CVF U-TURN – WHY PLAN “A” WAS ALWAYS BEST

Posted on May 10, 2012 by dan

BACK in 2010, when the new coalition government unveiled its Strategic Security and Defence Review (SSDR); there was a lot of bad news for the military.

Deep cuts were ordered. Many of those cuts made little sense like the axing of Nimrod, the UK’s only maritime patrol aircraft. The decision to kill it off came at the end of a protracted and much-delayed gestation. It had cost billions. The government’s solution, even though aircraft were complete and about to enter service, was to scrap them. Within days, wrecking crews destroyed the airframes. No going back there.

Warship numbers were cut. Useful frigates were slated for disposal. Little thought was given to their sophisticated and secret listening gear which made them prime assets for the Royal Navy. Fortunately one survived long enough to fulfil a vital role in the toppling of Colonel Gaddafi.

The high-profile casualty of the SSDR was HMS ARK ROYAL. Not long out of refit, and equipped with the most advanced command control and communications equipment, she was quickly decommissioned. Not placed into mothballs, but put on a disposal list, essentially up for sale for scrap to the highest bidder. Her equipment was removed and her hull gutted to a point where a return to service would be impossible without a lengthy and expensive refit.

Her Harrier jets, though not perfect, were the United Kingdom’s only rapidly deployable strike jets. Able to operate from land, or from Ark Royal and her sister ship Illustrious, they gave the UK a flexible, independent strike capability. The Harriers were retired, broken into pieces, crated up and sold as spares to the United States – still a believer in – and user of Harrier along with the navies of India, Spain, Italy, and Thailand.
We were told at the time, the absence of carrier strike represented a “capability holiday.” Political spin speak for a gap in military punch that would leave the UK unable to operate aircraft in an offensive way without either being in range of the UK, or in range of nations which would allow us to operate from their bases.
There was though a sweetener.
The new carriers on order were to operate the Short Take-off and Vertical Landing (STOVL) version of the new F-35 aircraft, known as the F-35B.

A complex bit of kit, the B model of the F-35 is, like the Harrier before it, able to land vertically – in the same way a helicopter lands. It uses complex technology to do this, and as a result, it cannot carry as much fuel or as many weapons as the F-35C.
For all the aircraft’s complexity, the business of launching it from a ship is simple. Like the Harrier, it is lined-up on the deck and – using its –own power – rolls down a runway to an angled ramp which assists it into the air. A low-tech but very effective way of launching an aircraft. On return, the F-35B hovers alongside the ship, then lands on to the deck like a helicopter. This way of operating an aircraft frees up other parts of the flight deck during landing operations and it is less prone to problems caused by heavy seas, and other adverse weather. It will be the aircraft of choice for the US Marine Corps, and other navies currently using Harrier.
The C model – selected for use by the United States Navy on its future aircraft carriers – is a conventional but hi-tech aircraft. Conventional, because it lands like a traditional jet, and when operated off a ship needs a catapult to launch it, and arrestor wires to stop it when it lands back on board. The upside of this arrangement known as Catapult Assisted Take off Barrier Arrested Recovery, (CATOBAR) is that the F-35C has a greater range, and can carry more weapons.

As part of the defence review, the UK government announced it was to buy the C model of the F-35, rather than the B, giving the UK military a much better aircraft.

An expensive, but welcome decision. Expensive, because the two carriers under construction for the Royal Navy would have to be reconfigured to carry the catapults and wires needed to operate the aircraft. A redesign which would delay the two ships’ entry into service. A redesign which would see the UK having to jump into the American production run for the catapults. A redesign which would mean more crew in the ships, and more power requirements from the vessels’ generators, but which would result in more capable carriers.
The new CATOBAR carriers would be more flexible. They could operate other types fast jet, like the French Rafale or the American Super Hornet. Much play was made at the time of the UK’s new found friendship with France – with its CATOBAR carrier. The other upside for the Royal Navy was that it gave it greater choice when selecting other aircraft to operate of its decks. The RN’s aged but technologically capable Sea King helicopters which provide the fleet with Airborne Surveillance and Control, (ASaC) are coming to the end of their lives. A replacement could now potentially be sourced from the USA using second-hand but capable E2 fixed-wing aircraft. Fixed-wing aeroplanes have a simple advantage over a helicopter; they can fly higher and for longer. For an aircraft that has to carry radar aloft, height and endurance are distinct advantages.
There were downsides to the plan. The first and most noticeable was the instant end to cooperation between the United States Marine Corps (USMC) and the Royal Air Force and Royal Navy. For decades, with the Harrier as a common aircraft, the US and UK had worked hand-in-glove. Joint training and crew exchanges were part of the fabric of the Marine Corps and the UK Harrier community. Shortly after the British Government announced the end of Harrier operations, the relationship between the USMC and UK military ceased. British pilots on exchange were sent home almost immediately. From the USMC’s point of view, there was now no point in investing time in working with the British. They were out of the STOVL aircraft game.

The UK, faced with the prospect of future conventional carrier operations, soon made new friends. It was December 1978, when the Royal Navy last launched an aircraft from a CATOBAR carrier. The way of operating, the whole doctrine behind conventional carrier operations – although invented by the British – was binned and forgotten in an instant.
30-plus years of experience had to be quickly acquired and former Harrier pilots where hastily put on crash courses in French in preparation for training with the French Navy. Simulators were re-programmed so British pilots could get experience in landing on a conventional carrier. Training slots were found in the States for former British Harrier pilots, while United States Navy carrier specialists were brought to the UK to begin the long task of training personnel in conventional carrier operations.

The move was also a win for the RAF. Desperately looking for a replacement for both Harrier and the Tornado bomber fleet, the F-35C fitted the bill perfectly.

And now the Cameron government, so critical of its predecessor for wasting money on defence projects, has announced a U-turn. The new aircraft carriers will be built to the original specification. Not catapults, not arrestor wires, not the F-35C. Instead, it is back to plan “A” with the STOVL F-35B, and carriers with ramps on their bows.

The estimated cost of this change of mind. £40M

£40M that could have paid for the refit of a frigate. £40M that could have helped keep Ark Royal and her Harrier jets in service.

The fact is, the government made a snap decision without proper thought to the consequences. This makes one wonder about the validity of other decisions it has made since 2010.
The conversion of the two new carriers to CATOBAR would have added about £5BN to their already over-budget building costs. Though not yet complete, both ships would have had 290 internal spaces altered to accommodate catapult and arrestor gear. At the time of the SSDR, the bill for that work was estimated at £2BN for both ships. Again, this only raises more questions about the accuracy of the Cameron government’s accounting and the quality of its decision making.
The work would have also delayed HMS QUEEN ELIZABETH and HMS PRINCE OF WALES’ commissioning by something like 36 months.

Of this U-Turn, Defence Secretary Philip Hammond says, “The 2010 SSDR decision was right at the time, but the facts have changed, and therefore so must our approach. This government will not blindly pursue projects and ignore cost growth and delays. Carrier strike with “cats and traps” using the carrier variant jet no longer represents the best way of delivering carrier strike and I am not prepared to tolerate a three year further delay to reintroducing our carrier strike capability. This announcement means we remain on course to deliver carrier strike in 2020.”

That makes perfect sense. But we were told to believe the decisions in the SSDR in 2010 made perfect sense. It hardly inspires confidence.

Politics aside, it is about steel being cut, crews being trained, and aircraft entering service. This decision has – like most decisions – good and bad points.

First the bad points:

• The RAF will not get as capable an aircraft. The F-35B replaces Harrier and will probably be the replacement for Tornado. The vertical landing capability is a big part of the aircraft and its bulk and weight means it cannot operate as far, or carry as many weapons as a conventional aeroplane. As an RAF jet, it will be land-based for a lot of its life. The STOVL role will not be necessary for anything but carrier operations, and as outlined above, the pay-off, is reduced capability and performance.

• Our new carriers will now only be able to operate one type of fixed-wing aircraft. Apart from Harrier – which the UK has scrapped – there are no western jets that use ski-jumps to assist take-off and hovering to land.

• The decision narrows the Royal Navy’s choice for a future ASaC Aircraft. Whatever system is chosen, it will now have to fit into a helicopter with its height and endurance limitations.

• Expensive aircrew have effectively wasted 2 years’ training on conventional carriers, acquiring skills that are no-longer needed.

• One imagines lots of favours were called-in with the US Navy to get British crew onto training programmes. UK personnel will have been shoe-horned into courses on aircraft operation and been given know-how on catapult and arrestor wire systems. At best, the UK will have annoyed the United States Navy. One hopes there are no hard feelings, and the inconvenience caused will be put down to politics and soon forgotten.

The good points:

• STOVL as a concept works for the Royal Navy. The UK invented it. The Harrier was a British aeroplane, and the Royal Navy with its ski-jump equipped Invincible Class carriers was the first nation to take this innovative jet to sea. The RN developed the doctrine behind it, the techniques needed to make the aircraft work. It was the UK that proved the concept for real with Harrier jets flown from ships during the 1982 Falklands conflict. In short, the RN does jump jets.

• Launch and recovery of STOVL jets is simpler quicker and safer, as outlined above.

• Conventional carriers also need their jets to be configured as tankers. They have to provide fuel to other aircraft in-flight. This is not done as a form of range extension. It is done as a safety measure for aircraft low on fuel which fail to snag an arrestor wire during a landing attempt. The very nature of an aircraft carrier means the options for a low on fuel jet unable to land on deck are few. Divert airfields are rarely available. With STOVL operations, this need ceases to exist, as does the need for extra crew to man catapults, and arrestor gear.

• The CATOBAR plan would have left the Royal navy with one of its new carriers capable of carrying nothing more than helicopters. Only one ship, Prince of Wales would have been given the catapults and arrestor gear to start with. First of Class, Queen Elizabeth was destined for either a life in reserve or at best, a retrofit conversion later in her career. This U-turn now means there is the potential to get both ships to sea at times of emergency with air groups. At the very least, it means both ships will have a shared fast jet capability from day one.

So, the argument for the STOVL aircraft carrier with the F-35B jet has won the day. It may not be as capable as its conventionally-launched cousin, but as a piece of technology, is it years ahead of anything the Royal Navy has ever had. It is more than up to the job. The re-adoption of STOVL gives the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force a renewed commonality with the United States Marine Corps. Let us hope bridges burnt there with the demise of the UK Harrier force can be rebuilt.

A host of navies are now building or using helicopter carriers with the potential to operate the F-35B. The decision to stick with STOVL not only keeps the UK in the carrier game, but puts us at the forefront of a new era in seaborne power.

Please David Cameron, don’t change your mind again.

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HMS SHEFFIELD – Growing-Up In an Instant

Posted on May 3, 2012 by dan

This piece follows from “General Belgrano – It Couldn’t Happen To Us.” You may find it useful to read that first.

THE triumph of General Belgrano’s sinking was subsiding from my 11 year old mind. Kids do that. Something that is a big deal one day melts away the next. I think that’s how children enjoy summer holidays so much. If going back to school is six weeks away, then it might as well be happening next year. Every day brings new things.

During the spring and summer of 1982, I was off school. One of those wonderful administrative cock-ups that happen, and when they do, someone sometimes benefits. We had moved house in April 1982 from Lincolnshire to Tyneside. A state school had been selected for me after my parents realised I wasn’t really bright enough to hold my own in one of the top-notch private schools. So, after the Easter holidays, I was set to go to my new school. There came a telephone call to my parents; a problem. My paperwork had gone missing, so I would get an extra week off. Result! It got better than that. My Easter holiday extended more or less most of the summer term because they really had lost all my paperwork. I was only able to go to my new school in late May.

Perhaps because they were from a generation that grew up in World War Two, my parents seemed unconcerned at my lack of schooling. They had erratic education themselves during the 1940s, and my Dad’s attitude was that I should treat the time off as a chance to learn other things. I had my bike. We lived just above a beach, and Tynemouth was on the then new Metro local train network. I spent days exploring Tyneside, playing on the beach, riding my bike and doing a host of non-school related activities like haunting the local car repair garage, with kindly mechanics who probably didn’t want to discuss the merits of an Opel Monza over a Vauxhall Royale, but who humoured me, and did.

And so it was on May 4th, just 2 days after the loss of General Belgrano, that news broke that would change my life for ever. When I look back at periods of my life, I see them as chapters. Different points in time where you were a different person. Early school days, teenage years, university, first job, marriage and so-on. It is however rare to be able to put a date on the chapter change, when it is so far back in your childhood.

May 4th 1982 was a day I grew-up a little. A day where I suddenly understood more about life – and death. A day where my values changed, where I discovered the unthinkable could happen.

My parents and I had been out. On returning home, I did my usual thing of running through to the living room and turning on the television. This was in spite of the protests of my Dad who – even though he was a TV producer – thought television was a bad influence on children. I ignored him and turned the TV up.

There was something different on the telly that night. My memory of precise events is hazy, but I recall programmes being broken into and a “News Report” came on. I remember the term. It wasn’t a news flash, but a report. I shouted my parents through, guessing that this was something big. On screen, there was a grey-suited man with greying hair and thick black-framed glasses. He sat at a bench in front of a blue background and proceeded to slowly, painfully slowly in fact, read out a prepared statement. Back then there was no rolling news television; there were no spin doctors to sweeten the pill. This was a raw, amateurishly presented press briefing by a previously anonymous Whitehall civil servant.

The man said something like this. “In the course of its duties…………..in the total exclusion zone………around the Falkland Islands……….The Type 42 destroyer……..H…..M…..S…..SHEFFIELD…..was hit by a missile…..fired from an Argentine plane.” He went on, at his same slow pace to say there were casualties and that the ship was on fire and disabled.

A few years prior to that Ministry of Defence statement, I had been taken down by my Dad to a quayside to see a new ship. She was big. To me as a little boy, she was gigantic. Great, tall black-painted masts, topped with radar sets, communication systems and equipment connected with electronic warfare. She had a giant funnel, with two circular openings in the side. Her ventilation system made a loud humming noise and you could hear diesel engines deep inside her hull thrumming away. On her freshly-painted deck, she sported a new type of gun. Ultra-modern looking in a rounded aerodynamic turret. Behind that, two brightly painted missiles – they were called Sea Darts. They sat on a launcher pointing skywards.

The little boy and his Dad boarded her gangway which had a white ceremonial lifebelt at one end bearing her name. There was a wood and metal name plate on the side of the superstructure too. She was new, she shone, and she was the most wonderful thing to this little boy.

An officer met them and took them inside this great ship. Ladders, pipes, equipment everywhere. She had a new type of engine, and they were taken into the machinery spaces to have gas turbines explained to them. These engines were the same ones the supersonic jetliner Concorde used. The wide-eyed little boy was taken along passageways past the galley. There, smiling white-suited sailors chatted to him and gave him a snack. Then, it was into the dark, hi-tech world of the operations room. Orange screens picked out radar images from the ship’s sensors. The place hissed with the sound of forced air conditioning. Indeed as the little boy passed through the ship, he would often feel wind from the ventilators. Down in the engine room where it was warm rather than hot, great streams of cool air flowed around, mixing with the intoxicating smells of diesel, paint, food and cleaning products. The little boy was in love.

Up several decks from the operations room, via a chain of ladders and a couple of winding passage ways they came to the bridge. All the equipment there, dials switches and buttons, was mounted in eggshell blue painted racks and cabinets. The boy was lifted up to sit on the Captain’s chair. Ahead he could see the missiles and gun out on deck.

A quick drink of coke and some crisps in the chintz upholstered Wardroom (Officer’s Mess) and the boy and his Dad were off. Climbing down the gangway onto the jetty and heading towards the ship’s stern. There was her name again. In bright red capital letters proud of the grey-painted hull. It read “SHEFFIELD.”

I suppose I had led a sheltered childhood. A next door neighbour died when I was 7. My beloved dog died when I was 8. Other than that, I didn’t really understand loss, and on the two occasions it happened, I got over it quickly. The child like self- protection of the here and now, rather than the adult realism of the then and when.

The next few hours after that News Report were horrible. Sheffield had been hit. How? It wasn’t possible. What about those Sea Dart missiles? Why hadn’t they killed the Argentinian pilot? I wanted to kill that pilot. I knew it was bad to pray for bad things, but I clasped my hands together and prayed hard through the tears. “Please God, make the Argentinean plane crash. Kill the pilot. Make him dead.” I wanted British Harrier jets to chase this man home to his air base. Bomb the base. I wanted the SAS to find out where he lived and kill him. I was experiencing real hatred. Utter hatred. It is a good feeling, good in the way that being drunk is good. It consumes you for a while. It fires you up, but it leaves you flat, hungover, and empty.

Rage turned back to disbelief. Then my scrambled thoughts became clearer. What was happening to Sheffield? What was happening to those men I had met. She was on fire, there were casualties. That meant people had died. Was it the men I met who were now dead?
Sheffield seemed so far away, this big, wonderful shiny ship now appeared in my mind, so small and vulnerable all that way from home, burning, and her men dead and hurt. What sort of hell was going on in those engine rooms, in the galley, on the bridge? I could do nothing to help. I so wanted to do something. If only this had happened off our beach. I could have got my inflatable boat out, pumped it up and paddled out to rescue the boys. Some of them would be Dads of children. What were their little boys and girls going through right now? Turmoil, utter helplessness and disbelief which bring tears to my eyes even now while writing this.

My thoughts went back briefly to the events of May 2nd and the loss of Belgrano. My Dad had told me not to be victorious over the death of those sailors in their warship. Now I understood.
Sheffield and all the other warships I knew were not toys. They weren’t brightly-painted amusements for little boys to climb over. They were serious. Deadly serious bits of hardware designed to kill, and with the potential to be killed if the tables turned.

I also – in an instant – understood that nothing lasts for ever. That the balance between being alive and being dead, is a very delicate one. That people I had met could die like that was a horrible revelation. It could happen to them, to my parents, my friends, even me.

At the time, I didn’t know how Sheffield’s crew were fighting to save their warship. She had taken an AM39 air-launched Exocet missile into her starboard side. The weapon did not explode, but the un-burnt fuel it carried, along with the terrific energy released when it hit the ship, started fires. The missile hit on 2-deck – right where those white-suited sailors had been. I had stood munching my snack, more or less at the spot where that missile would hit, and kill everyone in the immediate area.

The missile ruptured Sheffield’s water main, making it impossible to fight the fires. The ventilation system which had wafted cool air around her interior now helped thick, black poisonous smoke travel through the ship. The flames spread, destroying the operations room, wardroom and the bridge.

Other ships came to help Sheffield that day. The flames gradually spread and because there was concern they may ignite the Sea Dart missiles, her captain, Sam Salt, gave the order to abandon ship.

Sheffield was alone. That once lovely, friendly freshly-painted ship was left to drift. The bodies of 20 men inside.

Days later, Sheffield had not sunk. Harrier pilots used her as a reference point on missions. On board the flagship HMS HERMES, a young naval officer – who was looking after the media on board – heard about this. He commandeered a helicopter and took a film crew to see Sheffield’s remains. She sat, upright, perfectly trimmed, looking every part the elegant warship she was. But she was scarred. The fires had burnt the paint from her hull and superstructure. The giant funnel with its big black vents was now burnt orange rather than grey. All along her decks, lay charred debris from the innards of the ship the crew called “Shiny Sheff.”

The same crew who had been kind to a little boy visitor, wide-eyed and awestruck as he toured this wonderful ship. The same crew, who while sitting on top of 30 Sea Dart missiles that were at risk of explosion, sang the Monty Python song “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life” As they waited to be lifted off by helicopter.

Sheffield was taken under tow. There was hope of saving her. As the sea state worsened the hole in her side made by the missile got closer to the waterline. Sheffield filled up, rolled over and sank, taking the bodies of her crew with her.

The last person to have contact with Sheffield was a sonar operator on the warship that was towing her. He reported hearing metallic underwater noises consistent with a ship breaking-up.

20-odd years after that terrible day, the little boy was in Mare Harbour in the Falkland Islands. He boarded one of Sheffield’s sister ships. She wasn’t as big or as impressive as Sheffield. That was down to the fact that the little boy was now a man. Although a man, inside the little boy was there, still hurting,

The ship put to sea, and as she steamed over the spot where Sheffield lay, the little boy went forward, past the missile launcher with its sky-pointing rockets, past the gun, to the bow. It was strangely quiet there. The noise of those Concorde engines was very distant. A pod of dolphins rode the pressure wave created by the warship’s bow. Wind and sea was all there was as the little boy threw a single red poppy down into the water. It flew backwards with the speed of the ship, brushing a dolphin’s back as it went into the water.

The little boy understood. He had found peace. He had said goodbye. He said a prayer for Sheffield and the boys in her galley, deep down in the black ocean. He hoped they too were at peace.

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General Belgrano – It Couldn’t Happen To Us.

Posted on May 2, 2012 by dan

ON May 2nd, 1982, the Argentine cruiser ARA GENERAL BELGRANO was being tracked in the South Atlantic by the Royal Navy hunter-killer submarine HMS CONQUEROR. Belgrano, which as the American warship USS PHOENIX had survived Pearl Harbour 41 years previously, was attacked by Conqueror. Two Mk8 British torpedoes (Ironically weapons of a World War 2 vintage) struck Belgrano’s hull. They caused massive damage and General Belgrano – the much adored pride of the Armada Argentina – sank. 323 of her crew died.

It was a brutal, but necessary action. To date, Belgrano is the only ship ever to have been sunk by a nuclear submarine.

Podrá dormir plácidamente Belgrano. Cuide a sus niños, protegerlos y mantenerlos a salvo. Dios los bendiga a todos.

IT is strange how things change, I suppose you call it growing up, but 30 years ago on that May Day in 1982 as a boy of 11, I thought the sinking of Belgrano was the best thing ever.

I was warship mad, and the Falklands war had come just at the right time for me. We had recently moved back to our native North East, and lived in a house which overlooked Long Sands beach in Tynemouth. One early morning, my Dad had the dog out for a walk. A short time later, he was banging on the door, ringing the bell, telling me to get up and look out of the window. There was, he said, an aircraft carrier off the coast. I had only seen one aircraft carrier before, and she had been a sad sight. Forlorn, unloved, being ripped to pieces at a jetty on the banks of Loch Ryan in Scotland, HMS Eagle had made a big impression on me – despite the sad circumstances of our meeting. Her sheer size, her great grey bulk, only served to make me love warships and the navy more. I felt so sorry that this wonderful ship was being destroyed. At the time, as a small boy, I had no idea about the politics that lay behind Eagle’s demise.

Back to the early morning in Tynemouth. I went to the window, binoculars in hand. It was a bright, clear morning in October 1981. There she was this aircraft carrier my Dad had seen was now running at high speed northwards. I recognised her instantly as an Invincible Class carrier – the Royal Navy’s latest warship. Even at 11, I noticed there was something different about her. The deck crane was positioned slightly forward, there were other small differences that told this junior ship spotter that this was not HMS INVINCIBLE the lead ship of the class, but her new sister, Illustrious. HMS ILLUSTRIOUS was fitting-out at the Swan Hunter shipyard on the River Tyne where they had spent the previous five years building her. I was witnessing her first trip to sea, as this new warship found her feet in the waters off “her“ river, she performed what I now know to be “standard manoeuvres” violently turning herself this way and that, running as fast as she could between measured markers on the shore. All the time, clouds of brown smoke streaming out of her two elegant funnels as the shipyard team tested her in a process known as contractor’s sea trials.

I was in heaven.

In less than a year, Illustrious was to play a bigger part in my life. Indeed all three Invincible Class warships went on to be part of me for the next 30 years.

Returning to 1982 and Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands. A group of rocks 8,500 miles from the UK with 1,800 British nationals on them. Britain sent a task force of 101 ships – warships, auxiliaries and commercial vessels – to retake the territory. I like most of the country at the time, followed the Falklands Crisis as it was then called, with great interest.

The task force left for the Falklands on April 5 1982. Led by the flagship HMS HERMES and the then new HMS INVINCIBLE, The departure was screened live on TV. I so wanted to be there at the dockside in Portsmouth amongst the thousands of flag-waving well-wishers. The closest I could get was television. That nearly didn’t happen. April 5th was the day we were moving from our old house back to the North East. The house was full of boxes waiting for the removal men. There was a knock on the door. It was the man from Granada TV rental. He had come to take the telly away. In those days, many people hired televisions rather than buying them. I wouldn’t let the man take our set, until I saw the task force leave. I ended up watching the most historical moment of my short life, sitting on the living room floor with my Mum, Dad, the dog and the bloke from Granada TV rental. As soon as the programme ended, the set was unplugged and loaded into the van.

As a ship-mad kid, I knew some of the British warships involved. I used to visit them when they came to ports near us, and badgered my father to use his influence to get me special tours of the ships. I got so see more than the general public and had climbed over engine rooms, weapons magazines, helicopters and operations rooms of dozens of vessels. I had a secret list of “my” ships that went to the Falklands. Ships I particularly liked. Glamorgan, Argonaut, Plymouth, Sheffield were three I supported. My bedroom walls were covered in posters of warships, I knew their identification numbers, their capabilities and through visiting them, I knew their crews.

There were the sailors in HMS PLYMOUTH who delighted in showing a little lad round. They had their picture taken with me which ended up being published in a local paper. A cute little toddler wearing one of their hats. But at age 4, that cute little kid could have told you Sea Cat was a surface to air missile, and that Plymouth carried two 4.5 inch guns.

On the morning of May 3rd, the news came through on the radio that a British submarine has attacked and sunk an Argentine cruiser, ARA GENERAL BELGRANO. On hearing the news I ran around the house, shouting and whooping performing a silly victory dance.

My Dad sat quietly. He wasn’t celebrating. Why? He asked me to sit down and tell him why I was so happy. I told him. We’d sunk an Argie warship. That was great; we’d taught them a lesson. They would now know who the boss was and would leave the islands. During world War Two, as a little boy himself, my Dad had been evacuated to Canada to avoid the German bombs which fell in the UK during the Blitz. He never arrived at his destination. The ship he was in was torpedoed 300 miles off Ireland. He and his little brother were forced to abandon the liner as she rolled over and take to a lifeboat. They drifted in the dark night. The injured ship’s siren wailed out a distress call which echoed across the sea. A British destroyer thundered past them. It didn’t stop but directed my father and the other children to a nearby oil tanker which at great risk had put its lights on to act as a beacon for the drifting lifeboats. Dad climbed up the side of the tanker on a rope ladder. He was helped aboard by a kindly British sailor, who told him everything would be OK. Dad knew how lucky he had been. Dad knew exactly what had happened to Belgrano.

He asked me to imagine a ship I knew and loved. Plymouth, Argonaut, Glamorgan, maybe Sheffield. Then close my eyes, remember the noises and smells, the thrum of the engines, the voices of the lads, nice lads who had given me sweets, and soft drinks on my trips round ships. The smiling engineers who showed me round engine rooms deep inside warship hulls. The chefs who gave my sticky buns, the helicopter crews who let me sit in their aircraft and press buttons and who showed me where their secret supplies of chocolate were hidden. Then, Dad told me to imagine that ship I loved lurching over on her side, the lights going out, explosions, fire, and icy water pouring in. Imagine the nice men I knew deep down in the engine room, trapped, cold scared, drowning in seawater and their own ship’s oil. I was told to think about those cheery ship’s cooks, making buns, frying chips. Kind, good men. Many of them Dads of little boys like me. Many of them not much older than me. He asked me to imagine leaving a great ship as she rolled over, with nothing but a flimsy life raft for protection. To imagine great big black waves, the fear you may be dragged under, the screams for help, grasping hands, the metallic groaning of the ship as she sank.

I imagined that, but dismissed it as some sort of move scene. After all, that would never happen to a ship I knew. Not a Royal Navy warship. Never. A matter of hours later, my opinion was to be changed.

To be continued…..

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BBC Picks Up danentwisle HMS PLYMOUTH Blog.

Posted on April 18, 2012 by dan

The BBC picked up our latest post about HMS PLYMOUTH http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-merseyside-17598843

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HMS PLYMOUTH – WHY OLD WARSHIPS SHOULD GO THE JOURNEY

Posted on March 29, 2012 by dan

IT was with sadness, but little surprise that I learnt of the impending demise of HMS PLYMOUTH. Finally, nearly a quarter of a century on from her decommissioning, the last surviving Type 12 frigate is going to scrap.

It has been a long and sad journey for a warship which, 30 years ago, found herself in the thick of action in the Falklands War. It was Plymouth that assisted in the recapture of South Georgia back in 1982. It was Plymouth, that mixed it with Mirages in Falkland Sound and San Carlos Water. It was Plymouth which took damage, and proudly wore the scars – including a bomb-holed funnel – on her return to Rosyth dockyard late in the summer of 1982.

In the months after her return, she was repaired and re-joined the fleet. Plymouth would remain in commission for six more years, and during port visits her crew would proudly show-off the steel patches welded where Argentine bombs had made their mark. Crew, who had taken her down south in 1982, told of tense times in the engine room with fires raging above. Gunners spoke of the sound of Argentine cannon rounds striking the hull as they toiled to keep the magazine topped-up with 4.5 inch shells.

In 1988, Plymouth reached the end of the road under the white ensign. Nearly 30 years of service, meant it was time to go. During the same period, her sister ships were ending their operational lives. Many met an end at the hands of Royal Navy torpedoes in SINKEX exercises.

So loved was Plymouth, so extraordinary her story, that plans emerged to preserve her on retirement. It was proposed to take the ship in hand, and transform her into a tourist attraction, a time capsule of how warships, the navy, and the country once were.

On decommissioning, extra care was taken when equipment was removed from the ship. Normally when a warship reaches the end, communications gear, classified material and the like, are removed with little thought of the damage caused to the ship. Not in Plymouth’s case. What had to be taken away was done with the minimum impact.

Once out of service, Plymouth needed to find a home. The city after which she was named, and where she was built, took her for a short while. Plymouth ended up on the Clyde and finally found a home on the River Mersey.

Now 30 years on from her battles in the Falklands, and 24 years after the white ensign was hauled down, it is all over. Business plans have not worked, and the only interest Plymouth attracts is the steel-hungry eyes of ship recycling companies.
It looks like she will be towed away and scrapped.
This is something that should have happened in 1988, because we in Britain are more or less incapable of preserving warships with any degree of success.

HMS BELFAST, HMS VICTORY, HMS CAVAILIER, and a few others are the only warships preserved for posterity in the UK. It isn’t a matter of size. Even modestly proportioned mine hunters seem impossible to preserve in Britain.

Other nations have a tradition of preservation. The United States leads the way. India has even preserved an aircraft carrier. Australia has ships from its past on display.

Is it a British thing? Do we as a nation not care about our history? Warplanes find homes in museums at the end of their working lives, tanks too. The UK is a nation of heritage, with castles, country houses and crown jewels, yet with the odd exception, it seems impossible for us to preserve 3-thousand tonnes of steel in the form of a ship for future generations to enjoy.

Port fees, health and safety, politics, and cold hard cash – or the lack of it – always seem to get in the way.

That is why we should stop dreaming about preserving our old ships. A group in Barrow wanted to bring the former Royal Navy aircraft carrier invincible back to the town where she was built. They failed, and she ended up being scrapped. Half-hearted moves have been made to save Ark Royal from a similar fate, to convert her into a heliport, or renewable energy platform. No-doubt some good soul somewhere would like the decommissioned destroyer HMS LIVERPOOL to be brought “home” for preservation.

While the intentions are good, and the love is there, the reality lies forlorn, shabby, and bereft of dignity at a jetty on the Mersey right now. She sits, silent in pain, bucket loads of history echoing through her passageways, world weary hull plates showing their age, each dent telling a tale. A silent ship, a dead ship, live steam long gone from her turbines, water slapping on her hull the only sound she hears as the rust streaks spoil her once elegant lines. One day a tug will come and tow her away. A final trip for HMS PLYMOUTH that was a long time coming. A final trip that should have taken place a long, long time ago.

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MARS TANKERS – WHO FIRED THE EXOCET?

Posted on March 14, 2012 by admin

A press release came across my desk the other day describing the MOD’s decision to buy nearly half a Billion pounds-worth of new shipping from South Korea as an “Exocet to UK shipbuilding.”

On the face of it, the people behind the statement, the GMB union, may have a point. The UK government spending British money in foreign shipyards, depriving British workers of jobs, is just plain wrong.

The MOD is in a mess with procurement projects running in delay and over budget. The Aircraft Carrier acquisition has been a decade-long tale of deferred decisions, changed plans, and cost overruns. Helicopters have been bought that won’t fly properly because of the kit they were ordered with, and fast jets take so long from buying to flying that they are almost obsolete on delivery.

What has been needed for decades is smart purchasing. A common sense approach where we – that’s UK Plc. – knows what it wants, looks for the best deal, signs a contract, and takes delivery.

This is what Daewoo is offering with the order for 4 Royal Fleet Auxiliary (RFA) tankers. So good is the deal in fact that Daewoo even offered to finish these new ships in quick succession. Too quick as it turns out. The RFA – long starved of investment and forced to take its share of defence cuts – does not have the capability to take 4 new ships all at once. It has asked for the order to be staggered so it can have time to train with the new ships, conduct trials and get them operational one at a time.

These vessels are the culmination of the MARS programme – an acronym (No military project would be complete without one.) that stands for Military Afloat Reach and Sustainability. In layman’s terms, naval support ships, tasked with supplying warships with fuel and food. They are designed in the UK and British companies will get around £100M of business out of the project.

Which brings us back to the gripe the GMB union has about them being built overseas? The Exocet for UK shipbuilding comment may be true, but the question has to be asked, who fired that Exocet, and when did they do it?

In the decades after World War Two, British shipbuilding experienced a resurgence. Ships were being built in big commercial yards across the nation. Some yards specialised in warships, others cornered the market in cargo vessels. While this was happening, the competition was growing. First Japan, able to build commercial ships to a price and on time. Other nations followed, offering customers what they wanted at prices they liked. At the same time, British yards were still taking orders, but workers were often striking, working to rule, or employing restrictive practices in order – their unions told them – to save their jobs. The truth was they were making their businesses less competitive. They were the ones, 20, 30, 40 years ago, firing salvos of Exocets into their own companies. Customers in the market for new ships weren’t interested in pay negotiations or strikes over tea breaks. They took their business elsewhere.

The buyers went overseas, and the multitude of shipyards that once populated the industrial rivers of the UK, dwindled to the levels we see today. The union men who did so little to save jobs signed on the dole, the yards were demolished, and RFA tankers now come from Korea rather than the Clyde, or a host of other UK rivers which would once have been in the running for an order like this.

There is also one vital point to note. When the MOD invited tenders to build the MARS ships, not one British shipyard got back to them.

An Exocet indeed for UK shipbuilding.

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Falklands – Can “Little Boats” Win War Of Words?

Posted on February 13, 2012 by dan

“SOMEWHERE is the English ship sailing to the Falklands, but the English only have one little boat left.”
These are the words of the world’s longest serving dictator and long-time purveyor of anti-west and anti-colonial sentiment, Fidel Castro, on hearing that a British Type 45 Destroyer is en-route to the South Atlantic.
Castro – The man, who with the help of the USSR and the USA – once brought the world to the brink of nuclear war, is today often dismissed as a crackpot dictator. His opinions post-cold war, are increasingly irrelevant. However, to many in Latin America and beyond, he may have a point. It is that point that Argentina can capitalise on if it wants to eventually win possession of the Falkland Islands. There is also something in what he says that Britain could use to its own advantage.

The UK is not the military nation it once was. Britannia didn’t rule the waves back in 1982 when a task force was dispatched to retake the Falklands. Today, the situation is even less favourable. We have no carriers, what surface ships we have are heavily committed to duties around the world, and our submarine force can muster little more than a handful of boats.
Argentina is playing a clever game, a PR conflict where it appears as the injured party. The victim of colonialists looking for a last shot at glory, hungry for oil. Oil it says it has a right to. It has secured political and moral support from neighbours in the region, all backing the Argentine claim to Las Islas Malvinas – as the islands are known to most in the world.
The rights and wrongs of who owns what and why have been going on for decades. One thing is for sure, for anyone who has walked along Ross Road – the main road through the Falklands’ capital Port Stanley – or who has bought a few pints of beer in the town’s Globe pub, the islands are a little chunk of Britain. They may be stuck several hundred miles off the coast of continental South America, but it isn’t difficult to believe you are in Stornaway rather than Stanley. The place has the air of a Scottish island. More baked beans, football scores and pop music than corned beef, polo and tangos.
There no realistic prospect of Argentina taking the islands by force. It can’t, it doesn’t have the military gear to do it. In 1982 like Britain, it had an aircraft carrier. That went for scrap more than a decade ago. Its once state-of-the art British-built Type 42 Destroyers are not the force they once were. One is decommissioned; the other has been converted into a troop transport. Despite this ingenious refit, and the presence of a logistics ship in the Argentine navy, there is no prospect of the country launching another full scale amphibious assault on the islands. Memories are long, and the threat to hostile shipping posed by the Royal Navy’s nuclear submarine fleet cannot be ignored. Argentina still laments the loss of the cruiser General Belgrano at the hands of the British hunter-killer submarine Conqueror.
In the air, Argentina can muster the same French made Super Etendard Exocet-carrying planes it fielded in 1982. That is a threat that cannot be discounted. All it takes is one lucky strike to escalate the war of words into a full-blown conflict.
With the giant Mount Pleasant garrison built after 1982, the Falklands are probably one of the best defended pieces of real estate in the southern hemisphere. The base can quickly be resupplied by air from the UK. The RAF’s C17 transport aircraft give the UK a true global reach. The squadron of Typhoon jets on station there are more than a match for Argentina’s elderly aircraft which would be dependent on a few ancient air-to-air tanker planes to complete missions over the islands.

With only political support from most of its neighbours, the prospect of a United States of South America attack on the Falklands is also slim. What would Chile and Brazil gain from a war with the UK? Trade embargos and bad feeling at best. Sunk ships, downed planes and dead countrymen at worst. Even the USA, a country forced to look both ways over the Falklands, would have to make a decision on who to support, and make that position public one way or the other.

There is one nation that is very vocal in its backing for Argentina, Venezuela. Its president, Hugo Chavez even going as far as to offer military help to Argentina in its quest to retake the Falklands. As an international pain in the backside, Chavez has no real allies to lose by mixing it with the UK. What’s more, he has a decent little navy to help him do it.

Venezuela could bring a squadron of Italian built Lupo Class frigates to Argentina’s aid. Two elderly but still viable German Type 209 submarines and several modern, stealthy offshore patrol vessels delivered in the last few years from Spain. Add those to Argentina’s German-designed MEKO frigates, ex-French replenishment ship and its own small German-designed submarine flotilla, and you have a force that could cause the UK some difficulties.

Difficulties that stop short of shooting. Difficulties that cannot be dealt with by a torpedo or missile. The sort of difficulties Iceland caused the UK during the 1970s Cod wars. Then simple but robust patrol ships disrupted the work of British fishing vessels, and used non-lethal tactics like ramming RN warships sent to the area.

HMS DAUNTLESS the RN ship currently on station in the South Atlantic, is one of the most advanced ships of her type in the world. Her Sea Viper missile system combined with modern sensors and a radar-absorbing design, make her hard to spot, and equally hard to hit. So why would a motley collection of middle aged South American frigates and submarines, elderly aircraft and lightly armed patrol ships cause her a problem? Because the moment Dauntless opens fire, Argentina wins the PR battle. It gains sympathy and even legitimacy in its desire to own the Falklands. The same goes for the RN’s nuclear submarines deployed in the region. With a weapon load that could destroy Argentina’s blue water navy and air bases in minutes, the moment any British sub bears it’s teeth, the UK loses the talking war. Argentina cries aggression at the UN, images of floating wreckage and body bags circulate across the globe, and the UK is seen as the colonial bully, making one last stand while it can.

This is how Argentina can gain ground in the quest for the Malvinas. By blockading, harassing and generally making a nuisance of itself in the waters around the Falklands. With the search for oil continuing there, and with fishing vessels paying big money to trawl local waters, there are plenty of opportunities for Argentina to act. Already Falkland-flagged ships have trouble visiting South American ports. The one commercial air service to the islands from the mainland (Chile) is under threat. Behaviour like this can keep a lot of British military hardware very busy while keeping its hands firmly tied. A good negotiating position from Argentina’s point of view.

Britain no-longer has Nimrod – the RAF’s long-range maritime patrol aircraft was scrapped in the last defence review. Nimrod would have brought so much to this situation. Its ability to cruise for hours, watching, listening, taking note, would be invaluable should Argentina – with or without Venezuela – decide to embark on a campaign of harassment against the Falklands.

Afloat, the RN would face low-intensity operations with ships optimised for high-intensity warfare. A Type 45 destroyer or Type 23 frigate that can track multiple high-speed missile contacts, that is designed to deliver terrible destruction, would be used to do little more than observe and warn. The Royal Navy would sit there with all its hi-tech gear and weaponry, watching Argentine patrol vessels testing the international rule of law, pushing the boundaries as far as they dare, armed with nothing more sophisticated than small calibre guns and bravado.

The Royal Navy does have one ship in the Falklands that is up to the job, HMS CLYDE. A lightly-armed offshore patrol vessel, she is tasked with protecting the islands’ territorial waters, and is the best weapon Britain has down there if the peace is to be kept without recourse to overwhelming violence. Clyde has three sister ships – The River Class – Tyne, Mersey and Severn. Smaller than HMS CLYDE, they are fishery protection vessels, more familiar with enforcing EU laws off the coast of Scarborough or the Shetlands, than facing-off a would be foes in the waters off Stanley. It is a force like this that could defeat Argentina’s ambitions. Low on firepower, low on technology, and therefore a very politically sensitive target if attacked. The River Class could act like the traditional bobby on the beat, there as a presence, upholding the law, the clichéd thin blue line, able to use self-defence, but like the modern police officer, also able to call for armed back-up should things get out of hand.

So, something of what Fidel Castro thinks could be right. Perhaps a “little boat” is needed to keep peace and sovereignty intact in the waters of the South Atlantic.

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OCEAN AND APACHE – OUTDATED DOCTRINE AND A GAME OF RISK.

Posted on May 24, 2011 by dan

THE UK’s fearsome Apache helicopter is to see service in Libya. Its deployment – and the way it is being employed – exposes holes in Britain’s military doctrine and real gaps in capability caused by the 2010 defence review.

Had this war been fought six months ago, then we would have seen a very different situation. Britain would have deployed an aircraft carrier to Libya. A ship, sitting off the coast but over the horizon, that could carry a well-equipped aircraft designed for the sort of close air support missions which the UK military is about to become involved in. Harrier GR9 jets, armed with precision guided bombs, and sophisticated anti-armour missiles. Jets flown by pilots well experienced in this sort of warfare.

This is not December 2010. It is May 2011, and for the Royal Navy, the Harrier has gone.

HMS OCEAN – the Royal Navy’s biggest ship – is to deploy to Libya with Apache helicopters on board.

The move sheds light on recent events in Libya. A few days ago what remained of Gaddafi’s navy was attacked at its moorings. Elderly ex-eastern bloc frigates were destroyed along with his anti-ship missile carrying corvettes and fast attack craft. A job that was vital, considering the UK’s only serviceable “flat-top” is going to be put into harm’s way off the Libyan coast.

Submarines aside, there is little more frightening to the crew of a big warship than a voyage into hostile littoral waters where fast attack craft patrol. Small, agile and well armed, they are capable of devastating destruction.

Now HMS OCEAN is being sent into such waters. The risk from Gaddafi’s navy has been minimised, but really there should be no need to send a ship the size of Ocean into such a situation.

Apache helicopters carry state-of-the art radar, communications, sensors and weapons. They can do things no fixed-wing bomber can do. An Apache can get up-close and personal with an enemy, bringing the war to his doorstep. Its sensors are so good, individuals can be identified. In a conflict like Libya, where Gaddafi’s soldiers are ditching uniforms in favour of civilian garb, the line between good guys and bad is blurred. Apache definitely has a role here. But at what price?

What you really need are boots on the ground. Troops to take on an enemy face-to-face. Politically, (for the time being at least) that course of action is out of the question. It has to be noted, that for Apache helicopters to operate in Libya, there will be some sort of ground controllers – Special Forces soldiers – to spot for the airborne crews.

Because helicopters do not have the range of fast jets, HMS OCEAN will have to bring herself fairly close to Libya’s coastline. This will have to be done every time a flight of Apache is launched or recovered. In 1982 during the Falklands war, the Royal Navy nearly lost a warship to a missile strike launched from land. On that occasion, the ship in question had to be there, it was bombarding shore targets

Military planners are treating this helicopter carrier as if it were a fully fledged attack carrier.

Though designed to operate helicopters like Apache, Ocean’s role – which was demonstrated in the 2003 Iraq war with Lynx helicopters – is to send aircraft ashore to a forward operating base. She is there to support the squadrons in their deployment, acting as a mother ship, a maintenance facility.

We can’t have boots on the ground, so we can’t put Apache ashore to work from a forward base. We haven’t got the seaborne fast jets for close air support. Instead, we are putting a strategically important warship, her crew, and the crew of her embarked helicopter force in a very precarious position.

If the UK is to operate without a fixed-wing carrier, it has to get out of the fixed-wing carrier mindset. Ocean is not the floating steel airfield we could depend on not so long ago. She is a valuable, but vulnerable helicopter carrier sailing into dangerous waters. Waters she really has no business in.

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MORE DEFENCE CUTS – WHAT TO CHOP?

Posted on May 21, 2011 by dan

THE bloodbath that was the 2010 defence review is barely drained, and with the UK involved in 2 conflicts, the MOD wants more savings.

Getting sentiment out of the way quickly and the rights and wrongs of more cuts, lets look at what is left in the Royal Navy to chop.

Mine Warfare – Unglamorous but highly specialised, our fleet of sophisticated mine warfare vessels is unlikely to be a target. America loves what we do, and freely admits to relying on British expertise to keep their ships safe in hostile multi-national operations.

The minesweepers are safe, so that leaves planned cuts to the navy’s escort forces.

The Type 22s – despite their recently demonstrated value – have gone or are going after a very brief stay of execution. That leaves the remaining Type 42 destroyers. Old and in poor condition, the time has come for the RN to accept that the venerable Sheffield Class has to go. In terms of hull numbers, it will be a blow, but as all of the class are slated for scrap soon, the early retirement of Liverpool, Gloucester, Edinburgh and York must surely be on the cards.

Failing that, it again falls to the big ticket item to take the hit. HMS ILLUSTROUS, the sole survivor of the 3-ship Invincible Class is due out of refit very soon, and due to return for one last short commission in 2012. One of the most advanced communication platforms anywhere, Illustrious is much more than what appears at face value to be an elderly, expensive to run, Harrier-less Harrier carrier. Her sensors and communications capability must be a big miss to forces operating out in Libya. The problem is – like the fixed wing bombers she could once deploy – the armed forces are showing they can do without her.

Just because they can do without Illustrious, it does not mean they should do without.

A juicy target for the bean counters, and the badly informed, Illustrious is pointless and expensive. The admirals must now make that case for keeping her as strongly as they can.

For the army to face cuts means bad, potentially vote-losing publicity. Front-line redundancy headlines are hard to justify. With Bin Laden dead, the moral impetus for the Afghan adventure is much less. Time to face up to more tough choices.

No-one who supports defence should want cuts. Perhaps now its is time for the army to take some of the financial flak that the light blue and dark blue forces have taken for so long.

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TYPE 26 – 21st CENTURY TURBINIA?

Posted on April 23, 2011 by dan

A look at this link gives us a glimpse of the Royal Navy’s future frigate.

http://www.baesystems.com/Businesses/SurfaceShips/PlatformsandProgrammes/GlobalCombatShip/index.htm

The Type 26, a decent bit of kit. Good, honest, British warship technology that will without doubt – after a few twists and turns – develop into a world class but very expensive warship.

It is the future – but it all seems just a little old hat.

New ship, old design philosophy. That same philosophy that has served the Royal Navy since Parsons’ steam turbine engine Turbinia ruffled feathers of admirals back in 1897.

Turbinia broke the mould. With new steam turbine engines replacing the reciprocating steam plants of earlier ships, it’s razor-thin hull and hi-tech propellers setting a new benchmark. Tradition was turned in its head.

Turbinia is now tradition.. This can be seen in the latest Royal Navy Type 45 destroyers, and the rendering above of the Type 26 frigate.

Any warship design is a compromise, a balance between capability, possibility and cost. Sometimes they get the balance right, sometimes they don’t.

The Type 26 gives the UK the chance to go back to basics, to begin with a no holds barred approach.

Start with questions.

• What do we want the ship to do?

• How many do we want?

• What can we afford?

The first steps to a new generation warship have to begin here.

We want a ship to be a world class escort. To protect carrier and amphibious task groups from submarines and other threats. A ship that can operate independently, that can protect it’s self that can mix high-threat high-tempo military operations with flag waving, humanitarian aid and intelligence gathering. A platform for peacekeeping operations, a vessel to track and take on drug smugglers one month, pirates the next, and terrorists the month after.

We want perhaps 15 units and we need to make these affordable.

To produce a high-tech product in relatively small numbers will be very expensive. We therefore either look to build the ships with a partner, build with a view to export, or look at what is out there and either join existing projects or buy ready-made kit.

Or, in the spirit of Turbinia, break that mould.

Long, thin, fast monohull warships have served us well, but what about short, fat trimaran? Stable,stealthy platforms with lots of space of helicopters, weapons and other equipment.

Why can’t a frigate be able to accommodate a couple of hundred troops, their helicopters and equipment? Why not build it with a big internal space that can house a containerised hospital one deployment, or state of the art submarine detection equipment the next?

The designers and planners have to move away from traditional thinking for every aspect of the Type 26.. In an ideal world these vessels should be built in Britain. If that impacts significantly on cost, then this needs rethinking. Can we get the hulls assembled to our own design at a fraction of the cost overseas? A new warship project should not be entered into as a job creation scheme for British shipyards. It should be about value for money, and excellence in design. Could we find an international partner who in turn for saving us costs on building, by doing it for us cheaper, could pick up ships for its own use at a discount?

What about a ship pool? Leasing new ships of a common design with other nations. Imagine the savings if say 3 countries ordered 30 ships on lease between them. Cuts on running costs, and improved availability for sea.

Design the ship with flexible, drop-in weapons systems. If the RN needs top end sensors and the latest generation missiles, fine. Another customer may want cheaper kit, or locally built equipment. Make this possible by being flexible.

If the MOD and Royal Navy embraces the spirit of Parson’s Turbinia, learns from the past, but also abandons preconceptions, it is just possible we will have a world-beater on their hands.

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