Journey to Atlantis by Philip Roy
Author:Philip Roy [Roy, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-55380-074-3
Publisher: Ronsdale Press
Published: 2009-01-28T16:00:00+00:00
Chapter Fifteen
IT FELT AS IF WE were a soap bubble swirling around and around before going through the bathtub drain. Dozens of ships, large and small, were merging from north and south towards the funnel that was the Strait of Gibraltar. The thicker the traffic at the top of the funnel, the harder it was for us to stay on the surface, until, finally, we couldn’t anymore. As the sun rose and the nearest ship closed to two miles, we submerged. We disappeared from sight and radar. We really had no choice. I supposed we could have sailed on the surface with our flags all quite legally, since we were still outside the twelve-mile zone of any country, but passing through the Strait would bring us within the legal jurisdiction of both Britain and Spain, and somebody would surely want to know what business we had coming into the Mediterranean.
The Strait of Gibraltar is a narrow channel between Europe and Africa. The northern side belongs to Spain, except for the very bottom tip, which is owned by Britain — a sore spot for Spain. The southern side belongs to Morocco, except for the top corner, which is owned by Spain — a sore spot for Morocco. At its narrowest point the Strait is only eight miles wide. But it’s one thousand feet deep. The top three hundred feet has a strong current pouring into the Mediterranean from the Atlantic. The bottom seven hundred feet is pouring back out! And the space where the two currents meet is a wave, just like on the surface, except that it’s three hundred feet below! Military submarines leaving the Mediterranean submerge below the wave, shut everything off and drift out with the current, silent and undetected. Subs coming in do the same, above the wave. Well, that sounded easy enough. We would behave just like any other submarine pretending not to be there.
But I needed to sleep first. On battery power I steered towards shallower water. Morocco seemed a better choice than Spain because they didn’t have as powerful a navy, nor were they in an angry dispute with Canada. By mid-morning we settled on the bottom at two hundred and fifty feet, ten miles offshore from Tangiers. I shut everything off and fell into a blissful sleep. The last thing I heard was Hollie sigh.
We ate a nice breakfast. I treated the crew to tuna fish sandwiches made with buttered bread. I cut them into small bites. Then I opened a can of stinky wet dog food. The crew got excited but I had to hold my nose. We were not going to surface at all for a whole day; I wanted to keep them happy.
To join the stream of traffic I started to pedal, keeping the sub at two hundred and fifty feet. Four hours later I steered into the current, shut the sonar off and let the current pull us through the Strait like a leaf down a river. I made myself comfortable with a cup of tea and a playful dog at my feet.
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