Читать книгу Heroes of the South Atlantic - Shaun Clarke, Shaun Clarke - Страница 8

The 22,890-ton RFA Fort Austin sailed under the Blue Ensign in company with the large destroyer HMS Antrim (6200 tons), the frigate Plymouth (2800 tons), and the large fleet tanker Tidespring (27,400 tons). Maintaining radio silence, the fleet soon left Ascension Island far behind to become surrounded by the deep swells and ominous grey waves of the forbidding South Atlantic.

Although normally unarmed, the Fort Austin was carrying improvised weaponry, including GPMGs, general-purpose machine-guns. It had also embarked four Lynx helicopters specially fitted for firing the Sea Skua missile, and it was loaded with 3500 tons of ammunition, stores and spares. With a length of 183.8 metres, a beam of 24.1 metres and a draught of 14.9 metres, she was an impressive sight, and, to the uninitiated, overwhelming inside.

Spending most of their days and nights in the dimly lit, sweltering hold, in tightly packed tiers of bunk beds and hammocks, surrounded by dangling equipment and clothes hanging from stanchions, in a tangle of bags, packs, bergens and weapons, with little to do except be patient, the SAS men passed the time by studying as much detail of the islands as they had been given by Intelligence, playing cards, writing letters in which they could not state their whereabouts, visiting the latrines out of boredom as well as need, and exchanging the usual banter and bullshit.

‘Here comes young Danny, just back from the head, getting his lovely Darlene out of his system by having a good wank. How did it go, kid?’

‘None of your business, Gumboot.’

‘Shot a healthy wad, did you? Enough to last you till tomorrow? Me, I can do it ten times a day and it’s still not enough. That’s why women can’t get enough of me – because I just keep on coming.’

‘They can’t get enough of you,’ big Andrew corrected him, ‘because you pay them too much. The whores of London have never had it so good – at least not since your missus ran off and sent you on the prowl around King’s Cross. At least Danny here doesn’t have to pay for it. He has youth on his side.’

‘Hey, look, he’s blushing! Danny’s face has gone all red. If he had as much heat in his dick, we’d all be in trouble.’

‘Shut up, Jock,’ Ricketts said. ‘You’ve got a mouth like a sewer. Go and pick on someone your age – another geriatric.’

‘I’m the same age as Danny. He just looks younger than me. That’s because I’m a man of broad experience and it shows in my face.’

‘Dissipation,’ Andrew said. ‘Your mug certainly shows that. Now me, I’m often mistaken for Muhammad Ali. Black is beautiful, friends.’

When feeling trapped or claustrophobic in the crowded, noisy hold, a man could make his escape by touring the immense ship and observing the constant activity that went on in its other holds and on the flight deck. Most of this revolved around the transfer of stores and equipment, either to smaller ships alongside or by jackstay rigs or helicopters to HM ships. The noise both above and below decks was therefore considerable nearly all day, and sometimes went on through the night.

‘Fucking Navy,’ Jock said. ‘You’d have to be mad to join it. I mean, trapped on this floating factory for weeks on end with only the sea all around you. You’d have to be psycho.’

‘That’s what they say about us,’ Andrew replied, ‘and maybe they’re right.’

‘They’re just a bunch of poofters,’ Gumboot said, leaning against the railing and spitting over the side to baptize the sea. ‘We’ve all known that for years. That’s why they like life aboard ship, packed cosily together in their bunks. Why else would they do it?’

‘Three days we’ve been at sea already,’ Taff said, ignoring Jock’s base observation and instead watching another helicopter taking off with a roar, silhouetted by a pale, cloud-streaked sun as it created a wind that whipped their faces and pummelled their bodies. ‘One more day and I’ll go mad.’

‘Won’t we all?’ Ricketts murmured.

Luckily, they managed to survive the next day – and on the fifth, 9 April, Antrim’s fleet linked up with the ice patrol ship the Endurance 1600 kilometres north of South Georgia, and, escorted by it, began closing in on the island.

‘Thank God!’ Danny exclaimed softly, again leaning on the railing and gazing hopefully at the distant, as yet featureless grey horizon. ‘Now let’s see some dry land.’

However, as approval for the operation had not yet been received from London, another ten days passed before Major Parkinson could announce its commencement.

‘How are the men holding up?’ he asked Sergeant Ricketts.

‘Not bad, boss, but they’re obviously getting a bit frustrated. There isn’t much to do down there in the hold except listen to the hammering of the engines, play cards, write letters, trade bullshit and take the piss out of passing sailors.’

‘But no trouble so far?’

‘Not so far – but their remarks to the sailors are becoming more saucy by the day, so there could be some punch-ups in the near future. There’s a lot of energy needs squandering down there, one way or the other.’

‘We’d better distract them.’

‘I think so, boss.’

‘Let’s keep them extra busy, Sergeant. Every minute of every day. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll be right and they’ll start popping sailors. Let’s burn up all that healthy, excess energy before they release it another way.’

‘Good thinking, boss,’ Ricketts said.

Within each of the four Sabre Squadrons of the SAS – A, B, C and D – there are four kinds of 16-man specialist groups: Mountain Troops for mountain and Arctic warfare; Boat Troops for amphibious warfare; Mobility Troops for operations in Land Rovers and fast-attack vehicles, as well as on motorcycles; and Air Troops for freefall parachute operations. However, during their training, the men must serve with every group, to make them adaptable to any of the four main forms of warfare.

Given the nature of the Falklands, the SAS men on Fort Austin were divided into the two groups needed for this particular operation: the Mountain Troop, led by Captain Hailsham and including Sergeant Ricketts, Corporal Clarke and troopers Porter and Winston, which would be used for land-based reconnaissance and engagements; and the Boat Troop, led by Captain Grenville and including Corporal McGregor and troopers Burgess and Gillis, to be used for any required amphibious landings.

The first group was therefore kept as busy as possible with interminable lessons on the geography and topography 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.’