Crush Depth

safe corridors, we’re immune to attack by our own antisubmarine assets.”

“We’ll be picked up by the Sound Surveillance System hydrophone nets for sure.”

“Of course. So?” Wilson glowered at him.

Jeffrey caught himself starting to ball his fists in irritation. He made himself relax. “Sir, I apologize if I’m not expressing myself clearly. My point is that it’s risky to create a big datum on our own SOSUS, even if the East Coast is clear of enemy subs. If the Axis has a spy on the SOSUS staff, or they’re tapping our data directly somehow, they’ll know we’re at sea, and which way we’re heading.” Jeffrey wasn’t naturally paranoid, but in force-on-force submarine missions paranoia was a survival trait.

“You really think the higher-ups haven’t thought of that?”

Wilson’s annoyance was obvious, but Jeffrey thought his own objection was perfectly valid. Now he really felt pissed, but by a supreme effort kept it internal.

“Shut the door,” Wilson said. “Sit down.”

Jeffrey pulled the door closed and took the guest seat again. Sessions still perched on the filing cabinet. He looked uncomfortable, and not just physically.

“First of all,” Wilson said, “the lines are monitored constantly for eavesdropping, and the hydrophones are inspected periodically as well. That much, you should have figured out for yourself. Secondly, Atlantic Fleet has performed certain naval maneuvers near Norfolk intended to surely pique the Germans’ attention, assuming they did have a mole in the SOSUS shop. We have our own espionage resources in Europe, I’m informed, and said maneuvers were not reacted to at all. Hence, the Germans were not aware of them, and therefore do not have a mole.”

“But—” Maybe the Germans did have a well-placed spy, and knew the maneuvers were a trick and just ignored them.

“This is highly classified. You and Sessions are not to relate this to anyone else in the crew.”

“But the men, I mean Lieutenant Milgrom too… especially her, as Sonar… they’ll be very concerned to see us take such chances, going so fast. What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them you’re the captain,” Wilson snapped, “and they’re supposed to obey your orders.”

Jeffrey hesitated. “Yes, sir.”

Wilson shuffled papers on his desk. “I said before, that’s all.”

Jeffrey turned to leave.

“Commander Fuller,” Wilson called after him.

“Commodore?”

“Have me informed when we draw level with the mouth of Chesapeake Bay.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“And tell someone to bring me another guest chair. I can’t have my flagship staff sitting on filing cabinets.”

THIRTEEN

Night of the first day at sea, one hundred miles east of the mouth of Chesapeake Bay

“Commodore in control,” the messenger of the watch announced.

“As you were.” Wilson came over and stood next to Jeffrey. Jeffrey, after a pleasant catnap, was expecting him. Challenger made flank speed, as ordered, vibrating steadily as the propulsion plant worked hard. Consoles squeaked gently in their shock-absorbing mounts, and mike cords near the overhead swayed back and forth. A boyish part of Jeffrey really enjoyed seeing and hearing these little signs of how fast his ship was going.

“Status, Captain?” Wilson asked.

“We’ve been following the edge of the continental shelf, sir. The north side of the Gulf Stream throws off meanders and eddies here. Horizontally, vertically, they form temperature and salinity cells that distort and attenuate sound.”

“Why did you pick eleven hundred feet as your depth?”

“In case someone does get a whiff of us, they’ll think we’re a steel-hulled sub.”

“Bring the ship to these coordinates. Slow to ahead one-third when you’re twenty minutes out.” Wilson handed Jeffrey a piece of paper.

Jeffrey raised his eyebrows. Wilson wanted a spot farther south, off North Carolina’s Cape Fear. But the location was miles more away from the land, in very deep water, since the coast here ran southwest. They’d have to cut diagonally through the whole width of the Gulf Stream.

“Why there, Commodore?”

“More eddies and meanders on the far edge of the stream. We have a rendezvous.”

Jeffrey was surprised. This was the first he’d heard of it. “With what ship?”

“No ship. A minisub.” Challenger was sailing with her in-hull hangar empty, since the Advanced SEAL Delivery System mini she’d taken with her to Germany had had to be jettisoned in combat.

“The mini’s one of ours?”

“Yes, an ASDS.”

“Purpose of rendezvous, sir?”

“Pick up the crewmen we left behind, and keep the mini.”

Jeffrey read the coordinates to his assistant navigator, a senior chief at the digital plotting table near the back of the control room. The chief recommended a course. Jeffrey gave the helm orders.

The helmsman for this watch acknowledged — Tom Harrison again. Challenger banked into the turn, still making a noisy flank speed.

Then Jeffrey started to wonder. “Commodore, do we need an ASDS where we’re going?” If the minisub was carrying eight of Jeffrey’s crew, there’d be no room in it for SEALs.

“Got your torpedo tubes working yet?”

“Not yet.”

They were nearing the rendezvous. Jeffrey gave the order to reduce speed. The vibrations died down, and the ride became very smooth. The ship felt oddly sedate, after hours of tearing through the ocean at more than fifty knots. With much reduced self-noise, it was time for a thorough sonar sweep. Jeffrey turned to Kathy Milgrom. She sat nearby with her back to him, at the head of a line of sonar consoles along the control room’s port side; thanks to advances in miniaturization and fiber-optic data fusion, Sonar no longer had a separate room.

It took some time to perform the sweep and analyze the data. Challenger turned slowly in a wide circle, to expose her hydrophone arrays on every compass bearing.

When the gradual circle was almost complete, Jeffrey drew a breath to tell the helmsman to resume course.

Kathy tensed in her seat before Jeffrey could speak. She looked his way. “New broadband contact, Captain. Ahead of us.”

“Classify it?”

“Difficult in these conditions, sir. The signal surges and fades. Designate it Master One.”

“Submerged?” Could be it’s the minisub.

“Wait one.” Kathy talked with her sonar chief. He spoke with the enlisted technicians. They studied their screens and listened on headphones.

“Master One is submerged,” the sonar chief said confidently.

“The minisub must be out of position,” Jeffrey said. “Good thing we found it.” Maybe the mini had a navigation error that brought it here. Such things do happen.

“Negative,” Kathy said. “Master One is not a minisub.”

“I got tonals!” a sonarman shouted. “No, wait, it’s gone.”

“Play it back,” Kathy ordered. She and the chief put on headphones. She typed on her keyboard, and Jeffrey