Exit Plan (65 page)

He was confident of their ability to fight their way to the target against an alerted enemy, but he had never imagined fighting the Americans first. One of his staff had been tasked with figuring the odds. It was not a simple task. “Give me what you’ve got, Lev.”

The major shook his head. “It’s the multiple shots at close range. Even with good countermeasures, you need to see the missile coming at you to use them properly. We could lose twenty aircraft, maybe more. They’d lose less, because of the jamming, but still fifteen at least.”

The communications offer reported, “General, Tel Aviv is calling. It’s Minister Lavon.”

~ * ~

While Zohar had been talking, his back-seater had been working with the radar to find targets and set up Python shots. The Python was a good missile, bigger and longer-ranged than the American AIM-9X, and its seeker was just as smart. Normally, the first salvo in an air battle would be at long range with AMRAAMs, but American jamming had taken away that option. Instead, they’d start with Pythons. When they got closer, in the dogfight, they’d burn through the jamming and use the AMRAAMs in boresight mode.

Of course, the Americans would do the same thing with their AMRAAMs, and they weren’t being jammed.

“Israeli commander, our radars won’t give you any warning of when you’re locked up, so I’ll tell you you’re locked up, and you’ll just have to believe me.”

“You’re going to lose a lot of airplanes and pilots,” Zohar said angrily.

The American’s voice was calm, as if this were merely an exercise. “Your losses will be just as bad. Will your tactics work with a half-assed strike, an alerted enemy, and no fuel reserves? You will lose people to no purpose! Turn around.”

“Our purpose is clear.”

Daniel’s voice cut in again. “One minute to Python range for the lead aircraft.”

Zohar said, “If you shoot, the Iranians win.”

“So they tell me,” the American voice answered. “And if you shoot, you won’t either. Now you have to decide the best way to cut your losses.”

Frustrated, fuming, Zohar was about to give the order to engage when Tamir sent the abort order. “David, this is Yuri. Abort. I repeat, abort. Confirm by voice.”

Resigned, defeated, and still in a state of shock, Zohar responded, “Yuri, this is David. Confirm abort order. Returning to base.” The Iranians would still be there tomorrow.

~ * ~

Jerry stared into space, his mouth hanging open, struggling to wrap his tired brain around what he had just heard. Ramey, also listening in on the circuit, was dumbfounded.
Michigan
was abandoning them.

Lapointe and Fazel had seen the sudden change in their expressions. “What happened, Boss?” asked Lapointe.

“Guthrie’s ditchin’ us! He’s not sending any help!” exclaimed Ramey, furious.

“What!?” Lapointe and Fazel blurted out simultaneously, astounded by their platoon leader’s words.

“Shut up, Ramey!” Jerry bellowed. “He can’t help us because he has problems of his own!”

“What do you mean, XO?” demanded Fazel.

“The last thing I heard before the Skipper signed off was the WLY-1 beeping in the background and a sonar operator warning of active sonars and launch transients.” Jerry sat as he explained, forcing himself to calm down. “I think they were being attacked by an Iranian sub, one of their Kilos.”

“But I thought only the IRGC operated in the gulf now,” said Lapointe, confused.

“That’s what I thought, too, Pointy, but only a Kilo has the sensors I heard being reported, and you wouldn’t hear any launch transients from a surface ship or air-dropped weapon. And if it’s a Kilo class, that means the Iranian Navy.”

Jerry took a deep breath, looked at the three SEALs and continued, his voice laced with worry. “Captain Guthrie has a tough fight on his hands. Staying to launch a Cormorant would have made him a sitting duck. He has over a hundred and fifty people on board
Michigan
that he’s responsible for, including most of your platoon. It’s not like he wanted to leave us to fend for ourselves.”

The four men sat in silence, their desperate situation weighing heavily upon them. They were outgunned, they couldn’t run, and they couldn’t hide. What else could they do? It was Ramey who finally broke the gloomy stillness. “All right, we need to start figuring out what we’re going to do when those patrol boats get here.”

“The only thing we can do is fight,” observed Fazel. “We certainly can’t outrun these guys.”

“Agreed, but the trick is how do we fight off three boats at the same time, Doc?” questioned Ramey. “We don’t have nearly enough firepower.”

Jerry heard the words, “at the same time,” and it suddenly dawned on him that Ramey was defaulting to a worst-case scenario. “Whoa, wait a minute, Matt. You’re assuming they’ll make a coordinated attack.”

“Yeah, what about it? It’s a reasonable assumption,” responded Ramey defensively.

“No argument there, Matt. And it would be appropriate if we were talking about a highly trained, professional military unit, but we aren’t, are we?” Jerry countered.

“I see where you’re going, XO. You think it’s more likely they’ll attack piecemeal,” Fazel concluded.

“Exactly! Think about it. The Pasdaran are aggressive, impatient, and right now, really pissed off. That means they’ll be even more impulsive than usual. On top of that, these are small patrol boats we’re talking about. They don’t have tactical data links, just voice radio, and they’re coming at us from three different directions. A coordinated attack may be a reasonable worst-case scenario, but I’d argue it’s the
least likely
scenario in this case,” Jerry explained.

“But they will eventually all get here,” Ramey contended.

“Agreed, Matt. But if they come in one at a time, we at least have a chance to thin out the herd. Not a great one, mind you, but it’s still a lot better than taking all three on at the same time. And, we can improve our odds a little by using our one advantage,” remarked Jerry cryptically.

“Advantage? What advantage?” Phillips didn’t see it.

But the others did. “We have eyes on the targets; we know where they are. But they’re unsure of where we are,” stated Ramey.

“Correct, and that allows us to choose when and whom we fight first,” Jerry declared. Using his hands, he showed the relative positions of the pursuers to their boat. “The RIB is on our right. The Ashura and Boghammar are on our left. If we alter course to the right a bit, we force the engagement with the RIB and put the other two into more of a tail-chase situation. That gives us a little more time to take out the RIB, which is also the fastest of the three bad guys.”

“XO, we can’t sink a RIB, at least not with small arms. I’ve been on boats very similar to the Iranian models. Those things use closed cell foam in their hulls. They’re almost impossible to sink,” observed Lapointe.

“Who said anything about sinking them, Pointy?” Jerry replied with a smile. “Our target is one of the outboard engines. We take out an engine and he’s out of the game.”

“What you’re suggesting makes a lot of sense, XO. But dealing with the DShK heavy machine gun will be crucial. Even on a small boat it has a serious range advantage over our best weapon,” Ramey stated thoughtfully.

Jerry was relieved to see that Ramey had swiftly recovered from the initial shock of
Michigan’s
abrupt departure. They had all been flabbergasted, overwhelmed when they realized Guthrie couldn’t send help. But the platoon leader had rebounded quickly and was dealing with their problems, not just agonizing over them.

“Yes, Matt. On paper a .50 caliber machine gun has, what? . . . about twice the range of Harry’s sniper rifle?”

“More or less, usually more, it depends on the specific model. But when mounted on a small boat the effective range drops by about a third,” Ramey replied.

“Well, this isn’t your basic paper drill; we’re at sea and that changes everything,” said Jerry.

“How so?” asked Ramey.

“When I was at postgraduate school, I read a lot about the Navy’s research into the Iranian small boat swarm-attack problem—lots of small boats mobbing one of our own ships, a destroyer or cruiser. The Navy’s been putting .50 caliber machine guns and 25-millimeter cannons on our ships, because they concluded the larger five-inch and three-inch guns were too easily overwhelmed and didn’t handle small boats that were in close. But even with these smaller, fast-firing weapons, accurate engagement ranges was well inside eight hundred yards, and those Iranian patrol boats are a lot smaller than a destroyer.

“We are both in fast-moving, bouncy boats, with unstabilized guns, aimed by a Mark 1 Mod 0 eyeball. And the IRGC trains to attack big lumbering targets, not nimble little speedboats. I’d be surprised if they could hit us at more than two hundred yards under these conditions. They’ll have to get really, really close to score any hits. And at those ranges, I’ll bet on your marksmanship over theirs any day of the week.”

“Well, I’m glad to see we’re good for something,” Phillips quipped.

“Just drive, Phillips,” chastised Ramey, then he said more seriously, “Okay then, here’s the basic plan: XO, you take on the navigation issue and figure out the best course to close the RIB. My guys and I will do what we can to protect Dr. Naseri and prepare for the fight. Any questions?” There weren’t any. “Then back on your heads, people.”

The collective brainstorming session had buoyed their confidence; the situation wasn’t completely hopeless once it was broken down. With renewed assurance that they had a fighting chance, the SEALs began preparing with gusto. While Jerry worked out the best course to take to close on the RIB, Ramey and Lapointe looked at ways to prevent the enemy from doing to them, what they planned to do to him—take out an engine. At the same time, Fazel concentrated on finding a way to give Shirin some protection from at least small-arms fire.

It took Jerry only a couple of minutes to do the math, and he ordered Phillips to change course twenty degrees toward the west. If his mental gymnastics were correct, things would get really interesting in about ten minutes.

~ * ~

Rahim tapped his fingers on the coaming. It had been over thirty minutes since they’d left Bandar Lengeh and there was still nothing on the radar screen. Visibility had improved considerably as soon as the sun broke over the horizon, but the lookouts had spotted nothing. Agitated, impatient, and just a little green from the patrol boat’s choppy motion, the VEVAK agent was in a foul mood. “Lieutenant! You said we should have detected them by now!”

“Yes, Major, I did. However, there were a number of assumptions behind that statement. If even one was incorrect, then the estimate would have been incorrect as well.” Qorbani kept his tone respectful; this wasn’t the first time he had to deal with someone that didn’t understand the maritime patrol problem.

“Could they have gone more to the west?” demanded Rahim.

“Of course they could have, sir. But to escape Iran, they have to move away from our coast, not parallel it. Besides, such a course would send them directly toward one of our secondary bases on Kish Island. A westerly course would be foolish. Since these are not fools we are dealing with, a southerly escape course makes the most sense. There is nothing more we can do but continue on toward the intercept point and wait,” Qorbani answered.

Rahim didn’t like the lieutenant’s answer, but his explanation was logical. Frowning, he peered through his binoculars, straining to catch some sign of his prey.
They have to be out here somewhere,
he thought. Allah would surely not abandon him at this crucial juncture.