Ilse floated helplessly. She had no diver data, no gertrude or sonar, and no propulsion or depth control. She knew that sensing up and down underwater in the dark was always hard. It wouldn't work to blow bubbles and follow them to the surface, the standard trick, wrapped up as she was within the dolphin. Besides, right now the surface was the last place she would ever want to be.
The pressure in Ilse's ears told her she was slowly rising, confirmed by her backup wrist-mounted mechanical pressure gauge. She thought she saw a slight glow through her eyeholes. If so, the SDV was upside down. She tried her hand controls again, but nothing happened. She tried to move her legs, to propel the vehicle the hard way, but it was useless.
"Any unit, Four, come in," she called into her mouthpiece mike. There was no answer. She double-checked that the fiber-optic link between her mask and the dolphin's electronics was firmly in the jack. The mask remained completely dark.
"Any unit, Four … Any unit, Four." Nothing. "Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Four." Still nothing.
Jeffrey's tumbling dolphin went into a corkscrewing gyration, then he felt a bump. His sonar told him he was on the bottom, depth ninety-seven feet. He brought his SDV back up to ninety and strobed his secure acoustic IFF, Identification-Friend-or-Foe. Only eight other units responded — Ilse had dropped off the screen.
Jeffrey pulsed on active sonar. Now there were ten contacts. One of the two new ones was moving and one was not. The one that moved was big, too big, much bigger than the SDVs. It also moved too fast.
"All units," Jeffrey heard Clayton call, "sound off for a status check."
"Two," the SEAL team corpsman said.
Then there was a pause.
"Five, this is Four," Jeffrey called. No response. "Ilse, come in, please." Eventually Clayton said, "Six."
"Six, Four," Jeffrey said, "I think Ilse's damaged."
"Acknowledged," Clayton said. "All numbers keep sounding off."
There was another lengthy silence.
"Seven, this is Six," Clayton called. "Eight, this is Six, come in." Neither answered.
"Six, Four," Jeffrey said, "I have them both on IFF, immobile on the bottom."
"I see them," Clayton said. "Their slaved units are in shutdown mode. They must have all had system failures."
Jeffrey pulsed on active again. Ilse's SDV was barely moving, and the tenth contact was converging on her. The bogey weaved erratically beneath the surface.
"Six, Four, Ilse's in trouble. I think it's a shark. My sonar's holding her at shallow depth. I'm moving in."
Jeffrey's acoustic intercept showed Clayton pulse on active too. "I'll be your wingman," Clayton said.
"Negative," Jeffrey ordered. "Otto's priceless. You and Two guard him and the cripples. Form a defensive mulberry on the bottom, a spinning circle, with the units you control."
"Acknowledged," Clayton said.
"Activate your SharkPODs," Jeffrey said. He powered up his own, then saw the irony — the protective oceanic devices were invented by the Natal Sharks Board.
"I do not concur," Clayton said. "SharkPODs put electric fields into the seawater. Moving through a conductive medium creates a magnetic anomaly."
"Shaj," Jeffrey said, "we just set off an A-bomb up there. The last thing we need to worry about is our MAD signature."
After hesitating Clayton said, "Concur." Then he added, "Good luck, sir." Jeffrey aimed toward Ilse and the shark.
Ilse felt a sudden turbulence, as if something had rushed right past her through the water. Then it returned and there was a sharp thwack against her legs. She was nearer to the surface now. Above her was burning fuel. She caught a glimpse of her assailant in silhouette. Ilse's blood ran cold. It was the largest great white she had ever seen, almost eight meters long. It had to weigh two metric tons, ten times her weight and her SDV combined.
She caught another glimpse. It was coming back.
Jeffrey drove his SDV between Ilse and the shark, hoping to repel it with his electric field. It had no visible effect. He switched the SharkPOD off and on again, then checked the status readout. It was functional, but the shark was too maddened by the A-bomb blast to notice or to care.
Through an eyehole Jeffrey saw the shark bite off one of Ilse's bowplane flippers, then spit it out.
Ilse felt a tug and heard a snap. It thinks I'm a dead dolphin, she realized. It's begun to feed. It won't be satisfied with just a fin or fluke. Its teeth are sharp enough to get through Kevlar.
Jeffrey told himself to think like Ilse would, think like a dolphin and a shark. From some long-forgotten nature show his brain screamed that bottlenoses sometimes fought great whites and drove them off, to protect their young, for example. How, dammit? They rammed them with their snouts.
Jeffrey turned as tightly as he could, built up momentum, and aimed for the shark. It easily avoided him, then returned to its main meal.
Jeffrey tried again while the shark was distracted, and butted it violently in the side. The shark turned and lashed at him. Through the murky light provided by the flaming avgas Jeffrey saw its mouth gape open. He twisted sideways just in time. He went for separation and altitude, going dangerously near the radioactive surface. He vented ballast and dived at the great white at top speed. He crashed into its midriff and then he fell away, badly stunned. The shark batted him with its tail and once again went for its prey, Ilse.
This isn't working, Jeffrey told himself. One good chomp and he'll crush her bones, rupture her internal organs, and wreck her Draeger. Then he'll taste her blood. There's only one thing left to do.
Jeffrey glanced at his depth gauge. Thirty or forty feet, fluctuating wildly with the surf. Too deep. He set his SDV to hover. He reached for his equipment bag. He unclipped the belly of the dolphin and bailed out.
He set the SDV to bottom and watched it sink. God knows what's drifting down around me, he told himself. Good thing I'm in a scuba, with mask and wet suit. At least the radioactive iodine and cesium will tend to float.
Jeffrey swam toward the surface with the equipment bag, close enough for the shark to notice. He flailed intentionally. Come on, you hungry bastard, come for me. The war's conditioned you that big explosions mean raw meat? That battles mean good eating, tasty human flesh? Then come and get it.