Page 8 of Twister

“In how do sharks deal with Navy SEALs? We’re apex predators, Easy. We would fuck them up,” Shark said. “And since we’re not cute, cuddly, big-eyed seals, they won’t be interested in us.”

“Not cute and cuddly? Speak for yourself, Shark,” Bondo quipped with a smile.

“Right, Bondo. You’re nothing but a teddy bear,” Tex said. The guys chuckled. “If it gets choppy, we’ll go under, but we only have about six hours of breathable air left. I’d prefer to keep it in reserve when we get back to the sub. Let’s get going,” Tex ordered.

Twister linked up with Dagger, and each of them got into a cadence right into their tried-and-true sidestroke of top arm, bottom arm, kick, kick, kick, and glide. He started his exhalation underwater, then fully exhaled when he broke the surface as he stroked through with his top arm, inhaling when he powered through with his bottom arm, then kept up a smooth momentum through the water.

With stops to hydrate and eat power bars, Tex kept track of the location, and eleven hours later, they made it back to the coordinates of where theMontanalay in wait, but with considerably less air than they hoped to have. The team, tethered together, had to swim underwater through a particularly nasty squall, using up all but fifteen minutes, due to the extra exertion. It had been a labor-intensive part of the swim, more so than stroking easily on the surface. After that the sea had cooperated, and in the distance, they had spied a Chinese destroyer, just as the sun dusted the horizon, lingering between sky and rolling sea. But it was unlikely to detect the dressed-head-to-toe-in-black, stealthy team in the dusk, especially when they didn’t expect to encounter US forces in the water.

Because of the nature of the mission and its clandestine priority, the sub stayed submerged at periscope depth, which was about forty feet of water. That destroyer was a little too close for comfort. Due to the urgency in getting the SEALs aboard, Tex, Bondo, Easy, and Brawler used the trunk for entry, and Twister, Dagger, Flash, and Shark were directed to torpedo tubes.

The moment that he discovered he was going to have to enter the boat through the slimmest egress ever, his chest started that familiar tightening. He swallowed, working at keeping his mind clear and his breathing even. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to spare with just fifteen minutes of air.

Dagger went into the open tube feet first, and Twister went in behind him headfirst, but a swell caught him and slammed him against the rim of the casing. Dagger immediately reached out and caught his hands, steadying him, then pulled him deeper inside.

As soon as the hatch closed behind them, the water started to drain, but a huge, rolling mass of panic surged into his throat. He tried desperately to hold back the increasing pressure. Terror could take possession of him and cause increased breathing, using up his precious air. He corralled the spiraling sensation and concentrated on surviving, telling himself he only had to endure minutes of this enclosed hell. His breathing labored as bursts of stars and brilliant white shards of light exploded before his eyes. A loud ringing filled his ears. Even in his reduced state, he recognized the symptoms of carbon dioxide toxicity and oxygen deficiency. A hundred terrible visions flashed through his mind, a grim reminder of how close he came to dying in Haiti.

Dagger’s voice came through his headset, but he couldn’t respond. There just wasn’t enough air. He slipped into darkness.

Until moments later, his eyes popped open. He was on the sub deck, medics working over him, his gear stripped off him. His throat felt raw and his lungs hurt. Despite the explanation that his rebreather had been damaged, all he could think about was how he had panicked and how much that angered him. His control was in question, and for a man who liked to be in command of every aspect of his life, he felt…diminished by it.

3

Bubbles floatedup as Petty Officer Navy Diver First Class Sadie Tompkins looked closely at the blades of the USSDavid E. McClintock, a guided-missile destroyer her team dive locker located at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, Hawaii was servicing. She was currently part of Mobile Diving Salvage Unit One or MDSU-1, pronounced “mudsue.”

“Green diver to Topside, our task is to clean the blades?” she asked, peering at the metal through the clear panel of her yellow helmet. All of her dive equipment was engineered to be as lightweight as possible, but the MK 21 helmet, constructed out of a fiberglass and carbon fiber reinforced shell, weighed the most at twenty-seven pounds. It was fitted with an umbilical cord that supplied all her gas mix, oxygen, and nitrogen, along with her voice-activated communication.

“Affirmative, Green diver. Just a spit and shine.” Divers were designated by colors. Red was the supervisor, green was a subordinate with experience, and yellow was wet-behind-the-ears newbie.

“I think we have more of a problem, Topside.” The continuous sound of her breathing sounded through her helmet.“There are cracks in the prairie air channel of one of the blades.” Prairie was an acronym for propeller air-induced emission, fitted either near to or on the ship’s propellers, allowing compressed air to pump through small holes in the edge of the propeller. The channel part was the masker portion of the system, designed to sound like softly falling rain on the surface of the sea to trick enemy ships’ sonars. On closer inspection, she could see that the blade had been cleaned so many times, it had exposed the weld. That’s where the cracks were the most severe. “We need a deeper inspection, and I would suggest removing some of the blades to make sure the ones beneath aren’t also compromised.”

As a Navy diver, she performed so many different tasks and felt pride in being part of the premier diving and salvage force, prepared to rapidly deploy combat-ready, expeditionary warfare-capable, specialized dive teams to conduct harbor and waterway clearance, underwater repairs, and salvage operations in all environments. When she completed Second Class Dive School, she went to her fleet training. She was at the tail end of her three-year assignment with MDSU-1 and was anticipating her next command transfer.

When she came up out of the water, and her tender helped her off with her helmet, her master dive supervisor, Master Chief Jeff Clayton, just shook his head. “You excel at finding problems.”

She shrugged. “Better now than when they’re out to sea. A broken or damaged propeller can be even more expensive than replacing one here.” It was clear that anything she could do as a diver to minimize downtime and the need for dry-docking fit right into their mission objective. Hearing about unexpected problems was never fun, but catching something early was much better than the alternative.

“Agreed.” He sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Tompkins.”

“I’ll miss you all as well,” Sadie said, unzipping her wetsuit and shrugging out of the neoprene, water sluicing off her in rivulets. Beneath it she wore a skin suit, all black, clinging to every curve of her body. She was going to shower and change. Time for her to hit her books for not only her next promotion but the degree she was getting in engineering.

“How’s Allison?” she asked. She adored the master chief’s young daughter. He was currently a single father, his wife having passed from cancer two years ago.

“She’s got her seventh birthday coming up, and I’m short on any ideas,” he said, giving her a hopeful look.

She was slammed, had so many things to do before her transfer, coursework she was undertaking, and thinking about her qualifications for her next promotion to first-class diver. “I can help with that,” she said, but he looked like he was about to go into a panic, and her heart went out to him for all that he did for Allison, and so it would cost her some sleep, and extra work. She could handle it. “I know exactly what she would love.”

Jeff released his breath. “Are you sure? You have a lot going on right now.”

“Of course. We can’t have Allison disappointed on her seventh birthday.” So many things filled her head, and she refused to allow them all to control her. As soon as she got home, she was going to make a list and prioritize. Sleep and PT had to take precedence over other activities. As a diver, she couldn’t skimp on either, especially her fitness.

The next day, she was back in the water to assess the needs of the propeller problem on theMcClintock. Propulsion was all about Newton’s third law, which dictates that every action must have an equal and opposite reaction. It was simple physics. As the propeller blades expelled fluid mass in a backward motion, forward momentum propelled the vessel. That Newton guy was a smart one.

Her job was to do the task as quickly and efficiently as possible. There was always plenty to do during an MDSU deployment, and even though she was leaving this dive locker, she didn’t want to leave anything undone.

Removing a propeller was an arduous task, butMcClintock’svariable pitch propeller, which was different from solid propellers in that they were attached to the ship by bolts, could be disassembled one component at a time. When the crane had lifted the first part of the propeller off the hub, Sadie had better access to the hub and the other propeller. Unfortunately, the hub was warped from the cracks, unbalancing the spin of the blade. The other propeller was fine, so they did the repairs on the hub, then attached the new propeller. All told, the job was done three days ahead of schedule and kept theMcClintockmission ready.

That night, she was working on her first-class diving paperwork when Jeff called.

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