He had ordered Henri to trim the ship light, keeping its internal tanks filled with minimal seawater so that its submergence would be gradual.
“Henri,” he said. “Submerge the ship.”
Seated in front of a control station on the starboard side, Henri flipped switches that opened the vents atop the main ballast tanks at both ends of the vessel. As water displaced air within the tanks, Jake watched the depth gauge tick downward. The increasing numbers on the depth gauge and the decreasing numbers on the fathometer told him that the Specter slipped below the still, brackish water beside its pier.
When the numbers settled, Jake realized the ship had reached the silted bottom.
“A little heavy, Henri?”
“Not bad, I should think, given how gently I submerged us and given that this class of submarine is designed for resting on the bottom. Nothing extending below the keel to be damaged.”
“Fair enough. Make us lighter and get us off the bottom.”
Minutes passed as Henri energized the drain pump to push water out of the ship. With a meter and a half of water underneath his ship, Jake was ready.
“All ahead one-third,” he said. “Make turns for three knots.”
Imperceptibly, the Specter crept forward, carrying Jake and his mercenary crew toward a destiny carved from nightmares.
CHAPTER 6
Commander Gutierrez leaned back in his chair and waved his hand in dismissal.
“Make sure to get rest, Commander Martinez,” he said in Spanish. “I need you to be ready to perform better than your abilities. You must outdo yourself.”
The younger submarine commander stopped at the door and appeared to stifle a retort.
“Good night, gentlemen.”
Martinez closed the wardroom’s door, leaving Gutierrez with the president of his nation.
“You are harsh with him,” President Gomez said.
“That he is our second best commanding officer is telling of the mediocrity of our submarine fleet.”
Gomez lowered his thick, dark eyebrows and blew smoke that rose into the overhead ventilation system.
“After you accomplish this mission, submarines will be seen as the sword of the fleet. The brightest men will seek to join your ranks.”
“We already are the sword of the fleet, even armed with only relics. That tells you how badly our navy is in decay.”
“I grant you that this submarine smells of stale dirt and oil embedded in its very atoms. But they are capable enough. You will win this campaign with the equipment at your disposal.”
“Only with the help of a mercenary ship. Even just one modern vessel would have allowed me to handle this without having to reach out to strangers for help.”
“Patience. After the recently discovered oil reserves around the Malvinas are under my control, I will have a combination of cash flows and borrowing powers to purchase a new navy.”
Anticipating the latest rendition of Gomez’s personalization of promised rewards, Gutierrez inhaled the soothing taste of his cigarette.
“Before you return home,” Gomez said, “you will be promoted to the rank of captain and placed in charge of our submarine fleet, which I personally guarantee will involve no less than four new, state-of-the art submarines. Perhaps six new submarines, depending on the price negotiations.”
Visions of controlling a navy with dominance rolled throughout Gutierrez’s head.
“What type of submarine?” he asked. “Which builder?”
“German, of course. Type Two-Fourteen. I will give you the keys to the kingdom, so to speak, and it will be to you to shape the fleet per your liking, with a very generous budget.”
“Will I have the pick of the nation’s finest to recruit to my submarine navy?”
“Of course. And after I force the admirals who opposed this campaign to retire, you will have flag rank within a year.”
Gutierrez had speculated that his role in the campaign against Britain would earn his way into the admiralty, but Gomez’s first overt promise raised his heart rate. He craved the power and drew from his cigarette to calm himself.
“I will do my part,” he said. “But I am concerned about those outside of my direct control. The Frenchman, his American puppet submarine commander, his treasonous tool on the British destroyer. Each man must prove himself dedicated and capable, and I have no reason for confidence in any of them.”
“The Frenchman has an impressive history of success. Those in his charge perform admirably.”
“Those in his charge are pampered with the best equipment, and he coddles them with choreographed scenarios. Halfwits could succeed under those circumstances. But will his men show creativity and judgment to my level of satisfaction when faced with adversity? I think not.”
“We’ve agreed upon a plan that will catch our adversaries by surprise and render them helpless. You have no reason to complain.”
“We’ll see if the Frenchman can deliver,” Gutierrez said.
A steward entered from the galley, served coffee in porcelain cups, and departed. He watched the president sip and lower his beverage to the table.
“What assurance do you give me that you will offer me these promotions and strengthen a fleet for me?”
“You think nothing of challenging me overtly. It’s fortunate that you are a better naval officer than politician.”
“I have little respect for politicians.”
The president stood, slid into his suit jacket, and opened the door. Gutierrez pushed back from his seat in a half-hearted attempt to see Gomez to the exit hatch.
“Don’t bother seeing me out, commander. My trust in you is based upon your ambition, not on your adherence to protocols of pleasantries. But since you asked, you needn’t worry about me favoring you as my preferred naval commander.”
“Why is that?”
“Because yours is the only ship, submarine or otherwise, that I’m visiting prior to the campaign. As you may not understand the subtleties of political positioning, this means I would appear contradictory if I were to promote anyone higher or faster than you. My visit aboard the San Juan this evening means that your future is secured.”
The president left Gutierrez alone with his thoughts, which his aspirations ruled. Promotions to captain and then the admiral ranks, and then leading the strongest submarine fleet in the nation’s history felt like an interim step. He believed that he deserved control of the entire fleet, including the nation’s air, surface, and maritime naval forces.
When he drained his cigarette to the butt, he dabbed it into an ashtray and reached for the temporary land line phone on the counter beside him. He had bid his wife and children farewell earlier in the day, stating he was restricting himself and his crew to the ship for the night to be ready for an early morning deployment. So he dialed the number for his mistress.
Her young, seductive voice aroused him.
“I’m lonely and waiting for my brilliant naval officer.”
He thought it masculine to keep her in check.
“I will be there when I am ready,” he said. “Show me patience, or I will find a mistress with better self-control.”
Uncaring if she intended to voice a response, he returned the receiver to its cradle.
He departed the San Juan and drove to the hotel where his mistress awaited. When he had finished having his way with her, he returned to his ship, slept half the night, and awoke to get underway in a standard egress maneuvering operation.
The next evening, he recalled the touch and scent of his lover, and he wanted more. After his pending mission, he looked forward to exercising his right of enjoying as many mistresses as his appetite would allow.