“Kent is only fit for the knacker’s yard,” replied Rae. “My mate is her Executive Warrant Officer and he tells me she’s fucked; that she’s well overdue a full refit. Strictly between us, and it would be his arse on the line if this went any further, when she put into Portsmouth at the end of her last trip her skipper was no longer willing to risk going to Full Ahead in case she blew something. The chances of her generators and turbines lasting around the North Foreland are pretty much zero. Then we’ll be down to one anti-sub escort . . . and what if one of the Type 45s decides to blow its generator? Then we’d be right royally buggered. I’d have hoped for four Type 23s; two might just have sufficed, but not if things go tits up out there. One can’t begin to do the job.”

“Thanks, Geordie,” said Bush quietly. He knew that this was a coded signal that morale was more than fragile and that the Navy was being asked too much of this time. “There’s no getting around it. The cupboard’s bare. Something like this wasn’t meant to happen and certainly not in Europe. We still haven’t recovered from that crazy assumption in the 2010 Defense Review that we’d never have to go to war again, so the clever dicks in the MOD never thought we’d have to assemble another Task Group in double-quick time. Trouble is, as you know, the other anti-sub escorts are either spread to the wind doing other stuff or they’re in refit. We’ve just got to do the best we can, Geordie, God help us.”

Three days later, with the Rear Admiral commanding the Task Group embarked, together with his staff, HMS Queen Elizabeth left Portsmouth Harbor to go to war. Blue-jacketed sailors in their best rig lined the decks, while emotional crowds gathered on Southsea Common to wave off the Task Group. As Bush stood on the bridge, he felt a lump in his throat and a flush of pride as the mighty warship moved slowly into the waters of Spithead, before heading out past the Martello forts built to protect Portsmouth from the French, and into the English Channel, following the course so many great warships had taken before.

Yet, despite this sense of pride in being part of the golden thread of excellence exemplified by the Royal Navy, a premonition of dread gripped him. He only hoped that the politicians and admirals and pundits were right and Russia would not come out and fight them, lest it provoke a wider European war and an almost inevitable nuclear exchange. History might indicate otherwise, though. Back in 1982 the experts predicted the Argentinians would buckle as soon as they saw the Task Force heading toward them. But that had not happened, had it?

1900 hours, Monday, May 22, 2017

National Defense Control Center, Moscow