One Hundred Days

by Sandy Woodward

  There is then of course the additional problem of tracking an enemy: at high speed you cannot hear or see because the sonar is drowned out by the noise of the water rushing past your hull, which means you have to slow right down to listen, or come up to periscope depth to look every so often, to check your quarry has not altered course. It’s a sort of Grandmother’s Footsteps, with lethal consequences if you’re caught. The additional problem here is time: the moment you head to the surface and your periscope breaks clear of the water, like a big broomstick, you are immediately vulnerable to detection, either by the look-outs who are trained to spot a submarine or by the enemy’s radar. Thus you put a periscope up for the shortest possible time, for a very quick look, and a few seconds’ gulp of information. The man who looks through the periscope needs a photographic memory, and he needs to use every bit of his training in the Perisher. Each time the submarine conducts this time-pressured manoeuvre it loses precious speed and distance. Thus the submariner’s rule of thumb is that you need a thirty per cent speed advantage to trail an enemy successfully, because you have to keep stopping. Under calmsurface conditions Belgrano could probably outrun a submerged Conqueror without working up too much of a sweat. In a race across the Bank I was afraid the Argentinian would be a heavy favourite.

  If the three Argentinian captains were clever they might decide to split up and rendezvous later, closer to the Falkland Islands, in which case we would have little chance of locating them accurately. Perhaps more likely was the possibility of all three of them making a dash for it, across the Bank, deep into the TEZ, knowing the near-impossibility of a submarine tracking them among the shoals. (And remember, when we caught the USS Coral Sea in Glamorgan, we achieved it by means of a high-speed run, at night, from outside her TEZ – even if we were wearing turbans.)

  My conclusion: I cannot let that cruiser even stay where she is, regardless of her present course or speed. Whether she is inside or outside the TEZ is irrelevant. She will have to go.

  Even now, in the hours before dawn, both the General Belgrano and her escorts are heading eastwards at about thirteen knots, which may not sound very much, but it is a speed which would give her a lead of well over a mile on any of the upwind legs in the old America’s Cup races for twelve-metre yachts. She is staying about twenty or thirty miles outside the TEZ, moving, apparently, around the perimeter, towards us. Even at her present low speed, she and her escorts could turn up right behind us, at a range of about fifty miles, some fifteen hours from now. And under my present Rules of Engagement I can do nothing about it. As they say in New York, thanks, but no thanks.

  However, deep down, I believe she would continue to creep along the back of the Bank, and then when she is informed that the carrier is ready to launch her air strike, she will angle in, on a north-easterly course, and make straight for us, the Exocets on her destroyers trained on us as soon as they are within striking range. I badly need Conqueror to sink her before she turns away from her present course, because if we wait for her to enter the Zone, we may well lose her, very quickly.

  As we all sat in the Ops Room of Hermes that morning, I knew I had to find a way of getting the Rules of Engagement changed in order to allow Christopher Wreford-Brown to attack the Belgrano group as soon as possible. This, actually, was a bit of problem because the proper procedures were inclined to be rather slow and, in theory, Belgrano could already have changed course without my yet knowing, and five hours from now, still just before dawn, she would be in a position to attack us. The correct, formal process for any commander to alter his ROE is as follows: sit down and draft a written signal, in hard copy, which says, at length, ‘Here is my tactical and strategic situation. I wish to do this and that, and I am faced with this, that and the other. My conclusion is that I need a change in my Rules of Engagement, namely permission to attack Belgrano group before she enters the Exclusion Zone. That is, as soon as possible. Like, now.’ And preferably an hour ago. Actually three hours ago by the time you get this. And eighteen hours ago by the time Conqueror gets your answer.

  Of course, it all takes time: time to write, carefully and lucidly, and then, because it would be rather better if no one else heard it, the signal must go in encrypted code on to the satellite to Northwood. It will then be read by the duty officer on this quiet Sunday morning in the western suburbs of London. He will then inform the Chief of Staff, who will take it to the C-in-C, who will ring up the Ministry, and they will brief the Chief of Defence Staff, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Terence Lewin. When they have all read it, all understood it, and are all quite clear why Woodward wants to proceed with this major change in the plan, Sir Terence will then take it to the War Cabinet, for Mrs Thatcher’s final approval. Only then can the process of sending the reply start. And that can take just as long again. And then it might not be the reply I wanted and needed. All of which was largely hopeless from my point of view, since it could not take much less than the best part of twelve hours, by which time (unless I blatantly exceeded my ROE), we could all be swimming around in the South Atlantic, getting a bit cold, and wondering where the hell those sixteen Exocets just came from.

  I thus clearly have no time to hang about writing a formal assessment. Nor yet can I risk getting the ‘wrong’ answer. As far as I know, Belgrano and her escorts may already be on their way to us and, if they are, Conqueror is going to be so busy trying to chase her over the Bank, there is never going to be time for him to slow down, come to periscope depth, whistle up the satellite and start exchanging formal messages to Northwood. The general drift of such a signal would have to be something like this: ‘Belgrano has changed course to the north-east. Am attempting to maintain contact. Does the change of course affect my ROE? Am I permitted to attack? Urgent advice needed.’ All of which would have been quite hopeless. With such a delay Conqueror would probably lose the cruiser altogether, just while sending the signal. Therefore the question is: how can I startle everyone at home into the required and early action? I have to get those ROEs changed exceedingly fast and to do so I instituted the formal process by getting Jeremy Sanders to get on to DSSS and spell out to the Duty Officer at Northwood precisely what my feelings were. Meanwhile I immediately put on to the satellite my permission to Conqueror to attack immediately. The signal read: ‘From CTG [Commander Task Group] 317.8, to Conqueror, text priority flash – attack Belgrano group’.

  Now, I knew that the captain of Conqueror would know that I was not empowered to give him that order – you will recall that the submarines were being run from London (against my advice). Thus I could expect a very definite set of circumstances to break out upon receipt of my signal. For a start Northwood would read it. Having then seen what I had done, the Flag Officer Submarines, Admiral Sir Peter Herbert, my old boss in Valiant, would know, beyond any shadow of a doubt that I must be deadly serious. It would serve as the strongest possible reinforcement of the formal request being prepared now by Jeremy Sanders in readiness for his phone call home. What is more, my signal will be in London in the next twenty minutes, which should provide them all with an interesting jolt at six o’clock in the morning.

  As it happened Peter Herbert’s staff read my signal and immediately took it off the satellite, in order that Conqueror should not receive it, which indeed she didn’t. I had quite clearly exceeded my authority by altering the ROE of a British submarine to allow it to attack an Argentinian ship well outside the TEZ. Such a breach of Naval discipline can imply only two things – either Woodward has gone off his head, or Woodward knows exactly what he is doing and is in a very great hurry. I rather hoped they would trust my sanity, particularly because there is always another aspect to such a set of circumstances – that is, should the politicians consider it impossible for the international community to approve the sinking of a big cruiser, with possible subsequent great loss of life, I had given them the opportunity to let it run and then blame me, should that prove convenient. I quite understood it might be extremely difficult for them to give what so
me were bound to see as a ruthless order. Indeed I am keenly aware that there are some things politicians simply cannot do, no matter what the extenuating circumstances may be. But now they could do it. And if it went wrong, I was there to be blamed. But if it went right, they could take the credit.

  Actually I had intended the signal to get as far as the Commander-in-Chief, Sir John Fieldhouse, and I had rather expected he would personally recommend that it should be left to run, given the urgency of my message, while he negotiated with the MOD and the Cabinet. FOSM had pre-empted me a bit, by pulling the order off the satellite. Nonetheless I imagined they immediately went to the C-in-C and said: ‘Look what Woodward’s done.’ This, I felt quite sure, would have gingered him up, and caused him to go to Admiral Lewin and tell him, ‘Look, Woodward means this. They need a change in the Rules of Engagement out there. Fast.’

  Whatever the true process back home actually turned out to be, this was how I saw it happening from my little perch, high up on Hermes’ bridge. Actually, my CTF and fellow CTG – FOSM – had already started the ROE change process without telling me. Suffice it to say, by the time the War Cabinet met at ten o’clock in the morning at Chequers everyone was apprised of the situation. After quick but careful consideration of the military advice, the Prime Minister and the War Cabinet authorized changes to the ROE which would permit Conqueror to attack the Belgrano group. I do not suppose it occurred to Mrs Thatcher for one moment, certainly it did not occur to me, that in a very few months from then a certain section of the House of Commons would endeavour to prove that this was a decision which could only have been perpetrated by a callous warmonger, or at least a group of callous warmongers, of which I was very much one. But political thinking and military thinking are often diverse, even when both sets of executives are on the same side, with overwhelming public support. And, by necessity, the military commander under the threat of missile attack is required to be more crisp than someone thinking the matter over some weeks later in front of the fire in a country house in the south of Scotland.

  My own case is simply stated, because it comes from the same folklore as that followed by Admiral Nelson, Admiral Jervis, Admiral Hood, Admiral Jellicoe and Admiral Cunningham. The speed and direction of an enemy ship can be irrelevant, because both can change quickly. What counts is his position, his capability and what I believe to be his intention.

  At 0745Z on 2 May my signal had gone and Jeremy Sanders had talked very succinctly to the duty officer at Northwood. There was little more to be done about the Belgrano except await the outcome. By now the anti-submarine group were back, as were Glamorgan and her group. I felt we were a bit less exposed, but I was still irked by the fact that the other submarines – not Conqueror – were somehow unable to find the Argentinian carrier.

  We were positioned some eighty miles east of Port Stanley and as prepared as we could be to receive a dawn strike by the aircraft from the deck of the Veintecinco de Mayo. I deployed the three Type 42s Sheffield, Coventry and Glasgow some thirty miles up-threat as our front-line defence, the picket line. Much, I thought, would depend on the speed of the reactions of their Ops Rooms. The bigger ‘County’ Class destroyer Glamorgan, her guns only just cooled from the night bombardment, was positioned in an inner anti-aircraft screen – and if necessary, an anti-submarine screen – with the frigates Yarmouth, Alacrity and Arrow. They would form the second line of defence in front of the two Royal Fleet Auxiliaries Olmeda and Resource, which would take up a position near Hermes and Invincible. Each of the carriers would operate in company with a ‘goalkeeper’, one of the Type 22 frigates. Ours would be Captain Bill Canning’s Broadsword, while Invincible would operate with John Coward’s Brilliant. The latter combination packed enormous punch, because Coward was likely to be extremely quick off the mark with his Sea Wolf missile system, and Invincible carried a Sea Dart system. We did not have any airborne early warning radars to assist the pickets, which meant our maximum radar range against low-fliers, from the Type 42s, was about forty-five miles out from Hermes. We would of course fly constant combat air patrols from the decks of both carriers, but with the Skyhawks coming in very fast, at wave-top height, I thought we might have our work cut out to down all ten of them.

  And so we waited, all of us very much alert for a co-ordinated air and sea attack from almost any direction. But, to our surprise and relief, it never materialized. Sea Harrier probes to the north-west found nothing.

  Out here in the notoriously windswept South Atlantic, what we had not even considered had happened: with winter approaching, the air was absolutely still. And the Args could not get their fully laden aircraft off the deck without at least some natural wind, regardless of their own speed through the water into the breeze. With daylight approaching, the constant threat of our SSNs finally catching up with them and the slowly growing realization that we were not in fact about to put the Royal Marines on the beach at Port Stanley, their carrier wisely turned for home and safety, though of course, we did not know it.

  By 1130, however, we were fairly sure the carrier group had in some way withdrawn, simply because no air attack had arrived. We regrouped after a quick lunch to decide what time we should once more head west towards the islands for our second night of recce insertion, and at that time the scene switched very decisively to Conqueror. I should mention here that I knew nothing more about the subsequent activities of the submarine for many hours. In the ensuing months and years since the war, I have pieced together from the people most closely concerned what happened on that chill but windless Sunday afternoon. I cannot, as a submariner myself, resist providing some detail of one of the more riveting days in the history of the submarine service.

  We now know that at 0810Z Belgrano and her escorts reversed course, and were in fact on their way home. But they headed back to the west on a gentle zig-zag, not apparently in any great hurry or with any obvious purpose. When I became aware of their westerly course that afternoon, I still had no reliable evidence as to their intentions. For all I knew they might have received a signal telling them to return to base; but perhaps they had only been told to wait and come back tonight; perhaps they hadn’t been told anything. But if I had been told to return to base, I wouldn’t hang about, that was for sure. I’d get on with it, PDQ. Either way, Conqueror trailed her all morning. At 1330Z she accessed the satellite and received the signal from Northwood changing her Rules of Engagement. Commander Wreford-Brown had, apart from self-defence, thus far been permitted to attack the Argentinian aircraft carrier and, within the TEZ only, other Argentine combat ships. The change said quite clearly he may now attack the Belgrano, outside the TEZ.

  Actually the significance of this change was clear to all the British ships except poor old Conqueror, the only one that really needed to know it. They had, unfortunately, a very dicky radio mast that kept going wrong, and they could not make sense of the signal. Neither could they hang around indefinitely, at slow speed with masts up, trying to re-access the satellite. The danger of losing the Belgrano was too great. Commander Wreford-Brown went deep and fast again to continue the pursuit and all afternoon they tried to fix the mast, as they trailed the Argentinians, furtively, through the depths of those grey seas, south of the Burdwood Bank. At 1730 Conqueror came up again, accessed the satellite once more to get a re-run of their signal, and this time they could read it.

  The Captain took a careful look at the Belgrano and the two destroyers before going deep to try to catch them up from his position some seven miles astern of the cruiser and her escorts. The Argentinians were steaming in a V-formation, Belgrano to the south, with one destroyer positioned about half a mile off her starboard bow, the other one a mile off her starboard beam. As an anti-submarine formation the British captain considered it ‘pretty pathetic, especially as the ships were largely obsolete, and the crews were displaying a fairly minimal amount of skill’. They did not, in fact, even have their sonars switched on.

  In retrospect I am inclined to go along with C
hristopher’s assessment: had I been the captain of the General Belgrano, I would have been doing many things differently at this time. For a start I would have put my ships on a high level of damage control readiness, I would have had my two escorts positioned on my port and starboard quarters using intermittent active sonar, rather than have them both, passively, to my north. Also I would never have been dawdling along at thirteen knots for hours on end, if my fuel state remotely allowed it. Rather I would have been zig-zagging determinedly and varying my speed quite dramatically, occasionally speeding up to twenty-five or more knots, making it much more difficult for a shadowing submarine to stay with me. At other times I would have slowed right down, making it equally hard for a shadowing submarine to hear me, but allowing me perhaps to hear him charging along in the rear making a noise like an express train. Finally, I would have edged up towards the Burdwood Bank, thereby making it less likely that an SSN would approach from that direction and enabling me to put my escorts in a better place.

  Captain Hector Bonzo was doing none of this. He was no submariner, nor had he any experience of what SSNs could or could not do. He was mentally not yet at war, and all the while, right on his stern, there was Conqueror, following in a standard sprint-and-drift pursuit – running deep at eighteen knots for fifteen or twenty minutes, then coming up for a few minutes to get another visual set-up to update the operations plot for the Fire Control Officer. Every time they came up, they reduced speed to five knots or so, which of course lost them ground as they ‘drifted’, but they made it up again in the eighteen-knot ‘sprint’.