program to suffer one delay after another. Test trials had shown that accurately tracking a torpedo in the water was considerably harder than tracking a missile in the air, even though the latter was many times faster. But despite the less-than-desired hit rates, everyone agreed they were better than nothing.
The three underwater missiles closed each other at a combined speed of eighty knots. In a little under twenty seconds, the first ATT streaked past the Iranian weapon — a clean miss. The second ATT, however, locked on, homed, and exploded within inches of the incoming torpedo, destroying it.
The entire crew cheered when they heard the explosion. They had “harpooned their whale!” Everyone hugged each other and patted their captain on the back. He had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard. “Be quiet! Man your posts!” he screamed angrily.
The men, chastised by their captain, returned to their duties but they still bubbled with excitement and joy. Lieutenant Commander Khadem looked at his skipper with confusion. He was just as perplexed by Mehr’s behavior as everyone else in the central post. Leaning over, he whispered, “What’s wrong, sir? Aren’t you pleased? You nailed that American dog!”
Mehr simply shook his head, it just didn’t feel right. “It was too easy, Navid. Far too easy.”
“But everything worked just as you planned,” the first officer protested. “You foresaw everything. Truly Allah has given you a great victory!”
“Perhaps,” Mehr replied quietly. “If so, then it costs us nothing to indulge my caution. We will stay on this course for a little longer, then turn west and slow down. Once those jammers die off, we’ll know for certain if we got him. In the meantime, we remain at battle stations.”
The explosion caused
“Amen!” cried Zelinski.
Guthrie chuckled, but quickly composed himself. That was just round one. This fight wasn’t over yet. Looking around, he could see everyone in the control room staring at him, waiting for him to tell them what he was going to do next. Clearing his throat, he announced the basic tenet of his battle plan.
“Attention in Control. My intention is to stay on this course for a few more minutes to clear datum. I will then slow and come about to the southwest and attempt to find the Kilo. Once we detect him, I will deploy a mobile decoy to draw him away and maneuver the boat into position to engage with a Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo. Carry on.”
The captain’s declaration to shoot back electrified everyone in the control room. No submarine had ever fired a Mark 48 in anger, and the very idea jumpstarted the fire control party to provide the best possible firing solution. With his battle plan articulated, Guthrie had time to just think. Immediately, he found his thoughts going back to Jerry and the SEALs. He’d abandoned them, left them alone to fight a far superior enemy.
Guthrie joined Simmons on the periscope stand; he needed to take a look at the sonar display. The Iranian Kilo was still out there. But before he could find them, he had to clear his own countermeasure. After waiting patiently for several minutes, Guthrie started acting on his battle strategy.
“Weps, make tubes one and two ready in all respects, with the exception of opening the outer doors.”
“Make tubes one and two ready in all respects, with the exception of opening the outer doors, aye, sir,” repeated the weapons officer eagerly.
“Alright, people, here we go,” said Guthrie. “Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”
“All ahead two-thirds, aye, sir. Maneuvering answers ahead two-thirds.”
“Very well, helm. Left fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course two two five.”
“My rudder is left fifteen, coming to course two two five.”
Guthrie reached up to the intercom. “Sonar, Conn, we are coming left to clear the ADCs, keep a sharp ear to the south.”
“Conn, Sonar, aye,” Buckley replied.
“Helmsman, left standard rudder. Steady on course two seven zero. Make turns for four knots,” ordered Mehr.
“My rudder is left standard, coming to new course two seven zero. Speed is slowing to four knots,” acknowledged the helmsman.
“Very well.” Mehr rose and looked around the central post. He wanted to make sure everyone was listening to him.
“Attention in Central Post. We are separating from our jammers to enable us to search for the American. I am not yet convinced we got him, so stay focused on your duties.
Khadem listened to Mehr’s proclamation and noted the emphasis on not becoming complacent. While he was still skeptical, his captain was the best in the Iranian Navy, and he didn’t get that way by pandering to the senior officers with showy demonstrations. Mehr knew his boat, and his men. If he had an itch between his shoulders, it was because something wasn’t quite right.
“Sir, tubes two and four have been reloaded. And another MG-24 jammer is in the countermeasure launcher,” Khadem reported.
“Very good, First Officer.” Mehr’s eyes remained focused on the sonar display.
Khadem hesitated, standing by his captain, struggling to find the rights words with which to question him, to ask him to justify his actions.
“You’re still convinced we got him, aren’t you, Navid?” Mehr preempted him.
“Yes, sir. Everything points to that,” the embarrassed first officer replied.
“And you want to know why I don’t agree?” There was a slight smile on Mehr’s face. Khadem nodded silently.
“I don’t for a moment believe the Pasdaran’s propaganda about Americans,” the captain spoke sternly. “The Americans are more professional than the Pasdaran could ever hope to be. And they don’t normally promote fools to be captains of their submarines. My intuition tells me that this captain is not a fool, and he had a trick up his sleeve. No, I don’t think we hit him. The weapon may have detonated because of the countermeasure, but my gut tells me he’s still out there listening for us. If I’m wrong, we have nothing to lose by remaining vigilant for another hour. If I’m right, it just might save our lives.”
It was a long three minutes. Guthrie paced around the periscope stand, pausing only to look occasionally at the sonar display. Nothing. The ADC Mark 4 sonar jammer he had deployed was exceptionally loud and affected the BQCKLO hull arrays just as much as their adversary’s sensors. They had to get clear so the fancy signal processing equipment could digitally screen out the influences of their countermeasure.
“Conn, Sonar, new contact, bearing one three five. Designate new contact Sierra-five seven.”
“Sonar, Conn, aye,” replied Simmons. Guthrie was already on his way to the sonar shack.
“What do you have for me, Woody?” Guthrie asked eagerly, as he entered the darkened space where four sonar operators worked their magic.
Buckley pointed to the passive broadband display showing the input from the spherical array. “Here is the weak trace we just picked up off the sphere. There is nothing on the low frequency bow array — no narrowband tonals — but without a towed array we can’t be confident of this. The initial cut on bearing rate suggests he’s close, about two degrees per minute, drawing left. My chief here says it’s a submerged contact, and I concur, sir.”
Although Buckley couldn’t see it, there was a big grin on Guthrie’s face. “Well done, gentlemen, well done. We’ll stay on this course for another minute or two, and get a good first leg. Then I’ll turn us to the southeast.
