gripping the hatch wheel with the claw, Dirk applied full reverse thrust and tried to break the seal with the momentum of the entire submersible. The wheel held tight, so he began rocking the Starfish forward and backward, trying to get a quick burst of leverage against the hatch.
“I think you're going to rip the arm off,” Summer cautioned.
With silent determination, he kept trying. On the next tug, he observed a barely perceptible movement in the wheel. Another blast and the seal broke at last, the wheel jerking a quarter spin. “That's showing it who's boss,” Summer said. “Just don't tell Ryan that his baby's right arm is now a few inches longer than it used to be,” Dirk smiled.
Hovering over the hatch, Summer was quickly able to spin the locking wheel to its stops with the articulated claw. Dirk then backed the Starfish away, and, with Summer holding on, the hatch finally swung up and open. Repositioning the submersible in front of the opening, they peered into the hole but could see nothing but a black void.
“I guess this is a job for Snoopy. You have the controls,” Summer said.
Dirk pulled out a laptop control module and pressed the power on button. A row of lights lit up green as the unit was activated. “Ready, go fetch,” he murmured while pressing a toggle switch that engaged a tiny thruster.
From an external cradle tucked beneath the acrylic bubble popped out a small tethered Remote Operated Vehicle. No larger than an attache case, the tiny ROV was little more than a self-illuminated video camera wedged against a small set of electronic thrusters. Able to probe and prod into tight spaces, Snoopy was an ideal tool for exploring the deep and dangerous niches of a submerged wreck.
Summer watched as Snoopy sprang into view and quickly ducked into the open hatch amid a spray of small bubbles. Dirk punched another console button and a live video feed from the ROV appeared on a color monitor. Watching the monitor to steer, he guided the vehicle around the now-familiar torpedo room. Snoopy skirted down one row of torpedoes, where the camera showed all five of the huge steel fish still resting in their racks. Circling to the other side of the bay, a duplicate scene was replayed on the opposite side of the torpedo room-The I-411 was clearly not anticipating battle when the Swordfish surprised and sank her.
But Dirk wasn't interested in torpedoes. Methodically, he drove Snoopyto the Prow f ^e torpedo room, then systematically swept the ROV back and forth across the bay, slipping a few feet toward the stern with each pass until he was satisfied that every square foot had been viewed.
“No sign of the canisters or their crates. But there is a second torpedo room below where they could have been stored.”
“Can you get Snoopy down there?” Summer asked.
“There's a floor hatch for loading the torpedoes, but I don't think Snoopy is going to lift that open. I may know of another route.”
Scanning the room with Snoopy camera lens eye, he spotted the rear hatch door that led to the chief's quarters. The hatch door was still open and Dirk maneuvered the ROV through it a few seconds later.
“Over there,” Summer said, motioning to a corner of the monitor. “There's a ladder that looks like it leads to the deck below.”
Dirk danced the ROV around a mass of debris and down an open hatchway in the floor. Dropping down to the deck below, Snoopy sniffed out the doorway to the lower torpedo room and- entered the second bay of warheads. Though slightly smaller due to the more tapered sides of the submarine's hull, the bay was an exact duplicate of the torpedo room above it. And just as they had seen once before, the camera showed all ten of the deadly Type 95 torpedoes resting peacefully in their racks. Though near the limit of the self-coiling tether that provided Snoopy its power, Dirk carefully maneuvered the ROV around the full confines of the room. The camera showed a full complement of torpedoes in the bay but nothing else. The empty room glared back at them vacantly.
“It would appear,” Summer said, shaking her head with disappointment, “that there are no eggs to be had.”
As Dirk carefully guided the small ROV back to the Starfish, he began whistling the old Stephen Foster standard “Swanee River.” Summer looked at her brother with abashed curiosity.
“You seem awfully happy, given that the biological bombs are missing in action,” she said.
“Sister, we may not know where they are, but we sure know where they ain't. Now, if it was me, I'd want to keep those eggs close to the hen.”
Summer took a second to digest the comments, then her face brightened slightly.
“The deck hangar? Where the aircraft are stored?”
“The deck hangar,” Dirk replied. “And the Swordfish was even kind enough to leave the door open for us.”
Once Snoopy was secure in its cradle, Dirk activated the main thrusters and the Starfish shot off down the deck of the submarine to the second torpedo blast. The detonation hole was easily large no ugh to allow the Starfish to drop into the interior, but the 11.5-foot ijarneter of the hangar was just fractionally too tight to allow any room for the submersible to maneuver any farther. Dirk studied the gash in the aircraft hangar before inching the Starfish into the opening. The deck had been blasted away in pockmarked sections, leaving step-through holes that led into the dank bowels of the submarine. Dirk slowly guided the Starfish lower until he spied firm decking near the forward edge of the gap that was large enough to support the submersible. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the airplane propeller they detected earlier was hanging just to his right. He gently eased lower until the Starfish's supporting skids tapped onto solid decking.
As he powered off the Starfish's thrusters, a momentary silence filled The submersible. Together, they peered down the enclosed hangar that stretched in front of them like an endless tunnel. Then the quiet was broken by a muffled metallic clunk than rang through the water.
“Dirk, the propeller!” Summer shouted, pointing out the bubble window toward the right.
The mounting bracket that held the spare three-bladed Seiran bomber propeller had long ago corroded in the salt water yet against all reason had somehow maintained sufficient integrity to hold the heavy blade onto the wall for sixty years. Not until the stirred waters from the Starfish's thrusters blasted against it did it decide to give up its mission and crumble from the wall in a rusty glob of dust. As the bracket fell away, the heavy propeller dropped straight to the deck, landing on the tips of its lower two blades with a clang.
But the show wasn't over. They watched in helpless fascination as the propeller fell forward, its upper blade skimming just in front of the Starfish's bubble window, inches from Summer's face. It appeared to move in slow motion as the force of the water suspended the movement of the steel blades. A secondary clang echoed through the water as the blade and nosepiece hit home, the entire assembly dragging across the submersible's right robotic arm and falling onto the front skid plates. A cloud of brown sediment rose and obscured their vision for a moment, then, as the water cleared, Summer noticed a small trail of dark fluid rising up in front of them, as if the Starfish were bleeding. “We're pinned,” Summer gasped, eyeing the heavy propeller lying across the front skids.
“Try the right arm. See if you can lift the blade up and I'll try and back us out,” Dirk directed as he powered up the thrusters.
Summer grasped the joystick and toggled it back to raise the arm. The metallic appendage began to rise briefly, then fell away limp. She repeatedly toggled the joystick control back and forth but there was no response.
“No good,” she said calmly. “The blade must have cut the hydraulics. The right arm is as good as amputated.”
“That must have been the fluid we saw. Try the left arm,” Dirk replied.
Summer configured a second joystick and applied power to the submersible's left mechanical arm. Working the controls, she tried stretching the arm across the viewing window and down to the fallen propeller. Since the left arm was both smaller and shorter than the right arm, it allowed for less maneuverability. After several minutes of bending and twisting the arm in various configurations, she finally worked the claw to a position where she could grab the edge of the propeller blade.
“I've got a grip, but it's at an awkward angle. I don't think I'll be able to exert enough pressure,” she said.
Pushing at the controls, her words fell true. The arm attempted to pull the propeller up but nothing budged. Several further attempts met with the same result.
“Guess we'll have to barge our way out,” Dirk replied, gritting his teeth.
