Terminal Run

Three minutes later the submarine slowed and climbed above the thermal layer, where the Mark 17’s onboard sensors, guided by the clues from the trawler, made the detection of the submarine. The computer accelerated the underwater vehicle at maximum revolutions to intercept the American submarine. By the time Leopard slowed to five knots, ascended to periscope depth, and put her radio antenna into the sky, the Mark 17 was locked on in hot pursuit. The computer drove the HTUV to the aft hatch of the Leopard, then vacuum-pumped itself fast to the hull. It would ruin two patches of rubber anechoic coating, but it was vital that the underwater vehicle not fall off the hull in the slipstream of the water flow and get sucked into the submarine’s propulsor. Five knots sounded slow, but to the lieutenant and the chief, fighting five knots of current could exhaust a man in minutes. The chief withdrew a handheld tool from the vehicle, trailing a power cord from the cockpit. He aimed and fired, a harpoon like device flashing out and hitting the hull, a cable attached. The chief made the cable fast to the vehicle, then aimed again and fired a second cable. He and the lieutenant hooked their safety harnesses to both cables and made their way against the current to the hatch, each carrying several heavier tools with hoses leading back to the vehicle. It took the chief five minutes to center the hatch salvage tool over the hatch and secure it to the hull. While he worked on that, the lieutenant placed a similar tool over a salvage valve connection to the left of the hatch and another one to the right. The salvage valves would flood the interior of the escape trunk and vent out the trapped air, allowing them to open the outer hatch, assuming the ship’s crew didn’t fight them from inside. But this would happen so fast no one would expect the invasion. The chief’s salvage tool was engaged over the main salvage connection above the hatch, and it spun the hatch ring open in less than thirty seconds, unlocking the submarine’s upper hatch.

The second tool fit under the hatch ring and lifted the heavy metal upward, resisting the powerful force of the current generated by the ship’s motion. When the hatch was up, the lieutenant lowered his legs into the escape trunk below, then disconnected his safety harnesses from the dual cables. Just before he vanished into the hatch he tapped farewell on the chief’s foot, then crouched down into the airlock.

The lieutenant reached above to help pull the hatch down, the hydraulic cylinders above doing most of the work until the hatch was fully shut. He spun the hatch wheel, shutting the massive hatch. He was inside the submarine, although in a dark flooded cubbyhole of it. While he found the interior light switch, the chief was busy outside on the hull withdrawing the three salvage tool operators and the two hatch hydraulic cylinders and stowing them in the vehicle, then cutting the cables. The chief would be divorcing from the submarine within two minutes, then driving clear before the submarine could dive deep again. The chief would return to the trawler, leaving the lieutenant inside the submarine.

The lieutenant found the escape hatch drain valve, and opened it to drain the flooded escape trunk to the bilges of the submarine far below. A second vent valve opened the trunk to the atmosphere inside the ship. The water level fell below his face, and he took off his mask, yawning to clear his eardrums as the pressure eased. It only took another half minute for the water to drain completely. He spun the lower hatch wheel operator, the metal dogs coming off the hatch ring. He braced himself and pulled open the hatch. The bright light from the ship’s interior nearly blinded him. The hatch’s spring mechanism made it easy to pull it up into the escape trunk. A hot cloud of steaming air wafted into his face, for the escape trunk they had chosen was located over the engine room The noise of the ship was much louder than he expected, the turbines screaming like jet engines. He had expected a nuclear submarine to be quiet, but this sounded like the third level of hell. The hatch latched in the open position, allowing him to put his wet suit shoes on the upper rungs of the ladder. He wondered for a moment if anyone would even know he’d invaded the submarine when he heard three clicks. With his feet finally on the solid deckplates, he turned slowly to face three Beretta 9mm pistols, all of them pointed at his eyeballs, seeming bigger than cannons.

He raised his hands in surrender, his voice steady as he announced himself. “Lieutenant Brett Oliver, United States Navy, on temporary duty to the National Security Agency. Here by the order of Vice Admiral McKee, Commander Unified Submarine Command. Request permission to come aboard.”

The heavy paw of a machinist mate grabbed him by the neck and dragged him all the way to the middle level of the forward compartment, to the captain’s stateroom.