To the crew as a whole he said, 'Boys, I can't tell you everything that this is about. I can only tell you that it's important, maybe as important as anything we're doing to defend ourselves.'
From their expressions, Carrera knew what the sailors were thinking. Tell us something we didn't know. If this weren't important, you wouldn't have shown up. For that matter, neither would we.
* * *
They'd all been down on submarines before. What none of the crew had ever experienced, however, was diving in a submarine that had never been on a dive before. They were sweating, and it wasn't just from the heat of the surface they were about to leave.
Standing in the stubby conning tower, or sail, Chu's first order, before ordering the boat's water jets engaged was, 'Engage the clicker.'
The Meg was an immensely quiet boat. It was more nearly undetectable by active sonar than any submarine of which the Legion was aware—or for that matter, of which the Imperial Navy of Yamato or the Navy of the Volgan Republic were aware. It had an extraordinarily low magnetic and electronic signature. It didn't put out much heat. The 'clicker' was to advertise the sub's presence by simulating the sound of an imperfectly cut gear in the jet propulsion units, said units being presumably inadequately isolated. Click . . . click . . . click. Except that the clicking was so fast, consistent with what it was trying to simulate, that it came out as more of a whine except at very low speeds.
As long as they think they can find us by that, thought Chu, they'll be most unlikely to look for a better way.
* * *
Carrera knew about the 'clicker'—the idea had, after all, originated with Obras Zorilleras and been pushed by Fernandez's crowd—but he couldn't hope to hear it as the submarine eased away from the dock and began heading out of port, its impellor pumps churning the water slightly behind it.
There were other sailors at the dock. Likewise, off in the distance he could see some cadets from the Sergeant Juan Malvegui Military Academy peeping out through the battlements of the old fort on which the Academy was situated, trying for a glance at their ultimate military commander. Carrera knew they were there.
And I swear to You, God, if these people weren't watching I'd get on my knees and pray for that crew. As is, they'd think I'd gone soft. Will You accept the wish for the reality? Best I can do under the circumstances. Watch out for them anyway, will Ya? And please don't blame them for Hajar. That was all me.
* * *
Miguel Quijana didn't get on his knees to pray for the crew of the Meg, either. He did, however, cross himself as the sub moved off.
Carrera noted that. Interesting character, Quijana, he thought. I hope we didn't make a mistake.
* * *
The other sub skipper had been the subject of considerable discussion between Carrera, on the one hand, and Fosa, on the other. As the only survivor of the patrol boat Santisima Trinidad, self sacrificed to save the flagship, the Dos Lindas, when it was attacked in the Straits of Nicobar during the legion's pirate suppression campaign, Fosa felt he owed Quijana something. Carrera, on the other hand, had had significant doubts about the boy.
'No, Rod,' Carrera had said, 'I do believe him when he says that his captain booted him off the boat just before slamming it into the side of the suicide ship that was coming for you. That's not the problem. The problem is that some people don't believe it, that he knows some don't, and that he might be inclined to, shall we say, 'reckless' behavior to prove he didn't desert his ship. And that worries me.'
'There've been fights, you know,' Fosa had added.
'And I won't deny,' he'd admitted, 'that the doubts eat at the boy's gut. But I know him. I took him on as an orderly after the Trinidad was lost. He's not the reckless sort. Give him a chance, Patricio. He deserves it.'
* * *
The tree-shrouded island at the mouth of the harbor was passing to starboard. Chu ordered a slight change in direction to the west, following the 'research vessel' that would accompany the sub on the surface, in case things went wrong. Just as the Meg was about to put the island between itself and the docks, the captain looked behind.
He's still standing there, watching us. Odd . . . very odd. What does he think; that he'll be able to pull us up by sheer will if we have a hull breach or engine failure? Well, knowing the bastard, he probably does.
Once outside the protection of the island and the harbor, the waves, which had been practically non-existent, picked up noticeably.
Well, no time like now to check the basic seal between hull and sail,' Chu muttered. Still maintaining his spot in the conning tower, he ordered, 'Bring her down to two meters.'
What did that Volgan bastard say was the difference between a leak and a flood? Oh, I remember: 'You find a leak; flooding finds YOU.' Or the Yamatans? 'If you find water coming in and suddenly smell the overpowering stench of shit, Chu-san? That's a flood. Surface, if possible, and then change trousers.'
Assholes, the lot of 'em. But what great guys.
* * *
Some of the Volgans who had trained Chu's boys had had odd senses of humor. Prior to one particularly deep dive they'd stretched out a piece of thin blue cord from one side of the pressure hull to another and tied both ends
