There had been that moment of private despair last night when he was convinced that the Battle of Bill Bailey’s Bank was about to be classed with PQ 17, the worst convoy disaster of all time. When the fourth regimental Backfire attack was sweeping in, he had known that nothing could save the convoy. That was also the instant when Rosy Boyd’s Flash Report came through, when STRIGRUTWO began mixing it with the enemy. At 1926, three of Rosy’s strike aircraft hit one of the battle-cruisers (she, must have been the command ship) at the instant when our ECCM began to take real effect.
The battle-cruiser had hauled from the action, her bridge and midship section crippled: it could have been no coincidence that this was the moment when the coordination of the enemy’s air attacks began disintegrating. The ‘For nados from UKADGE turned up at the critical instant too, followed by a superbly timed strike by COMAAFCE’S F15s: they shot the Forgers from the sky, before hitting the enemy surface ships with their missiles.
Rosy Boyd’s boys finished off the remainder: the other battle-cruiser, who also had turned to intercept the convoy, retired at full speed. Rosy had ordered ‘general chase’, but the severely mauled Northern Fleet had reversed its course at speed, beneath the horde of Soviet aircraft sent out to shield them, to become lost in the Arctic seas. Rosy was racing south and would be entering the North Sea tonight, to cover the arrival of the three trans-Atlantic convoys which were expected at their arrival ports on the 20, 21 and 22 Apriclass="underline" Oslo, Le Havre and Rotterdam.
One of the worst moments for Trevellion had been when, in the midst of last night’s battle, the second Sea Harrier CAP had been unable to land-on, because of the fire and the worsening list. The aircraft had run out of fuel and had ditched alongside the ships of the screen. All the aircraft had been lost and their pilots with them, for the seas were impossible and the temperatures barely above freezing. Those gallant men had given their lives but, by breaking up the guidance Bears and Badgers, they had prevented the Backfires from annihilating the convoy.
And his own Sea King squadron? The survivors, only seven of them now, were out on their feet with exhaustion. Little F was managing to keep going from a jury Flyco rigged abaft the bridge. Wing’s body, with the other seventy-three dead, was lined on the quarterdeck, waiting for burial when there was time. The air engineer officer and his magnificent team were managing to keep six helos in the air; three crews were resting, while the seventh cab was being maintained as the stop-gap. The remnants of the squadron were trying to maintain a modified ASW screen seventy miles ahead: at this moment they were ‘59 in contact with the Lima line of seven SSKS which the LRMP aircraft had confirmed. Furious’ Sea Kings (all three of them) were holding them down, pinging away, while they waited for help Flag Officer First Flotilla was on his way back, thank God. At 0400 this morning, he had responded immediately to Druce’s call for help. Leaving the Nimrod and a frigate to keep down the heads of the SSKS north-east of Muckle Flugga off the Shetlands, Flag Officer First Flotilla, flying his flag in the damaged Illustrious, was steaming directly to line Lima to relieve our Sea Kings. The ASW cruiser with its protective umbrella of Sea Harriers and its fresh squadron of helicopters was what Force Q needed at this moment.
The Force had suffered: Koln sunk; Brazen, struck by three direct hits from AS-6 missiles, had burnt out and sunk in the raging gale. No one could help her: 260 of her company had perished. Only Gloucester remained and her one Sea Dart mounting was useless through lack of ammunition. If Phoebe failed to rejoin with Ungava Bay, Force Q was defenceless from air attack. The sooner Flag Officer First Flotilla arrived with his two air defence ships, the better … The latest ASW cruiser, Ark Royal, was in the North Sea covering the rigs; Invincible was refitting, long overdue through strikes — she could have been useful just now.
Trevellion wondered what the final score between Rosy Boyd and Stukalov had been: Boyd’s place was down here now, to combat any further air strikes when the convoys neared the bottlenecks at the entrance to the ports. The best thing that had happened so far was the mining, first of the Kattegat by the Danes, then of the Skagerrak by the Norwegians and their Danish Nato partners: a sortie by the Soviet Baltic Fleet from Baltiysk, or by enemy submarines from Liepaja would be embarrassing at the moment. Attacks by the Naval Air Force from Kaliningrad were a certainty.
‘Mug o’ soup, sir?’
Trevellion turned. His steward, Blair, dressed in his white tunic and clean-shaved even after helping the PMO all night with the wounded in the wardroom, held the steaming mug towards him.
Blair remained until the tomato soup was drained.
‘Message from the admiral, sir. He’s happy to take over, if you’d like to get your head down.’
A grin twitched in Trevellion’s face. Roderick Druce obviously itched to command a ship again.
‘Thank him, Blair.’ He handed back the empty mug. ‘But tell the Officer of the Watch to shake me at the first sign of anything.’
Chapter 23
Aircrewman Thomas Osgood banged the side of his bone dome with his fist His eyelids continued to droop, the effort of keeping awake literally a physical pain The vibration and the racket of 826 made him sleepier, rather than keeping him awake — and in the darkness at the back of the aircraft he tried to read his wrist watch 0229 His tired brain was sluggish twilight began at 0352 (he had written it down on his knee-pad during the briefing) He glanced slyly down, half-smiling to himself He was incapable of thought, was going round the twist — yes, there it was twilight 0352, one hour thirteen minutes before that streak of first light should begin to show Charlie-time was 0630 four hours before he could get in some zeds again It seemed only a flick of time since their last sortie, though the remaining Sea Kings weren’t much use now but, even without torpedoes, by going active with 195, at least the helos were forcing the SSKS to keep their heads down It had been a massacre when finally Flag Officer First Flotilla had turned up yesterday afternoon, during Osgood’s last sortie but one-of the seven enemy diesel boats reckoned to be in line Lima, Flag Officer First Flotilla and Illustrious’ Sea Kings claimed four After clearing the area, one of our new diesel boats had sunk another ‘You okay, Oz?’ Dunker was asking ‘Ball ready3’
‘Yes, sir All set’
‘We’ll do a modified when we get there,’ Dunker called to the pilots ‘Ten minutes and we’ll be there Active only won’t be needing the buoys ‘
Lieutenant Gamble’s voice sounded as worn as anyone’s when he acknowledged the observer’s instructions With a duff engine, the running-landing in the thick of the battle had not been easy he had dealt with the emergency with ice-cool precision, like an exercise at Culdrose x At last, they were approaching the last of the suspected enemy submarine lines blocking the convoy’s route into the Skagerrak twelve diesel boats, spread across a circle with its centre 180 miles due west of the Skaw, were reputed to be in the area The remaining helos of 814 had to keep the enemy down with 195 until Hag Officer First Flotilla, belting up from astern, could deal with them Phoebe had rejoined Old Fury needed her as point-defence ship The convoy had taken Ungava Bay under its wing, for she was able to keep up the twelve knots with her precious cargo, she was shepherded bang into the middle of the flock She’d done well, slipping through the Pentland Firth Osgood sensed the tension in Dunker’s crouching silhouette in front of him, the observer was peering intently at his radar screen and checking his doppler navigator Nothing seemed real now to Osgood He was so exhausted that, when told by the master-at-arms that he would be court-martialled for suspected murder when they got home, he had merely shaken his head He hadn’t seen Kotta for days the PO was keeping well clear — he might even be among the corpses on the quarterdeck a pity, that, because his death would make Osgood’s defence much trickier And Gwen? He prayed often for her safety now, in the dark loneliness at the back of the cab there was nothing more he could do Bunker was straightening his back ‘Hob, I’ve got two groups of echoes on my screen twenty-nine miles, zero-five-five one formation is just separating from the other, both on the same bearing ‘