Larry Bond - Exit Plan

The descent to low altitude had been forgotten. There was no point, now. In less than fifteen minutes they’d be across the gulf and into Iranian airspace. Zohar tried to buy time. “Why are you doing this?”

“Greetings to the Israeli Air Force. The time for explanations is long past. I have my orders.”

8 April 2013

0505 Local Time/0205 Zulu

Over the Persian Gulf

General Tamir listened to the dialogue but said nothing. Revealing his presence wouldn’t help. “Dvir, what can you do about the American jamming?

The lieutenant shook his head. “We’re not set up to hack the U.S. network. Even if we were, we’d have to abandon our intrusion into the Iranian air defenses.”

Tamir looked at the main display at the front of the cabin. Going around wasn’t an option. The American fighters lay between the Iranian coast and the strikers. They’d just shift the barrier left or right, with the range closing all the time.

He was confident of their ability to fight their way to the target against an alerted enemy, but he had never imagined fighting the Americans first. One of his staff had been tasked with figuring the odds. It was not a simple task. “Give me what you’ve got, Lev.”

The major shook his head. “It’s the multiple shots at close range. Even with good countermeasures, you need to see the missile coming at you to use them properly. We could lose twenty aircraft, maybe more. They’d lose less, because of the jamming, but still fifteen at least.”

The communications offer reported, “General, Tel Aviv is calling. It’s Minister Lavon.”

8 April 2013

0507 Local Time/0207 Zulu

Over the Persian Gulf

While Zohar had been talking, his back-seater had been working with the radar to find targets and set up Python shots. The Python was a good missile, bigger and longer-ranged than the American AIM-9X, and its seeker was just as smart. Normally, the first salvo in an air battle would be at long range with AMRAAMs, but American jamming had taken away that option. Instead, they’d start with Pythons. When they got closer, in the dogfight, they’d burn through the jamming and use the AMRAAMs in boresight mode.

Of course, the Americans would do the same thing with their AMRAAMs, and they weren’t being jammed.

“Israeli commander, our radars won’t give you any warning of when you’re locked up, so I’ll tell you you’re locked up, and you’ll just have to believe me.”

“You’re going to lose a lot of airplanes and pilots,” Zohar said angrily.

The American’s voice was calm, as if this were merely an exercise. “Your losses will be just as bad. Will your tactics work with a half-assed strike, an alerted enemy, and no fuel reserves? You will lose people to no purpose! Turn around.”

“Our purpose is clear.”

Daniel’s voice cut in again. “One minute to Python range for the lead aircraft.”

Zohar said, “If you shoot, the Iranians win.”

“So they tell me,” the American voice answered. “And if you shoot, you won’t either. Now you have to decide the best way to cut your losses.”

Frustrated, fuming, Zohar was about to give the order to engage when Tamir sent the abort order. “David, this is Yuri. Abort. I repeat, abort. Confirm by voice.”

Resigned, defeated, and still in a state of shock, Zohar responded, “Yuri, this is David. Confirm abort order. Returning to base.” The Iranians would still be there tomorrow.

8 April 2013

0530 Local Time/0230 Zulu

Nineteen Nautical Miles South of Iran

Jerry stared into space, his mouth hanging open, struggling to wrap his tired brain around what he had just heard. Ramey, also listening in on the circuit, was dumbfounded. Michigan was abandoning them.

Lapointe and Fazel had seen the sudden change in their expressions. “What happened, Boss?” asked Lapointe.

“Guthrie’s ditchin’ us! He’s not sending any help!” exclaimed Ramey, furious.

“What!?” Lapointe and Fazel blurted out simultaneously, astounded by their platoon leader’s words.

“Shut up, Ramey!” Jerry bellowed. “He can’t help us because he has problems of his own!”

“What do you mean, XO?” demanded Fazel.

“The last thing I heard before the Skipper signed off was the WLY-1 beeping in the background and a sonar operator warning of active sonars and launch transients.” Jerry sat as he explained, forcing himself to calm down. “I think they were being attacked by an Iranian sub, one of their Kilos.”

“But I thought only the IRGC operated in the gulf now,” said Lapointe, confused.

“That’s what I thought, too, Pointy, but only a Kilo has the sensors I heard being reported, and you wouldn’t hear any launch transients from a surface ship or air-dropped weapon. And if it’s a Kilo class, that means the Iranian Navy.”

Jerry took a deep breath, looked at the three SEALs and continued, his voice laced with worry. “Captain Guthrie has a tough fight on his hands. Staying to launch a Cormorant would have made him a sitting duck. He has over a hundred and fifty people on board Michigan that he’s responsible for, including most of your platoon. It’s not like he wanted to leave us to fend for ourselves.”

The four men sat in silence, their desperate situation weighing heavily upon them. They were outgunned, they couldn’t run, and they couldn’t hide. What else could they do? It was Ramey who finally broke the gloomy stillness. “All right, we need to start figuring out what we’re going to do when those patrol boats get here.”

“The only thing we can do is fight,” observed Fazel. “We certainly can’t outrun these guys.”

“Agreed, but the trick is how do we fight off three boats at the same time, Doc?” questioned Ramey. “We don’t have nearly enough firepower.”

Jerry heard the words, “at the same time,” and it suddenly dawned on him that Ramey was defaulting to a worst-case scenario. “Whoa, wait a minute, Matt. You’re assuming they’ll make a coordinated attack.”

“Yeah, what about it? It’s a reasonable assumption,” responded Ramey defensively.

“No argument there, Matt. And it would be appropriate if we were talking about a highly trained, professional military unit, but we aren’t, are we?” Jerry countered.

“I see where you’re going, XO. You think it’s more likely they’ll attack piecemeal,” Fazel concluded.

“Exactly! Think about it. The Pasdaran are aggressive, impatient, and right now, really pissed off. That means they’ll be even more impulsive than usual. On top of that, these are small patrol boats we’re talking about. They don’t have tactical data links, just voice radio, and they’re coming at us from three different directions. A coordinated attack may be a reasonable worst-case scenario, but I’d argue it’s the least likely scenario in this case,” Jerry explained.

“But they will eventually all get here,” Ramey contended.

“Agreed, Matt. But if they come in one at a time, we at least have a chance to thin out the herd. Not a great one, mind you, but it’s still a lot better than taking all three on at the same time. And, we can improve our odds a little by using our one advantage,” remarked Jerry cryptically.

“Advantage? What advantage?” Phillips didn’t see it.

But the others did. “We have eyes on the targets; we know where they are. But they’re unsure of where we are,” stated Ramey.

“Correct, and that allows us to choose when and whom we fight first,” Jerry declared. Using his hands, he showed the relative positions of the pursuers to their boat. “The RIB is on our right. The Ashura and Boghammar are on our left. If we alter course to the right a bit, we force the engagement with the RIB and put the other two into more of a tail-chase situation. That gives us a little more time to take out the RIB, which is also the fastest of the three bad guys.”