Quijana remembered the groaning of the metal on the various Volgan and Yamatan submarines on which he'd done a portion of his training. Damned good thing for us the plastic doesn't make anything like that much noise.
Even so, Quijana looked forward to where one of the crew had strung a piece of string across the control room at waist height. That string was almost touching the deck now. He thought, then, about the ocean pressing in from all sides. He remembered, too, the terrible moments after he'd been booted off the old Trinidad, just before it plunged into the side of the Salafi suicide ship in the straits of Nicobar. He could still feel the massive blow transmitted first through the water and quickly followed by the shock wave that came through the air.
Just so you know, God, I really don't want to die. If I ever said I wish I'd gone in with Trinidad, I didn't mean it. I'm scared and I could use Your help, by the way.
Yermo said, "Fish two seems to have lost us, skipper. It's started a spiraling search again."
"Keep close track, sonar," Quijana ordered. "I want to pop back up above the layer just as two drops below."
"Skipper?" Weapons asked.
"Yes?"
"I can try to take two out with another torpedo."
Forcing down his fear, trying to think clearly, Quijana considered it, deciding, "No, not yet. If it's lost us for now, a launch will let it know where we are. And two's only the most dangerous enemy out there." Again, he gestured at the screen. "There are at least four more."
D 466 Portzmoguer, Gallic Navy, Shimmering Sea, Terra Nova
"Ops," said Captain Casabianca, "review for me what we know and don't know about these subs. There's something I'm missing and it could be important."
Lieutenant of the Line Mortain thought for a moment, summing up his knowledge of the Meg Class before saying, "About thirty-six to forty meters long, captain. Teardrop shaped, X-form tail. Jet propulsors. Fuel cell powered. Crew of seventeen or eighteen, we think. We know now that it's armed, well armed. Dual hulled, with a thinner hydrodynamic hull over a much thicker pressure hull. We think—"
"Stop there for a minute," the captain said. "Sonar, the torpedoes launched by Diamant used active sonar. Why couldn't they see the sub."
The frigate's sonar man, a warrant officer, or "major," in the system of the Gallic Navy, rubbed his face for a moment and said, "We know the hull's plastic, captain. Maybe it's some new plastic, or an old one with better than normal anechoic tiles."
Casabianca looked a question at Mortain. "No tiles, sir," the latter answered. "Not unless they're putting them on at sea and that—"
"Right. Unlikely." The captain turned his attention back to sonar. "Keep thinking," he said.
The sonar major rubbed at his face for a few moments, then shook his head and whispered, "No, that's a silly thought."
"Tell me this silly thought, major," the captain said.
"Well, sir . . . I read once that it would be possible to build an outer hull that was facetted, like some of those airplanes the Federated States uses. I read that this could cut return sonar down by a factor of one thousand."
"No good, major," Mortain objected. "The same way we know there are no anechoic tiles we know there's no facetted fairing."
"Yes, sir," the major agreed. "But what if that outer hull is really transparent to sonar, and the facets, or something like them, are between the inner and the outer. Maybe they're what hold the two together."
"Tres elegant," Mortain said, almost grudgingly. "And it would account for their invisibility to sonar, from some angles, at least."
"Okay, then, I'll buy that as a possibility," the captain said. "Keep going, Mortain. What else do we know?"
"Sir. We know they have an amazingly quiet method of pumping ballast. I can't imagine what it is."
"Yesss . . . yes," Casabianca agreed. "And that is how they're gliding, correct?"
"I think so, sir," Mortain answered.
"How's your math, lieutenant?" the captain asked.
Mortain looked both puzzled and somewhat pleased. "Very good, sir. I took prizes in school."
"Excellent," the captain said, rubbing his hands together. "Now take the dimensions of the sub as we know them, and the shape. Plot back to and from known positions. Then figure out for me how big those dive planes are for it to be gliding as much as we know it is. From that, tell me how thick they are."
"Sir?"
"Because if they're big enough, Mortain, I think we might get a sonar return if we were positioned just right . . . or if somebody was. I just might risk an active ping from up here, from all of us if I can talk the admiral into it, to get a lock and fire."
SdL Megalodon, Shimmering Sea
Meg still tracked Charlemagne, which tracking was pulling them further and further from Orca's lonely ordeal. Fortunately, the carrier was both slow moving and zigzagging. On the screen, and barring only the carrier and some of the torpedoes that were still hunting and which, therefore, still had fresh tracks, the other icons had taken on a faded aspect, indicating the lesser degree of certainty as to their locations and other aspects.
Chu shook his head and said, "Okay, enough is enough. We've proved we can get at the best the Taurans have to offer and track them at will without them having a clue. That mission's over. Helm?"
"Aye, skipper."
"Bring us around one eighty, drop below the layer, and head for the last known position for Orca. Make your speed six knots. Maybe we can get there in time to make a difference."
Chu's exec leaned over and whispered to him, "If they do take out Orca, it might be nice to toast that carrier in revenge."
"It's tempting, I agree," Chu answered. "Sadly, it's not our mission. No, that's not strong enough. It would be a violation of our mission."
Chu's exec scowled.
"I couldn't agree more," said the captain. "Even so, we can't do it."
"We're not supposed to do it. Remember what they say about forgiveness and permission."
SdL Orca, Shimmering Sea
Whether the torpedoes were out of juice or had simply gone inactive as a power saving measure until their passive sensors picked up something interesting, neither Quijana nor Yermo knew. They did know that there were currently no torpedoes in the area actively moving or tracking. Even torpedo two, which had never reacquired the sub, was so far down they considered it more likely than not it was lost.
On the screen, both surface ships and torpedoes had faded almost out of view. Even the sonobuoys dropped by helicopter and fixed wing craft had gone silent and began to fade. Given the ocean currents and the surface winds, Quijana wouldn't have bet a bottle of not very good beer as to where any of them were now.
"You know, skipper," Garcia suggested, in a confidential whisper, "we could shut off the clicker and just move off."
"Against orders," Quijana said.
"Maybe not. We proved to them we could be found if we use our engines. They've probably figured out we're using buoyancy differential to glide. We sail off. They sit up there for a week or two and, when they never get our signal, assume we glided away."
Quijana chewed his lower lip uncertainly. "I've got to admit; it's tempting."
"Four knots, skipper, and we're out of their search area in an hour and a quarter. We can always re-establish our presence by clicking once we get to where we met up with Meg, or—better—where Chu shut his clicker off."