of the Falklands; the second with similar lessons on the tides and waterways of the islands and with the constant checking of their Gemini inflatables and Klepper canoes.
Nevertheless, life aboard ship became increasingly dull and frustrating, leading to restlessness, moans and groans and even an occasional angry confrontation between SAS Troopers and the crew. Sergeant Ricketts was therefore relieved when at last they were called to the briefing room by an obviously pleased Major Parkinson.
‘I’ve just been informed,’ he told his frustrated SAS Troop, ‘that our accompanying tanker, Tidespring, is carrying M Company of 42 Commando, Royal Marines – destined to be landed in South Georgia.’
There were murmurs and many wide-eyed glances among the men.
‘This island,’ Parkinson continued when they had settled down again, ‘lies 1300 kilometres east-south-east of the Falklands and, as the main base of the British Antarctic Survey, is particularly important to Great Britain. Its recapture will therefore be a clear indication to the world in general and Argentina in particular that if necessary we Brits will fight to recapture any territory stolen from us.’
‘About time!’ Gumboot exclaimed.
‘Bloody right,’ Jock said emphatically.
‘Let’s get them up and running,’ Taff Burgess added, smiling at the ceiling. ‘Let’s kick the shite out of them.’
The ensuing laughter and applause were silenced when Ricketts, on the ball as always, asked: ‘Who’s in charge this time?’
‘The second-in-command of 42 Commando, Major Guy Sheridan RM, will be in command of the landing forces, including us’ – a few groans at this – ‘and he’ll work with our CO aboard the Antrim in planning the assault on the island.’ This brought more cheers. ‘In addition to us, Sheridan has 120 men of M Company and about twenty-five swimmer-canoeists of 2 SBS, Royal Marines. There’s also a small detachment of Marines aboard the Antrim with M Company’s Recce Troop, a mortar section and the company OC. In all, about 235 men.’
‘How many Argentinians are holding the island?’ Ricketts asked.
‘We don’t know for sure. Why? Are you worried?’
‘No, boss, I’m not.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ Parkinson said with a grin. ‘Anyway, we’ve just received a signal…’
‘I thought we were sailing in radio silence,’ big Taff butted in.
‘It was dropped from a maritime reconnaissance aircraft,’ Parkinson explained. ‘A signal authorizing us to carry out covert recces on South Georgia.’ This sparked off more cheering.
‘As part of this, plans are being drawn up for our Mountain Troop to land north of Leith, where the Argentinians have reportedly been collecting scrap from an old whaling station. And 2 SBS will land about the same time in Hounds Bay, south-east of the island’s main settlement of Grytviken, and move up the coast in inflatable boats to establish observation posts, which can observe the settlement from across five kilometres of open water. That’s it. Any questions?’
‘When do we leave?’ Andrew asked.
‘The operation has already commenced. On your feet, bullshit artists. We’re busy at last.’
Because South Georgia was out of range of land-based aircraft, D squadron transhipped by Wessex helicopter from Fort Austin to the ice patrol ship HMS Endurance, which would sail closer to the shore, enabling them to fly in to their landing zone.
Looking down on the South Atlantic, where a man could freeze to death in a couple of hours, Ricketts wasn’t the only one to give a slight, involuntary shudder, no matter how fearless he might normally have been. He was glad, therefore, when a streak of crimson appeared in the alluvial, snot-grey sea, then took shape as the hull of the Endurance, also known as the ‘Red Plum’. Though smaller than the Fort Austin, the Endurance was equipped with two Wasp helicopters. To facilitate their landing, a large hangar had been built abaft the ship’s funnel, extending her poop deck to create a helicopter landing pad. It was onto this that the helicopter containing the SAS team landed, bobbing up and down, to and fro, above the treacherous, surging, shadowy waves, before settling at last on the solid but constantly swaying deck.
Once aboard the new ship, Major Parkinson held another briefing, this one solely for the 16 members of his Mountain Troop, which would be led by the young and handsome, but decidedly efficient, Captain Mike Hailsham, and including Sergeant Ricketts, Corporal Jock McGregor, Trooper Danny Baby Face Porter, and the massive Trooper Andrew Winston.
Captain Hailsham was standing beside Parkinson throughout the briefing, which took place in a large, committee-room-sized cabin located above the flight decks, with drenched portholes giving a distorted view of the featureless grey sea and sky outside.
‘Right,’ Major Parkinson began. ‘To put you in the picture, the Special Boat Squadron has been given the task of reconnoitring Grytviken and King Edward’s Point while the Mountain Troop, meaning you lot, under the command of Captain Hailsham here, will be landed on Fortuna Glacier, South Georgia, to establish observation posts for the gathering of intelligence on the Argentinian forces. This may not be as easy at it sounds, for reasons which Captain Hailsham will now explain.’
Parkinson stepped aside as Hailsham picked up his pointer and tapped it against the map pinned to the board. ‘The Fortuna Glacier is a potential death-trap,’ he said bluntly. ‘Its five arms flow down into the South Atlantic and are veined with hundreds of deep fissures and pressure ridges. At the top of the glacier, where the weight of the ice pressures downwards, it’s comparatively level, but there are also hundreds of mile-deep crevasses. These can swallow a man up to his waist – though if he’s lucky, the bulk of his bergen will break his fall and his colleagues will then be able to drag him out.’
This drew snorts of derision from some of the men. ‘Don’t laugh,’ Captain Hailsham admonished them. ‘I’m not joking about this. That glacier is massive, filled with crevasses, and extremely dangerous. In good weather conditions the procedure I’ve just described will be adequate to the situation, enabling us to advance, albeit slowly. However, in sub-zero temperatures and gale-force winds, which we’re likely to encounter, it’s extremely hazardous. In fact, sudden gales, which come from the mountains and are then funnelled down valleys, can produce gusts of over 240 kilometres per hour. To make matters worse, the weather’s unpredictable. What may appear as a window of clear weather can be closed in minutes by whirling snow storms, producing a blinding white-out. So believe me, that glacier is treacherous.’
‘Luckily, Captain Hailsham has Himalayan experience,’ Major Parkinson interjected. ‘That, at least, is a help.’
‘If it’s that hazardous, why choose the glacier for an OP?’ Ricketts asked, thinking it was a poor site for an observation post.
‘I have to confess,’ Parkinson replied, ‘that 42 Commando’s second-in-command, Major Guy Sheridan, advised against it. However, the importance of that high point overlooking Grytviken and Leith Harbour, combined with Captain Hailsham’s experience as a civilian mountaineer, was enough to make us take a chance and attempt a landing on this difficult LZ. We were encouraged further when
