by Stephen Makk
“She was on Glamorgan down in the Falklands Sir. Saw action, during the Exocet strike.”
“Yes, I know Glamorgan’s Captain Ian Stonley. He said she did well, took it in her stride, one of the lads he says.” He looked at her picture, a thirtyish black girl.
“Her file seems fine to me Sir.”
“Good, I’ll get Penny to call her. She’s in Pompey, so she can probably be here tonight.”
“Then we can sail early afternoon tomorrow Sir.”
“Do it. Now, I’ll give you the file but I’ll give you the overall picture first. Where do you think you’re going?”
“The Med Sir?”
“No. Keep this one tight.” Vice Admiral Speed leant forward and lowered his voice. “We’ve been given a hush job by Northwood. Apparently, this has come in from Number ten.” Luke raised his eyebrows. “I see, Sir.”
“We’ve long known that Iran has been awaiting delivery of her Kilo class boats from Russia. They’ve had naval personnel in Russia undergoing training, getting ready for delivery. Well, there’s been a problem with construction. It seems Ivan cocked up some steel production and the new hulls didn’t pass muster.”
“Why’s that a problem for us, Sir? It should be a benefit, we don’t want them getting their hands on the Kilo class. That’s a seriously quiet boat, it’s not nick named “The black hole” by the USN for nothing.” Admiral Speed scowled.
“Yes, the problem is the rag heads have been greasing the Russian’s palms. The Soviets have agreed to transfer the Vyborg and the Vologada to the Iranian navy, so they’re going to be operating the Kilo quicker than we’d hoped. They’ve been renamed the Nahang and the Siyah Bambak, that’s the Crocodile and the Black Shark.” Luke shook his head.
“Yes Sir, I can see that’s not good.”
“It gets worse Captain.” The Admiral placed his palms on the desk and lowered his head. Luke hadn’t seen Speed so sombre since he’d met him two years ago.
“There are factions within the regime, mostly The Army of the Guardians of the Islamic revolution, or Revolutionary Guards and the Quds force who want to take a hard line against the West. They want to get the Kilos into action as soon as they arrive; they plan to interdict shipping in the Straits of Hormuz.” Luke’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“What? Sink ships?”
“That’s what the bloody Kilo’s designed to do, they’re ideal for shallow water operations. Poor bastards won’t stand a chance.” Admiral Speed drummed his fingers on the desk, reluctant to continue.
“So what’s our hush hush job then Sir? Shadow them?”
“You are to locate them and prevent them if possible from carrying out the task they’ll be given on arrival at Bandar Abbas.” Luke had been expecting something like that.
“What’s our ROE Sir?” Admiral Speed leaned forward and fixed him with an intense stare.
“What’s the role of the submarine service?”
“To keep the sea lanes free and to roam them at Her Majesty’s pleasure Sir.” Speed shook his head.
“The role of the submarine service is to sink the enemy. Let me tell you. It would give Her Majesty the greatest of pleasure to hear that you sank two of her enemies. She might down a tot of Rum. She might even hang a fucking gong on your chest.
What’s the role of the submarine service?”
“To sink the enemy Sir.” Speed shook his head and raised his voice.
“I said, what’s the role of the submarine service?”
“To sink the fucking enemy Sir.” Admiral Speed smiled.
“Why are you going to sink them?”
“Because it pleases Her Majesty to see the bastards sent to hell Sir.”
“That’s more like it. Your rules of engagement are, if it moves sink it. If it doesn’t, then sink it so it does. Go out there and sink the Crocodile and the Black Shark. I didn’t give you the Holy Ghost for a pleasure cruise. We’ll leak the word that you’re going to the Med. But get out into the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good hope, wait for them in the Red Sea and sink the bastards. They’ll be coming through the Suez canal.” Luke weighed up the options. The Red Sea?
“Sir, those boats are Soviet navy Northern fleet. They’ll probably transit west of Ireland and head for the Straits of Gibraltar bound for Suez. It makes more sense to pick them up in the western approaches and get them there or off Portugal or Spain.” Admiral Speed pursed his lips and looked down, avoiding his junior officer’s gaze.
“It must be the Red Sea.”
“But...” Speed looked him in the eyes.
“The Red fucking Sea Captain.” Luke knew not to protest any further.
“Right Sir. I’ll get on it.”
“Stay where you are for a few minutes, get your tea and biccys.” He took his teacup and a few chocolate biscuits.
“MacArthur, we’re expecting a lot of political flack over this one.” The Admiral handed over a cassette tape. “When you’ve done the job broadcast this on the frequency marked on the cover.”
“Yes, Sir.” The two men talked ships, submarines and put the navy and the world to rights.
“MacArthur, I like your style. Hit em bloody hard. Right. Off you go, good luck and happy hunting.”
The following morning Luke walked down the quayside and headed straight for HMS Holy Ghost, crossed over the gangway and climbed the sail. It was commonly called a conning tower but was more correctly called the sail. He climbed down the ladder from the open hatch and onto the main deck. Walking forward he entered the control room. Forward a technician worked inside an open panel at the sonar station. The sonar operator looked over the technician’s shoulder. Luke walked over.
“A problem PO Southworth?”
“Aye Sir, an intermittent spike, Phil says it’s fixable.” Petty officer Peter Southworth had a strong Geordie accent acquired from his native Newcastle. The technician turned to Luke.
“I’ve seen this one before Sir, we should be done in half an hour.” Luke turned back to the rear of the control room, walked down the companionway and into his cabin, he came out a minute later with a small leather bag.
“Exec, Weaps. Get your bonnets on and let’s go ashore. The male and female officers put on their white dress hats and headed for the sail. The Executive officer Mark Davis led the way with Weapons officer Savita Kapoor following. They climbed the sail with Luke following. Luke couldn’t help but take a look up at Savita’s rear as she climbed the ladder, she wore a coverall but there was no disguising what lay beneath. He made himself look at the ladder in case she looked down and caught him out. On the quayside, he faced them.
“What’s up Sir?” asked Commander Davis with a slight Welsh brogue. He was in his late thirties with black hair, born in Aberystwyth and a passionate rugby player.
“Change of schedule I’m afraid. We sail this afternoon. We’re off now to see Tea leaves.”
“I hear Lieutenant Ascot is struggling on his feet from the skiing accident,” said Lieutenant Commander Kapoor. Luke looked at her, with her smooth light coffee coloured skin and brown black eyes so deep you could swim in them, it was hard to tear his mind back to the matter in hand.
“Yes I heard, we’ve a replacement MO due in today. Lieutenant Pearl Turner is due to join us at any time.” Luke lowered his voice. “Keep this one quiet until we’re underway. We’re not going to the Med, we’re going on patrol in the North Atlantic. Then it’ll be a fast transit to South Africa, around the cape and up into the Red Sea. Admiral Speed has given us complete freedom with our ROE’s, he wants us to sink the enemy on sight.”
“What enemy Sir?” Asked Commander Kapoor.
“The Soviets have given the Iranians two Kilo class boats, we’re to stop them. They plan to use them to blockade the Straits of Hormuz.”
“Bloody hell,” said Davis. Savita smiled.
“I like it.”
“Come on,” said Luke, “let’s see what information Tea leaves has on enemy movements.”
&
nbsp; They walked into the block, a low concrete structure with mock civilian houses on its roof. The guard checked their passes. Luke led the way down the corridors until they came to a door marked Fleet Command intelligence. He opened the door and entered.
There were around fifteen officers working at various screens a few looked up and nodded. He headed for an office at the rear, the door plate read Commander McLeod. Inside sat a ginger haired man wearing the uniform of a Commander naval intelligence.
“Good morning Tea leaves,” said Luke, “did you win big in the Cheltenham gold cup? You must have picked the winner?”
“Piss off, you pirate. Go and stink somebody else’s office out.”
“Tut tut, and to think, all that stands between you and the bloody Soviet’s is me, a poor pirate.”
“It’s a cruel world Maccy. What do you want?”
“I’m here to pick your brains.” Commander McLeod snorted.
“Let’s have a sitrep Tea leaves. Soviet Northern Fleet. Kilo class boats, Vyborg and the Vologada, what are the opposition up to?”
“Pull the blinds down.” Savita pulled down the blinds covering the windows, Commander McLeod switched on the large screen and accessed a file. The screen filled with a map of the Barents Sea and the Norwegian Sea. Luke opened the leather bag from his cabin and took out a fortune teller’s crystal ball then placed it on the desk.
“Just some help to make your guesses more accurate.” Savita sniggered. Commander McLeod rolled his eyes.
“Piss off Maccy.”
“This is from all sources,” said McLeod, “satellite, humint, and cousins.”
“Cousins?” said Lieutenant Commander Kapoor.
“Americans. The CIA and NSA mostly,” said Luke, “under the counter stuff.” He tapped the side of his nose.
“As you’d expect the boats are in the 24th Submarine Division based at Yagelnaya Bay, the Sayda Inlet. Let me bring up the last satellite pass.” Commander McLeod studied the pictures. There they are and some of this activity here means they’re preparing to put to sea.
“What about Soviet Naval aviation?” asked Luke.
“Are they putting up some top cover?”
“We’re told maritime patrols are always active and being monitored by the RAF but the crabs are being tight-lipped over it all. It stinks to me, the whole air situation is a big issue but the crabs are playing it close.” Crabs was the derogatory nickname for the RAF, it’s thought to be derived from their light blue uniform’s matching the pale blue cream used to treat pubic lice.
“What do you think Exec?” asked Luke smiling.
“Trade for us. They’re coming out to play.”
“Weaps?”
“I think the biggest threat will come from their stealth. They do call them the black hole after all.”
“I agree,” said Luke.
“We’ve a good mix of warload Captain. We’ve squeezed in two extra Spearfish.”
“How Savita?”
“Hammocks. The torpedo room was reluctant at first but they now prefer them to sleeping on the fish.”
“Right. When I was new I found sleeping on Torpedoes a bit uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it,” he said.
“I had to sleep on the fish when I was with Tireless,” she said, “it wasn’t so bad. I got quite attached to one, I called her Polly. It is odd at first sleeping on a three hundred kilogram warhead of aluminised PBX.” He smiled, where did I find this crew?
“Tea leaves,” said Luke, “I have an Intel request if you need it confirmed see Admiral Speed. Keep an eye on the Iranian navy, especially any ships leaving the Gulf. If they head towards the Red Sea let Speed know right away. Could you put all this in Holy Ghost’s data stream please?”
“No problem Maccy.”
“Thanks. Let’s get out there.” Luke turned back.
“Oh, I’ll take this with me,” he put the crystal ball back in its bag. “If you want your own Tea Leaves, you can bloody buy one.” Commander McLeod sighed. The three left the shore facility and walked along the quayside back to the boat. He led the way back onto the boat and down into the control room. A woman in a naval officer’s uniform stood in the centre of the room. She saluted him. He knew who she was. Her hair was tied up, black, pretty and bright keen eyes.
“Lieutenant Pearl Turner. Medical Officer Sir.”
“Yes, welcome aboard Lieutenant. Follow me,” He walked astern, she followed.
“You’re new to submarines I believe?”
“I’ve done around half of my intro course, Sir.”
“So not been to sea in one yet?”
“No Sir,”
“Well you’re in at the deep end then, we’ll sail on ops within the hour,”
“That’s OK Sir, I’ve been down to the bottom of the deep end at my local pool,” He turned and she grinned. He laughed.
“You’ll do fine with us.” He stopped at a bunk room entrance.
“Mr Salt. Get your hand off it and put your porn mag away. Come out and meet the real thing.” There was a grunting and presently a ginger haired man appeared.
“Sir?”
“Lieutenant Pearl Turner. Medical officer. This is CPO William Salt. He gets stick from us but he runs the bloody boat for us. Pearl, if you want to know anything just ask Salty. Mr Salt show the Lieutenant around and get her fit up with a bunk, Ascot’s old one I suppose.”
“Yes Sir,”
“I’ll be off now Lieutenant,” he turned and headed back to the control room.
“Right mam where’s your kit?”
“At the bottom of the sail. Don’t call me that, either Sir or Pearl,”
“Yes mam, sorry I mean Sir,” CPO Salt spoke with a strong West country accent from his native Bridgewater.
“Let’s get you fit up with a bunk first Sir and then we'll get you going from the rear.” She smirked and raised her eyebrows.
“So soon CPO Salt, you’re forward. Is that sort of thing allowed on board,” she gave him a cheeky grin.
“Sorry, Sir I meant...”
“I know what you meant Salty.”
LUKE LOOKED AROUND the control room, all looked well. The boat felt ready, it’d taken years but he’d now got a nose for this. When things weren’t right he could smell it. At least that’s what it felt like.
“Exec is the boat ready for sea?” asked Luke.
“Yes Sir,”
“Then order the cast-off and join me on the sail.” Luke stood on the sail watching the crew casting off the boat’s moorings. The light breeze fresh and the sun warm on his cheeks. The sky was cloudy but with large blue openings. There’s enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of pants, his grandmother used to say. He picked up the boat’s comms microphone.
“Forward three.” He waited and looked astern. “Come starboard five degrees.” The XO joined him on the sail. Soon they passed to the west of the breakwater with its fort from Napoleonic times. Next was Rame head, with that cleared she was at sea. HMS Holy Ghost the most powerful submarine ever built was on patrol. Her task, to keep the world’s economic lifeblood flowing through the Straits of Hormuz. To do it she’d have to face two of the most silent and deadly demons of the deeps.
Chapter 2
CAPTAIN LUKE MACARTHUR and Commander Mark Davis stood on the sail, the sea breeze strong in the afternoon sunlight. The bow raised a large bulbous swell as it pushed its way through the water. Davis lowered his binoculars. “It looks quite clear out to the west.”
“Yes, but let’s keep on this track. We’ll dive her to the east of the Hand deeps and keep this course to the south-west. We’ll do our bit to make it seem like we’re heading for the Med.”
They both stood taking in the last fresh air they’d taste for some time. Finally, Luke said. “We’ll make a dash down south we have to get there ahead of the Kilos, we’ll kiss Senegal and South Africa. Then up north again.” Luke looked out at the bright sun flecked white horses breaking on the ice cool sea. “Mark, what d
o you think? Should we wait for them off Suez or further south?” Mark turned to him.
“There’s the noise off Suez, there’ll be a lot of traffic. But it’s the one place where you know they’ll have to pass. We could try a chip and run on them.”
“Don’t go all Rugby plays on me Mark, I like the game, but I don’t know it like you.” Luke smiled.
“It means that you get around the back of them, get them worrying about us.”
“I like that, maybe we’ll do it, put them on the back foot.
I know they’ll have to leave the canal, that’s where we’ll definitely know where they are, but I think they’ll go deep quick when they leave the canal. They’ll be glad of the opportunity and the boats are new to them. We can out dive them, their max depth is three hundred meters, with two forty being more realistic. We’ll only get a brief chance and if we don’t make it count they’ll know somebody’s after them. Then there is the bloody noise as you say.”
Luke remembered the chart of the Red Sea he’d studied.
“We can always lie in wait at the southern exit of the Red Sea, it’s a choke point and it’ll be a lot quieter. You know what it’s called Mark?”
“No, go on.”
“The Gate of Tears. Some call it the Gate of Grief.” Luke looked Mark in the eyes.
“The question is if we wait there, who’s tears? Who’s grief?”
Captain Luke MacArthur stood and looked out beyond the bow, the wall of water rode over the bow as the Ghost pushed through the sea. He looked out to the horizon and realised what a weight now sat on his shoulders. I’ve really got myself in one now haven’t I?
“You bloody fool MacArthur. Well, that’s it. It’s officially dropped and hit the fan. Time to get on with it.”
“Sir?”
“OK Mark, that’s about it, let’s get below.” In the control room Luke took up his place sat on his seat at the conn station.
“Flood forward one and two. Planesman, down angle ten degrees, make your depth seventy.”