shipment …”
“It is indeed, sir—I have my best men on it,” Tufayli said. “I will show you right away.” Dodging running men and jet aircraft engine blast, Tufayli led the way across the steel non-slip deck, over countless hoses, ropes, cables, chain, to the huge island superstructure and the hatch that would take them below. Buzhazi noted with some amusement that the huge white flag with the hammer and sickle of the Soviet navy was still barely visible on the flat side of the superstructure just above the hatch—Allah help us, he thought, if we don’t even have enough paint to cover that properly, what kind of shape can this tub be in when it comes time to take it into combat? The aircraft hangar deck was so choked with planes, men, aircraft-moving equipment, tools, spare engines and fabricated steel parts, and thousands of unrecognizable odds and ends that the flag contingent could hardly pass through.
Here, Chinese maintenance officers worked side by side with Iranian officers, but only Iranians worked on the planes themselves—the Chinese maintenance workers crowded around and watched. All but two of the Khomeini’s twenty-four fighters and all but two of the ship’s sixteen helicopters were parked down here, all in various stages of repair—none of them looked as though they could fly right now if needed. Security was tightened considerably as they moved forward to the double-walled steel bulkhead that separated the hangar from the missile bay forward.
The next compartment forward was just as high and wide as the hangar deck, and almost as long, but unlike the hangar deck, there was plenty of room to move around, and it was blissfully quiet, almost somber, as befitting the kind of weapons fitted here. “Here we are, sir,” Tufayli announced proudly. “This compartment is the reason that, even without its Sukhoi-33 fighters, the Khomeini would still be one of the most devastating warships on the planet.”
There before them, in two rows of six, stood the steel launch canisters of the Khomeini’s P-700 Granit medium-range attack missiles. Each canister was six feet in diameter and thirty-six feet long, stretching far above, all the way to the flight deck.
Cranes and hoisting devices were strung everywhere on deck to move the 11,000-pound missiles in the compartment. “We have no reloads now, sir,” Tufayli said. “but when we have enough missiles to allow for reloads, they will be stored in a shielded magazine in the area by the bulkheads fore and aft. All the carrier’s missiles, including the P-700s, are transferred through the hatch on the port-side—we have the proper equipment to allow under-way missile transfers, although most transfers will probably be at dockside. Missiles are transferred from the magazine via the cranes to be loaded in the launch canisters.”
Tufayli motioned to the weapons officer. A warning light began to flash, and one of the launch canisters began to lower itself down to the deck, like a giant sequoia slowly falling to the forest floor. Once on the deck, the top part of the canister swiveled open toward the side of the ship, revealing the missile inside.
It looked like a long, thin, winged needle, with a narrow cylindrical body, short, narrow, steeply angled wings, and small aft wings. A small air intake could be seen on top of the missile. On the aft end, two long cylindrical detachable booster motors were mounted nearly flush with the engine exhaust tailpipe.
The missile was a spongy light gray color except for the nose cap, which was hard red plastic, and a section near the front that was outlined in yellow and black.
“The P-700 Granit anti-ship missile, the largest and most powerful anti-ship weapon in the world,” Tufayli said proudly. “It can fly over twice the speed of sound to ranges in excess of six hundred kilometers. It is guided by its own inertial navigation computer until within fifty kilometers of its target, when it activates its own onboard radar, locks onto the largest radar target in its line of sight, and guides itself precisely on target. The missile blasts out of the launch canister on those two rocket motors to about Mach one, when the turbojet engine takes over. It flies a powered ballistic path up to thirty thousand meters’ altitude until very close to the target, when it executes a high-speed dive—almost impossible to shoot down with any known antiaircraft weapons. This rubbery coating burns off during its flight to protect the guidance and warhead sections.”
“And the warhead?”.Buzhazi asked.
Tufayli turned to the weapons officer, who assured him that all nonessential personnel were out of the compartment, then he nodded to Buzhazi. “Yes, sir,” he said, “this is what you wanted to see—the NK-55 thermonuclear warhead”—and Tufayli slapped his hand on the yellow-and-black bordered section. The sudden slap sound made them all jump. “Selectable yield from five-hundred-kilogram high explosive to three-hundred-kiloton nuclear. Barometric and radar altimeter fusing, detonating two to three thousand meters above the target., with impact backup.”
“Do you think it is wise to slap that warhead like that, Admiral?”
Buzhazi asked acidly.
“Perfectly safe, sir,” Tufayli the idiot replied, not understanding Buzhazi’s meaning at all—Buzhazi meant to ask if he thought it was wise for Tufayli’s career and continued good health to be scaring the chief of staff like that.
“Yes … and the other canisters …?”
“Still all one-thousand-kilo high-explosive contact warheads on all the rest,” Tufayli replied. “We look forward to getting more warheads such as this one for our other missiles.”
“That appears unlikely,” General Buzhazi said, “unless we can convince the President that the Islamic Republic needs more nuclear warheads to counter our enemies in the Persian Gulf region and elsewhere.”
“President Nateq-Nouri would be happier, I think, if Iran had no warships or missiles at all,” Tufayli said. “This proposal to ban all warships from the Persian Gulf and Gulf of Oman? Ridiculous.
You should advise the President that it would be in all of our best interests to continue an aggressive weapons buildup and develop a better indigenous weapons manufacturing-“
“Yes, yes, Admiral, you are correct, of course,” Buzhazi interrupted, shutting off this egotistical, strutting popinjay.
Any other officer would be immediately dismissed for trying to tell Buzhazi how to do his job—but he needed Tufayli to outfit this battle group and get it out into the Gulf of Oman, where it would have maximum psychological effect against the GCC and the West … or could be best used to spearhead a drive to close off … the Persian Gulf, and ultimately propel himself to the presidency.
“How soon can you be on station in the Gulf of Oman, Admiral?”
Buzhazi asked, as he headed for the hatch to go back up on deck.
“We have a few minor repairs to conclude, nothing too serious,” Tufayli said. “We should be fully operational, with a full complement of aircraft and weapons, in two days.”
Judging by the looks of things in the aircraft hangar, Buzhazi thought, this idiot Tufayli wouldn’t be ready to fight for two years, but he didn’t say that. Instead: “Very well, Admiral.
Good work. In two days, I will see you on station in the Gulf of Oman, ready to counter any seagoing force which may threaten the sovereignty of the Islamic Republic. Good luck, and good hunting.”
“Thank you, sir!” Tufayli said in his best academy parade voice.
“You will be pleased and gratified by the trust you have placed in me.”
Just don’t get sunk by your own stupidity, Tufayli, Buzhazi thought. Do what I will tell you to do, whatever I tell you to do, and you will do just fine. When it comes time to launch that missile, don’t think about it—just do it.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
20 APRIL 1997, 0906 HOURS ET
“A mysterious attack on an island in the Persian Gulf that some claim was perpetrated by the United States against Iran; a bold so-called defensive move by Iran’s new aircraft carrier battle group into the Gulf of Oman, punctuated by a recent deadly attack against an unarmed rescue vessel; a military arms buildup by Iran, Turkey, and Pakistan unprecedented in two decades,” Tim Russert, the host of NBC News’ “Meet the Press,” began. “In the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union and the glut of high-tech weapons of mass destruction on the world’s arms market, the Middle East is becoming an even more dangerous powder keg. Is it ready to explode?
“Joining us to help put all this in perspective is today’s very special guest, the Vice President of the United States, Ellen Christine Whiting. Madam Vice President, welcome to ‘Meet the Press.”
“Thank you, Tim.” The image of Russert, the “saber-toothed teddy bear,” flashed in her mind, almost making her laugh, and instead prompting her famous “ten-million vote” smile.
“Finding the first one hundred days challenging enough, Madam Vice President?” Russert asked.
It was the patented Russert disarming tactic, she thought: hit the guest with his boyish, chubby-faced smile,
