by Joe Buff
Van Gelder realized ter Horst was also reading the message when ter Horst cursed.
“That bitch.”
Van Gelder knew that for two years, up until the war, ter Horst and Ilse Reebeck had been lovers. Van Gelder had met her several times, at receptions and banquets. He thought she was sexy and smart, a suitable consort for his captain. Only now, she worked for the other side.
“I’d like to watch her squirm at the end of a rope.”
Van Gelder blanched, and was glad the red glow of instruments hid his discomfort.
“Now this is interesting,” ter Horst went on. He was calm again, so calm it scared Van Gelder. “It seems during our own running fight with Challenger, her executive officer was in command. Hmmm. Jeffrey Fuller. I don’t know him.” Ter Horst turned to face Van Gelder. “Ha! That’s as if you had been fighting me, Gunther.”
Van Gelder winced. “Why her XO?”
“Our first torpedoes gave her captain a bad concussion.”
Obviously, Van Gelder thought, Axis espionage sources were extremely well informed.
“Good,” ter Horst said as he finished reading. “They agree we can begin our next combat mission at once.”
Van Gelder hesitated. “Sir, if we’re heading into battle against main enemy forces, I do think we need more time for completing maintenance.” They’d taken a lot of damage themselves in their duel with Challenger back in early December, and not everything was fixed.
“You’ll find work-arounds, Gunther. Improvise. I have total faith in you, my friend.” Ter Horst turned to the helmsman. “Steer zero nine zero.” The helmsman acknowledged.
Ter Horst looked Van Gelder right in the eyes, and smiled his most predatory smile. “Global weather conditions are perfect at the moment. Coordinated timing, and surprise, are everything now.”
Van Gelder had to clear his throat. Zero nine zero was due east. “Sir, may I inquire, what are our orders, our next destination?”
“No, you may not.”
ONE
Later that day
Bachelor Officers Quarters, Naval Submarine Base, New London, Connecticut
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, in the post-midnight pitch-blackness, the freezing wind howled and moaned. The wind slashed at the leafless trees on the slope that led down to the river. Now and then, sleet pattered the pane, the tail end of a strong nor’easter that had dumped a foot of snow. Inside the room, a candle glowed in one corner. The ancient steam-heat radiator hissed and dripped. Ilse Reebeck looked down at Jeffrey Fuller. “Do you want me to get off now?”
He met her gaze, with that slightly out-of-focus look in his eyes he always got right after making love. Jeffrey nodded, too sated to speak. Ilse felt him watch her intently as she left the bed. He stayed fully under the covers—she’d noticed since they’d first become intimate on New Year’s Eve that he was strangely shy with her about his body, well endowed as he was with muscles and dark curly hair and the scars of an honorable war wound. Ilse was proud of her figure—she gave Jeffrey a last quick profile view and blew out the candle.
She got back in bed in the dark and put one arm across his chest and tried to fall asleep. It was good to lose herself in sex with Jeffrey Fuller, and tune out the rest of the world, but as the immediate ardor subsided she felt sad. Her family was dead, for resisting the old-line Boer takeover, her whole country in enemy hands. She’d been in pitched battle twice behind enemy lines, during tactical nuclear war, and killed and watched teammates be killed. The war was far from over, quite possibly unwinnable. Even the escape of sleep was a mixed blessing, because sleep brought on the nightmares. Nightmares of combat flashbacks, of hurling grenades and bayonet charges and incoming main battle tank fire. Nightmares of relatives hanging. Nightmares of reunions with friends who were decomposed corpses.
If she hadn’t been at a marine biology conference in the U.S. when the war broke out, Ilse might well be dead now too, strung up with the rest of them.
The radiator stopped hissing. Jeffrey reached over Ilse for the battery-powered alarm clock on his bedstand. His elbow rubbed her left nipple. “Sorry,” he said, but she thought it an odd thing to apologize for, just after making love.
“Zero one hundred,” he said. “Right on schedule.”
Wartime energy conservation, Ilse thought. The heat was turned off in all base housing every night at one until five in the morning, along with hot water and power.
“Typical U.S. Navy,” she said out loud. “If anything, always prompt.” Ilse wasn’t sure herself whether she meant to be sarcastic. It just came out. Jeffrey didn’t respond. He rolled on his side and she rolled on her side so he could press himself against her in a hug….
“You should go back to your room now.”
Ilse stirred. She realized she’d fallen asleep like this and a few minutes must have passed.
“No,” she told Jeffrey. “I want to stay.” The bed was designed for one person, but they were both so used to sleeping on narrow racks in a submarine, the mattress seemed spacious in contrast.
“We have classes in the morning.”
Also typical Jeffrey, always thinking ahead, making his plans and his schedules. Must do this, mustn’t do that…The naval officer in him never really shut down, or turned off or whatever, to simply let him be a person. Even six weeks after they’d both been permanently detached from USS Challenger—and were rested now from the rigors of their Germany raid, when Jeffrey was acting captain—he still ran himself with military precision out of sheer habit. He was taking the Prospective Commanding Officers course, and she was going through the Basic Submarine Officers course—though she was technically a civilian, a consultant to the U.S. Navy.
“I’ll set the alarm for four-thirty,” Ilse said. “Plenty of time to get back to my room before the hallways start to liven up.”
“Someone might see you. It’s indiscreet.”
“It’s indiscreet me being here at one in the morning. I have makeup and stuff in my bag. I’ll use your bathroom, and I’ll have my briefcase, right? Anyone who sees me can think I worked the midnight shift.”
“Clever girl.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m nearly thirty.” The thought sometimes frightened her.
“I meant—”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Ilse knew Jeffrey was no sexist, and she really did care about him. It was just that, well…Jeffrey was a great lion in battle, but taken out of purely military functions-—like here right now—he wasn’t exactly always at his best, socially speaking. He was almost forty, but had spent his entire adult life in navy circles.
Ilse began to doze off again, with her head on Jeffrey’s forearm. She felt him squeeze her buttocks gently with his other hand. “Enough is enough,” she told him. “It’s very late.”
She sensed Jeffrey pausing, a pregnant pause in the dark. “Who’s better?” he finally said.
“What?”
“Who’s better? Him or me?”
“What?” Ilse bristled.
“Ter Horst. What’s he like? Hung like a horse?” Jeffrey sounded amused at his own little joke, but the amusement was forced.
“Don’t be silly.” And please don’t spoil the evening for us both.
“No, I’m serious.”
“Really, Jeffrey, there’s no comparison.” He was definitely a Jeffrey, not a Jeff; Ilse felt no impulse to give him a special nickname. “I knew Jan for more than two years, and you and I have been dating, what? Less than two months…. It was before the war and everything. It’s a completely different situation.”
Jeffrey waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he said, “How long did you know him before, you know, you two started having sex?”
This really annoyed Ilse. He’d said “having sex,” not “making love.” Ilse had loved Jan once, so blind had she been.
“It’s after one in the morning.” She knew she sounded cross. She didn’t want to hurt Jeffrey’s feelings. He was sweet and sincere and giving and other things Il
se liked. But he was a bit reserved in bed compared to Jan. Ilse knew Jeffrey had been engaged once, years ago, and it ended badly. He was estranged from his parents too, though she hadn’t yet learned why.
“Jeffrey, do you want me to stay or not?”
His body posture stiffened. He drew a deep breath to say something. Ilse knew they were about to have a fight. The phone on the little desk rang.
“Crap,” Jeffrey said.
“Maybe you should answer it.” It had rung at midnight, but Jeffrey ignored it then. They were occupied, and he said that at that hour it was surely a wrong number. Now it was ringing again.
Jeffrey got out of bed and felt for the phone in the dark. The room was already cold. A draft got under the blanket, and Ilse shivered and pulled the covers close. Outside the window the storm blustered, but not as strong as before.
“Lieutenant Commander Fuller.” Jeffrey spoke firmly into the phone. He paused to listen. He listened for some time.
“Understood.” There was a shorter pause. “No, I’ll tell her…. Yes, I have her extension. I’ll do it. Very well.” He hung up.
“What was that all about?”
Jeffrey stayed standing, naked in the dark—as a SEAL in younger days, he was desensitized to cold that would make other people’s teeth chatter. Jeffrey cleared his throat. “They want us on the first train in the morning to Washington.”
Ilse almost groaned. “How come?”
“A debriefing at the Pentagon. More brass desire to hear of our recent adventures.”
“Again?”
“It’s an overnight trip this time. We’ll need to pack.”
“Why train? That’ll be slow.”
“No flights available on such short notice. Travel restrictions, Ilse, aviation-fuel shortages…There’s a war on.”
“Don’t we deserve a priority?”
“Last-minute changes like that raise eyebrows, draw attention, compromise security. This time we blend with the crowd on mass transit.”
“What time’s the train?”
“Six-fifteen.”
“How do you want to get over there? Shuttle van, or the water taxi?” The local railroad station was on the other side of the river.
“Water taxi. The aide said they’ll hold spaces. A messenger’ll meet us with our travel documents.”
“It’ll be freezing out on the Thames,” Ilse said.
“Yup, but at least we won’t miss the train. Have you seen the traffic on I-95?…I don’t trust the bridge. They’re still repairing the damage.” From a German high-explosive cruise missile raid, before Christmas.
“Won’t there be ice on the river, in this weather?”
“The tug can get through fine. The snow’s supposed to clear by morning. Colder, but clearing and sunny. A good day for travel.”
“Reset the alarm for four, will you? I need time to pack.” Ilse heard Jeffrey handling the alarm clock.
“Come back to bed,” Ilse said. “Gawd, less than three hours’ sleep. Barring more interruptions, that is.”
“Business as usual,” Jeffrey said. “You can nap on the train.” It was a five-hour trip, with the Acela electrified service. They’d be in the Pentagon by noon.
Jeffrey got under the blanket and held Ilse close, and this time didn’t ask her awkward questions. Soon, by his deep, steady breathing, she could tell he was asleep.
Ilse thought of the last time she’d made love to Jan, wildly and with carnal abandon, when she still thought she could trust him, before her whole world came unglued. She stared into the dark for a very long time, hating all wars and all warriors.
Next day, on the way to Washington, D.C.
Jeffrey glanced at Ilse snoozing next to him in the window seat. Then he gazed out as the New York City skyline loomed gradually larger. Their train was running late. It was already well past noon, and they were only now approaching Manhattan. Jeffrey was starving—the snack bar car had run out of everything hours ago, in large part because of food shortages nationwide.
After Jeffrey’s train entered the railroad tunnel under New York’s East River, the lights went out and the engineer braked to a halt. The powerless electric locomotive had to be pulled the rest of the way into Penn Station by a noisy, smelly diesel switching engine. Jeffrey found it strange that in the station, though the trains sitting on every track were dark and empty, the platforms were well lit.
Jeffrey looked up as a conductor came through the car. He told everybody to get off the train. Jeffrey nudged Ilse gently. She stirred.
Like all the other passengers, Jeffrey and Ilse grabbed their coats and luggage and gas-mask satchels, and took the stairs to the waiting room. It was wall-to-wall people, passing rumors and complaining, a continuous babbling din. Every train on the schedule board read DELAYED INDEFINITELY.
The stationmaster came on the loudspeakers. He said the railroad’s power and signals and switching systems in the entire northeast had suffered a massive Axis information-warfare attack. It would take hours to restore service. Computer programs had failed in a cascade, and it was complicated to find and then stamp out the viruses and test everything—and safety had to come first. He said that a USO club was in Times Square, not far. All passengers should report back to the station by 9 P.M.
Jeffrey heard a collective groan from the crowds in the station. No rail disruption this extensive, especially one triggered by the enemy, had happened in the U.S. homeland since the outbreak of the war. It was headline news, and unwelcome news. Jeffrey expected ground travel everywhere—from the nation’s capital, through Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and all the way toward Boston—would be a mess well into tomorrow.
“We need to call in again,” Jeffrey said to Ilse. He smiled and tried to sound stoic, to mask his irritation and concern. They should have been at the Pentagon by now.
Jeffrey considered the long lines at the pay phones. “We can probably do better if we find one on the street.” They’d been specifically ordered not to bring cell phones, to avoid interception by enemy signals intelligence.
“Can we get something to eat first, Jeffrey? Please?”
Jeffrey heard Ilse’s stomach rumble. They stood on line at a bagel stand, ate quickly, then agreed to walk to the USO. They were stranded in New York, by Axis hands—and Jeffrey couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.
He was dismayed when they got to Times Square. All the colorful wide-screen TV displays—usually flashy and running all day—were dark, except for a handful of civil defense messages: Save energy. Watch out for spies. Is that e-mail really necessary? The sidewalks were half deserted, even taking into account the cold. Many people wore gas masks, though the radiation count today was normal.
A number of people’s overcoats were baggy, as if they’d lost a lot of weight since the previous, prewar winter. Now, like the rest of the population, they followed government urgings to wear what they had until it wore out. With imports squeezed to a trickle, and North American manufacturers cranking out uniforms and protective suits, civilian clothes had to take a backseat.
Jeffrey glanced around again at the dearth of people, the shops with closed doors. He turned to Ilse, and tried not to sound too glum. “This war has been death to restaurants and tourism.”
But it hadn’t dented the vehemence of the area’s curbside preachers. Repent your sins before it’s too late, the end of the world is nigh, they bellowed to whomever would listen.
“This time,” Jeffrey said under his breath, “they may have it right.”
He found an unused pay phone that actually worked. When he got off, he told Ilse they’d be expected in Washington tomorrow morning; he realized they’d have to sleep on the train.
They passed a construction site for an office tower. The site was completely quiet: no cement mixers running and no big cranes or hard hats working. The project had been abandoned months ago because of the war—materials and skilled labor were in very short supply. If things got bad enough, Jeffrey knew, the skeleton of t
he building would be dismantled, to reuse the valuable steel.
By the time they reached the USO club it was too crowded to possibly get in. There was also a long line of teenagers outside the Armed Forces Recruiting Center next door; the draft had been reinstated, but many were volunteering.
“Good material,” Jeffrey said as he eyed the teenagers. “Better than we got in peacetime.”
Jeffrey didn’t tell Ilse what he really thought, that if these kids understood what they were in for—cannon and missile fodder in limited tactical nuclear war—they wouldn’t be so eager to get to the fighting. He and Ilse had twice set off small atom bombs on enemy soil out of necessity, obeying severely restrictive rules of engagement it had been Jeffrey’s job to enforce. The thought in retrospect horrified him, as did the ever-present risk that the Axis might escalate, even though the enemy had sworn not to be first to use more nuclear weapons in populated areas. Escalation was everyone’s worst nightmare, and the damage to the environment in combat zones was dreadful already. Ilse had been sent on that first mission, to South Africa, because her unique mix of technical skills and local knowledge was badly needed there. She did such a good job, the navy sent her on Challenger the second time, to Germany.
An MP with a bullhorn brought Jeffrey’s mind back to the present. The MP said there was another USO at the top of the Empire State Building. Jeffrey and Ilse decided to go there. They took an indirect route, to stretch their legs and get some air, since they had plenty of time to kill.
American flags flew everywhere, but many storefronts were vacant and drab. Glancing up at the tall apartment buildings as they strolled by, Jeffrey saw a number of units lacked any curtains or furnishings. For Rent and For Sale signs hung everywhere, looking weather-beaten, forlorn.
One auto dealership Jeffrey and Ilse walked past was converted into an equipment distribution center for home-front survival gear. Through the big showroom windows Jeffrey saw stacks of burn-treatment kits, water-purification tablets, Geiger counters and dosimeters, and piles of freeze-dried food. The original signs on the dealership were gone, but Jeffrey could see their outline against the building. Porsche, Audi, BMW. Not popular brands anymore.