The sky was quite light now, with sunrise just minutes away. He could easily see the nearest Iranian vessel, an Alvand-class light patrol frigate, a thousand yards away.
Splashes geysered out of the sea nearby as the frigate opened fire with its 37mm twin antiaircraft mount. Alvands mounted surface-to-surface Sea Killer missiles and an ASW mortar, too, and Hawking didn't want to be the one providing the Iranian sailors marksmanship practice. Pushing the stick forward and accelerating, he slipped back beneath the surface, as rounds continued to pop and hiss nearby. Within thirty seconds, however, he was rocketing through the black depths at eighty knots, easily twice the frigate's top speed, leaving the confused Iranians far behind.
He didn't want to push the speed higher than that. His fuel cells were already weakening, requiring a recharge, and the faster he went, the faster he drained them. But at eighty knots he would be back at the Ohio within thirty minutes.
"Hang on, boys," he said aloud. "It's the cavalry to the rescue!"
The question was whether he would get there in time… or if Ohio had already been sent to the bottom.
An aide held out the telephone receiver, and Admiral Mehdi Baba-Janzadeh took it and held it to his ear. What, he wondered, would bring the Supreme Leader onto the phone in person? "Yes, sir. Admiral Baba-Janzadeh speaking."
"Yes, Admiral," Khamenei said on the other end. "We have been receiving disturbing reports here from Bandar Abbas."
"Yes, sir." Of course they had. Baba-Janzadeh himself had ordered the reports forwarded directly to the Supreme Leader's bunker.
"Explosions. One of our submarines sunk. American submarines off our coast… and the Alvand has just reported an… an unidentified underwater object. Something traveling at impossible speeds. What do you know of this?"
"Sir, we believe the Americans may be using a small, high-speed submarine drone. We're not sure what its capabilities are, but they may be using it to decoy our forces."
"To what end?"
"They remain interested in the special weapons facility at Bandar-e Charak. That, at any rate, is where most of the activity has been centered. We believe the large American submarine may be trying to put naval commandos ashore."
"Indeed. What have you done about this?"
"I have ordered the Twenty-third Regiment to seal off that entire stretch of beach, to either side of the town. And I have ordered helicopter patrols stepped up over the beaches and above the bay itself."
"That seems adequate. This… this unidentified object worries us, however. Alvand's captain was convinced that there were no fewer than three of the things operating in his area."
"Yes, sir. I've seen the report." Alvand's captain, in fact, was prone to exaggeration. It was a wonder he hadn't reported seeing little green aliens driving the thing. "I would not put too much stock in it. In combat conditions, men become excitable. Confused. And eyewitness reports become unreliable."
"I agree." There was a pause. "Except for this… excitement off Bandar-e Charak, Bold Fire appears to be going well. And, as you predicted, we have definite evidence of American submarines operating inside our territorial waters."
"Yes, sir." It would have been better if they had the submarine itself, either run aground and captured, or sunken at the bottom of the Gulf. But the plan had succeeded, at least, to the extent of having provided Tehran with the causus helium it sought.
"We are giving the order to initiate Phase Three."
That took Baba-Janzadeh aback, unprepared. "Sir… is that wise? We may still defeat the Americans without—"
"Do not question your orders, Admiral."
"No, sir." He hesitated. To press the issue might put his career at risk. "It's just that this seems an unwarranted escalation so early in the process."
"Unwarranted? American submarines have entered our territorial waters, conducted missions obviously related to espionage or sabotage, and sunk two of our submarines! They are engaged in combat with our forces as we speak!"
"Yes, sir. But I must point out that, so far, there is evidence of only a single American submarine in the region, and there is an excellent chance that we will have it trapped within the next thirty minutes."
"Admiral, you know as well as I do that the American Fifth Fleet is the object of our exercise in the Gulf, do you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I was afraid you had lost sight of our principle objective! The latest reports show that the American fleet has begun preparations to leave Manama. It is putting to sea… and it may well be heading for our coast to support this lone submarine of which you speak."
Or it could be preparing to leave the Gulf. He doubted that… but it was a possibility. There clearly was no arguing with the Supreme Leader, however, not when he'd worked himself into such a state.
"It is vital, vital, that the Islamic world see us taking on the American Satan and delivering a telling blow! For that reason, I am giving the order to execute Phase Three immediately. You should alert your own commands so that they can be ready for any American reaction… and in order to follow up on the advantage once the strike takes place."
"Yes, sir. I will alert my people immediately."
"Good. I know we can count on you, Admiral." There was a click, and the line was dead.
He handed the phone to the aide, who'd been standing by impassively, without expression.
No, no, he thought. This is premature. We are not ready for this….
Operationally, Phase Three was a direct strike against the American Fifth Fleet stationed at Bahrain. The original concept had actually been far more complex, involving not only Iran's fleet of Chinese Hudong missile boats, but some hundreds of small craft, pleasure boats, even fishing boats outfitted with Sea Eagle missiles, Exocets, and anything else that could be hurled against the enemy giant to bring him down.
As planning had progressed, however, the plan had been changed. Khamenei and the people closest to him were fixated on Iran's new intermediate range missile force, the Shahabs. In tests, they'd proven themselves far more accurate and deadly than the unlamented Saddam
Hussein's Scud attacks on Saudi Arabia and Israel sixteen years before.
But Baba-Janzadeh did not have the trust in the new technology others did. The Scuds had failed Saddam badly, not only in their performance overall, but in the backlash of public opinion worldwide against him.
At least Khamenei and his sycophants hadn't insisted on making this a nuclear strike. Baba-Janzadeh had argued long and hard that the special weapons at Bandar-e Charak should be held back, that simply the idea of them made them a deterrent.
Phase Three as originally conceived would have been more sure of success, he thought. Hundreds of missiles flying at the American fleet from all directions, instead of a few dozen. And there was such powerful symbology in the death blow to the enemy being delivered by small and relatively low-tech forces.
But missiles were the ultimate symbols of modern warfare. Technology against technology.
All he could do was alert the other commands to Khamenei's intent. The special weapons, controlled entirely by the IRGC fanatics, were not under his operational control anyway. After that he would focus all of his attention on the battle unfolding outside of Charak Bay, as Iranian naval forces closed in at last on the American intruder.
He reached again for the phone.