Crush Depth

Jeffrey nodded.

“One branch of the Y leads back to Durban,” Wilson said, “Voortrekker’s home base. One branch leads toward the Arabian Sea, the Persian Gulf, the oil and natural gas fields. The third branch leads down past Australia and New Zealand, to the Pacific Ocean. Your orders, Captain Fuller, are to get under way at once and proceed at best possible speed to a position east of New Zealand, to guard the most vulnerable part of the Australia — New Zealand — Antarctic Gap. It is the consensus of those in a position to know best about these things that Voortrekker is heading for the Pacific.”

“The Diego Garcia strike was the preamble, wasn’t it?” Jeffrey said. “It cleared a major obstacle in Voortrekker’s path. While we’re reeling from the blow, and trying to rescue survivors, they keep heading east.”

“Yes,” Wilson said, “precisely. So you have to get under way, and cut Voortrekker off.”

“But Challenger still needs weeks of dry-dock work.”

“Forty-eight hours. I’m giving you forty-eight hours to square your ship away. Then anything that isn’t ready gets left behind. Ter Horst will be moving slowly, for stealth, and you can make the whole trip there through mostly friendly waters.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure the ship could be ready to sail in forty-eight hours.”

“Voortrekker did it somehow. The Yorktown did it before the Battle of Midway in World War II…. I’ve already talked to the contractors, the union shop stewards, and Challenger’s skeleton crew. Everyone’s working round the clock.”

Jeffrey could picture the frenzied activity. He intended to do his part. He knew people were busting a gut to make his ship ready for him. Not meaning to, Jeffrey exhaled from the depths of his being.

“What is it?” Wilson said.

“Sir, I just learned my mother has breast cancer. It may have metastasized. I was going to ask for compassionate leave.”

“That’s out of the question. All leaves are canceled. You have your hands full, getting Challenger battle-ready. As battle-ready as possible.”

“I understand, Commodore…. Is Miss Reebeck available, given the change of plans?” Her proven skills as combat oceanographer would be valuable.

“No. She’s been sent to the study group that helps make sure our boomers remain undetectable by the enemy. The Ohio-class Trident missile subs are getting old…. It’s not like we can drop hydrogen bombs on the heart of Europe or Africa, and kill millions of innocent civilians and hostages, just because the Axis caught us with our pants down by using tactical atomic weapons at sea. But if the Axis can threaten our Trident boats, and we lose our strategic deterrent against Russia and China, on top of everything else…”

“I understand, sir. Of course.” Jeffrey thought the Germans and Boers had been much too clever and calculating. They exploited the wide but neglected gap in weaponry effects between NATO’s conventional arms and the Armageddon-like power of NATO’s H-bombs. The Axis used small atom bombs to drive a wedge far into that gap, to weaken Allied naval forces and sever essential supply lines — and now the Axis all but owned two continents. Fortunately, French commandos had been able to evacuate or destroy their country’s hydrogen-bomb stocks before France folded to Germany. The hostages Wilson referred to included tens of thousands of touring American families and traveling businesspeople and vacationing college kids, all trapped on Axis turf when the war broke out last summer — and now interned in camps beside major enemy industrial sites.

A messenger arrived and handed Wilson a message slip. Wilson read it. His lips tightened and his jaw set.

Wilson looked at Jeffrey. “I’m sorry.”

“Sir?” Jeffrey felt a stab to the heart. He thought his mother had died on the operating table.

“Miss Reebeck has been killed.”

“Killed?” The word came out of his mouth like someone else spoke it.

“The aircraft she was riding in had a mishap. They ejected, but her ejection seat malfunctioned. The parachute failed to open.”

“Are they sure?”

“The body was recovered quickly…. I’m sorry. I know the two of you were close.”

“I…” Jeffrey just trailed off. He reminded himself he was a warship’s captain now. He had an image to maintain as commanding officer. He fought a sense of bitterness that his big move up professionally, and the massive responsibilities it brought, were keeping him from tending to his own emotional needs.

Wilson watched him, read his inner struggle, and sighed. “We all lose people we care about in war. I lost a cousin and a nephew in the initial ambush off West Africa.”

Jeffrey hesitated. “I didn’t know that, sir.”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

Jeffrey sat there, not knowing what to say or do or feel.

“You need to get down to your ship,” Wilson said gently, “and make the preparations.”

“Yes, Commodore. Of course.”

Jeffrey stood up, still in a bit of a daze. My own command, my own command, and it has to happen like this.

“There’s more,” Wilson said.

“Sir?”

“I’m coming with you to the Pacific.”

“On Challenger, Commodore?”

“Yes. I’m detaching from DevRon Twelve, leaving things here to my deputy, to lead an undersea battle group. With such a vast area to cover, we can’t afford to take on Voortrekker alone.”

That stung, and it made Jeffrey angry. “Sir, is this a reference to my failure to sink ter Horst last time?”

Wilson’s face grew stern. “I know you’re upset, about your mother and now Miss Reebeck. But this is the wrong time and place to start getting touchy. And to answer your question, no, it’s not a reference to anything. You just got two goddamn Navy Crosses, a promotion in rank, and a ship.”

“Yes, sir…. What other vessels are in the battle group?”

“Several Royal Australian Navy diesel submarines. I don’t know how many yet. Maybe four.”

“Not Collins boats?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But they’re death traps! They’re noisy, they can’t stay down long, their crush depth is barely a tenth of ours, and they’re slow!”

“This isn’t my decision, Captain. If Voortrekker does reach the Pacific, and gets loose in those tens of millions of square miles of very deep water…”

“Can’t we work with our own fast-attacks?”

“The ones that haven’t been sunk or badly damaged are stretched much too thin as it is. They’re busy escorting the remaining carriers and our boomers, protecting the North and South Atlantic convoys, conducting special ops or spying against the Axis or Russia or China, not to mention keeping an eye on Third World rogues that might act up. It takes time to rejuggle deployments and refits. You know how it is. We’ll get support, but not right away.”

“I get the picture, sir.”

“Challenger is by far the best platform to prosecute Voortrekker. You can handle Challenger in combat better than anyone, including me. You’ve faced Voortrekker before, and you did complete your assigned mission then.”

“Understood.”

“This is your chance for a rematch with ter Horst. Do it in Ilse Reebeck’s memory.”

Jeffrey was too worn out and beat up to feel much emotion at this point. He knew the real pain would come later.

Wilson rubbed his temples. Jeffrey suspected he was having another headache, and tried to look