Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The audible return got louder as Jascinski closed the distance with the object.
THUD, THUD, THUD.
Jascinski stopped again and knelt still facing the direction of the contact. It was very close. He repeated the process of shifting his hold from the lift balloon so that he could turn the sonar off and clip it to his belt. His right hand was now free. Jascinski held his right hand in front of him hoping it would find the contact first. Almost imperceptibly, he felt something brush his right forearm. He had found it.
He knew that time was running out. Jascinski quickly ran his hand over the mine and based on its diameter, determined that it was a Mark-36 bottom mine. The mine’s shape reminded Jascinski of a 55 gallon drum, or a water heater.
Jascinski wrestled the lift balloon over the mine so that it was on the side opposite from him. His movements around it were deliberate and silent. Any noise would “wake up” the listening device. The mine’s electronics package would begin searching for an acoustic noise, or a magnetic field anomaly, or a seismic signature. Maybe the mine would be searching for all three or a combination of two of the three. He knew that the magnetic search coil would not detect his presence. All of his equipment was “Lo-mu,” or low in magnetic signature. His wetsuit, watch, booties, fins, gloves, even his knife had been inspected with a magnetometer for any signature. So had the sonar components, the lift balloon assembly, and the Mark-16 itself. Jascinski was also acoustically silent. Because the —16 was a re-breather, no bubbles escaped to make noise in the water.
“No bubbles, no troubles,” was the mantra of the Mark-16 diver.
If Jascinski made a mistake, if he burped gas from his Mark-16 and sent sound into the water, if he clunked the lift balloon onto the mine’s metal skin, or if he touched the bottom with too much force, the mine would awaken and begin hunting for prey. Jascinski would never know if he made a second mistake, the mine would simply detonate.
Under the balloon assembly were two sections of thick line. These would be used to attach the lift balloon to the mine. Jascinski blindly secured each section in a “trucker’s hitch,” one on the nose and one towards the tail of the mine to evenly distribute the weight under the balloon. Otherwise, it would slip out from the harness and plunge back to the bottom.
He checked each line twice, pulling on it to ensure it would not slip. He unsnapped the bag encasing the balloon so that it would not be hindered as it inflated. Then he performed the most important step, he reached under the scuba jug’s manifold and opened the explosive valve that would allow air to pass from steel to canvas.
Jascinski traced his hand along the balloon and again found the towline with his left hand. He knelt one more time and held up his right hand with four fingers.
“Four. I am ready to surface,” in Navy Diver language.
Jascinski felt a hand grip his right wrist. It squeezed once.
One. Hold.
He felt the pull on his mask as the thick duct tape was removed from it. After almost forty minutes of darkness Jascinki’s eyes were overwhelmed. He felt like a newborn as he tried to focus on the light blue color of the training pool’s sides and bottom. Opposite him was Senior Chief Benson, also in a Mark-16. Benson was the senior instructor of the Underwater Division at Naval School Explosive Ordnance Disposal.
Benson held up his wristwatch so Jascinski could see it.
“41:23.”
To pass his lift balloon test, Jascinski had to assemble the balloon, locate, and raise the mine, within forty-five minutes.
Benson inspected the lift balloon attachments. From where Jascinski was sitting they seemed okay. The senior chief looked up at him and flashed him a Four. Jascinski turned and swam to the surface following the towline. He heard the “beep” of Benson starting his stopwatch again.
Jascinski broke the surface at the edge of the pool and flashed the “OK” sign at Petty Officer Lynch standing on the pool deck above him. Lynch, another instructor like Benson, was the dive supervisor.
Lynch clicked two stopwatches hanging on a lanyard around his neck and called out, “Diver reached surface time one three two three! Time’s ticking on this problem; let’s get him up and over!”
Two other students came over to the edge of the pool to help. Jascinski took off his weight belt and handed it up to one of them.
Lynch stepped to the edge and looked down at Jascinski.
“Go off-gas, sir.”
Jascinski cycled the barrel valve on his mouthpiece to the closed position and pulled his facemask/mouthpiece assembly off and over his head.
“Diver on surface, diver okay!” he shouted.
“Get moving.”
Jascinski undid the waist strap and crotch strap of the rig, and slipped it off like a jacket. Tim Bullock, a fellow officer, lifted it up to the pool deck. Jascinski scrambled onto the deck and over to Lynch.
“Petty Officer Lynch, I am ready to initiate my lift balloon.”
“Wait until Senior Chief gets to the surface. I’ll give you the extra time if you need it.”
A few seconds later, Lynch handed Jascinski the Mark-186 detonator transmitter. Jascinski pressed all of the requisite buttons to ensure it was working properly.
“FIRE IN THE HOLE! FIRE IN THE HOLE! FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
Jascinski pressed the fire button and a “Pop!” came from the pool. Fifteen seconds later the balloon popped to the surface, hissing and gurgling. Across the pool he saw Benson still in full dive gear, but with his mask off. The chief was holding on to the side but had his face in the water looking at the mine with a pair of swim goggles. He lifted his head.
“It’s holding!” he called out.
Jascinski breathed a sigh of relief but anxiously wondered what the time was.
“What’s the time?” Lynch asked.
“Forty-four twenty-five.”
Jascinski had done it.
Lynch chuckled and shook his head. “You did it, sir. And believe it or not I’ve seen a lot of guys come closer.”
Jascinski breathed a sigh of relief. He surveyed the rest of his class and their cadre of instructors. He noticed that the other officers in the class — Bullock, York, and Smitty — were no longer in UDT swim trunks; they had switched to camouflage utilities.
Lynch said, “Lieutenant Jascinski, you have to go see the executive officer with the other O’s. Hit the showers. Lieutenant Smith will observe you until you are clean — no pun intended.”
The onset of arterial gas embolism, or AGE for short, was foremost in the dive supervisor’s mind. When gas bubbles expand in the body’s pulmonary system blocking oxygen to the brain, the symptoms usually appear within the first ten minutes after a dive. Naval diving protocol held that all divers remain on station and under close scrutiny for the first ten minutes following a dive. If no telltale signs of AGE appeared, the diver was termed “clean.”
Jascinski showered with Smith just outside the stall, watching him. Smith continued to observe Jascinski as he dried off and donned cammie trousers and boots. Jascinski tightened his rigger’s belt and slipped a lock-knife in his right pocket, both accoutrements of the men in Special Operations or “Spec Ops” as it was commonly known.
Just as he finished dressing and blousing his trousers, Lynch came in.
“Sir, how do you feel?”
“Hooya, Petty Officer Lynch.”
“You’re clean.”
Lieutenant Commander William Massie was the Executive Officer of Naval School Explosive Ordnance Disposal, also known as NAVSCOLEOD, or simply “EOD School.”
The four lieutenants casually walked through his open office door without knocking. Massie was on the phone. He motioned for them to all sit down on his couch.