'Copilot,' Ilse said. 'Turn the gain up all the way.' 'Yes, ma'am,' the SEAL chief said.
'I'm just getting some glow now,' Ilse said. 'How do you aim this thing aft?'
'The handle,' Jeffrey said. 'Flick with your wrist.' 'Okay,' Ilse said, 'I've got it…Is there inertial navigation aboard?'
'Good stuff,' Jeffrey said.
'Then, Helmsman, maintain level flight by your INS readings. Ignore what you see as our depth.'
'Level flight, aye,' Meltzer said.
'Let this wave overtake us,' Ilse said.
'Make turns for ten knots,' Jeffrey said.
'Making turns for ten knots, aye.'
'Keep calling our psig,' Ilse said.
'Five pounds per square inch gauge outside water pressure,' Meltzer said. 'Six psig…eight. '
'Okay,' Ilse said, 'the glow's fading now. That says the wave's coming.'
'Ten psig,' Meltzer said. 'Twelve.'
'Let it keep overtaking us,' Ilse said.
'Fifteen psig.'
'That's a twenty-foot wave,' Jeffrey said.
'Eighteen psig,' Meltzer said.
The destroyer pinged them again, from much closer. Ilse could hear its sounds now through the hull, the scream of gas turbines, the syncopated churning of twin five-blade props.
'Get ready to put on some speed,' Ilse said. 'Twenty-two psig.'
'Jesus,' Jeffrey said, 'a rogue wave. This one's at least thirty-five feet.'
'Full speed ahead!' Ilse shouted. 'Come up by ten feet!' The acceleration threw her rump backward. Still glued to the 'scope, she said, 'Stand by to spout.' 'Stand by to spout, aye,' Meltzer said.
'The glow's gotten much brighter,' Ilse said.
'A searchlight,' Jeffrey said. 'Don't look right at it — they might see some glint.'
'Come up two more feet,' Ilse said. She flicked her wrist again, aiming the 'scope more toward the glow, the objective lens at a safe oblique angle.
They breached and she saw the destroyer, all 150 meters, all too clear through the bloom-control image, riding the trough with the ASDS. Big gun at the bow aimed right at her, missile launchers behind, a torpedo tube mount farther aft. The high bridge, the mast, tall air intakes, the smokestack. Low helo deck at the stern. The helos were gone — they must be up flying. But people were out next to drums in a rack.
The searchlight swept past in the rain, came back, and fixed on her.
'Spout!' she whispered as loud as she could. 'Down 'scope now, now, now!' The harsh fluting sounded, then the image grew dark as the mast folded back and they plunged through the preceding wave.
'Now go deep,' Ilse said, 'like we're feeding.' 'How deep?' Jeffrey said.
'To six hundred feet if you can. As steeply as possible, quick.'
'Pilot,' Jeffrey said, 'make your depth six hundred feet. Forty-five degrees down bubble smartly.'
'Make my depth six hundred feet, aye,' Meltzer said. 'Forty-five degrees down bubble, aye.'
The deck tilted forward and Ilse almost slipped. The 'scope handle banged on her head.
'Commander,' the SEAL copilot said, 'aspect change on Master 19. Blade rate is increasing too.'
'What the hell's going on?' Clayton called, his voice low and clipped on the intercom. Ilse watched the destroyer's TMA. A new dot appeared but off-center. Then came a second, a third.
She saw Jeffrey reach for the mike. 'The destroyer is turning away.' Jeffrey stared at the display from the starboard side-mounted high-frequency sonar. On low-power tight-beam it swept back and forth, gradually building a picture. The old wreck loomed large, longer and higher than the ASDS with its tow.
'That's a nice chunk of non-degaussed metal out there,' the copilot said. 'Some merchie's misfortune, our gain.'
'Mmph,' Jeffrey said. 'She must have foundered and then landed upright. I wonder if anyone drowned.'
Ilse shrugged. 'Five miles from shore, with this brisk a current…storms here brew up pretty fierce.'
'Let me hear the wreck's flow noise,' Jeffrey said. The SEAL punched some keys and a low rush and hiss filled the air.
'Any backwash or eddies?' Jeffrey said.
Meltzer took his hand off the joy stick and waited. Jeffrey watched the INS.
'Negative, sir,' Meltzer said. 'Not this close-in on its downstream side. ASDS holding position.'
Jeffrey turned to Ilse. 'Questions or comments?' 'No, it's just like we planned.'
'Then let's get moving,' Jeffrey said. 'Lord knows who's watching us now.' Jeffrey went aft to the transport compartment. Ilse and the SEAL chief followed. The other SEALs looked up from checking their gear. 'We've arrived,' Jeffrey said. 'Way Point Zulu. Aptly named I should think.'
Clayton smiled. 'King Shaka would be proud…Let's get you and Ilse outfitted.' Clayton helped Jeffrey don all his swim apparatus and flak jacket, then assisted Ilse. Jeffrey strapped on the rest of the stuff he could wear in the water: survival knife on his left leg — really a tool, not a weapon — K-bar fighting knife on his right, titanium doubleedge dive knife on his left arm above his keypad, and of course his inflatable buoyancy compensator, which doubled as a life vest. Last of all came his weight belt, so it could come off first just in case. He put on his mask, tugging the straps, and checked out its head-up display.
Everyone drew breaths through their enhanced Draegers, to verify the regulators and mixed-gas supply. The raiding party crammed into the lockout compartment, Jeffrey and Ilse and all seven SEALs with equipment. Someone dogged the transport compartment hatch. Jeffrey turned to Meltzer, the stay-behind, who looked back from his pilot's position. ' You know the drill,' Jeffrey said. 'Act like a whale, be here for the rendezvous.'
'Aye aye, sir,' Meltzer said.
'See if you can breach for long enough to copy the message traffic for Challenger, and scout around in case we're near a Boer ASW safety lane.'
'Understood, Commander,' Meltzer said.
'In fact,' Jeffrey said, 'when you have a chance, get in touch with Challenger by longrange secure acoustic link. Tell them I recommend deploying both the LMRSs, to scope out the minefield more while they're waiting for us. Be careful, but pop up your ESM mast now and then, to grab some electronic intel and help our mother ship triangulate on contacts.'
Meltzer nodded. He closed the forward hatch and dogged it from the other side. ' Beginning equalization,' his intercom voice echoed inside the sphere. A hissing noise started as air was pumped in. Jeffrey and the others kept swallowing, squeezing their noses and blowing, to clear their sinuses and ears. The hissing went on and on — once or twice the chamber creaked.
Finally Meltzer came on again. 'Chamber's equalized to one six five feet saltwater. You're now breathing six atmospheres absolute. You're cleared to open the bottom hatch. Good luck.'
Clayton reached to the bottom hatch, spun the wheel, and let it slowly drop open. Beneath them, rippling slightly, was a pool, the pitch-black ocean.
'I want to see everyone's cyalume hoop,' Clayton said. 'Okay, check your buddies one last time, then check your regulators again. Start using them, get out of this nitrogen.' The regulators had built-in diaphragms open to the ambient environment. A series of springs, reducing valves, 0-rings, and pistons fed each swimmer gas on demand at a pressure in exact harmony with whatever their depth. Jeffrey knew this had all better work right, else their lungs would collapse or explode.
Clayton checked Ilse, the SEAL chief checked Jeffrey, then Clayton and the chief checked each other. Jeffrey watched in silence while Clayton surveyed the rest of the team, buddied in a pair and a threesome. When all was in order, Clayton positioned his mask, put on his flippers, and dropped chest-deep into the hole.
Treading water casually, he looked up and pulled off his mouthpiece. He exhaled deeply, then took a breath. 'We're ten feet from the bottom, remember. Be careful, don't leave any tracks in the sand.' He redonned his mouthpiece and sank, and the chief followed quickly.
The chief reappeared in a minute. 'We're ready. Watch out for nocturnal eels.' He popped down again.
Jeffrey and Ilse went midway in the group. Jeffrey sat on the hatch coaming, fastened his big combat swim fins, held his mask and mouthpiece securely in place, and rolled forward.
