Task Force (4 page)

Somewhere to the south would be North Stradbroke Island. Once they passed through the gap between the islands, they would be in Moreton Bay and that much closer to their first target: the SONRAD station on St. Helena Island.

From now on the Bzadians would be seeing them on the sonar scope. Hopefully all they would see were six large fish. They tried not to swim in straight lines but varied their course, veering left and right and occasionally flicking around in a circle, as fish do.

“If we really were fish,” Wilton asked, “what kind of fish would you be?”

“You’d be a clown fish,” Price said.

“Price would be a piranha,” the Tsar said.

“What about Monster?” Monster asked with a short laugh.

“A kraken,” Barnard said.

“Kraken? What’s that?” Wilton asked.

“Get an education and a haircut,” Barnard muttered.

“No more chatter,” Chisnall said. “The less noise the better. Focus on the mission.”

The seabed was shallower here, not a flat featureless plain but rather a crumpled blanket of valleys and channels, ridged like sand dunes. They kept down in the depressions as much as possible to mask their sounds even more.

“Big Dog, I’m picking up a surface vessel in the bay,” the Tsar said.

“What have you got?” Chisnall asked.

“Cavitation, sounds like a twin prop. I think it’s a Puke patrol ship.”

“What the hell is that doing here?” Barnard asked. “Our intelligence reports show no patrol ships in this area.”

“Maybe they knew we were coming,” Price said, and Chisnall caught the undertone in her voice. Maybe the mission had been compromised before it had even begun. Like Uluru.

“You think they heard the Demons pinging before?” Chisnall asked.

“I’m sure of it,” the Tsar said.

They were all silent, letting the Tsar concentrate on the vague noises coming through his headphones.

“It’s turning,” he said. “It’s getting louder. I think it’s coming in this direction.”

Another pause.

“Cavitation has increased. It just picked up speed.”

“HOW FAR AWAY IS IT?” CHISNALL ASKED.

“A few hundred meters, give or take.” The sonar had no way of measuring distance, other than by the volume of the sounds. “Cavitation has stopped,” the Tsar whispered.

“Where?” Chisnall asked.

“About where I last heard the Demons.”

Chisnall could imagine them, motionless in the water, scarcely daring to breathe as the patrol ship closed in on them.

“Active pinging, active pinging!” the Tsar said. “The ship is pinging.”

Chisnall could hear that without a sonar array. The high-pitched pulse of sound echoed around him.

“LT, your orders?” Price asked.

Chisnall stared to the south as if he could see the drama unfolding there.

The Tsar yelled, “Underwater explosion!”

Chisnall heard it, too, a distant sonic boom, far away but still powerful enough to vibrate the glass of his mask.

“What the hell was that?” Wilton asked.

“Ultrasound depth charge,” Barnard said.

“Azoh!” Wilton said.

“LT?” Price asked.

“Keep moving,” Chisnall said. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“They’re in trouble,” Barnard said. “We have to do something.”

“And jeopardize our mission as well?” Chisnall said. “The Demons will have to look after themselves.”

“We’re wasting our time if the Demons get caught,” Barnard said.

She was right. The task force wouldn’t make it a hundred feet up the river if the Demons didn’t switch out the lights.

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll go and check it out,” Chisnall said. “Everyone else, stay on task. Sergeant Price has mission command till I get back.”

“No, LT, I’ll go,” Price said.

“I can’t risk you,” Chisnall said.

“Then send Wilton or … Monster,” Price said.

“Do your job, Sergeant,” Chisnall said. “You’re in charge till I get back.”

He thought briefly about opening the equipment pod and getting a weapon, but that was not possible underwater, and difficult even floating on the surface. He decided not to. In any case he was just going to have a quick look around; he wasn’t planning on getting into a firefight.

“And if you don’t come back?” Barnard asked.

Chisnall didn’t answer. He was already on his way.

Price watched Chisnall swim off, the black shape of his barracuda disappearing into the strange underwater twilight.

“What the hell was that all about?” Barnard asked.

“What?” Price asked.

“Chisnall racing off to be the hero,” Barnard said. “What’s he trying to prove?”

“Chisnall doesn’t have to prove anything,” Price said. “Not to me.”

“Or me,” Wilton said.

“Boo-yah,” Monster said.

“He should have sent someone else,” Barnard said.

“He should have sent me,” the Tsar said.

“Then who would have operated the sonar?” Price asked. “Listen, I know Chisnall. He’s not trying to be a hero. He just doesn’t want to risk any of our lives, so he’s risking his own.”

“He’s the team leader,” Barnard said. “Doing this, he’s risking
all
of our lives.”

“You’re right. He’s the leader, and he has given orders,” Price said. “Now shut up and follow them.”

There was only one problem with what Barnard had said. She was right.

Price checked the time and made a quick calculation. They should reach St. Helena Island only a few minutes behind schedule. Still in time to intercept the security shift change.

“What if the LT doesn’t come back?” the Tsar asked.

“Then you’re stuck with me,” Price said. “But we proceed with the mission as planned.”

“LT will be back,” Monster said.

“They call him Lieutenant Lucky,” Wilton said. “He’s a real lucky dude.”

“And if they called him General Motors, would he drink gasoline and fart exhaust fumes?” Barnard asked.

“He’s the luckiest person I know,” Price said.

“It’s not luck,” Monster said. “The universe, it turns according to a plan, and Chisnall fits somewhere into that plan. He’ll be back.”

“Oh, right. Of course. There is a plan to the universe,” Barnard said. “Stupid of me. I thought it was a random bunch of stars.”

“You believe what you believe. Monster believe what Monster believe,” Monster said.

“And you can’t argue with irrational beliefs,” Barnard said.

“So does the universe have a plan for me?” Wilton asked.

“No,” Price said.

“Why not?” Wilton asked.

“Because the universe thinks you’re a jerk,” Price said. “Now cut the chatter and focus on the mission.”

“New Big Dog barks just like the old Big Dog,” the Tsar said.

“What did I ever do to the universe?” Wilton asked.

It took Chisnall less than ten minutes to locate the ship. He drifted toward it, no more than a vague motionless black shape hidden behind the bright glare of the underwater searchlights. He was noiseless in the water, with only the occasional swish of his tailfin.

He wondered if he was doing the right thing. He could have let one of the others go. He
should
have let one of the others go. He knew that. And yet somehow he couldn’t.

He approached the ship from the stern and let himself float upward until he was just below the surface. A small handheld periscope was fastened inside the front of the barracuda. He undid the rubber clips and raised the scope until the water drained away from the lens and the ship appeared: a green monolith in his night vision.

It was a patrol craft, a sleek, fast machine still painted in the gray of the Australian navy from which it had been appropriated. It looked to be about two hundred feet long, with two radar towers amidships and a Zodiac inflatable in a cradle on the rear deck.

A long taut cable stretched away from the stern, disappearing underwater about ten feet from the boat. A towed sonar array. At this close range, they would have had no problem locating the Demons.

There was activity on the stern near two low platforms with steps leading up to the main deck. Another searchlight scanned the surface of the waters behind the ship, a fiery circle in his night-vision mask. He made sure to stay well out of range.

As he watched, the light fixed on something floating in the water. Two Bzadian soldiers used a long, hooked pole to drag it to the platform. With horror, Chisnall realized that it was a body in a black wet suit. The body stirred a little as they hauled it up the stairs to the deck. The Demon was unconscious, but at least alive.

Other Bzadians were bent over something on the deck, and as he watched, they lifted another Demon—dead or alive, Chisnall couldn’t tell—and carried him through an open doorway at the rear of the superstructure. Three more Demons were carried into the cabin. Including the one they had just dragged out of the water, that made five. One was missing, maybe dead on the bottom of the ocean.

Shouted orders came from a small main deck, high on the superstructure, to the rear of the bridge. The searchlights cut off and the Bzadians moved to the front of the ship. Chisnall allowed himself to float closer to the stern.

His mind was racing.

The Demons had been captured or killed.

But it was worse than that. If they realized who the Demons were, they would alert Coastal Defenses. The task force depended on stealth and surprise. Operation Magnum would be over before it had begun.

The only rational thing to do now was to return to his team
and they could slink back to the submarine with their tails between their legs.

The water drained away from her mask as Price lifted her head out of the water for the first time since leaving the submarine. For all the navigation gadgets in the world, she still liked to see for herself where she was. Where she was going.

The lights of Brisbane were a forest of color on the mainland, a few miles due west. In front of that, slightly to the north and much closer, a distinct glow came from an otherwise dark mass that had to be St. Helena Island. They were heading in the right direction, and as best as she could judge, they were not much more than a mile away.

She looked to the south, at the lights of the ship. There had been no word from the Demons since Chisnall had left. And no word from Chisnall.

She did another quick radio check but got only silence.

In the absence of any other orders, in the absence of Chisnall, the only thing to do was carry on. It occurred to her that she might never hear from him again. She might never know what happened to him, or the Demons. But those were thoughts for another time.

Right now there were things to do.

There was a team to lead.

Price pointed her barracuda down, and the lights of the city disappeared above her.

It was over. Logic told him that. But emotion wouldn’t let him leave. Not yet. A waft of his craft’s tail propelled him toward the platform. Watching the back of the boat intently to make sure there were no observers, Chisnall reached out for it.

The ship’s engine note changed, escalating into a throaty roar. Turbulence bubbled up around him. The bow of the ship lifted. Chisnall rammed his throttle to full.

He nearly made it. The platform edge was just inches from his fingertips when it started to slip away from him, the gap widening as the ship surged ahead. He leaped off the barracuda, stretching out full length, lunging for a metal rail at the base of the platform. His fingers snagged and then lost it as the boat powered away from him in the dark water.

There was a rushing sound, and Chisnall spun around to see the narrow line of a wire rope cutting through the water behind him. The sonar array! He launched himself sideways, grasping the rope with one hand, then the other. It was wet, and his hands slipped. He managed one large gulp of air before sliding underwater. The water came at him faster and faster as the ship picked up speed. His facemask dislodged and began to fill. He locked his hands around the wire, trying to hang on. His lungs were already starting to burn. Rushing water buffeted his face, and he dared not open his eyes.

Tightening his grip with one hand, he managed to slide his other hand forward a few inches. It immediately slipped
back, losing most, but not all, of what he had gained. He slid his other hand along, with no better result. A wave of dizziness flooded over him. But he continued.
Slide a hand forward, slip a little back. Slide the other hand forward, slip a little back
. His mind was empty. Nothing existed except moving one hand, then the other, until at last he could do no more. The pain in his chest was unbearable; his brain was spinning. His mouth opened but instead of water, he inhaled a lungful of pure, sweet sea air.

Chisnall took another breath, but this time got water. Spluttering and choking, he took another frantic gasp and got air. His mind began to focus. He was out of the water just enough so that he was able to catch a breath in the troughs of the waves.

Timing his breaths carefully, he opened his eyes and glanced up at the stern of the ship. It seemed to tower above him, although it was only a few feet away. An easy climb on an obstacle course, dry, with fresh muscles. Here in the rough seas, at the limits of his endurance, it was impossible. He knew beyond a doubt that he could never make it. But he had to try.