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Chapter Three
Water?... He vaguely remembered his feet suddenly being swept from under him by a wave of water. He'd been thrown against a wall. He was sore all over.
He blinked a few times. His head was empty. He did not know anything, least of all where he was. He closed his eyes against the sound of running water, for he did know one thing: he hated the stuff. The notion that it was around him placed a heavy weight in his gut. He was sitting in it, drenched to the bone. He shook his head to clear it and winced against sudden pain and dizziness.
We hit a mine! The sub is sinking! Abandon ship!
"Malcolm!"
We must evacuate!
"Malcolm! Strutt! Are you okay?"
He strived to focus. There were lights floating in the water. He turned. A man in blue uniform was lying slumped against the rock wall beside him, blood gushing from a deep wound to his head. He reached to put two fingers on his jugular vein and felt a beat. He touched the back of his own head, and his hand came away wet with blood too. Brilliant.
"MALCOLM!"
"Who's calling?" he choked out.
"It's Trip. Are you okay?"
His mind was in fog. Was his name Malcolm? This Trip bloke seemed to think so.
"Are you and Strutt okay?" the voice asked tautly.
He surmised Strutt must be the man lying next to him. "Strutt is out cold, he has a bad wound to his head. I'm… more or less okay."
"More or less okay? Comin' from you that's not very reassuring…"
He wondered what that meant. With an effort, he sat up straighter and tried to figure out in what kind of messy situation he had landed himself. A couple of lights were floating in the water that was now sloshing all around him, and the light they cast as they danced on the unstable substance made him nauseous. Or perhaps it was the bump to his head that did that. Most likely both.
"Trip? Where are you?" he called. Right now, it would be nice if this Trip chap could lend a hand.
"The explosion freed a large pocket of water. The sudden release of pressure must've caused more damage than the explosion would've done. There's a wall of debris blocking your exit. I'm just outside it," Trip replied.
An explosion? What was the man talking about? Bloody hell, yes, they had hit a mine! He felt his chest constrict with anxiety. The water was slowly mounting. And it was freezing cold. Not exactly the Caribbean Sea. His heart began to race. He scrunched his eyes shut.
Get to the escape pods!
"I've tried to move some of the rocks, but they're wedged in tight," Trip's taut voice said.
Rocks? The beam of a flashlight was filtering through somewhere to his right, trying find him. He put a hand to the wall and slowly picked himself up. The water was up to his knees. Fighting his dizziness, he turned to check on Strutt. His shoulders and head were still out of the water, but he wondered for how long.
"Malcolm, talk to me, for heaven's sake!"
The tension in Trip's voice was unmistakable. "Yes. I'm still here," he choked out.
He let go of the comforting anchor of the wall and took a few wavering steps. Wading through the sloshing water, he reached a portable light and grabbed it. He raised it, inspecting the situation.
"There is a steady flow of water coming in from a large gash," he said past the knot in his throat. He really did not like what he was seeing. A bout of dizziness made him almost lose his balance.
Compartments are flooding! There are several wounded!
"Yeah," Trip's voice said, "some of it's filtering out through the debris that is blocking the chamber's opening, but I don't think it's escaping fast enough to prevent the water level from rising on your end."
Stumbling, he headed for Trip's position, guided by the man's voice and flashlight. He inspected what blocked his escape. There were a few small gaps, through which an arm could pass but not much more. He leaned on the debris with outstretched arms and let his head fall forward, weak from injury and mounting despair. He forcibly quelled the panic that threatened to seize him, making his breathing come in short gasps.
"Capt'n, we need some help down here," he heard Trip say.
He frowned. "Is the Captain alive?" he asked weakly. But that Trip bloke must not have heard him.
The Captain is dead! The Commander is keeping the engine running to allow the crew to get to the escape pods!
The Clement? Was he in a submarine? Surely there were no rocks in a submarine… He must try to focus. Fighting against the temptation to give in to his weakness and let himself crumple to the ground, he opened his eyes and peered through the divide. He raised a hand against the light that suddenly flashed in his face, and this was immediately lowered.
"Good to see ya," Trip said.
The light now illuminated a pair of blue, worried eyes under a crop of blond hair. So, this was Trip.
"Nice to make your acquaintance," he blurted out, but Trip obviously thought he was cracking a joke, for he gave him a wry smile. "We must get out while we still can," he urged him.
"We're workin' on it, Loo-tenant. Hold on."
Was he a Lieutenant? He looked at himself and saw that he was wearing a blue uniform like the one Strutt was wearing, and this Trip bloke too.
An arm reached through a gap in the debris and a hand grabbed his shoulder tight. "I'll be back soon," Trip said, and then he moved a few metres away and flicked open a device.
"Even if the transporter wasn't offline, Trip, we couldn't use it, they're too far inside the cave."
One hand against the rock face, Trip shook his head. "There must be a way to get them out of there without using more explosive," he said to his Captain. "I'm afraid the first explosion may have destabilized things, wouldn't want to risk another; but I'm no armoury officer."
"I'll send down Malcolm's SIC for that. T'Pol is analysing the area closely to make sure there are no other surprises," Archer came back. "But if speed is of the essence, I think a controlled explosion is still our best chance."
Trip rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell her to work fast. The water is rising in that chamber."
"How are Malcolm and Strutt?" Archer enquired in a worried voice.
Trip let out a huff. "Strutt hasn't regained consciousness. Malcolm… I'm not certain. You know him, he's not easy to figure out. He said he's more or less okay, and that has me worried. He seems confused."
"We'll get them out, one way or another," Archer came back in a resolute voice. "I promise."
He was beginning to feel cold. It was seeping into his very bones. He had returned to Strutt and tried to lift him in a fireman grip, but things had spun a bit too fast around him and the nausea had clawed at him, so he was now kneeling in the cold water with an arm around the man's chest to hold his chin above the water level. He was shivering. There were voices around him. He tried to shut them out, without success.
Sir, it's arctic water, we can't resist long, even in the escape pods...
We sent out a distress call. Someone is bound to pick it up. Go! Get to a pod!
He clenched his jaw against a bout of panic and tried to control his ragged breathing. A stern face with eyes that seemed quite familiar gave him a piercing look.
You're an officer, Lieutenant! Behave like one!
"D'you still have your phase pistol?"
"Wh—what?" he blurted out. He was no longer certain of anything. Like who was who. Who was saying what. His head hurt.
"Your phase pistol. Give it to me."
Trip. The man had gone off to talk to the Captain. But the Captain was dead…
"Your phase pistol, Malcolm!"
"Phase pistol?" he blinked. His hand went of its own volition to something hanging from his right side. He looked at it, it was a weapon, that much was clear. Unstably, he waded in the water, which had now reached his hips, towards the wall of debris, dragging Strutt with him. "Is th—this what you me—mean, Sir?" he asked, teeth chattering, as he handed Trip the weapon through the gap.
Trip pointed his flashlight abruptly on him, making him avert his gaze. The beam was lowered.
"Look at me, Malcolm," the man ordered. "Who am I?"
He let out a quivering huff. "The Ch—chief Eng—ineer, Sir. And b—by the way, my n—name is Ro-Robert."
He heard a muffled curse. "The water's cold. You're getting hypothermia. You've got to keep moving!" Trip said in an urgent tone.
"W—well, it's ar—arctic wa—water!" he cried out. Didn't the man understand the bloody situation? "The s—sub is sinking. We must ab—abandon sh—ship!"
There was another curse. "Move around, Lieutenant," the man said in an authoritative voice. "That's an order!"
Fear was a like a monster with a gaping mouth, ready to devour him. The idea of giving up and letting himself slip into oblivion was beginning to have its appeal, but that stern man didn't let him be.
Officers have a responsibility towards the men under their command! Get a grip, Lieutenant. Get your man to safety!
Strutt was beginning to feel heavy, but he tightened his grip on him and tried to move around, as he had been ordered; the water, however, now came up to his lower ribcage and walking was difficult. He took a few steps and suddenly, the ground disappeared under his feet and he found himself floating. The weight in his gut expanded.
"Capt'n, I'm getting' worried. Malcolm is confused, he says his name is Robert, he's talking about a submarine. Strutt hasn't regained consciousness. The water's damn cold, and it's rising faster than I'd predicted. There's a lot of it, believe me. I'm afraid an explosion would cause it to invade the tunnels, and I don't know if any of us would come out alive, then."
Archer pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut. A few months back, when Reed had been pinned to the hull by that Romulan mine, the man had confessed his aqua-phobia and had talked to him of his great-uncle, who had mastered that fear and gone down with his submarine to save his crew. He dared not imagine how Malcolm must feel, trapped in the situation Trip had described.
"Keep him talking, Trip," Archer said. He didn't want to give away Malcolm's secret, so, after a pause he just added, "Don't let him feel alone."
"I've been trying to make a large-enough gap through the debris, at the top, using Malcolm's phase pistol," Trip said, following his own thread of thought. "It's slow going but at least it's doing somethin'."
"I've had the second shuttlepod on standby, ready to go; I'm sending down Müller with a couple of men," Archer said.
Trip shook his head. "There's no room for so many people down here, Sir. Just send Müller with a couple of rifles. It's gonna go faster than with a phase pistol," he replied. "And Doctor Phlox."
"Will do."
"Capt'n, remind me never to overhaul the transporter before we're going on an away mission," Trip said in frustration. "It's gonna take at least 45 minutes before they're here."
"You didn't know we'd come across a planet rich in dilithium ore, Trip. Don't beat yourself up," Archer said, but he was sure the words were cold comfort to his Chief Engineer.
Trip cut off the phaser beam and climbed through ever larger rivulets of cold water onto the mound of rubble, to dislodge a rock he had just pummelled with the pistol. It crumbled under his fingers.
"Malcolm!" he called. Archer was right, he should make the man talk, keep him awake.
"It's R—obert, Com—mander. G—get to an esc—cape pod or you'll go do—down with the ship!"
Trip felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. "Hold on, Lieutenant," he urged, "Help is on the way."
"You're the Ch—chief En—gineer!" Malcolm cried out, sounding close to despair. "You ca—cannot go down with the sh—ship!"
What the hell Malcolm was on about, Trip did not know, but there was a note in his voice that clashed with what he knew of the man. He had never seen the Armoury Officer lose his cool, not even under the worst pressure. He flashed his light through the opening he had made. The water was no more than half a meter below, if they didn't get to their crewmates fast it would start flowing out of the aperture. He moved the flashlight around and saw them, not too far away. Malcolm seemed exhausted. He was holding on to Strutt – who looked worryingly still, his head thrown back – but was clearly having a hard time keeping them both afloat. One of the portable lights was still working, casting an eerie light against the ceiling of the cave, which was getting threateningly close to the water surface now.
"I'm not going down with the ship, Lieutenant," Trip barked. "And neither will you. D'you hear me? I won't let you!"
"Commander," another voice called.
"Over here!"
Trip felt relief wash over him. He turned just as Ensign Müller and Doctor Phlox, carrying lights, came into sight. Trip jumped down from the debris. "Glad to see you. We don't have much time."
Malcolm's SIC took in the situation at a glance and threw Trip a phase rifle.
"Both Lieutenant Reed's and Ensign Strutt's biosigns are quite weak," Phlox informed them in an uncharacteristically dark voice.