“Jesus, does this guy think he’s dealing with a bunch of amateurs here?”
Shaking his head in renewed disgust, Crowley guided Mystic to the seafloor. As the sandy bottom came into focus, Mac momentarily slipped back in time. In a flash he was inside yet another DSRV, sweeping over the clear waters of the South Pacific. Yet the track he soon spotted on the floor of the Irish Sea was vastly different than that he located off of Kwajalein. It was much wider, and didn’t leave behind the characteristic tread like marks that the other did.
Quick to spot this trail was the Mystic’s pilot.
“Well, I’ll be. There is something down here. But I wouldn’t go and bet the farm just yet. I’ve seen similar marks left behind by trawler’s nets, large fish, and underwater avalanches.”
Mac doubted that this distinctive trail was caused by any such outside phenomena, but kept quiet. Almost two feet across, the track was much larger than that caused by a trawler. It was also much deeper than a fish impression, and reminded him of the marking that a barrel sliding down a muddy hill would leave behind.
A strained silence followed as Mystic glided over the rutted seafloor, its spotlights illuminating the black depths like an alien sun.
“DSRV Mystic, we’re on your tail and have the tracks in sight,” broke the excited voice of K-l’s pilot.
“And by the way, this is Dr. Judy Brilliant at the helm.”
“We copy that, Dr. Brilliant,” replied the Mystic’s pilot.
“This is Lieutenant Mathew Crowley at your service, ma’am. I believe we should be coming to the end of this trail shortly. Just stick close, and keep praying that we hit pay dirt.”
Mac was anxiously hunched forward now and focusing his attention solely on the passing seafloor. So deep was his level of concentration that he failed to immediately spot the immense, billowing object just visible before them. This was not the case for Matt Crowley, who shouted out triumphantly.
“Holy Mother Mary, it’s a parachute!”
Having never seen a parachute in such an alien medium before, Mac realized that the Mystic’s pilot was correct.
“My God, it is a parachute! And what a great big son-of-a-bitch it is!”
“Let’s get some pictures,” said Crowley, as he reached up to activate the DSRV’s bow-mounted video camera.
“Mac, could you hit that right rudder a bit, and back down on the throttle. I don’t want to lose this baby.”
Mac gingerly hit the controls as ordered, while Crowley continued his frantic picture-taking. As the current lifted the silken chute upward, he got a brief glimpse of an elongated metallic capsule that had a fin on one end. Startled by this unexpected sighting, Mac stuttered, “Je… Jesus, Crowley. It’s the bomb!”
It only took a second for the Mystic’s pilot to concur, and both officers celebrated with cramped but spirited high-fives.
As news of their discovery was relayed topside, the controller’s previously staid tone of voice was noticeably shaken.
“Well done. Mystic. Let K-l in so that they can zap it with their fiber optic camera and let us have a look up here.”
“Will do, Command,” returned Crowley, who steered the Mystic around the billowing parachute and initiated a wide, lazy turn.
There could be no missing the excitement that tinged the voice of Dr. Judy Brilliant as she spotted the chute.
“We’ve got it as well. Command. Have activated our bow turret camera. Are you copying our photo transmission?”
A long pause was followed by a passionate response.
“We see it, K-l, and it’s a glorious sight to behold!
Can you move in closer so that we can get a definite on Broken Arrow?”
“Roger, Command,” returned Dr. Brilliant.
Mac knew that Broken Arrow was the code name for the missing atomic device, and that the officials topside wouldn’t rest until they saw the bomb with their own eyes.
“I hope she doesn’t try moving in too close,” warned Crowley.
“That current could change any second, and if K-l was to get fouled in that chute, they might never be able to get free.”
“Just a little bit closer, K-I,” directed the controller.
“And increase the lense magnification to maximum intensity.
What we’d like to see is the serial number that’s printed beside Broken Arrow’s fin.”
Matt Crowley seemed unusually tense as he turned Mystic back towards the ledge where they had made their discovery. Just as they were able to spot K-l’s muted lights in the distince, a concerned female voice broke from the intercom.
“Command, the helm seems to be completely unresponsive.
No matter how much thrust I apply, we remain static. I’m afraid that we’re hung up on something.”
“Damn!” cursed Crowley, whose prophetic remark suddenly seemed to have come true.
“Try your reverse thrusters, Doctor Brilliant!” he ordered into his microphone.
It seemed to take an eternity for K-l to respond.
“It’s no use! Our thruster pods are caught in the parachute, allowing us zero maneuverability.”
This disturbing fact was visually corroborated as Mystic closed in on the static mini sub
“Damn it to hell! They’ll never be able to get out of that mess on their own,” observed Crowley to his passenger.
Mac looked down at his watch.
“Well, we’d sure better come up with something quick. Because in another twenty hours or so, K-l’s power pack is going to run dry, and then that crew’s going to suffocate to death.”
Peering out at the foundering mini-sub, Crowley could only think of a single drastic course of action.
“There’s only one way that we’re going to get them out of there in time, partner. And that’s to use Mystic to shove ‘em out.”
“But the bomb?” countered Mac.
“You heard what kind of bathymetrics that we’re dealing with here. If we go barreling into that chute, there’s a very good chance the bomb’s going to end up tumbling off the ledge and falling into the trench that lies below.”
“To hell with that frigging bomb!” screamed Crowley.
“Come on, partner. We’re dealing with three human lives out there. And they’re civilians to boot.”
With the realization that there was no other way to cut them loose in time, Mac softened.
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Without even sharing their plan with Command, Crowley flashed his copilot a thumbsup and opened up the Mystic’s throttle.
“Hold on, Doc,” he said into his microphone.
“Because the United States Navy is coming to the rescue.”
“Lieutenant Crowley, this is Control. Please refrain from any rash moves until we’ve had some time to toss this thing around up here.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t copy that. Control,” responded Crowley, who flashed his partner the briefest of winks before turning his total attention back to the difficult job at hand.
At a distance of twenty yards, Crowley cut the Mystic’s engines and allowed their momentum to carry them forward. They struck the mini-sub a glancing blow amidships, hitting them with just enough force to send K-l hurtling free of the chute’s grasp. Fearful that this collision might have cracked K-l’s hull, Crowley followed in the mini-sub’s baffles until its dual propellers activated with a bubbling white vortex.
“All right!” exclaimed the Mystic’s jubilant pilot.
“Thanks for the assistance, Lieutenant,” cried the shaken voice of Dr. Brilliant.
“If you don’t mind, we’re going to head topside to see what the damages are.
And don’t forget, the next pizza’s on me!”
After flashing the Mystic’s lights in response to this offer, Crowley turned the DSRV around. Yet as they returned to the subterranean ledge where the bomb had been perched, all they found in its place was a whirling cloud of sediment.