'When Glorious has finished her amphibious job, she'll revert to ASW and probably be sent by CINCEASTLANT to operate in the gaps. STANAVFORLANT may have to screen her, but that depends upon whether our through-deck cruiser, Invincible, is out of refit on time: if Illustrious had finished her trials to schedule there would be no problem.' He said no more, for the labour troubles in that yard were notoriously bad.
'That's all. The barracks berthing party should be on its way to slip us. We'll steam at maximum cruising speed up the Irish Channel and we should be off Lough Foyle by 1500 tomorrow, if the navigating officer's got it right.' He smiled at Brian Neame, then added, 'We shall listen to Her Majesty's broadcast at 1500. I want as many of you as can be spared to watch because, after the Queen has talked to us, the Prime Minister will be talking to the nation. This will be the first time that our people will really know what's going on, because we've been trying to play down the crisis. The media hasn't yet reported today's problems in getting Splendid out of Rosyth: we had to use troops.'
He turned to the first lieutenant:
'Special sea dutymen,' he snapped. 'Single-up. Let's get to sea and on with the job.' He turned and grinned at his ship's company: '… and a Merry Christmas to you all,' he said.
Returning the salutes of his officers, he was surprised by the cheer that rang about his ears as he disappeared through the doorway to the Burma Road which led for'd to the bridge.
Oz stood alone in his favourite vantage point abaft the bridge. Wrapped in his anorak, he was watching the soft colours of Ulster slowly mounting above the horizon.
Since returning to the ship on that Sunday night, L/RO Osgood had kept himself to himself. He briefly shared his news with Rod Burns, but had been too busy to stop and natter: his feet had barely touched the ground since Icarus put to sea.
Since clearing the Lizard last night, the ship had kept one-in-four; he had got his head down until the morning watch, which had been uneventful while Icarus steamed at twenty-four knots up the Irish Sea: peaceful, the weather still tolerable, though the barometer was falling. He was up here for a breather, after watching the Queen and the Prime Minister. The lads did not show their feelings; never did.
Perhaps because Mick Foulgis' corroding influence was missing, they had all listened in silence to the Queen. It suddenly struck home that this was no longer an exercise; they might all be at the start of something beyond imagination. It was as if the first gusts of an approaching hurricane were bearing down on them.
The mauves and blues of the Irish hills were merging with the drear winter sunset as Icarus steamed up the head of the lough. The pin-points of light along the Lisahally jetty shone brightly in the gloom, as men of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, guns in their hands, moved into position. The silent dockies stared upwards, then took the lines, while the frigate slid alongside. Minutes later, the Chief's boys opened the valves; the hoses bulged, began pulsing with the precious fuel.
After supper, Oz went aft to watch them working on the Lynx. The flight was flat-out arming the torpedoes, checking the Sea Skua missiles, flares and securing for sea. Oz gave them a hand running Perdix into the hangar. Lieutenant Gamble came up to him:
'You're often down here with the flight, L/RO Osgood,' he said. ' The Lynx interest you?'
'Yes, sir. Makes a break from the office.'
'Ever think of transferring?' Hob Gamble put his finger to his mouth. 'Shouldn't have said that: going outside, aren't you?'
'I've requested, sir.'
'The navy can't afford to lose good men, Osgood — not just now.' The lieutenant walked off to inspect with his critical eye the brightly-painted tail rotor.
16
Captain Richard Stoddart, Royal Marines, like many of those off-watch in HMS Gloucester, was making the most of this last half-hour of semi-daylight. Up here on the bridge, lost on the edge of the arctic circle, the sun never rose above the horizon at this time of the year: only a lugubrious twilight dispelled for a few hours the gloom of perpetual night. November until January must pass before there could be hope of better things…
Dick Stoddart felt adrift away from Icarus. He had been ' lent' to this DDG, a cracking good ship, but he could not settle down. One of the recent Type 423, Gloucester was worked up and able to fulfil her role as an Air Defence Ship to STANAV-FORLANT. In comparison to dear old Icarus, Gloucester was in a class of her own; she was the next generation destroyer. He moved to the forward window and peered into the semi-darkness… only one or two blurs were visible, Jesse L. Brown and Oileus probably, the rest of the Force being dispersed in loose formation around the horizon.
Stoddart missed his Royal Marine detachment in Icarus, the men he and Corporal Burns had trained to such a pitch: a good lot and rearing to get back to the snow.
Captain Stoddart had spent seven winters on Arctic Express exercises; he could not wait to get ashore, this time perhaps for real, under wartime conditions — and he pushed aside the memories of his wife Sally and their two-year-old daughter tucked away in Kendall for Christmas. He had known for some time that he could never get home this year. Already it seemed another life since STANAVFORLANT had swept up from the sunny climes, keeping clear of Ireland, on passage to their secret billets. On the night of Christmas Eve, Rockall was sighted as Gloucester steamed north towards the Faeroes-Iceland gap. where the north-east gale struck them. Dick Stoddart glanced at the bridge clock: 1445 on this interminable Thursday, the third day of this gale which still showed no signs of decreasing.
Gloucester had arrived on her billet twenty-four hours late. The captain had knocked her down to twelve, but even at this speed, and with her four stabilizers, life was uncomfortable: if it had not been a head sea, existence below would have been miserable. Most of the younger rates and officers were seasick from the pitching — and he braced himself again for the crash as Gloucester sawed through the next big sea thundering down upon them from the Pole. She trembled the length of her, shook herself free as she sprung upwards, climbing, climbing… poised in the air, then slamming down into the trough again to confront the ceaseless battering from those dark merciless frozen wastes.
The Force was hove-to, barely maintaining steerage-way, trying to minimize the icing-up from the freezing spray. Once a watch the Force turned downwind so that the hands could chip off the worst of the ice. Dick was the officer of the watch but the captain had taken over for the turn when Gloucester almost broached. She rolled to her beam-ends and hung for a lifetime before catapulting back. Thankfully Gloucester was not crank, but the driving blizzards and darkness did not help during those first days before they realized that the designers merited the trust placed in them. Modern ships tend to pose stability problems for the naval architects because of the new propulsion installations — Gloucester had no massive boilers mounted low in her structure.
Dick had been down to the engine room during his second day on board. Those gigantic power units, (the Olympus was the same engine as that used in aircraft) generated such power that the man on the bridge could feel the acceleration when she responded automatically to the orders passed from the two levers mounted on the bridge consol. Her variable-pitch propellers controlled her speed, controls which, like others in this ship, could be operated either hydraulically or electrically — the engines could even continue to function if all electric power was tost… and the Agoudi system was giving no trouble now. This, the technique of ejecting air through the barrel of the shaft onto the propellers, had been perfected to confuse any listening submarine.