Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“Elevate the platform,” commanded Guthrie. The phone talker relayed the order to the launch control station in the missile compartment. The Cormorant was perched on a launch rig that would lift it clear of the missile tube hatch. Since the UAV was uncontrolled during its ascent, it had to be clear of any obstacles before it was released.

“Captain, launch platform is raised.”

“Very well. Release Cormorant.”

“Release Cormorant, aye. TWCC, Control. Release Cormorant.” Seconds later, the phone talker relayed, “Sir, Launcher indicates Cormorant has been released.”

“Good,” Guthrie answered. “Lower the platform and close the hatch on tube twenty-three. Increase speed to five knots, come to course one five zero.”

The helmsman echoed his order and began turning the sluggish sub onto its new course. The Cormorant was still rising, although it would break the surface in moments.

“Up periscope.” Michigan still had an old-style Type 8 optical periscope, along with the newer photonics mast that didn’t need to penetrate the pressure hull. Coached onto the UAV’s bearing by Simmons, the BVS-1 photonics mast would be pointing straight at the Cormorant when it cleared the surface. Monitors in the control room showed the two images side by side; natural light and low-level light from the photonics mast’s cameras. Guthrie used the older Type 8 to conduct a safety sweep.

“Thar she blows!” Simmons announced. “I can see the boosters.” On the natural light monitor, a brilliant spark flashed, but was quickly enveloped by a cloud of backlit exhaust. The vehicle itself was only visible on the low-light monitor, a bent arrowhead at the top of the cloud. Two shapes fell away, and the vehicle arced over from vertical to level flight. The petty officer monitoring the UAV console narrated the action as he reported the telemetry. “Booster separation, engine start. Speed is good, following preset course and altitude.”

Lieutenant Frederickson’s voice came over the intercom. “Control, BMC. We’ve notified the team the vehicle is in the air.”

Guthrie acknowledged the reports. “Understood. Good work, everyone. Mr. Simmons, give me the best course to the recovery position.”

The Cormorant UAV was built from gray angles. A triangular intake in the front was attached to two gull wings and a triangular lower fin that looked like the keel of a sailboat. The cylindrical cargo containers were hidden inside two angled bumps on the fuselage, to maintain the vehicle’s stealthy radar signature.

This was a short trip for the unmanned aircraft, even including the doglegs Guthrie had ordered to conceal Michigan’s position. Cruising at 450 knots, it covered the twenty miles of its flight plan in just less than three minutes.

Halfway to its destination, the vehicle sensed a coded signal. The controller operated by Petty Officer Lapointe refined the location of the drop point, and the vehicle automatically made a minor correction in course.

Lapointe barely had time to acknowledge Frederickson’s transmission before he had to use the remote control terminal. Jerry and the others waited inside for the supply drop. Lapointe had to be in the open so the terminal’s signal wouldn’t be blocked, but Ramey wanted everyone else under cover. “We can’t see it coming, and the thing’s dropping two canisters two feet in diameter and five feet long. If the chutes don’t deploy, I don’t want anyone exposed.”

Although curious to see the vehicle in flight, Jerry agreed. Besides, at night there would be little to see.

The UAV slowed as it approached the programmed waypoint. Lapointe could see their building through the sensor feed, and verified the Cormorant wasn’t about to dump its cargo on top of them. It climbed slightly, to give the chutes a chance to open, and released the two cylinders. Feeling no pride in a job well done, the vehicle immediately turned to the next programmed course, which started it on a dogleg track back to the recovery point near Michigan.

Lapointe gave the “all clear,” and everyone piled out of the storage building. Looking through his nightscope, he was pointing to the north. “I saw two chutes. They’re not far, in that direction.”

The capsules had landed within a dozen meters of each other. At almost three hundred pounds apiece, it took two trips, with four men to lug each container, two SEALs for security, and Shirin carrying the rolled-up parachute.

A five-minute flight following a different path brought the Cormorant to its splashdown point. It orbited, at low altitude and slow speed, waiting for Michigan to reach the spot, farther away from the coast and well away from the launch point.

After reaching periscope depth, Captain Guthrie made a sweep with the optical scope while the photonics mast and the electronic surveillance sensor made their own checks. “No close contacts. The area is clear. Send the splashdown signal.”

Mindlessly circling, the Cormorant cut its engine and deployed a parachute, settling gently into the water. By the time Jerry and the SEALs were opening the supply capsules, an ROV from Michigan had attached the haul-down cable to the Cormorant. It would be reeled back into the missile tube, where it would be refueled and prepared for the next time it was needed.

With darkness, Ramey was impatient to get moving. The remote chance of someone observing the supply drop provided additional incentive to clear the area. Like all SEAL evolutions, they had planned what each man would do as soon as they opened the capsules. Their contents were quickly distributed. In addition to obvious things like food, water, and ammunition, there was a SCAR rifle and tactical vest for Jerry, additional thermal blankets and camouflage suits for the Iranians, handheld night-vision goggles, a more comprehensive medical kit for Fazel, and spare batteries for everything.

Phillips helped Jerry rig the vest and reviewed basic procedures for the rifle. Even though he’d had the session with Ramey on Michigan , it was a lot less academic now. “Bottom line, XO, if you see us shoot, you shoot at that. If you see something that you think needs shooting, talk to us first. There may be a reason we haven’t.”

There were a few surprises. Fazel found a plastic jar with a note attached. Reading it, he smiled and opened the jar. Taking out two pills, he offered them to Shirin along with a bottle of water.

“What are these?” she asked suspiciously.

“Compliments of the ship’s doctor,” he replied. “Vitamin pills. For your pregnancy.”

Five minutes later they were walking southeast.

5 April 2013

1400 Local Time/1900 Zulu

The White House

He wasn’t making headway. Andy had always been stubborn. Myles wouldn’t have won the nomination without his friend’s pigheaded drive. But once made up, unmaking Andy’s mind was nearly impossible.

“Mr. President, it’s my job to give you my best advice, and in this case, it’s a warning. The Iranians are selling us a load of organic fertilizer, and the sooner we recognize that, the better off we’ll be.”

Secretary Lloyd was pacing back and forth, the length of the Oval Office. Myles could feel his frustration. They’d known each other for thirty years, and he knew Lloyd regarded himself as the practical one, and Myles as the idealist.

The president asked, “Why didn’t the Arak file change your mind?”

“Because it’s no different than the first one. If the Iranians can create one file, why not two? Others have done it to us, and we’ve done it as well. Forged documents are an established part of intelligence tradecraft.”