INT. CONTROL RM/ATTACK CENTER 9
Everyone is hurled off his feet. The planesman flights to recover control of
Collision alarm! Collision alarm! Lighten
her up, Charlie!
The torpedo room is flooded, sir!
Blow all tanks! Blow everything!
Passing twelve hundred feet...
Blowing main tanks!
Twelve hundred fifty feet...
The great sub is being hauled down by the mass of its flooded bow section,
its flanks rushing past us like a freight train headed for Hell.
INT. MONTANA CONTROL ROOM 11
The command crew fights futility for control, everyone shouting and terrified.
Main forward tanks ruptured!
Passing thirteen hundred feet...
Too deep to pump auxiliaries!
All back full! All back full!
Answering all back full. Passing thirteen hundred
fifty feet... fourteen hundred... fourteen
The Captain locks eyes with the Exec amid the din...
We're losing her. Launch the buoy!
The Exec opens the door to a small box and punches a button. A red light
comes on. The Captains takes a deep breath.
A tiny transmitter is ejected from the sub's hell and begins its long ascent
to the surface. A second later the sub slams down like a piledriver onto a
ledge, tearing open its pressure hull.
VARIOUS QUICK CUTS, just flashes and impressions, as...
Seawater blasts down the corridors --
Explodes across the control room, hurling men like dolls --
Floods the cavernous missile bay in seconds --
Bursts through hatches into the reactor room --
Blasts men OUT OF FRAME in a micro-second.
EXT. OCEAN/UNDERWATER 14
In the cobalt twilight we see the Montana slide down the sea cliff, its hull
SCREECHING like the death agonies of some marine dinosaur. Descending in an
avalanche of silt, it finally disappears into the blackness below... a
blackness which continues almost straight down, 20,000 feet to the bottom of
the Cayman Trough. The abyss.