Once all of her gear was in place, Grogan checked her over and she noticed everyone was carefully inspecting the SEAL next to him. Once all the checks were complete, they secured their full facemasks in place and waited while Grogan went to the control panel, moving awkwardly under the cumbersome mass of gear. They spent several moments adjusting the pressure to allow their bodies to get used to being sixty feet below the surface, and once everyone had a chance to adjust to the depth, Kristen heard the sudden rush of water as the valves were opened.
It came as an unexpected shock as the chill water washed over her feet. She started as the icy water hit her and flexed her fists, biting her lip inside her full face mask to stop from screeching in fright.
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!
Beside her, Hoover patted her thigh, “It’s cool, just breath normally.”
She nodded, embarrassed by her reaction. Hamilton, who was across from her, looked to be falling asleep with boredom as the water continued to rush in, forcing the air out into the sea. Kristen closed her eyes, fighting to stay calm as the water continued to rise. She focused on taking slow steady breaths, trying to think of nothing else as the icy cold water rose higher, covering her hips and moving rapidly up the rest of her body. She felt herself beginning to rise up off of the hard metal seat as she unconsciously tried to keep her head above water. Then, realizing she was being foolish, she gripped the edge of her seat and pulled herself back down, plunging her head into the seawater.
She opened her eyes and saw the eerie, red-shaded water inside the transfer trunk. She could see the others, each checking their systems, and she realized she’d forgotten to check the seal of her mask and her pressure gauges as they’d instructed her to do as soon as she was underwater to make certain her gear was working properly. She quickly did so, and then, once certain everything was all right, she gave Chief Grogan an “ok” signal as did the others so he would know to finish filling the transfer trunk.
She was startled again by a heavy metal screeching and gripped the seat beneath her tightly. But then saw Grogan opening the hatch leading into the aft section of the Dry Deck Shelter — except it was no longer dry. The SEALs who specialized in operating the SDV and the DDS were already on SCUBA and waiting outside the hatch for them.
Kristen stayed firmly secured in her seat while the others began moving. Grogan had instructed her to sit still until one of the SEALs responsible for “pre-flight” checks on the SDV came and physically led her to the SDV and placed her in it. Kristen waited, focusing on controlling her breathing. But her mask was fogging up. Realizing she was breathing too fast, she took conscious control of her breathing and forced it to slow.
A SEAL with a red chemical light on his arm swam into the transfer trunk and waved for her to come forward. She could see his face in the red light of the chamber through his full face mask, and she nodded in understanding. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her out of the transfer trunk and into the aft section of the Dry Deck Shelter.
They were at sixty feet below the surface and the sun had set above them, so there was absolutely no natural light reaching them. Other than a few red chemical lights marking dangerous areas for divers to avoid in the DDS, she could see nothing.
The hangar of the Dry Deck Shelter was like a long tube barely wide enough for divers to move alongside the SDV when it was in the shelter. The rear of the shelter was normally sealed with a large, vault-like hatch. The hatch was now open, and Kristen saw the SDV had been pulled out of the rear of the hatch and was sitting on its launch cradle.
The SEAL held on to her wrist firmly as he led her to the right side of the SDV. The SDV was not unlike a long, and very thick, torpedo. There were a total of six seats in it, three on each side. The driver — Alvarez — and the navigator — Grogan — were seated in the first two seats and she briefly caught a glimpse of them as the two men, seated in tandem, were already going over the systems in front of them. Kristen was led to the second row of seats and helped in by the SEAL safety diver and Hoover who would be sitting next to her. With all of her gear, it was a bit of a tight fit and she wondered how big men like Hamilton could fit in the ridiculously small space.
She sat down on the metal seat as the safety diver reached underneath her and grabbed the canvas webbing serving as a loose-fitting seatbelt to hold her in place. He then waved a hand in front of her face and pointed toward a valve on her left side. She recalled that the valve controlled her onboard air supply provided by the SDV. He hooked the auxiliary supply to her equipment and then shifted her air supply over from the LAR-7 positioned on her chest, to the SDV’s internal air supply so she could conserve the gasses in her rebreather. He gave her a hand and arm signal, questioning whether or not she was getting enough air.
She nodded — the wrong signal — corrected herself and gave him the proper okay sign with her hand. Beside her, already settled in his seat and with the side cover of the SDV in place over him, Hoover leaned over to her in the darkness. “Just relax and enjoy the ride,” he offered, trying to sooth her tension. The safety diver then slid Kristen’s metal cover over her, sealing her inside the small vehicle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked herself in the near complete darkness.
With her full face mask on, her words could actually be heard, and Hoover leaned back over to her. “What?” Hoover shouted to be heard the short distance between them. His face was dimly illuminated by a red chemical light hanging between them, providing her some more light along with the soft glow from the cockpit directly in front of her. They sat for several minutes, and occasionally Kristen heard a metallic sound, or something brushing along the outside of the SDV.
Then, to her delight, a small fish swam across the front of her full face mask. It was colorful even in the dim light and appeared interested in her mask. The fish nudged it several times as if checking to see if it were edible. Kristen felt a slight calming of her nerves. She raised a gloved hand gently, and the fish began nibbling at the end of her gloves. She tried not to think about what hell she’d gotten herself into as she focused on the fish continuing to try and eat her neoprene gloves.
Kristen — as well as the fish — started slightly as a soft whirling sound reached her ears and the SDV began moving. She tried not to think about the two hour ride ahead of her. They would not only be deposited on a hostile shore, but would have to transit a narrow channel through a minefield. She took small solace in knowing that if they hit a mine, they’d all be killed so quickly she’d never know it. Instead, she struggled to force herself to relax.
After the SDV cleared the rear deck of the Seawolf and increased to its cruise speed of seven knots, all sense of motion left her, and she was floating in the tiny compartment. She glanced over at Hoover whose face was barely visible in the red glow. He was studying a navigation board. The board was illuminated by tritium gas on the dial, and she watched as Hoover, using a chemical light stick, a grease pencil, his dive watch, and the board, did his best to keep track of their movement on a laminated map showing their route through the minefield.