The Lotus Eaters

If we hadn't taken out the sub their primary effort would have been protecting the carrier. As is, and with us having dived so low, they probably think the carrier's safe enough. That means their major effort is going to be revenge. Well . . . I suppose I could understand that. The first barrage of sonabuoys was generally south. If they're putting one in now, it's probably north to keep us from heading to port and safety. So we head where? East or west, I think, but which?

West brings us nearer Santander; east there's not a decent port for two hundred miles. But we've got the endurance, easily, for either.

East or west? West or . . .

Yermo's voice was strained, if not shocked. 'Skipper, the torpedo found us. Pinging like a bitch and making fifty knots for us. I make it impact in ninety seconds.'

'Deception pod,' Quijana ordered instantly. 'Set for no delay. Dive! All dive!'

Torpedo Number Three, Shimmering Sea

What with the need to pack sonar, both active and passive, propulsive gear and fuel, fuses, MAENAD, controls, and—by no means least—explosive into the torpedo, the room left over for a brain left the thing something of an electronic moron. Even a moron, though, can sometimes be right.

Number three noted the greater sonar return from the pod's bubbles, the simulated engine noise, and the artificial magnetic and electronic signature. It noted them and ignored them. It already had a target and anything that seemed like a better one was likely to be false. Still pinging happily at finding its purpose in life, torpedo three closed the distance to the Orca.

Pingpingping. Oh, joy! Oh, happiness!

SdL Orca, Shimmering Sea

'Three's ignoring the pod, skipper,' Yermo said. 'And Number Two is heading toward the pod. That brings it toward us.'

Weapon's fingers moved over his station in a blur. 'I can intercept,' he announced.

'Do it!' Quijana ordered.

Weapon's finger lanced down, pressing a button to fire one of the remaining rear-facing torpedoes. A shudder ran through the sub as the torpedo launched itself, breaking through the plastic film that separated its distilled water from the salty sea. This was not a supercavitator, but a more conventional design, capable of, at most, fifty knots.

Weapons kept the torpedo on passive sonar only, with its point of aim set on the constantly pinging Gallic intruder. His hand wrapped around a stick control, not dissimilar to a computer gamer's, with a trigger to fire the wire-laying torpedo should it fail to detonate on its own when close enough to its target. He flipped off a red safety cap over the trigger, then straightened his finger.

Seconds later, Yermo said, 'They heard the launch upstairs. We're getting active sonar from one of the ships and . . . another one has fired. At least two helicopters dipping now and I'm getting plonks as something is dropping passive sensors above us.

The sub suddenly lurched with two massive, nearly simultaneous explosions behind it.

'I got it!' Weapons exulted.

Quijana looked against at the main screen, now showing the pod, torpedo two aiming for it, and another torpedo just launched from the surface.

'Two has decided to ignore the pod,' Yermo said. 'I think it's got a lock on us. And . . . another surface ship has launched.'

'Bring us down another two hundred,' Quijana said.

'We've never tested it that deep, skipper,' Garcia warned. 'Worse: If we go too much lower we'll hit the critical point for the ammonia. Do that and we can't push out the ballast.'

Quijana pointed at the screen and said, 'See those. If we don't lose them we're dead anyway.'

D 466 Portzmoguer, Gallic Navy, Shimmering Sea, Terra Nova

With all the noise going on below, the frigate had only an uncertain idea of where the Balboan submarine really was. It showed the most amazing ability to maneuver without its engines. The captain was fairly sure they were diving and rising, and using that motion to glide with the dive planes.

Could it get as much as a ten or twelve to one glide path ratio? Casabianca wondered. That could put it two or more kilometers away from our last sighting and with no more sound than comes from breaking through a thermal layer. And that's not much. Twelve to nineteen square kilometers of ocean to hide in, too. Maybe more if we didn't have a perfect lock on it to begin with.

Maybe if we blanketed the sea, launch nearly everything we have, all at once, we might get it. Fire a pattern of Ulysses rocket launched torpedoes . . . maintain guidance via digital link to the buoys they leave at the surface and through the wires they drag behind them. We could do that. Of course, one might break its wire and go hunting another but we've plenty of weapons and they've only the one submarine.

And I might suggest that to the admiral, if I had a better idea of where it is, or even how deep it is.