But then the chill of concern hit him again in the pit of his stomach; an aircraft carrier without aircraft. It was a contradiction in terms. His Captain had briefed him early that morning before he’d assembled the O Group. Queen Elizabeth had been ordered to deploy as the flagship in command of a Littoral Maneuver Group with the Royal Marines and an eclectic mix of helicopters—RAF Chinooks and Navy Merlins, Army Apaches and the new Navy Wildcat Lynx—and all without any helicopter work-up training to iron out any problems; some as basic as whether the RN, RAF and Army helicopters would even be able to talk to each other, let alone the ship. But that was a minor wrinkle compared to his second major concern: Bush knew without being told that the Task Group would be deploying without a strong-enough escort screen. Aircraft carriers do not sail on their own, they need to be protected by rings of escorts: anti-submarine frigates, anti-aircraft destroyers and hunter-killer submarines. But, thanks to the government defense cuts of 2010 and earlier, there simply were not enough fighting ships available and within reach to meet the needs of this new emergency.

This is going to be the mother of “Come As You Are” parties, thought Bush.

Still, they managed it on no-days’ notice with the Task Force in 1982. But then he could hear his father’s voice: “We only did that because, back in Maggie’s day, we had a proper navy—before the latest lot of bloody Tory politicians chopped it to pieces. Maggie Thatcher would be turning in her grave if she could see what this shower has gone and done . . .”

As he clattered down the companionway to the Captain’s cabin, Bush could not help reflecting that his father was right—as usual. Queen Elizabeth was a fine ship and he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, but cutting the number of escort ships in the Royal Navy to find the cash to pay for the two shiny new carriers, particularly when there were doubts about whether the second ship could even be properly manned, was barking mad; more about saving shipbuilders’ jobs and political posturing than attempting to give the Royal Navy the balance of ships it needed for the future. A point, Bush remembered with a grin, that even his father—a hardline Labour supporter all his life—had been forced to concede. The last lot might have ballsed things up in 2010 but, as he had liked to point out to the old, militant class warrior, it had been Labour before them who had ordered the carriers and started cutting escorts in the first place.

Pushing all thoughts of his father aside, he drew back his shoulders and knocked on the door that led to the Captain’s office cabin, through his Secretary’s miniscule outer office.