After I finished my quick briefing, the team spread out amongst the UPVs, McDougal in the center flanked by Wang and Bordeaux, Santino and Vincent on the left, and Helena and myself on the right. After we were situated, the room automatically began filling with water, and the team was left floating within. I looked through my goggles to make sure Helena wasn’t freaking out or anything, but thankfully she seemed fine. Noticing my inspection, she turned and gave me a thumbs up. Her face was masked by her goggles, and unable to communicate via our radios, I couldn’t tell if she was truly all right, but she was tough. She’d be fine.
McDougal pressed a button on his dash board, and the double doors in front of us began to crack open. Beyond them was nothing but blackness, no plant or aquatic life visible. I knew ancient sewer systems had been discovered by modern archeologists over the year and could be used as a means to navigate the ancient city beneath the modern city. They were also pretty disgusting. They had been steeping for millennia, a breeding ground for hundreds of kinds of bacteria and disease.
McDougal gunned his UPV, and the team smoothly exited the room into the murky water. Our headlights only penetrated a few feet into the darkness, forcing us to rely on our GPS. It provided us with waypoints laid out on a rudimentary topography map, connected by lines already programmed in the system. Our progress was slow going though not through any lack of skill on our part, but simply because we were new to the terrain. As I promised, I stayed just above and behind my swim buddy the entire way out, and was happy to note she handled her little boat supremely well.
One problem avoided.
About fifteen minutes into the trip, we came to a solid wall, but our waypoints clearly indicated we needed to go through the blockade. McDougal held up his fist, indicating for us to hold our position. He manipulated another switch on his dashboard, and I began to hear a steady whirring noise and could see the water clearing. I glanced behind me and noticed a wall was blocking the way we had just come through. McDougal must have activated some kind of system that filtered the water in the sewer.
A few seconds later, I saw the water clearing noticeably before the doors opened before us. McDougal motioned forward, and the team gunned their engines, making a quick right turn into a narrow passageway to follow the Vatican’s artificial corridor straight to the Tyrrhenian Sea.
It took us another forty-five minutes before we left the coastline and came face to face with a lumbering, whale shaped behemoth that would become our ride.
My earpiece crackled to life as McDougal contacted the submarine using his radio’s push-to-talk button to transmit a quick burst of Morse Code. The Navy still taught the archaic form of communication developed in the 1840s, and most Special Forces outfits learned it as well. Quickly squeezing a radio’s PTT button transmits a quick bursts of static which makes for a perfect way to send the code.
I heard a return transmission that indicated the sub was ready for our arrival, and saw McDougal point in my direction. I sent him a thumbs up, and made my way to the gigantic vessel, Helena right behind me.
Boarding a submarine in nothing but a wetsuit wasn’t a challenge for a seasoned Navy SEAL, but could be potentially lethal for an amateur. Had I been in a companion submarine, and not alone in a wetsuit, a docking collar would be used to attach the two subs together. The collar would pressurize, and coming aboard would be as simple as opening both hatches and crossing the threshold.
To a achieve my task, however, I would need to turn the wheel on the hatch, climb down a ladder till I reach a second hatch, close the first one, wait for the water to recede in the little airlock, open the second hatch, and climb down into the hallway.
It sounds easy in principle, but it’s more complicated than it sounds.
The first step was to secure my UPV in one of the submarine’s external storage lockers. I found it easily, already open, and astern of the hatch. Piloting it into the locker, I abandoned my small craft, secured my gear bags to a carabiner attached to my wetsuit, and approached the wheel I would need to turn in order to open the hatch. I signaled for Helena to hang back. There was no sense in risking a possible accident when I could easily perform the operation by myself, and in my sleep.
I began by firmly grasping the wheel, and reciting the age old “lefty loosy, righty tighty” mantra everyone utters before turning something. Next, I planted my feet on the hull, squeezing the slight lip that juts up encasing the hatch. Slowly and surely, I turned the wheel to the left, thankful when it offered little resistance.
After a dozen or so turns, the hatch popped open with a slight sputter of bubbles. The small antechamber would have been filled upon our arrival to ensure the hatch didn’t explosively decompress, probably killing me. I signaled for Helena to swim in first.
Following her in, I pulled my gear bags in behind me, and shut the hatch. The space in the cylindrical airlock was cramped and tight, forcing us to float chest to chest, inches apart. I grasped the ladder with my right hand and right foot, while Helena did the same with the appendages on her left side. With my left hand, I grabbed a crowbar from its resting place and pounded the inner hatch three times, and waited until the water started to slowly drain from the compartment.
As the water passed my face I pulled back my hood and removed my goggles and breathing apparatus as Helena did the same.
“Tight squeeze,” I said, adjusting my position, accidentally bumping my elbow against her breasts.
She glared, and I looked around, trying to ignore her look while also trying to find any way to make the water go faster. Failing, we endured a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, before the inner hatch finally opened.
“After you,” I offered.
Helena gave me a smirk before descending a few steps, lowering her gear to the deck, and dropping behind it. I followed quickly.
I landed in a crouch, and Helena began to close the inner hatch, while I keyed my radio. In order to stay efficient and silent on the battlefield, instead of speaking into the radio to confirm orders, or signal an all clear, we simply clicked the PTT button twice in quick succession, an efficient way to indicate all was well on the other end of the radio. The double click could mean many things depending on the situation, but McDougal would understand that I had sent it as an all clear to send in the next pair.
After sending the transmission, I turned to face the two seaman emerging from the hatch to my left. The pair wore British naval uniforms, midshipmen according to their rank insignias, and had the look of men who spent way too much time under the water. Noticing my inspection, the pair halted and saluted.
“Welcome aboard the H.M. S Triumph, Lieutenant.”
I returned the salute. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”
After securing the hatch, Helena turned and stood next to me.
The pair’s immediate reaction was to salute a second time, but with obvious hesitation. These men probably hadn’t seen a woman in months, especially not one that looked like Helena, who was looking especially radiant with her damp hair and face.
“Welcome aboard the Triumph, Ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Our orders are to escort you to the briefing room after your team has had an opportunity to change out of your wetsuits and secure your gear. If you will just follow the corridor through the hatch we just came through, the second door on your right will be your staging area. You can head there now if you’d like.”
“Thank you. Lieutenant, after you,” I replied as I gestured to the hatch for Helena to go through first.
She offered me a cynical smile and bumped me playfully on her way to the hatch. The two midshipmen watched, tilting their heads to watch as she bent at the waist to fit through. I had to chuckle as I watched as well, a slight feeling of possessive pride passing over me. It me of a time back in college when I attended a party with a foreign exchange student from France. She was beautiful, and every guy there hated my guts because of it. Granted it didn’t amount to much. My arms crossed against my chest, I glanced over at the two seamen who looked at me, jealousy in their eyes, the silent one of the two arching an eyebrow suggestively.
I let out a quick laugh, before placing a hand on the inquisitive man’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t go there, my friend,” I told him, pointing at my black eye. “Trust me.”
Whether he thought I was threatening him, or merely reaffirming his fears that he had no chance, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Releasing his shoulder, I followed after Helena.
Halfway through, I heard the inner hatch open and two men drop to the floor.
