“How did you know to come here?” Hunter asked.
“Because of all the war rumors,” Yaz told him. “People said a big one was coming, or, actually, that World War Three was about to heat up again. They said they would need soldiers, equipment, weapons.
“Well, we’re not combat soldiers, at least we weren’t trained to be. But we are technicians, engineers, specialists. We’ve found that very few people in the Med know how to operate a lot of the high-tech stuff that’s floating around these days. We do. We know what a semiconductor is and what it does. We understand laser-sighters, gate-arrays, tele-guidance. We had the skills. So we came here and opened for business. On one hand we repair some of the stuff that comes in. On the other, we teach people how to use it once it’s fixed.”
“Sounds like a very enterprising idea,” Hunter said, swigging his drink.
“Well, we need the money,” Yaz continued. “We’re trying to get enough cash to get a boat or an airplane or something to get everyone back to the States.”
“It’s a lot different over there now,” Hunter told him. “Some might think it’s not much to go home to.”
The lieutenant nodded. “I know,” he said slowly. “We hear different things. Never enough to put the whole picture together, though. We know it’s changed. But we still want to go back. It’s our country.”
Hunter instantly admired the man.
“Do you guys hire out like the rest of the people here?” he asked.
“We’ve never been approached,” Yaz said. “Rarely does anyone need us more than two or three at a time. Most of the stuff we do is strictly one-man, one-job.”
“Could your guys sail a big ship?” Hunter asked him.
Yaz thought a moment. “How big?”
“The biggest,” Hunter said.
“A carrier?” Yaz asked, his eyes going slightly wide. “A nuke?”
Hunter knew he could trust the man. “Yes, but a disabled one,” he told him. “No juice in the reactors.” He quickly explained what the Brits’ plan was and why he had flown to Algiers.
“This Lucifer guy is supposed to be one tough weirdo,” Yaz said after taking it all in. “I mean, he’s the guy behind the big war that’s coming. I’m glad someone’s going to try and stop him before he blitzkriegs his way to the Atlantic.”
He stopped and drained his drink, then said, “But actually towing a carrier through the Med to the Canal? That’s one very crazy idea.”
“In your best Navy opinion, can it done?”
Yaz thought it over. “I doubt it. There are a thousand things that could go wrong.”
“But is it impossible?”
Yaz looked him in the eye. “Well, nothing’s impossible, major. At least that’s what they taught us in Naval Officers training.”
Hunter nodded and took a long swig of his drink. “The Brits came here to buy protection forces and hoped to scrape up some sailors in the process,” he told him. “But these are RAF guys. They don’t have the foggiest idea how to move the ship and they’ll be the first to admit it. And, believe me, they’re paying good money.”
Again Yaz gave it some careful thought, then said, “Well, you know, even if the reactors aren’t running, the ship could still be powered up enough to run the weapons and to have some lights, I suppose. If we can rustle up some generators, that is. Or, better yet, get the gas turbines running.”
“Can your guys handle it?” Hunter asked.
“I think so,” Yaz said. “We live and breathe electronics here. But getting that carrier where they want it to go will take more than just lining up the circuits right. It will need a lot of coordination, teamwork more than anything else. That I can convince them of.”
Hunter was already convinced.
That night the British pilots had arranged for a secret conference to be held in a village nearby. The site was the back room of a rundown cafe. The Englishmen had interviewed more than forty different mercenary groups during the day and now they asked seven group leaders to join them at the session. They were anxious to talk to the Americans too.
The meeting started precisely at midnight. Hunter, seated at the left of Heath and Raleigh, studied the other men who sat around the table in the smoky backroom.
The man directly to his right represented a group of Frenchmen who specialized in ship defense. They would come equipped with a dozen Phalanx Gatling-style machine guns — weapons so quick and powerful, they could send up a wall of lead so intense, no antiship missile could penetrate it.
The man next to him was a captain in the Australian Army. His 900-man battalion, a mixture of Aussies and Gurkha troops, was well-trained in special weapons and tactics. If the carrier ever actually made it to the Suez, these soldiers would come in handy.
Next came a colonel in the Free Spanish Air Force. His group had been originally attached to a NATO early-warning radar unit. Now they hired out as an air-defense team, complete with portable shoulder-launched, antiaircraft Stinger missiles from the US. Appropriately enough, they were called Rocketeers.
A man in a black, flowing robe and a turban sat to Spaniard’s right. He represented the Free Moroccan Brigade — a group of 7500 men. They were very versatile combat soldiers, well acquainted with desert warfare as well as seaborne assaults. These troops would serve as the carrier’s strike force, large enough to seize and hold moderately sized objectives. They were also very anti-Lucifer, despite the fact they, like many in Lucifer’s Legion, were devout Moslems. The Brits knew this to be an important point.
An Italian sat next to the Moroccan. The man headed up a small unit of communications specialists. These men would be in charge of getting the carrier’s sophisticated radio and radar systems up and running.
Next came the Norwegian Naval Commander, a man named Olson. He operated a squad of fifteen swift frigates. These vessels would provide the carrier with sea defense and escort and also would be called on to do scouting duties.
Then there was the Irishman. Small and red-faced, the man, authentically named Paddy O’Brien, also brought a very important aspect to the party — maybe the most important. He owned a fleet of twenty armed tugboats, each boasting a crew of ten. They would be the ones responsible for the actual “pulling and pushing,” as he put it of the USS Saratoga. O’Brien could also arrange to have an oiler — a refueling ship — join the venture.
Finally there was Lieutenant Yastrewski, US Navy. His specialists would run the ship.
The purpose of the backroom meeting was to hammer out contracts. The negotiations were intense. The Brits had plenty of money, courtesy of the wealthy Modern Knights. But they were rock-solid on the prices each group would be paid. Beyond money, though, the Brits had to make sure everyone in the room was of a like mind. There were no negotiations on this point. To a man, the group leaders agreed that Lucifer had to be stopped. The Moroccans were the most adamant. So it was not just for gold that the participants agreed to join the bold adventure. Freedom was also a factor. “My kind of people,” thought Hunter.
The conference was still going strong when the sun came up. All the deals had been struck before dawn. Now a multitude of logistics had to be planned: equipment and supplies secured, pickup points for the groups arranged.
Hunter was more impressed with the Brits all the time. Throughout the meeting, Heath and Raleigh had calmly addressed each concern, negotiated firmly but fairly, then assigned the units their responsibilities. All groups took their assignments with cool professional élan.
“Then it’s settled!” Heath said, after discussing the final points. “Gentlemen, if I had a drink, I would toast to you — all of you. What we are about to undertake will undoubtedly affect the balance of power in this area — if not the world — for many years to come. God—Allah—help us all … ”