It was hardly the kind of action Ahadi craved, but he quietly admitted to himself that his men needed more time before they would be ready. He considered his friends who served on the rest of Iran’s submarines, and knew they were all involved in patrolling the approaches to the Strait. If there was going to be a fight, that was where it would start. That was, of course, if the Americans had the stomach for it. He had been overjoyed when he’d received his current command, but a part of him couldn’t help being a bit envious of his fellow naval officers holding the line against the Western powers threatening to force their way into the Persian Gulf. The shallow water in the Gulf was perfect for Iran’s small fleet, and the massive minefield the Republic had seeded in the Strait of Hormuz appeared to guarantee the Persian Gulf was now an Iranian lake.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he called out.
The door opened, and his communications officer entered. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain,” he apologized as he handed over a message.
Ahadi took the message and saw that it was classified at the highest level. He noticed the look of shock on the communication officer’s face. “What?” he asked as he looked down at the message and read. The reason for the young officer’s stunned expression became evident almost immediately.
“What has happened?” Zuyev asked, apparently seeing Ahadi’s look of disbelief.
“There’s been a battle in the Gulf of Oman,” Ahadi said in disbelief as he continued reading.
“And?” Zuyev asked pointedly.
“One of our frigates and all three of our Kilo submarines have been lost. Operations are underway to rescue survivors.” Ahadi could recall the names and faces of dozens of officers on the three lost submarines. “Allah, be merciful…”
“What about the Russian submarines guarding the Strait?” Zuyev demanded. It was no secret the Russians had promised to help Iran defend their territorial waters, which now included the entire Strait of Hormuz. “Does it say anything about who attacked?”
“It only says the attackers were beaten back after suffering grievous losses. At least five of their submarines are reported destroyed.” From Ahadi’s perspective, it was a pyrrhic victory at best. With the three Kilo submarines lost, the only real submarines the Islamic Republic had left were the Borei and Gagarin.
“Anything else?” Zuyev asked, anxious for information about the Russian forces guarding the Strait.
“I’m afraid it says nothing about your fleet,” Ahadi admitted.
The two captains sat quietly for a few moments, considering just what the message meant. Ahadi wasn’t naïve enough to believe everything his superiors reported, but even if they’d sunk two or three American submarines it would be a tremendous victory, despite the terrible losses.
“What are our orders?” Zuyev asked, wondering if the Borei and her two escorts would be sent to reinforce the remaining naval assets guarding the Strait.
“The Gagarin is heading to the Strait with orders to lie in wait for any enemy vessel that might sneak through the barrier,” Ahadi explained, knowing the stealthy Gagarin was perfect for such a mission. “We are to stay hidden.” Ahadi wished his orders allowed him to return to the Strait and help get some revenge for his lost comrades. But the mission of the Borei wasn’t combat; they were still just a ruse. He then considered the Russian Akula submarine that was still shadowing the Borei, protecting her as the green crew of Iranians honed their skills.
“We must redouble our efforts to get your crew ready,” Zuyev advised. Both captains knew the Borei’s crew wasn’t ready for a real fight yet.
Zuyev was called away to the radio room. Now alone, Ahadi sat quietly scribbling a new training schedule that would push his men as hard as he dared. Zuyev returned thirty minutes later holding his own radio message and looking solemn. “What is it?” Ahadi asked.
Zuyev sat back down and explained, “My superiors also report a serious battle outside the Strait. One of our submarines was lost,” he said gravely.
“Was it the Americans?” Ahadi asked.
Zuyev shrugged. “We can’t be certain, but it seems likely. The Americans have refused to recognize your new territorial waters and said they would enter the Persian Gulf.”
Both men sat quietly. Neither had expected the Americans to try and force their way into the Persian Gulf so soon. In fact, the general belief had been that the Western powers would eventually come around to the new order in the Gulf and accept Iran’s hegemony in the region. But now battle had been joined; a very secret, and as of yet undeclared, war was being fought below the waves out of sight of the news media.
The world might never know what really happened.
Chapter Twenty Four
“Kris,” she heard him call to her.
The Seawolf was out of immediate danger. The Islamic Republic had launched a rescue effort consisting of some surface craft to try and recover any survivors from their lost submarines and frigate.
“Kris,” he called again.
The Republic had also commenced a rather haphazard sonar search in the vicinity using two dated helicopters employing dipping sonar.
“Lieutenant,” she heard Brodie say to her and felt him nudge her gently.
Kristen opened her eyes, pulling herself out of the sweetest of dreams. He was there… he was with her…they were together…
“Lieutenant,” she heard the familiar voice and struggled to extricate herself from the blissful slumber.
Kristen shook her head and looked up to see, instead of Brodie speaking to her gently, Fabrini nudging her awake. She’d fallen asleep against the rear bulkhead of the sonar shack.
“What is it?” she asked as she struggled to wake up. “Is it another Akula?”
“No, ma’am,” he assured her. “I’m sorry as hell to wake you, but the skipper just called and needs to see you in the control center.”
Kristen allowed Fabrini to help her to her feet. She shook her head to clear out the last vestiges of sleep, then rubbed her eyes and glanced at the digital clock on the wall. “How long was I out?” she asked as she ran a hand over her hair, feeling the perfectly prepared braids coming loose. She was certain she had to look like hell.
“Almost an hour.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“The Iranians are looking for us, but they haven’t come too close, yet.”
“Any contacts?” she asked as she straightened her crumpled uniform.
“Quite a few,” he admitted with a yawn. “But they’re all on the surface, and we suspect they’re still collecting survivors from the frigate.”
Kristen would have liked nothing more than to take a shower and get a fresh uniform on before reporting to the captain, but there was no time for that. She thanked Fabrini and stepped out of the shack and into the control room.