He chuckled softly along with Vrooman, then said, “He asks for it, I swear.”
The man next to Cozak, Thomas Stinson, grinned along with them. “You two are terrible.”
The radio squawked and Bowen answered, then turned and gave them the thumbs up. “Masks on! Prepare to flood the deck!”
He nodded, his grin fading. He saw the same in his teammate’s faces. The time for joking was over. Now was the time for their training to kick in, time to become the consummate professionals.
They strapped on their masks and plugged the lines into the air valves at the top of the deck, then signaled Bowen. There was a rushing of water as the deck flooded, filling the cabin with seawater. They waited impatiently as the end of the dry deck swung open, exposing the vast darkness that stretched beyond.
He followed the rest of his team as they unplugged from the air manifold in the dry deck. They were now operating on their MK25 rebreathers as they made their way to the SEAL delivery vehicle, a squat tube with a flat face, strapped to the top of the Orlando, twenty feet in front of the dry deck.
He waited his turn until he could enter the SDV, taking his position next to Vrooman, then plugged into the air supply on the SDV to conserve air.
Once the rest of the team was aboard, Jose Alesio and Garret Froman, the two SEALS in the rear, disconnected the latches on the SDV and helped Bowen guide it above the Orlando’s hull, then strapped themselves in as Bowen started the SDV’s electric bow thrusters.
He felt the SDV surge ahead, surprisingly quick given its blunt and ungainly appearance. They traveled for over a mile until the SDV slowed. There was a shaking as Bowen, Alesio and Froman attached the SDV to the MV Rising Star by magnetic docking clamps. The MDC’s would hold the SDV near and allow them a quick retreat, if necessary.
Bowen unstrapped the ladder from the side of the SDV and with Alesio and Froman’s help, slowly surfaced and attached the ladder to the ship’s hull. The rest of the team unhooked their air lines from the SDV and removed their flippers, stowing them inside nylon mesh bags hanging from the SDV, before following Bowen to the surface.
They scrambled up the ladder, mindful of their surroundings. He followed Vrooman over the top of the Rising Star’s lowest deck, Cozak right behind them. They caught up to Kropf, who was waiting next to the lowest hatch. When Froman and Alesio joined them, Bowen gave the signal to Kropf and they split into teams of two.
Bowen and Kropf headed for the bridge while the other teams fanned out. He motioned for Vrooman to follow him and took the first hatch leading to the engine room. The ship was deathly silent. They expected to encounter some members of the crew, but they found none as they headed deeper into the bowels of the ship.
There was a squawk over coms, then Cozak’s voice. “We got something in the hold.”
“Nobody in quarters,” Froman said over coms. “The galley is clear.”
“Bridge is empty,” Kropf said. “This isn’t right.”
He nodded at Vrooman, who chimed in, “Engine room is clear.”
“Chief,” Cozak said, louder this time, “you got to see this. They’re all dead, sir. You really need to see this.”
Vrooman shot him a questioning look. Cozak was as tough as they came, but his voice was clipped, almost panicked. Vrooman leaned close. “Don’t you think this is weird?”
He had to agree. The engines were running and the boat was apparently on autopilot. He shook his head. It didn’t make sense. A vessel the size of the Rising Star normally had a crew of at least twenty, but they hadn’t encountered a single crewmember.
They threaded their way through the main part of the ship until they reached the cargo hold door. What they saw when they entered stopped them in their tracks.
The rest of the team had beaten them there and stood in a semi-circle, guns hanging limply at their sides. The cargo room was one massive space, covered in thick plastic sheets. Huge lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the cavernous hold. Walls of high-tech equipment lined the room, machines that looked like they belonged in a hospital or lab. Everything was white and clean and spotless.
Everything but the floor.
Dead bodies were piled in the corner, and blood covered the white floor a sticky pink streaks. The smell of human waste filled the air, and he gagged, trying not to puke. Two bodies lay in the middle of the room, submachine guns still clutched in their lifeless hands. He stepped closer. The body on the right was wearing a captain’s uniform. “What the hell.”
“Chief?” Bowen said quietly. “The captain and his first mate killed them?”
Kropf turned to them, ashen-faced. “Looks like it. Then they wasted themselves. What’s all this gear?”
It was a good question. He didn’t recognize any of it.. except for the refrigeration equipment and the racks of glass beakers… but he recognized the biological hazard symbol on the side. “I don’t like this,” he whispered.
Vrooman nodded in agreement.
Bowen pulled a camera and started snapping photos while the rest of the SEALS milled about. He had taken over a dozen when there was a whump-whump that rattled the ship.
Vrooman’s eyes widened. “What the—”
There was a grinding noise above and he tilted his head, searching for the source. The hatchways above were opening, covered by thick steel slats. He turned and stumbled as the floor lurched to the side. There was another thump and a section of the hull below them exploded upward. He froze, gaping. He had never seen anything like it. A hole had opened straight down through the deck to the ocean below. Another whump and another hole opened, this time in front of him.
Water rushed up through the holes, gushing harder than he thought possible.
“Get out!” Kropf screamed.
He grabbed Vrooman by the shoulder and pushed him forward, willing him to move. They stumbled through the water but it was geysering from below, swirling around the room, knocking the men around like corks in a bathtub.
The room quickly filled, but they still had on their masks and rebreathers. They dove to the bottom as the water finally reached the top of the room. Vrooman was in front, the rest of his team behind him, and Vrooman struggled to pull the hatch open. He grabbed on, desperate to help Vrooman open the hatch.
There was a groaning of metal, like a metallic whale song, and the ship began to shake.
A sickening realization dawned on him. The ship was being scuttled. He estimated how much water they had taken in only twenty or thirty seconds, did the math, and realized the ship was going to sink and take them with it. If they didn’t hurry, they’d be so far below the ocean’s surface the lack of oxygen wouldn’t kill them… the compression from the hundreds of feet of water would.
The hatch handle quivered. The water amplified the sound of the ship’s death throes. The cargo room lights finally blinked out and they were plunged into darkness. The green glow from the integrated NVG’s allowed him to see as he struggled with the handle.
He looked up and saw the overhead grates. The steel slats covering them appeared too thick to easily break. He had a pouch of explosives, purposefully made for underwater demolition, but at the rate the ship was sinking, he wouldn’t have time to use them.
He felt the hatch move, and he knew it meant the hall beyond the bulkhead had filled with water, equalizing the pressure. With Vrooman’s help, they opened the door and the rest of the team swam through.
They made their way to the stairs at the end of the hall, but as they navigated through the water, the wail and groan of metal became louder, then he heard a sound that made his blood run cold, a sound akin to a tin can crumpling.
They had reached a depth, perhaps only a few hundred feet, where the pressure was collapsing parts of the ship that were still airtight.