Twelve men and women, plus the two SEALs up front and the lone civilian passenger. Fourteen Marines—if you counted the two SEALs, and their experience and training was worth their mass in antimatter. Twelve more on Manta Two, under the command of Lieutenant Biehl. Twenty-seven men and women to challenge the Europan Ocean, followed by the main Chinese base on this world.
The longest and slimmest possible of long, slim shots.
“Cold Zebra, this is Icebreaker One,” he said over the Company frequency. “We are loaded, hot, and tight. Ready to proceed.”
“Icebreaker One, Cold Zebra. Icebreaker Two reports ready to swim.”
“Very well. Single up on all moorings. Stand by for release.”
“Roger that, One. Singling up on all moorings.”
Ashore, working parties of Marines would be releasing the webwork of cables securing the two research subs to the ice and taking in the electric blankets, though he couldn’t see them. The Manta had only the two tiny windows forward, plus a dorsal navigation dome amidships still covered over by a protective shell. The only one with a view out was Carver, using the HUD optic feed on his VR helmet.
“Icebreaker, Zebra. Lines singled up. Ready for release.”
Jeff looked at Carver. “You ready?”
“Engines green. Intakes green. All green. Let’s get it on.”
“Zebra, One. We’re go here.”
“Hang on, then, Icebreaker. All boats away!”
“Very well, Zebra. Let ’er slide!”
He felt a gentle lurch, and the soft, grinding slide as the sub slid backward into the water, pushed by a team of Marines linked together by safety lines in case the surface ice broke. The slide picked up speed, and Jeff heard the loud cracking and popping of ice giving way outside the hull.
Then there was a single shock, a roll to port, and the gentle, rocking sway of a small boat on a heavy swell. Ice continued to crack and snap as the hull flexed slightly, breaking the half-melted icy coating that had embraced the craft.
Jeff almost immediately felt an unpleasant tug at his stomach as seasickness took hold. It was worse, he thought, with an empty stomach. All he could do was hang on and hope he didn’t disgrace himself with a fouled helmet.
The Manta was heavier than water, though, and was settling fast, stern first. Carver tapped some icons on his touch console, and was rewarded by the throaty, rising hum of the sub’s engines. “Zebra, Icebreaker One,” he said. “I have power. Engines at 20 percent. I have helm and maneuvering. Ice is coming off the wings. Cast off the safety.”
A single safety line, the end run through an eye on Manta One’s nose and back to the shore to double it up, had remained in place during the launch. Mantas didn’t rely on ballast tanks, but literally flew through the water like an aircraft through air. If the engines hadn’t started, the boat would have sunk, and only that doubled-up line through the nose eye would have saved them from a very long fall into the abyss.
With the engines whining smoothly, though, the shore party released one end of the safety line and dragged it rapidly through the eye and back to shore. “Icebreaker One, you are clear to navigate.”
“Roger that, Zebra. Going down. See you in a couple of days!”
Jeff felt the deck tilt sharply to port as the Manta turned away from the dock. The rolling subsided too, a clear indication that they were now beneath the surface. He wished he could see what Carver was seeing on his VR input; it might alleviate the dank and claustrophobic closeness of the compartment a bit.
Reaching up, he broke his helmet seal, then pulled the heavy half-sphere off his head. He stowed it with his M-580 on a bulkhead rack, and unsnapped his gloves as well.
“Okay, people,” he said. “You can unseal. But stay in your suits, and no unnecessary moving around.” Carver was going to have enough on his hands flying this thing through the murky waters beneath the ice without having his Marine passengers constantly changing his center of mass. “There’s space for your helmets and gloves beneath your seats,” he continued, “and racks behind you for your weapons. Move two at a time, and watch out for that overhead. It’s a killer.”
Carefully, he lay down on his stomach on the starboard forward couch, pulling himself along with the handholds to either side until his face was a few centimeters from the viewing port, a tricky maneuver given the ungainly reach of the PLSS perched mass-high on his back and shoulders.
Outside, the water was a deep and murky blue-green, with pale green light still filtering down from above. Powerful searchlights mounted on the upswept stabilizer tips of the Manta’s wings illuminated a swirling blizzard of particles trapped in the brilliant white beams. At the moment, pools of light were sweeping across the gray, white, and black surface—all smooth planes and crisp angles, but lightly covered with uneven patches of fuzzy brown growth.