Within minutes, the drone technician stirred. “I’m following it, five meters behind. It’s driving in a pretty wide circle. I’m moving in closer to see it.”
Breathing shallowly, Causey watched his monitor as bright lights from the drone illuminated five rotating blades within a protective shroud.
Several men called out the visual confirmation of the robot’s propeller, and then the drone operator pushed for more visual information. “I’m moving in closer for a better view.”
Thirty seconds later, the straight stern planes and canted rudder appeared on the unmanned submarine’s tapered tail. Then the robot’s blades coasted to motionlessness.
The young technician called out. “I’m slowing the drone, diving under the robot to help slow down.”
As the remote camera moved below the UUV and then looked upward, Causey saw the problem. A torn T-shaped piece of a metal hung from the rudder’s underside. He spoke under his breath. “What are the chances of that?” Glancing at his second-in-command, he raised his voice to pressure him into risking the first verbalized opinion. “What do you think of that, XO?”
The careful response lacked authority or fear, toeing the line of neutrality. “It’s possible that the robot collided with the mast of a submerged wreck, sir.”
“I agree that’s what it looks like, but I can’t say if that’s what happened, or if that’s what a saboteur wanted it to look like.” As the camera swam through varied perspectives of the jammed rudder, Causey sought concurrence of his conclusion. “Lieutenant Hansen, do you agree that this condition appears salvageable?”
The burly diver looked up from his seat among the tactical team. “Yes, sir. I do. We’ll go out armed and ready for any saboteurs. We’ll also need to make some noise cutting that off, but it should be quick work. I also want to inspect the whole robot closer to see if there’s any damage.”
“Agreed. Join me and the XO at the navigation plot.” Causey moved to the table where his navigator hunched over a chart, and he waited for his second-in-command and the dive team’s officer to join him. “How close do I need to get you?”
Lieutenant Hansen cleared his throat. “Since we’re shallow enough to use rebreathers, my guys can make good speed. If you can get us ahead of the robot’s expected movement, two hundred meters would be enough.”
Causey stated the obvious. “It’s settled, then. We’re going into Iranian waters. XO, plot an intercept course to get us on the robot’s track, two hundred meters ahead of it. Also, get a message drafted to fleet headquarters with our intent and send it out on a communications buoy with a thirty-minute delay.”
Two hours later, Causey approached the control station of the nine-man lock out chamber and heard the divers arguing. “What’s wrong now?”
Slouching to keep his tall frame under a run of hydraulic piping, Senior Chief Spencer scowled. “The lieutenant wants the guys to attach themselves to the robot with lanyards.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“When it’s drifting, nothing. When it’s moving at three knots, they can hold on with their hands or swim. I don’t want them in lanyards so that they don’t get caught up in moving parts.”
The muscular lieutenant shook his head. “I get that. But you’ll be doubling their time out there if they can’t work while it’s moving. We’re in Iranian waters now and need to minimize our time.”
Before Causey could intervene as a counselor, a voice over a loudspeaker chilled him. “Torpedo evasion!” As the deck angled through a turn and the ship trembled into its acceleration, he darted down a ladder and turned into the control room.
His executive officer met his gaze. “Sir, we’ve got high-speed screws identified as two torpedoes, both coming from the northwest. Minimal bearing rates.”
The Indiana’s commander snapped his jaw towards a monitor showing raw sounds from the seas. With his sonar team tracking the weapons, cursors marked the direction to the incoming torpedoes. They struck him as good shots, fencing him in from either side. “State the ordered course, XO.”
“One-one-zero, sir.”
“Very well. I have the deck and the conn. Steady on course one-zero-five.” As fear rose within him, Causey protected his second-in-command’s dignity. “You made the right call ordering a torpedo evasion and turning, but I’m easing up on the course to escape the weapon to the left. It’s easier to evade one torpedo than two. Also, order the drone due south into deep water to sink itself when its battery dies. Cut its wire.”
Looking up from the sonar screen over which he crouched, the executive officer revealed fear — the right amount per Causey’s judgment. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Get a tube ready to take out our robot.”
“I’ll use tube two, sir.”
“Where’s my reactive weapon?”
“Tube one’s ready for a reactive firing down the bearing of the incoming weapons. I recommend firing, sir.”
Unsure who shot at him, how they’d found him, or if he’d survive, the Indiana’s commander was terrified. But recalling his duty as a naval leader, he forced a loud and confident voice as he released his desperate retaliatory weapon. “Shoot tube one.”
CHAPTER 2
Seated in the cramped control space of Ghadir-957, Lieutenant Commander Reza Jazani felt his pulse racing, and his eyes darted between monitors. One display rendered a flash photo taken from a dolphin’s head showing the conning tower of a submerged Virginia-class submarine trespassing in his waters. The other showed the location of the two 324-millimeter torpedoes a frigate had launched. “That’s another victory for the dolphins.”
Beside him, the small-framed executive officer pressed a muff against his ear and shook his head. “Amazing. First, an American robot. Now, a Virginia.”
“Put cameras on dolphins’ heads, teach them a few basic commands, and otherwise unthinkable opportunities arise. A sabotaged robot as bait. An arrogant navy sending its finest ship into a trap.”
“Right, sir. And now we have a fleeing adversary. I can’t believe how loud an American submarine can be.”
Jazani scoffed. “Every ship’s loud at flank speed.”
“Still, sir. This is amazing. We’re recording it for future reference. We’re capturing a lot of good information.”
As the Ghadir’s commander studied the lines showing the sound power levels of the American submarine’s narrowband noises, one of the fainter lines disappeared. “It’s still quieter than I expected. We just lost… what was that, a reactor coolant pump?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We lost a reactor coolant pump at this range while the target’s running for its life.”
As a swell rocked the shallow submarine, the executive officer showed his commander a scowling profile. “Isn’t that an exaggeration, sir, at least per the intent of the geniuses among our political leaders?”
Tempted to feed the cynicism, Jazani reminded himself of a commanding officer’s need for stoicism. “Be careful expressing opinions against a mission you’ve been ordered to support.”
The small man challenged the warning. “Come on, sir. You know that someone with too much rank and too little common sense defined this trap. Shooting small torpedoes to avoid snapping the American ship in half is a noble gesture, but even the smallest torpedoes are designed to sink submarines.”
Agreeing with his second-in-command, Jazani found his admiralty’s plan dubious, but he defended the orders. “We’re giving the Americans a chance to survive.”