by Tom Kratman
Number three noted the greater sonar return from the pod's bubbles, the simulated engine noise, and the artificial magnetic and electronic signature. It noted them and ignored them. It already had a target and anything that seemed like a better one was likely to be false. Still pinging happily at finding its purpose in life, torpedo three closed the distance to the Orca.
Pingpingping. Oh, joy! Oh, happiness!
SdL Orca, Shimmering Sea
"Three's ignoring the pod, skipper," Yermo said. "And Number Two is heading toward the pod. That brings it toward us."
Weapon's fingers moved over his station in a blur. "I can intercept," he announced.
"Do it!" Quijana ordered.
Weapon's finger lanced down, pressing a button to fire one of the remaining rear-facing torpedoes. A shudder ran through the sub as the torpedo launched itself, breaking through the plastic film that separated its distilled water from the salty sea. This was not a supercavitator, but a more conventional design, capable of, at most, fifty knots.
Weapons kept the torpedo on passive sonar only, with its point of aim set on the constantly pinging Gallic intruder. His hand wrapped around a stick control, not dissimilar to a computer gamer's, with a trigger to fire the wire-laying torpedo should it fail to detonate on its own when close enough to its target. He flipped off a red safety cap over the trigger, then straightened his finger.
Seconds later, Yermo said, "They heard the launch upstairs. We're getting active sonar from one of the ships and . . . another one has fired. At least two helicopters dipping now and I'm getting plonks as something is dropping passive sensors above us.
The sub suddenly lurched with two massive, nearly simultaneous explosions behind it.
"I got it!" Weapons exulted.
Quijana looked against at the main screen, now showing the pod, torpedo two aiming for it, and another torpedo just launched from the surface.
"Two has decided to ignore the pod," Yermo said. "I think it's got a lock on us. And . . . another surface ship has launched."
"Bring us down another two hundred," Quijana said.
"We've never tested it that deep, skipper," Garcia warned. "Worse: If we go too much lower we'll hit the critical point for the ammonia. Do that and we can't push out the ballast."
Quijana pointed at the screen and said, "See those. If we don't lose them we're dead anyway."
D 466 Portzmoguer, Gallic Navy, Shimmering Sea, Terra Nova
With all the noise going on below, the frigate had only an uncertain idea of where the Balboan submarine really was. It showed the most amazing ability to maneuver without its engines. The captain was fairly sure they were diving and rising, and using that motion to glide with the dive planes.
Could it get as much as a ten or twelve to one glide path ratio? Casabianca wondered. That could put it two or more kilometers away from our last sighting and with no more sound than comes from breaking through a thermal layer. And that's not much. Twelve to nineteen square kilometers of ocean to hide in, too. Maybe more if we didn't have a perfect lock on it to begin with.
Maybe if we blanketed the sea, launch nearly everything we have, all at once, we might get it. Fire a pattern of Ulysses rocket launched torpedoes . . . maintain guidance via digital link to the buoys they leave at the surface and through the wires they drag behind them. We could do that. Of course, one might break its wire and go hunting another but we've plenty of weapons and they've only the one submarine.
And I might suggest that to the admiral, if I had a better idea of where it is, or even how deep it is.
SdL Orca, Shimmering Sea, Terra Nova
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."
It is tempting, Quijana thought. Let me think about the bigger picture. They probably know we had two subs out. They'd have stopped paying attention to Meg when it was out on its "test dive" pretending to be the new sub. So they think there's only one here. Does that make sense? Yes it does; because if they thought there were two of us they wouldn't act so confident once we took out that Amethyst Class. No, they'd be shitting bricks right about now. That carrier would have turned away long since.
We've got the layer between us and them. They're not going to hear the propulsor jets from up there. Hell, at four knots, they might not hear them if they were down here with us.
"All right, XO; leave the clicker off. Four knots, due east. But keep us bobbing and weaving as if we were gliding just in case they spot us."
D 466 Portzmoguer, Gallic Navy, Shimmering Sea
Mortain looked embarrassed. "Mon capitaine, I am sorry, but I can't be more exact than to say that the dive planes are probably both big and fairly thick in cross section. At least, without my books I can't be more exact than that. We might pick them up on active pinging, depending on how they're oriented when we ping. Or . . . well . . . we might not."
"We have no "mon capitaine" in the Gallic Navy," Casabianca corrected. "We have 'my ass' and 'my God,' but no 'my captain.' "
Mortain looked sheepish. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
The captain rubbed a sweating forehead for a moment, then said, "Get me the admiral and the other frigate captains on the horn." Turning to Mortain, he pointed a finger and added, "And you go figure a pattern for four frigates to best blanket an area with active sonar, knowing what we know about the enemy."
Chapter Twenty-five
We must distinguish between such a system and what at first glance would appear to be its antecedents on Old Earth. True, whether in ancient Athens or ancient republican Rome, there appears to have been a close correlation between military service and political power.
That appearance, however, is somewhat deceptive. The true correlation was between wealth and political power. The military power was a symptom of the wealth as the more affluent citizenry were required to provide their own military equipment in accordance with their means; a sort of proto graduated income tax. Other, less wealthy citizens served, but generally speaking had their political power reduced in accordance not with their military-moral contribution, which was always substantial for all but the extremely poor, but with their limited wealth.
Moreover, the ancients practiced true conscription, not the mere reminder we have suggested here. True conscription, fairly and universally applied, can produce decent fighting forces, certainly, but fails to specially identify those who would voluntarily serve society even at cost. Thus, conscript systems fail to identify civic virtue, the moreso as civic virtue becomes the more rare.
Even so,—
—Jorge y Marqueli Mendoza,
Historia y Filosofia Moral,
Legionary Press, Balboa,
Terra Nova, Copyright AC 468
Anno Condita 472 Building 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa, Terra Nova
The air in the operations center was thick with anger and with loss.
Janier's face was pale and drawn. The Gallic Navy only had seven attack submarines, one of those getting long in the tooth, and to lose one of the newest, the most modern . . .
If the Navy tries to pin this on me, merde, I'm screwed.
"Are the squids absolutely certain the Diamant was destroyed?" he asked of de Villepin.
De Villepin turned to Surcouf, standing by his side. The naval officer looked, if anything, even more distressed than Janier. Well, I can understand that, de Villepin thought. Boy likely had comrades aboard the Diamant. At least friends of friends. And that was his service's boat. The question though . . .
"No doubt at all, general," Surcouf answered, distantly, as if awakening from a bad dream. "No doubt . . ."
"But . . . but how?"
"They had torpedoes, Volgan-made probably; supercavitators. We didn't know they had them," Surcouf answered. "I'm not sure how they got them, or when, or where they could have mounted them. But that they have them there is no doubt."
"And they went hunting for the pride of our fleet armed like this? Do the madmen want to bring down the entire weight of the Tauran Union on their little brown shoulders? Does this mean war, now?"
De Villepin shook his head. "I don't think so. Other than support to the forces they have hunting guerillas down in La Palma, there's absolutely nothing unusual going on. It's as if the Balboans are unaware that we're hunting their submarine."
"Could it be a rogue submarine, then?" Janier asked.
Surcouf answered, "No. There are two submarines at sea and, while one of them went to intercept the Charlemagne, the other is likely off somewhere in the Shimmering Sea, nowhere near the action. No," he repeated, "I think this is just a test of their equipment and ours . . . a test that's gotten out of hand. Badly out of hand."
"I don't think Carrera knows what's happening, just as Surcouf has said," de Villepin finished.
"Who fired first?" the general asked.
"The people I spoke to tried to downplay it," Surcouf answered, "but, based on what they did say and what they didn't, I think we did."
"And they still destroyed our ship?"
"Boat," Surcouf corrected, absently. "Yes, we fired first but their torpedo was much, much faster."
"And they're still alive?"
"We think so. The admiral has four frigates hunting it, plus most of Charlemagne's helicopters. He, at least, believes they're still alive."
"What if we let them go?" Janier asked. "Will we look like fools, being bested by peasants?"
De Villepin said, "I've wondered about that. I don't think we have to worry. Whether Carrera wants a war with us or not—and he very well might—he wants it on his terms, with us as the plain aggressor. He has to have that, to ensure the Federated States stays neutral or comes in on his side. A simple sub duel, under questionable circumstances, wouldn't provide that moral cover and might make the FSC think hard about the kind of monster they're letting grow to maturity here, should he advertise the event.
"No, General, I think he'll swear that crew to secrecy and let the whole thing be forgotten. Assuming the crew escapes, of course, and that we say nothing."
"Forget that, sir," Surcouf said. "The . . . the admiral has his blood up. He'll stop hunting that submarine when Hell freezes or the sub's dead."
"We'll see about that," Janier said. "Connect me to the Charlemagne."
SdL Megalodon, Shimmering Sea, Terra Nova
"We're still in range. Take out the carrier, Chu," the exec said. "That will get those frigates off Quijana's ass, if only to rescue the sailors floundering in the water."