Scimitar SL-2 (2004) Page 21

  “Oman. We use the docks and Al-Seeb International Airport as transit points for onwards movement, either to Afghanistan or to the Gulf. Approximately 3,000 personnel are based there.

  “United Arab Emirates. We have 500, mostly Air Force personnel, based here.

  “Djibouti. Way down there on the Gulf of Aden. Up to 3,000 U.S. Special Forces, Marines, and Air Force personnel, all part of the counterterrorism task force. This is the base for the CIA unmanned Predator aircraft.

  “Diego Garcia. There’s around 1,500 U.S. personnel there. It’s our base for the upgraded B-52 heavy bombers and the B-2 stealth bombers.

  “In addition, we’ve always got three Carrier Battle Groups in the area, on a rotation basis, depending on the political climate.”

  General Scannell interjected, “Which adds up to one hell of a lot of people and equipment to move out of the area on the sole demand of one Middle Eastern freedom fighter.”

  “Unless,” added Admiral Morgan, “that freedom fighter really does have the capability of destroying the entire East Coast of the United States. Then, of course, the evacuation of our military in the Middle East would be a very small price to pay.”

  “It cannot be possible. It simply cannot,” said General Boyce.

  “ ‘If we can explode the biggest volcano in the United States, we can probably arrange a large rockfall into the deserted ocean,’ ” intoned Admiral Morgan.

  And for just a few seconds, the entire table went silent. Then Admiral Morgan spoke again. “Gentlemen, let’s face it, we have to start from the basis that this guy is not joking. And our options are very limited. Priority number one is to catch and destroy the fucker. Right?”

  He glared around the table. No one dissented. “Therefore, number two is to produce a fleet deployment plan. Number three is to appoint a Commander in Chief to that fleet. Number four is to try to get the President, the Commander in Chief of all U.S. Armed Forces, to agree to such a deployment. The last one is the most difficult, by a very long way.”

  “You want an educated forecast?” asked Admiral Morris.

  “Always,” replied Arnold Morgan.

  “He is not going to agree, now or ever, to put this country essentially on a war footing to deal with what he believes is a crank letter. And he will not listen to us. Now or ever.”

  A silence enveloped the table. “Then we may,” said General Scannell, “have to go without him.”

  “Which would be a bit unorthodox,” said Admiral Dickson.

  “Maybe,” replied the CJC. “But we cannot, knowingly, let the people of this nation down, when we all believe there is a real danger someone could wipe out the East Coast of the United States. I believe Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe has issued everyone with a short and concise report on the experts’ assessment of the volcano on the island of La Palma.”

  “I guess there’s no stopping the tidal wave once it develops?” asked General Boyce.

  “Apparently not,” replied Arnold Morgan. “Because when that develops, we’re looking at probably the greatest force on earth, traveling along the seabed at the speed of a jet aircraft. Less than nine hours to New York, the waves building all the way.”

  “Jesus Christ,” replied the General.

  “So far as I can see,” said the Admiral, “we have two chances. The first one slim, the second one better, but not foolproof. We set sail for the Canary Islands with a 100-strong fleet and search for the missing Barracuda, which we probably won’t find. Not if the driver’s as smart as I think he is.

  “Secondly, we position a defensive screen of surface warships to the west of La Palma, primed to hit and destroy the missile, or missiles, in mid-flight. It would help, of course, if we knew roughly where they’re going to fire it from. But we don’t.”

  “Well, regardless, we’ll have to move the entire East Coast fleet the hell out of all our Navy bases,” said Admiral Curran. “A wave like that would wipe us out. We can’t leave any ship in port. We have drafted a rough plan that I think Admiral Dickson would like everyone to see…that is, if we are unanimous about the reality of the threat. And are we unanimously agreed that we must go ahead with a fleet plan to counteract that threat, regardless of the opinions of our political masters? Right hands please.”

  Nine right hands were solemnly raised high.

  “No choice,” said General Scannell. “Absolutely no choice.”

  “Okay. Now today’s the twenty-fourth,” said Arnold Morgan. “That means we have forty-seven days to get things into line. I suggest we invent some forthcoming fleet exercises in the Atlantic and start getting ships at least on standby for deployment. I presume the Middle East is sufficiently quiet for us to move the Carrier Groups into the Atlantic without causing a huge amount of fuss? Alan?”

  “No problem.”

  “Good. Now perhaps we should hear the preliminary plan I understand Alan and Freddie have been developing for the past couple of days…”

  Admiral Curran handed out a single sheet of paper to each man. Then he told them, “As a submariner, I have been asked to explain the first part of the plan before I turn things over to Admiral Dickson. I am sure you know there are innate difficulties in conducting underwater hunts with submarines because of how they are apt to shoot each other if we’re not damned careful.

  “My recommendation is we take a ‘box’ 500 miles north to south, running up and down the La Palma coastline, by 500 miles west out into the Atlantic. That’s a colossal area of 250,000 square miles, and from somewhere in there, we expect the Barracuda to fire her missiles at the cliff.

  “It is not impossible that she could fire from even farther west, perhaps up to 1,000 miles out from La Palma. But I personally doubt that. Her Commanding Officer will know we’re out there in force looking for her, and will probably be keenly aware of our excellent surface-to-air missile defense systems and probably will not want to have his birds in the air for too long.

  “If I had to guess I’d say he’ll launch from under 300 miles from the La Palma coast. But we cannot take that chance. We need to cover the outer limits of his range.”

  “How many missiles do you think, Freddie?” asked Arnold Morgan.

  “Possibly twenty SLCMs, to be sure of knocking the cliff down. Unless he goes nuclear. Then he’ll only want two.”

  “Can he go nuclear?”

  “I don’t think so,” interrupted Admiral Morris. “Simply because I can’t imagine where he’d get ’em. They have to be especially fitted for the Barracuda, and the Russians are not about to help him to that extent. They won’t even admit selling the Barracuda to anyone except China. And the Chinese will not even admit to owning it.

  “Certainly they are unlikely to admit compliance with a bunch of terrorists trying to wreck the East Coast of the United States of America. The Chinese might be cunning and they might be devious, but they’re not stupid.”

  “They might be able to buy ’em at that place in Bosnia,” said Arnold Morgan. “But I’d be surprised if a European country would agree to that, especially one in NATO, or the EU.”

  “How about North Korea?” said Admiral Morris.

  “Possible. Though I’m not sure if they have developed the sophistication to build a nuclear-headed missile that would fit into a big Russian submarine.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Admiral Dickson. “But I guess in the end it doesn’t matter where they got the warhead. We have to stop it, whether it was made in Korea, Belgrade, or Macy’s.”

  “Okay,” said Arnold, “let’s hear that outline from Freddie on the deployment of the fleet.”

  “We’ll definitely need to use a ‘box’ system for our submarine force,” said Admiral Curran. “And my recommendation is, we form a screen from the 500-mile mark moving inshore to perhaps 300. Each one of fifteen boats taking a square of around 40 miles by 40 miles, each of them with a towed array, trying to pick up every sound in the water. Altogether, that should take care of an area of 24,000 square miles.

&n
bsp; “My personal view is that the Barracuda will not hang around in the ocean west of La Palma, firstly because he’ll guess we’re in there, thick and fast, and secondly, because he’ll be coming in from farther south and may have a great distance to cover at a slow speed. Our best chance is to catch him coming in, though I have no real confidence he’ll make the kind of mistake we need to detect him.

  “I then recommend we take five more submarines and position them in boxes 40

  miles long, right inshore. The water’s very deep, and there is just a chance the Barracuda will move in quietly at night in order to launch with a visual look as well as the GPS.

  “I do not say this is any more likely a scenario than any other. But it would be ridiculous to have our defensive screens way offshore, while our enemy creeps underneath us, in two-mile-deep ocean, and opens fire from close range, giving us restricted time to set up for the intercept.”

  General Hudson apologized but requested permission to interrupt, reminding the group that there plainly had to be a Patriot missile-shield positioned at the top of the cliff, and around the rim of the volcanoes. “We can only hope he launches something that flies high, rather than a sea skimmer,” he said. “Just to give us a real shot at it.”

  Admiral Curran nodded in agreement. He suggested the submarine force should answer directly to SUBLANT headquarters, wherever that might be. It was becoming ominously certain that they were looking at a general evacuation of all Naval and Military command posts on the East Coast of the U.S.A., as the October 9 deadline approached.

  Adm. Alan Dickson very briefly discussed the deployment of the surface fleet, recommending that another eighty ships would be required for the offshore vigil that might save the East Coast. “We’re looking at a force of maybe forty frigates—modern missile ships with towed arrays—listening in the water throughout that central area between the two submarine forces.

  “We’re talking maybe a 200,000-square-mile patrol area with eighty ships—that’s 2,500 square miles each, a 50-mile-square box—and they’ll search it end to end, night and day, waiting for the intruder. If he’s good, we may never hear him. If he’s careless, just once, near any of our ships, he’s rubble.

  “If the meeting agrees, we’ll begin work on the defensive layout right away, and we better start moving ships into the area from the Middle and Far East.”

  “I agree with that,” said Arnold Morgan. “But I remain concerned about the time frame, and I remain concerned about Hamas watching our activities at the bases around the Gulf over the next couple of weeks.

  “If they see we are doing absolutely nothing in response to their evacuation demand, they might just get frustrated and whack the cliff, or somehow up the ante. I’d like to try and avoid that.”

  “You mean, start moving stuff as if we’re obeying them?”

  “So far as I can see,” said Arnold, “that’s the only chance we have of buying time. If they see we’re reacting to their threats, they may be happy to give us more time. And we need time. A defensive operation like this needs all the time it can get.”

  “Sir,” said Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe. “I wonder if I may ask a question?”

  “Sure, Jimmy, go right ahead.”

  “Do you think these jokers will attempt to bang some high ordnance straight into the cliff and knock it into the sea, or do you think they’ll try to bang a couple of big nuclear warheads straight into the Cumbre Vieja volcano, blow it wide open, and let nature take its course with the steam blast?”

  “Good question,” replied the Admiral. “In the normal way, I’d say any terrorist in that situation would want to fire in a missile, hit the cliff, and bolt for freedom, from maybe 300 miles offshore.

  “But this bastard’s different. We believe he’s an expert on volcanoes. Option two—hitting the crater—will take much longer to develop, and it is more difficult to execute, but it’s also more deadly. Altogether a more awesome and terrifying project. I think he’ll go for Option Two. He’s not afraid of difficulty, and he’ll try for maximum effect.”

  “Just like he did at Mount St. Helens,” replied the Lieutenant Commander, thoughtfully.

  “Exactly so,” said Admiral Morgan.

  “Which brings us back to the business of time,” said General Scannell. “Does everyone think we should stage some kind of an unobtrusive departure from the bases in the Gulf?”

  “I don’t think we can, not so long as President McBride thinks we’re all crazy.” General Boyce, the Supreme NATO Allied Commander, was visibly unhappy. He shook his head and said twice, “I just don’t know.”

  General Tim Scannell was braver. “Bart,” he said, “I think I mentioned it before. On this one, we may just have to go without him.”

  And the eight men sitting around the big table in the CJC’s conference room felt the chill of a potential mutiny, led, unthinkably, by the Highest Command of the United States Military.

  7

  0800, Friday, September

  456.18S 67.00W, Speed 15, Depth 300.

  ADM. BEN BADR held the Barracuda steady on course, two-seven-zero, 25 miles south of Cape Horn, beneath rough, turbulent seas swept by a force-eight gale out of the Antarctic. They were moving through the Drake Passage in 2,500 fathoms of water, having finally concluded their southward journey down past the hundreds of islands and fiords that guard mainland Chile from the thundering Pacific breakers.

  They had made good speed across the southeast Pacific Basin, and the Mornington Abyssal Plain, and were now headed east, running north of the South Shetland Islands in the cold, treacherous waters where the Antarctic Peninsula comes lancing out of the southern ice floes.

  Ben Badr was making for the near end of the awesome underwater cliffs of the Scotia Ridge. At the same time, he was staying in the eastern flows of the powerful Falkland Islands current. His next course adjustment would take him past the notoriously shallow Burdwood Bank, and well east of the Falkland Islands themselves.

  These were lonely waters, scarcely patrolled by the Argentinian Navy, and even more rarely by the Royal Navy, which was still obliged to guard the approaches to the islands for which 253 British servicemen had fought and died in 1982.

  It was midwinter this far south, and despite not having seen daylight for almost two months, Ben Badr assured the crew that they did not want to break the habit right now. Not with an Antarctic blizzard raging above them, and a mighty southern ocean demonstrating once more that Cape Horn’s murderous reputation was well earned.

  Submarines dislike the surface of the water under almost any conditions. They are not built to roll around with the ocean’s swells. But 300 feet below the waves, the Barracuda was in its correct element, moving swiftly and easily through the depths, a smooth, malevolent jet-black tube of pending destruction, but the soul of comfort for all who sailed with her.

  That 47,500 hp nuclear system had been running sweetly for eight weeks now, which was not massively demanding for a power source that would run, if necessary, for eight years. The Russian-built VM-5 Pressurized Water Reactor would provide every vestige of the submarine’s propulsion, heat, fresh water, and electronics on an indefinite basis. Barring accident, the only factor that could drive the Barracuda to the surface was if they ran out of food.

  Their VM-5 reactor was identical to the one the Russians used on their gigantic Typhoon-class ballistic missile boats. The world’s biggest underwater warships, which displace 26,000 tons of water submerged, required two of them, but the reactors were the same state-of-the-art nuclear pressurized water systems.

  The Barracuda, with its titanium hull, was a submariner’s dream. It could strike with missiles unexpectedly, from an unknown position. It was incredibly quiet—as quiet as the U.S. Navy’s latest Los Angeles–class boats, silent under seven knots, undetectable, barring a mistake by her commanding officer. A true phantom of deep water.

  General Rashood and Ben Badr stared at the charts that marked the long northward journey ahead of them. It
was more than 4,000 miles up to the equator, and they knocked off three parts of that with a brisk, constant 15 knots through the cold, lonely southern seas, devoid of U.S. underwater surveillance and largely devoid of the warships of any nation.

  They remained 1,000 miles offshore, running 500 feet below the surface up the long Argentinian coast, across the great South American Basin until they were level with the vast 140-mile-wide estuary of the River Plate.

  This is the confluence of the Rivers Parana and Uruguay, and the enormous estuary contains some of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, steaming along the merchant ship roads, into the ports of Buenos Aires on the Argentinian side and Montevideo on the Uruguayan.