torpedo tubes. So use your head.'
'Understood, sir,' Jeffrey said.
'You got grease on your good uniform.'
'Sorry, sir,' Jeffrey said, didn't have time to change after the meeting with Admiral Cook.'
Wilson nodded. 'Call me when we're ready to cast off.' Wilson let the Brit precede him down the hatch behind the sail. COB followed, presumably to help Morse get settled in. Ilse Reebeck lingered. She glared at the armed enlisted man who stood guard by the brow. He instinctively stepped back. 'I'm South African,' she told Jeffrey, making it a dare, not an explanation.
'I'm sorry,' Jeffrey said. He thought she had nice hair. Light brown, like her eyes, straight and shoulder- length.
'You were with the SEALs,' Ilse said, pointing to his Special Warfare qualification badge.
'Long ago,' Jeffrey said. 'I transferred to the SubForce. It's been more than fifteen years now.' 'Miss it?'
'Excuse me?'
'Do you miss being in the SEALs?' Ilse pronounced each word distinctly, as if Jeffrey were retarded or Tightly deaf.
'Frankly no.'
Ilse pointed to his uniform blouse again, below the gold twin dolphins. She jabbed two of his ribbons. 'Silver Star, Purple Heart. Somewhere in Iraq, the captain said…Did it hurt much?'
'Yeah.' Jeffrey wondered what this woman was all about. 'It was months till I could walk again.' 'Feeling all right now?'
'Yes,' Jeffrey said too quickly. Times when he went short on sleep, his left thigh ached badly.
'Good,' Ilse said. She looked him up and down. Jeffrey met her gaze. She responded with the coldest sneer he'd ever gotten from a woman.
Ilse walked to the hatch, then glanced back at Jeffrey as she started climbing inside. 'I suppose nobody's told you yet,' she said. 'You're coming with me on the raid.' Jeffrey asked the junior officer of the deck, the JOOD, to stay with him up in the tiny cockpit on top of the sail, the conning tower, to watch and learn — maneuvering on the surface wasn't like underwater. Jeffrey glanced at the sky. The sun was noticeably higher. Today would be hot, in more ways than one.
'First question should always be, where's the wind?' Jeffrey said.
'Still light from off the stern, sir,' the lieutenant (j.g.) said.
'Not that that matters much,' Jeffrey said. 'Subs ride so low in the water, and these days have such tiny, stealthy sails, wind's usually the last thing you have to worry about when getting under way.'
'Just like I read, sir. Just like in the simulator.'
'What's the latest fallout report?' Jeffrey gestured to the intercom. Of course, he already knew the answer.
The young man cleared his throat and pressed the button. 'Control, Bridge. Radiology, how's the air?'
'Milliroentgens per hour and counts per minute well inside normal tolerances, sir.'
'Very well,' the JOOD said.
'Good,' Jeffrey said. 'Frank Cable's met staff predicted that, but you should always check. Weather forecasts are still just weather forecasts.'
'Understood, sir.'
'Meltzer, you ever been to Diego Garcia before?' A rhetorical question, since Jeffrey had the night before reread young David's file.
'No, sir. This is my first time overseas, not counting summer cruises at Annapolis.' Jeffrey looked down from his vantage point atop the sail. He'd done Naval ROTC instead, at Purdue. 'The tide's running out, from right to left. See the way that buoy's listing with the set?'
'Two knots maybe, sir. Not strong.'
'The lagoon here's huge, but the opening at the north end's pretty wide. There's lots of room to ebb and flow without making nasty currents.'
'Should we use our auxiliary propulsors, sir?'
'Nah. That makes things too easy.' Jeffrey smiled. 'We hardly ever get to ship drive on the surface, right? Besides, it's fun.'
With his bullhorn Jeffrey had the deck hands take in two and three: the forward and aft breast lines that were crossed to keep the boat from sliding back and forth. Then lines one and four, the bow and stern mooring lines, were singled up. Jeffrey ordered four brought to the little capstan on the deck, the after capstan.
Ilse asked for lots of slack on one and had four take a Strain.
'From here it's mostly feel,' Jeffrey said. 'You get the hang of it with practice. We have all these extra visual cues on the surface, but the sea state has much more effect, sonar doesn't work as well, and there are only two degrees of freedom.' Gradually Challenger's bow began to lever from the tender as she rotated against the aftmost deep draft separator. Before her stern parts could make contact Jeffrey ordered all lines taken in, then had the deck gang go below.
'Control, Bridge, rudder amidships,' Jeffrey commanded into the intercom. 'Ahead one third, make turns for six knots.' He used the bridge horn toggle to sound a lengthy blast. He checked again that all the bridge instruments were working.
Water began to surge from Challenger's shrouded pump-jet main propulsor, a design innovation first used by the Royal Navy. The turbine churned up a wake and the boat moved forward, quickly gaining steerageway.
'Subs are notorious for squishy directional control at dead-slow speeds. Know why?'
'Their rounded bows, sir, and rudders forward of the propulsor wash.'
'Yup. We're moving now, so that's one less thing to worry about.' Jeffrey leaned to the intercom again. 'Control, Bridge. Rig for dive.' He turned back to Meltzer. 'That won't take them long.'
'No, sir. We've been at material conditions ZEBRA and CIRCLE WILLIAM since we surfaced yesterday.' 'And these signify.?'
'Watertight doors and fittings shut, ventilation subsystems sealed or making overpressure, except when needed for reprovisioning and maintenance.' Jeffrey nodded. 'The torpedomen'll be starting final assembly of the special weapons warheads now, and they'll insert the exploders in our conventional ADCAPs too…Now I'm gonna check for conflicting ship traffic again. You have to let the lookouts know you're relying on them, but you also need to make sure for yourself.'
'I understand, sir.'
'If anything goes wrong, anything at all, it's the OOD's responsibility. Get that in your blood for when you qualify.'
'Yes, Commander.'
'Since we're at EMCON, we can't use the Sperry BPS-16.' That was Challenger's surface surveillance radar, shut down for electronic silence. 'But visibility's good. Just remember we're very hard to see, 'cause of our low profile. Defensive driving counts.' Jeffrey watched Meltzer take a thorough look around, practicing for when his time came.
'Frank Cable's in anchorage area A-3,' Jeffrey said, 'about as close to the exit channel as you can get.' He leaned to the intercom. 'Left standard rudder.' He looked at Meltzer. 'I'm judging by eye the advance in yards and lateral transfer you'd expect for our present speed and rudder setting. The assistant navigator has all the tables.'
'I've studied them very carefully, sir. In training they said we shouldn't just rely on the computer.'
Jeffrey watched as Challenger turned into the channel. 'Observe the wake. See the way we rotate round our pivot point? It's about a fourth of the way back along the hull, so part of the boat always swings out as we turn. That happens underwater too, but you don't get to see it.'
Meltzer's lips moved silently, as if repeating what he'd heard. 'Quite so, sir.'
'You have to make allowances for that yaw around our track. More than one promising young naval officer has come to grief against a pier or shoal.'
'I understand, sir,' Meltzer said.
'The worst is if you hit another vessel in tight quarters.' Meltzer swallowed.
