‘D’ye hear there? This is the captain speaking…’
Hob sat up, reached for his cap.
‘We are now hoisting the two ALCS. For this evolution you all know that the ship must be stopped, just as I was forced to take off her way while we lowered these large craft safely. The evolution is always dangerous at night. The lifebuoy sentry has carried out his duty; he can’t ignore a “man overboard” passed over the telephone.’ The captain paused and Hob could hear the officer of the watch talking quietly in the background.
‘We are now at war and I cannot risk the safety of this ship again by stopping to search for a man who falls overboard. A stopped ship is a sitting duck to a submarine. The squadron is too stretched to provide emergency cover, so I regret that any man falling overboard will most certainly lose his life at night. I repeat, I cannot risk again disclosing our position by burning signal projectors or sending away the boats.
‘Someone is being deliberately subversive in this ship. He must be found and brought before me ‘ He ended briskly ‘Now let’s get on with the war ‘
Hob left the wardroom and climbed up to the crew’s mess-room He was stirring his cocoa when the duty steward turned to him, the telephone held in his hand ‘For the senior pilot, sir You’re wanted in Flyco ‘
It was very dark and very quiet in the small flat outside the mini-bridge from which flying operations were conducted Hob halted for a moment to collect himself and to square off his rig he was beginning to suffer the same feeling of insecurity as when he had once been a sprog member of the squadron He peered through the glass window and watched the activity down on the flight deck where the marshals were bringing in a couple of helos from the inner screen The glow from the marshals’ fluorescent bats danced like fireflies, while the phosphorescence from the tail rotors spun in spectral circles The night-lighting bathed the whole scene in an eerie sheen, invisible from seaward but providing enough light in which to operate flying stations There were the fire parties in their fearnought suits, moon men, standing by with their trolleys of foam — and overwhelming all, the whine and scream of the jets which was part of their lives ‘That you, Gamble?’
‘Yes, sir ‘
On Craddock’s right, Hob could distinguish the smaller figure of Little F crouched in his seat as he supervised the flight deck below him, his communication number at another desk on his right Duggie Mann, the CO, was in Flyco too, leaning against the for’d window There was no mistaking the tone of Wing’s question wags said he’d acquired that nutmeg-grater voice from trying to talk to his observer in the rear seat of a Stringbag ‘What’s this about the aircrewmen, Gamble?’ he rasped ‘The fleet chief’s been up to see me ‘ The anger in Craddock’s voice was evident enough, but Hob felt the resentment rising also within himself ‘They’re not happy about yesterday’s incident, sir The grapevine’s fairly accurate, I’d say ‘
‘Okay Explain You’re the senior pilot’
‘They think it’s unsafe to fly, sir, until the pyrotechnics have been checked in all the aircraft And, sir ‘
‘Yes3’
‘They think it unfair to threaten us — me — sir, with a court-martial for the loss of 82 7 yesterday ‘Hob swallowed in the dim lighting The interminable silence was worse than the expected explosion, but he did not give a damn now He waited, tense, while behind him, the communication rating carried on unconcernedly with his procedures ‘I see And what do they propose to do about all this?’ Wings asked, his voice low and very controlled ‘They don’t want to fly, sir ‘ Hob stood his ground, then added quietly, ‘I can’t help it, sir, if they feel your decision’s unjust’
Little F turned in his seat He was a good sort, but his reaction could have been no other ‘You’re the senior pilot, Gamble You ought to be able to squash this sort of thing ‘
‘I’ve tried to, sir But it’s all happened pretty swiftly I’ve only just heard about it myself It’s their way of expressing loyalty to their crews, I think -
nothing more ‘
‘Funny way of doing it ‘ The sonorous tones of the Squadron CO were audible for the first time ‘It’s a technical mutiny, Lieutenant Gamble ‘
Hob hesitated, choosing his words carefully He was aware that the bridge personnel behind him were very quiet, eavesdropping on the proceedings in Flyco ‘No, sir I don’t agree ‘ He turned back to Craddock ‘With respect, sir, it’s only a complaint as yet ‘
Craddock stood motionless Hob faced him squarely, watching the towering figure etched against the indigo of the windows In the silence, he could hear one of the cabs outside screaming to full power as it prepared to lift off ‘Ready for your sortie, Gamble?’ Craddock asked abruptly ‘Yes, sir,’ Hob replied, surprised He declined to add that his back still ached like hell ‘Crew complete5’
‘Yes, sir ‘
‘Who’s your aircrewman?’
‘Aircrewman Osgood, sir. He’s just joined and done one sortie. He’s okay, sir.’
‘Carry on, Gamble,’ Wings snapped.
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ He saluted and turned smartly. He could feel the silence behind him as he quit Flyco. He slid open the screen door and climbed down the ladders to the briefing room.
Chapter 12
It was 0330 when Hob saw the silver streak of first light touch the underside of the dark cloud layers stretching from horizon to horizon. Up at fifteen hundred feet in Sea King 833, in company with 825, they were at last monitoring their Jez field ninety miles ahead of Furious. Mother was doubling back to make her rendezvous position ahead of the convoy; at 0500 she should be well on the up-threat side of the Canadian convoy.
‘We’ll move to the south-west when we’ve finished this one,’ Dunker called from the back. ‘That’ll put us right between Mother and the convoy.’
‘Okay, Dunker,’ Hob replied. ‘What’s our Charlie-time?’
‘0435. That’ll give us plenty of time to find Mother.’
They could hear the Canadian commodore already piping up on UHF as he tried to shepherd his flock into station before the dangerous period of twilight.
Evidently they had given up electronic silence after the mauling they had received last night, when they turned up to the north-eastward.
Dunker and 825 had been out of touch with Mother for over three-quarters of an hour, so it would be good to chat with the convoy once they had contacted it.
Eavesdropping on the convoy’s internal frequency was revealing disquieting news: PH-LH 4 had been almost obliterated by a savage missile attack from an estimated force of seventeen Soviet SSNS. Figures were still unreliable, but it seemed that almost the entire convoy had been wiped out, including half the considerable escort.
‘Look, Hob,’ Grog snapped. ‘There it is.’
Hob turned the cab to port, the better to see. Twilight had now merged into a grey dawn and far to the south-west he could make out the smudges of the leading ships.
‘Jez completed,’ he heard Osgood reporting to Dunker, who then came in, giving the new heading towards the convoy.
They still kept radar silence, but in a few minutes, when within UHF range, they would report to the commodore.
‘Impressive, ain’t it?’ Grog remarked.
Even during the largest of the Nato exercises, Hob had never seen anything like this. The sea was a silver shimmering bowl beneath them, the breaking waves frothing round the bows and wakes of the convoy. As Hob lost height, preparing for the next Jez, he began to pick out the ships in the five columns.