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drinking through a tube from the storage compartment of Able. Within
minutes he felt better and—
Something smacked against the side of Able. Steve went rigid, tensed
himself to unplug from the porpoise and go to his own breathing system
and get out. The porpoise rocked again, and he heard a harsh scraping
sound. It was one of several cables mooring the bogus floating oil derricks
to the bottom. His attention had wandered. He had drifted instead of
maintaining position over the bottom. He moved the stick forward,
throwing more energy to the fluke. Able swerved sharply as a fin caught
against the cable. Then he was free, moving away from the cables.
Two hundred yards, perhaps less. The gridmap wasn't that accurate
where such close range was involved. He'd have to play it now as best he
could, commit to the deeper channel used by the subs. That had its own
disadvantages. The explosions now thundered all around him. Close
enough for the overpressures to hurt. Several blows shoved Able hard to
the side, made his ears ring. He hoped they couldn't keep this up all the
time. The pressure waves would work their way along the subchannel,
clear through the underground river passage right into the base. It must
have some thing to do, he realized, with the bogus attack during the night.
The Russians had already stopped twelve men trying to infiltrate the base.
Two more last night. They'd be edgy. Maybe not, he argued with himself.
They might figure they'd mopped up pretty good. He cut short his
self-debate, concentrating on what he would do next. Vision this close was
lousy, a combination of oil and muck carried down by the rivers.
He checked his breathing gear. A regenerative system that created no
telltale bubbles rising to the surface. He was glad the UDT, the underwater
demolition teams, had used these for years, worked out the bugs from the
system. But you played advantage against disadvantage. You couldn't go
that deep with the regenerative system. It could raise hell with your lungs.
He might have to get away from the porpoise, he realized. That need
might come with shocking suddenness. Play it by the numbers, he told
himself. While he had the time he checked out the camera, switched to his
own breathing system. No more horsing around, he instructed himself.
His head ached from the explosions. Long hours locked within the
porpoise, breathing tank air. He worked his way to the left, edging south,
letting the current carry Able while he went another dozen feet down.
Make it more difficult to be seen from the surface. He hoped.
The muck from the shore mixing- with oil was destroying his hopes of
decent visibility. He toyed with the idea of using the sonar. It would be a
considerable gamble. The Russian defenses would be on the alert for such
a move. There was no way to disguise the signals, even the weak pulses
from Able, if he had to use the equipment. But if things kept up this way
he wouldn't have much choice. The optical system for Able at best left
something to be desired, and this was far from best. He shook his head.
That last explosion… they must have dropped a whole sequence of charges.
Not one blast, but a staccato rumbling that slammed into the porpoise
and threw him wildly against the harness. Like someone setting off a
string of bombs. The pressure waves rolled and tumbled as they slammed
into him, allowing no surcease between impacts. He breathed deeply,
slowly. Danger here of hyperventilating if he started rapid breathing.
Could knock him out easily. He shook his head again to clear the ringing
sounds. He couldn't keep this up much longer. The going was getting
dangerously slower and slower.
He increased the power slightly. A shaft of sunlight speared through
heavy growth before him. He could slip beneath the billowing, swaying
mass. Might be able to use the sonar then. If the men in the patrol boats
had seen the porpoises, they might confuse the chattering, high-pitched
squeal for real animals. It would be hard to tell the difference. His own
sonar signal would be buried within the peculiar acoustics of the
mammals. A real porpoise chattered away with an astonishing four
high-frequency impulses per second, a cacophony of bleats, whistling
cries, sonar clicks, quacks, and even the sound of squawking you expected
to hear only from a seagull.
He eased beneath the heavy plant growth. Barely in time. Churning
sounds grew louder. A boat overhead, moving closer to him. He wondered
about the second porpoise, Baker. He'd forgotten for the moment that it
was closer to the surface. Too close! They were on to something. He wished
he could see, but the water was oily, and the screws from overhead were
messing things up badly. Sunlight twisted and danced from the seething
water overhead, mixing with oil and muck, and he knew he couldn't hack
this much longer. He froze when he heard new sounds. Unmistakable.
Automatic weapons and… he listened carefully. The screws were pounding
heavier now. A series of explosions. One blow after the other. Cannon
shells. Had to be. But what—?
A red light flashed on the control panel. Baker… the second porpoise.
The light told him what had happened. The porpoise was taking hits. Its
systems were being chewed to ribbons. Steve hit the controls for Baker,
throwing full power to the reactor, ordering a reversal of course. He hoped
they were still close enough for the sonic signal to be picked up. All that
acoustic interference could drown the signal. He'd know soon enough. If it
worked, Baker would be moving away from him, the fluke thrashing the
water. He heard another sound above the booming explosions and boat
screws. A shrill chattering at full power. Baker … no question now that the
porpoise was finished. It was going into its preprogrammed death throes.
If the systems worked, a red chemical would be pouring out from the
porpoise as it thrashed about wildly. Steve hoped the controls would
operate long enough for Baker to lead its pursuers away from the
immediate vicinity. He'd never have a better chance. The sea was almost
boiling with sound. His own sonar should work, being limited to
immediate range. He switched on the system, watched the scope glow
with reflections of the passageway ahead. He moved the control stick
forward, almost reckless now with the urge to move, to cover as much
distance as possible during the tumult overhead. The porpoise cleaved its
way through water and suddenly things went completely dark. Inside the
tunnel now. Staying as close to the bottom as he could remain and still
keep moving, he continued away from the uproar. When the blast came he
was ready for it—the reactor in Baker, letting go as planned, sending out a
violent pressure wave. It was far enough away not to hurt, but more than
strong enough to cover his movement. They should be milling about on the
surface, wondering what had happened. They were pursuing an animal
and the animal had exploded. If the breaks stayed with him it would take
them some time to figure things out, even longer to start looking for
another phony porpoise, or something else.
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