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STRAIT OF HORMUZ
They’d lost the Iranian Kilo. Halberg stood in the combat and control center of his sub, sweating profusely. He took a drink of water and silently watched his men work. They’d lost plenty of contacts before, but never in a situation this tense. His steel blue eyes darted from one screen to the next. A digital readout on the plotting screen read 14:32 and counting. That was how long it had been since the Kilo had broken contact. They were nearly three months into a six-month patrol and the men had conducted themselves wonderfully, until now.
Halberg had been in the engine room hitting the heavy bag when the officer of the deck had sent word that the Iranian sub had vanished. Without saying a word, Halberg peeled off his boxing gloves, grabbed a towel, and headed to the CACC. His XO met him at the plotting table and played back the tactical information on the screen starting two minutes prior to losing contact. Ten seconds of footage told Halberg all he needed to know. He saw what the Iranian captain must have done. The man had timed things perfectly. Just as he finished one of his lazy figure eights, he had made a dash across the outgoing channel and the bow of a heavily laden supertanker that was making a lot of noise and churning up a lot of muck. When the supertanker had finally passed, the Iranian Kilo was gone. They did a quick sweep and came to the conclusion that she had headed back into the strait sandwiched between two container vessels that were separated by less than a mile. Halberg ordered a new course and they fell in behind the second container vessel. As best they could figure it they were approximately two miles back from the Kilo.
The executive officer finished speaking with the navigator and then walked across the CACC to where Halberg was silently standing watch. In a hushed voice meant for only the two of them Strilzuk said, “I’m sorry I lost her, Skipper.”
“No need to apologize. She made a good move.”
“You would have seen it coming.”
Halberg shrugged. “Maybe.”
“No. You would have seen it, and we both know it.”
“You will too one day. You’re almost there.”
“I don’t know about that.” Strilzuk looked deflated.
“Stop beating yourself up, and tell me what he’s going to do next.”
Strilzuk looked down at the tactical screen and started weighing options. The Kilo really had only two choices. She could head back into port, which based on the f
act that practically the entire Iranian navy had been put to sea, didn’t seem very likely. The most probable scenario was that she would transit the strait and head back into the gulf.
“She’s going to head back into the gulf, and make a sprint while we’re stuck in the channel.”
Halberg nodded. “How long will she run?”
Strilzuk checked his watch, and looked at the tactical screen. It marked the estimated location of the Kilo, the two freighters, and their speeds. Based on the Kilo’s known top speed Strilzuk answered, “Roughly five and a half minutes.”
“Any other possibilities?”
“She could head back into port, but I don’t see that happening.”
“Neither do I. What else?” Halberg asked in a tone that told Strilzuk he was missing something.
Strilzuk studied the tactical for a moment. He looked at the clump of islands off Bandar Abbas. “She might decide to partially surface, run to the leeward side of one of these islands, wait for us to pass, and then fall in behind us.”
“That’s possible, but not likely.” Halberg hit a button and rewound the tactical to the point where they lost the Kilo. He pointed to the screen and said, “What if she ran clear across the inbound channel, looped around to the east, and headed back out, or worse, fell in behind us?”
Strilzuk looked embarrassed. “That’s possible.”
“But unlikely,” Halberg offered in consolation. He read his friend’s frustration and said, “Dennis, you’re practical and straightforward. This guy,” Halberg pointed at the screen, “is a little crazy. Running across the outbound channel that close to a fully loaded tanker with all this other traffic around is not exactly a conservative move. Would you ever try something like that?”
Strilzuk sighed, “Not under normal conditions.”
“Which tells you?”
“This guy’s either got a screw loose or these aren’t normal circumstances.”
“Exactly. Send a message to CTF 54. Let them know we lost contact.”
“You sure?” Strilzuk studied his captain’s face. “You don’t want to wait and see if we reacquire her on the other side?”
Halberg clicked a button and the tactical zoomed out to show the entire Persian Gulf and the northern half of the Gulf of Oman. The screen was filled with hundreds of contacts. The Eisenhower Strike Group was positioned smack-dab in the middle of the Persian Gulf with the bulk of the noisy Iranian navy headed her way. It was the perfect screen for a quiet diesel submarine. One missing Kilo was bad enough. Two could wreak havoc on the strike group.
Halberg decided to swallow his pride. “The sooner we let them know the better.”
