There are several important features of this photograph, taken in 1992. To my knowledge, the Royal Navy had not done it before. It was thus the first time, I’m proud to write. After HMS Chatham I don’t think the Royal Navy did it again with general service sailors. Boarding a ship from a helicopter: too much money at stake in the tribunal courts.
You might notice that the rotors of the helicopter are close to the Bridge which is why I was landing at the most forward part of the Forecastle. If I missed I would be killed as a 5,300 Tonne warship drove over me. In those days we didn’t do risk assessments; we just did it. I don’t think that even the Special Boat Service would do that today. On reflection it is truly scary.
One of the most important decisions to make before boarding: helo or boat? A collective one, made in a few minutes, at the highest levels of command as we had to calculate coldly the various threats and outcomes, standing on the Bridge with the latest intelligence reports, weather forecast and looking at the target from a couple of miles away with photographs of the target vessel taken overhead by our helicopter to identify appropriate landing areas and hazards such as overhead cables. That is, in essence, making decisions without reference to anyone else. We just knew and got on with it because we were professional naval officers. You cannot learn it in a university lecture room.
“Merchant vessel, this is British warship on your Starboard quarter”. “I will board in 5 minutes”. “Do you hear me, over?”
“British warship, I don’t understand, over”.
“I say again, this is British warship”. “I repeat, I will board in 5 minutes”. “You do not need to slow down unless I detain and take you to the nearest safe port”.
The Captain nods his command approval from his chair on the Bridge. Recorded formally in the Bridge Log by the Navigator. One can see from the camera screen on the Bridge that the helicopter is spinning its rotors on the Flight Deck, with the team onboard, just waiting for the Boarding Officer to embark, one minute later.
How many engineers, or even seamen officers, have had this conversation on international radio airwaves? People often question the value of the UK’s armed forces. Those maritime interdiction boarding, policing, operations alone saved billions in insurance for the UK’s merchant shipping industry and for the economy of the country, just knowing that there was someone friendly nearby and on hand to protect them.
Being the boarding officer required me to be armed with a pistol, loaded with live ammunition. Allowing an engineer officer to have a rifle was deemed as serious as allowing him to hold a spanner. Best not done. You never know what damage he may do otherwise. Watch Johnny English; my wife’s favourite films. Which is why I had instead a bodyguard armed with a rifle and live ammunition.
A marine engineering mechanic from Lancashire. They don’t come much more fearless than that. The same height and weight as me but you would not want to upset him. He was specifically chosen by the departmental coordinators as he was in my department and therefore had greater loyalty than might have been the case if he was from another department. He normally jumped out of the helicopter first for obvious reasons and me second. Except on this occasion as we were trying it for the first time at sea on the Forecastle with no potential enemy onboard. Better then to let the officer try it first; I would not have it any other way.
I refused to muster any crews on the Forecastle of the ship that we were about to board as a senior NATO officer ordered me to do. I was taught that orders have to be legal but also sensible and reasonable. It was quite possibly the most difficult discussion in my career with my Executive Officer sitting in to listen in the Wardroom, and to arbitrate if needed - one of the most intelligent men that I’ve known. I did feel though that I had been put on the spot deliberately. Not the first time in my working life. Wisely, he said nothing as he was second in command and sometimes had to sit in the Captain’s chair on the Bridge; not part of the embarked NATO staff. But he did nod his approval and debriefed the Captain afterwards who agreed with my view.
It was the standard practice of the US Navy, the French and the German navies to use only special forces and to stop ships in the water, at considerable cost and inconvenience to the masters of those vessels. Give me a break: French and German navies. What do they know about seamanship and naval fighting? Time is money in business. Which is why the merchant ships always preferred and were grateful being boarded by the Brits.
In my view, as a pragmatic engineer, it would jeopardise the safety of me and my team by annoying the crew unnecessarily. If a hidden terrorist was onboard he certainly wouldn’t muster on the upperdeck with the crew. Instead I always mustered the crew in their recreational space where they would be comfortable and could be checked by my petty officer.
I likened the idea to a policeman pulling out his pistol and aiming it directly at your head after stopping you for driving 5 miles an hour over the speed limit. Fine for Americans but not my idea of decent, civilised and intelligent English policing, as it was when I was pulled over by them 5 or more times for riding my motorcycles way too fast.
In return we were always given a safety escort to the Bridge and a firm handshake by the Master. “As Salamu Alaykum”; “Alaykum Salam”. A cup of hot black coffee and dates.
My Captain, who commanded the ship, agreed unequivocally with his deputy marine engineer and the NATO commander, who was actually more senior as the Flag Commodore, was told to sling his hook, politely and nicely of course in the most English manner. The Commodore was a Royal Navy officer so took it the right way.
What you see in the photograph is the combined product of thousands of billions of pounds and investment over five centuries in equipment, men and their training and people who believed in and loved their little island. “Nelson” by Tom Pocock is essential reading in this respect. I’ll tell you something for free though. Jumping from an inherently unstable helicopter onto a moving vessel at sea takes some conviction, especially when the vessel rolls in choppy seas and the landing space moves out of view as you are sliding down the rope, rapidly, and the mast is inches from the helicopter’s rotors.
I’m here only because of the extreme skill of the Sea King and Lynx pilots, observers, crews of the ship and helicopters and the incredible courage of my personal bodyguard and the professional support of the rest of the Boarding Team. Cheers ship mates. I still owe you a lot of beers.
A few years later I was the Duty Commanding Officer of HMS Cornwall and called to a bar by the Italian police because some of my ship mates were getting a bit boisterous with them. I read recently an insightful comment that if you see Italian police then you know there will be trouble. As I arrived in a blue lighted police car someone gave me a small bottle of Peroni and everyone immediately ‘chilled out’. I was in evening dress uniform, deliberately without my cap, but had that beer with them. I was their Marine Engineer Officer. And in reality their protector. What was the Italian police going to do exactly?
That’s the thing about the Royal Navy. It is, or was, somewhat inexplicable to civilians. It’s just what we did okay. Letting down our hair after a few tense weeks policing merchant shipping in hot weather. How would you play out that scenario?
The two chaps above with blue helmets were part of the naval air squadron support team. The one with the red stripes was a naval doctor. The Sea King helicopter was piloted by one of the most superb, intelligent and lovely gentlemen that you could ever meet. The chap standing by the open door at the after end was the Observer; the war fighter of the aircraft and in this case the Flight Commander, directing the Pilot. The petty officer guiding the rope was the winch controller although this was a rope, not a wire. It was an inch thick and coiled on the deck in a circle of about a yard wide. You connected it to the winch, threw it out and thought of England.
Then, crucially, you can see that I’m not going to land on a small yardage of metal on a ship weighing more than 5300 Tonnes at high speed unless the navigator or pilot moves the ship a few inches to the right, or Starboard as we say in the Navy. What incredible collective skills of the pilot, the observer and our navigator. Brilliant men and superbly skilled, each and all. They were the bestest ship mates, ever. If I remember rightly the navigator went on to be an admiral. I’m not surprised.
That’s the Navy I joined. We played Mess Rugby, better described as brotherly warfare, after formal dinners harder than you can imagine. Broken bones were acceptable. Don’t tell any flakes today. We did so because we were fighters. Hard, intelligent bastards but always kindly gentlemen. In the space of two days the Executive Officer had lost his Deputy Marine Engineer Officer, me, because of a broken foot, from playing Mess Rugby and his Doctor, who had a broken rib also from playing Mess Rugby.
When the boat’s crew of HMS Cornwall was captured by the Iranian Navy that was the most shameful memory of my naval career although I had retired from the RN by that time. I’m convinced that only because there was a woman onboard that boat did the RN surrender to a bunch of pirates. If my Lancashire bodyguard was in it alongside me and my all male boarding team, first I would not have put ourselves in that position and, second, if hijacked we would have fought to the end. Foxtrot Oscar.
A requirement to be a boarding officer was to complete the Dunker training course at the Royal Naval Air Station at Yeovilton where they turn you upside down in total darkness in a helicopter simulator, a metal cage, underwater, with no breathing equipment, from which you have to escape with five other men. Which way is up? Which way is down? Where is the nearest escape hatch?
You only escape if you are relaxed about the threat of drowning. Swimming at 4 years old obviously helped. I could almost breath water. It seemed natural to me to be in water. And to this day. Whenever I board an aircraft I look for the nearest escape routes before sitting down and read the safety cards and pay attention to the air crew. Every time.