Crush Depth cjf-3

by Joe Buff

  Challenger was battered by the shock forces. Several control-room consoles failed, and intercom circuits stopped working. The phone talker relayed damage reports from elsewhere in the ship: A handful of crewmen had suffered concussions or broken bones.

  One balky auxiliary turbogenerator had to be shut down. Cooling-water pipes had broken. Other equipment had ceased to function.

  But Challenger kept fighting. Now she was chasing Voortrekker due west. Outside Challenger's hull — which suddenly seemed very fragile amid this mounting hellish maelstrom — sonar conditions were so poor that Jeffrey was beginning to lose situational awareness. He fought to keep straight in his head the ever-shifting geometries of the battle, and to predict what his opponent, ter Horst, would do next.

  On Voortrekker

  Voortrekker rocked and fishtailed from the force of her own exploding warheads back behind the stern. The disturbances of the blasts formed a hydrographic nightmare separating her — and her sensors — from Challenger.

  "Captain," Van Gelder warned when the noise was no longer too loud for him to be heard, "navigator and gravimeter both indicate escarpment wall of the Bounty Platform lies dead ahead on this course."

  Ter Horst smiled. "Don't you think I see it too?"

  On Challenger

  Jeffrey held on tight to his armrests as Challenger charged half blind through the churning, roiling water of the most recent nuclear blasts. Many atomic torpedoes had gone off by now, yet so far not one weapon had succeeded in reaching killing range of either sub.

  With the ocean around them so distressed, Jeffrey ordered Meltzer to take the ship a few thousand feet shallower, to avoid a bottom collision. Even so, COB constantly needed to juggle variable ballast, as local buoyancy varied from the heat and the trillions of tiny collapsing pockets of high-pressure vapor. Radioactive seawater rushed through Challenger's main condensor cooling loops, but those loops were self-contained and shielded, and the polluted water went right back out of the ship.

  Jeffrey had no idea what he would find on the other side of the blast zones. But now that he'd made contact with Voortrekker, he couldn't afford to be cautious and let her get away.

  Once through the cauldron of tortured water, the first thing Kathy's people heard was a Sea Lion coming right at them. Jeffrey ordered a defensive snap shot. Bell intercepted the weapon just in time. The detonation punched Challenger in the nose. She twisted and squirmed as she thrust through the latest blast zone. Meltzer worked the bowplanes and sternplanes aggressively to keep the ship under control.

  Once on the other side, Kathy reported three sonar contacts, all sounding like Voortrekker running away at flank speed.

  "He launched two decoys," Wilson said.

  "Sonar, ping, high frequency?'

  The bow sphere screeched. The echoes came back. The sonarmen went to work — decoys were launched from torpedo tubes; they were much smaller than Voortrekker herself.

  Challenger's signal processors would know the difference, even in these conditions.

  "Leftmost contact is the true one?' Kathy reported. Jeffrey ordered Meltzer to alter course, fifteen degrees to port, to keep up with Voortrekker.

  "Captain," Kathy said, "aircraft returning for a reattack."

  Jeffrey hoped they didn't attack the wrong ship. "All tubes reloaded," Bell said.

  "Sir!" Kathy said. "Contact with Voortrekker lost! Last detected in close proximity to the Bounty Platform escarpment wall!"

  "Did he collide with it?" Jeffrey demanded.

  "Negative, sir. We heard both decoys hit the wall, but no datum on Voortrekker."

  "What's he doing now?" Wilson said.

  On Voortrekker

  "All stop," ter Horst ordered.

  The helmsman acknowledged.

  "Back full until we lose headway."

  It took a little while for Voortrekker to shed her forward momentum. She came to a halt.

  "Chief of the Watch, rise on auto-hover using variable ballast only, maximum rate of ascent. Helm, hug the escarpment wall using auxiliary propulsors only."

  The ship began to ascend on an even keel, quickly but very quietly. Van Gelder watched the gravimeter. The whole wall rose straight up, from five thousand meters deep to only two thousand — a solid wall of rock three kilometers high. Van Gelder saw that this particular portion of the wall was topped by a sea mount whose peak was even shallower, only six hundred meters deep beneath the surface. Now Van Gelder understood why ter Horst had ordered Voortrekker to turn this way when the two flank-speed decoys were launched.

  The sonar chief reported the enemy aircraft were closing in to drop more weapons.

  Everyone in the control room heard Challenger ping once more.

  Ter Horst looked at Van Gelder and laughed. "You see, Gunther? Each time, I think several moves ahead of Fuller. He's trying to find us against the escarpment wall. But we' re so silent since we stopped the propulsor shaft, he can't hear us. Since we're moving up like an elevator, perpendicular to his bow sphere's line of sight, his pings won't even get a Doppler shift off our hull."

  On Challenger

  "Where is he?" Jeffrey said. "Where did he go?"

  "Careful," Wilson said. "Think it through."

  Jeffrey realized he'd begun to lose his self-control. This was exactly what ter Horst planned and wanted to happen. Jeffrey made himself stay focused. Every second counted now. He was glad he had Wilson to backstop him in this endurance marathon against ter Horst's brilliant mind.

  "He's blending into the escarpment wall," Jeffrey said. "It's the only explanation why we can't find him anywhere on active or passive search."

  "Why hasn't he fired more torpedoes at us?" Bell asked.

  "He'd give himself away, and be pinned against the wall. He surely hears the aircraft coming around again, just like we can."

  "But this is his best chance to overwhelm us, Captain, immediately, before the planes reattack. He has to have figured out by now we have only four tubes working."

  "The aircraft!" Jeffrey said. "That's it! He's gone shallow on auto-hover. He's going after the aircraft!"

  On Voortrekker

  "Depth six hundred meters," Van Gelder reported. Voortrekker was at the peak of the sea mount atop the Bounty Platform wall, still being masked by terrain. "Sets of four Polyphem missiles loaded in torpedo tubes two, four, six, and eight."

  "Aircraft approaching fast on attack runs!" the sonar chief called out.

  "Aircraft courses indicate a wide spread bracketing us:' Van Gelder warned.

  Ter Horst glanced up at the overhead, as if to look through to the sky. "They seem to know, or they guessed, that we're using the escarpment wall."

  "Sir," Van Gelder urged, "they'll drop weapons any moment."

  "Tubes two, four, six, and eight, shoot."

  Van Gelder watched the tactical plot. Sixteen antiaircraft missiles broached the surface.

  Four enemy aircraft dropped a total of six Mark 54 torpedoes — ter Horst's missiles were too late.

  "Reload all tubes," ter Horst snapped. "Helm, flank speed ahead. Steer one eight zero.

  Thirty degrees down bubble. Back to the bottom smartly."

  Voortrekker's bow nosed steeply down. Only Van Gelder's lap belt kept him from sliding right out of his seat. Voortrekker picked up speed, running south, along the edge of the Bounty Platform wall, moving as fast as the ship could go.

  Simultaneously, on Challenger

  "Launch transients!" Kathy shouted. "Missile motors igniting! Flow noise! Flank-speed datum on Voortrekker!" Kathy fed the range and bearing and depth to Bell. He issued orders to his weapon-systems specialists. Jeffrey fired four more torpedoes, at five-second intervals.

  "Six air-dropped Mark 54s in the water," Kathy said.

  "I think we've got him now," Jeffrey said. Here was the second combined salvo, from Challenger and the aircraft. This one better do the job.

  "Aircraft are turning away," the sonar chief said. "Multiple missiles in the air, clo
sing on friendly aircraft." Jeffrey cursed to himself.

  "Torpedoes in the water!" Kathy shouted. "Four Sea Lion torpedoes."

  "Sea Lions are on intercept course with friendly weapons," Bell said.

  "Reload!" Jeffrey ordered. He wanted revenge for the Orions and Vikings that were about to die.

  "Eight more Sea Lions in the water!" Kathy said. Does Voortrekker know where we are?

  "Master One's torpedoes fanning out in a wide spread," Bell reported. "Assess as random shots, but some are threats to Challenger."

  Jeffrey fired four more defensive shots. "Reload!" Soon enough, Voortrekker would trace the Mark 88s back to their source, and draw a bead on Challenger that way. There was a real danger that at this rate Challenger would run out of torpedoes — but the same thing applied to ter Horst. Jeffrey dreaded another inconclusive draw. It made him determined to fight all the harder. He was very glad he'd left New London with a full complement, some sixty fish on the torpedo-room racks and carried in the tubes.

  Jeffrey fidgeted while the torpedo-room autoloader gear ran once more through its mechanical cycle — he prayed the hydraulic machinery would hold up under the nuclear battering, and under such constant heavy use. Again he and Bell armed the warheads. He had Bell fire another salvo.

  Jeffrey listened to the cacophony on the sonar speakers. His mind tuned out the sounds of the separate airborne battle, which was now beyond his control. Even so, there were sixteen enemy torpedoes in the water, plus eighteen from Challenger and her supporting aircraft, audible against a constant backdrop of Challenger's hissing flank-speed flow noise and the continuing rumbling reverb from all those earlier nuclear blasts. In this madness of crisscrossing fish it was a toss-up whether Allied weapons really outnumbered ter Horst's — and there was the definite possibility of a double kill, with both ships sunk, maybe even by their own torpedoes.

  It began, the latest melee of detonations, and Challenger was buffeted. Kathy's people lost all contact with Voortrekker.

  This is no place to linger. Jeffrey's ship was very low on ammo — and the swarm of atomic torpedoes would continue to hunt for targets and explode.

  Jeffrey hoped Ilse was right, that ter Horst's ultimate refuge was the ice shelf, so that Jeffrey knew which way to go to maintain the pursuit. He hoped the doomed aircraft overhead had at least convinced Voortrekker to keep running in that direction, south.

  "Helm, make your course one eight zero." The ship still was doing flank speed. If Jeffrey slowed, he'd be quieter, but this was not the time or place for quiet. Yet he needed to take steps to protect his command. It was too late to protect the local environment, and for this Jeffrey knew he'd feel a lasting inner shame.

  "Fire Control, launch noisemakers and jammers… Launch two decoys, flank speed, in a spread to right and left."

  Simultaneously, on Voortrekker

  Van Gelder listened to the racket on the sonar speakers as almost three dozen nuclear torpedoes screamed every which way. Some ran at each other on intercept courses.

  Others ran at Challenger or Voortrekker, or toward the face of the Bounty Platform wall, or homed on bubble clouds as if they were hulls. A few tore off uselessly into the distance, their firing solutions or guidance systems awry. The combined noise almost drowned out the sixteen antiaircraft missiles flying overhead, and the straining engine sounds of the evading enemy aircraft.

  The first things to connect were the antiaircraft missiles. As the sonar chief called out each event, Van Gelder heard a series of muffled thuds when each missile warhead detonated. The warheads were high-explosive only, but the blasts nearby and right above transferred sound down into the water. Then Van Gelder heard a series of smacks and drawn-

  "Sea Lions are on intercept course with friendly weapons:' Bell said.

  "Reload!" Jeffrey ordered. He wanted revenge for the Orions and Vikings that were about to die.

  "Eight more Sea Lions in the water!" Kathy said. Does Voortrekker know where we are?

  "Master One's torpedoes fanning out in a wide spread," Bell reported. "Assess as random shots, but some are threats to Challenger."

  Jeffrey fired four more defensive shots. "Reload!" Soon enough, Voortrekker would trace the Mark 88s back to their source, and draw a bead on Challenger that way. There was a real danger that at this rate Challenger would run out of torpedoes — but the same thing applied to ter Horst. Jeffrey dreaded another inconclusive draw. It made him determined to fight all the harder. He was very glad he'd left New London with a full complement, some sixty fish on the torpedo-room racks and carried in the tubes.

  Jeffrey fidgeted while the torpedo-room autoloader gear ran once more through its mechanical cycle — he prayed the hydrauIlc machinery would hold up under the nuclear battering, and under such constant heavy use. Again he and Bell armed the warheads. He had Bell fire another salvo.

  Jeffrey listened to the cacophony on the sonar speakers. His mind tuned out the sounds of the separate airborne battle, which was now beyond his control. Even so, there were sixteen enemy torpedoes in the water, plus eighteen from Challenger and her supporting aircraft, audible against a constant backdrop of Challenger's hissing flank-speed flow noise and the continuing rumbling reverb from all those earlier nuclear blasts. In this madness of crisscrossing fish it was a toss-up whether Allied weapons really outnumbered ter Horst's — and there was the definite possibility of a double kill, with both ships sunk, maybe even by their own torpedoes.

  It began, the latest melee of detonations, and Challenger was buffeted. Kathy's people lost all contact with Voortrekker.

  This is no place to linger. Jeffrey's ship was very low on ammo — and the swarm of atomic torpedoes would continue to hunt for targets and explode.

  Jeffrey hoped Ilse was right, that ter Horst's ultimate refuge was the ice shelf, so that Jeffrey knew which way to go to maintain the pursuit. He hoped the doomed aircraft overhead had at least convinced Voortrekker to keep running in that direction, south.

  "Helm, make your course one eight zero." The ship still was doing flank speed. If Jeffrey slowed, he'd be quieter, but this was not the time or place for quiet. Yet he needed to take steps to protect his command. It was too late to protect the local environment, and for this Jeffrey knew he'd feel a lasting inner shame.

  "Fire Control, launch noisemakers and jammers… Launch two decoys, flank speed, in a spread to right and left."

  Simultaneously, on Voortrekker

  Van Gelder listened to the racket on the sonar speakers as almost three dozen nuclear torpedoes screamed every which way. Some ran at each other on intercept courses.

  Others ran at Challenger or Voortrekker, or toward the face of the Bounty Platform wall, or homed on bubble clouds as if they were hulls. A few tore off uselessly into the distance, their firing solutions or guidance systems awry. The combined noise almost drowned out the sixteen antiaircraft missiles flying overhead, and the straining engine sounds of the evading enemy aircraft.

  The first things to connect were the antiaircraft missiles. As the sonar chief called out each event, Van Gelder heard a series of muffled thuds when each missile warhead detonated. The warheads were high-explosive only, but the blasts nearby and right above transferred sound down into the water. Then Van Gelder heard a series of smacks and drawn-out watery tearing noises, as the enemy aircraft one by one broke up and plunged into the sea. Van Gelder knew some of the planes had fifteen people in their crews, to fly them and man all the antisubmarine gear.

  Those who survived the missiles, using parachutes to jump to safety or life rafts when their aircraft ditched, would suffer the immediate effects of all those nuclear torpedoes about to blow. Van Gelder knew not one of the downed aircrew still breathing would do so for much longer. Blast force, searing heat, and intense radiation would kill them for sure. The worst part would be the waiting, wondering where and when the first nuclear fireball would break the surface as the survivors bobbed in the sea.

  But the aircraft had already done t
heir worst. They'd managed to drop their last Mark 54s.

  Ter Horst ordered more noisemakers and decoys. Van Gelder rushed to comply. Soon, he knew, the fearful noise of all those torpedo engines coming and going would be drowned out by sounds infinitely more frightening and deadly. He wondered what the whales and dolphins hearing all this felt, the ones that weren't already dead or deaf or in too much agony from internal injuries to care.

  On Challenger

  Nuclear torpedo warheads began to detonate near and far. Jeffrey's body and his ship were punished by forces worse than any he'd ever experienced. It was impossible to follow what was happening, either on the data screens or in his head. Kathy and Bell and their people struggled to keep track of inbound torpedoes and keep their own on proper course.

  More warheads blew. Jeffrey's brain seemed to bounce back and forth inside his skull.

  His teeth hurt. He thought his. rib cage or his lungs would burst apart. Damage-control reports came in from all over Challenger. Jeffrey's vision was too blurred to read his console now, and his eardrums ached too much for him to hear.

  Blood dripped onto his vibrating console screen — the stitches on his forebead had opened up. The noise and shock effects redoubled as additional warheads blew. Blast waves bounced off the escarpment wall and came back at the ship. Challenger surged and heaved and shivered. Commodore Wilson lost his grip on a stanchion and was knocked right off his feet.

  Yet more warheads blew, much too close.

  Bell leaned close and bellowed something urgently in Jeffrey's ear.

  "What?"

  Bell repeated himself, and tried to talk with his hands, using improvised sign language.

  Finally Jeffrey understood. "Flooding in the trash-disposal lockout chute!"

  The disposal chute was like a small torpedo tube, aimed straight down through the bottom of the ship, near the galley and mess spaces. At fifteen thousand feet, water was powering in under pressure at almost four tons per square inch — this could be a fatal wound.