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reasonable amount of
time. It cannot be done quickly, if at all, while the
ship is at anchor and unprepared. Then she is
most vulnerable.
    “She carries three missile launchers, known
as the Basic Point Defense Missile
System.” Qazi opened a reference book and
displayed a picture of the ship. “A battery is
located on each side of the after end of the flight
deck, below the level of the flying deck, and one is
forward of these two aircraft elevators in front
of the island, on the starboard side of the ship.” He
pointed them out. “The reference book says these contain
Sea Sparrow missiles with a ten-
to twelve-mile range. “Her only other weapons
are four close-in weapons systems, called
CIWS .” He pronounced the acronym as the
American Navy did, “see-whiz.”
    “These are very rapid-fire machine guns aimed
by radar and lasers. Two are located on each
side of the ship.” His finger moved to the prominent little
domes that housed each installation. “These weapons
automatically engage incoming missiles and shoot
them down before they can strike the ship. Maximum
range for these systems is about two kilometers.
They are for last-chance, close-in defense.”
    “Is that all the weapons the ship has?”
    “At sea, Excellency, the ship is surrounded
by surface combatants with modern guns and
missiles with ranges beyond ninety miles. These
escorts also carry antisubmarine weapons.
Occasionally a large surface combatant, such as a
battleship, will accompany the task group. When the
carrier anchors, several of her escorts will anchor
nearby.”
    “But the carrier? Has she any other weapons?”
    “Four machine guns, about 12.5 millimeter,
are mounted on the catwalks around the flight deck
when the ship is anchored, two on each side.
    These are constantly manned by marInes. These guns
could engage any unauthorized boat that comes too
close, or a helicopter. The carrier’s crew
does not carry small arms.
    El Hakim arched an eyebrow. “Not even the
officers?”
    “No, sir.
    “And how many men are in the crew?”
    “About five thousand six hundred,
Excellency.” The ruler gazed incredulously at
the photograph in the reference book, Jane’s
Fighting Ships. Although it is a big ship, he
thought, with that many peasants crammed into such tight
quarters the discipline problems must be stupendous.
He remembered the stories he had heard about the
slums of Los Angeles and New York, and
allowed his upper lip to rise contemptuously.
    “Have you any photographs?”
    “Yes, sir.” Qazi passed across a stack of
enlarged prints. El Hakim took the photos to the
open window and studied them in the sunlight. He had
a strong, square face set off by a perfect
Roman nose. His nostrils flared slightly above
sensuous, expressive lips. He had
been an army officer when, nineteen years ago, he
had organized and led a coup, preaching independent
nationalism. Through the years he had stayed on top
by ensuring the officer corps received a generous share of the
petrodollars from the nationalized oil industry and
by using every technological and public relations
gimmick at his disposal to enshrine himself as the
peoples’ savior while he spent the rest of the
oil money to keep them fed, clothed, and housed. He
postured on his little corner of the world stage under the
benign eye of his state media, which portrayed him as
one of the world’s movers and shakers and flooded every
radio and television set in the country with his
simple drumbeat message: American and
European imperialism -political,
economic, cultural, and technological-were
responsible for the dishonor of his people. Harried
government bureaucrats were kept on edge with a
never-ending avalanche of “revolutionary reforms”
decreed from on high, as well as a raging torrent
of orders and counter orders and orders changing the
counter orders. All the while he goaded his North
African neighbors and fluxed the military with
rumors of war. The constant confusion created a