The Third World War: August 1985

in metres. But it was over ten years since the Admiralty charts had been made metric and the fathom had dropped out of the language.

P.K.’s orders were to establish anti-submarine patrol in an area between the Shetland Islands and the Faroes. He would be well clear of other NATO submarines. Because of the prevailing water conditions he had decided to remain in the “surface duct”; this would also enable him to come quickly and quietly to periscope depth to classify any sonar contacts there might be. There were still some trawlers at sea, and possibly other surface vessels.

“Control room — Sonar.” The watchkeeper’s voice came over the intercom. “Red three two, sir — contact.”

“Action Stations, Number One,” ordered P.K. “Bring all tubes to the Action State. Periscope depth.” The boat angled slightly upwards and levelled off. “Up periscope.”

Keene gazed intently, moving the periscope a little to and fro either side of the bearing. Then he clicked the handle to give “low power” magnification and swung quickly right round and back to the original bearing.

“Down periscope.”

In the Control Room men had moved to their Action Stations. As nuclear-powered submarines spent almost all their time dived, the hallowed cry “Diving Stations” had been discarded in favour of the more descriptive “Action Stations”. But to a submariner the “dangers of the sea” were always more to be feared than the “violence of the enemy”… or were they? The next few minutes would tell.

“All tubes at Action State, sir,” came the report from Jake Bond, the Torpedo Control Officer.

“Bearing Red three oh, sir, diesel H.E.,” from the Sonar Room.

“Up periscope.” P.K. looked on the bearing, then, as before, a few degrees either side. “Nothing in sight on the bearing. Could be a submarine ‘snorting’. He may have just begun to. Could be close. Number One, pass the word that we are attacking an enemy submarine. Down periscope.”

Tom Richardson, the First Lieutenant, called, “D’ye hear there?” on the intercom and passed the word.

“Bearing Red two eight, sir. H.E. increasing. Classified submarine. Diesel. Two forty revs, sir. Eight knots if it’s a Tango class.” It was the Chief Sonar Operator now. Gordon. An excellent man.

“Port twenty. Stand by One and Two tubes. Pilot, let me have a range as soon as you can. Steer three zero zero.”

The Coxswain repeated back the order. The Control Room was very quiet now. Everyone was at his post. The tension was building up.

“I’ll take another look,” said the Captain. “Up periscope.”

“Bearing Green four three,” came from the Sonar Room. “Moving right.”

“Range five thousand two hundred, sir,” said Harry Clay, the Navigator.

The Captain aligned the periscope on the bearing. “Bring her up, Number One, I think there’s something there… YES! By God, and she’s close. Down periscope, sixty-five metres. Switch to sonar. Range three thousand. Number One tube — Shoot!” P.K. moved to the Fire Control Panel.

“Torpedo’s running, sir,” said Jake Bond.

“Good,” said P.K. He had carried out scores of dummy attacks on friendly submarines in the course of his training. He had seen many Tigerfish anti-submarine torpedoes fired, for practice. Some had run badly. He gazed intently at the illuminated panel, ready to guide the torpedo if need be. He could hardly believe it. There was his torpedo — a homing torpedo — moving straight out towards the target. A minute went by. It seemed eternal. Half a minute more and then from the Sonar Room:

“Acoustic contact!” Followed, after an agonizing pause, by, “Tonk!” A faint metallic thud was heard.

“Damn!” said Keene, in an agony of dismay. “Something’s wrong. The torpedo hit but didn’t explode…”

“Control Room — Sonar,” Gordon’s voice broke in, “H.E.’s stopped, sir! I think we got him. That was an explosion! Last bearing Green five seven.”

“Good,” said P.K. “Periscope depth. Up periscope.” Once again P.K. examined the bearing. “Bring her up, Number One.” The Captain swung right round, examining the horizon, then came back to the original bearing. “There’s nothing there. That Tigerfish did its stuff, after all. It didn’t sound like it, though. Pilot, get a report ready: ‘Have sunk Tango class submarine in position so-and-so.’ We’ll check for survivors or wreckage, or any other evidence. But I don’t think there’s any doubt. That’s one down and three hundred and two to go.” “

‘Churchill reports torpedoing a submarine — a Tango — twenty miles north west of Herma Ness, sir!’ was the first bit of heartening news of the war for the Joint Allied Command Western Approaches. It was given to them, in their capacities as Cs-in-C Eastern Atlantic and Commander Maritime Air, Eastern Atlantic, at the first morning ‘briefing’ of the war, deep underground at Northwood, Middlesex. The Flag Officer Submarines, who since 1978 had been located at Northwood, was, as they said, ‘somewhat chuffed’ as his Chief Staff Officer made the report. ‘Are you quite sure that it wasn’t one of ours?’ was the question asked, simultaneously, by the Admiral and the Air Marshal. They were greatly relieved to be assured that it was not. ‘No doubt at all. It was a diesel-electric boat, and there were no NATO ones anywhere near.’ The discussion which ensued, regarding Soviet and NATO submarine dispositions, revealed that the avoidance of mutual interference between NATO’s own submarine forces, and between NATO surface and air anti- submarine forces and NATO submarines, would be a serious problem. This had been expected, but its resolution would continually govern the operations of all NATO naval and air forces.

Turning to current operations it was reported that the First Support Group (formerly STANAVFORLANT — Standing Naval Force Atlantic) was on its way, at best speed, towards the Norwegian coast. In about twelve hours it would reach the limit of shore-based air cover from the UK. The fast transports, carrying reinforcements for the northern flank, had sailed from the Forth and were expected to rendezvous with the First Support Group shortly.

The air strike planned against Soviet installations on and around the Kola peninsula on the outbreak of hostilities was launched from UK bases, and timed to achieve a co-ordinated on-target time of 1100 hours GMT. The force consisted of thirty-six Tornados and sixteen Buccaneers. The latter, venerable though they might be, had been retained, refitted and re-armed, in the maritime role as they were superseded by Tornados in the more complex and demanding Central European overland role. They were well respected for their performance, handling qualities and robustness — ‘Not built, carved out of the solid!’ noted one pilot with affection.

The targets were four Soviet Naval Air Force (SNAF) airfields on which were based the bulk of the Northern Fleet Backfire force. ‘Destroy the aircraft and close the airfields’ was the objective, and a tall order at that. The flight profile was straightforward: to fly with tanker support as far towards the Lofoten Islands as prudence (with regard to tanker survival) would permit, then to carry out an overland low-level penetration. The Tornados would recover to Britain with tanker assistance, the Buccaneers would refuel at Bodo. The attacks would open with anti-radar missiles fired at stand-off ranges by the Tornados to damp things down a little, and would then be pressed home with area weapons against runways and aircraft installations. Gun and rocket fire would then, it was hoped, finish off any unscathed aircraft.

And so it went, broadly. Remarkably, the Russians seemed, if not unprepared, at least surprised. Although no firm evidence has come to light, it has been suggested that they had assumed some form of tacit quid pro quo with the Americans, whereby neither would launch an attack upon the homeland of its adversary until escalation was approaching strategic levels. If so, it was an expensive assumption. A calm analysis — the immediate claims exhibited the usual optimism of war — showed a score of sixty-one Backfires destroyed and many damaged, which was certainly more than had been hoped. But there had been a cost: five Buccaneers and nine Tornados were lost during the attacks. Sadly, all but one of the remaining Buccaneers were caught on the ground at Bodo during their recovery by a massive Soviet attack on that airfield.

The three maritime radar reconnaissance squadrons of RAF Vulcans had been occupied in routine surface surveillance of the North and Norwegian Seas and the Eastern Atlantic for weeks. The scale and intensity of their operations now increased, co-ordinated with sea surveillance squadrons of USAF working in WESTLANT and the Greenland-Iceland gap. The loss of satellite surveillance of the Atlantic at the outbreak of hostilities placed an increased burden on their activities. Their first major customer appeared on the evening of 4