A Triple Thriller Fest (61 page)

Shanghaiing Carver may have been the smartest thing that Robison did during the entire fifteen months.  Carver was all over the place, making sure that each component was correctly assembled and checked out.  The young engineers and technicians at MacAlear called him Chief in deference to his retired rank and out of fondness for this gentle, soft spoken West Virginian who had never even seen the ocean when he walked into the Navy recruiter’s office in Beckley, West Virginia, one autumn day in 1942, Walt had decided to join the Navy right after Pearl Harbor, but had to wait until autumn when he turned seventeen.  Carver’s dad had refused to sign for him when he was sixteen. 

A slight man of forty-five, Carver was a wiry contrast to Anderson both in appearance and in style.  No bravado, no jokes, just quiet listening and contemplative nods of the head when listening to the many problems sure to arise.  Carver always dressed in his Navy dungarees and light blue work shirt.  Even after twenty years in the Navy and eight at MacAlear, his weight had not changed one pound and he could still wear the uniform he wore as a recruit at the Great Lakes Training Center in Illinois.

The
Squid
was beautiful, its fiberglass outer hull glistened white, royal blue lettering and striping made for an impressive machine.  The pressure hull hung inside the outer hull, but projected from the bow of the vessel thereby enabling the pilot and observers to see frontward and downward. 

A fiberglass conning tower, flooded during dives, enabled the crew to operate the submersible at the surface.  Outfitted with a fully articulated robotic arm, the
Squid
could do useful work in addition to providing mobility during its dives.  The
Squid
also had forward scanning sonar which worked much like radar would for a surface vessel.  Television cameras and strobe lights completed the standard instrumentation. 

Because of its mission, the
Squid
was also outfitted with a variety of oceanographic instrumentation including the now familiar metastable-helium magnetometer.  Launching the
Squid
was an art, in and of itself.  The R/V
Falling Star
was a catamaran with a gigantic open platform that served as an elevator in between its twin hulls.  By lowering the platform, the
Squid
could simply swim out on its own power.  There was no need to hoist the submersible into the water.

The
Squid
sat on a specially designed cradle in the center of the elevator.  Designed for an earlier, shallower version of the
Squid
, the
Deep Diver
, the R/V
Falling Star
did not require extensive refitting to accommodate the
Squid
.  Because of the size of the R/V
Falling Star
, the water between the two hulls remained relatively calm.

Additionally, the hulls of the R/V
Falling Star
could be flooded, dropping the vessel’s waterline to create a pool of calmness even in moderately rough seas. 

Anderson and Carver climbed in to the conning tower of the
Squid
.  Dressed in blue coveralls with the MacAlear logo on the back, both of them had wisely worn long johns underneath.  Despite the 90 degree air and warm surface water temperatures, the ocean beneath the photic zone remained generally a cool 32 degrees, Fahrenheit.  At deeper depths, the temperature could drop even further.  The
Squid
was equipped with chemical heaters, but prudence dictated that occupants dressed warmly.  Robison served as dive director on this first dive.  McHugh and Sevson would help Robison launch the submersible.

Mike was dressed in his wet suit and SCUBA equipment.  His job today was to ride the outside of the
Squid
, along with two MacAlear technicians to conduct a final instrumentation check in the water before the submersible attempted its first dive over the Hatteras Abyssal Plain.  In addition to his wet suit and SCUBA gear, Mike would be wearing a microphone and headset so he could communicate with Anderson.

Anderson and Carver disappeared into the pressure sphere of the submersible, the hatch closed with a solid, but muffled clang.  Once the hatch was closed the only way that Anderson could communicate with Robison was via a through-hull telephone patch.

However, once the
Squid
was launched from the R/V
Falling Star
and the telephone link was automatically uncoupled, the crew of the
Squid
would be left on their own.  However, they would have the company of Mike and two MacAlear technicians for the start of their trip. 

“Okay, boss.  We’re ready to let ‘er rip,” announced Jim Anderson.

“Roger,” acknowledged Robison.

The platform of the R/V
Falling Star
started its slow descent.  The seawater rose to gradually cover both Liu and the technicians and, finally, the
Squid
.  The water felt warm and Mike wondered if the wet suit was that useful, but he knew that even in warm water, the wet suit helped to preserve his body temperature.  Finally, the
Squid
lifted off its cradle.  Anderson immediately started its main propeller; helped by Navy divers, the
Squid
inched its way backward to the stern of its mother ship.  Finally, the
Squid
was free of the launch vessel.

Floating just below the surface of the water, Mike and the two MacAlear technicians started down their checklist.  Inside the submersible, Carver checked out each system to assure everything was working up to specifications.  The atmosphere inside the pressure sphere is maintained at surface conditions, so metabolic oxygen had to be monitored as well as the carbon dioxide levels.  Barium Hydroxide canisters were used to absorb carbon dioxide during the dive.  Since no kitchen facilities were on board, the cook on the R/V
Falling Star
had packed sandwiches and a thermos of coffee.

The checklist completed, Mike had one final communication with the occupants of the submersible, “Hey guys, I wish you luck.  I’m really jealous.”

“Hey Liu, you’ll get your turn.”

With that, Mike disconnected the telephone link and stepped off the
Squid
.  Hanging in the water like puppets in storage, Mike and the two MacAlear technicians watched as Anderson blew some air, went slightly negative buoyancy and slowly started the
Squid
into a downward spiral.  Mike and the other two divers watched until the
Squid
disappeared into the murky depths.

The bright upper column water became progressively darker as the
Squid
went deeper and deeper.  The temperature in the submersible also dropped precipitously.  Both Anderson and Carver were grateful for having remembered to wear their long johns.  Several times during the long descent, Carver had to wipe the portholes as the humidity inside the pressure vessel and relative warmth fogged the lenses. 

At one point Carver, in an uncharacteristic effort at humor told Anderson that he didn’t know he would have to do windows. 

During the initial descent, Anderson relied on the sonar depth finder to warn them of any obstacles below.  Turning on the outside lights was both wasteful from the battery standpoint and useless given the increasing lack of marine life.  In addition, it was necessary for both occupants to adjust to the increasing darkness.

The plethora of varied aquatic life at the surface also faded as the
Squid
continued its spiraling descent into the blackness of the sea.  As the water color turned primarily dark blue, the only life that the two intrepid explorers saw were occasional rays or sharks.  Even deeper, these denizens of the deep were replaced by eerie creatures, some with their own lighting.

Eventually even these masters of adaptation to the darkness seemed to disappear and Anderson and Carver were left to their own.  Two fragile surface creatures going lower than even marine life adapted to the depths.  Anderson, of course was used to this display of evolutionary adaptation, Carver remained fascinated by the varied life and how it differed so from life as he knew it.

Almost as soon as the ride had started, Anderson trimmed his tanks and the
Squid
came to a slow stop, suspended in the depths of the ocean.  On this first dive, they had arbitrarily picked 12,000 feet.

“Here we are,” said Anderson.

As the
Squid
sat motionless, Anderson and Carver ran through the test sequence so carefully worded by Mike and the test engineers at MacAlear so many months ago.  They turned on the strobe lights.

“Wait, did you see that?” exclaimed Carver.  He thought he saw something big - really big - and dark move quickly through the water in the shadowy background.

“May have been a blue whale,” said Anderson, “or, maybe a giant squid.”

“I didn’t think there was anything that large at this depth,” replied an uncharacteristically nervous Carver.  He wasn’t so sure of what he saw, but it did not look natural.

Almost as soon as they had begun this dive, it was over.  Anderson dropped his ballast and the
Squid
began its slow upward spiral toward the surface.

“There she is!” shouted Mike from the deck of the R/V
Falling Star
.  Everyone else hurried to the stern of the mother vessel excited to see the
Squid
return from its first deep mission.  Already, Navy divers had launched two Zodiacs with their 200 Horsepower Mercury outboard motors and were speeding to the white speck bobbing in the distance. 

Anderson and Carver emerged from the pressure vessel and stood in the conning tower, both were dripping wet not from the sea but from their sweat.  They were both glad to have some fresh air and to bask in warmth of the afternoon sun.  Anderson took the hand held controller and plugged it into the outlet in the conning tower.  Carver took pains to lock the hatch to the pressure vessel, ever mindful that was how the submersible
Alvin
was swamped and temporarily lost a short while ago.

With his hand held controller, Jim was able to steer the
Squid
toward the R/V
Falling Star
.  However, he did not complain when the Navy divers offered him a tow.

After all, thought Anderson, the
Squid
was not intended to be a surface tug.

With the help of the Navy divers and their Zodiacs, Anderson was able to maneuver the
Squid
on to its mounting cradle.  Once secured, the elevator of the
Falling Star
began its slow ascent, sea water pouring out of the crevices of the
Squid
as it rose above the water.  When the elevator platform reached its maximum height, Jim Anderson jumped down from the conning tower.  Waiting for him on the now dry platform were Robison, Sevson, Mike, and McHugh.

“How did it go?” asked Robison.

“Like a charm, I think we’re ready for the first bottom dive tomorrow morning,” said Anderson, with a big grin on his face.  Carver remained silent.

Later that evening, Carver quietly approached McHugh.  “Commander, I don’t want to be an alarmist, but I saw something big move in the shadows when we leveled out.”

“What do you think it was, Chief?”

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Carver, “but it was big and fast.”

“What did Anderson think?”

“He didn’t see it, but he thinks it might have been a blue whale.”

“Interesting, I don’t think blue whales could dive that deep,” replied McHugh.  “Did you note it in the log?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for telling me Chief,” replied McHugh.  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

What McHugh did not tell Carver about was the incident involving the SSBN - 620, the John Adams.  He made a note in his small notebook that he kept for these events.

That night, McHugh tossed and turned in a fitful sleep.  He chastised himself for acting like a school boy.  During the time he slept, his dreams were filled with all manner of images, some beautiful, some scary, and some downright monstrous.  In one sequence, he was chased by a mysterious shadow, a monstrous unspoken shadow.  What, who, how…. dreamed McHugh.  At dawn he would know soon enough.

“God, I hope it’s something explainable,” McHugh muttered under his breath.

0630 Hours: Saturday, March 16, 1969, Aboard the R/V Falling Star

In the small mess on board the R/V
Falling Star
, McHugh sat with his usual crew.  His hands clasping the ceramic mug of steaming hot coffee with the MacAlear logo, McHugh was deep in thought.  Sevson sat picking at his scrambled eggs and sausage.  Robison kept going over the checklist and the “Incident Sheet” which detailed the numerous nits encountered during the last twenty four hours of operation. 

Robison wanted to make sure that this dive went smoothly; he was extremely pleased that the Incident Sheet was mercifully short and was comprised of mainly minor items. The three old friends had already fallen back to the unspoken routine that only time and seasoned friendships can long endure.

Robison had smuggled on board a reel to reel tape player and had Sevson, the electronics wizard, jury rig a direct current to alternating current inverter so that they could play some of their favorite music during the cruise. 

As the three friends sat drinking their coffee, the old familiar beat of music played on and Gogi Grant sang, “…The Wayward Wind…Is a Rest-Less Wind…A Rest-Less Wind…That Yearns to Wan-Der…And He Was Born…The Next of Kin…The Next of Kin…To the Wayward Wind….” 

Gogi’s voice and the lyrics evoked halcyon memories of cruises on the R/V
Wayward Wind
, the Fifties, and a happier, friendlier time.

“What do you think, Bob?” asked Sevson.

“I think if this turns out to be a dud, we’re in a heap of trouble.  If it turns out to be something big, we’re in a heap of trouble,” replied Lieutenant Commander Robert McHugh, U.S.N. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” replied Sevson.

“Com’on guys, we’ve got work to do!” urged Robison, trying to get his old friends out of their funk and motivated.