Black Wind dp-18

by Clive Cussler

  Pitt felt a little like Ezra Lee on the Turtle. The Revolutionary War volunteer had attempted to sink a British warship in David Bushnell's small wooden submarine by drilling a hole in the side and attaching a mine. Though the attempt failed, the Turtle would be remembered in history as the first submarine ever used in combat. With the benefit of propulsion, Pitt backed the Badger away twenty feet and adjusted his depth slightly, then reversed the thrusters and charged into the column again. Once more, the probe tore through the outer wall of the column, leaving a neat round hole for the seawater to pour into.

  Though abjectly crude, Pitt's mad ploy had an element of simple genius to it. He calculated that if there was no way to stop the rocket from lifting off, then, perhaps, there was a way to change its intended destination. By creating an imbalance in the platform, he might at least angle the rocket off its intended flight path. On such a short flight, the rocket's guidance system would not have sufficient time to fully correct the deviation and could miss its intended target by miles. And there was no doubt that the Achilles' heel of the platform at launch were the rear support columns. With the rocket standing vertically at the extreme rear edge of the platform, the Odyssey had to maintain a careful balance to handle the uneven weight distribution across the entire platform. An active trim-and-heel system utilized ballast tanks in the columns and pontoons to maintain stability, managed by six large ballast pumps. By flooding the rear support columns, there was a chance of destabilizing the launch deck. For Pitt, it would be a desperate race against the ballast pumps to create a material imbalance.

  Like a passenger on a carnival ride gone amok, Pitt was violently thrown about the submersible as he rammed into the column time and time again. Electronic equipment was jarred from its mounts, crashing and flying about his feet with each impact. The nose section of the submersible soon became battered after repeated collisions with the column wall and small rivulets of salt water began streaming into the interior through the damaged seams. But none of this mattered to Pitt. The risk to himself and the submersible was the last concern on his mind as the seconds to launch ticked down. One more time, he flung the force of the submersible against the support column, poking a hole in its surface like a rampant mosquito, the jab not drawing blood but letting in a flood of water.

  After more than a dozen strikes at the starboard column, Pitt spun the leaking Badger around and raced toward the rear port support. Glancing at his Doxa watch, he calculated there was less than two minutes before liftoff. With a towering crash, he slammed into the other support column, driving the probe to its base and further crumbling the nose of the submersible. More water began leaking into the interior but Pitt ignored it. With salt water sloshing around his feet, he calmly reversed thrust and backed away for another stab at the column. As he lined up for another assault, he wondered if his actions were the futile gesture of an underwater Don Quixote charging at an errant windmill.

  Unknown to Pitt, his very first blow on the starboard support column had activated one of the ballast pumps. As the number of holes and the amount of inrushing water increased, additional pumps were activated, until all six pumps were engaged. The pumps operated at the base of the columns, which were already submerged some forty feet under the water. While the automated ballast system easily kept each pontoon level with one another side by side, there was only limited means of maintaining balance fore and aft. With the water level rising rapidly in the stern support columns, it didn't take long before Pitt's drilling overwhelmed the rear ballast pumps. The sinking stern of the platform created a programming dilemma for the automated stabilization system. Under normal conditions, the trim-and-heel system would compensate the aft list by flooding the forward compartments and lowering the overall platform depth. But the platform was in launch position and had already been flooded to launching depth. Ballasting the platform lower, the computer knew, risked damaging the low-hanging thrust deflectors. In a handful of nanoseconds, the computer program reviewed its software logic for priority actions. The results came back unambiguous. During a designated launch countdown, the stabilization system was to maintain launch depth as its first priority. The sinking aft columns would be ignored.

  Aboard the Koguryo, a red warning light began blinking id the launch control room with less than two minutes to go. A bespectacled engineer studied the platform stabilization warning for moment, then jotted down some notations and briskly stepped over to Ling.

  “Mr. Ling, we have a platform stabilization warning,” he reportec “What is the deviation?” Ling asked hurriedly.

  “An aft list of three degrees.”

  “That is inconsequential,” he replied, brushing off the engineer.

  Turning to Tongju, who stood at his side, he said, “A list of five degrees or less is no cause for concern.”

  Tongju could almost taste the results of the launch now. There could be no turning back now.

  “Do not halt the launch for any reason,” he hissed at Ling in a tense voice. The chief engineer gritted his teeth and nodded, then stared nervously at the waiting rocket that stood shimmering on the video screen.

  The interior of the Badger was a jumbled mess of tools, computer parts, and interior pieces that sloshed back and forth across the floor with each jerk of the sub. Pitt remained oblivious to the carnage as he rammed the submersible against the platform column for the umpteenth time. Seawater slapped at his calves as he braced himself for yet another collision, listening for the warning barn of the core probe as it punched into the column side. Thrown harshly forward at impact, he detected the smell of burned wiring as yet another electrical component shorted out from saltwater immersion. Pitt's hammering had turned the submersible into a shattered hulk of its former self. The rounded exterior bow had been pounded nearly flat, its coating of glittery red paint roughly scraped away from the repeated blows. The coring probe was bent and twisted like a piece of- licorice and barely clung to the Badger by a pair of mangled brace supports. Inside, the lights flickered, the water level rose, and the propulsion motors began dying one by one. Pitt could feel the life ebbing from the submersible as he listened to the groans and gurgles of the flailing machine. As he tried to reverse the thrusters and back away from the column, a new sound struck his ears. It was a deep rushing noise emanating far above his head.

  To the casual observer, the first sign of an imminent rocket blast off the Sea Launch platform is the roaring rush of fresh water as it is pumped into the deluge system. At T-5 seconds, a veritable flood of dampening water is released into the flame trench positioned beneath the launchpad. The effect of the massive water dousing is to lessen the thrust exhaust effects to the platform, and, more important, minimize potential acoustic damage to the payload from the maelstrom at launch.

  At T-3 seconds, the Zenit rocket begins groaning and stirring as its internal mechanisms are activated and the massive rocket comes to life. Inside its metal skin, a high-speed turbine pump begins force-feeding the volatile liquid propellant through an injector into the rocket engine's four combustion chambers. Inside each chamber, an igniter is activated, detonating the propellant in what amounts to a controlled explosion. The exhaust from the fiery detonation, seeking the path of least resistance, comes blasting out of each chamber through a constricted nozzle at the base of the rocket. The power of thrust is generated by the purged exhaust, enabling the Zenit rocket to defy the force of gravity and lift itself off the launchpad.

  But the final three seconds of countdown are all critical. In those brief few seconds, onboard computer systems quickly monitor the engine start-up, checking propellant mixture, flow rates, ignition temperature, and a host of other mechanical readings affecting engine burn. If a significant deviation is discovered in any of the engine parameters, the automated control system takes over, shutting down the engine and scrubbing the launch. A reinitialization of the entire launch process is then required, which may take upward of five days before another launch can be attempted.

  Ling igno
red the video screen of the Zenit at the launch tower and instead stared at a computer display of critical measurements as the final seconds of the launch countdown ticked toward zero. At T-1 second, a row of green lights burst onto the screen and Ling allowed himself a slight breath of relief.

  “We have main engine thrust up!” he shouted aloud as the display told him the computers were ramping up the rocket's RD-171 engine to maximum launch thrust. Every eye in the room turned to the video screen as the propellant floodgates were opened and the fuel burst through the rocket's engine in a torrent. For a long second, the rocket sat still on the pad as the fiery exhaust burst from its nozzles, the flames licking the water deluge and spraying a thick cloud of white smoke beneath the platform. Then, with a burgeoning burst of power, the Zenit surged up off the pad. The launch tower clamps fell away as the white rocket, erupting with 1.8 million pounds of thrust, climbed up past the tower and into the sky with a blinding glare and deafening roar.

  A cheer rang through the launch control center as the engineers watched the Zenit rise successfully off the platform. Ling broke into a broad smile as the rocket climbed higher, grinning good-naturedly at Tongju. Kang's henchman simply nodded back in satisfaction.

  At the far side of the bay, the bespectacled engineer who monitored the platform continued to stare mesmerized at the video image of the rocket as it climbed into the crisp blue sky. Oblivious to him was the computation on his computer monitor, which showed that the platform stabilization deviation had continued to rise, creeping past fifteen degrees in the last seconds prior to launch.

  Fifteen feet beneath the water's surface, Pitt's ears were bleeding from the acoustical barrage. What started with the sound of a distant freight train had rumbled into the bombardment of a thousand erupting volcanoes as the Zenit's engine reached full thrust. The deafening sound, Pitt knew, was only a warning of the real savagery to come. The building force of the rocket's exhaust was deflected into the flame trench, where thousands of gallons of water dampened the inferno. The blasting force of the exhaust was little repressed, however, gathering into a steaming cloud of fury that proceeded past the deflectors to the open sea below the platform, where it pounded the water like a sledgehammer.

  Positioned almost directly beneath the launchpad, the Badger was pummeled like a small toy, surging twenty feet down in a blast of bubbles and vapor. Pitt felt as if he were trapped in a washing machine as the submersible was tossed violently about. The seams of the vessel twisted and groaned from the force of the surge and the interior lights flickered from the shaking. A loose battery pack bounced off Pitt's head, gashing his temple as the submersible nearly turned turtle in the bellowing turbulence. Shaking off the blow, he discovered a new worry when he braced a hand against the bulkhead during a side roll. To his surprise, the bulkhead was searing hot. He quickly pulled his hand away, cursing as he shook it in the air to cool. A sickening thought drew over him as he felt a heavy mist of sweat dripping down his forehead and realized the water sloshing at his feet was rapidly warming. The rocket's exhaust was creating a boiling tempest around him, which might poach him alive before the rocket cleared the platform.

  A second, more powerful surge stuck the submersible as the rocket's full thrust came to bear. The force of the current pushed the Badger charging through the water in a contorted angle, nearly on its side. Pitt clung to the controls for balance, unable to see ahead through the turbulent water, which offered no visibility. Had he an inkling where the submersible was headed, he might have braced himself for the impact. But the collision came without warning.

  Ripping with the surge like a raft down the Colorado River, the submersible tore head-on into the side of the Odyssey's flooded port pontoon. A metallic clap thundered through the water as the submersible smacked against the immovable hull. Pitt was jerked from the pilot's seat and flung against the forward bulkhead amid a rain of loosened electronic debris as the interior lights fell black and a series of hissing sounds erupted throughout the compartment. A grinding noise told Pitt that the Badger was sliding along the pontoon until another clang erupted and the submersible tilted over to one side and jerked to a sudden stop. As Pitt collected his senses, he realized that the submersible was wedged against the platform hull from the force of the rushing water, perhaps entangled in one of the pontoon's drive propellers. Turned on its side against the huge pontoon, there was no way that Pitt could open the entry hatch, dare he try to flood the interior and escape to the surface. With a sickening awe, he realized that if he wasn't soon baked alive he would face a swift death by drowning trapped inside the leaking submersible.

  Six thousand miles away, Kang smiled weakly as he watched a satellite feed of the rocket bursting off the deck of the Odyssey.

  “We have opened the genie's bottle,” he said quietly to Kwan, sitting across his desk. “Let us hope he follows his master's wishes.”

  Tongju watched intently as the Zenit climbed up past the launch tower with a thundering reverberation that could be felt even inside the bowels of the Koguryo's control center. A lingering applause still rang through the control center as the jubilant launch crew cheered the rocket's ascent. Ling afforded himself a wide smile as the computer display told him that the Zenit's engine was operating at full thrust. He peered at Tongju, who returned the glance by nodding tight-lipped in approval.

  “The mission is still far from over,” Ling said, visibly relieved that the rocket was finally under way. But the riskiest phase of the mission was behind them now, he knew. Once the rocket was ignited, he had little control, if any, over the outcome of the mission. With a quiet uneasiness, he settled in as a spectator to monitor the balance of the flight.

  From the cockpit of the Icarus, Al, Dirk, and Jack watched with dread as the blast of the rocket shook across the open sea. Just seconds before, Giordino had eased the struggling airship down onto a flat clearing atop Santa Barbara Island, where the relieved Sea Launch crew quickly jumped out of the overcrowded gondola. Captain Chris-tiano hesitated at the cockpit doorway, stopping to shake hands.

  “Thank you for saving my crew,” Christiano said through a grim face pained with disgrace for losing command of the Odyssey.

  “Now that we can get airborne again, we'll make sure they don't get away,” Dirk replied with shared anger. He then pointed out the cockpit windshield toward an approaching blue dot on the horizon.

  “The Deep Endeavor's on her way. Get your men down to the shoreline and prepare to transfer aboard.”

  Christiano nodded then stepped off the gondola, leaving it empty save for Jack.

  “All ashore,” he uttered into the cockpit.

  “Then let's get this gasbag back into the sky,” Giordino grunted, turning the propeller ducts upward and advancing the throttles. With roughly eight thousand pounds of human cargo suddenly off-loaded, the blimp rose easily into the air. As Giordino aimed the airship back toward the Odyssey, their eyes collectively caught the first billows of smoke that indicated the launch was initiated.

  The fuming exhaust of the burning liquid oxygen and kerosene propellant bursting against the platform's water dampener system created a massive white cloud of vapor that quickly enveloped the entire platform and surrounding sea. For what seemed like minutes, the Zenit stood still at the launch tower. To the men in the airship, there was a hopeful moment where it appeared that the rocket was not going to leave the pad, but finally the tall white rocket began to rise, its blinding exhaust glaring like a fireball. Even a half-dozen miles across the water, they could hear the sharp crackling sound of the combusting fuel as the hot explosive thrust met the cool surrounding air, creating the echo of an ax ripping through a pine log.

  Though it was a powerful, almost beautiful sight, Dirk felt a sickening knot in his stomach as he watched the rocket ascend. The glistening white missile would host the most savage terrorist attack the world had ever seen, resulting in a horrifying death for millions. And he had failed to stop it. As if that was not punishment enough, he kne
w that Sarah was somewhere in the target area of Los Angeles and might very well be one of the strike's first victims. And then there was the fate of his father. Glancing forlornly at Giordino, he saw a grimace on the old Italian's face the likes of which he had never seen before. It was not a look of anger with the terrorists but an expression of concern for the loss of a lifelong friend. As much as Dirk did not want to face it, he knew that amid the noxious inferno of the rocket's blastoff his father was somewhere on the platform fighting for his survival, or worse.

  Aboard the Deep Endeavor, Summer felt the same pangs of dread swell through her body. Dirk had radioed the ship with news that the Sea Launch crew had been rescued, but also that their father was somewhere aboard the platform. When Delgado was the first to observe the rocket igniting, she thought her legs had turned to rubber.

  Grasping the captain's chair for support, she stared stoically toward the platform as tears welled in her eyes. All fell silent on the bridge around her as they watched in disbelief at the rocket as it surged off the launchpad. As one, their thoughts were on the fate of the NUMA leader, lost somewhere in the rocket's white plume of smoke. “It can't be,” Burch muttered in shock. “It just can't be.”

  Inside the Badger, the temperature was unbearable. The superheated metal skin created a sauna effect with the water that was rising inside. Pitt could feel himself on the verge of passing out from the heat as he clawed his way back to the tilted pilot's seat. A handful of lights still blinked on the control panel, indicating that the emergency life-support system still had power, but the propulsion systems were long expired. Though his body was numb from the heat, his mind quickly calculated that he had one chance to break free from the grip of the pontoon. Through sweat-laden eyes, he reached forward and mashed a control button market ballast pump. Then, grasping the control yoke, he flung himself backward into the rising water, using his full weight and remaining strength to yank the sub's rudder against the burgeoning current. The rudder blade protested at first, then swung slowly against the rushing water, fighting against Pitt's every movement. With muscles aching and spots appearing before his eyes, Pitt clung desperately to the yoke, fighting not to pass out. For a second, nothing happened. All Pitt could hear was the churning torrent of the water rushing against the sub, while the temperature inside continued to rise. Then, almost imperceptibly, a grinding noise struck his ears. Gradually, the noise grew louder, matching the sound he had heard before. A faint smile crossed Pitt's lips as he fought to maintain consciousness. Hang on, he told himself, gripping the yoke tightly. Just hang on.