starboard, over-the-shoulder shots. If he didn't know what they meant, they'd be beautiful. 'Six more Mark fifties in the water aimed at Deutschland!' Other frigates joined the chase, closing in as well.
'They've got us in a vise,' Eberhard said.
Beck thought fast and hard. 'Sir, recommend we shelter under the convoy. Conjecture Americans preprogrammed their weapons to not harm friendly forces.' ASROC launched Mark 50's weren't wire-guided. Using the convoy for refuge was a gamble, but Deutschland had no choice.
The frigate pinged again.
'It's highly likely they know exactly who we are.' Eberhard sounded disgusted.
'I doubt the United States would risk nuking their own ships, sir, even to sink Deutschland.' Or would they? Beck watched his screens as the 50's gained on Deutschland, and she gained on the convoy. It was touch and go who'd win. The 50's went to active search.
Eberhard grabbed an intercom mike. 'Push the reactor to one hundred twelve percent.' Beck waited for something in their Russian-based reactor plant to explode.
'Mark fifties continue to gain on us.' Beck saw crewmen shaking their fists toward the stern at the enemy eels, heard them urging Deutschland to go faster. 'Torpedoes in lethal radius any moment.'
'Rig for nuclear depth charge.'
Then Beck shouted, 'Fifties are veering away.' Several crewmen cheered. Deutschland's Sea Lions didn't veer away.
Around the edges of the convoy, six phalluses of solid water thrust high into the air. Six breathtaking fireballs punched through the surface of the ocean all at once, like dawn on some alien otherworld with multiple suns. The air-and waterborne shock waves bloomed and met and embraced, reinforcing each other strangely, the speed of sound varying in different places with the heat. The older mushroom clouds to the southeast, some topped now by exquisite smoke rings, were lashed by blast winds as new mushroom clouds asserted themselves. Surface and bottom reflections pounded Deutschland endlessly. The noise was utterly deafening.
'Severe injuries among reloading party' the copilot yelled.
'Pilot,' Eberhard shouted cold-bloodedly. 'Put us directly under the surviving troopship, the Sergeant Button.'
Deutschland had decimated Convoy Section One, and she gained a precarious sanctuary under the remnants of the convoy. Beck drew no comfort on either count. Where was the satisfaction in serving a captain who had no conscience?
Deutschland steamed on, much more sedately, almost two kilometers deep beneath the Button. The Honeybees that still functioned showed the troopship was shadowed closely by that pesky American frigate, now identified as the Aubrey Fitch. Other escorts and helos kept watch, too, from several sea miles away. Everyone headed northwest. Now and then Button tried to shake Deutschland by changing course, without success. Now and then the Aubrey Fitch pinged, getting echoes off Deutschland's stern.
'There's just one little problem,' Eberhard said. 'We're in what the Americans would call a Mexican standoff. If we move away from the Button, they'll all be able to fire at us. We can't possibly sink every warship fast enough to get away'
'No, sir,' Beck said reluctantly.
'And we certainly can't keep steaming like this in concert,' Eberhard said. 'What do we do, follow them right into Liverpool?… Einzvo, this was your idea. What do you suggest now?'
'New visual contact!' a technician shouted. The surviving Honeybees zoomed in. ' Airborne visual contact!'
'Type of aircraft?' Eberhard demanded.
'A squadron of jump-jet Sea Harriers,' Beck said. 'And Super Stallion heavy transport helos.'
'From the Truman,' Eberhard said. Some of the Harriers dropped big pods where convoy ships had gone down. The pods inflated into giant orange life rafts. The Stallions began to lift men from the sea. 'Their cavalry comes over the hill, too late to do much-good.'
'Sir,' the copilot said, 'Chief Coomans reports a Sea Lion manually loaded in tube seven.'
'Load another in tube five.'
But Beck had an awful idea. 'Captain, recommend instead we load two Seehecht units.' Eberhard stared at Beck. 'They're conventional eels, and slow, and if we launch below a thousand meters they'd implode.'
'Understood; Captain.' The escorts' torpedoes also had a crush depth of about three thousand feet. 'We need to create a distraction.' Beck hated himself for what he intended to do — he saw he was forced from minute to minute to imitate Eberhard's heartlessness, of sheer necessity in this fight. Where will it end? War dehumanizes the living.
'Explain yourself,' Eberhard said.
'If we hit the Button with high explosive weapons on opposite sides, she'll go down slowly, on an even keel. Then the Allied forces will have something to worry about besides us. An undersea nuclear blast anywhere near here will create such an overpressure, all the men in the water will get fatal internal injuries. The escorts will be forced to come to the aid of the men on the Button, and they'll have to leave Deutschland alone.'
'Hmph. It may not work, but we've no choice, time isn't on our side. Prepare to fire two Seehecht units.' When they were ready, Eberhard ordered Deutschland just shallow enough. He had the Seehechts fired, to hide in the deep scattering layer as long as possible. Deutschland quickly returned to the seafloor under Button, much too deep to be hurt by an enemy high-explosive eel.
'Unit outbound legs complete,' Beck reported. 'Units turning to attack…. Button aspect change! She's trying to comb the torpedo tracks.'
'Keep us under her. Course-correct each Seehecht through the wires.'
'Impacts in ten seconds.' Beck watched the image from the one surviving Honeybee. The Sgt. Button tried to launch her antitorpedo snares, but the now-damaged launchers exploded on deck. The Aubrey Fitch fired her antitorpedo mortars, but the mortar shells all missed.
The Seehechts hit the Button with a double metallic whang. The twin fountains of dirty water were anticlimactic, but that wasn't the point. Some cargo containers were blown into the sea, bobbed briefly, and sank — no one escaped. Button's million-plus gallons of fuel oil poured from the hull and caught fire, and bright red flames reared up. The burning oil spread across the water. The scene was half shrouded by heavy black smoke. The picture rippled from curtains of heat.
Button's passengers began to stream out of the habitation modules and up from the internal vehicle decks. The soldiers rushed to the sides like thousands of khaki ants. The Harriers and Super Stallions rushed in to do what they could. Coomans had to slow Deutschland, to keep station under the troopship.
The water was thick now with little black dots. The Aubrey Fitch had stopped, and was lowering climbing nets over her side.
'Fitch has ceased pinging,' Haffner called out.
'Move closer with the Honeybee,' Eberhard said. 'It's our duty to record this imagery, and document our success…. Pan around to show all the mushroom clouds again.' Their pillars were cooling, turning brownish from nitrous oxide smog. A meager handful of merchant ships remained. 'Zoom in on those people down there. Be careful to avoid the smoke. I don't want the camera degraded by soot.' The little black dots resolved into human heads. Some were black from burns, others from a thick coat of oil. This was my idea, Beck told himself. Every man in the Zentrale could see the main wide-screen display. Beck was very glad the picture didn't have sound.
'Catch those soldiers floating among the flames,' Eberhard said. Now Beck saw human figures literally on fire, lipless mouths gaping in silent torment, arms flailing wildly with their fingers already burned off. Does this foreshadow me in the afterlife?
Beck glanced around the Zentrale. The crew had smashed their sought-for record of one million enemy shipping tons destroyed, but no one smiled. Whenever Beck made eye contact, the men looked away. I'm their executive officer. They saw me as Eberhard's better half, but now I've become half-Eberhard. Coomans was still 'below. Beck felt completely alone.
'I think we should make our egress.' He was sick to his stomach.
'We've done this before,' Eberhard snapped. 'Was it somehow less terrible then because you didn't see it?'
Beck heard damaged steel creaking and moaning directly above, as the Button began to settle.
