Crush Depth

Jeffrey thought hard how to do this. Challenger would lose speed as she surfaced, because of the power wasted when her hull began to make waves and the pump-jet propulsor’s loss of suction at very shallow depth. Meltzer would have to speed up to compensate, but by how much? An impact by the bow or stern, between Challenger and the Prima Latina, seemed unavoidable. Jeffrey felt his blood pressure shoot up fast. His first priority as captain was the welfare of his ship.

“Commodore, we need to make some practice approaches first.”

“Don’t worry overly much. There are large rubber bumpers up there in case the two ships touch.”

“We’ve never performed an evolution like this.”

“The computer simulations said it could be done.”

“Simulations aren’t real life, Commodore. A bad collision could sink both ships.”

“Get yourself up in there quickly. We’re passing the shoals already. Once through we’ll be in open water again, and the seas will be much higher. This will get even more dangerous than it already is.”

Jeffrey and Meltzer talked it over, discussing tactics. Jeffrey called Lieutenant Willey on the intercom, and they talked it over too. Then COB and Bell offered their advice.

Finally, as Jeffrey snapped out orders, Meltzer brought Challenger shallower. The first try was to get the hang of matching speeds as the two vessels closed, to get the feel of the buffeting and suction effects of trapped water coursing between the two hulls. The first try didn’t go well.

On Voortrekker

“Very well, Number One,” ter Horst said. “You have the conn. I’ll backstop you. Bring us up, and prepare to put us into the Trincomalee Tiger’s belly.”

The freighter in distress, ter Horst had told Van Gelder, was a clandestine submarine tender. Her engines and rudder were perfectly fine. She was faking the equipment casualties as an excuse to stop on the high seas, to make Voortrekker’s docking easier without arousing suspicion. The orbiting maritime patrol aircraft and the approaching Australian destroyer were all part of the double bluff.

Van Gelder had to admire ter Horst’s cunning and his guts. Not every submarine captain would willfully call down upon himself front-line enemy forces while he rendezvoused with a covert milch cow hiding in plain sight.

Van Gelder issued orders to the helmsman and chief of the watch. Voortrekker rose from the depths, and Van Gelder raised the digital periscope mast. The picture appeared on screens in the control room, looking straight up. The underwater keel doors of the freighter were already open, and the well-lit secret hold beckoned invitingly. Blue-green lights flashed steadily, outlining the hold. These let Van Gelder judge the surface ship’s roll and drift, giving him his aiming point. Van Gelder could make out the bulk of the vessel’s massive buoyancy tanks, lining the inside of the hull, surrounding the secret hold. The Trincomalee Tiger was, in effect, a camouflaged floating dry dock.

“Surface impacts, sir,” the sonar chief warned.

“Sonobuoys?” Van Gelder demanded. Are the Allies on to us so soon?

“Uh… no, sir. Sounded like an air-dropped life raft package and survival gear.”

Good, the enemy plane’s still falling for the playacted desperation on the freighter. Van Gelder relaxed, but only slightly. Voortrekker was nearing the freighter’s bottom.

A rogue wave’s surge and suction threw Voortrekker bodily toward the freighter’s hull. Van Gelder snapped out helm orders, fearful of a collision. The rogue wave passed. Van Gelder hesitated to close the distance further lest another rogue wave hit.

“Surface impacts! Air-dropped torpedoes!”

Van Gelder jolted. Jan ter Horst cursed.

“Torpedoes are inert!.. Confirmed, torpedoes are sinking!”

“Ha!” ter Horst exclaimed. “You see, Gunther? They dumped their weapons to give themselves longer on- station time over the freighter. That aircraft’s no danger to us at all now.”

“Sir,” the sonar chief said uncomfortably, “I only counted two torpedoes dropped. That type of aircraft holds four.”

On Challenger

Jeffrey had Meltzer return to a depth of 150 feet, and then try again. This time as Challenger rose she lined up better with the hole in the Prima Latina. But when the ships drew closer, Challenger kept yawing from side to side, way too much.

“Captain,” Meltzer said, “we need to use the auxiliary propulsors for better lateral control.”

“Concur,” COB said, “but I have my hands full. When we do a blow and surface for real, if you can call this business surfacing, I’ll be even busier.”

“All right. Relief Pilot, I want you to handle the auxiliary thrusters.”

“Yes, Captain,” Harrison said. He did it the only way he could — he knelt on the deck next to Meltzer’s seat, and reached in past Meltzer for the joysticks that worked the thrusters. Meltzer was totally occupied using the main control surfaces — bowplanes and sternplanes and rudder — to manage Challenger’s basic depth and course. The use of junior enlisted men to separately work sternplanes and rudder went out with the Virginia class, the first of which had entered service in 2004.

“Let’s try this again,” Jeffrey said. “The key seems to be to anticipate the jostling as we get closer, but not overcompensate.”

Jeffrey told COB to activate Challenger’s hull-mounted photonics sensors, so the ship-control team and Jeffrey could get better close-range visual cues than with just the periscope. COB punched buttons. More pictures were windowed onto the console screens, viewpoints from the bow and stern and looking downward too.

Jeffrey grabbed the mike for the maneuvering room. “Engineer, do whatever you have to do to keep us moving at exactly nine knots as COB does a main ballast blow.”

“Understood, Skipper,” Willey said. “But what happens when we’re partway into the hold and the freighter pulls the surrounding water right along with her? Our speed logs will give false readings, saying we’ve slowed down. Then if we speed up, we’ll crash.”

“I know, that’s the hard part.”

“Sir,” Harrison said, “we can judge real speed over the bottom based on our inertial navigation system.”

Jeffrey nodded. “Hey, that’s using your head, shipmate!” Meltzer, impressed, slapped the ensign on the back, rather roughly, congratulating him but working in a little hazing too.

Jeffrey repeated the ensign’s idea over the intercom to Willey.

“Sounds great,” Willey said. “Only problem is, if you’ll recall, Captain, we don’t have navigation readouts back here.”

A disappointed Jeffrey repeated what Willey said to the control room at large.

“Sir,” Harrison said, “feed him data through the ship’s local area network, and Lieutenant Willey can read it off his laptop. They can manage ship’s speed under local control that way, reacting instantly, from back in the maneuvering room.”

Geez, Jeffrey thought, this kid’s smarter than I thought.

The arrangements were quickly made. This was an all-or-nothing effort now.

On Voortrekker

Van Gelder went back to the docking attempt.

“We must do this quickly,” ter Horst urged. “The enemy destroyer that’s coming may get nosy when the Tiger’s engines and rudder miraculously repair themselves…. They may board the freighter for a close inspection, as is their right by international law.”

“Understood, sir.” Van Gelder tried not to be distracted as he studied his screens and issued more helm orders.

“The Aussies may dig their way through her dummy cargo, discover her false bottom, and find the hidden