Seawolf tsf-2

by David E. Meadows

  Bud started to apologize, but saw her shut eyes, and watched quietly as her breathing slowed and she slid into unconsciousness. The truck hit another series of rough spots, bouncing everyone around. She slept through the tumble. Bud hoped they got back soon. He’d seen what wounds like hers could become without proper treatment — blood poisoning, gangrene, and a slow, painful death.

  Beau slid in beside Duncan as Yosef moved off to check on his men.

  “Where to now, Boss?” Beau asked.

  “We’ve got to get out of this country.”

  “No argument from me on that score. Do you have a plan?”

  Duncan nodded. “I’ve discussed it with Colonel Yosef and he agrees. We are going to have to return to the coast. Our only chance lies in getting out to sea where Sixth Fleet can pick us up.”

  Beau nodded, and then leaned close to Duncan and whispered, “I don’t understand why they didn’t kill her.”

  “Think about it, Beau. The fight wouldn’t have lasted forever.”

  * * *

  The armored car screeched to a halt at the petrol station. Algerian rebels pushed and shoved as they crowded into the cramped spaces of the military vehicle.

  Ten minutes later the armored car took off in pursuit. The rebel captain, confident they would soon overtake the old truck, screamed into the radio, trying to establish contact with Algiers. He threw the microphone against the dashboard in frustration when no answer came immediately. President Al neuf had been recognized.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Mr. President, ” Franco Donelli said. “If you want to talk with Ambassador Cannets while the Algerian ambassador is giving his address, we have a direct phone line at the United Nations up and running.” He pointed to the red phone between them. “It’s a secure line.”

  “Thanks, Franco,” Crawford replied as he picked up the phone. “Alex, you there?”

  A voice on the other end answered.

  “Can you put him on, please,” the president replied. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Franco, are we watching C SPAN or CNN on the wide screen?”

  “It’s the State Department’s camera, Mr. President.”

  The president uncovered the mouthpiece. “Alex, old friend, this is President Crawford. Has there been a pre release of his speech yet?”

  “No, sir, Mr. President. But I did speak with the new ambassador late last night, as you directed. A debrief was sent via classified e-mail to Washington earlier today. I was very adamant, nearly to the point of threatening, when I demanded the safe conduct of American and Western citizens out of the black hole of Algiers. I was surprised by his reac lion. He seemed almost apologetic; very receptive, but he never actually apologized. He promised to personally expedite their departure. Further, he assured me of their safety and security. We were interrupted several times by others, but he said that our concerns were being blown out of proportion to events in Algiers. Even so, he promised to resolve our concerns.”

  President Crawford heard the American ambassador to the United Nations sigh. “What he didn’t say was when. I am speculating, Mr. President, but I think if we keep the political pressure on, Algeria will release our citizens soon.”

  “Alex, I hope you’re right, but I do not intend to wait much longer.

  The press is comparing Algiers to Tehran under Jimmy Carter. According to Bob Gilfort, Westerners are still being forced into the compound.

  The ambassador there is rationing food and water, and attributes six deaths since yesterday to cholera.” President Crawford sighed in return. “Alex, the newspapers are crucifying the administration. I may have to send in the military to take the pressure off us.”

  Franco touched President Crawford on his arm and shook his head.

  President Crawford scowled, shifted the phone to his left hand, and continued. “What are your thoughts on this new Algerian ambassador?

  Why does he want to address the General Assembly? Will he honor his word on the plight of our citizens?”

  “I don’t know the answer to any of those questions yet, Mr. President.

  This unusual request to address the full body, plus the world attention on the situation at the American embassy in Algiers, gives him an opportunity to show a humanitarian side to the chaos in that country,” Ambassador Cannets added.

  “Alex, I hope you’re right. For your information, this morning I gave orders to prepare to evacuate our citizens regardless of whether we have permission to go in or not. I am holding off the execute order to see what Ambassador Mintab has to say. It is the only thing holding me back.”

  “I take it then, Mr. President, our forces are already in the area.

  This morning on CNN they said that mines in the Red Sea sank the USS Roosevelt and that the USS Stennis was blockaded west of the Strait of Gibraltar because the strait is mined.

  What’s going on, sir? Is there anything you can tell me before the speech begins? I have already had the British and Canadian ambassadors asking me questions about the newscast. Australia and New Zealand will also support our position, but they’re half a world away.”

  The president glanced down at the STE telephone to confirm the digital readout. Seeing “TOP SECRET CODE WORD” displayed, he continued. “Alex, CNN, for once, is wrong. This is top secret, so it’s close hold, though I suspect the news agencies will know soon enough. The aircraft carrier Roosevelt was not sunk. As you know, the Egyptians closed the Suez Canal based on some story about it being mined. But Farbros told me that the CIA believes it’s a fabricated story to keep the Roosevelt battle group from entering the Med.

  “We didn’t force the issue because by then we had redirected the USS Roosevelt to reverse course and join the Seventh Fleet off Korea. When the Roosevelt battle group hit that narrow strip of water, linking the Red Sea with the Gulf of Aden, the lead destroyer hit a mine.”

  President Crawford stopped and covered the mouthpiece.

  “Franco, what’s that area called?”

  “The Bab El Mandeb, sir,” the director of the CIA, Farbros Digby-Jones, answered before Franco could respond.

  President Crawford removed his hand. “Yeah, that’s it. The Bab El Mandeb, Alex. The destroyer suffered considerable damage. The battle group turned north after saving the destroyer, and about five miles later several torpedo mines hit the Roosevelt. She is damaged, but still under her own power. You can’t sink a major ship of the line like a carrier without a lot of effort. Commander United States Naval Forces Central Command in Bahrain reports that the United States Fifth Fleet has dispatched three minesweepers from the Persian Gulf to the area, and we expect them to arrive day after tomorrow. I’m told it’ll take two days to clear a path through the mines. Even so, the Roosevelt cannot continue to Korea. The Navy is ordering her to Singapore for repairs.”

  As for the USS Stennis …” Crawford chuckled. “A piece of good news through all of these misfortunes. You’ll love ins this story, Alex, being a former Naval officer.

  Captain Hoi man, the commanding officer of the USS Stennis, had a destroyer tow the carrier through the strait while the battle group hugged the Moroccan coast.”

  “What did the Moroccans do, Mr. President?”

  “They didn’t do a damn thing, Alex. Holman had F-14s and F-18s swarming overhead the battle group like angry hornets. He made the submarine do-the transit on the surface. The message sent to Sixth Fleet and to JCS indicates that Captain Holman believes the mines are keyed to magnetic-field size and sound-level intensity, whatever that means. He says that’s why the submarine that attacked them was sunk.

  Oh, Alex, you can share that information about the evacuation and the minefields with the British, Canadians, Australians, and New Zealand. But don’t do it until after five o’clock this afternoon. The Royal Navy carrier was towed through the same way after Holman shared the information with them.”

  “So, the Nassau battle group, full of Marines, and the Stennis battle group, with its air wing, are together?”


  “Hold on a minute, Alex, I am going to put you on speaker phone.”

  Crawford hit the speaker so Alex could hear. “Franco, are the two battle groups together yet?”

  “Not physically together, sir.” Franco turned to General PA glefield, who was sitting in the second row. “General, what is the status of the two battle groups in the Mediterranean?”

  General Eaglefield nodded to the chief of Naval Operations sitting beside him.

  “Mr. President,” Admiral Farmer answered. “They’re close enough to conduct operations. Stennis sailed past the southeastern tip of Spain two hours ago, and Nassau, forty nautical miles north of Algiers, is closing the city.”

  General Eaglefield added, “Kenneth Sutherland, Commander European Command, has designated Admiral Cameron as the Commander Joint Task Force, Mr. President. Feedback from Stuttgart estimates that the Navy and Air Force assets will be in position by this afternoon to commence an evacuation when ordered. We will receive word when preparations are completed. At that time, Mr. President, when you give the go-ahead, they’ll go.”

  “Not when,” Franco interjected. “Not when, General, but if.” “Alex,” the president continued. “Did you hear all that?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. Do you want me to say anything to the Algerian ambassador? A warning or anything?”

  Admiral Farmer, sitting to the left of General Eaglefield, touched Franco’s shoulder and shook his head vehemently. Franco nodded, touched President Crawford, and mouthed

  “No.”

  “No, Alex,” the president replied, watching Franco’s lips. “Let’s see what he has to say. How much longer before he begins?”

  “Five minutes, Mr. President. His name is Ahmid Tawali Mintab. He arrived at the General Assembly about twenty minutes ago, and has been engaged in animated conversation with the other new ambassadors from Morocco and Tunisia and with the acting Libyan ambassador. I asked the CIA for a bio on him, but have yet to receive a reply.”

  The president leaned back in his chair and turned around to Farbros Digby-Jones. “Farbros, you have anything on this new ambassador?”

  “No, sir, Mr. President. Our databases do not have an Algerian politician or revolutionary by that name. The only person we can find by that name is a minor functionary in the Libyan foreign service, but nothing that ties him to Algeria. The Army provided that information, and I don’t know where they got it.” “Okay, Alex,” Crawford continued, speaking firmly. “We’re going to watch the speech from the White House. This phone patch will be kept open and you can talk directly to Bob Gilfort, Franco, or me. Do not let anyone know that I am on the other end. But if we don’t like what we hear, then the next phone call will be from General Eaglefield to the European Command. We are bringing out our citizens, with or without the help of the Algerian government.” He glanced over at Roger Maddock, who nodded once in quick agreement. “Okay, Alex, I’ll talk with you later.”

  The phone clicked as it was put on hold on both ends.

  “General Eaglefield,” the president said pensively. “We’re waiting for everyone to move into position to rescue our citizens. What if we had to go right now, before all our forces were in place?”

  “Mr. President, we have always had the Marines offshore. One word and they’ll own Algiers before nightfall.”

  “I think sometimes, Roger, you are too melodramatic,” Franco said.

  * * *

  Colonel Alqahiray sat in the center seat of the operations theater, absentmindedly brushing cigarette ash off his tunic. Overhead, the live transmission from the United Nations General Assembly filled the large screen.

  He turned to those sitting in the row behind him. “Colonel Walid, I am thankful you are behind me, protecting me from these ill-bred intelligence officers,” he said, smiling, as he pointed to Major Samir and the two officers who always shadowed the morning intelligence briefer. “Why are they here anyway? Haven’t I told you, Walid, that Intelligence Officers are supposed to be making intelligence, not watching it so they can come to me a few hours later, rearrange the events, and then tell me what I’ve just seen?”

  Colonel Alqahiray smiled at the discomfort his remarks caused. He laughed. “Don’t shake like cowards, Major. We have proven that Libyan warriors are anything but cowards.” Alqahiray had little idea the shaking was anger waiting for its time.

  The silence dragged out. Finally, Alqahiray stood and faced the small crowd. To his right sat the cousin who had led the execution of the junta. The remaining seats in the first row contained the other two operations officers from the command post. In the second row Colonel Walid, Major Samir, alongside the two other intelligence officers, sat with two individuals Colonel Alqahiray recognized as senior security guards of the compound. Why were they here? He was on the verge of ordering them out, but in the exuberance of the moment he decided they could stay. The more witnesses to his victory, the quicker the word would spread.

  He cleared his throat. “This is a glorious moment in history, my fellow Islamic warriors. In ten days we have shook the world as no Moslem has since the eleventh century. Tomorrow, we will no longer be a Third World country to be ridiculed, ignored, and scorned by the West. No, we’ll be in a position to control the world economically, defend ourselves militarily, and wield world influence unparalleled for a Moslem country. We will control the lifelines of the world. We’ll own the Mediterranean. We’ll have power. We will inspire every Arab in the world as we lead Islam once again into greatness. For that, you will be remembered as architects of the rise of Islamic greatness in what the Westerners call the twenty-first century. The great years are yet to come as Allah ordains our victory.”

  On the screen the new Algerian ambassador began his walk down the aisle toward the podium, where the huge lectern gave the speaker a grand view of the enormous hall and the gallery above it.

  Walid coughed slightly. “Colonel, it has begun.”

  The colonel’s eyes gleaned with a flash of anger over being interrupted. He hated to be interrupted. Alqahiray buried the fiery emotion quickly, and reluctantly sat down to yield the attention to the screen in front. No applause. No adulation. It was Walid’s fault.

  Who was more important? Him or his mouthpiece at the U. N.? Walid needed to be reminded of his place. That would come with time.

  Walid wiped the sweat from his forehead. So much to do in the next hour, and even though he was committed to doing it, Colonel Alqahiray still frightened him.

  Colonel Alqahiray was Jihad Wahid. Without his insight and cunning, without his forethought and plans, without his leadership and political tempering of tribal diversities — without him making the covert arrangement with the Chinese, they would not be here today. It brought tears of respect to Walid’s eyes. And tears of sadness, too.

  * * *

  The Chinese general walked slowly around the room, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with the others. The air-conditioning was cool on his skin after the brisk walk uphill in the hot morning sun.

  Sharing the thrill of a plan coming to fruition, he basked in the admiration and the congratulatory comments. Several attentive minutes later he sat down at one end of the long, well-polished table to join the high-ranking Chinese ministers. He took a deep breath when he realized he was the only military person present. He wiped the sweat from his palms. A great honor, if nothing goes wrong.

  The ancient gentleman in the dark suit at the other end pushed himself up from his seat. “General Xing, congratulations on your accomplishment. We honor you for the brilliant execution of a scheme that furthers the world influence of the People’s Republic of China.

  Few could have taken a concept such as this and achieved the secrecy and applied the tact necessary to bring it to a successful conclusion — a conclusion without tainting our hands. One that will enhance Chinese influence throughout the world with little, if any, political fallout.” He lifted his wineglass. “Gentlemen, please stand with me in drinking a toast to General Xing, with
out whose foresight and clarity our government would not have achieved this success. To paraphrase the English despot Churchill, “Never have so many owed so much for so little.” Dao Chu Shai smiled, knowing everyone in the room attributed the success to his foresightedness.

  General Xing remained seated. He nodded deeply, and forced the smile from his lips as he paid respect to the wispy gray-haired Chairman Dao Chu Shai. Everyone stood, lifted their glasses to him, and sipped the French wine. They would have been drinking champagne if the chairman hadn’t preferred wine. A round of polite fingertips-in-palms applause followed. Every one of them envied the chairman’s power, but his knowledge of their weaknesses and their interwoven intrigues kept them pitted against each other.

  One of the two assistants who were always with him pulled the chairman’s chair further out. The chairman put his hand on the arm of the shorter assistant as he turned and began his shuffle toward General Xing. The old man balanced his movement with a hand on the back of the chairs along the way. Why did the body always go before the intellect?

  He waved the assistant back. The others remained standing, but no one offered to help the frail leader of the People’s Republic of China.

  They remembered, too well, the last time. Each nodded respectfully as Dao passed. And when he passed, each finished off the remnants of wine in his glass and nervously poured a refill. They should be worried, Dao gloated to himself.

  The general stood as the chairman reached him.

  “General, on behalf of a grateful nation, I award you the Red Order of Mao.” he said, his voice vibrating from age. “You have done well, and we of the People’s Republic of China are proud of our patriots. Your initiative highlights the increased decline of American supremacy and relegates both Americans and their lackeys to a secondary status. And the funny thing is, General, they don’t even know it! They will never realize our success or how this marks the turning point in world dominion.”

  The chairman put his hand out to brace himself on the walnut table. “I am hopeful that I may live to witness Communism spread in its true form as hand-in-hand we lead the lesser nations into the future. World dominion cannot be accomplished militarily. No, world dominion is like a good game of chess. One must be patient to the point of even allowing your opponent the initial onslaught on the board. Let him expend his forces against a strong defense while you look several moves beyond for the ultimate victory. Never confront him head-on when you can enter his garden from the rear. And when the time is right, you strike with everything and send him reeling back until he cries in defeat. We could have accomplished the same things by military force.