by G R Matthews
YES, came her reply. The green text coming up in a little chat window in the bottom left hand corner of my HUD.
STAY CLOSE. BACK TO EXTRACTION.
AFFIRMATIVE, she texted.
Edging a little power into the suit's motors, I pushed myself down towards the sea floor. In the old Clips, pilots of fast jets which crisscrossed the skies used to try and fly below the Radar on the assumption, correct probably, that the terrain and surface obstacles would make them harder to detect. It was the same principle in the ocean, hide amongst the uneven terrain, the hills and valleys, the crags and cracks, whenever possible.
We touched down with small puffs of sediment which rose around our feet. From here we would walk. No power consumption to be detected. Little sound from our footsteps. It would be slow, but we would be hidden from all the sensors except those embedded in the sea floor. Those, the microphones, the metal detectors and a few other bespoke systems, we had plotted on the way in and could now avoid on the way out. This is what a Fish-Suit was designed to do, and as easy it was for us it would be for the enemy too. That's what made these devices so feared by both sides of any conflict.
Following the map projected by our HUDs, Norah and I skirted the detection radius of a microphone and turned away from a metal detector. There was no chance to take the fast, straight line back to safety. It was a slow, meticulous process. A wrong step, a mistaken change of course and we'd be detected. It would all be over.
It took over an hour to make our way out, but as we rose towards the airlock doors, I allowed myself a smile.
GOOD JOB, I sent to her.
I HATE THIS. Her reply took a little longer to come back, a sure sign she had typed it using the little pads inside her gloves.
YOU GET USED TO IT, I typed.
NOT SURE I WANT TO.
TOO LATE NOW, I answered, pointing to the hand holds on the edge of the airlock doors. With a gloved finger, I typed the access code to the airlock and without delay the doors began to part. They'd been pre-flooded, ready for our return. A safety and efficiency protocol which I'd always appreciated.
I waved her inside and followed close on her heels. The doors closed as soon as we passed the threshold.
HERE WE GO, I sent just before I removed the communication cable. Both her hands raised and fell, either a shrug or frustration that I'd cut the link before she could respond. Women love having the last word, about as much as I do. A win for me here, though I'd no doubt lose a few points before the night was through.
Grabbing an QxyQuid hose, I passed it to her and took hold of the other one. I watched her connect hers to her suit and moved to check the connection. She waved me away and I shrugged.
There was a gurgle from outside the suit and I knew the water was being drained away, replaced by air. I hit the buttons on the console and started a similar process with our suits. The QxyQuid was being sucked out of the suit and fresh, oxygen rich air was replacing it.
Standard procedure said to keep the suit on and intact until all of the QxyQuid was gone and there was confirmation of a breathable atmosphere in the airlock. Standard procedure was written by someone with absolutely no knowledge or experience of the process. An idiot by any other name, but still as stupid.
Norah was quicker than me, ripping her helmet off and sinking to her knees. I saw her heave once and she splattered the floor with QxyQuid. A second later I was down beside her, my helmet rolling across the floor as the gel burned its way up my throat and came gushing out of my mouth and nose at the same time.
I choked, fought for breath, my ribs already in spasm, desperate for air. Another cough and hack, another dollop of QxyQuid hit the floor with a wet smack. It wasn't enough and instinct warred with training. Hold my breath, don't breathe for a moment, don't suck in air it will push the QxyQuid back down into my lungs. Another piece of training advice from a no brain fucker who'd washed out on the first try.
There was no way to beat the instinct to breathe, not for long. That's why every drowning victim had lungs full of water and why a Fish-Suit user had to give into the QxyQuid at some point. I sucked a lungful of air down, feeling the warm gel stick in my throat for a second before being drawn into my lungs once more.
I heaved, my ribs stretching and my diaphragm complaining in pain. A cough, another splat of QxyQuid.
"Shit," I wheezed, my voice dry and inaudible to anyone but me. My ribs contracted once again and the floor was covered with gel. I almost sank, face first into it as my arms trembled. A sweat broke out on my forehead, across my whole body and I shivered with cold.
It's vile, drowning in reverse, and is the second biggest cause of trainees flunking or dropping out. The biggest cause is breathing the stuff down the first time.
"You all right, Hayes," Norah said.
I glanced over to see her sat up, wiping the QxyQuid away from her chin.
"I really hate this," I said.
"Too late now," she said a tiny smile flashing across her face.
"When you two have finished, Anderson wants to see us asap." I looked up at the speaker and then across to the airlock doors. Abrahams stood there in his uniform. "And before you ask, we failed the training mission."
He turned about and marched off before I could frame the question.
"We did our bit right, didn't we?" Norah was quicker than me but still not fast enough to catch Abraham.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Come on, I don't mind being late to a meeting, but I'm not turning up in my skins."
It took ten minutes or so to get out of the suit, out of the skins, showered and into uniform. Once again, Norah beat me, but her hair was still wet. I call that cheating.
Anderson's office was quiet as we were shown in. Abraham's and his team mate sat staring at the screen. Columbo looked around as we came in and his face descended into a scowl. I waved at him. His scowl deepened. I was winning all over today.
"Took your time," Anderson said from his seat. "Sit down, don't talk and just listen."
I opened my mouth and Abrahams shot me a quick look, adding a shake of his head at the same time. My mouth closed. This was serious.
"We've had some news," Anderson said. "Your mission has been moved up. You go tonight."
From winning to losing in the space of a few seconds. Story of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The small submarine cut through the ocean water in as near to silence as it could manage. It sounded loud to me. The hum of the reactor, the whir of the motor and even through the insulation of the double hull, the noise of the propeller.
"They'll hear us coming," Ensign Roth muttered.
"I hope not," I said.
"They won't be able to, will they?" Norah asked, leaning forward in her seat.
"No," Abrahams answered. "They'll be much more concerned with the fleet of NOAH submarines which will be passing by."
"I hope no one has an itchy trigger finger," I said.
"On both sides," Abrahams agreed.
"Why?" Roth said, looking between the two of us.
"Because getting caught in the cross-fire is not my idea of fun," I answered.
The four of us were sat in the cramped sleeping quarters. Our suits were stowed in the floodable cargo compartment at the back of the sub and our bags were shoved under the bottom bunk beds. We’d been under way since last evening and far below the top speed of this converted transport submarine. The crew were up front, on the bridge, steering the sub. We had a simple arrangement with them, we left them alone to do their jobs.
The fleet of war subs, those with weapons and defence systems, had left an hour ahead of us on a slightly different course. The plan, the intention, was for those paths to cross close enough to the VKYN city to mask the noise of our submarine and to distract their sensors from our approach. They would be concentrating on the big military submarines, the ones that were a genuine threat and not us, tiny as we were.
"Are we there yet?" Norah asked after a long period of silence.
/> Abrahams glanced at me and rolled his eyes. He had children, two if I recalled correctly. He'd heard it all before, so had I.
"About two hours away from the drop," I said, glancing at the timer near the door.
"We should start checking out the gear and going back through the plan," Abrahams said.
"We each do our own suits," Ensign Roth said.
"Of course," Abrahams said, rolling his eyes again.
"Let's look at the plan first," I said. "Once we're off the sub we won't be able to communicate."
"I'd like to add a few more checkpoints," Abrahams said and I nodded.
"Won't that make us slower?" Norah said.
"We're always slower than we are expected to be," I said, and it was Abrahams turn to nod. "The plan we agreed to with Commander Anderson was just the initial idea. They never survive actual contact with the enemy or the ocean."
"They'll expect us to change the plan, to adapt it," Abrahams said.
"But Commander Anderson said," Roth said and fell silence under the weight of both my and Abrahams gaze.
"He's not here," I said into the quiet.
"Our rendezvous?"
"They'll wait for us," Abrahams said.
"We'll leave our new plan with the Captain here," I said. "They'll get to Anderson who'll issue new orders to our rescuers. It won't be a new thing to anyone."
"The chance of any plan going smoothly are precisely zero," Abrahams added. "Don't worry about that."
"The key thing is, we get in undetected, plant the explosives properly and get out before they go off," I added.
"Right," Abrahams said.
"When did we get so grown up, Abrahams?" I said. We certainly sounded like we knew what we were doing, like we had experience. The look on both Roth's and Norah's face said that they had taken on board every word. It scared me.
"Me, a few years ago according to my wife," he smiled. "But you, it’s a bit of a surprise, if I'm being honest."
"To me too." I grinned right back at him.
We spent the next half an hour going over and over the plans of approach. Maps of the sea floor, topographical surveys, currents and known patrol routes. All of it would be available on our HUDs once were out in the ocean, but group planning and talking it through engendered a sense of teamwork and security. It helped to know, once you couldn't communicate with the others who you were relying on, that they were at least on the same page as you. Or, if it all went to shit, as it invariably did, they had at least read the same book.
Moving to the converted cargo compartment, we spent the next twenty minutes checking out the suits, explosives and other equipment we needed. Tightening straps here, loosening others there, making sure everything was secure and out of the way.
"I need a coffee," I said, finally standing up and stretching my back.
"Aren't we supposed to drink water?" Roth said, looking up from his suit.
"Are you?" I answered. "I'm supposed to drink coffee."
"Regulations say that," Roth began and Abrahams cut him off with an irritated wave of his hand.
"I have coffee," I said before Abrahams could speak. "Kind of a lucky ritual."
"Roth," Abrahams said, shooting me a look, "we all do it our own way. You want to drink water, drink water."
"We've got about an hour till the drop," Norah said, nodding towards the timer.
"And we're out of things to take our minds off it," I said.
"You could always read a book," Abrahams said.
"Or watch a Clips?"
"Or that," Abrahams agreed.
"Poker?" Norah suggested.
Both Abrahams and I turned to look at her. Card games never lost their popularity and gambling was a sure-fire way to get your heart pumping.
"I'm not sure I know how to play," I said, trying for an innocent tone and wide-eyed look.
"Hayes," Abrahams chuckled.
"I can teach you," Norah said and she sounded earnest.
"Don't," Abrahams said, raising his hand again, "fall for it. He knows how to play, he's always known, and he's never been very good."
"You steal all my fun," I said.
"And you still owe me from the last game we played," Abrahams said, lowering his hand and holding it out, palm up.
I patted my pockets. "I don't seem to have any money on me at the moment."
"I'll take a bank transfer," Abrahams said with a smile.
"As soon as we get back," I said with a nod. "How much was it?"
He named a figure and I swallowed. "Really?"
"Really."
"Was I drunk?"
"Well and truly," Abrahams said.
"Why didn't you stop me?"
"Because I was winning," came his answer.
"That's not fair."
"Don't gamble when you're drunk," he offered the wisdom as if he'd found it in an oyster. Precious, ageless, and with a piece of rubbish right at the centre.
"Yeah, well." I felt a little sick. The figure he named was at least a month’s pay and a little more. "I really need a coffee now."
I led the way to the small galley, nodding to one of the crew who squeezed past in the narrow corridor. There was a pot of coffee on the go, there almost always was on a military sub, and I poured myself a cup. I offered the pot around to the others, only Norah accepted the offer.
"Milk? Sugar?" I asked, pointedly lifting my cup and taking a sip of the dark, bitter liquid.
"No, thanks," Norah said, taking the cup I'd poured for her and drinking. I saw her eyes wrinkle at the taste.
"It's an acquired taste," I said.
Abrahams and Roth filled cups with water and we withdrew to our small bunk room.
"Fifteen minutes," Roth said.
"Don't do that, Roth," I said. "I can read the clock. Let's talk about something else."
"What?" Roth said.
"Who killed the tech?" Norah said in a whisper. "Who tried to kill me?"
There was silence for a minute and every one of us shared a glance. Roth's was nervous, Norah's full of fear, and Abrahams's resigned.
"I want to know," Norah said into the awkwardness.
"We all do, Norah," I said and caught Abrahams nod, encouraging me to be the one to speak. "Columbo will find out. He seems like a thorough investigator."
"But he thinks I'm involved," she said.
"Thorough doesn't always mean bright," I said, trying to smile. "The thing is, there are just the four of us here. We're actually safer out here than back at base."
"But he thought you were involved too," Norah said, not looking at me.
"I told you he wasn't bright." I took a breath, thinking about my next words. "Norah, out here, we have to rely on each other. We've checked your suit at least seven times. We've tested it. It's in perfect working order."
"It was before," she pointed out.
Going into a mission with doubts about your equipment was a recipe for disaster. However, there was nothing we could do but offer reassurances.
"Whoever killed the tech and sabotaged your suit is back at the base or long gone," I said. "The suit has been put through its paces and we've tried to make it go wrong. It hasn't."
"But it might," she replied.
I looked to Abrahams for help, but none was forthcoming.
"Norah, we'll be fine. Your suit is fine, and we've planned the mission. There's no point dwelling on the what-ifs and might-bes. You keep me safe and I'll do the same for you. Things have gone wrong in the past and I'm still here, Abrahams is still here," he offered a small wave and smile. "Trust us."
The timer beeped and the lights in the small room changed from white to red. The ten-minute warning. Time to get suited up.
"I don't have much choice, do I?"
"None of us do," Abrahams said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The sub didn't come to a halt to drop us off. It just kept moving at the same pace, not disturbing its sound profile or giving any hint that anything was out of the ordinary
.
The Sub's commander had popped down to update us on our location, course and the location of the distraction fleet. Everything, according to him, was on track and the plan was working perfectly. While this news seemed to cheer Roth and Norah up, it scared the crap out of me. Wisely, I kept my mouth closed.
Norah was last to clamp her helmet closed and she did so with an air of finality. I shuffled over in my suit and indicated that she should check mine. I stood, arms out straight, for a minute while she poked and prodded me before appearing in front of me with her thumbs up.
Now it was her turn. I flapped my arms and she raised hers. Every clasp I checked, making sure it was closed and locked. Each seal I ran my fingers across, letting the small tactile sensors embedded in the tip sense any leaks or little wisps of air escaping. The process was designed to create confidence in each other and in your equipment. I'd never known anyone find a fault.
Clapping her on the shoulder, I smiled and gave her the thumbs up. Turning I saw, the other two watching us. Abrahams gave me the thumbs up and I returned them. Sign language at its most basic, but effective.
We all moved to the two QxyQuid stations in the compartment and attached the tubes to our suits. Another round of thumbs up and Abrahams hit the switch.
Norah twitched and even through her bulky suit I saw her stiffen. I took a step closer, pushing my visor against hers.
"It'll be fine," I said, a little louder than normal. She nodded but didn't look convinced. She was breathing heavily, and her visor began to fog up on the inside. The QxyQuid would clear that in short order. However, she needed to get control of herself and with that no one could provide any assistance.
The strange thing about filling your suit with QxyQuid, apart from the choking, drowning and desperate attempt not to vomit your lunch up into your suit, no one wants to go into the ocean with cubes of carrot floating around their face, was the way in which you always needed a piss the moment you felt the warm gel pool around your feet. This time was no different and even though I expected it, my bladder still shrunk to size of a very small oyster. It was why, I told myself, I don't drink water before suiting up.