Scram! (16 page)

The entire demolition and reconnaissance teams were extracted successfully and returned to
Hermes
. The raid had led to the destruction or immobilisation of all bar one of the Argentine Pucara, Mentor and Skyvan aircraft. The mission was a resounding success without the loss of a single man.

Death, where is thy sting? Our biggest fear was bumping into one of these Argentine Pucara aircraft in mid-air. At least we didn't have to worry about these five, crippled by the SAS in their daring night raid on the airstrip at Pebble Island. A sixth Pucara was totally destroyed.

* * *

The night-flying crews had only just returned from their successful Pebble Island adventure when they were ushered in to a meeting with senior pilot, Bill Pollock. He told them that the task force commanders in London had approved an even more audacious plan.

Encouraged by the SAS raid against the local threat, they now hoped to remove the long-range air threat with a raid on the mainland air bases in Argentina. Of particular interest were the Exocet-fitted Super Etendards that had launched from Rio Grande air base, responsible for the sinking of HMS
Sheffield
, and the Mirage jets based at Rio Gallegos. The plan was to insert a small group of SAS soldiers onto the mainland. The only problem, Pollock explained, was that this would be a one-way mission. The Sea King would not be able to carry enough fuel to get there and back. It would also mean missing out on the eventual amphibious landing on the Falklands. Getting an SAS team covertly into Argentina was apparently a more important mission than the loss of a valuable Sea King and crew to the landing forces. Bill Pollock asked for volunteers to come forward by the following evening.

Two days later, Lieutenant Nick Foster watched as a Hercules from Ascension flew past the supply ship
Fort Austin
and despatched a series of parachutes from its cargo door at the rear. Soon afterwards, he was hovering his Wessex over the sea, winching the special forces soldiers and their equipment up into the aircraft and depositing them dripping wet onto the flight deck. They were extremely unimpressed to find one of their pallets had sprung a leak. With the Wessex cleared away into the ship's hangar, Lieutenant Bob Horton landed a Sea King on board to collect them. Nick Foster ran in and connected up his helmet to the intercom. ‘So these are your
Latino
boys?' he asked mischievously.

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' replied Horton straight-faced.

The volunteer crew for the one-way mission was led by Dick Hutchings, the only Royal Marine pilot amongst the night-flying crews. As the squadron combat survival instructor he was the obvious candidate. He had also completed the SAS-run course at Hereford. Alongside him were co-pilot Wiggy Bennett, one of the best navigators on the squadron, and the highly competent Leading Aircrewman Pete Imrie. The crew were to be accompanied by a nine-man assault team of eight SAS soldiers and one SBS Royal Marine.

Soon after midnight on 18 May, Sea King Victor Charlie launched from
Invincible
, now positioned 300 miles from the Argentine coast. The helicopter had been stripped of all surplus weight and equipment in order to carry the biggest possible load of passengers and fuel. With so many long-range night-flying missions into the Falklands already under their belt, the two pilots were confident that their navigational equipment and skills would get them to the right place even after such a long transit.

As soon as Victor Charlie had lifted from the deck,
Invincible
turned to head back east. The heavily laden Sea King flew westwards at low level in the darkness, slowed by the headwind. The crew were using two of the seven pairs of valuable night vision goggles. Their progress was delayed further by the need for a sudden detour north around an unexpected gas exploration field. Headwind and detour ate up valuable fuel. But worse was to come. Visibility was already reducing as the Sea King hit landfall and the aircraft turned south for the transit towards Rio Grande. The weather deteriorated with every mile. Dick Hutchings was now forced to fly lower and slower until the Sea King was almost hover-taxiing just above the
beach
in ever-thickening fog. The one positive was that Wiggy Bennett had updated the navigation system as they passed their originally intended landfall point.

With the fog now reducing visibility to dangerously low levels, Hutchings had no choice but to land the Sea King seven miles short of his planned drop-off point. But the SAS troop commander was uncomfortable about their location, even as the first of his troops started to unload from the aircraft. The pilots were unable to convince him that the exact grid reference they had given from their recently updated navigation system was accurate. The troop commander decided to abort the mission and ordered his men back on board.

The only option now was to get out of the area fast. They were just twenty miles from the airbase at Rio Grande. Flying west towards Chile was the only option. Unable to fly below the fog, the aircraft climbed to clear the mountain range ahead of them. A buzz every few seconds in their helmets showed that their movement had been picked up by Argentine radar. Within minutes they had crossed the border into Chile, descending to drop off the special forces team at a remote site on the other side of the mountain range. All that remained was for the Sea King to make for an uninhabited stretch of coastline near Punta Arenas.

The crew's attempt to put down nearly ended in disaster. Hutchings was blinded by the flashing low-fuel warning lights in the cockpit which saturated his night vision goggles. Eventually he grounded the Sea King on the beach and set fire to the aircraft with fuel and flares. The crew smashed the valuable goggles to pieces and buried them in the sand.

After seven days of avoiding capture and sleeping rough, Hutchings, Bennett and Imrie wandered into the
town
of Punta Arenas where they were picked up by the local police. Two days later, they were repatriated to the UK.

The night insertions and extractions to the Falklands continued with replacement pilots Sub-Lieutenant Trevor Jackson, Martin Eales and Lieutenant Peter Spens-Black joining the night-flying specialists. The loss of two sets of night vision goggles in Chile meant the night flyers had to share five sets. A second batch of fifteen goggles was eventually parachuted into the sea by long-range Hercules from Ascension Island.

Jackson teamed up with Flight Lieutenant Bob Grundy. For their first sortie together, however, Jackson's goggles failed to switch on. He was forced to endure the entire mission in complete darkness apart from what he could see under the suppressed lighting of the instrument panel. For over three hours it was the only indication he had that the Sea King was flying at thirty feet above the ground at 100 knots. It was terrifying: the worst flight of his life.

For the second sortie, the newly tested goggles duly lit up: ‘That's fantastic. I can actually see where I'm going.'

What he didn't say was that the quality still seemed poor. After the flight, he asked Grundy: ‘How do you fly with these things? It seems so blurred.'

‘You
can
adjust the focus!'

Trevor Jackson's third and subsequent sorties were perfect.

As the giant container ship
Atlantic Conveyor
ploughed its way through the South Atlantic waters, the Wessex aircrew high up on the ship's superstructure were treated to a noisy spectacle. Throughout Tuesday 18 May and the
following
day, the eight spare Royal Navy Sea Harriers and six RAF ground-attack Harriers lifted away from the huge forward deck one by one.

A Sea Harrier launch is a quite extraordinary sight. It doesn't seem right that a fighter jet should be able to defy gravity with such apparent ease. And yet it does, somehow rising vertically up into the air, raising its nose slightly, retracting its undercarriage, and accelerating upwards and away into the distance. Just seconds later, the pilot has taken the jet around in a tight circuit and is now blitzing past at low level at 600 knots – almost 700 miles per hour.

The Harrier sound is distinct and unforgettable. The high-pitch whistle of the powerful Pegasus engine warns you to put your hands over your ears or lose your hearing. As the pilot pushes the throttle to full power, the pitch of the whistle starts to increase, replaced almost immediately by an ear-splitting roar. With the exhaust nozzles pointing downwards, all of the engine thrust will be used to lift the aircraft off the ground. The enormous noise betrays the vast amount of power and energy needed to lift thirteen tons of fully armed strike fighter off the ground. Once clear, the pilot slowly rotates the exhaust nozzles until they point backwards like a conventional jet.

The biggest advantage of getting all the jets onto the two aircraft carriers is the ski jump. A vertical take-off in a Sea Harrier is undoubtedly impressive. But it also needs a lot of power and uses up a hell of a lot of fuel very quickly. The Sea Harriers could accelerate down the deck of the aircraft carrier gaining airspeed. The ski jump would then bounce them into the air. This simple but clever invention allowed the jets to get off the deck more efficiently and thus carry a heavier load of fuel and weapons.

The decks on the carriers were already crowded before the new Sea Harriers and RAF Harriers arrived. Making
space
meant a further complicated shuffling of helicopters beforehand. Sea King and Lynx helicopters were told to move to the supply ship
Fort Austin
. This then meant moving some of the Wessex helicopters elsewhere. Nick Foster and Sub-Lieutenant Ian Brown, one of my fellow trainees, made the mistake of landing on
Hermes
during an air raid and were told to ‘shut down'. Now the lowest priority aircraft on the ship, the Wessex was packed away in the hangar. Humble pleas for release fell on deaf ears. After three days of waiting patiently with only their increasingly foul-smelling goon suits for company, Foster and Brown were eventually allowed to transfer to
Atlantic Conveyor
and join the other Wessex.

Just days to go before the San Carlos landings, three more vital events had to take place before the operation could get underway. Falkland Sound needed to be checked for mines. On the morning of Wednesday 19 May, HMS
Alacrity
was given the job of expendable guinea pig, bravely sailing between West and East Falklands. An Argentine observation point overlooking Falkland Sound and the entrance to San Carlos also had to be neutralised, while an SBS patrol had also warned of an Argentine commando base recently set up at Port San Carlos. These infantry units needed to be dealt with before the arrival of the British amphibious group. Finally the concentration of 3 Brigade troops on
Canberra
needed to be dispersed. In calm seas out in the South Atlantic, 40 Commando Royal Marines transferred by ropes and landing craft across to the already crowded
Fearless
. Three Para did the same to the similarly crowded
Intrepid
, while 2 Para remained on board
Canberra
.

In preparation for the landings, the eleven Sea Kings repositioned themselves so that the four night-flyers were
now
on
Intrepid
and seven day-flyers were spread amongst
Fearless, Canberra
and
Norland
.

It was at dusk, during a final transfer of troops from
Hermes
to
Intrepid
that Lieutenant Bob Horton's twelfth Sea King crashed into the sea, rolled over and sank. The official explanation was that the aircraft had suffered a catastrophic system failure after hitting an albatross. The two pilots escaped. Most of the passengers weren't so lucky. The appalling loss of life was amongst the worst of the war: twenty young men died in the cabin of the aircraft, including eighteen SAS soldiers, the only RAF fatality of the war and the 846 aircrewman, Corporal Doc Love.

The two Wessex crashes on Fortuna Glacier had preceded what was ultimately a successful land campaign on South Georgia. The question was whether this considerably more disastrous Sea King accident would precede a similarly successful land campaign on the Falkland Islands.

Chapter 7

D-Day: 20–21 May 1982

INCREDIBLY, THE ARGENTINE
defenders still hadn't identified where the British landings would take place. Diversions by the SAS and harassment by naval gunfire had caused them to concentrate resources around the capital Port Stanley and the settlements of Goose Green and Darwin
.

D-Day was set for landings at San Carlos on Friday 21 May. Three Commando Brigade Royal Marines and Paras had transferred to the big assault ships in preparation for the landings and 4,000 men now needed to be offloaded by the smaller landing craft. The Sea King helicopters of 846 Squadron would take much of the soldiers' equipment. It would be a classic amphibious assault
.

The success of the landings would be highly dependent on the weather. The ideal situation was low cloud to prevent the Argentine air force jets launched from the mainland from attacking the landing force. What the landing force got was a glorious day with clear blue skies
.