Exit Plan

21. INTERCEPT

7 April 2013

1800 Local Time/1500 Zulu

Uranium Enrichment Facility, Natanz, Iran

It was nearly dark. Moradi finished the latest report from Rahim with disappointment. The major was almost legendary within VEVAK, both feared and admired. Was that reputation misplaced, or was his failure to capture the traitors an indicator of their own strength? If they had indeed wiped out a heavily armed Pasdaran detachment lying in ambush, then they might indeed escape, or at least take more lives and further delay their capture.

This was not good, and in normal circumstances would be a crisis of national importance, but Moradi and Rahim had worked to limit the spread of information, so far successfully. It had been difficult, and they couldn’t keep it up forever, but after tonight it wouldn’t matter.

The latest intelligence reports were more than encouraging. Last light would be at 1845, but the planes wouldn’t come until later, in the early hours of the morning, or even just before dawn. But all indications were, it would be sometime tonight.

They’d run drills for the last three days, with the workers hustling into shelters while Pasdaran crews hurried to their stations. Over a thousand men were dedicated to defending the facility.

He expected the casualties to be light to moderate. The Israelis didn’t fly all this way to bomb guns and SAM launchers. A few planes would use antiradar missiles on the SAM guidance radars, but the gun crews would be relatively safe. Likewise, workers in the shelters and at home would not suffer too greatly. The greatest losses would be in the underground centrifuge halls.

Unfortunately, there was no way to quickly shut down the centrifuges in an emergency. Nonessential staff would be evacuated during an air raid, but the machines had to be tended. Spinning at tens of thousands of revolutions per minute on magnetic bearings, it took hours to slow and stop them, and that was only after the cascades had been flushed with nitrogen gas.

The workers had emergency suits that they could put on when an alert sounded, but uranium hexafluoride gas was both toxic and corrosive. It would take a big bomb to penetrate the layers of earth and reinforced concrete that protected the halls, but that same protection would then contain the blast. A powerful explosion would send the delicately balanced centrifuges caroming off each other, spraying the lethal gas everywhere. He was sure the Israelis would use more than one bomb. In fact, he was expecting the halls to be so ruined that the only sensible course would be to cover them with even more earth and leave them as poisonous, radioactive tombs.

Moradi had decided to stay in his office in the main administration building until the alert sounded. After that, he would hurry to the command bunker with the others. It was possible that the Israelis would attack without the air defense system even detecting their approach. While their planes were not stealthy, he’d received briefings on the electronic techniques they had used elsewhere, and if the planes flew low enough, they could simply fly under the radar beams. Iran lacked the airborne radar aircraft that could track low flyers.

There was a risk that he could be a casualty himself, even with adequate warning, if the Israelis chose to hit the bunker. It was a logical target, and he could certainly find an excuse to be elsewhere, even away from the base entirely. But this was his plan, and he would risk his life along with the rest. He had brought this on himself; he would let Allah decide his fate. Whether he lived or died, his plan would succeed when the bombs fell.

7 April 2013

1130 Local Time/1630 Zulu

Oval Office, The White House

Saudi Ambassador Mutaib bin Khalid was wearing traditional Arab dress — the long white thobe with a dark bisht, or mantle, over it and of course, the white headdress. President Myles immediately wondered what message the ambassador was trying to send. Young for the post, in his mid-forties, and clean-shaven, Khalid was usually seen around Washington in fashionably tailored suits. Then Myles remembered that Arabs wore the bisht on formal occasions.

The request for a meeting had described the matter as “urgent and important,” and Myles had treated it as such. In addition to Secretary of State Andy Lloyd, who would be present for any such visit, James Springfield, the Secretary of Defense, was also waiting to hear the ambassador’s message. Aside from them, the only other person in the room was Chief of Staff Alvarez.

After Khalid greeted the four, Myles sat and invited the ambassador to join him. The center of the Oval Office was furnished with two long couches facing each other across a coffee table, where a tray with tea and coffee had been placed. Myles had taken a seat on one of the couches, leaving more than enough room for the ambassador. There was also an overstuffed wing chair at each end of the couch; the ambassador took one of these, facing the president.

After the others had taken their seats, Alvarez served coffee and tea while the president and ambassador exchanged courtesies and shared their concerns about the crisis. Myles thought he was offering a noncommittal pleasantry when he said, “I’m sure our two countries, working together, can be a powerful influence to preserve peace in the region.”

Khalid quickly put down his coffee cup and said, with some intensity, “If that peace ignores a great danger, then peace is of no value, and may do harm.”

Myles and the others were surprised, but when the president started to answer, Khalid spoke first.

“My apologies, Mr. President, but I’ve been watching a lot of American news broadcasts lately. Rarely has a disagreement between two countries’ intelligence arms become so public. Actual news has been supplemented with many so-called experts and analysts explaining different aspects of the crisis. How much damage can Iran do with a nuclear weapon? How will they deploy it? What is Israel so worried about?”

He smiled. “I don’t have to tell you why Israel is so hypersensitive. While we may not agree with the Jewish nation on many things, we understand their situation. A few nuclear weapons, delivered by ballistic missiles or terrorists, could destroy it. Such an attack would be a great victory for Iran, not only removing its greatest enemy, but giving the country a claim of being the most powerful nation in the Islamic world.”

He paused for a moment, and when it was clear he was waiting for some response, Myles replied, “That is a nightmare we all wish to avoid, Mr. Ambassador.”

Khalid nodded. “Yes. That would be bad enough, both for American interests and, I must admit, for the entire region. Have you thought about what would come after that? What will Iran do if its greatest enemy is destroyed? How would Iran use its new power? The Shiite leadership of Iran has made no secret of their hatred for the House of Saud. While our numbers are three times Israel’s, a few weapons could also do our country great damage. In fact, we are not sure that Iran might not choose us as its first victim, aiming for Riyadh or Jeddah, or the greatest nightmare of all — Mecca.”

The ambassador saw the surprise in their faces, and he reminded them, “What happens to the House of Saud if we fail in our duty as guardians of the holy city? Twelver Shia Islam is based on the return of the Twelfth Imam, who they believe is in occultation. He is prophesized to return in a time of chaos, which according to some writings, it is their solemn duty to create.”

Khalid stood suddenly and removed an envelope from his robes. “My pardon for this long explanation, but it will help you understand our actions in the next few days.” He handed the envelope to Myles and said carefully, “Under the existing Status of Forces agreement, in times of national emergency, we are allowed to close our air bases to American aircraft operations. We are declaring such an emergency. While your planes are not required to vacate their bases or leave Saudi Arabia, they may not fly from those bases until further notice. This includes all types of aircraft.”

Shocked, the president and his two secretaries looked at the ambassador, and then each other. SECDEF Springfield finally gathered his thoughts and said, “Mr. Ambassador, planes from those bases support both our nations’ interests. The information from our E-3 Sentry and RC-135 intelligence aircraft is shared with your government. Your air force trains at those bases. And in a time of crisis, like this one, our warplanes are ready to assist in your defense.”

“Our own air force will deal with the current situation, Mr. Secretary, and we expect this interruption to last only a few days, maybe just one.” He smiled. “Perhaps your mechanics can use the time to get caught up on their maintenance.

“Letters identical to this one are being given to your ambassador in Riyadh, the commander of U.S. Central Command, and the commanders of the five air bases involved. No further takeoffs or landings will be allowed except for those aircraft currently aloft, and of course, humanitarian missions, which must be approved by my government.”

Myles, still shocked, understood the purpose of the Saudi action. “Without U.S. air presence, Israeli planes could operate over Saudi airspace without our knowledge. I’m surprised, Mr. Ambassador, that you would allow them passage.”

“Do not read too much into our agreement with the Israelis. We may have found common cause with them on this particular issue, but that has more to do with the Iranian genius for creating enemies than our love for the Jews.”

Khalid bowed. “Peace and Allah’s blessings be upon you.” The ambassador turned to leave, and Alvarez followed him out.

The instant the door closed behind them, the president’s phone buzzed. Answering, Myles listened for a minute, then said, “All right, Ray, we’ll be there in five minutes.”

7 April 2013

1150 Local Time/1650 Zulu

Situation Room, The White House

President Myles’s arrival created a ten-second pause in the commotion, but even Ray Kirkpatrick barely hesitated in his conversation. All the workstations on one side of the room were manned, and staff poured into and out of the room, bringing or taking away messages or assisting the operators. Myles noticed that the rank of the staff was slowly increasing. Officers replaced some enlisted personnel, and senior officers replaced the junior ones.

Nodding toward the president and the two secretaries, Kirkpatrick spoke encouragingly into the phone, “I understand, General, but turn them around as quickly as possible. We need those planes back in the air.”

The national security advisor spoke quickly to an Air Force colonel, who hurried away, then turned to the three officials.

“The Saudis have caught us completely unprepared. We’re going to get one E-3 and one RC-135 out of Saudi airspace to Iraq, but there won’t be any support at Tallil or Baghdad. It will take hours to get more planes and people from Tinker in Oklahoma. I’m sorry, but I don’t know just how long yet.

“At least twelve hours,” Springfield said gloomily.

“By which time it will be too late,” Myles concluded. “When is sunset at Natanz, Ray?”

“In Iran? About 1830 local time. It’s dark over there now,” Kirkpatrick answered.

“Then they could go at any time,” Myles said resolutely.

“But, sir, the Israelis told Dr. Patterson they wouldn’t go today,” Springfield reminded him.

Myles chuckled quietly. “That was before we pissed them off. Still, you’re probably right. But all bets are off at the stroke of midnight Greenwich Mean Time.”

“I’m working with CENTCOM to use E-2 Hawkeyes from USS Reagan to take the E-3’s place, but that means tying her strike group to the western half of the gulf. People might be able to take advantage of that. By the way, the Saudis are parking trucks and other large vehicles on the runways and taxiways at all five of their bases. We can’t sneak anyone out.”

“What do we know about the Israelis?” Myles asked.

Kirkpatrick invited them to take seats, and he gestured to a naval officer. “Commander Kennedy has been continuously updating the Israeli status, based on what little we know.”

Kennedy was a big man, filling out his dress blues. The aviator wings were almost lost on his uniform jacket. He pressed a key on his laptop and the big screen lit up with a map of the area.

“Even when we know where to look, the Israelis aren’t giving away much. ‘There’s been a complete communications blackout for several days, and they’ve timed aircraft movements to avoid our satellite passes. Our attaches have been barred from visiting any of the air bases or IAF headquarters. Normally, we’d at least get rumors from the local media, but they’ve put a lid on that as well. Our best bet is to look at their mission planning.”

A line appeared, running from southern Israel almost due south into Saudi Arabian airspace. Once past the southern tip of Jordan, the line turned east-southeast across the Saudi Arabian peninsula, passing just south of Iraq and Kuwait. When it crossed the Saudi coastline over the gulf, it turned northeast, straight toward Natanz.

“This is our estimate of the Israelis’ flight path. Until the Saudis made their announcement a short time ago, we had to consider three possible routes: north, then east across Turkey; straight east across Iraq; or south and east across Saudi. Now we know who they’ve gotten in bed with.”

Distances appeared by each line segment, and the commander explained, “Knowing how far they have to fly tells us how many aircraft they’re likely to send. They will have to refuel in flight, probably just before they turn the corner over the gulf. Given nine operational tankers, they can put four squadrons of fighter-bombers over Natanz, one of F-15Is and three of F-16I. If I was going to hit Natanz, that’s how many I’d send. And remember, Israeli squadrons are double the standard size — twenty-four instead of twelve aircraft.”

Secretary Lloyd asked, “How many will they lose?”

Kennedy hit a key, flashing past several slides. A map of Iran appeared, marked with symbols for radars, missile sites, and fighter bases. “This is Iran’s air defense network. Their newest radars use 1980s technology and most of their surface-to-air missiles are just as old. The Iranians have two squadrons of early MiG-29 Fulcrums, but their pilots have limited air-to-air training. In an air battle, the Israelis outclass them in every category. It’s first-rate air force against a third- or even fourth-rate one. There is a fair possibility that the Israelis will not suffer any losses. It’s likely that they will suffer only a handful, five at the very most.”

Kennedy zoomed in the map until the Natanz facility filled the screen. More symbols marked hundreds of light and heavy antiaircraft guns, six batteries of SAM launchers, and several low-altitude warning radars. “Natanz is the most heavily defended place in Iran, except for the capital, Tehran, but most of this is wasted effort. The biggest guns there, ten batteries of four radar-guided 100mms each, have a range of four-and-a-half miles.”

The screen changed again, to show a plane’s flight path from the side. Near the target, the plane’s flight path climbed sharply and curved back the way it came. “The Israelis will almost certainly use GPS-guided bombs from high altitude. When they’re ready to release, they’ll go into a zoom climb and literally toss the weapon toward its target. The bomb arcs over and uses its own guidance, while the plane is now headed directly away from the target. They’ll launch from eight to ten miles away, well outside the range of the guns. Jamming and antiradar missiles will deal with the SAMs.”

Lloyd looked surprised, even shocked. “So the guns, the missiles…” Kennedy shrugged. “Against a 1970s or 1980s threat, it’s bad news. Now it’s just a Pasdaran jobs program.”

The commander highlighted different sections of the facility. “Here is the fake weapon’s assembly facility next to the transformer building. These are the two buried centrifuge halls, about five hundred thousand square feet, give or take. This cross-shaped collection of buildings is the pilot enrichment plant. These will be the primary targets.”

“And that takes nearly a hundred aircraft?” Lloyd asked.

“It’s a long way to go, so the strikers can’t carry a full load. The F-15I is rated for two GBU-28s, five-thousand-pound penetrators, but at that distance they can only carry one. That’s twenty-four weapons, twelve for each hall. We estimate five weapons are needed to destroy each hall completely, and they will have to ‘double-tap,’ drop a second weapon into the hole made by the first one, if they want to get through the overhead protection. Of course, even one or two weapons penetrating into the underground facility will wreak tremendous damage.

“One of the other F-16 squadrons will carry smaller weapons, in the thousand-pound- or two-thousand-pound class, to attack the assembly facility and the pilot plant buildings. Those aren’t armored.”

“And the other squadrons?” Lloyd asked.

“Dual role, defense suppression and escort. Some will fan out and attack radars and SAM sites in the area, or launch decoys to confuse the defenses. Others will stay close to the strikers and do the same thing to the defenses at Natanz proper. And both squadrons will carry AMRAAM and Python 5 air-to-air missiles, just in case the Iranians do manage to get some fighters up.”

“We always knew the Israelis could level the place,” Myles said. “But what happens when the Iranians aren’t prevented from building a bomb, because there was never one to build?”

Kennedy put up a new screen, with range circles centered on Iran. “Their first response will be conventional ballistic missile attacks. The missiles are inaccurate, but cities are big targets. If one hits a populated area, it will take out a city block. Iran will encourage Hamas and Hezbollah to make large-scale attacks, and it’s likely they’ve stockpiled some unpleasant surprises. Iran’s also promised to close the Strait of Hormuz if they’re attacked. Iran’s government has made it clear that they will spread the pain as far and wide as they can. They like to use the phrase ‘increase the arc of crisis. ‘“

“But this was a war they wanted,” Secretary Springfield protested. “What can they win?”

Myles sighed. “Israel’s goal is to deter Iran from building a bomb that never was. It can’t physically defeat Iran or occupy its territory. All they will do is give Iran a casus belli. If Iran can’t become the leader of the Islamic world by building a bomb, how about by leading a war against Israel — a war Israel can only lose, because there is nothing for it to win.”

“A war we can’t stay out of,” Springfield added. “We’ve declared that if Iran closed the strait, we’d use force to open it again. Europe has said the same thing. And we have to keep it open. So we all get pulled in.”

Kirkpatrick added, “We’ve also seen some interesting things going on at Saudi air bases. Their Strike Eagles and Tornado squadrons may be preparing to make their own attacks.”

“Joining the Israelis?” Lloyd asked, surprised at the idea.

“No, sir, they’re taking advantage of the confusion.” Kirkpatrick motioned to Kennedy, who changed the map to show the entire length of the Persian Gulf. More range circles appeared, centered on the Saudi airfields. “They’re thinking ahead,” Kirkpatrick explained. “If the Iranians do try to close the Strait of Hormuz, the Saudis will be hurt the most. We believe there is a good chance that the Saudis will preemptively strike antiship missile batteries that the Iranians have near the strait, both on the coast and on islands in the strait. They could also attack Iranian oil loading terminals and refineries, like the one at Bandar Abbas.”

Lloyd smiled. “That’s one way of removing your competition. But it also gives Iran justification to attack the Saudis, their other non-best friends.”

“And another U.S. ally becomes involved,” Myles observed. “That guarantees us getting sucked in. Anyone want to guess what will happen to the economy when energy prices spike? And it won’t be just us. Everyone who brings oil through the strait will be hurt.”

“And this is a win for Iran?” Lloyd asked. “I know how you feel, Mr. President, but sometimes I think that bombing Iran is the right call.”

Myles shook his head and smiled. “Business before pleasure, Andy. We aren’t going to defeat their military and occupy the country, either. Do you want to bet on how long it would take them to say ‘uncle’? And what if they get support from other countries? China would love to keep us tied up in the Persian Gulf.”

Myles turned to face the entire group. “Trust me, gentlemen. The first principle of the Myles doctrine is going to be ‘Bombing stuff is not always a good idea.’ But I may have to polish the language a bit.”

7 April 2013

1230 Washington, D.C., Time/1730 Zulu/2230 Iran Time

Captain’s Cabin, USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), in the Persian Gulf

Commander Gary, the carrier air group or CAG commander, almost ran into Captain Allen’s stateroom. Breathless, he asked, “Skipper, tell me this is a practical joke.”

Allen smiled as he shook his head. “No, Taz, and you’ve got one minute and twenty seconds to park it and catch your breath.”

Complying, the CAG asked, “Aye, aye, sir, but why here? Why not in Combat or Flag Plot where we have videoconferencing facilities?”

Allen’s answer was interrupted by Admiral Thomas Graves, the strike group commander. Although senior in rank to the captain, he was “embarked” on Reagan and technically a guest. He knocked on the open door frame and asked, “May I join you?” as if he hadn’t been summoned as well.

“Of course, sir,” said Allen, mentally shoving the admiral into his seat with seconds to go. Allen and Gary retook their seats and the captain nodded to a petty officer. “All right, it’s time.”

Precisely at 2230, the video screen in Allen’s stateroom came to life. Facing the three naval officers, thanks to the wonders of technology, were President Myles, Secretary of Defense Springfield, and General Dewhurst, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

Dewhurst started the conversation. “Good evening, Admiral. What is your status?”

Graves didn’t hesitate. “We’ve got two E-2Ds in the air with escorts, another two CAP stations covering any approach from Iran. We have strike aircraft and relief CAP on five minutes’ notice. We ran drills all morning with excellent performance from the entire formation. I just came from Flag Plot. No subsurface tracks, six air tracks, all visually identified as commercial. The surface picture is much busier. We’ve had close passes from Iranian speedboats, most of them armed. They’re testing our reactions, but they haven’t pushed it. I told my escort skippers to play nicely until I say otherwise.”

“Do you have any problems?” asked Kirkpatrick.

“Well, sir, gap-filling for an E-3 is a challenge. It would be nice to have some more E-2s. Running two stations instead of one with only four aircraft aboard means port and starboard duty.”

“By the time we could get you any additional Hawkeyes, it wouldn’t matter. If you can make do for tonight, that should be enough.”

“Of course, sir,” Graves answered. The admiral looked over at Gary, who nodded confidently.

“Anything else, Admiral?” Kirkpatrick sensed there was something else bothering the strike group commander.

“I wasn’t happy about detaching one of my destroyers to head southeast, sir. That left a big hole in my screen. We’ve jiggled around the remaining escorts, but we’re thinner than I would like. If the Iranians do try to execute a swarm attack, my defensive posture isn’t as robust,” complained Graves.

“I understand, Admiral. But the issue isn’t about the Iranians,” said Kirkpatrick, gesturing to the president.

Myles finally spoke. “Gentlemen, sometime this evening, or more likely early tomorrow morning, we expect the Israelis to launch a powerful airstrike against the Iranian facility at Natanz. It will pass through Saudi airspace and is likely to cross the western end of the gulf just south of Kuwait.”

Graves answered, “Yes, sir, we’re ready. We came to that conclusion as well after the Saudis shut down all our bases. We plan to be well clear of Iranian airspace.”

“Admiral, when your E-2s detect that raid, you must intercept and prevent the Israelis from entering Iranian airspace.”

“Intercept the Israelis?” Graves was dumbfounded. “Sir, with all due respect, let me confirm that you want me to stop the Israeli attack against Iran. That you want us to force the Israelis to turn around and return to base.”

While Admiral Graves spoke, Captain Allen’s mind spun in circles. He’d more than half-expected the presidential summons to be orders to join the Israelis in the attack, or attack other Iranian targets while their air defenses were tied up in knots.

“Admiral, without going into the background, Iran is intentionally provoking the Israelis to attack. If they succeed and the Israelis strike Iran, it will start a war that will tear the region apart and inevitably involve the United States, to no good end.”

“Turning them back will take more than strong language, Mr. President. If I send armed aircraft to intercept the raid, what are my rules of engagement?”

Myles sighed. “If they refuse to turn around, shoot them down. But if either we or the Israelis shoot, the Iranians win. It would be best if you could turn them back without firing.”

And that’s why we’re doing this in the captain’s cabin, Allen realized. This was dynamite.

8 April 2013

0430 Local Time/0130 Zulu

USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76)

VFA-147 Argonauts Ready Room

The pilots of Fighter Attack Squadron 147 were used to getting briefings on threat aircraft, everything from older MiGs like the Fishbed and Flogger to first-line aircraft like the Flanker. Nobody expected to fight the Russians anytime soon, but third-world countries had a lot of Russian gear. The Iranians had MiG-29 Fulcrums, for example.

But they also operated French Mirage F1s and even old American-made F-4 Phantoms, so Zipper, aka Lieutenant (jg) Allan Zirpowski, the air intelligence officer, had put together briefs for those aircraft as well. It was more than just data on speed, ceiling, and weapons carried. Tactics needed to be adjusted to match the opponent and the pilots. He gave good briefs, and the Argonauts listened hard and took notes. Sleeping though a threat brief was a good way to end up dead.

But this was too much. Zipper was displaying images of a brown-and-tan mottled F-16, an American-built Fighting Falcon flown by the Israeli Air Force. “They call the F-16I variant ‘Sufa,’ or ‘Storm. ‘ Note the ‘shoulder pads.’ “ He pointed to two long bulges on the upper fuselage. “These conformal tanks give it the range, with refueling, to reach Iran and come back. Our Super Hornets have the APG-79 radar, which has a longer range than their APG-68. We carry the AMRAAM D model, which is smarter and has a longer range than their AMRAAM C-5s. But their Python 5 dogfight missile substantially outranges our AIM-9X Sidewinder. The Israelis like to tweak their gear, adding their own special upgrades, but our gear was buffed up before we came on this deployment.

“They’re a hundred knots faster at high altitude than we are, and we expect they’ll have over twice our numbers. But we have two engines, they have one. And they’re a long way from home. In other words, gents, it’s a fair fight.”

The squadron commander, Tom “Heretic” Dressier, stood up. “I hate fair fights.” His voice boomed in the darkened ready room. “The best fight is one where you sneak up on the other guy and he’s dead before he even knows you’re shooting. That will not be the case tonight. They’ll know who we are, where we’re coming from, and will get to watch us take the first shot, if it comes to that.”

He gestured to Zipper, who changed the screen to show a map of the Persian Gulf, with the supposed flight path of the Israeli raid and the position of Reagan marked. “They will get their feet wet here, just south of Kuwait. We have to intercept them while they are over the gulf, in international waters. That’s a space of just under a hundred and thirty nautical miles, which they will cover in fifteen minutes. We cannot allow them to enter Iranian airspace. This is straight from the CAG, Commander Taz, and he got it straight from POTUS himself. Everybody recognize that call sign?” Heads nodded.

“The skipper has orders from the ‘Big Guy’ to shoot them down, if we have to, and we’ll go up ready to do just that. The president also made it clear to our boss that nobody wants to shoot anybody. If that happens, the Iranians will be the only ones smiling. So our boss is going to do his best to turn them back with no shooting. That’s the happy ending we’re looking for here.”

He pointed to two airborne early warning stations over Iraq and the Gulf. “E-2Ds are deployed here and here, and should pick up the Israeli strike about three hundred and fifty nautical miles away. As soon as they detect the Israelis, they will drop back, keeping their distance but staying in contact.

“We will launch, climb to co-altitude, and position ourselves directly across their flight path. We will be number two squadron in the barrier, with the 323rd on the left and the 146th to our right, and beyond them the 154th. Flights within the squadrons will be stacked at thousand-foot intervals, squadrons spaced one mile apart. Aside from a few hangar queens, every Hornet flies. Counting the escorts for the Hawkeyes, that will give us approximately forty-five fighters in the air.

“The Growlers will be back here and above us to provide jamming support, but like us, they won’t send out an electron until Taz gives the go. He will be in the ready E-2 that will launch first. He intends to use the comm systems on the Hawkeye to talk to whoever’s leading the Israeli strike.”

Heretic paused, and one of the pilots asked, “Skipper, what if the Israelis fire first?”

“Maneuver defensively, but hold your position in the barrier as long as possible. The Growlers will jam their guidance links and seekers, but if it’s a mass launch they won’t be able to cover everyone. Force them to maneuver. They’re tight on fuel, so if we can make them burn it up, then they have to go home. Do not return fire, even if you’re fired on first, until the order is given.”

That brought murmurs, if quiet ones, from the squadron. “I repeat, you will fire only if you hear the order from Taz or me, and I won’t give it unless I hear it from Taz. I won’t have to punish anyone who shoots without orders, because he’ll have to answer to the president.” He paused for a moment, and added, “I know you don’t like what I’m saying, but if we have to take a few hits to get the Israelis to turn around, well, that’s what they pay us the big bucks for. The only other option is to do nothing and let the Israelis start a war.”

Reagan’s 1MC announced, “ALL HANDS, FLIGHT QUARTERS,” followed a moment later by the general quarters alarm. Zipper hit a key and the map changed to show the real-time position of Reagan, her battle group, and all known air contacts. A large number of unknown aircraft over Saudi Arabia were headed toward the gulf. Orders for each squadron flowed across the bottom of the screen.

“We launch in fifteen, Argonauts,” Heretic announced. “Do it right.”

As the squadron commander watched his people file out the door, one of the pilots approached him and spoke quietly. “Sir, permission to speak frankly.”

Heretic nodded. “Of course, Smokey. This job is too important to leave any question unanswered.”

The lieutenant sighed. “Sir, of course I’ll follow your orders on this, but I’m not happy about risking my life to defend the Iranians.”

“Taz says the Iranians want this fight, Smokey. They’re on a downward slope and they want to pull everyone down with them. You are not defending the Iranians. And if you’re risking your life, it’s to stop a war.”