Tidal Rip

Beck used the acoustic link. “Chief, shift the minisub’s position south. Send the rest of your men into the water. Have them come up on Southeast Rock and take the SEALs from behind.”

“Jawohl. Moving now.”

“How did the SEALs ever get there?” von Loringhoven asked.

“That’s a very good question,” Beck replied. “More to the point, what do they want? What was that satellite dish for?”

There was an awkward silence.

“Targeting data from SOSUS hydrophones?” Stissinger suggested.

“Perhaps.” Beck considered everything he knew — why he was there by the Rocks, the enemy convoy that was coming, the defense plans U.S. commanders are likely to have made. “If you’re right, Einzvo, that would seem to prove the SEALs came via submarine.”

Von Loringhoven looked like he’d been slapped. “Find it! Destroy it!”

“Baron, you don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

CHAPTER 21

After another fitful, nightmare-ridden attempt at a few hours’ sleep, Ilse Reebeck had just come back on duty to the console she’d been assigned at the Atlantic Fleet Command Center in Norfolk. The past several days of waiting for news from Challenger had been even more nerve-racking for her than for the others in the big war room because Ilse had served in battles on Challenger three times before. She knew most of the chiefs and enlisted men well. She was good friends with Kathy Milgrom, and the two had had fun “pajama parties” in their shared stateroom on the ship. COB had been Ilse’s mentor and father confessor as she tried to fit into a military hierarchy. And Jeffrey Fuller, of course, was someone she went back and forth between liking and hating — a roller coaster she hoped would continue, for the way it seemed to meet her deeply conflicted emotional needs. She desperately wanted Challenger to win, and Jeffrey Fuller and the others to survive.

But the past few days of draining quiet had meant high stress for everyone. It felt worse than sitting on thumbtacks, to wait for news that the U-boats were finally moving in. Ilse could observe the gradual progress of the convoy ships on the war room’s main displays, and she could follow the maneuvers by the escorts. She saw plots of each suspected contact with an enemy submarine, but then not one contact proved real. Instead, she read on tally boards — or overheard conversations — as the terrible wear and tear at sea took a mounting toll on ships and aircraft and people.

Then, out of nowhere, as Ilse finished her second coffee of the morning, pandemonium struck. Communications contact had just been established with the SEALs on those tiny islets amid the Atlantic Narrows, a third of the distance to the other side of the world. Almost at once, news came of a definite Orpheus contact on the von Scheer, and then kampfschwimmer attacked, and the satellite link to the Rocks went totally dead.

Admiral Hodgkiss walked over to Ilse. She found the man to be unfriendly and intimidating at best. The last few days, he’d become increasingly short with people — even his own staff approached him with trepidation.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Reebeck.”

Ilse began to rise to attention. She’d come far enough along the path from civilian consultant to uniformed personnel to follow military courtesy by instinct — most of the time. She was also smart enough to know that it was rare for any four-star to address someone of her junior status directly.

“Don’t get up,” Hodgkiss said. He stood next to her and looked at the big status plot on the wall. The last known position of the von Scheer had just popped onto the screen. “I guessed half right,” he said, as much to himself as to Ilse. “And in this game there’s no partial credit.”

“Sir?”

“I did get Challenger in range of the von Scheer after all. I miscalculated badly where the Axis would mass all their U-boats.”

Hodgkiss turned to his senior aide, a full captain, on the other side of the room. He barked for the man to come over. Ilse felt like a fly on the wall as they talked. The captain’s face was grim.

“To recover we need to take a monumental gamble,” Hodgkiss said.

“Admiral?”

“The U-boats are all waiting south,” Hodgkiss told the captain. “The sons of bitches let us chase our tails this whole past week. It wasn’t a running battle of attrition after all. It’s going to be a mass attack where we’ll least be able to cope.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want the convoy ships to stop and circle right where they are, with just enough speed for steerageway. I want the escort formations to redeploy.”

“Sir?”

“The warships go through the Narrows in a solid wall, not piecemeal. When we’re ready, the convoy groups start moving again. The escorts sweep ahead while giving full mutual support. I want three carrier battle groups to then peel off and form a new line to cover the North African coast, priority given to Axis mobile antiship cruise- missile launchers. The carrier fighter-bomber squadrons and cruiser Tomahawk batteries find those land-based launchers and pound the living shit out of ’em. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir. But all this will delay the relief convoy.”

“I know, maybe by several days.”

“The Axis ground assault in Africa might hit before the convoy reaches the coast to unload.”

“I know. If we lose the coast we probably lose everything. But unless we wait and do this right, the convoy doesn’t reach the coast at all.”

“Understood, Admiral. But I need to report that enemy jamming is increasing.”

“Then start drafting orders now! Get them out while we can! Get on it!”

Hodgkiss’s aide hurried off.

“And set up a conference call for me with someone on top in the air force!” the admiral yelled after him.

“Yes, sir!”

“Now, Lieutenant Reebeck.”

Ilse almost gulped. She knew the upcoming battle would be one for the history books. The Battle of the South Atlantic. And now the man whose name would be forever attached to that battle was talking to her.

“Admiral?”

“We need to give Challenger as much support as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we’ve just lost the only stealthy way Challenger had to talk to us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we dare not ask her to violate radio silence herself with the von Scheer so close.”

“Understood, Admiral.” Ilse knew they could use extremely low frequency radio to send an order to Challenger to come up to two-way antenna depth — or they might drop a signal sonobuoy from an aircraft.

“So tell me what to do.”

“Admiral?” Ilse was shocked he’d ask such a question. Then she realized he was testing her. “You mean, sir, tell you what Jeffrey Fuller would do.”

“Good, you got it in one.”

“I think Commodore Wilson would be a better person to ask, sir.”

“I already did. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Hodgkiss stepped closer, invading Ilse’s personal space. She knew that if she stood she’d be several inches