When they had decent grips on the rim of the hatch, Dex nodded. “Okay, let’s try to pry it back with steady pressure. Don’t try jerking it back. No sense hurting yourself if it’s frozen. Got it?”
“Check,” said Doc.
“Ready,” said Mike.
“All right,” said Dex, tightening his curled, gloved fingers. “On three — one, two, three!”
Together, they gradually applied steady, leveraged force to the hatch, and for a few seconds, it resisted them like a slab of granite. But then the hinges, which had not moved in more than half a century, slipped a few millimeters, then broke loose.
With a soft screech, the hatch hinged up to reveal a dark, circular passage into the sub. As if choreographed, everybody tilted their torches downward filling it with light. Tommy drifted over the top with the videocam.
“Looks pretty clear,” said Mike.
“We going in?” said Doc.
“You guys don’t have enough mix left,” said Dex, referring to the tri-mix in their tanks. In case anybody got snagged on something inside the vessel, he wanted to have enough time to get them free without worrying about running out of air.
“Yeah,” said Doc. “Guess you’re right. What about you two?”
Dex continued to stare down to the bottom of the opening, where a second hatch awaited them.
“Let’s wait till tomorrow. We need to plan this thing out.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” said Mike. “Let’s just finish taking a good set of notes.”
Dex nodded, gestured up toward the surface to Doc. “You two should start thinking about heading up. Tommy, give Mike the video… and we’ll shoot the rest of it.”
“Man, I thought we were goin’ in this thing…” said Tommy as he unwrapped the wrist strap of the camera, passed it across to Mike.
“We are,” said Dex. “Just not today.”
Looking at his SPG, Tommy waved his hands to get everybody’s attention. “Aw, c’mon… we still got plenty of time. Let’s take a peek.”
“Forget it, Tommy.” Dex stared through his faceplate, trying to make eye-contact with him. He could tell from the tone of the kid’s voice, he had no intention of heading toward the surface.
“We got time to at least try the second hatch,” said Doc. “Don’t we?”
They were both sounding like a couple of kids, and he couldn’t blame them. They were excited and giddy to explore, and had no idea how quickly things could change down here. To them, fifteen minutes sounded like a lot of time, but if you were 70 feet down and in deep shit, it could flash past you in an instant.
Dex hesitated, wondering if he was being too much the mother hen. The aft hatch was wider than most in subs this old. It would probably be okay to at least check the inner hatch. If it was stuck, they’d at least know they’d need some tools tomorrow.
“Aw… c’mon, Dad… puleeeeze?” That was Don Jordan, listening in on the base unit. It was easy to keep things light when you’re topside and you have the wind in your face instead of tons of seawater.
“All right, let’s take a look,” said Dex. “We have eight minutes, it’s just a look, got that?”
“I’m the smallest guy,” said Tommy Chipiarelli. “Let me get down there.”
Before anybody could argue, Tommy had folded himself over and head-firsted into the hatch. Besides, he definitely was a better fit in the enclosure than either gangly Mike or Doc, who at 6’ 3”, was just a proportionately big guy. Dex was closer in size to Tommy, but floating upside down without much leverage to use his strength efficiently, it was a job best left to a young guy in good shape. Watching him closely, Dex could see the kid had plenty of room, even with his tanks and hoses.
“Okay, got the wheel,” said Tommy. “Not moving… yet.”
He grunted as he wrestled with it. Cursed it.
“Take it easy,” said Mike. “We can get a bar and increase the leverage.”
“Yeah, right,” said Tommy. “Tomorrow. I’m talking about poppin’ this baby now.”
More grunting, cursing.
“Forget it, Tommy,” said Doc. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Fuck that.”
“You have three minutes, Sonny,” said Dex. Sonny? Where the hell had that come from? He never called anybody that before. Maybe what Don Jordan said was right about the Chipiarelli kid being a surrogate son for old Dexter? He shook his head as if to clear the thought. Even if something like that were true, this was no time to be thinking about it. Letting his mind drift like that wasn’t like Dex, and he didn’t like it in himself even a little bit.
Stay focused. Pay attention. Stay alive.
Tommy released an extended, karate-like cry, then: “It moved! The cock-knocker moved!”
“Is it free?” said Dex. “You turning it?”
“Yeah… but it’s tough.”
The scene looked decidedly weird. Three guys floating around the opening in the aft deck, staring at the ass-end of the fourth guy. Like some fraternity stunt or initiation rite. The cloudy water cast everything in a dull finish, revealing just enough to keep you from getting panicky.
“We’re out of time,” said Dex. “Tommy, you and Doc need to get topside. ASAP.”
Doc checked his SPG and nodded. He jerked his thumb toward the surface. “Still okay… but we should start now.”
“I know,” said Dex.
“It’s loose! Turning free, guys… we’re in!”
Dex couldn’t stand it any longer. Grabbing Tommy’s ankles, he tried to lift him out of the hatch tube. If he waited any longer, the kid wouldn’t have enough air to make his ascent. “Time’s up kid!” he said. “Forget it.”
“Hey, wait! I got it open!”
Dex kept pulling on him, but Tommy must have been holding on to something.
“Wait a sec!” said Tommy. There was a hitch in his voice, like he couldn’t catch his breath, and Dex figured he was out of air. But it wasn’t that — it was more like surprise or shock. “There’s somethin’ down here… holy shit…! You gotta see this…”
Chapter Eight
Erich held the decoded message with both hands. Such a stunning interruption of the mission forced him deep into his training — no anger or shock would work well here. Retaining his composure and control for the safety and confidence of his crew was most important. He could not allow them to know how serious the break in radio silence might be — regardless of the urgency of the message.
Turning to his navigator, he said, “Ostermann, you have the control deck. Prepare for course changes. Manny, come with me…”
His Exec followed him out of the con to his Captain’s quarters. When they had closed themselves into the private area, Erich handed the message to his friend, who read it without expression:
BRUCKNER. ATTENTION BRUCKNER. MISSION ALTERATION. PROCEED TO STATION ONE ELEVEN IMMEDIATELY. RESCUE & RECOVERY. URGENT. DOENITZ.
“What does this mean?” he said. “What is ‘Station One Eleven’?”
Erich sat behind his small desk, motioned for Manny to sit on the adjacent bunk. “It is a top-secret installation under the Greenland Shelf. Filled with some of our most brilliant scientists and engineers. I am told they are working on projects out of science fiction and beyond.”
“I had no idea such a place existed.”
Erich shook his head. “Practically no one does. The only reason U-boat captains have the knowledge is a pragmatic one — the base can only be serviced by a submarine.”
“Do you know what goes on there?” Manny leaned forward, speaking in a half-whisper.
“No. Not a clue. Although I would imagine the projects are even more far-flung than the fission-bomb or the jet-propelled fighter.”