Chapter 34
Iswitched to my bailout, disconnected the umbilical, and headed back the way I came, following the trail of the cables.
My handheld flashlight lit the way as I maneuvered through the narrow corridors. I didn't have any time to spare. Without the hot water, the temperature would plummet. I was already compromised by my previous brush with hypothermia. I’d fall victim to it much quicker the second time around.
I hurried back through the passageways, past the floating bodies, and emerged through the fissure in the pressure hull.
We weren’t alone.
Two divers in rebreathers closed in.
The Triton was down, resting on the seabed on its skids—no lights, no power. Nothing.
Neptune hovered nearby.
Trask and Wong were going to cover their tracks and eliminate the three of us.
It would be easy to blame our deaths on foreign operatives.
They were in the area and would likely be here before long.
The duo had clearly discovered the sub on their prior run with Weyland.
Trask would keep the QNCA for himself or sell the technology.
Wong was in for a split. Weyland wouldn’t have gone along with it.
In wetsuits, Trask and Wong wouldn’t last long in this environment, but it allowed them to be more maneuverable. They must have sabotaged the Triton, cutting power lines from the external battery packs.
Wong took aim with a speargun. He squeezed the trigger, and the spear sliced through the water, careening toward me.
I dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding disaster. The spear raced millimeters past my helmet and pinged off the hull of the submarine.
Spearguns had practical limitations in combat situations. Reloading was time-consuming. With a monofilament attached to the spear, you had to retract it, load it into the muzzle, and cock the band to arm it. But a well-placed shot could puncture a lung or rip through your heart.
Trask fired.
The spear darted through the water.
I tried to duck out of the way.
The spear grazed off the side of my helmet.
Wong rushed in, knife in hand.
I drew a plasma torch from my satchel.
David stabbed at me, the knife slicing through the water.
I dodged and grabbed his forearm, shoving it away. I jammed the plasma torch against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. It sparked, hissing gas, vaporizing tissue.
David released the knife instantly. It tumbled to the sea floor, the blade catching the light that was integrated in his mask.
I ripped the dive mask from his face, then used the plasma torch to sever his oxygen line.
Bubbles hissed, and Wong flailed about in a panic. The rebreather dumped its entire volume of gas.
Trask attempted to reload, pulling the spear back in with the monofilament.
I raced toward him as he seated the spear into the muzzle, then pulled on the band to cock it.
I reached him just as he completed the task and took aim. I grabbed the muzzle of the gun and pushed the barrel away. With my plasma torch jammed into his ribs, my finger squeezed the trigger.
More bubbles hissed as his flesh vaporized.
Trask recoiled in agony, loosening his grip on the spear gun.
I stripped it from his grasp, took aim, and fired.
The spear drilled through his chest, and crimson seeped from the puncture wound. Behind the mask, his eyes rounded.
Wong had switched to his bailout. He scooped up the knife and finned toward me.
I yanked the spear from Trask’s lifeless body and reloaded. I cocked the gun as Wong closed in with the knife.
I took aim and fired.
The spear darted through the water, piercing his mask, skewering his brain. Blood filled the mask as his body went limp. He floated through the water, drifting to the bottom.
I returned to the fissure where I had dropped the satchel. I picked it up, then I hauled ass to the Triton.
Just as I had suspected, Trask and Wong had severed the power cable from the external battery pack.
With the skids on the soft seabed, there was only a few feet of clearance below the bottom hatch of the lockout trunk.
I squeezed underneath the sub and pulled myself up into the lockout. I loaded the satchel aboard and pried my helmet off. A breath of air filled my lungs. I was just about out of oxygen from the pony bottle.
The drysuit and the residual heat from the water feed had buffered the cold exterior seawater to some degree. But I was trembling at that point and damn cold. I sealed the hatch behind me, then opened the hatch to the main compartment. Red auxiliary lighting illuminated the helm station.
In a relieved breath, Jack said, "Am I glad to see you. Those jackasses cut the power."
"I know. They cut my umbilical as well."
"We lost feeds to the cameras. I was a little worried you weren’t coming back. What happened?"
"Let's just say Wong and Trask won't be rejoining us.”
Flynn and JD were pleased by the outcome.
“I knew those son-of-a-bitches were no good,” Flynn muttered.
We shared a brief moment of victory before facing the next battle.
"I need a minute to recover," I said. "Someone needs to go to the Neptune before it drifts off. Looks like they’ve got it set on autopilot right now to maintain buoyancy and position. But with this weather, there's no guarantee it's going to stay in the same place."
I assumed there was no one else aboard the Neptune.
The mini-subs were equipped with state-of-the-art autopilot systems, but leaving the boat unattended was a risky proposition.
"I'll get it," Jack said. "You stay here and warm up. I'll bring the Neptune alongside, then you guys can transfer over, and we’ll head back to base. Did you get everything?”
"Affirmative," I said.
Jack pulled on a wetsuit and prepared for the dive.
Without main power, there was no warm water, no gas support, nothing.
He’d have to make the swim with a bailout bottle.
The only thing that functioned on the Triton under auxiliary power was the life-support system, CO2 scrubbers, comms, and a few interior controls.
No propulsion.
"How far is the Neptune?" JD asked.
"I’d say 30 to 40 yards.”
Jack considered it. Before donning his mask, he said, “I shall return.”
It was more of a declaration than anything else. A mantra. A vow. The Universe would have to listen.