Deep Sound Channel (01)
Page 34
"Yes. . . . And you say it went off at Umhlanga Rocks?"
"I thought so, Captain, right at the peak of the headland. It would be easy enough to find out, from the crater."
Ter Horst nodded. "I believe there was a secret installation on that hill. I know there was a missile bunker there."
"You think they're all connected somehow, Captain?"
"I do, Gunther, I do. The bomb may have been sabotage from within, coordinated with the so-called Allies. The fallout mix will tell. .. . And how else could they have known precisely where the daily safety corridor lay?"
"It doesn't seem possible," Van Gelder said. "We have such tight security everywhere."
"Treason," ter Horst said. "There'll have to be a formal investigation of it all. . . .
Voortrekker will be laid up for a while—I'll use my influence to get to chair the board personally."
"While we're in dry dock, Captain, in the bluff?"
"Yes," ter Horst said. "And when I find out who among our people were responsible, I'll put the nooses round their necks myself!"
Two ex-French Mach 2 interceptors roared by low off the bow, like arrowheads with their canard winglets under the canopies—under the winglets the aircraft now wore Iron Crosses. They vanished over the horizon, then a messenger popped his head out of Voortrekker's bridge hatch—Van Gelder resolved some minor matters quickly.
"Saved by a bunch of fly-boys, Gunther," ter Horst said a minute later. "Who'd have ever thought?"
"We did our best, sir," Van Gelder said. "The important thing is that we live to fight another day."
Ter Horst sighed. "This engagement was like in their Civil War, the battle between the world's first ironclads, Monitor and Merrimack. They fought each other to a standstill, then withdrew, and not for lack of courage on either side."
"Virginia, sir, not Merrimack," Van Gelder said. "The South renamed her when she was rebuilt."
Ter Horst stared into space, then set his jaw. "I underestimated the Americans. I took much too much for granted, and I fell for their clever tricks. So be it, but I swear to you, no longer. Next time we meet Challenger, she and her crew will die."
NIINDELO, SAO VICENTE ISLAND,
REPUI3LIC OF CAPE VERDE,
10 DAYS LATER
The music blaring off the crowded patio was a kind of reggae with an African beat. The rhythm stirred Jeffrey's blood as he gazed across the narrow strait to Santo Antao, the next island in the volcanic chain, the 6,500foot-high peak of Tope de Coroa bristling with antennas and missile sites. He glanced at his watch and his heart started pounding—thirteen hundred local, finally. Jeffrey turned back toward the hotel. Ilse was coming.
"Hi," she said. "I got your message." She wiped some loose strands of hair from her forehead. "I ate already, but . . ."
Jeffrey smiled. "So how were your first two days of so-called R&R?"
"More like an interrogation than a debriefing," Ilse said.
"Mine too," Jeffrey said. "Let's find some quiet." They walked together closer to the edge of the sheer cliff. The trade wind blew steadily from the northeast, as it always did. The weather was sunny and warm, as usual in Cape Verde. The slopes around were covered with sparse desertlike scrub. There were grains of sand beneath Jeffrey's feet, blown all the way from the Sahara, from four hundred miles east across the equatorial Atlantic.
"I'm sort of surprised they didn't fly you out immedi-
ately," Jeffrey said. He checked over his shoulder, then whispered, "You know, so you could work on the archaea."
"Others are at least as qualified as me, and they're U.S. citizens. They told me I have such a low travel priority it might be a couple of weeks before there's an open seat."
"Strange," Jeffrey said. "Clayton's gang's supposed to be on the next flight out today."
Ilse shrugged. "They gave me chits to use at the ho-
tel. I don't even have any money. . . . I guess they need
to drain Otto dry first, before I'd have much to do." "Makes sense," Jeffrey said. Then he just looked at Ilse. "They're playing Christmas music," she said.
"The words sound like some kind of Creole," Jeffrey
said.
"It's called Crioulo, actually," Ilse said, "made from Portuguese and some African languages. There're bits of Portuguese in Afrikaans too. I can make out words here and there."
Jeffrey hesitated. "So what are your plans now, Ilse?" "Sleep for about three days," she said.
"That's when I have to go," Jeffrey said.
"You mean with the ship?"
"Yeah," Jeffrey said. "We're being sent to dry dock on the East Coast. I'm not sure where yet, which yard or base. Repairs, upgrades. . . ."
"How's Captain Wilson?" Ilse said.
"Better," Jeffrey said. "I visited him this morning in his hotel room. They won't let him off the premises till we sail. Mandatory rest. He still gets terrible headaches."
"And your navigator?" Ilse said.
"They can do amazing things now with electrode implants and mechanical assists, they told me."
"Good luck to him," Ilse said. "Where's your submarine now?"
Jeffrey turned to the sea. At the base of the cliff the strong surf pounded and creamed. "
Out there, somewhere," he said. "Deep and safe. We submerged as soon as we'd reammunitioned, and epoxied the bow sphere."
"You know where she is?" Ilse said.
"I do, but if I told you I'd have to shoot you."
Ilse giggled. "And you're commuting in the ASDS?"
"Yeah," Jeffrey said. "It's like our gig or something. Wasn't designed for that, but it comes in handy."
Ilse looked across the water, azure blue like the sky.
"Listen," Jeffrey said, "I'm totally buried in maintenance and paperwork, but I was, uh, I was wondering, I could carve out a few hours tonight, if you wanted to have dinner, just the two of us."
Before Ilse could respond, Jeffrey noticed someone approaching from the patio. He cursed under his breath.
The woman wore a Royal Navy officer's uniform, like everyone else here lacking insignia and badges, for security. "Excuse me," she said. "Are you Commander Jeffrey Fuller?"
"Uh, yeah," Jeffrey said.
"I'm Lieutenant Kathy Milgrom." She reached out her hand and Jeffrey shook it. Since Jeffrey was uncovered—hatless—they didn't salute. "Here are my orders, sir," Kathy said.
Jeffrey held the papers against his chest in case some satellite might be watching, and he read. Immediately he said, "Oh God. You're one of them."
Kathy nodded brightly. Jeffrey kept reading. It seemed that after eighteen months helping see HMS Dreadnought through the final construction and operational readiness phases, and upon the recommendation of Commodore Richard Morse, RN, Lieutenant Kathy Janet Milgrom was being seconded to USS Challenger. With the concurrence of higher authority in the United
States Navy, she would serve in a capacity to be determined by Challenger's executive officer at his discretion. It was noted Ms. Milgrom was expert in sonar.
Jeffrey did a double take, then saw Kathy read his face.
"Yes, sir," Kathy said. "Commodore Morse and my father served together, in Conqueror during the Falklands crisis."
"Well," Jeffrey said, "I suppose now I should say Welcome aboard."
Ilse broke in, "I didn't know they had any women crew on nuclear submarines."
"It's supposed to be an experiment," Kathy said. "It's very controversial." Jeffrey caught her giving Ilse a wink. Ilse seemed highly unamused.
"You've talked to Captain Wilson?" Jeffrey said.
"Yes, sir," Kathy said. "For just a moment. He told me your ship's had a bit of experience with temporary mixed-gender manning, pardon my pun. He didn't give me details."
"Plenty of time for that later on, I suppose," Jeffrey said.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Kathy said to Ilse. She turned back to Jeffrey. "I just wanted to quickly introduce myself, sir, before I went down to the ASDS in the harbor an
d caught the taxi, so to speak."
"I'm glad you did," Jeffrey said distractedly. "We'll get you started on settling in later this afternoon." "Good-bye," Kathy said to Ilse. Kathy left.
"Urn," Jeffrey said. "Sorry, Ilse, I, I, I sort of lost my whole train of thought there."
"I don't know, Jeffrey. I'm still so, so confused about how I feel, about what I did back there, that bad place we both went to."
Jeffrey nodded reluctantly, remembering the lab, those scientists, the A-bomb. "War makes good people
have to do terrible things sometimes. That doesn't make you a bad person, Ilse. You helped stop something evil."
Ilse opened her mouth to reply, but a messenger from Challenger dashed up, escorted by an armed guard Jeffrey had never seen before.
"Sir," the messenger said. "This." He handed Jeffrey the slip and Jeffrey read it to himself, first looking over his shoulder again. A Virginia-class fast-attack boat had been badly damaged in an engagement with two Axis-crewed Rubis-class SSNs near the Azores. Both ex-French boats were assessed destroyed, but the American sub had been forced to bottom on a seamount barely higher than her crush depth. The engineering spaces were flooded and the surviving crew were sheltering forward, without much power or air, and more German subs were closing in. Challenger was ordered to put to sea at once and render all possible assistance to the stricken American boat, including an attempt to rescue the crew using the ASDS, something never tried before in combat.
"What about Captain Wilson?" Jeffrey said to the messenger.
"The neurologist wouldn't allow him out of his room, sir," the messenger said. "He called the Shore Patrol and used his medical authority."
Jeffrey looked at Ilse. He knew she could see it in his eyes. "I have to go," he said. "Now."
Ilse simply stood there. Tears began to stream down her face.
"I, uh . . ." Jeffrey trailed off, his chest aching from how beautiful she looked.
"Sir, come on," the messenger said, tugging Jeffrey's sleeve. "A car's waiting."
Not knowing what else to do, Jeffrey reached and took Ilse's hand. She just held his limply, her lip trembling.
"I'll try to find you," Jeffrey said. "Somehow"
Ilse tried to speak but couldn't. She pressed his hand and then turned her back. Jeffrey tore himself away and started for the patio, chiding himself that even after all these years good-byes were still so hard.
Another messenger dashed over breathlessly. Jeffrey held out his hand, but the youngster said he needed Miss Reebeck. Jeffrey grabbed the slip and skimmed it as both messengers kept eyeing their wristwatches. Jeffrey brought the slip to Ilse.
"Let's go," he told her insistently. "You've been assigned to my boat."
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