by A.R. Thomas
The creaking of the pressure hull was the worst part. The darkness was bad, as was the damp, cold chill that permeated the engine room. But it was the groaning sound of metal surrendering to the crushing pressure that let him know death was imminent, and it wouldn’t come without terror and pain.
Of course, there are worse things than death. That’s why he had rigged the dive planes to take them to the depths. They couldn’t be allowed to ever reach the shore. As he heard the bulkheads begin to implode, he could only hope that he stayed dead.