“Here it comes,” the sonar operator aboard the Los Angeles-class nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Miami reported. He flipped open the intercom channeclass="underline" “Bridge, sonar, target alpha is in the channel, bearing three-one-four, range six thousand yards, speed six knots.”
The first officer acknowledged the call, then rang the captain in his quarters. “Skipper, the Taregh’s moving.” The captain joined his first officer on the twelve-year-old, 7,000-ton submarine’s bridge a few moments later.
“Sonar, what d’ya have?” the captain ordered.
“Positive contact, sir,” the sensor operator said. The WLR-9/12 acoustic emission receiver/processor suite was an extensive computerized system that in effect “pointed” the sensor operator to a particular sound picked up from the myriad of noises from the sea, allowed the sensor operator to scan the suspect, fine-tuned the sound, and attempted to identify it. “Target alphas coming out of Bandar-Abbass, heading south. Shes making noise, probably getting ready to blow her tanks.”
The captain took a deep breath in anticipation. For the past several weeks, their only assigned target had been staying close to home — but now it was on the move, and that probably spelled trouble. “Target alpha” was the Taregh, which meant “Morning Star”—the Islamic Republic of Iran’s first attack submarine. Purchased from Russia in September 1992, the Taregh had sent the world into a tailspin by introducing yet another advanced weapon system into the hands of an aggressive, fundamentalist Islamic nation in the Persian Gulf.
Although the Iranians had purchased a second Kilo-class sub from Russia and were threatening to buy more, the threat of Iran filling the Persian Gulf with attack subs, and thereby threatening nearly half of the world’s oil supply, had never come to pass. The Taregh had never ventured far from Bandar-Abbass and had spent most of its time cruising the Strait of Hormuz and the Gulf of Oman between Bandar-Abbass and its as-yet-uncompleted home port of Chah Bahar.
Since the recent conflict between the United States and Iran, the United States had assigned one nuclear-powered attack sub to monitor the Taregh's whereabouts. Fortunately, the Taregh had proven to be an easy shadowing assignment — while Iran’s aircraft carrier Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini had been busy attacking other Gulf states during the brief naval and air skirmishes in the area, Iran’s attack subs had played no part. The Miami had simply stationed itself in the Strait of Hormuz just outside Bandar-Abbass, concealed by the noise of the hundreds of ships crowding the channel, and waited. While stationed in the Strait, the crew of the Miami had been able to extend its antennas and collect vast amounts of information on the Iranian fleet’s deployment, and occasionally intercept important communications from fleet headquarters. But their primary assignment, the Taregh, had always been a nonplayer, stuck in port except for brief cruises and exercises. During the U.S.-Iran crisis, the United States and its Persian Gulf allies had not been flying anti-submarine patrols over the Strait of Hormuz, Persian Gulf, or Gulf of Oman, which meant that, if it was not shadowed as soon as it left port, the Taregh could sneak out of the Strait and make its way into the Persian Gulf itself, where it would be much harder to detect and track, and it could lay waste to all commercial shipping traffic heading in or out of the Persian Gulf.
“Looks like we’re going sailing,” the captain announced. He ordered that the ship be made ready to answer bells immediately. Thirty minutes later, the Miami pulled out into the Strait for the first time in almost four weeks.
Tailing the Taregh was easy as long as it was on the surface. Other vessels got out of its way, so it traveled a straight course, and its large, blunt nose and wide hull meant that it had to churn out a lot of rpms from its big six-bladed propeller just to maintain steerageway. The Taregh was escorted by two tugboats as it left the crowded naval base and headed south toward the center of the Strait of Hormuz; one tugboat eventually dropped away as the channel traffic cleared. The tugboat would also help mask the Miami’s noise. The captain of the Miami ordered the distance increased to 12,000 yards, almost seven miles — the maximum useful range of his passive sonar system.
The Taregh finally made its dive at the absolute worst place its skipper could pick — at the narrowest and shallowest part of the Strait, between Bandar-Abbass and the eastern tip of Qeshm Island. The shallower water restricted the Miami to less than periscope depth. The Taregh was making minimum steerageway even while submerged, and now it was getting more difficult for the Miami to maintain course at the slower speed. Channel traffic was increasing as well. Qeshm Island was a busy petroleum drilling and refining area, and commercial-vessel traffic was heavy all day and all night in this area. The Miami maintained 12,000 yards’ distance from the Taregh, even when the Iranian attack sub seemed as if it was barely moving.
It suddenly seemed as if the Taregh was getting a lot of visitors — large, slow-moving vessels flitting nearby, centered generally over the sub. It was unlikely that the Iranian navy would allow onlookers to get within a mile of one of its subs. “What in hell are those things?” the captain muttered. “Service vessels? Supply vessels?”
“Shit, it’s going to turn around,” the first officer said, as they waited. “Something on the tub broke, they can’t fix it, and they’re going to turn around and head back to the barn.”
“We’re not that lucky,” the skipper said. “That’ll cut our patrol time down, that’s for sure. Who the hell knows? We’ll maintain our distance until he starts motoring.”
They did not have to wait long — soon, the Taregh started to pick up speed, now reaching twelve knots, and the skipper ordered the Miami back on the pursuit. With the steam turbines running at a more comfortable speed, the Miami felt steadier and more seaworthy in the shallow waters, and the skipper even began to relax a bit, although he wouldn’t relax completely until they were safely out of Iranian waters, out of the Strait of Hormuz, and out of this weird, unfriendly water. The warm, dirt-laden, polluted salt water of the Strait of Hormuz always played havoc with sensors, and it was harder to maintain depth and control roll and yaw. But the Taregh was starting to move faster, now above fifteen knots, and the faster they went, the steadier the ol’ Miami—
“Bridge, helm.”
The skipper clicked open the intercom: “Bridge, go.”
“We’ve got a problem. Recommend emergency stop.”
“All stop,” the skipper said immediately — when the quartermaster at the helm suggests an emergency maneuver, you make it and sort out the problem later. “I hope it’s your imagination. On my way.” He arrived at the sub’s helm station as fast as he could. Both diving plane helmsmen had their arms extended full out, and they appeared to be struggling with the airplane-like control wheels; the quartermaster standing between them was watching the navigation and performance instruments, while technicians were checking the hydraulic, pneumatic, and electrical panels. “What in hell’s going on?”