Crush Depth

Diver One didn’t respond. Van Gelder saw him adjusting his suit controls.

Bauer checked the diver’s vital signs. He frowned. He grabbed the mike from the chief. “Diver One, your oxygen mix is too high. Reduce your oxygen mix.”

Diver One awkwardly waved an acknowledgment. He kept bending forward, fiddling with his chest-mounted controls.

“Diver One, your oxygen mix is still rising. Reduce your oxygen mix.”

Van Gelder worried that something was going wrong. He knew that for any diver, however and whatever they breathed, too much oxygen under pressure caused convulsions. At six thousand meters, the margin between life and death was very thin.

“Diver Two,” Bauer said, “assist Diver One. Check his backpack for him.”

Diver Two moved closer to Diver One. They talked using hand signals Van Gelder didn’t understand. Diver One’s movements were getting jerky.

“Diver One, calm down,” Bauer ordered.

Diver One’s arms and legs started shaking.

“Two, get One calmed down. Lower his oxygen level, fast.”

Two grabbed One and worked the controls on One’s chest.

The chief leaned past Van Gelder and pointed at the bio-data screen. “Level still rising, Commander.”

Bauer took a deep breath. “We have an equipment problem.”

Diver Two turned to the camera and shrugged.

“This is what I was afraid of,” Bauer said to Van Gelder. “With backpacks we can’t buddy-breathe, like sharing an air tank mouthpiece. Diver One is in trouble.”

Diver One began to shake uncontrollably. He typed something on his keyboard but it was gibberish.

“Two,” Bauer urged, “get One into his pressure capsule. We have to bring him up.”

But Two began to fight with One, a weird wrestling match in slow motion shown starkly in the floodlights.

“He’s become irrational, sir,” the chief stated, belaboring the obvious.

Suddenly Diver One broke away from Two and unclipped his tether. He jettisoned his weight belt and started for the surface.

“One, One!” Bauer ordered. “Return to the bottom now.”

Diver One was out of the camera picture already, on his way up, propelled by too much positive buoyancy that would just get worse as he rose. Diver Two pointed upward and held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Two, stay on the bottom.”

“He’ll die,” Two typed on his keyboard.

“Two, stay on the bottom.” Bauer spoke soothingly now, but Van Gelder could tell his effort was forced. “Finish the job yourself…. You’re almost done, you can do it,” Bauer coaxed.

“But my buddy?” Two typed poignantly.

“Leave him to us.”

Two shook his head. “No.”

“I said leave him to us. There’s nothing more you can do for him. Finish the job you both started.”

Diver Two hesitated, then acknowledged reluctantly. He trudged away from the camera and went back to work, installing the equipment that fed false data into the Allied SOSUS net.

The chief made sure the mike to the bottom was off. “If One’s body reaches the surface, sir,” the chief said to Bauer, “we’ll leave a sign for the enemy that we’re here.”

“I know,” Bauer said. “You and your dive buddy get suited up.” An enlisted Kampfschwimmer tended equipment in the back of the minisub. He and the chief donned their Draeger rebreather scuba rigs. They went into the mini’s central swimmer lockout sphere and dogged the heavy hatches. Van Gelder did not envy them their task.

“Copilot,” Bauer ordered, “come to ten meters depth.”

“Ten meters, aye aye.” Van Gelder was glad to have something to do, yet he dreaded what would happen next. As he went shallow, the minisub pitched and rolled heavily. The outside seas were rising as a major storm approached. The mini’s motion was much rougher than usual, and the trim was unstable, because of the drag load against the stern-mounted winch reel caused by the long cable played out below. The cable yanked against the back of the minisub each time a passing wave surged and heaved. Van Gelder prayed the noise wouldn’t give them away.

Holding as close to ten meters depth as he could, Van Gelder worked his control panel. He raised the air pressure in the lockout sphere to a mild two atmospheres, to equalize it with the outside water. Before the chief and his dive buddy could exit through the bottom hatch to search for Diver One, Van Gelder heard a desperate banging against the minisub’s hull.

Bauer used the intercom into the lockout sphere. “For God’s sake get him inside and get him quiet.” If Diver Two hadn’t completed the main part of his work, any noise One made would reveal their presence to enemy forces. “Copilot,” Bauer snapped, “you have the conn.” Van Gelder acknowledged. Bauer stood up.

When Diver One was in the sphere and the bottom hatch was shut, Van Gelder dropped the pressure back to one atmosphere. Bauer opened the hatch from the control compartment into the sphere. Van Gelder, both hands on the helm controls, glanced aft through the hatchway.

Diver One was lying on his back, twitching and jerking. His space suit had inflated like a balloon. It failed at the helmet joint, and saline solution sprayed explosively. Some of it squirted forward and drenched Van Gelder. He looked at himself and saw his clothes were tinged with mucus and blood — from Diver One’s rupturing lungs. Diver One wheezed on the deck, struggling for breath like a drowning asthmatic. To Van Gelder the sound was oppressive, sickening.

“Get him into the spare capsule,” Bauer snapped. “If we can re-equalize him to six thousand meters—”

“He’ll die anyway,” the chief snapped back. “His backpack’s wrecked. He’s had it.” Diver One gave a strangled burbling moan. Van Gelder had no choice but to listen as he worked his helm controls. He glanced aft again, in spite of himself.

Diver One spit out more saline solution and blood. His eyes bulged and his face began to swell. At six kilometers down, water was compressible, by about three percent. Now all that water infused throughout One’s body expanded back relentlessly. Even his nose and ears seemed much too big.

Van Gelder heard a crackling, crunching sound.

“Jesus,” the chief said. “His bones. They’re shattering from inside.” One rolled onto his stomach, in agony, then rolled again, flat on his back. The crackling noise went on.

Diver One writhed and tried to scream, but only a choking gurgle came out now. His tongue became horribly swollen, protruding from his mouth. His jaw worked spastically, and he chewed right through his tongue. The end of it plopped to the deck — Van Gelder could no longer watch. He wished he could release the controls and cover his ears.

He heard One’s joints begin to pop apart, with a ripping as tendons gave way; the water in One’s tissue compartments continued to force its way out. One’s limbs flailed more insanely. His gasping, hacking cough grew weak.

Soon there was stillness and quiet, except for the survivors’ heavy breathing, and the sound of bloody water dripping from the bulkheads. The smell of it, and of body waste, made Van Gelder nauseous.

“Be careful with the backpack,” Bauer said. “We’ll need to take it apart and see what went wrong.”

The chief and the enlisted Kampfschwimmer nodded.

“Put him in the spare pressure capsule,” Bauer said very coldly. “We’ll use it as a body bag…. His suit looks mostly intact, but check for plutonium leakage.”

Simultaneously, on Challenger

Gentle snoring came from the topmost bunk in the little stateroom, but Ilse tried to ignore it. She was too busy cramming manuals and schematics at the small fold-down desk.

Yes, Kathy Milgrom snored — but she was Ilse’s best friend and confidante, so it was hard to feel annoyed. Besides, Kathy said that Ilse often cried or moaned when she was sleeping. Ilse had a lot, maybe too much, on her mind.