Flight of the Condor

by Richard P. Henrick

  No sooner had they arrived at port then preparations for reloading the Martin had had to be initiated.

  Barely two hours had passed before the Razorback had been once again knifing its way through the fog shrouded waters.

  Dawn was just lighting the ghostly horizon, when they had been informed of the tsunami alert. Since standard operating procedure would send them to sea to meet the wave anyway, they had decided to continue on with their mission as planned. Fourteen and a half miles west of Arguello, the Marlin had been dropped off. An hour later, the Razorback had attained its current position.

  A slight shift of the deck beneath him diverted Exeter’s attention back to the bulkhead-mounted clock. He noted the time, 10:00 a.m.” as the firm voice of the seaman assigned to monitor the comm line broke the relative silence that had prevailed.

  “Sonar reports the receipt of an unusually loud tidal surge topside!”

  Instantly knowing what this meant, Exeter called out calmly, “Brace yourselves, gentlemen. It’s here.”

  No sooner were these words delivered than the Razorback violently lurched forward, as the tsunami sucked back the waters that lay before it. This was followed by a massive concussion that sent the submarine reeling on its starboard side.

  Thrown to his right, the Captain strained to remain standing. Held upright only by the grip his hands had on the bulkhead security railing, Exeter felt the cold steel bite into his palms. The lights overhead momentarily blinked off, then on again, as the sub was tossed in the opposite direction. This time the Captain’s grip failed, and he went slamming into the navigation table. The powerful grasp of his XO kept him from falling down completely. Unfortunately, this was not the case with Lieutenant Willingham, who was thrown to the deck immediately beside the harness-secured helmsman.

  The deck canted again to the right, yet this time the angle was much less severe. Only then did the straining hull finally stabilize.

  By the time the deck had settled beneath them, Willingham had already lifted himself up from his prone position. As he brushed aside his blond, wavy hair, it was evident that there was more injury to the young lieutenant’s pride than to his body. Quick to station himself back at the periscope well, he lost no time in regaining his composure.

  “Damage Control, I need an immediate report on the condition of the boat! Helmsman, how’s she responding?”

  As the control room drifted back into normalcy, Exeter was aware of a shooting pain in his right knee.

  Fighting to ignore it, he limped over to the OOD’s side. Only when he was certain that the Razorback had ridden out the concussion with no serious injuries or mechanical failures did he turn back to the navigation station There the XO swiftly intercepted him.

  “Are you okay. Skipper? That was a pretty wicked knock you took on that table.”

  Rubbing his already swelling knee-joint, Exeter fought to control the pain.

  “I’ll live, Mr. Benton, though if it wasn’t for your strong arms, things could have been a lot worse.”

  The XO could see that the Captain was hurting, and found it impossible to hide his concern.

  “I think that it’s best if you got off that leg for a while, Skipper. Some aspirin wouldn’t hurt either.”

  Knowing that the XO was probably right, Exeter sighed.

  “I’ll allow myself that luxury only when we know for certain whether or not the Marlin rode out that wave safely.”

  “She was a huge one, all right,” offered Benton.

  “I never dreamed it would touch us down here.”

  “Neither did I,” said Exeter grimly.

  “Now, let’s just pray that Will Pierce put that DSRV in the deepest damn hole that he could find.”

  Only a few seconds after the tsunami passed over the Razorback, it bit into the waters where the Marlin was attempting to hide from its fury. Even though the DSRV was at a depth of 900 feet, the wave’s powerful currents lifted the thirty-six-ton vessel as though it were a mere feather in the wind.

  Commander Will Pierce had been expecting the worst, and he valiantly fought to guide the mini-sub from the tidal surge that soon had them in tow. Much as an experienced swimmer meets a riptide, Pierce attempted to steer the Marlin in a lateral course. This routine tactic was just showing some merit when an agitated torrent of sea water struck their hull and sent the vessel tumbling on its side.

  Shocked by the unexpected strength of this surge, the crew was caught totally by surprise. As the lights flickered, and finally faded out altogether, Pierce and his copilot, Lieutenant Lance Blackmore, felt their safety harnesses bite into their shoulders. Behind them, Ensign Louis Marvin tumbled backwards, and only escaped serious injury by grabbing hold of one of the bench-posts that lined the rear pressure capsule.

  In the ensuing blackness, Pierce groped for the controls. Conscious that the vessel’s bow was abruptly pointed downwards, he struggled to re trim the Marlin.

  When his hands finally grasped the ballast vents, he activated the proper switches even without the benefit of light. A feeling of sickening dread filled his gut when the familiar rush of venting sea water failed to meet his ears. Again he hit the switch, yet still the ballast mechanism would not trigger. He knew this could mean only one thing. The Martin had lost the use of its hydraulic system. Without it, they would continue to be pulled downward, unable to counter the force of the current that now had them solidly in its grasp.

  Seated on Pierce’s right, the DSRV’s copilot was also quite aware of their precarious trim. With limbs heavy and his pulse beating madly, Blackmore fought to contain the panic that was rising to possess him.

  Well aware that his first responsibility was to reset the circuit breaker to provide them with lighting, Blackmore struggled to raise his right arm upwards. As if caught in a recurring nightmare, the young lieutenant knew that this was no mere dream. His life, and that of two others, could very possibly rest on his current efforts. Oblivious to the terror that called him to escape in a tight, embryonic ball, Blackmore summoned his every last ounce of will, and somehow prevailed. His right index finger hit the plastic circuit breaker, and almost instantaneously the compartment filled with glowing, blessed light.

  It took several seconds for his pupils to adjust to the illumination, and when they eventually did, he looked almost shamefully to his left. Expecting to meet the Commander’s disappointed stare, Blackmore was surprised to find Pierce cowering in panic.

  Soaked in sweat and with limbs quivering, the grayhaired veteran officer sat rigidly forward, his eyes locked on the boat’s depth gauge. Blackmore’s own gut soured as he realized that they were in the midst of a spiraling, uncontrollable dive. Showing a depth well beyond twelve hundred feet at the moment, the gauge was spinning ever downward without apparent constraint.

  His mouth was dry and throat tight, yet somehow Lance managed to speak.

  “Commander Pierce, what in God’s name is happening?”

  When this query didn’t even produce a blink in response, Blackmore screamed out desperately, “Jesus, Commander, pull us out of here!”

  Pierce still didn’t budge, and his copilot could think of but a single course of action. Unbuckling his safely harness, he strained to his left and reached out for the steering yoke. Just as he was about to grasp this metallic handle, Pierce came alive and brushed his hand away.

  “It’s useless,” observed the commander, his usually powerful voice subdued and cracking.

  “The moment that second concussion struck, we lost all hydraulics.”

  To demonstrate this point. Pierce pulled the yoke back into his lap with only a single finger. Completely ignoring this movement, the depth gauge continued its mad spin downwards.

  “There’s got to be something that we can do!”

  countered Blackmore.

  “How about jettisoning the emergency mercury-filled ballast tank?”

  “Not without hydraulics,” returned the commander weakly.

  Still shocked with Pierce’s
state of mind. Blackmore forgot his own panic as his being struggled for survival. Reattaching his harness, he hastily scanned the console before him. With a desperate coolness that he was only now discovering, the copilot activated the vessel’s sonar and triggered its bathymeter.

  It didn’t take long for these systems to chatter alive, and he soon had an accurate picture of just what lay beneath them.

  Three hundred and seventy-five feet below their hull was the jagged summit of this portion of Arguello Canyon. A thousand feet below this ridge was the floor of the valley itself. Even if they could make it to the bottom there without smashing into the surrounding volcanic walls, it would put them at the extreme threshold of their operational diving depth. Yet, without any effective means of steering the Marlin, there was little chance that they’d ever escape the razor sharp precipices that were all too quickly approaching.

  They were less than 100 feet from the first of these serrated ledges, when a voice groggily called out from the rear pressure capsule.

  “What in the hell is going on up there?”

  Having completely forgotten about their ensign, Blackmore turned around to address him.

  “We’ve lost our hydraulics, Louis. Right now, we’re in the midst of an uncontrollable dive, with the walls of Arguello Canyon directly beneath us.”

  “Wonderful,” returned the ensign, without the least hint of panic.

  “Anyone think of checking the aft hydraulic power unit?”

  “Go for it, Louis!” replied Blackmore.

  “But make it snappy. Time is definitely not on our side.”

  Though Lance Blackmore had pretty well given up hope by now, there was always the slim chance that the ensign would stumble onto something. Consigning himself to meet death in the bravest manner possible, he took three deep breaths and turned to meet the glance of the man who sat beside him.

  By this time, Pierce had regained control of his nerves. His stare was clear, his own breath steady, as he looked into the eyes of the young man who sat on his right. Appearing calm and collected, Lieutenant Blackmore glowed with an inner peace and maturity that had been absent beforehand. Invigorated by this show of strength, Pierce bravely smiled. Blackmore returned this grin, and the two officers found themselves closely linked by a common fate.

  For men who daily risked their lives, panic was no stranger. Yet a thin line lay between those who controlled this natural anxiety and those who let it get the best of them. Both officers had seen each other in the midst of such an inner conflict. Both had also been around to watch their coworker conquer this oldest of fears. The result was a bond that not even death could fracture.

  Less than thirty feet from a series of needle-sharp volcanic pinnacles, the Marlin shuddered in a sudden spasm. A long-absent electronic whine accompanied this movement, and Pierce knew instinctively what this meant. With a familiar delicacy, he reached forward to regrasp the steering yoke. His pulse quickened as this time his touch met resistance. Hydraulic pressure had been miraculously restored!

  Conscious of just what was occurring beside him, Blackmore snapped into action.

  “Turn hard aport to bearing two-seven-zero I” With one eye on the bathymeter, the young lieutenant determined the course that would keep them from the jaws of death. Trusting his judgment implicitly, Pierce followed his directions without question.

  The Marlin’s hydraulics were still somewhat sluggish to respond, yet they provided just enough control to allow them to miss the first series of obstacles. As the ledge of rock passed only inches to their right, Blackmore couldn’t help but express his relief.

  “All right, Louis! What in hell did you do back there?”

  The ensign replied boldly, “It just ain’t my time to go yet, Lieutenant. Fortunately, after a good oldfashioned whack on the hydraulic pump, the good Lord concurred.”

  “Well, don’t celebrate too prematurely,” interrupted Pierce.

  “Though we’ve got our lateral control back, I still can’t brake us from this dive. Lieutenant, what’s it look like beneath us?”

  Blackmore responded while rechecking the bathymeter.

  “We’re angling in between the canyon’s walls now. The bottom still lies some seven hundred feet away. If we do reach it, that will put us at least twenty-five feet below our depth threshold, sir.”

  “I figured as much,” returned Pierce solemnly.

  “Yet until we get our venting systems back on line, the Marlin’s just going to have to take it. Seal her up tight, gentlemen. We’re about to see what this baby’s really made of.”

  The depth gauge continued to register their descent, and the hull creaked and moaned in response.

  A tense silence prevailed, as Pierce did his best to slow the speed of the drop. Guiding the DSRV in a wide, spiraling circle, he was able to brake the rate of descent rather drastically.

  “I hope you’ve picked out a nice, soft, sandy spot for us to touch down on,” said Pierce to his copilot.

  Blackmore still had his doubts as to whether the Marlin’s hull would even get them to that point.

  Suddenly Marvin’s voice sounded.

  “Try those vents again, Commander!”

  Immediately reaching forward. Pierce hit the ballast trigger. The familiar gush of venting sea water met their ears, and the Marlin shuddered in response.

  With the assistance of the vessel’s thrusters, the level of descent was gradually eased, until the DSRV lay hovering, level in the water.

  “Glory be!” sighed Pierce, who only then took the time to wipe off the sweat that had gathered on his forehead.

  “And will you look at that! We’ve got a whole seventy feet of ocean left until we hit bottom. I knew we’d make this depth. What’s down there anyway. Lieutenant?”

  Blackmore’s glance was ri voted on the sonar screen.

  “Good thing we didn’t hit here, sir. Though it’s certainly flat, the ocean bottom seems to be comprised of solid rock.”

  Pierce shrugged his shoulders.

  “Since the fates took us down this far, how about taking a closer look at it? Another fifty feet or so won’t hurt us.”

  Offering no objections of his own, Blackmore hit the Marlin’s bow spotlights, as Pierce gently directed the vessel downward. After tilting the video camera toward the sea floor, Lance bent over to peer into the lap-mounted viewing port.

  At first he could see nothing but the swirling, turbid waters themselves. Even at this great depth, the thick, primordial ooze had been stirred up by the tsunami’s passage. Only when Pierce lowered them another five feet did the sea floor become visible.

  Formed from a series of flat, smoothly hewn rocks, the ocean bottom there looked more like some sort of cobblestone pathway. Lance Blackmore couldn’t help but make this association as his eyes alertly scanned the depths.

  “It almost looks like there’s a manmade road down here,” observed the lieutenant, who realized the absurdity of such a statement.

  Quick to study his own viewing port, Pierce shook his head in wonder.

  “I’ll be damned, it sure as hell does. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.

  What’s our current heading?”

  Blackmore checked their course and answered, “We’re cruising due west, sir.”

  “I’d like to see how far this phenomenon extends, Lieutenant. Zap the waters with our sonar, and see what it looks like ahead of us.”

  While Blackmore got to work on this. Ensign Marvin snuggled in between them.

  “What’s so interesting, Commander?”

  Without looking up from his viewing column, Pierce answered, “It almost looks like we found a section of the freeway grid that the auto club missed on their maps. What do you make of it, Ensign?”

  Swinging the column over for Louis to have a look, Pierce waited for the ensign’s response.

  “It certainly does, Commander. If this is a byproduct of mother nature, it’s awfully freaky. Those stones down there sure look like they
were placed by hand.”

  “We’re picking up something else straight ahead of us, sir,” interrupted Lance.

  “It seems to be some sort of rock formation. Sonar shows that it’s semicircular in shape and comprised of six separate, large stones, approximately seven feet tall and three feet wide. It’s still a good mile distant.”

  “Anything else out there?” queried Pierce curiously.

  “That seems to be it, Commander. Until you reach the canyon’s walls, it’s as flat as a pancake out there.”

  As he took this in, Pierce’s brow tightened.

  “Then let’s check this formation out firsthand.”

  Pierce opened the Marlin’s throttle, and the vessel surged forward. Still hunched over the viewing column, Marvin scanned the stone thoroughfare that continued to stretch out beneath them. Though some of it was covered with sediment, most of it was unusually clear. He supposed that it could have been only recently swept clean by the deep currents which accompanied the tidal wave. Yet this certainly didn’t explain how it had been formed in the first place. The one thing that he was certain of was that this was no freak of nature. The stones were too uniformly cut and laid out too perfectly for this to be true. This meant that it had to be the product of man.

  With what little Louis knew of underwater geology, he supposed that this canyon could have once been part of the mainland. Most likely, an earthquake had caused its submergence many centuries before. Yet this still left in question who had originally designed it. Louis could only guess that it had been built by the ancient Spaniards, who had first visited there in the 1500’s.

  “We’re two hundred yards in front of the formation, Commander.”

  Blackmore’s words caused Louis to sit up, and Pierce slowed the craft to half speed. The steady hum of the Marlin’s single propeller decreased proportionately.

  Since both officers were busy at the controls initiating their approach, Louis turned his attention back to the viewing column. Angling the tilt of the camera to scan that section of ocean directly before them, he focused in on a sight that would stay with him forever.

  Projecting from the seafloor were six massive monoliths of smooth stone. Appearing like those of Ston henge, the monoliths were equally spaced in such a way to allow the stone roadway to neatly bisect them.