The Jeanne d'Arc’s captain was fairly confident that although his ship may now be out of the war, he still had hull integrity and power, so it was not lost. Damage control parties set-to in augmenting the automated fire control systems whilst the remainder stayed at the action stations. He called up the Charles de Gaulle and gave them a situation report, requesting a rescue effort begin for survivors of the Senegal and assistance for the General K. Pulaski. Bernard could send none, with the loss of the Jeanne d’Arc’s escort it brought the total number of ships lost to this latest attack at five… so far.
All three of the helicopters had dropped on the missile firing submarines, sinking one and driving off the other, but they needed reloads and the Jeanne d'Arc’s captain nodded his consent to the ASWO when the request was made to land close to the undamaged bow and replenish there.
The Sea Kings paused to lift survivors, NATO survivors; from the water although there was a Russian submariner amongst the rescued, no deliberate effort was made to seek them out. The NH-50s pilots flew directly toward the carrier, determined to make certain that the submarine that had escaped them so far, paid the ultimate price.
Smoke and steam was billowing from the huge rent in the Jeanne d'Arc’s flight deck as they approached, but the vessel was still moving back toward the protection of the air defence capable ships at full speed. The carrier was making 22knots but the phosphorescent finger that NH-90s co-pilot could see pointing at her stern, was travelling at 40knots. He radioed a frantic warning to the carrier, but although she was a fraction of the size of the US super-carriers, she couldn’t turn like a speedboat. Jeanne d'Arc bucked with the impact against her port screw, losing way and beginning a turn to starboard caused by damage to her rudder. In the engine room, the chief engineer had sustained a broken collarbone, having been thrown off his feet by the explosion. Live steam was roaring from a fractured line and a rent in the hull plates was admitting the sea. None of his staff had avoided injury; several had broken ankles caused by the concussion transferring itself through the deck. The starboard engine bearings were cracked and the assembly was tearing itself apart. By the time he had gathered his wits he was already lying in several inches of seawater. Throughout the ship lights flickered and then died, as electrical power was lost, to be replaced by the sparse glow of battery powered back-ups. All that could be heard were the calls for help from the injured, until officers and senior rates got busy. With no power to pump water around the system, the mist of water issuing from the sprinklers in the hangar deck slowed, and then stopped. Flames that had been fighting for survival against the limited oxygen and cooling water vapour gained vigour, taking fresh hold. The damage control party inside the hangar deck held hoses grown limp with the loss of water pressure so they dropped them and took up hand held foam and dry powder extinguishers, using them on the flames until they ran dry, which did not take long. The water level in the engine room had risen above waste level on the port side of the compartment, and above the knees on the starboard side. With only the dim glow of the back-up lighting to guide them they dragged themselves and each other to safety when the chief engineer ordered his men and women out. The ships telephone system went off line when the generators died, so internal communication passed to handheld radios and runners, carrying reports to and from. The captain had a scalp wound and broken wrist from being thrown against a bulkhead when the torpedo had struck. He had called up the Charles de Gaulle again, reporting their new situation, the report was simply acknowledged, no help was offered, and none asked for, the Task Force was fighting for its life.
The fire-fighting in the hangar deck came to an abrupt halt as the list to port continued, aviation fuel and oil, pooled in buckled deck plates flowed down hill out of the puddles. The foam had held their flammable fumes in check until that point, and with a roar the hangar space became an inferno engulfing the damage control party in their silver fire suits. From his position on the bridge, the Jeanne d'Arc’s captain had been previously gratified to see only smoke, occasionally illuminated by flickering flames appearing from the gaping wound on the hangar deck. He was, quite understandably, very busy with the business of saving his ship, and so it was a few minutes before he noticed the light cast against the blacked-out bridges side, that of the orange glow of flames. Leaning over the bridge wing he looked for the source of the light, and his face fell when he saw the evilly glowing pit in the flight deck, as ugly as the gates of hell.
With no water to fight the flames they soon spread to the aft bulkhead, tongues of fire played through the rents against the fuel cells, stripping away the fire retardant layer and igniting the rubber walls behind it. Fifteen minutes after the torpedo had struck, the first fuel cell exploded, triggering a chain reaction as it burst open the remainder. The forty-one year old warship shuddered and rocked as the explosions tore through her, roiling fireballs arose above the gallant French warship and she began to blow herself apart.
With the coming of dawn the attacks ended, one NATO destroyer, two frigates and three corvettes lay on the bottom. The Polish frigate General K. Pulaski had been abandoned to the fire, and the smoke from those fires was visible to all the surviving ships in the Task Force from beyond the horizon.
Jeanne d'Arc’s bow was still visible above the waves, but gradually sinking to join the rest of its 12,000-ton bulk hidden below the surface. Not until he was absolutely certain that the attacks had finished would Admiral Bernard take any helicopters off ASW duties, and allow them to search for survivors. The Task Force had sunk nineteen soviet boats, but twenty-three nuclear powered and diesel electric submarines had broken out and were heading for the GIUK Gap, the last barrier before the Atlantic sea-lanes. It was now down to the P-3s from Iceland, the Royal Navy ASW group and the US and Canadian submarines coming up from the south, to stop them.
CHAPTER THREE
At precisely 0330hrs the soviet bombardment of the island had ceased and its fires switched to the positions beyond it, but it was lighter than expected. NATO counter battery fire and air strikes had thinned out the Red Army gun lines to an extent. Being posted to a towed artillery unit had become a death sentence, unless the crews were top rate, counter battery radar, MSTARS, JSTARS and communications systems passing the firing positions to the batteries.