Operation Tidespring Part 8
Flag Quarters, HMS Ark Royal, 22nd April 1983, 22:45 GMT
“So basically our strategy is to annoy the Argies long enough for them to crack and send out their Carriers?”
Kaveney nodded.
“Within the Rules of Engagement their Lordships have saddled us with that's about all we can do. 'Engage enemy military shipping as the safety of your Force requires and to facilitate a save landing of the Marine troops on the Falklands. You are not to attack the Argentine mainland, including ships at anchor.'”
“Well, at least this time the Admiralty doesn't order us to land the troops with the enemy Carriers still around.” the Captain of the Ark Royal said,
Kaveney knew instantly what he was referring to, the engagement in Question was ingrained in the institutional memory of the Royal Navy as the Battle of the Blockade, the Battle of Kristiansand and the triumphant return of the Pacific Fleet to Singapore.
“That's true, and with that BA flight shot down not even the Guardian or the Windhoek Times can complain too loudly.”
The two papers in Question had been the biggest members of Fleet Street[1] to oppose an immediate military response without even attempting to negotiate, but the shoot-down of a civilian Aircraft was something no one could condone.
“Once we've clobbered their Carriers or at least removed them from the equation for the time we need, we can go and start to seriously reduce their Air strength, and then we can land the Marines.”
“That's good, Sir.” the Captain answered. “From what I've heard the booties are getting quite restless aboard the landing ships.”
Kaveney laughed, and the white of his wide smile were in sharp contrast to the colour of his skin before he turned serious again.
“Mind you, we can't keep anyone on the ships indefinitely, not even Marines.” Something else the Navy had learned the hard way in the later stages of the South-East Asian campaign.
“You know it's ironic, Sir. If the Argies had taken south Georgia, we could unload at least some of the Marines there.”
“True that, but they must know that any units there would be out of supply and doomed the moment the Fleet set sail, they know about our pre-deployed Submarines at Walvis Bay, after all we've only been there since the South Africans decided that the Commonwealth was too liberal for their tastes.” Kaveney said with contempt in his voice, he had more reasons to hate the South Africans than many, for he had relations within the Republic.[2]
“Let's just hope that they don't send everything they have at us at once.”
Somewhere in the South Atlantic, 23rd April 1983, 14:29 GMT
The Argentine missile submarine had once again gotten away after the British had tried to hunt it down after it had shot down the British transport flight (not knowing that it had been a civilian airliner) and was now heading westwards to loop out into the South Atlantic. Now however the Anti-Air Missile system had broken down and the remaining two loaded tubes in front of the superstructure could only be repaired back at base for the outer doors were jammed and couldn't be opened. Only the five surface attack missiles remained, and there was preciously little to attack in this area, for even the Information Officer[3] had seen the reason behind declining to attack a prepared British Fleet that expected them with no more than five Harpoons. Most likely none of the missiles would make it past the British defences which were admittedly formidable and one Submarine vs at least six helicopters was a sure way to deprive the People's Armada of a valuable asset. The Captain had decided that if any attempt at the British was to be made, it was either against a weakly defended target like a small group of ships sailing apart from the main body.
Planning to try and avoid the patrols that the British were surely running the Captain planned to place himself in the area where he expected the two fleets to clash. This would bring the British fleet within easy striking distance as sooner or later the British would be forced to square off against the surface forces of the Armada and then he would strike, then the missile Submarine would rush forward and fire her missiles at the hated enemy riding in at the back of an air-raid that would have degraded the British defences sufficiently.
The Captain stepped on the bridge.
“Comrade Captain, there has been a communication from Fleet Headquarters.” He handed the captain the message envelope.
“Thank you, Comrade.
He ripped open the envelope and quickly skimmed over the contents. He looked up and searched for the Infom.
“Comrade Information Officer, could you join me in my cabin please?”
Fleet Command had just given him his orders.
HMS Coventry, approaching South Georgia, 24th April 1983, 17:44 GMT
Captain Fleming had stepped on the bridge of the Coventry with his hat on and an expression that his crew had learned to dislike because he had used it whenever there was duty to perform that their Captain wasn't too fond of.
Two minutes later the Destroyer and the Frigates Broadsword and Battleaxe left the outer escort group and diverted their course towards South Georgia.
Coventry's first Officer knew the Captain well enough to know that as a man of action and an Officer who was sometimes too aggressive abhorred escort duty but the times when Destroyers valiantly charged the enemy line of Battle were over. The small Squadron was doing what the smaller hulls were there for these days and like any good Officer he followed lawful orders.
“Any sign of our charges, Jimmy?”
“Not the foggiest, Sir.” the First Officer replied.
“Very well, go to cruising Stations. Flags, signal Broadsword and Battleaxe to beg..”
He was interrupted by the peeping of the intercom.
“Starboard lookout here, Sir.” came the Welsh-accented voice of the sailor on duty. “We have sighted a ship flying the Red Ensign coming 'round the southern tip of the Island, Sir.”
“Thank you.” He hang up. “Flags, signal them and ask them to identify themselves.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” One of the Wireless sets was always tuned into the general frequency of the Merchant Navy.
“Unidentified Merchant Vessel, this is the British Destroyer Coventry. Identify yourselves.”
“Ahh Coventry, this is MV Atlantic Conveyor. We sure are glad to see you lot around here, we've been stuck since this whole mess kicked off.”
Which made sense. According to the message from the Flagship, the Atlantic Conveyor not only carried Land Rovers intended to give the Marine contingent more mobility and a troop's worth of Saracens to give them more staying power, along with enough grenade launcher ammunition to last the garrison a decade. An escort was very much a good idea. Two Frigates and a full-on Destroyer would have been overkill, but then again Broadsword and Battleaxe were permanently detached to guard the Islands against any unlikely but possible Argentine adventures, their places in the Fleet being taken by Formidable's group.
“Roger that, Atlantic Conveyor. The usual emergency frequencies apply, we'll escort you back to the fleet tomorrow.”
“Affirmative, Coventry. Atlantic Conveyor out.”
[1] Catch-All term for the printing press even though more than 70% of it aren't even printed in the UK these days.
[2] I'm not going to reveal much of that yet, but suffice it to say the British told the South Africans to get stuffed when they tried to hold onto Namibia and Walvis Bay. The South Africans tried to enforce their claims, but TTL's Britain tossed them out, backed by the League of Nations. Namibia later voted to become an Imperial Dominion.
[3] Political Officer in all but name.
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