For a moment Sihoud was stunned. But Ahmed looked calmly at him after saying that the Hegira would bring the missiles to the coast of America and fire them. The Hegira? A submarine? It was so preposterous that it almost made a twisted kind of sense.
The Hegira was Ahmed’s predecessor’s idea, and a silly idea at that. Up until now Sihoud had regretted his decision to support the acquisition, but now he wondered.
Sihoud’s last chief of staff had been the head of the Egyptian navy, Admiral Al Abbad Mansur, who had insisted that they were vulnerable from the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean. It would be ridiculous, Sihoud had insisted, for a mighty land power to fear the sea, and foolish to try to match the seagoing forces of the West with a blue-water navy. Mansur had proposed a different solution, the purchase of three of the Japanese-designed Destiny-class submarines.
At first Sihoud had continued to resist, but at Mansur’s persistence he had listened.
Mansur had pointed out that a small nation armed with submarines could alter the outcome of a war. He pointed to the Falklands War, in which the British submarines had bottled up the Argentine fleet, the Argentinians afraid to risk their surface ships against an unknown submerged threat; and there was the Persian Gulf War, in which unrestricted shipping by the West had allowed them to mass force on the continent. Mansur insisted that littoral warfare using submarines could be the edge that could save the union in a fight, and Sihoud finally had agreed.
The Japanese had designed the Destiny-class submarines for export sale, and in addition to the usual thorough Oriental design, the submarine was relatively inexpensive — for a submarine — only fifty-five billion yen. Three years ago that had not been a grand sum, even though it was the equivalent of an entire squadron of Firestar fighters. The submarine would allow them to patrol the Mediterranean and protect UIF soil from a Western assault from the sea, Mansur insisted, and a second unit in the Indian Ocean would keep them safe from the other side. With perhaps a third guarding them on the Atlantic, no aircraft carrier task group could threaten them. At the time, it had made sense, and while it was a considerable amount of money, it would have given the UIF a three-ocean navy with only three ships. Perhaps Mansur’s vision had been correct, but the acquisition of the ships had been a failure.
The Japanese had had design problems, as the Destiny-class was brand new and would supposedly revolutionize underwater combat. Delivery had been over two years late, and by then the invasions of Chad and Ethiopia were under way. By the time the first submarine was completed, Sihoud had begun the land attack on India, and by then there had still been no threatening moves by Western navies. In the intervening year Mansur had made other equally damaging mistakes — the India invasion had been full of them — and Sihoud had felt he had no choice but to execute Mansur. It had taken six months to train the crew of the first Destiny class submarine, and since its delivery it had been tied up uselessly in Kassab on the Mediterranean. It had spent time at sea, but mostly it had one mechanical problem after an other. Colonel Ahmed had taken over for Mansur — Sihoud had wanted an air force officer, having had his fill of the navy, and needing advice about using the new aircraft.
Sihoud was himself an expert on the armies, and kept his own counsel on the use and command of the ground troops — he had heard reports from Western media accounts that called him the equal of the great generals, even comparing — him to such as Alexander the Great, Napoleon, even Attila the Hun. When Ahmed had taken the chief of staff position, Sihoud had sent him to Kassab to report on the Destiny-class ship, named Hegira by Admiral Mansur in honor of the Prophet’s holy exile. Ahmed reported it to be a miraculous piece of technology, but a useless one for a land power such as the United Islamic Front of God. Sihoud still recalled Ahmed’s report — the Americans have a name for such a thing as this: they call it a White Elephant. The air force would do all that the submarine would do, Ahmed con included, and more. Sihoud had agreed, and the submarine had sat unused ever since.
And so it was ironic to hear the submarine mentioned in Ahmed’s plan to deploy the Scorpion missile. He must have had this in mind all along. So strange for an air force officer to abandon his beloved airplanes for an odd ship like the Hegira, but it would offer a secret way to get the missile to its target. Except it would take much too long … “How long to get to within missile range of the U.S.? Of Washington?”
“Sir, I hope you will forgive my action in this matter but I ordered the submarine loaded with the weapon components and it put to sea yesterday. It will take time to manufacture the three warshot weapons, perhaps a week or two. And these will be assembled aboard the Hegira while she is in transit. By the time she arrives at her firing station, the missiles will be ready. Even if we were to fly the weapons to the U.S. we would still have to wait for the units to be assembled. I apologize for the unavoidable delay, sir, but in a matter of weeks this war will be quite different.”
Sihoud nodded slowly, wondering where the next weeks would lead to in this grisly land battle. The approach of the tactical watch officer intmded into his thoughts. The youngster was hollow-cheeked and ill fed to begin with, but the fear in his face made his appearance that much worse.
“Colonel, sir—”
“What is it, Massoud?”
“We’ve lost contact with the perimeter guards. All patrols. We had a strange static on one of the radios, like someone was about to transmit, then nothing. I’ve sent a platoon out to check, but—”
“Take command,” Ahmed ordered. “Send out all the security troops, then seal all portals. The Khalib and I are leaving now for the field. Send for the Seventh Islamic Guard to take protective positions at the bunker until further notice.”
Javelin Unit One, the first-fired missile from Daminski’s Augusta, flew over the flat desert, getting closer by the second to the target. The terrain comparisons were matching the setpoints and the final star fix showed the unit now one point zero five miles from the target — five seconds away if the unit were to continue flying straight on. But now was the time for the pop-up. The winglets rotated while the fuel-flow valve opened wide to full throttle. The combustors’ temperature soared, the turbine spooled up, the nozzle thrust escalated to the full 3,000 pounds-force of push, and the unit climbed for the sky, the desert below growing more and more distant, only the stars above in view. The pressure altimeter unwound as the missile soared over 1,000 feet, then 2,000. Finally the missile, having traded speed for altitude, slowed at the point of its pop-up arc, the winglets now demanding the missile dive.
The Javcalcor computer checked the high explosive’s arming status. The detonator train was ready, waiting only for the spark from the fuse. The weapon rotated in space, beginning its dive, the radar-seeker window now seeing the horizon, then the mosque of the main bunker complex a half mile below. Still on full thrust, the unit accelerated toward the mosque below, picking up speed as the mosque grew in its vision cone until it blocked out all else. The missile passed through the sound barrier and was going Mach 1.1 when the courtyard tiles of the mosque flew up and smashed into the seeker cone.
Sihoud felt Ahmed grab his arm and drag him to the south stair tower, pausing only to take up two automatic rifles.
Sihoud followed him, knowing what Ahmed was thinking, and beginning to wonder if his aide was correct in his caution, although there was still a part of him that resented this move to leave so suddenly. But then, Ahmed was right about the need to be in the field and not in an underground bunker.