forthright confidence and clear thinking under pressure. Jeffrey knew Clayton would be torn up inside over the deaths of three more of his men, plus so many fallen Gastarbeiter. It was just as well he was sedated for a while. Jeffrey spoke gently to Salih, who sat with one arm in a bloody bandage and a sling. Salih seemed in mental shock himself, morose and distant. He began to murmur in Arabic, a Muslim prayer.
Jeffrey pulled himself away. He had much too much to deal with to get sentimental now, and didn't want to grow maudlin himself over their heavy losses. This was his own third SEAL raid, counting the one years ago in Iraq, and the loss of friends in combat never got easier:
Jeffrey chided himself. He'd sworn after the first time not to introspect; it just worsened the hurt. Plenty of chance after the war — if he lived and if the Allies won — to think back at reunions over beer or something stronger.
Jeffrey steadied himself as the mini started to roll in deeper water. Montgomery announced they were diving. Jeffrey heard the ballast tanks begin to vent. The continued detonations from the ammo train, transmitted through the water, boomed and reverbed like a distant thunderstorm.
Jeffrey went through into the control compartment, dogging the hatches after him. He squeezed behind Meltzer's seat. Ilse stood behind Montgomery; the chief was pilot again. In the rig for red, out of line of sight of the chief and Meltzer, Ilse reached and squeezed Jeffrey's hand.
Was she feeling it, too, the postaction emptiness? The elation of being alive fast turned to black depression over the wastefulness of it all? Jeffrey squeezed back, gratefully, and felt a bit less lonely. Ilse's touch lingered seconds
longer than it should. Finally, she reluctantly broke his grip, and wiped a tear from her left eye. Jeffrey tried to make eye contact, but she stared stoically ahead, at the tactical plot. Speedboats and more helo gunships charged about, firing MGs and cannon at the water.
'Pilot,' Jeffrey said, 'ahead flank. Zigzag smartly. We need to get out of here before somebody with a depth charge or torpedo reaches the bay. Those sonar helos may come back, if their avionics aren't scrambled by the storm.'
Montgomery acknowledged.
'Sir,' Meltzer said, 'if we make it through that hole in the concertina, what do you want to do? There's hardly any fuel left.'
'Let me see the nav chart.'
'We could try to bluff our way at one of the German bases on the Baltic,' Montgomery said, 'and get more fuel and have more options.'
'I don't think so,' Jeffrey said. 'Even with comms disrupted by this magnetic storm, and power blackouts, they'll have fiber-optic land lines.' Jeffrey was sure the alert would go out soon, if it hadn't already, even if German intercommand and army/navy connectivity were slow. Jeffrey knew his team's whole survival now came down to a race against German reaction time.
'Sir,' Montgomery said, 'we'll barely have enough range to reach the southern coast of Sweden at four knots. It's fifty nautical miles.'
'It'll take forever,' Meltzer said. 'The Germans will cut us off.' Big cannon shells impacted close, probably from more Leopard III's, and Montgomery veered to starboard. Jeffrey held on tight.
'It's our only chance,' Jeffrey said. 'Make for neutral territory. Maybe we can escapeand-evade into the hinterland with our booty, and contact the American embassy or something.'
There was another heavy explosion in the water.
'The mountains in the winter will be murder,' Ilse said. 'Stockholm's a long way from the southern coast.'
'If the Swedes pick us up,' Montgomery said, 'and don't shoot us on sight, we'll be interned for the rest of the war. They'll keep our goodies themselves, sir, even give them back to Germany.' Another big shell landed, somewhere ahead, and Montgomery veered to port.
'Ilse,' Jeffrey said, 'you have any other thoughts?' 'I wish I did.' Jeffrey stifled a heavy yawn. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he felt an overwhelming drowsiness. 'Ilse, there's nothing more you and I can do right now. Let's go in back and try to get some sleep and let these guys do their jobs. Pilot, Copilot, your objective is the Swedish coast.'
THREE HOURS LATER, IN THE GERMAN MINISUB
Jeffrey jerked awake. He'd heard an explosion — it wasn't a dream. The transport compartment seemed half empty, because of the three SEALs killed in action, and Andy Cooper staying behind. Equipment packs littered the deck. The hard-drive cases were stacked near the chemical head.
Jeffrey glanced at Clayton and Salih. Clayton slept, but his color seemed good, and the SEAL attending him gave Jeffrey a thumbs-up. The reserve SEALs clutched their uranium-pellet air guns.
Salih looked very pale. 'I'm seasick, and I'm feeling claustrophobic.' Jeffrey forced a knowing grin. 'You just need something to do, Gamal. Remember your army first aid?' Ja.'
'Help us take care of the lieutenant.'
Salih nodded, and stopped feeling sorry for himself.
'Let me see what's going on.' Jeffrey went forward. In the lock-out sphere he eyed the Mach 8 missile, and wondered if it would ever reach friendly lines. Ilse was already up and in the control compartment.
Jeffrey had noticed this at Durban — in combat she had boundless energy. She was getting to be quite a veteran. So was Meltzer.
Jeffrey read the display screens. The mini was making flank speed, all of twelve knots, on a course near due north. Their depth was one hundred thirty feet, in one hundred fifty feet of water. German frigates and patrol craft had them surrounded. The fuel gauge read five percent, and they were many miles from Sweden.
'That blast just now was an old design of torpedo,' Montgomery said, 'launched from a missile boat. Crappy software, made bottom capture, blew a hole in the mud.' More explosions sounded in the distance.
'Depth charges that time,' Jeffrey said.
'We're stealthy,' the chief said, 'but they're closing in.'
'Any mines nearby?'
'We're still in their submarine exercise area…. Of course, they could drop new mines.'
'Where are all their training subs?'
'Warned away, we think, Captain,' Meltzer said. 'To give the combat-ready surface force an open field.'
Jeffrey glanced at Ilse. She tried to smile back reassuringly — without success. 'Can't we blend in?' Jeffrey said. 'Pretend to be a training sub, like before?'
'What's that get us?' Montgomery said. 'A POW cage, and a gibbet for Salih and Ilse.'
'Torpedo in the water!' Meltzer said. 'Bearing zero seven zero!.. Constant bearing!
Sounds like an SUT unit, Captain, wire-guided, launched from that Class one-thirty corvette east of us.' A corvette was smaller than a frigate, but nimble and aggressive still.
'Range?' Jeffrey said.
'Seven thousand yards.'
'Torpedo attack speed?'
'Er, thirty-four knots.'
'Impact in six minutes,' Montgomery said, 'unless we keep running, and run down our peroxide.'
'Pilot,' Jeffrey said, 'go shallow, thirty-three feet. Maintain flank speed. Steer two five zero.' Away from that torpedo. 'Copilot, stand by to equalize the lock-out sphere. Ilse, gimme a hand.'
Jeffrey and Ilse went into the sphere. In a small locker was a case of three-inch chemical noisemakers. The mini took a steep up-bubble. The missile shifted, and Jeffrey almost broke an ankle. He and Ilse got the noisemakers out.
The mini leveled off. The air pressure in the sphere began to rise. Jeffrey and Ilse pinched their noses and blew. The pressure held at two atmospheres. The torpedo began to ping.
Jeffrey knelt and opened the bottom hatch. Water splashed from the mini's high speed. Jeffrey held out a
