Deep Sound Channel (01)

by Joe Buff

  Jeffrey drove his SDV between Ilse and the shark, hoping to repel it with his electric field. It had no visible effect. He switched the SharkPOD off and on again, then checked the status readout. It was functional, but the shark was too maddened by the A-bomb blast to notice or to care.

  Through an eyehole Jeffrey saw the shark bite off one of Ilse's bowplane flippers, then spit it out.

  Ilse felt a tug and heard a snap. It thinks I'm a dead dolphin, she realized. It's begun to feed. It won't be satisfied with just a fin or fluke. Its teeth are sharp enough to get through Kevlar.

  Jeffrey told himself to think like Ilse would, think like a dolphin and a shark. From some long-forgotten nature show his brain screamed that bottlenoses sometimes fought great whites and drove them off, to protect their young, for example. How, dammit? They rammed them with their snouts.

  Jeffrey turned as tightly as he could, built up momentum, and aimed for the shark. It easily avoided him, then returned to its main meal.

  Jeffrey tried again while the shark was distracted, and butted it violently in the side. The shark turned and lashed at him. Through the murky light provided by the flaming avgas Jeffrey saw its mouth gape open. He twisted sideways just in time. He went for separation and altitude, going dangerously near the radioactive surface. He vented ballast and dived at the great white at top speed. He crashed into its midriff and then he fell away, badly stunned. The shark batted him with its tail and once again went for its prey, Ilse.

  This isn't working, Jeffrey told himself. One good chomp and he'll crush her bones, rupture her internal organs, and wreck her Draeger. Then he'll taste her blood. There's only one thing left to do.

  Jeffrey glanced at his depth gauge. Thirty or forty feet, fluctuating wildly with the surf.

  Too deep. He set his SDV to hover. He reached for his equipment bag. He unclipped the belly of the dolphin and bailed out.

  He set the SDV to bottom and watched it sink. God knows what's drifting down around me, he told himself. Good thing I'm in a scuba, with mask and wet suit. At least the radioactive iodine and cesium will tend to float.

  Jeffrey swam toward the surface with the equipment bag, close enough for the shark to notice. He flailed intentionally. Come on, you hungry bastard, come for me. The war's conditioned you that big explosions mean raw meat? That battles mean good eating, tasty human flesh? Then come and get it.

  The shark seemed to read Jeffrey's mind. It went right for him, swimming closer toward the surface. Jeffrey pulled the pistol from his bag.

  I can't fire submerged. Water in the barrel will make it blow up in my hand.

  But the barrel plug is in. Jeffrey glanced at his dive data. Twenty feet, more or less. His pulse had topped 160. He switched his pistol off of safe to fire. The red diode glowed.

  The round-count readout said he had an armor-piercing bullet in the chamber. He prayed he wouldn't have a misfire—the only way to clear it was to first eject the clip.

  The shark started its attack, turning sideways to lunge for Jeffrey with its jaws wide open. At the last possible moment Jeffrey pushed the pistol into the shark's left eye, barrel plug and all, levered his torso away from its mouth, and squeezed the trigger.

  Ilse was desperate to know what was happening. She twisted her body to try to turn the dolphin but that didn't help. Then she watched something approach her from above—the shark, going wild. It disappeared from view and she saw something else through her eyehole. A human hand. The fuel above her was still flickering, and it looked like there were clouds of blood in the water.

  Something knocked on the SDV. Ilse screeched inside her mouthpiece. Then she realized it was Jeffrey. They worked the clips to release her from the dolphin. They were close enough to speak directly through the water, shouting inside their mouthpieces.

  Jeffrey told her he was okay, then made sure she was all right too. He reached inside her SDV with his titanium dive knife. He pierced the ballast bladders and the vehicle started to sink. Jeffrey and Ilse held onto it together, riding toward the bottom, their cyalume hoops glowing side by side.

  Jeffrey used his dive computer INS to navigate an expanding-square bottom search, and they soon retrieved his dolphin. "Six, Four," Jeffrey called once he'd plugged back in. "

  Six, Four."

  "Four, Six, g'head."

  "Shaj, Ilse and I are okay, but there'll be more sharks coming—they'll smell the blood.

  We have to get away from here."

  "Half our vehicles have mobility kills already," Clayton said, "and it's five miles to the rendezvous."

  Ilse tapped Jeffrey's shoulder. They traded mouthpieces so she could speak, each with a hand on the other's hip, floating close. "Six, Five," Ilse said, "some of us could ride outside the dolphins. We could hold on to the dorsal fins of the ones that still are working."

  Jeffrey took his mouthpiece back. "No," he said. "We can't leave the broken ones behind as evidence, and buddy tows would slow us down too much. Our battery charges are almost empty as it is. We have to call the ASDS to come and pick us up."

  "But there's no place to hide here," Clayton said. "That wreck inshore by the Ohlanga mouth is much too small for the minisub."

  "The ASDS doesn't have to hide," Jeffrey said.

  "There'll be lots of reverb from our demolition for a while, and settling from the landslide."

  "It's not part of the plan," Clayton said.

  "We have to change the plan," Jeffrey said. "I'll make the call." He turned up the power of his clandestine gertrude. "Whale One, this is Dolphin Four. Whale One, this is Dolphin Four."

  "This is Whale One," Meltzer's voice came back immediately, scratchy and echoing from the range and the frequency-agile encryption. "Give me the recognition sign."

  Jeffrey spoke slowly and crisply. "Recognition sign is beta sigma fy-uv niner. Give me the countersign."

  "Countersign is copper purple granite apple."

  "Confirmed," Jeffrey said. "Whale One, cancel Point Zulu rendezvous. Instead home on my IFF, retrieve dolphin team at my location now."

  ABOARD THE ASDS

  Jeffrey saw Lieutenant Meltzer peering in as the ASDS forward pressure chamber hatch swung open after equalizing. "Where's everybody else?" Meltzer said. He held a Geiger counter.

  "We had three KIAs," Jeffrey said.

  The team all cleared their weapons and put the firearms in a gold-lined box, to shield the tritium night-sights. Once the box was closed, the sensitive Geiger counter didn't click too much—a thorough seawater rinse was excellent decontamination.

  Meltzer looked at Otto. "Who's this guy?"

  "An EPW," Jeffrey said.

  "A prisoner?" Meltzer said. "I picked up the explosion on passive sonar. Did you fulfill the objectives?"

  "Yeah," Jeffrey said. "All except the last one, making a clean getaway from the hostile coast." Jeffrey turned

  to Clayton. "You guys catch a breather in the transport compartment. I'm taking command as pilot of the mini-sub."

  Clayton nodded and undogged the rearward hatch of the lock-in/lockout hyperbaric sphere. Jeffrey and Clayton dragged Otto into the back and strapped him into a seat. Otto was coming round, so SEAL Two checked his vital signs and gave him another morphine shot. They returned to the pressure chamber and helped Ilse stow the critical equipment bags, the ones with lab records and missile parts and the captured walkie-talkie. Jeffrey went into the forward compartment. Ilse followed.

  Jeffrey took the left seat and began reviewing screens and readouts.

  "Sir," Meltzer said, "there's been another change of plan. You were right about a Boer safety corridor." He handed Jeffrey a message slip.

  ASDS DATA PLUS ENEMY AIRCRAFT OVERFLIGHT PATTERNS AND

  INSHORE MINEFIELD ANALYSIS CONFIRM IDENTIFICATION TODAYS

  SUBMARINE SAFE PASSAGE CORRIDOR X WELL DONE X CHALLENGER

  WILL MEET/RECOVER ASDS DOWNSTREAM SIDE BOTTOM HUMMOCK

  POSIT REL POINT ZULU RANGE FIVE DOT NINE NM BEARING ONE FOUR


  SEVEN DEPTH TWELVE HUNDRED REPEAT 1200 FEET X ASDS SIGNAL

  CHALLENGER SOONEST WHEN TEAM PICKUP COMPLETED X WILSON

  SENDS XX

  "Great," Jeffrey said. "This way we'll make the docking two hours sooner."

  "Yes, sir," Meltzer said.

  "Twelve hundred feet, huh," Jeffrey said. "I guess the SDVs are expendable now." He turned to Ilse. "If their innards start to pop, enemy SOSUS'll just think that's Ms. Sperm Whale eating breakfast."

  "Concur, Commander," Ilse said.

  "Very well . . . Oceanographer." Jeffrey smiled, then turned back to Meltzer. "Let's call home and then get moving."

  Clayton came into the forward compartment and stood next to Ilse. "I can't sit still," he said. "I came to watch."

  "Post-action heebie-jeebies?" Jeffrey asked. His hand was firmly on the joy stick, his course following an underwater cable he could see on the low-frequency synthetic-aperture bottom-penetrating sonar.

  "Yeah," Clayton said. "The adrenaline's worn off."

  Jeffrey nodded. He understood. At least driving the ASDS gave him something to do. It would all catch up with him later, Jeffrey was sure. He thought of coming back sometime to tap this cable.

  "I feel pretty spaced-out myself," Ilse said.

  "We can all relax once we get back aboard," Jeffrey said. "Have a good shot of medicinal brandy, take a snooze, we'll be good as new."

  "I guess," Clayton said. "I wish I could say that for all my guys."

  "I know what you mean," Jeffrey said. "How you makin' out right now?"

  "You know," Clayton said, "it's strange. I thought I'd be real down but I got over that part fast. I feel much older suddenly. I feel, I guess, I don't know, kind of seasoned. It's not entirely a bad feeling."

  "It's like they used to say in another war," Jeffrey said. "You've seen the elephant and changed forever."

  "Did this happen to you, Commander?" Clayton said. "Back in the Persian Gulf ?"

  "I wish. By the time they cut down the drugs enough for me to have coherent thoughts, I was in the orthopedic ward at Bethesda."

  "Did you lose anybody on that mission?" Clayton said.

  "No." Then Jeffrey reminded himself: I did—my fiancée. "One guy was paralyzed, though. From the waist down. Too much damage for any nerve reconstruction."

  "That's a shame," Clayton said.

  "Not entirely," Jeffrey said. "He's won three gold medals in Special Olympics, the international ones, the big time. He's a high school principal now and also runs a Boy Scout troop."

  "Watch out for an ex-SEAL in a wheelchair," Clayton said. He smiled, but Jeffrey sensed his pain.

  "Look," Jeffrey said. "Command is never easy, Shaj. In war you tell people to do things, they get hurt, they die. It sucks but life goes on."

  "I guess you're right," Clayton said.

  "You brought six people back, out of nine," Jeffrey said. "For a mission they gave odds of one in four, that's real good work."

  "There're just so many things I'd have done differently, if I'd only known."

  "Don't second-guess yourself," Jeffrey said. "Combat's total chaos. It doesn't pay to overanalyze it afterward, ever. Trust me on that."

  Clayton hesitated. "Thanks, Commander." He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna go in back and be with my people. Maybe we'll say a little prayer for the ones that didn't make it."

  "Let's all do that right now," Jeffrey said. "It just seemed too creepy while SEAL One was still alive." Jeffrey flicked on the intercom into the transport compartment. "Just a brief devotion, guys, to give us closure." SEALs Seven and Eight came to stand in the control compartment hatchway.

  Jeffrey cleared his throat. "Uh . . . Our Creator, we commend to You the souls of our departed comrades.

  Watch over us as we harness the forces of nature in Thy bidding, and guide us on the path to a just peace." Everybody said Amen.

  OUTSIDE THE BLUFF AT DURBAN

  Gunther Van Gelder practically screamed into the intercom. "What do you mean you can'

  t open the outer door?"

  "We're under attack," a metallic voice answered, sounding young and very scared.

  "Christ, man," Van Gelder shouted, "that's why the interlocking has two sets of barriers!

  You open the outer blast door and let people in, then close it and open the inner one!

  That's how the goddamn thing's supposed to work!"

  "I don't know, sir, it halves the protection."

  "Look, you," Van Gelder said. "It's been more than half an hour and there was just that one explosion, a low-yield groundburst fifteen klicks away. It could simply be an accident, for all we know. If this was a real attack, there'd have been more missiles, they'd try to saturate our defenses. I haven't seen one AA battery open fire—there aren't any targets for them!"

  "How, how do I know you're telling the truth?"

  "You don't," Van Gelder said. He coughed and cleared his mouth of grit and dust. "But you know I'm still alive and breathing, right? So you have a choice. You can keep the blast door closed and hope Durban gets nuked so I get blown to ashes. If you fail to open this door immediately and Durban does not get nuked, I will personally blow your ass off once the all-clear sounds. The other choice is opening the door, in which case I'll be far more interested in rejoining my ship than putting you on report for stupidity and cowardice. Which I will do if you don't open this bloody door!"

  The hydraulic mechanism began to whine, and the massive slab swung toward Van Gelder.

  ABOARD CHALLENGER

  "Docking solid," Jeffrey said into the ASDS intercom.

  "Roger," COB's voice answered, "Challenger confirms a solid dock. Ocean Interface conformal doors are closing now."

  "Acknowledged," Jeffrey said. He watched the little status presentation on the LCD as the pressure doors swung closed over the ASDS icon.

  "Doors closed," COB said two minutes later. "Hangar bay still wet, hangar internal pressure relieved."

  "Confirmed," Jeffrey said. "ASDS seawater gauges read as on the surface.

  Decompression sequence for repetitive group F dive table is completed, ASDS internal air pressure reads as on the surface."

  "Commander," Meltzer said, "our radiacs and dosimeters all show inside normal tolerances."

  "Very well, Copilot," Jeffrey said. "Challenger, radiology is satisfactory, no measurable on-board contamination, no personnel exposures of concern at this time."

  "Acknowledged," COB said. "ASDS, you are cleared to open your lower hatch."

  "Very well, Challenger," Jeffrey said, "we are opening our lower hatch." Jeffrey flicked some switches, then unbuckled and stood up. He stretched, as much as was possible for his tall figure in the cramped confines. He and Ilse and Meltzer went into the central air-lock chamber, and Clayton and the SEALs joined them there. Jeffrey knelt and spun the wheel. He let the door drop open.

  There was a small crowd waiting at the base of the ladder, including Challenger's senior medical corpsman and several ASDS maintenance specialists. Jeffrey saw Commodore Morse's bearded face look up at him.

  "Scratch one bioweapons lab," Jeffrey said. "Three SEALs KIA, and we took a prisoner."

  Half an hour later Jeffrey and Ilse walked together toward the CACC.

  "It's amazing what a shower and a change of clothes can do for your perspective," Ilse said.

  Jeffrey laughed. "That plus a swig of Wild Turkey and a strong cuppa coffee works every time."

  "Thanks again for saving my life," Ilse said.

  "Aw, shucks, it was nothing."

  "I'll share a second-stage regulator with you anytime, Mr. Fuller."

  Just then they reached the control room. Captain Wilson turned. "Welcome back," he said. Jeffrey quickly took reports from Monaghan and Sessions, then reclaimed his role as fire control coordinator. Lieutenant Monaghan returned to being navigator, and Ilse took a seat next to Sessions at a sonar workstation. Meltzer relieved the relief pilot.

  Jeffrey scanned the navigation plots and t
actical displays while Wilson conned the ship.

  Enemy surface units and airplanes and helos swarmed everywhere, in spite of loss and damage from the local blast and EMP. There were more than two dozen hostile contacts all around.

  That count included submarines on ASW duty

  beneath the fallout plume, Jeffrey noticed. The pounding surf was an ideal backdrop for ambient sonar and hole-in-ocean spotting of the quiet diesel boats, but was also one more reason Challenger hugged the ocean floor—plenty of all-revealing wave-action sound energy was coming through the thermocline.

  Jeffrey eyeballed the minefield map and gravimeter screens that COB and Meltzer used.

  Meltzer, back at the helm, seemed remarkably wide-awake and chipper. Jeffrey smiled.

  Ah, to be that young again.

  Jeffrey was impressed. Not only did Wilson come to meet the ASDS right inshore, but now Challenger was heading south-southwest along the coast within the safety lane.

  They were barely 20,000 yards out from Durban, but assuming that it was a safety lane and the boat stayed in its limits, they were immune to enemy fire: South African and German forces had to treat all submerged contacts in the lane as friendly.

  This was standard wartime procedure to avoid blue-onblue engagements, or, Jeffrey told himself, in this case redon-red. Antisubmarine forces avoided the corridor intentionally— otherwise navigation error or an accidental weapons release could lead to tragedy. The Axis navy took great pains to disguise their daily safety lanes—but lurking in their midst for several hours, Challenger, with two LMRS probes and the ASDS as off-board recon platforms, had scoped the corridors out like Jeffrey recommended.

  Jeffrey glanced at the conning screens again. Challenger made turns for four knots, moving more like seven because of the current, at a depth right now of 570 feet, up on the continental shelf. Her slow speed through the water cut down the subtle pressure waves thrown off by her passage, further enhancing her stealth. She still needed Jeffrey's magnetic-signature cloaking gambit to fool the mines, which made for some tense moments, since mines lay everywhere, but at least if noticed at this point, Challenger wouldn't be subject

  to depth charges and torpedoes from Rommel and that Sachsen-class destroyer and their cronies.