'Yes, sir,' Jeffrey said. 'What's going on?'
'It's a nuclear demolition raid against a Boer biological weapons lab. She'll cover that part at the briefing. Since the mission's in a populated area, with hostage camps and innocent minority civilians, as my XO you're it. The independent command authority, on site, required for lower formations to use atomic munitions on land.'
'So I'm supposed to be the sober head,' Jeffrey said, 'along for the ride to validate the rules of engagement in real time, since SEALs do so love blowing up things…How long do we have to prepare?'
'The time it takes to sneak over there and get in position. Five days, roughly.'
'Jesus, sir.'
'Look, I understand your feelings. But I can't send the other officers, I need them here. You're my backup, my alter ego on policy and doctrine.'
'And I'm expendable.'
Wilson sighed. 'Jeffrey, I was an XO too. You need to be there. These guys can't just phone home for instructions like in Desert Storm. The enemy homeland has continual surveillance for clandestine comms, extremely sophisticated defensive signal intelligence and jamming.'
'I'm sorry, sir. I must sound unprofessional.' 'Any other questions?'
'Why is Ilse Reebeck going?'
'She knows the territory, and her expertise will be of use.'
'How do we know we can trust her, sir? She's one of them.' Wilson tossed Jeffrey an unlabeled videocassette. 'What's this, sir?'
'Since the war broke out six months ago, the Axis have been staging executions of their own dissenters. Her brother's part of the third batch in, next to his girlfriend. They made them take their clothes off first. Play it on your state-room VCR.'
'No thanks, Captain.' Jeffrey tried to hand it back.
'No, I insist. It's in color, with dramatic close-ups while they hang. Good camera work, anatomically explicit.'
Jeffrey blanched.
Wilson looked right at him. 'We can't have anyone going to Durban with the slightest doubts. The outcome's too important.'
Jeffrey inhaled deeply, then let it out.
'Watch the tape now,' Wilson said, 'before the briefing.' 'I will, Captain.'
'Just remember, you and the SEALs at least are legitimate combatants under international law.'
'You mean that if we're captured we're POWs?'
'Miss Reebeck, her they'll string up by her neck from the nearest tree or lamppost…after the troopies are done with her.'
Jeffrey swallowed, feeling angry and protective…and manipulated.
'Anyway,' Wilson said, 'ask COB to see the crew gets fed. I know we've got repairs to do, but work with him on mandatory rest breaks for all hands.'
'Aye aye, Captain.'
'That applies to you as well. How long have you been up?'
Jeffrey eyed his wristwatch, a waterproof old Rolex that he'd blooded in Iraq. 'Thirty two hours.'
'Get some sleep, after the briefing.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Ask the mess management chief to have lunch ready in the wardroom at thirteen hundred local. Department heads, the SEAL team leader, Sonar, and our guests. You make the invitations.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Have him lay on something special. We just survived Challenger's first real taste of battle.'
'I forgot how hungry you get after combat, Captain. It isn't like the drills.'
'We'll hold a memorial service for the three dead crewmen in the morning.' Wilson paused. 'Morning, mourning. Sorry for that awful pun.'
'It's macabre having them in the freezer, sir.'
'Life goes on, Mr. Fuller. Someday you might just have my job. Then you'll understand.' Jeffrey realized now the captain's eyes were red, and he sounded slightly nasal.
'I'll talk to COB about the arrangements,' Wilson said, 'so add that to your Plan of the Day.'
Jeffrey nodded, then moved toward the door.
'Oh,' Wilson called after him. 'And, XO.' Wilson gestured toward the head that connected their two state- rooms, the boat's executive john. 'You're awfully odorous. Take another shower, please.'
Ilse wiped her lips with a linen napkin as the steward cleared the china. The sonar officer, young Sessions, turned off the Mozart on the stereo.
'So, Miss Reebeck,' the CO said, 'what's your impression of our table?'
'Very nice, Captain Wilson. I've always heard that navies serve the finest food.'
'There was nothing fresh or frozen at the tender,' Jeffrey said. 'Frank Cable's priorities don't cover haute cuisine, Miss Reebeck.'
'Everything was good, Commander, even if it came from tins and boxes…And I wish you'd call me Ilse.'
'Good,' Wilson said before Jeffrey could respond. 'Let's all be on a first-name basis. You can call me Captain.' The others laughed politely, and Ilse sensed they liked knowing their exact place in the hierarchy.
The steward came around and filled everybody's coffee cup. He brought tea for Commodore Morse, who tugged idly at his beard.
'Sorry our navy's dry,' Jeffrey said.
'Let's hope for a speedy passage,' Morse said.
'Hear, hear,' Wilson said. The others chuckled, more heartily this time. Ilse tried to imagine what it was like to spend long weeks at sea without even a beer. I guess I'll find out soon, she told herself. She didn't smoke, but she'd seen it was permitted in certain areas. Right now the smoking lamp was out — men were servicing the weapons. The steward brought a silver tray of fresh-baked cookies, chocolate chip. Ilse loved chocolate chip cookies. She'd expected to crash emotionally after the battle, but instead she still felt high. This dessert would be the perfect capstone to her first half-day of war. The smell of the warm chocolate filled the air. Wilson passed the tray around, not taking one himself. He cleared his throat.
'Again, gentlemen, congratulations on a well-done job so far. Please pass that to your departments.' The men all murmured thanks.
'As some of you have heard, we'll hold a memorial service tomorrow. But I see no better way to honor our deceased comrades than dedicating our efforts going forward in their honor.'
There were murmurs of assent.
'I do not say that lightly,' Wilson said. 'Our next task, if we succeed, will strike a crucial blow for freedom, neutralize a very dangerous threat. Ilse, maybe you should give your summary now'
Ilse sat up straighter. She'd noticed the captain and the others had grown more formal in their manner. Navy rituals, she told herself. Through all the easy lunchtime chitchat between the men, she'd felt like an invader in a very private world. Turbine-blade erosion rates, radiological spill drill reaction times, speeding up the new guys' progress on their quals.
I want to be a part of what they're doing, Ilse told herself. I want to know my efforts matter here, that they accept me. She tried to make her voice sound deep and confident.
'Our objective is to destroy a Boer bioweapons lab, at Umhlanga Rocks.'
'That's in Durban?' Jeffrey said.
'Kind of, sir,' said Lieutenant Shajo Clayton, the SEAL team leader. 'It's ten miles north of the downtown area, but still well inside the city's main defensive zone.,
'So it's germ warfare,' Jeffrey said. 'Like Saddam again. What is it this time, anthrax? Pneumonic plague? Botulinum toxin?'
'Not germs or viruses, Commander,' Ilse said. 'Archaea.'
'The stuff that lives in hot vents? Those black smokers on the ocean floor?'
'Yes,' Ilse said. 'Primordial microbes. A new domain, technically. They're usually benign. They have industrial applications.'
