The Last Israelis - an Apocalyptic, Military Thriller about an Israeli Submarine and a Nuclear Iran (9 page)

“Come with me,” Daniel said to Bao and another officer next to him. They followed him down to the second deck and over to the weapons storage room. “Status update?” Daniel said, as he surveyed the missiles, decoys, mines, and torpedo tubes assembled there.

“All weapons arranged and secured, Sir,” Bao replied.

“Weapons computers and related systems?”

“All green, Sir.”

“Good. That’s all, Bao.”

The weapons officer returned to the main deck while Daniel continued his tour with the remaining officer, Samir, to the electronics and converter rooms. Although Yisrael had the higher rank of deputy captain, Samir’s role as the chief engineer was arguably second only to the captain’s, in terms of its importance to the submarine’s proper functioning. He was responsible for all of the machines, electrical systems, and monitors relating to the diesel engines, the batteries, the pumps and hydraulic systems, and the air quality within the submarine. Samir had thick, hairy arms, a square chin, and the widening jaw of a bulldog. Thus, the chief engineer looked more like a short but tough bouncer than someone who understood – better than any of his crewmates – how to operate and fix each of the endlessly complicated details of the Dolphin.

“Status?”

“All electrical systems green, Sir.”

Samir followed Daniel to the lower deck, where they inspected the battery rooms, machinery room, tanks, and bilge.

“Meters?”

“Oxygen, CO
2
, CO, hydrogen and other gas meters all green, Sir. Fuel, oil, and other meters green as well, Sir.”

The captain walked into the engine room and looked over the main propulsion motor, the three diesel generators, the hydraulic station, the two high-pressure air compressors, and the main bilge pump.

“Engine room status?”

“Engine room reports all systems green, Sir.”

Daniel and Samir continued to the lower level of the engine room, to complete checks of the water tanks and air conditioning systems. They then returned to the upper deck.

Daniel saw Yisrael waiting for him at the command center.

“Deputy Captain’s Status Report?”

“All crewmembers are on board and in their stations. Food has been fully restocked. Medicines and medical supplies have been replenished. Emergency supplies checked. Water distillation systems checked and are go.”

Daniel was almost certain that Yisrael’s failure to say “Sir” at the end of his report was a deliberate, passive-aggressive slip. Now wasn’t the opportune time to address the source of the unresolved tension between them, but Daniel also didn’t want to let Yisrael’s lapse in discipline slide, or it could set a bad precedent at the outset for their future interactions on this mission.

“Good. But did you forget to say ‘Sir’ after all of that?”

“Yes. I mean, yes, Sir,” he said with a resentful glower.

Daniel turned on the intercom system and spoke into the microphone. “All systems checked. Prepare the Dolphin for embarkation at 1900 hours.” Dozens of sailors began moving switches and dials and the boat suddenly looked busier than moments before, as it began to move away from the port.

About 30 minutes later, Daniel turned to the helmsman: “Set a course for Port Said. Set an initial sailing speed of five knots and gradually increase to twelve knots,” he ordered.

“Ye…Yes, Sir,” said Zvi, the swarthy junior helmsman with jet-black hair, brown eyes, and a large birthmark on his lower neck that peeked out of his shirt collar. He spoke with a minor stutter that he had almost eliminated as a child until a horrific tragedy struck his family. As the youngest in the affected household, Zvi reacted the hardest to the incident and developed several emotional issues, including the aggravation of his minor speech disorder.

Daniel knew that sailing south down the Mediterranean Sea from Haifa to Port Said was going to be the easiest and safest part of the whole journey. So, after sailing for about ten minutes at twelve knots, he wanted to increase the Dolphin’s velocity to more than thrice the normal cruising speed.

“Increase speed to eighteen knots.”

“In…Increasing speed to eighteen knots, Sir.”

Sailing faster required more atmospheric air to run the diesel engines that power the generators used to recharge the Dolphin’s battery; increased air consumption in turn made it necessary to raise the snorkel more often, making the submarine more detectable. But such exposure presented no significant risks in the Mediterranean Sea. “Let’s take advantage of the one time when traveling so fast for hours at a time is actually feasible,” Daniel thought to himself.

Sailing faster would also help to ensure that the Dolphin arrived in time to join the next available southbound convoy of ships crossing the canal from Port Said to Suez. That convoy would leave at 7 a.m., requiring an arrival time of 3 a.m., although Suez Canal regulations stated that ships could join as late as 5 a.m. for a surcharge of 5 percent of canal dues. Traveling no slower than 18 knots, the submarine would be able to arrive by 4:30 a.m.

About 45 minutes after embarkation from Haifa port, the navigator saw on the screen of the echo sound navigation system that it was now safe to dive. “Sir, we have sufficient depth for diving,” he reported.

Daniel spoke into the intercom system to alert the crew: “Prepare to dive.”

Seamen on the main deck moved about as Daniel gave the next order into the intercom: “Clear the bridge.” Yisrael, who was topside watching with binoculars, went below deck, closing the bridge hatch behind him.

“Bridge clear. Hatch secure, Sir.”

“Close main induction.” The crew closed the large air intake pipe to ensure that the engine room was not filled with water, effectively sealing the last hull opening.

“Test hull pressure.”

Samir pressed a button to release some pressure into the hull. It held. “The hull is sealed, Sir.”

“Open main vents.” The crew opened the ballast tank vents so that they filled with water, increasing diving speed.

“Rig out bow planes.”

“Rr…Rigging out bow planes, Sir,” Zvi replied. He used the stern planes to control the Dolphin’s dive angle.

After diving for about three minutes, Zvi updated Daniel: “De…Depth of 61 meters, Sir.”

“Blow negative,” he ordered Samir.

“Yes, Sir.” One of Samir’s men flooded the negative tank to restore neutral buoyancy, taking care not to blow it out completely in order to avoid sending air bubbles to the surface. He and Samir then closed the flood and vented the excess air pressure into the hull.

“Blow negative complete, Sir.”

“Level off at 76 meters.”

“At…At a depth of 76 meters, Sir.”

The Dolphin’s crew soon settled into a cruising routine, with no major navigational maneuvers or other actions demanding focused attention for the next several hours. This was the optimal time to advise the crew of the intelligence and mission details, Daniel thought. He used the intercom system to inform all of the submariners of the new Iranian nuclear threat, the misfortunes that had befallen the Leviathan, and their mission instructions. For a few moments, there was just silence among the crew, as they absorbed all of the information that had just been announced, until finally different comments on the various issues could be overheard around the deck from almost every sailor.

“Our poor brothers on the Leviathan,” Samir said.

“I can’t even imagine how much their lives suck right now,” Ambesah agreed. “Sick as dogs. Limping around the Gulf of Oman full of nausea, with no sonar, and lots of hungry Iranian subs around.”

Bao tried to lighten up the mood with some sarcasm: “Thank God Iran has nukes now. I was getting worried that the Middle East would become too stable.” He succeeded in getting a few chuckles.

“Who wants to bet on which country is next to get the bomb: Saudi Arabia, Turkey, or Egypt?” Samir asked rhetorically.

“Hey, look at the bright side of Iran declaring that it has nuclear weapons,” Bao continued. “The importance of our ship’s existence is finally official.” More laughs.

“But wow – another six weeks at sea,” Ambesah noted.

“Six if we’re lucky,” Samir cautioned. “It could end up being eight.”

“I can’t believe it. That reunion was such a tease. So short,” Yisrael said, without any of the lightness that the other sailors were trying to maintain.

“Yeah, why didn’t they at least set up private tents that could be used for a few hours with wives and girlfriends?” Bao joked. There were laughs and some “Amens!” called out.

“I was thinking more about time with my kids,” Ambesah said. “But yeah, that too,” he added with a grin.

“I’m not surprised that Iran has the bomb now,” Samir said. “That regime ran circles around the world powers. Like a chess game played at the shouk.”

“They kept the world divided and in the dark while buying more time with endless negotiations,” Bao added.

“You call that negotiations?” Yisrael asked. His bitter tone seemed strangely personal, as if he was venting. “It was just an act. While the Iranians kept the world busy with these fake talks, they got everything they wanted. Those talks only proved to the regime how much the world lacked the spine to stop them.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eitan, a junior officer. “Their strategy bought them enough time to protect their nuclear facilities from an Israeli air strike. And now they just purchased some nuclear warheads from Pakistan as an extra insurance policy against even an American military strike. So now it’s too late for anyone to stop them.”

“What’s really fucking scary is that now the Ayatollahs can actually carry out the threats that they’ve been making against us for so many years,” Bao said.

And so the chatter went on among virtually all of the men. But throughout the crew’s commentary Daniel kept his thoughts to himself. He just listened quietly, knowing that his men needed to release their emotions for a while. He didn’t want to encourage too much negativity or complaining by his own example, so he didn’t tell anyone how much he already missed Sivan and their little Esty, or how ominous the news about Iran and the Leviathan seemed to him. He let these sentiments simmer away in his skull, hidden from view by a placid, focused expression.

Zvi also tried hard to ignore the crew’s conversations about Iran and the Leviathan. Because of the childhood events that had scarred him forever, Zvi had a delicate emotional constitution. He had to do his best to keep his feelings at a distance, both for his own sake, and to maintain the image of calm coolness that he studiously projected for everyone on the submarine. He and his family never quite recovered from the trauma, but with seven years of psychological and speech therapy, and a lot of love and support from his family and friends, Zvi was able to minimize his depressive moods and ameliorate his stuttering problem to the point where his speech was almost normal. About a year after the devastating incident, Zvi’s mother also enrolled him in a special religious program to give him a little more structure and certainty, and to foster in him a certain faith. He carried that faith with him to his military service, as evidenced by the skullcap he wore, the slight beard he maintained, and the daily Jewish prayers that he would quietly recite, in part to help keep himself balanced and calm.

Chapter 12: The Native Arabic Speakers

Enjoying some off-duty time, Boutrous went down to the lower deck, looking for Samir in the electronics room, where the chief engineer was reportedly working. Distinguished by his light brown hair, and green eyes, Boutros was often wrongly assumed to be of European ancestry. His dimpled cheeks, good-natured smile, and amiable demeanor could conquer any grudge. At age 20, he was the most junior sailor on the Dolphin, and far from being married with three children, like the 35-year old Samir. But despite their different ages, naval ranks, family situations, and religions, their common native language created a natural bond between the two submariners.

To get to the electronics room, Boutrous first had to pass the small crew’s quarters on the lower deck. He was pleased to see that they would have some privacy because nobody was there at the time although the area still had that distinctive, moldy smell in the air, like the living room of an apartment shared by a handful of men. Boutrous continued on to the electronics room, where he saw the chief engineer checking on some instruments.

“My parents really enjoyed meeting you,” he said to the senior officer in Arabic. It was the first time the two submariners had spoken privately since the reunion at their base.

“You have a lovely family,” Samir said. “I could see that your mother is a bit worried about you, with this being your first mission. But next time you see her, you can tell her that I have your back. If you have any problems on board, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Samir.”

“And don’t let Yisrael get to you. He can be arrogant and bossy, but he’s not the most important guy on this ship. Remember that. And remember that Daniel is the best captain any sailor could hope to have.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The crew’s two Arab members had in the past – in rare moments when they were close enough to each other and no one else – exchanged a few thoughts or jokes in Arabic while on the submarine, as they did in the electronics room. But they were extra circumspect on the few occasions when this happened, lest others think that they were somehow trying to be secretive. About half a dozen Jewish submariners knew some Arabic from their high school studies, so the idea that Samir and Boutrous could tell each other secrets on the submarine by speaking Arabic underestimated the odds of an Arabic speaker overhearing them. But because most of the crew wouldn’t be able to understand them, and because most of the 22 Arabic-speaking states were implacably hostile towards Israel, it didn’t feel right to speak to each other in their native tongues when on the submarine. So they both knew that their private Arabic chat would be short-lived.

“Say, what do you think of the news about Iran and the Leviathan?” Boutrous asked.

“I was thinking about those things a bit after Daniel’s announcement. But my advice is this: don’t dwell on bad news you can’t control. I know it’s not so easy to do. But you have to try to think about stuff that makes you happy because we have a long journey ahead of us and you don’t want to be worried and stressed the whole way,” Samir said as he patted Boutrous on the shoulder. “We had a great picnic just now. Let’s think about that,” he said with a smile, before turning his attention back to his work.