t of the hull.
COFFEY
We'll go in through that large breach.
BUD
Let's go, guys.
Bud's team leaves Flatbed, swimming forward. The opening is a black mouth in
their lights. Coffey moves inside. Bud attaches one end of an orange nylon
line to a piece of pipe and moves into the wreck behind him.
BUD
Take it slow, stay on the line, and stay in
sight. Watch for hatches that could close on
you, or any loose equipment that could fall.
Jammer, Catfish, Finler, and Sonny follow him inside.
INT. MONTANA/FORWARD BERTHING SECTION 69
They find themselves in the forward berthing compartment with its rows of
bunks. The room is twisted and disheveled, with bedding hanging from the
bunks like the lolling tongues of dead dogs. Papers float in gentle
eddying currents, letters, pages from paperback novels, photos of girlfriends.
Bud pays out the line and follows Coffey forward. As they pass sealed doors,
Coffey pounds with a tool, listening. All flooded.
INT. ENGINE ROOM 70
Monk leads his team along a corridor, following Little Geek's tether. Through
a hatch into the engine room. Their lights play over flooded machinery.
INT. COMPANIONWAY/CONTROL ROOM AND ATTACK CENTER 71
From the berthing Coffey's team swims up a companionway towards the attack
center. He pulls at a buckled watertight door.
COFFEY
It's jammed. Give me a hand.
Jammer and Bud squeeze in around Coffey. Together they wrench the door open
on its squealing hinges. It give way suddenly, flying open. The suction
pulls SOMETHING THROUGH. It slams Bud's shoulder. He turns. A FACE...
RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! He jerks back, gasping.
Face to face with Barnes, the sonarman. The ensign seems unmarked, merely
dismayed at his own mortality, judging from his wide eyes and mouth. Coffey
reaches past Bud and pushes the ensign's body out of the way.
COFFEY
Alright, let's keep moving. We knew we were
going to see this.
They enter the control room. Their lights play over the high-tech wreckage.
Floating debris and bodies make shifting shadows on the walls as they swirl
in the currents. A languid, weightless waltz. They move through the carnage.
Their lights pick out tableaux... the planesman still strapped in his chair,
someone jammed into the ceiling pipes, hanging down. Dead faces, pale in the
lights. Still. We see only glimpses.
Coffey locates the captain's body and rolls it over. Removes the missile
arming key which hangs on a chain around the dead man's neck. Moves on. All
business. Bud turns back to his guys. Checking them. He notices Jammer is
breathing so rapidly he's fogging his helmet. Catfish, Finler, and Sonny
aren't much better. A wave a panic seems imminent.
BUD
How you guys doing?
SONNY
I'm alright, I'm dealing.
CATFISH
Triple time sounds like a lotta money, Bud. It
ain't. I'm sorry...
BUD
We're here now. Let's get her done.
We see Bud working, calming them, talking them through it. He's sweating
rivers in his helmet, not looking too steady. His projection of calm to the
others is his own salvation.
Coffey pauses in the doorway to the communications room.
COFFEY
This part I do alone. Brigman, take you men and
continue aft. Split up into two teams of two.
Let's get moving... we head back in fourteen
minutes.
Bud leads his team into a narrow corridor.
INT. CORRIDOR/ROOMS 72
They search the rooms along the corridor with their lights until they come to
a vertical hatch, open. a pit of darkness below.
BUD
Okay, Cat, Lew, Sonny. You guys stay on this
deck. Hook you line onto mine. Any problem,
you tug my line. Two pulls. Jammer, you're
with me.
Bud drops down through the hatch to the level below, followed by Jammer, who
barely fits through. Catfish hooks his safety line onto Bud's with a
carabiner and move along the corridor with the others.
EXT./INT. CAB ONE 73
Lindsey circles the hull, documenting, photographing. Her strobes sear the
darkness, give glimpses of the dead leviathan's form as her tiny submersible
circles it like a bee.
INT. COMMUNICATIONS CENTER 74
Working from a plastic card, Coffey spins the dial on the wall safe and opens
it. He removes several plastic binders... the code books. He also grabs
handfuls of classified documents and orders, and a set of missile arming keys,
all which he places in a pouch at his waist.
INT. CORRIDOR 75
Bud leads Jammer through a long, claustrophobically narrow corridor, tapping
on the walls and hatches periodically. After he taps, he waits a few
moments. There are no answering taps. They open doors and shine their lights
into the rooms. The are bodies, but they seem anonymous. Crumpled shapes
in khaki or blue. They undog and open a hatch. Beyond it is the largest
chamber of the sub, the...
INT. MISSLE COMPARTMENT 76
The missile compartment is the large gallery a hundred and twenty feet long
and forty feet high, with two rows of vertical launch tubes, 24 in all. The
chamber is divided into three levels by a floor of open steel grillwork.
JAMMER
Where are we?
BUD
Missile compartment. Those are the launch tubes.
They sweep their lights around the chamber. Jammer turns... his beam
illuminating a body just beyond the door. A coveralled seaman turning
slowly in the eddying current. Small albino crabs crawl slowly over the
man's face. One scuttles out of his gaping mouth.
JAMMER
Lord Almighty.
BUD
Hey, you okay?
Bud goes to him. Gets up close to his face. Sees that he's not. That he's
hyperventilating. Fighting nausea. Bud grabs him by the shoulders.
BUD
Deep and slow, big guy. Deep and slow. Just
breathe easy.
JAMMER
I... they're all dead, Bud. They're all dead.
I thought... some of them... you know...
BUD
I'm taking you back out.
JAMMER
No! I'm okay now. I just don't... I can't go
any further in.
Bud sees that the big diver's breathing has stabilized. He looks at his
watch. Checker Jammer's pressure gauges.
BUD
Okay, Jammer. No problem. You stay right here.
I have to go there to the end... you'll see my
lights. We'll stay in voice contact. Just hold
onto the rope. Five more minutes. Okay?
JAMMER
Yeah, okay. Okay.
He moves off through the center aisle of the gallery swimming between the huge
cylinders. He pays out the lifeline as he goes.
INT. COM-ROOM 77
Coffey is working rapidly and efficiently, moving from one rack of electronics
gear to the next, setting thermite grenades at vital points. As the thermite
ignites, it generates an intense arc-bright light and tremendous heat. The
circuit chasses melt. Coffey works calmly in the infernal glare.
INT. MISSLE COMPARTMENT 78
Bed negotiates his way through the tangle of wreckage near the far end of the
missile compartment. He goes down a stairwell to the lower level. A HUNDRED
FEET AWAY, Jammer loses sight of Bud's dive-lights. He starts to get
nervous. Suddenly his own lights begin to DIM, flickering lower and lower.
They become little orange candles, the filament barely glowing. The darkness
closes in.
JAMMER
Bud? BUD?! You readin' me? BUD?!!
BUD, at the same moment, is fiddling with the connector cables on his helmet
lights, which are dimming and flickering. He hears nothing from his helmet
transceiver.
JAMMER, smacks the side of his helmet. Shakes the transceiver on his belt.
Nothing... just static. Then even the static dies. Panic time.
He grabs the safety line and pulls twice. Hard. It is snagged on a sharp
metal edge ten feet from him. He pulls twice more, harder, hauling the
thing. The line severs. Jammer stared at the frayed and floatin
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