Deep Sound Channel (21 page)

"I don't feel anything," Jeffrey said a little later. "Do you?"

"No," Clayton said. "You don't if everything works right." Meltzer came back on. "We're at two hundred fifty feet. Ocean Interface conformal hangar is flooded and equalized, Challenger's pressure-proof bay doors are open. ASDS

ready to disembark."

Jeffrey picked up a mike. "We're all set back here." "That was all so quiet," Ilse said.

"That's the idea," Jeffrey said. He fastened his seat belt and Ilse did the same.

"They should put pictures up or something," Ilse said. "It's like a subway without windows in here."

"Travel posters," Jeffrey said, smiling at her again. The ASDS lurched, shimmied, rose, and moved forward.

"We're under way," Meltzer said. "Challenger's dropping down."

"Any sign we've been spotted?" Jeffrey said into the mike. After a pause Meltzer answered. "Negative. I'll turn on the data repeater, you can watch." An LCD screen lit up: depth, course and speed, a nay chart, a sonar display. Jeffrey couldn't help but study the data. He reminded himself he should trust Meltzer—the kid was very well trained. So was the SEAL, in effect now chief of the boat. But Jeffrey couldn't help it. "Pilot, can you give us the last tactical picture they downlinked from Challenger?" "One sec, Commander," Meltzer said. More info appeared on the screen, a slightly stale snapshot from Challenger's powerful sensors. Jeffrey examined the picture: the seamounts, the plateau, the coast. Red diamonds were everywhere, surface ship contacts. Their speed vectors ran through his head. He tried to relax, just a passenger now, but he simply couldn't help it. Another voice came on the intercom, the SEAL chief copilot. "We're rounding Mount 183. Commencing approach to the objective. We're starting a tape to put through our transducers. Do you want to hear it back there?"

Jeffrey palmed the mike again. "Yeah, play us some slow dancing." That might calm him down. A whale song filled the compartment.

"Briefing folders, everybody," Clayton said, handing them out. "Last chance for any questions, and your bright ideas."

The ASDS put on some up-bubble, heading toward

shallower depth. Nearer the surface the sub surged and heaved, too small to escape the wave action of the manmade hurricane topside.

"Hang on," the SEAL copilot said. "It's rough out there with the storm." The ASDS pitched and rolled even harder. Jeffrey saw the depth gauge fluctuate as each wave propagated past, piling on pressure in turn, the wave height aggravated by conflict between the Antarctic swells from one direction and the high winds from the other. Abruptly the minisub aimed sharply upward, leveled off, and there was a loud fluting sound from the overhead.

"Compressed air venting," Meltzer's voice said as they dived back down. "We'll do that again in another few minutes. Real whales stay under awhile, Ilse said." Jeffrey turned in his seat. "Can you tell from the recording, Ilse? Are we a boy whale or a girl whale?"

"Commander Fuller," Meltzer's voice said a few minutes later. "Can you come forward, please? We may have a problem."

Jeffrey got up and went through the lockout chamber into the control compartment. He had to bend his head—the ASDS was only eight feet high on the outside. The miniCACC was cramped, switch banks and monitors everywhere, dominated by the four 21inch LCDs and big joy stick of the integrated control and display system.

"What's up?" Jeffrey said.

Meltzer pointed to the broadband sonar, the tonals, the TMA plot. "This new contact, Master 18. It's been acting like it's following us."

"Hmmm," Jeffrey said. He looked at the traces on the tactical picture, then examined the bottom chart. "We're paralleling the two-hundred-fathom curve now, the south edge of that big plateau. Could be he is too, part of his patrol routine."

"But he changed speed—he's closing the range. And on this course, two five five true, he'

s pooped constantly by the waves."

"No one would do that by choice," Jeffrey said. "What kind of ship?"

"A Warrior-class patrol craft, sir, just four hundred tons."

"They're not meant for ASW," Jeffrey said. "Last we knew they just had cannon, machine guns, and antiaircraft missiles. . . . But they can do thirty-five knots. They outmaneuver us even in this weather, even when we're well submerged. . . . So let's see what he's up to. I'll stay."

"Hello," the SEAL copilot said a little later. "More company. Designate this Master 19." A new line was descending his waterfall. The SEAL began running a new TMA. Soon Jeffrey saw another red diamond pop onto the tactical screen. "Classification?" Jeffrey said.

"Sachsen-class destroyer," Meltzer said. "By Blohm and Voss, no more than two years old."

"This one's our worst nightmare," Jeffrey said, "with all the latest antisubmarine toys."

"Six thousand tons full-load displacement," Meltzer said.

"Yup," Jeffrey said. "Complete with active towed array, six torpedo tubes, state-of-theart variable-frequency sonar, and depth-charge racks. Plus two Super Lynx helos with dipping sonar, sonobuoys, and MU-90 lightweight fish."

"And we're a lightweight submarine," the SEAL chief said. Jeffrey nodded. "Just thought I'd tell you what we're up against."

"She's changing course," Meltzer said.

Jeffrey saw the lengthening dot stack veer off from the vertical. "Update the tracking solution," he said. "I can't call it the firing solution, the ASDS is unarmed."

"Here we go," Meltzer said. "Constant bearing, sir, and signal strength is increasing."

"She's on an intercept course," Jeffrey said.

"Speed's higher too, sir," Meltzer said. "Twenty-nine knots." Jeffrey frowned. "That Warrior class called for help." "What do we do?" Meltzer said.

"They may depth-charge us on general principle," Jeffrey said, "whale antics or no."

"Or just for sport if they're bored," the SEAL chief said.

"And if they find out what we really are," Jeffrey said, "from the wreckage, they'll know our mother sub is nearby too. . . . Get Ilse in here."

Ilse jumped when the intercom called. Jeffrey was forward a while, Meltzer's voice sounded worried, and now they needed her up front. She and Clayton traded nervous glances, then she went through the lockout vestibule.

In the little CACC she wedged herself into a corner, hip-to-hip with Jeffrey. Whatever else was going on, his closeness made her feel better. The top of her head just touched the overhead when she stood up straight. She noticed the copilot was juggling the trim—

her shifting weight was enough to be felt. She looked at Jeffrey.

"They're suspicious," he said.

"The Boer patrols?"

"I want to do something to get them to leave, something whalelike that no sub would do." Ilse read the displays. In spite of the tension she smiled. She was getting good at this: raw sonar data, then TMA, and finally the big tactical picture.

"How long since we last spouted?" she said.

"Eight minutes forty seconds," Meltzer said.

"One option's to run to deep water," Ilse said. "Sperm whales can do five thousand feet."

"I wish we could," Jeffrey said, "but we're small enough they might lose us anyway, and with our batteries we're dead quiet too. It's ten miles to reach the twothousand-foot curve."

"How long would it take us to get there?" Ilse said. "Top speed," Jeffrey said, "half an hour or so." "That sounds like forever," Ilse said.

"Our SDVs couldn't take it either," Jeffrey said. "Even two thousand's way past their crush depth, and that ends the mission right there."

"No," Ilse said, "we have to keep heading inshore." "Agreed," Jeffrey said, "and brazen it out in their faces."

"Helmsman," Ilse said, "let's keep up the cover. Weave back and forth while I think."

"Sir?" Meltzer said.

"Do it," Jeffrey said.

"Yes, ma'am," Meltzer said. "By how much?" "Twenty degrees left and right."

"Yes, ma'am." Meltzer played with his joy stick. Ilse and Jeffrey swayed together, bracing themselves on each turn.

"This recording you're playing is just what we need," Ilse said. "It's a female calling to others, asking them where is the food."

"Good," Jeffrey said.

"Master 18's now off our port quarter," the SEAL chief said. "Master 19's converging from the north." "They're boxing us in," Jeffrey said.

"What do you do when you breach?" Ilse said.

Meltzer twisted in his seat, straining his neck to make eye contact. "Shoot up, release compressed air, go down again."

"Do you break the surface?"

"No. ",

"And what color is the hull?"

"Jet black," Jeffrey said. "But one three-inch shell and we're finished."

"We have to come up again soon," Ilse said. "To breathe, whales uncover their blowhole. You usually see some of their back, a big glossy shape in the water. In storms they act a particular way, otherwise they could

drown.,,

"So we hide in plain sight," Jeffrey said, "call the enemy's dare, push the mimicry far as we can. Sailors who serve in these waters would have seen whale behavior before.,,

"We need to do it like this," Ilse said. "Get under a wave, a big one. They come in sets, so we watch for the tallest. We speed up and go through its face, surging into the trough of the previous one. We blow when we're down in its lee."

"And give them a glimpse of our top," Jeffrey said, giving Ilse a devilish smile.

"Is there anything there to betray us?" she said. "A periscope, antenna, a sail?"

"No," Jeffrey said, "we don't have a sail, and the masts fold down hydraulically on the exterior overhead. Our little side thrusters retract into the hull, and our diveplanes and rudder would look like fins, I hope."

'Good," Ilse said. "And any small fittings, bumps and stuff, they'll look like barnacles or wounds."

"What's happening?" Clayton called on the intercom. "We've got company," Jeffrey said.

"Sit tight back there."

"That's easy for you," Clayton said. "You're a submariner these days."

"I've taken command," Jeffrey said. "Just till we're out of the woods."

"Yes, sir," Clayton said, clicking off.

"Raise the periscope, please," Ilse said.

"Just enough to be able to see," Jeffrey said. Meltzer tapped a key.

"What's the wind?" Ilse said.

"Based on the strength of the wave action," Meltzer said, "given the tide and the current and incoming swells, it's a fresh gale from out of the west."

"About thirty-five knots," Jeffrey said. "Maybe forty or so in a ship's upper works."

"And it's pitch-dark outside?" Ilse said.

Jeffrey peered through the 'scope, then looked at the depth gauge once more, then back to the 'scope. "Turn up the picture gain," he said. The copilot reached for a knob. "Yup," Jeffrey said, "it's pitch-dark."

"On image intensification," Ilse said, "that destroyer will just see a blob. We're giving off warmth, aren't we?"

"Yes," Jeffrey said. "Electronics, crew comfort, titanium battery cans, and propulsion. We'll look normal enough on IR."

"Let's hope so," Ilse said.

She saw Jeffrey frown. "The SDVs on the tow bridle," he said.

"They flap around as we move?"

"On a ball joint," Jeffrey said.

"Do they make any noise?"

"Flow noise."

"Mechanical noise?" Ilse said. "Banging or thumping?"

"They're pretty well damped and cushioned."

"Then they'll seem like our tail," Ilse said. "Cetaceans don't always expose it. A full leaping breach takes some

work."

Again Jeffrey frowned. "There'll be lightning up there, and what if they turn on a searchlight?"

The ping from the destroyer was deafening.

"What's our hull made of ?" Ilse said.

"Nonmagnetic steel," Jeffrey said, "with a composite exostructure."

"Stealth coatings?"

"Something that acts like whale blubber."

Ilse glanced at the chart. "We should head a bit more to the south."

"How come?" Jeffrey said. "Avoid the destroyer?"

"Not exactly," Ilse said. "There's a salinity halocline right along here, freshwater output from the rivers. It'll help distort enemy sonar."

"Would a real whale do that?" Jeffrey said.

"Real whales don't like being pinged so hard."

"Very well, Oceanographer," Jeffrey said. He gave Meltzer the orders. Ilse saw the copilot tapping his keys, adjusting the ballast for less-salty water.

"I need to look through the periscope," Ilse said. "I have to be able to see." She and Jeffrey struggled to trade positions, rubbing each other up close. Her hand accidentally brushed his crotch. "Excuse me," they both said at once. Ilse tried not to blush, glad that the lighting was red. She leaned forward, one hand on the 'scope, and with the other she gripped Meltzer's headrest. The destroyer pinged them again.

"I've been watching the gauges," Ilse said, keeping her face to the eyepiece. "The next big wave should come by any second."

"We're in the leading trough of one now," Jeffrey said. "Bring us up to ten feet," Ilse said.

"Sir?" Meltzer said.

"Do as she says," Jeffrey said.

"Ten feet, aye," Meltzer said. "Our depth is ten feet." "Can you slow up a bit, to keep pace with the waves?" "Make turns for twelve knots," Jeffrey said.

"Make turns for twelve knots, aye."

"Copilot," Ilse said. "Turn the gain up all the way." "Yes, ma'am," the SEAL chief said.

"I'm just getting some glow now," Ilse said. "How do you aim this thing aft?"

"The handle," Jeffrey said. "Flick with your wrist." "Okay," Ilse said, "I've got it. . . . Is there inertial navigation aboard?"

"Good stuff," Jeffrey said.

"Then, Helmsman, maintain level flight by your INS readings. Ignore what you see as our depth."

"Level flight, aye," Meltzer said.

"Let this wave overtake us," Ilse said.

"Make turns for ten knots," Jeffrey said.

"Making turns for ten knots, aye."

"Keep calling our psig," Ilse said.

"Five pounds per square inch gauge outside water pressure," Meltzer said. "Six psig . . . eight . . ."