SLINGSHOT, page 19
part #1 of The Starchild Saga Series
At that moment, Watson came striding across the deck. “Bruce Yoon, you little traitor sonofabitch! What the fuck you doing here?” Watson was shouting. “You damn near cost me everything, you fucking little spy!” In one quick motion, Watson grabbed Bruce, slid him up the railing, and tossed him over the side.
∞
Martain was shocked beyond belief at what she had just witnessed. Watson continued to lean over the railing, shouting obscenities at Bruce. She slipped inside the nearest door to get away from the crazy man and held the SSRS to her mouth. “Hello…hello!” Then she remembered that Bruce had removed the bud from behind his ear. She put it behind her ear. “Hello…Hello..is anybody listening?”
“This is Alex Regent. Who are you?”
Haltingly, Martain told Alex what had just happened. “What do I do? What do I do?” she wailed.
“Go outside to the railing and tell me what you see,” Alex told her. She followed his instructions.
“The dolphin George is right next to Bruce. Wait, Bruce grabbed George’s dorsal fin. Oh my God! George is pulling Bruce away from the ship. One of the dolphins is with them. The other two took off really fast towards you. Oh my God!”
“It’s Mary, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Mary. I want you to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. Do you have a friend onboard?” She did. “Okay, then…lock yourself in his stateroom and don’t come out. Be seasick or something, but don’t unlock the door for anyone but him. You’re going to lose contact on SSRS. You have your Link, right?” She said she did, and Alex gave her a special Link code that would put her in direct contact with him. “Keep your Link open,” he said. “I’ll have Tex Sanchez meet you in Pago Pago when you arrive.” He sent her an image of Tex. “Remember, stay in your friend’s stateroom.”
EQUATORIAL PACIFIC—OVERBOARD SOUTH OF WESTERN COMPLEX
B
ruce hit the water in total shock. He knew enough to fear the propellers that would pass him shortly, and began to swim away from the ship, applying everything he had. He wasn’t a very strong swimmer, and he felt terror rise in his throat. He felt a strong nudge against his stomach, and then a dolphin surfaced next to him. “Is that you, George?” Bruce gasped.
George chattered and came close alongside him. As Bruce had seen the divers do, he reached out and grasped the dolphin’s dorsal fin. It was firm and smooth in his hand and easy to hold on to. George immediately accelerated away from the vessel, pulling Bruce with him, even as Bruce felt the undercurrent pull of the powerful propellers. Bruce felt a touch on his left side. It was another dolphin. He didn’t know its name, but it was clear that it wanted him to grasp its dorsal fin as well. Bruce complied. The dolphins chattered to one another and squealed with a piercing sound. Bruce was sure they were communicating with their two pals. Within moments he found himself moving through the water so fast that he had to turn his head to keep water from rushing up his nose.
“Whoa, guys,” he sputtered, while letting go of the dorsal fins. “We gotta figure this out.” Bruce rolled to his back and grasped both fins again. “Let’s try it this way,” he said, and the dolphins got underway once more. Bruce found that it worked much better on his back, and both he and the two dolphins settled into an easy skimming over the ocean’s surface toward the Western Complex, still some thirty kilometers distant. Several hundred meters ahead of them, and getting further ahead by the second, the other two dolphins surged forward at maximum speed, soaring out of the water every few tens of meters, side by side in a graceful ballet.
EQUATORIAL PACIFIC—ABOARD SKIMMER ONE
T
hirty kilometers ahead of Bruce and the dolphins, Pearl hustled to get Skimmer One underway after leaving Bihm in charge of Amelia E’s fantail. She knew George was with Bruce, but, in her own words, “I don’t trust no damn fish—know what I mean?” Actually, Pearl and George got along very well, but she was worried for the little cub reporter, the kid with the brass ones who had infiltrated Green Force. He was her kind of person, even if he was a scrawny little puke. Pearl shouted with glee as Skimmer One lifted on cushion as she pushed the craft to its limits.
She passed two speeding dolphins heading toward the Western Complex three minutes later. They have to be part of George’s pod, she thought, but didn’t slow to check. Four minutes after that, Pearl spotted a surface commotion and pulled her throttles all the way back. Skimmer One settled into the water and glided up to George and his dolphin pals, with Bruce clutching their dorsals.
“Hey, Bruce!” Pearl yelled, wiping tears of joy from her glistening black cheeks. “Enjoying your swim?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EQUATORIAL PACIFIC—SUBMERGED ABOARD WAMPUS
M
argo was fairly certain that Watson had only emplaced two explosive cutters. She reasoned that he did W-1 first, followed by W-3, and while he still was at W-3, Slingshot pulled enough tension to trigger both cutters. No other tensioners were cut, even though they all had pretty much the same tension—especially W-2 and W-4. Nevertheless, she needed to see W-5 at a minimum to be sure. Margo scanned at two frequencies, one set for the anchor beacons, including W-5, and the other set to the beacons Klaus attached to the repaired ends of W-1 and W-3. Since the beacons on the cut tensioners would be behind her, she concentrated on looking for W-5. Simultaneously, she also conducted an active high-frequency search in case the beacon had been damaged like at W-3. Margo conducted her search without sonic enhancement. In her experience, the electronics were so much more sensitive than the human ear that there was nothing to gain by listening to the rush of her search sonar, and it interfered with her enjoyment of the utter solitude she experienced inside her transparent sphere here in the abyssal deep. And as always, her Link continued to fill in the wedge, identifying more areas where Earhart did not end her ill-fated journey.
After forty-five minutes of steady searching as she moved westward, Margo picked up the faintest flicker of a signal. She concentrated her listening beam on that vector, and there it was, broadcasting its identity—W-5. Margo set the broadcast point into her autopilot, but just before she commenced her approach, she broadened her listening beam and turned up the intensity of her active high-frequency search. If you were to ask her why she did this, she would respond that she was making sure there were no unexpected obstructions, or anything else in her path. While this would have been true, Margo really had another underlying reason.
Margo was not the kind of person to let personal matters interfere with the job at hand, but there was nothing wrong with expanding her sonar search parameters so she could eliminate another piece of ocean bottom on the comprehensive chart she maintained on her Link. So her sonar conducted the enhanced search while she drove up to W-5 for a visual inspection of the bottom two hundred meters of cable.
She dropped to the anchor, and then rapidly rose up the cable, concentrating her lights on the five-centimeter Kevlar hawser, scanning it visually as she rose. At two hundred meters above the anchor, she called Klaus. “W-5 is clean, Klaus. I think we’re okay. Apparently, Watson got caught doing W-3. I’m off to find your beacons.”
As Wampus turned, Margo noticed a faint echo about 500 meters to the southwest—at the extreme range of her high-frequency search sonar. Although it was a bit out of her way, Margo pointed Wampus at the echo and cranked up her thrusters. At her elevated speed, she crossed the distance in about two minutes, but even before she got there, on her display, she could clearly see the distinct outline of an aircraft. Her heart began to beat faster. Other planes had gone down here during the war, but not that many. As she drew closer, her computer began to reconstruct the image on the bottom. There it was—an Electra, THE Electra—its right wing severely damaged, windscreen smashed, vertical stabilizer missing, but otherwise relatively intact, resting right side up, almost as if it were preparing to take off. It was an incredible sight, this world-famous aircraft nearly intact on the ocean bottom, 5,000 meters below the surface, just waiting to be found…
“Klaus, Klaus! I found it! I found it!” Margo could barely contain her excitement. “Amelia’s Electra, it’s here on the bottom. I found it!”
“I can see, Margo. Words fail me. What do I say to the girl who just became world-famous?”
This was literally a dream come true. Margo had spent countless hours examining charts, calculating vectors, studying old weather patterns, reading reports of search groups, even as late as the early 2000s. There were so many theories, so many opinions.
Margo spent another five minutes examining and recording the Electra, and then she attached a beacon to the wreck, and vectored Wampus up and to the northeast, searching for W-3 beacon.
∞
It didn’t take very long for Margo to locate the W-3 beacon. The current had pushed it further to the northeast, but she picked it up on her search sonar within ten minutes, and fifteen minutes later, she had a firm grip on the double clasp at the cable end.
“Klaus,” Margo transmitted shortly after grasping the cable end, “I think we have a significant problem down here.”
“I can guess, Margo, but tell me about it anyway.”
“You can see that I have gripped the double clasps with both manipulators. What you cannot readily see is that I am in full reverse, but I’m not going anywhere.” Klaus chuckled. “I know you can monitor my gauges, Klaus, but that’s not the same as being down here doing full reverse and not budging.”
Klaus sighed. “I guess we didn’t figure the current for being that strong.” He paused. “Let’s see…you’ve got a five-centimeter cross-section, and there’s at least a klick of cable in the water. That’s…”
“Fifty square meters of surface,” Margo interjected.
“Let’s assume a five-knot current,” Klaus continued. “Let’s call that two-and-a-half meters per second…” He did some quick calculations. “That comes to about three-quarters of a million kilograms of pressure on the cable.” He laughed. “Wampus is a great little sub, but no way she can generate that kind of thrust!”
“I guess we should have thought this through a bit more, don’t you think, Klaus?” Margo was kicking herself for not realizing what they were up against. “We wait for just the right current, or we drop another two anchors.”
“No brainer,” Klaus said. “Might as well get your butt back here. It’s gonna take several hours.”
EQUATORIAL PACIFIC—AT W-1 AND W-3
W
hile Margo brought Wampus back to Amelia E, where Bihm hoisted her onboard, Klaus briefed Alex and got two barges underway. Since the current was not something they could fight, Klaus opted to use it instead to keep things stabilized while he conducted repairs. W-1 and W-3, although both with one free end, had stabilized in the current’s tug. The rail was at about one-kilometer altitude. The two cables hung straight down for over a half-kilometer, and then curved to the north to enter the water at about a ten-degree angle some seven kilometers out. The massive reverse-locking payout reels with their supply of tapered Kevlar cable were both located several tens of meters below the ocean entry-points of the cables. Below the payout reels, the cables formed a kilometer-long current-driven catenary. The bitter ends of the cables with their double hooks were about three-quarters of a kilometer below the surface.
About one and half hours later, two station-keeping barges drove up against each cable from the inside, so the cable passed over the barge. The overhead sky was more than half-filled with fleecy clouds. Terns, boobies, and frigatebirds had followed the barges to their respective locations, where they performed their skydance that was part hunting and part just the joy of flying. In the water below, George and his pals cavorted with exaggerated excitement, knowing that something cool was about to happen. The trained dolphins had participated in the dropping of every anchor on the Western Complex, never failing to follow the anchor down as far as they could. The men on both barges were so accustomed to the birds’ aerial spectacles that they hardly noticed the ballet happening right over their heads. On the other hand, they cheered the dolphins on, calling to George and the others by name, encouraging their play.
The barge on W-1 held its position while the second barge went into action. The crane operator hoisted a massive anchor into the air and swung it out over the water up against the cable, so the cable passed right over the top of the anchor. A twenty-meter-long Kevlar pigtail was firmly attached to the anchor, and loosely coiled and tied to its top. Divers Wells, Solak, Kilker, and Apryl rode the anchor out over the side, with Bihm remaining on the barge to supervise. The crane operator lowered the anchor into the water, keeping it tight against the cable until the divers indicated they had passed the payout reel.
Under George’s watchful eye, the divers quickly attached the pigtail to the cable just below the payout reel with a set of ten specially designed clamps. Then Kilker and Apryl swam twenty meters below the attachment point, where they attached a pressure-activated explosive cutter to the cable. Then the divers surfaced and were hauled in a steel basket to the deck where they were assaulted by a half-dozen lesser frigatebirds looking for food handouts. Once the divers were safely on deck, the barge operator swung the barge around the cable so that it was clear of the cable, and signaled the crane operator to drop the anchor.
Instantly, the dolphins disappeared to get a head start on the dropping anchor. At one hundred meters, the explosive cutter separated the lower part of the cable, which plunged on its own track to the bottom. Fifty seconds later, the 850-metric-ton anchor struck the bottom, driving its pylons deep into the sediment, followed by nine explosive releases of the anchoring cross-members. The dolphins surfaced with a flurry and crossed the distance to W-3 with remarkable speed.
The scenario repeated itself with minor variations at W-3, and when both anchors were firmly attached to the bottom, Margo got ready to make another bottom excursion in Wampus.
EQUATORIAL PACIFIC—AT W-1
R
V Amelia E had brought Margo and Wampus to the drop spot over the W-1 anchor. By this time, it was late in the afternoon, but Margo wanted to complete the two anchor installation repairs as soon as possible so Ascension could continue. Pearl deployed Wampus over the fantail with Margo inside, and George and the other dolphins outside. The divers ran their external checks, and Apryl once again did her coquettish best to give Margo a fun sendoff. As she posed in front of Wampus, George came up behind her with a gentle push, causing her to tumble head over heels. Margo chuckled and dropped to fifty meters. The divers did a final check, and Apryl—after her manner—crossed her arms over breasts, signaling a safe journey. This time, George let her be.
Wasting no time, Margo dropped at full speed, leaving the dolphins at 300 meters, and reaching a hover near the bottom in eight minutes. She switched on her lights, quickly located the anchor, and drove herself to a position a couple of meters above the anchor surface. She located the bitter end of the cable and grasped it in her left manipulator. Then, with a smooth pushing motion, she threaded the cable through a formed channel in the anchor, and then lifted the bitter end to a point above the ten clamps installed at the surface by the divers. She attached the bitter end to the main cable with another ten clamps so that the cable was not only firmly attached to the pigtail that was attached to the anchor, but was also attached directly to the anchor. The entire task took just over a half-hour.
Margo examined her handiwork and reported to Klaus, “The repairs look pretty good, Klaus. I know you did the calcs, but only time will tell if it will hold like the original.”
“Not to worry, Girl,” Klaus said. “It’ll hold.”
Margo punched the coordinates of W-3. An hour later, she was hovering over the second anchor. She was disappointed to find the last two meters of the cable bitter end under the anchor. Cutting the cable free was the easiest solution, but would leave her with barely sufficient to clamp to itself above the pigtail. She grabbed the cable with both manipulators and commenced reverse thrust until she was at maximum. It didn’t budge. Margo decided to loosen the cable with her waterjet, which consisted of a high-pressure pump with its output directed through a flexible hose to a narrow nozzle. She clamped the nozzle in her right manipulator and then activated the pump. As she directed the high-pressure stream to the bottom where the cable disappeared under the anchor, clouds of silt filled the water in every direction, completely blinding Margo. She turned off the pump and waited for the current to move the cloud away. When the water had cleared, she examined the point using a holocam and bright light. It looked like she had penetrated at least a half-meter. She set up again with the waterjet, this time pushing the nozzle as far as possible into the opening she had created.
When Margo activated the pump this time, she produced far less clouding silt. She kept the waterjet going for a full minute, feeding it into the hole. She stopped and let the cloud clear. Then she grasped the cable with both manipulators and built her reverse thrust up to full, and then let it off. The cable moved! She did it again…and again…and on the fourth time, the cable pulled free.
Klaus had been observing Margo’s progress silently with his topside monitors. “Nice job!” he said as the cable pulled free. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”
The job was wrapped up twenty minutes later.
“Klaus, I’m off to see the wizard,” Margo said. “I want to take another close look at Electra.” She entered the Electra’s coordinates, and fifteen minutes later, the outline of the aircraft took shape on her display, and shortly thereafter, she was looking once again at Amelia Earhart’s actual final resting place.
With great care, Margo used her thrusters to “blow” the accumulated silt from the aircraft’s nose. The nose and windscreen were smashed, and the cockpit was nearly filled with fine silt. Using her waterjet very gingerly, Margo commenced removing the soft, fluffy material. She cleared for a few seconds and then waited for the current to sweep the silt cloud away. Then cleared again…and waited…cleared again…and waited. As the cloud cleared, and as the silt-filled water slowly cleared the cockpit through the broken windscreen, Margo saw a shape taking place. As it came into gradual focus, she gasped and pulled back.
