Cold War Command: The Dramatic Story of a Nuclear Submariner

15 The Black Pig and the Red Banner Fleet

In September 1984 Conley assumed command of HMS Valiant. The SSN, attached to the Third Submarine Squadron, was undergoing extensive maintenance in dry dock at Faslane following her recent three-month deployment to the South Atlantic. After an introduction to those officers not on leave, Conley completed a short handover from Commander Chris Wreford-Brown, who had been in Valiant since the end of 1982, following his critical period in command of HMS Conqueror during the Falklands War.

Commissioned in 1966, Valiant was the first nuclear submarine of all- British design, though her propulsion system owed much to the American model of two steam generators — or boilers — in the reactor compartment providing steam to two turbines, which were coupled through a gearbox onto one propeller shaft. However, unlike her American contemporaries, as previously stated, the machinery spaces were very congested and maintaining her equipment was very difficult. Worse, this was exacerbated by the inevitable first-of-class problems and the poor design of some of the auxiliary systems. Accordingly, Valiant was all too often affected by serious engineering defects which had earned her the nickname of the ‘Black Pig’.

Since her commissioning, successive engineering teams had laboured in exceedingly hot and cramped conditions to repair yet another defect. The long hours of contorting repair work had often delayed her in harbour and the knock-on effect disrupted operational programmes, giving the boat a poor name and sometimes depressing the morale of her people. Despite individual instances of personal courage aimed at keeping Valiant operational, service in the Black Pig yielded few fond memories for her engineering staff.

During her first commission a fire was detected in the machinery spaces whilst the submarine was at sea. The propulsion plant was promptly shut down and the senior engineer officer immediately raced into the affected compartment dressed in his pyjamas with a hand-held extinguisher to tackle the flames. He thus prevented the fire becoming serious.

While shadowing a Soviet nuclear submarine in the Mediterranean on her second commission, a seawater pipe burst in the reactor compartment, activating a flood alarm. Rapidly brought to the surface, Valiant’s reactor was shut down and her diesel engines started. The noise of these evolutions alerted the Russian boat and it returned to periscope depth to find out what was going on. The bridge watchkeepers on Valiant spotted her periscope rapidly closing in what was assumed to be an aggressive approach, and a nearby American destroyer was called in to ward her off. It was only years later that it was established that the Russian captain had no hostile intent and, having seen smoke pouring from Valiant’s conning tower, thought she was in trouble and was closing to offer assistance. The smoke was in fact the exhaust from the diesel generators.

Nothing in this respect changed during Commander Conley’s time in Valiant. For example, when deep in the Atlantic Ocean on 24 February 1986, his diary entry records the separate incidents of a serious flood caused by a fractured fully pressurised seawater pipe, a major steam leak in the engine room, and a temporary loss of propulsion. Against this catalogue of intermittent and demanding incidents, when HMS Valiant was at sea with her propulsion plant behaving itself, she notched up some notable operational achievements, of which her officers and ratings were justifiably proud.

In 1967, shortly after entering service, she became the first Royal Naval submarine to undertake a completely submerged passage from Singapore to home waters. In 1981 she had taken part in the Royal Navy’s first tactical evaluation under the Arctic pack ice, which explored the problems unique to the approach and attack of a submarine in this environment. The following year she had played an active part in the Falklands War, stationed close to the Argentine coast, blockading the enemy’s naval forces and providing the British Task Group with early warning of air raids. For his part, during 1985, Conley was to take the Valiant on two patrols in the eastern Atlantic, where she achieved success in hunting out submarines of that part of the Russian Navy based in the Arctic and known as the Red Banner Fleet.

However, Conley’s first significant task after taking command was a diplomatic and social one, when in late November Valiant berthed in the Royal Norwegian Navy base at Haakonsvern, near Bergen, to participate in a series of events commemorating the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Norwegian Submarine Service. The submarines of six other nations, including that of West Germany, were present and the culmination of the commemoration celebrations was a Sunday morning parade of the submarine crews and their inspection by Crown Prince Harald. Unfortunately, the West German contingent was conspicuous by its absence, the bus arranged to bring them from their boat to the parade ground having failed to materialise. Understandably, in that atmosphere of rapprochement, this failure was seen by the senior German officers present to be a snub, a reminder of Norway’s sensitivity over German occupation during the Second World War.

With the parade over, Valiant then played host to the President of Norway, Per Hysing-Dahl, and his grandchildren who, needless to say, were enthralled at the invitation to explore the inside of a nuclear submarine. The visit was concluded by tea in the wardroom and members of the duty watch were much surprised by the informality of the occasion. There was no police escort and Hysing-Dahl emphatically insisted on absolutely no special arrangements being made for him or his kin.

On return from Norway, Valiant continued a varied programme of exercises and trials at sea, including a number of tactical evaluations run by the Royal Navy Devron equivalent — STWG. Conley noted that the structure and conduct of these evaluations was not on a professional par with those of the United States Navy. He considered that in order to reach an equivalent standard, much more effort would be required to hone tactical development and analysis within the Royal Navy. The Valiant also undertook a number of firings of the new heavyweight torpedo Spearfish, which was then undergoing development trials, prior to it being introduced into service to replace the unreliable and limited Tigerfish. Thus Conley was able to gain early and first-hand insight into the many problems which were to affect this new weapon system and significantly delay its operational introduction. Yet again, the Royal Navy was to face severe problems with a new torpedo.

It could not be supposed that service in the Black Pig would proceed smoothly. Perhaps the embarkation of the Sunday Times defence correspondent, James Adams, undertaking an ‘off the record’ familiarisation passage on the submarine, was too much of a temptation to the gods. In March 1985 Valiant was at sea, submerged in the Clyde Estuary, when she suffered a serious engineering problem. In the early evening, the senior engineer officer, Lieutenant Commander Andrew Miller, reported that a high-temperature alarm was registering in the reactor compartment. The port main turbine and the port turbo-generator, one of two vital steam-driven electrical generators, were already out of commission owing to suspected seawater contamination of their cooling systems. The reactor needed to be shut down quickly and its compartment entered to identify this second serious problem. This was rapidly accomplished and the engineers found a small, high-pressure leak on the starboard of the two boilers. Fortunately, it was on the non-radioactive part of the system, but it required that the affected boiler be shut down and isolated before the reactor was started up again.

All the intensive training of the nuclear engineering team came to the fore as they cross-connected the good port boiler to the available starboard turbo-generator and engine turbine. This provided sufficient limited power for the Valiant to surface and limp back to Faslane for repairs. For Conley this episode built up great confidence that his engineering team could contend with just about anything the Black Pig could throw at them. Whilst he could easily have published a story with sensational headlines along the lines of a British nuclear submarine having a hole in its reactor, Adams very honorably disclosed absolutely nothing about the incident.

After several weeks of repairs, Valiant was back at sea and on a mission which Conley relished — a three-week operational patrol aimed at detecting and trailing Russian submarines operating to the west of the United Kingdom. However, before proceeding out to the designated patrol areas, there was the task of committing to the deep the ashes of Lieutenant Commander Alastair Mars, DSO, DSC*. After a distinguished career as a submarine commander in the Second World War, Mars had had an unhappy time, incurring the displeasure of Their Lordships of the Admiralty. Finding it difficult to adapt to the peacetime navy and unable to live on his pay, Mars was for a while incarcerated in a naval hospital before being dismissed from the Service in 1952, having been found guilty of insubordination. At the time this was considered by many as a very contentious and undeserved sentence imposed upon a gallant officer — the future prime minister and former naval officer, James Callaghan, raised the matter in the House of Commons. Turning to writing, Mars had a number of novels and works of autobiography published, occasionally returning to sea as a watch-keeping officer in Ocean Weather Ships (OWS). He lived for some years near the Ocean Weather Ships’ base in Greenock and died in March 1985.

A few days before Valiant’s departure, Mars’s frail widow had brought his ashes onboard and handed them to Conley for safe keeping. Proceeding to Loch Long, the brief committal ceremony was conducted from the casing of the Valiant in very gusty conditions, a belated tribute recognising Mars’s courage and very distinguished wartime record. The ceremony over, Valiant embarked her towed acoustic array from an auxiliary craft and then headed out to her patrol areas in the Shetland — Faeroes Gap.

Since joining Valiant Conley had spent a considerable amount of time training the control-room team in approach tactics using data from the towed acoustic array. To perfect his own methods, he had the array’s tow cable length shortened and customised for Valiant, in order to achieve the correct balance between minimising array stabilising times after course alterations, set against ensuring the proximity of the boat’s own noise did not reduce the detection capability of the array. Serendipitously, he benefited from a very experienced team of sonar operators, most of whom had been onboard when Valiant had encountered a Russian Victor-class SSN in the Northwest Approaches a year earlier. In sum, both crew and submarine were well-prepared for whatever was forthcoming.

Since the wartime role of HMS Valiant was to seek out and destroy enemy submarines, the key to her success would be her stealth. Stealth in submarine operations means quietness, maximising any opportunity of detecting an enemy submarine by listening using passive sonar. To accomplish this it was vital that no transmission or avoidable noise should be made by the hunting submarine — hence the term hunter-killer. Noise, in any form, could betray her presence, turning the hunter into the hunted in an instant. The imperative for quiet operation was the sine qua non of efficiency and had to be hard-wired into the psyche of every single crew member, as well as placing demands on design and operation of plant and equipment.

Like other SSNs, Valiant was fitted with a towed acoustic array capable of detecting the quietest of noises at a considerable distance. These in turn would be interpreted by the sonar operators, and the information thus gleaned provided the submarine’s command team with the data for an attack. The approach of Valiant to her submarine quarry was comparable to the hunt of an aggressive wild predator in dense forest. Periodic bursts of noise enabled the unseen quarry’s general direction and approximate position to be ascertained and stalked, but a noisy and revealing move on the hunter’s part could either result in an aggressive charge by a thoroughly alarmed quarry, or an irrecoverable high-speed retreat out of danger.

It is clear, therefore, that approach of a hunting submarine requires patience, astute analysis of complex, fragmented and variable data, and skilful, careful manoeuvring to close the range to a position from which an attack can be made. Equally clear is the fact that a botched approach could develop into a very close-range situation, in which the enemy made a counter detection and reacted accordingly.

The submarine close-range scenario has similarities to two opposing fighter planes manoeuvring around each other in poor visibility but, of course, is very different in terms of weight and speed. In reality, the situation of two nuclear powered underwater 5,000-ton behemoths participating in a three-dimensional interaction, sometimes within ranges of a mile or less at closing speeds of over 25 knots, is very different. Although rare, underwater collisions have occurred and prove to be a very frightening experience for the respective crews. As far as is known, such encounters have not resulted in any breaching of the pressure hulls of the submarines involved, and no consequential serious flooding has thus far imperilled the survival of damaged vessels.

In war, it would be vital to maintain the fighting advantage by firing first and skilfully steering the torpedoes towards the enemy. Counter-fired torpedoes would require high-speed evasion away from the incoming weapons, the deployment of noise countermeasures to seduce their homing systems off the intended target, a rapid manoeuvre to turn the tables on the attacker and the successful firing of the torpedoes of the riposte. To achieve this, rapid reactions, a cool nerve and well-rehearsed manoeuvres by all concerned would be essential to survival in what would be likely to be a highly complex and confusing combat situation.

All of which emphasises the absolute necessity of stalking and striking first, and the enabling imperative of conducting operations in theatre in silence. Such an operational condition — which required teamwork of a very high order — was the nightly prayer of a submarine commander.

One of the key objectives of Valiant’s forthcoming patrol was to gather intelligence on what Soviet Russian submarines got up to when in the sea areas to the west of the United Kingdom. Most of these vessels would merely be in transit to and from the Mediterranean or heading out to the western Atlantic to take up strategic deterrent patrols off America’s eastern seaboard, thus bringing their nuclear-armed missiles into range of the majority of United States cities. However, there were those bent on unknown purposes who disappeared into shallow water out of SOSUS coverage or used oceanographic features to mask their presence. These included diesel submarines which continued to operate in the United Kingdom littoral and which, when under electric propulsion, remained very difficult to detect.

Some of these Soviet submarines were assigned to detect and track the Royal Navy’s single patrolling SSBN. With only one SSBN maintaining the United Kingdom’s independent nuclear deterrent, such a contact, if achieved and maintained, could have nullified British strategy at a stroke. To avoid an enemy hunter-killer being in a position to strike pre-emptively if the Cold War turned ‘hot’, it was imperative that the patrolling SSBN avoided detection.

Since this worked both ways, all patrols made by hunter-killer submarines were effectively war patrols. That is to say, the hunting and the clandestine stalking was always ‘real’ — only the launch of weapons was missing. For submariners, therefore, the Cold War was not a standoff of chest-thumping and sabre-rattling, but a fully committed professional interaction, in which only the coup de main was not executed. To understand the encounters between submarines during the Cold War it is important to comprehend fully this state of affairs and the impact that it had upon the participants. It was in this atmosphere that Commander Conley and his ship’s company took the ageing and awkward Valiant out to her patrol area north of the Shetland Islands.

Here Conley settled down to await news of an approaching submarine. Besides Valiant’s inherent defects, much else was at stake. Aware that he had accrued a reputation of being an astute tactician, Conley was very apprehensive that when a contact was made, he would conduct the approach and subsequent trail in an effective and successful manner. To carry this out and achieve a close-quarters position from which an accurate attack by Tigerfish torpedo might be made in war was a daunting task.

Fortunately, Conley did not have to live on his nerves for long, soon receiving intelligence of a southbound Victor SSN heading towards the Northwest Approaches. Thought to be fitted with special submarine-detection equipment, this vessel was of specific intelligence interest, particularly when it reached the United Kingdom littoral. This added an additional layer of importance to Valiant’s present patrol and the hunt was on.

After a few hours, a faint trace on one of the towed array displays indicated long-range detection of the Soviet submarine. Very much relieved, Conley commenced a careful approach from ahead, manoeuvring so as to allow the unsuspecting quarry to pass Valiant, before taking up a comfortable shadowing position at a range of ten miles on the quarter of the Russian, conducting periodic manoeuvres to refine the parameters of course, speed and range.

His next objective was to achieve the requisite accurate fire-control solution and conduct a simulated Tigerfish attack. This would subsequently be analysed ashore from the sonar and fire-control records to assess the probability of its success. He would need to get within a few miles’ range to achieve much more accurate hull sonar passive contact to ensure the required precision, but in doing so increased the risk of counter-detection through an unexpected manoeuvre on the part of the Victor.

To maximise the odds in his favour, Conley chose to make the final approach just after midnight, when he reckoned the Russian crew would be at their lowest state of alertness. As for the biorhythms of his own crew, the knowledge that they were running silent in pursuit of a Soviet Victor was sufficient to produce the required adrenalin.

Having gained firm hull sonar contact and having positioned Valiant astern of the Russian, confident that he had achieved an accurate target solution, Conley ordered ‘Fire!’ He then experienced the exhilaration of watching a simulated torpedo head out on the control display towards the real submarine target. The close approach had the particular satisfaction of converting a faint line on a sonar display into a firm aural contact, emitting a range of machinery whines and other noises. Besides the intelligence gained, being so close to the opposition gave Valiant’s crew a real buzz, proving that even in an old and often decrepit submarine, her people could cut the mustard.

After the simulated attack, Conley dropped Valiant back to a shadowing position and, twenty hours later, made a second close approach and engagement. Hunter and hunted were now to the west of the United Kingdom and it was very early morning. Matters were about to change, for the hour, though early in landsmen’s terms, marked the start of an operational day. Suddenly the Victor’s speed dropped; she had ended her passage and arrived at her patrol position, adopting a searching posture with frequent manoeuvres.

As this altered situation became apparent, Conley was called to the control room. During the preceding hours he had been catching some sleep and had handed the con over to the Valiant’s executive officer, with the instruction to open the range from the Russian, thereby minimising any risk of detection. On arriving in the control room Conley was not only aware that a close-quarters situation was developing, but was aghast to discern that one of his cardinal rules of frequently altering course to establish target range had been ignored.

Inadvertently, the range had not merely been closed but, even worse, Valiant was now ahead of the Russian. This was a potential disaster, at a stroke removing the satisfaction of the preceding day’s success, and threatening the outcome of the patrol. Commander Conley immediately gave orders to open the range and began carrying out evasive manoeuvres. The anxious moments that followed stretched into an hour, the hour into two, as those in the control room strove to determine whether or not the Russians had made a counter-detection or that, if they had, they had been shaken off.

The Soviet commander had not conducted the typical counter-detection acts of blasting the detected ‘shadow’ with active sonar — a sort of crude submarine ‘Boo!’ — or, more sinister, the manoeuvre of charging straight towards the detected intruder at high speed, known to the NATO navies as a ‘Crazy Ivan’. Unless he was a very subtle man, Conley hoped, if he had detected the presence of Valiant, he had not classified her as a submarine and decided that she was a passing whale or similar type of contact.

Much relieved and feeling, as one does at such moments, that one did not really deserve such luck, Conley was obliged to consider the culprit. This would prove to be only the first of several incidents in which Conley’s confidence in his executive officer’s ability to handle Valiant in operationally challenging situations was shaken. Well aware of the voids in the Perisher training of his second in command, Conley had compensated for these deficiencies by copious guidance on handling the underwater scenario. Despite such crafted mentoring, it was becoming evident that the executive officer was one of those individuals who found it difficult to assimilate a mental tactical picture exclusively from sonar bearings data. Although this aptitude is by no means common and despite the Perisher failing to determine whether or not an individual possessed it, such an ability had to be innate in a submarine commander if he was to be successful in war.

Although Valiant had successfully escaped counter-detection, Conley would have liked to hang onto his assignment, if only to dispel the feeling of irritation that what had been almost perfect simulated attacks had been all but nullified by a subsequent botch-up. Unaware of this personal sentiment, Northwood headquarters had other priorities and Conley was ordered to hand the shadowing of the Soviet Victor over to the Leander-class frigate HMS Cleopatra, commanded by Captain (later Vice Admiral) Roy Newman. Fitted with a towed sonar array, Cleopatra had been approaching from the Iceland— Faeroes Gap where she had been on patrol, and she was soon joined by Nimrod maritime patrol aircraft of the Royal Air Force. Clearly the Victor was a contact of high interest.

In conformity with instructions received from headquarters, Conley withdrew Valiant to a stand-off position where contact with the Victor had faded. However, it was soon apparent to Conley from signal messages that Cleopatra was experiencing problems maintaining contact and, to his quiet satisfaction, Valiant was directed by headquarters to close the last known position of the Russian and to relocate her. Less than eighteen hours after breaking off contact, Valiant had again taken up a position astern of theVictor, which had now resumed his transit to the southwest, presumably having completed his search task.

The situation had now grown a little more complicated, for Valiant’s operators had detected a second submarine tracking north. Conley accordingly reported holding a firm contact upon this, classifying it as in all likelihood a homeward-bound Soviet Yankee-class SSBN. Unfortunately, and worrying for Conley, a report had been received from headquarters informing him that one of the Nimrods had detected a serious noise emanating from Valiant herself. This was a considerable limitation; utmost care would now be needed in any close approach to another Russian submarine contact.

Despite extensive internal noise monitoring and a surfacing to check the casing and superstructure for loose fittings, locating the noise and its source would prove elusive.

Five days after making initial contact on theVictor, it was clear that this submarine was heading for the Mediterranean and no longer of significant intelligence interest or a threat to the on-patrol SSBN. HMS Valiant’s task in countering the potential neutraliser of the United Kingdom’s nuclear deterrent had been accomplished successfully, despite the internal problems she had had.

Heading back towards the Shetlands — Faeroes Gap, Valiant’s next task was to intercept yet another southbound Victor SSN which had been detected on SOSUS. Meanwhile, Cleopatra had resumed her station in the Iceland— Faeroes Gap. Within two days this new Victor had been detected and a trailing station taken on her quarter, with occasional close-range fire-control solution and intelligence-gathering passes being accomplished. This submarine proved to be on a straightforward passage to the Mediterranean and of limited intelligence value. Accordingly, when it reached the west of Ireland, Conley made the decision to break off his pursuit.

However, shortly after contact faded, instructions were received to pass the Soviet submarine’s position via a communications buoy message to a Nimrod en route from the Azores to its base at RAF Kinloss in Scotland. At the time, communication buoys, 4in in diameter and fired from a submarine signal-ejector, had a reputation for poor reliability. Furthermore, the positional data on the Russian was somewhat stale. However, the best estimates of its parameters were encoded and loaded into the small tape recorder contained within the buoy. As it was a Sunday, it was thought of adding a verse of the hymn, He Who Would Valiant Be, for the benefit of the Nimrod crew, but there were second thoughts about this extra possibly compromising operational security. A few hours later after ejecting the buoy, a signal was received from headquarters indicating that its transmissions had been detected by the Nimrod. But even better, immediate contact had been gained upon the Russian submarine when the aircraft deployed its first group of sonobuoys in barrier pattern across its predicted track

On the forenoon of the following day, as Valiant headed back towards the Rockall Trough area, an outward bound Echo II cruise missile submarine was encountered. Although one of the earliest, noisiest, primitive and most dangerous types of Russian nuclear submarine, this was something of a coup, because Cleopatra had been searching for her unsuccessfully. The Echo II was making about 11 knots in a southwesterly direction and appeared to be heading across the Atlantic. The contact stimulated some speculation aboard Valiant that, armed as she was with eight nuclear-tipped Sandbox cruise missiles, the Echo II may well have been trailing her coat in response to the forward deployment in Europe of nuclear-armed Pershing cruise missiles by the United States of America.

Conley and his team swung Valiant into position astern of the Soviet boat, making a very easy close approach after a short trailing phase. Under Conley’s encouragement, and to give to those members of the crew whose duties were remote from the high-pitched atmosphere of pursuit some idea of the task to which they were all committed, a number of the crew took turns to listen to the noise emanating from the Echo II. From the Valiant’s sound room the loud whines and thumps of machinery in this ageing submarine of the Red Banner Fleet fascinated the ratings. They were not serving in the only old-aged submarine in the North Atlantic. As Conley and his officers broke off contact to enjoy a hearty lunch, they surmised that conditions onboard this very rudimentary nuclear submarine, with its high levels of radiation, would be pretty tough for its crew. Almost certainly they would not be relishing a roast beef lunch in a comfortable, well-furnished wardroom.

By this time Valiant had been on patrol for a fortnight. The encounters with Soviet submarines had quickly settled all hands into operational routines and established levels of competency and expectation, and all were very much working as a team. Moreover, a strong relationship of respect and confidence had developed between the commander and his crew, vital in a submarine if it was to maintain a high degree of operational effectiveness.

Off-watch life onboard was interspersed by plenty of movies, the weekly wait for football results on Saturday evenings, followed by short church services in the wardroom on Sundays. The temptations of a glass of sherry and nibbles afterwards had an effect upon the spiritual life of some of the crew, but for others the simplicity of the service and the reflective impact this had was a consolation.

Very content with his ship’s company, Conley’s preoccupation with the abilities of his executive officer continued to concern him. Unwillingness to break the tradition of sharing the command function with this officer meant that his sleep was light, one ear cocked to the stream of sonar reports emanating from the sound room adjacent to his cabin as Valiant carried out frequent ranging manoeuvres.

The final detection of the patrol was that of a Victor III SSN, home ward-bound from the Mediterranean. At the time, this type of SSN was the most capable of Russian submarines and with Valiant’s own serious, unresolved noise problem Conley did not want to push his luck. This contact was, therefore, marked from a reasonable range. The Russian was moving at a speed of over 10 knots and keeping station on him exclusively using towed array data was very testing for Valiant’s people as it involved high-speed sprints out of contact, interspersed by periods at slow speed to reacquire their quarry to re-establish his position.

During one of these sprints Conley was urgently called into the control room by the executive officer, who sensed all was not well. A quick scan of the sonar displays revealed to the commander that yet again an inadvertent close-range situation was rapidly developing: evidently the Russian had slowed down and Valiant had overhauled him up his port side. Conley had to quickly decide whether to turn towards the Victor III and gain a fire- control solution, or prudently to turn away and return to a trailing position on the Victor III’s quarter. He decided upon the latter, regretfully forgoing the very rare prize of conducting a successful simulated attack upon this most modern of Soviet submarines.

After two days of trailing in deteriorating sonar conditions, contact was broken off with the Russian. With no more encounters likely, Valiant was directed to head back to her base in Faslane. In just over two weeks, the much- derided Black Pig had completed a successful patrol in the Western Approaches with an unprecedented five submarine detections to her credit. The later analysis of the significant number of simulated attack approaches which had been carried out revealed a very high success rate and, while this earned the crew of the Royal Navy’s oldest nuclear submarine high praise, Conley had the difficult task of dealing with his executive officer’s inability to contend with operational situations underwater.

Conley was quite clear in his own mind that the fault did not lie entirely with the individual officer and that some measure of the blame had to be attributed to the deficiencies inherent in the Perisher course. Conley was convinced that this was not fit for purpose in the context of training prospective commanding officers how to handle their boats when attacking submarine targets — whether real or simulated. The proof of this was the failure of the course trainers, the ‘Teachers’, to eliminate his unfortunate colleague, not because he was an inefficient naval officer, but simply that he did not possess one special quality necessary to the command of a hunter-killer submarine. After careful deliberation, it was amicably and mutually agreed between all parties, including the squadron commander, that the executive officer would best serve elsewhere. In vindication of Conley’s assessment, he went on to successfully command a surface warship, while his replacement was a very experienced officer who had commanded a diesel submarine and had been executive officer of the SSN Warspite, Lieutenant Commander Huntly Gordon. He and Conley were to get on well, making a very strong team.

Two months later, in July 1985, Valiant was back at sea in the Northwest Approaches, taking part in a sonar trial when intelligence sources indicated that a significant Soviet submarine buildup to the west of the United Kingdom was ongoing. In view of the potential threat posed to the on patrol UK SSBN — HMS Revenge, commanded by Conley’s near neighbour in Garelochead, Commander Ian McVittie — Valiant was directed to proceed at best speed to Faslane to pick up a towed array and then immediately return to sea to support the detection and location of the submarines of the Red Banner Fleet. Meanwhile, the SSN HMS Churchill, also operating in the Northwest Approaches, had made contact with and was trailing a Victor-class SSN.

However, on arriving in Faslane in the early evening, Conley was told that Northwood headquarters staff were concerned about Valiant’s noise defect, which had defeated all efforts to locate it. This would make her vulnerable to counter-detection and since this would prejudice the covert nature of the operation being conducted against the Russians, a quick noise ranging must be undertaken in the Clyde Estuary. Only then would a final decision be made as to whether or not to deploy her. Although Conley could see the sense in this, it was not good news. He felt the frustration of commanding a good team but being hampered by Valiant’s age and defects. Meanwhile, there was a hot situation developing; also at Faslane lay the brand new SSN HMS Trafalgar. She too was preparing to go after the Soviets.

Summoned ashore to speak to the duty submarine staff officer at Northwood through a highly secure voice link, Conley received a somewhat garbled briefing of the Soviet build-up, to the effect that there were numerous submarines operating to the west of the United Kingdom. As he strode back down the jetty to rejoin Valiant, he overheard two shore-based sailors discussing the fact there were an unusually high number of Soviet submarines at sea, and that Valiant and Trafalgar were being urgently scrambled. So much, he thought, for high-level security!

His elation at the prospect of again getting to grips with the Soviets was now tempered by Valiant’s excessive noise and the consequential possibility of having to act in a secondary supporting role to his contemporary in command of Trafalgar, Commander Toby Elliot. However, on arriving onboard he was greeted by his senior engineer, Andrew Miller, who declared enthusiastically that he had something to show him. The engineer was pretty confident that he had identified the noise defect as coming from a pipe valve under the casing. Following Miller along the casing, the two officers bent down at a spot on the after-casing and heard a distinct rattling noise. This was almost certainly the source of the problem; moreover, it could easily be fixed.

Getting underway at midnight with the towed array attached and having got the ‘all clear’ from the Clyde noise-range check, Valiant made a fast passage to the area where the Russian submarine activity appeared most intense. HMS Churchill had been withdrawn from the operation and the trail was rapidly going cold. Was all this to end in anticlimax? So it seemed until, a few hours after submerging, Conley’s operators detected a Soviet submarine — Valiant had made contact with a Victor-class SSN, and he proceeded to close him to get within a comfortable trailing range. By coincidence the Russian turned out to be an old adversary, the specially fitted submarine they had trailed and ‘attacked’ on their previous patrol, and which was now returning from the Mediterranean. Once again the Victor was engaged in frequent manoeuvres in a patrolling and searching mode and proved a difficult contact to maintain, but one good intelligence-gathering close-approach and fire-control solution were achieved during the following day.

On the morning of the fifth day in company with the Victor, a second submarine of much quieter characteristics was detected and Valiant took up station behind them both. Although the second submarine was never properly classified, Conley suspected it was a Victor III. However, during the early evening, warning instrumentation indicated a potentially significant fault in the reactor compartment. Indications were that it was similar to that which presaged the previous episode in March. To Conley’s despair, the shutting down of the nuclear plant and an investigative entry into the reactor compartment were going to be necessary to determine the problem. Meanwhile, HMS Trafalgar was searching to the eastwards but was not in contact with any of the Soviet submarines.

With the reactor shut down, the trail was continued in battery power, probably a first for a nuclear submarine, but speed was constrained to 5 knots and the battery endurance was very limited. As time passed the tension rose, all awaiting the emergence of the engineers from the reactor compartment with the result of their investigations. In due course, the reactor entry team emerged from aft, and the smiling face of Andrew Miller announced that the news was good: the instrumentation warning was a false alarm.

Having dropped back to a prudent range, the relatively noisy recomissioning of the nuclear plant took place and within an hour of the reactor being ‘scrammed’, Valiant was back in the trail with full power available.

Overnight both Soviet submarines were shadowed as they headed for the Shetland — Faeroes Gap but by lunchtime the following day strong Soviet surface ship sonar transmissions had been detected to the southwest, classified as emitting from an Udaloy-class destroyer. This was the most modern and capable of Russian anti-submarine ships and was fitted with a very powerful, long-range sonar. There were multiple ship noises coming from the same direction, although there was no intelligence to support the presence of a Russian surface squadron of any size.

As sunset approached, still in the company of the two Russian submarines, Conley decided that the Soviet surface force was close enough for him to take a look at. Rising to periscope depth, Conley found the sea state calm with good visibility. Almost immediately, he sighted the destroyer distant on the horizon, together with the masts of several other ships. The significance of this moment struck him forcibly. For all his experience and their recent close shaves with Russian submarines, this was the first time he had actually seen units of the Soviet Navy during the six operational patrols he had to his credit. Prior to this moment only the lines on a cathode ray trace or the noises on a sonar headset had told him where the ‘opposition’ was and what he was doing. It was the ability to distil detection information from such limited sensory inputs that made the acquisition of a mental tactical picture such a fundamental skill for a submarine commander. Without this the chances of success were negligible.

Conley and his team swiftly assessed that there were three or four Russian replenishment ships escorted by two or three destroyers. Moreover, since they were heading northeast, these vessels were probably simulating a NATO reinforcement convoy, allowing Soviet submarines to make dummy attacks for evaluation and exercise purposes.

However, as matters presently stood, Valiant lay in the grain of the approaching convoy where she was vulnerable to detection. Having no wish to add to the verisimilitude of the Soviet Navy’s exercise by inviting an ‘attack’, Conley took Valiant deep and headed for the convoy’s northern flank where the Victor was tracking, in the process keeping out of the way of the approaching Udaloy-class destroyer with its potentially very capable active sonar.

As the convoy passed, Conley headed Valiant to its southern flank to see what was going on there. On turning to run parallel to the most southerly ship, a submarine contact with a rapidly changing bearing was detected close to this vessel and Conley immediately suspected it to be the quiet second submarine. It was evident that the Russian submarines were carrying out exercise attacks on the convoy and the Valiant’s sonar and control-room teams had a real challenge in maintaining the overall tactical picture. Meanwhile, in the air the Soviets were carrying out simulated air attacks on the ships whilst anti-submarine aircraft played the role of their NATO counterparts.

Conley remarked later, ‘This was real Cold War stuff — a Russian convoy playing the NATO part a few hundred miles to the west of the British Isles, being harried by Russian aircraft and submarines, whilst being followed by a Royal Navy SSN. Meanwhile, Russian maritime patrol aircraft were playing the NATO role.’

Conley shadowed the convoy during the night and on into the following day. This was a Sunday and Valiant’s crew settled down to a routine day and from the control room Conley continued to monitor the activities of ‘the opposition’ — the anodyne term for their potential enemy if things turned nasty. During the forenoon two Soviet auxiliaries and one escorting Kotlin-class destroyer were sighted and Sunday’s roast lunch was interrupted by the Victor being detected going deep and at speed, crossing ahead of Valiant at close range as she shaped up for another dummy attack on the convoy. Quite clearly the presence of the Valiant remained undetected by either the Victor or the anti-submarine destroyers escorting the convoy. During the afternoon Valiant’s operators detected ‘a probable’ diesel submarine at close range astern of the convoy, and a good tracking solution was also achieved on him.

HMS Valiant continued her stealthy stalking of the Russian force, monitoring the comings and goings of various surface ships and submarines for a further two days. By this time the convoy was north of the Shetland Islands and it was becoming increasingly evident that the Soviet activity was dying down as the convoy had by now broken up and dispersed. Although contact with the two SSNs had been lost, two new Soviet nuclear submarines had been detected to the north at long range. As these were not accorded priority status, Conley headed Valiant back to the west of the British Isles to seek out any Soviet submarine which might still be lurking undetected off the Northwest Approaches. He was particularly focused on the possibility of locating any quiet diesel types, undetected by SOSUS.

Whilst making a sweep of the Rockall Trough, Conley received information that two Delta-class SSBNs, approximately twenty-four hours apart, were homeward-bound from their deep Atlantic patrol areas. Conley therefore laid off a course to intercept the first of these, and in due course Valiant’s passive sonar operators picked up the Soviet. Conley made a close approach and carried out a short trail then, having confirmed that the Delta was indeed heading for home, Valiant was hauled off and he decided to forgo making contact upon her consort and continued searching south for the more elusive diesel-type he had a hunch might well be lurking in the depths. The SSBNs were not priority contacts in terms of providing support for HMS Revenge. Nevertheless, later the same day the second SSBN was detected some distance away to the northwestwards. Conley recalled a discussion over dinner in the wardroom that evening in which it was considered what British public opinion would have thought if it was widely known that thirty-two nuclear missiles possessing immense destructive power had passed a mere two hundred miles off the British coast, borne by a pair of potentially hostile SSBNs.

The following Sunday, before Conley could complete his thorough investigation of the Rockall Trough, he received orders to intercept a reported outbound Victor II SSN which appeared to be heading for the Mediterranean. His task was to determine whether or not she had been ordered to search for any patrolling NATO SSBN, specifically Britain’s single deterrent submarine. Accordingly, Valiant headed towards the likely transit route through waters off the northwest of Scotland. Whilst enjoying his lunch Conley was summoned to the control room; an unusual sonar contact had been detected at close range and the sound-room team found it problematical to classify. Such mysteries needed to be thoroughly investigated, so it fell to the commander to contribute his opinion. The sonar operators had detected a vessel emitting the noise of a diesel exhaust but — very unusually — with no accompanying propeller characteristics. This had raised their suspicions that it might well be a diesel submarine engaged in snorting at periscope depth.

This put Commander Conley in a quandary. His boat was by now in a particular area of the North Atlantic where Valiant was restrained by operational constraints to remain at a submerged depth greater than 400ft. This was because the shallower depth zone above this ceiling was allocated for use by friendly patrolling SSBNs. Such depth-zone separation removed the risk of collision between two very quiet submarines which were only likely to make sonar detection on each other at extremely close range. However, he needed to get to periscope depth to have a visual look at the contact to confirm it as a fishing vessel or, perhaps the snorting diesel submarine that his hunch suggested might be operating thereabouts. On the premise that, with a Russian Victor II SSN reported in the vicinity, it was highly unlikely that a British SSBN would be around, he bent the rules and ordered periscope depth.

As the steel periscope tube glided up from its well into the control room, Conley lowered its handles and stared through the powerful optics. As the periscope top broke the surface of the water he quickly spun it round, looking intensely for a fishing boat or similar vessel. There was nothing to see — it must be a submarine! He immediately ordered Valiant deep and the watch was stood to in order to commence tracking the new submarine contact.

Having taken Valiant well below 400ft, Conley ordered her levelled and almost immediately the sound-room team reported that the diesel-engine exhaust noise had ceased, and the contact being tracked was now emitting a classic nuclear submarine noise signature. However, as the minutes passed, all the pieces of the classification jigsaw were not fitting into place. Observing their displays intently, Conley and his team attempted to unravel the conundrum. From the characteristics of the noise signature, it slowly dawned upon them that this was no Soviet submarine and was most probably an American SSBN returning from her patrol area to her base alongside her depot ship in the Holy Loch, near Dunoon. The exhaust noise that had initially foxed Valiant’s sonar operators was probably attributable to the running of a diesel engine at periscope depth as an engineering drill.

This placed Conley in his second quandary of the day. What the Royal Navy was inclined to describe as ‘an excess of zeal’ had led him and his very efficient colleagues towards the possible compromising of an element of the Western alliance’s nuclear deterrent. He was therefore obliged to make the transmission of a suitably contrite, ‘exclusive-handling’ signal to Northwood to the effect that he had probably harassed an allied SSBN. There was neither confirmation nor denial from headquarters of this assessment, nor was there any reproach over the incident beyond a gentle questioning over the breach of the depth-zone rules. Conley could only surmise that the staff at Northwood would be somewhat bemused that the Royal Navy’s oldest SSN had ‘bounced’ an American SSBN. Whatever the truth behind the encounter, Conley’s action had been initiated by the transmission of excessive noise by ‘somebody’.

One more serious effect of this deviation was the escape of the targeted Soviet Victor II. It was most probable that she had slipped past Valiant by passing through the shallower and therefore sonically ‘noisier’ water conditions to the west of Scotland, a tactic used to mask a sonic ‘signature’. The Victor II was eventually detected but, disappointingly for Conley and the Valiant, she was far to the south but had evidently not slowed down into a searching mode during her passage to locate any patrolling NATO SSBN.

Faced with this somewhat anticlimactic end to an otherwise eventful patrol, Valiant’s people were cheered up by a very long-range detection of another Russian submarine. This proved to be a homeward-bound Charlie II, upon which Conley closed and carried out a successful intelligence gathering approach. The Charlie II was returning from the Mediterranean, where she would have been tasked to shadow the aircraft-carrier battle groups of the American Sixth Fleet, a strategic deployment intended to neutralise such a potent surface force with lethal anti-ship cruise missiles should hostilities occur.

With this intercept efficiently concluded, Valiant headed home, her ship’s company in high spirits. Although they had been at sea only a little over three weeks, they had detected no less than nine Russian submarines.

The significance of this achievement was all the greater when Valiant’s run-down state was considered. With nine months remaining of her commission, some at Northwood were keen to deploy Valiant on further operations against the Red Banner Fleet, but she was increasingly showing her age and the need for a major refit. Her engineers had to work extremely hard to keep the boat going and on more than one occasion a minor fire had broken out onboard in harbour in Faslane, resulting in the arrival of the Dumbartonshire fire brigade. Fortunately, these incidents were not serious, but after a major fire aboard Warspite in 1976, when the nuclear submarine was visiting Liverpool, prompt fire brigade presence in such situations was considered a very wise precaution.

Aboard Valiant small problems had become endemic, and there was no knowing when any one of these might take a serious turn. A steam leak occurring on one of the many valves when ‘flashing up’ the plant in preparation for sea was a common occurrence and, as mentioned earlier, the necessary repair often compromised departure schedules. The deteriorating condition of the steam pipework in the engine room was of significant and possibly disastrous potential. The inexorable attrition of hot steam caused corrosion with a consequent weakening of the piping, lengths of which required urgent replacement. Accordingly, HMS Valiant was relegated to undertake less demanding tasks, including further Spearfish trials both as the firing vessel and, less gloriously, the targeted submarine.

At the end of February 1986 Valiant headed for the Mediterranean to partake in two major NATO submarine exercises. During these she called at Gibraltar and visited the Italian ports of La Spezia and Naples, home of the United States Navy’s Sixth Fleet. In Gibraltar the stalwart senior engineer officer, Andrew Miller, was relieved, departing for a very well-deserved rest in a much less demanding shore appointment.

This whole period at sea was beset by more engineering problems than usual, the most serious of which, briefly referred to earlier, occurred at a time when Valiant was running both deep and at speed below the busy trade route for shipping along the Portuguese coast.

A serious flood occurred when the command team was closed up in the control room carrying out attack training drills in preparation for a forthcoming annual squadron inspection. A coupling on the wardroom heads flushing water failed, with a loud report followed by a roaring sound as highly pressurised water sprayed into the submarine. Immediately, Conley ordered an increase in speed and a twenty degrees bow-up angle to reduce depth and consequently the pressure of seawater forcing its way into the Valiant’s pressure hull. However, the steep cant of the submarine caused a bore of water to flood out from the wardroom passage, along the deck into the control room, where the nimble remained dry by leaping onto benches and stools. It then poured down the hatch to the compartments below, much to the alarm of the repair team trying to get up the ladder. However, the failed pipe was isolated very quickly and the ingress of water halted before any serious damage was done. The only casualties were sodden trousers and socks — the attack training drills continued with hardly a pause.

The second incident was a high-pressure steam leak which occurred towards midnight on the same day and was much more serious. Relaxing in his cabin with a book, Conley heard a shrill report from aft — ‘Major steam leak in the engine room!’ A violent, high-pressure leak of super-heated steam emitted into the cramped, Stygian confines of the engine room could fatally scald anyone in its vicinity; this was a life-and-death situation. The compartment was instantly evacuated, a repair party was assembled and the problem was tackled. Once again, the engineering staff rose to the occasion, quickly reaching the source of the steam and shutting it off. Despite the efficiency with which both incidents were neutralised, their occurrence and their causes shook up the new senior engineer officer and his team, giving Conley real concerns about the state of the boat’s machinery. As if to emphasise Valiant’s increasing decrepitude, during the Mediterranean port visits, it was necessary to order a tanker carrying lubricating oil; like an old banger the Black Pig was consuming considerable quantities of lube oil.

Nevertheless, while involved in these exercises there was one final encounter with a Russian submarine. This occurred whilst participating in a NATO submarine versus submarine exercise in the Ionian Sea. Unimaginatively codenamed Dogfish by the NATO staff, it was inevitably renamed ‘Dogshit’ by the Valiant’s crew as they learned that Valiant — cast in the ‘Blue’ NATO role throughout — had in error received the exercise instructions setting out all the tracks and navigational way-points of the ‘Red’ submarines. It was thus all too easy locating and carrying out simulated attacks upon the opposing Red forces, which included the American SSN USS Tullibee and a number of NATO diesel submarines. From underwater telephone exchanges at the end of each attack phase, Conley noted a degree of despair on the part of the Tullibee’s crew as they grasped that they were being successfully engaged with unerring accuracy by Valiant in every section of the exercise.

However, for Conley and his team, these proceedings were a sideshow, as they were determined to detect a Victor II SSN, which was known to be in the Mediterranean and which had been trailed for a period by an American SSN with which Conley was thoroughly familiar — the USS Dallas, now commanded by Commander Frank Lacroix, who had been a near neighbour in Mystic, Connecticut. Contact had been lost with the Russian for several days, but Conley suspected that Dogfish would act as a lure to any inquisitive Soviet submarine — the mirror image of his own stalking of the Russian convoy in the North Atlantic a few weeks earlier. Sure enough, with the exercise a few hours old, Valiant made contact with the Victor II. However, owing to her commitments to the exercise, Conley and his crew had to forbear investigating. The exercise was also evidently being monitored by a Russian ‘research ship’ bulging with sensor equipment; she was on more than one occasion sighted by Valiant. Not unnaturally, this prompted wild speculation among some of Conley’s officers as to the impact upon any Soviet evaluation of the NATO staff cock-up in supplying a ‘Blue’ submarine with ‘Red’ information. Perhaps, the wags averred, this was a Bond-like double-bluff.

The days that followed assumed an air closely approaching farce, a bewildering mixture of opéra bouffe and the hardware of war. The blue waters of the Mediterranean were proving a very different place compared to the grey wastes of the North Atlantic.

During the final phase of the exercise, after conducting a successful approach against the ‘Red’ Italian submarine Guglielmo Marconi, Valiant was at periscope depth about two miles to the south of his victim. A USN Orion aircraft had been operating with Valiant, dropping active sonobuoys around the Guglielmo Marconi to emphasise the compromised status of the Italian boat. Suddenly Valiant’s sonar team reported a fast-moving submarine contact about four miles to the southward; it was tracking aft and emitting classic Russian SSN characteristics. As it was after sunset, Conley was constrained in taking rapid action, with the control room totally darkened and the need to pass locating details of the Soviet submarine to the aircraft using a cumbersome NATO numerical code difficult to use in poor lighting. The tactical situation was also confused by a high density of merchant shipping passing through the area and intense levels of biological noise from dolphins and other creatures in the vicinity.

When it appeared that the aircraft had got the message, Conley ordered Valiant deep to close with the Russian submarine but, on leaving periscope depth, the sonar contact was lost. However, soon afterwards a number of active sonar transmissions, characteristic of Soviet SSN equipment, were intercepted coming from the general direction of the Russian boat. These were followed by brief bursts of Soviet underwater telephone communications which made Conley think that the Soviet commander was liaising with either the so-called research ship or another submarine. What was certain was the increasing confusion of the underwater tactical picture. HMS Valiant was surrounded by a cacophony of noise: to the sound of passing shipping and cetacean wildlife there was now added the vocal Italian submarine captain of the Guglielmo Marconi chatting away on the underwater telephone, an Orion aircraft dropping numerous active sonobuoys and at least one Russian submarine which appeared to want to be part of the action. Looking back, Conley considered the whole incident a rather amusing finale to his operational engagements with Russian submarines.

The exercise over, Valiant headed first to Maddalena in Sardinia to leave her towed sonar array with the American submarine depot ship lying there. Here she embarked Captain Ken Cox, an American naval officer and long-standing friend of Commander Conley’s, dating back to Otter’s visit to Charleston in February 1976. Whilst heading towards Naples for a port visit, Conley was able to give Cox a tour of Valiant. Afterwards, with a degree of perverse pride, Conley recalled Cox’s astonishment at the amount of defect repair work which was ongoing in the machinery spaces. To Cox the exceedingly cramped confines of the submarine in general, but the machinery spaces in particular, were in extreme contrast to the well laid out, easily accessible compartments of most American nuclear submarines.

Once in Naples the majority of the ship’s company, except the engineering department, could relax. Captain Cox was deputy to the American admiral commanding all NATO and United States submarine operations in the Mediterranean, and on the second day alongside, Cox invited his friend to attend the morning high-level briefings in the American naval headquarters. At the final and highest level of these briefings, Conley noted he was the only foreigner present, as the presentations focused upon the forthcoming deployment of an American carrier battle group across the so-called ‘Line of Death’ established by Colonel Gaddafi of Libya. This ran east — west across the Gulf of Sidra, along the parallel of 32°30′ N latitude. Quite unrecognised by international law, the sea to the south had been declared as Libyan territorial waters. Three days later, on Monday, 24 March 1986 the battle group, led by three aircraft carriers, the US ships Saratoga, Coral Sea and America, supported by destroyers and frigates, crossed the line. Libya responded with the use of anti-aircraft missiles and fighter aircraft, challenging the battle group’s perfectly legitimate right of peaceful passage in international waters and airspace. In retaliation, American aircraft attacked several missile radar sites and destroyed or disabled several threatening Libyan naval vessels, including a Russian-built Nanuchka-class missile corvette and a French-built Combattante-class missile-armed patrol boat.

Having left Naples, a few days later Valiant berthed at La Spezia for an informal visit and a further break for the crew over the Easter holiday. Being billeted ashore in a small hotel, as there was no naval accommodation available, it came as a surprise to Conley and his officers that among the other residents was a small number of Libyan naval officers. They were standing by new patrol vessels under construction in the local Fincantieri shipyard. As one Italian admiral visiting Valiant cynically explained to Conley: ‘We build vessels for the Libyan navy, the Americans sink them and then Gaddafi asks for more to be built. It is all very good for business.’

On leaving La Spezia in early April for a second submarine versus submarine exercise under the operational control of the Spanish Navy, the number of engineering defects occurring in Valiant continued to mount. To Conley, it was evident these were putting a severe strain upon the engineering department. In particular, a problem had occurred with one of the reactor’s key instruments which meant that should the reactor be shut down for any reason, it might prove difficult to start it up again. Given the general state of Valiant, the inherent risk in such an event was exacerbated by a defect in the backup emergency propulsion motor which would render Valiant without any form of propulsion. Under the circumstances this worst-case scenario was not far-fetched and gave both Conley and his engineer officers plenty to contemplate, particularly as the exercise would be taking place in the Strait of Gibraltar. Crowded with international shipping, this was not an area where any vessel, submarine or surface ship would want to entirely lose the ability to manoeuvre. Two days into the exercise Conley reluctantly withdrew Valiant and headed for Faslane. This was a great disappointment to him as it was the only commitment which had not been met during his time in command.

After a week’s repairs, Valiant was back at sea doing what her crew did best — covertly trailing another submarine for over twelve hours. True, this was an exercise and the quarry was a British SSBN, but the sweetness in the task was the impact on both the crew of HMS Resolution and the Naval Staff, for it raised issues regarding the vulnerability of Britain’s ageing SSBN force. In something of a paradoxical conclusion, it was appreciated that Resolution was up against one of the Royal Navy’s most capable and experienced SSN crews. Secretly pleased for his ship’s company, Conley’s disappointments over the Mediterranean deployment began to be forgotten as accolades followed from the squadron staff.

Whether or not this influenced the choice of Valiant to undertake an important task was not made clear, but Conley found his submarine selected to embark a contingent of the permanent representatives of the North Atlantic Council — the ambassadors appointed by each member state to NATO headquarters in Brussels. They would be taken to sea for a day to observe at first hand submarine operations in the Clyde Estuary. Such was the significance of the occasion that a full-blown rehearsal was staged on the preceding day. Happily, this included a trial of the splendid gourmet lunch prepared by the Valiant’s cooks, accompanied by some very fine wine. Aware that culinary triumph might add lustre of a more complimentary gloss to the Black Pig’s reputation, Conley keenly anticipated the task. Despite Valiant’s age-related problems, he was justly proud of his ship’s company and the virtues inherent in Valiant’s handling characteristics. Conley enjoyed putting the submarine through her paces and demonstrating her superb underwater manoeuvrability, all the more so as, on this important occasion, the propulsion plant and auxiliary machinery worked perfectly.

All the visitors appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed their day at sea and as they disembarked for a grand dinner in Culzean Castle in Ayrshire, the Spanish ambassador confided to Conley that he had thoroughly enjoyed the magnificent lunch and was very pleased that Spain had recently reaffirmed its membership of such a ‘great organisation which allowed him to experience thoroughly pleasant events’.

Twenty-four hours later there followed an even more enjoyable event, when the families of Valiant’s crew were invited aboard for a day at sea. Ever resourceful, the cooks had sequestered sufficient of the NATO ambassadors’ luncheon supplies to lay on a spectacular repast for wives and girlfriends.

In the closing weeks of Valiant’s third commission, she lay alongside at Faslane, preparing for an impending refit and nuclear refuelling at Rosyth Naval Dockyard. During this period the submarine was visited by a number of veterans, former midshipmen who had served aboard the battleship HMS Valiant. Commissioned in 1915, the previous Valiant had served until 1947 and the continuity of her name in the present SSN provided the Royal Navy with that important psychological thread of tradition. Conley’s command, the fifth Valiant to serve, bore the battle honours of her predecessors on a splendid board outside her wardroom, including the battles of Copenhagen, Jutland and Cape Matapan.

The former inhabitants of the battleship’s gunroom enjoyed both a tour of the submarine, a meeting with the present incumbents of the wardroom and a reunion, an event which could not fail to leave its mark upon all present. Conley remarked afterwards that they were a most pleasant and distinguished group of individuals, but the one notable absentee was HRH The Prince Philip, who had sent a telegram regretting very much that he could not join the gathering. He had served onboard Valiant as a midshipman during the period 1940–42 and had experienced some of the most intense fighting which took place in the eastern Mediterranean, including the Battle of Cape Matapan and the evacuation of the British Army from Crete, a very costly expedition in terms of loss and damage to Royal Navy ships.

Shortly after arriving at Rosyth on 19 May, Conley handed over command to his executive officer, Huntly Gordon. In his brief few days in the dockyard he was dismayed to see how quickly the internals of Valiant were being taken apart with scant regard for their reassembly. There had been intensive, detailed planning for the refit by Valiant’s officers and the senior dockyard managers, but there was a serious lack of communication and control between the planners and project leaders in their offices, and what was actually happening onboard the submarine. Inevitably, this dysfunction came at a price; the refit was to overrun, extending from two to three years with corresponding escalation in costs.

Unavoidably, there is a connection between a commander and his command; this has little to do with romance, but is a symbiotic function of the process itself. The latter becomes an extension of the former and the retrospective satisfaction — or otherwise — will embrace other components, chief of which will be crew efficiency, itself a measure of the commander’s. Defects, such as had littered Conley’s time in Valiant, though a serious nuisance, are also a challenge, and accepting and overcoming challenges in the circumstances peculiar to submarine operations provide the bedrock of job satisfaction. After nursing Valiant throughout her third commission, Conley regarded the achievements of his people as second to none and watching his boat carelessly torn apart by the dockyard seemed like a form of betrayal. He considered it all so unnecessary, but this costly inefficiency, carefully obscured from the taxpayers, had become standard in the refitting of nuclear submarines at this time.

Despite this disappointing terminal anticlimax, Conley’s tenure of command of Valiant had been by far the most satisfying period of his naval career. He was sad to leave the ‘Black Pig’, but he considered himself extremely lucky to have avoided a serious, even a catastrophic, breakdown. HMS Valiant was in desperate need of a refit and during his final few months in command he had pushed her to the limit. He also acknowledged that he had owed much to the unsung heroes of his engineering department under Andrew Miller.

Their tremendous commitment and sheer hard work, often in awful conditions, had managed to keep the submarine going against the odds.

As for his operational successes, Conley had been blessed by an exceptionally competent and talented sound-room team which, combined with his own experience and tactical ability, had enabled Valiant — notwithstanding her age — to achieve notable success in hunting and tracking Russian submarines. Overall, he considered command of Valiant had given him the opportunity to capitalise on the knowledge and experience he had gained during his submarine career and with this came an acknowledgement of his good fortune and the privilege he had enjoyed. His achievements had not gone unnoticed. In the Queen’s Birthday Honours List of 1986 he was made OBE and in the following New Year’s Honours his stalwart senior engineer officer, Lieutenant Commander Andrew Miller, received an MBE.

Conley was now aged thirty-nine and Valiant was to have been his last seagoing appointment. However, his connection with submarines was to continue. In the near term his next posting was a year at the United States Navy’s War College at Newport, Rhode Island. Here he would serve as the Royal Navy’s representative on a prestigious international course. It was time for him and his wife Linda to pack up their possessions again and head back to New England.