INTELLIGENCE FAILURE

by Jon Sedran

  “The first flight test of the new Shahab III went well,” reported Yazdi. “The new missile flew sixteen-hundred- kilometers and the simulated warhead only missed the target by three-hundred meters.”

  “With the special device, that should be close enough!” General Namazi exclaimed, laughing.

  Javadi smiled faintly.

  “Full-scale production will being in two months’ time,” Yazdi assured them.

  “The infidels are weak and will soon fall to our swords,” declared a confident Namazi.

  “Yes, but we still need to buy ourselves more time…I will speak again to our nuclear negotiators about more thoroughly reviewing every proposal ,” Javadi said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEEN

  Nasfi had narrowly avoided losing his command following the incident in the Strait. After recovering bodies and picking up debris the Avland had returned to its home port of Bandar Abbas. Shortly thereafter, a hearing was held on the incident. The IRGCN officer had testified Nasfi was a coward and should be shot. Officers who knew Nasfi testified as to his competence and how he was a ‘by the book’ type. They added in testimony, that under similar circumstances they too would not have engaged the American ships. In the end, if it not been for his long years of dedicated service and a shortage of officers with command experience; he would likely have been relieved of his command. In spite of the hearing, Nasfi remained loyal and was justifiably proud of the Avland and its crew.

  As the Avland prepared to get underway, Nasfi picked up the microphone and announced the orders to the crew. “We are to patrol on a course that will take us through the Gulf of Oman and out into the Arabian Sea. Our last leg will be in a southwesterly direction and will take us along the coast of Yemen to the Gulf of Aden. We are going to show our support for the oppressed Shi'ite Huthi and also defend our cargo ships against pirates.” Nasfi put down the microphone and looked toward the dock. He immediately did not like what he saw. An IRGCN officer was walking up the gangway. He was tall and sported a dark close-cropped beard. He carried a large grey travel bag and had a small brown briefcase. A sailor stopped him as attempted to board.

  “I am Captain Yamani, I need to see your Captain”, the Guardsman announced loudly, handing him a copy of his orders.

  The sailor glanced up toward the bridge and got a nod from the officer of the deck. “Come with me, I will take you to him,” he said as he led Yamani up the ladders and down the passageways to the bridge. The sailor opened the access hatch for him and he stepped through. Seated on the bridge was Captain Nasfi and standing next to him the officer of the deck.

  “Captain Nasfi, I have our orders here. I am going to join you on this mission,” Yamani boldly proclaimed to the bridge crew.

  “We already have our orders,” Nasfi bluntly informed him.

  Yamani did not reply. He set his briefcase down on the console next to the main engine controls and opened it. Then he removed a manila envelope and handed to Nasfi.

  Nasfi reluctantly opened it. It contained new orders. Nasfi reached for the microphone and read them out loud. “Attention …we have orders to stop an American Navy cargo vessel, the St Paul, if it attempts to enter Yemeni waters to deliver arms to our enemies there…and we are also to encourage the American Navy to withdraw from these waters.”

  “Correct!” Yamani declared. “We will head toward Yemen, but along the way we will make sure we show the Americans they need to leave this region,” He continued, “If peaceful means fail, or if we are in danger, we may take any actions we deem appropriate.”

  “What is your naval experience?” Nasfi inquired of his unwanted co-captain.

  “For the past two years I have patrolled our coastline in our fast boats,” Yamani replied proudly, adding, “The Americans sank two of our patrol boats in our waters and we cannot allow that to go unpunished…where will I bunk, Captain?”

  Nasfi stared blankly out the forward glass for a few moments and then turned to his duty officer.

  “Show Captain Yamani to his quarters,” he directed one of the junior officers.

  Yamani left the bridge and followed the officer down through the narrow passageways in the ship. On Nasfi’s hand signal the gangway was pulled back and a tug pushed the Avland out. They got underway with a crew of one-hundred twenty-eight including their one unwelcome addition. With the channel cleared of mines, the ship made good speed and forty-five minutes later the Iranian coastline faded from view.

  “Finish testing fire control systems,” Nasfi instructed his bridge crew as he sat back in his chair contemplating what the cruise might bring. Yamani came back up on the bridge and stood scanning the horizon with binoculars. Then he picked up the ship’s intercom’s microphone, “Good morning everyone, this is Captain Yamani. This should be an exciting day, the US fleet is out there and we are going to show them what happens when they do not respect our national sovereignty.” Nasfi just shook his head and looked away.

  “Helm, heading one-six zero degrees,” ordered Nasfi. The Avland’s bridge crew was tense as they sensed they had two competing captains on board. The ship headed on a southeasterly course toward the Arabian Sea. They would harass any American intruders they came across and Captain Nasfi would pray they didn’t go too far. It would be another dangerous game of “chicken” played out between Iranian and U.S. Navy ships operating in international waters.

  They passed through the Gulf of Oman and then on into the Arabian Sea. Their first day out they had not come across any U.S. Navy ships, but on the second day that changed. “Captain, radar has three vessels ahead, fifteen to twenty miles, all heading three-six zero degrees. IFF indicates closest one is an American navy ship Independence,” reported the first officer. Nasfi’s twenty years in the Iranian Navy had taught him to respect others in the profession. He believed his mission was to protect the homeland, and not to provoke an unnecessary confrontation with a foreign power operating legally in international waters. But ever since the sinking of the two patrol boats, the IRGCN had gained additional power over the regular naval officers and Nasfi was well aware he had barely kept his command. Yamani constantly watched everything going on and made notes on the tablet PC he carried. He was there to “assist” the crew in ensuring the goals of the revolution were met. Today it was the USS Independence’s turn to face off against the Avland. As the Avland closed to within two miles of the Independence Yamani directed the crew to steer a course which would put the two ships head-to-head. Nasfi would never have allowed the crew to deliberately do such a foolish thing if it wasn’t for Yamani standing next to him on the bridge.

  The Independence radioed the Avland several times as the ships closed on each other, but there was no response.

  “Maintain heading, don’t turn away,” Yamani directed. The bridge crew stood giving each other furtive glances as the two ships closed on a near-certain collision course.

  “We should change heading comrade,” Nasfi nervously suggested. Captain Nasfi was nobody’s fool. He did not want to needlessly provoke the Americans, who he estimated would have little trouble sending his ship to a watery grave.

  “Do not worry Captain,” the Guardsman confidently announced, explaining, “The Americans are paper tigers. They don’t dare fire on us, we would sink them quickly,” he boasted. Then laughing loudly, he added, “Besides we have a mighty ship and Allah will protect us!”

  The captain of the Independence saw no need to prove a point and ordered his ship to take evasive action. Seeing them turn away, Yamani was now more confident than ever. “Captain Nasfi, you see you should not have lost your courage,” announced Yamani loudly. Throughout that night and for the next two days the crew of the Avland continued on uneventfully through the Arabian Sea toward Yemen.

  * * * *

  At DIA headquarters things had finally settled back down again. The Iranian leadership seemed content with letting the U.N. investigate the two sinkings and had ceased all mine laying operations in the Strait. The mines already put down had been
cleared by U.S. and British minesweepers and the shipping channel reopened. The DIA analysis staff had been able to catch up on work which they had set aside during the crisis and return to a normal schedule. Maddy and Lowe both scheduled a couple of well-deserved days of leave. Everyone knew things could change quickly and with little or no warning.

  Maddy wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass her by and made a call as she left the office. “Mark it’s me, are you free tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied enthusiastically.

  “I’ll meet you in thirty minutes, at the house.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  * * * *

  Sitting submerged off the coast of Yemen, the crew of the Virginia had waited. “Skipper sonar contact…computer says it’s the St Paul…looks like they just turned to zero-nine zero and making fifteen knots,” reported the sonar operator.

  “Match their speed and heading, and hold station about four miles north.” Davis directed.

  The Avland was now off the coast of Yemen passing by the port of Aden. The sun was now about to set when the Avland’s radar operator saw the return of a ship twenty- miles ahead and heading directly toward them. He informed his bridge. “I have a target twenty miles dead ahead…the IFF identifies it as the American Navy cargo ship St Paul.”

  “Any other American Navy ships in the area?” Nasfi nervously asked.

  “None on radar,” replied the radar operator.

  “Excellent,” exclaimed Yamani, looking out with binoculars. “We have an opportunity for you to show your great courage Captain Nasfi.”

  At the same time, the radar operator on the St. Paul saw the primary return of the Avland ahead and reported it. “Target ahead twenty miles…IFF shows it’s the Iranian frigate Avland,” he announced.

  The Virginia’s sonar operator had picked up engine and propeller sounds and identified the Avland.

  Nasfi stood and looked at the radar display. “Hold heading two-six-zero,” Yamani ordered.

  The St. Paul was to dock at Aden to bring much needed supplies to the beleaguered Yemeni government troops. The Avland and St Paul continued on, closing to within five miles of each other.

  Davis now re-positioned the Virginia to be one-half mile north of, and on a parallel course to the St. Paul, and then brought them up to periscope depth. This would allow for its mast-mounted antennas pick up signals and feed the information to a bank of sophisticated sensors. They had standing orders, “Fire only in self-defense or to prevent an attack on U.S. or allied ships.”

  “Raising number one scope,” Davis announced.

  “They are about to enter Yemeni waters,” advised the Avland’s executive officer, checking a chart.

  “Maintain course,” Yamani directed. “Where is our English-speaking radio operator?”

  Nasfi sighed. “Standing right next to you,” he replied.

  Yamani composed some instructions on a piece of paper and handed it to the radio operator. “Contact them,” he directed.

  The radio operator read it and then keyed the microphone. “American ship St Paul…you are carrying illegal cargo in violation of international law. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

  On the bridge of the St Paul, the startled crew heard the demand and couldn’t believe it. “Right,” said the ship’s captain, Commander Kevin Olson. “Boarded, my ass….tell them to fuck off. Radio fleet, priority, tell them what’s going on…sound general quarters.” The ship’s klaxons and alarms began to sound.

  “We will fire on you,” broadcast the Avland’s radioman. Captain Nasfi looked again at the radar display. The bridge radio was alive with calls from the St. Paul warning the Avland to turn away.

  “There it is,” Yamani loudly announced, looking through binoculars and pointing straight ahead. “You will be a hero captain, all of you will be heroes,” Yamani loudly proclaimed to the bridge crew over the sound of the engines.

  “We will all be dead heroes,” Nasfi mumbled.

  Beneath the waters, running silent and undetected, the Virginia’s mast-mounted antennas were picking up the radio transmissions. “Record it all,” directed Davis.

  “Captain, still showing the U.S. Navy cargo ship dead ahead,” reported the Avland’s first officer.

  “Continue on course,” Yamani again directed the bridge crew. “A U.S. Navy cargo ship…ha…we are far more powerful and we should let the infidels know it…activate the fire control radar,” he demanded. The fire control officer looked at Nasfi, who just nodded weakly.

  A few moments later sensors on board Virginia detected the Avland’s fire-control radar. Davis watched the various sensor displays and thought, what the hell is going through the Iranian skipper’s mind? They have no right to stop and board a U.S. Navy vessel. Davis directed the firing solution be put into the Virginia’s fire-control computer. It would then be fed into the brain of the deadly MK-48 torpedo. In seconds the high-tech weapon could be on its way. He took another look through the periscope. The Avland was still broadcasting for the St Paul to stop and be boarded.

  “XO, ready tube number one,” Davis directed.

  “Aye, aye, number one-all green,” the XO replied, adding, “Firing solution locked in.”

  “Roger,” acknowledged Davis.

  “Captain, fleet acknowledges our message and advises help is on the way…they say do not allow boarding,” announced the St Paul’s radio operator.

  “We should turn away now,” mumbled Nasfi. He so very much wanted to turn his ship away, but Yamani would have no part of it. On this tranquil day spring day, the Iranian Frigate Avland would sail for the last time.

  “Faster…Allah Akbar!” shouted Yamani.

  The Avland barreled ahead at thirty knots as Captain Nasfi looked through his binoculars. Heading into the fading light he saw the American ship in the distance and closing.

  “Prepare to fire the main gun…fire the first shot across their bow,” Yamani yelled out.

  “Comrade, I do not think that is a good idea,” offered Nasfi meekly, unable to shake his sense of dread.

  On board the Virginia Davis again looked at the sensor display; the Avland’s fire control radar was still active.

  “Go ahead Captain, it is only an American cargo ship,” announced Yamani.

  Captain Nasfi closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Should I do this? Allah, please, don’t let this fool get us all killed.

  “Fire control, ready the main gun,” Nasfi ordered, going against his own better judgment. He had decided it was pointless to argue with Yamani. He would live just long enough to regret his decision.

  “Captain, I have a sound that could be a deck gun rotating,” the Virginia’s advanced sensor array operator reported.

  The crew of the St. Paul repeatedly attempted to warn off the Iranian frigate by radio with no effect. The Avland’s radioman kept repeating their demand for the St Paul to stop and be boarded.

  “Broadcast another warning on guard frequency,” directed Olson.

  “Iranian ship Avland, we will not stop and be boarded. We are in international waters, turn away now,” radioed the XO.

  “Shit, they are rotating their main deck gun,” said Davis, looking through the periscope and clicking photos for the record. “Damn it…what the hell?”

  “They are telling the St Paul again to stop and prepare to be boarded,” announced the sub’s sensor operator.

  “My God, it looks like they are rotating their main deck gun,” announced the bridge watch on the St Paul, as he peered through binoculars in the fading light.

  “The Iranian ship is fifteen hundred yards from the St. Paul and closing,” announced the Virginia’s sonar operator, adding, “No change in heading or speed.”

  “Flood tube one,” ordered Davis.

  “Flooded, green light,” replied the XO after a short delay.

  “Open tube one outer door,” ordered Davis.

  “Captain, the American ship says they will not stop,” reported the A
vland’s radio operator.

  Speeding along on a darkening sea, Captains Nasfi and Yamani and the crew of the Avland, went too far.

  “Fire one,” ordered Davis.

  “Fire one,” repeated the sub’s fire control officer, as he pressed a button on the fire control panel. In an instant the torpedo left its tube and accelerated to sixty-five knots. Its on-board sensors and guidance computer immediately activated and began updating target information and making small corrections to ensure it would accomplish its mission. In its nose was a ton of high explosives, developed specifically for its powerful punch.

  “Torpedo is tracking,” reported the fire control officer. The deadly high-tech torpedo moved silently and resolutely through the water, virtually undetectable to the sonar operator on the Avland, or to the sonar operator on the nearby St. Paul.

  The Mark 48 torpedo is a marvel of modern technology and engineering; it leaves no wake or stream of air bubbles that can be seen on the surface. It is quiet, fast and deadly. Earlier torpedoes would strike a ship below the water line and punch a hole in it. Hopefully, a hole big enough so that the ship would soon fill with water and sink. But this was a much more sophisticated weapon; it was designed to explode directly beneath its victim. The powerful blast creating a huge gas bubble under the ship and gravity doing the rest. Ships are not designed to support their own weight, so a ship would most likely break in two. It was an amazingly simply use of physics and very effective.

  After traveling the required distance the torpedo had armed itself. Now, as it passed directly underneath the Avland, its warhead detonated. Nasfi, Yamani, and the rest of the bridge crew were thrown violently forward as the center section of the ship rose up nearly six feet out of the water. The blast was accompanied by a deafening roar as an enormous cloud of filthy grey gas and debris shot up high above the bridge. In an instant Nasfi’s proud vessel and crew were removed as a threat. No messages would be sent by them. The forward half of the ship continued on for another two hundred yards on its own momentum. Then the bow tilted straight up, pointing skyward, and quickly disappeared beneath the surface. The ship’s aft section rapidly filled with water, stayed mostly level, then it too disappeared from view. A large oil slick and floating debris was all that remained to show any evidence that a ship had been there only moments before.