In this free-floating phase of the journey, the Alamo was propelled mainly by the current, moving the berg at an average of thirty-seven nautical miles a day. Its Flettner sails added another twelve. As before, the Sun King preceded the Alamo, smoothing the waters for the iceberg, but instead of kedging forward by means of anchors, the Sun King was pulled by four 32,500-hp tugs, sufficient to keep taut the lines between the Sun King and the Alamo but adding little to the latter’s forward progress. Most of the electrical power generated by the Sun King’s solar cells under the equatorial sun now went to maintain the refrigeration of the iceberg that followed.
They were now making the best time of the voyage, averaging 49 nautical miles per day as against 47 nmpd while on the Benguela Current leg. The distance to the Brazilian coast, where kedging would be resumed, was 2,640 nautical miles, a journey of 54 days. The broad ocean lay before them, with land no longer visible on any quarter. Except for the comforting proximity of the auxiliary ships, they were alone.
About halfway between the African and South American continents, at 0°56′ N, 29°22′ W, lies the St. Peter and St. Paul Rock. A collection of upthrusting rocks from the midocean ridge, scarcely a quarter of a mile across, St. Peter and St. Paul is near the confluence of three great Atlantic currents. If the Alamo stayed on its computed course, it would pass just south of St. Peter and St. Paul Rock and join the Guinea Current flowing up the northeast coast of Brazil. Should the iceberg wander just ten miles northward, it would be seized by the powerful Equatorial Countercurrent, flowing back toward Africa at 22 nautical miles a day, too great a speed for its Flettner sails to fight. Were the Alamo to deviate the same distance south, it would be dragged down toward Argentina and the Antarctic by the Brazil Current at the rate of 48 nautical miles per day.
Whoever was intent upon destroying the Alamo was clever, resourceful, and very well informed. If Forte knew these things, so must the enemy. Therefore, the attack, when it came–and it was sure to come–would take place shortly before the Alamo passed below St. Peter and St. Paul Rock.
But how?
On the morning of March 12, he discovered the answer.
He rose, as usual, at 6 A.M., when, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he went to the head. There, taped to the mirror, was a typewritten note:
Dear Mr. Forte:
Since these days you probably have saints much on your mind, perhaps you recall that St. Luke said (chapter 10, verse 7): ‘… the laborer is worthy of his hire.’
If, therefore, your Brown-Ash Mark DC is en route to me within twelve hours, you will have complete details of the imminent threat to the Alamo and how best to combat it. Until then, I can only remind you, as an ex-Marine, of the last words of the first stanza of your celebrated hymn.
Your sincere friend.
Last words? How did they go? He couldn’t remember without starting at the beginning.
“From the Halls of Montezuma,
to the shores of Tripoli, We will fight our country’s battles, on the land as on the sea.”
On the sea.
So the attack would come by sea.
The only two navies that counted in the twenty-first century were those of the United States and Russia. The American navy certainly wasn’t a threat. And this supposition confirmed Forte’s belief that he was dealing either with two Russian factions, with the aggressor being unaware of the existence of his “sincere friend,” or a single enemy trying to whipsaw him.
But none of that mattered now. What mattered was that the threat was plain, and he had to deal with it.
At 6:20 that Wednesday morning in March, Forte requested an urgent meeting with the President of the United States, Secretary of Water Resources David D. Castle, and the Navy and Air Force chiefs of staff. By 6:35, when the confirmation of the appointment came in, Forte was already airborne. At 2:40 that afternoon Forte landed at Washington National, where the President’s personal helicopter was waiting to take him to the White House.
Horatio Francis Turnbull rose from his chair to greet Forte as he strode into the Oval Office. The other three men, two of them resplendent in uniforms sagging with ribbons miraculously accumulated during thirty years of peace, were waiting for him. Forte shook hands all around and was invited to take a seat.
“First thing,” said Turnbull, taking his own and propping his feet on an open drawer, “is not to worry. We want to bring that berg home. The Russians want us to bring it home. Anything or anybody that gets in the way is going to be squashed like a beetle. Now, then, before we get down to the specific threat, Mr. Forte, I think we might profit from a run-down of the voyage as planned so that we can anticipate further troubles up the road. If I read you correctly, you think more attempts will be made even if this one fails.”
“I’m sure of it, Mr. President. May I?” he asked, displaying a map, which, at Turnbull’s nod, he proceeded to unroll on the President’s desk. Turnbull himself put ink-stand and coffee cup at the corners as the others crowded around.
“The red line represents our course from pickup point off Cape Town to the Alamo’s berth in Matagorda Bay.
The 9,220-nautical mile voyage is scheduled for 185 days, and we’re bang on target almost to the minute so far. When we land, we should have an immediate melt available of 110 million tons, thanks to the warm waters which we will encounter from now on.
“Now, as you see, the trip is broken into five phases from acquisition at Anchor No. 1 to Anchor No. 1118– the last. We spent 47 days in the Benguela. In the South Equatorial, where we are now, we’ll spend 54 days. In the Guiana Current, we’ll spend 25 days. In the Caribbean’s deep waters, we’ll make only 25 mpd. And finally, in the gulf we’ll be able to use all three forms of propulsion, giving us 48 mpd from kedging, 6 from the weak current, and 17 from the sails.”
“Arriving?” asked President Turnbull.
“On 27 June.”
The President was plainly pleased. The Republican national convention would be held from August 11 to August 14. This would give him more than six weeks to milk the state committees for unanimous support on the first ballot as a result of this epochal achievement.
“As I see it,” said U.S. Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Michael “Iron Mike” Devin, “you’re vulnerable every single mile of your journey. In the open sea, you can’t stray out of the mainstream of the current for fear of losing your forward momentum or getting diverted into another gyre. And when you hug the coastline, you’re like a puppet on a string so long as you’re kedging, unable to move to either side.”
“That’s exactly the problem, Admiral. That red line represents not only our course but the track we must make good. Any deviations of more than a mile or two would be fatal.”
Admiral Devin nodded, his eyes glinting behind his granny glasses at the prospect of a knockdown fight. “So you’ll not only need protection from our surface forces, you’ll need antisubmarine forces and a reconnaissance in strength by our minesweepers to guard against magnetic or moored mines.”
“I need all that, and I need it quick, because in 48 hours we’ll be at the choke point, where the Alamo is at greatest risk. Will I get what I need?”
Admiral Devin looked questioningly at the President.
President Turnbull nodded. “That goes without saying. This iceberg must come in on schedule. The fate of the nation, no less than credibility of the administration, depends on it. Your jobs as well as my own depend on it. Now, then, Admiral, what do you need from me?”
Devin straightened. “Merely your authorization, sir, to the secretary of defense to go ahead with the deployment. I will order the formation of a task force from elements of the north and south Atlantic fleets. They will be on station within thirty-six hours.”
“That quick?”
“Well, sir,” said Devin with a puckish smile, “we’ve been keeping an eye on the Alamo since the incident off Ghana. We have six antiaircraft cruisers, twenty destroyers and frigates, and a dozen assorted other ships within strike range right now. Within thirty-six hours we’ll have the Alamo so well boxed in that an enemy won’t be able to get a rowboat through our lines.”
“But we’re right in the middle of the Atlantic shipping lanes,” Forte reminded him.
“Sure, I’ll admit that a merchant vessel could launch a couple of surface-to-surface missiles, but we’ll shoot them down with our Callings before they can reach the Alamo. What I’m really concerned about is surface units.”