Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“No, COB, I didn’t,” smiled Jerry.

“Very well, then. What is your plan?” Hardy was now as curious as the others about what Jerry had in mind.

“We’ll position Memphis as close as possible to the launch point, but we’ll be at periscope depth. Once we know Duey is nearby, the divers will go out and call him up to our depth. We can then push it into position where the mechanical arm can grab it.”

“But Jerry, how will you call Duey?” asked Emily. “None of your hull arrays can transmit at a frequency that Duey’s sonar can pick up.”

“True enough. So we rig a portable power supply to one of the spare drogues and the divers lift it over the side and point it down toward Duey. If we do this right, the ROV will be less than three hundred yards away and its sonar should be able to detect the homing beacon.”

As she listened to Jerry’s scheme, Emily’s face became bright with hope. “Yes, Yes! That should work. Oh Jerry, you’re brilliant!”

Jerry was uncomfortable with her enthusiasm. “Let’s hold off on the ‘brilliant’ stuff until after we get Duey back, shall we?”

Hardy was silent as he considered Jerry’s idea. His wrinkled brow and clenched jaw showed his reservations, his uncertainty that the risk was justifiable. Finally he approached Reynolds and asked, “COB, what would your bottom time be for a dive of seventy feet?”

“Let’s see, seventy feet with no decompression would give us about fifty minutes, sir. That should be more than adequate for the job.”

Hardy started pacing as he continued to mull over Jerry’s proposal. As he walked, Reynolds kept feeding him more information. “We have the proper dive gear, and there is very little current to speak of. We have plenty of daylight left, so visibility shouldn’t be a problem. The only way we could reduce the risk further would be to go diving in a swimming pool.”

“Very well, COB. I’ll authorize the dive,” conceded Hardy with a sigh. “I trust you’ll be the lead diver, but who will be your partner on this dive?”

“Mr. Mitchell, sir.”

“Mitchell?” Hardy sounded incredulous.

“Yes, sir,” Reynolds answered politely “He’s a certified Navy diver, he possesses the best knowledge on the ROVs of any diver onboard, and I believe he has some ice diving experience. I’d say that makes him perfect for the job.”

Patterson, Hardy, and Emily all looked at Jerry as if he was some sort of circus freak. All that undesired attention made him feel a little uncomfortable, so he tried to explain. “I did some ice diving in Wisconsin and Minnesota as a kid. It’s really quite a unique experience diving under an ice canopy…and…ahh, just forget it.”

Patterson and Emily both laughed, while Hardy slowly shook his head. “All right COB, I’ll get Memphis in position while the two of you get ready.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Jerry and Reynolds in unison.

“I’ll break out the gear, Mr. Mitchell, while you finish giving your people their instructions,” said Reynolds.

“Okay, COB, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Jerry replied. Turning to Foster and Emily, he briefly discussed with them what they had to do to support the dive. Foster reassured him that tube three would be ready to receive the ROV, and Emily said it would take her twenty minutes to put together a portable power supply and connect it to one of the spare drogues.

Jerry found the COB at the far forward end of the torpedo room, removing the diving gear from their storage lockers. The paint on the lockers had been fried, but the lockers themselves were in good condition, as were their contents. Jerry was relieved to see that they had good crushed neoprene dry-suits to wear, but they didn’t have any insulated undergarments. This meant that he and the COB would get cold during this dive. It might take thirty minutes or so before they started to really feel it, but they’d still need a hot shower afterward.

After breaking out the gear from the lockers, it had to be moved to the crew’s mess, where they would suit up. Reynolds had several sailors lug the equipment up while he and Jerry went to their staterooms to change. Digging around in his locker, Jerry found the cotton sweatshirt and pants he’d brought and put them on, along with two pairs of socks. Back in the crew’s mess, Jerry found Reynolds already slipping into his drysuit. He tossed Jerry a container of talcum powder, which he applied liberally to the legs and arms of his suit before putting it on. After adjusting the neck, wrist, and ankle seals, Jerry put on his rubber boots and made sure that the boot and ankle seals overlapped. He did the same with the hood.

Reynolds then ran Jerry through the checklist to make sure the tank, regulator, gauges, and buoyancy compensator were all in working order. With that completed, all they could do was sit and wait for the sonar techs to find the lost ROV. They didn’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, control called down to the crew’s mess to inform the divers that the ROV was close by and that it was up to them to bring it home. As Jerry and the COB started putting on their tanks, Bair came into the mess deck and told them that the starboard torpedo nest muzzle and shutter doors were already opened and that the mechanical arm had been extended. The floodlight on the arm would also be on and they were to use it as a navigation aid, if the visibility was not as good as they expected. He then wished them luck and issued a stern warning not to do anything heroically stupid.

As they picked up their masks, gloves, fins, and flashlights, Reynolds looked over to Jerry and said, “Time for you to become a true Bluenose, Mr. Mitchell.”

The wide grin on the COB’s face left Jerry feeling a bit uneasy. “Why do I get the impression that I should feel honored?”

“Because it is a true honor to actually swim in the realm of King Boreas. An honor that goes far beyond merely being sprayed down with seawater during the baptism.”

“Really? Well, I’ll take your word for it, Your Majesty. Just no more of that Prussian blue crap,” warned Jerry adamantly.

Reynolds laughed as he climbed the ladder up into the forward escape trunk. For a moment, Jerry wasn’t certain that the COB would fit through the hatch. He was such a big man to begin with, and he now had most of his diving gear on as well. But with surprising ease, the COB deftly navigated the hatchway. After all their other gear had been handed up, Jerry started climbing up the ladder.

“Press your chest onto the ladder, sir. That way you won’t snag the hatch seat,” coached Reynolds. Once Jerry’s tank was clear of the hatchway, Reynolds reached down and bodily pulled him up into the escape trunk. After being set down on the grate, Jerry called down, “Is that drogue and power supply ready?”

“Right here, sir,” responded Boyd. Jerry then heard a guttural, “Umph!” Followed by, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I could use a little help.”

Reynolds knelt on the grate and helped Jerry grab the large box in Boyd’s arms. It was rather heavy, and even the COB had to exert himself to lift it into the escape trunk. “Son of a buck!” Jerry exclaimed. “I thought Davis was going to make this thing portable!”

“Well, sir, it is — kinda. You can move it.”

Jerry was unimpressed and showed his concern. “Petty Officer Boyd, if we take this thing out of the escape trunk, we’ll go straight to the bottom.”

“Uhh, yes, sir, we know, sir,” replied Boyd with a smile. “That’s why we made sure there was enough umbilical cabling so you don’t have to remove the power supply from the escape trunk. Dr. Davis says all you have to do is point the drogue down over the starboard side and push the black button. As long as the button is depressed, it’ll keep transmitting the homing beacon.”