‘So there you are, gentlemen,’ the ops officer said. ‘That’s our war for the next few days, providing what’s going on north of us doesn’t upset the pigeon loft. The surface situation is developing rapidly and changing minute by minute.’ His pointer tipped the red and blue crosses confronting each other 420 miles due north of Furious’ present position — three hundred miles east of Greenland’s Cape Farewell.
‘The Soviet High Command,’ he continued, ‘seems to have decided to risk all on one throw. They’re poised for an out-and-out victory in the Atlantic, playing one colossal gamble. They seem to have rejected the cautious strategy of a reserve second strike. They’re trying to cut our Atlantic lifeline at one fell swoop.
‘Look at the present disposition of its strike group Kiev among them.’ His pointer tapped the screen again east of Cape Farewell. ‘If our Carrier Striking Force was not between us and the enemy, he could wipe out HX-OS tonight.’ He glanced at them all, then continued:
‘The two fleets are playing cat-and-mouse at the moment: our Carrier Striking Force refuses to be drawn. It’s keeping open its options in case the enemy’s striking group decides to leave us alone and attacks instead the BO-EU and NY-AN convoys which will be within range tomorrow. Our Carrier Striking Force is ready for anything the enemy chooses to chuck at it: the Soviets are unlikely to turn south-west, because that would foul up their submarine lines. You can see, gentlemen, how awkward it is for us to be losing Striking Group One at this moment, though our Carrier Striking Force, as soon as it is convinced that the convoys are safe, will then move south-east to replace Carrier Striking Group One. STANAFORLANT is steaming westwards to fill the vacuum astern of us, while the convoys from America move across.’
To Osgood, trying to keep awake, the possible surface action between the giants seemed too remote, too unreal. All he craved was to get in some zeds before his next sortie.
Though it was not an unseemly rush when they made for the door, little time was wasted in dispersing. For Osgood, 4N8 mess would be a haven at this moment, after a bit of breakfast.
For the helicopter crews, their first experience of war at sea was one of gruelling work and boredom: sortie, food, sleep, sortie. The routine became automatic. After four hours of Jez runs ahead of the carrier, Osgood and the others in 833 were becoming used to the pear-shaped NDB slung beneath the cab.
Furious, though 110 miles on the up-threat side of the convoy, was zigzagging ninety miles astern of her far-flung ASW screen with 833 forming the spear-head.
After four hours, Osgood felt the tension caused by apprehension of imminent action beginning to lessen … but when, for the second time that day, he scuttled across the flight deck, he was longing for his bunk. The second debriefing finished promptly at 1900; he swallowed a quick supper and hurried down to 4N8.
The atmosphere in the mess was blue with smoke. Heads stuck out from between the curtains of the bunks as the occupants chi-akked among themselves and watched a game of cards at the table below where Rupee and a leading radio operator were challenging Foulgis and another handler. As Osgood quietly stripped to his underclothes and swung himself up to his pit, he sensed for the first time a feeling of friendliness in the cramped quarters. He lay back, arms crossed behind his head, watching, feeling good after the hot food. Allowing drowsiness to creep over him, he fished his wallet from under his pillow and surreptitiously extracted the colour snap of Gwen.
Hob Gamble had spoken to him again: they would be seeing the captain once the pressure of this convoy operation eased. The request had got past the commander and now it was only a matter of waiting. As soon as radio silence was lifted, the Plymouth Welfare people would be investigating also Osgood thrust Gwen’s photo back into his wallet as he heard raised voices round the table Foulgis, for sure, was accusing Rupee of cheating Tempers were flaring, the card players becoming angrily strident ‘Cut it out,’ another watchkeeper yelled from a lower bunk ‘Stop that bloody noise ‘
Osgood flipped back his curtain Rupee was gathering up the cards ‘Give the watchkeepers a chance to sleep,’ another man said Foulgis looked up and saw Osgood watching from the upper bunk ‘What you gawping at, Osgood — I’ Foulgis snarled ‘Disturbing your dreams, am I? He moved beneath the bunk, a smirk on his face as he turned back towards the others ‘We had a fire in Icarus, Rupee,’ he went on ‘The leading MEM, Niv Fane, was burnt to death Poor bugger left a wife and two kids ‘ Foulgis swung round and jabbed a finger towards Osgood ‘This creep took Niv’s wedding ring round to the widow in Guz ‘ He laughed coarsely ‘He’s been having it off with her ever since,’ he leered ‘Wasted no time Me brother-in-law lives in the next street’
Something snapped inside Osgood He swung down from his bunk He leaped towards Foulgis, grabbing the Irishman’s shirt collar, and slammed his fist into the sneering face ‘Grab ‘em1’ Rupee shouted to the amazed onlookers, as they tried to separate the struggling adversaries The two men were facing each other, their arms held by their messmates ‘Any more of that, Foulgis,’ Osgood panted, trying to regain control of himself, ‘and I’ll fix you, mate, once and for all ‘
‘Get stuffed,’ the Irishman shouted, as the voice of the divisional PO rasped from the doorway ‘Come on, you noisy lot of bastards,’ Kotta called ‘Time you squared off for rounds ‘
In the silence Rupee settled the table, while the others made themselves scarce Foulgis sat down, a forced grin on his face as he gazed up at the petty officer ‘On your feet, Foulgis,’ Kotta fumed ‘You heard the order ‘
Foulgis flipped the cards, began shuffling for another hand, he peered up, his dark eyes flickering with amused contempt You mustn’t speak to me like that, Petty Officer You ought to be working with me as a team-mate, remember?’ Then he rose slowly to his feet The mess had almost emptied Osgood, who had regained his bunk, closed the curtains He’d had enough and craved sleep he had the 0300 sortie again He’d have a shower and a bite to eat when they shook him Kotta was striding towards the insolent aircraft handler Through the gap in his curtains, Osgood watched the scene, the hulking PO literally carmine in the face His ham hands were trembling ‘Lay a hand on me, Petty Officer Kotta, and I’ll run you m ‘ Foulgis’ laugh grated ‘We’re not kids down here You forget this is a leading hands’ mess, don’t you3’ he sneered, his piggy eves glistening with hatred He turned towards the miserable Cole ‘We can learn him a thing or two, can’t we, Toastie?’
Cole whispered something to Kotta, then stood back to allow the two men to shove past him ‘I 11 see you outside, Foulgis ‘ Kotta spat the words ‘C mon move At the rush ‘ He shoved Foulgis hard The handler half-fell, stumbling from the mess No one spoke As Osgood turned on his side, he heard Rupee laughing nervously outside with the dutymen who were waiting for rounds Osgood turned over and fell asleep immediately ‘Hey, Osgood,’ an aircrewman growled, jabbing at his bunk ‘Five minutes It’s 0205 ‘
The dutymen got one shake only — no second chance now, so Osgood slipped from his bunk before dropping off again In the semi-darkness, he fumbled in his locker for his towel and soap, and shuffled quietly from the snoring mess for’d to the washplaces At this hour of the morning there would be no queue for the showers, no switching off of a neighbour’s hot tap which caused a sudden surge of pressure in one’s own shower — sometimes with devastating results — a hazard which had led to the custom of bellowing, ‘Switching off, when turning off a hot tap In the dank shower room the shower-heads drooped in rows like sunflowers.