by Eric Meyer
"I have to go to the cockpit. I need to make a call."
She walked away, and Talley murmured, "I bet you do."
Guy looked at him with a puzzled expression. "What gives, Boss? Is she working for the other side?"
"I don’t know, but she has a lot of questions to answer."
The flight took almost ninety minutes, and then they heard the grinding of the hydraulics as the undercarriage came down ready to land at Kuwait International. He looked out of the window and could see a US Navy Chinook sitting on the tarmac. As the CJR-200 slammed down onto the runway, he could see the twin rotors of the Boeing CH 47 beginning to turn as the pilot started the engines. Their aircraft braked to a halt, and only seconds later the stairs were being maneuvered into place. The stewardess smiled as they filed off the aircraft. A naval officer was waving at them to head in the direction of the Chinook. They piled on board the 'flying bus' and immediately the engines roared as the craft lifted off, heading southeast into the Persian Gulf. It was only fifteen minutes later when the big helo banked over and swooped in and touched down on a golden beach, right on the edge of the Gulf; next to four RIBs that were pulled up on shore beside the sparkling waters.
"Good to see you again, Lieutenant."
Talley nodded a greeting to the petty officer waiting to push off from the beach. "You too. I guess it was just our luck your boat was in the vicinity when it was needed."
The man nodded absently as he checked the members of Talley's team on board, started the powerful engines, and reversed away from the beach. He spun the wheel, increased to full throttle, heading out to sea before replying.
"Luck, Sir? I don't know about that. We were told our destination was the Persian Gulf two weeks ago. We've been creeping around the Indian Ocean ever since, waiting for that boat the Rostam to show up."
It was two weeks ago when Admiral Brooks went through the operation with me. Once again, it feels like powerful, shadowy forces I have no control over are pushing me along. I wonder if there are any more surprises on the way. When I get back, if I get back, I'm going to have a long chat with Vice Admiral Brooks. First they want to give me some Mickey Mouse promotion, and remove me from command of my platoon. And to add insult to injury, they keep my men and me in the dark. It could easily have resulted in all our deaths. Okay, the nukes are critical, but so are my men's lives.
The dark sail of the USS Virginia loomed in front of them, appearing out of the night like a dark and threatening monster of the deep. Which he supposed was not an unreasonable way to describe a vessel with the power to destroy entire nations at the touch of a button. He stepped onto the deck and saluted the flag, climbed through the hatch at the base of the sail, and went through to the control room. The Skipper, Ed Dawson held out a hand.
"Welcome back, Lieutenant Talley. I gather they’ve got another hairy one for you."
"It looks that way, Cap'n. Do you have a location on that yacht?"
Dawson smiled. "We’d have to be blind if we couldn't follow her. She's got herself an escort of Iranian patrol boats, ten of them. They're Revolutionary Guard vessels, and they make enough noise to wake up old Neptune himself. The convoy is still about fifty kilometers offshore, heading straight for the port of Bushehr. I take it you're intending something pretty nasty for them?"
"We are that. As soon as my squad is aboard, would you make all possible speed in that direction, while we put together a plan to take the yacht."
"Those are my orders too, Lieutenant."
He looked around the control room, and his exec caught his eye.
"We're all aboard, Skipper, and they've stowed the RIBs. Hatches are all closed and the board is green. We're ready to dive."
"Very well, you have the con, dive the boat. Make your depth two hundred meters. I understand the navigator has a course to take us to that convoy, so get us there as fast as you can. Full ahead."
"Aye, aye Skipper, I have the con, depth two hundred meters, full ahead."
He picked up the broadcast microphone. "Standby to dive the boat. Make your depth two hundred meters. Dive."
Talley felt more than heard the surge of water as it entered the buoyancy tanks spaced along the hull of the submarine. The forward part of the boat tilted down, and the USS Virginia entered the dark depths of the Gulf. He went to the exercise room where his unit was busy preparing the equipment for the coming assault. The Revolutionary Guard patrol boats would be no pushover; intel had reported four of them were armed with surface-to-surface and surface-to-air missiles, and the remaining six craft carried heavy machine guns, as well as a crew of well-armed fanatics. His first choice would be a clandestine boarding of Petersen's yacht to confirm the presence of the nukes, and then arrange to destroy them. The alternative would be to tangle with the patrol boats, but with each of them carrying a crew of ten men, it would mean attacking a large and well-armed force. The potential for disaster was huge. In the end, what he came down to was what Special Forces were best at, a sneaky, underhand approach, followed by maximum destruction while the enemy was looking in the opposite direction. He changed into one of the spare wetsuits the Virginia carried and began to prepare. Buchmann would take charge of the explosives, although the need for a powerful blast meant they would each carry additional charges in their waterproof packs. They had their personal weapons, mainly MP7s and Sigs, in waterproof bags. The Virginia carried DPDs, diver propulsion devices, combat diving vehicles designed to transport two fully equipped combat divers and additional equipment on long range missions. The units, like small torpedoes, would pull them through the water at high speed. For the plan to be successful, they had to catch up with the yacht, but after that the help from the submariners would be limited. Although the Virginia was there to assist them, under no circumstances could it become involved in any kind of a firefight; especially so near to the coast of Iran, and with the fanatic Revolutionary Guard close at hand. Captain Dawson had put it clearly and succinctly.
"You men, when you go out of that hatch, you're on your own. I can't help you, not with anything. Those are my orders, and I've been warned to obey them on pain of court martial and a long prison sentence."
No one replied. What was there to say? Nothing. They were on their own. The normally silent nuclear submarine went to full power as it hurtled through the water to cut off the pleasure yacht, the Rostam. The feeds from the overhead surveillance aircraft showed Petersen's convoy cruising through the water at a steady ten knots. The USS Virginia plunged along in excess of thirty knots, but even so, they were almost out of time before the yacht reached Iran. Dawson called them to the control room, and Talley went along with Guy and Anika.
"We're going all out, and my chief engineer tells me he's fired every single knot a man could get out of this vessel. But even so, it'll be close. At current course and speed, my navigator estimates we'll only be twenty klicks off the coast when we make the intercept. Those are disputed waters, so you should be aware the Iranians will feel within their rights to open fire without warning."
"That's pretty clear," Talley replied. "So the only way we can play this is to shoot first and ask questions after. How long before we reach the intercept point?"
Dawson looked at his navigation officer who replied, "About thirty minutes, Skipper, assuming they don't increase speed."
"Very well, you guys had better make your way to the tubes. You need to be ready as soon as we are in position."
"Copy that, Captain."
Talley left them. The Virginia was equipped with a nine-man diver lock out chamber for rapid deployment of swimmers directly from the submarine. The plan was simple; they would go out in groups of seven with the propulsion units, launching as close to the convoy as possible. While they trailed the convoy, the Virginia would go ahead and surface between the boats and the coast of Iran, under the pretext of conducting antipiracy operations. Petersen would be suspicious, of course. Carrying that particular cargo, he would be worried about any kind of interference, but ther
e would be little the Iranians could do when faced with the awesome power of the USS Virginia. While they argued, Echo Six would close underwater and board the Rostam. If the nukes were on board as they supposed, they would sink the yacht, and the Virginia's divers would recover the warheads from the seabed, safe from the view of the Revolutionary Guard. It was a good plan, but like all plans, things could go wrong. And where nuclear weapons were concerned, there could be no margin of error. None!
Talley was leading the first group. They packed into the chamber, and he adjusted his mask and mouthpiece. When the rest of his squad was ready, he pressed the button fixed to the bulkhead. Immediately, the engineer outside began to flood the chamber. He felt his pulse start to race as his heartbeat increased. They were close to the objective, extremely close. The next few minutes would decide the outcome of the entire operation and possibly the future stability of the Middle East. Water flooded over his head, and he forced himself to control his breathing and relax as he waited for the overhead hatch to open. There was a panel in front of him with a status board and lights. The status light was red. Then it changed. He sensed the darkness of the water lightening as the hatch began to open. He started the electric motor of the DPD and swum out, followed by the rest of his squad. Anika was with them. He'd argued against it, but she insisted it was important she represented the interests of British intelligence, especially after Petersen’s treachery. Finally he relented, nobody knew Jeffrey Petersen better than she did. If things went wrong when they boarded the yacht, she just might have something useful to offer.
His squad stopped their ascent five meters below the surface and began to head east, in the direction the convoy was travelling. The DPD had a built-in miniature sonar system, and he could easily track the eleven vessels, the Rostam with its ten guard boats. The DPD was too slow to keep pace with them, but all that would change when the Virginia surfaced and forced them to stop. He turned his head, sensing movement from behind, and saw Guy's squad coming up behind him. They pushed on slowly for another minute, and then Domenico brought up the rest of Echo Six. Talley immediately went to maximum power, and the DPD surged forward, chasing the convoy. It was pulling ahead as it neared the Iranian coast.
What's gone wrong? Has Petersen's convoy refused to obey the order to stop? Unlikely, it would draw attention to them, but it's something we have to bear in mind. Has the worst happened?
Dawson had considered the idea of launching a torpedo to sink the yacht, but a torpedo designed to take out a large naval vessel with an armored hull, hitting a mere hundred-foot pleasure yacht would blow it into small pieces. The possibility of some kind of a nuclear accident or even plutonium being blasted into the atmosphere to spread over hundreds of square kilometers was a nightmare that didn't bear thinking about.
They plowed on while he ran through the options. They had enough range with the DPDs to follow Petersen's craft to the shore where they could attack them as they made harbor, but that would bring them within the range of the guns of the escorting gunboats. They had to hope the Virginia would be successful; it was their only chance. He looked at the visual readout on the scanner. They were still dropping back, approximately three kilometers from the convoy and the gap was opening. As he watched, the range stabilized and started to narrow as they closed on the convoy.
The Virginia did it. The convoy has stopped!
They surged on, feeling a new hope. Finally, they caught up. The water was clear, with just enough of a light breeze to ripple the surface and hide the underwater approach of Talley's unit. They looked up to see the underside of eleven vessels, only two hundred meters ahead. A further two hundred meters away was an enormous black hull, the underside of the USS Virginia. The Rostam was obvious to them; a hundred foot long pleasure yacht twice the length of the Revolutionary Guard boats. Talley led the way down deeper, until they were eighty meters below the surface and underneath the Rostam. He abandoned the DPD, by switching off the motor and allowing it to slowly sink to the bottom of the Persian Gulf, its work done. The others did the same, and Echo Six began their ascent until they were directly below the hull of the Rostam. The next step would be difficult. It was daylight, and there was no way they could sneak aboard. All they could hope for was that all eyes were on the giant submarine barring their path. Talley swum to the rear of the yacht, looked around to check that his squad was ready, and rose to the surface. The boarding ladder, which they had established in advance was fastened to the rear of the craft, was where it should be. He dumped his weight belt and fins. He kept the small air cylinders strapped to his chest and tugged his mask down around his neck, as he climbed the ladder. The rest of his squad followed close behind. As soon as he was clear of the water, he shook his MP7 clear of the waterproof bag clipped to his belt and stepped onto the aft deck of the yacht. He could hardly believe his luck. All the Iranian crew were staring at the awesome sight of the nuclear submarine in front of them. He knew it couldn't last, and they had to take over the yacht quickly before the Iranians turned to sweep their surroundings. Speed was the only way they could protect themselves from the awesome firepower of the gunboats. In their favor, the Revolutionary Guard would not fire on a craft carrying their precious nuclear weapons. But first, they had to secure the Rostam. Talley clicked on the commo as he ran along the deck.
"Echo Two, take the starboard side and secure the crew. I'll take the port. Echo Three, use the aft hatch to get inside and secure the cabin areas. Guy, as soon as the bridge is secure, I want you to hold it against all comers. I'll start searching the cargo area for the nukes."
A series of acknowledgements came to him, and he kept on running toward the door that gave access to the bridge. A door in the side of the superstructure opened, and a militiaman stepped out, carrying a folding stock AKM. He was young and fast. Perhaps something had alerted them that they had been boarded. He brought up his assault rifle to fire just as Roy Reynolds, coming up behind Talley, fired past him and shot the Iranian with two rounds from his Sig. The pistol was fitted with a suppressor, and the two rounds would have scarcely been audible outside of a few meters, but the militiaman had his finger on the trigger. As he was flung back by the force of Roy's bullets, his finger closed on the trigger and the AKM opened fire. The weapon kept firing as he slithered over the narrow lip at the side of the deck and went over the side. His body hit the sea with a loud splash, but it was the noise of the shots that did the damage. Heads popped up on the gunboats as every man stared at the Rostam, and a crackle of rifle fire peppered the superstructure around Talley’s squad. It had started.
"Everybody, get inside and take cover,” he shouted to his men. “Guy, how are you doing?"
"We just came onto the bridge, Boss. There were five of them here. We shot three, and the other two are taken care of.”
"Copy that. Contact the Virginia, and tell them we're on board. Then try and stop those gunboats from getting any nearer."
He'd noticed that the boats had reacted fast and were edging towards the Rostam. Another Iranian militiamen stepped out of a hatch in the center of the deck, saw Talley and his squad, and raised his assault rifle. Talley snapped off a shot from his MP7, and the man's face exploded in a shower of blood and tissue as he fell back. Then they were through the door onto the bridge. Valois had taken the wheel, and Rovere was disappearing down the ladder into the bowels of the ship.
"Robert, get this boat turned around and head back out to sea, full ahead."
Valois spun the wheel, and the big yacht curved around, heeling over sharply as it altered course through a hundred and eighty degrees and went to full speed.
Talley nodded to Guy. "Keep her full out. We won't lose the gunboats, but at least it'll give them something to think about if they have to chase us. Contact the Virginia and advise them what we're up to. I'm going below to suppress any hostiles still on the boat and help locate those nukes. Is there any sign of Petersen yet?"
"Not yet, but he's aboard somewhere."
"We'l
l find him. Do your best with those gunboats. I'm going below."
Guy nodded. They were acutely aware of Dawson’s warning. The submarine was expressly forbidden from offering them any help. Even if Dawson wanted to help out, the Virginia carried no short-range weapons. Her armament consisted solely of Mark 48 torpedoes and Tomahawk missiles. Apart from that, there were only the crew's personal weapons, assault rifles, pistols, and at best a couple of light machine guns. Even so, the sheer size and power of the massive warship may be enough to hold back some of the gunboats. Hopefully. He plunged down through the companionway leading to the lower deck. As his feet hit the floor of the narrow passageway that ran through the boat, a volley of shots whistled past his head, and he flung himself down. He shouted to the men behind him to take cover, and then fired a three-shot burst at the shooter. The man had taken cover inside a cabin ten meters from where Talley crouched, ducking out of sight as his shots ripped chunks out of the woodwork next to him, and then leapt back out to fire again. This time, Talley was ready for him. He hit him in the stomach with another three-shot burst, and then fired a single shot into his head to make sure. It was never certain whether or not a hostile wore an armored vest. The man was thrown to the floor in a bloody ruin, but Talley ended his screams with a final shot to the brain.
"Move, move," he shouted at the men behind him. "Take one cabin each, and look out for Rovere's squad, he's down here somewhere. If you see the Englishman, Petersen, try to take him alive. There are a lot of questions we want him to answer."