by Larry Bond
Patterson didn’t keep him waiting. “It’s bad news, Doctor. We received word that our people in Iran had to abort their escape plan. They’re still relatively safe, but they’ll need a new way to get out of Iran.”
Revach didn’t say anything, but got out of his chair and walked over to a large map of Iran that almost covered one wall of his office. “After our talk earlier today I asked our signals intelligence people to report any unusual communications traffic in the area of southern Iran. You can understand that this meant reassigning resources that were involved in other tasks.”
Both Americans nodded. “I’m sure your Iran section has been very busy,” Hardy said.
“It didn’t take them long,” Revach told them. He ran his hand along the Persian Gulf coast of Iran. “Pasdaran and Basij units from Bushehr to Bandar Abbas have been mobilized, and alerts for a”—he paused to look at a paper on his desk—”Yousef Akbari and Shirin Naseri have been circulated to every police barracks in the southern provinces. There are reports of firefights, with heavy casualties among the Iranian forces.”
He sat down again. “In a way, it’s helped. We saw so much signal traffic we were worried it might relate to our own activities, or to some asymmetric plan the Iranians were preparing, but it’s just an all-out manhunt for your fugitives. This is them, isn’t it, Akbari and Naseri?”
“Yes, that’s them,” Hardy admitted. He looked over at Joanna, and then explained, “They had hoped to steal an aircraft at an airfield near Bandar Lengeh, but at the last moment the airfield’s defenses were heavily reinforced.”
Revach nodded knowingly. “Our analysis indicates that they will find it the same anywhere they go. It is unlikely that we will be looking at the files on your flash drive any time soon.”
“Our people are very resourceful,” Patterson insisted. “I’m sure that they will have another plan very soon. Look at how long they’ve evaded capture so far.”
Revach shook his head. “I must disagree. If they had trouble getting out of Iran before, it will be considerably harder now.” He smiled. “Yes, they have stayed free, but also left destruction in their wake.”
The director stood again, and paced, as if impatient. “This is disappointing news. This affair will probably end badly, for them, or the United States, and possibly for both. Your government should make the necessary preparations.”
“As long as they’re free, there’s a chance,” Patterson insisted. “We’ll keep you informed, every step of the way…”
“No, Dr. Patterson. We agreed to delay any hypothetical operation, and there will be no operation today. However, preparations for tomorrow must begin soon. Hypothetically, of course.”
Hardy stated, “Dr. Revach, if Israel attacks, you will be doing exactly what the Iranians want.”
“So you said earlier, based on information you haven’t even seen. Mossad has more rigorous standards.”
“We can’t let you do this,” Hardy insisted. “Another war will not solve your problems.”
“What will you do, take away my car keys?” Revach’s voice hardened. “We are not drunk, and we are a sovereign nation. Many Muslim countries think we are your cat’s paw. Don’t believe the lie yourself.”
“I cannot predict what the political cost to Israel will be in the U.S., how the U.S. public and Congress will react.”
“More threats, Senator? We kept our end of the agreement. You failed to do your part.”
Patterson and Hardy both absorbed the harsh words. Hardy’s answer was just as harsh. “I believe we will get our people and the information out of Iran, and I believe it will prove that Iran does not have any nuclear devices. If we release the information after your raid, it will show Israel acted rashly, that Israel refused to listen. And with Natanz destroyed—nobody doubts that you can level the place—there will be no way to prove who was right.”
“So if we act in our own self-defense, you would undermine us? Stab us in the back? Israel has stood alone before. Maybe in the end, we are always alone. Tell your president that Israel will act as it sees fit, and will remember others’ actions as well.”
Revach added, “Since your purpose in coming here has been accomplished, there is no further need for you to remain in Israel. Leave without delay.” He opened the door, and his aide was standing outside, accompanied by two security guards.
Silently, the two Americans left, with the aide leading the way and the two guards in back. They stayed with Patterson and Hardy all the way to the lobby. Their car was waiting, and Joanna found herself glad to see her security detail, just to look at a friendly face.
As they drove away, a sense of failure washed over her. She grasped Lowell’s hand. His face was a grim as she’d ever seen. “I’ve never been declared persona non grata,” he said. “Doesn’t feel very good.”
“I don’t like it either,” she answered. “I’ve never had a whole country mad at me before.” It was supposed to be a joke, but she could not make herself laugh. “What do we do now?”
“We tell the president we failed,” Hardy answered bluntly. “That the Israelis are emotionally committed to attacking a blood enemy. That we have pissed them off, and that we’ll probably have to make them even madder before they will stop. It’s time for tough love.”
~ * ~
7 April 2013
1900 Local Time/1600 Zulu
The Oasis, East of Mollu
Ramey wouldn’t stop talking about the airfield, and despite his earlier assessment, kept looking for cracks in the defenses. “I’ve memorized the layout, and no defense is perfect. We find the hole and we’re in and then gone. We use one Cormorant to create a diversion some distance away. That draws off some of them, then we use the second one to blast a hole in the airfield’s defenses and get a plane out of here.”
“Boss, the Cormorant can only carry eight rockets,” Phillips said from his lookout position. “It’s too big a fight even if some of the defenders are pulled. . . . Everybody down and freeze!”
They’d actually practiced what to do, and Jerry half-rolled into a hole right next to him, pulling a carefully selected branch over himself. The others did the same, except for Phillips, who was observing from a concealed position to begin with. “I’ve got a helicopter, low, to the northwest. It’s going to pass by about a klick away.”
“Type?” asked Ramey.
“It’s a gunship. A Huey, of all things,” Phillips answered.
“Iranians have a ton of them,” Fazel added.
“Night vision or IR sights?”
“Not according to the specs, Boss, but anything’s possible.” Jerry could almost hear Harry shrugging his shoulders. Jerry agreed. Even if the helicopter didn’t have night sights, the gunner could just use a handheld night-scope. He would.
The aircraft did not change course or speed. It flew off to the east, staying low. Within a few minutes the sound faded, and then the machine’s navigation lights disappeared.
“I bet it was heading for the air base,” Fazel suggested.
“I have never been this popular before, and I don’t think I like it at all,” Phillips observed.
“That’s it, we’re going for a boat,” Jerry said.
“XO, are you sure about that?” Fazel asked. Concern filled his question.
“Absolutely not!” Ramey countered. “We go for the airfield.”
“What does heading inland do for us?” Phillips asked. “They know we’re trying to go south. If we go north, the net won’t be as tight.”
“But we’re farther from Michigan. No help from the CENTCOM UAVs or the Cormorant.”
“And there will still be roadblocks, tougher ones,” added Fazel.
“And it would take too long,” Jerry finished. “While I regard our personal survival as an important goal, there are larger matters at stake. I don’t know Israel’s time line, but we’ve got to get Shirin’s information out of Iran as soon as possible. What if the war starts tomorrow while we’re sitting here, or fi
ghting another Pasdaran patrol?”
“The quickest way out of Iran is a boat,” Fazel answered. “We go to the nearest harbor and swipe the fastest boat. There’s a harbor two klicks from here. To quote T. E. Lawrence, ‘It’s just a matter of going. ‘“
Ramey smiled. “Did T. E. Lawrence mention how to deal with the Pasdaran patrol boats?” In spite of his smile, the lieutenant’s tone was serious. “That’s been a nonstarter since the first night.”
“That’s when we were trying to avoid a fight,” Jerry countered. “We are going to have a fight no matter where we go. Can patrol boats be worse than a company of mechanized infantry?”
Jerry could see the SEALs calculating, and pressed his point. “The math is changing. The threat is increasing by the hour. If we stay here, we’ll have to fight again, this time at reduced strength and against incredibly bad odds. Let’s pick our next battle, before the Iranians give us one we can’t possibly win. I don’t want us to lose anyone else,” he said, looking at Shirin.
Ramey started to object, but Jerry cut him off. “We go, and we go tonight.” That got a rise out of all the SEALS, but Jerry was firm. “I’ve worked with you now for several days, and I see the value of planning, of reducing the risks as much as possible. We’ll do what we can, but in the end, we will have to trust to luck.”
“We’re used to making our own luck,” Fazel said, “but in addition to him being the senior officer, I agree. If we don’t try to get out now, we may not be able to. From here on, the odds are only going to get worse.”
Ramey had broken out the laptop and was looking at the UAV imagery. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that harbor you’re in love with? It’s got zilch.” Ramey sounded almost happy as he showed them the overhead image. A curved breakwater jutted out from the shoreline near the village of Bandar Shenas forming a sheltered oval. Inside the enclosure, Jerry could see a total of four fishing boats. He was no expert on small craft, but none of them looked very fast.
“Check the next one down the coast. The larger one that was already part of the last backup plan,” Jerry ordered. “The one at Bandar Lengeh.”
Ramey typed in the commands. The image flickered, then spun, but in thirty seconds they were looking at the much larger harbor of Bandar Lengeh. It had a double breakwater, and the inner one was crammed with boats, including sleek-looking Pasdaran craft.
“That’s exactly what we need,” Jerry said.
“Too bad it’s about twelve kilometers away,” remarked Ramey, looking at the distance readout on the screen. “We can’t use the highway. Most of the terrain is pretty rough, and it’s probably patrolled. We wouldn’t be able to walk that far with Shirin and Pointy and still have time to snatch a boat; without being seen, that is.”
Jerry didn’t answer for a moment, but then said, “That’s why you and Philly and Harry are going by yourselves.”
“What?” Ramey’s question was echoed by the others. Even Shirin looked puzzled.
“How fast can you cover twelve kilometers? Could you do it in two or three hours?” asked Jerry.
“Hell, yes,” Fazel responded indignantly.
“Then you get to the harbor along the beach. Come in from the water, steal a boat, and bring it back down to this nice little harbor where Shirin and I will be waiting with Pointy.”
Jerry could see all of them, even Ramey, were thinking it over hard. How could they make it work? They started passing questions back and forth.
“How far do we have to swim?” Phillips asked.
“There’s beach almost up to the harbor breakwater. And there’s plenty of good cover in the cargo storage area,” answered Fazel, looking at the screen.
“Isn’t it all built up? This is a decent-sized town,” asked Phillips.
Fazel took over the laptop and zoomed in on the shoreline. “But it isn’t built up to the water’s edge. The beach is fifty to a hundred meters wide in most places. It’ll be dark, with no moon, and it’ll be the small hours of the morning. If we’re spotted, we go in the water. He shifted to a different section of the coast. “But here’s a problem. Look at Gasheh. This little village goes almost down to the water’s edge.”
“Then we go in the water there, if we have to, and get out when we’re past it. We can enter the harbor area here, at the western edge. There isn’t a fence along the southern perimeter near the water,” Ramey answered, pointing at the screen.
Phillips smiled. “Now it’s starting to feel like a real SEAL mission. Run on the beach, get wet, run on the beach some more, get wet again. Ah, the memories.”
“If you’re a good boy, Philly, we’ll let you roll in the sand.” Fazel grinned, happy to see his team’s attitude returning.
“How long will this take?” Jerry asked. Harry zoomed out the view, so that the entire route was visible, from their oasis to the harbor. He traced one route with his finger, then a slightly different one, and then looked at Ramey. “Boss?”
“Two hours to get there. We’re in the water, sneaking in, then back out with a boat. That will take at least an hour, maybe a little more. Motor back at ten to fifteen knots. That will take half an hour. Call it four, maybe four and half hours.”
Jerry nodded. “An hour and a half is a reasonable estimate for me to get Pointy to the other harbor. But he’s going to need something to support that leg.”
“I’ll see to that, XO,” volunteered Fazel.
That brought up another set of questions. Where the three would wait, what to do if they were seen. What to do if the others were delayed, or failed to return.
“I still do not get good vibes about splitting up,” protested Ramey.
Fazel shrugged and nodded reluctant agreement. “There is a risk, XO.”
“It’s riskier to stay.” Jerry insisted. “We need a boat, now!”
“Yes, sir,” Ramey answered. “We’ll make that happen.”
“Last question,” Jerry said. “What about the pursuit?”
“I have a few things I can throw together. If we can keep the Iranians distracted long enough, maybe we can sneak away,” Ramey answered.
“Okay then. Let’s call Michigan and inform them of the latest plan. By now I’m sure Captain Guthrie has a useful suggestion or three to pass on. We can use all the help we can get,” concluded Jerry.
~ * ~
20
HEAD FOR THE WATER
8 April 2013
0000 Local Time/2100 Zulu on 7 April
The Oasis, East of Mollu
Ramey inspected Phillips’s camouflaged face, looking closely at the hairline and neck. The lieutenant frowned and motioned Fazel for the face paint compact. Dipping a finger in the dark hunter green, Ramey touched up a bare spot on the top of Phillips’s forehead. He then checked the diagonal striping on the face and arms. A grunt signified his satisfaction.
Jerry had watched Ramey earlier as he applied his own face paint; it reminded him of an Indian brave putting on war paint, but the analogy ended there. Whereas war paint was more ceremonial, designed to enhance one’s appearance and bring good fortune in combat, modern facial camouflage is all about hiding the face’s features to the maximum extent possible. A base covering removed the inherent shine of the skin, while darker colored diagonal lines broke up the recognizable pattern of the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. In the dark, the three men would be effectively faceless.
The platoon leader had instructed his men to go light; only mission-essential gear was to be carried. They had a long run and swim ahead of them, and Ramey didn’t want them weighed down with unnecessary equipment. Each man had his SCAR, sidearm, ammunition, ka-bar, radio, and a small pack with distributed common gear such as water, rope, first aid kits, and explosives. Lapointe’s pack was also emptied and then restuffed with the bare minimum, the PRC-117 radio, both laptops, ammunition, rope, and four bottles of water. The UAV remote control terminal was set alongside. Everything else was buried in the ragged wild shrubs that made up much of the grove.
&n
bsp; While the other SEALs made their final checks, Shirin sat on a small dune next to Fazel. She was visibly unhappy, and told Harry in Farsi exactly what she thought. “This is a bad plan. How can we help each other if we separate?”
He answered gently, “There is a risk, but we discussed all the alternatives earlier; this gives us our best chance of getting outta here.”
Almost crying, she said, “ I’ve had enough of death. I don’t want to see anyone else killed.”