Deep Sound Channel (23 page)

Ilse glanced at her own amp-hour levels. She was doing better, she weighed less.

"Keep going," Clayton said, and then something garbled.

"Six, Five," Ilse called. "Repeat, please."

Clayton's answer was unintelligible. The outgoing tide, the gale from the west unobstructed over the estuary, the Ohlanga's rain-bloated outflow, all made the swells pile up hard. The wave action on the inner bar was ruining sonar conditions, so thick was the air and sand being mixed with the water. Ilse's ears crackled constantly, though her range to the bottom was constant. They were all drifting now to the north, a strong longshore countercurrent inside the reef that was spoiling the dolphins' formation. Suddenly reception came back for a moment. "—fast," Clayton shouted. "This one's a rogue wave! Pull back, Three, pull back!"

"I'm out of control!" Three said. Three was the SEAL chief, Clayton's salty second-incharge. Ilse heard the roar of the plunging breakers getting louder, a crescendo in the darkness. There was a crashing concussion, a million tons of angry seawater falling mercilessly in on itself—the shock of it rattled her bones.

"Everyone circle between the reef and the bar," Clayton said. "Get down to four zero feet. That should be under the surge and the set."

Ilse turned tightly and dived. Her pulse read 128. Her respiration was 30, too fast. She switched back to heliox—if she kept hyperventilating, pure 02 this deep would give her convulsions for sure.

"Three, Six," Clayton called. "Three, Six. . . ." Nothing. "Where's Three? Does anybody see Three?" No one answered.

"One, Six," Clayton said, "come in. Two, Six, come in." Nothing.

"Six, Four," Jeffrey's voice said, "I was watching on sonar. I think One and Two made it through."

Then someone said, "Christ, I felt something snap." "Give me a proper report," Clayton said.

"Six, Three, I'm damaged."

"Where are you, Three? Pulse on active."

Ilse saw him signaling off to her left, down near the bottom.

"I'm moving to help," Jeffrey said.

"Three," Clayton said, "watch your gas mix. Do you still have propulsion?" A pause. "Yeah," the chief said, "but I'm blind. My head-up display's been knocked out."

"Keep pulsing," Jeffrey said. "I can talk you through if I know where you are. . . . Watch out, slow your rate of ascent."

"Three, Six, is your backup dive console working?" "Uh, this is Three, uh, I've got magnetic compass and saltwater depth."

"Three, Six, don't forget to adjust for the freshwater river."

"Yeah, LT, I know the drill."

"Six, Four," Jeffrey said, "these rollers are just too powerful. We have to stay back in the troughs." "Concur," Clayton said. "We might graze the bottom,

but I'd much rather that than be pounded to pieces." "I'm ready for another go," Three said.

"Form line abeam," Clayton said. "This is taking too long. We'll all chase the next twenty-footer. And watch out, people, don't get skewered by one of the sharpened-steel landing craft obstacles."

The last SEAL accelerated hard, then leaped the semi-submerged barbed-wire entanglement that protected the river and beaches. So, Jeffrey told himself, all we have to worry about now is getting shot at.

The dolphins avoided the mud flats, following a deeper channel near the south bank of the wide Ohlanga estuary mouth. On his sonar Jeffrey could see the bank and the channel—the north bank was lost in the clutter. When he broke the surface, Jeffrey could make out through his eyeholes, by the flicker of lightning, machine-gun posts overlooking the beach promenades. The sandbagged emplacements on top of the dunes looked like igloos. The nearer one's weapon tracked him and the other SDVs from almost pointblank range, till the team moved upriver past its arc of fire. Jeffrey was sure the MGs on the far bank were trained on them too—at four hundred yards they were in easy killing range for 12.7mm tripod-mounted crew-served fire, even in such adverse weather and lighting conditions. Jeffrey saw poles on the near bank that looked like aiming stakes. He wondered if the SDVs' path had been registered for mortars and artillery. But the intel was correct. These were disciplined troops; they didn't waste ammo on wildlife. Ahead now Jeffrey's display picked up the pilings of the viaduct that carried the M4 national motorway over the Ohlanga. Two searchlights snapped on, one near each bank, catching the dolphins in enfilade. Right above them, as the column of raiders approached the bridge, Jeffrey saw soldiers lean over the rail.

"Maintain speed," Clayton said. "Don't hit one of the pylons."

"Four, Three, how am I doing?"

"You're fine, Chief," Jeffrey said. "Just hold this bearing." As the searchlights swept past, Jeffrey got a glimpse of SEAL Three. "Jesus, Chief, your whole dorsal fin snapped off."

"When that rogue wave hit, I got rolled over twice on the bar." As Jeffrey got closer to the motorway bridge, the pilings spread farther apart on his mask display.

"Four, Six," Clayton called, "any pearls of wisdom for all of us combat virgins?"

"Yeah," Jeffrey said. "Some things you never get used to." They were almost up to the bridge. Jeffrey's legs waved constantly inside the fake dolphin's flukes, making slow progress against the flood current which was strengthened by a venturi effect between the concrete abutments. He knew he was splashing, the SDV'

s equivalent of screw cavitation, but that couldn't be helped and it was sort of realistic. Real bottlenoses coming upstream to eat or play would make splashes too. Hopefully the sentries wouldn't notice or care that these dolphins were larger than any others they'd seen.

"A guard's going to throw something," Jeffrey heard Ilse hiss.

"Easy," Jeffrey said, "easy. These things are lined with Kevlar, and we've got flak jackets on underneath." "It looks like some kind of grenade!"

"Don't panic, Ilse," Jeffrey said. The SEAL chief was safely under the roadway now, so Jeffrey slowed down. "I'm right here, Five, right next to you." It occurred to Jeffrey that if razor-sharp white-hot shrapnel did penetrate the high-modulus aramid fibers and hit human flesh, these dolphins would bleed just like real ones.

Jeffrey looked up through an eyehole. A soldier looked straight down at him and tossed something.

"Fuck!" Ilse said.

Then, in the searchlights, Jeffrey saw the object flutter away.

"Five, Four, we're okay," Jeffrey said. "It was just an empty cigarette pack."

"All right," Clayton said. "This is a good quiet spot. Hold put while the chief and I do a recon."

Ilse let her SDV idle at four feet of depth to the keel, its dorsal fin barely submerged. Clayton came on again. Ìt's clear, and air quality k acceptable. All shooters dismount, upend your dolphins, blow ballast, and surface for unloading. Four, Five, you two stay under while we form a perimeter."

Again Ilse waited. Eventually she heard, "Four, Six.. Five, Six. Mission specialists dismount, upend your dolphins, blow ballast, and surface for unloading." Ilse undid her connections to the dolphin's electronics. By feel she opened the clips that held shut the SDV's belly. She dropped down under it, still breathing through her Draeger. She flipped the SDV over. This wasn't easy. Even submerged, hence neutrally buoyant, it massed almost three hundred pounds. She used one of its flippers for leverage. Finally she reached inside for the control grips and fully inflated the bladders. She held on and rode the thing up to the surface. She kicked with her swim fins, treading water. Driving rain pelted her head.

She felt some resistance against her fins, more than just the water. With the next lightning bolt she saw why. She was surrounded by tall reeds, the salt marsh of the Umhlanga Lagoon Nature Reserve. She waited, straining her ears against the constant noise of the wind.

Jeffrey and Clayton swam over as the sky flickered once more. Now out of their Draegers and masks, they wore battle helmets instead, with visors flipped down and switched on.

"Feeling better?" Jeffrey said.

"Yes," Ilse said. "Come on, we have work to do." Silently they pulled her SDV into shallower water. Now she saw some of the other dolphins, floating inverted as if they were dead—she wondered if one of them was the cargo carrier slaved to SEAL Seven's control. There was no sign at all of the SEALs. Ilse's feet touched the soft gooey bottom, stirring up bubbles of gas. It stank. She figured this was as good a I line as any for a clandestine pee—diving had a diuretic Get on the body.

Jeffrey and Clayton helped her remove her equipment bags and change into her battle kit. She positioned the high-impact goggles that would protect her corneas from dust and smoke and worse. Then she switched on her helmet and lowered the imaging visor. Lastly she pulled off her flippers. She stowed them inside the dolphin with her other unneeded gear. Clayton and Jeffrey submerged the SDVs one by one, disappearing under he water to clip them shut, free diving, then surfacing again for air. Ilse adjusted her helmet to sit more comfortably, then tightened the padded chin strap. Using hand signals, ' layton led her onto dry land near a mangrove tree. She got down on her haunches, looking around, the visor's green monochrome low-light-level TV and false-color IR alternating every half second. The raindrops scattered infrared, but even so, she could see about three times as fur with the infrared photodetectors than she could with he multistage image intensifiers. Sight lines were broken by trees and dunes. Ilse let the saltwater run off her body, then adjusted her vest. Its front was laden with gas mask, canteens, field dressings, half a dozen ammo clips, primary and backup radiation dosimeters, and four different kinds of grenade.

Ilse shifted her hip holster slightly and opened the strap that held her big pistol in place. She checked that the weapon was loaded, and switched on the power. She practiced quick drawing three times, to loosen up and make sure her aiming reticle worked. Satisfied, she looked at Clayton and Jeffrey.

She waited while Jeffrey dabbed her with waterproof

blackface, like shoe polish, from a small tin. She noticed Clayton was using some too, despite his ebony complexion.

"Keeps my sweaty skin from shining," he said, grinning at her in the dark. Jeffrey positioned her helmet mike.

The SEAL chief handed out bottled water. "Draeger air's very dry. Rehydrate."

"Thanks," Ilse whispered. Insects were starting to find them, and she put on odorless bug repellent. The air was humid and heavy, in spite of the low-pressure front of the dying hurricane.

"Comms check, status check, sound off," Clayton whispered. Soon everybody was ready.

"Remember, watch out for bushbuck and wild boar. But think of them now as our friends, constant false alarms for enemy urea sniffers and infrared." Clayton turned to Jeffrey as an especially strong gust punished the reeds. "At least with this weather we don't have to worry about motion detectors."

"Or startling the birds," Jeffrey said.

Ilse nodded. "There are a lot of really nice species here." She'd seen a crested guinea fowl once, and an osprey nest full of young.

"I feel like we oughta say something," Jeffrey said. "As far as I know we're the first Allied troops to land in occupied southern Africa."

"Lafayette, we are here, or something," Clayton said. "Anyway, Ilse," Jeffrey said, "for what it's worth, welcome home."

Ilse's breathing was steady and hard, and so was her perspiration. The grade averaged 10

percent as they worked their way inland, and her equipment weighed forty pounds. She couldn't complain, though—the men were all carrying twice that. They formed single file on a trail,

one of the reserve's walking paths—this would mean fewer surprises. Sight lines were still short, from the rain and the plant life. If they moved through the sandy underbrush instead—normal tactics in bush—with the noise of the wind and flailing branches they could blunder into a patrol, triggering a chaotic encounter battle. A stand-up fire fight now would ruin everything.

In a few minutes they did hear a patrol coming, from the other direction, upwind. The men were talking in Afrikaans, not happy being out in the storm. Ilse and Jeffrey and the SEALs moved off the trail at a bend. They blended with the terrain, using dips in the ground and deadfall. Jeffrey found her a good spot behind a broad strelitzia tree, then he silently crawled away. Ilse pressed her cheek low, trying to meld with the dune. The smell of the mulch was intense. Heavy raindrops pattered her backside, falling through leaves overhead.

"A perfect L-shaped ambush site," she heard Jeffrey say, just audible on the circuit.

"I know," Clayton whispered inside her helmet. "It's a shame to just let them go by." The patrol got closer and closer. Ilse tried not to breathe. One Boer said something vulgar, another snickered coarsely. Ilse was sure she'd be spotted, her heart was sending such hammerblows through the ground. An insect stung her neck, a burning that grew sharper as it fed. A snake slithered over her ankles. She waited to feel the kick of a boot, the prodding of a gun barrel, the jab of a bayonet. She waited for the stutter and flash of assault rifles, the full-auto spray of hard pointy bullets that would shred foliage and her flesh.

Soon the enemy squad was past, oblivious to their presence. The gale broke too many stalks and twigs, and the rain flushed the gravel-strewn trail—the SEAL team's spoor went unnoticed.

"Nine, Six, status," Clayton said when the soldiers could no longer be heard.

"Six, Nine, wait one." Then, "They're not sneaking back. Rear is secure."

"Be careful," Jeffrey said. "They might have been noisy on purpose. There may be another squad further on, hoping they've put us off guard."

"I concur," Clayton said. "You all heard the man, stay focused." On Clayton's word they each drank an entire canteen so the water wouldn't slosh. They moved out again, cautiously, falling in line by the numbers. They headed west, paralleling the river. After a measured number of paces they turned south, into the Hawaan Nature Reserve. The way grew even steeper, the ground more soil than sand. Ilse's breathing came hard.

"Six, Four," Jeffrey said, "a helo's coming."