Crush Depth

ranging from grim determination to anger to grief. Jeffrey and Ilse were ignored.

Jeffrey’s inner turmoil rolled around inside him. He didn’t mention to Ilse seeing his father, or the news about his mom. He tried not to think about this latest bad news either: the destruction of Diego Garcia, the obvious fact Voortrekker was on the loose, Jan ter Horst on the warpath. He wondered what Ilse would be thinking, being reminded of Jan.

“How much longer till someone tells us what’s going on?” Ilse said.

“I don’t know.”

“Will they want us to continue with the briefing?”

“I think so. They’ll still need the big picture. I hope they don’t get tunnel vision now.”

“But that’s what happened already, isn’t it? They got blindsided repeatedly. Now they’re reeling in shock. They just keep reacting, to things the Axis already did. You saw them in there too.”

“That’s what happens. Standard military tactics. Diversion and deception. Then strike hard and aim to overload the enemy, paralyze his brain. Both sides can play that gambit.”

“But I’d think your vaunted big shots would know that. They were acting like a bunch of children.”

“Ilse, that was uncalled for.” Jeffrey felt defensive now. He glanced at the two marines. They both blinked, staring straight ahead, carefully expressionless.

“Is this what it’s always like here?” Ilse said.

“Is what like what?”

“The Pentagon. The dirty politics. Finger-pointing, backbiting, he-said-she-said games… You used to work here.” Ilse made it sound like an accusation. “Then there’s the VCNO’s senior aide, that arrogant little bastard. I saw the way he talked to us.”

“Ilse, don’t take it so personally.”

Ilse turned to look at Jeffrey. “Don’t you talk to me about personally. What could you possibly know about personally? You don’t know how I feel. You don’t know what really matters to me. You hardly know me.”

“I—”

The VCNO’s aide came out of the double doors.

Why now of all times? Jeffrey thought.

The captain read their body language, and cleared his throat pointedly. “Is something the matter here?”

Jeffrey recovered fast. “No, sir.”

“Good.” The man turned to Ilse. “Miss Reebeck.”

“Captain?”

“Decisions have been made. We’re pulling you out of the course you’re taking.”

“But I’m not finished.”

“We have something more important for you to do. It’ll use your skills as combat oceanographer.”

“On a submarine?”

“No.” The captain looked at his watch. “There’s no time to explain, and it’s top secret. Something new, fresh, and different.”

“Where?”

“I can’t say.”

“But what about Challenger?”

“Forget about Challenger.”

Jeffrey tried to step in. “Sir—”

“Later.”

A young man in civilian clothes arrived. “Good,” the captain said to Ilse. “Your transportation’s here.”

“Where am I going?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

“What?”

The captain gave her a dirty look. “Reebeck, haven’t you learned anything about operational security by now?”

To Jeffrey, Ilse looked furious. He was afraid she’d make a scene, but she bit her feelings down.

“Go with this person,” the captain said. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“What about me?” Jeffrey said.

The captain looked down his nose at Jeffrey — not an easy thing to do, since Jeffrey was inches taller. “Aren’t you taking some kind of course?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeffrey knew the man was well aware he was in the Prospective Commanding Officers course. The captain was putting Jeffrey in his place.

“You’re missing class. Get back to school.”

“How?”

“You have an open ticket to New London, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Your travel papers should get you on the next train. You might have to stand, but so it goes. There is a war on.”

The captain turned to Ilse. “Move out. Time is of the essence.” He went back into the meeting room.

Ilse looked at Jeffrey. “I guess this is how we part.”

Jeffrey’s heart was pounding. “I thought we’d have more time together.”

“Ma’am,” the young man insisted.

“I have to go,” Ilse said to Jeffrey.

“But—”

“I hate good-byes. I’ve seen too many good-byes.” Ilse hurried away.

Jeffrey stood there, alone and very lonely. He remembered he had a train to catch, and he’d missed two days of school already.

When he got to D.C.’s Union Station, he phoned Sloan-Kettering. The train passed through New York; maybe he could get off to see his mother at the hospital. They said she’d just gone into surgery, and would be in the recovery room — no visitors — for many hours after that.

Jeffrey stood in the station’s packed waiting room, leaning dejectedly against the wall between an empty vending machine and a withered potted plant. While he waited for his train to be called, he kept wondering where the navy was sending Ilse, and where Jan ter Horst and Voortrekker would strike next.

Ilse was rushed to Dulles International Airport in the back of an unmarked, windowless van. The driver was a lieutenant from Naval Intelligence. He told Ilse there were indications the Germans knew she’d been on the SEAL raid in the Baltic in December, and good indications the Axis had already tasked assassins working in the U.S. to kill her to get even. The driver wore a Super-Kevlar undershirt and had an Uzi submachine gun under the dashboard, and the van was armored. Still, Ilse didn’t feel safe.

At the airport, the van went into an underground garage. Ilse was led up through a maze of drab corridors and locked in a windowless room, for her own protection. After hours of sitting on a cracked plastic chair, at 7:30 P.M. Ilse finally heard someone outside. Keys jangled and a woman opened the door. The woman wore a military flight suit, including a pistol. She had on red-tinted goggles and carried a bulky satchel. The aviator, who was about Ilse’s height and build but maybe a few years older, put the satchel on the floor.

“Strip to your underwear and put these on.”

Ilse unzipped the satchel. It contained another flight suit. Boots, helmet, G-suit attachments, inflatable life vest, everything.

“They’re all your size. Leave your other clothes here. You won’t need them where we’re going.”

Ilse looked doubtfully at all the flight gear.

“Let me give you a hand.”

Eventually the aviator was satisfied. Wearing this getup felt strange to Ilse, but it was also exciting.