Nightwatch

Chapter 52

“I’ve got the yellow stripe,” reported Benjamin Kram, his eyes riveted on the real-time scene visible on the control panel’s video monitor.

“Forward ten meters, starboard three.”

The video picture was compliments of a miniature camera set into the mini-sub’s lower hull. The bright yellow stripe it was focused on was painted alongside the Rhode Island’s aft, upper deck access way In order to mate the mini-sub’s transfer skirt directly onto this access way the pilot expertly manipulated his joysticks, causing the thrusters to propel them slightly forward and to the right.

“There are the crosshairs!” Kram proclaimed.

“Down one.”

There was a distinctive, clamorous clanging noise as the mini sub settled down onto the Rhode Island. Kram had to utilize yet another video camera to finalize the alignment, and it was with great relief that he gave the order to attach the transfer skirt and pressurize.

“Commander Gilbert,” he added to SEAL Team Two’s mustached CO, “if it’s all right with you, I’d like to join your men when they unseal the hatch.”

“Me and my ladies would be honored for your company during this historic, first operational transfer,” Gilbert proudly replied.

To extract himself from his cramped command chair, Kram had to grasp the overhead handholds and scoot backward into the passenger compartment. Together with Gilbert, they hunched over and continued farther aft into the transfer module, a circular compartment with a round hatch cut into its deck.

They made certain that the pressure was equalized before kneeling to un dog this hatch, which noisily squealed as they yanked it toward them. Exposed below was the dark gray outer skin of the Rhode Island’s upper hull. Portions of the bright yellow decal that Kram had been watching on the monitor were also visible, and they had to call upon two muscular SEALs to deploy the heavy iron tool needed to actually crack open the Trident’s hatch. It too opened with a grating squeal, and there was a popping sensation, followed by a cool draft of polythylene-scented air.

Kram peered anxiously into the open access way The glowing lights of the Trident’s aft, upper-level missile magazine invitingly beckoned down below. A steep, iron-rung ladder was anchored into the side of the hatch, and Kram readily accepted Gilbert’s offer to lead the way.

The descent went quickly, and as he dropped onto the deck below, Kram looked up to see which of the SEALs was following.

It was at this exact moment that a camera triggered from inside the mini-sub, temporarily blinding him.

He gently rubbed his eyes, his sight returning in time for him to view the strange reception committee that waited for him inside the missile magazine. Gathered in a tight, protective phalanx was a group of helmeted sailors wearing full-body armor, a lethal combination of combat shotguns and pistols trained his way.