Deep Sound Channel Read Online Free
Author: Joe Buff
had nice hair. Light brown, like her eyes, straight and shoulder-length.
"You were with the SEALs," Ilse said, pointing to his Special Warfare qualification badge.
"Long ago," Jeffrey said. "I transferred to the SubForce. It's been more than fifteen years now." "Miss it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you miss being in the SEALs?" Ilse pronounced each word distinctly, as if Jeffrey were retarded or Tightly deaf.
"Frankly no."
Ilse pointed to his uniform blouse again, below the gold twin dolphins. She jabbed two of his ribbons. "Silver Star, Purple Heart. Somewhere in Iraq, the captain said. . . . Did it hurt much?"
"Yeah." Jeffrey wondered what this woman was all about. "It was months till I could walk again." "Feeling all right now?"
"Yes," Jeffrey said too quickly. Times when he went short on sleep, his left thigh ached badly.
"Good," Ilse said. She looked him up and down. Jeffrey met her gaze. She responded with the coldest sneer he'd ever gotten from a woman.
Ilse walked to the hatch, then glanced back at Jeffrey as she started climbing inside. "I suppose nobody's told you yet," she said. "You're coming with me on the raid." Jeffrey asked the junior officer of the deck, the JOOD, to stay with him up in the tiny cockpit on top of the sail, the conning tower, to watch and learn—maneuvering on the surface wasn't like underwater. Jeffrey glanced at the sky. The sun was noticeably higher. Today would be hot, in more ways than one.
"First question should always be, where's the wind?" Jeffrey said.
"Still light from off the stern, sir," the lieutenant (j.g.) said.
"Not that that matters much," Jeffrey said. "Subs ride so low in the water, and these days have such tiny,
stealthy sails, wind's usually the last thing you have to worry about when getting under way."
"Just like I read, sir. Just like in the simulator."
"What's the latest fallout report?" Jeffrey gestured to the intercom. Of course, he already knew the answer.
The young man cleared his throat and pressed the button. "Control, Bridge. Radiology, how's the air?"
"Milliroentgens per hour and counts per minute well inside normal tolerances, sir."
"Very well," the JOOD said.
"Good," Jeffrey said. "Frank Cable's met staff predicted that, but you should always check. Weather forecasts are still just weather forecasts."
"Understood, sir."
"Meltzer, you ever been to Diego Garcia before?" A rhetorical question, since Jeffrey had the night before reread young David's file.
"No, sir. This is my first time overseas, not counting summer cruises at Annapolis." Jeffrey looked down from his vantage point atop the sail. He'd done Naval ROTC
instead, at Purdue. "The tide's running out, from right to left. See the way that buoy's listing with the set?"
"Two knots maybe, sir. Not strong."
"The lagoon here's huge, but the opening at the north end's pretty wide. There's lots of room to ebb and flow without making nasty currents."
"Should we use our auxiliary propulsors, sir?"
"Nah. That makes things too easy." Jeffrey smiled. "We hardly ever get to ship drive on the surface, right? Besides, it's fun."
With his bullhorn Jeffrey had the deck hands take in two and three: the forward and aft breast lines that were crossed to keep the boat from sliding back and forth. Then lines one and four, the bow and stern mooring lines, were singled up. Jeffrey ordered four brought to the little capstan on the deck, the after capstan.
Ile asked for lots of slack on one and had four take a Strain.
"From here it's mostly feel," Jeffrey said. "You get the hang of it with practice. We have all these extra visual cues on the surface, but the sea state has much more effect, sonar doesn't work as well, and there are only two degrees of freedom." Gradually Challenger's bow began to lever from the tender as she rotated against the aftmost deep draft separator. Before her stern parts could make contact Jeffrey ordered all lines taken in, then had the deck gang go below.
"Control, Bridge, rudder
"You were with the SEALs," Ilse said, pointing to his Special Warfare qualification badge.
"Long ago," Jeffrey said. "I transferred to the SubForce. It's been more than fifteen years now." "Miss it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you miss being in the SEALs?" Ilse pronounced each word distinctly, as if Jeffrey were retarded or Tightly deaf.
"Frankly no."
Ilse pointed to his uniform blouse again, below the gold twin dolphins. She jabbed two of his ribbons. "Silver Star, Purple Heart. Somewhere in Iraq, the captain said. . . . Did it hurt much?"
"Yeah." Jeffrey wondered what this woman was all about. "It was months till I could walk again." "Feeling all right now?"
"Yes," Jeffrey said too quickly. Times when he went short on sleep, his left thigh ached badly.
"Good," Ilse said. She looked him up and down. Jeffrey met her gaze. She responded with the coldest sneer he'd ever gotten from a woman.
Ilse walked to the hatch, then glanced back at Jeffrey as she started climbing inside. "I suppose nobody's told you yet," she said. "You're coming with me on the raid." Jeffrey asked the junior officer of the deck, the JOOD, to stay with him up in the tiny cockpit on top of the sail, the conning tower, to watch and learn—maneuvering on the surface wasn't like underwater. Jeffrey glanced at the sky. The sun was noticeably higher. Today would be hot, in more ways than one.
"First question should always be, where's the wind?" Jeffrey said.
"Still light from off the stern, sir," the lieutenant (j.g.) said.
"Not that that matters much," Jeffrey said. "Subs ride so low in the water, and these days have such tiny,
stealthy sails, wind's usually the last thing you have to worry about when getting under way."
"Just like I read, sir. Just like in the simulator."
"What's the latest fallout report?" Jeffrey gestured to the intercom. Of course, he already knew the answer.
The young man cleared his throat and pressed the button. "Control, Bridge. Radiology, how's the air?"
"Milliroentgens per hour and counts per minute well inside normal tolerances, sir."
"Very well," the JOOD said.
"Good," Jeffrey said. "Frank Cable's met staff predicted that, but you should always check. Weather forecasts are still just weather forecasts."
"Understood, sir."
"Meltzer, you ever been to Diego Garcia before?" A rhetorical question, since Jeffrey had the night before reread young David's file.
"No, sir. This is my first time overseas, not counting summer cruises at Annapolis." Jeffrey looked down from his vantage point atop the sail. He'd done Naval ROTC
instead, at Purdue. "The tide's running out, from right to left. See the way that buoy's listing with the set?"
"Two knots maybe, sir. Not strong."
"The lagoon here's huge, but the opening at the north end's pretty wide. There's lots of room to ebb and flow without making nasty currents."
"Should we use our auxiliary propulsors, sir?"
"Nah. That makes things too easy." Jeffrey smiled. "We hardly ever get to ship drive on the surface, right? Besides, it's fun."
With his bullhorn Jeffrey had the deck hands take in two and three: the forward and aft breast lines that were crossed to keep the boat from sliding back and forth. Then lines one and four, the bow and stern mooring lines, were singled up. Jeffrey ordered four brought to the little capstan on the deck, the after capstan.
Ile asked for lots of slack on one and had four take a Strain.
"From here it's mostly feel," Jeffrey said. "You get the hang of it with practice. We have all these extra visual cues on the surface, but the sea state has much more effect, sonar doesn't work as well, and there are only two degrees of freedom." Gradually Challenger's bow began to lever from the tender as she rotated against the aftmost deep draft separator. Before her stern parts could make contact Jeffrey ordered all lines taken in, then had the deck gang go below.
"Control, Bridge, rudder
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