by Hamric, Zack
After a few minutes, the flow of water began to slow as the pressure began to equalize. Glancing toward the bow, Tasha was standing in water up to her chest, looking a little scared, but being careful to hold her flashlight clear of the water. I gave her a quick thumbs up and opened the bulkhead hatch completely. Thirty seconds to hyperventilate and flush the CO2 from my lungs and then I ducked into the water leading to the stern with my flashlight.
Thirty feet to the rear, I could see the outline of the hatch just over the diesel engine. It looked like four dogs to hold the hatch in place. Maybe twenty seconds to loosen each dog. First three-opened in record time. The fourth-stuck- maybe from the concussion of the outside blast. I had been down for a little over a minute. The first strident voices of panic began sounding in my brain. No time for thinking-I needed air now as the building CO2 in my lungs increased my need to take a breath. Reversed direction heading back to the bow of the boat when my flashlight failed me. Still OK-just head for the faint pool of light that glowed faintly through the water.
Two more kicks and upwards toward to where I thought the surface of the water in the compartment should be. My mistake-banged the hell out of my head on an overhanging valve and felt darkness closing in around the edges of consciousness. The best feeling in the world was Tasha’s hand reaching out and dragging me to the surface for that first breath of air.
“You OK?” she asked with a look of concern mixed with fear.
“Sure, just fine. Let me catch my breath and I’ll try it again,” I said laying half in the water trying to keep my head from spinning while I sucked in lungfuls of the stale air. “I need some kind of lever, maybe two feet long. Feel around and let’s see if there’s anything we can use.” After a few fruitless tries, Tasha finally came up with a piece of stainless steel pipe that had probably been left over during the construction of the submarine.
“How’s this?” she asked.
“As good as I could hope for,” I said mustering a smile that didn’t convey my fears at taking the long swim back to the hatch. “The other problem is I need your light-it’s pitch black back there and I can’t find the hatch without it.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Just don’t waste anytime up top sipping a mai tai. I’m really ready to get out of here…”. Her voice trailed off when the lighting in the cabin flickered and died as the batteries succumbed to the effects of the saltwater.
“I’ll make it quick,” I said turning back to the dark hole in the stern. Three quick breaths and ducked under water swimming hard for the hatch. If this light went out, we were done-no chance of finding the hatch in the darkness much less figuring out how to open it. Hatch just overhead.
Slipped the pipe over the end of the hatch dog, braced both feet and pulled. No movement-and the flashlight chose that moment to go out leaving me in the dark once again. Panic this time-the adrenaline flowing through every cell as I yanked the pipe like a man possessed. Felt the pipe bending, but the hatch dog turned at the same time. A couple of bubbles as the hatch opened to the Caribbean. I wasted no time-still had eighty feet to swim to the surface.
Control the fear. Remember that the compressed air I had been breathing in the sub would explode my lungs if I didn’t exhale on the way up. Released a steady stream of bubbles and saw the surface tantalizingly close as I moved upward. Two more strokes and I broke through the surface. Big shuddering breaths as I sucked in the clean salt air.
I was about ten feet behind the stern of the lobster boat I had explored the night before. My good fortune for a change-there was a permanently mounted dive ladder on the stern of the boat. Hand over hand, I cautiously climbed until I could peek over the rail. The first sight was blood running down the walkway on the starboard side and the feet of what I presumed to be a body just visible near the bow. The boat was a mess-splintered wood and glass scattered over the deck attested to one hell of a fight. No way for me to know who the winners and losers were and how they would react to my sudden appearance.
Slowly edged my way forward until I could hear the sound of voices coming from the wheelhouse. The body lying beside the door was clearly the source of the blood covering the deck. He still had an AK47 lying beside his body. His loss-my gain. I picked it up, racked the slide back and saw a round chambered and more in the magazine.
I liked surprise. You can have all the firepower in the world, but if someone sees you coming, they’ll often fight you anyway. In one smooth flow of motion I jerked open the door, took one step inside, leveled my weapon, and waited. It was almost an omniscient view with a piece of my mind watching the scene unfold. The room was a slaughterhouse, with four or five bodies scattered where they had met their violent end. There was one man across the room with a pistol leveled at a small group of three other men. The only sound was the buzzing of the flies feeding on their newfound feast. The man with the gun turned his head toward me, smiled and exclaimed, “Kyle, Thank God you’re here!” Then he shot me.
I had no conscious memories of being shot during other times in my life, but from the dimpled scars I saw every morning in the mirror, assumed it wasn’t the first time it had occurred. I’ll never know if he rushed the shot or lost his footing in the bloody mess that was covering the floor, but instead of the center mass shot he had planned, the round drilled through the fleshy part of my shoulder.
My reaction was instinctive. I squeezed the trigger and watched as the remaining rounds in the AK stitched through his body. The four or five rounds in the magazine discharged, I stood swaying in the wheelhouse holding an empty weapon looking at the shocked expressions of the three survivors. “I sure hope you guys are friendly, because I’m really not in the mood to beat the hell out of all three of you.”
With that the rifle slipped from my bloodied fingers and I briefly slumped to the floor. When I woke, I was surrounded by two of the men while Renaldo, my friend from the night before worked on bandaging the wound in my shoulder.
“Es not bad,” Renaldo said. “Clean wound. Just be sore for few days.”
“How long was I out?”
“No more than a minute,” answered the tall guy who seemed to be in charge. “Probably just fainted from the shock. You look like you’ve been through it. By the way-I’m Miller.”
“I figured as much.” I nodded my head toward the guy I had just killed. “Lousy shot-he work for you guys?”
“Yeah. Name’s Davis. We’ve been looking for the guy who was the pipeline to Popov. Had no idea until he pulled a gun on us a few minutes ago. Oh, and this guy’s been chasing you all over Miami-name’s Rivera.”
“Let’s catch up later-you have a diving rig on this boat? Tasha is waiting down below,” I said to Reginaldo.
“Si, but you not able to dive with shoulder.”
“Watch me.” I stood and just as rapidly sat down when the room began to spin. “What about you guys-ever do any diving?”
The frozen look on their faces told the story. I looked at Reginaldo as he stripped off his shirt and began to put on his gear. “I thought you told me you couldn’t dive anymore?”
“The doctor-what do he know? My boat, the Liwa Mairin named after goddess of the deep. She protect me. And that lady too beautiful to die below.” With that he slipped on his fins, adjusted his facemask and dropped into the sea.
Finding the submarine was easy. He had almost dropped the anchor on it when he had located it on the depthfinder. In the crystal clear water, the open hatch was clearly visible at the stern of the submarine. After a couple of failed attempts, he gave up on trying to enter the confines of the hatch with the tank on his back. Not a concern-in the days when he dove, he could regularly dive to fifty or sixty feet on a single breathe and work under water for as long as three minutes. He strapped the tank to the side of the hatch and swam into the darkness with only the flashlight leading the way. Thirty feet-he reached the bulkhead door. Another few strokes and he could see his flashlight reflecting on the trapped air in the hull. Reginaldo broke the water
’s surface and found himself eye to eye with Tasha who seemed ready to crush his skull with the wrench clasped tightly in her hand.
“No Missy, I here to save you. Kyle, he send me.”
Tasha dropped the wrench, squeezed him around the neck and gave him a smile that lit up the dark confines of the cabin.
“There’s a problem-I can’t really swim.”
“Not a problem Missy. You hold breath for thirty seconds and I have scuba tank outside submarine.”
“OK. Let’s get it done.” Tasha took several deep breaths as she had watched Kyle do before and Reginaldo grabbed her by the hand and began guiding her through the flooded submarine. She was terrified, but instinctively knew she could trust Renaldo to get her safely to the surface. By the time she squeezed through the hatch, Renaldo had the mouthpiece of the regulator extended to her. She stuck it in her mouth, cleared it and greedily sucked in a mouthful of air.
Reginaldo ascended slowly with Tasha in tow. He couldn’t tell how long she had been at eighty feet, but knew the risk of a too rapid ascent without waiting for the bubbles in the bloodstream to dissipate. After a few minutes, they emerged to find an anxious group waiting to help them over the rail.
“Welcome back to the world,” I said giving her a hug with my one good arm. She smiled, grateful to feel the warm sun on her face again. The sound of a thud behind them attracted their attention. Reginaldo had fallen against the bulkhead and had a stunned look on his face.
His expression cleared for a moment and he whispered something about Liwa Mairin that sounded almost like a prayer with his face tilted upwards toward the sun. His eyes closed and one final breath eased from his chest.
“I can’t believe he died trying to save…” Tasha was interrupted by a whistling noise as a round from the deck gun of the Lucia Marie screamed in toward the ship.
Everyone froze for a moment as the shell exploded harmlessly twenty yards off the bow. “Everyone to the port side!” I yelled.
We all scrambled out of the wheelhouse to the port side to place the bulk of the ship between the incoming fire and us. The next round arrived on target ten seconds later. The wheelhouse disappeared in a fiery explosion of metal and glass. Rivera grabbed Miller who had almost been blown overboard from the concussion of the impact.
“We’ve got to get off this ship now. Everybody in the RIB!” I said. No one needed a second invitation. They quickly scrambled down the dive ladder and piled into the RIB low on the port side. “We have to wait for the next round to hit-can’t take the chance of us being hit by a stray round in open water. It takes about fifteen seconds for them to reload. We’ll take off in between shots.
The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as they anticipated the impact of the next high explosive round. We held our breath as we heard the whistle of the incoming round and then were pounded by the force of the concussion as it exploded through the starboard side and into the fuel tanks forward of the engine room. Miller wasted no time-the second the force of the explosion dissipated, he dropped the last line securing them and roared away from the Liwa Mairin just as a fountain of fire erupted from the ruptured fuel tanks. The RIB was racing full bore at sixty miles an hour within a couple of hundred yards.
“Miller, hold a course straight away from them for a few seconds,” I said. “We want to keep those gunners guessing. I’ll watch for a muzzle flash-when I tell you, turn hard to port.”
“OK, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” Miller said as he gripped the wheel while the veins in his temple throbbed with the strain.
“Hard to port!” I yelled as the flash bloomed on the foredeck of the Lucia Marie. Miller threw the wheel hard over at sixty miles an hour and the big RIB carved a path through the water like it was on rails. Five seconds later the round arrived in the spot they would have been had they continued their original course.
A few seconds later, another flash. “Hard to starboard!” No hesitation-Miller threw the wheel over and the passengers held on with a deaths grip as the centrifugal force tried to throw them into the sea.
I almost thought I could see the blur of the shell on its downward arc. It splashed down harmlessly a couple of hundred yards short of our position. I finally smiled and smacked Miller on the shoulder. “That’s what they deserve for using a piece of crap Soviet deck gun-range is only a little over seven thousand yards. Looks like we’re just outside of that.”
“Kyle, how can you know that?” asked Miller.
“I’m not sure-seems like most of my long-term memories are beginning to pop back into place. Still a little fuzzy, but the short term is still almost nil. In the meantime, it really pisses me off to have guys shooting artillery at me. Those guys,” I said pointing at the Lucia Marie that had just weighed anchor and was beginning to motor south, “are going to be stopped here and now.”
“I agree,” Miller said. “What do you have in mind?”
I pointed off the port bow. “The Dolce Vita is about a mile ahead-we need to drop by and pick up a couple of things.”
Within minutes we were bumping into the side of the Dolce Vita and tying fast to the rail. I scrambled aboard and rummaged around down below for a few minutes before reappearing loaded down with enough weapons to start a small war.
“Careful with this one,” I said handing over the XM25 Grenade Launcher to Miller.
“Very nice,” said Miller hefting the weapon as he examined it closely. “I assume the disaster you created outside of Fort Lauderdale was courtesy of this little toy?”
“That would be correct,” I said, handing over the other H&K, pistols and ammunition. “I think it’s time to pay our final respects to Escabado and company.”
“Agreed,” said Miller, “but keep in mind, we are federal agents-we do need to give these guys at least an option to surrender. On the other hand, if they resist, I have no problem buying them a one way ticket to hell.”
“I can work with that,” I shrugged. “Let’s go run these guys down.”
Miller gunned the big Mercury outboards and they rapidly began to close the six miles that separated them. “This looks fairly easy so far,” said Miller as he ran the boat hard over the waves toward the Lucia Marie. “The problem with their bow mounted deck gun is they can only fire forward and to the side, not to the rear.”
“That’s not exactly good news,” I remarked. “See-either a lookout saw us or they just picked us up on radar. They’re turning in a circle to port. They know they can’t outrun us, so now they have to stand and fight.”
“We’re a mile out now,” said Rivera. “What’s the plan?”
“It’s not like we’re dealing with a highly trained gun crew, they probably fired more rounds today than they have since the gun was installed. Has to be optical aiming only on a gun that old. I’m not even sure they can track us moving sideways at sixty miles an hour. So, run let’s like hell at an angle to the ship. When they fire, head straight for the ship until you see the gun crew is ready to fire again. I’ll call the shot and then you dodge to either port or starboard. They’ll have time for three shots at most before we’re too close for them to be depress the gun to track us.”
Miller looked back at Kyle. “I really had forgotten what a crazy bastard you are.”
I smiled while loading the first round in the XM25. “I’ll have to take your word for it, but sounds like you have me pegged. You ready? Looks like the gun crew is loading the first round.”
“Call it!” said Miller.
A couple of seconds later, “Firing!” I yelled, immediately followed by a hard turn to port by Miller. Almost immediately, there was a terrific explosion of water fifty yards away followed by the boom of the gun reverberating over the water. “Head for them again.”
Miller corrected his course and charged for the Lucia Marie again. Only a half mile away now. I kept calling out the progress of the gun crew. “Loading a round. Closing the breech. Gunner starting to track us. Change course!”
Miller snap
ped the boat over so hard that the rear almost broke free as he dodged to starboard. The round impacted the water no more than fifteen yards away and everyone aboard was soaked by the spray from the explosion. “A little too close on that one,” said Miller grimly as he corrected again and steered a course directly for their bow.
“Quarter mile now,” I called out. “Steer a little more to port-head directly for the hoist on deck. Hold your course.”
On board the Lucia Marie, Escabado screamed at the deck crew. “Keep firing! Why did you stop?”
“Jefe,” explained Pedroza. “We can’t shoot. They directly in line with our crane. We try to shoot, we hit the crane.”
“Everyone to the rail. I want these bastards stopped!” ranted Escabado as his face turned purple with rage and spittle flew from his lips.
“Nice call, Kyle,” said Rivera from his position on the .50 cal. “What next?”
“Looks like the crew is gathering below the bulwark on this side. Considering we’re basically driving a big rubber boat, why don’t you lay some rounds down to discourage them from poking holes in us.”
“I can do that,” replied Rivera with a wolfish smile. He squeezed the butterfly trigger on the machine gun and watched as the rounds chewed down the length of the metal bulwark. The crew of the Lucia Marie had been lying in wait for the signal from Escabado to attack with their mix of old AK47s from the war two decades before. They thought they were safely sheltered behind the quarter inch of steel plate on the side of the bulwark.