“The storm’s over, my friends.”
“Now that is something. That is beautiful.”
“And never again will I come …”
“Foxworth? You’re a religious woman?”
“My father was a minister. We studied bible at night, before going to bed.”
“’When I bring clouds over the earth, and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature among all flesh, so that the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures, all flesh that is on earth.’”
“Commander.”
“Well, Mr. Foxworth. There is God, country, and then my Father.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joanne Foxworth’s doubts of resolve about her secret matter started to fade, as, soon enough, God’s hue-laden sign of the covenant of life began to fade, one cascade-path at a time, as if lights in different rooms of a building were extinguishing. By the time it was gone, she felt she had returned to herself. It was, after all, a great deal of money.
“Mr. Wells.”
“Aye Captain. New heading. ETA forty-two minutes at this speed. She’s calmer commander. We could increase—”
“Negative. Mr. Foxworth. Any—”
“Nothing on scope, Commander.”
“Damn. Where is she? Steady as she goes. I don’t want to leave her behind, if she should start looking for us, needed our help. Mr. Wells. In ten minutes, reduce to one-third.”
“One-third in ten, aye.”
Once again, the durable ship appeared to skim the reflective waters where the waves of sea and the canopy of sky met. The Starr looked as at home in calm seas as she had appeared in turbulent ocean.
The Ex-Gee was getting some pressure gauge readings into the yellow warning lines. They agreed they needed to take her up at a slightly accelerated angle. To get to the higher reaches with little pressure sooner.
“Hodges.”
“She blew up just off her port engine. Some damage there, possibly extensive. Weapons on that side possibly compromised. She won’t follow us.”
“Hodges, I—”
“She won’t go into the vent. Not unless they’re completely insane. She needs to limp back to her surface ship to regroup and effect repairs. She might be out a good while, but I suspect we’ll see her again. I’m sure they have competent repair specialists on the mother ship.”
“The Ex-Gee handled well, Jennifer.”
“This pressure aberration concerns me a bit. There. Starting to fall now. A little.”
“We were a little close to the explosion. That may be a factor. Good seamanship, however, Susan. Going over the torpedo and the enemy like that just out of range of the worst of it. Most would go around and receive collateral force to midships. Your maneuver allowed the enemy sub to block most of the explosive force. How did you learn that?”
“I’ve been reading some of Delores’s ops manuals.”
Jennifer recalled now the ops and tech manuals Susan read on the plane and later at sea. She had wondered …
“Memory calibration reading; this is the locus for new heading. Vector on screen.”
“Roger that. New heading 18° by 48.”
“Eighteen degrees by 48, aye,” Jennifer said. Continually now, she realized she was picking things up and liking it. She, soldier! I sailor! It had a ring to it.
“Let’s get to our hotel for the night, people.”
Jennifer entered some data on her console board. Upon the return, the navigational data base would simply follow by memory their line of ascent.
Circling and finding circle-linear co-efficients in a sine curve matrix, the Ex-Gee slowly made her way far up to surface.
“Commander. I’ve got her. Two miles off our starboard. Five thousand fathoms. Signal weak but growing. Just in range.”
Everyone ran and looked over Joanne Foxworth’s sonar scope. She held her earpieces.
“Stay with her, Mr. Foxworth.”
“Copy that, Commander.” Another seaman indicated profile looks good. She may be coming up a bit too fast but she appears to be within safety sine parameters. Angle looks good. Level spiral curve in tolerance.
“Damn. All right. Lower communications array. Can she pick up our signal? We can’t pick her up. She’ll just follow us straight in.”
“Copy that. All systems go.” There was another tense pause. Then: “She’s got us.”
“Mr. Wells.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“All ahead one-half. Communications.”
“Aye Commander.”
“Notify CINCPAC we need those caves cleared.”
“Already on it Commander. Fleet departing for sixteen hours on my mark.”
“Proceed.”
“ETA twenty-five minutes.”
“I could use a cup of hot tea.”
“Hot tea, aye.”
Like a pup or a juvenile following the lead of a wizened dog, the mentor not glancing at the protégé yet knowing the responsibility upon her shoulders, the Starr cut through the calming waters, followed beneath the ocean but at an ever shallower depth by its charge. Soon the two ships traveled near the same speed. After about fifteen minutes, Joanne Foxworth called out.
“Surfacing. The Ex-Gee is surfacing. One-half mile off starboard astern”
A few seamen dashed out to the railing to see her. It seemed to some she was like a swimmer who had been down a bit too long and was gloriously gasping in air. Delores came out with her binoculars.
“Doesn’t appear any the worse for wear. Wells. Send coded message. Established VC. Inform our destination station Sally Hombre 1 in 12.”
“Copy that Commander. Received. They say they’re ready for some fresh water above the surface. A hot shower and some hot tea.”
The Starr’s bow poked out a bit from the ad cave. The Ex-Gee fit in the deuce cave with room to spare. In each cave, a series of ropes bound the ships anchored to a rocky port wall and dock. The designers had used the original natural outcroppings as much as possible. They had blown or expanded a passageway between the two natural caverns. At the far end of the deuce cave, a natural cut limestone culvert gaped above the water level. Again, the engineers had expanded what was already a natural phenomenon.
Deep within the cave, then, in this cavern, different rooms for command and control, galley, sleeping births and conference area had been carved and divided. Electronic gear monitored the Pacific submarine fleet which roamed and prowled the northern ocean, their nuclear missiles ready to launch in retaliation a nation’s sudden or planned attack upon the US.
In this conference area, now, the crews of the two ships bent to compare notes. Jennifer and Susan noted the experienced seamen and soldiers were not surprised to learn of parallel attacks upon their respective vessels. They had come a long way since their innocent and naive days of believing this would be mere scientific exploration, Jennifer thought.
All were pleased to learn the vent’s aperture could provide entrance and egress. The navigational memory lock allowed them to calibrate time of descent from their location. They also knew that their enemy would be back, perhaps waiting for them. Jennifer knew what was on Susan’s mind and the mind of the military personnel. How did they know where to find us? It was a heck of a thing Jennifer thought, no longer quite so amazed she now thought as a sailor, as a soldier, to go into battle with a betrayer in your midst.
Deep into the night, deep in a dark, secret cavern, in the midst of the world’s greatest ocean, they palavered. They discussed a two-pronged strategy. By early morning Delores called for a full weapons and systems check at 1100 hours. Watch was in shifts again. Susan and Jennifer and Hodges collapsed into deep sleep.
&nbs
p; She was a little girl. The monster lay in wait outside her room. It began to enter the room, the big hairy undefined or, perhaps, as adult, she could now describe it as Sasquatch appearing. It started in. That was OK. She remembered how to defeat it. She simply had to close her eyes. But she couldn’t close them. Something was wrong. They were already closed. She knew then she was asleep. That was it. The monster kept coming. She had to find some way. Reverse.
If awake, close eyes; therefore, if asleep … she opened her eyes. She sat bolt upright in bed. At once she was full awake.
Water lapped all about her bed, a bed of rock and stone. Her head rested on a red rock outcropping. She was alone, on an island. The water rose with rapidity, and the monster was still there, swimming toward her. Where was she? Then she saw herself. She wore a white shift. It had red on it. She reached her hand down. It was blood. But it wasn’t hers. A deep horn she had heard before was sounding underneath the water and blaring forth a whirlpool of bubbles.
She woke up. Truly this time. Wide awake this time.
It was the klaxon, a sound similar to the one she heard at their secret seaside resort. People ran around outside their room. She ran in to the control room. Video sirens showed blips. Personnel monitoring were talking.
Delores stood at the center of things.
“Delores.”
“Not now, Ms. Littleton. We seem to have intruders all over the perimeter. I’ve got gunners at various locations. I’d say we’re in our second battl—whoa, here we go.” Delores picked up a two-way microphone-radio. “Fire at will. Green light. Mark intruders as: 12° off rock face 1; 14° off rock face 2. Sectors Beta-Zebra and Gamma-Zebra. Green light, all hands. I say again, green light.”
Jennifer heard the reports of small and large arms now. It was staccato. Later she realized it was advanced automatic weapons fire.
“Commander. Torpedoes approaching cave entrance. ETA forty-seven seconds.”
“Launch decoys front range 8:00, 10:00, 1:00.”
“Aye Commander. Copy that. Launching. 33 seconds. Torpedoes following decoys. Twelve seconds.”
Jennifer prepared herself. The explosion shook the walls, but not much else appeared.
“Foxworth. Command to gunners on six inch. Open fire with range, azimuth calculated. Damn it woman, now. Here, this one.”
“Aye, Commander. Calibrated. We have a lock.”
“Open fire. I say again. Lock in. Fire. Fire. Fire.”
Above her Jennifer heard the roar of large canon. There was a pause. A strange eerie silence.
“They’re retreating. Dingy mission retreating. Enemy vessel retreating.”
“Monitor a while, then stand from battle station status. Maintain high alert status.”
“Aye Commander.”
“That includes double watch tonight. Full night vision gear and automatic weapons locked and loaded.”
“Copy that.”
“Well, Ms. Littleton, it appears we have surprised them again, once again being better prepared than they thought.”
“But who—”
She stopped because they all knew who it was.
“Communications.”
“Aye Captain.”
“Send signal, code alpha Bravo to CINCPAC. Request Dallas or Nebraska class ship to accompany Ex-Gee to DC safe fathom. Report second attack encountered and repelled. Request additional SEAL team and ANS ASAP.”
“Copy that. Encoding. Crypto ESI complete. Transmission complete. Received. Awaiting reply.”
“I’ll be in my quarters.”
Jennifer realized she didn’t know where Susan was. She needed to tell her she would now have a US Navy submarine watch over her on the way down. She began to look for her. She was not in their room. Not in the galley. She turned a corner off the bunk rooms. There, at the end, she saw her. She stood waiting, as if in anticipation. Hodges appeared, in battle array, his weapon cradled in his arms.
The man and the woman saw each other. She stood his weapon against the wall. He was hot, flush with victory in yet another battle, as men since before the time of history had returned to their woman with the blood of killing upon them, and the blood of the joy of victory coursing through their veins. As the woman had always done in this dance of death and sex, two human experiences that were somehow oddly connected, she was suddenly in his huge arms, this slight, perhaps frail woman. Their lips met, hard and deep and sweet. Jennifer couldn’t help herself; she felt enthralled. She stared, as one who is offended by his or her own voyeuristic behavior, but, compelled, cannot turn away. They kissed a long time. The scientist allowed the soldier to let her hair down, wavy below her shoulders. They kissed again, perhaps even more passionate than before. Then Hodges pulled her into a small day room off the bunk row, and closed the door. Jennifer turned away. She returned to the control center.
5
Undertide
This the day! It came! The Ex-Gee had been gone over thoroughly. Jennifer and Susan, along with some engineers from the Nebraska thought they had resolved the pressure differential problem. The odd design of the outer wing surface and the inner hull of tiles and spent uranium could establish the difference in pressure within the heat of the vents, but in the depths of the sea, the pounds per square inch made uneven distribution on one frame or the other. Some adjustments in distance might bring it more within tolerance it was thought. Jennifer worried. She would not be aboard the ship. The last several hours, she was like a mother hen, giving redundant suggestions to her crew, who grew impatient, then intolerant.
For a while Susan’s nervousness was obvious to all. She wanted to get going. Every day’s, even every hour’s delay meant the possibility of the vent’s aperture narrowing, or perhaps in one traumatic gasp of energy, closing altogether. Lately she had the anxiety-arousing thought that their faceless enemy might torpedo it; wait, what did Hodges say? No torpedo at that depth can possibly …? Sill, some device could be brought to bear to close it to scientific investigation.
The old battle between scientist and military officer reared its ugly head. But Delores had a platoon behind her now, and it was clear they would await the arrival of the fleet’s submarine. Jennifer and Susan realized, this time with resignation, the thing clearly was out of their hands. The government was spending considerable resources, and must consider this even more valuable than they thought.
The Nebraska arrived. She slipped deep at night. One moment the sea was calm, the next a rippling smooth splitting of water, and a giant grey shadow loomed over them. Jennifer thought of Moses holding his staff out over the Sea of Reeds and the waters dwindling. Jennifer didn’t realize how huge submarines were. The slipped water cascaded down the concave side of the gargantuan tableau as if a waterfall in the mountain had suddenly appeared. Jennifer had the strange thought it looked like one of Susan’s bizarre creatures. Perhaps our collective anachronistic subconscious heralded back in time further than ever we thought. Ah, Deeptide. The coning tower reached above the cave entrances by half. They must stay partially submerged in the caves, she thought. Later, toward dawn, she took a quick tour, then stayed on board when the ship submerged for most of the daylight hours.
Another day’s wait. Susan was getting even more nervous. The military strategists wanted to cover as many possibilities or probabilities as possible during the operation. The Captain of the Nebraska was informed of the underwater, surface, and port battles. Charts, graphs, data bases, undersea plots, surface and depth charge attributes, satellite imaging, ultra-sound undersea mapping imagery, weapons check, and procedures review—all were laid out for any eventuality.
Jennifer noted that, in the afternoons, when briefings were at a minimum, Susan and Hodges were not to be found.
Then, on the third night following the Nebraska’s arrival, Delores and Captain Coralis, Commander of the huge submarine, called them in.
“Dr. Arthk
nott. Ms. Littleton. We believe we’re ready. We’re going vent exploring in T-six hours. Prepare your vessel.”
6
Ventide
She drifted out of the cool wet chamber, the new one. She drifted into the fire chamber, the red hissing chamber, the old one. Millennia beyond eras, eras beyond eons, past a time lost in time’s memory had she drifted in her fashion. Through channels she had known which erupted at the beginning of time, and through channels she had not known as new channels exploded open. Known meant nothing or meant little. Little anatomical or physiological pre-primitive conglomeration of cells to produce cognition, an awareness existed; it was only a growing near-awareness and even that had taken her endless eons to develop.
Still, whatever it was, however its primitive sentience was there now and to whatever extent she knew or almost knew, sensed or almost sensed, the new near-feelings grew stronger. There was almost an awareness that something occurred beyond. There had been a rush through a chamber, rendering it the cool chamber, the new wet one, a stream, then, suddenly a flow stronger than before.
She drifted. She flowed. She undulated. She floated on fire. She was. She is. She will be. Time, as always, passed not for it meant nothing. Its spectrums existed only as non-existent. She waited. She waited as she had waited through the meaninglessness of the absence of time for so long time was lost and beyond itself. Deeptide flowed into Ventide and back again. Seamlessly, quietly. As it has always been.
7
Subtide
The Nebraska is top of the line above D-class, modification Delta Prime. Commissioned and launched between 1993 and 1995, she holds dimension of 560 feet, stem to stern, and bloats a hull diameter of 42 feet. Although the exact dimension concerning bridge height is classified, it is known from observation that the coning tower rises about 36 feet above the outer deck.
She boasts armament in sufficient quantity that, by herself, she could effectively demolish and eliminate more than three aggressor nation states, including Russia, China, and, say, Iran: Twenty-four Trident MRV undersea launched ICBMs, each of the MIRV warheads capable of 1 to 5 megaton destruction; how many RVs rest upon each missile is classified; it is estimated to be between 3 and 5. She can launch underwater projectiles with ultra-sound computer lock-link guidance from 4 torpedo tubes, 2 to port, 2 to starboard. Albeit classified, each tube typically can store and fire at will 10-12 torpedoes. It is rumored some of these carry small nuclear warheads. It is rumored that there are oblique port and starboard, and multiple rear, launching tubes as well; however, this is denied by the Navy and the shipbuilder. There is no question, however, that she can launch, from stem or stern, decoy projectiles and aluminum sensing foils, chaff material, to fool enemy projectiles headed toward her in a hostile ballistic. She also has surface weaponry including a six inch laser-guided cannon, and a computer lock-in 50mm Gatling gun, capable of 300 rounds a minute.
Deeptide Vents . . . of Fire Page 14