‘You won’t like the next signal, Pascoe,’ Druce said. ‘That’s why I want to see you.’
Trevellion read and re-read the message. During the Allies’ counterattacks on the Soviet SSNS which had so badly mauled the Med-bound convoy, the ASW helicopter losses had been surprisingly grievous; over a third had been struck by unidentified missiles. Trevellion met the admiral’s sharp eyes.
‘Well?’ Druce prompted.
‘They must be using a sub-surface weapon, sir: Anvil … unpleasantly similar to our Icarus incident.’
‘Did your Lynx pick up anything before she was fired on?’
‘Nothing, sir. Afterwards, the pilot (he’s SPLOT in this ship, sir) remembered noticing a circular bulge on the surface, just before he was hit.’
‘We should never have stopped research.’ Druce thumped his fist against the display table. ‘We’re paying for it now, of course. Your pilot saw nothing else?’
‘No,’ Trevellion replied. ‘But the incident forced us to produce our new tactics, sir. We assumed that the attacking submarine had the ability to strike at the hunting choppers.’
‘It’s tough on the squadron,’ Druce said, ‘How’s it making out?’
‘They’re flat out, as you know, sir. The Sea Kings are working in threes now, one being guard cab against Anvil. But the new tactic keeps the crews and the hard-pushed engineers at it round the clock.’
‘We’ll soon see whether you’ve found the right solution, Pascoe. Your guard cab should be busy if the Soviets try the same ploy on us. Their SSNS aren’t far off now.’
The studied the charts together, Druce’s stubby finger stabbing at the two red lines A and B which were drawing close to one another less than eighty miles apart now.
‘The Nimrods confirm our appreciation, Pascoe. Line A seems to have stopped its eastward drift: they’re waiting for us to clear them, I reckon. Let’s get up to the northward. That’ll make things easier for Valiant and at the same time will put pressure on the enemy.’
‘While waiting for the convoy to overhaul them, sir?’
‘They’ll let the Canadians roll over them,’ Druce said, ‘while line B attacks from ahead.’ The admiral glanced at his flag captain. ‘You’d do that, wouldn’t you, Pascoe?’
‘I’m not a submariner,’ Trevellion said. ‘And they’re probably being controlled from Moscow.’
Chapter 15
Hob Gamble never heard the bugle call the first he knew of action stations was a breathless Aircrewman Osgood banging on his cabin door ‘They sounded off five minutes ago, sir We’re waiting in the briefing-room ‘
‘I’ll be up
Hob rolled from his bunk, whipped on his sweater and overalls, and jammed on his flying-boots Struggling with the zips, he began stumbling for’d and up the decks to the briefing-room The ops officer had already dismissed the crews ‘Sorry, sir,’ Hob said ‘Never heard the call ‘
‘Okay, Gamble You’re only just in from the dawn sortie ‘ He smiled grimly ‘I’ve told Peterson to repeat the detailed brief to you They’re waiting for you up top ‘
‘Thanks ‘ Hob glanced at the met board wind south-west, force eight, cloud-base twelve hundred feet As he turned to go, the ops officer checked him ‘You still have unrestricted discretion on the use of NDBS, Gamble But keep your ears open — ASW Group Yankee, down south, has counterattacked SSN patrol lines with NDBS
First reports are optimistic-nine Soviet boats confirmed sunk, so goodness knows how many more possibles or damaged The Soviets may come up at any moment on the hot line and say they’ve had enough of nuclear reprisals NDB policy remains the same not to be used if the enemy reverts to conventional warheads ‘
Hob hurried from the room and found his crew waiting for him by the screen door opening on to the flight deck He signed for his cab and they were off once more, hungry, tired and feeling like zombies In the air again, they watched Old Fury sliding away beneath them, swiftly diminishing to the size of a toy boat as 833 and her two consorts, 822 and 817 (all NDB armed) climbed for height The other flight of three Sea Kings was already on its opening heading and making for us first Jez lay Hob watched the old carrier, seven miles astern now as she broke away from Oileus after the RAS Mother was topped up with fuel A light jackstay transfer was laid on for tomorrow when she’d be taking in stores and beer — but the serious problem was ammunition supply Only two more NDBS were carried in Oileus, main stocks were in Resurgent who, hauled out of retirement and with only sixteen knots, was flogging up the Irish sea to rendezvous with the Force later when it turned for Fair Isle ‘You have control, Grog ‘
‘I have control’
Hob handed the cab over to Grog He was proving a reliable front-line pilot what he lacked in experience he was making up with keenness The crew was welding together They were lucky to have an aircrewman as steady as Osgood not many men would have retained their cool under the stress he was suffering at the moment, but he seemed to have put his personal problems behind him now that the war was hotting up ‘Hey, you up front1’
Dunker was disgustingly cheerful this forenoon he was Dip Boss and responsible for the operation of the flight, but he seemed never to tire despite the considerable load that all the observers earned The tactical battle was theirs ‘The outer screen ought to be coming up ahead soon,’ Dunker called The weather and visibility were better up here at sea-level a gale was blowing, the sullen clouds scudding across the wind-lashed ocean It seemed such a short time since they had been out on their last sortie, watching the dawn come up To be hauled out again so soon could point to only one conclusion ‘Not likely to see anything, are we, Dunker3’
‘Depends on the outer screen’s luck,’ the observer said Over the UHF they sound pretty busy ‘
‘What’s going on?’
‘Active vectacs — 831’s hot They’re right among ‘em Charlies and Echos ‘
Hob listened in on the net Enemy line B was being methodically localized The pity was that there were not enough Nimrods to go around The RAF was stretched beyond its limits the Russians were concentrating on shooting the unprotected LRMP aircraft from the sky. These fifty-odd Nimrods were the Navy’s first-line ASW defence and more Nimrods were essential if the submarine menace was to be contained before the SSNS struck. Hob, peering through 833’s cockpit, wondered how much longer the Nimrods could hold out. The RAF had been magnificent, hounding down and localizing the possible contacts. Without Nimrod Tango, line A, the enemy’s first SSN attack line less than forty miles ahead, would never have been flushed.
‘Hob,’ Dunker shouted suddenly. ‘Valiant’s failing to come up for her routine call. Force A’s checking with the commodore, but she could have been attacked by our outer screen.’
The two pilots glanced at each other: this risk was always there when the Force operated with one of its own submarines. Valiant’s wardroom were drinking partners and a bloody good lot.
‘You certain?’ Hob asked. ‘How can they be sure, Dunker?’
‘Listening in on the chat,’ Dunker said. ‘There’s been a balls-up on the IFF with 821 apparently. In the panic she fired her fish, without waiting for positive identification. The outer screen’s claiming three enemy kills.’