and his boots squished as he walked.
Van Gelder took up his position at the conning stand next to the captain. The warmth of the genever spread throughout his body. He flexed his fingers as the circulation returned. "Helm," Van Gelder said, "report."
"Steering zero zero zero, sir," the helmsman said. Due north. "My speed is ahead flank."
"Diving Officer, report."
"Making emergency deep per captain's orders, thirty degrees down angle on the planes. Passing through six hundred fifty meters, no maximum depth specified."
"Navigator, soundings."
"Water depth fifty-eight hundred meters, sir." Van Gelder made eye contact with ter Horst.
"They fooled us, Gunther," ter Horst said. "They
won't fool us again."
"Sonar," Van Gelder said, "range to the tanker?" "Four thousand meters, sir."
"Sonar," ter Horst said, "put it on the speakers." Roaring and burbling echoed in the control room, seawater and air bubbles in vicious foregone conflict. A continuous noise like breaking glass told of steam pipes bursting endlessly. Van Gelder heard the rapid-fire pops of rivets failing, the sharp bangs of ruptured welds. The tortured screams of frames and plating punctuated the giant tanker's death, steel groaning in final torment.
"Sonar," ter Horst snapped, "target depth?"
"About two hundred meters, sir, increasing fast. She's tearing apart in the middle, still in one piece so far." "Target range?"
"Now forty-seven hundred meters, Captain."
"I'm afraid to go any faster," ter Horst said. "I don't want to overpower the reactor. . . . Damned Russian nuclear engineering."
"I agree, sir," Van Gelder said. "Even with the Hamburg firm's enhancements we could lose the boat."
"We still might," ter Horst said. "If that tanker's rigged with an atomic warhead, we'll know it very soon."
It was. The initial shock was so hard it made Van Gelder's vision blur. A gigantic rolling boom hammered through the hull and over the sonar speakers, strangely stereophonic. Half the control room screens imploded, ground glass flying everywhere. Crewmen's arms and legs and heads flailed wildly as Voortrekker lurched and lurched. Then the speakers all went dead but the nerve-rending thundering continued. Van Gelder's limbs and ass felt pins and needles from the impacts. He waited for the hull to crack, for the inrush of the icy crushing sea, for the sudden compression of the atmosphere that would set his clothes and skin afire.
Instead Voortrekker's stern reared up, higher and higher, lifted by the blast, throwing Van Gelder and ter Horst forward against their workstations.
"Fifty-two degrees down bubble!" the helmsman shouted. "I can't control the boat!" A soul-piercing alarm bell filled the air. "Reactor scram!" came over an intercom. " Excessive trim reactor scram!" The overhead lights dimmed immediately, switched to batteries as Voortrekker's turbogenerators
wound down. Then Van Gelder heard the inevitable: "Control, Maneuvering, we've lost propulsion power!" The sub's vibrations changed in character, nastier than before.
"We're in a jam dive!" the helmsman screamed. "Cruise by wire's inoperative! Backup hydraulic system's failed!" He and the diving officer twirled their control wheels uselessly.
"Fire in the forward fan room," came over the intercom. "Flooding through the main shaft packing gland."
"Diving Officer," ter Horst said, "pump all variable ballast. Pump out the safety tanks." The intercom began to hiss and squeal, becoming unintelligible. Ter Horst tore a soundpowered phone rig from a crewman lying on the deck. The man's neck stretched like rubber and Van Gelder realized he was dead. The body slid downhill.
"Silence on the circuit!" ter Horst snapped, then, "Engineering, engage sternplane manual overrides. Can you give me back full revs on batteries?" Ter Horst listened, frowning. "Then lock the shaft and use the propulsor as a water brake. We've got to stop this dive!"
Van Gelder glanced at a depth gauge. They'd just passed 2,500 meters,
Van Gelder took up his position at the conning stand next to the captain. The warmth of the genever spread throughout his body. He flexed his fingers as the circulation returned. "Helm," Van Gelder said, "report."
"Steering zero zero zero, sir," the helmsman said. Due north. "My speed is ahead flank."
"Diving Officer, report."
"Making emergency deep per captain's orders, thirty degrees down angle on the planes. Passing through six hundred fifty meters, no maximum depth specified."
"Navigator, soundings."
"Water depth fifty-eight hundred meters, sir." Van Gelder made eye contact with ter Horst.
"They fooled us, Gunther," ter Horst said. "They
won't fool us again."
"Sonar," Van Gelder said, "range to the tanker?" "Four thousand meters, sir."
"Sonar," ter Horst said, "put it on the speakers." Roaring and burbling echoed in the control room, seawater and air bubbles in vicious foregone conflict. A continuous noise like breaking glass told of steam pipes bursting endlessly. Van Gelder heard the rapid-fire pops of rivets failing, the sharp bangs of ruptured welds. The tortured screams of frames and plating punctuated the giant tanker's death, steel groaning in final torment.
"Sonar," ter Horst snapped, "target depth?"
"About two hundred meters, sir, increasing fast. She's tearing apart in the middle, still in one piece so far." "Target range?"
"Now forty-seven hundred meters, Captain."
"I'm afraid to go any faster," ter Horst said. "I don't want to overpower the reactor. . . . Damned Russian nuclear engineering."
"I agree, sir," Van Gelder said. "Even with the Hamburg firm's enhancements we could lose the boat."
"We still might," ter Horst said. "If that tanker's rigged with an atomic warhead, we'll know it very soon."
It was. The initial shock was so hard it made Van Gelder's vision blur. A gigantic rolling boom hammered through the hull and over the sonar speakers, strangely stereophonic. Half the control room screens imploded, ground glass flying everywhere. Crewmen's arms and legs and heads flailed wildly as Voortrekker lurched and lurched. Then the speakers all went dead but the nerve-rending thundering continued. Van Gelder's limbs and ass felt pins and needles from the impacts. He waited for the hull to crack, for the inrush of the icy crushing sea, for the sudden compression of the atmosphere that would set his clothes and skin afire.
Instead Voortrekker's stern reared up, higher and higher, lifted by the blast, throwing Van Gelder and ter Horst forward against their workstations.
"Fifty-two degrees down bubble!" the helmsman shouted. "I can't control the boat!" A soul-piercing alarm bell filled the air. "Reactor scram!" came over an intercom. " Excessive trim reactor scram!" The overhead lights dimmed immediately, switched to batteries as Voortrekker's turbogenerators
wound down. Then Van Gelder heard the inevitable: "Control, Maneuvering, we've lost propulsion power!" The sub's vibrations changed in character, nastier than before.
"We're in a jam dive!" the helmsman screamed. "Cruise by wire's inoperative! Backup hydraulic system's failed!" He and the diving officer twirled their control wheels uselessly.
"Fire in the forward fan room," came over the intercom. "Flooding through the main shaft packing gland."
"Diving Officer," ter Horst said, "pump all variable ballast. Pump out the safety tanks." The intercom began to hiss and squeal, becoming unintelligible. Ter Horst tore a soundpowered phone rig from a crewman lying on the deck. The man's neck stretched like rubber and Van Gelder realized he was dead. The body slid downhill.
"Silence on the circuit!" ter Horst snapped, then, "Engineering, engage sternplane manual overrides. Can you give me back full revs on batteries?" Ter Horst listened, frowning. "Then lock the shaft and use the propulsor as a water brake. We've got to stop this dive!"
Van Gelder glanced at a depth gauge. They'd just passed 2,500 meters,
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