War with Russia

“It’ll play well on the front pages, boss. Show we’re not being pushed about. Just like Maggie T… If in doubt, assemble a Task Force.”

“Then go for it, CDS.” The Prime Minister squared his shoulders and tried to look Churchillian. He thought, Perhaps I might be remembered as a war leader after all.

1500 hours, Monday, May 22, 2017

HMS Queen Elizabeth Middle Slip Jetty, HM Naval Base, Portsmouth

COMMANDER JAMES BUSH RN took one last look around the flight deck before heading into the forward island of the aircraft carrier to update the Captain in his cabin under the bridge. As Executive Officer of HMS Queen Elizabeth he was second in command and, as such, responsible for the day-to-day running of the ship and the efficiency of its crew. And today he had more than enough to think about. He’d been asleep in his married quarter on the edge of Portsdown Hill, overlooking the Royal Navy dockyard at Portsmouth, when the call had come through from the ship’s Duty Officer at 2:35 a.m.: Queen Elizabeth was to deploy to sea in three days’ time as lead ship of a British amphibious Task Force.

Twenty years in the Royal Navy, much of it spent at sea, meant that Bush was used to coming awake in an instant, accepting and digesting new and sometimes worrisome information and then acting decisively on it. But even he had felt compelled to ask the Duty Officer to repeat what he had just said, as his brain tried to absorb the enormity of it.

“In response to the Russian invasion of Latvia and the sinking of the mine countermeasures vessel HMS Padstow, is what it says here, Sir.”

Bush caught himself before he swore. He did not want anybody knowing his reaction to such news and anyway, it was important that he displayed no concern to the young duty officer who had just phoned him. That would come later when he saw his Captain. But he was, quite simply, aghast. Sending Queen Elizabeth to war without its fighter aircraft to protect it would be much like sending a tank into battle without shells; it might very much look the part, but without its offensive fire power, it would be as much use as a chocolate fireguard against other tanks. Aircraft carriers were floating airfields, no more, no less. Without aircraft to defend it, the carrier would risk becoming a vulnerable, high-prestige target; a very large, not very fast, and certainly not very maneuverable high-prestige target. And he was second in command of it.

At least, he thought to himself as he turned on the bedside light, realizing that he was going to have to wake his wife as he put on his uniform, the ship had been delivered on time and they had managed to do the majority of their work-up training. Which is why, he supposed, some idiot had decided they must be ready to fight.

There was a discreet cough from the other end of the phone and Bush realized he had been so shocked by this message that he had forgotten that the Duty Officer was now waiting for him to issue orders.

Bush was instantly the naval officer once again. “Thanks for the call. Now I want you to get the message out to the ship’s company. Initiate the emergency recall system and put out a warning order to the O Group, that’s all Heads of Departments. I want them all in the Ops Center at 0800 with a report on their preparations for departure for sea and where the problems are. Got that?”

“Aye aye, Sir,” responded the Duty Officer.

Bush put down the phone by his bedside and pulled on his working rig of dark-blue cotton, flame-retardant trousers, and shirt with the three gold rings of a commander on his epaulets. Kissing his still-drowsy wife farewell, with the promise that he’d be back to sort out his kit, he’d turned off the light and yet hesitated for a moment until he saw her roll over and, doubtless, go straight back to sleep—like him, she had long ago learned to put up with these late-night interruptions and frequent absences.

Thank God for Jacky, he thought to himself with a deep surge of love and affection. She had not volunteered for the Navy, but without her long-suffering selflessness and countless others like her, where would the Navy be? He let himself out of the front door of their small, three-bedroomed, semi-detached married quarter without disturbing the sleeping boys and got into the ancient VW Polo they were just able to afford as a second car, before driving the twenty minutes into Portsmouth Naval Base.