Tidal Rip (32 page)

But the past few days of draining quiet had meant high stress for everyone. It felt worse than sitting on thumbtacks, to wait for news that the U-boats were finally moving in. Ilse could observe the gradual progress of the convoy ships on the war room’s main displays, and she could follow the maneuvers by the escorts. She saw plots of each suspected contact with an enemy submarine, but then not one contact proved real. Instead, she read on tally boards—or overheard conversations—as the terrible wear and tear at sea took a mounting toll on ships and aircraft and people.

Then, out of nowhere, as Ilse finished her second coffee of the morning, pandemonium struck. Communications contact had just been established with the SEALs on those tiny islets amid the Atlantic Narrows, a third of the distance to the other side of the world. Almost at once, news came of a definite Orpheus contact on the
von Scheer,
and then kampfschwimmer attacked, and the satellite link to the Rocks went totally dead.

Admiral Hodgkiss walked over to Ilse. She found the man to be unfriendly and intimidating at best. The last few days, he’d become increasingly short with people—even his own staff approached him with trepidation.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Reebeck.”

Ilse began to rise to attention. She’d come far enough along the path from civilian consultant to uniformed personnel to follow military courtesy by instinct—most of the time. She was also smart enough to know that it was rare for any four-star to address someone of her junior status directly.

“Don’t get up,” Hodgkiss said. He stood next to her and looked at the big status plot on the wall. The last known position of the
von Scheer
had just popped onto the screen. “I guessed half right,” he said, as much to himself as to Ilse. “And in this game there’s no partial credit.”

“Sir?”

“I did get
Challenger
in range of the
von Scheer
after all. I miscalculated badly where the Axis would mass all their U-boats.”

Hodgkiss turned to his senior aide, a full captain, on the other side of the room. He barked for the man to come over. Ilse felt like a fly on the wall as they talked. The captain’s face was grim.

“To recover we need to take a monumental gamble,” Hodgkiss said.

“Admiral?”

“The U-boats are all waiting south,” Hodgkiss told the captain. “The sons of bitches let us chase our tails this whole past week. It wasn’t a running battle of attrition after all. It’s going to be a mass attack where we’ll least be able to cope.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want the convoy ships to stop and circle right where they are, with just enough speed for steerageway. I want the escort formations to redeploy.”

“Sir?”

“The warships go through the Narrows in a solid wall, not piecemeal. When we’re ready, the convoy groups start moving again. The escorts sweep ahead while giving full mutual support. I want three carrier battle groups to then peel off and form a new line to cover the North African coast, priority given to Axis mobile antiship cruise-missile launchers. The carrier fighter-bomber squadrons and cruiser Tomahawk batteries find those land-based launchers and pound the living shit out of ’em. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir. But all this will delay the relief convoy.”

“I know, maybe by several days.”

“The Axis ground assault in Africa might hit before the convoy reaches the coast to unload.”

“I know. If we lose the coast we probably lose everything. But unless we wait and do this right, the convoy doesn’t reach the coast at all.”

“Understood, Admiral. But I need to report that enemy jamming is increasing.”

“Then start drafting orders
now!
Get them out while we can! Get on it!”

Hodgkiss’s aide hurried off.

“And set up a conference call for me with someone on top in the air force!”
the admiral yelled after him.

“Yes, sir!”

“Now, Lieutenant Reebeck.”

Ilse almost gulped. She knew the upcoming battle would be one for the history books.
The Battle of the South Atlantic.
And now the man whose name would be forever attached to that battle was talking to
her.

“Admiral?”

“We need to give
Challenger
as much support as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we’ve just lost the only stealthy way
Challenger
had to talk to us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we dare not ask her to violate radio silence herself with the
von Scheer
so close.”

“Understood, Admiral.” Ilse knew they could use extremely low frequency radio to send an order to
Challenger
to come up to two-way antenna depth—or they might drop a signal sonobuoy from an aircraft.

“So tell me what to do.”

“Admiral?” Ilse was shocked he’d ask such a question. Then she realized he was testing her. “You mean, sir, tell you what Jeffrey Fuller would do.”

“Good, you got it in one.”

“I think Commodore Wilson would be a better person to ask, sir.”

“I already did. I want to hear what
you
have to say.”

Hodgkiss stepped closer, invading Ilse’s personal space. She knew that if she stood she’d be several inches taller than he, but that didn’t make the man any less of a potent authority figure.

Ilse thought hard. She glanced up and down, between the big status plot on the wall and the small-scale nautical chart on her workstation screen, which showed the Rocks and that local part of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, with an overlay of the surface water temperature and salinity.

“He’ll go right for the
von Scheer
. He’ll do everything he can to keep her from launching her missiles.”

“How?”

“I think he enjoys risking death, sir. He’ll push himself right to the edge.”

“I told him he was expendable in a one-for-one trade with
von Scheer
.”

“He’ll definitely use that. He’ll act suicidal on purpose, to bend the enemy captain’s mind.” Ilse felt acid stomach hit as the full implications sank in.
Expendable.

“How does that apply right now?” Hodgkiss prodded.

“The
von Scheer
needs to go shallow to launch her antiship missiles?”

“Yes. The missiles aren’t very pressure-proof. We don’t think she can do it from below one hundred fifty feet.”

Ilse glanced at her console; satellite radar and microwave sensors told her a surprising amount about the upper part of the ocean. Self-propelled oceanographic probes, programmed to skim the surface periodically and transmit data dumps, told her even more—though reception from them was deteriorating. “One hundred fifty feet’s above the sonar layer near the Rocks.”

“Are you telling me Captain Fuller would take
Challenger
above the layer now that he’s made Orpheus contact?”

“I think he might.”

“He wouldn’t hide in the bottom terrain?”

“Not if hiding won’t help him to sink the
von Scheer
. Captain Fuller is extremely aggressive, sir. He’s also very inventive on tactics. Going shallow, he might make the
von Scheer
think he’s a steel-hulled sub, and lull the
von Scheer
by disguising his true capabilities. And going shallow gives his sonar arrays a much better field of view…. He might evenuse active sonar and reveal himself if that lets him draw a good bead on his target.”

“Invite incoming fire on purpose?”

“That could be part of it, yes.”

“Kampfschwimmer on the Rocks. The one thing I didn’t plan for. Now we’re deaf and blind at the absolutely worst imaginable time.” Hodgkiss sounded disgusted. “If
von Scheer
gets away from
Challenger,
or sinks her, we’re back to square one and the entire convoy’s at very grave risk. Especially with my altered escort dispositions. They’d make an even better group target for
von Scheer
than before.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Would he abandon the SEALs on the Rocks, or try to help them?”

“If his priority is the
von Scheer,
he’ll know that the SEALs are expendable…. I’ve seen him order people to their deaths before. He won’t like it one bit, but he’ll do it.”

Admiral Hodgkiss looked Ilse right in the eyes. “How sure are you of any of this?” He kept looking right at her without blinking.

Ilse returned the stare as bravely as she could. Admiral Hodgkiss had such a strong persona he could be frightening. “I’m as sure as I can be, sir.”

“I read all of Captain Fuller’s patrol reports. It may please you to know that I concur with your assessment of him, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

The admiral looked up at the main screen. He seemed to make a decision, then spoke half to himself. “I’m taking one huge gamble. I may as well take two.”

Hodgkiss turned and shouted for his aide again.

CHAPTER 22

F
elix fired another short burst from his MP-5, then ducked behind the scattered man-made stones of the ruined lighthouse. He was sweating profusely inside his hot protective suit. He’d already used up the built-in drinking bottle, and he knew he was in danger of becoming dehydrated. If that or a German bullet didn’t get him, heatstroke soon would.

Then his team of reinforcements from the minisub came out of the water on Northwest Rock. Felix and the headquarters chief hand-signaled to their men along the spines of Southeast Rock; the men increased their rate of fire. The SEALs on Northwest Rock took up positions and started to shoot. The kampfschwimmer were forced to withdraw back toward the water.

Felix ordered his men to charge. While the other team made the kampfschwimmer scatter and keep their heads down, he and the surviving SEALs began to dash down the slope, using fire and movement to protect one another.

Then he and his men took enemy fire from behind. Felix realized the kampfschwimmer had sent reinforcements too. They were trying to do to him exactly what he was doing to them: catch him in enfilade—kill him using fire from two directions at once.

Felix and his men had no choice but to take cover and shoot back the way they’d just come. The kampfschwimmer who’d been withdrawing saw this and got emboldened. They waded across to Northeast Rock, shooting at the SEALs on Northwest Rock, Felix’s reinforcement team. The seesaw struggle of evenly matched Allied and Axis elites grew brutal and vicious.

Hot lead continued to fly, and ricochets continued screeching. Silenced muzzles smoked and spent brass flew. The supply of full magazines steadily dwindled. Felix sweated and panted; his mouth was terribly dry. The stale taste from his Draeger told him he was hyperventilating—breathing faster than the chemicals in the rebreather could absorb his carbon dioxide and give him fresh new air.

Felix fired in one direction and then the other. Clumps of men advanced a handful of yards, then were driven back.

Then Felix had a horrible realization. He hyperventilated harder.
We had the proper tactics but we picked the wrong location.

“Chief!” he shouted to get the man’s attention.

“Sir!”

“The high ground!
This
spot isn’t the high ground!”

The chief shook his head, then ducked as a well-aimed bullet almost took him in the face. “I don’t follow you, LT.”

“
Challenger
and
von Scheer
. They’ll use nuclear torpedoes.” Felix pointed out at the ocean.

The chief’s eyes widened; his face grew pale.

“The waves they kick up will wash right over the Rocks!” Felix had to pause to draw a breath. “When the fireballs break the surface, the heat and shock front and gamma rays, they’ll cook us alive!”

“Retreat to the minisub?”

“We can’t! Orders! We can’t abandon the Rocks!” Felix drew another breath. “If we go in the water at all, the undersea warhead concussion power will force our livers out our assholes and make shit spray from our mouths!”

“What do we do?”

Felix looked north. It had been there the entire time, staring him in the face, and he hadn’t been thinking.

That was the whole point. This
wasn’t
Iwo Jima. It wasn’t anything
like
Iwo Jima.

“The cargo-ship hulk! That’s the real high ground, Chief! From there we control the Rocks by fire! It’s the only place we stand a chance to survive the nuclear blasts!”

The chief set his jaw with new determination.

Felix clapped him on the shoulder. “We have to occupy the cargo-ship hulk!”

Felix ducked as more bullets poured in. He was forced to shift his position. In their black suits, everyone looked the same, but Felix had too visibly been acting like an officer.

So much for the joys of command.

The incoming fire died off suddenly.

Felix suspected a trap. He peeked from around a rough, charred boulder and caught fleeting glimpses of movement on Northeast Rock, black against the black there. The kampfschwimmer were pulling away from him and heading north.

“The Germans are going for the hulk!
If they get there before us we’ve had it!
”

Jeffrey gripped a microphone as he stared at the gravimeter readouts.
We have our quarry localized. Now we need to track and target Beck.

Using one mode, the gravimeter gave Jeffrey a perfect picture of the seafloor terrain around the Rocks, like a 3-D bird’s-eye view—as if the water weren’t there—with
Challenger
’s position plotted as she moved along at top quiet speed. In a different mode, the imagery was like looking out the front windshield of a car—but with eerie clairvoyance, because the gradiometers could sense through solid rock. Right now Jeffrey had both modes on his command workstation screens to help him think and visualize tactics.

“Minisub, minisub,” Jeffrey called through the mike, “any more contact with Lieutenant Estabo?”

“Negative, negative,” the submariner chief in the mini responded. “Kampfschwimmer came at them from behind. I think the Germans cut the hydrophone wire by the Rocks. We have no commo signal, sir, not even acoustic carrier tone.”