worried about a special boat squadron takedown, not a sub.' Van Gelder watched the supertanker morosely, barely visible as it labored through the blowing fog. Half a million tons displacement, laden with priceless crude. Liberian registry, U.S.-owned and — manned. They'd known that much about the target for hoursVoortrekker had sonar tapes of all the big ships that plied the Persian Gulf.
'I suppose we could have used a missile,' ter Horst said half to himself, 'but we fired the last of them up north…I wonder if the Americans know it was my vessel that sank Ranger.'
Van Gelder felt too frozen to wonder about much of anything. 'We're not supposed to waste nuclear warheads on single merchant ships, Captain.' He huddled by the bridge instrument panel, gaining scant shelter from the forty-plus-knot wind. The cockpit crew's bright orange protective clothing gave the only color to the scene of blacks and leaden grays.
Ter Horst nodded curtly. 'What I don't understand,' he yelled in Van Gelder's ear, 'is why she's here at all.'
'Greed, sir?' Van Gelder spat out bitter seawater as more spindrift hit his face. He shifted position and frozen glaze crackled on his coat front.
'Arrogance, more like,' ter Horst said. 'They think they can run the blockade. To reach America's Gulf
Coast refineries by crossing the Pacific instead would take four times as long.'
'Maybe they hoped to hide against the ice pack.' Van Gelder stamped his feet to keep his legs from getting numb.
'Idiots!' ter Horst shouted. 'Did they really think their engine tonals would be masked against the floes?'
'They must not realize, sir, what modern sonar can do.'
'Fools! Our merchant marine masters would never make that error. The Americans are soft, Gunther, I'm telling you, and desperate. Putting this tanker on the bottom will show that to the world, and it will show the world we're strong.'
'But, sir! Here of all places? It'll be an ecological catastrophe.'
'Exactly! A test of will, a monument to our determination. The Southern Ocean current will carry the oil slick round and round, till the whole Antarctic coast is mired. Fifty million gallons loosed! From every longitude, from every nation, they'll look south and see our power.'
'Couldn't we just trail her till she makes for the Atlantic?'
'In God's name, why? We have other work to do!' 'But the penguins, sir. The seals, the whales. They'll be wiped out!'
'Birds, Gunther? You worry about fish and birds? You're not backsliding, are you?'
'Sir, no, of course not. Of course not, sir.'
'Good. Remember what happened to the others. It took some of them five minutes to die! More stiff-necked, I suppose.'
Seasick already, Van Gelder rolled his eyes at the dull overcast. He swallowed bile. Ter Horst laughed again. 'Relax.' He pounded Van
Gelder on the shoulder. 'I trust you implicitly, my friend.'
'Target aspect change, sir,' Van Gelder said, grateful for the distraction. He pointed. 'I think she's started zigzagging.'
Ter Horst leaned to the intercom. 'Weapons, Bridge. Disable torpedo homing packages. Use zero gyro angle, set running depth seven meters.'
A muffled acknowledgment sounded on the speaker.
'Her draft is four times that, sir,' Van Gelder said. That's why the tanker couldn't use the Suez Canal, he told himself, not that they'd ever make it through the Med.
'I know,' ter Horst said. 'I want to blow her sides out. She'll go down fast that way…Infrared binoculars, please.'
Van Gelder took the strap from around his neck, gulping at the grisly association, and presented them to his CO.
'I can see her load,' ter Horst said as he peered intently. 'It's a kind of X-ray vision, you know, infrared.' 'Yes, sir.'
'Good German optics, and good electronics too. Look at that, I can even see the crewmen on the bridge…and a few more in the deckhouse on her forecastle.'
'Can't we give them a chance to surrender, Captain?' 'Don't be ridiculous. What do you think this is, World War I?'
'It's just that—'
'Yes, I know. With the best survival gear in creation they'd never be rescued from the sea in time. Whose fault is that, hmmm? Certainly not ours.'
A rogue wave struck from aft, and Voortrekker's bridge was under for endless seconds. Van Gelder felt the suction begin to lift him from his feet. He fought to hold his breath, praying that his lifeline held. Then the water cleared. Ter Horst shook himself off and leaned to the intercom again. 'Weapons, use target speed eighteen knots. Our angle on her bow is starboard zero four zero, mark.'
'May I see, sir?' Van Gelder said, badly needing something to do. It was so cold with the wind chill that his speech was getting slurred, and his face had lost all feeling in spite of the woolen ski mask and fur-lined parka hood.
Ter Horst handed over the binocs. 'Sonar,' he called, 'go active. What's the range?'
'Thirty-nine hundred meters, Captain,' came back a few seconds later.
'Weapons,' ter Horst said, 'target bearing, call it two four five relative, mark!' Van Gelder heard the acknowledgment as he studied the doomed tanker. Their own boat pitched to an especially nasty following wave. The sub heaved upward in the swell and he could see the endless choppy seas. The horizon was a dusky blur beneath a dark and glowering sky, the sun a lifeless coppery orb low to the north. He watched the wave roll past the bow, completely covering Voortrekker's foredeck. The massive supertanker, four hundred meters long or more, seemed to barely feel the storm.
'It's a little approximate,' ter Horst shouted, 'doing this by eye, but she's so big we can hardly miss.' 'I know, Captain.'
'We've pulled ahead. Time to set up the shot. Helm, Bridge, port ten degrees rudder. Steer one nine five true.' The sub slid down the back of one tall wave, bore up into the next, and a wall of water slammed the sail. Now the seas came from broad off the port bow, slowing Voortrekker down, and the wind seemed more intense.
Van Gelder ran the infrared binoculars along their quarry's hull. The huge laden cargo tanks stood out clearly in the enhanced imagery, the warmth of the crude petroleum radiating through the vessel's cold steel sides.
'Weapons,' ter Horst called, 'she's turning away…She handles like a pregnant bathtub…Angle on the bow now starboard zero five four. Bearing three two zero relative. Make the range thirty-six hundred meters, mark.'
Again a tinny acknowledgment came back, barely audible above the howling of the storm and the water surging, slapping the cockpit.
Van Gelder stared at their target. A heavy bank of fog spoiled his view, then passed. 'Sir, I don't understand something.'
'Weapons,' ter Horst called impatiently, 'final bearing, three two four, angle on the bow now starboard zero six one. Range closing to thirty-four hundred meters, mark…What is it, Gunther?'
'Her tanks aren't quite full. In fact I'd say they've only got three quarters of capacity.'
'Helm,' ter Horst said, 'increase speed five more knots. I'm getting cold.' He turned to Van Gelder. 'The way she's altered course away from us makes it more challenging, you know. Not that she can keep it up. Icebergs calve in that direction this time of year.'
'I know, sir. We're inside the mean limit of pack ice for December as it is.'
'Bergy bits off the starboard quarter!' a lookout called. Van Gelder watched the cottagesized translucent obstacles bob and tumble. The sub quickly left them behind.
'We have our prey in the snare for sure,' ter Horst said. 'She's embayed against Princess Ragnhild Coast… We should change that name. Kruger Coast, or something.'
