Without air—twenty fathoms down!
Frantically he fought, locking his air passage so his last lungful couldn't escape. He got a hand free and caught his opponent's hose where it joined the tank. He pulled with all his strength and felt it give. Bubbles rose in a cloud.
He would have sobbed if he could. It was the wrong hose! He had only torn loose the exhaust. He groped and found the intake hose, then, lifting his knee and thrusting for leverage, he pulled with all his strength. The hose gave! The grip on him loosened.
Rick was now desperate for air! He pulled the quick release on his weight belt and felt it drop away, then he kicked for the surface, frantic with fear for Scotty. Had he gotten free? Had he? His last view had been of his pal locked with the remaining frogman!
Bubbles streamed from his mouth as the compressed air in his lungs expanded under the decreasing pressure. He let himself exhale as he rose, fighting against panic and the impulse to lock the remaining air in his lungs. That would be fatal, he knew, and he willed himself to act properly. He kept his fins moving, knowing that, if he kept his head, he would make the surface.
He passed through the murky layer and saw the surface like a wrinkled silver sheet far overhead. Straining, he swam for it, letting out his breath as the pressure on his lungs demanded.
There was another boat hull in the water, almost over him! He angled away, to avoid coming up under it.
And suddenly there were forms around the boat. A cry tore from his lips and was swallowed in the water.
More frogmen! More enemies, when they were already defeated!