Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 (11 page)

 
          
As
they sped away from the ship, Jon Masters remembered the first day he set foot
on the
Valley Mistress
about three
months earlier. He had thought it was the ugliest thing afloat. It had a cleft
bow for hoisting things up from the bow cranes up on deck; two huge cranes, one
twenty-ton aft and one ten-ton forward; plus lots of standpipes and hoses and
other weird things jutting out from the deck and superstructure that just made
it look cluttered and made it hard to move around without banging knees or
elbows on things. Now it seemed like the most welcome sight on earth, and he
wished he was back on deck, complaining about the lack of windows, the poor TV
reception, the lack of fresh water, the boring menu, and the out-of-date
videotape library.

 
          
The
dim green light of the electronic viewfinder illuminated the Stinger launcher
crewman’s right eye as he raised the weapon and pointed it to the north.
“Datalink active,” he reported. “One fighter inbound from the north, range
twenty klicks. I’ve got another slow-mover, possibly another patrol helicopter,
orbiting about ten klicks north of the ship.”

 
          
“Maybe
the fighter and the chopper will have a meeting of their minds,” one Marine
quipped.

 
          
“Button
it,” Cromwell ordered. “If it flies within four klicks of our position and
doesn’t squawk friendly, kill it. And I want you bozos to set a new record for
readying a second missile for launch. Maxwell, keep an eye out for lifeboat
number—”

 
          
Suddenly
a bright orange ball of fire erupted from the starboard side of the
Valley Mistress,
followed by another
directly alongside. The sound of the explosion followed a few seconds later,
and to Jon Masters it felt like a red-hot fist punching him in the face. “Oh,
shit, they’re
hit!”

 
          
“Target
bearing zero-niner-zero, ten klicks!” the gunner yelled.

           
“Helm, starboard turn heading
north!” Cromwell ordered. “I want that hostile kept on the starboard beam!” The
helmsman swung the tiller over and pointed the lifeboat north. Everybody ducked
and scrambled out of the way as the Stinger crew reoriented themselves and
reacquired the Iranian fighter.

 
          
The
Valley Mistress
was partially
illuminated from the fires on the portside—it was already listing heavily. “Get
off that thing, dammit, it’s sinking! ” Masters shouted to anybody that might
still be on board the stricken ship. The lifeboat swung farther east as the
fighter flew closer. Just then, they saw a Stinger missile launched from the
helo deck of the ship. The missile and the gunner on the lifeboat were lined
up—the Stinger missile appeared to be tracking perfectly—but then they saw
several blobs of bright white floating in the sky, followed by a bright but
brief explosion. “Flare decoys,” Masters said. “The fighter got away.”

 
          
“No
way!” the Stinger gunner on the lifeboat shouted. “Range three miles! Weapon
charged .. . negative IFF response! Two miles .. . lost contact! Lost the
datalink!”

 
          
“Uncage!
” Cromwell shouted. It would be almost impossible for the gunner to find the
fighter in the dark, but Cromwell wasn’t about to let it get away. The
missile’s seeker head was their last chance. “Find that fighter! ”

 
          
The
gunner squeezed the uncage button, still swinging right to follow what he
thought was its flight path. He got a lock-on signal right away. “Locked on!
Clear me to fire! ”

 
          
Cromwell
thought for a moment: if the Stinger missed, they’d have highlighted themselves
to the fighter. The helicopter might come after them then ... but the others
might be safe, might have time to make it. “Clear to fire! ” Cromwell shouted.

 
          
“Missile
away!” the gunner shouted as he superelevated the launcher and squeezed the
trigger. The missile popped out of the launcher, its main rocket motor ignition
seemingly close enough to touch. The Stinger missile heeled sharply north, the
motor burned out. . . and seconds later, they saw another bright glob of light
and a streak of fire drawn across the night sky. “Got the motherfucker!” the
gunner shouted. They saw the streak of fire continue north—it was on fire, but
apparendy still flying.

 
          
“A
half a kill is better than nothing,” Cromwell said as the crew fitted another
missile onto the firing grip assembly. In twenty seconds they were ready to
fire a second round.

 
          
The
helmsman turned the lifeboat back on a westerly heading, toward shore but away
from the brightly burning ship. It was hard to pick out details, but the shape
was different; it was listing heavily to port, almost capsized, Jon Masters
guessed. He had never seen a ship sink for real before—even from this distance,
it was horrifying. They could hear hisses and pops and tearing, grinding metal
sounds roll across the water; then, several minutes later, nothing. The ship
was out of sight a few minutes later, lost forever.

The white House,
Washington
,
D.C.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

 
          
“Do
not talk to
us
of treachery and
sedition, Madam Vice President,” Dr. Ali Akbar Velayati, the Iranian Foreign
Minister, said over the phone. His English was good, with a touch of a British
accent. “First the
United States
assists the Gulf Cooperation Council with a
wanton attack on Iranian soil—then you violate our sovereignty, our peace, and
our right to free access to international waters and sovereign airspace by
flying spy planes over our vessels. Not only that, madam, but our vessels and
aircraft came under attack by your spy vessel! This is an act of war, and
you
have started it! ”

 
          
“The
United
States
had no spy vessels or aircraft anywhere near your ships, Dr. Velayati,”
Ellen Christine Whiting said. “The
United States
will not tolerate air or naval attacks on
unarmed civilian vessels in international or allied waters ...”

 
          
But
Velayati was already speaking before the Vice President

 
          
could
finish: “It is vital for the peace and safety of the entire region for all to
stop these threats and accusations, pledge assistance to help in
rescue-and-recovery efforts, and pledge cooperation in restoring peace to the
region,” Velayati said. “The Islamic Republic is conducting
rescue-and-reconstruction work on our damaged property on
Abu
Musa
Island
—the death and destruction, I must remind
you, which was caused by you and your Zionist stooges!”

 
          
“I
can assure you, Minister, that the
United States
government was not involved in the attacks
against
Abu
Musa
Island
,” Whiting said, “and neither were the
Israelis. The Gulf Cooperation Council was responding to the threat of
anti-ship, antiaircraft, and long-range missiles placed on your illegal
military installations. I can assure you, Minister, that the
United States
will not tolerate any—”

 
          
“I
have told you, madam, that
Iran
is not responsible! Not responsible!”
Velayati exploded. “Do not provoke my government, madam!
America
wants war with
Iran
! We are not begging for war like
America
! We want peace! But we will act to protect
our people and our homes! We want all warships to depart the
Persian Gulf
at once. All foreign warships must leave.”

 
          
Whiting’s
eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me, Minister?” “Madam, the Islamic Republic
demands that all foreign warships leave the
Persian Gulf
,” Velayati said. “The presence of offensive
warships in the Gulf is a threat to
Iran
’s peace and sovereignty, and may be
considered a hostile action toward
Iran
.”

           
“Minister Velayati, the
Persian Gulf
is not the private lake of the Islamic
Republic of Iran,” Whiting said. “Any vessel, including warships, can freely
navigate those waters at any time.”

 
          
“Then
you risk war. You want war with
Iran
...”

 
          
“We
don’t want war with anyone, Dr. Velayati,” Whiting said, “but you threatened
international shipping and the right to freely navigate the
Persian Gulf
by placing anti-ship missiles on
Abu
Musa
Island
.”

           
“Are we not allowed to protect our
property?” Velayati asked. “Are we not allowed to defend our rights and our
freedom?”

 
          
“Of
course you are, sir,” Whiting replied, “but those weapons
Iran
placed on
Abu
Musa
Island
were offensive in nature, not defensive.”

 
          
“And
so you say, Madam Vice President, that the presence of the U.S.S.
Abraham Lincoln
and its escort
guided-missile cruisers and battleships in the
Persian Gulf
with their bombers and cruise missiles and
nuclear warheads are merely defensive in nature and not offensive?” Velayati
asked. “I think not. Yet you insist on the right to sail your warships within
just a few kilometers of Islamic Republic territory and fly your spy planes
over our vessels. You set a dubious double standard in our own front yard,
Madam Vice President. These are
our
waters, our lands. We have a right to defend them from hostile foreign
invaders. Your support of the dastardly Gulf Cooperative Council attack on our
islands proves your hostile intent.

 
          
“Madam
Vice President, the Islamic Republic of Iran will look upon the presence of
non-Arab warships in the
Persian Gulf
to be a hostile act, an act of war against
Iran
,” Velayati went on. “We are calling for all
non-Arab nations to remove their warships from the
Persian Gulf
immediately.”

 
          
“Leaving
only
Iran
’s warships in the Gulf, Minister?” Whiting interjected.

 
          
“
Iran
hereby pledges that we will also withdraw
our warships from the Gulf, leaving only those forces precisely equal to those
of all Gulf Cooperative Council warships,” Velayati replied. “We shall remove
the aircraft carrier
Ayatollah Ruhollah
Khomeini
and our submarines to our base at Chah Bahar and keep them outside
the
Persian Gulf
as well, using them only to patrol the sea
lanes and approaches to the
Strait of Hormuz
and
Persian
Gulf
for signs of
anyone violating the agreement.”

 
          
“It
is an interesting idea, Minister Velayati,” Whiting said. Across from her, the
President shrugged; the President’s National Security Advisor grimaced. “We
must present your idea to the President and the Congress; we should like to see
a formal draft of such a treaty. Until then, Minister, the right of any nation
to freely navigate international waters should not be infringed.”

 
          
“The
Persian Gulf
is vital to
Iran
’s economy as well as the economies of the
GCC and the industry of our customers, madam,” Velayati went on, continuing his
single-minded preaching. “Because it is so vital, we propose that the
Persian Gulf
be completely demilitarized. Foreign
warships, foreign warplanes, foreign troops should all leave.
Iran
pledges to do all that is possible to see
to it that peace reigns in the Gulf. Can you pledge your support for this
ideal, Madam Vice President? Will you take this message to the President?”
“Minister Velayati, I will discuss everything with the President, of course,”
Whiting said, “but we need to discuss the attack on the civilian Naval Reserve
Fleet vessel, the issue of thirteen persons still missing from that attack, our
rights to conduct salvage-and-rescue operations in the area, and Iran’s
intentions should the United States or any other nation choose to send any
vessel, including armed vessels, through the Strait of Hormuz and Persian
Gulf.”