Cajun and his team had been assigned several aimpoints and a time on target from NAVCENT, with recommended weapons load outs and available intelligence and support assets at his disposal. However, the strike leader had the responsibility to orchestrate the plan and to obtain flag-level validation prior to execution. Cajun left CVIC confident of the plan his team worked on all day. Soon after turning right on the starboard passageway, he and Wilson entered the blue tile area and arrived at CAG’s stateroom door. Cajun knocked twice.
“Come in,” CAG said from inside.
Cajun opened the door and saw CAG and DCAG sitting at the table. “Ready to go sir?” Cajun asked.
“Yep, let’s do it,” CAG replied. Both of the seated officers rose to lead the way to the flag briefing spaces, eight frames aft. As the junior in the group, Wilson brought up the rear. In this meeting he would remain silent, but he would watch the proceedings carefully and take detailed notes of any of the admiral’s concerns.
CAG led them to the conference table in the empty briefing room. The admiral’s chair was at the head of the table, and Cajun staked out a position to its right, with Wilson next to him. CAG and DCAG sat down as their mirror images on the other side of the table.
Soon Captain Swartzmann entered wearing his blue, pullover sweater and carrying his ubiquitous notebook and coffee cup. He was followed by the Air Ops officer in a green flight jacket and another sweatered surface warrior. CAG Swoboda greeted Swartzmann with a cordial “Gene.” The chief of staff made a face but otherwise ignored him, and Wilson saw that CAG’s informal greeting got under Swartzmann’s skin. He, no doubt, preferred the formal Captain Swartzmann to his given name. Wilson suppressed a grin. Even the heavies found ways to bug each other.
Moments later the admiral arrived wearing his flight jacket and also carrying a cup of coffee. The room came to attention and Smith responded, “Seats. Seats, please.” Placing his coffee on the table, he surveyed the room and nodded at each of his air wing guests, greeting them by name and with a smile. “All right, Skipper, you are the first out of the block. What’cha got here?”
“Package 1A, sir, Bandar Abbas,” Cajun answered.
“Yeah, yeah… okay, go ahead,” Smith said, focused on the imagery slide Cajun placed in front of him.
Cajun began:
“Sir, this package is going after several aimpoints in and around the naval base at Bandar Abbas to interdict Pasdaran and Iranian Navy ability to harass shipping in Hormuz. As a premier naval base, you can see it’s heavily defended — with long range SAMs here, here, and here and with tactical weapons in and around the harbor areas. These islands in the strait are inhabited with triple-A of all calibers, and we can expect MANPADS everywhere. Bandar Abbas is also a fighter base, and we’ve imaged Phantoms, Tomcats, and MiG’s at the airfield. If they come up tomorrow night, we have a dedicated sweep to deal with them. And the strikers will be loaded out to deal with any leakers.”
“Phantoms and Tomcats,” Smith grumbled, shaking his head at the irony his pilots would have to face American-built aircraft.
Cajun described the aimpoints, the weapons load out and the delivery profile for the strike aircraft. Each of the senior officers leaned in to capture his every word and ensure their understanding — and Cajun’s complete mastery — of the reason for this strike. Because errant bombs were unacceptable, the strikers needed to be 100 per cent certain of their aimpoints and release parameters.
Smith looked at the satellite imagery, puzzled. “What are these?” he asked.
Cajun looked at the aimpoint. “Boghammars in a nest, sir.”
“Then what are these?” Smith added.
“Dhows, sir, also in a nest.” Cajun saw where the admiral was going.
“Well, they look a lot like boghammars to me.”
“Yes, sir, but the dhows are larger and pretty much uniform. Boghammars are smaller and have irregular shapes, as you can see.”
“Yeah, I can. But tomorrow night, will one of your tired and stressed JOs, or even you, be able to positively ID it on a targeting FLIR before you release? We can’t have the bastards on CNN beat us over the head because we blew some fishing boats out of the water.”
Wilson noticed that Swartzmann gave Cajun a sanctimonious look, and CAG did not appear to want to help in this situation. Wilson’s CO was on his own.
Cajun frowned at the imagery photo and looked up at Smith. “Sir, I can’t guarantee you the strikers, or even myself, can discern a dhow or a boghammar in every instance, but we can put a bomb in the middle of any nest along that wharf. The target is boghammars, but if a dhow is in among them, then they picked the wrong night to go alongside. They used dhows in the Richard Best operation.”
“That’s another question,” Smith added. “What if there’s nothing there? How old is this imagery? Hell, it doesn’t matter. It could have been taken today, and it wouldn’t matter. The Revolutionary Guard can move these boats in hours… less.”
Wilson watched as Swartzmann’s eyes burned holes into Cajun, then shifted to Wilson, who held his gaze for a moment. Screw you, sir, he thought, and returned his attention to the admiral.
Cajun didn’t flinch. “Yes, sir, and the answer is a radar-to-FLIR-to-visual delivery. We can see on the radar if anything is along the wharf, sweeten it on the FLIR, and then roll in visually on goggles to refine the aimpoints. Wherever they moor these guys, we can hit them. And if nobody is home, we have alternate targets. There’s a boat crane here and a gasoline pipeline pump here connected to the fuel tank that services everything on the wharf.”
Smith studied the targets again. Bandar Abbas was a tough nut, and his A-team had to get in there. With an element of surprise, and led by Cajun Lassiter, they could suppress the defenses and take a toll on the Pasdaran before they could even react. Follow-on strikes along the coast would attrite Pasdaran assets to prevent further raids in Hormuz, of that he was certain, but could they destroy boghammars in numbers? Damn things could hide in every cove and along every breakwater, or in some shack along the beach.
Smith motioned for Cajun to continue and followed him through discussions of the expected weather, DMPIs, contingencies, show stoppers, command and control nets, rules of engagement…. The list was exhaustive, and Smith let him move along, knowing they could anchor down on any of these subjects — and be here all night discussing the nuances and contingencies. Damned media! Smith surmised the Iranians could blow up a dozen of their dhows anywhere and blame America. He knew CNN and the BBC would run with it without questioning the source. Smith looked at the threat rings: big and lethal. How many of my aircraft and aviators will I lose?
“Any questions, sir?” Cajun was finished. Jolted from his daydream, Smith rapped his pen on the table and spoke in his low baritone.