Bonnett looked at Ramsey out of the corners of his eyes. "I'll clue you in on something, Junior," he said. "This is too much like playing grab-tail with a panther for me ever to become addicted to it."
Sparrow said, "We can't be traced from the track of our fish. They were on a curving course before they could've been detected."
"That second boy put there could've gotten a shock-wave echo from the blast," said Bonnett. "He's just drifting now. He's already put out his anti-torp volley and it should --"
Three shock waves washed over them in rapid succession.
"That would be our fish being knocked out," said Sparrow. "Any breaking up noises from that EP?"
"Negative," said Bonnett.
"Then they have our position now from the echo," said Sparrow. "Send out a detection scrambler and get our anti-torp volley off." He slapped Garcia on the back, said, "Evasive action. Force speed."
Ramsey standing beside Bonnett hit a series of switches with the heel of his hand. A cloud of tiny torp-homing exploders swept out from the Ram.
Bonnett kicked the control which sent out a dummy torpedo carrying signal equipment to scramble detection systems.
"Why couldn't I have taken a nice safe job in a nitrox factory?" Garcia moaned.
"You guys who want to live forever make me sick," said Bonnett. "Here you are in a nice perambulating sewer pipe with ple --"
"Up!" barked Sparrow. "If we get into close quarters I want a bigger pressure margin."
Garcia complied. The deck slanted upward.
Ramsey said, "What makes you think . . ."
"We're coming out of that scrambler's field," said Bonnett.
"Fire another along our forward path," said Sparrow. Again he slapped Garcia's shoulder. "Right rudder and drift."
Garcia pulled the wheel right, straightened it, shut down the drive. Slowly, the Ram lost headway. Again the deck tilted to starboard.
"We've gotten sloppy on our trim," said Sparrow.
Bonnett leaned toward Ramsey, whispered, "That guy's a genius. We coast along the edge of the first scrambler's field. The one we just sent out will leave a track for the other boys to follow and they'll --" He broke off, staring at the detection system, eyes widening. "Skipper!" he husked, voice hanging on the edge of horror. "They're right on top of us -- force speed. Going overhead now. Not more than one hundred feet!"
Sparrow shouldered Garcia aside, kicked the Ram into force speed, swerved it into the wake of the other sub. To Bonnett, he said, "Keep us on their tail. Gently, friend . . . gently."
Garcia whispered, "I heard of this happening once with old Plunger, but I never thought I'd see it myself."
Ramsey said, "Their blind spot. They can't hear us in the turbulence of their own wake."
Bonnett's voice came calm and steady: "Two degrees port."
Sparrow swerved the Ram to follow.
Ramsey pointed to the oscilloscope.
Bonnett followed the direction, said, "Skipper, off to starboard is a whole wolf pack. They're converging on that last scrambler we sent out."
"Too close for comfort," said Sparrow. With one hand he eased down drive speed; with the other he punched the controls to arm a torpedo. "Give me minimum range," he said. "This has to be fast. As soon
as the blast reaches us, fire scramblers to the four points of the compass."
Bonnett acknowledged. "One hundred yards," he said. "One twenty-five . . . one fifty . . . one seventy . . ." He glanced to the secondary scope. "Any second now that pack will be getting two signals from us and one of the signals won't fit IFF. Two fifty . . . two seventy-five . . ."
Sparrow fired the single torpedo, killed the drive, began counting: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, elev --"
The concussion shook the Ram.
Bonnett fired the scramblers.
Ramsey's ears were ringing.
Sparrow kicked on drive to force speed, brought the Ram about in a tight circle, coursing upward. With one hand, he pushed Garcia into the control position, stepped back. "They'll be expecting us to dive," he said. "Blow the tanks."
Garcia palmed the switches and the Ram bounced to the lift.
Sparrow said, "Les, give me a fifty-foot warning on the edge of the scrambler field."
"Right," said Bonnett. "We've a way to go yet."
Bonnett caught the puzzled look on Ramsey's face, said, "They taught you things in subschool, but they never taught you this, did they?"
Ramsey shook his head.
"We're going to float up," said Bonnett. "We may be walking on the ceiling before we get there, but we're going to do it silently."
Sparrow looked to the static pressure gauge: 1200 pounds -- above the 3000-foot level. He glanced inquiringly at Bonnett, who shook his head.
The seconds ticked away.
Bonnett said, "Now!"
Garcia killed the drive.
Sparrow wiped his face with his hands, looked startled when his hand came away bloody. "Nosebleed," he said. "Pressure change was too rapid. Haldane tablets, everyone." He fished a flat green pill from a pocket, popped it into his mouth. As always, his reaction was sudden nausea. He grimaced, held the pill down by will power, shuddered.
Ramsey choked on his pill, coughed, fought it down.
Bonnett spat into his handkerchief, said, "Human beings weren't meant to take this kind of a beating." He shook his head.
The Ram began to tip gently to the right.
Sparrow looked at Ramsey, said, "Johnny, go over to the left there."
Ramsey complied, thinking: What a way to get on a first-name basis! I'd sooner stay a dryback.
As he passed Garcia, the engineering officer spoke the thought aloud: "Bet you wish you were still Junior Ramsey."
Ramsey smiled faintly.
The deck's tipping slowed, but did not stop.
Sparrow nodded to Bonnett. "Hand pump. Start shifting some water. Slow and easy."
Bonnett stepped to the aft bulkhead, swung out a crank handle. Sparrow took over the search-board position.
Slowly, they steadied on an even keel, but now the nose began to sink. Then the deck began to slant slowly to the left.
Sparrow glanced at Ramsey, nodded toward the aft bulkhead on his side. "Take over fore-and-aft stabilization. Easy does it. No noise."
Ramsey moved to obey. He looked at the pressure gauge: 840 pounds. They were above the 2000-foot level.
"We can maintain some sort of trim until we hit wave turbulence," said Sparrow. "Then we may have to risk the drive."
Gently, the Ram drifted upward, tipping, canting.
Ramsey found the rhythm of it. They couldn't hold her in exact trim. But they could rock her to a regular teeter-totter rhythm. He grinned across at Bonnett on lateral stabilization.
The deck suddenly stopped a leftward countermotion and heeled far right, came back again, nose rising; again she heeled to the right. A hissing sound resonated through the hull.
The screen on the forward bulkhead -- tuned to the conning TV eye -- showed milky green.
Sparrow stood at the controls, one hand on the rail He stared upward at the screen.
When's he going to give us headway? Ramsey wondered.
This time the Ram heaved far over to the left.
For one frightening moment, Ramsey looked directly down into the pipe and conduit maze against the port pressure hull. We're going over, he thought.
But the Ram came back sluggishly, righting. The bulkhead screen broke free of foam, cleared to reveal fog and long, whitecapped rollers. The Ram pitched and bobbed in the seas.
"I agree with you, Skipper," said Bonnett. "One way of dying is as good as another. They'd have heard us sure."
Garcia worked his way along the handrail, fighting the uneasy motion of the deck. "If we could rig a sea anchor," he said.
"We already have one," said Sparrow.
Garcia blushed. "The tow!"
"Thank you, Lord, for the lovely fog," said Bonnett.
The Ram swung downwind from her tow in a wide, rolling arc, jerking against the lines like a wild horse at a snubbing post.
"More line on the tow," said Sparrow. He nodded to Garcia, who jumped to obey.
The motion of the deck smoothed.
Sparrow kept his gaze on the detection gear. "What's our heading, Joe?"
"Near fifty-eight degrees."
"Wind's favorable," said Sparrow. "And those boys down under haven't changed course."
"They're still snooping after our last scrambler," said Garcia.
"Time for you to go off watch, Joe," said Sparrow. "I am relieving you."
"Want me to bring up some sandwiches before I sack down?" asked Garcia.
"Ham and cheese," said Bonnett.
"No, thanks," said Sparrow. He studied the sonoscope on the search board. "We'll drift with the wind until we no longer get signals from that pack."
Ramsey yawned.
Sparrow hooked a thumb toward the aft door. "You, too. That was a good job, Johnny."
Ramsey said, "Aye." He followed Garcia down the companionway, muscles aching from the unaccustomed exercise at the ballast pumps.
Garcia turned at the wardroom door, looked at Ramsey. "Chow?"
Ramsey steadied himself with one hand against the bulkhead. Beneath him, the deck rolled and dipped.
"These tubs weren't designed for the surface," said Garcia. "What breed of sandwich?"
The thought of food suddenly made Ramsey's stomach heave. The long companionway appeared to gyrate in front of him, rolling counter to the motion of the deck. He capped his mouth with a hand, raced for his quarters. He reached the washbasin just in time, stood over it retching.
Garcia followed him, pressed a blue pill into his hand, made him swallow it.
Presently, the surging of Ramsey's stomach eased. "Thanks," he said.
"In the sack, Junior."
Garcia helped him grope his way into his bunk, pulled a blanket over him.
Seasick! I'll never live it down! thought Ramsey. He heard Garcia leave. Presently, he remembered the telemeter. But he was too weak, too drowsy. He drifted off to sleep. The motion of the Ram became a soothing thing.
Rockaby . . . rockaby . . .
He could almost hear a voice. Far away. Down a tunnel. In an echo chamber.
"The boat is my mother. I shall not want . . ."
When he awakened it was the call to watch and he had a scant moment in which to glance at the telemeter tapes.
Sparrow had returned to the pattern of rigid control.
It was as though Ramsey's subconscious had been working on a problem, chewing it, and these were the final data. The answers came spewing up to his conscious level.
He knew what he had to do.
