It all seemed so unreal, up here, flying to their screening position forty miles ahead of Furious. 833, 822 and 817 were the NDB carriers on this inner screen; the other flight on Mother’s starboard bow was torpedo-armed, except for its Dip Boss, 815, who carried an NDB. In minutes, Dunker would be telling Hob to lose height for the first Jez lay, a straight line-barrier between the estimated position of the enemy’s line A and Old Fury. The outer screen of Sea Kings, all six torpedo-carriers, had moved on from line A over an hour ago to the enemy’s line B where brisk action was now being joined. The outer screen had gone ‘active’ even when dealing with line A: so Dunker, the senior observer on the inner screen, was remaining passive to catch line A bending. 815 and her flight were already on their first Jez, down at eight hundred feet and below cloud-level.
The Nimrod and the outer screen assessment was nine-plus SSNS at line A — a much lower number than that proposed at the briefing. The picture was coming rapidly into focus, showing the enemy deploying from three directions: ahead, and on either bow of the approaching convoy. If the SSNS attacked, they had a wide front with which to contend: the commodore had opened out and dispersed his columns to stretch over thirty-six miles. Force Q was closing at speed, full electronic countermeasures being provided by Furious and her escort.
The convoy, conforming with Force Q, was at battle stations — not only was the ether charged with conflicting frequencies, but the cacophony from the foxer decoys must be deafening the enemy sonar operators for miles around in the waiting submarines. Hob’s (light was dead ahead of the carrier, whence the threat was expected. 815 was ten miles to the east, to deal with attacks down the MLA.
‘Hob!’ Dunker called. ‘They’re into a nuke dead ahead, on line B.’ But his whoop of delight was suddenly cut short. ‘God — something’s happening to the guard cab.’ Hob waited, meeting Grog’s glance.
‘Anvil.’ Dunker swore. ‘Something’s shot her out of the sky. Oh, Christ …’
Over the looped communication they listened to the death throes of 831, the guard cab on the westward flank of the outer screen. She was tumbling like a burning torch into the raging seas.
‘Ready, up front?’ Dunker snapped curtly. ‘Take her down — ‘
But Dunker never completed his sentence. 815 was crackling out an enemy report: the SSNS in line A were reversing course and doubling back. HE from the Jez field was giving thirty-plus knots for three nukes and all were belting back along reciprocal courses towards the convoy. The relative closing speed was over fifty knots.
‘Flash — flash — flash …’ The call was going out in plain. The admiral, out on the northwest flank, was turning at speed to intercept on the convoy’s north-western flank.
‘Scrub the Jez,’ Dunker called. ‘The HCO’S taking us over.’ There was a pause and he took charge of the two flights. In seconds they had turned and then all six choppers were charging south-westwards.
‘Heading 190°,’ Dunker ordered. ‘815’s ahead of us but they’re moving out to the southward to cover the north-east flank.’
‘What’s up?” Hob asked, steadying the cab on the new heading.
‘We’re to lay a Jez barrier between the convoy and line B, just outside their missile firing range ‘ Thank God, Hob thought, their Bear formations have been broken up by the RAF off Shetland — or we’d be in a ripe old mess, countering their Echo IIs’ SS-N — I2 missiles The SSNS could already have opened fire 250 miles away, from below the horizon ‘Do we go active as soon as we pick ‘em on Jez?> Hob asked ‘We’re to drop NDBS ahead of the nukes to make them break off their attacks We’re ready in the back ‘
‘Are the Harriers clear-” Hob asked ‘You’ve checked with Mother?’
‘Affirmative,’ Dunker replied ‘They’re being held on the up-threat side, waiting for Bears or Badgers ‘
‘So we should be left with the Charlies,’ Hob murmured to himself ‘With their SS-N-7s, they can fire from horizon-range ‘ The Charlies were presumed to have organic control of their cruise missiles, so the enemy nukes must be destroyed or diverted before they reached their firing positions twenty-five miles from the convoy Their missiles could be fired from dived which rendered detection of the submarine more difficult Hob felt the anxiety gnawing at him he had dropped dummy NDBS only on exercises It was a case of getting the hell out of it as soon as the bomb was on its way down ‘815 is laying now,’ Dunker reported ‘Seventeen miles ahead Standby to bring her down to seven hundred ‘
‘Ready up front,’ Hob reported ‘All set in the back?’
If 815’s flight picked up a contact, perhaps her torpedoes would be sufficient to do the trick’ Perhaps the enemy boats would lose their nerve and sheer away, knowing that the noise they were making was suicidal’ Hob could hear Dunker and Oz checking their final settings Osgood had latched on quickly and was gaming confidence with every sortie Grog had finished his checks ‘Pre-dip checks completed,’ Hob reported over the intercom ‘Okay bring her down,’ Dunker said ‘Seven hundred feet’
‘Here we go,’ Hob called 833 swooped downwards, followed on either side by the other two helos They were keeping in close touch with their Dip Boss for when they went active Hob could feel the tension 817 was guard cab for this sortie -
though the precaution had not saved the guard in the outer screen As they passed over 815’s flight, they heard them busy with their first Jez, their procedures and reports brisk and tense while they continued with their passive Jezebel tracking They’re hot,’ Bunker said ‘Possibly two nukes ‘
833 flew on to take up the ordered position in their sector, twelve miles west of 815, and thirty-seven miles from the advancing convoy which was now maintaining a continuous Sea Harrier patrol, Soviet air reconnaissance had been averted for the moment, but the convoy was still within range of Cuba ‘Bloody marvellous sight from here,’ Grog commented ‘Look, Hob even while they’re altering course, they’re keeping good station ‘
Hob stared down at the eighteen ships battling their way through the gale from this height, the newt-shapes were being smothered by the breaking seas while they punched onwards, trying to maintain their twenty-two knots The MAC ships were the last in the three central columns and it was interesting to see the escorts keeping the convoy together, though the columns had now opened out to nine miles and the distance between ships increased to eight In this anti-nuke disposition, the convoy was covering an ocean area of almost nine hundred square nautical miles ‘Seven-two miles from the commodore,’ Dunker reported ‘Seven-fifty feet,’ Grog monitored as they lost height, ‘ seven-thirty ‘
‘Come right,’ Dunker ordered ‘New heading, two-six-oh Standby to drop one sonobuoy ‘
‘Ready,’ Osgood reported Seven hundred,’ Hob snapped ‘Speed ninety ‘
‘Drop — drop — drop1’ Bunker’s voice was tense At thirty knots, the Soviet Charlies were covering the ground ‘815’s conducting a vectac,’ Bunker yelled ‘They’re firing torpedoes and the others are hot1’ Hob and Grog were waiting impatiently up-front when the observer cut in again ‘Number two, drop drop drop!’ As the cab flew down her heading, Hob spotted the first sonobuoy splashing into the sea, then sliding away beneath his starboard quarter Four and a half minutes later, the line of buoys had been laid. Almost immediately, Osgood was calling: ‘I’m hot! Bloody hell — I’m swamped by them.’ He was slapping out the print-outs, while Dunker threshed away at his display.
‘They’re bloody mad,’ Dunker cried excitedly. ‘Oz’s got four, possibly five on the plot.’ There was a pause while Hob hauled the cab round to starboard. ‘Stand by the ball,’ Dunker ordered.
‘Ready for first dip,’ Hob said.