Terminal Run

The pressure of the forward compartment blew the hatch into the spec-op compartment tunnel, but the mechanism designed to latch it open failed as the hatch slammed into it. The hatch hinge springs ruptured and the upper hinge fractured. The other three people near the hatch were blown through it, along with a few thousand gallons of seawater. By that time the momentum of the flying half ton of steel of the hatch ripped the lower hinge reinforcement and sent the heavy three inch-thick lid flying upward into the tunnel. When it came to rest, about halfway between the hatch to the DSV and the forward compartment tunnel hatch opening, it was lying on Carolyn Alameda’s left leg. Alameda had hit her head on the steel deck plate and was mercifully unconscious. Captain Catardi was blown into Pacino, then slid past Alameda down the inclined tunnel deck back toward the hatch opening. Schultz had banged into a bulkhead and came to rest on top of the hatch on Alameda’s leg, her head bleeding from a gash in her forehead. The air in the spec-op tunnel had been fresh, but was immediately contaminated by the rush of pressurized air from the forward compartment.

Pacino rubbed his aching head. His elbow was emitting sparks of pain, his body saved from cuts and lacerations by the wet suit. His regulator was missing again. He found it in the dim light of the bulkhead-mounted battle lanterns, hoping it still worked. He took a breath, but noticed it was difficult to get air out of the tanks. In his panic he had consumed most of the air of two tanks, although the high pressure of the sinking submarine had consumed air also, since it took more air to inflate the lungs when working against a higher surrounding pressure. He didn’t have much time. He struggled to the hatch opening to the deep submergence vehicle’s docking port and spun the hatch wheel counterclockwise, grateful that it spun smoothly. He opened the salvage valve to equalize the air pressure on the other side of the hatch, then pushed the hatch and it fell open with the angle of the dive — at least someone had planned that well, putting the hatch hinge on the forward edge of the opening. The hatch latched. He reached inside and turned on the docking port battle lantern, then turned back to the tunnel. The water level was rising in the tunnel. The forward compartment was now completely flooded, and only the narrow tunnel was left for an air bubble. He equalized and opened the hatch to the deep submergence vehicle’s airlock and latched it open. The problem would soon be, how would he shut it against the ship’s angle? He decided to worry about that later.

He maneuvered Captain Catardi into the airlock, then Schultz, then turned to Alameda. The ship’s engineer lay with the heavy hatch on her left knee. Her lower leg was covered by the hatch. Pacino pushed on the hatch, assuming the ship’s angle would allow it to come off her, but the hatch wouldn’t budge. Alameda blinked. Pacino assumed she would try to hit him again in her agitated state, but her eyes opened wide and she looked at him imploringly.

“Leave me here,” she croaked. “Get into the DSV. The hatch weighs five hundred and fifty pounds, Patch. You’ll never budge it. Go on, get going.”

He ignored her and kept pushing on the hatch, but it wouldn’t move. His air was running out, and the water level was climbing toward the two of them. He kept pulling on the hatch, but couldn’t move it. He told himself that he was much stronger than anyone else aboard, and his air was fresh, and that if he concentrated he could do this.

“Anthony Michael,” Alameda’s voice said. It wasn’t the voice of a lieutenant commander, but of the woman he’d known in the DSV. “Let me go. Get into the DSV, please, if not for you, then for me. You can’t die here. I won’t have it. That’s an order.”

The water had risen to her chin. Extending her neck could no longer keep the water from her mouth and nose. “Go,” she sputtered with her last breath, the water at her eyes, both of them wide in fear. Then they were submerged, until only her hair floated on the surface of the brackish water. Seeing her face disappear made something snap inside Pacino, and again he lost his conscious self, watching from a distance as he dived under the water and hooked his hands on the hatch and put his feet on the sloping bulkhead and began to lift. The effort was doing no good. His failure sent him into a fury. This close, a few seconds away from the hatch to the DSV and survival, and the god damned hatch would kill her. Suddenly he didn’t care about himself. He would let them shut the DSV hatch without him, and he would stay with Alameda and die with her. As he strained trying to lift the hatch, his air bottle ran out. He spit out the regulator and clamped his mouth shut.