The works fit across your chest so you can reach everything easily.'
'I've heard of them,' Ilse said.
'There've been improvements,' Clayton said. 'A U.S. contractor beefed up the endurance of the 02 renewer, the carbon dioxide scrubber's more efficient, and they've got heliox for deeper depth…They also added a mike to the mouthpiece, for clandestine digitized underwater telephone.'
'You mean like gertrude?' Jeffrey said.
Clayton nodded. 'Except now it's low probability of intercept and frequency agile, encrypted, just like our radio.'
Ilse donned her diving mask and turned it on. 'Wow! It's a head-up display!'
'See everything you get there?' Clayton said.
'Left side's time and depth, water pressure, and compass heading,' Ilse said. 'Plus other stuff. I'm not sure how to read it.'
Jeffrey held his to his face and smiled. 'It's a swim board.'
'Yup,' Clayton said. 'Except it keeps your hands free, and it has inertial nav with programmable way points and a steering bug. Senses water temperature and currents too, and gives you swimmer speed over the bottom. And,' Clayton added, holding up a palm-sized object, 'watch this. Ultrasonic sonar simulator. Your skipper gave permission, it won't get through the hull.' He switched on the handheld transducer. An indicator began to pulse on Jeffrey's mask display, showing the bearing to Clayton's hand.
'Jeez,' Jeffrey said, 'you've got built-in acoustic intercept!'
'Uh-huh,' Clayton said. 'The hydrophones react to any loud noise too. Figure of merit's pretty poor, the directivity could be better. But it does give back your sense of undersea direction.'
'This could come in handy,' Jeffrey said.
'Amen, bro,' Clayton said. 'Like if some patrol boat screw starts up, or someone's dropping antiswimmer charges, you need to know which way they are before they know where you are.'
'What's this other stuff?' Ilse said. 'The numbers on the right?'
'Diver data,' Clayton said. 'Monitors your physiology objectively — which is kinda hard to do yourself when someone's shooting at you. Pulse and respiration, remaining air supply, 02 partial pressure and consumption rate.'
'How does that part work?' Jeffrey said.
'You have to put the chest pack on. It picks up from your body, like a lie detector, and from the regulator valves.'
'That's clever,' Ilse said. She modeled the chest pack, which was broad and flat. 'You forgot a lady's model,' she said deadpan. The thing squashed her breasts. 'It's heavy.'
'Not when you're swimming,' Clayton said. 'Same density as seawater, won't affect your buoyancy, like the flak vests we'll wear over it, underneath the Draegers.'
'Great,' Ilse said.
'It also shows your rate of rise or dive,' Clayton said. 'It sets off an alarm — the transducers vibrate at your temples — if you go too deep or start coming up without exhaling, like if you're wounded or you just go stupid. That feature can be switched off in tactical situations. It's loud enough for your swim buddy to hear. I'll be yours, by the way.'
'You really thought of everything,' Ilse said.
'You bet,' Clayton said. 'Remember, when in doubt while going up or down, thirty feet per minute always works.'
'Right,' Ilse said. 'I have a scuba Openwater Two certificate.'
'I've kept at it myself,' Jeffrey said. 'I'm a qualified safety diver. Hull inspections mostly, for maintenance or damage, and for any sabotage when we leave port.' Clayton nodded. He held up a little keypad, also with a wire. 'Dive computer, standard navy tables and the classified aggressive ones. This goes on your wrist, plugs into the pack. The output shows up on your mask. Keys are big enough for frozen fingers or some hard corner of your gear.'
Ilse laughed, obviously impressed. Two more crewmen came into the mess, grabbed coffee and donuts, stared at the group with all their weapons, and left quickly.
'How long do these batteries last?' Jeffrey said. 'Long enough,' Clayton said.
'What's the mean time between failures? I've a sneaky feeling these were rushed into production.'
'Like so many other things.' Clayton shrugged. 'Long enough. As long as some still work, and we stick together, we're okay. We're taking backup gauges, analog mechanical, for the basic data.'
Jeffrey nodded.
'We'll have practice sessions,' Clayton said, 'in a partly flooded lockout trunk. That's how we'll calibrate your weight belts. COB can provide warm seawater — you know it's icy at our present depth.'
'Super,' Jeffrey said. 'I just wish we'd started this two months ago.'
'You heard the briefing,' Clayton said. 'We don't got two months…Don't worry, it'll come together.' Jeffrey looked at Ilse and she shrugged.
'Next,' Clayton said. He unlocked a case and took out a pair of pistols. Jeffrey lifted one by the butt, keeping his fingers well away from the trigger. A big orange safety plug rested inside the bottom of the butt, where the magazine would go. A thick sound suppressor formed an integral part of the barrel. Held to the muzzle by a short lanyard was a cap to keep out mud and water.
'These are handmade prototypes,' Clayton said. 'The first truly silenced autoloading pistol.'
'Hey,' Jeffrey said, 'there's no ejector port.'
'These have electric ignition, with careless rounds. No firing pin, no receiver slide or cocking lever, and no ejector port.'
'Hence no cycling noise in operation,' Jeffrey said. 'Yup. Shoots as fast as you can squeeze the trigger. Subsonic rounds, of course.'
'Caliber?' Jeffrey said.
'Fifty' Clayton said.
'Jesus.'
'Stopping power.'
'Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,' the SEAL chief in the next booth said. Jeffrey heard the steady slap and clicking as the SEALs continued their race. They were eager and competitive, all of them experienced operators, not one man under twenty five.
'Pick yours up,' Clayton said to Ilse. 'It's not loaded.'
'It's heavy' she said, hefting the weapon.
'Ever shoot before?'
'Just paper targets. Rimfire twenty-twos.'
'Good,' Clayton said. 'We'll teach the proper stance. The thing is with a fifty, it really kicks.'
'Urn, I bet it does,' Ilse said.
'We'll show you guys how to field-strip this and everything,' Clayton said.
'We're only using pistols?' Ilse said.
'These are just for you two, as our mission specialists. The rest of us, the shooters, we have something similar but in thirty-cal full-auto, two-handed carbine style.'
'I'm not happy going in without a live firing drill,' Jeffrey said.
'Wouldn't think of it,' Clayton said. 'We brought a bullet trap and we've got soft-nosed training rounds. Captain Wilson gave permission, given what's at stake.'
'If you say so,' Jeffrey said. He wondered how that would look in his service jacket. Unusual accomplishments on XO tour: fired live rounds in the submarine.
'Just don't take them on the mission,' Clayton said. 'Dumdums are illegal. Geneva Convention says they can shoot you on the spot.'
'Not if I shoot first,' Jeffrey said.
'Good man, Commander.'
'I'm awfully out of practice,' Jeffrey said.
'Don't sweat it,' Clayton said. 'We've got a hundred hours for working up. You too, Ilse. We have
