23 ft underwater, aboard ARA San Luis,
Frigate-Captain Azcueta finished his periscope sweep, as San Luis crept along at 5 knots, searching for more British warships. Hopefully, they had also dodged the single antisub helicopter that had been dropping sonobouys sporadically around the area.
For the past hour and a half, they had fought a hit and run battle with two antisub vessels after their Atlas Elektronik CSU 3, detected in passive mode the distant hint of a contact, shortly after classified as either a Type 21 or Type 22 class frigate.
But had been forced to break contact after their fire control system had broken down – and the Signaal M8/24 Fire Control Computer was broken beyond the repair capabilities of the junior NCOs in charge of its operation.
The fire control system is the brain of an attack submarine and it, fed by the diverse sensors searching the outside ocean, allows the submarine to resolve a fire control solution, in order to shoot straight-running or homing torpedoes. The M8/24 underwater fire control system could simultaneously track and prepare fire control solutions for three targets, and control three torpedoes aimed at those. The system could be used not only to calculate torpedo lead angles but also to process all sensor data to give target positions and vectors. It could simultaneously display sonar, radar and periscope range and heading data.
It was a devastating loss. The breaking of the fire control computer left the submarine without her automatic fire capability and limited her to just one torpedo which could be guided, in manual (also called “emergency”) mode, by the crew.
But now, orders from the Commander of Argentine Submarine Forces had sent them back in to action, and professional pride demanded that they at least try to destroy some of the British vessels…
1000ft above, and two miles due West…
‘Ok, starting the run in to the next target coordinates…now!’ Murphy intoned over the intercom. As the Spectre roared sedately over the grid reference that Antrim had given them from their last sonar detection, Collier thumbed down on the release toggle, and a burst of three sonobouys erupted from the launch chute to the left of his cockpit, sploshing into the water moments later. Collier listened intently. ‘Nothing yet Boss’, he reported. The Spectre snarled on to circle the area once again.
Something had to break the stalemate, and something did. All of a sudden, there was a flurry of radio activity from the small group of British warships – Collier clasped his headphones to his ears, trying to make sense of the various calls, ‘Boss! Someone just lobbed a torpedo at Antrim!!’ Indeed, as Murphy looked to his right, he could see the vessel in question, turning hard to port, stern settling as maximum power was applied. ‘Set up a -46 shot, quick!’ snapped Murphy, as he swung the Spectre sharply onto a heading near where the torps had come from. ‘READY!’ shouted Collier, and Murphy brought the Spectre down to 150ft, and dropped their speed to 120 knots.
Collier counted them in ‘3,2,1…DROP!!’ Murphy jabbed his thumb down on the pickle button atop his control column, and underneath the centre pod of the fighter, two modified shotgun cartridges fired, driving ejector plates down onto the lugs holding one of the their two Mk-46 Antisub Torpedoes onto its pylon. The weapon separated cleanly, a drogue ‘chute trailing from its tail stabilising its flight through the air, ensuring it entered the water at the correct angle. The moment the torpedo sploshed gently into the sea, its motor span up, and it started searching…
Azcueta jerked away from the periscope as his sonar operator virtually screamed ‘TORPEDO!! Portside, aft quarter…250 metres and closing!!’
The Captain immediately started snapping out orders – ‘All ahead flank, rudder hard left, 15 degrees down bubble– release a decoy!’ Instantly, an enlisted man punched a guarded switch on the countermeasures panel, ejecting a gas generator cartridge into the sea, while San Luis performed a diving hard left turn, trying to hide beneath a thermocline layer. But the American built Mk-46 was too close, and accelerating too fast. The sonar operator looked up in horror at the Captain as they heard the torpedo blaze straight past their decoy…
‘HIT!!’ roared the sonar operator aboard Antrim, resulting in riotous cheering around the darkened room, but, as the officers and ratings chattered excitedly, the sonarman held up a hand for quiet ‘Wait…wait!...transient noises, no break up sounds – he’s surfacing!’
Murphy growled incoherently as they heard the news from Antrim, while Collier groused over the intercom ‘I told the armourers, I told them! That dinky little warhead on the -46 won’t stop a modern sub, but did they listen…nooo !! And…’
Murphy cut him off ‘Look, the sub’s on the surface, but…what the hell is he doing?’
Indeed, the San Luis was on the surface, listing heavily, with one of the rear ballast tanks torn open, but, instead of the usual flurry of activity associated with abandoning ship, neither Murphy or Collier could see anyone on the deck, apart from two figures that appeared in the subs conning tower. Then, the boat started to increase speed, and turn towards the Antrim group…
‘What the hell is he doing’, murmered Young, as he peered at the tactical plot in Antrim’s CIC. His brow furrowed as he noted the speed and direction the sub had assumed. His musings were interrupted by his Exec, who was poring over their copy of Jane’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, ‘Sir, that boat is listed as also being equipped with the MK-37 Torpedo!’ Young stiffened at that news: the Argentine torpedoes had, so far, proven to be…less than effective in combat, but, the US built accoustic homing torpedo was as simple as could be – and hard to jam. If the San Luis could reach Mk-37 range, they would likely salvo fire all eight tubes at their small group – a risk Young was not prepared to take. ‘Get ‘131’ back over there, tell them to re-attack! And get a radar plot on that sub, prepare the main guns for action…’
Aboard Spectre ‘131’
Both aviators were grimly focused on their task – stopping the Argentine submarine at all costs. By Collier’s reckoning, that had only a few minutes before the sub was in optimal Mk-37 range.
A view that was shared by the Captain of the San Luis. ‘Make ready ALL tubes, including opening the outer doors’ Azcueta ordered from his position in the conning tower. Momentarily, his Torpedo officer dutifully reported back ‘All tubes loaded with Mk-37’s, all outer doors open!’ San Luis surged forward through the increasing swells of the South Atlantic towards their target. Azcueta grimaced tightly – he would have his victory.
‘131’ howled in low and slow, lined up on the charging Argentine sub. Again, Collier counted down the attack, before Murphy pressed the pickle button, blowing their last Mk-46 off its pylon. Murphy arced the Spectre away to starboard, but, as Collier looked backwards over the rear of the fighter, he noticed something amiss. ‘Oh No’, he groaned, ‘Murphy, the drogue didn’t deploy!’ Collier watched helplessly as the torpedo slammed into the sea, breaking into 3 pieces, before swiftly sinking from sight. ‘Well’, observed Collier ‘that was fun – let’s go home now!’
Murphy shook his head, ruefully ‘Not yet mate – one more way we can try; the old fashioned way…’
Young turned to his Surface Action Officer in shock ‘ They said WHAT!! They need to get clear of that sub – not closer!’ The SAO shrugged helplessly. Young slammed his fist on the tactical plot in frustration. ‘Without a clear radar lock on that sub, we have to bombard the area – and we can’t guarantee they won’t get caught in the crossfire!’
Aboard Spectre ‘131’
Murphy reached out to his weapons control panel, and turned the selector knob from FUSELAGE STORES to CANNON, crossed his fingers, and pressed the arming switch.
During the mad scramble for the snap deployment, and the trip ‘down South’, 899’s engineers had worked tirelessly to prepare their aircraft for their 1st war deployment since The Suez Crisis. Many items of old equipment had been rapidly recovered from various hiding places throughout 899’s equipment dump, and that included their WW2 vintage Molins Cannons.
Developed by Royal Ordinance, the Molins was the result of the inspired decision to marry a QF 6-pounder Mk1 AT cannon, with an autoloader custom built by the Molins Machinery company, resulting in a fully automatic, 57mm autocannon, that could fire up to 55 rounds a minute, and punch through a U-boat hull even through 2 ft of water!
A distinctive ‘KaChunk…Thunk echoed from beneath the cockpit floor, as the autoloader slammed a round home into the cannon’s breech. Murphy grinned ‘Looks like it’s the old fashioned way then! – Adam, fire up the searchlight!’
Aboard the San Luis, Azcueta pounded his fist on the edge of the conning tower, as he harangued his engineers for more speed, his exec was lining up the bows with their best aiming point, when a call from the radar oprator came through, ‘Sir!air target approaching from astern, distance 2000 metres!’
Azcueta’s grin became more fierce, and he snapped out an order ‘Get a rifle squad onto the quarterdeck – we’ll show these British who’s boss!’
Just then, a strange, almost ethereal howling could be heard over the wind and the spray, and as Azcueta stared aft, a sense of dread started to form at the back of his mind. Then, his feeling was justified, as something from any submariners worst nightmares swooped down from the low cloud, dive flaps trailing, and engine screaming. A long, fat finger of light blazed from one wingtip, and Azcueta paled: there could only be one reason the British aircrew would light themselves up so…’GET DOWN!!’ He screamed to his Exec, just as the long nose of the Spectre was illuminated by a sickly yellow white flash, and the distinctive ripping – linen sound of an incoming shell could be heard over the howl of the engine.
‘BOOM!…BOOM!…BOOM!’ every second and a half signalled a stream of 57mm, 6–pound APHE shells heading their way – the first two shells splashed into the sea astern of the fleeing sub, but the third fired slammed into the already savaged ballast tank with a mighty WHANG!!, sending sparks and shrapnel flying everywhere. Each successive hit chewed further up the subs quarterdeck, a shell blazing through both sides of the conning tower narrowly missed Azcueta, before exploding on the other side of the tower, deafening the Captain, and pitching him to the deck. He was dimly aware of the Spectre passing overhead, more felt than heard.
As his hearing began to clear, Azcueta became aware of shouts, a curious crackling noise, and over all that, a sound all submariners feared and hated – the Fire Alarm.
‘FIRE!! FIRE IN THE AFT BATTERY BAY!!’
Azcueta peered of the back of the ruined conning tower, too numb even to marvel at his own narrow escape. Yes, there it was – acrid red smoke pouring out of two holes in the casing, directly over the aft battery banks – the sub was now a ticking time bomb, rapidly filling with poisonous, acidic smoke!
‘ALL HANDS – ABANDON SHIP! I REPEAT, ABANDON SHIP!!
Azcueta could now identify the voice as his Third Officer, and he staggered to the hatch, and assisted his Exec helping coughing, spluttering, glad to be alive sailors. Already, more men had gathered on the foredeck, and were already lowering inflatable dinghies onto the surface of the sea. As the Third Officer appeared at the top of the ladder, and announced that the vessel was evacuated, Azcueta made to head back down the ladder – the Exec, and the Third Officer shared a look, and, as one, grabbed the Captain, one to each arm.
‘No, my Captain’, said the Exec gently. ‘No. Your men need you.’ He gestured to the men, sitting in their dinghies, looking up at their Commanding Officers.
Azcueta simply nodded, and resignedly allowed his officers to assist him down the conning tower ladder, across the foredeck, and into the last dinghy. As soon as they were aboard, the sailors manning the oars heaved mightily – no-one wanted to hang around nearer to San Luis longer than they had to.
They were looking back at the stricken sub, when the fire reached the LOX tanks – there was a distinct, and overloud POP! sound, and the entire boat seemed to briefly bulge at every seam, before, with a violent bubbling, and hissing of steam and smoke from the open hatches, the sub slid silently beneath the waves, one last time.
Epilogue
The Argentine Navy, in an attempt to salvage what was left of their reputation, have never publicly admitted that San Luis was lost that day, and in an attempt to salve wounded pride, and preserve the precarious peace, the UK Government have never pressed the issue.
What observers may find curious, is that a few days after Operation Paraquat was completed, the second Type 209 submarine, ARA Salta, was launched to attack the British Fleet. The vessel then returned to port a few days later, the Argentine Navy citing equipment failures that prevented the boat’s operational use. ARA San Luis then, apparently, returned to port during the night, and played no further part in the Falklands Conflict. What is strange is that neither submarine was ever seen in the same port, at the same time – and furthermore, during the abortive ‘refit’ of San Luis, (that resulted in the sub being scrapped!), both subs were in refit at the same time, but tellingly, only one vessel left the covered docks!
Whatever the truth of the matter, if you are at RNAS Yeovilton on Navy Day, and if the organisers have managed to round up enough ear defenders for the crowd, then you may be lucky enough to see the last airworthy Supermarine Spectre ASW1, nose no. 131 put on its usual noisily awesome display. And, if you were to approach the aircraft later in the day, at the static park, duck under the rope keeping out the punters, and peer into the starboard wheel well, you may well find the silhouette of a submarine painted there, along with a date: 25/4/82.
