'These eggs are powdered, aren't they?' Jeffrey shrugged. 'So's the OJ, but the bread's fresh-baked. Look on the bright side.' He rocked on the balls of his feet, holding his tray and surveying the crowd. 'There's an opening. Follow me.' He led her to a partly empty booth and they sat with a pair of crewmen. Both had black eagles and other stuff on their sleeves. The men were obviously pleased by the company, Ilse's especially.
'We caught some glimpses of your training,' one man said. His shirt pocket was stenciled KERR.
The other man, SCUTARO, shook his head theatrically, with a big smile on his face. ' You wouldn't catch me doing stuff like that in a million years. Gimme a nice, safe submarine any day.'
'What do you guys do exactly?' Ilse said.
'We're in the weapons department,' Kerr said. 'We service the units,' Scutaro said.
'And we check the presets and then stand by to fire on local control during general quarters.'
'And now we do the manual loading too.'
'Sorry about your mates,' Ilse said.
'Thanks,' both men said.
'They saved the ship,' Kerr said, 'getting those shores in place.'
'Talk about courage,' Scutaro said. 'They had to know we'd never get that outer door shut in time.' 'Hey,' Kerr said, 'leave us not mope about our departed comrades. They're in heaven now, right?'
'At least they don't haveta eat these lousy eggs,'
Scutaro joked. He swallowed another forkful.
'The eggs are just as bad in the wardroom,' Jeffrey said, obviously proud of his men's high spirits.
'Let me ask you a weapons question,' Ilse said, 'if this isn't classified.'
'Shoot,' Kerr said, and Scutaro cracked up.
Ilse laughed too. 'Very funny. I've been curious about why the nuclear warheads you're using are so small.' She started buttering her toast.
'Small is relative, ma'am,' Scutaro said. 'Dot one KT's still a hundred tons of high explosive.'
'But how come you don't use something really big?' Ilse said. 'Like ten kilotons, or fifty?'
'Remember, Ilse,' Jeffrey said, 'these are torpedo warheads. By definition we can't be very far away when one goes off, not much more than the maximum range of the unit, which with an ADCAP is some thirty nautical miles. Most engagements are well inside that distance, since everyone's so quiet nowadays.'
'If the bang's too big, we'd get blown up too,' Kerr said.
'Or damaged, which is bad enough,' Scutaro said.
'Past a certain point it wouldn't make much difference,' Kerr said. 'Any damage risks bad flooding. Except for those humongous Russian boomers, no sub can take a lot of flooding. You're just too heavy, go right to the bottom no matter what you do.'
'At least nuclear power makes us more survivable,' Kerr said, 'compared to a diesel/AIP in a melee situation. We can skedaddle twice as fast as them if we need to, cut the enemy fish's closing speed substantially, and stay at ahead flank till its fuel runs dry.'
'The rule of thumb,' Scutaro said, 'is a torpedo needs to be one and a half times as fast as the targeted sub to be sure of a kill. And by the way, our Improved ADCAPs are very fast.'
'Even then we still need a good firing solution,' Kerr said. 'Otherwise our weapon could pass well ahead or astern, too far off to pick up the other guy in its passive search cone, or even active mode.'
'And worst of all,' Jeffrey said, 'now he knows you're there, and he's really pissed.' Jeffrey and Ilse walked back to their state-rooms after breakfast.
'Time to change to sweats again,' Jeffrey said. 'Just one day to go.' Ilse was quiet, so he added, 'That's the problem with real combat. You train so hard you're exhausted going in.'
'Urn,' Ilse said. 'Would you come inside for a minute? I want to talk to you about something.'
They went into her room. Jeffrey took the single chair, figuring Ilse would perch against her rack, but she stayed standing. Jeffrey realized she'd switched to one of her serious moods again.
'Did you ever kill someone?' she said.
'When I was a SEAL?'
'Yes.'
'Yeah, I did.'
'The same time you were wounded?'
'I can't talk about that mission.'
'Can't, or won't?'
'It's secret.'
'How did it feel?'
'I told you already, painful. The recovery was worse.' 'No. I mean killing. How did it feel?'
'Cold. Empty. Scary…Necessary. I try not to be introspective, Ilse, about certain things. Experience taught me that the hard way.'
'Jan once said I think too much.'
'Oh.'
'If something goes wrong,' Ilse said, 'I want you to kill me.'
'What?'
'Just what I said. If we're in danger of being captured. I know too much.'
'Ilse, this is not the time for negative thinking.'
'I'm not being negative, I'm being a realist. This whole thing's so rushed.'
'Ilse, SEALs don't leave people behind. They certainly don't kill their own.'
'I'm not your own. And think of what I've seen and overheard the last few days. I couldn'
t hold out forever under torture. They use drugs and electricity.'
'Urn,' Jeffrey joshed, 'can't you ask Clayton? After all, he's the man in charge.'
'He's too young.'
'Huh?'
'He still thinks he's immortal.'
Jeffrey nodded. 'You need to, secretly, to get the job done.'
'He might…he might do it prematurely if we get in a fix, or, or wait too long.'
'Couldn't you just shoot yourself?' Jeffrey said. 'You know, in the head? I'll be glad to tell you when.'
His attempt at humor failed miserably, as Ilse turned away, obviously hurt. Jeffrey stood up and moved closer, not sure what to say. Then he remembered the video of her brother being hanged. He awkwardly put one hand on Ilse's shoulder. She turned and held him tight, looking up with tears in her eyes.
'Promise me, Jeffrey Fuller. Promise now.'
ABOARD CHALLENGER, NEARING DURBAN
The sonar speakers filled the hushed CACC with noise. Enemy steam turbines and gas turbines whined in the distance, prop screws churned, and water jets of fast patrol boats rushed and whooshed. Diesel engines throbbed and burbled. Helos plopped their dipping sensors under clattering rotor blades. From all directions Boer and German surface unit hulls and hydrofoils hissed and pounded in the constant roaring waves. And from all directions came their active pinging sounds, close or far away, high-pitched or rising sawtooth or bass.
Ilse and Sessions had shifted to sonar consoles at the fore-end of the row of seven, farther from the navigator but closer to Jeffrey at Fire Control. Ilse, along with Jeffrey, wore jet-black combat clothing, a Gortex-like whole-body stocking that also served as wet suit.
'There,' Ilse heard Jeffrey say tightly, 'another one. Move in. Move in with the LMRS.'
'I've got it,' COB said. 'It's in disguise like the rest of
'Watch the turbulence,' Jeffrey said.
'I've got it,' COB said.
'Turn the LMRS sideways, unmask the synthetic-aperture array.'
'Turning sideways, aye.'
