Read Online Escape From the Deep by Alex Kershaw - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alex Kershaw
Ads: Link
Decker, “you were aware that the piece of iron that’s a submarine could end up being a tomb.” Now, with a chance at life, Decker was afraid but able to control his panic. Others in the escape trunk reacted differently, as if the gravity of their situation paralyzed them with trepidation.
Ballinger undid the hatch. It opened smoothly. Thankfully, Dick O’Kane had ordered his men to grease all such exits from the submarine in case they got jammed. 14
Decker kept his nerve as Ballinger handed him the yellow wooden buoy attached to five hundred feet of line.
Decker pushed the buoy through the open hatch and released it. The line slithered out behind.
“Clay, count the knots as they go through your hand,” said Ballinger.
Decker counted the knots on the line as they slipped through his hands: 100 feet, 110 feet, 150 feet . . .
The buoy soon reached the surface. Decker knew it because the line started to tug as the soccer-ball-like buoy was jostled by waves on the surface. The fathometer was correct. They were indeed 180 feet below the surface.
Decker now took the end of the line, reached out to the first rung of a ladder just outside the escape trunk, and tied the line off with three knots.
The four men stood together, nose to nose.
Decker attached his Momsen Lung’s mouthpiece and then its nose clamp.
Ballinger nodded.
“OK, Clay—go for it.” 15
Decker ducked down into the water and exited the escape trunk, crawling out into utter blackness. The only way he could locate his hand was to touch his nose with it. All he knew was that he was standing on the outside of the hull. In the wooden deck above him was an opening around three feet wide. He had to reach it, had to find it. He clutched the line. If he didn’t use it to guide him, he wouldn’t know where to turn and could get lost finding the opening on the underside of the deck, become disoriented, panic, and drown. 16
Decker held on to the line and followed it upward, through the blacked-out superstructure, through the opening in the deck, and then up into the cold ocean itself. He fought the urge to rise fast. Wrapping his legs and arms around the line, he looked up, but all he could see was darkness.
They were the longest seconds of his life. As each knot passed through his hands, he hesitated, inhaled, then exhaled as he moved up to the next knot. His careful ascent allowed him to equalize the internal pressure in his lungs with the external pressure. It kept him alive. 17
Slowly, as Decker rose, the waters lightened. Finally, he could make out air bubbles shooting from his Momsen Lung to the surface far above. Somehow, he remained focused. Having gotten this far, only a hundred feet or so from life, he refused to give in to panic. He saw the water grow even lighter. Then he felt his head break the surface. There was daylight. He had made it.
Decker reached up to remove the nose clamp on his Momsen Lung. He felt blood. His nose and his cheeks were bleeding. But he had no sensation of pain or stinging. He realized that, although he had not come up fast enough to get the bends, he had risen a little faster than he should have, bursting superficial blood vessels on his face. In no time at all, however, the bleeding stopped, thanks to the salty, cold water.
Decker spat out the Momsen Lung’s mouthpiece and then threw away the Lung. There were hand-holds on the yellow wooden buoy. He grabbed on to them. He could feel the pull of the current. 18
A few moments later, Bill Ballinger surfaced a couple of yards away. He had clearly come up too fast. Decker watched in horror as he splashed frantically, bleeding, screaming, vomiting. His nose clamp was not on. He was just a few feet from Decker. Perhaps Ballinger’s Momsen Lung discharge valve had been pinned shut like his own. No matter how carefully he may have risen, if he hadn’t removed that pin, air wasn’t releasing from his lungs, and they could have burst like a balloon as he neared the
Ballinger undid the hatch. It opened smoothly. Thankfully, Dick O’Kane had ordered his men to grease all such exits from the submarine in case they got jammed. 14
Decker kept his nerve as Ballinger handed him the yellow wooden buoy attached to five hundred feet of line.
Decker pushed the buoy through the open hatch and released it. The line slithered out behind.
“Clay, count the knots as they go through your hand,” said Ballinger.
Decker counted the knots on the line as they slipped through his hands: 100 feet, 110 feet, 150 feet . . .
The buoy soon reached the surface. Decker knew it because the line started to tug as the soccer-ball-like buoy was jostled by waves on the surface. The fathometer was correct. They were indeed 180 feet below the surface.
Decker now took the end of the line, reached out to the first rung of a ladder just outside the escape trunk, and tied the line off with three knots.
The four men stood together, nose to nose.
Decker attached his Momsen Lung’s mouthpiece and then its nose clamp.
Ballinger nodded.
“OK, Clay—go for it.” 15
Decker ducked down into the water and exited the escape trunk, crawling out into utter blackness. The only way he could locate his hand was to touch his nose with it. All he knew was that he was standing on the outside of the hull. In the wooden deck above him was an opening around three feet wide. He had to reach it, had to find it. He clutched the line. If he didn’t use it to guide him, he wouldn’t know where to turn and could get lost finding the opening on the underside of the deck, become disoriented, panic, and drown. 16
Decker held on to the line and followed it upward, through the blacked-out superstructure, through the opening in the deck, and then up into the cold ocean itself. He fought the urge to rise fast. Wrapping his legs and arms around the line, he looked up, but all he could see was darkness.
They were the longest seconds of his life. As each knot passed through his hands, he hesitated, inhaled, then exhaled as he moved up to the next knot. His careful ascent allowed him to equalize the internal pressure in his lungs with the external pressure. It kept him alive. 17
Slowly, as Decker rose, the waters lightened. Finally, he could make out air bubbles shooting from his Momsen Lung to the surface far above. Somehow, he remained focused. Having gotten this far, only a hundred feet or so from life, he refused to give in to panic. He saw the water grow even lighter. Then he felt his head break the surface. There was daylight. He had made it.
Decker reached up to remove the nose clamp on his Momsen Lung. He felt blood. His nose and his cheeks were bleeding. But he had no sensation of pain or stinging. He realized that, although he had not come up fast enough to get the bends, he had risen a little faster than he should have, bursting superficial blood vessels on his face. In no time at all, however, the bleeding stopped, thanks to the salty, cold water.
Decker spat out the Momsen Lung’s mouthpiece and then threw away the Lung. There were hand-holds on the yellow wooden buoy. He grabbed on to them. He could feel the pull of the current. 18
A few moments later, Bill Ballinger surfaced a couple of yards away. He had clearly come up too fast. Decker watched in horror as he splashed frantically, bleeding, screaming, vomiting. His nose clamp was not on. He was just a few feet from Decker. Perhaps Ballinger’s Momsen Lung discharge valve had been pinned shut like his own. No matter how carefully he may have risen, if he hadn’t removed that pin, air wasn’t releasing from his lungs, and they could have burst like a balloon as he neared the
Similar Books
