Lieutenant Aziz checked with his navigator. They were near the first marker on his map. The patrol boat slowed. Crewmen had the first mine ready. It was lowered gently into the water. It had been designed to settle slowly to the bottom and to remain upright. Divers went along with lights for the first fifty feet to be sure it settled properly. The average depth of the strait here was 300 feet. When the men were sure the mine was moving properly, they returned to the boat and boarded.
Ten times they dropped the mines in a straight line across the three-mile channel through the strait.
It was almost dawn when they finished. Currents had thrown them off line three times, and they had to reestablish their position. Now Lieutenant Aziz held the portable transmitter and eyed it. It was time. He pushed on a switch, then lowered the device into the water. He pressed the sending button on a long cord twice to be sure that the mines would receive the signal to activate them. Even after this long a time, he was sure that all ten of the mines would activate and establish an absolutely impenetrable wall, not allowing any ship to pass. In practice runs, the test mine had activated on each try.
Back in the small bridge, he put the activator transmitter away. He looked at it critically. While deadly for all ships, there was one way to let friendly ships sail through the screen. All he had to do was to send a deactivating signal to the mines, and they would be turned off.
After Iraq’s own oil tankers passed through the strait, the mines could be turned on again, trapping any ships inside the Persian Gulf that were already there and denying entry by any from the Gulf of Oman. It was a brilliant strategy and one that could win the whole Middle East for Iraq.
Back onshore, he left his crew on board and made a telephone call. It was his signal to Colonel Hamdoon that the mines were in place and activated.
Iran knew of the plan and would not send any of its tankers through after midnight. Iraq would not send any of her oil-for-food ships through, either. There had been some discussion between Colonel Hamdoon, Lieutenant Aziz, and Saddam Hussein about giving a warning to the shippers. It had been decided that the first tanker to be blown up would be the first warning to the world.
Then the official Iraqi news agency would tell everyone that the Strait of Hormuz was mined and that no ship of any nation would be permitted to enter or leave the Persian Gulf.
Lieutenant Aziz smiled as he thought about it. Now Iraq had a powerful handle on the oil trade. He laughed softly. Now Iraq could increase the price of oil as much as she wanted to. She could double the price of oil to forty dollars per barrel. As he remembered, crude oil from the Persian Gulf nations accounted for more than 70 percent of the oil consumed by the world market.
With absolute control of the strait, they could force other nations in the gulf to raise their prices, or they wouldn’t get their tankers through the minefield. Raise their price to the Iraqi price, and they would be safely passed through.
It was a masterful plan, one that was unbeatable. He would not sleep tonight. He would be on watch to see which oil tanker would be the first to feel the sting of the fifty-five-year-old German torpedo mines.
12
USS Enterprise CVN 65
In the Persian Gulf
Murdock watched Stroh with a slight frown where they sat in the SEALs’ assembly room on the big carrier.
“Let me understand this, Mr. Stroh. The two-carrier, 350- plane armada of the U.S. military machine is scared shitless of the minuscule Iraq navy. So Third Platoon is nominated to go in and scuttle the whole four to six vessels in their safe harbor?”
“About the size of it Kimo Sabe. Hey, we’re not at war with Iraq, so we can’t bomb the ships into kindling. But there could be some kind of accident in the naval port and all of their ships suffer such damage that they might never again sail the mighty waters of the Persian Gulf.”
“That’s CIA talk to hit them before they hit us. Yeah, sure, we can do it. When?”
“Tonight. We’ll fly you to Kuwait City, and from there you’ll take an army chopper up to the border with Iraq. There you’ll meet with a ground party of four Kuwaiti drivers and their civilian vehicles, which will transport you to as close to Basra as they can. Our guess is it’s about forty miles.”
“We’ll need our wet suits and explosives and our weapons. How do we do that?”
“The civilian cars will have Iraqi identification and will be spaced out so it won’t look like a convoy. Our sources say you should have no trouble getting to the Euphrates River, which runs through Basra and where their naval base is situated.”
“So we could hit the water and work upstream to the base, blow it, and then try to get out?”
“That’s what your rebreathers are for. We’ll have a fast boat at the mouth of the Euphrates in international waters to pick you out of the wet.”
“Might work, if we can get into that river close enough to the base.”
“How close is that?”
“Within a quarter of a mile. We’ll travel light. Just TNAZ and our weapons. What kind of ships are we talking about?”
“Our latest intel shows that they have one frigate, the Ibn Khaldoum, but it is not in operation. It should be taken out. There are two Corvettes shown on their books, but only one we know of was delivered from China and it is not fully operational, and does not have any weapons systems. It went to the dock in 1995 for minor repairs and has not been out of the yard since.
“We understand there are three patrol craft left from the fifteen purchased from Yugoslavia. Most were sunk in wars with Iran and Desert Storm. One of the three left may be operational. These are hundred-foot-long ships. There may be as many as eighty twelve- to twenty-meter inshore patrol boats of the Sawari class. There is also one replenishment tanker of four hundred and twenty-three feet, but it is not ported in Basra.”
Murdock looked at his watch. “It’s oh-eight-fifteen. When do we leave here?”
“On a COD in two hours. Get twisting some tails.”
The phone in the assembly room rang, and Murdock took it. He listened and then looked at Stroh.
“Now there is some real trouble. A Kuwaiti tanker just took a torpedo from a mine of some sort in the Strait of Hormuz. It’s on fire and sinking. Saddam Hussein has just broadcast a warning to all tankers in the Persian Gulf. The Strait of Hormuz is closed. It is mined, and any ship trying to enter or leave the gulf will be sunk.”
Strait of Hormuz
Lieutenant Aziz had taken his patrol boat out of the small harbor and anchored just offshore. He had his search radar, an older Decca 1226 I-band, watching the approaches to the strait. They had been watching most of the night. Now, slightly before dawn, his radar showed a tanker moving down the channel at eighteen knots. He didn’t know what registry it was, but it was steaming into certain disaster.
If his mines worked the way they should, the huge tanker would send a signal more than strong enough to trigger the firing of the closest mine. He wondered if two of the mines might fire almost at the same time, if the ship came between two of them. He didn’t know.
He watched for two minutes as the ship sailed closer and closer to his line of mines. Then it was light enough that he could see the ship with his binoculars.
It sailed majestically through the calm waters one moment, then the next, the huge tanker seemed to lift a dozen feet out of the water. An explosion somewhere in the guts of the tanker burst through the deck and spouted fire and smoke into the morning sky. He could see oil pouring out of the ruptured tanks, and then it began burning, lighting the early dawn. He heard secondary explosions and then the craft broke in half. The bow sank almost at once, but the stern half of the quarter-mile-long ship shuddered several times, and another explosion racked the ship. Aziz guessed that might have been when the cold seawater reached the boilers.
Then the rest of the ship sank quickly, leaving only a trail of smoke in the sky and a flaming sea of oil.
He did not move his ship out to look for survivors. He had be
en ordered not to. He raised his anchor and motored quietly back inside the harbor on the Iranian side of the strait.
It was done. The warning had been given in a way that no one could doubt. Now the world would know what it felt like to be chained and curtailed and badgered and hemmed in on all sides by angry enemies.
Yes, now the whole world would know how Iraq had felt for ten years.
USS Enterprise CVN 65
Stroh paced the assembly room. “No, I’m not sure if this changes your assignment or not,” he said. “That bastard finally did it. He’s trying to close the strait and give himself and his minuscule navy the key to the cookie jar. This way he can let in and out only those he wants to get in and out. Hell, he could double or triple the price of oil, and nobody could challenge him.”
“We have mine hunter ships in the gulf,” Murdock said. “They’ve been here since the war. What are they called… mine countermeasure vessels. Probably two or three of them are steaming at flank speed down to the strait this second.”
“Yeah, but can they figure out the mine pattern or the system quickly enough to keep the strait open? That’s the hundred trillion million gazillion dollar question.”
“Can you check about our mission? If we go, we need a couple of hours to get ready.”
Stroh nodded. “Yeah, I’m still a little shell-shocked over this damn Saddam move. I didn’t think he had the guts to do this. Shows what a man will do when he’s desperate. None of his other ploys have worked.”
Stroh took the phone and called the admiral. Then he called CIA headquarters on the encrypted SATCOM. He came back in ten minutes.
“You’re still on. Gonna take the Navy minesweepers a day or so to evaluate the situation and figure out what to do. Those minesweeper-type ships, they really made mostly of wood?”
“What I hear. Oak, fir, and Alaskan cedar with a thin coating of fiberglass on the outside to cut down on the magnetic signature. They even have low-magnetic engines made in Italy.”
“I wish them good luck. Mines give me nightmares, especially naval mines.” He shivered. “So, the COD will be ready to lift off here at ten-thirty.”
“We’ll be on it.”
Murdock discussed the mission with his men as they readied their gear.
“Yeah, lots of TNAZ and timers and our weapons should be enough,” Senior Chief Dobler said. “We go in light, we hit them hard, and get downstream before they can find their pants.”
“You’ve got a way with words, Senior Chief,” Jaybird said. “We going with the rebreathers?”
“Damn fucking right,” Harry Ronson said. “Don’t want to have to swim down forty miles on the surface.”
“Yeah, it might be forty miles,” DeWitt said. “That’s too damn far. I hear they have a Pegasus with the fleet. This is what they built these little runners for. They do forty-five knots and have weapons. Why doesn’t the damn Pegasus motor up the Euphrates quietly during the night and meet us just below Basra? We jump on board and cut out of there at forty-five knots. We’re out into the gulf before Saddam knows we’ve been there.”
Murdock agreed. He dialed the phone and found the admiral.
“Yes, Commander, we do have a Pegasus. We weren’t sure that it could get up the river quietly enough.”
“They will have at least six hours of darkness to move up the river,” Murdock said. We’ll need that much time to get to the target, hit it, and get into the river heading downstream. All they need is a Motorola on our frequency, and we can pick them up for about three miles.”
“Sounds possible. As you said, forty miles is a long swim, especially if you have any wounded. I’ll get back to you.”
Murdock waved at his men. “Looks like the old man bought the idea. Now he’s talking to the Pegasus drivers. The rig has a crew of five and is designed to hold sixteen combat troops. Sounds a hell of a lot better than swimming back.”
Twenty minutes before they left for the flight deck, the phone rang, and the admiral’s aide was on.
“Commander Murdock. We’ve talked with the Pegasus crew. They say they can get forty miles up the Euphrates in the dark without attracting undue attention. So it will be a meet in the water somewhere three or four miles below the naval base. If you get there first, hit the beach and talk our boys in with green glow lights.”
“Yes sir. Sounds better than a forty-mile swim. We’ll be in place. Can the Pegasus crew get a Motorola like the SEALs use? It will carry about three miles.”
“We can do that. Good luck, Commander.
Murdock turned back to the men. “We get the Pegasus up the river for a ride home. Which means we leave our wet suits and that gear here. No rebreathers, either. Five minutes to restow your gear.
Ten minutes later, Murdock checked. “Now, who isn’t ready to take a small airplane ride?”
They took off on time.
Just under two hours later, they had covered the 530 miles between the carrier and Kuwait City. The pilot reported that he had counted more than twenty tankers steaming toward the now-closed Strait of Hormuz.
Murdock and his men landed at Kuwait City Airport and had lunch at the nearby air base. They were met by Major Charles Rausch, who would be their contact all the way to the border.
“Commander, we’re ready. We’ll get you and your men fed and then into a chopper for the jump to the border. We’ve inserted men into Iraq this way before, but none on such short missions. Usually it’s a HALO operation.”
“Some food would be good, Major. We have the equipment we need, and we hope it can be hidden in the civilian cars. Somebody said we would be trading our cammies for civilian clothing in case we are stopped.”
“The standard procedure. Our drivers know the local customs and the language, of course. Should be able to get you past any road checks. Not a lot of Iraqi military down in this area once you’re past the border. I’m sure you and your men won’t have any trouble with that. I’ve seen some of your people operate.”
The food was excellent, reminding Murdock a little of a condemned man’s last meal.
They boarded a Marine Sea Knight at 1600 and took the sixty-mile flight to a spot along the border with Iraq. They set down at a small village that had an unusually large number of civilian cars, small trucks, and vans. All were nondescript; many with banged-in fenders and some with cracks in the windshield.
Major Rausch led them to a modest building that needed paint and had one pane of a window broken out. Inside, it was modern and filled with army men and women and Marines all busy at work. The major took Murdock and DeWitt through three doors into an attached building where six civilians worked. Two looked up and nodded at the major. They were all Kuwaiti or Iraqi; Murdock wouldn’t know the difference.
“Yes, yes, we have our people here,” a small, dark man said. He had a thick mustache and piercing black eyes. “Do you wish to wear the civilian clothing over your cammies?”
“Yes, over them,” Murdock said.
Murdock and DeWitt picked up garments and put them on, then watched as the rest of the SEALs came in a side door and put on the latest in Iraqi workingman attire. They all wore some kind of hat to help disguise them. When the small civilian looked at Jefferson, he sighed.
“Sir, you’ll have to keep your face and hands hidden if you’re stopped by border guards or at a roadblock. We have very few Negroes in Iraq.”
Jefferson grinned. “Hey, I been hiding most of my life.”
Outside, the SEALs walked with the major to a small building where they would wait until dark. They had their equipment there, and each man inspected his weapon and his combat vest with its variety of deadly goodies and the float bag with the TNAZ. All of this would have to be out of sight during the drive toward Basra.
The major had brought along fresh box lunches for the SEALs. They ate them and waited. It wasn’t quite dark by 1800, when the SEALs were split up into the four cars. Four SEALs and a driver. They left the border just at dusk and spaced out a half mile apar
t. They all drove without lights. They went across the unmarked border at about the same time and saw no one. The driver, who spoke both English and Arabic, assured Murdock that there were Kuwaiti soldiers on guard along the border, but he wasn’t sure if Iraq had any or not.
“Never see none,” the driver said. He motioned with one hand. He drove an ancient Citroën. Murdock had his combat vest and his MP-5 submachine gun at his feet. The weapon was locked and loaded, ready to fire.
They drove for a half hour, then in the faint light, Murdock saw a car driving without headlamps come into the same track of a road that they followed.
“One of ours,” the driver said. He stayed behind so far that Murdock could hardly make out the other car. That must be the way they always did this, he decided.
“We ten miles across border,” the driver said. “Okay so far, okay?”
Murdock nodded.
A few minutes later, the car slowed from its whirlwind twenty miles an hour. The driver stopped the rig.
“Trouble ahead,” he said. “See lights? Roadblock. Never seen one out this far.”
“How many of our cars up ahead of us?” Murdock answered.
“One, just one. We number two.”
“Stay here,” Murdock said. “Jaybird, on me.” The two SEALs took their submachine guns and ran along the road for a quarter of a mile. They split then, one going on each side of the track for the last one hundred yards to the blaze of headlights that appeared twice as bright since they were the only illumination for ten miles around. They eased forward until they were twenty yards from the roadblock.
Everyone was out of the car. One Iraqi soldier held up a weapon and a combat vest. He shrilled in delight and jabbered something in Arabic.
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