First-novelist Iverson--an eight-year veteran of sea duty (including deployment to the Persian Gulf in 1987 during the Iran-Iraq war)--writes of Iranian commandos who board and seize an American frigate--and who turn it into a sort of floating truck-bomb. The Americans resist, of course. Okay, so the Iraqi Army was a bit of a fraud. That doesn't mean the Revolutionary Islamic Republic of Iran couldn't field a small force of highly disciplined, fanatical soldiers, spy out the blueprints of a US warship, draw up a complex assault plan, ship the commandos out into the Persian Gulf in a flotilla of rubber boats in the middles of the mother of all sandstorms, sneak the boats up to the midships blind spot of the frigate, swoop onto the bridge and into the Combat Information Center, take over the ship, imprison the entire crew and four visiting journalists, pack the ship's armaments with plastique and aim the ship at the Navy's floating command center in Bahrain where, God willing, both ships will blow to smithereens. It is an awfully tricky plan, but it seems to be working--except that the Iranians have not accounted for American spunk. The small group of men who escaped being welded into their berthing spaces dart about the ship picking off Iranians one by one, and Iranian nerves start to fray. The admiral's staff in Bahrain--for once not a pack of imbeciles--figures out why the on-coming ship has gone silent and why it is headed straight at them at flank speed. Help is on the way... Sufficiently bloody, scary, and exciting to make up for the lovely female journalist who happened to drop in at just the wrong time.