Phoenix Sub Zero

The sea around them was filled with sound, bad news. The electronic chart table was taking feeds from the sensor consoles as the sensor officer. Lieutenant Jadi, identified the source of the noise and its bearing and range. From the analysis of the Second Captain the sounds to the north and south were the screws of destroyers of the American Arieigh Burke-class, capable of pulling deeply submerged towed array sonar systems — ships to stay away from. Farther to the west were ominous splashes and high-pitched wailing noises, most likely sonobuoys dropped from antisubmarine patrol aircraft. Again, an area to avoid. Sharef had maintained a serpentine course on the approach to Gibraltar, assuming that the Coalition forces knew he was there after the sinking of the American 688class submarine. The westerners would be very angry and ready to sink him.

He wondered if they suspected he was bound for the Atlantic.

If they knew Sihoud was aboard — and how could they not, with the endless time on the surface recovering him and Ahmed? — they might postulate that he would be dropping the general off in the North African campaign raging in Algeria.

Sharef looked around at the humming control room manned with the A-crew of extended combat stations watchstanders. Half the ship’s complement was on watch, the B-crew sleeping, waiting for their turn to take over the watch. Next to full combat stations it was the ship’s maximum state of readiness. Once Sharef had ordered the manning of the extended combat stations, the watches had stood. twelve hours on, twelve off. It was well into Sharef’s second watch, and he was exhausted. He returned to the chart table, thinking that he was probably wearing a path on the deck tiles between the sensor consoles and the table.

The plot table showed the tracks of the destroyers, which seemed to be driving along a north-south barrier search, and the approximate locations of the sonobuoy drops farther to the west. The worst of the ASW search looked like it was behind them. All that was between them and open ocean was the Strait of Gibraltar. Of course, that was a narrow choke point ideal for catching a transiting sub, but could they guess Hegira was bound for the Atlantic?

He should have felt complacent but he didn’t. Something would be waiting for them. He drummed his fingers on the chart table’s glass surface, noting that his entire last watch there had been no sign of Sihoud or Ahmed.

“Commander Tawkidi, what are Sihoud and Ahmed doing?”

Tawkidi checked his watch; it read 2035 hours, Greenwich mean time.

“When we came on watch at 1900 they were playing chess in the first officer’s stateroom. Should I check on them, sir?”

“No. But I wonder, do you think Ahmed ever wins? And if he does, what does that say about the general?”

Tawkidi smiled.

“I doubt Colonel Ahmed is stupid enough to win. Losing at chess with the general would be the best chess.”

Sharef nodded and turned back to the sensor consoles.

Ten meters forward, through the doorway to the central passageway past radio and the computer room, Sihoud and Ahmed both hunched over a chessboard spread out on the first officer’s desk. Ahmed bit the inside of his cheek as Sihoud advanced his queen to striking distance of Ahmed’s king. Ahmed let out a breath and looked at the general.

“I resign. General.”

On the chessboard, Ahmed had lost all but a knight, a rook and the king. Sihoud retained nearly all his own men.

“Let’s switch sides. Rakish, and continue playing.”

“If you say so. General, but it is hopeless.”

It took Sihoud thirty moves, but an hour later Ahmed found himself boxed in by Sihoud’s few pieces.

“Check and mate. Rakish. See, you could have turned it around.”

“No, General, only you could have,” Ahmed replied. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“You are too bloodthirsty, my friend,” Sihoud said, his resonant voice still commanding when hushed in the gloom of the stateroom. “You willingly trade a bishop for a knight, a queen for a queen, fighting a war of attrition. You’ll never see me do that. If under threat, I withdraw and wait. There is a time for aggression, a time for patience. You should ask Allah for patience. Rakish.”

Ahmed had already put the game away, his mind far from chess. “General, what do you think of this mission, the sinking of the American submarine? You never said a word to Sharef, nothing about risking our lives by turning off the power. Those U.S. torpedoes could have ripped us to pieces. I wonder about Sharef’s competence.”

“Commodore Sharef has been doing this for a long time, Rakish. What would you think if he told you how to fly a supersonic fighter?”

“Point taken, sir, but still … he does not seem aggressive enough. He let that sub get close enough to hear us and shoot at us before he let off the decoy. Then he ran out of power and had to run that diesel—my ears still ring from the noise—and practically begged to be shot at.”