Forward into Hell

by Vince Bramley

  It then became noticeable that the smell was everywhere and getting stronger. Everywhere there were mounds of toilet paper on small piles of shit. I tried to place my hands on clean rock as we climbed up through the crag. When we reached the other side, we trotted to catch up with the teams. It seemed amazing to me how they would always walk off and not wait for anyone.

  We came to an open spot by some empty bunkers. Captain Mason told us to wait, so again we sat. I was searching for a good spot to sit when I saw Pete Hedicker, so I sat beside him and chatted.

  ‘Got a good spot here, Vince,’ said Pete.

  ‘Yeah, let’s hope they forget us for a bit.’

  Pete looked at me grinning. ‘You know we’d be in the Queen’s now, don’t you? I mean, it’s the weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t talk to me about a pint, I could murder one right now.’ Johnny sat opposite us, banging his feet together to bring them to life. Bob sat with him.

  ‘Bob,’ I said, ‘where’s Sas?’

  ‘Don’t know, thought he was in front of you, going through the shitpit.’

  My mind flashed back to where I had last seen him. I could remember him giggling about Captain Mason and the sniper, but since then no sign. I looked around me, but no sign there either. I whispered loudly, ‘Sas, Sas.’

  Nothing. Johnny stopped banging his feet.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, where is he now?’

  Johnny got up and walked back towards the shitpit some fifty metres away. He had not gone far when Ginge called him back.

  ‘Looks like you’re needed,’ he said, pointing to Lieutenant Oliver coming towards us.

  The lieutenant squatted beside us. ‘Right, lads, only the gun teams to come to the summit. Corporal Thompson is going to put you into position, OK?’

  ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘Sas isn’t here.’

  ‘What?’ he shouted. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘We’ve lost him,’ replied Johnny.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s all we need. Look, come anyway. Corporal McCarthy, if he turns up we’re only about fifteen metres up, OK?’

  Peter grinned at me.

  ‘Piss off,’ I said.

  It seemed to me every time someone grinned at me I was on a task.

  Bob and I got all the kit together, while Johnny went with Tommo to find a position to place his gun. We then followed Lieutenant Oliver the last fifteen metres up the hill to the summit. Stopping short of skylining ourselves, we squatted, waiting. About ten minutes later, Tommo came over to us.

  ‘Hello, you old fart,’ I said.

  Tommo sat with us.

  ‘Just waiting for the OC, Vince. Fuck me, did we have a party up here earlier – some gun, a point-fifty cal, I think. Me and Rawley were having a job knocking it out.’

  ‘Ah, I saw it from the flank, mate. Took your time, didn’t yer?’

  We grinned at each other. Just then, the OC came in beside us.

  ‘Right, Corporal B, I’ve briefed Corporals Cook and Peers. The CSM is going to guide you on to targets with the aid of an NOD. We will be trying to knock out the bunkers before A Company do their bit on the flank. Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Corporal T, take them to the position you found for them.’

  We got up and walked three or four metres to the right. Tommo got down on all fours and started to crawl towards the summit. We all copied him, as he had been up there long before us. No more zipping sounds for me, I hoped.

  When we reached the summit, Bob sat to the rear while I slid in beside Tommo and Lieutenant Oliver. Looking across the hill, all I could see in the darkness was the crags jutting up and down along the top. In the far distance, Stanley blazed with lights. We could see vehicles going up and down the only road into town.

  The stars were still out and it was freezing, a typical winter’s night. I glanced behind us, at the battle of Two Sisters. The Marines’ attack had been helped by a bombardment by our artillery. Their battle wasn’t important to me, and only a few times that night did I glance their way. To our right across the largest valley was Mount Tumbledown. All quiet there.

  14

  NOTHING PERSONAL

  ‘Right, Vince, there’s your arc of fire. Nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but where’s my cover?’

  ‘Only this rock.’

  Beside us was a boulder about chest high, covering me from the left only. To our right was an open space. I looked at Tommo, who said nothing.

  The short straw, I thought.

  ‘Right,’ said Tommo, ‘I’m off. See you later.’

  Lieutenant Oliver beckoned Bob up and, with a great struggle, we placed the gun on the tripod again, this time in the low mount. I centred the gun, then loaded it and cocked it. I took off the safety-catch and we waited.

  Bob was busy getting all the ammo linked up, while I watched to the front. Then, out of the blue, Sas came up. Standing right over us, looking down, he said, ‘Vince, is that you? Got lost, mate.’

  As he spoke, three or four rounds hit the large boulder on the other side of my head. I could almost feel the vibes go through it.

  ‘Get down!’ shouted the PC. Bob was pulling on Sas’s denims as he fell to the ground.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Sas, you’ve just given our position away.’

  He looked dejected.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘do the ammo. Give it to me as we need it, OK?

  ‘OK.’

  The OC shouted across, ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  He was about ten metres to my left.

  We had got some of the ammo together when the CSM shouted.

  ‘Corporal B, get ready!’

  I waited for the CSM to give the orders to fire. The wait was longer than I expected and my finger stayed on the trigger, frozen, waiting.

  As I sat waiting for the command, other voices came to my ears from among the sounds of battle. The voices of the wounded. Everywhere their cries pitched in with those of the survivors still struggling and screaming frantically at each other to move there or move here. But the wounded were unlike anything else. Their cries could be heard above the uninjured: their shouts were desperate. My mind went blank. My eyes were wide open with fright for them. My mouth dried as I lay there. The seconds seemed like hours. Their anguished moaning and crying is here in my ears now, as I write. No matter what I or the others did to try to ignore them, they seemed to grow louder and louder. I burned with frustration.

  One victim, who I later found out was Baz Barrett, seemed so near, groaning and shouting, ‘Help me, please don’t leave me. For fuck’s sake, help – I can’t move.’

  Someone further along to our left called out, ‘For Christ’s sake, I’m dying. Don’t let them bury me here, please, please.’

  I shouted out, ‘Hang on, don’t move, for fuck’s sake, keep quiet!’

  I started to crawl from my position, I wanted to help them. The PC grabbed my arm.

  ‘Leave it, Corporal B, leave it.’

  I looked at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because a sniper has already picked off about five or six guys that have tried to help. The Top says no more, OK?’

  I slumped to the ground with a feeling of total helplessness. It was the worst feeling that anyone can imagine. As I tried not to think it was real, the cries continued.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m hit in the chest, I’m all wet, please help.’ The crying went on and on.

  Some wounded guys had been dragged or had crawled away from the main impact area, only to be pinned down elsewhere. My mind seethed with anger.

  ‘Corporal B, stand by!’ the CSM screamed. The command to follow killed off all the cries and moaning. The weapon broke into a stream of fire at the Argentinean positions, three to five rounds bursting across the summit. The steady rate of fire continued as the CSM shouted across to change direction, using our tracer rounds as indicators. All six guns opened up. Our
tracers ripped across the summit to the other end of the mountain, the bullets bouncing and ricocheting in all directions.

  ‘Stop!’ screamed the CSM. ‘Corporal B, go right three clicks, up fifty mils.’

  Bob removed his finger from the trigger and I quickly adjusted the weapon.

  ‘On!’ I screamed.

  ‘Fire!’

  I followed the CSM’s orders, and the gun burst into life once more. After about thirty or forty rounds, he screamed again. ‘Stop!’

  He shouted to all guns in place, ‘All adjust to Corporal B’s target area.’

  Our platoon guns locked on to their targets across the hilltop.

  ‘On, sir,’ came every reply.

  The CSM then shouted, ‘Bramley, you will traverse right. Corporals T and Cook, traverse left. Stand by, fire.’

  We all fired together. Tracer rounds could be seen passing left and right, as we slowly moved the traversing drums in our respective directions. The flow of bullets parted like hair being combed. The summit came under a deadly stream of fire. Our gun rattled and thudded as the rounds were fed into the top slide. The bullets went to their targets and the empty cases fell below the tripod, the link spilled to the right of the gun and the cordite of the spent cases filled the air around us. The smoke whiffed off the barrels as we let about two hundred rounds pass through them.

  ‘Stop. Everybody drop about sixty mils and go right seven, eight clicks.’

  ‘On!’ I shouted.

  In the darkness, I heard one of the teams cry out, ‘Stoppage.’

  All was quieter for a few seconds, but my ears rang with the sounds of the GPMG. Then, once again, ‘Fire!’

  The barrel spat out the rounds again, the weapon fired steadily and with a good tempo. The empty cases piled up as Bob fired about four hundred rounds.

  ‘Stop. What’s going on over there now?’ I heard another voice shout.

  ‘Gun’s jammed, sir.’

  ‘Well, clear the fucker! Corporal B, your gun OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good, go right five clicks and wait.’

  I adjusted and waited. As I lay there, I felt Sas pulling my denims. I looked down at him.

  ‘What can I do now?’ he asked.

  ‘Link up still,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve done it,’ he said, passing me a handful of link. He had only linked up small bits, about thirty rounds in a strip.

  ‘Where’s the rest?’ I asked.

  ‘Here.’ He passed up small bundles, not even linked.

  I crawled down to him and grabbed his smock. ‘Listen, you. I said “link up” not “fart about”. I’m going to need this in a minute. Sas, I’m getting sick of you.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ he shouted.

  We started fighting, there and then, fists flying, half-rolling about the hillside, trying to kill each other as if it was a Saturday-night brawl. Lieutenant Oliver rolled down beside us and quickly pulled us apart.

  ‘I don’t believe this, I really don’t. The fucking enemy is that way, not here,’ he said, pointing towards Stanley.

  Sas and I went back to our areas of work quickly. This time he started linking the belts together. I got beside the gun and waited. Bob giggled beside me. Looking at me and grinning, he said, ‘That has got to go into the history books, Vince. Who’s heard of that before?’

  ‘No worry, we’re all on edge. I just don’t expect to do two jobs at once and I’ve had enough of him for one night.’

  Lieutenant Oliver whispered across, ‘Corporal B, cool down. I know what you mean, but later, OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Sas tapped my leg again. I looked back at him. He looked down in the dumps. ‘Sorry, Vince. Here’s your ammo now.’

  ‘That’s OK, Sas. No problem. Cheers.’

  After taking the ammo, I linked the remainder on to the gun.

  ‘Sas, how much more ammo have you got?’

  ‘That’s all of it.’

  I leaned over to Lieutenant Oliver. ‘Sir, we’re nearly out of ammo.’

  ‘What, how the fuck can that be?’

  ‘That ACC lad has got to be back there with the sandbag load,’ I said.

  Lieutenant Oliver got up and went to the rest area. About three minutes later, a bag of ammo was dumped on Sas.

  ‘Right, get linking. Quick,’ the lieutenant said.

  ‘Everybody ready?’ the CSM shouted.

  ‘No, sir,’ came the answer to my right.

  Two more teams had no more ammo; two guns had bad stoppages. Tony Peers’s team had gone on another task. This left just our gun.

  ‘Sir, we will need more ammo soon.’

  ‘How much you got left there, Corporal B?’

  ‘About two thousand rounds.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see to it.’

  Within fifteen minutes, bodies appeared out of the darkness and started to drop ammo at Sas’s feet. He was now very busy. Our gun had been firing for some ten minutes. The steady fire of the gun echoed around us. The bursts of fire had warmed the barrel so much that it glowed red-hot in the darkness.

  The CSM continued to correct our fire after long bursts. Sometimes, we would hear him shout, ‘Good shooting. Ah, that’s got that lot. Right, quickly go two clicks right, down thirty mils. Good, that’s got that lot – they’re running all over the place.’

  ‘Stoppage!’ screamed Bob.

  ‘OK, let’s change barrels, now.’

  I cleared the weapon and we moved the barrel without touching it. The glowing barrel sizzled as I placed it on the frozen grass. Immediately, the replacement barrel burst into life.

  We’d been firing across the hill for about forty minutes. I can’t remember the exact length of time – it could have been longer. The ammo was going down rapidly. The CSM screamed at us to get the gun firing again on our last target. We resumed firing as soon as the gun was cocked. Bob’s finger was giving max on the trigger, the gun vibrating almost non-stop. I watched our tracer rounds bouncing off rocks about two hundred metres away.

  ‘We’ve got them,’ the CSM shouted.

  Suddenly, the air around me seemed to disappear. I heard a loud ‘whoosh’, followed by a terrific explosion behind me. The impact shook the ground. My para smock was pulled up through my webbing and I lay there completely stunned for a few seconds. I hadn’t the slightest idea what had happened. The air smelled of damp earth and cordite. I turned around to face Bob and the PC. We all looked at each other wide-eyed, shock on our faces.

  Bob was the first to speak in those opening seconds. ‘But what the fuck was that?’

  ‘What was it, what was it?’ I shouted.

  Lieutenant Oliver screamed, ‘Forget it, forget it! Keep firing, keep firing!’

  Bob was on all fours as if trying to get up, shaking his head as if he’d been hit by a hammer. Lieutenant Oliver grabbed him and shouted, ‘Stay there, stay there!’

  I felt winded, my lungs drained of air. I coughed and spluttered. I could see only stars, as if I had unexpectedly been punched in the face. I lowered my head and grappled for the trigger. After a brief search, I found it and pressed it again. The weapon resumed firing, vibrating as normal. Only the gun had felt nothing.

  The short bursts of fire carried on across the summit. Within a few seconds, the OC shouted across to us, ‘Corporal B, Corporal B, are you all OK over there?’

  His voice registered in my ears, but my mind was spinning, though the stars were beginning to fade. I shouted back, ‘We’re OK, sir.’

  Bob and Lieutenant Oliver looked all right. We just looked at each other as the gun continued to fire. The shock on our faces said everything. The OC said, ‘Corporal B, Corporal B, that was a mean one. Looks like they’ve got you clean in their sights now. Don’t worry, keep firing.’

  The gun carried on. I still hadn’t realised the full impact of what had happened. All of us just went on firing. We had only about six hundred rounds left when the CSM shouted to us to stop.

  While the gun co
oled, we sat on our sides and looked at each other again, taking a brief rest.

  ‘Sir, what happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ shouted Bob, ‘my fucking head is ringing.’

  ‘I think they fired a rocket or something – not sure,’ replied the PC.

  A lad was stumbling behind us and walking around in a daze. (I now know it was Chris Dexter.) Someone shouted for someone to grab him and bring him to them. The voice seemed to come from about forty metres down the hill. A figure appeared from nowhere and guided the lad away. Bob looked at me and said in a worried voice, ‘Vince, this is the pits.’

  Pat Harley came up to the CSM in OC position and said in a quiet voice, ‘Sir, Corporal McCarthy has been hit. Seems to be in a bad way.’

  The OC replied, ‘Go and see to it then. We have a job on our hands here.’

  ‘I’ll go with you and see,’ Captain Mason said.

  Pat and the captain went a little way down the hill and, in the dim light, I could see them busy over Ginge McCarthy.

  ‘Corporal B, get ready again,’ screamed the OC. All three of us turned our heads back to the target.

  ‘Ready, sir.’

  The CSM shouted, ‘Up fifty mils, go right four clicks and fire.’

  The gun erupted into life again and carried on firing. Its noise drowned out everything around us but, in the brief moments it stopped, we could all hear the zipping sounds hitting the rock and ground to our left and front. We knew the enemy were still trying to get us, but we couldn’t move. I was glad when the gun was firing; it took my mind off the snipers.

  When we had spent our last six hundred rounds we screamed out, ‘Need more ammo, need more ammo!’

  About one thousand rounds were thrown at us from behind. Sas linked and passed it to us. The ammo wasn’t ours now, it was Argentinean. Some of the lads were searching empty bunkers now and bringing it up to us. The Argies had fired one tracer round, one ball and one armour-piercing bullet in every three rounds they fired. We had had one tracer and four normal rounds in every five rounds we fired.

  The CSM shouted, ‘Stop, stop.’

  Worn out, we rested our heads on the ground. The battle had now been going on for some eleven hours. How long we had lain there firing I did not know.