Nicholas’s first assignment was on an old skipjack class nuclear sub, the USS Memphis. It was cramped, poorly lit, and uncomfortable. Nick loved it all. After two years of dives, the Memphis was scheduled for decommissioning. Word was that military cutbacks were forcing early retirements, and the navy was not going to have as many opportunities as it once had. To his luck, a small boat-design firm in Rhode Island, Millner and Swaft, was looking for pilots for its new experimental deep-dive subs. Nick not only fit the bill, he was also valuable in the sub’s engineering. The navy offered him early leave, which he took, and hopped into the position at M and S.
Now at the rip age of twenty-seven, he was dropping past a depth of thirteen thousand feet in the Atlantic. Nick was attractive. His face was dark and cut with Slavic features, high cheekbones and wide eyes. His hair was deep brown with a small streak of premature silver in the front.
One year earlier, M and S was constructing individual deep-dive escape pods that could hold five men. Nick and seven others took a twelve-man submarine down to ten thousand feet to ready for the test. The plan was for some of the men to hop in the pod and release from the sub. Gas balloons were supposed to inflate and drag the pod slowly to the surface — a ride that could last two hours.
Nick was readying the pod when a defect in the sub’s bulkhead split open a seam. The force of the water pinned the rest of the crew at the other end. It came in so fast that the bow slipped down, and the ship began to spiral. Nick had only a second to close the hatch and save his life. The rest of the crew was doomed.
The lights fluttered as he groped for the safety flashlight. The sub went vertical, making the situation academic. Either the pod was going to work or it wasn’t. He hit the release lever, and the compressed air in the back part of the diver blew the pod free. Then the sub headed to the bottom of the ocean, seven crew on board.
Nick heard the balloons inflate and then looked at the digital depth meter. It stood at twelve thousand. “Shit!” he screamed. The meter didn’t move. He was down too deep, and the balloon didn’t have enough lift for the pod. He reached for the hatch and felt the seal around it. It was moist. “Shit!” he yelled again. It took everything for him to keep from panicking. He looked at the meter again and noticed that the pod had moved up ten feet. “Come on you bitch, pull!” Then he dropped the flashlight, and it broke.
True misery set in when he cut his hand on the broken lens fumbling for the light. There was a thin film of water on the floor, and Nick knew that it would get worse before it got better. The seal had been compromised and would leak all the way up. If it leaked too much, he had no chance. The balloons had to pull the pod out of immense pressure. The only light at that depth was the meter on the hull, and it read 11,080 feet.
To move ten feet took an eternity, but the balloons stayed one step ahead of the water. At one thousand feet, he felt better, yet he knew there was something very wrong. The water was up to his calves, and the pod wasn’t picking up speed on the ascent. There was another problem, Nick surmised. At least one of the balloons was leaking. The pod was gaining weight, and it would be only a matter of time before the slowing climb stopped.
An hour later, he hit five hundred. The water was to his knees, and his concern over the balloons was growing. Another cause for alarm was the air. He tried to remain as calm as possible, but he could feel that the air was getting thin. The pod seemed to be moving faster as it eclipsed the three hundred mark. Then with fifty feet to go, it leveled off. Nick groaned as he pictured how close he was to the surface. He hoped someone on the platform ship was looking for him. When the meter began to turn to fifty-one, then fifty-two, fifty-three, Nick acted fast. He’d swim for it.
Depleted of air and feeling light-headed, he flooded the pod to escape. The water rose to his chest as he grabbed the bottom hatch and pulled.
The ocean was bright in contract to the darkness inside the pod. In the water, he could clearly see a small hole leaking from one of the balloons. Nick pulled the quick release on the pod, and it shot back to the ocean floor. The balloons ran to the surface and rode gingerly on the waves, but he was passing out. He couldn’t ascend too fast for fear of the bends, or his lungs could explode due to the pressure change if he didn’t drain them on his way up. Ten feet from the surface, his mind went black.
The frogmen in the zodiac spotted the balloons immediately when they surfaced. In ten seconds, they were in the water looking for any survivor. One diver happened to glance over and see the outline of a figure. He pulled Nick to the surface. Mouth-to-mouth brought him back; he spewed salt water until he was awake. They did not ask about the pod or the sub. It was too obvious they would not be returning.
All in all, Nick came out in good shape — physically. Inside him, though, the trauma damaged his ability to handle the ocean depths without some hesitation. The only outward hint was the streak of hair turned white in his moment of facing death.
In the ERRIS, he felt more comfortable, possibly because he was piloting the craft, and that gave him a sense of control. Yet when the meter clicked fifteen thousand, Nick visibly tensed. All his life he had dived and never worried about the pressure. It was more of a mathematical equation that he had to balance than anything else. Now he had experienced the force of that equation, and it made him reluctant. The pressure was real on the outside and in his mind.
At eighteen thousand, he leveled her off. The thick waters made her handle like a pig, and it was slow moving. Ten minutes later, he received a call from the surface. It was Jenkins, the project director, and he was not happy.
“Nick,” he fussed. “Nick, bring her back up. You’ve got some company.”
“Coming up,” he replied. “We’re about done, anyway.” It was a relief. Though the dive went as planned, Nick still felt uneasy at that depth. It made him more annoyed because he knew it bothered him.
The ERRIS resembled a gigantic bowling ball with fans when it was hoisted out and onto the platform ship. Nicholas emerged to see the smiling face of his grandfather. He climbed down and embraced the old man. Mikhail was delighted to see him.
“Nick!” yelled Kenneth.
“Hey, Admiral! This is a party.”
“Nice to see you again, Nick.”
“Don’t forget, Admiral, I’m out of the navy.”
Kenneth had a hard time passing off the comment. He was there to pull him back. To say the mission would be dangerous was an understatement. It was dangerous. All that mattered was how dangerous.
Nick sensed the tension. “Want a cup of joe?”
“Sure,” replied the admiral. “But first I want you to meet someone.”
Dan stood pea-green and holding on for his life as the three came over. His head swam, and his knees felt weak. A cold sweat ran down his spine, and he quietly begged God to strike him down in a moment of mercy. Anything to get off the rocking ship. Sukudo made the introductions, and Dan’s reply was to lean over the railing and throw up his breakfast.
Nick chuckled quietly. “You make a hell of a first impression, Mr. Archer.”
“I’m sorry,” Dan said, spitting. “I’ve never been very good on boats.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Nick got the feeling that he wasn’t pulled out of his work for a reunion. There was something important going on. “Okay, what’s the deal? I don’t figure you guys for sightseers.”