by Isaac Stormm
He phoned for Mitchell. “Get the 82nd on its way. Get a wing of F-22s deployed as well. Get hold of your Saudi counterpart and find out what base they’ll be deployed to.”
“I’m on it.”
Anderson lay the phone back down and tapped his chest with his fingers. Quick thoughts without solution raced through his mind.
Jennifer reached out and clasped them. “Get some sleep now.”
He smiled at her though he knew in the dark she couldn’t see it. He kissed her hand and set it to his side. He then slid under some covers and was gone within one minute.
Strait of Hormuz, Persian Gulf.
USS Gettysburg
7:04 A.M.
‘Now hear this’ the claxon blared. ‘Man your battle stations.’
“What the—” Carlson was laying in his bunk. Taken aback by the call, he grabbed his MK18 as did the others, and headed up through the passageways to the flight deck. There, everything was speeded up tenfold. The deck itself was clear with the crewmen running to their assigned stations. No one walked except him.
He saw the officer of the deck getting ready to go below. He ran over and grabbed him by the shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”
“Unidentified threats coming in on the sea.”
Carlson cupped his hand over his eyes to keep out the sun’s glare. About a mile away he saw the destroyer the USS Zumwalt, its stealthy outline looking like something out of a Star Trek picture. Submarines. Patrol boats?
He watched in the distance as the gun turrets on the Zumwalt turned to port away from him. Since he was not assigned a station, he headed to the edge of the deck, leaped down and took position on a guard rail with the MK18. Mustin and Wilson eased up beside him and all three pointed their carbines over the vast sea.
USS Zumwalt
“Skipper.” It was the radar room.
“Go ahead.”
“Seventy-three contacts bearing two hundred forty-five degrees. Speed thirty knots. Range ten miles.”
The captain raised his binoculars to port and saw tiny white bow waves of the Boghammer speed boats flitting toward him on the surface of the water. They appeared line abreast but he made out that they had depth to their numbers like a checkerboard pattern.
“All guns prepare to fire.”
The Zumwalt’s 155mm guns steadied their elevation at -5 degrees, the lowest they could go. The port Mark 46 30mm cannon depressed as well, the gunner bringing the sights to bear and waiting for the command.
“Main guns engage,” the captain called.
The 155s belched flame and dirty brown smoke sending the massive projectiles on their way. The captain watched them fall in front, raising twin geysers of which a speedboat shot through still coming. The twin guns fired again and one of the boats exploded into atoms hurling flaming debris across others who moved in to take its place.
“Five miles and closing,” the operator radioed.
“Shit, shit. Hit them. Damn it.” The captain rocked back and forth on his heels, the anticipation killing him as the bridge shook under the twin 155’s bellow.
Another boat exploded into a gout of flame and another shot through it as if it were materializing out of nowhere. The boats stayed their positions and seemed to be picking up speed. The gleaming white bow waves growing like the maws of piranhas ready to snip their prey.
The formation split into two groups, one to the left, the other to the right. They then turned back inward toward the Zumwalt, two large flocks approaching toward the stern and bow.
The captain shook his head. “My God. There’s too many of them.” He watched them close in like pincers. The bridge shook under another 155 salvo.
The MK46 sprang into action. A steady 200 rpm higher pitched beat sending tracers out among the onrushing metal, hitting some but not sinking any.
The speed boats closed to within two miles and increased their throttles to the maximum speed of 40 knots. They leaped among the waves, their 660-foot target hurling red gobs of shells among them. Another one exploded. It didn’t matter. The Zumwalt’s port lay before them like a great steel wall ready to be penetrated.
The Zumwalt’s 20mm Phalanx Close In Weapon System (CIWS) began tracking the group coming in toward the stern. A line of tracer spitting at 6,000 rpm blasted out of its six rotating barrels. Several boats exploded, but the formation kept coming, spreading out more. They crossed the 1,000 meter distance and bore in through the shells churning the sea around them.
One of them aimed directly at the fantail and raced in. When it hit, a 500-pound cone-shaped, copper-shaped charge detonated, obliterating the boat and its crew and putting an eight-foot hole through to the engine room where several men were incinerated.
More of them followed, focusing more on the port side. Six hit the stern, the near simultaneous booms scything off a portion of the ship, opening it to the sea.
Eight more hit near the bow, blowing off the nose of the ship, which heeled left under full rudder raising her wounded port somewhat above the waves, before 12 more slammed into her amidships, the shaped charges causing great spouts of water to heave over her decks bringing the port side crashing back down, terminating the turn.
‘Steering jammed. Engines dead,’ the claxon announced to the bridge.
“Counter flood, damn it. We’re going over.” The captain screamed, feeling the ship start to list to port.
Seven more rammed her in the gaping open wounds amid ships, and the Zumwalt shuddered from the detonations then blew in half as her powder magazines touched off.
USS Gettysburg
“Good God,” Carlson said, mouth agape at the huge explosion which swallowed the Zumwalt up into a bright raging inferno. He could no longer see the ship, just a mass of flames drifting and melting into several small pools of fire. Then he saw what she had seen, the gleaming spray off the speedboats veering around the fires heading toward the Gettysburg, joining up into a checkerboard pattern again.
Another destroyer riding astern of the Gettysburg, the Arleigh Burke class USS Lassen, fired her armament at the plowing boats who were closing to 2,000 meters again. This time they didn’t wave from their formation. They all came as one great missile headed for the Gettysburg.
“Get out of here!” Carlson yelled. They abandoned their position and ran across the deck toward the island.
Carlson tried opening a hatch but it was sealed from the inside.
Gettysburg’s CIWS began rattling. Carlson and the others hit the deck, anticipating the inevitable impacts. Then he heard something like a loud shriek sting his ears then explosions. Not nearly what he expected. They sounded not from the ship. They came from the sea. Carlson lifted his head and saw the last of the 12 F-18 Hornets release their cluster bombs.
A roar went up from deep within the ship. Not mechanical. Men cheering as more explosions ripped through the line of boats, scattering them, breaking their coordination. The CIWS spurted some more. And then he heard the deep report of Browning .50 caliber machine guns on the port side chewing up stragglers.
They picked themselves up and ran back to the port side, seeing two boats incoming for the stern. The CIWS and 50s focused on other targets. Men pointed fingers at the two boats as they spread out a bit, leaped over some waves, and bore in.
Carlson, Mustin, and Wilson raised their weapons and began taking single shots at the figures standing behind the boats’ control panels. They couldn’t have been more than 500 hundred meters distance. Carlson watched his target duck, shielding him from the bullets. For some reason, Carlson felt he needed to focus on the bow and so he placed the red dot on the bouncing vessel and began ticking off rounds at its front. It exploded into an orange mist raining down bits just meters from the ship. “The bow is wired. Aim for the bow,” he called, setting the red dot on the next one passing through 200 hundred meters distance. He slowly followed the bobbing vessel with each jump of the waves and fired once. Nothing. Quinn and Wilson joined in sending their 5.56mm rounds into the bow ho
ling it, but doing no damage. The CIWS found it, locked on it, and sent 200 rounds in less than two seconds from the bow to the stern, ripping the pilot away, flinging him back out of the boat in two pieces. The pilotless craft veered away on a course of its own toward the Lassen then blew up when the ship’s 30mm found its mark.
“Cease firing,” came the call. “All guns cease firing.”
Carlson lowered his carbine as an F-18 zoomed over and wagged its wings to signify triumph. It was too late for that, he thought, the remains of Zumwalt were a floating mass of boiling flames. Somewhere out there were survivors. And the Lassen swerved to port heading for the wreckage.
“Bastards have discovered something unique about us.” Carlson switched the safety back on the carbine.
“Attack in numbers?” Wilson said.
“Partially, but with these types of craft, they got ‘em wired to go off like a mine. Put enough of them out there like we just saw, and there ain’t much that can be done in time.” He watched as Lassen was joined by a helicopter slowly hovering near the wreckage. More F-18s flew high over it in formation, almost like they were paying tribute to the late ship.
“Wonder how many lived,” Wilson surmised.
“An explosion like that, probably just a handful, if that many.” Carlson watched the Lassen close in until it was among a portion of debris. Soon they’d be dispatching boats. More men joined portside standing on the deck along the length of the ship almost like they were saying farewell. Zumwalt had taken the brunt of the attack and fulfilled her duty as a screen for Gettysburg. But there was little satisfaction, he knew. Stuff like this wasn’t supposed to happen.
Washington, D.C.
Word of the attack and the Zumwalt’s demise stole whatever sleep remained in him. He was up getting dressed, trying not to disturb Jennifer even though he had the lamp on. Once he slipped on his tie, he silently opened the door and headed for the situation room. He would be there alone for a few minutes before the others arrived. Time to contemplate the news. The Iranians had attacked. The Strait of Hormuz remained open, however. Thoughts of Grozner, of how many times he’d sat there in his room, deciding what military action needed to be taken poked at him. Now he was in the same boat. He wasn’t going to let the Strait be closed under any circumstances. But for now, he thought of the statement he had to come up with about the Zumwalt’s demise. It was the first such loss of a ship in battle since World War II.
Up came a map on the screen. It gave the coordinates and marked where the ship was lost. In the upper left corner, a picture of the ship in better times, in the right a mass of floating flame amidst an oil slick. He saw no parts of the ship.
“Believe it or not, there were twenty-three survivors.” Mitchell walked past. “We’re at war now. I’ll need your permission to add a second carrier in the region.”
“Of course. You have full discretion on what needs to be done.” He looked at Mitchell like he wanted him to decipher what he was thinking. Then he squinted his eyes and said. “They were never serious. Just waiting for a time for us to be vulnerable. Well, they found it. I want to remove them as a military threat to us ever again.”
“We already have a list of targets we could begin attacking right now. Supply lines, oil fields, troop concentrations, things that would immediately affect them.”
“Let’s get on it then. After a series of strikes, I’m going to go the diplomatic route and threaten all-out war if they don’t agree.”
“A wise choice.”
“Is there one? How about a necessary choice.”
“Do we go to war with the Saudis?”
“No. Not if we can help it.”
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
11:22 A.M.
The flight had taken them through the upper Sinai right on the borderline of Jordan and Saudi Arabia. They flew at 100 feet, never gaining or losing any altitude. At 550 knots the desert floor had been just a blur, but when they finally saw Riyadh looming, they pitched up to 3000 feet, afterburners blazing and started their attack run. It was at the Erga Royal Palace, a huge opulent and manicured residence that rivaled any of the great castles and mansions in Europe. Also home of the Royal Family.
The lead aircraft put his Head Up Display targeting pipper on the center of the building. Pressing the stick gently forward, his jet dove at 45 degrees increasing speed to 600 knots. He pickled one of the buttons on his control stick, releasing two 2000-pound unguided bombs, then pulled back into a steep climb, speeding away to the left.
The center of the palace exploded into great columns of fire which rained down for hundreds of meters. The surviving wings of the building exploded three seconds later and three more F16s zoomed heavenward, touching the sound barrier as they vanished as quickly as they’d come.
“Moses,” reported the flight leader. “I repeat, Moses.” Target hit.
Tel Aviv
“Erga is gone,” Philpot said. “Our last intelligence said King Halibi was in residence. We’ll monitor their civilian and military channels to see if we got him. If we did, it will be a big blow that will put them in shock for quite a while.”
“What of the others?” Grozner asked.
“We’ve got seven more targets. We’ll be hearing from them at any moment.”
They heard ‘Moses’ again twice.
“Four more,” Philpot said.
The word spoke again three more times.
“One more.”
The final one spoke.
“According to our intelligence, all the heads of the Saudi Royal family and their successors were in the targets that we designated for our planes. The head of the snake may be gone. We have them in a vulnerable time. Shouldn’t we order more attacks against them?”
“We’ll need confirmation that they’re gone.” Metzer tapped his pen on the desk. “However, if we only got one or two, it will still send a powerful message. That nobody who’s head of state that goes to war against us is safe anymore.”
“But the Americans are going to be putting forces in the Ghawar oil fields to prevent us from attacking them. That leaves a substantial portion of their ability to make war untouchable, for the moment.”
“We could attack it now. Before they get there,” Philpot offered.
“Which could tip them off that were reading their communications. Good allies don’t do such things as that, remember? And if we do take out the oil fields, we’ll use nuclear weapons to do it so they can’t be repaired or put into action by anybody in the region again.”
Metzer leaned in. “I hoped that talk of nuclear weapons would never be brought up by any leader of Israel.”
“I’m sorry if it startled you. I don’t like the idea either. But after Haifa, they upped the game to a higher level. And we wouldn’t just use them against Saudis, we’d use them against the Iranians, the Iraqis and anyone else who threatens us with such serious weapons that’s been hitting our country so far. What if Iran has a working nuclear weapon that they’re saving?”
“Though we’ve been hit by gas, I would recommend we use nuclear weapons as a last resort.”
“Of course. I am not eager, Metzer.”
Israel had maintained a small nuclear weapons stockpile for nearly four decades. It was really a badly kept secret from the rest of the world. Clues were leaked here and there over the years as a warning to enemies. How effective no one really knew. But the consensus was it served its purpose.
“When will we resume our offensive in Lebanon?” Grozner inquired.“
Reserves have been called up. We’re continuing the bombing of suspected rocket and drone launch sites. I would say the next few hours will suffice.”
“And we still don’t know if there are more drones?”
“No.”
Grozner nodded his head, debating with himself. “I’m going to do something that is not popular here but it’s out of caution. Let’s postpone any further advancements into Lebanon until we know exactly where the drone signals are coming from.
This was embarrassing to go through the first time. If we risk it again, it would show we haven’t learned anything. In other words, let’s give the bombing more time, and our reconnaissance units more time to find the signal.”
“That can be done.”
“In the meantime, I’m expecting the phone to ring and it will be the president of the United States on the other end wanting to know what got into us by attacking the Saudi Royal family.”
The phone rang just then.
Grozner smiled. “Voilà.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Prime Minister, what the hell is going on there,” Anderson said, his voice elevated to a tinge of anger. “They’re saying the Saudi Royal Family’s palace and the rest of the family’s residences were attacked. Is this true?”
“Yes, Mr. President. This is because the Saudis have joined forces with the Iranians. The leadership at the top is a legitimate target in times of war.”
“But no one has declared war on anyone yet. I urge you not to commence any more attacks against Saudi soil. We will have forces protecting the Ghawar oil fields soon. We will shoot down any Israeli aircraft that flies within a twenty-mile radius of that oil field. Do you understand?””
“Mr. President, I think you’re listening to the wrong advice. Saudi Arabia has never been America’s friend. No, we do not attack Saudi Arabia on behalf of America. But given time, with the way they’ve been acting in concert with the Iranians, an American attack on Saudi soil would not be out of the question, am I right?”
“Wrong, Mr. Grozner. I would take the diplomatic route. An attack would only come as a last resort which we would not let happen in the first place.”
“War is unpredictable, Mr. Anderson.” He couldn’t believe the man still thought there was diplomacy on the table. “We have to act in accordance with how we see things. I am sorry there is such a divide. I hope someday you’ll understand.”
“Prime Minister, the quicker we diffuse this situation, the better relations our two countries can have.”