Damn you! Hariri shouted into the still desert air — at everyone but himself.
When he had flushed the American out in front, his MiG couldn’t stay with it. The tons of fuel in the wings and fuselage had caused it to fall under its own heavy weight. He knew what was happening and cursed his jet as he fell below the Hornet, pushing the throttles forward with all his strength, almost bending them, in a vain effort to get more power out of the burner cans. When the American had pivoted down in midair, Hariri knew he was trapped.
The bullet impacts on the wing sounded like a string of holiday firecrackers, but they were followed by the roar of fuel-fed flames mere feet away. Time slowed as he pulled the handles by instinct, watched the canopy fly off, and winced in pain as the initial impulse of the seat motor slammed into his butt and rocketed him out of the aircraft. Hariri saw the canopy rail fall below him followed by the flames and smoke of his doomed jet.
He immediately regretted ejecting. It would have been better to ride it in. Now he would have to face the scrutiny he would receive from Tehran and his pilots, even from Atosa.
The sun that rested on the eastern ridgeline fell below it as he continued his descent. He knew there was a settlement on the other side of the ridge, but he saw nothing here but a dry stream bed among the shadowy limestone fissures. Maybe he would die out here: of dehydration, of a broken back when he landed, or by wild animals. A just fate, he thought.
He heard shouting and scanned the surface for its source. He determined the language he heard was Farsi, and soon saw a village man with two boys and a pack mule on a dusty trail. “We are coming to you,” the man bellowed, and the excited boys ran ahead to the spot where he was about to land.
I can’t believe there are people out here! Right under me! Hariri then realized he would probably live, a fact that filled him with a deep sadness.
CHAPTER 68
After Yaz Kernoum, Valley Forge and the other strike group ships stood down from further combat. Remaining vigilant, they flew only routine sea surface search hops in the GOO and made single-ship transits of Hormuz to ensure freedom of navigation, but otherwise kept a low profile. The Iranian maritime forces did as well, not only due to attrition from the American attack but from a practical sense, so as not to invite a further and possibly more damaging response from U.S. forces.
Reaction from world capitols was characterized by predictable expressions of regret at the American action, with little condemnation of the Iranian recklessness that had precipitated the use of force. The statements of American condemnation were accompanied by demonstrations in several European population centers, as well as damaging comments from some American left-wing politicians. However, the Arab world was silent for the most part, save for government expressions of shock at the American action and a few chanting mobs for local media consumption. Privately, the GCC governments thanked Washington for the prompt action at Yaz Kernoum that placed Iranian missile forces in check, if only in the short term. The United States also received quiet congratulations from many of the same governments that publicly expressed regret or worse. Even the Chinese remained officially silent but conveyed their approval behind the scenes.
Tehran loudly claimed victory over the Great Satan, feeling triumphant in the fact they had absorbed the best blow the United States could deliver and still had their blue-water maritime capability intact. They also sent out ominous warnings of devastating retaliation against American and GCC installations at a time and place of their choosing. Surviving Pasdaran assets were back at sea for the benefit of cameras, but they stayed inside the 12-mile territorial limit and went nowhere near the international safe passage lanes of Hormuz. Crude prices began their slow decline from the previous week’s spike, and the Iranians communicated through the Swiss embassy the identity of the pilot the Americans had lost on the first strike over Bandar Abbas: Commander Stephen J. Lassiter.
The great majority of Iranian people, however, were unnerved at the military action their government had initiated with the world’s only superpower. They saw through the pompous indignation of the Revolutionary Guard leaders who were acting independently of the central government that itself raised regional and world tensions on a routine basis. In essence, the Iranian people were in the back of a vehicle careening down a mountain road with a wild man driving, or in this case, two wild men — Guard and Government — fighting for control of the wheel. They were tired of Iran’s international pariah status, and the daily hardships it placed on them, and wished only for what the West had, what the United States had… a representative government and a free-market economy that could unleash the vast untapped potential of the Persian people.
The current situation began, as it so often does, with young people, students unwilling to accept the lifetime of misery their parents had endured. They rejoiced at the fall of the brutal Pahlavi government, but their joy was short-lived when they found a brutal kleptocracy, cloaked in Islamic fundamentalism, had taken its place. They protested with nonviolent sit-ins, marched with placards, staged strikes in factories and questioned the legitimacy of the regime. The smuggled video of the vicious government crackdown was difficult to watch, but Iran’s youth stood firm as the protests spread to Shiraz and Bushier, and even to Bandar Abbas. The people there envied the bright free-market light that gleamed from the Emirates cites on the southern horizon each night. Claims by the government that the Americans and Israelis wanted to conquer Iran fell flat — the people knew who caused trouble for the region and for themselves in their daily lives. The Islamic Republic government found itself with a more pressing problem than the regional proximity of the American military or the existence of Israel. The loud demands of their own people were at the moment a serious threat to the regime.
Life changed little for the sailors aboard Happy Valley as they watched the news from Iran. Their job was to orbit a piece of water in the North Arabian Sea in order to provide an American presence that sent a message to the Iranians and reassured others in the region. Days drifted by, and when the news that Harry S. Truman had gotten underway from Norfolk to relieve them was announced over the 1MC, a cheer went up throughout the ship. With tensions in the region lowered to a simmer, Valley Forge could soon point her bow southwest and transit the coastline of the Arabian Peninsula on the first leg of her 8,000-mile journey home.
In CAG’s stateroom, however, a sensitive conversation was taking place, a conversation that had a great bearing on the future of the Ravens of VFA-64.
CHAPTER 69
“So, I come out of the admiral’s office, and Bucket tells me Saint’s jet is down and he’s out of the airplane. What the hell for? His TACAN, for crying out loud! His people are launching on the biggest strike of the year, and he’s not leading it for what I would consider an “up” gripe. An irritant, yes, but for a strike of this magnitude, and considering he’s the lead with jets taxiing to the cat, you take it.”