Chapter 26 - The Crushing Ascent
A split-second after our hatch sealed, the docking collar severed with an ear-shattering screech.
Outside our viewports, the *USS Defiant* slipped backward into the bottomless abyss of the Mariana Trench, descending into the utter dark like an iron coffin, swallowed by the crushing depths.
Inside the *Triton-IV*, the high-pressure nitrogen tanks roared as they evacuated every cubic centimeter of seawater from the ballast tanks. The submersible bucked wildly, rocking ninety degrees as the violent turbulence of the sinking submarine caught our stern.
"Hold on!" Julian roared, throwing his arms around both Liam and me, bracing us against the padded navigation console.
The submersible was rocketing toward the surface at a dangerous, uncontrolled ascent rate. Alarms screamed in three different pitches across the instrument panel.
"Depth: nine hundred feet... seven hundred feet... five hundred feet..." Julian called out, monitoring the hull stress meters. "Ascent velocity is exceeding twenty knots! If we hit the surface at this speed, the structural welds might fracture upon impact!"
Liam sat on the deck floor, wrapped in an emergency thermal blanket, his shivering hands gripping my remaining natural arm. Tears were streaming down his dirt-streaked face.
"You gave up your arm for me, Ellie," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "You spent three years rebuilding your life after the explosion... and you broke it for me."
I looked down at the stump of my prosthetic at my elbow, where the severed telemetry wires still sparked weakly. I smiled through the tears, leaning down and kissing the crown of his head.
"Derek Halston thought that arm made me weak, Liam," I said softly, breathing in the scent of my little brother, alive and breathing. "He thought it was a reminder of my brokenness. But that steel was forged to protect the people I love. It did its job."
"Three hundred feet!" Julian yelled, grabbing the manual attitude thrusters to level our nose. "Brace for surface impact!"
With a violent, explosive surge, the *Triton-IV* breached the surface of the Pacific Ocean like an breaching whale.
The submersible launched into the open air, crashing back down onto the rolling ocean swells with a deafening *THUD* that sent seawater washing across the thick acrylic viewports. Sunlight—warm, blinding, golden daylight—flooded the small cabin, chasing away the horrific darkness of the abyss.
Over our radio transceiver, an authoritative, roaring voice pierced the cabin speakers:
"This is Admiral Thomas Vance, commanding USS Gerald R. Ford Carrier Strike Group. *Triton-IV*, report status immediately!"
Julian keyed the microphone, his hand shaking, looking at Liam and me with tears of triumph in his eyes.
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"Admiral, this is Julian Thorne aboard *Triton-IV*," he said, his voice echoing with pride. "Package retrieved. Commander Liam Ellison is alive. We are home."
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