Black Wind (21 page)

“Can you get
Snoopy
down there?” Summer asked.

“There's a floor hatch for loading the torpedoes, but I don't think
Snoopy
is going to lift that open. I may know of another route.”

Scanning the room with
Snoopy
's camera lens eye, he spotted the rear hatch door that led to the chief's quarters. The hatch door was still open and Dirk maneuvered the ROV through it a few seconds later.

“Over there,” Summer said, motioning to a corner of the monitor. “There's a ladder that looks like it leads to the deck below.”

Dirk danced the ROV around a mass of debris and down an open hatchway in the floor. Dropping down to the deck below,
Snoopy
sniffed out the doorway to the lower torpedo room and entered the second bay of warheads. Though slightly smaller due to the more tapered sides of the submarine's hull, the bay was an exact duplicate of the torpedo room above it. And just as they had seen once before, the camera showed all ten of the deadly Type 95 torpedoes resting peacefully in their racks. Though near the limit of the self-coiling tether that provided
Snoopy
its power, Dirk carefully maneuvered the ROV around the full confines of the room. The camera showed a full complement of torpedoes in the bay but nothing else. The empty room glared back at them vacantly.

“It would appear,” Summer said, shaking her head with disappointment, “that there are no eggs to be had.”

24

A
S
D
IRK CAREFULLY GUIDED
the small ROV back to the
Starfish
, he began whistling the old Stephen Foster standard “Swanee River.” Summer looked at her brother with abashed curiosity.

“You seem awfully happy, given that the biological bombs are missing in action,” she said.

“Sister, we may not know where they are, but we sure know where they ain't. Now, if it was me, I'd want to keep those eggs close to the hen.”

Summer took a second to digest the comments, then her face brightened slightly.

“The deck hangar? Where the aircraft are stored?”

“The deck hangar,” Dirk replied. “And the
Swordfish
was even kind enough to leave the door open for us.”

Once
Snoopy
was secure in its cradle, Dirk activated the main thrusters and the
Starfish
shot off down the deck of the submarine toward the second torpedo blast. The detonation hole was easily large enough to allow the
Starfish
to drop into the interior, but the 11.5-foot diameter of the hangar was just fractionally too tight to allow any room for the submersible to maneuver any farther. Dirk studied the gash in the aircraft hangar before inching the
Starfish
into the opening. The deck had been blasted away in pockmarked sections, leaving step-through holes that led into the dank bowels of the submarine. Dirk slowly guided the
Starfish
lower until he spied firm decking near the forward edge of the gap that was large enough to support the submersible. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the airplane propeller they detected earlier was hanging just to his right. He gently eased lower until the
Starfish
's supporting skids tapped onto solid decking.

As he powered off the
Starfish
's thrusters, a momentary silence filled the submersible. Together, they peered down the enclosed hangar that stretched in front of them like an endless tunnel. Then the quiet was broken by a muffled metallic clunk than rang through the water.

“Dirk, the propeller!” Summer shouted, pointing out the bubble window toward the right.

The mounting bracket that held the spare three-bladed Seiran bomber propeller had long ago corroded in the salt water yet against all reason had somehow maintained sufficient integrity to hold the heavy blade onto the wall for sixty years. Not until the stirred waters from the
Starfish
's thrusters blasted against it did it decide to give up its mission and crumble from the wall in a rusty glob of dust. As the bracket fell away, the heavy propeller dropped straight to the deck, landing on the tips of its lower two blades with a clang.

But the show wasn't over. They watched in helpless fascination as the propeller fell forward, its upper blade skimming just in front of the
Starfish
's bubble window, inches from Summer's face. It appeared to move in slow motion as the force of the water suspended the movement of the steel blades. A secondary clang echoed through the water as the blade and nosepiece hit home, the entire assembly dragging across the submersible's right robotic arm and falling onto the front skid plates. A cloud of brown sediment rose and obscured their vision for a moment, then, as the water cleared, Summer noticed a small trail of dark fluid rising up in front of them, as if the
Starfish
were bleeding.

“We're pinned,” Summer gasped, eyeing the heavy propeller lying across the front skids.

“Try the right arm. See if you can lift the blade up and I'll try and back us out,” Dirk directed as he powered up the thrusters.

Summer grasped the joystick and toggled it back to raise the arm. The metallic appendage began to rise briefly, then fell away limp. She repeatedly toggled the joystick control back and forth but there was no response.

“No good,” she said calmly. “The blade must have cut the hydraulics. The right arm is as good as amputated.”

“That must have been the fluid we saw. Try the left arm,” Dirk replied.

Summer configured a second joystick and applied power to the submersible's left mechanical arm. Working the controls, she tried stretching the arm across the viewing window and down to the fallen propeller. Since the left arm was both smaller and shorter than the right arm, it allowed for less maneuverability. After several minutes of bending and twisting the arm in various configurations, she finally worked the claw to a position where she could grab the edge of the propeller blade.

“I've got a grip, but it's at an awkward angle. I don't think I'll be able to exert enough pressure,” she said.

Pushing at the controls, her words fell true. The arm attempted to pull the propeller up but nothing budged. Several further attempts met with the same result.

“Guess we'll have to barge our way out,” Dirk replied, gritting his teeth.

Applying full-throttle power to the thrusters, he tried to elevate the
Starfish
and slip back and away from the fallen propeller. The electronic thrusters hummed and vibrated violently as they clawed at the water with all their might, but the weight of the propeller was just too great. The submersible sat still as a rock while its thrusters beat the water madly, kicking up a dirty cloud of silt around them. He adjusted the thrusters forward and backward, trying to rock their way out, but it was no use. After several fruitless attempts, Dirk shut off the thrusters and waited for the brown cloud to settle.

“We'll just needlessly burn up our batteries if we continue to try and slide out,” he said dejectedly. “We just don't have enough thrust to pull ourselves away from the prop.”

Summer could see the wheels churning in her brother's head. It wasn't the first time she had been trapped underwater with Dirk and she felt reassurance knowing that he was with her. Just months before, they had nearly died together off Navidad Bank when their undersea research habitat had rolled into a crevasse from the force of a killer hurricane. Only the last-second arrival by her father and Al Giordino had saved them from a slow death by asphyxiation. But this time, her father and Giordino were a thousand miles away.

Out of the murky darkness, voices of the past began to whisper. The long-dead crew of the
I-411
seemed to call out to Dirk and Summer to join them in a cold, watery grave a thousand feet under the sea. The silent black sub exuded a morbid sense that sent a shiver up Summer's spine. The stirred waters around them calmed and they could peer again into the depths of the hangar. She could not help but dwell on the fact that they were lodged in an iron tomb for dozens of brave Imperial Navy sailors. Forcing the macabre image from her mind, she tried to refocus her attention on the logical demands of their situation.

“How much time do we have left?” Summer asked, the desperation of their situation beginning to sink in.

Dirk glanced at a row of gauges to his side. “We're fine until the scrubbers give way to the loss of battery power. It'll be lights out in about three hours, then another hour or so for the air to go. We better contact the
Sea Rover
.” His voice was muted but matter-of-fact.

Summer activated the communication system and called Ryan on the
Sea Rover
but was met with silence in return. After several additional attempts, the receiver crackled in her earpiece.

“
Starfish
, this is
Sea Rover
. We do not copy, please repeat, over,” came a faint and fuzzy call from Ryan.

“Our com signal must be blocked by the submarine's bulkheads,” Dirk said. “We can hear them, but they can't hear us.”

“I'll keep trying in case they can pick up sporadic signals.”

Summer continued calling for another ten minutes, speaking in a loud, clear voice, but received only the same frustrating reply from Ryan.

“It's no use. They can't hear us. We're on our own,” Summer finally conceded.

Dirk began flipping switches on the console, shutting down all nonessential electronics in order to conserve battery power. His hand came to the controls that powered
Snoopy
and he hesitated.

“Any objection to taking
Snoopy
for a walk?”

“We came here to explore the hangar, so we might as well finish the job. We still need to determine if the biological weapons are aboard or if there's any evidence they've been removed.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dirk said as he powered up the tiny ROV. Grasping the controls, he worked the vehicle out of its cradle and over the fallen propeller, then elevated it to eye level in front of the
Starfish
. Ahead lay the long dark shaft of the hangar stretching into the gloom toward the conning tower. He quickly toggled the ROV's thrusters forward and
Snoopy
sailed into the darkened hangar.

Both their eyes shifted from observing the illuminated ROV out the viewing bubble to watching
Snoopy
's field of vision on the color monitor as it moved away from the submersible. The hangar appeared empty at first, but, as
Snoopy
moved forward, silt-covered objects began to materialize. The camera lens glided up to a large encrusted mound positioned on a platform to one side, beyond which several large cabinets protruded from the hangar walls.

“A spare aircraft engine,” Dirk remarked as he aimed
Snoopy
's eyes at the long metal block.

“I'll bet those are storage bins for other spare parts and mechanic's tools,” Summer added, pointing at the image of the cabinets.

“No doubt there's a floor jack in there somewhere,” Dirk lamented, knowing there was no way of retrieving any tools that might aid their escape.

Slowly he led
Snoopy
down the cavernous hangar before nearly driving the ROV into a grouping of thin metal sheets hanging vertically. Backing up the camera, Dirk identified the structure as the tail assembly of an airplane, with the tip of the vertical stabilizer folded down, as well as both horizontal stabilizers. Swinging
Snoopy
ahead and to the side, they could clearly see it was part of the fuselage of an Aichi M6A1 Seiran floatplane.

“Wow,” Summer murmured, impressed by both the size and condition of the twin-seat bomber. “Hard to believe they could fold up a plane and slide it in here.”

Dirk led
Snoopy
alongside the fuselage for a side view of the craft. The camera showed that the wings were still attached to the fuselage but folded back toward the tail like the wings on a duck. Faintly visible beneath the silt, they could still make out the familiar red Japanese “meatball” insignia painted on the wingtips.

“It's still amazing to me that they could store, launch, and retrieve aircraft from a submarine,” Summer pondered.

“Just roll the fuselage out onto the forward deck, raise the tail stabilizers, bolt on the wings and floats, and launch it off the catapult. A trained crew of four men were capable of assembling and launching a plane in under thirty minutes.”

“I guess it's a good thing these big Sen Toku boats weren't around earlier in the war,” Summer replied.

Dirk kept
Snoopy
nosing forward through the hangar. Gliding past the fuselage, the cameras revealed a pair of the plane's giant pontoons strapped to a wooden pallet on the deck. A blast from the ROV's thrusters dusted a layer of silt and mud off one of the pontoons, exposing a forest green paint scheme on the topsides and a shark gray tone on the pontoon's belly. A similar camouflage paint pattern would be found on the wings and fuselage.

Once past the pontoons, the hangar grew empty for several feet as the ROV passed through a separate open compartment. Like its beagle namesake,
Snoopy
sniffed along, gingerly examining each silt-covered object or debris item carefully via the touch of Dirk's fingers. A set of low-slung racks gradually grew out of the darkness on either side of the hangar holding what Dirk immediately recognized as torpedoes. Four of the metallic fish rested in each rack, aerial torpedoes that at thirteen hundred pounds each were much smaller than the massive submarine-launched torpedoes found belowdecks.

Dirk and Summer stared at the monitor, straining to see evidence of additional armament. But no other weaponry was visible. Dirk turned and noticed Summer peering at her watch, grimly cognizant of each minute that passed.

“Let's keep going. There should be at least one more plane in here,” Dirk said, trying to keep her mind off the inevitable. The ROV again moved through a vacant compartment before emerging into the next hangar section. Seconds later, the tail and fuselage of a second Seiran bomber emerged into view, complete with folded wings. Just beyond was its matching pair of floats, strapped to the deck by cables. An assortment of wall-mounted tool bins followed and then twenty feet of empty space.
Snoopy
finally bumped up against the giant round hatch door that led to the submarine's forward deck.

“Well, that's it,” Dirk said solemnly. “We've covered the length of the hangar and no sign of any aerial bombs other than the torpedoes.”

Summer said nothing for a moment, subconsciously biting her lower lip in dejection. “Well . . . there was no indication of a forced entry anywhere, nor did the silt appear to have been disturbed anytime recently. Perhaps they were destroyed in the torpedo blast?”

“Could be. There's still a small section of hangar behind us we could take a look at.”

Dirk quietly steered
Snoopy
back toward the submersible, reeling in its dangling electronic power cable while it progressed. The cockpit fell silent as brother and sister contemplated their predicament. Dirk silently cursed their bad luck and failure to locate the aerial bombs. As the ROV passed the second plane's fuselage and approached the first plane's set of pontoons, a quizzical look fell over Summer's face.