bodies. Where were the periscopes?
Captain Wilson and the executive officer came over.
'Miss Reebeck,' Wilson said with a smile Ilse already knew was rare for him. 'We have a few minutes till we're in firing position. We'll do a SEAL mission briefing with you once our present task's complete. We can use the wardroom later.'
'Good,' Ilse said.
'In the meantime Commander Fuller can get you started. He's in charge of training in the boat.'
'How about this one?' Ilse said, claiming an empty position at a row of what were obviously sonar consoles along the port bulkhead.
The XO nodded. 'Just what do you have in mind?'
'Commander, I'm an oceanographer. While I'm here, Captain Wilson wants me to help upgrade your ship's modeling of underwater sound propagation. I've got better data on the local seas.'
'A-hah,' Jeffrey said, as if things were starting to make sense to him.
'You should never have scaled back NOAA's research budget,' Ilse said. 'If your country hadn't cut defense spending so much, we might not all be in this mess. Think of the American lives it's cost already, to save some dollars.'
Jeffrey winced, opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to think better of it. Ilse pulled three rewritable three-inch CD-RWs from her blouse pocket. 'Bottom geology and currents, salinity, water temperatures, and tides. Volcanic vents and their effects. Seasonal biologics at different depths and times of day.'
'Super,' Jeffrey said.
'I have a lot of experience in these waters and where we're going next.'
'And where might that be?' Jeffrey said.
'Durban.'
'The main South African sub base?'
'Not exactly.'
'So what's the plan?'
'The usual commando op. Stab, kill, blow up things.' 'You make it sound too glib.'
'Commander, there's nothing glib about this. The Putsch hanged my brother, okay? He was one of the ones they showed on television.'
'Jesus…I'm sorry'
'I'm not interested in apologies.'
'Urn, how did you get out?'
'I was in the U.S. when it happened. At a marine biology conference.' Jeffrey cleared his throat. 'You know how to use this thing?'
'It's a Virginia-class ARCI terminal, part of the onboard fiber-optic LAN. Each console can handle sonar, target tracking, or weapons control, depending how you set it up.'
'Yup.'
'It replaces the older systems in Los Angeles-and Seawolf-class SSNs.'
'You're well informed.'
'Challenger's the fourth fast-attack sub built since Virginia,' Ilse said, 'a bit of a hybrid though with commonalities to Seawolf, seen by some as an unnecessary step backwards. Challenger has a Seawolf-sized hull envelope, a big propulsion plant, eight extra-wide torpedo tubes, all quite expensive.'
Jeffrey nodded.
'She's got all-electric drive by Westinghouse,' Ilse said, 'with no reduction gears — that part's new, extremely quiet. Third-generation pump-turbine propulsor, like an underwater jet engine, extremely fast.'
'Hull number 778,' Jeffrey said.
'I know. They've been painted over for the war.' 'Exactly what else do you know about Challenger?' 'I've been through SUBSCHOL in New London,' Ilse said. 'Flooding drills, fire fighting, escape tank
swim, the works.'
'What did they say about this boat?'
'Just that she's different, and controversial.' 'That puts it mildly.'
'I suppose I'll find out soon.'
Jeffrey glanced away for a moment, then looked back. 'You speak American English very well.'
'I spent four years in San Diego. I got my Ph.D. from Scripps.'
'Impressive.'
'So I've been on lots of research ships. Diving is a hobby. And I dated a few navy guys, out of Coronado…No, they didn't blab about your precious submarine. I've been briefed, on the way out here. Only up to a point, apparently, but by COMSUBPAC himself.'
'Really?' Jeffrey sounded almost jealous.
'He said this boat's assigned to DEVRON TWELVE, as if that explained everything.'
'It would, to a submariner. Development Squadron Twelve. '
'And if you're wondering why they picked a woman, I wasn't their first choice. The other three they tried were men, but none of them had the guts for it.' Ilse wriggled her bottom to get more comfortable in the seat. She put the first CD-RW
into the drive, worked the console's keyboard, and massaged the trackball with her palm. She called up a menu she knew by heart, then leaned over to talk to the sonar officer, a slightly plump lieutenant sitting to her right. Step one, she presumed, would be to enhance his ocean models, used to compute sonar detection and target counterdetection zones. That should keep her busy for a while.
'Anyway,' Jeffrey said, 'I'm going forward to talk to Webs.' Ilse hardly noticed. The smell of coffee began to fill the air as the messenger put up a fresh pot in a nearby pantry alcove. Then he came around. Ilse and the sonar officer both took their coffee black.
Sonar said his name was Robert Sessions. He looked in his mid-twenties. If war made people older, Ilse told herself, he must be very young. At almost thirty she felt ancient.
'Mmmm,' Sessions said, drinking deep. 'Caffeine. drug of choice of the Silent Service.' Ilse couldn't help smiling. She had some coffee herself, very strong and hot. That's better. She'd slept badly on the plane.
She leaned over to examine Sessions' waterfall displays, which she barely understood. ' Whose do you think it is?'
'You mean the other sub?'
Ilse nodded.
Sessions shrugged. 'No whiffs at all yet. Doesn't matter much. They're the same designs, right? Same crew training, far as we know, Germany and South Africa.' Like many of the other crewmen, Sessions wore a baseball cap, with the ship's name and number and an emblem. On the emblem was a dragonfish, a black deep-sea creature with a distorted fish's body and a hideous face with long sharp teeth and a dangling luminous barb. The dragonfish was grinning, clutching in its stunted fins a torpedo and a missile. Challenger? Of course! Ilse realized the sub wasn't named for the blown-up space shuttle after all. HMS Challenger was the first dedicated oceanographic research vessel, a British sailing ship in 1872.
Ilse liked the hat. She wanted one.
4 HOURS LATER
'Captain,' Jeffrey said, 'the boat's closed up at battle stations antisubmarine. We are rigged for ultraquiet. Our course is one eight zero, speed six knots; depth is fifteen hundred feet.'
'Very well, Fire Control,' Wilson said. At general quarters Jeffrey as XO was fire control coordinator, overseeing Sonar, Weapons, and the TMA — target-motion analysis — team. The captain had the deck and conn as approach coordinator, grand strategist in the upcoming duel.
Jeffrey paced the three steps back to Sonar. 'Still nothing, Commander,' Sessions said. ' We continue tracking Sierra 6, that convoy.' Jeffrey leaned between him and Ilse, looking over Sessions' shoulder as he pointed
