CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the Bottom
The depth gauge was dropping steadily as the _S-18_ plunged downwardthrough the black waters. From Commander Ford on down, everyone wastense. This was the big test. If anything went wrong--
But they couldn't think of that, that is, no one except Tim who hadnothing else to do.
"Ease off on the diving rudders," snapped Commander Ford. "We're almostdown."
"How's the bottom?" asked George Gadd.
"Charts show it to be good and firm. We'll just touch and then start upagain."
The depth gauge showed 205 feet when there was a gentle scraping soundand the _S-18_ came to rest on the bottom of the sound. Beads of waterwere standing all over the interior of the glistening white hull forthe pressure at that depth was tremendous.
Commander Ford left his post and made a thorough tour of the submarine.When he returned he was obviously elated.
"Everything's holding fine," he said. "Now we'll get ready to return tothe surface."
Orders flew rapidly. The diving planes were readjusted and Forman Gayand Erich Gaunt stood ready to blow the ballast from the diving tanksand lighten the sub for the rise to the surface.
"Blow the tanks," ordered the Commander.
Compressed air hissed through the high pressure lines and Tim knew thatdespite the pressure of the water at that depth the air was blowing theballast from the tanks. In a moment or two the _S-18_ would quiver,come to life, and start the upward ascent.
Commander Ford was watching the gauges intently. There was no movementof the _S-18_ and he turned toward Gay and Gaunt.
"We're giving the tanks all we've got," said Gaunt. "There's 1,500pounds of air pressure pushing that water out."
"Hold it for a minute," ordered Ford as Charlie Gill, the chief diver,stumbled into the room.
Charlie's face was white, strained.
"We're stuck, chief, we're stuck. This bottom is as soft as a mud pieand the current has rammed us against the side of an old derelict.We're settling deeper into the stuff every minute."
"Stand by your posts," cried the Commander. Grabbing Gill by theshoulder, he hurried him forward. Tim, who had no duty to attend,followed them into the diving compartment where a special quartz windowto observe diving operations had been placed. A powerful searchlighthad been turned on by Gill and it revealed the trap into which the_S-18_ had settled. They were tight against the slime-encrusted hull ofan old barge, probably a garbage scow used in hauling the refuse fromNew York City.
"That also explains the soft bottom," said Ford. "They've been dumpinggarbage out here."
"It may make garbage of us," said Gill bitterly.
"Can you get into your diving outfit and get outside and place a bomb?"asked the Commander.
"Not at this depth. I've got to be in the diving compartment and comedown gradually. The pressure would break me in two if I walked outthere now."
"Then how about a bomb?"
"We could get that outside, but it's hard to tell where it will go off.If it's too close to the hull, it might crush us and you know theanswer to that."
Commander Ford nodded. "We'll try it again."
He returned to the control room where the motors were raced first aheadand then in reverse, but the _S-18_ failed to rise out of the muck andinstead seemed to be burrowing its way further into the soft stuff.
Commander Ford ordered the motors cut out and called the crew into thecontrol room.
"We're in a jam," he said. "You know as well as I do that we can'texpect help from the surface in time to do us any good. If we escapewe've got to do it ourselves and there's only one way. That's by usingone of the special depth bombs and hoping it will jar us loose. There'sa chance the explosion may crush our own hull, but that's a risk we'llhave to take."
"Let's get it over with," put in the chief electrician. "I was on thebottom of the English channel for twelve hours in a sub during the warand this waiting is awful."
The rest of the crew voiced the sentiments of the chief electrician.Pat was placed in charge of the control room while Commander Ford andCharlie Gill and Russ Graham, the divers, and Joe Gartner, the torpedoman and gunner, went ahead to make preparations to explode the bomb.
The explosive was dangerous stuff and none of them relished handlingit, but in it they saw their one chance of escape. The bomb was in aspecial steel case with a small aperture in which the timing device waslocated. The fuse was set for five minutes and the bomb placed in thediving chamber.
Tim's nerves felt shaky. The bomb was going now. In just five minutesthe deadly blast would go off. If they didn't get it out of the divingchamber and against the derelict, there wouldn't be a ghost of a chancefor them.
But Charlie Gill and Russ Graham were versatile men. They had been inplenty of tight places before. Working quickly and surely, they openedthe outer door of the diving chamber. At that depth a terrific spray ofwater shot into the inner chamber and the bomb bobbed from side toside. Then the force of the water pushed it outside the hull of thesubmarine. In the glow from the searchlight they saw the bomb driftaway from the side of the submarine. The same current which was holdingthe _S-18_ fast against the derelict was driving the bomb against it.
Commander Ford, watch in hand, was counting the seconds.
"Better close the outer door of the diving compartment," he toldCharlie Gill. "There's little more than a minute left."
The Commander of the _S-18_ hurried back to the control room.
"On the alert," he told the men. "Everyone be ready for double quickaction. There's thirty seconds left before the bomb explodes." Timglanced around the room. Erich Gaunt and Forman Gay were bent over thelevers which controlled the ballast tanks. Pat was tense at the divingrudders while back in the motor room George Gadd stood by to help thechief electrician. The crew of the _S-18_ was ready.
The flying reporter was fascinated as the second hand of his own watchticked off the precious seconds. It might be ticking life and death forall aboard the _S-18_, 205 feet below the surface of the sound.
Ten, seven, five, three seconds left.
A muffled explosion shook the hull of the _S-18_.
"Motors full ahead!" shouted Commander Ford.
The powerful electrics leaped into action. The steel deck beneath themquivered.
They were moving! It was slow at first, but the _S-18_ was shaking theslime of the bottom off its hull.
Then, with a sickening leap, they shot upward, motors on full, divingplanes at the sharpest angle.
Men tumbled around in the control room like dry leaves before an autumngale. The _S-18_, out of control, was shooting toward the surface.
Pat managed to scramble to his feet and seized the wheel whichcontrolled the forward diving rudders. With a quick twist he lessenedthe sharp angle of their ascent.
Before the other men could crawl back to their stations, the grey noseof the submarine shot above the surface of the sound. It must haverisen ten feet out of water, then as the rest of the sub came to thesurface, slapped back into the water with a resounding crash. Everyoneaboard was jarred by the shock.
"Tanks clear of water, diving planes normal?" Questions shot from thelips of Commander Ford.
Before the main hatch was opened and the sunlight streamed in, he madesure that the _S-18_ had not been seriously damaged by its sudden rise.In spite of the great pressure, not a seam in the hull had been openedand the crew scrambled out on deck for a breath of fresh air.
The seaplane was still circling overhead and with a shock Tim realizedthey had been on the bottom less than half an hour. It had seemed alifetime.
To the veteran submarine men the harrowing experience on the bottom ofthe sound seemed all in the day's work, but to Tim it was an incidenthe would remember all the rest of his life.
"No more garbage scows for mine," grinned Pat. "That was a little tooclose for comfort."
"I'd just as soon fly down to the C
aribbean," said Tim as he watchedthe seaplane gracefully circling overhead.
Commander Ford joined them.
"After that test there's no question about the seaworthiness of the_S-18_. We're putting back to the Laidlaw yard at once. We'll startsouth sometime tomorrow."
That was news and Tim went below and dictated a story to Ike Green, whosent it to the Journal station. It was the first story sent directlyfrom the _S-18_.
That night when they were back in the yard, a truck lumbered throughthe main gate, a winch on the dock clattered noisily and a long,cigar-shaped object came slowly down. A forward hatch was opened andthe torpedo locked securely in its rack. After that a case of shellsfor the four-inch gun and three machine guns and a half dozen automaticrifles and sixteen revolvers with plenty of ammunition were loweredfrom the dock.
"We're going to be something of a floating arsenal," chuckled Pat."Believe me, if we get in a jam old Joe Gartner is a handy man with thefour-inch gun."
"What about Sladek and his expedition?" Tim asked.
"Commander Ford told me this afternoon they were ready to sail at amoment's notice. We'll be slipping away tomorrow night which may causethem a little trouble in following us."
The next day Tim went to the Sea King factory on Long Island and madesure his plane was ready. Then he wrote the final stories of plans forthe departure and sent them to both the New York Journal and the _News_at home, with release dates for the next day, when they would be wellout to sea and off the Jersey coast.
A subdued air of excitement gripped the crew of the _S-18_. This wasthe big night. Before midnight they would be headed down the Eastriver, bound for the open sea and the start of the big adventure.