On a positive note, though, Martin appeared to be adjusting to life aboard a submarine, and, more importantly, he seemed to be growing less and less homesick with each day. At least Kristen hoped so. The whining that had been a constant part of his daily routine during the first six weeks of the patrol had slowly given way to quiet resolve as the situation around them darkened.
Every day the captain received more and more “Flash” messages for his eyes only. The volume of war warnings and updated threat assessments reached such a volume that all non-essential message traffic like family grams and e-mails the crew routinely received when the Seawolf’s antenna was above the surface were stopped. The captain had yet to reveal the contents of the flood of messages, but Kristen kept a close eye on the Top Secret read board, and it looked like the Islamic Republic was up to something.
The National Reconnaissance Office reported a massive buildup of military power on the Republic’s southern coast, which had everyone on edge. They were just a single submarine and could hardly be expected to prevent any military move by Iran into one of her neighbors’ lands. Not to mention, none of these reports shed the least bit of light onto just what role the Russians were playing in it all.
Kristen was in the middle of making a meat lover’s pizza when Charles Horner, coming from the communications shack, delivered another such message to Brodie. Kristen and several others hazarded glances toward the two of them, and whereas Brodie’s expression was impassive, as if he were reading an article in a dry textbook, Horner looked like he’d read his own obituary. Brodie handed the message board back to his anxious communications officer.
“I’ll be right up,” Brodie replied calmly, but his voice now had an edge in it.
He removed his apron and chef’s hat and handed them to Gibbs. Then, without comment, he walked from the galley and went up the ladder to the control room. Kristen exchanged nervous glances with several officers and noticed Chief Miller, O’Rourke, and COB sharing strained looks. For the next ten minutes a subdued pizza night continued on, but everyone’s appetites had faded.
Kristen was cutting up a pepperoni and sausage pizza when a fight broke out between two sailors who, Kristen was certain, would probably not even remember what started it. The combination of high tension ever since the deployment started, the rushed departure from Bremerton, back-to-back deployments, the grueling training bringing them to the razor’s edge of readiness, and now the growing reality of war had everyone on board wound up tight. COB and O’Rourke had the fight broken up moments after it started, but as they were sorting the combatants out, the 1MC came to life.
Kristen heard the slight crackling from the nearby speaker and turned her attention toward it. Instantly, all was quiet. Every eye — every ear — turned toward the nearest speaker. The men in the Wolf’s Den who’d been fighting one another moments earlier forgot their dispute and were now, like everyone else, listening.
“All hands, this is the captain.”
She listened as the calm and steady voice came over the 1MC. It was his way, and the cool, even voice had a way of calming the men’s tensions. She wondered briefly if he intentionally kept his voice strong yet calm for this very reason. But she dismissed the foolish question. Nothing about him was an accident.
“As you’re all well aware, we’ve been loitering in the vicinity of the Maldives as part of a much larger effort to secure key choke points in various parts of the world. Our mission has, up until this moment, been one of reserve until the Russians, or whoever they may be working with, make a hostile move.”
Kristen heard nothing ominous in his tone, he might have been discussing the weather or a crossword puzzle, but everyone aboard knew Brodie never got on the 1MC just to hear himself speak or waste people’s time. Something had happened somewhere in the world.
“I’m afraid any hopes we had of this crisis blowing over has officially ended. Last night Iran, in an apparent bid to seize control of the Strait of Hormuz, invaded the Musandam Peninsula on the southern side of the Strait. Reacting to what they called a direct provocation by Oman, who owns the Peninsula, the Islamic Republic launched an invasion with several thousand troops. This morning, at 0845 local time, the UN representative of the Islamic Republic of Iran informed the nations of the world they have acted in their own self-defense as per the UN Charter. In addition to this, they also announced the Islamic Republic — supported by her allies — was exercising its claim to the Strait of Hormuz; declaring it a closed waterway to all international shipping traffic effective midnight tonight, GMT.”
Kristen closed her eyes and whispered, “Holy shit.” Beside her Terry, Ryan, Martin, and others mumbled similar comments. The United States and the rest of the industrialized world could not survive long without the constant flow of oil coming out of the Persian Gulf through the Strait of Hormuz. If the Iranians were serious, and they meant to try and blockade the Strait, it would mean a shooting war for certain. The Western democracies were totally dependent on imported oil, and the vast majority of those imports came from the Persian Gulf.
“Upon receipt of this announcement by the Islamic Republic, the Commander in Chief issued a warning to the President of Iran that the United States considers the Strait to be international waters and will react with force to any attempt by the Republic to interfere with our international treaty rights permitting unrestricted access to the Strait of Hormuz and the Persian Gulf.” Brodie paused momentarily to let the gravity of the situation have a chance to settle in. “Currently there are eleven American-flagged super tankers moving inside the Persian Gulf or just outside it in the Sea of Arabia. All of these vessels are potentially in danger should our friends in Iran decide to put their words into action, and, considering they just invaded a sovereign nation, we must assume the worst.
“Although negotiations are ongoing at the highest levels to resolve this matter peacefully, it is believed the Islamic Republic, as the North Koreans were before them, has been emboldened to this action by the Russian Federation. The Russians, as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, can veto any military action or economic sanctions imposed against the Iranian government, providing them virtual immunity against any United Nations actions.”
“Mother fucking Russians,” Ski cursed bitterly. “I never liked those bastards.”
“Because of the gravity of the situation, all forces in CENTCOM have been put on alert. We have been ordered north to close the distance to the Strait and support the USS Virginia and the HMS Audacious which are in the region already. They have been ordered to secure the Strait from any Iranian military interference and enforce our unfettered access to the seas as international law clearly provides.
“As more information comes my way, I’ll pass it along if at all possible,” Brodie assured them. “As for now, I expect all hands to do what they can to get our boat as ready as possible for a confrontation at any moment. I would like all off duty officers to muster in the wardroom as soon as possible for a more detailed briefing of the current situation. Captain out.”
It was typical Brodie, Kristen thought. No pep talk. No superfluous adjectives or words to incite a reaction from his men. He didn’t want his crew any more excited or worked up than they already were. Instead, he wanted them calm and professional. Kristen and the other officers removed their aprons and chef hats, then made their way to the wardroom to await the captain.