Israel's Next War

by Martin Archer

  I have my suspicions which I might share with the President in the morning when we meet at tomorrow morning’s regularly scheduled National Security Briefing; or maybe I won’t until I do some more checking.

  ****** Lieutenant Nitzan Shefer

  It’s night time on the surface and I’m a navy professional on our small but incredibly sophisticated and lethal Gal class Israeli submarine Rahav. Ever since the sun went down, we’ve been moving slowly and silently in shallow Iranian waters using only our batteries. Ever since the sun went down, we’ve been just below the surface with our periscope up and continually manned.

  Our Captain has had our periscope up continuously both for visibility and to receive, via our satellite link, reports of any radar intercepts of Iranian planes and ships which might be in our vicinity. So far so good—ships of the regular Iranian Navy and those of the larger and totally separate Revolutionary Guards Navy have been neither seen on our periscope and its monitors nor heard by our two sonar operators. All we’ve seen and heard are tankers moving through the Persian Gulf and, briefly about four hours ago, our sister ship, the Tanin.

  As you might imagine, our captain, forty-one year old Gabi Chazan, and the rest of the thirty-one of us Israelis in Gabi’s crew are more than a little tense and alert and at our battle stations. We’re also a bit tired after our five day trip through the Suez Canal and around the Arabian Peninsula; but we’re not afraid, we’re determined.

  Actually, I’m scared shitless as I stand near Gabi and watch the depth, speed, and angle monitors. Why the hell did I ever let my mother convince me to join the navy instead of the army?

  ****** Captain Gabi Chazan

  About an hour ago I was on the periscope and told my crew about a big fully loaded tanker I could see slowly heading outbound from Kharg Island. I told them I know it’s fully loaded because it’s sitting so low in the water.

  Now as I brought the Rehav slowly into its firing position I quietly told me crew that I could see six really big tankers moored along the south side of the long Kharg Island crude oil loading dock taking on crude. Several of them are sitting quite low in the water and are probably almost ready to sail.

  According to Navy Intelligence, we’re here without any of the Iranian navy around to stop us because the small group of army and air force generals who wrote up the Arab invasion plan didn’t bother to consult their naval counterparts. They apparently ignored them because they thought their country’s navies would be, at best, only minor players in the war.

  The Islamic Army planners and their presidents and militia leaders know Israel has submarines and missile boats but, oriented as they are to ground and air operations, it never occurred to them how we might use our navy in the event of a war. They’re about to find out and it won’t be pretty.

  I felt like I was in a dream as the Rahav slowly and silently moved into a firing position facing the long line of super tankers moored against the south side of Iran’s principal oil loading dock. The tankers are taking on crude and clearly visible in the bright floodlights running down the entire length of the dock.

  The lights are a surprise. We’d been told the tankers would be clothed in a protective mantle of darkness because of the war. But they’re not—apparently the recent end of active hostilities in Syria and Iraq caused the Iranian port captain to believe normal operations could be resumed because the danger of an air attack from the Saudis supporting the Sunni militias had passed.

  There had been no indication of any threats at any time since Rahav and our three other Gal-class sister subs entered the Gulf two days ago. To the contrary, Rafi and Jules, our sonar operators, only heard the propellers of tankers and other Israeli ships during our long and careful move down the Gulf and into our firing position.

  Indeed, except for a few minutes yesterday Rafi and Jules haven’t even heard our virtually identical sister boat, the Tannin. That’s good because at this moment the Tannin should be approaching the other side of the long Kharq Island loading dock and getting ready to fire its torpedoes at the half dozen or so big tankers loading crude on the other side of the dock. We’re both going to fire at the same time and run for it; at least, that’s the plan.

  Our two subs are not the only Israeli ships attacking Iran’s huge Kharg Island oil terminal tonight at virtually the same moment. If everything goes according to plan, which so far, knock on wood, seems to be the case, four of our Sa’ar class missile boats equipped with both Harpoons and our “fire and forget” Gabriel III missiles will be joining our assault on the terminal and the Iranian coast.

  Our surface ships undoubtedly spent an anxious day hiding under camouflage nets behind one of the obscure United Arab Emirate islands—and, hopefully, three hours ago began high speed runs across the Gulf towards the Iranian port and refining facilities on the mainland sixteen miles beyond Kharg Island. The fast attack missile boats are not going in alone—each of them is accompanied by a couple of our recently upgraded Dabur-class patrol boats.

  Our fast attack missile and patrol boats are scheduled to begin launching their modified Harpoon and Gabriel missiles against the mainland’s oil terminal, several pump stations, and the huge Iranian refinery nearby at 0222. That’s ten minutes after my Gal-class Israeli and our Tanin sister boat begin firing our torpedoes at the tankers and then start launching our mines.

  And that’s not the half of what Israel is about to do in the Gulf—similar combined submarine and patrol and missile boat assaults will be simultaneously launching attacks against the huge Iranian container port, storage tanks, and refinery at Bandar Abbas, the oil loading port and refinery at Lavan Island, and the Iraqi port of Basra at the head of the Gulf

  The Israeli Navy is going “all in” to destroy the ability of Iran and Iraq to sell oil and use the proceeds to buy weapons and pay their military and government salaries.

  ****** Lieutenant Nitzan Shefer

  The firing solutions were already entered for six shots, one for each of the “sitting duck” tankers, as Gabi listened intently with his eye glued to the periscope as his executive officer, that’s me, counted down to 0212. “five.. four.. three.. two.. one.”

  “Open all torpedo doors,” Gabi ordered.

  “Fire one … Fire eight … Fire two ….”

  I can feel a slight vibration under my feet each time the compressed air in a torpedo tube launches a torpedo and one after another they started on their way towards one of the big tankers. Right after we fired the fifth torpedo we could clearly hear the loud sounds of nearby explosions as each of the earlier torpedoes reached its target. There were three of them—and then the shock wave of a tremendous explosion in the distance moved through the water and literally shook the Rahav.

  The Captain is not the only one who can directly watch whatever the periscope sees; whatever Gabi sees through the periscope is automatically transmitted so it can be seen on the computer console being monitored by executive officer, that’s me, and several of the petty officer technicians. The console is part of the updated night fighting electronics package installed several months ago in Haifa.

  The four of us watched in absolute fascination as the first three torpedoes each hit a tanker. And our mouths dropped open in unison when the fourth tanker exploded into a huge fireball. Each of us instantly realized we must have hit a relatively empty tanker full of fumes. Then, only a few seconds after the last of our six torpedoes hits, another huge fireball could be seen through the periscope, this one in the distance on the other side of the long dock.

  “All ahead full; come right to two-seventy. Make the depth thirty-two meters and prepare to launch mines.” Please God, not one inch further down; it’s really shallow out here.

  ****** Captain Chaim Shaul

  The four big diesels on our Sa’ar-class Fast Attack Missile Boat Keshet were putting out more than twelve thousand horsepower as the Keshet and our accompanying Dabur class patrol boats rushed through the dark night toward the Iranian coast just north of Kharg
Island. We’re running at only thirty knots so the Dabur running next to us can keep up.

  Without even slowing down and just about right on schedule at 0222, we began slowly and carefully firing five of our six modified ’over the horizon’ Gabriel III missiles at the oil refinery’s control center and various pump stations on the mainland. Then we pulled a hard turn to starboard and raced along the line of tankers moored to the long oil dock firing armor piercing explosive rounds from our Super Rapido Italian-made 76mm cannon at the water lines of the torpedoed tankers. The Super Rapido is an incredible weapon; it fires at the rate of 120 rounds per minute—sort of like an artillery machine gun.

  Our companion patrol boat, the Stinger, also fired its Gabriel III at the refinery’s control center and then slowly followed in our wake along the row of tankers. The Stinger was moving slowly so its crew would have enough time to fire a half dozen or more Carl Gustav rounds into each tanker it passes and reload in time for the next one.

  Right behind us, at least initially, was our sister ship, the Reshef and its companion patrol boat, the Scorpion. They fired their missiles at other carefully selected targets in and around the big refinery at the same time we did.

  But the Reshef and Scorpion did not follow us when we made our hard turn to run along the south side of the Island and began to fire at the torpedoed tankers. Instead, they continued past the artificial island—and then they turned right and repeated the same process of shooting up the tankers tied up along the north side of the Island.

  Afterwards we moved along the Iranian shoreline in the dark using our 20mm cannons, machine guns, recoilless rifles, and short bursts of our Super Rapidos to destroy the speedboats and a corvette at the Revolutionary Guards’ dock. After that we moved along the coast hitting the storage tanks and control centers in all the various pump stations, tank farms and power stations our cannons could reach.

  Our Romach and Kidon missile boats and the four Dabur-class patrol boats accompanying them have somewhat similar assignments. They each launched modified Harpoon missiles at the two Iranian Alvand-class frigates tied up at the Iranian naval dock and then fired the rest of their missiles at the various tank farm and pump station control centers and other key targets they’d been assigned.

  Then they too moved slowly along the Iranian shoreline and used short bursts from their “Super Rapidos,” Carl Gustav recoilless rifles, and twenty-millimeter cannons to destroy any boats they came across and the storage tanks in the various facilities and tank farms close enough to the water for them to reach.

  ******

  The most charitable thing one can say about the Iranian response to our attack on Kharg Island is it didn’t arrive in time. All the tankers and Iranian naval vessels, every single one of them, were engulfed in flames or sinking and the port and storage facilities all along that part of the Iranian coast were for the most part destroyed before the first Iranian planes arrived. Indeed, the first two Iranian planes didn’t even reach Kharg Island until almost thirty minutes after we opened our throttles and hurried back to safety inside Saudi and United Arab Emirate waters. They never even saw us.

  The devastation and lack of a timely response was similar at Basra, Bandar Abbas, Lavan Island, and elsewhere all along the Iranian and Iraqi coasts.

  More importantly from an immediate military sense, all four of the Iranian frigates and corvettes in the Gulf were sunk or heavily damaged by our attack along with almost all of the Revolutionary Guards’ coastal patrol boats and their two missile boats. So were Iraq’s two old patrol boats. We had used satellite imagery to pinpoint the location of every Iranian and Iraqi vessel and got them all. We even turned around after our initial attack and slowly came back past the Iranian ships and tankers to hit them again and make sure.

  It isn’t until after the Keshet finally turned away and we began our run back to Saudi waters did I realize what would have happened if one of the tankers had exploded as we fired into it from almost point blank range. That’s when I began trembling.

  ******

  None of our missile and patrol boats and our four subs rushed to exit the Gulf when we finished our attacks. Instead, we headed back across the Gulf towards our pre-assigned hiding places in isolated coves and inlets behind the islands dotting the desolate Saudi and United Arab Emirate shorelines. That’s where we’ll meet up with our supply ships and spend the day resting and taking on more fuel and ammunition. Refueling and replenishing stores at sea is something we constantly practice.

  And we’ll sure as hell have lookouts keeping a close eye out for enemy planes and ships just in case our new satellite-based radar system fails.

  The scuttlebutt has it that we will not be immediately returning to Israel because, although no one is supposed to know it yet, we are not in the Gulf on a one-time mission to damage Iran’s oil-dominated economy and finances—we’re here to stay. We’re going to permanently occupy the Gulf and keep the Iranian and Iraqi economies permanently crippled and those of the Saudis and other Gulf kingdoms permanently protected.

  Our orders and those of our fellow ships are simple: We are to destroy Iran’s and Iraq’s naval forces and sink every ship, no matter what its nationality, attempting to enter an Iranian or Iraqi port—and protect every ship coming and going from Kuwait, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the Emirates.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ****** Corporal Lev Regev

  It’s the third night of the war and things don’t seem to be going very well for us. Our company commander is still in the States on business and hasn’t been able to get back. He’s lucky he’s not here—according to Danny Peled, the company exec and now our acting company commander, two more Iranian Revolutionary Guard divisions are coming down the Damascus Road and will be launching a major offensive as soon as they get themselves organized. Danny’s a nice guy. He sells insurance in Haifa.

  “If the experience of the past couple of days is any guide,” Danny told us when he and the sergeant major came around to check our positions, “their infantry will do the attacking under a SAM umbrella that will prevent our air force from stopping them. It will be up to us to chop up their infantry and stop them if they get through our artillery barrage.” Oh my God. I shouldn’t be here.

  Our infantry company, Alpha Company of the First Battalion of the Ninth Brigade is really just a bunch of elderly reservists who have no business being at the front. Tell that to the rabbi—we were bussed up from Tel Aviv yesterday afternoon and here we are with only the Second battalion left between us and the goddamn Arabs.

  But what do I know? I’ve been in the reserves for twenty-two years and I’ve never once fired a weapon at anyone. All I am is a part-time corporal in the Ninth and full-time waiter in the Old Jerusalem Restaurant on Asher Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it? The tips are good. Lots of tourists. I’ve been there since it opened twelve years ago.

  ****** General Roberts

  It never fails. Right after Dorothy turned off news on the bedroom television set so we can get some sleep after a long day, the phone on the bedside table jingled once again.

  “General Roberts, this is Harry Rogers, sir, the duty officer at the Situation Room. I apologize for calling again so soon on the same subject, General, but I’m required to let you know whenever the NSA issues a Red Tag warning. It just did. The NSA confirms the explosions reported earlier today occurred at the Iranian nuclear reactor facility Bushehr and at a site near Mashad which is believed to have some connection to the Iranian nuclear program.”

  Ten minutes later I was sitting in my pajamas at my desk in my little home office thinking about the nuclear attacks when the damn phone rang again. It was once again the duty officer at the Situation Room.

  “General, it’s Harry Rogers again, sir. Sorry to both you again so soon but NSA is now reporting it is monitoring radio, telephone, and Internet traffic which suggest major Israeli seaborne attacks are underway against Iran’s oil ports and refineries in the Persian Gulf including both Kharg Isl
and and Bandar Abbas and against Iraq’s Basra facilities. The initial reports suggest numerous tankers and shore facilities have been destroyed or seriously damaged.”

  “Thank you, Harry.” Hmm, well that was certainly the Israelis.

  “Oh, and Harry, please have the staff prepare a full report on the seaborne attacks for the Morning Book and please include a list of the countries that are currently buying Iranian crude and how important it is to them.”

  Wait a minute. How did the Israeli navy get into the Gulf so soon? Did the Israelis know about the invasion in advance?

  ******

  It was raining and the roads into the beltway were slick as I was being driven in for the seven o’clock Security Council meeting. I didn’t really notice the weather because I’d spent the entire twenty minute trip re-reading the Morning Book and re-checking the reports and satellite photos that had been couriered to me and were waiting when my alarm clock went off at 0530.

  The poor guy who couriered them to me had been sitting in his car in the rain waiting since God knows when. He’d probably been out there for at least an hour but he didn’t ring the bell to wake me up and make the delivery until the car arrived to take me to the office. I’ve never had a full time driver before. It’s convenient since it lets me read on the way to work. I like it.

  I appreciated the courier’s thoughtfulness and needed a few more minutes to get ready, so I invited him and my driver to come in and join me for a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel. I drank tea and nibbled on my bagel with strawberry cream cheese while I read the Morning Book and looked at the satellite photos. I’ll look at them again in the car on the way to the office.

  The courier and my driver are nice guys. The courier’s a navy chief from Detroit; he says he couldn’t stand the thought of spending his whole life in Detroit assembling cars so he joined the navy. My driver is Charlie Timmons. Charlie’s been driving for the National Security Advisor ever since the office was created years ago.