Liberation Day

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The submarine had broken surface ten minutes earlier, and its deck was still slippery beneath my feet. Dull red flashlight glow glistened on the black steel a few yards ahead of me as five of the boat’s crew feverishly prepared the Zodiac inflatable. As soon as they’d finished, it would be carrying me and my two team members across five miles of Mediterranean and onto the North African coast.

One of the crew broke away and said something to Lotfi, who’d been standing next to me by the hatch. I didn’t understand that much Arabic, but Lotfi translated. “They are finished, Nick — we are ready to float off.”

The three of us moved forward, swapped places with the submariners, and stepped over the sides of the Zodiac onto the antislip decking. Lotfi was steering and took position to the right of the Yamaha 75 outboard. We bunched up near him, on each side of the engine. We wore black ski hats and gloves, and a “dry bag”—a Gore-Tex suit — over our clothes with elastic wrists and neck to protect us from the cold water. Our gear had been stowed in large zip-lock waterproof bags and lashed to the deck along with the fuel bladders.

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