It was the hideous truth that his men had been denied the correct resources to fight a new war by their own government. And Admiral Palmer turned his back on the television, and walked, coatless, out into the chill of the dockyard, appalled that somehow the very best of British people were being led by some of the very worst. The brave and the honorable, sent to the plate by a group of self-seeking opportunists with their limousines, chauffeurs, and bloated expense accounts.
'Christ,' he muttered, alone in the cold dockyard, 'what a tragedy.'
He signaled for a driver, but first ran inside to collect his greatcoat. Five minutes later he was on the jetty where HMS
A team of engineers was still at work deep inside the propulsion area, checking and servicing those four hardworking Olympus gas turbines, and examining the two massive driveshafts that transfer more than 97,000 horsepower to the huge propellers.
The good news was neither shaft needed replacing. The bad news was the spare part to replace a cracked mounting had to be flown from Scotland, but not until tomorrow. And that meant the repair crew, and the servicing engineers, were still operational while the gigantic task of storing the ship took place.
There was already an old-fashioned 'humping party' passing boxes hand over hand up the starboard forward gangway. Alongside them was a mobile conveyer belt, with another crew loading enormous boxes of food — frozen, canned, dried, and fresh. And already the debris was mounting as the seamen ripped stuff out of the big outside containers, all of which were superfluous to the journey south.
In the middle of all this, the Fleet Maintenance Group and the carrier's own staff were at work all over the starboard hull rectifying any defects, removing rust, repainting, checking every inch of the Battle Group's flagship, which, within days, would be heading to a theater of war.
From all over the country, thousands and thousands of stores were arriving from various depots, by train, by the Ministry of Defense's own transportation, and by commercial vehicles. And they were not just there for the
Massive amounts of fuel were arriving, diesel for the gas turbines, Avcat for the aircraft. And it was not only the warships being fueled, it was also the huge replenishment ships of the Royal Fleet Auxiliary oilers, which would keep them topped up on the journey south and in the battle zone itself.
Personnel from every branch of the Navy were being drafted into Portsmouth, every available section of manpower was heading for the jetties, trying to clear the debris, helping with the loading, assisting the Supply Officers who paced the loading areas, checking off their 'shopping lists' on big clipboards, calling out commands and instructions to the toiling, twenty-four-hours-a-day workforce.
Captain Reader came down to meet the C-in-C, and together they paced the wide jetty where the
But the services are expert at priorities. What mattered was loading the ships, not clearing up the rubbish. Only when the piles of empty cartons became a serious detriment to the process was action taken to reduce the problem.
By now the great arc lights along the waterfront were being switched on. Captain Reader and Admiral Palmer went aboard and took the elevator to the quarters of the commanding officer, while some swift refurbishment took place above them, in readiness for the arrival of Rear Admiral Alan Holbrook, who, as Task Force Commander, would fly his flag from the
His ops room, where he and his staff would plan the war, was located right above Captain Reader's quarters, and of course their duties would be entirely separate. The Captain's task was to steer the 685-feet-long carrier safely around the South Atlantic, taking overall command of the 550-foot-long flight deck, the 680-man crew and 80 officers.
Admiral Holbrook would plan the deployment of the ships, the air and sea assault on the Argentinian islands, plus the landing of the military force, in consultation with COMAW, Commander Amphibious Warfare, Commodore Keith Birchell.
The GR9 ground attack aircraft were due to begin arriving, straight onto the deck of the
Of course, the nonarrival of the two new Royal Navy carriers, both 60,000-tonners, was widely considered to be a national disgrace. Despite the Prime Minister's somewhat glib, self-congratulatory remarks about the new ships, the fact remained there had been government delay, delay, and delay, and the earliest they were likely to arrive was sometime in late 2015.
Every senior officer in the Royal Navy recalled the chilling words of the First Sea Lord, Admiral Alan West, six years earlier when he had stated with quiet certainty that recent defense cuts 'have left the Navy with too few ships to sustain even moderate losses in a maritime conflict.'
With only a dozen destroyers and frigates ready for battle at any one time, the First Sea Lord considered the situation untenable, simply not enough warships. At the time he had suggested, modestly, that after forty years in the Navy he knew something of what he spoke, since his own ship, the
One way and another this was a somewhat modest recounting of the events of May 21, 1982, when a formation of Argentine bombers launched nine five-hundred-pounders at the battle-hardened
Almost the entire stern section of the ship was on fire, a huge plume of smoke lifting high above the Sound. Minutes later another formation of Argentine Skyhawks came screaming in over West Falkland and instantly spotted the burning furnace of the
Commander West had cleared one of the ship's cooks to man one of the big machine guns, and he had actually downed one of the raiders. But nothing could save the
The blasts and the fires had killed or wounded one-third of all the ship's company — the same number as in HMS
But she could no longer steer, and the fires were roaring toward the missile magazines. Men had been blown overboard, and she was shipping ice-cold seawater by the ton. The
He knew of what he spoke.
And when Admiral Holbrook arrived shortly before 1900, he shook hands warmly with the commanding officer and with his Fleet C-in-C, just stating solemnly, 'We haven't got enough, have we?'
'No, I'm afraid not,' replied Admiral Palmer. 'What we have, we take. But the GR9s are blind at night and in bad weather. If we need ship replacements…well…I'm afraid there won't be any.'
'Hmmmmm,' replied Admiral Holbrook. 'We'd better move pretty sharply if that's the case. There's nothing quite so bleak as attrition you can't afford, eh?'
He gazed out onto the flight deck, scanning the area. 'It's a clear night,' he said. 'Are we expecting the GR9s soon?' he asked.
'Starting around 2100,' said Captain Reader.
'Helicopters?'
