Crush Depth

The chief read the display screens in the mini’s cramped and dimly lit control compartment. They showed the data feed from his divers now fully six kilometers deep under the mini. The fiber-optic data line and the strong lift cable to which it was braided were the only links to the pair of men in the unimaginable depths below. The mini itself hovered submerged at only fifty meters. It was Van Gelder’s job as copilot to hold it at that depth, rigged for ultraquiet.

Van Gelder saw an acknowledgment appear from the divers, typed letter by letter on one of the screens.

“As you notice,” Bauer whispered to Van Gelder, “the normal initial reaction of someone on the bottom is a slowing of responses, both mental and physical. This is caused by the disorienting environment as much as by the seawater pressure. It passes quickly as the men adjust.”

The divers could receive speech over the fiber-optic line. But because their helmets and lungs were filled with the oxygen-bearing fluid, they could only respond by typing on small keyboards among their equipment. The men seemed cocky enough to Van Gelder when they suited up in the mini, but Bauer’s stiff, clipped manner betrayed his anxiety for their safety.

Van Gelder felt fear too, and not just for the human-fish divers. Divers and minisub both were literally on top of an enemy hydrophone sound-surveillance line.

Another screen activated in front of Van Gelder, but at first showed nothing from below. Then an eerie image appeared: glows and flashes reaching into the middle distance in the picture. Bioluminescence, even that far down.

“Confirmed your camera working in low-light-level mode,” the German chief stated.

All the way down there, a bright floodlight suddenly lit a section of the sea floor.

“Still good feed from the camera,” the chief said into the mike. Again a painstakingly typed acknowledgment came back.

“We require constant visual contact,” Bauer said. “As their topside support, we must see to help resolve any problems they face.” One of the mini’s screens gave vital-sign telemetry from each diver’s body. Bauer kept a careful eye on his men.

Van Gelder studied the picture. The water was clear out to only ten meters or so; anything beyond was obscured by murk and by back-glare from the floodlight. Particles of organic detritus from high above drifted past the camera slowly. The sea floor itself was uneven but mostly flat, covered with muddy ooze that looked gray-tan on the full-color image.

“Bottom anchor positioned” appeared on the screen. “Pressure capsules in place for return to minisub.” The camera swiveled to show the special anchor at the far end of the strength cable. Clipped to the cable were the two one-man transfer capsules — they still reminded Van Gelder of coffins.

“Very well,” the chief responded. “Remember, work quietly.”

Van Gelder used his throttle and his joystick more frequently now, gingerly holding the minisub over the divers so the cable wouldn’t be overstressed, or too slack, or worst of all get dragged along the bottom. The neutrally buoyant cable floated weightlessly through the water, but ocean currents tugged at it constantly. The currents were not very strong, but their speed and direction varied at different depths — Van Gelder had his hands full, even with help from the navigation computer. Given more than six thousand meters of cable played out, the moving water’s drag force was considerable.

There are several crewmen on Voortrekker who could do this as well as or better than I. Why did ter Horst send me? Am I here because he only trusts Bauer so far? Why do I keep feeling Bauer still hasn’t told me everything yet?

A new message came on the screen. “Deploying tools and equipment.”

Van Gelder saw an arm move in front of the camera for a moment, as one of the divers did something. The arm was swathed in silvery material like a space-suit sleeve, and Van Gelder reminded himself the suit was lined with plutonium. The image shifted as the first diver repositioned the camera. The other diver walked by, into the distance, his back to the lens. The man moved slowly against the resistance of the water. Van Gelder saw the backpack which fed oxygen to the man’s lungs, and which also removed waste gases by diverting and processing blood through the implanted surgical ports.

The diver carried heavy equipment cases with both hands. His backpack and his cases all trailed tethers back to the cable anchor, so nothing and no one could get lost in the mud or the murk. The man stepped very carefully, to keep silent and not spoil visibility. Each footprint stirred up ooze, making a small cloud. The mild bottom current carried the puffs of ooze away.

Van Gelder felt as if he were watching men walk on the moon. The world these divers had entered was so alien and dangerous, they might as well be on the far side of the moon. They worked in seawater under pressure at a staggering six hundred atmospheres — enough to crush Voortrekker’s hull in an instant. Tons and tons of icy ocean squeezed their bodies from every side, and squeezed their body tissues from inside too.

“Enemy SOSUS feed line located” came on the screen.

Simultaneously, on Challenger East of New Zealand

Challenger made her mostly-flank-speed crossing of the Pacific unmolested. She hugged crags in the rugged bottom terrain along the way for stealth. For even better concealment, and in consultation with Ilse, Jeffrey had the ship stay under the complex thermal and salinity layers of the El Nino current as much as he could. During the days-long transit to reach the area of operations, Jeffrey made sure constant drills and training and maintenance kept the crew on their toes and prepared the ship for battle.

Then, based on specific directions from Wilson, Challenger made her rendezvous with the four Australian Collins-class diesel subs.

That rendezvous had taken place a few hours ago. Now, Jeffrey glanced around the wardroom — his wardroom, the wardroom of the squadron flagship, Challenger. Commodore Wilson was about to adjourn the formal commanding officers’ conference.

The captains’ conference at the start of a squadron’s working together was a time-honored naval tradition. The only difference today was that the warships were all submarines, submerged for stealth, and the captains came to the flagship riding Challenger’s minisub.

The captains of the Australian boats seemed confident and determined. They’d just spent a good deal of time reviewing Wilson’s basic combat doctrine. They critiqued his system of signals to control the undersea battle group, and went over his scheme for exploiting vital early warning data from the SOSUS grid. These were the topics Wilson, Lieutenant Sessions, and Jeffrey had sweated over for days.

Everything looked great on paper, and all the major questions by the diesel skippers were answered. They appeared to understand Wilson’s intentions very clearly. The meeting began to break up.

But Jeffrey kept remembering the weaknesses of the Collins boats. He knew that in the impending clash with Voortrekker they were expendable. As Jeffrey looked around the room, he wondered how many of the visiting captains and their crews would still be alive at the end of the week. He liked them, these open, expressive, capable Australians, and he wondered if at the end of the week he would be alive to mourn their loss.

On Voortrekker’s minisub

“Diver Two,” the Kampfschwimmer chief said, “your reaction time is slowing. Increase your nutrient flow.”

Van Gelder saw Diver Two turn toward the camera and make a quick hand signal for agreement. Then he touched the controls on the front of his suit.

“One great advantage of these dialysis backpacks,” Bauer said, “is since we’re already hooked up into their veins, we can feed the divers intravenously while they work. This gives them tremendous endurance.” He looked Van Gelder arrogantly in the eyes. “Have you ever tried to eat underwater wearing scuba gear?”

“No. I’ve rarely skin-dived at all.”

Bauer looked contemptuous… or displeased. Van Gelder thought best to ignore it — this was the worst possible time to rise to Bauer’s baiting. Bauer seemed to read his mind, and seemed satisfied.

“Diver One,” the chief said into the mike, “why have you stopped working?”