Bombproof

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

Even without a word spoken on the subject, it might have been apparent to some that the Qob and Ethan did not agree on methods and SOP. They didn't remotely conduct themselves in the same way – one had the bearing of a salty trawler and the other carried a strong military presence. Ethan wasn't generally talkative, but he'd been careful to keep his objections and criticisms to himself. He couldn't expect a ragtag, mercenary crew at the dark-end of space to possess the same costly training and experience he did. It was unwise to try and alter their methods this late in the game. More importantly, negativity was poisonous to the team ecosystem; the key to their collective survival. That was already hanging perilously due to Joe's and Ethan's unwillingness to trust each other; it didn't need any more reason to fall apart. Instead, he'd vocalized whatever constructive input he could offer and tried to keep up. Circumstances and his experience put him in a better position to conform to them than them to him.

 

Still, he'd fallen short. No diving gear, not even a simple pair of fins for each team member. He had the expertise and foresight to realize they might need that gear and, when it really mattered, he'd carelessly relied on someone else to secure it. He should have taken the initiative, whether it was welcomed by Dr. Phantos and the Mercs or not. However briefly, Ethan had mentally kicked himself for the shortfall in their gear more than he faulted the Qob. But it was too late to be helped and there was no point in dwelling on it; he'd quickly let it go.

 

The fact that he had some climbing gear with him was ironic. He hadn't packed it in consideration for the Qob. He'd brought it on the good chance that he would need it to reach his own objective on Zoalus. Something that he'd planned on carrying out later in the expedition, if they managed to secure a site for the Scientists. But, when the time came, he'd followed an unexpected intuition to bring what he had with him on their first insertion. It looked like it would serve both of their objectives in the end.

 

There hadn't been much room in his luggage; there obviously hadn't been any left for personal diving gear. What he did have in climbing gear was minimal. 60 meters of single 10mm rope and smaller segments for hitches, nylon webbing and some runners; a couple Figure-8 belay devices; several pear-shaped screw-lock and D-shaped wire-gate carabiners. He didn't have much in the way of protection, active or passive: a couple spring-loaded cams and a few hexes. He'd anticipated anchoring above his objective and repelling down a single pitch; not climbing first. He had one harness. Given she was going to help secure his objective, the Verbistul's Security Chief had brought her own harness. It was fitted for her and might have fit Pher, if he'd had it with him and he didn't. But, in a pinch, he could tie one or two out of webbing. Anything else he didn't have would have to be similarly improvised.

 

Ethan hoped it wouldn't be a multi-pitch climb from the beach. Depending on the terrain, he might not have enough equipment for a single pitch. He wasn't sure what sort of climbing skills or experience the others had; that was a point of interest. It was more than likely that the lead climber would have to free solo their way up to the top. If it went well, there'd be solid trees for a wrap-3-pull-2 anchor, or a boulder suitable for tying a bowline on a bight. If not, there was still a chance they could set two or, preferably, three self-equalizing anchors in a crevice. Whatever it was, they had to know what they were doing. The anchors had to be bombproof. Then, to save time over belaying from below, the lead climber would anchor top-side and set up a direct belay from there using the Munter Hitch. The HMS would wear more on the rope, but he hadn't brought better belaying devices and it provided improved braking over using an 8 as a belay plate.

 

The preliminaries for their climb set in his mind; Ethan stood and joined the others in the aft of the shuttle as they prepared to disembark underwater. The Caitian was doing deep breathing exercises. He heard someone else mildly hyperventilating and it provoked a passing look of concern on his face.

 

Hyperventilation was one of those peculiar urban legends, fueled by the belief that it increased oxygen saturation. Truth was it unnaturally depleted carbon dioxide levels within the human body. That had the benefit of giving the swimmer a sense of increased lung endurance. But it also increased the chances of drowning. It was a double-edged trick. As it worked out, for humans at least, dropping oxygen levels played a much smaller part in triggering the impulse to exhale or breathe than rising carbon dioxide levels. Without enough carbon dioxide, the signal to breathe was postponed and the unfortunate swimmer never sensed the approaching blackout from hypoxia before it happened.

 

The community that had trained Ethan in freediving had restricted breath-holding to specific and limited situations that couldn't be effectively accomplished with a breathing apparatus. Using the technique he'd been taught of two calm inhalations, Ethan could make 50 meters on a breathhold dive if necessary. But the exercise of hyperventilation before a breathhold dive had been absolutely forbidden with bold, red font in his manual. It hadn't been allowed for tests and was something Ethan didn't practice. Deep breathing beyond two inhalations was generally considered excessive and discouraged by some.

 

For the moment, he didn't immediately comment on it. They had assured the rest of the team that they knew what they were doing. He was relying on that; he believed them. Maybe what wasn't good for the human was good for the Orion and the Caitian. Humanoids in the galaxy seemed like they were frequently more different than they were the same. And, he assured himself, that at 8 meters depth and 20-40 meters from the shore they were close enough to the surface and beach if there was a problem.

 

Ethan had decided to leave his boots on for the swim. There was an outgoing current from the fjord. But they didn't necessarily want to swim up the fjord. And if they couldn't swim directly for the one of the flanking beaches because of undertow and rip currents, they could swim parallel until they were free of the sandbars. That was likely what Pher had in mind when she had asked Rosetto to aim for a position above their objective. He imagined their swim would end up less than the few hundred meters required in boots and gear for combat water survival training. Not really comfortable and not his first choice, but it was doable with a combat stroke and better than trying to put his boots back on over the beach.

 

Though he wasn't the only one who was armed, by comparison he looked like he was closer to serious combat. His armor carrier and fatigues were Crye Multicam with knee and elbow pads; as usual he was wearing tan, rough-out waterproof Danners. Along with the climbing gear and a few first-aid items, he had a pair of gloves, a boonie hat, a compass, water and a few ration bars in his pack, and other equipment.

 

Pulling his radio from a pouch placed near his shoulder, Ethan checked its settings once more. The radio was a robust little black box; far more water resistant and gave its user finer control than the older combadges. Following the report of incoming contacts and suggestion for radio silence, he had turned its transmission power down. He'd still be able to hear transmissions from the Qob or his teammates on the surface. But his transmissions would carry no farther than one or two kilometers in line-of-sight before its signal-to-noise ratio made it unintelligible and unidentifiable, inseparable from the noise to most receivers. An auto-dimming touchscreen dominated one side that was designed to detect input from even gloved fingers. There was a sealed data port for connections to other devices like tricorders, and a jack for plugs from earpieces and microphones; a black wire led from it, weaved beneath Ethan's MARCIRAS vest to the piece on his ear. The radio was capable of transmitting and receiving almost any manner of communication - data, text, voice and 2-D images - via both subspace and FAL radio. But it didn't have sensors. That'd be up to the others and their ODRIs.

 

He stuffed the radio back into its pouch; then he patted down the pouches near his waist that held the extra charges for his weapons and visually checked them. His knife was sheathed near the back of his left hip. He lifted his phaser carbine and dropped the magazine. A press of a button near the top and the magazine indicated it had a full charge with a brief glow. He reseated the magazine and verified that the power was really deactivated. It would take a few long seconds to warm up after being switched off, but it would minimize their readable energy signatures consistent with Pher's suggestion. He pushed the rifle around on its two-point sling so that it hung out of the way behind him. Pulling his assault phaser from the holster on his thigh, he checked the magazine's charge and then pushed the cowling forward. The internal lights were dark, confirming that it was also shut down. Replacing the cowling and taking it in his left hand, he tested the retractable, nylon-coated steel lanyard that secured the phaser to his person. Satisfied, he holstered his secondary weapon and glanced at the other man who shared his admiration for antiques.

 

It'd surprised Ethan that Zaphod had volunteered to take point (he didn't know that Zaphod was a particularly good swimmer). But Ethan aimed to team up with him as his so-called battle buddy; no one would solo on a battlefield if he could help it. No doubt, Pher and Chris would prefer working with each other over being separated with the new guys.

 

More than that, Ethan had every intention of leading the climb, if he could convince them to let him. It didn't feel like it'd be an easy sell. He had the training and roughly fifteen years experience as a lead climber in the military, none of which he'd let go to waste in the last four. But everything he knew he had gained in the Federation's Starfleet and the name seemed to leave a bitter taste for residents of Bull's Head. Nor was he eager to waste time explaining his qualifications and life-story on foreign and hostile shores.

Edited July 24, 2011 by Ethan Neufeld

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

Short disclaimer/warning for real life: Hyperventilating before a breathhold dive is dangerous. It's expressly forbidden in the communities (e.g., US Navy) that restrictively practice and perform breathhold dives. Remember safety while swimming: always swim with a partner and never dive without proper supervision. Thanks.