Chapter 45 - Surface Tension
The internal temperature of the engineering bay was plummeting rapidly as the cold water pressing against the outer hull sucked the heat from the metal. Every breath we took plumed into thick, white clouds in the dim red glare of the emergency lights.
"We need to surface," I said, examining the manual ballast release valves on the bulkhead. "If we stay down here, we'll either drown when the seals fail or freeze to death before they manage to cut their way through this door."
"Manual surfacing from the engineering bay requires a direct mechanical linkage to the main hydro-planes," Marcus replied, shining his tactical light toward a complex maze of rusted brass pipes and hydraulic lines along the ceiling. "The controls were fried when the forward console shorted out. We have to climb into the dry-well access shaft and crank the cables by hand."
"And the enemy sub?"
"It's hovering right above us," Marcus said grimly. "Waiting for us to pop the hatch. The moment we break the surface, we're stepping onto their killing floor."
I looked down at the rugged polymer stock of my MPX. The weapon was coated in a thin layer of condensation, but the mechanism was clean. "Then we don't give them a clean target."
I banged on the ballast tube hatch once more. "Chloe! Can you hear me?"
The latch clicked from the inside, and a pale, tear-stained face peered out into the red gloom. "Ethan... I heard the water. I heard them screaming outside."
"Listen to me very carefully," I said, crouching down so my eyes were level with hers. "We are going to blow the manual hatch and surface this vessel. When we break water, there are going to be armed men waiting for us. I need you to stay in this tube until I tell you it's safe. Do you understand?"
She nodded frantically, her lower lip trembling so hard she could barely speak. "Where's Dad? Why did he do this to us, Ethan? After everything you sacrificed... after all the money you sent home..."
"Dad played a very dangerous game, Chloe," I said softly, touching her cold cheek through the metal ring. "And now the house is collecting its debts. Stay down."
I slammed the hatch shut, spinning the locking wheel to ensure she was sealed inside the most protected section of the hull.
Marcus was already standing beside the vertical access ladder that led up to the main conning tower, his good hand gripping the rungs with white-knuckled intensity. "Ready?"
"Always," I said.
He reached up and pulled the emergency mechanical release lever.
With a deafening pneumatic hiss, the locking dogs on the conning tower hatch retracted. The heavy steel lid flew upward, driven by the sudden pressure differential, and a torrent of icy Lake Tahoe air and freezing spray rushed down into the shaft, instantly washing over us like a physical blow.
Marcus scrambled up the ladder first, his carbine raised, sweeping the sector as he emerged into the open night air. I followed close behind him, my MPX tracking the shadows along the shoreline.
We had surfaced in a secluded cove tucked deep beneath the granite cliffs of the western shore, surrounded by towering, silent pines. But we were not alone.
Floating less than thirty yards away, its dark, rubberized hull blending seamlessly with the midnight water, was the enemy hunter-killer sub. And standing on its forward deck, illuminated by a sweeping searchlight that cut through the mist, was a familiar, immaculately tailored figure holding a satellite phone to his ear.
May you like
Charles Hayes.
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