Captain.”
“Captain, the fleet has increased speed but their course appears to remain unchanged,” Jannati reported, although the captain had instantaneously detected a change in pitch. He had little doubt the higher frequency indicated that the propellers were turning faster.
“They have gone to General Quarters, but it’s too late,” Captain Rahirimi observed as he watched the carrier through the periscope. “Bearing—mark.”
“Zero-two-zero, Captain,” came the reply.
“Range—mark.”
“Twenty-five-hundred yards.”
“Angle on the bow—thirty degrees,” the captain relayed.
“Captain, I have a firing control solution,” Mustavi, the weapons control officer, announced.
“Very well. Set torpedo running depth for thirty feet,” the captain ordered as he remained focused on the carrier. “It’s time to release the Hoots—fire one.” Seconds later, “fire two” rang out…and again, and again, until all six fish had been set loose. The spread was precise. There was no way the carrier could escape Tareq’s self-propelled messengers of death.
“All torpedoes are running hot, straight, and normal. Time to impact: ninety seconds,” Mustavi announced with exhilaration as the high-pitched whining from the supercavitation torpedoes trailed off.
“Very well. Mustavi, reload all tubes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, the Seraj-ones and Karrars have increased speed and are commencing their attack,” Nasrin reported as Captain Rahirimi watched continuous flashes of light suddenly erupt from all of the vessels in the Carrier Strike Group.
The thick gray haze that had engulfed the fleet earlier had started to lift. As weapons were discharged, great, irregularly-shaped plumes of fire and smoke roared over the waves. Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and a wall of water engulfed the guided-missile cruiser Antietam.
“Captain…”
“Not to worry, Mustavi. The torpedoes from the Yunes have found their mark,” the captain reported, knowing Mustavi was concerned that his torpedoes had detonated prematurely. “How long until impact?” he asked as he watched the naval battle unfold.
“Twenty seconds until the first torpedo hits.”
“Captain, several of the vessels appear to be changing course,” Jannati concluded.
“Very well,” the captain replied, knowing full well that there was no way the carrier could turn in time to escape his grasp.
“Nasrin, it would appear that the infidels might have to adopt a new naval doctrine.”
“Ha, the infidels are not that smart. Besides, how do you have a naval doctrine when the American fleet is no more?” Nasrin chuckled.
Boom—Boom—Boom—BOOM! Four torpedoes, each with a five-hundred-pound high-explosive payload, had slammed into the aircraft carrier. Captain Rahirimi watched as sheets of the once tranquil waters shot hundreds of feet into the air. The crew cheered. Their success was now undeniable.
Suddenly, a multitude of rockets streaked over the water and across the sky toward the fleet. For a brief moment the weapons discharge from the American fleet intensified, and the wall of fire and shrapnel appeared impenetrable. Yet most of the missiles found their mark.
Fires raged and black clouds of smoke billowed skyward within a one-mile radius. Captain Rahirimi turned his attention back toward the carrier. The Stennis was engulfed in flames and listing to port.
Jannati continued to listen intently. Amid all the explosions he detected a well-known sound. “Captain, I’m picking up high-pitched screws. Bearing zero-one-zero. One of the frigates is heading toward us.”
“Got it. It’s a DDG. Open torpedo doors for tubes one and two. Bearing—mark. Range—mark.”
“Zero-one-zero, fifteen hundred yards, Captain.”
“Angle on the bow is zero degrees. Set torpedo depth for thirty feet.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. I have a firing solution.”
“Very well. Down, scope. Fire one—fire two,” Captain Rahirimi ordered calmly. “Right full rudder, come to heading zero-eight-zero. Ten degrees down bubble; make your depth one-five-zero feet.”
“Captain, a down-the-throat shot?”
“Yes, indeed, Nasrin, but it’s difficult to say if the mines or our torpedoes will send her to the bottom first.”
Seconds later, three loud explosions could be heard, followed by several intermittent explosions in the distance.
Captain Rahirimi looked around at his crew. All were smiling and laughing. They had performed admirably. The naval battle had been decisive.
As the submarine Tareq slipped away silently, Captain Rahirimi was convinced that this was a new dawn for the Persian Empire. Only daylight would reveal the extent of the death and devastation. However, this was but one battle. Undoubtedly, greater battles were yet to come.
Jihad bil Saif had been decreed. The Islamic Republic of Iran would once more rule the world. Believe in Allah or be wiped from the face of the earth. Infidels beware, our crusade will soon return to American shores.
“Allah be praised,” Captain Rahirimi whispered as Jannati reported the sounds of ships breaking up and drifting down—down into the depths and the obscurity of time.
Chapter 3
It was a cold day; the air was unusually still, and black, low-lying clouds drifted slowly overhead. The only sound that could be heard was the excessive chirping of thousands of confused birds. They flew in one giant, turbulent circle over the little town of Carencrow, located on the banks of the Cajun River in southern Louisiana. Oddly enough, this funnel cloud of wings appeared to touch down over Carencrow Regional Hospital, an affiliate of Lambed HCA. However, instead of creating a vortex powerful enough to suck up this monstrous for-profit hospital, nothing but droppings rained down.
It was October 31, and a massive storm was approaching the little town. Suddenly, in the distance, multiple lightning bolts shot toward the earth. The light was blinding, and the energy reflecting off the ominous clouds gave the town an eerie glow. Soon thereafter, the sound of the rolling thunder could be heard far off in the distance. All that was missing was the deadly warlock and his ravenous pack of goons and goblins. However, they were soon to arrive, as the workday was about to begin.
GeeHad Bin-Sad, founder, president and chief executive officer of Lambed HCA, had just arrived at the hospital. It was 5:00 a.m. He parked his Bentley on the sacred ground reserved for his eminence. As he stepped from his car, he looked toward the sky, thinking how much he loved stormy days such as this one. But it was neither the awe-inspiring force of nature nor the sweet smell of the approaching rain that captivated him; it was the thought of cash flow. He knew so very well that inclement weather generated more traffic accidents, resulted in more heart attacks and strokes, and exacerbated the inherent paranoia of the simple
