Collapse Depth

“Bearing?” asked Kincaid, still rotating around on the scope. “I don’t see anybody.”

“It’s loud and clear!” said the ET, his code book in hand. “SUBSUNK!”

“It’s us,” sighed the captain. “The BST buoys. We’re the sunken submarine.”

• • •

Jabo was still in machinery one when Master Chief Cote showed up holding his Polaroid in one hand and a large knife in the other, something Jabo suspected he’d been taking to sea since Vietnam. He carefully took photos from every angle of the navigator’s lifeless body. Then they pulled a stool over from the diesel control panel, and Jabo held it steady as Cote climbed up, and slashed through the belt that held the navigator. The dead man landed on pointed toes, like a gymnast, and then fell straight over on his face with a splash. There was no hurry to get him out of there, and moving the body was a pain in the ass in EABs, but Jabo and the master chief did it anyway, both of them, without saying it, feeling it important to get him out of there. They got two men on the upper side of the ladder to help pull him up, and then wrestled him into the freezer, where they sat him next to the heavy green bag that held Howard, the first man he’d killed.

• • •

It took four hours to get all the water off the boat, with both trim pumps and the submersible pumps working in concert, very efficiently at the shallow depth. Wipe down teams went in with bags stuffed with rags afterward, still encumbered by their EABs, wiping up whatever trace of water that remained. As they did so, maneuvering kept close track of electrical grounds, which slowly climbed into the normal range as the ship dried out.

• • •

It took six hours to ventilate the ship to the point where EABs could be removed. When the word was passed, every man pulled his mask off and breathed in the fresh Pacific air that had displaced the smoke, fear, and steam that had filled their ship for so long. The men looked at each other, having not seen each others’ faces in many hours. Their eyes met briefly, knowingly. They allowed themselves to acknowledge what they had all just gone through, then looked away, eager to move on, eager to keep busy with the endless activity needed to restore the ship to normal.

• • •

Shortly after EABs were removed, Jabo climbed the ladder in the middle of the control room, ready to shift the watch topside, to the bridge. There had been a lively debate about this in control. The XO thought they should keep the ship buttoned up, keep the watch in control, afraid that if the ship went down again with the bridge open, for any reason, they would not recover. The captain, on the other hand, wanted real human eyes topside as long as they were travelling under their own power, and was confident, after six hours, that the ship was securely on the surface. As was typical in these types of debates…the captain won.

Jabo would be the first on the bridge. He climbed until he could reach the opening ring of the lower hatch, spun it all the way counter-clockwise. Then he climbed another step, so he could push his shoulder against the hatch. A slight difference in pressure had developed between the ship and the world, and it took all of Jabo’s considerable strength to move the hatch against it. As it opened a crack, warm air rushed in, as if the giant ship were taking a deep breath.

The interior of the bridge trunk was lit by a single yellow bulb. It smelled good, like the sea, the smell of being close to home, because that was generally the only time the ship was surfaced, at the very beginning and the very end of patrol. He scurried up the next ladder, to the upper hatch. He spun the ring and opened it, revealing a circle of blindingly bright daylight above him. He climbed up a third ladder, toward the light.

As he climbed, something glistening in the dark cavity behind the rungs caught his eye.

He reached through with his damaged, left hand. He felt something slimy against the small bare patch of un-bandaged skin on his palm. He pulled the flashlight off his belt, curious, and looked again.

It was a small octopus, its head about the size of a grapefruit. It legs were writhing, trying to escape in a panic. It had found its way into the bridge trunk somehow, and was stranded when they surfaced. Jesus Christ, thought Jabo, startled, he’d never seen that before. It was a patrol of firsts. He carefully reached through the rungs and grabbed it, palming it like a basketball, and scooped it toward him. He held it against his stomach as he climbed the ladder the rest of the way, feeling its legs beating helplessly against his stomach. The thing was soft but strong, like one big muscle.