Rahim tapped his fingers on the coaming. It had been over thirty minutes since they’d left Bandar Lengeh and there was still nothing on the radar screen. Visibility had improved considerably as soon as the sun broke over the horizon, but the lookouts had spotted nothing. Agitated, impatient, and just a little green from the patrol boat’s choppy motion, the VEVAK agent was in a foul mood. “Lieutenant! You said we should have detected them by now!”
“Yes, Major, I did. However, there were a number of assumptions behind that statement. If even one was incorrect, then the estimate would have been incorrect as well.” Qorbani kept his tone respectful; this wasn’t the first time he had to deal with someone that didn’t understand the maritime patrol problem.
“Could they have gone more to the west?” demanded Rahim.
“Of course they could have, sir. But to escape Iran, they have to move away from our coast, not parallel it. Besides, such a course would send them directly toward one of our secondary bases on Kish Island. A westerly course would be foolish. Since these are not fools we are dealing with, a southerly escape course makes the most sense. There is nothing more we can do but continue on toward the intercept point and wait,” Qorbani answered.
Rahim didn’t like the lieutenant’s answer, but his explanation was logical. Frowning, he peered through his binoculars, straining to catch some sign of his prey.
Suddenly, Qorbani shook Rahim’s shoulder. He turned to see the Pasdaran lieutenant on the radio. He repeated the contact report back for accuracy, as well as for Rahim’s benefit. “Understand the ten-meter RIB has contact on a high-speed craft heading south-southwest. Visual contact expected in four minutes.”
Jerry leaned against the forward part of the control console and scanned the starboard side. “Nothing yet, Matt,” he reported.
“Keep looking, XO. He’s only about three miles away, broad on our starboard beam,” shouted Ramey, as he watched the UAV video feed. “Yeah, they have us on radar. One of the sailors keeps pointing in our general direction.”
Fazel had tucked Shirin as far forward in the small boat as he could. She wore one of the tactical vests and her head was sandwiched between two of the backpacks. It wasn’t much protection. A direct hit from any of the larger Iranian weapons would likely go right through, but it would provide her some shielding from splinters if the boat’s hull was hit.
At the opposite end of the boat, Ramey and Lapointe had wrapped two tactical vests around the head of the outboard engine and stacked the remaining packs along the back end. Again, the protection was minimal. A.50 caliber bullet would have no problem going through, but smaller rounds might be stopped. Ramey also set up firing positions for Fazel and himself, the goal being to limit their exposure while hopefully reducing the effects of the boat’s movement on their own shots.
Lapointe tried to assume a prone position, but the bouncing hull kept slamming into the knee on his wounded leg. And try as he might, the pain made even limited aiming impossible. Both he and Jerry would provide supporting fire from behind the console. Phillips volunteered to stay on as the driver. He and Ramey went over a basic evasive steering plan that would complicate the Iranians’ ability to hit them, but not limit their field of fire. Being the most exposed, Phillips wore the last vest. After a short discussion, it was decided that Jerry would be the backup driver in case Phillips was wounded and incapable of steering the boat.
“Tallyho!” shouted Jerry. “Contact just abaft the starboard beam!” He made repeated motions with his arm, pointing in the general direction of the Iranian patrol boat.
Ramey raised his scope and swiftly confirmed the sighting. “Got it, XO! Okay, everyone, take your positions.”
Shirin was shaking with fear. Never had she felt so exposed, so isolated. She let go of Fazel’s hand with great reluctance, and only after he repeatedly said he had to take his place aft. As he left he motioned for her to get down and stay down. Without Yousef’s reassuring presence, she felt utterly alone huddled up in the bow.
While the corpsman scooted passed Jerry to his defensive position, Lapointe loaded a high-explosive dual- purpose 40mm grenade into the launcher mounted on his SCAR. He only had eight grenades and he planned to use them sparingly.
During the planning, Ramey had instructed Lapointe to wait until the patrol boat steadied itself, an indicator that they were probably going to shoot, and then fire a grenade at their bow. Jerry was uncertain of what Ramey hoped to achieve with this tactic and asked Lapointe, “Pointy, how can you possibly expect to hit a small, high- speed craft with such a low-velocity weapon?”
Lapointe at first looked at Jerry incredulously, then snickered. “Who said anything about hitting them, XO? That would be the golden BB of all time! The boss figures that the Iranians will turn wide enough to avoid the grenade, giving him or Doc a clear shot at an outboard.”
“Oh, yeah. Disregard the silly question,” Jerry replied, feeling more than a little embarrassed. Lapointe laughed.
Although the RIB had been spotted at a range of nearly five thousand yards, this was far beyond the range of any weapon on either side. For seven agonizing minutes, Jerry and the SEALs could only watch as the Iranian patrol boat slowly closed on them. Through his sight, Jerry could see the long, slender wedge bouncing on the waves, throwing water out to either side. He knew they’d have to slow down considerably if they expected to hit anything. With the hull undulating up and down as the Pasdaran boat skipped along, he could see the machine gun barrel wandering all over the place. Sometimes it wasn’t even visible as the boat’s hull pitched upward.
Lapointe had taken over monitoring the UAV feed from Ramey. Both he and Fazel were now in a prone firing position, their weapons resting on the boat’s transom and held firmly against their shoulders. “Shot warning!” Lapointe sang out. “The gunner has just pulled back on the cocking handle.”
“Steady on course, Philly,” Ramey shouted. “Don’t turn until Pointy tells you to.” The junior enlisted gave him a thumbs-up sign, acknowledging the order.
Jerry leaned over and looked at the UAV feed. The unmanned aircraft was bore-sighted on the RIB, keeping a steady eye on the pilot and gunner. It felt bizarre to be watching in real time as someone took shots at you, sort of like looking at a video game in reverse.
“Shot! Right slow!” yelled Lapointe. He could see a flare of infrared energy around the muzzle as the weapon fired. Phillips altered course slightly to starboard. The splashes from the rounds landed well to port.
“He fired too soon,” criticized Ramey, then he said to his men, “Hold your fire. He needs to get a lot closer.”
The Iranian crew didn’t seem to realize this as another three wild volleys were fired before they stopped and concentrated on closing the range. Within another couple of minutes, the range had shortened to less than five hundred yards. This was the point when Phillips would begin using more radical turns to chase the splashes of the previous burst, to throw off the Iranian gunner’s aim.
“Shot! Left hard,” Lapointe called out again. Phillips banked the boat hard left. The splashes were to the right; immediately he shifted his rudder, and headed in their direction. The RIB was starting to get really close.
“Now, Pointy!” Ramey commanded. Lapointe raised his weapon, placed his sights ahead of the RIB’s bow and pulled the trigger. A dull pop and a little smoke was the only sign the grenade launcher had been fired. Seconds later a small white plume of water marked the explosion. As anticipated, the Iranian turned hard right and Ramey and Fazel took a couple of aimed shots. Both missed.
“He’s got to get closer, Boss,” Fazel observed. Ramey nodded his agreement.
The RIB crew recovered quickly from their rude surprise and brought their racing boat back on to a pursuit course. The two boats weaved back and forth, the range dropping with each turn. During their maneuvers, Lapointe fired off another three grenades, each shot a little closer to the Iranian boat than the one before. Each time they
