glistening streak on the surface below.
Cox gave the matter some thought.
“Pilot. Witty. Pop across to the palace will you.”
Within seconds, Flight Sergeant Witt arrived from his navigating station behind the flight deck, or palace as it was known.
“ Witty, get a bearing on that slick and plot it in relative to the Canadian sinking will you. I’m going to deviate off our pattern and I want a bearing down which to fly ok?”
The Navigator understood immediately and, with a modest acknowledgement, disappeared.
NS-X was flying south-south-west on a course of 192 in search of whatever it was that was littering the ocean with fuel oil. Three more distinct glistening marks had been found, all on a heading of 192, vindicating Cox’s hunch.
Whatever they were tracking was hurt.
B-31 had been rushed to sea and that sort of haste never paid with submarines. However, the former Type XXI had easily manouevred into a killing position on the Canadian Corvette, without the surface vessel having the slightest idea that it was about to die. The XXI’s quality sonar systems had identified the approach of the warship, whereas the Canadian system was built for submarines less advanced than the XXI.
As the computer-guided torpedoes had approached, the corvette’s captain got his men moving to action stations and fired off a hasty contact report before two warheads ripped the heart from the small craft.
Forty men died in the twin explosions and the RCN London Pride was doomed, listing immediately.
Off the starboard beam, the B-31 raised its periscope for a fleeting look at the sinking vessel.
A single shot, hastily aimed, left the barrel of London Pride ’s 4” main gun, thumping into the sea forty yards over target.
The corvette turned turtle before a second shot could be fired, holding on the surface for a few seconds before surrendering herself to the inevitable and disappearing from view.
B-31 dropped her periscope and proceeded at fifteen knots, moving swiftly away from the sinking, south-south-west on a heading of 192.
The 4 ” shell had missed but there was sufficient water hammer from the explosion to seek out two items of faulty workmanship. The first effect was to shake loose an electrical coupling in the ‘Bali’ radar detector apparatus. The FuMB Ant3 Bali was used to detect incoming radar signals, and the B-31 had now lost the capability.
The shockwave also slightly unseated one of the fuel intake valves, which intake also lacked a properly functioning non-return valve. All of which meant that the B-31 occasionally vented modest quantities of fuel oil into the ocean as she sought to evacuate the area.
It was not until two hours had passed that the Engineering Officer noticed the fuel discrepancy and reported it to the submarine’s commander.
The excellent sonar system showed no threat ’s nearby, the Bali was clear, and so it was decided to quickly ascend to assess what was happening.
B-31 blew her tanks and rose to the surface of the Eastern Atlantic at precisely 1303hrs.
1304 hrs, Monday, 5th November 1945, Eastern Atlantic, 163 miles north of North-Western Éire.
Dagga fired off an excited report.
“Fuck a rat! Submarine dead ahead, Two thousand yards, just surfacing!”
“Pilot to crew. Action stations. Action stations. Surfaced Submarine ahead.”
Controlled pandemonium ensued as all the crew, except Miller, prepared for combat.
“Identify it someone!”
The pilot accompanied his request with a controlled turn, in order to not overfly the submarine.
“ Not seen one like that before, Skipper. Not on my list.”
Dagga was referring to an illustrated list of submarine outlines that the crew used to identify types. It was not unheard of for aircraft to send friendly vessels to the bottom for lack of correct identification.
RAF Coastal Command’s printing and distribution service had decided to send the full Northern Ireland allocation of the latest intelligence
Cox gave the matter some thought.
“Pilot. Witty. Pop across to the palace will you.”
Within seconds, Flight Sergeant Witt arrived from his navigating station behind the flight deck, or palace as it was known.
“ Witty, get a bearing on that slick and plot it in relative to the Canadian sinking will you. I’m going to deviate off our pattern and I want a bearing down which to fly ok?”
The Navigator understood immediately and, with a modest acknowledgement, disappeared.
NS-X was flying south-south-west on a course of 192 in search of whatever it was that was littering the ocean with fuel oil. Three more distinct glistening marks had been found, all on a heading of 192, vindicating Cox’s hunch.
Whatever they were tracking was hurt.
B-31 had been rushed to sea and that sort of haste never paid with submarines. However, the former Type XXI had easily manouevred into a killing position on the Canadian Corvette, without the surface vessel having the slightest idea that it was about to die. The XXI’s quality sonar systems had identified the approach of the warship, whereas the Canadian system was built for submarines less advanced than the XXI.
As the computer-guided torpedoes had approached, the corvette’s captain got his men moving to action stations and fired off a hasty contact report before two warheads ripped the heart from the small craft.
Forty men died in the twin explosions and the RCN London Pride was doomed, listing immediately.
Off the starboard beam, the B-31 raised its periscope for a fleeting look at the sinking vessel.
A single shot, hastily aimed, left the barrel of London Pride ’s 4” main gun, thumping into the sea forty yards over target.
The corvette turned turtle before a second shot could be fired, holding on the surface for a few seconds before surrendering herself to the inevitable and disappearing from view.
B-31 dropped her periscope and proceeded at fifteen knots, moving swiftly away from the sinking, south-south-west on a heading of 192.
The 4 ” shell had missed but there was sufficient water hammer from the explosion to seek out two items of faulty workmanship. The first effect was to shake loose an electrical coupling in the ‘Bali’ radar detector apparatus. The FuMB Ant3 Bali was used to detect incoming radar signals, and the B-31 had now lost the capability.
The shockwave also slightly unseated one of the fuel intake valves, which intake also lacked a properly functioning non-return valve. All of which meant that the B-31 occasionally vented modest quantities of fuel oil into the ocean as she sought to evacuate the area.
It was not until two hours had passed that the Engineering Officer noticed the fuel discrepancy and reported it to the submarine’s commander.
The excellent sonar system showed no threat ’s nearby, the Bali was clear, and so it was decided to quickly ascend to assess what was happening.
B-31 blew her tanks and rose to the surface of the Eastern Atlantic at precisely 1303hrs.
1304 hrs, Monday, 5th November 1945, Eastern Atlantic, 163 miles north of North-Western Éire.
Dagga fired off an excited report.
“Fuck a rat! Submarine dead ahead, Two thousand yards, just surfacing!”
“Pilot to crew. Action stations. Action stations. Surfaced Submarine ahead.”
Controlled pandemonium ensued as all the crew, except Miller, prepared for combat.
“Identify it someone!”
The pilot accompanied his request with a controlled turn, in order to not overfly the submarine.
“ Not seen one like that before, Skipper. Not on my list.”
Dagga was referring to an illustrated list of submarine outlines that the crew used to identify types. It was not unheard of for aircraft to send friendly vessels to the bottom for lack of correct identification.
RAF Coastal Command’s printing and distribution service had decided to send the full Northern Ireland allocation of the latest intelligence
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