INTELLIGENCE FAILURE

by Jon Sedran

  “Okay, are the pumps going,” asked Arietta, adding, “We won’t need any of those things if we sink.”

  From the ship’s Combat Information Center, or CIC, a frantic call to the bridge, “Captain, radar just came back up. Looks like a second patrol boat closing, bearing one-six zero degrees, less than a mile, heading at us. The bridge watch officer picked up his binoculars and scanned the horizon. Finally, looking through a break in the grey smoke, he announced, “I have him visually…Captain…they just veered to starboard and they’re paralleling our course about four-hundred yards out…shit, they’re in and out of the fog bank.”

  “What do we still have that’s operational?” asked Arietta.

  “Captain, lookout reports the Iranians appear to be getting their 40mm gun ready,” yelled the bridge watch.

  “Is the forward deck gun and fire control radar back up?” asked Arietta.

  “Checking now,” replied the XO. After a few tense moments he reported, “Yes, captain, and we have a lock, one-zero zero degrees, four-hundred yards.”

  “Comm, contact fleet, advise we have a second patrol boat with hostile intent and are engaging,” said Arietta, adding, “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Fire control, you are cleared to engage the target, fire for effect,” directed Arietta. An instant later a loud boom accompanied by a cloud of whitish-grey smoke erupted from the main deck gun. It was followed less than three seconds later by a blast and a cloud of debris flying high into the air directly above the Iranian patrol boat. The round had struck near the engine compartment, destroying one engine and starting a fire.

  “Sir, they’re slowing,” yelled the bridge watch officer. Arietta grabbed his binoculars; he could see flames rising from the boat’s stern.

  “Aim amidships,” yelled Arietta.

  “Amidships, aye!” replied the fire control officer.

  “Fire!” ordered Arietta.

  Another thunderous boom was followed almost immediately by another five inch round slamming into the Iranian boat. This time destroying the remaining engine and killing several sailors. Amazingly, the Iranian boat still had some fight left.

  “Tell headquarters we are being attacked by a US warship and we are fighting back, Allah Akbar!” said the Iranian patrol boat’s captain. As his radio man frantically sent the brief message, the captain turned to his fire control officer who had been hit by shrapnel and was holding his arm and grimacing in pain. “Do you have a lock on that ship?” he asked.

  The officer looked at his radar screen. “Yes captain we can fire our missile in a few moments,” he hesitating replied.

  “We may not have a few moments…fire now!” he ordered, adding, “They are only four-hundred meters away.”

  “Sir, they look to be taking on water, and I see flames now in several places,” yelled out the Princeton’s bridge watch officer.

  The patrol boat’s fire control officer depressed a red button on the weapons panel. “Allah Akbar!” he yelled.

  The AH-12 ship-to-ship missile left its launcher and screamed directly at the Princeton.

  “Fire,” directed Arietta.

  The XO reached for his binoculars, picked them up and dropped them just as fast. “Missile!” he screamed!”

  “Shit! Countermeasures!” yelled Arietta. “Damn it, where the hell…”

  Barely a second later, as Princeton fired again, the ship to ship missile struck them. At this close range there had been insufficient time for the crew to deploy any countermeasures. It hit the stern of the ship, barely five feet above the waterline and plunged deep inside, finally running out of momentum near the ship’s engine room. Fortunately for the Princeton and its crew, the missile had not been airborne long enough for its warhead to arm and so it did not detonate. But the unspent engine fuel continued to burn spreading more fires. Fifteen sailors below decks near the engine room had no chance and were incinerated. A dozen sailors managed to stagger up through the smoke to the main deck. All were badly burned and two were still on fire. “Get the fucking extinguishers on them, now!” screamed a corpsman.

  The third round from the Princeton had nearly blasted the Iranian boat it in two. A large fireball had erupted skyward as the boat rapidly disappeared from sight.

  “Sir we’re still taking on water and the fire near the engine room is burning out of control!” a damage control team officer reported. The main ship’s status information panel was lit up with a dozen red flashing lights; alarms and klaxons were blaring.

  The crew of the Princeton had done many practice drills and were well trained. Arietta did his best to remain calm as he watched his crew do their jobs just as he had taught them.

  “Sir, CIC says fleet wants an update,” reported the XO.

  “Send a secure text…missile hit on stern, starboard, taking on water, fires out of control,” replied Arietta, adding, “Engaged and sank a second a second hostile Iranian patrol boat.”

  “Yes sir!” replied the XO, relaying the message to the CIC, where a communications specialist frantically typed it in at the communications console.

  “Get more aid to those sailors, get some more damn extinguishers!” ordered Arietta.

  “Yes sir,” replied the XO.

  Thick clouds of acrid black smoke were pouring out of the Princeton and it was beginning to list to starboard. I am not going to lose my first command, no fucking way, a shaken Arietta reassured himself.

  “Sir, SPY-1 radar is back up and has fast movers inbound,” announced the ship’s radar officer, adding, “Sir, they’re ours! Flight of four F-18’s, six-hundred knots, bearing one-eight zero degrees, heading three-six zero, four-thousand feet.” Captain Arietta strained to try to see them with his binoculars, but the smoke was too thick. They’ll take care of any more Iranian ships that might happen to come along, he thought.

  “Captain, Hammer-One Flight lead is calling, wants to let us know they will stay on station and engage any hostiles that appear…wants to know if we have any requests.”

  “Tell ‘em roger, no requests,” said Arietta, scrambling to assess the damage to his ship.

  “Captain, main generator number one is off-line, two is still up,” reported the XO. “The fire near the fuel tanks is still spreading and we have two crews working it!”

  “Captain, Comm says Admiral Morris wants an update,” advised the watch officer.

  “Tell her to fucking wait!” yelled Arietta.

  The watch officer just stood there for a few moments. Then he keyed the microphone, "Admiral…the captain cannot talk right now.”

  Arietta grabbed the microphone from him. “Yes admiral, we are slowly gaining the upper hand,” he reported, while quietly praying his ship wouldn’t sink. Then he threw the microphone down.

  The startled watch officer picked it back up and keyed it. “Uhh…Yes mam, we should be able to limp to port under our own power once the fires are fully under control. We won’t know for sure until we get updated damage reports.”

  Morris believed she was still talking to Arietta, “Okay, understand, I know you and your crew can handle things Paul,” she said confidently. “I’ll let you go, but if looks like you’re going to lose the ship, send us a message, if possible. Help is on the way, the Freedom is about an hour out and steaming at better than forty knots, and a flight of eighteens should be there by now,” said Morris.

  “Yes, they’re overhead now,” reported the officer. Thank you mam.” Then he quickly ended the call.

  * * * *

  In Tehran, messages began coming in from ships passing by the scene of the confrontation. There was total confusion amongst the Iranian leadership. At the Defense Ministry, a military aide interrupted a meeting to hand Kaviani a note. He read it and announced, “The American Navy has launched an unprovoked attack upon our country’s naval forces…we have successfully repelled them.”

  Admiral Tovar got on his cell phone and was demanding more information from his subordinate commanders. “Did we lose both our
ships? Were they attacked by the Americans in our waters? Outside the lanes…where?” He quickly went down to the military command room and took a seat at a console. Staff were yelling into the phones as Tovar tried desperately to get details from the on-duty operations officer, while simultaneously looking at the screens showing the positions of Iranian naval vessels. Two minutes later the doors swung open at the far end of the room. Moussad and Kaviani came in and went straight to where Tovar was seated.

  “What information do you have for us?” asked Kaviani.

  “It is still unclear,” Tovar replied, adding, “One of our Parvin class patrol boats possibly collided with an American cruiser which may have been in our waters and outside the lanes. The patrol boat apparently sank…we have a helicopter in the area now…we are awaiting confirmation.”

  “Did it sink because of the collision, or was it sunk by the Americans?” Moussad demanded to know.

  “And can we confirm they were in our waters?” added Kaviani.

  A naval officer entered the room and handed Tovar a message. He briefly reviewed it and then read the contents out loud. “A second one of our patrol boats was apparently just sunk by the same U.S. cruiser.”

  “Damn them, an unprovoked attack,” Kaviani swore, pounding his fist on the top of the console.

  “What is our closest ship to the coordinates we received?” ask Tovar

  “The Avland is about two and half hours away,” replied a junior officer.

  “Send them,” he yelled.

  Massoud tried to remain calm, asking, “You said there was a collision, Admiral?”

  Tovar threw his arms up in frustration. “Our helicopter will report…”

  Kaviani cut him off and again slammed his fist on the console. “The arrogant Americans want to provoke a war,” he yelled. “We cannot allow this aggression to go unpunished. We need a strong response!”

  “The American ship is on fire, and they are calling for assistance,” said Tovar, reading through a message on the screen. “American fighter planes have arrived in the area now.”

  “Admiral, when you have detailed information, we will be in the Council Chambers, said a furious Kaviani, motioning for Massoud to come with him.

  “Admiral, contact General Rabiei, tell him to put our military forces on highest alert,” Massoud yelled out, as they left the room.

  * * * *

  The LCS Freedom had travelled north at maximum speed to assist the heavily damaged Princeton which remained on station as emergency repairs continued. It took nearly three hours to bring the fires under control. The Princeton was now listing nearly twenty degrees to starboard as the Freedom maneuvered alongside the stricken cruiser. Weapons systems on both ships were at full ready, the Princeton’s crew bringing back on-line whatever defensive systems were still operational.

  Four navy F-18 fighters circled menacingly overhead.

  “Sir, Freedom calling, lines are secure, they are ready to transfer the injured, and they want the counts.” Well, so much for promotion, Arietta thought to himself as he read through the damage reports. My ship’s a fucking wreck…Jesus, twenty-nine dead; another thirty-four injured many with bad burns. At least it looks like my ship won’t sink.

  “Captain, radar shows no other threats nearby. Sword flight also reports negative contact,” announced the XO calling from the CIC. “Comm officer wants to know if he should send the casualty reports now?”

  “Go ahead…and start the transfers,” a visibly shaken Arietta replied.

  “Yes sir,” replied the XO.

  The crew of the Princeton transferred the most seriously injured to the Freedom where they were loaded onto helicopters to be transported to a hospital in Bahrain.

  On board the carrier George H.W. Bush it was controlled chaos. “Admiral, Washington wants an update,” reported ship’s captain, Captain Robert Clancy, adding, “CNO’s on the secure phone for you.”

  Morris picked up the phone. “Yes sir, we’re sending you the latest casualty figures. Count is twenty-nine killed, thirty-four injured. Ship was seriously damaged. Captain Arietta says he’s confident the Princeton can make it back to port under its own power.

  “Okay, keep me informed, I’ll be briefing the President momentarily,” replied Hardy.

  “Yes sir, I will update you as soon as I have any more info,” then she hung up. Morris knew the crippled ship would have to be in Bahrain for at least two months for temporary repairs, and then likely to the port of Jebel Ali near Dubai, and finally to a Dubai dry-dock. After at least another six months, the Princeton would hopefully be able to return to the United States under its own power for additional repairs. The navy would first have to decide if the ship was worth repairing.

  * * * *

  In the White House Situation Room the President had arrived and was getting updated on the incident by the Chief of Naval Operations. “Mr. President, there has been no further contact between our forces and Iranian military forces. You have the latest report. They lost two patrol boats, one from the possible suicide attack, and one we sank. The cruiser Princeton is planning to proceed under its own power to Bahrain with the LCS Freedom as an escort, and we have F-18’s overhead. The Princeton’s captain says fifty-fifty they can make it. Fires are under control, twenty-nine crewmembers lost,” reported Hardy.

  “Let’s find out what the hell happened. I don’t want this to spiral into an all-out conflict,” said Acosta.

  “Mr. President, Defense Secretary Simpson is on the secure line for you,” announced the President’s military attaché.

  Acosta answered the call. “Yes Alex…okay, see you here in fifteen,” he said, quickly hanging up and getting back to the developing crisis.

  * * * *

  “Sir, Sword lead advises they are pulling two planes off station to aerial refuel, when they return in twenty, the other two will go refuel.”

  “Acknowledged,” replied the Freedom’s XO.

  On board the Princeton they were finally able to bring the situation under control. “Sir, the engine room says they can get one of the four engines running, maybe a second one in an hour. Damage control reports the flooding is manageable; all pumps are running,” reported the Princeton’s engineering officer.

  “Captain, a radar return has just popped up, ident shows it’s the Iranian frigate Avland,” reported an anxious radar operator on the Freedom.

  “Notify the Princeton and Sword flight.”

  “Captain, the Freedom reports they have a radar surface return bearing one-five zero degrees and five miles, making about 30 knots. IFF indicates the Iranian frigate Avland.” reported the Princeton’s XO, adding, “The Iranians are radioing on guard they received a distress call from a patrol boat, and they are also advising us the last contact they had with their two patrol boats showed them to be in Iranian territorial waters.”

  “Great,” said Arietta, searching the horizon with his binoculars. “What do we have on that ship?”

  The XO walked up to the console typed in Avland. “It displaces fifteen-hundred tons, has a top speed of thirty-five knots. It carries four CSS N-8 radar-guided anti-ship missiles and has a four and half inch deck gun. It has a crew of one-hundred thirty,” he reported.

  “Captain, the Freedom acknowledged their call, and advised them we are in international shipping lane. They are telling them we are getting underway and leaving the area,” said the communications officer.

  The Avland approached to within a mile of the Princeton and Freedom, as two F-18’s circled them.

  Nasfi ordered the Avland to slow to five knots and used binoculars to survey the scene. He quickly radioed his command authorities to alert them to the situation. “We have one American. navy ship, maybe a cruiser, with a hole in the starboard side, looks to be listing, smoke, and a second smaller navy ship alongside it,” radioed Nasfi, adding, “The Americans radioed they are getting underway.”

  A U.S. Navy EP-3E Aries II electronic warfare aircraft, call sign ‘Bear Three-One�
��, was flying high over the Persian Gulf and was intercepting the Iranian radio communications. They were translated and relayed in almost real-time to the ships in the fleet.

  Onboard both U.S. ships at the site of the collision, bridge crews and Farsi linguists monitored the Iranian frigate’s radio transmissions for any clues to their intensions.

  The carrier George H.W. Bush’s on-duty linguist was assisting Admiral Morris with trying to keep up on the situation. “Admiral, Avland’s captain Nasfi is asking his command what their orders are…he is reporting two American warships, one a damaged cruiser and a smaller ship are less a mile directly ahead of him.”

  “Contact Freedom, verify our ships are in the international shipping lanes,” directed Morris.

  On board the Avland, Nasfi was hurriedly trying to plot the exact location of the incident. An oil slick and some floating debris was all that could be seen where the two Iranian boats had been shortly before.

  The Avland’s radio came to life. “Captain Nasfi, are they in our waters?” an angry impatient voice asked.

  Nasfi picked up the microphone. “I cannot be certain, they are right on the edge of the shipping lane.”

  You must be sure!” replied the voice.

  Nasfi and his first officer looked at the GPS as they frantically spread out nautical charts on a table. They plotted their position and the position of the two American ships, while an IRGCN officer looked on. The radio came to life again, “Are their ships in our territorial waters...are they outside the lanes?!”

  Nasfi again pressed the mic button, “I am verifying now!”

  The linguist on the bridge of the USS Princeton continued to listen in on the Iranian naval radio traffic and informed Arietta as to what they were saying.

  “Contact them,” Arietta ordered. “Tell them we are in the international lane, what are their intentions?” The Princeton’s linguist picked up the microphone and radioed the message in Farsi.