‘Stukalov knows what we’re doing,’ Druce snapped. ‘He hasn’t been hanging around Iceland for the past twenty-four hours for nothing: the island commander has been at “immediate alert” for the past two days!’
The staff officer, operations was indicating the Northern Fleet’s track since 0100 this morning when Furious’ Harriers had intercepted the Bears. Twenty minutes later, Stukalov had increased speed to twenty-five knots despite the appalling weather and had altered to the southward in an attempt to shake off COMSTRIGRUTWO, commanded by Rear-Admiral Boyd. But Striking Group Two had hung on and at 0900 the Russians had set course for Bill Bailey’s Bank, the fishing ground west of Position Juliett.
‘Where’s Rosy Boyd at the moment, son?’ Druce asked.
‘Here, sir, seventy miles east of the enemy. They’re both racing south on parallel courses.’
‘When will Stukalov be in range of the convoy?’
‘Any moment now, sir. His two battle-cruisers’ SS-N — I2s have a range of 250 miles, with mid-course guidance.’
‘Rosy will be opening fire at any moment. Anything from EW?’
‘All electronic restrictions have been lifted, sir. Both sides are jamming. The enemy’s pulse rate has shifted.’
‘Like an exercise, sir,’ Trevellion murmured, anxious to return to his bridge.
‘They’ll try to co-ordinate their surface threat in one overwhelming air attack.’ He turned to the HCO: ‘How are our Sea Kings doing, James?’
‘The picture’s confirmed, sir. One Victor in the centre, two SSKS on either side. They’re closing at speed but aren’t clear of the restricted area yet.’
Trevellion nodded. ‘Our own submariners are waiting for them — they’ll be getting in their shots any time now. Once the ‘ enemy boats are clear of the restricted area, our ASW helos can get cracking.’
‘You’re right, captain,’ Druce murmured. ‘We can expect the air threat to coincide. If Stukalov intends to attack during our turn at Juliett, the air threat is due at any moment.’
‘It’s disconcerting how they’ve anticipated our movements,’ SOO said.
‘Security’s been as tight as we could get it.’
The HCO was reporting on the intercom:
‘The Victor’s gone up to thirty-one knots.’
Druce nodded at his flag captain:
‘Here we go, Pascoe.’
‘What’s holding our Striking Group?’ Trevellion murmured. ‘It’s time to break things up …’
‘I don’t think so. Stukalov needs to get closer. Rosy’s biding his time to exploit the enemy’s weakness. He’ll try to break up their coordination.’
The direction officer was on the line:
‘Four hundred plus aircraft from Leningrad threatening oil rigs and the east coast of UK. Possible targets, Rosyth and Faslane. UKADGE is being forced to react with maximum effort.’
‘There’s our confirmation, Pascoe,’ the admiral said quietly.
The direction officer was reporting again: ‘Six regiments of Backfires reported airborne from Kola. Target unknown but tracking west at height. ETA Faeroes 1750.’
Then Pascoe heard the report for which they had all been waiting: the Flash from Rear-Admiral Boyd, COMSTRIGRUTWO.
‘Battle’s joined,’ Druce rapped. ‘Clear the air.’
Trevellion again glanced at the enemy state board.
The two new battle-cruisers (for that was what they were) were 32,000-ton ships, nuclear-powered, with thirty-four knots. They were bristling with surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles.
‘Scramble the CAP-on-deck,’ Druce ordered. ‘Area of search, sectors India, Juliett and Kilo. Probable targets, Badgers and Bears.’
‘All four Harriers, sir?’
‘Yes, captain. Keep your second CAP-on-deck.’
Trevellion glanced at the admiral. Roderick Druce was ice-cooclass="underline" move and counter-move, this was the moment for which he had been trained. An error of judgement now and catastrophe could overtake them all.
‘I detest inactivity, Pascoe,’ he said. ‘All we can do is to wait and listen to what Rosy’s up to.’
The ops room team listened in silence to the battle being joined 190 miles to the north, 110 miles nor’-nor’-west of the Faeroes. Only the murmurs of the plotting operators could be heard. Trevellion watched the two fleets converging, as he had so often done during the wargames at the Staff College.
Attacking Stukalov’s powerful fleet, COMSTRIGRUTWO was superior in shipborne airpower, but was at a considerable disadvantage in surface-to-surface weaponry.
Unlike the Russians, two of our fleet submarines were operating with Rosy Boyd, as well as a fast combat stores ship, an ammunition ship and a replenishment oiler.
‘Wings is asking whether he should recall the Sea Kings, sir,’ Trevellion said.
‘When’s the latest Charlie-time?’ asked Druce.
‘1800-SPLOT’S flight. The first of the screen is due back at 1750.’
Druce hesitated, then added quickly:
‘Keep ‘em at it. We’ll see how things develop: they may be safer in the air, away from the melee.’
Trevellion felt relieved. Fuelling, even in the hover, from a carrier which was wheeling and firing her guns and missiles, was not the safest of evolutions.
‘Our choppers will be clear to attack in a few minutes, sir,’ the PWO chipped in. ‘Distance of the nearest enemy submarine is now thirty-five miles.’
‘The Victor:1’
‘Affirmative, sir.’
Trevellion was watching Druce closely. If the Victor (the fastest class of submarines in the world, but torpedo-armed only) wanted a crack at the convoy or even at Furious she would have to speed up. Then the Sea Kings would be able to have a go at her.
‘Report from CINCEASTLANT, sir: United has killed an SSK at ‘ the northern end of the FaeroesShetland gap. Estimated four enemy submarines remaining. Our own boats are withdrawing from the area.’
‘Roger,’ Druce acknowledged. He turned to Trevellion. ‘Send your choppers in, Pascoe, We’ll hold out a carrot to the Victor turn away and make him chase us. That’ll give your fliers a better chance.’
‘Close the convoy?’ Trevellion asked.
Druce nodded. It was difficult to guess what was going on in Rosy Boyd’s court, but in less than an hour the first of the HXOS 1 convoy would be into the turn.
Trevellion breathed a sigh of relief: nothing nuclear yet or we would have heard from CINCEASTLANT. He spoke aloud over the line to the bridge. ‘Captain -
Officer of the Watch. Bring her round to starboard to 240°. Continuous weave.’
The staff officer, operations was talking rapidly, analysing Striking Group Two’s action situation report: ‘Rear-Admiral Boyd engaged first, sir. The Phantoms have gone in: seventy-five per cent estimated losses. One hit on the farthest battle-cruiser, two on Minsk. Most of our missiles went wide — ECM, I gather. The Tomcats followed up immediately from out of the setting sun.
Leningrad is stopped and on fire, but their SS-N — I2s began hitting in spite of our ECM. Kennedy’s hit, her speed reduced, amplifying report to follow.’ He glanced across at Druce. ‘Communications bad, sir; full ECM from both sides.’
‘What’s CINCEASTLANT up to?’ Druce asked. ‘Nothing from him yet?’
Pascoe glanced at the long range plot. Flag Officer First Flotilla was patrolling ninety miles north-east of Muckle Flugga, where he was serving a dual purpose: protecting the northern oilfields and flushing out the line of six SSKS disposed in an arc north of Shetland. Illustrious had scrambled her Harriers; one had shot down a Badger guiding for Stukalov’s fleet.
The AWO (Air) cut in:
‘Here they come, sir,’ he said calmly. ‘120-plus Backfires, estimated in regimental deployment, sir. Range 540, bearing zero-eight-zero, heading two-six-zero — tracking.’