Black Wind - Cussler Clive - Страница 44
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But Dirk wasn't interested in torpedoes. Methodically, he drove Snoopyto the Prow f ^e torpedo room, then systematically swept the ROV back and forth across the bay, slipping a few feet toward the stern with each pass until he was satisfied that every square foot had been viewed.
“No sign of the canisters or their crates. But there is a second torpedo room below where they could have been stored.”
“Can you get Snoopy down there?” Summer asked.
“There's a floor hatch for loading the torpedoes, but I don't think Snoopy is going to lift that open. I may know of another route.”
Scanning the room with Snoopy\ camera lens eye, he spotted the rear hatch door that led to the chief's quarters. The hatch door was still open and Dirk maneuvered the ROV through it a few seconds later.
“Over there,” Summer said, motioning to a corner of the monitor. “There's a ladder that looks like it leads to the deck below.”
Dirk danced the ROV around a mass of debris and down an open hatchway in the floor. Dropping down to the deck below, Snoopy sniffed out the doorway to the lower torpedo room and- entered the second bay of warheads. Though slightly smaller due to the more tapered sides of the submarine's hull, the bay was an exact duplicate of the torpedo room above it. And just as they had seen once before, the camera showed all ten of the deadly Type 95 torpedoes resting peacefully in their racks. Though near the limit of the self-coiling tether that provided Snoopy its power, Dirk carefully maneuvered the ROV around the full confines of the room. The camera showed a full complement of torpedoes in the bay but nothing else. The empty room glared back at them vacantly.
“It would appear,” Summer said, shaking her head with disappointment, “that there are no eggs to be had.”
As Dirk carefully guided the small ROV back to the Starfish, he began whistling the old Stephen Foster standard “Swanee River.” Summer looked at her brother with abashed curiosity.
“You seem awfully happy, given that the biological bombs are missing in action,” she said.
“Sister, we may not know where they are, but we sure know where they ain't. Now, if it was me, I'd want to keep those eggs close to the hen.”
Summer took a second to digest the comments, then her face brightened slightly.
“The deck hangar? Where the aircraft are stored?”
“The deck hangar,” Dirk replied. “And the Swordfish was even kind enough to leave the door open for us.”
Once Snoopy was secure in its cradle, Dirk activated the main thrusters and the Starfish shot off down the deck of the submarine to the second torpedo blast. The detonation hole was easily large no ugh to allow the Starfish to drop into the interior, but the 11.5-foot ijarneter of the hangar was just fractionally too tight to allow any room for the submersible to maneuver any farther. Dirk studied the gash in the aircraft hangar before inching the Starfish into the opening. The deck had been blasted away in pockmarked sections, leaving step-through holes that led into the dank bowels of the submarine. Dirk slowly guided the Starfish lower until he spied firm decking near the forward edge of the gap that was large enough to support the submersible. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the airplane propeller they detected earlier was hanging just to his right. He gently eased lower until the Starfish's supporting skids tapped onto solid decking.
As he powered off the Starfish's thrusters, a momentary silence filled The submersible. Together, they peered down the enclosed hangar that stretched in front of them like an endless tunnel. Then the quiet was broken by a muffled metallic clunk than rang through the water.
“Dirk, the propeller!” Summer shouted, pointing out the bubble window toward the right.
The mounting bracket that held the spare three-bladed Seiran bomber propeller had long ago corroded in the salt water yet against all reason had somehow maintained sufficient integrity to hold the heavy blade onto the wall for sixty years. Not until the stirred waters from the Starfish's thrusters blasted against it did it decide to give up its mission and crumble from the wall in a rusty glob of dust. As the bracket fell away, the heavy propeller dropped straight to the deck, landing on the tips of its lower two blades with a clang.
But the show wasn't over. They watched in helpless fascination as the propeller fell forward, its upper blade skimming just in front of the Starfish's bubble window, inches from Summer's face. It appeared to move in slow motion as the force of the water suspended the movement of the steel blades. A secondary clang echoed through the water as the blade and nosepiece hit home, the entire assembly dragging across the submersible's right robotic arm and falling onto the front skid plates. A cloud of brown sediment rose and obscured their vision for a moment, then, as the water cleared, Summer noticed a small trail of dark fluid rising up in front of them, as if the Starfish were bleeding. “We're pinned,” Summer gasped, eyeing the heavy propeller lying across the front skids.
“Try the right arm. See if you can lift the blade up and I'll try and back us out,” Dirk directed as he powered up the thrusters.
Summer grasped the joystick and toggled it back to raise the arm. The metallic appendage began to rise briefly, then fell away limp. She repeatedly toggled the joystick control back and forth but there was no response.
“No good,” she said calmly. “The blade must have cut the hydraulics. The right arm is as good as amputated.”
“That must have been the fluid we saw. Try the left arm,” Dirk replied.
Summer configured a second joystick and applied power to the submersible's left mechanical arm. Working the controls, she tried stretching the arm across the viewing window and down to the fallen propeller. Since the left arm was both smaller and shorter than the right arm, it allowed for less maneuverability. After several minutes of bending and twisting the arm in various configurations, she finally worked the claw to a position where she could grab the edge of the propeller blade.
“I've got a grip, but it's at an awkward angle. I don't think I'll be able to exert enough pressure,” she said.
Pushing at the controls, her words fell true. The arm attempted to pull the propeller up but nothing budged. Several further attempts met with the same result.
“Guess we'll have to barge our way out,” Dirk replied, gritting his teeth.
Applying full-throttle power to the thrusters, he tried to elevate the Starfish and slip back and away from the fallen propeller. The electronic thrusters hummed and vibrated violently as they clawed at the water with all their might, but the weight of the propeller was just too great. The submersible sat still as a rock while its thrusters beat the water madly, kicking up a dirty cloud of silt around them. He adjusted the thrusters forward and backward, trying to rock their way out, but it was no use. After several fruitless attempts, Dirk shut off the thrusters and waited for the brown cloud to settle.
“We'll just needlessly burn up our batteries if we continue to try and slide out,” he said dejectedly. “We just don't have enough thrust to pull ourselves away from the prop.”
Summer could see the wheels churning in her brother's head. It wasn't the first time she had been trapped underwater with Dirk and she felt reassurance knowing that he was with her. Just months before, they had nearly died together off Navidad Bank when their undersea research habitat had rolled into a crevasse from the force of a killer hurricane. Only the last-second arrival by her father and Al Giordino had saved them from a slow death by asphyxiation. But this time, her father and Giordino were a thousand miles away.
Out of the murky darkness, voices of the past began to whisper. The long-dead crew of the I-411 seemed to call out to Dirk and Summer to join them in a cold, watery grave a thousand feet under the sea. The silent black sub exuded a morbid sense that sent a shiver up Summer's spine. The stirred waters around them calmed and they could peer again into the depths of the hangar. She could not help but dwell on the fact that they were lodged in an iron tomb for dozens of brave Imperial Navy sailors. Forcing the macabre image from her mind, she tried to refocus her attention on the logical demands of their situation.
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