Harper looked at Frederickson and made a cutting motion with his hand to “knock it off.” The engineer knew his captain was not in the mood to debate the merits of his perception about the shortsightedness of his superiors. The young SEAL nodded his understanding.
“Do you think the president will approve your request, Skipper?” asked Harper, as he pulled out a chair for Guthrie. He’d often seen Jerry Mitchell use a mission-related question to pull the captain back on track whenever he found him caught on a specific detail.
“I doubt it, Eng,” Guthrie replied, as he plopped down in the seat. “The man has only been in office for four months, and he’s still trying to get his feet under him. I don’t think he feels comfortable enough to make that kind of decision yet. You also have to remember he came from academia, and people of that ilk are loath to make quick decisions without first thoroughly researching the issue. Particularly if it’s a risky decision.”
“My guys and I can still make the run, sir,” asserted Frederickson confidently. “Especially now that we know what the indications are for a patrol boat that is leaving port.”
“Thank God that the Iranians like to talk. Otherwise we would have searched and searched for a deployment pattern that wasn’t there,” said Simmons.
“The CTs did a great job figuring that mess out, Isaac. We need to make sure that they get a commendation for their outstanding work. Please write up a draft when this op is finished,” Guthrie ordered.
“Yes, sir. I already have a rough draft in the works, and Travis here has graciously provided a few good words from the SEALs,” Simmons responded.
The cryptologic technicians had stumbled across the radio traffic of an IRGC patrol boat as it departed the nearby base at Asaluyeh. After analyzing the sequence of events, they managed to isolate the signal that indicated when the patrol boat had changed course to the northwest and started its patrol run. A little elementary chart work showed they had about forty minutes before the BQCMO sonar would pick up the patrol boat, and another five before the patrol boat would pass within radar range of the proposed route the Zodiac would take to the beach and back. Testing this theory against the last two patrol boats, they found that they had between forty-two and forty- nine minutes after the key signal had been transmitted. Unfortunately, there was no set pattern to the departures.
The length of a patrol appeared to consist of an hour-and-a-half trip up the coast, followed by a quick turnaround, and a backtracking along a reciprocal course back to port. A well-disciplined schedule would have had a patrol boat departing every two hours, but in reality it varied by as much as half an hour, which made part of the mission planning a bit more complex. And the problem wasn’t the run in.
A lightly loaded F470 Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft with a fifty-five-horsepower outboard motor can do about twenty-five knots, which meant the fifteen-nautical-mile trip to the beach could be done in about thirty-five minutes. No, the issue that had the planners chewing on their pencils was the return trip. Fully loaded with ten people, the Zodiac could only make twenty knots, which meant a forty-five-minute trip back to the sub. If a patrol boat were noted leaving port just as the Zodiac reached the shore, timing would be very tight on the way back. But even with this near worst-case scenario, the SEALs felt the odds were still substantially in their favor.
At first, Guthrie was uneasy during the brief back, but Frederickson made a compelling argument that this was their best shot. They still had the element of surprise working for them, and the irregularity of the Iranian patrol schedule meant they would probably have more time, rather than less. He then addressed the low- probability, but high-impact scenarios that would require the SEALs to either fight their way out or abandon the Zodiac, which included the possibility that an Iranian patrol boat skipper might get lazy on them and not bother reporting in as he started his route, thus denying
Guthrie had then looked directly at Frederickson and asked, “And what is your recommended course of action for this situation, Lieutenant?”
“I’d recommend scrubbing the mission, sir,” Frederickson replied without hesitation. Without another word, Guthrie had approved the plan.
Guthrie looked over at the auxiliary display, and the Iranian boat was moving away from them. “That’s better,” he mumbled to himself. He then checked the clock on the bulkhead; it now read 2130. Just as he was about to let loose with a sigh of frustration, the screen flickered to life.
Guthrie reached over and tapped the mute button, turning on the microphone. “This is
“My sincere apologies for the delay. The president has been in some rather intense discussion with the CNO and the national security advisor on your proposed plan. Please standby while I get the rest of the VTC participants up on the channel.”
“Roger, standing by.” Guthrie tapped the mute button again and turned toward his junior officers. “Okay, gentlemen, you are about to enter the stratosphere. The president, several cabinet-level officials, and more stars than a planetarium will be on this teleconference in a moment. Just stay calm, and keep your lips buttoned. If I need anything from you, I’ll ask. Got it?”
The three men nodded as they watched more and more windows opening up on the screen. The main screen showed the president talking to the SECDEF and the CJCS. The smaller windows around the periphery held the conference rooms of two combatant commanders and their subordinate commanders. Just about everyone had a flag officer at the center of the window.
“Oh. My. God,” whispered Harper, his eyes wide with awe.
The unseen speaker in Washington announced, “Mr. President, all commands are present and we are ready to begin.”
“Good afternoon, everyone. I first want to thank you all for dropping everything and making this VTC. I didn’t give you a lot of time, but the situation in Iran demanded we get together and discuss the proposed plan of action for the ASDS incident,” opened Myles. “I also owe you an apology, Captain Guthrie, for keeping you waiting so long. Admiral Hughes here commented that submariners have an inherent loathing of remaining exposed for so long, and that you had probably removed all your fingernails by now.” The admiral’s grin clearly showed he was joking.
Guthrie tapped the mike button. “Well, I hate to disappoint the CNO, sir, but my fingernails are
“You’re being gracious, Captain, and I appreciate that. Now before we get started, would you please introduce the three young men with you?”
“Certainly, sir. To my immediate right is Lieutenant Commander Mike Harper, my engineer and acting executive officer.” Guthrie watched as every senior naval officer suddenly looked confused. “To his right is Lieutenant Isaac Simmons, my navigation and operations officer. And to my left is Lieutenant Travis Frederickson, the SEAL detachment officer in charge.”
“Thank you, Captain. Now to the business at… What?” Myles looked annoyed as Hughes leaned over and whispered a question. Guthrie only heard a few words, but he was pretty sure the CNO wanted to ask him the one question he didn’t want to answer. When President Myles gave his consent, Hughes leaned toward the mike and said, “Captain, did I hear you correctly that your engineer is the acting executive officer?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Captain, where is your XO?”
Guthrie took a depth breath before replying. “He is currently not on board
“What!?! Explain yourself, Captain,” demanded Hughes. It was a good thing the mikes were muted in the conference rooms at SUBPAC, Sub Group Nine, and the Naval Special Warfare Command as each commanding rear admiral had the exact same reaction.
“My ASDS pilot was injured during a physical fitness exercise with the SEALs less than an hour before we got
