The AWO knew that two of the blips represented friendly Sea Harriers, and the other a Sea King helicopter on a supply run. The AWO had been on duty for several hours, and his eyes blurred and itched. He took them off the screen, and dug his fingers in for a good scratch.
The two Argentine aircraft had closed to about 25 miles from the British warship. Both Super És climbed and turned on their Agave radars. The system energized, and found and locked on to Sheffield.
“Blanco,” Lieutenant Commander Augusto Moreno, the pilot of the lead Super Étendard yelled as he used a hand signal to communicate with his wingman. Both men fed the data into their Exocet missiles.
Sheffield’s AWO’s radar line left two more blips on the screen. They were miles out and in a different quadrant than those known to represent friendly aircraft. When the AWO’s tired focus returned, the blips had disappeared; this first chance for Sheffield to detect the stalking aircraft had been missed in a moment of human fatigue. Unfortunately for the Royal Navy destroyer and her company, a second opportunity was missed, as well.
At the same moment the Argentines had climbed to get a radar fix on Sheffield, the ship’s captain contacted London by satellite. Perched high in the ship’s mast was located an emitter warning antenna that would have detected the enemy’s energy emission. However, Sheffield’s satellite communication system happened to use the same frequency band as that of the Super Étendards’ radar. Therefore, as the destroyer’s captain sent his reports home, the emitter warning antenna was deafened. With their Exocets locked-on and warmed up, the Argentine jets continued to charge on the oblivious British warship. The Super És again flew below the lobes of Sheffield’s radar.
“Fuego,” Moreno said as he signaled by hand. Both pilots toggled their firing switches, and as the half-ton missiles dropped into the slipstream, both pilots counteracted the jarring force using ailerons.
The solid-propellant motors of both of the anti-ship missiles ignited, fire torching from their tail ends. The Exocets then settled in 12 feet above the calm, blue sea. Within seconds, they were moving at just beneath the speed of sound. Due to their cruise altitude and the curvature of the Earth, Sheffield remained blinded to their approach.
When the Argentine missiles were just six miles from Sheffield—less than 50 seconds from impact — the destroyer’s AWO spotted the returns and announced: “Interim radar contact.” The Operations Director strolled over and asked the AWO: “What’ve you got, then?”
On the screen, what had previously been a smudge of light, became two distinct blips. The Exocets were now 30 seconds away from Sheffield.
“Probable targets,” the AWO shouted.
The Operations Director informed the Missile Director of the contact.
Twenty-five seconds…
The Missile Director queried the ship’s Sea Dart surface-to-air missile fire control system.
Twenty seconds…
Along with the captain, the officers-of-the-watch and the rest of Sheffield’s bridge personnel, Sub-Lieutenant Lawrence Fryatt kept a wary eye on the sea. A terrible feeling crept over Fryatt as he scanned his assigned quadrant of sea with binoculars. He spotted something, a puff of smoke on the horizon. Fryatt focused his binoculars there. The sea’s surface shimmered within the black-edged circle of his view.
Torpedo? Fryatt wondered. He scrutinized the picture again and shifted his view upward. There, just above the diamonds of reflected sunlight, an airborne white cylinder skimmed above the waves. It was pointed right at him.
“Missile; terminal,” Fryatt yelled at the very same moment the Action Information Center — the ‘AIC,’ or ‘Op Room’—announced ‘air warning red’ over the bridge speaker. The captain raised his own binoculars and said, “Exocets,” using the name as a curse.
Fryatt raised his binoculars again and found the second missile. He knew that the weapons were already inside the engagement envelope of Sheffield’s Sea Darts. Anyway, he thought, Sea Darts are nearly useless against sea-skimmers.
Sheffield’s captain initiated a turn. Then he used the address system to order the ship’s company to brace for missile impact before calling for ‘damage control state 1.’ With the ship already on ‘defense watch, second readiness,’ all watertight compartments had been sealed, and with less than five seconds to impact, there was no time to get chaff up and properly bloomed. Fryatt looked around. Most of the people were already on the floor and huddled together. Fryatt pressed the captain’s shoulder to urge him to get down, but the captain pushed back. So, both men stood there, transfixed, and watched as the Exocets streaked in.
One Exocet malfunctioned. It wobbled, dipped, and slammed into the sea. The captain and Fryatt looked at one another and smiled. Their chances of surviving had just doubled. The smiles faded fast, however; as the remaining Exocet continued to home in. Time slowed for Fryatt. He even counted in his head: Three, two, one…
There was a blurred white streak, and then Sheffield lurched hard. The Exocet had pierced her amidships, just above the waterline, tearing a jagged gash in her side. The missile penetrated ‘2-Deck’ at the Galley, killing several sailors instantly. The missile’s momentum drove it into the Forward Auxiliary Machinery Room and the Forward Engine Room. The impact’s shock wave buckled doors and collapsed ladders, and shrapnel tore the high-pressure fire main and ignited the diesel oil in the engine room ready tanks. The unspent missile propellant contributed thick black toxic smoke that suffocated personnel as it marched through compartment after compartment. Sheffield burned.
Fryatt had been knocked to the deck. He strained to rise. Achingly, he managed to do so and checked on the captain and the others that had been stationed around him. Fryatt then went to the fire-fighting system’s control panel.
Water pressure warnings flashed. Fryatt manipulated switches as he tried desperately to restart the pumps. To his dismay, and despite numerous attempts, each section’s pumps failed to restart. Then the panel flickered and went black as the bridge lost power. Fryatt opened the outer hatch and the bridge was instantly inundated with pungent smoke. He began to make his way aft.
Fryatt’s feet felt warm. He looked down at his heavy standard-issue boots and saw their thick rubber soles sizzling on the deck. He looked around. The ship’s grey paint had begun to peel from the superstructure as the steel warped. There’s an inferno inside. Fryatt leaned over Sheffield’s gunwale. Heat smacked him in the face. Instinctively, he recoiled and raised his hands to protect himself. Fryatt’s eyes stung from the acrid fumes created by burning fuel and plastics. Tears streaming, he blinked it off. Then he took a deep breath and held it, shielded his eyes with a hand, and leaned over the side. He again felt the high temperature. Though he could smell and feel the singing of his eyelashes and brows, he opened his eyes, and resisting the urge to close them and retreat, he managed to survey the damage.
He had seen the hole in Sheffield’s freeboard, and determined it to be about four by 15 feet. Its jagged edges glowed white hot and hissed steam every time the cold sea sloshed against it. In that moment, Fryatt concluded the Exocet had not detonated. He retreated and exhaled his held breath before gasping for cooler air.