The Sixth Fleet

by David E. Meadows

  He grinned. How shocked and surprised the world powers would be when Mintab announced their success.

  “Samir, come here,” the colonel shouted into the speaker box beside the chair.

  “I want to know the current situation in Algeria. Let’s see how our brothers in Islam are doing.”

  “Yes, Colonel. I will be right there. We are processing the daily situational message and CNN is showing some interesting stuff, such as—”

  “Samir, if I had wanted you to tell me this over the squawk box I would have said, “Samir, tell me over this squawk box.” Right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, come tell me the good news.”

  “May I have five minutes?”

  “Of course you may have five minutes. Would you like an hour? Maybe two hours? Or, maybe you would like to take a nap before you get your butt off that chair and get your ass in here!”

  “I’m on my way. Colonel.”

  Alqahiray flipped the mute button on the console speaker.

  “Walid, remind me in the new government to shoot all firstborn who show a propensity for being intelligence officers.”

  Ashes from the ever-present cigarette fell on the arm of the chair. Walid reached up and brushed them off onto the floor, where they joined the ever-growing circle of cigarette butts and crushed packs surrounding the colonel’s chair. The colonel meticulously completed each cigarette to where only a small millimeter of cigarette paper around the edges of a yellow-lipped butt remained. Walid reminded himself to have someone clean up this mess.

  “Walid, it is time. Contact Benghazi Navy Base and tell them to execute event zero one one immediately. I want the Nanuchka missile patrol boat and the Foxtrot submarine underway and out of the harbor within the hour. After you have passed the order, ask Admiral Asif Abu Yimin to come to the phone, so I may discuss this operation one more time with him.” Yimin was old Navy and Alqahiray wanted reassurance the admiral hadn’t decided at the last minute to “improve” the plan. Innovation was not needed.

  There would be time later for that.

  Walid saluted and hurried to his console. Ten minutes later he was back at the colonel’s side as Alqahiray stubbed a cigarette out and ripped open another pack.

  “Our warships are under way. Colonel.”

  “Good, let’s blind the American intruder. Captain!”

  Alqahiray shouted to the officer who was standing near the three electronic warfare console operators.

  “You may activate the system and keep me informed on what you’re doing. I want to follow what is happening.”

  The colonel leaned forward, put his hand on Walid’s shoulder, and gave it a friendly shake.

  “Walid, relax. Have a cup of tea.” He leaned back and pressed a button on his chair arm. A few seconds later a steward wearing a starched white apron elbowed his way through a door in the rear carrying tea, dates, and biscuits. Walid is too nervous, Alqahiray thought. He must be doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

  “Bring another cup for Colonel Walid.”

  “Colonel?”

  “Yes, Walid. It is the time to recognize the heroes of the revolution. You’ve been a major long enough.” It is time to seal loyalties, my fine ass-kissing friend. “Six months, Colonel,” Walid said, incredulously.

  “For some, six months is a lifetime.” Without me, you would be a permanent major, Alqahiray said to himself.

  And he’d ensure that Walid didn’t forget that.

  The steward had an extra cup on the tray and handed it to Colonel Walid.

  “Thank you. Colonel. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” Walid focused his attention on the tea, hoping his guilt was not apparent. The deep-seated eyes of Alqahiray created a nightmarish, unnerving appearance in the blue light of the operations room — like a talking skull transfixing everyone with fascinated horror.

  “You don’t have to say anything. Colonel Walid,” Alqahiray replied. He leaned forward, put his hand under Walid’s chin and lifted the new colonel’s head, and stared into Walid’s eyes.

  “Remember, Walid, that when I need you, I want you there. Together we will accomplish what no one in the Arab world has been able, or willing, to do since the eleventh century. Remember that in the next few days. Bills are sent, debts collected, and those who fight today will rise as leaders of the revolution! Those who place their own welfare before the good of the nation will perish.” As will those who place their welfare before mine, he added mentally as he released Walid’s chin.

  Walid shuddered, frightened for a moment, until he realized it went unnoticed by Alqahiray. His face twitched involuntarily.

  “Yes, Colonel. Our loyalty is to the cause-to the greatness that has lain dormant upon our shores. We are proud to be beside you at this momentous occasion-to serve with you. No other could ask for more,” he said, his voice nearly breaking because of the constriction of his throat.

  “I know,” the colonel replied, studying Walid intensely, his eyes narrowing. Walid turned away to avoid the stare, pretending to watch the electronic warfare operators. He licked his dry lips and hoped his voice did not betray his nervousness.

  “But, it is more than Libya that rests in the balance here.”

  Ah, Walid, Colonel Alqahiray thought. What is it you hide?

  After several seconds of silence Alqahiray’s attention moved to the activity around the EW module where the electronic warriors of the twentieth-first century prepared for battle. A low, confident murmur reached his ears. The young Army captain read each item on the checklist line by line. The operators acknowledged each command as, one switch after another, they worked through the complex procedure to activate the electronic warfare system that would cause an umbrella of electromagnetic silence to descend over the Gulf of Sidra.

  “Captain,” Colonel Alqahiray asked, “how much longer?”

  “Five minutes. Colonel.”

  “Keep me apprised. I can’t understand what you’re doing from where I am up here.” He leaned back against the headrest.

  The captain saluted and returned to the process of reading instructions to the operators. There was a spot on his back where the skin began to itch. The exact spot where the piercing eyes of Colonel Alqahiray burned into him.

  His attention slipped, causing him to have to redo several checklist items before he was ready. He did not want to disappoint the Maadi.

  “Switch on. Colonel!” the captain shouted, his voice filled with pride, as the electronic warfare operator gave a thumbs-up.

  “System activated.” He crossed his fingers and prayed it worked. If it didn’t … well, he didn’t want to think about it. Miles away along the hazy Libyan coast a series of LANs, local area networks, connected via coaxial landlines, began receiving and exchanging, via their various programs, technical data collected on the radar and communications signals emanating from the USS Gearing. Several minutes passed before the operators along the coast reported their component activated. Then, as Colonel Alqahiray watched, the operators rapidly assimilated and confirmed the computer program parameters via data streams with those at the coastal observation posts.

  “Captain, what is happening? How will I know this is working? Will I see something when we are successful?”

  The colonel pushed himself out of his chair and strolled to the metal stanchion that surrounded his raised observation area.

  “Colonel, I cannot answer,” the captain replied honestly.

  “The program the Chinese provided should simulate large-scale erratic sunspot activity. It will disrupt the communications signals and affect most of the radars on the ship thereby limiting their effective range. The ship should see a myriad of unrelated problems within their electronic systems. Communications should be impossible, but their Aegis radar system may be able to burn through the interference.”

  “Wait a minute, Captain. I have flown Mirages and whenever we were jammed or someone tried to spoof us we could tell by how the radar scope responded.”


  “Yes, sir, but in this instance there are no telltale signals to reveal the presence of an external source. Our electronic attack targets no specific system. It disturbs the electromagnetic waves in the targeted area. You might say we are jamming the atmosphere, not the ship. The ship personnel will believe either their systems are experiencing atmospheric difficulties or they are having a system malfunction. They may suspect an electronic attack after they have exhausted all other avenues to correct the problems.”

  “Are you telling me this will not fool them indefinitely?”

  “I would say we have twenty-four hours before someone figures out that it is an external force disrupting their electronic picture and capabilities,” the captain said firmly, his confidence growing with the conversation.

  “Can they sail out of range?”

  “Of course, sir. The electronic warfare network is disguised as coastal surveillance platforms located at equal distances along the coast. As long as they are within twenty to thirty miles of the coast their sensors are useless.”

  “Will it affect their fire control radars the same way?”

  “No, sir. Fire control radars have limited range, but they have the power to burn through the electromagnetic disturbance, much like their Aegis radar. It’s easier to jam them directly, but American fire control radars are very complex with multiple jumping frequencies. Most fire control radars can avoid electronic warfare jamming techniques and some, like their HARM missiles, can use them to their targeting advantage. And, of course, their sonar will be unaffected.”

  “And, their communications?”

  “They will lose all their communications, including satellite.”

  Alqahiray nodded and strolled back to his seat. Good, they can have their radars. Radars were limited in range.

  As long as they could not communicate, they were his.

  The DD-21 class depended on computer and communications links with other ships to fight effectively. Everyone waited until he sat down.

  “Okay, Captain. You may continue.” He saluted.

  “Thank you. Colonel.”

  Along the coast hidden antennas inside mock coastal surveillance platforms transmitted a coordinated broad band of oscillating radio wave frequencies of multi modulated energy. The signals rose in intensity as the artificial phenomenon disrupted the surrounding electromagnetic environment. The captain nodded at the operator, who punched in a series of computer commands. Additional instructions implemented certain subprograms within the operating system. The covert Libyan electronic warfare attack subtly distorted the USS Gearing’s communications. The American warship lost contact with the rest of the world one minute after the system activated.

  Fifteen minutes passed before the captain turned to Colonel Alqahiray and Walid.

  “Sir, it is done. Electronic communications are impossible in the Gulf of Sidra. No changes have been reflected in their electronic parameters.

  Any orders we wish to give must be via landline as long as we are transmitting. Aircraft above one thousand meters will still be able to communicate.”

  “What do you mean no change?”

  “Well, sir, if they suspected they were being jammed, they would have changed their electronic settings in search for a clear frequency. I don’t think they’d be successful, but if they were successful, then we’d have to revisit their electronic profile and that means bringing ours down while we are doing it.”

  “Wait a minute. Captain. I was led to understand that when this electronic blanket descends over an adversary it’s like an impregnable glass bowl. It captures and makes their electronic eyes blind!” He swished his hand in front of his eyes.

  “Yes, sir,” the Captain replied, looking around, at the technicians who were monitoring the EW array. “And it does. Colonel. Plus, the system changes automatically when they change their parameters. So we should be undetectable.

  But if they successfully change to a technical setting that our system fails to respond to correctly, then we may have to bring it down to revisit their electronic profile. You change the eyes, then you have to change the glass bowl.”

  The colonel leaned back.

  “Walid, include electronic warfare officers with the proclamation on intelligence officers for a better world.” He leaned down and whispered to Walid, “Never keep anyone around who knows more than you do.”

  At Benghazi, the Nanuchka patrol boat, loaded with four surface-to-surface missiles, and the Libyan Foxtrot submarine, outfitted with sixteen torpedoes, sailed slowly out of port. Their movement was undetected by overhead Western satellites.

  “Colonel, Colonel Gazzelin is on the line.”

  “Walid, log events zero one two and zero one three as executed. Zero one four is starting. Ask the admiral to wait while I finish with this phone call.”

  Colonel Alqahiray kept Colonel Gazzelin on the phone for twenty minutes going over tomorrow’s fighter plans for Tripoli and Benghazi airfield. When he finally hung up and took the admiral’s line, he received a full blast from the older, more senior ranking officer, who was unaccustomed to waiting. Alqahiray held his temper until the admiral finished his barrage, then apologized and explained the delay, which seemed to appease the admiral.

  They talked for ten minutes with Alqahiray inviting the admiral to share the podium with the ruling junta at the celebrations following this momentous occasion. The admiral wanted to know if Alqahiray had heard anything about something called Jihad Wahid. Alqahiray pleaded innocent, promised to investigate, and would phone the admiral if he found out anything. The admiral shared with Alqahiray his own plans to remain on the base. Tomorrow, the admiral would be at his own operations center during the planned actions. As one military professional to another the admiral confided about some Western wine and British port he had cached to share with his wardroom following their success. He invited the colonel to participate.

  “I wish I could be there. Admiral; unfortunately, the junta demands my presence here.”

  “I understand, Colonel. I will save a bottle of the best for you.”

  “Thank you. Admiral. I will pray for your success.”

  “And, I too for you. Colonel.”

  THEY HUNG UP. THE ADMIRAL TURNED TO HIS AIDE.

  “What do we know of the colonel? He’s not one of those hard-core Islamic fundamentalists who wants to turn Libya into another Egypt or Iran, is he?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” his aide lied. He took the bottle of port from the admiral.

  The aide’s eyes narrowed as he bit his lower lip in a successful effort to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. Every time he touched the bottle of alcohol he sinned against Allah, but in the spread of the true religion it was necessary for warriors to make sacrifice. And, soon, Admiral, the aide thought, you will enjoy that sacrifice yourself.

  “Did you say something, Ahmad?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I was just saying that I didn’t know anything about the colonel’s background.” He’d have to be more careful. He had been unaware that he had mumbled aloud his thoughts.

  * * *

  Four hours later the old Nanuchka missile patrol boat, trailed by a Libyan Foxtrot submarine, passed the six-mile channel marker due west of Benghazi Navy Base. The Nanuchka activated a Don Kay surface search radar. Russian merchant ships used Don Kay radars. This one had been removed from a dilapidated vessel found rusting pier side in a small port north of Benghazi. Rewired and restored, the radar gave the Nanuchka an electronic signature of a merchant vessel.

  * * *

  “What do you mean we have no communications?” the USS Gearing’s COMMO asked the radioman chief.

  “Just what I said, sir. We lost synch with Sixth Fleet, Commander Task Force Sixty-seven in Naples, and Commander Task Force Sixtyone on the Nassau about an hour ago. I thought it was just something in the patching or a simple software glitch. But, regardless of how we’ve tweaked the systems, we have been unable to reestablish contact.”

&nbs
p; “Have you changed the circuits? Checked the fuses?

  Rebooted the software?”

  “Sir, it’s not the circuits or the fuses or the software and it’s not double-A batteries. We’ve checked every item and run a series of diagnostics. I sent a low-power test message from the transmit antenna to our receive antenna and we got it okay. Well, not exactly okay. There were a lot of garbles in the text. The only thing I can think. Lieutenant, is that we are in the middle of some gosh-awful sunspot activity or we have a problem — a short — between our receive antenna and the receivers. I called Chief Brown in the EMO shop and he is sending a couple of electronic technicians as soon as he can. Right now, the only two sailors with training on this system and the antennas are also the only ones who know how to repair the CIWS system.

  “Chief Brown says the Old Man is griping and bitching about CIWS and he can’t leave it without having the Old Man demanding to know ‘what the hell.”

  “Okay, Chief. So what you’re saying is that we don’t have comms with anyone right now and it’s not our equipment?”

  “No, sir. What I’m saying is that we don’t have comms with anyone and I don’t know if it’s our equipment or what.”

  The chief leaned over and lightly slapped the back of the head of a young sailor who had his hands on a knob of one of the receivers.

  “What’d I tell you. Seaman Jones, about touching anything in here until you make petty officer?”

  “Sorry, Chief, I just thought—”

  “Not supposed to think. You’re a seaman. Seamen don’t think, they do what they’re told. Kind of like ensigns.”