“I want new orders to search waters to the east to look for the American submarine, and I want divers and dolphins to help me.”
The task force commander hummed. “Huh.”
“I hope that’s a good ‘huh’.”
“It is. I can rearrange the patrol areas to give you the water. You can have the dive ship with two pairs of divers and side-scan sonar immediately, but the divers won’t be available for ten hours, after they rest. I’m also keeping the dolphins and their mothership assigned where they are. We need them in the barrier that’s keeping the Americans from re-invading our waters, and they’re not trained to call out bottomed objects.”
Jazani considered protesting the omission of the cetaceans for his agenda, but he conceded they were better used searching for the stealthy undamaged submarines. “Thank you, sir.”
The task force’s leader grunted. “Don’t thank me. Do your job. Your primary tasking against the mercenary ships remains unchanged. This speculative hunt of yours is secondary.”
“I’ll carry out my orders.”
“You’re right, you will. I’ll send you written details.”
As the line went dead, Jazani tossed his headset to the console. While awaiting his updated patrol area, he reread the latest intelligence update explaining the unwelcomed interference from two Scorpène-class submarines and a catamaran railgun ship. As he reread the Russian man’s name, he let out a lengthy sigh.
His executive officer’s small frame twisted in the seat of his computer console. “What’s that you got there, sir?”
“Just some background data on the mercenary fleet.”
“You sounded like there was something more, sir.”
Jazani hesitated to share but considered his executive officer and the two technicians who might overhear him trusted colleagues. “The captain of one of these mercenary ships is an old acquaintance who taught me tactics as part of a cadre of Russian officers. I was too young and naïve to realize it back then, but even when he was a junior officer, the senior Russians admired his skills.”
The short officer swiveled in his chair and raised his eyebrows at his commanding officer. “Seriously?”
“Apparently, his career in the Russian submarine fleet has ended, and he’s moved on to more lucrative endeavors.”
“Which submarine is his, not that it matters?”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Because I trust you to not let it affect your judgment.”
The Ghadir’s commander grunted. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I fear you’re overestimating me. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but I remember him as a good man.”
“And you refuse to kill good men?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I still trust you to kill whom you must and lament it after the fact, perhaps in your second career as a poet-warrior.”
After a deep breath during which he measured the weight of mortal responsibility, Jazani exhaled. “I don’t know which submarine is his and which is the American’s.”
“Again, I trust you to kill whom you must.”
“And there’s the problem. My orders are liberal about killing — to the point of ambiguity.”
“Orders to kill are always challenging, sir.”
Reminding himself to honor the loneliness of leadership, Jazani measured his words to avoid complaining. “I’ve said too much already. It’s just the normal burden of command. All the other submarine commanders have received the same order, and I doubt any of them are whining.”
The executive officer baited his commander. “That doesn’t make them any easier to follow, and I can tell that something’s weighing on you.”
Despite his desire to suffer in solitude, Jazani took the bait. “You’re right. I’m sure you can see it on my face.”
The short officer leaned into his boss and spoke softly. “And in your voice, and in your nervously tapping toes, and in your posture. You’re practically curled over your console.”
Made aware of his twitching foot, Jazani steadied it. “At some point, I may have to make a life or death decision, and you and everyone on this ship will have to obey me. If it happens, we’ll all live with consequences, but I alone will have to live with the guilt if I get it wrong.”
“Then let’s make sure you get it right.”
“How do you propose to predict the future?”
“Just talk it through.”
“You’ve read the orders.”
“True, sir. But we sort of ignored them while you challenged them and sought better guidance. But better guidance isn’t coming. We’re stuck with what we’ve got.”
The Ghadir’s commander shrugged. “Fine, then. I can sink a mercenary ship as long as it’s within the twelve-nautical-mile coastal limit and if the attack has zero risk of sinking an American ship. But I should not take the shot if I believe I’m endangering our ship by inviting counterfire.”
“What if you shoot but the target could evade to international waters before your weapon hits?”
“Unclear. You see my dilemma.”
“I should’ve given our orders more thought already, sir.”
“No. I should’ve instructed you to consider them more deeply already to train you for command.”
The executive officer scoffed. “It’s easy for someone sitting in a comfortable office to give those orders, but if you think about implementing them, any fool could see that they’re politically-driven lunacy.”
For hours, the delicacy of his orders had been running in circles throughout Jazani’s head. “Much as they’re challenging, I understand where they’ve come from. It’s not all lunacy. I’ve been able to make some sense of it.”
“If so, you’re a better man than I am, sir.”
“I can’t do anything to an American ship because we’ve already sent our message with the lightweight torpedo, whether we hit our target or not. There’s nothing else that needs saying to the Americans, and to take any hostile action against them would portray us as irrational maniacs.”
The executive officer shrugged. “What’s so bad about that? It would scare them and make them unable to predict our next moves.”
Jazani realized his wisdom advantage over his younger second-in-command. “After the lightweight attack, they fear us more than they ever have. Any additional fear would turn them into frightened children with their fingers on the triggers of huge guns.”
The short officer pursed his lips and remained silent.
“Okay. Maybe my argument about military escalation has failed to impress you, but what about the lifting of trade sanctions?”
The executive officer sneered. “Now, you’re making sense, sir.”
“We can’t benefit from peace talks in Syria if we’re starting a war. Do you want to reap the benefits of improved trade or not?”
“Someone should’ve thought of that before we launched that lightweight weapon at the Americans.”
“That was a warranted reaction to them putting robots into our waters. At least it seemed like it at the time. I’m not entirely sure anymore.”
The executive officer’s pitch rose. “Then why can’t we attack any other Americans? People get outraged when their sons and husbands die, and then an entire nation joins them — for about a week. Then they all go back to their private lives, especially Americans.”
Jazani called the bluff. “You’re sure of this? When’s the last time a naval force attacked an American ship?”
The executive officer paused in thought. “The Cole, in Yemen.”
“That wasn’t a naval force. It was an al Qaeda suicide team.”
“Okay, then. The Stark.”
The Ghadir’s commander remembered history lessons on his nation’s war with its neighbor. “That was an air force attack, and if memory serves, the American politicians claimed it was a lone Iraqi pilot’s mistake. It’s a poor data point for gauging American outrage on an intentional attack.”