Phoenix Sub Zero

But was it really dead? Knowing Donchez, Pacino had to wonder … After a few minutes the Diamond turned and headed back to the Dynacorp compound’s piers.

Two hours later Pacino was on a Navy DC-9 flying for Palm Beach, wondering how long it would take the shipyard to tear out the Vortex system from Seawolf. It would probably take three or more months to return the ship to her pre-Vortex condition, and by then he would no longer be captain. True, he would be going on to a plum assignment — who could take issue with promotion to rear admiral and the job as commander submarines, Atlantic Fleet? But still, he would have liked to take Seawolf out to sea just one last time as her commander. This business with the Vortex had taken that from him. Driving submarines was a young man’s job, Pacino finally concluded, and now forty-two years old, it was time to move on, and the sooner he accepted that the sooner he’d adjust to driving a desk. It was time to give up playing with toys, he tried to tell himself.

And didn’t really believe it; At Palm Beach International, on the way to the commercial jet to take him to Norfolk, he was intercepted by an ensign in service dress blues.

“Admiral Pacino?”

“Captain, son, just captain.”

“Message says ‘admiral,’ sir. But anyway. Admiral Donchez sends his regards and requests your presence at the Pentagon. There’s a Falcon jet waiting for you, sir.”

“Do you know what this is about?”

“Something about a weapon test, sir. That’s all I know.”

The jet’s approach to National Airport in Washington was spectacular, the flight path taking Pacino over the Pentagon.

He looked down on the odd building, wondering what Donchez had on his mind about “a weapon test” that couldn’t wait one more day.

Chapter 8 Friday, 27 December

CENTRAL MEDITERRANEAN

CNFS HEGIRA

“General, let me go over our discussions so far so that I can make sure Captain al-Kunis and I fully understand our mission,” Commodore Sharef was saying.

Colonel Ahmed waved him on, nodding.

“You do not intend to return to the battlefields. Instead you are leaving the war to your field generals and staying aboard while we transit the Atlantic to within strike range of Washington, D.C. While enroute we assemble the three Scorpion warheads into three sea-launched Hiroshima cruise missiles. Once in position we launch the Hiroshima/ Scorpions at Washington, then withdraw back to UIF soil, where you will reestablish yourself while Western Coalition forces withdraw. This is all correct?”

Sihoud looked at Ahmed, who nodded and answered for the general, who was still suffering from broken ribs, a punctured lung and a laceration along his lower back.

“That is correct. Commodore.”

“Then let me point out a few difficulties, if I may. Number one, we may never make it out of the Mediterranean. The sea is filled with coalition naval forces, including an American aircraft carrier battle group.”

“A few torpedoes and we’re out,” Ahmed said.

“American carrier battle groups always sail with one, sometimes two nuclear submarines. Attack submarines.

Hunter killer subs. Subs designed to kill other subs, like ours.” “You have torpedoes aboard?” Sihoud asked, speaking up for the first time, his resonant voice filling the room.

“Yes, General,” Sharef said. “And if I am against one submarine, I might be able to evade an attacker, if I know he is there. If his sensors are better than mine, and if his engines are quieter than the sea around him, he could possibly attack us before we could respond. It is a horse race. General. Anyone who claims to predict the outcome of a naval battle of evenly matched forces is a liar.”

“You are afraid?”

“There is risk, here. General Sihoud,” Sharef said.

“Where there is risk there must be rational decisions. Only you can make those decisions. If I minimize the problems and the risk, as your aide here does, I do you a disservice.”

Finally Sihoud’s face broke into a wide smile. “You are right, Commodore. We will all listen until all problems have a satisfactory conclusion. Please go on.”

“All we can do against an enemy submarine is stay as vigilant as possible and maintain absolute ship silence. That means no working on the weapons systems until we are clear in open ocean.” “Agreed,” Ahmed said.

“Number two,” Sharef went on, “the Scorpion warheads must be assembled, involving highly radioactive components and high explosives. I am counting on Abu-i-Wafa to use sufficient controls so that we do not irradiate the crew or blow the things up. Number three, these warheads might not work. There is nothing I can do about the functions of the weapon, so for this I will assume the missiles will function perfectly. And that brings us to problem number four — how do we get these missiles loaded into the tubes, given that the tubes do not penetrate the pressure hull and are encapsulated one-shot designs?”

Sharef gestured to al-Kunis, the Libyan first officer, to spread out the ship’s” blueprints.