reverse, rising by the stern.
"Raise the photonics mast," ter Horst said. Still strapped in at his console, he activated the viewing screens that hadn't been blown out. He used the 'scope joy stick to look aft and upward.
Van Gelder stared at a screen. At first there was nothing, then he saw an imageintensified dull glow. Quickly the picture brightened, showing the greenish underside of waves, getting closer and closer. Van Gelder realized the waves were very large, churning and breaking horribly, not like normal windblown swell. Suddenly Voortrekker burst through, and ter Horst worked the joy stick.
Van Gelder watched their stern uncover, white water swirling off the hull, Voortrekker a massive projectile thrusting up into the sky. He could see the control surfaces and the cowling of the pump-jet, exposed naked in the air. Van Gelder's stomach rose to his throat as the sub topped out in her trajectory, halted, then smashed back down. She thrust the chaotic seas aside, water spraying from beneath her, then plowed under, reburying the hull. She seemed to stagger, then came up again, fighting against the violent ocean, settling on an even keel. At once she started to badly roll and pitch, steerageway gone, visibly stern-heavy now.
"Do not counterflood," ter Horst ordered.
Van Gelder struggled to his feet, his attention glued now to the monitor, taking in the scene with a practiced sailor's eye. Foam sprayed off the frenzied wavetops, streaming away beyond the stern.
"My God," he said, "the wind's blowing to the south." Van Gelder knew that thanks to planetwide air circulation driven by the sun, the winds of the Southern Ocean were the steadiest on earth. They roared down
off the high mountains of central Antarctica, spreading
northward toward the coast in all directions. To conserve angular momentum while moving farther from earth's axis of rotation, the air had to lose ground to the planet's spin, veering left: the Coriolis force. The wind at this latitude always blew to the northwest, Van Gelder told himself. Always.
Ter Horst shifted the periscope head, searching. He switched to wider angle, then found what he was looking for. "Five thousand meters tall already, maybe The overcast had dissipated from the heat, and the base surge had mostly cleared: the mushroom cloud thrust higher as they watched. The golden-yellow fireball cast shadows north along the wavetops, canceling the sun.
"Air's being sucked in toward its base," Van Gelder said. A satanic low-pressure front, he told himself, driven by staggering thermal forces. The superheated air formed nitric oxides, like in smog, adding a reddish-orange tinge.
"Look at that," ter Horst said. "The entrained steam's condensing now. . . . It's giving the pillar a nice fluffy white appearance."
In a mockery of normal weather the man-made cirrostratus cooled.
"It's started to rain," Van Gelder said. He knew droplets falling against the pillar's updraft would add their static charges to the massive ones created by the blast.
"Lightning," ter Horst said. "Wow." He actually smiled as the monitor flashed again. Each discharge's crack resounded through Voortrekker's hull.
"Navigator," Van Gelder said, "get a radiation count."
"Working on it, sir. It takes a minute for the detector modes to integrate."
"Captain," Van Gelder said, "we're probably best off like this for now, with that thing facing toward our stern." His eyes were stinging from the smoke.
"What?"
"The slant angle, sir, from the fireball back aft. It makes the hull seem thicker."
"Yes, I think you're right. . . ."
"That way our sail and the reactor shielding give us more protection too, at least in forward compartments."
Ter Horst nodded. Finally tearing himself from the screen, he spoke into his mouthpiece.
"All nonessential personnel evacuate the engineering spaces. Do not use the aft escape hatch, come forward through the reactor tunnel." He reached beneath his seat and gave Van Gelder his own air mask,
"Raise the photonics mast," ter Horst said. Still strapped in at his console, he activated the viewing screens that hadn't been blown out. He used the 'scope joy stick to look aft and upward.
Van Gelder stared at a screen. At first there was nothing, then he saw an imageintensified dull glow. Quickly the picture brightened, showing the greenish underside of waves, getting closer and closer. Van Gelder realized the waves were very large, churning and breaking horribly, not like normal windblown swell. Suddenly Voortrekker burst through, and ter Horst worked the joy stick.
Van Gelder watched their stern uncover, white water swirling off the hull, Voortrekker a massive projectile thrusting up into the sky. He could see the control surfaces and the cowling of the pump-jet, exposed naked in the air. Van Gelder's stomach rose to his throat as the sub topped out in her trajectory, halted, then smashed back down. She thrust the chaotic seas aside, water spraying from beneath her, then plowed under, reburying the hull. She seemed to stagger, then came up again, fighting against the violent ocean, settling on an even keel. At once she started to badly roll and pitch, steerageway gone, visibly stern-heavy now.
"Do not counterflood," ter Horst ordered.
Van Gelder struggled to his feet, his attention glued now to the monitor, taking in the scene with a practiced sailor's eye. Foam sprayed off the frenzied wavetops, streaming away beyond the stern.
"My God," he said, "the wind's blowing to the south." Van Gelder knew that thanks to planetwide air circulation driven by the sun, the winds of the Southern Ocean were the steadiest on earth. They roared down
off the high mountains of central Antarctica, spreading
northward toward the coast in all directions. To conserve angular momentum while moving farther from earth's axis of rotation, the air had to lose ground to the planet's spin, veering left: the Coriolis force. The wind at this latitude always blew to the northwest, Van Gelder told himself. Always.
Ter Horst shifted the periscope head, searching. He switched to wider angle, then found what he was looking for. "Five thousand meters tall already, maybe The overcast had dissipated from the heat, and the base surge had mostly cleared: the mushroom cloud thrust higher as they watched. The golden-yellow fireball cast shadows north along the wavetops, canceling the sun.
"Air's being sucked in toward its base," Van Gelder said. A satanic low-pressure front, he told himself, driven by staggering thermal forces. The superheated air formed nitric oxides, like in smog, adding a reddish-orange tinge.
"Look at that," ter Horst said. "The entrained steam's condensing now. . . . It's giving the pillar a nice fluffy white appearance."
In a mockery of normal weather the man-made cirrostratus cooled.
"It's started to rain," Van Gelder said. He knew droplets falling against the pillar's updraft would add their static charges to the massive ones created by the blast.
"Lightning," ter Horst said. "Wow." He actually smiled as the monitor flashed again. Each discharge's crack resounded through Voortrekker's hull.
"Navigator," Van Gelder said, "get a radiation count."
"Working on it, sir. It takes a minute for the detector modes to integrate."
"Captain," Van Gelder said, "we're probably best off like this for now, with that thing facing toward our stern." His eyes were stinging from the smoke.
"What?"
"The slant angle, sir, from the fireball back aft. It makes the hull seem thicker."
"Yes, I think you're right. . . ."
"That way our sail and the reactor shielding give us more protection too, at least in forward compartments."
Ter Horst nodded. Finally tearing himself from the screen, he spoke into his mouthpiece.
"All nonessential personnel evacuate the engineering spaces. Do not use the aft escape hatch, come forward through the reactor tunnel." He reached beneath his seat and gave Van Gelder his own air mask,
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