It was still dark when the Defence Secretary walked unannounced into his private office and greeted his three senior military advisors; General Sir Richard Amyatt Hull, Air Marshal Sir Christopher Hartley and the First Sea Lord and Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Sir David Luce.
“Please forgive the tardiness of my appearance,” William Whitelaw apologised. He was five minutes late, his departure from New College having been delayed by a telephone call from the Prime Minister. The dire news from Dublin was now particularly exercising Margaret Thatcher’s mind and he had had to patiently explain to her the reasons why he did not think asking the BBC to broadcast a threat of ‘massive retaliation’ was at this time, in any way helpful.
“Tell me about these blasted Redeyes?” He demanded jovially. There were very few occasions when a gloomy approach to problems, regardless of their intractability, was appropriate in Willie Whitelaw’s book.
Fifty-one year old Air Marshal Sir Christopher Hartley smiled grimly. He had not known his political master long but he recognised a kindred spirit when he encountered one. Elevated into his current post out of the blue when the former Chief of the Air Staff had been sent to Philadelphia in the capacity of the UAUK’s ‘Military Legate to President Kennedy’; he had brought a ‘can do’ fresh perspective to the RAF. Educated at Eton College, Balliol and King’s College Cambridge, he had taken part in zoological expeditions to Sarawak, Spitsbergen and Greenland before becoming a master at Eton in 1937. The son of a distinguished Army officer, Brigadier-general Sir Harold Hartley, he had joined the RAF Volunteer reserve in 1938; flying night fighters during the Second World War. Prior to the October War he had been Air Officer Commanding 12 Group, Fighter Command. Even in middle age he remained a tall, strongly built man never happier than when he was out in the country, shooting or walking. He had been a breath of fresh air when he joined the other two Chiefs of Staff soon after Margaret Thatcher’s elevation to the premiership.
“To be frank,” he declared, spreading his hands, “the reason the US Army is reluctant to accept Redeyes into service is because they don’t know if the dammed things work, Minister. Now,” he grimaced, “the things may work, they may even be deadly. They may be damp squibs, we simply don’t know. Nonetheless, I think we have to take the threat extremely seriously because if these Redeyes are half as unpleasant as the manufacturers, General Dynamics, say they are we have a big problem.”
The Secretary of State for defence was impassive.
The Chief of the Air Staff continued his briefing.
“The Redeye shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile is approximated four feet eight inches long, it weighs about thirty pounds in its pre-launch configuration, and homes onto its target by locking onto the heat generated by the tailpipe of a jet engine. It has an effective range of about four miles, and during its flight reaches a maximum velocity of about one thousand two hundred miles per hour. The weapon is designed to shoot down aircraft which have just completed a dive bombing attack or a low level strafing run, or aircraft which are either taking off or landing. It presents no threat to high-flying military or commercial aircraft at normal cruising altitudes. I have already issued orders to beef up existing defences and patrols at key airfields. However,” he looked to his colleagues and his political master with suddenly thoughtful, concerned eyes. “We simply do not have enough men to spare to put out a ten mile secure perimeter cordon around all our important air bases.”
“Which bases are you prioritising, Christopher?” General Hull asked.
“Brize Norton, Cheltenham and the three main V-Bomber bases, Conningsby, Scampton and Wyton.”
“Thank you,” William Whitelaw declared softly, wanting to move on. The IRA’s mischief making was a political problem and he needed to be discussing more pressing military matters with the Chiefs of Staff ahead of that day’s War Cabinet meetings.
“First Sea Lord,” he inquired, turning to Admiral Sir David Luce. “Is there any further information about the situation in the South Atlantic?”
“No, sir. We believe the ice patrol ship Protector is maintaining radio silence to avoid detection and contact with superior Argentine naval forces somewhere in the vicinity of South Georgia.”
“What naval assets are in the South Atlantic at present, Sir David?”
“Two destroyers at Simon’s Town,” the First Sea Lord responded. “The Caesar and the Delight, both engaged on working up exercises prior to relieving the guard ships based at Singapore and Hong Kong. Miscellaneous other small units; patrol boats and two minesweepers, the Hexton and the Shavington are based at the Cape. Otherwise, our only available surface assets are in Gibraltar and Australasia.”
“What about submarines?”
Sir David Luce hesitated.
At the time of the October War twenty-one advanced but still conventionally powered new attack submarines — of the Porpoise and later Oberon classes — had been under construction or had come into service in the previous two years. Of these vessels fifteen had thus far been commissioned into the fleet; all fifteen had been held back in home waters and eleven were currently fully operational. The new boats, although lacking the underwater endurance of the nuclear-powered HMS Dreadnought, were all capable — unlike earlier British diesel-electric submarines of relatively high underwater speeds and able to stay continuously submerged for periods of many days, or weeks if necessary. The boats were so advanced that while the brand new and to all intents ‘experimental’ first nuclear-powered submarine in the fleet, the Dreadnought, had been winning her spurs in the Atlantic and subsequently in the Mediterranean, the Admiralty had fought tooth and nail to keep the capabilities of the Oberons and the Porpoises under wraps in the case the nightmare scenario of a war with the United States actually befell the United Kingdom.
The new boats were fully capable of operating independently for several weeks at a time along the Eastern seaboard of North America; they were very quiet — quieter than any US Navy nuclear boat — and worked up to a very high pitch of combat efficiency. Used en masse the available Oberons and Porpoises would present a threat to any major naval force which attempted to operate in the North Atlantic, or become the nemesis of any commercial shipping which attempted to ply its trade in that ocean. If war with America had come last December the new submarines would have been the United Kingdom’s one last throw of the dice, always assuming the Americans had not triggered a new nuclear war. But that was then and this was now.
“In the event that Oberons and Porpoises are deployed in the South Atlantic fuelling and depot ships would need to be pre-positioned, Minister. My staff has been working up a detailed operational proposal for the Cabinet’s attention since yesterday evening.”