Carlson surfaced her submarine among the wreckage, after verifying that no drones were in the immediate area. She kept the ship rigged for dive and took a minimum number of the crew topside, in case they needed to submerge quickly. But she wanted to see the wreckage herself, verify the kill, and pick up anything that would make for useful intelligence. Or a good trophy.
She climbed onto the main deck while Banach drove the ship from the control room; she wouldn’t even put anybody on the bridge, wanted to be able to submerge quickly if they had to. Among her team topside were three of the marines, including their sergeant. One of them held a long, curved hook, exactly like those used by lifeguards, to pull any compliant survivors from the sea to be interrogated. The others carried the short carbines that they so loved, in the unlikely event that a survivor wanted to fight to the end.
But, as she expected, no one had survived. Only tiny traces of the plane remained, a few thin seat cushions floating in the water, some empty plastic bottles, a tire from the landing gear. They steered silently among it, the flashlights from the commandos illuminating the detritus.
“Confirmed kill,” she said, almost to herself.
“I wonder what they were doing,” said the sergeant.
Carlson shrugged. “Me, too. Not delivering the mail.”
She heard a slight scraping along the hull beneath her feet. One of the commandos shined his light on it.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
She squinted. It was almost impossible to see, but she could hear it. Then she saw it; a transparent plastic container, bobbing at the waterline.
“There!” she said. She sensed it was important. Two of the marines got down on their bellies and tried to reach it, but it was impossible. The sergeant tried with the big metal hook, but there was nothing to grip on the plastic container.
Suddenly, the radio on her belt clicked to life. “Drone,” said Banach from the control room. “Port beam.”
Shit. “How far out?” she said.
“Maybe ten minutes,” said Banach. “Heading straight for us.”
“Shall we secure, Captain?” asked the sergeant.
“No!” she said. “Get that box!” He resumed frantically batting at it with his hook, but it was futile.
“Looks like four drones in all,” said Banach on the radio. “In attack formation.”
Carlson looked at the sergeant. “Get that box,” she said again.
Without a word, he handed her the hook, nodded, and dived off the side of the submarine.
“What the hell?” said Banach from control. He’d heard the splash. “Do we have a man overboard?”
The sergeant grasped the floating container with both hands and kicked himself over to the side of the sub. Carlson lowered the hook around him, so it grabbed him beneath his arms, just as designed. The two other commandos got behind her and helped pull him up, plastic container in hand.
“Visual on drones!” said Banach. He had the 4x magnification of the scope on his side; they still couldn’t see or hear them topside, but Banach’s visual meant they were very close. “Get below!”
The commandos ran for the hatch, plastic crate in hand. Carlson followed them, her eyes to the dark sky.
At the hatch, they tried to go below, but the crate wouldn’t fit.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said. The commandos were frantically turning the crate, trying to find an angle at which the rectangular container would fit down the round hatch.
She could hear the drones.
“Move!” she said, stepping between the commandos. She tore the lid off the sealed crate, threw it into the sea, and dumped the contents of the container into the submarine. A torrent of paper poured down the hatch.
“Down, down, down!” she yelled. The first drone was in sight now. The marines jumped down the ladder, landing and slipping on the pile of Alliance paperwork. Going last, she slid down two rungs of the ladder, and slammed the hatch behind her.
Without waiting for her order, Banach performed an emergency dive. Water poured around the hatch as she spun the locking ring, sealing the ship shut. They had just made it. Banach, she knew, would have submerged with them still topside if that’s what he needed to do to save the ship. She had trained him that way.
After a few minutes, Banach made his way aft, wild eyed. She saw him do a quick count of everyone before he met her eyes with relief.
“Disappointed?” she said. “You almost got to take command.”
He nodded. “Maybe next time, Captain.”
“Any damage from the drones?”
“We heard the lead drone drop its bomb. Hit the surface of the water and sank without detonating.”
“Good,” she said, the adrenaline rush subsiding. She held her arms out, indicating the pile of paper at her feet. “Get somebody down here. We need to start scanning this shit.”