Exit Plan

of Iran’s three Kilo-class submarines, she was well past the point for her midlife overhaul. As with most things in life, equipment tends to break down more often with age. Still, his crew had done a fantastic job keeping the old girl running. They’d just completed a seven-day patrol in the Gulf of Oman, and it went off without a hitch. Mehr signed the request and hoped that half of the items would be approved.

A knock at his cabin door drew his attention away from the cluttered desk. A junior officer poked in his head and said, “Pardon the intrusion, Captain. But you are needed topside.”

Mehr closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he really didn’t need this distraction right now. “Lieutenant Kashani, you are the duty officer. I’m sure you can handle the situation.”

“Yes, sir. I tried,” Kashani complained. “But the man refuses to leave. He says he’s under direct orders to load the weapons he brought tonight.”

“What!? What weapons?”

“He just drove down onto the pier next to us with ten torpedoes and demanded that we help him load them.”

“But we just unloaded all our weapons this afternoon,” exclaimed Mehr, confused.

“Yes, sir. I told him that.”

“Surely they must be for Nuh.” Mehr gestured in the direction of their sister ship berthed behind them.

“No, sir. The transfer documents clearly list Yunes, hull 903, as the recipient. Here is the manifest.” Kashani handed the clipboard to his captain, who thumbed through it quickly. A sudden frown appeared on his face.

“These are all antisubmarine torpedoes,” Mehr remarked. “And this is over half again what we normally carry.”

Kashani nodded hesitantly. He was just as bewildered as his captain.

“And he wants to load them now? In the dark?”

“Yes, sir, he was very clear about that. Now you understand why you are needed topside.”

Mehr tossed the clipboard back to the lieutenant, and with one smooth motion he stood and snatched his ball cap from off its hook. “All right, Kashani, let’s go see what form of madness possesses this individual.”

The lieutenant moved out of the way as his captain headed aft toward the ladder well. Mehr leapt through the watertight door and then swiftly climbed the steps into the control room. The bridge access trunk was close by, and with little effort, Mehr scampered up the ladder to the bridge. After threading his way around some masts, he emerged from a hatch on the starboard side of the sail. Walking around the sail, Mehr returned the salute of his quarterdeck watch and strode down the brow.

On the pier was a truck and five weapons dollies, each one bearing two torpedoes. An impatient-looking lieutenant commander was pacing in front of the truck. Before Mehr could address the officer, a voice greeted him from behind.

“Good evening, Captain.”

Mehr turned and saw his squadron commander, Captain Aghassi, approaching him. He snapped to attention and rendered the proper honors. “Good evening, sir.”

“I’m sorry to spring this on you without warning, Ebrahim. I need your crew to begin loading these torpedoes immediately. In the meantime, you will come with me,” Aghassi ordered.

Surprised, Mehr hesitated for only a few seconds. “Yes, sir. I’ll get my men started at once.” Pivoting smartly, he faced his duty officer and issued a string of commands. “Lieutenant Kashani, find the first officer and inform him I’ve been called to an unexpected meeting with the squadron commander. He is to begin loading these torpedoes immediately. Have him ensure extra safety precautions are taken, as we will be loading in the dark. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Also, have him begin preparations for getting underway. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” exclaimed the young officer. Filled with excitement, he turned around and ran back up the gangplank.

Aghassi smiled as they walked toward the squadron building. “You’re very perceptive to assume that you’ll be ordered to sea soon, Ebrahim.”

Mehr chuckled. “With respect, sir. A blind man could see that one coming. Why else would you have me load weapons in the dark, unless I was to put to sea early in the morning. I am confused though about the loadout. Why only antisubmarine torpedoes?”

The expression on the squadron commander’s face changed abruptly. His tone as he spoke was stern. “Captain, the mission briefing you are about to attend will be politically charged, but also vital, I repeat, absolutely vital, to the security of the Islamic Republic. Do not say the mission cannot be done. Do not say there is little chance of success. In fact, my advice to you is to say as little as possible.”

The submarine captain stopped suddenly and faced his superior, a feeling of dread welling up within him. “Are you saying I can’t give my professional opinion or ask questions about this upcoming mission, sir?” Mehr asked pointedly.

Aghassi shook his head. “No, Ebrahim. You are my best submarine commanding officer, and your words will have considerable weight. I’m merely suggesting that you use as few as possible. You can say the mission will be a challenge. You can even say it will be difficult, but you cannot say it is nearly impossible.”

“Even if I believe it is?” asked Mehr, seeking clarification.

“Even if you believe it is,” replied Aghassi.

The two men finished their walk to the squadron headquarters building in silence. A guard opened the door and saluted as they entered. Aghassi led the way down the corridor to the conference room, the sounds of a heated debate spilling out into the hallway. Mehr’s feeling of apprehension grew with each step. Just what sort of mess was he getting into?

As they passed through the doorway, Mehr saw two admirals, one Pasdaran, one Artesh, or regular navy, seated at the conference table along with a few staff officers. The Pasdaran and Artesh were two separate armed forces serving the same nation. They competed for scarce funds and political power. And each service thought the other was an ineffective joke. Politically charged indeed, thought Mehr. The two admirals sat at opposite ends of the long table.

“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