Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“Admirals,” said Aghassi, “may I present Commander Ebrahim Mehr, commanding officer of the Islamic Republic of Iran Navy submarine Yunes .” Pointing to his right, toward the Artesh, or regular navy admiral, he continued the introduction. “Captain Mehr, I’m sure you remember our commander of the first naval district, Rear Admiral Zand.”

“Of course. It is good to see you again, sir.”

“And you, Captain,” replied Zand haughtily. “I must compliment you on the completion of another successful patrol. Your reputation as one of our best commanders gives me great confidence that you will be able to carry out this next assignment with equal success.”

Mehr bowed politely, accepting the compliment, but also noted how the admiral was raising the expectations on a mission that was still a complete mystery to him. “Thank you, sir. I will pass on your sentiments to my crew.”

“And this,” Aghassi continued, “is Rear Admiral Varamini, commander of the Pasdaran first naval district.”

The Pasdaran admiral said nothing, but merely nodded. Mehr offered a bow in return.

Aghassi then motioned toward the chairs and said, “Please be seated.” Mehr noted with some irony that he was positioned exactly in the middle of the table.

“Captain Mehr,” Zand began, “we have been asked by our Pasdaran brethren to lend assistance in dealing with a dire threat to our country. Admiral Varamini will explain the nature of this threat and give you your orders.” The sentence concluded on an icy tone.

Varamini stood, walked over to a chart, and pointed to a box off the coast to the north. “Captain, we have good reason to believe that a U.S. submarine is operating in close proximity to our coastline. Its last known location was here, near Bandar Kangan on or about 4 April. It is likely heading southeast at slow speed. We want you to find and sink this submarine.”

The Pasdaran admiral offered no additional information, but simply walked back to his chair and sat down. Mehr fought to keep a poker face. That’s it ? he thought. A host of questions began racing through his mind as he grappled with the enormity of his orders. The room fell into an awkward silence. Both admirals were definitely unhappy with part, or all, of the mission, which meant it had been directed from on high.

“Well, Captain, what are your thoughts?” demanded Zand.

“Finding a submarine in the Persian Gulf, sir, is a difficult challenge,” Mehr explained carefully. “The geography and physics are against the searcher; this is made even worse the closer one gets to land.”

“So, you are saying it is impossible,” Varamini blurted out.

Mehr looked across the table and saw Aghassi’s facial expression, reinforcing his earlier advice. “No, Admiral, I am not saying it’s impossible, but it certainly won’t be easy either. Do you know what type of submarine I’m to hunt down?”

Varamini hesitated, his face contorted into a scowl. It was clear he was not pleased with Mehr’s response. “We believe one of their SSGNs is in the gulf.”

“A converted Ohio -class missile submarine?” Mehr asked, surprised.

Varamini nodded stiffly. The Kilo captain leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “That’s a whale of a submarine, Admiral. An Ohio -class is at least five times larger than my boat. Size like that has definite advantages and disadvantages.”

“Explain, Captain,” Zand growled, but less intensely than before.

“A submarine of that size has considerable room for noise reduction measures. An Ohio -class boat is one of the quietest submarines in the world. This will complicate things considerably. However, once found, her size restricts her ability to maneuver. This is particularly true in shallow water. If I can find her, I have the advantage in a close-in fight.”

“So, provided you can find the American, you feel your odds are good,” concluded Varamini.

“Yes, Admiral. But finding her will be the trick. The Project 877EKM submarines we bought from the Russians were designed to hunt surface ships. They have a fair antisubmarine capability, but it is mainly for self-defense. An Ohio has a better passive sonar suite than my boat, however, her systems will be affected at least as badly as mine by the environment, perhaps more so since they are more sensitive. I have a superior active capability. If I can get a whiff of her, I’ll be able to quickly transition to the attack.” Mehr tried to look as confident as he sounded. What he had said was true, but he doubted either admiral appreciated just how hard it would be to get that initial whiff.

“Well, Captain, I must admit I’m encouraged by your succinct explanation of this complex problem,” remarked Zand, clearly impressed. “Is there anything we can provide to assist you?”

“Yes, sir. I need the best torpedoes we have. I’m assuming that some of the weapons on the dollies are TEST-71ME~NKs?” asked Mehr hopefully.

“All of them are the newer torpedoes,” Aghassi replied, smiling. “I’ve given you all of the available TEST-71ME-NKs that I have.”

“Thank you, Captain. They will improve our odds.”

“Anything else?” Zand asked.

“Any information I can get on the American’s location would be of considerable value. I will begin constructing our search plan, but the more I can focus it, the better my chances of finding her.”

“I will ensure you are given all available information,” Varamini responded pleasantly. The Pasdaran admiral was even smiling.

After the well-wishing and farewells, Aghassi escorted Mehr out of the conference room. He whispered, “Well done, Ebrahim!” and shook his hand. Mehr reiterated that the tasking he had been given was a significant challenge, but he would do the best he could to find this American submarine and put it out of their misery.

But as confident as he was in the conference room, Mehr was troubled by a story he recalled from the Koran. The story was about the Prophet Yunes, Arabic for Jonah, who also had to face a whale. Mehr prayed that his boat would fare better than their namesake, and that when they grappled with their whale, it wouldn’t swallow them.

6 April 2013

1800 Local Time/1500 Zulu

Highway 96, Between Bustaneh and Mollu

Lieutenant Sistani looked at the map and then pointed to the right. “Here.”

Corporal Afshar pulled the big Zil truck off the highway. Before Sistani could get out of the cab, Sergeant Zahedi was out of the back and shouting, ”We’re here! Everyone out! Start unloading! We’re losing daylight!”

Sistani asked the sergeant, “Who should take the first turn?”

Zahedi looked at the squad and spotted one small soldier struggling with a case of ammunition. “Ostovar. He’s no use to me setting up.”

“Fine, I’ll take him and Corporal Afshar. I want to pick the spot myself.”

Zahedi saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep them busy here.”

“Be sure you get that truck far away from the road, and camouflage it well,” Sistani ordered. Under Zahedi’s direction, the corporal and Private Ostovar shouldered several pieces of red-and-white-striped wood and followed the lieutenant.

The three headed west along the side of the highway while Sistani studied the ground.

Along this part of the coast, Highway 96 was a two-lane asphalt road, pushing through a sandy brown landscape dotted with dark green scrub and trees. Although dry now, the ground showed signs of water and erosion everywhere, with dry streambeds cutting into the earth from north to south as the land sloped gently toward the gulf. A few hundred meters from where the truck had stopped, the lieutenant said, “Here. This is good.”