Where are they getting the volunteers? What on earth do we do with this unexploded bomb after Antelope’s – the one that finally went off – killing the defuser?
I glanced at my watch and noticed it was coming up to midnight. Tomorrow would be 25 May – Argentina National Day…perhaps the very day for a comeback for Admiral Anaya’s men who had vanished, more or less, with the General Belgrano. I tried to think about the South American character and its reputation for exuberant behaviour, and what that might entail for us. Study of the psychology of your opponent is an essential part of war. Unfortunately South American habit is one of the many aspects of human psychology about which I am profoundly ignorant. But still, it would be a fine, daredevil counter-stroke for them to play – bringing out their carrier Veintecinco de Mayo and launching a co-ordinated attack on Hermes and Invincible to celebrate such an important day. Win or lose, it would go down in their history books as their ‘finest hour’.
Yes, well, that’s as maybe. So I had better make sure we are on top form tomorrow. I am horribly afraid that that is going to mean sending Coventry and Broadsword back out to their little missile trap, just twelve miles off-shore, ready to guide the Harriers, which had once more recorded the only definite ’kills’ of the day, and they had done it working in tandem with Coventry.
I pored over the charts for a while longer, tried to assess where the Arg carrier might show, and eventually decided to leave Coventry more or less where she had been in order to guard the northern and western approaches. I also tried to assess what I might do, if I was wearing Argentinian boots, and generally I thought I might sneak the Veintecinco de Mayo right down south to act as a recovery platform for the Etendards, which could then strike at us from the south-east of the TEZ. Yes, that is what I would do…try to skirt the British long-range radar and get in quick, from a new direction, without having the problem of in-flight refuelling. That would be a clever plan, one just bold enough to succeed.
You cannot play chess without a plan which takes account of the immediate future and as such I attempted to work out my response. The answer of course rested with the submarines. On the five per cent chance that Admiral Anaya was following my exact train of thought, I decided to signal Northwood with a request to move a submarine – my preference was for Conqueror – to guard those southern waters and to sink the Arg carrier if it came within range. The Flag Officer Submarines in London did not agree with what he felt was my over-reaction to an unlikely worst-case scenario. This further reduced my confidence in their ability to do what was required to win this war. They seemed so separate, so damned strategic. This was a subject in which I was well-qualified to have a view – so I stumped back to my diary and wrote angrily one last line: ‘THERES JUST F*** ALL FLEXIBILITY THERE.’
I don’t expect they cared much what I thought – as I said before, both the C-in-C and FOSM were ex-submariners, like I was, and they were both senior to me. As it soon turned out, they were proved right as well, which was doubly irritating. But it still remains the job of the man in the front line to plan to deal with the worst, as well as the most likely, things that can happen.
It also looked as if I had finally lost Glasgow, with her precious long-range radar. I had a signal from Paul Hoddinott telling me he had, at this moment, his head down in one of his two remaining engines. I decided that his war was, for the moment, over. I sent him a signal, thanking him for all he had done and instructing him to ‘toddle off home’ and get his ship into working order. With immense reluctance he agreed to do so. I would miss his steadfast professionalism from the moment he turned Glasgow north up the Atlantic the next morning.
Meanwhile there was a stream of new warships due to join us in the next couple of days – steaming in from the north-east were two more guided-missile destroyers, the 7000-ton Type 82 HMS Bristol with Sea Dart and under the command of Captain Alan Grose, and the Type 42 HMS Cardiff, commanded by yet another ex-submariner Captain Mike Harris. There were two Leander Class frigates, sister ships to Argonaut – HMS Minerva and HMS Penelope; plus Andromeda, the broad-beamed Leander armed with Sea Wolf and Exocet under Captain Jim Weatherall. There were also another two Type 21s coming in, HMS Active and HMS Avenger, plus another couple of big oilers, Olna and Bayleaf, accompanied by Fort Austin’s sister supply ship, Fort Grange.
From where I sat they were more than welcome, since at this stage we were losing warships at a fairly high rate – and I had no reason, at present, to hope for any improvement. By now I did believe that we were winning this war of attrition – just – but I would have felt a great deal happier about it if Rapier could have demonstrated a solid ability to knock Argentinian aircraft out of the sky, no ifs, ands or buts. But so far that had not happened. We were keeping the Args at bay with a combination of desperate gun and missile fire from anything that would shoot, together with the accuracy and reliability of the American Sidewinder missiles from beneath the wings of the Harriers.
All of which was not much comfort to Captain David Hart-Dyke and his men, arriving before first light, in company with Broadsword out in their exposed position twelve miles north of Pebble Island. By now this was undoubtedly the most alert British ship in the Fleet. Sailors are not stupid and they know true danger when it threatens. They can sense it, everyone in the ship can – in the commands that are broadcast inside the ship, in the speed with which people react, in the near-hypersense of urgency which exists, at all levels. Imminent risk of explosion, fire and death is a sure way of concentrating the mind. Each man has a different way of dealing with it: Captain Hart-Dyke was personally very realistic and very brave. He recognized the danger and Coventry’s possible helplessness under attack and he faced it all with a steely resignation. There was perhaps a shade of acceptance in his soul, given his and his wife’s historic naval background, but perhaps that is the highest form of courage there is. David had been in the very front line of this war since the first day: Coventry had been out there in the same three-ship picket line when Sheffield was hit and they had essentially been there ever since. David knew that some of his men were frightened. He spoke to them often in his easy, slightly laconic way, encouraging them repeatedly, telling them that Coventry was a ‘lucky ship’ – that they’d always got away with it and within a couple of weeks it would all be over…‘Don’t worry, we’ll get through it…’
Just two days before, Petty Officer Burke, an Irishman who knew the captain, had presented him with an ancient, 2000-year-old prayer to Saint Joseph which, according to Gaelic legend, would keep safe from war and drowning those who carried it with them. Captain Hart-Dyke read it to Coventry’s ship’s company at the church service on Sunday 23 May, then, superstitious like most sailors, he placed it in his pocket.
It was still there on the morning of 25 May which saw Coventry’s crew, as ever, in hard training, going over the routines and drills to deal with air attack. To David Hart-Dyke’s great satisfaction his men were able to accomplish in four minutes flat ‘Damage control – state one!’ (shutting and clipping home all doors and all hatches, and preparing ship’s systems in readiness to fight major fire and flooding). This often takes twice as long. Coventry was good, no doubt about that. Good and battle hardened, with a captain and his team very much on high alert, because in the place they were operating nothing less would do, as the company of Sheffield had discovered.
During the morning there was once more discussion between the two captains David Hart-Dyke and the more senior Bill Canning as to whether Coventry ought not to move out into more distant waters in order to maximize the efficiency of Sea Dart. But Captain Canning agreed with me: the communications were more important – a fact accentuated by yesterday’s performance when they had vectored the Harriers into making three brilliant ‘kills’ against the Arg Daggers. Bill added, in that calm, confident way he has, that he would ensure that Broadsword did all of the necessary fast manoeuvring and that Coventry could proceed, assured that the swift Type 22 would get into more or less th
e right spot for both attack and defence. ‘Just make absolutely sure, David, that you do not increase speed when I’m trying to get by,’ was Bill’s careful instruction to the younger commander.
There was nevertheless, I believe, a slight feeling in the Type 42 that they were ‘the forgotten ship’ – left out there to accomplish a thankless task which might very well end in their being sunk. Not true. I was thinking of them constantly, trying to remain in touch whenever possible, but what Captain Hart-Dyke and his men really wanted was a major success with their Sea Dart system.
At 1130Z that morning (0830 for the Args), they got it. A small formation of Skyhawks was circling out over the Atlantic to the west in readiness for a run-in over West Falkland to attack the British anchorage. Broadsword picked them up and, working through the data link to Coventry’s computers, enabled Captain Hart-Dyke’s Ops Room to ‘see’ the target. Moments later Coventry’s AWO confirmed the 909 radar was locked on, flashing ‘VALID TARGET’.
‘Take it with sea dart!’ commanded Hart-Dyke, and the destroyer briefly shuddered as the guided missile blasted into the sky. Within the minute the missile reached its target. On the upper deck the missile gun director (visual) saw the Skyhawk break up in the crystalline air and everyone in Coventry felt, as the captain later recalled, a great deal better about the world in general.
The next Argentinian raid came in three hours later, four more Skyhawks screaming in over East Falkland and rushing north up Carlos Water. Tony Morton’s Yarmouth went into action instantly and destroyed one of them with his Seacat missile. The other three stayed on their course, dropped their bombs sufficiently clear of any of our ships and were picked up on Broadsword’s radar as they crossed the narrows. Coventry had them immediately on the 909 and once more Captain Hart-Dyke’s men launched Sea Dart. Their second missile of the day destroyed a Skyhawk and understandably caused a feeling of confidence among the destroyer’s ‘forgotten men’. David Hart-Dyke spoke to the ship’s company, telling them again what a ‘lucky ship’ they were, even though he was personally very worried about how hopeless his own radars were against aircraft coming in over the land – precisely the same problem Captain Hoddinott had experienced in Glasgow on 12 May. Nonetheless Broadsword was certainly doing her job and, after all, her Sea Wolf missiles had thus far proved very useful indeed with two, possibly three ‘kills’ of her own to credit.
At this stage it was beginning to seem as though the 42/22 missile trap was working, although I too was extremely conscious of the difficulties Captain Hart-Dyke and Captain Canning were having in spotting the enemy aircraft when they overflew the land. From where the Arg commanders stood they must have thought the Ops Rooms of Broadsword and Coventry were manned by the very devil. Between them the two ships had been responsible for the destruction of five aircraft in two days, in addition to their former successes. Which is why, I suppose, they made a formal decision to eliminate them both, once and for all, using whatever aircraft they had left. The Spanish-speaking officer in Coventry tuned in to the Arg radio frequencies actually heard them finalizing the plan. It was taken as rather a compliment that the Args thought it would take six Skyhawks to ‘get that Type 42 out there’.
The captain told the crew with a natural drollness that it would take more aircraft than the Args had – ‘Stay sharp, and remember again, we’re a lucky ship.’ Privately David thought it was entirely possible that this time Coventry might take a real hit. He also thought to himself, ‘If we can just get through today, we’ll survive the war.’
At 1700 six Skyhawks of 5th Air Brigade took off from Rio Gallegos, heading due east to make their rendezvous with their Hercules tanker to re-fuel. As usual this went slightly wrong for them and only four went on forward with full tanks. They risked flying, for once, in the ‘middle air’ and were picked up by Navy radar one hundred miles due south-west of Carlos Water. They must have known this because they immediately split into two pairs. Harriers were sent out to meet them, but they dived instantly, spearing up the south coast of West Falkland. They rushed low over the land and we ‘saw’ them again on the coast of the Sound. All the ships in the anchorage stood by to take the bombing attack, but the Args suddenly swerved again, heading inland over West Falkland.
Broadsword picked up the first two, but missed the second pair, as Coventry went to Action Stations at 1800. They alerted the Harriers from Hermes now heading in towards the narrows. Then Coventry’s AWO called out, ‘We’ll pick the raid up on 909 in a few seconds. They will already be within Sea Dart range!’
‘Call the Harriers off!’ ordered Captain Hart Dyke. ‘They may be too far away, and Sea Dart will take them from here.’
But the 909, confused by the land, did not lock on. The first two Skyhawks, only twenty feet above the water, tucked behind Pebble Island, suddenly rocketed out from behind the headland into open water – some fifty seconds away from Coventry and Broadsword. Still the 909 did not acquire. On the upper deck Coventry’s visual gun director actually saw the planes and opened fire immediately with the 4.5-inch gun. In Broadsword’s Ops Room they had Sea Wolf locked on, ready to fire automatically, but the Arg aircraft were flying wing-to-wing. Sea Wolf’s radar computer hesitated, deciding perhaps that two close targets were not its business and refused to fire. It swung away forty or fifty degrees, looking for a ‘phantom target’. Broadsword’s AWO shouted to override the system, the missile director’s fingers flew over the keys, but it was already too late. The scenario was just the same as it had been in Brilliant thirteen days previously. The Sea Wolf launchers had switched back to their stowed positions.
The aircraft swung away from the destroyer and made directly for Broadsword dropping four thousand-pound bombs, one of which fell short, with two others flying over the top, a few feet above the bridge. The fourth bomb ricocheted off the sea, smashing its way straight through the frigate’s starboard side aft, five feet above the waterline. It crashed upwards through the flight deck, wrecking the Lynx helicopter before plunging over the side. The frigate’s damage-control team hurried into action while a computer engineer wrestled frantically with the Sea Wolf software. How could they fight when the missile would not fire? Bill Canning required every ounce of cunning and control he possessed after a lifetime in the Royal Navy to hold his team together.
The situation in Coventry’s Ops Room was equally terrifying. They knew Broadsword was hit, but they also knew there were two more Arg aircraft out there, looking for Coventry. But they had no idea from which direction the attack would come. Or when. The captain likened it to standing in a pitch-black cellar waiting to be hit on the head. As it was, he watched the clock, praying for it to go faster, praying for the moment when night would fall, when he knew the Args would go home. There was a running commentary now going on in Coventry’s Ops Room as all of the operators searched for the tell-tale dots on the screens which would betray the Skyhawks.
Suddenly they had them – ‘out of the north-west’ – then they lost them – then they had them again – ‘now from the north-east’. The talk was becoming desperate. ‘Where are they?’ ‘Which way? Which way?…for Christ’s sake, which way?’
And then there was a sudden, dreadful silence. Everyone had simply run out of ideas. And as the silence enveloped the beleaguered Ops Room of the Type 42, the two Argentinian Skyhawks hurtled out from behind Pebble Island, racing low over the water, coming straight at Captain David Hart-Dyke’s ship. On the upper deck, even the cooks and stewards had been given small arms to fire at the enemy pilots.
Broadsword’s Ops Room did not see them immediately, but a roar of ‘Here they come again!’ echoed down the intercom from the upper deck.
Then, from the bridge, ‘Aircraft – red two-zero!’
Simultaneously the engineer shouted, ‘Sea Wolf working again.’
Bill Canning permitted himself a grim smile, as his AWO snapped, ‘Sea Wolf locked on.’
The two Skyhawks were now less than half a minute out. Coventry’s 909s sti
ll would not lock-on – Sea Dart was impotent, it couldn’t see the Skyhawks against the land behind. Captain Hart-Dyke ordered the bridge to alter course to starboard, trying to improve the situation. Coventry continued her turn, unaware that she was presenting her bow, not her beam, to the Skyhawks. I was on the line to Bill Canning, as he calmly told me what had already happened and called his temperamental Sea Wolf once more into action. Suddenly he said, ’Just a moment, Admiral.’ Then I heard him quietly say, ‘Oh my God!’
A missile director’s most appalling dread had taken place. Coventry had slewed across the path of the Sea Wolf missile launcher. Broadsword was comprehensively ‘wooded’. She could not fire without hitting the Coventry. And now it really was too late. Through the hail of hundreds of bullets from the upper-decks, the Arg pilots held a true line on Coventry’s bow. Taking hits from the small-calibre machine-gun fire as they came in, they released their four thousand-pound bombs in a dead straight line, just as the bombing manual instructs. Three of them went into David Hart-Dyke’s ship and they all exploded, one of them in the Computer Room. Nineteen men were killed instantly.
David remembers not the impact, just the heat, and then he blacked out from the blast. Coming to, still in his Ops Room chair, he found himself in total darkness, in a room full of acrid choking smoke. Then he became conscious of light, flickering light, and to his horror he realized it was people burning, their clothes on fire, like screaming candles. ‘I thought’, he once told me, trembling again at the memory, ‘that I had died and that this was, literally, Hell.’ He was burned himself, his flash gear seared from his face and hands, and he struggled through the devastation of his ‘office’ to find a ladder. Clawing his way up, he ordered the ship to the north-east, unaware that Coventry was not going anywhere, never mind to the north-east. She was finished, her port side wide open, water rushing in, with an increasing list that would shortly cause her to capsize.
One Hundred Days Page 40