down the gore, but the German fell on top of Jeffrey and almost knocked him from the ladder. The German's helmet slipped off his shattered head, and Jeffrey was drenched in the blood and purple custard of his brain.
Jeffrey climbed as fast as he could, faster than he ever had in Hell Week. He used all his upper body strength to pull himself up — his damn right leg was still half asleep. Now he was inside the German minisub's central hyperbaric sphere.
Someone was forward, in the little control room. He was trying to dog the forward hatch. Jeffrey grabbed the wheel on his side, and tried to force it open. It became a test of will, and Jeffrey instantly realized how vulnerable he was.
If the man on the other side of the door could dog it fully shut, then jam the wheel with a wrench or a rifle, he'd be free to reach the mini's controls. He could flood the collar, and with it the trunk and the sphere, where Jeffrey stood. At this depth, free influx through a half-inch equalizing pipe would be like machine-gun fire. Jeffrey would be pulped before the pressure buildup threatened the German. If Jeffrey let go of the wheel, he might reach the mini's bottom hatch — but it was hydraulic, and if locked open Jeffrey could never get it closed.
Below him more bullets clanged. He remembered that the Virginia-class corpsman's cubicle also held two countermeasures launchers, miniature torpedo tubes. If the Kampfschwimmer rigged them with explosive, they could flood the whole front half of Texas. It was up to Montgomery and Shajo now.
For a moment Jeffrey thought of letting go of the door and retreating into the transport compartment aft. Instead he summoned desperate strength and forced the forward door undogged against the German's efforts.
The door flew open and Jeffrey stumbled through, and spun and landed on his back against the instrument panels. He aimed his machine pistol at the German. The man was a submariner, not a Kampfschwimmer, and unarmed. He put up his hands. Down below, more bullets clanged. Then there was silence.
Clayton called from the bottom of the escape trunk. The firefight was over.
'Check the countermeasure tubes!' Jeffrey shouted.
Jeffrey secured his prisoner hand and foot with duct tape, then threw him into the transport compartment. He clambered down into Texas.
The lights were on, the ones that hadn't been smashed by wild shots or ricochets. Jeffrey could see the air was heavy with gun smoke. The mess space was a scene of carnage. The fans were running, to clear the tear gas and the smoke.
Clayton came over, looking sheepish and very relieved. He held up two German detonators. 'They had them rigged to the tubes, with lots of C-four. Set as dead-man switches, with ten more seconds to run.' Clayton and Jeffrey looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, not saying anything, both knowing they'd all come that close to being killed. Then both men shrugged it off; they had plenty else to worry about. Jeffrey glanced around. All eight Kampfschwimmer lay motionless in pools of blood, strewn from within the air lock to inside the corpsman's cubicle. Chief Montgomery's two enlisted SEALs were dead. Blood slowly soaked the scattered flour and oatmeal. Montgomery looked okay, physically at least. He went up the ladder into the mini.
'How did you get the Germans in the doe's office?' Jeffrey asked. Clayton smiled. 'I switched to armor- piercing and shot them through the wall.' Jeffrey saw no spent shell casings; the Kampfschwimmer used caseless ammo, too. He picked up one of their weapons.
Crap. It was an exact copy of the one he'd used, down to the hookup for the special visoraiming reticle. Except, the German model had a more effective flash suppressor, and a better grip.
The SEALs' electric machine pistols were supposed to be top secret. Captain Taylor and the navigator — the acting XO— came aft. Their eyes began to water from everything in the air.
'Judas Priest,' Taylor said, looking around and holding his nose. 'We'll have to make sure nothing vital got hit.' Taylor spotted the bullet holes through the sheet steel of the doe's office. He turned white. 'There are sleeping compartments the other side of the medical space!'
'We checked,' Clayton said. 'A few close calls, but everybody's okay.' Taylor gave Clayton a hard look.
'I aimed as carefully as I could, sir.'
Taylor shook his head. 'You SEALs are absolutely crazy.' Then he smiled, briefly. ' Thanks for what you did.'
Jeffrey noticed curious crewmen gathering in the passageway. Many wore bandages or neck braces, and had arms or even legs in air casts or improvised splints. Other crewmen arrived and began to load the dead men into body bags. They started with their own three people, waiting to be reinterred, then did the SEALs, working silently, with respect. Someone offered Jeffrey a spare jumpsuit and towel, so he could get cleaned up.
Jeffrey just wiped his face. 'We have to get out of here. The Germans may have been alerted. That minisub didn't get here on its own.'
Jeffrey heard Montgomery up in the mini, speaking to the prisoner, in fluent German. Montgomery came back down.
'He didn't get off a message.'
'Are you sure?' Captain Taylor said.
'I held my K-Bar to his balls. He didn't get off a message…. They came in an Amethyste II. It's hiding north of here. That crewman doesn't know its zigzag plan.'
'We need to get going,' Jeffrey repeated. 'They'll suspect something soon.' Taylor sent his navigator forward, to take the conn till Taylor returned, and have the weps prepare for battle. The crowd of crewmen dispersed to their stations or racks. Taylor turned to Jeffrey. 'How will you get back?'
'We'll use the German mini,' Jeffrey said. 'It'll be faster than waiting for Meltzer.'
'I'm qualified as ASDS pilot,' Montgomery said. 'I checked, I can read the instruments up there. How hard can it be?'
'That's my man,' Clayton said. He clapped Montgomery on the shoulder, but the humor was brittle. Jeffrey sensed they were both upset about the two men killed in action — he certainly was.
'Sorry about the damage, sir,' Jeffrey said to Taylor. Jeffrey helped shift the bodies into the freezer. The flameproof linoleum deck was slick with blood and other fluids; the effects of close-quarters battle were truly revolting.
In spite of himself, Jeffrey yawned — in the freezer, he could see his breath. The adrenaline was wearing off, and this made him very sleepy. His chest was sore, where the bullet had hit his flak vest. He was also incredibly thirsty. Montgomery said a few words over the body bags holding his people. Jeffrey glanced at the ones with the Germans. Even in death, they frightened him.
Taylor hustled Jeffrey and the others to the escape trunk. Clayton and Montgomery grabbed samples of Kampfschwimmer gear.
'I wish Challenger could stay to help, Captain,' Jeffrey said.
'I know your orders,' Taylor said.
'It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, sir, leaving you like this.' Taylor sighed. 'We do have one good tube, with a nuclear fish loaded and armed, and plenty more on the holding racks.'
'Atlantic Fleet can't just leave you here.'
'Home in time for New Year's, then, maybe,' Taylor said. He handed Jeffrey the rolledup jumpsuit. 'Change in the minisub, Captain. You stink.' Everyone wished each other best of luck. Taylor shook Jeffrey's hand, then began to close the door.
'We'll try to trick that Amethyste into the open for you,' Jeffrey said. 'Somehow.'
'We'll be ready,' Taylor said. 'One way or another, no German's coming close without getting a bloody nose, and with the intel treasure Texas represents, nobody's taking us alive.'
ON THE CAPTURED GERMAN MINISUB
Chief Montgomery sat in the left seat, Jeffrey in the right. Shajo Clayton stood behind Jeffrey. Their prisoner was nicely trussed up in the transport compartment. The bottom hatch was dogged.
'Collar is flooded and equalized,' Montgomery said. 'We're ready to separate.'
'Do it,' Jeffrey said. The German mini got underway.
A little later a red light started blinking. Clayton jumped. 'What's this?' Neither he nor Jeffrey knew
