin.”
The XO’s words were delivered as he rounded the open door to Philip Exeter’s stateroom. Seated at his desk, in the process of logging a detailed description of the attack they just completed, the Captain caught the excited glance of his guest and replied flatly, “Try me, Mr. Benton.”
Fighting to compose himself, the XO took a deep breath before continuing.
“Commander Pierce contacted us from the radio room of the same sub that we took out with our Mk-48. There’re apparently twenty or so crew members still alive and kicking. I can’t believe that he had the nerve to board them.”