There were few places more hazardous for ships than the Strait of Hormuz. The opening to the Persian Gulf is only thirty-five miles wide at its narrowest point, and the shipping lanes in the center are even narrower — only two miles wide — separated by a two-mile buffer zone. Thankfully, Michigan was to the southeast, outside the busy traffic lanes, but there were still many ships transiting through the strait in the shallower water where Michigan lurked.
After waiting several minutes, giving Sonar time to adjust their equipment lineup and complete a detailed search, Stucker announced, “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”
Sonar acknowledged and reported several contacts. But the ship’s spherical array sonar, mounted in the bow, was blind in the aft sector, or baffles, blocked by the submarine’s metal structure. With Michigan’s towed array stowed due to the shallow water, Stucker had no idea if there were contacts closing on Michigan from behind. She had to turn the ship to find out.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course two-nine-zero. Sonar, Conn. Commencing baffle clear to port.” Stucker followed up, “Rig Control for black.”
Sonar acknowledged as the lights in Control were extinguished, leaving only the faint multicolor indications on the submarine’s control panels and the red digital navigation repeaters glowing in the darkness. Stucker adjusted the sonar display on the Conn, reducing its brightness to the minimum. Michigan steadied up, headed west, but couldn’t remain on that course for long, as they were headed toward the shipping lanes. After waiting a few minutes for Sonar to complete its search of the previously hidden area, Stucker examined the traces on her sonar display, then called out, “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”
“Conn, Sonar. Hold twelve contacts, all are far-range except for Sierra three-two, bearing two-six-zero, classified merchant, and Sierra three-three, bearing two-four-zero, also classified merchant. Both contacts are outside ten thousand yards.”
Stucker acknowledged Sonar, then ordered, “Helm, right full rudder, steady course zero-four-zero,” returning Michigan to base course for the trip to periscope depth.
Reaching up, she pulled the microphone from its holder and punched the button for the Captain’s stateroom. “Captain, Officer of the Deck.”
Murray Wilson answered, “Captain.”
Stucker delivered the required report, to which Wilson replied, “I’ll be right there.”
Captain Murray Wilson entered the Control Room and joined Lieutenant Stucker on the Conn, settling into the Captain’s chair on the starboard side. After reviewing the sonar display and the submarine’s parameters, Wilson said, “Proceed to periscope depth.”
Stucker acknowledged the Captain’s order, then reached up in the darkness and twisted the port periscope locking ring. The barrel slid silently up through the submarine’s sail, and Stucker folded the periscope handles down as the scope emerged from its well, then placed her right eye against the eyepiece.
“Helm, ahead one-third. Dive, make your depth eight-zero feet. All stations, Conn. Proceeding to periscope depth.”
The Helm rang up ahead one-third on the Engine Order Telegraph as the Dive directed his planesmen, “Ten up. Full rise, fairwater planes.”
As Michigan rose toward the surface, silence descended on Control, aside from the occasional depth reports from the Diving Officer.
“Passing one hundred feet.”
The Dive reported the submarine’s depth change in ten-foot increments until the periscope broke the ocean’s surface. Stucker began circling, completing a revolution every eight seconds, scanning the darkness for nearby ships. She spotted two distant white lights to the west, correlating with Sierra three-two and three-three.
“No close contacts!”
Conversation in Control resumed, now that Michigan was safely at periscope depth, and after a quick aerial search detected no air contacts, Stucker slowed her rotation, periodically shifting the scope to high power for long-range scans.
The Quartermaster announced, “Conn, Nav. GPS fix obtained.”
A moment later, Radio followed up. “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”
Stucker announced, “All stations, Conn. Going deep. Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth one-eight-zero feet.”
The Helm and Dive acknowledged and Michigan tilted downward. The periscope optics slid beneath the ocean waves, and Stucker lowered the scope back into its well.
“Rig Control for gray,” she announced, and the low-level lights flicked on.
A few minutes later, as Lieutenant Stucker ordered the Control Room rigged for white, a radioman entered with a message clipboard in hand. Captain Wilson flipped through the messages: all routine traffic except for one. Michigan wouldn’t stop after entering the Gulf of Oman. Their journey had become longer and perhaps more hazardous — they would enter the Mediterranean Sea, passing through the Suez Canal.
Wilson stepped from the Conn and entered Michigan’s Battle Management Center, located behind the Control Room, where his crew did Tomahawk mission planning and managed SEAL operations. Michigan had been converted into a guided missile submarine, carrying Tomahawk cruise missiles in twenty-two of its twenty-four missile tubes, with the remaining two tubes providing access to two Dry Deck Shelters attached to the submarine’s missile deck. Within one shelter rested a SEAL Delivery Vehicle — a mini-sub able to transport Navy SEALs miles underwater for clandestine operations, while the other shelter contained two Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats.
Aboard Michigan tonight were two platoons of Navy SEALs, ready should their services be required, along with sixty tons of munitions stored in two of Michigan’s missile tubes: small arms, grenade launchers, limpet mines… anything a SEAL team might need.
Inside the Battle Management Center, Commander John McNeil, in charge of the SEAL unit aboard Michigan, was meeting with his two platoon Officers-in-Charge, Lieutenants Jake Harrison and Lorie Allen, reviewing the potential operations they might be tasked with now that they were repositioning into the Gulf of Oman. Lieutenant Allen was in his twenties, while Harrison was much older; the prior enlisted SEAL had reached the rank of chief before receiving his commission as an officer. If there was ever a poster child for the prototypical SEAL, Harrison was it: tall, lean, and muscular, with a chiseled jawline and deep blue eyes.
“Change in plans,” Wilson announced, handing the message board to McNeil. The senior SEAL read the message, handing it to Harrison as he asked, “Do you know what’s up?”
“Not yet. This is just the waterspace message. We should receive an operational order soon, but right now all we know is — we’re headed into the Med.”
15
MOSCOW
Seated at his desk in his office, Yuri Kalinin listened intently as his chief of the general staff, General Sergei Andropov, delivered the daily update on Russia’s progress. So far, things were proceeding well, but all that had been authorized were the preparations. Despite his outward confidence and decisiveness, Kalinin hadn’t committed. The time was rapidly approaching, however, when a final decision would be required, and if he approved, Russia would step onto a precipice from which it could not retreat. In the meantime, he monitored the progress.
“Everything required to achieve the primary objectives has been arranged,” Andropov said. “The initial military units are en route, agreements have been made in Ukraine, and President Lukashenko has agreed to his part. Our oil and natural gas price discounts to Belarus had to be significantly increased, but came in as projected.