Collapse Depth by Todd Tucker Read Free Book Online Page A

seen as weak while negotiating trade regulations with China, who made thinly veiled threats about what havoc they could wreak on the US economy should they decide to divest themselves of their vast holdings of US government debt.
    While the world nervously waited to see what the long-term consequences would be, there was no doubt about the immediate effects of that errant missile. While it carried no warhead, the sheer weight and kinetic energy of a 13,000 pound object flying at ten times the speed of sound broke
Ever Able
in half. It sunk almost instantly, along with its crew of twenty-two men.
    It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Angi stared at the image on her computer screen, remnants of the
Ever Able’s
cargo floating on a calm sea. The bow of a rescue ship jutted into the bottom of the frame, but there was no one to save.
    •   •   •
    The first days at sea were always hectic, exhausting, but there was something of a relief to it as well: both the ship and the crew were meant to be underway.
Alabama’s
numerous and complicated systems were designed to operate ideally while in motion, relying on seawater to cool the steam flowing through condensers, shield radiation, and to insulate them from the world of commodores and admirals. The crew was also designed to operate optimally inside a ship at motion, with each division manned to operate a three-section watchbill of six hours on watch, twelve hours off, with plenty of maintenance and training for all hands to do in those off hours, into which also had to be squeezed showering, shitting, shaving, eating, and occasionally sleeping. So while bitching about sea time was an ancient and valued tradition of any maritime force, there was something pleasing about throwing off all lines and getting underway. For almost thirty six-hours, the ship steamed on the surface, each hour rougher then the last, until the ship had finally reached Point Juliet, marking water deep for them to submerge.
    Lieutenant Hein, like many men, had rebounded from his seasickness after the initial episode of vomiting. He was standing watch in the control room as the officer of the deck, and he carefully verified their position on a familiar chart of Puget Sound. He then verified that the ship was rigged for dive, and looked to the captain who was standing at his side on the conn. He awaited his order.
    Captain Shields nodded his head. “Submerge the ship.”
    “Submerge the ship, aye sir. Chief of the watch—submerge the ship.”
    The chief of the watch picked up the 1MC microphone and announced to the crew: “Dive! Dive!” He sounded the klaxon alarm,
Ahh-OOO-Gah
, twice. Modern submarines had, tragically, replaced the traditional klaxon alarm with a poor electronic facsimile, but
Alabama
, like many boats, had taken an old iron klaxon from a decommissioned boat in the shipyard. The large, gray cast iron alarm was bolted to the deck at the chief of the watch’s feet in a completely unauthorized modification to the ship’s plans.
    After sounding the klaxon again, the chief of the watch threw the switches that opened the vents to the six main ballast tanks, the giant tanks of air at each end of the submarine that kept her afloat. Salty spray shot fifty feet into the air through the open vents, as seawater flooded into the tanks through grates in the bottom. Lieutenant Hein watched the controlled sinking of the ship through the periscope and gave a running update to the men in control.
    “Forward tanks venting…” He turned the periscope one hundred and eighty degrees. “Aft tanks venting….decks awash…” It was always a strange sight to see the dry deck become covered in swirling green water, where just minutes before crewmen had scurried to make the ship ready for sea. Then the scope was at sea level, water splashing over the optics, then it was under. “Scope is submerged. Lowering number two scope.” He backed away from the scope and turned the orange ring that