Commodore Sharef went down the ladder slowly, leaning heavily on Tawkidi.
On the messroom table’s center was a rolled-out ship’s plan, an elevation view of the forward part of the ship from frame fifty at the aft portion of the command module to the nose-cone bow caps. Underneath the main ship’s plan were detailed drawings brought in by the ship’s mechanical officer and fourth in command — with al-Kunis dead, now third — Commander Ibn Quzwini. Sharef took his seat at the head of the table. Quzwini stood at the outboard center of the table while Tawkidi sat at Sharef’s right hand where al-Kunis had once sat. There were only five other officers, the rest casualties or in the control room. Lt. At Ishak, the computer-systems officer, stood watch in control with Idrissi, the junior officer on the reactor-control console. Lieutenant Kutaiba, propulsion officer. Sublieutenant al-Maari, sensor officer, and two junior officers completed the company for the briefing.
Sihoud and Ahmed now arrived. Sihoud still wore his shesh robe with ornate belt and ceremonial dagger. Ahmed had a bandaged head and foam pad around his neck. His submarine uniform, lent him by one of the junior officers, had one of the sleeves cut off where the doctor had sutured a long gash, the bandage ringed with clotted blood.
“Go ahead. Commander Quzwini,” Sharef began.
Quzwini looked at Ahmed, nodded and looked back down at the drawing spread out on the table.
“Since we recovered from the torpedo hit. Colonel Ahmed and I have tried to write a plan to install the Scorpion warheads in the Hiroshima missiles—”
Sharef interrupted. “Take this in sequence. First, are we able to assemble the Scorpions without Dr. Abuiwafa?”
There was a part of Sharef that did not want to consider launching a weapon that would kill over half-a-million people from a week-long attack of radiation poisoning, even if they were from the same nation that had sunk the Sahand.
The American Navy was what he really wanted to attack.
Women and children and old men in Washington, D.C., had nothing to do with the attack on his frigate, and his submarine should have no business killing them. Even if it would win the war, a big if in his view, he had doubts he would want to do it.
Ahmed spoke up. “The Scorpions are already assembled. Dr. Wafa left detailed instructions and the units were modular and required a minimum of tools. The danger was in the charging of chemicals and compressed gases to the prereaction chambers and the insertion of the plutonium and cobalt into the dispersion shell, but the risk is now behind us. We are ready to insert the warheads into the missiles.”
“We can bring the warheads to the middle level at the—”
“Quzwini!” The mechanical officer froze at the anger in Sharef’s voice.
“Colonel Ahmed, why was this dangerous operation done without my permission?”
“I gave Colonel Ahmed permission, Commodore,” Sihoud’s deep voice said. The general leaned back in the chair as if that were enough.
“General, the permission was not yours to give. As I told you, I’m in command of this submarine, and until I’m dead, I and I alone will give the orders that compromise ship safety. If you are unable to understand that, sir, I will lock you in your stateroom.”
Silence. Sihoud smiled slightly. “You were unconscious at the time. Commodore. I assumed responsibility. I am sorry if I have trespassed on your … turf.”
Sharef glared at him but let it pass. “Continue, Quzwini.”
“Yes sir. The two warheads weigh about 3000 kilograms. Handling them from the lower level to the upper will be difficult. I plan to cut a hole in the deckplates of this level centerline just aft of the door to the head. We will weld lifting lugs onto the steel deck of the upper level, then use chainfalls to bring the units into the head door, enlarging it if we have to, then remove the cosmetic partition obscuring the access hatch to the forward ballast tank.”
“That access hatch is not hinged, Quzwini, it’s welded shut,” Sharef said.
“We’ll torch it open, then reweld it shut when we’re done. The ship will remain submerged with the ballast tank full. We’ll be putting the Hiroshima missiles in tubes one and six. Number one is in the center of the tank, giving us the most fore-and-aft room to pull out the missile. Number six is in the first ring. Only one and three have cruise missiles loaded. Six is the best choice, it is higher up, which gives us a larger margin of error should the ballast tank flood during the operation.”
“What speed will we need for depth control with a ballast tank full of air?”
“We’ll need to be shallow to keep the pressure down, but speed will probably need to be fifty or sixty clicks so that the X-tail can compensate for the buoyancy using hydrodynamic forces. Unfortunately we could have a wake from shallow speeds near the surface, so I believe a compromise will put us at a depth of 100 meters.”
“That means you will be working in ten atmospheres of pressure,” Sharef said. “Your time is limited and you’ll need to depressurize slowly to avoid the bends.”
“We’ve thought of that, sir. Time to perform this op will be about ten hours. Ballast-tank entry will last for another two to depressure by coming shallower. The two-hour depressurization will be timed to be at night so our surface wake will not be noticed by casual shipping or observation satellites. And even if it is, it’s a big ocean and no one knows where we went after we left Gibraltar, so a surface disturbance won’t be tied to us.”
“And how will you get to the warheads?”
“We thought about torching the after-part of the tube and pulling the missile out one module at a time to get to the warhead, then reassembling. That would take several days of disassembly and reassembly in a half-flooded ballast tank with poor lighting. It would not work.”
“I know that,” Sharef said. It was the obstacle he’d tried to overcome since he’d been told about the mission. Short of opening a tube bow cap and withdrawing the weapon from in front of the ship, there seemed no way to get the warheads in.
“We’ll torch-cut the forward top ends of the tubes, right at the ring joint from missile to warhead. The metal will be re moved, the old warhead disassembled and the new one inserted. The main struggle will be handling the warheads and the metal pieces from the tubes. More lifting lugs and chainfalls.”
“Have you thought of what happens when you cut into a tube with a torch directly above a live warhead?” Sharef asked. “You’ll blow a twenty-meter hole in the nose cone.”
“No,” Ahmed said, “We’ll get the high explosive out first. We’ll drill a hole in the top of the tube with a titanium drill bit, continuing into the Hiroshima warhead. A second hole will be drilled on the side of the tube for insertion of a heating element to melt the explosive, which will be sucked out the top hole. We think we can evacuate ninety percent of the explosive mass this way. The rest will be neutralized with a nitrogen-bottle purge from the side hole through the top hole. The nitrogen won’t prevent burning the remaining explosive but it will keep a sustained fire from burning in the tube and lighting off the solid rocket-booster fuel.”
“Commodore, to save time and accomplish the mission,” Sihoud said, standing, “Colonel Ahmed requests permission to load the warheads.”
“Permission granted, Ahmed. Please go blow your head off.”
Tawkidi helped him back to his stateroom, where he collapsed into his bed, his face gray with pain and fatigue.