Spy Sub: A Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific

'It could conceivably stabilize the whole assembly,' the captain agreed.

'It would take only a couple of days to do this, sir, all of us working together on this thing. There'll still be plenty of time left for the search.'

Brown's design was accepted by the civilian scientists and incorporated into the winching system in less than two days. Soon after, everybody began the complex process of lowering the Fish through the hole. The cable moved freely with the revised winching mechanism, and the Fish again disappeared into the black ocean and moved along on its journey to the bottom nearly twenty thousand feet down.

Several days later, Robbie league prepared for another session in his darkroom on the port side of the hangar. During the time the Fish had been out of commission, his work had been minimal, with no pictures to analyze and nothing much to do but wait. When the Fish was brought back inside the Viperfish after the first run, Robbie finally had work to do.

Isolated within the confined darkroom on the port side of the hangar, he pulled film out of Fish canisters and applied chemicals until the 8 x 10 photographs provided testimony about the ocean floor. He kept the door tightly shut behind him as the glow of red light cast shadows over the trays filled with pictures. Bitter fumes from developer and fixer solutions burned his throat and lungs, flared his nostrils, and teared his eyes. The process of producing the stacks of photographs was tedious, and Robbie struggled to maintain a creative interest in the glossy pictures of mud.

Picture after picture looked the same. Each showed the flat expanse of sludge that had been only rarely interrupted by the drab outline of a sea cucumber. The strobe light on the Fish provided remarkably clear pictures, he noticed with some pride, and the stack of photos from this run was substantial.

Nobody had come around to tell Robbie what the pictures were supposed to show. His job was to take the pictures and review the results for clarity, focus, depth of field, and contrast. There was no reason for him to have any understanding about what might be at the bottom of the ocean. As the ship's photographer, he had no need to be included in the exclusive club of scientists and technicians involved in the operation of the Fish.

To Robbie, the past twelve hours had been just another routine photo session. Flipping through the stack of photographs, he saw mud in this one, more mud in the next one, and — look at that — a boulder here, and a little rock there. He reacted slightly at the next picture-a fish, a strange creature with wires coming out of its forehead, its huge eyes undoubtedly blinded from the power of the underwater strobe. He smiled at the thought of his job, studying mud and blinding creatures at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. The Fish was about twenty feet above the floor, he guessed, as he turned to the next photograph.

Spanning the full length of the 8x10 glossy was the conning tower of a submarine.

Robbie froze, his hand tightening its grasp on the picture under. the red light, his eyes scanning the details of the rough steel, his heart beginning an incessant pounding within his chest. He was immediately sure that it was not an American submarine. It resembled a Soviet boat. There were no sailplanes protruding from the side of the vessel, and it had four different periscope-like devices protruding from the top. The main section of the submarine, lying on its side, showed up in stark relief from the surrounding mud, and Robbie saw the fragmented edges of broken steel at the corner of the picture. The submarine's numbers had been painted over, and the superstructure appeared to have buckled from the stresses of its final descent.

Reaching for the telephone, he simultaneously grabbed the next picture. As he dialed the captain's stateroom, he saw the skeleton lying on the mud, thirty feet from the main structure.

'Captain here,' the voice crackled into his ear.

'Captain Harris?' Robbie asked, his voice sounding strange.

'This is Captain Harris,' the voice answered.

'Captain, this is Robbie Teague, up in the hangar-in the photo shack.'

'Yes, go ahead.'

'We have found what we are looking for.'

The Viperfish's trip back to Pearl Harbor, three weeks later, was filled with an atmosphere of celebration. It was a matter of continuous amazement that nobody but the captain, the executive officer, and the ship's photographer knew what we were celebrating. A single announcement from the captain about our success had come over the loudspeakers. His voice was audibly shaky as he reported that we had found the object of our search. There were some further words of congratulations to every man of the Viperfish crew, and that was it.

A feast was served, banquet style, in the mess, and punchbowls were filled with juices having a special tang. The entire dining area displayed exceptional touches of culinary expertise that said 'thank you' to all of us from the captain. I wandered back into the engine room, popped open a can of Coca-Cola in front of the circuit breakers, smiled, and felt good.

Long before we raised our periscope off the island of Kauai, channel fever struck and adrenaline surged through us as we moved closer to home. We had been at sea for two months, and the thought of getting back to the real world came to me with a blast of raw energy. Sleep was out of the question, watching movies or reading novels was impossible, and when I finally lined up the cross hairs of our periscope on the waterfalls, twenty miles away, I relished the beauty of the deep blue sky and the green mountains. Later that night, I crowded into the top of the sail with the lookouts and Lieutenant Pintard, where we all silently watched the soft beauty of our fluorescent wake and the distant lights of Honolulu under a spray of stars.

The next morning, the wives and other loved ones of the Viperfish's crew stood clustered together at the edge of the submarine pier and strained to see the first sign of the approaching boat. The day was warm and beautiful, with no signs of the quick squalls that were typical of the area. The past two months had been very long for all of them, and they were talking excitedly as they waited. Keiko wore a summer print dress and a wide-brimmed white hat. The other women displayed the full spectrum of colorful Hawaiian clothes.

Keiko had been called by Chief Linaweaver's wife the night before about the Viperfish's arrival time. This was part of an informal but extensive network system to notify all families of the boat's imminent arrival. Keiko had chased around to the supermarkets and bought enough food for a royal feast to prepare for my homecoming.

'There it is!' Betty Linaweaver exclaimed, pointing across Pearl Harbor at the black shape of the Viperfish rounding the bend and heading toward the submarine base.

'Beautiful!' several women called at the same time as they admired the full Hawaiian lei, wrapped around the sail, that extended almost all the way to the deck.

'What is that thing at the top of its periscope?' one of the children asked as the Viperfish glided across the water and moved closer to the submarine pier.

'It's a lei,' the child's mother said. 'A welcoming boat carries it out to them as they're coming up the channel-'

'Not that,' the child said. 'That other thing, sticking straight up.'

'I don't know,' another woman called out, peering at the periscope. 'It looks like a stick or something is attached-'

'It's a broom!' another woman exclaimed.

Keiko turned, puzzled, to the woman standing next to her. 'A broom?' she asked.

The chief of the boat ordered the Viperfish's crew to secure from the maneuvering watch after our lines were attached to the pier. I deactivated the circuit breakers and handed an astounded Chief Linaweaver an official supply request for a new Mod 1, Mark 2, strip of metal. Finally, climbing up the ladder leading out of the engine room, I blinked at the brilliant tropical sunlight that I hadn't seen for two months and turned toward the pier. I immediately spotted Keiko waving frantically to me, her face lit up with happiness.

About five enthusiastic minutes later, she diplomatically mentioned that I smelled sort of…funny.

'Funny?' I asked. 'I showered twice, I even took an extra long shower so I'd really smell good. I used a lot of soap, too.'

She smiled. 'Maybe it just doesn't come off'

'Maybe what doesn't come off?'

'That smell, whatever it is.' She smiled and kissed me again. 'It's not a bad smell,' she said, 'it's kind of a… submarine smell. Like diesel oil or machinery, or something.'

'Well, I'll shower again when-'