JW’s voice crackled into Kaz’s ear. “Kaz, did you copy that?”
The voices had faded in and out during the long transmission from the Apollo 18 crew. “I heard something, Doc, but couldn’t make it out.”
“I think I heard Michael say something about a gun!”
Kaz nodded. “Yeah, it’s no surprise that the Soviets are armed. We’re ready here too.”
“Copy.” JW paused. “Be safe.”
“Wilco.”
Kaz took a final look out the forward windows of the Sea King. The pilot had slowed, approaching the situation cautiously. Behind him, Kaz heard the big side cargo door sliding open, and could feel the buffeting air from the rotors. He leaned forward to the pilot. “All set?”
The pilot nodded, focusing on positioning where they’d briefed. Kaz moved aft and yelled to Colombo, “The crew’s all in the Soviet Zodiac now, and they’re headed towards the capsule. Your men ready?” He glanced at the wet-suited figures, all standing, holding on to the overhead straps with one hand, their weapons with the other.
“Yep, all set.” A large block was on the floor by the open door. The helo’s flight engineer leaned out the side, talking on headset with the pilot, guiding him into position. As the Sea King slowed and then settled its belly into the water, he kicked the block out and tugged on its line. It released a large raft, which began rapidly inflating.
Kaz felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Stepanov standing next to him, shouting above the noise. “Commander Zemeckis, I need to be in that raft to assist my countrywoman.”
Kaz shook his head. “No way.”
Stepanov was intent. “Think. You will need translation.”
Kaz quickly pictured what was likely to happen. Shit, he’s right, and the Captain had insisted. He looked at the size of the Navy men. Worth the risk. He nodded reluctantly and held up an open hand. Wait.
Colombo was loading his team and their gear into the six-sided raft as it bounced up and down in the rough seas. He turned to Kaz, who indicated Stepanov and yelled “Translator!” and pointed out the door. Colombo shrugged and guided the Russian into waiting hands in the raft.
“You’re next, sir!” he shouted. Kaz felt in his leg pocket for the Navy-issue Colt pistol the PO had given him, and stepped out into the raft, dropping to the floor for stability. Colombo followed immediately. The noise from the helicopter increased as its blades dug in and lifted it, dripping, out of the water. The downwash covered them with spray as the pilot maneuvered clear.
The first crewman into the raft had attached lines to Pursuit, and they pitched and heaved in the waves next to it.
Step one, Kaz thought. Capsule upside down, but secured. He turned to look downwind. The Zodiac had stopped 50 feet away, holding position using the little outboard, the yellow raft trailing, the sub in the distance. But something was wrong. He looked closely, frowning, counting: There weren’t enough white and black suits! Where did the others go? Shit! What had he missed while they were boarding their raft?
He turned to Colombo. “I need to get inside the capsule. Now!”
With no mask on, Chad was blinded by the salt water. His lungs were starting to burn, demanding air, and he reached down and back, grabbing the scuba tank hose. He thrust the regulator into his mouth, exhaled sharply to clear the water out and then took a welcome deep breath, hearing the familiar ringing sound of compressed air feeding from the tank on his back.
He let himself be pulled along. Might as well let this Russian tire himself out, doing all the work. He patted down his suited leg, feeling for what he’d put into the pocket. Good. Still there.
With the cut rubber neck seal, water was flowing into his suit, bubbles working their way up past his face, making him heavy in the water. Need to be careful. The bottom of this pool is a long way down.
The sailor stopped pulling. Blinking his eyes, Chad could make out the shape of Pursuit silhouetted against the light from the surface. He felt strong hands pushing him, and suddenly his head was through the hatch and into the air still trapped inside the capsule. He spit out the regulator and raised himself up into the familiar cockpit.
Didn’t think I’d be back here so soon.
He felt bumping from behind and squirmed himself to the side as the sailor emerged through the hatch, pulling off his mask. He reached down towards his fins, and when his hand came back up it was holding his long, curved diving knife. He held it close to Chad’s face.
“Vere is the stone?”
Chad turned and pointed above the Russian. “In a bag up there, behind the R2 panel.” When the sailor turned to look, Chad opened his pocket and slid his hand inside.