Tidal Rip

Ohio’s Tomahawks and other Allied warships and planes.” ISRT. “Sexy-sounding catchphrases from the Pentagon, but it’s going to be a bloodbath…. You ought to be glad you’re getting off now.”

“You know I don’t see it that way, sir. Don’t send me on some sideshow.” Not now, when my friends and teammates are going to be put in harm’s way.

“I’m not — and it won’t be a sideshow. You lead a team that is also preparing the waterspace in a big way. Something new, when you and your men deploy from Challenger. Something real important, a breakthrough if it works. You’re going to be a force multiplier, in a very big way.” A small group whose efforts greatly leverage the power of main-line fleet units. “My exec will give you briefing materials. Study them hard. The operators from third platoon are already trained. You’ll have to use both of Ohio’s minisubs to shuttle your men and the special equipment across to Challenger quickly.”

“Yes, sir.” This is getting interesting.

McCollough reached in a pants pocket. “You’ll need these.” He passed across to Felix a pair of not new collar tabs. Each had the two silver bars of a full lieutenant.

Felix had a sinking feeling. “Where did you get these, sir?”

“From someone who should have listened to you better than he did, and paid the price.” Felix’s dead lieutenant.

“Mother of God.”

“Wear them in his memory.”

Felix hesitated.

“If you think they’re cursed, I think you’re the man to break the curse.” McCollough stood. Again he shook Felix’s hand. “The rendezvous with Challenger is eighteen hundred tomorrow evening. That gives you less than thirty-six hours…. And congratulations, Lieutenant Estabo. I mightnot see you before you go…. Ask my exec for the Orpheus package.”

CHAPTER 12

Thirty-six hours later, in the Caribbean Sea aboard Challenger, Jeffrey sat alone in his cabin rereading his orders for the umpteenth time. The USS Ohio was nearby: Challenger’s minisub, and the pair of minis from the other sub, were busy completing the transfer of SEALs and their gear.

Since reboarding Challenger off Norfolk, Jeffrey had decided to set the proper tone from the start. As much as possible, he intended to delegate. In this, his second deployment as Challenger’s captain, with no acting in front of captain to limit or excuse his role, his hands-on style of leadership needed to change. He simply had to let go of the day-to-day nitty-gritty, as familiar and reassuring as it might be, or he’d be overwhelmed. There was just too much else for him to think about, on a higher level. He had to roll his sleeves back down, button the shirt cuffs nice and tight — and let his officers be the ones to plunge into details.

So far, this new tone of leadership was working well. People seemed to appreciate the increased trust he was placing in them. At the moment, Lieutenant Sessions, the navigator, was officer of the deck in the control room, and had the conn. Lieutenant Commander Bell, the executive officer, was overseeing Challenger’s end of the underwater rendezvous.

Jeffrey took a deep breath to relax. He smiled to himself. This little corner of the eastern Caribbean Sea — hard by the Lesser Antilles just west of Guadeloupe — was crowded. One ceramic-hulled fast-attack sub. One big boomer-turned-SSGN. Three Advanced SEAL Deliver System minisubs at once… This has to be some kind of record.

All the islands of the Caribbean, Jeffrey knew, from Cuba and Jamaica down to Trinidad and Tobago, were the exposed tops of huge mountains that jutted steeply out of water more than fifteen thousand feet deep. For the rendezvous, Challenger needed to hover shallow, to respect the diving limits of the steel-hulled Ohio and minis. Jeffrey was eager to be on his way, but wasn’t terribly nervous about an enemy attack: with Puerto Rico to his north, and ally Venezuela to his south, with Cuba officially neutral but rabidly anti-Axis, these were friendly waters. The Lesser and Greater Antilles helped bar entry by hostile submarines. The local area was regularly swept for mines.

Jeffrey was far more concerned about the bigger picture of his orders. Alone in his stateroom, he envied his officers and men. They could focus on specific tasks in the here and now, difficult as they might be. This would give them a sense of purpose and shared camaraderie, and occupy their thoughts in a positive way. On Jeffrey’s shoulders, and Jeffrey’s alone, rested the far larger burden: that his superiors had guessed right, that the engineers and scientists were more than just starry-eyed tinkerers — and that Challenger would get where she needed to be to set up Orpheus, and do what she needed to do while using the secret device’s help, before it was too late. For all the plans and preparation, for all everyone’s efforts and well-meaning aid back on shore, Jeffrey could still be caught fantastically out of position, and out of range.

Captain Fuller knew that all through history, naval battles and even entire wars sometimes hinged on which ships or squadrons were in the right or wrong place at a single, unforgiving moment in time.

The SEAL team leader, newly arrived on Challenger, came to Jeffrey’s cabin to report aboard and introduce himself. The two men hit it off in a big way on sight. Something about the dark-skinned Brazilian American, with his lively eyes, ready smile, and confident, bone-crushing handshake, made Jeffrey feel less worried about the future.

“I’ll show you yours if you show me mine,” Felix Estabo joked.

Jeffrey laughed. In private, they were comparing war stories from their time in the SEALs, and talking about their wounds.

“Forget it,” Jeffrey said, and started to crack up completely; Felix had exactly the sick sense of humor that he himself enjoyed. “An AK-forty-seven round through the bone of my left thigh. You’ll just have to take my word for it.” Jeffrey gestured at the door into the head he shared with the XO’s stateroom. “Privilege of rank, Lieutenant, so you won’t be catching glimpses in my shower, either… Even if you were a master chief this morning, and even if master chiefs do secretly outrank captains.”

And this was another reason Jeffrey liked Felix a lot: the SEAL was a very down-to-earth and practical man, who knew how to work the system and get things done. He was career navy, just like Jeffrey. At different times, they’d been through the same SEAL training and testing: they shared a lot of common ground. Plus, Felix was outside the strict chain of command of Jeffrey’s vessel, so they both could afford to be a bit informal while alone.

Felix stroked the scar down his own face. “You’re just jealous, Skipper. This thing” — he pointed to the scar — “was one heck of a chick magnet back in high school.”

Jeffrey was surprised. “That one’s not from a German bayonet?”

“Nope. Miami gang thugs jumped me when I was fifteen. I wandered into the wrong neighborhood after dark.”

“You’re lucky you lived to talk about it.”

“Well, let’s say they were drunk or stoned or both, and I was neither, and they kept falling over each other to draw first blood. Besides, I was very motivated. They just thought it was cool to mug or cut up a Latino kid. I was fighting to survive.”

“How many of them were there?”

“Five. Fortunately they only had knives.”

“So what did you do? Run?”

“Nope. Before I really saw them they got me cornered in this alley.”

“Then what?”