Jeffrey suspected the mines within the safety-corridor-of-the-day were switched off by acoustic remote control, to protect Axis submarines from faulty fuzing. If so, they'd be reactivated later, when the safety corridor changed — too bad there was no survivable way to check out Jeffrey's theory.
Jeffrey saw that the lane plotted on the nav chart took a bend to port.
"Helm," Wilson said, "left standard rudder. Make your course one four three."
"Left standard rudder, aye," Meltzer said. "Make my course one four three, aye." Wilson turned to Jeffrey. "It's clever how they arrange it, XO. Inbound traffic comes down from the north, drifting with the current. Outbound vessels sneak off south, also using the flow"
"That's just what I'd do, Captain," Jeffrey said. "It lets the diesels save their batteries and helps their SSNs to make less noise. With the tighter vertical contours down the coast, it gives 'em a free ride out to the thousand-fathom curve."
"Take a look at this, XO," Wilson said. "Radio room just decoded it." Jeffrey took the message slip. The news was four days old.
SAS VOORTREKKER SIGHTED 67 SOUTH 09 EAST X DAMAGED BY Q-SHIP
THEN SUNK BY MULTIPLE NUCLEAR DEPTH BOMBS X PASS GOOD NEWS
TO ALL YOUR PEOPLE X VOOR IDENT AS SSN HIT USS RANGER X MAY
RANGERS CREW NOW RIP AVENGED X CNO SENDS XX
"Well, that's a relief, sir," Jeffrey said. "Maybe the tide's starting to turn our way now" He went back to his screens.
Jeffrey noted that the exact layout of the safety route got vague ahead, as Challenger drew ever farther from the hummock where she'd waited for the minisub and deployed the probes. This was because the distance covered since retrieving the ASDS was starting to rival the effective range of the LMRS autonomous-mode acoustic links, especially in these noisy current-strewn and halocline-ridden waters.
"Sir," Jeffrey said, "recommend we deploy an LMRS again on a wire. We can send it on in front to scout our track while we keep moving. Have it scan the bottom for us, and use it to help triangulate the enemy patrol craft and helos. We ought to be clear of the coastal defenses before its battery runs down."
"I concur," Wilson said. "We'll get much better clues on where the safety corridor is or isn't. Chief of the Watch, deploy an LMRS with a fiber-optic wire. Make its course one four three true, run it out to five thousand yards ahead of Challenger. Then maintain that range to own ship and maintain the zero zero zero relative bearing when you can."
"Aye aye, sir," COB replied.
Jeffrey used a window on one of his screens to study the data from the probe. Visibility was poor, the water turbidity high from bottom muck still settling after the A-bomb shock and the heavy silting by rainstorm runoff all along the KwaZulu/Natal coast.
"COB," Jeffrey said, "get a close-up of that mine." Jeffrey looked at the UHF mine classification sonar image. "Captain," Jeffrey said, "this is interesting. This one's a regular bottom influence device, not a CAPTOR. Must be the Boers are worried a torpedo cutting loose so close to base might run erratic and home on the wrong side's vessel."
"You're probably right, XO."
Jeffrey told COB to check a few more mines along their course. None of them were CAPTORs either.
"Sir," Jeffrey said, "we're coming to another bend in the corridor. It turns to starboard here, to avoid the old ammunition dumping ground, and at this point it must lead right into the bluff. Recommend we push the LMRS further away from us, to explore the outbound safety track in detail. This near to Durban I suspect the whole area's forbidden to ASW."
"That's risky, Fire Control."
"Captain, it'll give us a clearer view of what lies ahead, increase our options in case we have an equipment casualty or something. It'll also widen our base line for triangulation, since we lost our thin-line towed array and the older fat line's less useful in the littorals."
"Very well, XO. I concur." Wilson gave COB the orders, then had Meltzer turn the boat to starboard on course two four zero.
"Captain," Jeffrey said a little later, "I'm wondering if while we're here we shouldn't drop some mines of our own. Who knows what we might sink."
"XO," Wilson said, "that is too risky. We'd make mechanical transients loading and sending them out, plus their own propulsion noise might be picked up, and launching them creates dead-certain proof that we were here."
"Understood, Captain," Jeffrey said. He almost blushed. The exhilaration of sneaking in this close to the heart of darkness was making him impetuous. I better cut that out, he told himself.
Commodore Morse came into the CACC. "I spent some time with the SEALs," Morse said. "Sounds like you all did a terrific job."
"Thank you, sir," Jeffrey said.
"You too, Ilse," Morse said.
Ilse turned and smiled. "Think there'll be women commandos someday, Commodore?"
"Maybe there are now," Morse said, "and they aren't telling." He winked. Morse turned back to Jeffrey. "If I were you, I'd help Clayton write up the SEAL chief for a Medal of Honor. As a lieutenant commander and not part of his unit, your word as witness would add a lot of clout."
"That's a great idea," Jeffrey said.
"If I may," Morse said, "let me offer another suggestion." Jeffrey noticed Captain Wilson didn't mind the input — the two senior men had gotten close since leaving Diego Garcia. "Go ahead, sir," Jeffrey said.
"One thing we learned in the Falklands," Morse said, "from all our surface ship losses, is the absolutely crucial importance of aggressive damage control. The SEALs are busy cleaning their gear and drafting their after-action reports, but that's mostly make-work."
"That's sort of true, sir," Jeffrey said. "It doesn't take that long to clean a rifle and rinse a regulator valve."
Morse nodded. "I think you ought to add them to your repair party roster. Good upperbody strength, terrific endurance, mental calm under pressure, and let's say they're very used to working in the face of death hip-deep or more in freezing seawater with salt spray in their eyes."
Jeffrey turned to Wilson. "Captain?"
"XO, manning questions are your call."
"I agree, then," Jeffrey said. "Thanks, Commodore … Messenger of the Watch, once we secure from full ultraquiet, report to the engineer. Ask him to assign Clayton and his people to a damage control party somewhere forward."
"Assign the SEALs to damage control, aye, sir," the messenger said. He jotted in his notebook.
Jeffrey got up to stretch. His left leg was starting to ache terribly.
"Problem, XO?" Wilson said.
"Just my old wound, Captain. Overexertion, probably, or delayed reaction to the stress."
"How you feeling otherwise?"
"Tip-top, sir," Jeffrey said. Surprisingly that was true — the miracle of adrenaline.
"Phone Talker," Wilson said, "call the corpsman to the CACC."
"Sir, that's really not necessary," Jeffrey said.
"XO, here on Hans's doorstep I need you at a hundred ten percent. Let the corpsman give you an aspirin."
As Jeffrey walked around, his leg suddenly buckled. Morse caught him and helped him to sit down. The corpsman came. He started checking Jeffrey very carefully, testing his reflexes and listening to his chest.
"Will I live, Chief?" Jeffrey said.
"Sir," the corpsman said, "you may be having decompression sickness."
"That's ridiculous," Jeffrey said. "We followed procedure exactly."