Hob turned again to listen to the duty pilot repeating the communication details. The senior observer (SOBS) took over and Dunker Davies, Hob’s observer, began scribbling down the navigational hazards, the diversions and the details of the radio aids. SOBS repeated Oileus’ 0200 position, 160 miles ahead. ‘Dip Boss will be SPLOT in 827. Usual Jumpex procedures. Mother will be maintaining her MLA and number five zigzag.’ He glanced at the clock on the bulkhead and, as they checked their watches, he counted down the time. ‘0151,’ he concluded, glancing at Wings, who climbed to his feet and addressed them alclass="underline" ‘The admiral wishes all senior officers in the ship to be updated with today’s strategic and tactical situation,’ he said briskly. ‘His staff officer, operations would therefore like a word with the squadron’s senior officers.’
Craddock nodded at the aircrews sitting in the benches in front of him: ‘Carry on,’ he said. ‘But I’d like SPLOT and SOBS to stand-fast, please. Flying stations in half an hour’s time.’
No one had much to say as the crews climbed to their feet and picked up their bone-domes. Hob approached Osgood and shook his hand. ‘See you when you get back.’
Osgood smiled briefly but said nothing, his brown eyes apprehensive. This was his first operational sortie — and this was war, not a Jez exercise from Culdrose. The crews filed silently from the briefing room.
‘All yours, SOO,’ Craddock said, as the grey-haired staff officer, operations took over the proceedings. The projector flipped and a new set of cards appeared on the screen:
‘To start with, gentlemen, you all know that Rule of Engagement Number Three is in force — providing the target is identified as Soviet, you can shoot first.
Alert State Red is now in force — we’re most definitely at war.’ A stencilled map of the Atlantic appeared on the screen and the pointer flipped from port to port, from one rendezvous position to another: ‘Force Q’s job is to cover Convoy HX-OS i which sailed from Halifax two hours ago. The others’ — and his pointer touched the southern American ports ‘sail on the dates shown here. You’ll notice that there is only one other sailing today, CH-MA 6 and CH-GE 7, from Charleston, a combined convoy which will separate after clearing the Straits of Gibraltar. The others sail on the fourteenth and sixteenth and by the beginning of next week congestion will be building up in the Channel ports.’ He paused and displayed the next transparency:
‘Here is Force Q at the moment, clearing west from Land’s End,’ and SOO tapped the circle marking the position of Furious at 0100. ‘And here’s Oileus, 164 miles ahead. She was allowed to press on ahead to gain time, remembering that she’s only got a maximum cruising speed of twenty-one knots and could have held us back from our rendezvous with the convoy. But already things have changed rapidly, gentlemen,’ and his pointer swept across two red arcs splayed west of the Fastnet Rock:
‘Nimrod Bravo 2 has confirmed the general Sosus ellipse and has fixed two areas of enemy submarine concentration 220 and 400 miles to the west of us. This is obviously not an unexpected development but one which we must counter: Oileus is a high value target and is too vulnerable on her own, in spite of her own ASW capabilities.’
‘Too bloody right,’ Craddock muttered. ‘The enemy are bound to know where she is.’ Force Q, as they all realized, could not operate for long without her.
‘Yes, sir,’ SOO replied. ‘The admiral is ordering Oileus to reverse course at 0400 and to rejoin the force. At the moment she’s approaching the edge of the continental shelf and at 0400, when she doubles back towards us, she’ll be eighty miles from the furthest-on position of Nimrod Bravo 2’s confirmed sub — believed to be a Charlie. The signature isn’t yet confirmed, but we can’t rule out the risk of missile attack. Brazen is being sent on ahead to give Oileus point-defence cover. With a closing relative speed of forty knots, the FCSS should be joining us after dawn at about 0745. Until the frigate catches her up, we must give her ASW cover.’
SOO glanced at the Squadron co, Duggie Mann. ‘Attack any confirmed contacts,’ he told him. ‘Our own boats have been warned: our nearest submarine (one of the new Vickers’ boats, Upholder) is ninety miles to the south-east. You can arm with Mark 46 torpedo warheads. Keep the Stingrays for the days ahead.’
‘What about the other areas?’ Duggie Mann responded. ‘Any chance of our becoming embroiled with friendly forces or aircraft?’
The Atlantic chart flashed back on the screen.
‘Identification has always been a big headache, as you know only too well,’ SOO replied. ‘Use IFF procedures if in any doubt, but not at the risk of alerting the enemy: we don’t know how the battle will develop but these are the positions of our forces at this moment.’ His pointer tapped the blue rectangles showing on the screen.
‘Down here Nato’s cheating a bit by positioning a task-force between the Canaries and Conakry to shield the fast VLCC convoy from the Gulf, PG-EU 8.
You’ll understand the reason in a moment, when I give you the rest of ACLANT’S general intelligence situation.’
Hob was leaning forward, his chin in his hand, memorizing the array of forces.
‘Our Striking Group One is patrolling there, south of the Azores; Carrier Striking Group Two is poised up here, north of Iceland; and the main Carrier Striking Force is here off Greenland, 550 miles east-south-east of Cape Farewell.’
Whichever gap the Soviet Northern Fleet proposed to take, Hob realized, it would have to run the gauntlet; if the Soviets escalated the conflict to nuclear attack against American cities, retaliation would not come only from intercontinental ballistic missiles — carrier-borne strike aircraft could also pack a punch.
‘…and there are several ASW forces covering the convoy lanes,’ SOO continued, ‘one down here, south-east of Charleston, another east of Norfolk; and, of course, our own Force Q which is rendezvousing here, nine hundred miles west of Newfoundland at midnight on Monday, tomorrow night.
‘Now, gentlemen, let’s look at the Soviet disposition, as known to us by today’s general intelligence picture which is based on an assessment from all sources.’
Sosus, the passive defence system depending upon hydrophones sited on the seabed, was one of Nato’s vital defences. Positioned in the focal points of the Atlantic, these listening devices must be worrying the enemy submariner: not knowing whether or not his submarine was being tailed was unnerving for a submarine captain. Sosus and the passive helicopter sonobuoy were stripping the veil of invisibility from enemy submarine strategy … Hob’s mind returned to the briefing — SOO was in full spate:
‘Since the period of tension, the Soviet submarine fleet has taken up its war stations. These are today’s dispositions…’ His pointer traced the curved arcs ringing the focal points through which the West’s convoys were compelled to pass. ‘Twenty SSN fleet submarines here, straddling the convoy routes east of Charleston; forty SSNS twelve hundred miles to the eastward…’ The Soviets had disposed two-thirds of their submarine fleet across the Atlantic lifelines, each boat separated by a minimum of a hundred miles from its neighbour — and, menacing the nodal points, the offensive patrol lines were doubled up, one 150 miles behind the other.
‘Today’s count totals 233 SSNS in the Northern Atlantic Ocean — I “haven’t included those in the Indian ocean, the Mediterranean and the North Sea where their patrol lines are disposed across the obvious sea lanes …’ SOO’s pointer lingered again on the red hatched arcs. ‘Lying in wait for the Gulf convoys, a line of SSNS stretches west from the Cape Verdes and the Canaries. Three enemy major patrol lines, covering the eastern Atlantic seaboard of the United States, are orientated so that submarines can attack our convoys from most of the focal points: Panama, South America and Venezuela; the entrance to the Med; the bottleneck to the Western Approaches, where the enemy’s patrol lines are double-banked and through which our present track passes; and six patrol lines at least, A, B and C; P, L, and R, barring the Halifax-Arctic Gaps convoys.’ The pointer drifted from the screen. No one spoke.