Black Wind

At nine hundred feet, Summer began tweaking the buoyancy level to slow their descent and avoid smacking hard on the bottom. Dirk noticed the water visibility had cleared, though the seas were devoid of much life at that depth. Gradually, through the murk, he eyed a familiar dark shape looming up beneath them. “There she is. We're right on her.”

The shadowy black superstructure of the I-411's co

“She's enormous!” Summer exclaimed as her eyes took in the sub's huge girth. Even with Starfish's bright lights, she could see only a portion of the entire vessel.

“Definitely not your run-of-the-mill World War Two U-boat,” he replied. “Let's see where she got hit.”

Maneuvering the thrusters, Dirk propelled the submersible along a path down the starboard flank of the submarine, gliding just a few feet above its rounded topsides. Circling around the stern, Summer pointed out the tips of the I-411's two giant bronze propellers poking out of the muddy bottom. Moving forward along the port side, they traveled about fifty feet before a huge gash appeared at the waterline.

“Torpedo hit number one,” Dirk called out, eyeing the fatal impact from one of the Swordfish's torpedoes. He positioned the Starfish so that its lights shined into the irregular opening. Inside, a circular mass of twisted and jagged metal shined back at them, like the open jaws of an iron-toothed shark. Turning and moving forward again, the submersible crept along the silent wreck another thirty feet before a second opening appeared.

“Torpedo hit number two,” Dirk said.

Unlike the first gash on the port flank, the second hole was oddly centered higher up, along the edge of the topside deck, almost as if the explosive force had been delivered from above.

“You're right, this must have been the second torpedo impact,” Summer speculated. “The stern must have already dropped under from the first hit, and the sub rolled back from the initial recoil when the second torpedo hit her here.”

“Pretty good firing from the Swordfrish. They must have caught her at night, while she was ru

“Is that the aircraft hangar?” Summer asked, pointing to a large tubular appendage that ran lengthwise along the rear deck to the co

“Yes. Looks like it was blasted open in the explosion,” he said as they glided over toward the opening. A twenty-foot section of the ) hangar adjacent to the deck had simply disappeared in the carnage. Under the beam of the floodlights, they could see a three-bladed air| craft propeller mounted on the backside of the hangar wall as they floated outside peering in. Applying power to the thrusters, Dirk turned the vehicle and zoomed forward, gliding past the I-411's co

“That concludes the scenic portion of the tour,” Dirk said. “Let's see if we can find out what she carried.”

“We better check in with the gang upstairs first,” Summer said, slipping on her communications headset and pushing the transmit button.

“Sea Rover, this is Starfish. We've found the Easter Bu

“Roger,” Ryan's voice crackled back. “Be careful with the basket.”

“I think he's more concerned about his submersible than he is about us,” Dirk deadpa

“A typical man,” Summer mused, shaking her head. “Places emotional feelings on inanimate mechanical objects.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Dirk replied facetiously.

As he spoke, he gently guided the Starfish above the submarine's bow section, studying the forward deck. After several minutes, he spotted what he was looking for.

“There's the forward hatch to the upper torpedo room. If they follow suit with the I-403, that's where the biological ordnance would have been loaded and stored.”

Dirk maneuvered the Starfish in front of the hatch before setting the submersible down onto the deck of the I-411 and killing the thrusters.

“How's your breaking and entering skills?” he asked of Summer.

Unlike on the I-403, the forward hatch was closed and battened tight by a flush-mounted wheel. Summer activated a joystick control hidden in the armrest of her chair and powered the hydraulics to the submersible's right retractable arm. As she manipulated the controls, the metal appendage sprang from the side of Starfish and extended forward in a clumsy stretch. Slowly she dropped the arm down toward the hatch, adjusting the toggle control with short flips to maneuver the device. With the precision of a surgeon, she opened the clawlike hand and dropped it down to the hatch, wedging the fingers into the open slots of the hatch wheel on the first attempt.

“Nicely done,” Dirk admired.

“Now, if she'll just open,” Summer replied. With the flick of a second toggle control, the articulated grip of the mechanical claw began to twist. Dirk and Summer both pressed their faces to the bubble window, intent on seeing the wheel turn. But the seal that had been locked for sixty years didn't budge. Summer tried toggling the grip back and forth a half-dozen more times but to no avail.

“So much for my hydraulic grip,” she finally muttered.

“Keep a hold on the wheel,” Dirk instructed. “We'll try a little leverage.”

In an instant, he powered up the thrusters and lifted the Starfish a few inches off the deck. With Summer 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.