Crush Depth

“Si. From the swamps of Venezuela. They are called bird-eating spiders, because they sometimes eat birds.”

Oh God. Jeffrey almost vomited. “Don’t tell me,” he said sarcastically. “They’ve been defanged, and they’re also pets, to keep your pet rats company.”

Rodrigo smiled. “You understand almost perfectly, Capitan! But these are not defanged. Their venom is not poisonous to humans. They keep down the cockroaches nicely…. Many customs officials detest big spiders, you know.”

Bright lights snapped on and seven deep male voices yelled, “Surprise!”

Jeffrey almost jumped out of his shoes. All around him, standing in tight corridors between the tall stacks of cargo, stood eight heavily armed men. Jeffrey recognized U.S. Navy SEAL Lieutenant Shajo Clayton, and his second in command, Chief Montgomery. The enlisted SEALs with them were all new to Jeffrey, but Shajo and Montgomery were old friends.

Hands were shaken with bone-crushing strength, backs were pounded hard enough to knock the wind from a large man’s chest. Shajo Clayton had been with Jeffrey on Challenger’s South African raid, and then Montgomery joined them for the mission to northern Germany. They’d braved Axis fire together, seen comrades mortally wounded and die, and set off nuclear devices in the enemy’s lap. Jeffrey was very glad to see them, given where Challenger was going next.

“Gentlemen, please,” Rodrigo offered. “This is no place for a proper reunion. Come with me. Come, we have some delightful refreshments prepared.”

But Jeffrey’s face grew grim. “Shajo, Chief, don’t toy with me.”

“Sir?” Shajo Clayton was in his late twenties, from Atlanta; he possessed a trim build and a perfect swimmer’s body. He had a good sense of humor, was even-tempered and easy to talk to. Chief Montgomery, in his thirties, was built like a football linebacker: over six feet tall, immensely broad and strong. His humor was very biting at times, especially in the stress of combat. If he had a first name other than “Chief,” Jeffrey didn’t know yet what it was.

Like many SEALs, both men loved practical jokes.

“No more surprises,” Jeffrey said. “I have to ask. Is Ilse Reebeck here?”

Shajo Clayton looked confused and glanced at Chief Montgomery. The chief was just as confused.

“We thought she’d be with you,” Clayton said.

Jeffrey’s heart sank. He realized he finally had to give up hope. All this time, in his heart of hearts, he’d been daydreaming that Ilse’s death was faked, a subterfuge to fool the Axis. “She was killed,” Jeffrey said.

Clayton’s and Montgomery’s faces fell.

“What the hell happened?” Montgomery said. He sounded angry. “An enemy hit? Her ex-boyfriend’s goons get even?”

“No, nothing like that. An accident. A freak accident.”

“I’m really sorry,” Clayton said. “You two were dating, last I heard through the grapevine, weren’t you?… I’m — I’m sorry. How recent was it?”

“Just before we sailed.”

“She was a good person, and a good fighter,” Montgomery said. “We’ll miss her where we’re going. Wherever that might be?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Commodore Wilson fills me in one step at a time.”

“Commodore Wilson?” Clayton said.

Jeffrey nodded. “I made full commander. Challenger’s mine now.” He’d removed his rank insignia, for security.

Clayton and Montgomery, all too experienced at coping with the loss of friends in war, congratulated Jeffrey with obvious relish. Jeffrey donned his mask of command, forgot about Ilse, and accepted their congratulations with warmest thanks.

Jeffrey turned to the Cuban, who’d been standing there stroking his beard. “Rodrigo, with all gratitude for your kind hospitality, I think we should just get to work.”

Shajo and Montgomery and the enlisted SEALs agreed. They had a lot of equipment to load aboard Challenger, and all of it had to go through the crawl space.

“I understand,” Rodrigo said. “Work first, refreshments perhaps later. There is no hurry, gentlemen. We will be several hours to reach and then go through the canal…. And Capitan, my sincerest condolences for your tragic loss.”

EIGHTEEN

On Voortrekker

“How many more torpedoes still to be loaded, Number One?”

“Six, Captain, not counting the one on the loading chute.”

“Make it quick,” ter Horst said. “The enemy’s so close I can almost smell that destroyer through Tiger’s hull.”

“I know, sir.” Van Gelder glanced again to the rear of the hold, where there’d just been more Australian clanking and hammering.

On Voortrekker’s deck, someone shouted.

Van Gelder turned to censure the man. Instead he watched his worst nightmare of all unfold.

The Tiger’s overworked loading crane failed. A big two-metric-ton nuclear torpedo, a German Sea Lion, teetered on a single length of fraying metal cable. The cable snapped and the Sea Lion landed nosefirst on Voortrekker’s deck, then fell over. It instantly crushed one crewman to bloody pulp, maimed another, and knocked two more off the deck and into the water. The torpedo rolled into the water with a heavy splash. It began to hit Voortrekker in the side, as the Tiger rolled and the water inside the hold sloshed.

The maimed crewman on deck was screaming in agony, both legs from the knees down flattened like pancakes. The crewmen in the water also screamed, as the loose torpedo chased them in the demonic swimming pool the Tiger’s hold had become. One of the swimmers was caught and crushed against Voortrekker’s side. He screamed loudly before he went under in a cloud of blood, and didn’t come up. The other man in the water splashed his arms desperately — he wasn’t wearing a life jacket.

Van Gelder was first to react. He dived into the water, and both Kampfschwimmer followed immediately. Van Gelder dimly heard ter Horst shout orders, to silence the screaming crewman on deck and get him first aid, to rig lines to try to snag and hold the floating errant torpedo, and to rig more lines to pull Van Gelder and the others from the enclosed but vicious water.

Van Gelder plunged headfirst, rose to the surface, and gasped for breath. The salt water filled his ears and went up his nose. It tasted sharply brackish and made his eyes sting. He blinked and looked up and saw Voortrekker from an angle he’d dearly hoped never to see — the view by a man fallen overboard. Van Gelder reached the surviving crewman in the water, who grimaced and said he’d injured his thigh. Both Kampfschwimmer helped hold the man’s head above the water.

The Tiger took a nasty roll to starboard, then righted herself. The Sea Lion was thrown against the side of the hold, and caromed off the Tiger’s hull with a deafening crash. The Tiger rolled to port.

The Kampfschwimmer shouted and Van Gelder turned, seeing the Sea Lion coming right at them. They had nowhere to go. It was impossible to climb the smooth, curved, slimy side of the submarine, and the crewmen on deck, caught by surprise and exhausted from hours of loading, were too slow with their man-overboard drill.

Both Kampfschwimmer gestured frantically. Van Gelder realized they only had one choice. They held their breaths and grabbed the injured man and swam down. The Sea Lion rushed right over their heads and slammed into Voortrekker’s side. At this rate, even her thick ceramic- composite hull might be damaged fatally. With the endless banging and screaming, the Australians were bound to