Thunder In The Deep (02) Read Online Free PDF

It was possible to access the programs for quick enhancements using software tool kits, as she was doing now. . . . Ilse was getting her sea legs back. She lived in a giant machine, with a soul of its own she felt bound to already; the snug control room was its heart. Sonar was its eyes and ears, very dependent on how the sea transmitted and distorted sound—a topic she knew a lot about. Ilse had grown up in urban Johannesburg, the oldest child of a media executive father and a city politician mother, and spoke English with a South African accent; she was also fluent in Afrikaans, the Boer tongue, related to German and Dutch. She'd always loved nature and scuba diving and had wanderlust in her soul—traits that took her to Scripps in San Diego for a Ph.D. in ocean science. During those four years she picked up American slang. She also, in those happier days, dated more than one American male naval officer from the bases around Coronado.
    Lieutenant Richard Sessions came over and leaned between Ilse and Kathy. He read their screens—each station had a pair, one above the other, in high-definition full color.
    "Quick work," Sessions said. "I see you two won't need much help from me." This pleased Ilse; 'til yesterday he'd been sonar officer,
    reporting to Weps, the weapons officer, Lieutenant Jackson Jefferson Bell. With Kathy added to the crew, as an exchange officer from the Royal Navy, Jeffrey had promoted Sessions to navigator, a department head in his own right. The old navigator, Lieutenant Monaghan, was on a hospital ship, in intensive care with a broken neck. Kathy had served on the U.K.'s ceramic sub, HMS Dreadnought, as part of the Royal Navy's initial—and highly controversial—tryout of women in fast-attack crews, something made more palatable to most naysayers by the exigencies of war, the endless demands for talented people. Sessions was in his mid-twenties, from somewhere in Nebraska. Always earnest and polite, he was the sort of person whose hair and clothes seemed a little sloppy no matter what he did.
    Sessions reached past Ilse's shoulder and pushed a selector button. Her lower screen changed from computer code to a broadband waterfall display. Ilse saw the -like traces of biologics and breaking waves, and watched the merged engine noise of surface ships fleeing from that beleaguered convoy. There were also weird tight spirals on the screen that Ilse knew came from acoustic jammers and decoys, and bright swellings here and there from the nuclear blasts.
    "Looks bad," Sessions said.
    "Yes." Ilse wondered why Jeffrey wasn't doing something to help, but figured his focus was on Texas. He'd been reclusive since the overcrowded ASDS docked with Challenger; she'd hardly seen him, and felt abandoned. One minute he'd been trying to ask her out, on leave at the hotel in Cape Verde, and she hadn't exactly said no. The next, after his hurried mission briefing, he'd foisted her off on Kathy and disappeared; for this watch, Lieutenant Bell had the deck and the conn.
    Sessions straightened and returned to the digital nav table, to confer with his senior chief, the assistant navigator. Kathy spoke with one of the sonar chiefs. Ilse knew that in a very real sense the chiefs made Challenger go—and they'd be the first ones to tell you that. Ilse drank the
    dregs of her latest coffee, retrieved the computer code to her display, and went back to work.
    She and Kathy discussed some further technical points. Kathy was approachable enough, but Ilse found her a bit reserved. This was probably just her needed persona as a naval officer, dealing with superiors and subordinates in the hierarchy of the ship. It could be because Kathy was new here, still testing the waters as it were. Ilse doubted it had much to do with the sex-balance on Challenger, since she'd had no trouble feeling welcome herself from the get-go: This crew was an elite, and knew no one would be assigned unless they also were very good. There was a strong sense