by the destruction of the John C. Stennis Carrier Strike Group as it traverses the Strait of Hormuz and enters the Persian Gulf.
As this crisis of unimaginable magnitude escalates, little attention is paid to several blue, bloated, and grossly disfigured Asian sailors who wash ashore in Galveston, Texas. Likewise, the North Korean cargo ship Il-sung is able to slip into Whiskey Bay, Louisiana, unnoticed, where she off-loads her weapon of mass destruction.
As more Asian sailors become deathly ill from the many weeks spent at sea in close proximity to their lethal cargo, they are transferred to a small hospital in Carencrow, Louisiana, for treatment. Dr. Rex Bent, an emergency room physician, immediately becomes suspicious and notifies the proper authorities.
With their coup de gras in jeopardy, the Islamic extremists realize that not only Dr. Bent, but also his wife and confidant Trissy, must be eliminated without raising suspicion. Pursued and hounded like traitors who have betrayed their country, the Bents are in a race against time, determined to discover the significance of Prussian Blue.
Chapter 1
The diesel engines roared to life, disrupting the peace and tranquility of a glorious evening. The skies were clear and the moon nearly full as all hands hastily made preparations for sea. Moments later, the order was given to cast off all lines, and the Soviet-built Kilo class submarines, Tareq (901) and Yunes (903), were underway.
The propellers dug into the warm, dark waters, leaving an eerie, phosphorescent glow in their wake. Tricolored flags with bright bands of green, white, and red snapped in the breeze, and the gray exhaust from the diesel engines quickly whisked away as these ships of war entered the Gulf of Oman. The naval base in Jask soon faded into the distance.
A-uga, a-uga, a-uga, the alarms wailed as the order, “Dive—dive—dive,” rang throughout each boat. Instantaneously there was a loud collective hissing sound, and large clouds of white mist clung to each hull as air was released from the ballast tanks. Soon, the decks were awash. Silently, both diesel-electric boats slipped beneath the surface. They immediately changed course and increased speed. Their direction: north/northwest. Their mission: to honor the great and glorious Islamic Republic of Iran.
Eighteen hours later, the Tareq and Yunes slipped through the Strait of Hormuz and entered the Persian Gulf. The sun had just begun to set, casting a magnificent orange glow, which would soon retreat beyond the horizon. The crew had just been informed of the mission, and their spirits soared.
“Sonar, do you have any contacts?” Captain Rahirimi, commanding officer of the Tareq, inquired.
“No, Captain,” Seaman Jannati responded without hesitation.
“Very well. Raise the snorkel and recharge the batteries,” the captain ordered. “Nasrin, find me the American fleet.”
“Yes sir, with pleasure,” the executive officer replied enthusiastically as the satellite antenna pierced the surface. Nasrin had the utmost confidence that soon the captain would gain all the valuable intelligence necessary for their rendezvous with destiny.
“Up, periscope,” the captain ordered.
“Lieutenant Sadeq, what’s our position?”
“Two miles south/southeast of the island of Tunb al Kubra, Captain,” the navigator responded as the captain looked through the periscope, adjusted the focus, and shuffled his feet in a clockwise manner. Slowly, he completed a 360-degree turn. The sun had set, and the moon’s reflection sparkled off the gently rolling waves, making the scene surreal. There were no vessels in sight. “Down, scope.”
“Captain, the American fleet is twenty-four miles south/southwest of the Strait of Hormuz,” Nasrin proclaimed as the captain walked over to the computer screen for a better tactical picture. “Isn’t Google Earth fantastic?” Nasrin chuckled. A red pin marked the position of the fleet. After a few keystrokes, the Tareq’s position appeared, as well as the fleet’s projected course, speed, and time to intercept. “The American fleet will be here at o-three-hundred.”
“Excellent. Is our sister boat Yunes in position?”
“Yes, sir, and awaiting your orders,” Nasrin confirmed.
“And what of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard’s operations coordinator on Tunb al Sughra?”
“Major Sayyari reports six Zolfaghar (Seraj-one) fast attack patrol boats have just pulled into the cove on the westerly side of the island. The Karrar ‘Ambassador of Death’ drones are ready for launch, and our frigate Jamaran is in position five miles north/northwest of the island.”
“Very well. Inform the major that the anticipated time of the attack is o-three-hundred. Also, request he order the Jamaran to stop all outbound traffic in the shipping lane, effective immediately,” Captain Rahirimi ordered.
“Yes, sir, it will be done.”
“Jannati, any sonar contacts?”
“No, Captain,” the sonarman responded as the captain looked at his watch. It was 2100, and all was proceeding as planned.
“Nasrin, instruct Captain Taqipour and Yunes to begin mine-laying operations as instructed.”
“Yes, sir,” the executive officer replied before whispering, “Allah be praised.”
“Helm, left standard rudder. Come to course two-seven-zero. All ahead slow.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Hasan, commence mine-laying operations. Deploy all sixteen mines at three-hundred-yard intervals,” the captain ordered.
“Yes, Captain,” Hasan replied as the first of the Russian MDM-UDM 1100-kilogram mines rolled off the specialized mine rack secured to the hull. Slowly and silently, it drifted toward the sandy seabed. Captain Rahirimi felt a surge of pride. The Soviet mines would detonate in response to acoustic, magnetic, or pressure influences within a fifty-yard radius.
Yunes was on a parallel course one mile to the north. Iranian intelligence had reported that the USS Olympia (SSN-717) had deployed with the carrier strike group. Undoubtedly, she would operate two miles ahead of the John C. Stennis Carrier Strike Group, and on a track that would take her and the fleet directly to the United States Naval base in Juffair, Bahrain.
The trap was soon to be set. The Los Angeles class attack submarine would slip through unharmed, not knowing the gruesome fate that awaited the surface ships and their shipmates. The fleet would be vulnerable to attack by sea and air. As with all battles, confusion and panic would ensue, and victory would be theirs.
Captain Rahirimi had developed a passion for naval warfare. Sea Power: A Naval History by E. B. Potter and Chester W. Nimitz had proven invaluable in his intellectual pursuit. He alone had devised the battle plan and considered every contingency. Yet over and over again he rehearsed the execution of his plan.
Initially, all vessels in the Carrier Strike Group would bring up flank speed and take evasive action. However, the wind was blowing from the north. Should the carrier somehow survive the torpedo attack, she would have to turn to the north in order to launch her aircraft.
The escort ships would have three, and only three, options: they could continue to screen the carrier, attack Yunes and Tareq, or turn broadside in order to bring all weapons to bear on the frontal assault
