“Yes, sir,” the XO responded.
“Bogies, two-seven-zero, twelve miles out!” a petty officer manning the anti-aircraft radar screamed. Captain Crisalli stopped dead in his tracks.
“Mike, get the admiral down here,” the captain ordered.
Moments later, Admiral Frederick was in the CIC.
“Speed, course, and altitude?” Commander Mauri requested with a sense of urgency.
“Speed is forty knots, course is one-seven-zero, altitude is five hundred feet,” came the reply.
“Admiral, there are six small surface contacts ten miles out heading toward us at fifteen knots. I’ve ordered two Sea Hawk helicopters to investigate. Additionally, we just picked up these bogies.”
“Captain, the bogies are traveling in a southerly direction. There may be ten to fifteen aircraft. The bogies, as well as the surface contacts, appear to have originated from Lesser Tunb,” Commander Mauri explained.
“I don’t like it, David—get two F-Eighteen Super Hornets in the air,” the admiral responded curtly as the crew worked quickly to plot and evaluate these new threats. They had trained countless hours for scenarios such as this one, but those were only drills. This was the real deal!
“The bogies have changed course and increased speed to one hundred knots. They are now heading toward the fleet,” the radar operator announced.
“Sound General Quarters,” Admiral Frederick growled.
“Mike, inform the other ships in the Carrier Strike Group to go to General Quarters and to lock and load. Weapons release—authorized!” the admiral ordered as Captain Chrisalli continued to reassess the tactical picture.
“Admiral, it appears that these seagoing desert rats are coming to pay us a visit,” the captain observed.
“General Quarters, General Quarters, this is not a drill,” the bowswain’s mate announced over 1MC as the John C. Stennis roared to life. Thousands of sailors were rudely awakened from a dead sleep at the sound of the alarm, yet all scrambled to their duty stations. Hatches were slammed shut and dogged as to make compartments throughout the ship watertight within minutes.
“Commander, I recommend coming to course zero-one-zero and increasing speed to thirty-five knots,” the flight officer, Lieutenant Helfrich, announced after completing his calculations.
“Very well, Lieutenant, make it so,” Commander Mauri ordered as Lieutenant Helfrich notified the bridge of the new course and speed.
“Let’s get the Hornets and the Sea Hawks off the deck,” Captain Crisalli insisted, knowing that time was now critical.
“Admiral, I assure you that we’ll have the remains of these audacious bastards buried deep beneath this sandy seabed momentarily,” Captain Crisalli said with unwavering confidence.
Captain Rahirimi and the crew of the Tareq were at battle stations, and anticipation ran high. Yet all remained silent. Sonarman Jannati had detected the fleet some twenty minutes prior. The captain ordered that the sounds from the multitude of thrashing propellers be piped in throughout the boat.
Whoosh—whoosh—WHOOSH; the sounds grew louder. Now there was no doubt that the fleet was rapidly approaching.
Captain Rahirimi was aware that the six Seraj-1 fast attack boats were in position, ready to strike, and the fifteen Karrar drones were in the air. Each sleek Seraj-1 fiberglass boat carried an anti-ship missile and was capable of quickly reaching speeds in excess of eighty knots.
The Karrar unmanned drones carried four cruise missiles each. They were controlled by pilots in a makeshift tent on Lesser Tunb. Each had a joystick and sat patiently in front a computer screen. In the nose cone of each drone was a camera, so the battle could be monitored in real time. In all, the destructive power from both sea and air was overwhelming.
“Captain, the bearing to the fleet is zero-three-zero,” Jannati reported.
“Excellent. Up, periscope.” Captain Rahirimi trained the scope to 030 and adjusted the power and the focus. The carrier and her escorts were now entering the east side of the trap.
“Nasrin, send the following message to Yunes: ‘Allahu Akbar. Commence your attack on the cruiser. Good hunting!’” Captain Rahirimi ordered. “Helm, come right to course zero-one-zero, all ahead one-third. Make your depth four-zero feet. Flood all tubes and open all outer torpedo doors,” the captain ordered. “Nasrin, notify Major Sayyari that we are commencing our attack. Unleash the Seraj-1s and the Karrars.”
“Yes, 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,