“I get the point about the Type 45s and Astute, Sir. Nevertheless, however good the Type 45 anti-aircraft capabilities are, there are only two of them—and let’s not forget that they can only ever be a backstop at best. It’s the Lightnings we haven’t yet got which are meant to be our first line of air defense. So we’re cutting it very fine. As for the Type 23s: only two anti-submarine frigates is taking a real risk with the depth and balance of our anti-submarine protection screen, particularly as we’ll be up against the Russian Kilos. They’ve got plenty of them and the new generation is top class. If they send a few of those after us, we will have real problems trying to track them all, especially without maritime patrol aircraft and only one hunter-killer sub. The Nimrods may have been old, but they did the job.”

“What are you trying to say, Number One?” Narborough was on the verge of getting cross, but Bush also knew that the Captain had a grudging respect for him. While unlikely to translate into an unambiguous recommendation for command, he knew that the canny, upward-thrusting Commodore listened to him.

“You’re commanding the Navy’s biggest-ever ship. We’ll have over two thousand on board with our crew and the commandos. You and this ship are the pride of the Navy. But if we went to the bottom, it would be as big a disaster as Repulse and Prince of Wales being sunk by the Japanese in 1941 . . . You’ll be remembered forever as the unlucky captain. And the name Narborough—”

“Enough.” The Captain held up his hand and smiled and Bush knew he had got away with it as Narborough, with his typical arrogance, assumed that it was his own good name he was worried about, rather than the safety of the ship and its crew. In fact, Bush realized in a moment of grim humor, he had probably just done what was needed to get an “outstanding” on his next Annual Report. Next moment his guess was confirmed.

“But don’t think I don’t appreciate your concern, Number One. It’s been noted. Relax. It’s not going to happen. The Russian navy has never recovered from the rusting hulks in Murmansk after the Cold War. It’s manned by conscripts. They’d never dare come near us. Now, I’ll see you at the O Group at 1900 hours.”

Bush had said what needed to be said and knew he could go no further. He stood up and saluted.

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Bush left the Captain’s day cabin. Fat lot of good that did, he thought, but someone had to say it.