by Larry Bond
Moradi had paused momentarily; he was shown grabbing the podium more forcefully, as if he was drawing strength from it, and then launched into the climax of his prepared statement. “Since the IAEA has shown that it is nothing more than a puppet institution for the enemies of the Islamic Republic to attack it, Iran is withdrawing immediately from all safeguard agreements of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, including the additional protocols. The IAEA has forty-eight hours to withdraw all its inspectors from the country All cameras and other monitoring devices will be removed from Iranian nuclear facilities immediately. Iran will weather this storm as it has the ones before, alone, resolute, and with faith that God will not abandon us.”
With a final cry of, “Allahu Akbar—God Is Great!” the general had departed the podium. He did not respond to any of the questions shouted at him.
The two events had left everyone in Washington, D.C., in a state of shock. Unexpected, and almost unbelievable, the policy apparatus of the Myles administration was still struggling to regain its bearings.
“Agreed, Mr. President,” injected Kirkpatrick. “I believe we should make the most of this respite to formulate a plan to deal with this crisis.”
There were confused looks from all those seated at the table, including the president, whose response was snippy. “Respite? What respite? What are you talking about, Ray?”
“It is a statistically proven fact, sir, that bad things happen in threes. Well,” he continued with a wide grin, “we’ve had our three. Certainly we are due a break now.”
Even Myles had to crack a smile at Kirkpatrick’s witticism, and the tension in the room dropped noticeably. His subtle message to the group had been received; stop complaining about what has happened, and start dealing with it.
“Sound wisdom as always, Ray,” conceded Myles. “Since Secretary of State Lloyd is otherwise engaged with the Israeli ambassador, I believe we can begin.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kirkpatrick. “We’ll start with a recap of the accident, followed by our current status and options.” Looking around the room, he found the president’s chief of staff over in the corner taking notes. “Milt, when is our video teleconference with Captain Guthrie?”
“It’s scheduled for 1315, sir. In ten minutes.”
“Then we’d better get started.” Kirkpatrick signaled Joanna. She rose and began her briefing.
“Mr. President, at approximately ten thirty-five A.M., our time, the Advanced Seal Delivery System minisub suffered a catastrophic battery failure that resulted in the death of one crew member and the loss of the vessel. While there isn’t any hard data for us to look at, the pilot reported a high temperature alarm in the after battery followed by a rapid and uncontrollable rise in temperature. We suspect that one or more of the lithium-ion battery cells experienced thermal runaway, became unstable, and exploded.”
General Dewhurst, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, indicated he had a question. “Dr. Patterson, what do you mean by thermal runaway?”
“General, during thermal runaway an overheating battery undergoes an increase in its chemical reaction rate due to the excessive heat. This generates even more heat and the cycle feeds on itself until the battery cell ruptures or explodes. This can, and has led to fires. If you remember the laptop battery recall of six or seven years ago, there was a problem with some lithium-ion batteries manufactured in China that caused several laptops to burst into flames. Impurities in the composition of the battery plates likely caused those batteries to short-circuit and produce enormous quantities of heat.”
“And this is what happened to the ASDS?” Springfield asked.
“It’s our best theory, sir,” replied Joanna.
“If lithium-ion batteries are prone to catching on fire, why would the Navy outfit a minisub with them?” asked a dumbfounded Dewhurst.
Before Joanna could answer the question, Kirkpatrick thumped the desk loudly with his fingers. “Gentlemen, we are not here to determine how and why the ASDS sank. We need to focus on the problem at hand: How do we get our people out of Iran? If you have additional technical questions, Dr. Patterson will be happy to address them after we are done here. Please continue, Joanna.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, flipping to the next page in her notes. “The four-man SEAL extraction team abandoned ship approximately one nautical mile from the Iranian coast. The pilot abandoned ship right after he set two scuttling charges. The explosion of these charges was detected by USS Michigan at ten forty-four A.M. our time. At eleven forty-eight A.M., the SEALs successfully made contact with Opal and his spouse, and by eleven fifty-five A.M. they established satellite radio communications with Michigan and reported in.
“The contingency plan called for a Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft to be deployed from Michigan to recover the extraction team and the Iranians. Captain Guthrie, as the operational commander, scrubbed the mission at the last moment. He based his decision on the close proximity of IRGC patrol boats and that Michigan was too far away from the coast for the raiding craft to have a reasonable chance of slipping in undetected. Since the patrol boats are better armed and considerably faster than a Zodiac, he felt it was unwise to risk additional lives given that the probability of success was, in his words, ‘less than slim to none.’ He ordered the SEAL element ashore and the pilot to assume their preplanned layup position located in some hills approximately nine kilometers to the northeast from the rendezvous point. And that concludes my summary, Mr. President.”
“Dr. Patterson, you mentioned that Captain Guthrie felt he was too far away to deploy the rubber raiding craft,” noted Myles carefully, his tone stern. “Can I presume that he has requested permission to take Michigan into Iranian territorial waters?”
“Yes, sir. He specifically asked me to pass on that request.”
“I see,” responded Myles, as he threw his pen down on the table. His face grimaced with frustration.
“Sir, it’s a logical and responsible request,” argued the chief of naval operations. “I’d expect nothing less from one of my skippers.”
“I’m sure you would, Admiral,” Myles exclaimed with irritation. “I can even appreciate Captain Guthrie’s viewpoint. But it doesn’t change the fact that it is a myopic viewpoint. He’s looking at the problem from a purely tactical perspective, the strategic aspect of this situation makes it far more complex.”
Admiral Hughes was clearly unhappy with the president’s response, but he remained silent.
“What are our options then?” asked Dewhurst.
“Very few, I’m afraid,” Joanna answered. “Extraction by combat rubber raiding craft is still an option, although the risk of detection increases the farther Michigan is away. Stealing a fishing vessel from one of the local harbors is another option, but most fishing dhows are quite slow, about ten knots maximum speed, and the Iranians have beefed up their antismuggling patrols in the last two years making detection likely. We’ve also considered obtaining a fast boat from a neighboring country and having a SEAL team attempt to sneak in. If they are discovered, they’ll at least have the speed to get away. We’ve ruled out an extraction by air, as there’s an early warning radar at Tahari, less than twenty miles to the southeast. The Chinese radar upgrade at that location makes detection almost a certainty. With the tactical air base at Bushehr being only one hundred miles away, the probability of interception by fighters is high.”
“Which option has the best chance of success?” Myles demanded.
Patterson hesitated, and looked down at Kirkpatrick who nodded.
“Sir, I can’t give you a numerical probability of success for each of the options. We haven’t had time to run simulations or even game it out. However, from a qualitative perspective, the consensus of the intelligence and special warfare people is that stealth is the primary factor. If stealth fails, then speed becomes the driver. The combat rubber raiding craft option has high stealth, but low speed. The fishing boat option has low stealth and low speed. The fast bo
at has moderate stealth and high speed. Since the raiding craft option maximizes stealth, it’s the one that is recommended.”
“And the closer Michigan can get to the coast, the better our chances become,” emphasized Hughes.
“I’m not hard of hearing, Admiral Hughes,” countered Myles. “I am fully aware of what you would like me to do. But I remain convinced that sending Michigan into Iranian territorial waters is pure, unadulterated foolishness. To be honest, I wasn’t all that comfortable with sending in a minisub. But collectively you all made a good argument for the operation because it was believed the payoff was potentially substantial and the risk was low. Well, for whatever reason, the low-risk operation failed. And now I’m sensing considerable pressure to go against my better judgment and send Michigan in. All the Iranians have to do is see it and it’s a casus belli. With the current unstable situation, this would be disastrous.”
Hughes’s face was taut, his speech measured. “Mr. President, I am merely doing my duty as one of your military advisors to ensure you have all the information you need to—”
“This is nonsense!” interrupted Myles angrily. “Can’t you people see that we’re at a tipping point? Can any of you give me a good reason why I should risk escalating this crisis further by allowing Michigan to enter Iranian territorial waters?”
General Duvall, the NIC chairman, raised his hand. “I can give you one reason, sir. Although, at the moment it may appear trivial.”
“Go on, Gordon,” Myles responded testily as he waved off his chief of staff. Alvarez had been pointing maddeningly at his watch; they were late for the VTC with Michigan.
“General Moradi’s press conference was unusually timely and well orchestrated. Less than an hour after the report’s release, he delivered a well-polished statement with excellent media coverage. He was also unusually forthcoming about their technical difficulties. Normally, the Iranians make up successes rather than admit failures. I could have bought this if it had been the usual extemporaneous ranting on just Iranian TV. But what we saw smacks of deliberate planning, as if he knew exactly what the IAEA’s report would say. While I can’t rule out the possibility of a leak, the IAEA has been excessively paranoid about their reports as of late and has successfully kept them confidential until they are released. This latest report was several days late, with no explanation as to why from the Board of Governors. The precise timing of all these events is a little too coincidental for my liking.” Duvall paused as he gave time for this key point to sink in.
“Since March we’ve been getting wildly conflicting information on Iran’s intentions and progress. We’ve seen two themes from multiple credible sources that are at polar extremes. Logic demands that both cannot be right. Moradi’s press release has only sharpened the contrast; one of these themes is false. I agree that we are at a tipping point, Mr. President, but without better insight into what is true and what is false, any action we take will be at a considerable gamble. I am convinced that the information that Opal possesses is absolutely critical to our understanding the true nature of this game.”
Total silence descended on the conference room. Myles stared coldly at the NIC chairman, and slowly, a faint smile appeared on the president’s face. “Well put, General. Well put. So we go with the rubber raiding craft option then?”
Before anyone could answer, Kirkpatrick chimed in. “I agree that the combat rubber raiding craft is the option we should go with, but I would also like to propose a compromise, sir.”
President Myles leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you have in mind, Ray?”
“Sir, I recommend that you let Captain Guthrie walk right up to the line before he deploys the raiding craft. He can then back off while the SEALs make their run, returning again only to affect the recovery. By temporarily relaxing your restrictions a little, you can cut the distance the SEALs are exposed by twenty percent while minimizing the risk.”
Joanna strained to maintain a calm expression; wanting to hide the excitement she felt as she watched her boss work. She had seen Ray Kirkpatrick “pull rabbits out of a hat” before during the transition period when the president-elect had backed himself into a corner, and every time, Kirkpatrick’s solution had paid off big-time. This simple compromise would only reinforce the widely held belief among the White House staff that he was Solomon incarnate.
“Done!” shouted Myles with approval. “Milt, get Captain Guthrie on the line.”
~ * ~
3 April 2013
2125 Local Time/1825 Zulu
USS Michigan, Battle Management Center
Kyle Guthrie looked first at his watch, and then the clock on the bulkhead as he paced around the BMC. Shaking his head and grumbling, he continued doing laps around the planning table. Harper, Simmons, and Frederickson sat in absolute silence, doing their best impression of church mice; the skipper was pissed. The VTC was supposed to have begun ten minutes ago, and the screen was still blank. Agitated and impatient, Guthrie fumed as the seconds ticked by.
“What the hell is taking them so long,” he growled. Guthrie always knew the beefed-up communications capability of a SSGN was a double-edged sword. It provided great benefits for planning and executing Tomahawk strikes or SEAL ops, and its impact on crew morale was without question, but it had its drawbacks as well—anybody in his chain of command could get a hold of him at a moment’s notice. And to communicate, he had to stick a mast in the air, a mast that made Michigan more vulnerable to detection. High-level VTCs were a particular pain. They always went longer than he liked. On more than one occasion after an excruciatingly long-winded exchange, he was heard to mumble, “Silent service, my ass!”
“If that contact gets much closer, I’ll have to dunk the masts and move,” the captain snarled, as he pointed to an auxiliary display with fire control data showing an Iranian patrol boat nearby.
“Sir, it is the President,” remarked Frederickson warily.
Guthrie’s scowl made even the combat veteran a little uncomfortable. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Frederickson. I’m also positive that we aren’t the only problem on his plate right now given the news feed we downloaded. But to expect a covert platform that’s a stone’s throw away from a hostile shore to remain exposed for the sake of convenience is beyond stupid! I don’t care who it is! Either they stick to their damn schedule or they call us when it’s time to come up. Having my boat sitting here with two masts dangling in the air is just begging to be detected!”
Harper looked at Frederickson and made a cutting motion with his hand to “knock it off.” The engineer knew his captain was not in the mood to debate the merits of his perception about the shortsightedness of his superiors. The young SEAL nodded his understanding.
“Do you think the president will approve your request, Skipper?” asked Harper, as he pulled out a chair for Guthrie. He’d often seen Jerry Mitchell use a mission-related question to pull the captain back on track whenever he found him caught on a specific detail.
“I doubt it, Eng,” Guthrie replied, as he plopped down in the seat. “The man has only been in office for four months, and he’s still trying to get his feet under him. I don’t think he feels comfortable enough to make that kind of decision yet. You also have to remember he came from academia, and people of that ilk are loath to make quick decisions without first thoroughly researching the issue. Particularly if it’s a risky decision.”
“My guys and I can still make the run, sir,” asserted Frederickson confidently. “Especially now that we know what the indications are for a patrol boat that is leaving port.”
“Thank God that the Iranians like to talk. Otherwise we would have searched and searched for a deployment pattern that wasn’t there,” said Simmons.
“The CTs did a great job figuring that mess out, Isaac. We need to make sure that they get a commendation for their outstanding work. Please write up a draft when this op is finished,” Guthrie ordered.
“Yes, sir. I already have a rough draft in the wo
rks, and Travis here has graciously provided a few good words from the SEALs,” Simmons responded.
The cryptologic technicians had stumbled across the radio traffic of an IRGC patrol boat as it departed the nearby base at Asaluyeh. After analyzing the sequence of events, they managed to isolate the signal that indicated when the patrol boat had changed course to the northwest and started its patrol run. A little elementary chart work showed they had about forty minutes before the BQCMO sonar would pick up the patrol boat, and another five before the patrol boat would pass within radar range of the proposed route the Zodiac would take to the beach and back. Testing this theory against the last two patrol boats, they found that they had between forty-two and forty-nine minutes after the key signal had been transmitted. Unfortunately, there was no set pattern to the departures.
The length of a patrol appeared to consist of an hour-and-a-half trip up the coast, followed by a quick turnaround, and a backtracking along a reciprocal course back to port. A well-disciplined schedule would have had a patrol boat departing every two hours, but in reality it varied by as much as half an hour, which made part of the mission planning a bit more complex. And the problem wasn’t the run in.