by Noah Beck
While the Dolphin renewed its air supply, Daniel stood next to Ambesah in the closed communications room as he tried to establish high-frequency radio communication with naval command in Haifa, about 2,500 kilometers away, so that the captain could speak with them. Five minutes passed with no response. Ambesah’s expression grew anxious. When the nerve center doesn’t hear from one of its submarines for more than a few days, it starts looking for and trying to save the lost ship. But what happens in the reverse situation, when a crew hasn’t heard from headquarters? There was no way for the seamen to look for, much less save, their naval command.
“Establish a satellite link.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Moments later, the communications officer excitedly informed the captain that there were two messages from naval command. The Israeli Navy had developed a specially encrypted messaging system, akin to email, that enabled headquarters and naval vessels to send and receive written messages via satellite, thereby giving all parties the very latest update and any transmissions that preceded it. This system was intended to support complex judgments, by supplying a more detailed chronology and strategic context with which to understand unfolding events.
Ambesah’s team decrypted the messages and printed them out on a sheet of paper, which they handed to Daniel. The first message had been sent at 0900 hours on their 25th day at sea, about six hours after their last communication from headquarters: “Two and a half hours ago Palestinian Hamas and Islamic Jihad fired two Fajr-3 missiles from Gaza, hitting residential buildings in Bat-Yam and Tel Aviv and killing about 150 civilians. Suspicious military movements of weapons systems in Iran, Syria, and Lebanon have continued. Iran’s Supreme Leader Khamenei just announced that the last Islamic Messiah, the Shiites’ 12th Imam Mahdi, may reappear in the coming hours. Proceed as quickly as possible to position of strategic deterrence and prepare to attack. Expect an update within two hours.”
The next message was sent 90 minutes later: “Attacked on all fronts. In crisis management mode. Naval command hit. Communication difficult. Launch nuclear strike on preferred Iranian targets. If you’re too far away, then launch against secondary Iranian targets.”
Daniel and Ambesah looked at each other for a moment, their faces full of dread. But Daniel had to keep his cool. That’s what it meant to be captain.
“Is there a launch code with the message?” he asked, handing him back the printout.
“Yes, Sir…But it’s incomplete.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only the first ten characters are there.”
“So the last five characters are missing?”
“Yes, Sir. Like maybe it was cut off or something.”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door to the small, top-secret communications room. “Sir, there was a periscope sighting of an Iranian frigate approaching from the northeast.” Daniel turned on the intercom.
“Dive, dive, dive! Down to 150 meters while staying on a westerly course. Yisrael, Samir, and Bao, come to the communications room now.”
Within a minute Yisrael and Samir showed up. Bao, who looked somewhat recovered from the flood emergency, arrived about 20 seconds later. Daniel shut the door so that they could have some privacy.
“We’ve never had a situation like this, even in drills, so I wanted to discuss it with you, the most senior officers of the ship, before we involve the rest of the crew.” Daniel turned to Ambesah. “Show them the two updates.” Yisrael, Samir, and Bao nervously huddled around the printout in Ambesah’s shaking hand and read the news.
“My God…” Samir groaned.
“I can’t believe this,” Yisrael said, in shock.
“This is…I…I…” Bao couldn’t find words.
“Gentlemen, I think we have to proceed as if we had received a full launch code of 15 characters. The first ten characters match and the messages make it pretty obvious that a nuclear strike is warranted.”
There was a moment of silence and then Yisrael spoke. “I disagree,” he began. “Even if we had the full launch code, the naval code of ethics requires a nuclear strike authorization to be received no more than two hours before the time that a nuclear attack is launched.”
“The naval code of ethics?” Samir asked in disbelief.
“Naval command mentioned the secondary targets in case we were too far away to reach the preferred targets within the two-hour window,” Daniel replied. “So the intent was clearly for us to attack, even if we have to hit the secondary targets instead of the preferred targets.”
Yisrael rebutted the captain: “No. They knew our speed and position at the time of our last communication, so they could assume that about six hours later, when they sent their attack order, we were probably close enough to hit most – but not all – of the preferred targets. So they mentioned the secondary targets only to replace the preferred targets that we couldn’t reach. Not to cancel the two-hour rule. If they wanted to cancel the two-hour rule, they could have simply said, ‘Disregard the two-hour rule because this order will not expire.’”
“Maybe they were in too much distress to predict the exact words that Yisrael would need to see in order to respect their command,” Samir snapped sarcastically.
“It’s not just words I need to see. Naval command knows the importance of the two-hour rule better than I do: it ensures that circumstances haven’t changed since the authorization was given to launch the nuclear strike.”
“When the authorization for a nuclear strike is given, it’s because the State of Israel has been fucking attacked with weapons of mass destruction,” Bao retorted impatiently.
“In such a situation, the circumstances justifying the strike cannot possibly change,” Daniel added.
“The update never said that the attacks on Israel involved weapons of mass destruction. It looks like that from the message, but we don’t know for sure. And the two-hour time limit exists precisely so that there is a chance to resolve that kind of ambiguity,” Yisrael said.
Ambesah hadn’t looked at the code of ethics in a while but recalled how the rule at issue might play out: “Yes. If, for example, 24 hours passed between when naval command sent the message and when we received it, their view of who’s responsible for the attack could have evolved during that time, and they might not want us automatically launching a nuclear retaliation as soon as we got their delayed message. So the two-hour rule is there to address that concern too.”
“Exactly,” Yisrael affirmed. “Military intelligence changes every second, so even two hours is a long time.”
“I’m well aware of the rationales underlying the Israeli Navy’s code of ethics,” Daniel replied. “But in certain circumstances we have to be able to judge – from the facts that we do have – who is responsible even without such a confirmation.”
“We may have our suspicions and our judgments, but military intelligence has the most current and actionable facts, and that’s what you need before incinerating millions of innocent people.”
“And what if there is no military intelligence left to find out these facts?” Samir asked.
“Exactly. Remember that it’s been 20 hours and 15 minutes since the last message from headquarters,” Daniel pointed out. “If they wanted to cancel the attack order because of new intelligence, they had over 20 hours to send a cancel order. If there’s only silence after something like a nuclear attack order, then naval command was itself probably destroyed.”
“It’s a fair assumption but we’re missing one-third of the attack authorization code,” Yisrael persisted.
“Yes, we’re missing the last third! What does that fuckin’ tell you?” Bao replied angrily. “It tells you that naval command was in such distress that they didn’t even have time to enter the full code. They sent their command thinking we’d have enough common sense to understand.”
“Apparently we don’t,” Samir sniped.
“I’m sorry, but the nuclear attack order expired over 18 hours ago. We need a valid
order from the Prime Minister of Israel.”
“If you want to get fucking technical, it would be the Acting Prime Minister,” Bao replied. “Our Prime Minister is in a coma, if you’ll recall. Or do you expect him to wake up from the coma so he can send us a valid order?”
Daniel tried a different tack: “Yisrael, I know that you’ve been through a lot lately. I’m sure the letter from Netta didn’t help matters, even if it helps me to understand what you may be going through…Are you sure that your objections are motivated by the right reasons here?”
“That’s insulting! What’s involved here is much bigger than anyone’s personal issues, which are trivial and meaningless compared to what we’re discussing. And that should be obvious to you and everyone else here.”
Daniel had experienced some disagreements and friction with his deputy over the years, but nothing that would have led him to think that this kind of discord could take place at a time like this. The obduracy of Yisrael’s resistance seemed to go against the very heart of their mission as leaders of a submarine with retaliatory nuclear warheads. Then again, they were in uncharted waters, so maybe nothing that might happen could have been predicted. Daniel thought of another line of reasoning in support of his position: “The very design of this submarine’s missile launch system contemplates the possibility that we might need to initiate a nuclear attack even without the Prime Minister.”
“How so?” Yisrael asked skeptically.
“Because it actually allows us to do so. It doesn’t require a password from the Prime Minister to finalize the launch sequence of a nuclear attack.”
“Good point,” Bao agreed. “These are just internal controls. The 20-character authorization code is just another step to help us conclude that an attack has in fact been authorized by the Prime Minister. But you can activate the nuclear missile launch without it.”
Daniel continued: “The democratically elected Israeli governments that were involved in the design of the submarine force could have easily made it impossible to launch a nuclear attack without the Prime Minister’s launch code. But that’s not how they were designed. So clearly they intended for us to make the hardest decisions ourselves, in the horrific scenario where there is no longer a prime minister who can make those decisions for us.”
Yisrael wasn’t going to budge: “These are all nice arguments for why we can push some buttons and murder millions of people. But their fate should not depend on whatever rationales we can come up with now, in the heat of the moment, on the submarine. We have the Israeli Navy’s code of ethics to guide us. These are moral rules of military conduct that were developed over many years, by many legal and moral experts. They decided when we have the legal authority to launch a nuclear attack. And they decided that an expired order does not give us that authority.”
Samir could no longer contain his simmering rage. “They just launched a massive attack on our entire country, you idiot!” he began, grabbing Yisrael’s shirt collar with both hands. “God knows what’s even fuckin’ left of it, and you’re worried about the fucking Naval Code of Ethics?!”
Yisrael was unfazed by Samir’s challenge. He looked straight into his eyes through his circular-framed glasses. “If you want to unlock the arsenal holding our nuclear warheads so that you can kill millions of people who did nothing to us or our country, without a proper authorization that complies with our code of ethics, then you will first have to kill me so that you can take the key from under my shirt.”
Daniel moved closer and broke the two officers apart. “OK, that’s enough. Step away from each other.” Daniel pushed them apart some more. “Enough, I said!”
The two men backed apart a little. “So here’s what we’re going to do,” the captain said, looking at the nearby monitor displaying digital maps showing their progress and the current time. “It’s now 0700 hours. We will continue en route to the attack position needed to hit all preferred targets. We should reach it in about 39 hours if we continue on course at five knots. As soon as it’s safe to rise to periscope depth, at any point in the next 39 hours, we’ll try to reach headquarters again, just in case it somehow becomes possible for them to send us a new and valid nuclear strike authorization.”
Ambesah offered a backup idea: “If we can’t reach headquarters, then we can use short-wave radio to pick up any international news reports about an attack on Israel, so that we can at least confirm our suspicions.”
“Good idea,” Daniel replied.
“We would still need an authorization from the Prime Minister before launching a nuclear attack,” Yisrael insisted.
“Then I will act as Prime Minister by granting that authorization myself,” Daniel responded.
“Think of it as a coup d’état from the submarine,” Bao said sarcastically. “Except that there’s no state left to overthrow because it was just destroyed.”
“But that’s exactly my point: if the State of Israel was destroyed, which we still don’t know for a fact, then the system that gives you power on this vessel is now gone.”
“No, we continue that system right here on this vessel,” Daniel replied. “Or are you suggesting that we just devolve into chaos, with every man for himself on this submarine?”
“If, as you say, we continue that system on this vessel, then major decisions like whether to kill millions of innocent people should be made democratically,” Yisrael replied. “Our state was run as a democracy, not as a submarine dictatorship.”
While Daniel wasn’t ready to stop being the captain, he saw the merit in Yisrael’s argument and wanted to handle the situation fairly but within the operational constraints of their underwater reality. “So what do you suggest?”
“That we let the entire crew discuss and debate the issue and then we all take a vote on what to do, if we can’t reach naval command before we get to our attack position.”
Daniel concluded that Yisrael’s suggestion was reasonable. It wouldn’t slow them down as long as the vote took place before they reached their attack position. And, to the extent that there might be other conscientious objectors, a debate and a vote would be the best way to achieve a higher degree of cooperation from them at a time when ship unity would be most needed. “OK. I will read the two updates from headquarters to the crew over the intercom, and they will be free to discuss it among themselves during their off-hours. Then we will decide by a vote.”
Chapter 30: The First Debate
Daniel had to ensure that the debate would be conducted in a way that wouldn’t leave the crew dangerously distracted. If the submarine could safely operate itself, the easiest procedure would have been for everyone to gather around the technical control center of the upper deck, where the two most senior officers on the boat would take turns speaking over the intercom and presenting their respective positions, with time for questions and debate after each speaker. But while they were cruising at 100 meters below the surface of enemy waters, in the Gulf of Oman, such an approach was tantamount to suicide, both because one of them was always needed to manage the submarine’s operation and because it would compromise the crew’s concentration on their submarine duties. The best solution was first to determine who was actually undecided about the matter, and then to schedule a time when that group could gather in the eating area and listen first to the captain, when he was off-duty, and then to his deputy, when they rotated shifts. Depending on who was undecided, off-duty schedules might have to be reworked a little.
The largest eating area had room for eight to sit and about six to stand. Thus, if he and his deputy would each appear before the group in shifts to present their respective positions, there would be enough space for the speaker plus up to 13 others. Submariners who were undecided would get first priority seating and then, if there was any space left, those who felt strongly one way or the other and wanted to influence the debate could join the discussion. If it turned out that there were more than 13 undecided seamen, then he would have to get more creative and think of anothe
r approach. So the first step was to take a pre-debate poll to see what the sentiment on the boat was.
The captain turned on the intercom and gave everyone the latest news by reading them the two updates exactly as they appeared on the printout. He then explained the problem of the incomplete authorization code and the expired attack order.
“Technically, under the Israeli Navy’s code of ethics, we need a complete authorization code from the Prime Minister, which in this case is the Acting Prime Minister. That authorization must be delivered either verbally in real time or in a written attack order received within two hours of the nuclear missile launch time. We have about 39 hours until we reach our attack point, so there is still some time to try to get the authorization code in a timely attack order. But we need to decide what to do, if we don’t get a valid order by the time we reach our attack position. So we’re going to hold a debate and then vote on the issue. If the nuclear decision ultimately falls to us, as I fear it will, then such a momentous and grave action should happen only after we’ve had time to consider it carefully and democratically. We must also be bound by the vote, whatever it is, and work as a team to implement our collective decision. Now Yisrael and I have very different views about what we should do in the absence of a timely and complete attack authorization, so we will each take turns presenting our positions to you. But in order to decide on the exact logistics for holding the discussion, I first need to know how each of you would vote right now, before any debate. So I want you to take the next ten minutes and think about everything I said. Think about the updates I read to you. Think about what it means to launch a nuclear missile attack on the ten preferred Iranian targets. Those include the highly populated city of Tehran, where the regime’s power center and some nuclear facilities are, and nine targets relating to the Iranian nuclear weapons program. And then think about what you would decide to do if your vote was the one that determines whether we launch a nuclear missile attack. Don’t discuss the issue with each other. You alone must decide. During and after the debate you’ll have a chance to discuss the matter. But for now, you must tell me where you currently stand on the issue – for, against, or undecided – and let me know your position privately, so as not to influence anyone else.”
