quickly into the interior, twenty of the deadly darts pierced the dark waters behind them, striking the rusting steel of the number-three barbette.
Everett and the navy salvage team swam quickly down the emergency passageway of number-two deck. At every opening they passed there had been at least a two-man team waiting for them with deadly and accurate fire from the outside. It was clear to the trailing Everett that there were far more bad guys than good. They had lost three of the navy salvage men and Ranger Chavez in the first of these unexpected assaults without any return fire. Everett concluded that the SEALs outside were either dead or fighting for their lives just as he and his men were.
Carl used his dive knife to bang on the steel bulkhead until the men ahead of him stopped and turned. They had been heading for the stern companionway that led to the open water of the harbor, where he knew that attackers were waiting to ambush them. To punctuate this thought, four men in the same-style wet suits as Everett's team were wearing came bursting into the hatchway from above. The men started to scatter until they realized that this was what was left of the SEALs' security element.
Everett waved everyone over to the open hatch, which had been frozen in that position since 1941. The chief and the remaining SEALs turned and started pumping darts into the massive barbette opening of number-three gun mount to cover the salvage team as they entered the hatch.
Carl was the last to enter the hatch following the SEALs. He stuffed the plate map into the back of his weight belt so that he could pull himself into the hatch. Just as his fins disappeared through the opening, ten darts ricocheted off the steel around the hatchway. One of the deadly projectiles hit his right fin and pierced it, knocking him sideways. Everett's luck was holding as he went deeper into the darkness of the
As the survivors dived into the real heart of the ship, the attacking Coalition force hesitated only moments before following. Soon the entire force of forty-two men entered the bowels of the ship in pursuit.
The great gray lady was crewing live Americans once again, but she was old and tired and very near collapse as the remaining men swam for their lives into her darkened belly.
Jack dived under the concrete memorial and came up under her frame to catch a breath. He held his Beretta up out of the water, ejected the nearly spent clip, and silently slipped in one of his spares. He shook his head in anger after losing another three people to the Coalition.
He heard loud talking as more men entered the memorial from the harbor side. Where in the hell had they come from? The afternoon search of the harbor had been thorough; they had made sure that all the tourists had exited the area and there were no surprises awaiting the dive team.
As Jack moved from frame strut to frame strut, he heard equipment smashing and men walking overhead. He spit out some of the foul-tasting water, then froze when he heard a woman's voice.
'I am speaking to Colonel Collins. I know you are the military officer that was at the warehouse in New York and Mr. Keeler's offices in Boston.'
Jack did not move. The gentle lapping of the water underneath the memorial masked his breathing, but he was still prepared to dive deep if bullets started punching their way through from the deck above.
'I know that your facility at Nellis has Ms. Laughlin and Mr. Rothman under quarantine. They tell the wildest and most fanciful stories, don't they? They really are quite insane, you know. It must be the inbreeding.'
Jack's eyes followed the voice through the decking above his head. The woman was moving left to right and coming very close to the spot where he had rolled into the water.
'I must tell you, and whatever entity you work for, that you have caused me concern here. This was supposed to be a no-violence endeavor. Your interference will just be the cause of more deaths.'
Jack thought he had a good spot where he could shoot through the deck and hit the woman, but then he decided to hold his fire. He wanted her alive because now he knew that she was at least culpable in the murders of his people.
'We will get to the two Ancients eventually, Colonel. It's just as the message I instructed be left for you in New York stated:
Jack closed his eyes in anger as he heard her arrogant chuckle.
The dive team, or what was left of them, was hold up in the ship's number-three galley. They had lost one more SEAL and another three salvage divers on their way in. Everett and the rest of the team were fast running out of darts, just as the enemy seemed to have an endless supply.
Carl took a quick head count and saw that they were down to two SEALs and five unarmed navy divers, plus himself and one park ranger. They had their backs up against a solid steel bulkhead behind good protection; a large cast-iron stove was stopping most of the tungsten darts. Now they would be picked off one at a time or they would run out of oxygen. Neither fate suited him all that much.
Growing angry at the no-win scenario, Carl reached for his plastic writing board and quickly wrote, 'What is above the galley?' He quickly showed the board to the others.
The park ranger quickly wrote, 'Number eight antiaircraft mount.'
Carl pointed to a large hole in the steel ceiling of the galley. What he was indicating was the hole that the 776-pound aerial bomb dropped by a Japanese pilot over sixty years before had made in its plunge into the forward magazine for number-two gun mount. As they looked upward, they could see the open water through two decks.
Carl used his thumb and index finger to mimic a gun, asking for the two remaining SEALs to cover him.
The chief held his board up and quickly wrote, 'No way, there are at least thirty to forty attackers in the galley and companionway!'
Everett looked at the jagged hole again. He thought he could squeeze through. He handed the bronze plate he had removed from the safe to the park ranger and then quickly started to remove his tanks. The others looked at him as if he were nuts. The SEALs turned and fired off a few darts and then reloaded their last tube of ammo. Before Everett removed his mouthpiece for the last time, he wrote on his board, 'If I'm lucky, you'll hear three taps when I get there--get everyone inside the big ovens and cover up!'
With one last look at the incredulous faces of the salvage team, Everett started taking deep breaths. Then he removed his mouthpiece and tapped the chief on the shoulder. The two SEALs popped up and started pumping darts into the darkness of the mess area, not really knowing if they would hit anything. The idea was to keep their enemies' heads down until the former SEAL followed through with his crazy plan.
Everett held on to a flashlight as he pushed up hard with his legs. His body left the deck and he almost made it into the large hole in one fell swoop, but his shoulder hit one of the jagged edges and his momentum stopped cold. He felt a dart plunge into his neoprene wet suit and lodge in the soft folds of his side; luckily, it was only skin it caught. He adjusted his angle and kicked with his fins, and the dart in his left side hit the opening on the way through. The sudden flare of pain almost caused him to expel the precious air he had stored up in his lungs. Nevertheless, he kicked once more and he was through.
Carl shone his light around. He was in a small crawl space between decks and he hurriedly looked around for the ladder he hoped led out to the antiaircraft mount. He suddenly saw it about six feet away. It went upward and in the opposite direction; and went down toward what he was hoping to find. He just hoped he remembered the schematic correctly.
As he descended into the hold, his captured breath was expanding in his chest. Carl eased up and forced himself to slow, lowering his blood pressure intentionally and allowing small amounts of air to escape his lungs. As he used a handrail to guide him, he saw ahead through the light a small hatchway that was bent almost double, but still open. That had to be the small locker that served the number-eight gun mount. He just hoped that salvagers had left what was stored there intact as too dangerous to be moved. As he held the sides of the hatchway, he pulled himself into the armored locker.
The eeriness he felt inside was palpable. He shone the light on the deck and saw the bubblelike rise of steel where the explosion below had buckled the deck above. The forces involved had been so tremendous that the armor decking had separated into layers.
Carl looked around. Time was running out as his lungs were starting to ache as he continued to expel air a small amount at a time. Still he did not see anything that he needed. The armory looked to be empty. Then he saw them. They were in the silt of sixty-five years' accumulation, buried like the men around them, and were like skeletal fingers poking from a grave.
Before he could reach even for one, he started to grow dizzy. He shook his head and looked around him.
