Remain undetected.
Wait and watch.
Return fire if fired upon, but take care not to initiate hostile action.
Return fire if friendly vessels are fired upon but, again, do not initiate hostile action.
"Mr. Chisolm, sound general quarters," he said.
The Ayatollah's pronouncement didn't mean all-out war — not yet — but it was the next thing to it.
16
Most of a submarine's patrol time is spent waiting.
"New sonar contact bearing two-nine-five, Captain," the sonar officer said. "It sounds like another tanker, trying to enter the straits."
The weapons officer completed the TMA moments later. "Target speed eight knots, range thirteen hundred meters, sir."
Captain Damavandi stepped onto the control room dais. "Up periscope." Taking the periscope handles, he rode it to the surface. Harsh afternoon daylight glared off the water to the west, where a giant loomed against the horizon. He completed the requisite full circle, checking for other nearby vessels, then centered the targeting reticule on the contact.
Another huge one… larger than the Texan Star or any of the others they'd tracked so far. And it was heavily laden, the massive hull low in the water.
"Liberian registry," Damavandi said. He read the name off the bow. "Escondido Bay."
"Three hundred fifteen thousand tons," Commander Tavakkoli reported, reading from the warbook. "Three hundred thirty-one meters loa. American owned and operated."
"Excellent," Damavandi said. "Maneuvering! Come right to two-zero-five and increase speed to fifteen knots. Communications Officer!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Send to Bandar Abbas. 'Holy Mountain.'"
"Yes, sir!"
With Ghadir's periscope raised, the submarine's UHF antenna was above water as well. They continued to watch the target's steady approach, waiting for confirmation. Slowly, the angle on the bow increased, until the entire length of the vessel could be seen, spanning the northern horizon. Damavandi gave orders to swing to starboard, bringing her forward tubes to bear.
Less than five minutes after the initial transmission, Ghadir's communications officer announced, "Captain! Message from Bandar Abbas Naval Command! The message is 'Fire upon the sea!' It is confirmed, sir!"
Damavandi nodded, smiling. He'd thought this would be the one. Tehran wanted the largest target possible, the better to drive home its message: The straits are closed!
"Weapons status."
"Sir!" Lieutenant Taqi Ashkani, the weapons officer, reported. "Tubes one, three, two, and four are loaded and ready to fire!"
Damavandi took another long look through the periscope, as though to memorize every detail of the huge vessel now passing less than a kilometer off the Ghadir's bow. "Fire number one."
Ashkani's palm slammed against a switch at his fire control console. "Tube one fired electrically!" Damavandi heard the hiss of air expelling the torpedo from the tube forward, felt the slight rocking of the deck in response.
"Fire three."
"Tube three fired electrically," Ashkani reported. "Fire two."
"Tube two fired electrically."
"Fire four."
"Tube four fired electrically. Allah be praised! All torpedoes running straight and true."
Damavandi glanced at Mullah Hamid Khodaei, seated at his accustomed place by the weapons board, and kept his face impassive. A submarine is no place for religious fervor, he thought, but it was a thought he would keep to himself.
"Torpedo one has acquired its target," the weapons officer announced. A moment passed. "Torpedo one is locked."
"Cut the wire to torpedo number one."
"Wire cut. Torpedo one is running free."
He found himself watching the sweeping second hand on the big clock mounted on the control room's forward bulkhead.
"Torpedo three has acquired its target." Good. "Torpedo three is locked."
"Cut the wire to torpedo number three."
"Wire cut. Torpedo three is running free."
Ghadir was equipped with Russian-designed 533mm torpedoes. Wire-guided, they were fired toward their target, but could be controlled by signals sent along the wires that connected them to the submarine. Once close enough to the target that they could pick them up with their own on-board sonar, the wires were cut and the torpedoes free to travel the rest of the way to their target.
Through the periscope, Damavandi saw a sudden geyser of water erupt from beneath the supertanker's stern; moments later they heard the heavy thud of the warhead's detonation, and the men in the control room broke into a frenzy of cheering and shrill cries of "Allah is great!" and "Death to America!"
"Silence!" Damavandi bellowed, and the clamor subsided almost at once. "Attend to your posts!"
A second geyser of water erupted from the supertanker's starboard side, this one amidships. This time, when the explosion rumbled through the hull, the men didn't cheer, but Damavandi could feel their excitement, their raw joy.
"Torpedo one has missed, Captain," the weapons officer announced. And, when another moment had passed. "Torpedo four has also missed."
"No matter," Damavandi said, watching through the periscope. "I believe they have received our message. Communications Officer!"
"Sir!"
"Send to Bandar Abbas. 'The sea is burning.' "
"Yes, Captain! Allah be praised!"
Allah be praised. Fire was engulfing the stern third of the ship, which had already begun to settle visibly deeper into the water. Men were burning to death out there… a hideous way to die.
Ghadir, however, had just scored her first kill.
The Combat Center had been set up forward of the Ohio's control room, a compartment dedicated to managing operations ashore. When Stewart walked in, Drake and Wolfe both were there, bent over a map table upon which a satellite photo had been blown up into a large map. The resolution was high enough that Stewart could see automobiles, construction equipment, and individual people.
"Have you heard the latest priflash?" he asked. Drake looked up from the table. "No, Captain. What is it?"
Stewart handed him the translated flimsy that had just been handed to him. "Tehran has just upped the ante," he said as Drake read the message. "They've just torpedoed a supertanker in the straits."
"Christ Almighty… "
"HQ-NAVCENT has given all U.S. forces in the Gulf their orders — Defense Posture Bravo. That means we initiate no hostile action, and shoot back only if we or one of our ships is fired upon."
"Does that include that tanker, sir?" Lieutenant Drake asked.
"It means I could have decided to sink the sub that torpedoed her," Stewart replied, "if we'd been in the area. But can I launch Tomahawks now? No. However, this does bring Operation Sea Hammer into question."
Drake scowled, shaking his head. "Call it off? Can't do it, Captain. Not now. Damn it, they're two hours from the coast, and they haven't surfaced for an update. Besides, this isn't a NAVCENT/CENTCOM op. It's NAVSPECWAR, which means J-SOC."
Stewart nodded at the tangle of alphabet soup. "I understand that. But we should keep our options open, in case someone decides to start micromanaging. Don't you agree?"