Exit Plan (67 page)

~ * ~

The rate of their closure was maddeningly slow, and Rahim thought he would lose his mind as they clawed their way closer to their prey, one meter at a time. Qorbani explained that with only a seven-knot speed advantage, it would take them nearly eight minutes before they would be in effective range for their forward machine gun.

“Major, the
Torough-
class patrol boat is just coming into visual range.” Qorbani pointed off toward his left. “They will join us in the fight in approximately six minutes.”

“Are we in range yet?” growled Rahim.

“Just barely, sir.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Fire!”

~ * ~

“Shot warning!” Lapointe yelled. Phillips began his evasive maneuvering, while Ramey and Fazel tried to get a good setup to return fire. The first rounds from the Ashura’s 7.62mm machine gun were wide right. The gunner really didn’t try to correct for his fall of shot, but just punched out one short burst after another. None came near.

~ * ~

“You imbecile! What are you shooting at?!” a furious Rahim screamed. Pointing at the gunner he added, “Relieve that moron before I shoot him!”

Greatly embarrassed, Qorbani sent his sergeant out to take the gunner’s position. “Aim for the engine, Sergeant!” he instructed. Spinning the wheel, the lieutenant lined the boat up for another pass, a closer one.

~ * ~

“Here they come!” warned Lapointe. “They’re making a straight dash in.”

“Stand by!” Ramey ordered.

“Shot! Left hard.” Lapointe shouted. Phillips pulled a hard left turn causing the Ashura to pass quickly to their right. The machine gun bursts missed again, but they were much closer this time.

“Open fire! You, too, Pointy!” Ramey, Fazel, and Jerry started firing at the exposed machine gunner with their SCARs, while Lapointe placed one of his last grenades just to the right of the patrol boat. The explosion showered the enclosed bridge with water. The Ashura immediately peeled away.

~ * ~

“What are you doing?” seethed Rahim. “Close the enemy!”

“Major, they have a grenade launcher! I am taking evasive action!”

Rahim would hear nothing of it. His face red with rage, he unholstered his pistol and pointed it directly at the Pasdaran lieutenant. “Close the enemy now, Lieutenant Qorbani, or
I
will shoot you where you stand!”

Tight-lipped, Qorbani spun the wheel and pointed his bow back toward the small speedboat. He was sure the VEVAK agent would order him to ram if they didn’t start getting some hits.

~ * ~

“He’s starting another pass,” observed Fazel. “And he’s coming straight in.”

“Evasive maneuvering, Philly,” Ramey instructed. “Open fire!”

Lapointe fired another grenade. It also exploded near the patrol boat, but this time it roared right on through the plume. Phillips jinked left and then put the helm over into a hard right turn. The Ashura failed to follow in time, but for a split second the Pasdaran gunner had a clear shot at their outboard.

He didn’t waste the opportunity, and let loose with a long burst. He missed the outboard, but not Ramey and Lapointe. The platoon leader was hit twice in his left arm, while Lapointe took a second hit to his injured leg. Both men cried out in pain. Fazel also took advantage of the momentarily stable target and let go with several two-round bursts. The corpsman watched with satisfaction as the gunner on the Ashura patrol boat collapsed and several of the windows on the bridge shattered.

~ * ~

With rapt fascination, Rahim watched as the gunner clearly hit one of the men in the back of the boat—one less American devil to worry about now. He had only a second to gloat before three windows on the bridge exploded inward. A bullet whizzed by his head, so close he could feel the air as the projectile passed. He laughed aloud and bellowed toward the fleeing Americans, “I am blessed! You cannot win! Allah has judged you!”

Qorbani shattered Rahim’s reveling when he shouted, “Replacement gunner!” Looking down, Rahim saw the sergeant slumped over at his station.

“Sir,” yelled a corporal. “The
Torough
patrol boat is setting up to make an attack run.”

“It will be over soon,” mumbled Rahim.

~ * ~

Fazel watched as the Ashura backed off, probably to replace the gunner he had hit. Taking advantage of the temporary respite, he turned toward Ramey. The lieutenant’s arm had been badly hit. The bone was obviously broken. The corpsman quickly put on a tourniquet, cinching it tightly. There was no way Ramey could hold a weapon.

“Philly!” cried Fazel. “The Boss is down. I need your gun in the fight. Have the XO take over.”

Jerry jumped up and grabbed the wheel. “I have it!”

Phillips rolled out of the seat and picked up his weapon. He pushed Ramey to the side as gently as he could and took up his firing position. Lapointe waved Fazel off. The round had gone through his foot, and while incredibly painful, it was not life-threatening.

Fazel, being the next senior SEAL team member, assumed tactical control. Taking a quick look around, he saw the third patrol boat closing in from off the port quarter. They were being boxed in. “XO, patrol boat to port!”

Jerry nodded vigorously and drove the boat as well as he could away from both Iranian pursuers.

“Harry! The Ashura is making another run!” screamed Phillips. Grabbing Lapointe’s weapon, Fazel loaded the last grenade and fired it at the rapidly approaching boat. It missed, exploding to port, but the blast caused the patrol boat to swing to starboard.

The relief gunner fired a long burst just as the grenade exploded, whipping the machine gun across the Ashura’s bow, the bullets spreading out in a long arc.

The Plexiglas windscreen in front of Jerry shattered, startling him. A fraction of a second later, he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. His left hand went limp, and the boat lurched to starboard as he tried to compensate. He couldn’t recall if he screamed or not.

“XO! What the hell?” Fazel shouted angrily. Looking back he could see the bloodstain growing around Jerry’s shoulder. He couldn’t do anything about it now. “Can you still steer the boat?” he asked.

“I’ll manage, Doc,” Jerry yelled back. He looked behind him. They had a patrol boat on each quarter, closing fast. With three shooters down, and no grenades, things looked bleak. He wanted to think of Emily, but his mind wouldn’t let him.
Focus on the fight
, Jerry thought.
Even if it’s the last thing you do.

~ * ~

Rahim was elated; another American had been hit. And with the
Torough
patrol boat now attacking from the other side, victory was assured. The chase would be over. Dahghan would be avenged. The traitors would die.

A loud
SHWISH
distracted him. He could see a faint smoke trail as it streaked toward the
Torough
patrol boat. Suddenly, it disappeared in a violent explosion. The boat was gone, disintegrated. All that remained was a burning pool of fuel on the ocean’s surface.

“Helicopter gunship!” screamed a panicky Qorbani. He spun the wheel over, taking evasive action.

Rahim stood motionless. “No,” he said softly.

A flash from the dark spot on the horizon testified to the launch of another missile. Rahim couldn’t make out what Qorbani was shrieking. What was happening couldn’t possibly be real.

“No,” he repeated, only louder this time. “I am
blessed,”
he repeated with conviction. The impacting Hellfire missile ended the debate.

Jerry blinked, not quite sure of what to think. The two Iranian patrol boats simply vanished in twin balls of smoke and flames. He felt woozy, tired. He could hear Fazel talking on his radio. Something about wounded team members. He saw Phillips near him. The young petty officer was grabbing the wheel.

“I’ve got it, XO,” he said.

Slowly, Jerry released the wheel and then fell back into Fazel’s arms. The corpsman lowered him carefully onto the blood-covered deck and started administering first aid.

He saw Phillips talking on his radio to the MH-60R helicopter that was hovering near them. Turning the shot-up speedboat westward, they headed toward the
Arleigh Burke
destroyer that was closing on their position at flank speed.

~ * ~

General Moradi hung up the phone in total disbelief. Rahim was dead. The three patrol boats he was leading had been wiped out by the Americans. The traitors and all their information were safely in American hands. Soon the world would know of the farce that was the Iranian nuclear program. There would be no denying that they had lied, repeatedly. Their inability to successfully produce a weapon after years and years of effort, even with consistent covert foreign assistance, would make them a laughingstock. The damage to Iran’s global image was unfathomable.

Worse, the Israeli strike had been intercepted by American carrier aircraft and forced to turn back. The Americans had done the unthinkable; they openly challenged the Israelis and defended Iran. Everything he’d planned, all the careful preparations he had put into play, would now be known as the lies that they were.

He was sure VEVAK would be out for revenge. They had lost two of their most senior agents. Someone would have to be held responsible. There would be a reckoning.

~ * ~

They had decided to do everything on the same day A lot of people had to travel from other places, and it simplified the security arrangements. Jerry still marveled at the logistics. WTOP, the local Washington news station, had actually issued traffic alerts for the Arlington area.

Jerry thought the weather and the season had helped. The skies were clear, with temperatures in the mid-60s. A lot of trees were flowering, and the drive down the parkway was beautiful, but it was really the publicity that had drawn folks to say good-bye to someone they’d never met.

It was almost five miles from the National Cathedral to Arlington Cemetery, but Massachusetts Avenue and Rock Creek Parkway had been lined with people, some in uniform, but mostly civilians. Jerry saw families, too, the kids waving little American flags. Emily tried to estimate how many there were. His sister Clarice from Minnesota took pictures of the homemade signs they held.

The police escort peeled off after they crossed the Memorial Bridge and entered Arlington proper. From that point on, the Arlington staff would handle the traffic and the crowds. The press was already down by the gravesite, and the onlookers, there by accident or intention, were kept well back.

By the time it was Jerry’s turn to get out of the car, Higgs’s casket was already loaded on the caisson, the American flag neatly draped over the top, with the blue field over his left shoulder. The six caparisoned horses stood immobile as mahogany statues. The military chaplain, the escort, the band, and the rest were taking their places.

Jerry helped Emily and Clarice out of the car first, then Ellen Guthrie, with the skipper emerging last. He had to be careful of his left arm, still healing from the gunshot wound. One car in front of them, Nate Lapointe, now in a full leg cast and with crutches, managed a near-graceful exit with help from Phillips. Neat and well-groomed in their dress blues, Jerry had to work to remember these were the same grimy, camouflaged men he’d seen in the speedboat, or trudging across a dark landscape.

One car behind, he saw Harry, or Special Warfare Operator Second Class Heydar Fazel, get out and lend his arm to Shirin. She’d had a lot of help finding maternity clothes suitable for a funeral. Her hijab beautifully framed her face, while also being solemn.