"The next layer out," Clayton said, "a coating of boron. That's to stop stray neutrons on the atomic battlefield, prevent a fizzle from predetonation."
"Okay," Jeffrey said, "which is one problem you don't have underwater. H2O blocks neutrons." Jeffrey eyed the sonogram. "Now comes the firing system, outside the boron."
"Yup … Again, ultrasophisticated. The inner portion's a fast-detonating high explosive, surrounded by slower-detonating hollow cones, with foil slappers at the apex of each cone, wired to the krytrons."
"The krytrons are what give perfect simultaneous ignition at all the apexes," Jeffrey said.
"Correct. The firing current vaporizes the metal foil, like when a house fuse blows. Each slapper functions as a tiny rifle."
"The explosion wave moves down the cones," Jeffrey said, "the wave fronts turn convex, and you have a broad base of ignition for the secondary charge."
"You got it, Commander," Clayton said. "That gives you a nice implosion wave … This baby should yield four kilotons."
"That'll do the job quite well," Jeffrey said. It occurred to him it would also really do the job on an Allied amphibious ready group and its thousands of marines. Ilse came over and looked at the bomb. She had blood on her gloves.
"The whole thing sounds too elegant," Jeffrey said.
"It is," Clayton said. "This is how our own new A-bombs work. From what we can tell here the Axis isn't lagging any. And remember, a fission weapon can yield up to a megaton, using multiple critical masses."
"You're kidding," Ilse said.
"Our boomer fleet's own H-bombs only yield some three hundred kilotons," Jeffrey said.
"Okay, folks," Clayton said, "intel briefing's over. Time to cut the wires into the krytrons."
"How many krytrons are there?" Ilse said. "Ninety-two." SEAL Two glanced up from tending his mortally wounded comrade. "Commander, hand me another plasma pack. This one's empty and we need to get his BP higher." Jeffrey fiddled in his bag and pulled out the blood extender.
He handed it to Two, then crouched next to SEAL One. "How you feeling?" Jeffrey said. SEAL One took the oxygen mask from his face. "Hurts like hell at the base of my spine, can't feel a damn thing lower down." He was pale and sweaty.
"You still cold? Want another jacket?"
"No. Thanks. This gillie suit's good for treating shock … But it's awful stuffy in here, and I'm choking from the stink."
Jeffrey turned up the bunker's ventilation.
"And get this bald asshole away from me," SEAL One said. "Sleeping Beauty here." He made a face at Otto, still out cold. Jeffrey dragged the prisoner to the far corner, none too gently, and left him by the two dead Boer soldiers. Otto started snoring. Jeffrey went back to SEAL One, then made eye contact with Two, saying quietly, "You're sure there's no way we can take One back with us?"
Two shook his head. "Moving him's out of the question. The dolphin ride would flex his pelvis constantly. You saw the fluoroscope: he's got secondary projectiles all through his lower GI tract. He'd bleed out in no time."
"What if we just towed his SDV?" Jeffrey said.
"We still have four klicks on foot through the rough to get back to the river … if we don't hit more patrols and helos."
"Then how about this?" Jeffrey said. "New egress plan." Clayton turned to listen, a wiring crimper and dental mirror in his hands. "We change to Boer uniforms and use that truck out front," Jeffrey said. "We go right down the main drag through Umhlanga Rocks like we own the place. We ditch the truck inside the nature reserve." SEAL Two shook his head again. "The surf and wave action would be fatal, not to mention going on a Draeger in his condition. Commander, the underwater pressure would send blood clots to his lungs, his heart, his brain … "
"Leaving the truck in the reserve would give them a clue," Clayton said. "And if we were stopped along the way, it would all be over."
"They'll have roadblocks," Ilse said. "And they invented paranoia."
"You're right," Jeffrey said. "It's not about any of us escaping safely. The key is the enemy can't know we were ever here, so they'll believe this thing was internal sabotage."
"Guys," One said. "Cut it out. I'm dying, okay? I can deal with that. It comes with the job sometimes."
"We never leave a man behind," Jeffrey said. "Never."
"It'll be a cremation," SEAL One said. "Yeah, a cremation in place, a nuclear cremation."
Jeffrey looked at One, so young to die and yet so chipper. Tears came to Jeffrey's eyes. This static phase of the mission was turning into one big mood crash for him, hiding out and working on the bomb. Ilse seemed to use her rage, barely slaked, to deal with it. That, and the immediacy of helping treat SEAL One, seemed to keep her from the depression Jeffrey felt come on.
"I can do something useful," One said. "I can guard the bomb after you leave."
"That's true," Jeffrey said. He took One's hand. "It could make the difference … Hey, Shaj, can you rig up some kind of switch? You know, to set off the bomb right away, in case of enemy interference?"
"Not a problem," Clayton said.
"How much time you figure I got left?" One asked Two.
"You'll be alert for long enough."
"Just try not to sneeze or something," Jeffrey said, "and hit the switch by accident before we're out of range."
One laughed, despite the pain. "Bring the chief's body in here. He deserves decent burial too, and I don't want to die alone."
"Six, Nine," Ilse heard in her helmet. She knew SEAL Nine was the downhill perimeter security guard. "Nine, g'head," Clayton said.
"Trouble, boss. We got company."
"What is it?" Clayton said. Ilse reached for the butt of her pistol. The weapon was cooler than before. "A runner," SEAL Nine said, "some kind of messenger. Must have been sent up 'cause they lost contact in the village."
"Nine, Four," Jeffrey said, "does he have a radio?"
"Affirmative. I can hear it. He's turned it up to monitor the traffic."
Clayton turned to Jeffrey. "We better take him out."
"Let's hope he isn't wearing a life signs monitor alarm," Jeffrey said.
"Yeah," Clayton said. "None of the other soldiers were."
"Nine, Four," Jeffrey said, "take out the runner."
"Four, Nine, understood." There was silence on the circuit, then Ilse heard Nine say "Shit." There was heavy breathing on her headphones, grunting in two different voices, and the sounds of snapping branches.
"Crap," Jeffrey said. He took off out of the bunker with his fighting dagger in his hand and a frightening expression on his face — eagerness.
As Jeffrey topped the steps, Ilse heard a meaty thud over the radio, more grunting, then a gurgling moan. "Nine, Six," Clayton hissed. "Nine, Six, come in." No response.
"Nine, Six. Nine, Six."
Then Ilse heard a shuffling sound on the radio, more thuds and thumps and grunting, a tearing noise, then a drawn-out exhalation that ended in a rattling sigh.
"Four, Six," Clayton called. "Four, Six." Nothing. Ilse sat up anxiously.
"Six, Four," Jeffrey called. Jeffrey sounded winded. Ilse relaxed a little — he was okay.
"Four, Six, g'head," Clayton said.
"Six, Four, runner's been neutralized."
"What about Nine?" Clayton said.
"Nine bought it," Ilse heard Jeffrey say. "The runner slit his throat before I could get to him."
"Did the runner get off a warning?" Clayton said.
"No," Jeffrey said. "We'd have heard it through Nine's open mike."
"We need a plan," Clayton said.
"I'm bringing the runner's radio and paybook," Jeffrey said.
"Eight," Clayton said. "Help Commander Fuller bring in Nine's body and hide the runner, then you take downhill guard."