nuclear, Captain.'
'The crack's right where the steam turbines would be,' Wilson said.
'Hopeless flooding,' Jeffrey whispered. 'They'd lose propulsion quickly. There's no way they could save her after that.'
'Let's try for a positive ID,' Wilson said. 'Something with a serial number, a logbook, a uniform with a name on the shirt, anything.'
Jeffrey swallowed in spite of himself, then felt weak at his own show of emotion. We're intruders here, he told himself. This is hallowed ground…and a charnel house. He forced himself to shift the probe once more.
'The men back aft died fastest,' COB said as he watched his screens. 'If it had to happen, they were the lucky ones.'
'No,' Jeffrey said, 'nobody was lucky on that boat. Crushed or burned or drowned, gouged by shrapnel, scalded by live steam, there's no good way to die in a submarine.'
D MINUS 2
'Come in, XO,' Jeffrey heard Wilson call. Once more he wondered how the captain always knew when it was him. The way I knock? My footsteps? That sixth sense skippers have? Jeffrey entered the CO's state-room.
'You look like a fugitive from Hell Week Two,' Wilson said.
'I feel that way, Captain.' Jeffrey wore a white undershirt with the SEAL emblem in red, dark green swim trunks, and black battle booties. He was still sweating and breathing a little hard.
'Just morning PT, XO, or something special today?'
'Both, sir,' Jeffrey said. 'Climbing ladders against the clock, crawling through the bilges with full gear, dancing quietly around simulated bushes, hopping gingerly past simulated mines…And the virtual-reality training aids are quite realistic, great for your reaction time, and to maintain depth perception.'
'Good,' Wilson said. 'I like your moccasins.' 'They're something new that Clayton brought, Kevlar-lined throughout.'
'Laces and Velcro?'
'They won't get sucked off by swamp mud, sir. Our swim fins fit right over them. With these on we could run for miles on coral or broken glass.' Jeffrey was grateful now for his daily workouts on the ship's treadmill, in the aft auxiliary machinery room.
Wilson chuckled. 'You're happy with the plan.'
'It's all based on sound military principles, Captain.' 'And Clayton's leadership?'
'He's smart, sharp, his men all seem devoted. I just need to tag along and do what he tells me.'
'No problems, XO, taking orders from a junior?' 'I trust his tactical judgment.'
'And Miss Reebeck?'
Jeffrey smiled. 'She's really getting into it, Captain. She's a natural shooter.'
'Many Boers are…Not that I like repeating ethnic stereotypes. How'd you judge her emotional state?'
'Pretty good, considering what she's been through, becoming a displaced person and everything else. Good enough for what we have to do.'
'How's your leg holding up?'
Jeffrey glanced down at the old scars on his left thigh, the puckered entrance wound dead center, the overlapping crisscrossed lines of surgical incisions. 'It's a little sore, Captain, but it hasn't stiffened any. The corpsman gave me ibuprofen.'
'Monaghan working out okay as assistant XO?'
'Good practice for him, sir, and he's really helping with my normal work load. I'm sure he'll do fine the few hours I'm away.'
'Good. Speaking of which, take a look through these.' Wilson handed Jeffrey a folder and diskette. 'What's this, sir?'
'Partial maps of the Durban minefields and the Boer SOSUS grids.'
'How'd we get this, sir? An inside source?'
'Nope, the hard way. One of the newer Los Angeles— class boats, Springfield, went in and waved her coattails, loud enough to draw off their patrols. During this nice diversion the second Seawolf, Connecticut, snuck by and eyeballed everything with her LMRS…That's top secret.'
'Super,' Jeffrey said.
'Now, I see you have something for me.'
'Here, sir,' Jeffrey said, passing the message slip. 'Our address and another letter group came in through the on-hull ELF antenna when we rose to bellringer depth.' Wilson read the slip. 'The final go-ahead code,' he said. 'The mission's on, definitively.'
'They're asking us to pop up again for one last intel download. Captain, request permission to trail the medium baud rate floating wire antenna.'
'Negative.'
'Sir?'
'We stay deep.'
'But, sir, there could be important info. A weather update or opforce disposition changes.'
'I know, XO, but it's my decision. If something crucial happened, we'd've been scrubbed altogether, and for us as the attacker nothing's more important than surprise.'
'But we wouldn't radiate. We'd just receive.'
'That's not a just, XO. We'd make a datum for the enemy.'
'But, Captain—'
'No. Just because we don't have something that can spot a long, thin wire floating half a foot beneath the surface of the ocean doesn't mean they don't. Remember who invented cruise missiles and ICBMs.'
'I hadn't thought of that, Captain. I see what you're getting at.'
D MINUS 1
'So your regulations actually require an officer to be at every meal in the enlisted mess?' Ilse said.
'Not just Challenger,' Jeffrey said. 'It's navy-wide. For morale and to check the food.'
'And this morning it's your turn.'
'Thanks for joining me.'
Ilse smiled. 'You're welcome, Commander Fuller.' As they worked their way through each snug, cramped compartment, she watched how Jeffrey walked, relaxed yet energetic, twisting and turning smoothly to get past people or equipment. He might be slightly favoring that leg, but Ilse decided not to say anything. From what she'd seen of the exit wound at the back of Jeffrey's thigh, it must have been awful. Now it was all hidden by his khaki slacks, nicely snug at the rear. Not in Clayton's league, but then Clayton was somewhat younger.
Again Ilse watched Jeffrey walk. An honorable wound, she told herself. Whatever happened, he'd been hit facing the enemy. Jeffrey ran his fingers through his hair, and she realized now the gesture was a habit. A few strands were out of place. She was about to reach and fix them, but they'd arrived at the mess.
'It's busy now,' she said.
'Zero five-thirty's the middle of the breakfast rush.'
Jeffrey and Ilse traded greetings with the crewmen eating in the booths, and with the mess management staff doing the cooking and serving. The layout was Americancafeteria style and the mix of smells was delicious. Ilse was working up a big appetite the last few days, burning it off as she went.
Jeffrey ordered first. 'Scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, double order breakfast sausage.' Then he grabbed a large black coffee and some OJ.
Ilse decided to have the same, especially the coffee. Then she took a closer look and wrinkled her nose.
