Crush Depth

peacetime, Gunther, not in a hundred, two hundred years! Only lulls between battles, and the Anglo-Americans choose to call each battle a separate war. Now do you see?”

“I think so, sir.” Ter Horst had made some very telling points.

“Good. Good. It’s all very simple, really, when you look at it the right way. The world has a new policeman, fighting against corruption, decadence, social chaos, and pandemic disease. Fighting for national self-determination, order, truth. That new policeman is us, Gunther, the Berlin-Boer Axis.”

Ter Horst offered Van Gelder more schnapps. This time Van Gelder declined, and ter Horst put away the bottle. It was from Germany, and tasted very good. Van Gelder decided to see if the schnapps had made ter Horst loosen up at all.

“The last part of the briefings I’m to conduct, Captain? Our next destination?”

“We’re going to deal the Americans the knockout blow…. The Axis doesn’t intend to occupy them. You know that’s never been our goal. Containment, diminishment, reduction to a second-rate vassal nation, those are our plans for America…. At the rate they’re going, German forces in the North Atlantic should have the British starved out soon. And Russia remains firm in her thinly disguised support for us, providing conventional arms, and raw materials and fuels, in exchange for gold and diamonds.”

“Just where do we come in?”

Ter Horst cleared his throat. “Voortrekker is tasked to open up a whole new front. We’re going to expose the United States as completely naked and vulnerable, to undermine their will and ability to continue the fight, and, especially, win Asia over to the Axis side. Secret diplomatic efforts, ones I cannot disclose a thing to you about, are under way on several continents, timed to mesh with our next strike.”

Van Gelder hesitated, very impressed. “But sir. We’re almost out of ammo.”

Ter Horst waved dismissively again. “All that will be taken care of soon.”

“How, Captain?… Excuse me, I know I must be patient.”

Van Gelder was surprised at himself for saying that. He realized ter Horst had had his desired effect. Van Gelder couldn’t help but let ter Horst continue his seduction, finish casting his spell. And by the time I run through all this five or six times with the men — each time making sure I sound as if I believe every word — he’ll have me totally brainwashed.

Ter Horst looked Van Gelder right in the eyes, very hard.

“You and I, Gunther. Together, and our crew. We’re the fulcrum, the pivot point. A supercapable nuclear- powered fast-attack submarine, fully armed with tactical atomic weapons you and I are eager to use… We’re going to run the Australia — New Zealand — Antarctic Gap, break out into the Pacific Ocean, and open a whole new front against America.”

EIGHT

Simultaneously, at Dulles International Airport, Washington, D.C.

Strapped into the rear of the cockpit, Ilse heard the purring of the fighter jet’s twin engines rise to a steady, insistent whine. The crew chief and Rachel Barrows saluted. Ilse waved, and the crew chief waved back. Barrows must know she can trust the crew chief. I’d hate it if he were a spy, and sabotaged us.

Barrows closed and sealed the cockpit canopy. Ilse breathed deeply, slightly frightened yet almost giddy in anticipation of what was to come. Her oxygen mask smelled rubbery. The oxygen tasted metallic and felt cool and dry. It helped Ilse feel more alert.

Barrows’s voice came over Ilse’s headphones. “I’ll leave the intercom mikes on so we can talk. We’ll maintain strict radio and radar silence, for obvious reasons.”

The plane taxied some distance in the pitch-dark. The plane’s suspension was stiff; Ilse felt every bump and crack and seam in the taxiway.

“How can you see? I thought the Axis was distorting the global positioning system signals.”

“I have infrared and low-light-level TV pictures, with cues on my head-up display. The cameras are in the nose.”

Barrows put on the brakes. “We’re waiting for takeoff clearance.”

Ilse glanced around and was surprised to find she had a small rearview mirror mounted inside the canopy. She saw another, identical jet waiting behind her and Barrows.

“What type of airplane is this?”

“Two-seat version of the F-22 Raptor. Best air-dominance and strike fighter in the world, in my not-so- humble opinion.”

“How come my instruments are all blacked out?”

“So you don’t see aircraft performance. Maximum speed, altitude ceiling, stuff like that’s top secret.”

Ilse, held firmly by her ejection seat harness, squirmed to try to relax in the seat — the bottom and back were firm and hard.

“These chairs aren’t very comfortable.”

“When you’re in a dogfight with the kaiser’s Luftwaffe, the last thing you want is comfortable.”

Ilse hesitated, chilled. It sank in, all at once, that these jets were personal killing machines, and sometimes the pilots who flew them died. “If it isn’t too secret, where did you score your five victories?”

“Over Denmark and the North Sea. All in one night too, right before Christmas. There was a huge air battle, you might have heard about it.”

Ilse had heard about it. She’d been right under it, in Challenger, the whole time. This woman helped save my life.

“Who is that behind us?”

“My wingman.” Ilse, her vision dark-adapted now, looked again in the rearview mirror. The other pilot was a woman.

“Who’s in the other passenger seat?”

“Someone who looks like you… And that’s the weapon systems officer’s seat, officially.”

“You don’t need one tonight?”

“Not where we’re going. We’ll be vectored to the rendezvous by an AWACS plane.”

“So what’s this all about? Can’t you tell me anything?”

“We need to get you somewhere special really quick, far away. A fighter jet’s the fastest method. We also need to keep the Axis from knowing where you’re going, on the assumption they’re trying to monitor you. The air force has a few tricks up our sleeve tonight.”

Red lights came on, in two long rows along the ground, marking the edges of a concrete runway that stretched in front of the jet for more than two miles.

“We are clear for takeoff.” Barrows kept the brakes on while she pushed the throttles to full power. The engine noise built from a whine to a roar. The whole plane shook and bucked like it was alive. Barrows released the brakes and hit the afterburners. The noise redoubled. Ilse was kicked back hard against her seat. The F-22 rolled down the runway faster and faster. The red runway lights streaked past in a blur.

The aircraft leaped into the sky. Barrows made a tight left turn, and kept climbing fast.

Ilse glanced around to spot the wingman. She noticed tiny, dim lights trailing her, not far away. Barrows waggled her wings. The dim lights waggled back. Both planes rushed into the overcast, a foggy murk that made the dark seem darker.

In seconds the murk was pierced and fell behind: the F-22s broke through the cloud cover. The view above and all around took Ilse’s breath away. The sky was perfectly clear and vast and black. A sliver of moon rose in the east. The stars were sharper and more brilliant than Ilse had ever seen. Mars glowed a solid red, and Jupiter pale yellow. The Milky Way stretched over her head across the entire sky. Using the moon and stars, Ilse could tell the Raptors were flying west.