Читать книгу Crisis: Blue - J. A. Davis - Страница 8

Chapter 2

A thick, gray haze had suddenly descended upon the tranquil waters of the Persian Gulf. Hours before, the skies had been clear and the stars unusually bright. Now the light from the moon struggled to pierce this ominous veil.

Their batteries fully charged, the Iranian submarines Tareq and Yunes were submerged and rigged for silent running. Six supercavitation Hoot torpedoes had been loaded into the bow tubes earlier, but the outer torpedo doors remained closed.

Yunes was positioned a thousand yards north, and Tareq a thousand yards south, of the respective minefields each submarine had lain. The trap had been set. It was now a waiting game. The captain appeared calm and collected, but tensions amongst the crew ran high. All were convinced that a historic sea battle was about to commence.

“Captain, I am picking up a low frequency vibration!” Sonarman Jannati shouted as he strained to identify the unusual sound he had just picked up.

“Bearing?” Captain Rahirimi requested.

“Zero-zero-five, sir.”

“Our Los Angeles class submarine, no doubt. The Americans are so predictable,” Nasrin whispered to the captain.

“Yes, and this gross error in judgment will be their downfall. Allah is great! This shall be a glorious day,” Captain Rahirimi assured Nasrin as the American submarine continued on its course, its underwater signature quickly fading.

Hours before, the John C. Stennis Carrier Strike Group had passed through the Strait of Hormuz and entered the Persian Gulf. The aircraft carrier USS John C. Stennis (CVN-74) was accompanied by the guided-missile cruiser USS Antietam (CG-54) and the ships of Destroyer Squadron 21: USS Wayne E. Meyer (DDG-108), USS Dewey (DDG-105), USS Kidd (DDG-100), USS Milius (DDG-69), and USS Jarrett (FFG-33). All were steaming in formation, yet nowhere to be seen by the naked eye. Visibility had been reduced to less than one hundred yards.

It was 3:00 a.m. Admiral Ted Frederick, commanding officer of the Carrier Strike Group, had an uneasy feeling and had been unable to sleep. He stood on the bridge of the Nimitz class nuclear-powered aircraft carrier with Captain David Crisalli, the carrier’s commanding officer. Both were long-time personal friends and Naval Academy classmates. Given the low visibility, flight operations had been temporarily suspended. The deck, which was usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet.

Both officers were gazing out to sea when the admiral broke the silence. “David, I’ve never liked operating in the Persian Gulf. We must remain extremely vigilant.”

“I share your concern, admiral. Frankly, I’m not comfortable operating in this Persian puddle either,” Captain Crisalli complained.

“It’s not just operating in restricted waters that I find troublesome—it’s operating in restricted waters so close to hostile, irrational countries,” the admiral emphasized.

“Surely you can’t be referring to Iran?” Captain Crisalli quipped.

“Well, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and his band of Islamic fanatics are certainly at the top the list, but in reality, danger could come from any point on the compass.”

“I concur. We’re effectively surrounded, and there’s no telling from where the threat will originate,” Captain Crisalli replied.

“You know, David, my dad was stationed at the US consulate in Tehran in the early sixties. I found the people, their culture, and the history of the Persian Empire fascinating. And the country—the country is one of startling contrast and great beauty,” Admiral Frederick confessed.

“That’s interesting. Well, I can’t imagine what the Iranian people have had to endure since the fall of the Shah. What worries me are the recent crippling economic sanctions imposed by the United Nations. I can’t help but believe that Iran is going to behave like a wounded animal,” Captain Crisalli rationalized as Petty Officer First Class Wolfgang approached the officers.

“Agreed. However, I am more concerned with Iran’s accelerated development of nuclear weapons, their sponsorship of worldwide terrorism, and the threat that country poses to the State of Israel,” the admiral replied, although he did not want to get into a political discussion. Yet he found himself briefly reflecting on how dangerous the world had become and the recent discovery of a Russian Akula-class nuclear submarine armed with long-range ballistic missiles patrolling in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, indeed, the world had become a more dangerous place, and, with a five-hundred-billion-dollar cut in defense spending looming, he felt certain that the greatest nation on Earth would soon be ill-equipped to defend either herself or her allies. Additionally, he carried a heavy burden. Before deploying, the admiral had been briefed by Naval Intelligence that a strike by Israel was imminent. Indeed, Iran’s uranium enrichment facilities would have to be destroyed. Would this attack launch World War III? he wondered.

“Admiral, Captain, there is nothing better than a steaming cup of java on a hot and muggy night,” Wolfgang said as he handed each man a cup of coffee. “Of course, that’s coming from a snipe who was lucky enough to escape the confines of the boiler room for the wide-open space on the bridge,” the petty officer added appreciatively.

“It was my pleasure to have approved that transfer, Wolfie. Thanks for the supercharged caffeine,” Captain Crisalli replied.

“You’re welcome, Captain. By the way, this special brew contains my magic beans. Just one cup will bring you incredible luck—assuming it doesn’t eat through your stomach lining,” Wolfgang added reassuringly, but with a broad grin.

“That’s comforting. Thanks, Wolfie,” Admiral Frederick responded before cautiously taking the liquid stimulant from the petty officer.

“Yes, sir, Admiral,” Wolfgang replied with pride before returning to his duties.

“Admiral, why don’t we move outside to the bridge wing for some pristine Persian humidity?” Captain Crisalli joked.

“Good idea, David. I could use some fresh, damp air.”

“Officer on the deck,” Captain Crisalli barked.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Kuo Wei responded promptly.

“The admiral and I will be on the bridge wing,” Captain Crisalli announced.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the lieutenant acknowledged as both men stepped out onto the open bridge.

“This soup is so thick, Admiral, that I can’t even see the running lights of the vessels in formation,” Captain Crisalli complained as he set down his coffee cup.

“I should say,” the admiral replied while gazing off into the darkness.

“Hell, the Antietam is only a thousand yards off our starboard beam, and she’s not visible. Even the light emitted from the carrier seems to be absorbed by this dark haze. It’s as if we’re in a black hole,” Captain Crisalli concluded with a sense of real concern.

“In my thirty years at sea I’ve never seen anything like it,” Admiral Frederick agreed.

“Well, Admiral, although we’re visible on unfriendly radar, it is comforting to know that the Stennis Strike Group’s silhouette can’t be seen from shore. And, thankfully, the safety and security of our naval base in Bahrain is only four hours away,” Captain Crisalli said reassuringly as Lieutenant Kuo stepped onto the open bridge.

“Captain, Combat Information Center reports the sudden appearance of a large surface contact,” Lieutenant Kuo said.

“Very well, Lieutenant,” Captain Crisalli replied after receiving the disturbing news.

“Admiral, if you would excuse me, I need to evaluate this situation.”

“I understand, David. Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Crisalli replied before quickly making his way to the Combat Information Center (CIC), where the executive officer (XO), Commander Mike Mauri, was closely monitoring this new development.

“What do you have, Mike?”

“Captain, radar had a large surface contact heading directly toward us at fifteen knots and ten miles out. We originally thought it was probably a large tanker in the outbound shipping lane. However, this one large contact now appears to be six smaller contacts, all abreast.”

“It would certainly be an unusual time of the evening to set sail looking for tuna, so I don’t think they’re dhows,” Captain Crisalli quipped as he analyzed the tactical picture and evaluated the potential threat.

“Is there any chatter coming from these vessels?” Captain Crisalli asked with increasing concern.

“No, sir. No communication at all. Additionally, we have been trying to raise them for the last ten minutes, without success,” the XO replied.

“Mike, I smell a rat. Get two choppers in the air immediately to investigate. With night vision goggles maybe the pilots can see through this muck.”

“Captain, there are two other troubling facts. These contacts appeared suddenly, and the only explanation, which makes sense, is that they were on the western side of Lesser Tunb island, thus shielded from our radar.”

“Interesting. And your second concern?” the captain queried.

“We have no other contacts on radar. This is a busy waterway, and there is always a constant flow of commercial traffic through this area at all hours, day and night,” Commander Mauri injected as Captain Crisalli turned to face the XO. There was no doubt that this subtle observation proved equally disturbing—Mike Mauri could read it on the captain’s face.

“Keep me informed and make sure that the other ships in formation are tracking these contacts,” Captain Crisalli ordered, as he was about to leave the CIC.

“Yes, sir,” the XO responded.

“Bogies, two-seven-zero, twelve miles out!” a petty officer manning the anti-aircraft radar screamed. Captain Crisalli stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mike, get the admiral down here,” the captain ordered.

Moments later, Admiral Frederick was in the CIC.

“Speed, course, and altitude?” Commander Mauri requested with a sense of urgency.

“Speed is forty knots, course is one-seven-zero, altitude is five hundred feet,” came the reply.

“Admiral, there are six small surface contacts ten miles out heading toward us at fifteen knots. I’ve ordered two Sea Hawk helicopters to investigate. Additionally, we just picked up these bogies.”

“Captain, the bogies are traveling in a southerly direction. There may be ten to fifteen aircraft. The bogies, as well as the surface contacts, appear to have originated from Lesser Tunb,” Commander Mauri explained.

“I don’t like it, David—get two F-Eighteen Super Hornets in the air,” the admiral responded curtly as the crew worked quickly to plot and evaluate these new threats. They had trained countless hours for scenarios such as this one, but those were only drills. This was the real deal!

“The bogies have changed course and increased speed to one hundred knots. They are now heading toward the fleet,” the radar operator announced.

“Sound General Quarters,” Admiral Frederick growled.

“Mike, inform the other ships in the Carrier Strike Group to go to General Quarters and to lock and load. Weapons release—authorized!” the admiral ordered as Captain Chrisalli continued to reassess the tactical picture.

“Admiral, it appears that these seagoing desert rats are coming to pay us a visit,” the captain observed.

“General Quarters, General Quarters, this is not a drill,” the bowswain’s mate announced over 1MC as the John C. Stennis roared to life. Thousands of sailors were rudely awakened from a dead sleep at the sound of the alarm, yet all scrambled to their duty stations. Hatches were slammed shut and dogged as to make compartments throughout the ship watertight within minutes.

“Commander, I recommend coming to course zero-one-zero and increasing speed to thirty-five knots,” the flight officer, Lieutenant Helfrich, announced after completing his calculations.

“Very well, Lieutenant, make it so,” Commander Mauri ordered as Lieutenant Helfrich notified the bridge of the new course and speed.

“Let’s get the Hornets and the Sea Hawks off the deck,” Captain Crisalli insisted, knowing that time was now critical.

“Admiral, I assure you that we’ll have the remains of these audacious bastards buried deep beneath this sandy seabed momentarily,” Captain Crisalli said with unwavering confidence.

Captain Rahirimi and the crew of the Tareq were at battle stations, and anticipation ran high. Yet all remained silent. Sonarman Jannati had detected the fleet some twenty minutes prior. The captain ordered that the sounds from the multitude of thrashing propellers be piped in throughout the boat.

Whoosh—whoosh—WHOOSH; the sounds grew louder. Now there was no doubt that the fleet was rapidly approaching.

Captain Rahirimi was aware that the six Seraj-1 fast attack boats were in position, ready to strike, and the fifteen Karrar drones were in the air. Each sleek Seraj-1 fiberglass boat carried an anti-ship missile and was capable of quickly reaching speeds in excess of eighty knots.

The Karrar unmanned drones carried four cruise missiles each. They were controlled by pilots in a makeshift tent on Lesser Tunb. Each had a joystick and sat patiently in front a computer screen. In the nose cone of each drone was a camera, so the battle could be monitored in real time. In all, the destructive power from both sea and air was overwhelming.

“Captain, the bearing to the fleet is zero-three-zero,” Jannati reported.

“Excellent. Up, periscope.” Captain Rahirimi trained the scope to 030 and adjusted the power and the focus. The carrier and her escorts were now entering the east side of the trap.

“Nasrin, send the following message to Yunes: ‘Allahu Akbar. Commence your attack on the cruiser. Good hunting!’” Captain Rahirimi ordered. “Helm, come right to course zero-one-zero, all ahead one-third. Make your depth four-zero feet. Flood all tubes and open all outer torpedo doors,” the captain ordered. “Nasrin, notify Major Sayyari that we are commencing our attack. Unleash the Seraj-1s and the Karrars.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Captain, the fleet has increased speed but their course appears to remain unchanged,” Jannati reported, although the captain had instantaneously detected a change in pitch. He had little doubt the higher frequency indicated that the propellers were turning faster.

“They have gone to General Quarters, but it’s too late,” Captain Rahirimi observed as he watched the carrier through the periscope. “Bearing—mark.”

“Zero-two-zero, Captain,” came the reply.

“Range—mark.”

“Twenty-five-hundred yards.”

“Angle on the bow—thirty degrees,” the captain relayed.

“Captain, I have a firing control solution,” Mustavi, the weapons control officer, announced.

“Very well. Set torpedo running depth for thirty feet,” the captain ordered as he remained focused on the carrier. “It’s time to release the Hoots—fire one.” Seconds later, “fire two” rang out…and again, and again, until all six fish had been set loose. The spread was precise. There was no way the carrier could escape Tareq’s self-propelled messengers of death.

“All torpedoes are running hot, straight, and normal. Time to impact: ninety seconds,” Mustavi announced with exhilaration as the high-pitched whining from the supercavitation torpedoes trailed off.

“Very well. Mustavi, reload all tubes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain, the Seraj-ones and Karrars have increased speed and are commencing their attack,” Nasrin reported as Captain Rahirimi watched continuous flashes of light suddenly erupt from all of the vessels in the Carrier Strike Group.

The thick gray haze that had engulfed the fleet earlier had started to lift. As weapons were discharged, great, irregularly-shaped plumes of fire and smoke roared over the waves. Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and a wall of water engulfed the guided-missile cruiser Antietam.

“Captain…”

“Not to worry, Mustavi. The torpedoes from the Yunes have found their mark,” the captain reported, knowing Mustavi was concerned that his torpedoes had detonated prematurely. “How long until impact?” he asked as he watched the naval battle unfold.

“Twenty seconds until the first torpedo hits.”

“Captain, several of the vessels appear to be changing course,” Jannati concluded.

“Very well,” the captain replied, knowing full well that there was no way the carrier could turn in time to escape his grasp.

“Nasrin, it would appear that the infidels might have to adopt a new naval doctrine.”

“Ha, the infidels are not that smart. Besides, how do you have a naval doctrine when the American fleet is no more?” Nasrin chuckled.

Boom—Boom—Boom—BOOM! Four torpedoes, each with a five-hundred-pound high-explosive payload, had slammed into the aircraft carrier. Captain Rahirimi watched as sheets of the once tranquil waters shot hundreds of feet into the air. The crew cheered. Their success was now undeniable.

Suddenly, a multitude of rockets streaked over the water and across the sky toward the fleet. For a brief moment the weapons discharge from the American fleet intensified, and the wall of fire and shrapnel appeared impenetrable. Yet most of the missiles found their mark.

Fires raged and black clouds of smoke billowed skyward within a one-mile radius. Captain Rahirimi turned his attention back toward the carrier. The Stennis was engulfed in flames and listing to port.

Jannati continued to listen intently. Amid all the explosions he detected a well-known sound. “Captain, I’m picking up high-pitched screws. Bearing zero-one-zero. One of the frigates is heading toward us.”

“Got it. It’s a DDG. Open torpedo doors for tubes one and two. Bearing—mark. Range—mark.”

“Zero-one-zero, fifteen hundred yards, Captain.”

“Angle on the bow is zero degrees. Set torpedo depth for thirty feet.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. I have a firing solution.”

“Very well. Down, scope. Fire one—fire two,” Captain Rahirimi ordered calmly. “Right full rudder, come to heading zero-eight-zero. Ten degrees down bubble; make your depth one-five-zero feet.”

“Captain, a down-the-throat shot?”

“Yes, indeed, Nasrin, but it’s difficult to say if the mines or our torpedoes will send her to the bottom first.”

Seconds later, three loud explosions could be heard, followed by several intermittent explosions in the distance.

Captain Rahirimi looked around at his crew. All were smiling and laughing. They had performed admirably. The naval battle had been decisive.

As the submarine Tareq slipped away silently, Captain Rahirimi was convinced that this was a new dawn for the Persian Empire. Only daylight would reveal the extent of the death and devastation. However, this was but one battle. Undoubtedly, greater battles were yet to come.

Jihad bil Saif had been decreed. The Islamic Republic of Iran would once more rule the world. Believe in Allah or be wiped from the face of the earth. Infidels beware, our crusade will soon return to American shores.

“Allah be praised,” Captain Rahirimi whispered as Jannati reported the sounds of ships breaking up and drifting down—down into the depths and the obscurity of time.