Tidal Rip

dismantled the American torpedoes, removing the warheads and placing them in special, shielded carrying cases.

“They’re looking for the ones in the best condition,” von Loringhoven said. “They’re taking three, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Beck knew the wrecked ship’s magazine was full of self-oxidizing weapon propellants, and damaged high explosives too. The divers could potentially set something off, causing a massive detonation that would damage the von Scheer.

“We need samples, for intelligence purposes.”

“Why aren’t the divers going after crypto gear?”

“It’s doubtful any survived in usable form.”

“Our side hasn’t salvaged Allied atomic warheads before?”

“We have, but I’m not privy to details. And I assume the Allies have salvaged some of ours.”

Beck grunted. He hadn’t thought of that. “So why are we grabbing more, with a relief convoy to Africa on the move? We seem to be taking considerable, and unnecessary, risks, at a most inappropriate moment. And we’re wasting precious time by doing so.”

“We need at least one warhead, of specifically American manufacture. It has to come from an antisubmarine torpedo so it’s pressure-proof enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to use the physics package… Ah, I see the divers are finished. They’re starting back to the von Scheer’s air lock.” One special air lock opened downward, through the bottom of the SSGN’s hull, and had a winch for lifting personnel and cargo.

Beck didn’t like the way von Loringhoven had just changed the subject. “To use the physics package for what?”

“Like I said, intelligence. Research. Berlin doesn’t tell me everything.”

Beck decided to play along, for now. The one thing he did know was that von Loringhoven was lying.

The kampfschwimmer dialysis divers were back inside the von Scheer, safely ensconced in their decompression capsules. Their plutonium-lined diving suits hadn’t sprung any leaks. The three atomic torpedo warheads were now in the radiological containment area, within the kampfschwimmer working space in the missile compartment.

Beck sat in his cabin, feeling utterly exhausted. Von Loringhoven knocked from inside the bathroom they shared.

Beck rolled his eyes. “Come.”

Von Loringhoven entered.

“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Beck said.

“I apologize again, Captain. I’m just beginning to grasp how many unwritten rules there are to proper etiquette aboard a submarine. You were right, of course, to tell me that I am not now in an embassy or at a diplomatic reception.”

“Speaking of which, Baron, I am formally inviting you to dine with me and my officers in the wardroom tonight…. I’m sure security won’t be compromised. If anything, by hiding from everyone and eating alone, you’re only drawing the wrong sort of attention to yourself.”

“Thank you, Captain. I would be honored to join you and your officers for dinner.”

“Good. Now. I’ve been told by the kampfschwimmer chief that one of the warheads retrieved is in usable- enough condition that we can continue on our way.”

“Excellent.”

“It is thus time to open the next envelope with my orders.”

Von Loringhoven nodded. “At your convenience, Captain.”

Hmm. The guy does seem to be showing a little respect and humility now. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

Beck opened his safe and retrieved the latest envelope. Each time, the package grew thinner and lighter, but he could tell there were several more layers of sealed orders within orders.

Ernst Beck read. “Ach.” He had to grin. “This is all nicely thought out. There’s some risk, especially for the kampfschwimmer, but less than I expected for von Scheer.”

“You see now why the Russians turned toward Nova Scotia. We want the Americans to think you’re aiming to catch the convoy from behind, from the north.”

Beck nodded. “And the strongest convoy defenses will be protecting their eastern flank, standing between the cargo ships and the hostile Euro-African coast as they head for the Congo pocket.”

“Precisely. And to throw ourselves against the Americans’ strongest defenses is foolish.”

“And thus we cut ahead and attack from where they least expect and they’re least prepared. From their front, from south of the convoy, and with accurate firing solutions from very long range… I want to check a nautical chart.” Beck switched on his laptop, connected to the von Scheer’s onboard fiber-optic local area network. “Look with me, Baron.”

Von Loringhoven came around to Beck’s side of the little fold-down desk.

“Right here is the place.” Beck tapped a spot on the map with his light pen. “Of course, we still have details to work out, but we have several days to get there…. I suggest, Baron, that you and I both make up for our sleep deficit. I’ll have a messenger fetch us a good meal now, then wake us both in time for dinner.”

“Delightful.”

Beck used his intercom to dial the wardroom pantry chief. They spoke briefly. Beck hung up.

“Fresh ham, hot carrots, also fresh, and freshly baked bread, for two, is on the way. Eat with me here, Baron.”

“With pleasure.”

“Excuse me for a moment while I speak to the einzvo.” Beck stepped out of his cabin and walked the few paces to the Zentrale. The acting weapons officer had the deck, while Stissinger kept an eye on things. Beck approached Stissinger.

“Our guest has accepted the invitation to dine in the wardroom tonight.” He touched the side of his nose, knowingly, and saw an answering sparkle in Stissinger’s eyes.

“We’ll make a good shipmate out of him yet, Captain.”

Beck gave the weapons officer and navigator orders to get the von Scheer under way, toward the craggy, broken bottom terrain of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge: “Nap of seafloor cruising mode. Mean speed of advance twenty-five knots. Base course southwest until we reach the east side of the main ridge flank, then base course south. Maintain rig for ultraquiet.”

Both men acknowledged; Stissinger calmly monitored their performance. Beck returned to his cabin. Von Loringhoven sat there patiently.

Beck started to clear the papers and computer from his desk. But first, he took one more look at the nautical chart on the laptop screen. “A clever stratagem,” he said expansively, “and a good choice. A useless menace to navigation, hundreds of miles from land. A perfect place to set up a land-based satellite downlink station, and an undersea acoustic link to talk to us while we can hide…. My only trouble isthe real estate belongs to a neutral country.”

“Don’t concern yourself,” von Loringhoven said. “Efforts are under way that ought to remove that worry from your mind.”

“Specifics?”

“Not yet.”

“Funny, I somehow knew you’d say that.” Both men chuckled, sharing a good laugh for the first time since they’d met.

Beck looked at the map a final time, examining their destination. “Desolate, unoccupied, a radioactive wasteland now. It’s the last place I’d ever think to choose… which is probably exactly why Berlin chose it. And it is so centrally located.” He turned off his computer just as two messmen arrived with the meal trays.

On both trays were two shot glasses filled with schnapps.