'Jesse's raking them with Sea Sparrow,' the PWO reported briskly.
'Here they come, sir… I've got 'em on 993. You should have no trouble.'
The drill continued, as it had all day, ever since the 'war' started this morning. Trevellion was beginning to feel fatigue creeping through him. He would witness the final stages of the minesweeping and, after the Force turned south again for Gibraltar, he would get his head down for an hour….
Exercise ' Clear Lane', though less than twelve hours old, was going well. Submarine attacks from the Dutch and Portuguese boats during the forenoon; aircraft attacks from Nimitz' planes, complete with jamming exercises during the afternoon; and now the approach of the Force to the Tagus, for ' the safe and timely arrival of the convoy'.
Portugal, a grey smudge to the north-east, was a NATO partner. One of her submarines had carried out an audacious attack during the afternoon; her Exocet frigate, Olivier a E. Carmo, was breaking away, her lamp flickering in the fading light as she made her farewell to Athabaskan. Here, of! the Tagus, Trevellion counted twenty-one ships from six nations, all determined to fight for their common way of life. The complexities of naval warfare had been mastered by NATO'S fifteen nations, now operating together as a formidable naval force. NATO'S shield had provided peace for a world that was beginning to forget what the reality of war meant — the horror of blood and guts and tears, the misery of death, the anguish of separation. While Trevellion watched the mine countermeasures squadron turning up towards the Tagus he remembered that the Russians, by tradition, had always favoured the mine. A weapon often ignored by seafaring nations during peacetime, it was easy to forget that magnetic mines, more than any weapon, almost brought us to our knees during the winter of 1939-40. The mine had to be beaten, the deadly machine that lay silently in wait for months on end. The devilry of modern technology had devised such complex mechanisms that it was a continuing battle to devise countermeasures. A mine could be moored; it could be acoustic, magnetic or, most difficult of all to combat, a pressure mine. NATO'S three standard types of minesweeper and minehunters were operating efficiently at sea, but there were not nearly enough of them.
Trevellion loathed the mine: not only did it cause appalling casualties but its effects, relative to the minelaying effort and the cheap cost of the weapon, were highly damaging to an enemy's war effort: declared minefields, whether mines were laid or not, diverted our forces into areas where our fleet could be assaulted by other weapons. The Norwegians had, for years, declared the minefields they had laid in peacetime to protect their ' leads' between their islands and fjords.
He watched the departing MGMS merging into the estuary: the elderly Portuguese minesweepers Lagoa and Rosario, two Hunts from the RN; three of the Tripartite MCMS (two Dutch, one Belgian) from the standard French-Dutch-Belgian programme; and one of the German Troika MCMS. Except for the two obsolete Portuguese ships, the squadron was as up-to-date as any in the world and working with brisk efficiency, in both hunter and sweeper roles. Mercifully, NATO had woken up to the threat of the mine.
'Excuse me, sir.'
Pascoe turned to find the sub-lieutenant at his elbow.
'Top Secret classification, sir,' he said, saluting. Security was vital these days, because the side who knew most about the enemy held all the cards. The policy of knowing only what you needed to know was a good one, which was why certain areas in the ship, such as the EW rooms, were out of bounds to all, even officers, except those working therein.
'Thank you, Sub.' Trevellion turned to the officer of the watch: ' She's all yours, Lieutenant Lochead. Switch on navigation lights. I'll be in my cabin for half an hour.' He could leave the ship in Lochead's hands, now that Icarus was well out on the south-west side of the screen and steering for Gib. Even the unreliable Lochead would have difficulty in finding someone with whom to collide out here.
Trevellion went below to the privacy of his cabin.
'Come in, Sub.' Firebrace looked serious as he passed the signal to his captain.
CLASSIFICATION TOP SECRET TO COMSTANAVFORLANT FROM SACLANT EVIDENCE OF UNUSUAL RUSSIAN TROOP MOVEMENTS TOWARDS BORDERS ON CENTRAL FRONT. DUE TO BREAKDOWN ON SALT SUMMIT MEETING, NATO AND US FORCES ORDERED ALERT STATE ONE. ALL SHIPS ADOPT RULE OF ENGAGEMENT FOURTEEN, REPEAT, FOURTEEN. EXERCISE ' CLEAR LANE ' TO CONTINUE.
ACKNOWLEDGE.
The sub. was staring at him, waiting to be dismissed.
'All right, Sub. Keep this news to yourself. This doesn't alter anything.'
'It hasn't up-graded the rules of engagement, sir. We must still be sunk first.' He smiled ruefully as he left the cabin.
Pascoe longed for sleep, but this signal demanded warlike measures. He would send for Jewkes and the two PWOS, then gather all his officers together before the expected submarine attacks began, probably off Cape St Vincent. There were five ships listed in the exercise orders, two Royal Navy, two Dutch and one American, and they could cause havoc when forming an ' iron ring' across the cape. The new Commodore, commanding STANAVFORLANT for the first time, would certainly be topping up all his ships with fuel and the next few hours could be interesting, particularly if ' Clear Lane' was curtailed….
11
The PWO (Air), Lieutenant Alastair McKown, was beginning to feel flaked at 0235 on this Tuesday morning. He had been coping with a succession of concerted air battles during the past three and a half hours, contests between the Blue Force (STANAVFORLANT) and the Orange Force which was in the Mediterranean, east of Gibraltar, trying to deny Blue Force's passage through the Straits. Fighter bombers from Nimitz had been carrying out continuous air attacks, the last having only recently finished. Goeben had engaged the final sortie and had fired her birds, but the umpires in Athabaskan had declared Goeben damaged.
The five Russian Backfires (represented by Nimitz' Phantoms) had approached to within twenty miles before Athabaskan and Jesse fired their birds but, in reality, the enemy would have loosed their missiles while four hundred and fifty miles away. There seemed to be a lull in the air battles and Icarus was settling into her station on the starboard bow and south-western flank of the Force. McKown put down his chinagraph pencil and straightened in his chair where he faced his air warfare display.
McKown had spent so much time in the ops room lately that ho knew every nook, every nut, every bolt: one of the largest compartments in the ship, it was sited in the centre of the main deck level. The displays glowed in the semi-darkness; there was no talk, save for the operators who spoke quietly into the Rice systems. One ear for the internal loop in the ops room; one for the bridge — but another ear was required to listen to the external loop linking the Force. Even now, McKown was unused to needing three ears….
There were two batteries of arrays: his, where he controlled the air warfare; alongside him, the command display, where Captain Trevellion was sitting watching the total battle picture; and, at the end of this row, the ASW display, with Julian Farge, tense and silent, waiting for the next submarine attack. There had been three attacks so far, on the other side of the Force and close to Cape St Vincent.
McKown had been impressed with his new captain's rapid grasp of his new surroundings. He had remained unflappable, patient, but decisive. This morning, for the first time, he had not concealed his irritation over the last submarine battle when Athabaskan had made a nonsense of the counter attack… the Commodore had reacted too slowly and the submarine had got right in among the Force before the STWS torpedoes were fired.