Forward into Hell

by Vince Bramley

  The shelling had become part of our routine – not in the sense that we could get used to it, but in that very important lessons had been learned within the first few hours of the previous day’s shelling. The artillery opening up in Stanley had a distinct tone to it. Obviously, the booming from Stanley told us that shelling would arrive, but where? Enemy shells could certainly reach us or other objectives now in our hands. The shell’s flight was the telltale sign. Within seconds of the boom, the air space over the mountain would feel as if it was evaporating, and air would start to rush around the hill, telling us unmistakably that Mount Longdon was about to be hit. The scream announcing the shell’s imminent arrival was produced by suction. This would grow louder in the last two or three seconds of the shell’s deadly flight and that was all the time we had to get down. That loud screaming meant that the shell would land within six to ten metres of us. Some say that the shell you don’t hear is the shell that will get you. This may well be true, for I never heard the three shells that nearly claimed my life.

  The shelling stopped after about an hour. I lost count of the numbers. What did it matter anyway? One shell or a hundred, they still came.

  I crawled from the bunker and the smell of freshly disturbed earth and cordite hit my nose. I sat on my webbing looking at the view across the valley. A shell screamed in over my head so fast and unexpected that I didn’t have time to hit the ground; the shell and I landed together as it exploded. I jumped up as the dirt settled, looking down the small slope to see where Steve Ratchford, Sas and Clive were gathered. I saw smoke drifting from where the shell had landed; it looked as though a fire had just gone out there. It wasn’t fifteen metres from the others’ position and I screamed out, ‘Steve, Steve.’

  Nothing. I turned to Johnny, who stood by my shoulder. His eyes met mine, and we both feared the worst. My mind was frantic.

  ‘Steve, Steve,’ I screamed again.

  Nothing. I ran down the small slope and around the little bank that had obscured my view. There, in a tight bundle, sat the three lads, staring straight ahead as if they were in a trance. Their faces told me of shock and anguish. They all slowly turned their heads as if my presence had disturbed their trance.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer me, you bastards, why?’

  Sas smiled at me. Clive looked at me as if he were the village idiot who didn’t understand. Steve put his hand to his ear and shouted as if I were a million miles away, ‘What’d you say, Vince?’

  I let my rifle butt hit the ground. They were all deaf, all in shock. There were clumps of fresh dirt around their feet. Johnny joined me. I was visibly mad with frustration, but it was mixed with relief that they were alive. I grinned and walked back up to the small bunker. I sat down and turned to Steve Wake. I hadn’t spoken my first word when a shell screamed over our heads, in exactly the same route pattern as the one that had just landed. I had been about to ask Steve if he thought the shells were one-hundredand-twenty mortars, because they seemed different in their flight signal. We all hit the ground again as the shell landed. No sooner had I started to pick myself up than a high-pitched scream rushed into my ears, a deadly sound. I can still hear it today. I looked down to where the shell had hit, in the same area as before. The ground was smouldering, smoke lifting and evaporating.

  Five metres from the smouldering hole lay two bodies. The sight of one of them will stay with me till I die. His Para smock was riddled with smoke escaping from every corner, the arms, bottom, the collar. The lad turned on to his back, screaming, ‘Oh, God, help me, help me, please.’

  I ran down the hill in fright and concern. I dropped to my knees by the screaming soldier. His eyes met mine. Did he register me? I only saw Denzil, Denzil the character we all loved. I wrenched my eyes over to his legs: one was hanging off, ripped to shreds, the bone clearly visible. His screaming churned my stomach – it was like nothing I’d ever heard. He tried to look down at his leg.

  ‘Don’t fucking look this way,’ I barked. ‘Lie back now, hear me?’

  He dropped on to his back, still holding his thigh.

  Jonah Jones, a 9 Squadron lad, came to my side. ‘Vince, I’ll deal with him. You see to him,’ he said, pointing to Craig.

  Craig lay very close to Denzil. Clive rushed to help me. Craig hadn’t any visible wounds. He lay quietly as Clive tried to talk to him. I tried to pull his smock open and pull his trousers down to check for a wound.

  Denzil screamed and moaned behind me, ‘Help me, help me.’ Jonah was busy seeing to his leg.

  I pulled out my knife and started to cut through Craig’s denims and quilted Arctic clothing. My frantic cutting was too slow and I knew it. The doctor skidded in beside me, pulled out his scissors and started to cut through Craig’s leggings. I pulled the ripped material to one side; we had reached the skin. His legs had massive lacerations in all directions, spilling muscle and bone, but there was hardly any blood. The doctor shouted at me to tie his muscles together. I pulled out my field dressing and tied the lacerations together. The doctor was joined by a medic who went to Denzil.

  I was half-conscious of cries of ‘Medic, medic, stretcher-bearer’ all down the hill. Craig was lying still. I slid up beside him and looked into his face. It was pale, with no colour at all; his eyes stared into my face.

  ‘You’ll be OK, Craig, just hang on, mate, hang on.’

  Clive held his head, stroking his forehead, repeating my words.

  ‘Craig, can you hear me?’ I shouted.

  The doctor pulled and tugged frantically at Craig’s clothing, trying to reach more obvious wounds.

  ‘Craig, you’ll be OK, hang on.’

  He looked at me and a slight smile came across his face, his eyes laughed at me, bright and wild. His grin spread, then all expression faded. He faded away.

  ‘Craig, Craig, don’t, keep in there.’

  His eyes closed. He died then and there. He was a young soldier, twenty years of age. The records will say, Private CJ. The doctor motioned a bearer to get him on and away. Denzil was also lifted and carried away. I fell on to my bottom. Jonah and Clive patted me on the shoulder. I tried to get up but fell to my knees again. I hadn’t realised until then that I was crying, crying without knowing it. I cried with all the pain and sadness. It didn’t seem fair.

  Johnny came to my side and picked me up. He picked up my weapon and started to guide me to our bunker again. I glanced at Steve and Sas. Sas was crying as well, and Steve had buried his face in his hands. I stumbled up to our bunker, weeping. When I sat down, Steve Wake put his arm around me and whispered, ‘You done a brave thing, Vince. I couldn’t have gone down there after two shells landed in the same spot. You done all right, mate.’

  His gesture didn’t register. I cried with exhaustion, hatred and pity. Craig and Denzil remain with me today, Craig who died and Denzil who lost a leg, and so nearly his life.

  When people write or tell of experiences of this kind, I know now that they can never really tell the facts for anyone to totally understand, for often the reader is wrapped in his own make-believe game of war. For me personally, this five-minute experience changed my whole life and attitude towards war. Wars will always be fought and I would go again for my beliefs, but I hope never ever again to see a face fade from me. It took nearly a year after this war for Craig’s face to go before I slept, nearly a year to wipe out Denzil’s smock on fire and his scream. Until I die, it will remain a part of me.

  18

  ‘DON’T GET BITTER’

  Johnny made a brew and passed me a fag. I looked at it and I giggled. Why not? I thought. Life’s short as it is.

  That cigarette helped to take my mind from the incidents of the morning.

  ‘You know, Johnny, I’m finished. I’d kill the fucking lot of them now when we reach Stanley.’

  ‘Don’t get bitter, Vince, people never accept that, you know.’

  I looked up at him and grinned. He was right, perfectly right. Those simple words have remained with me till today, b
ut the frustration remains as well. After all, bitterness is a sign of defeat, whether you win or lose.

  Tommo arrived to tell us that Johnny and I, with him, had to go up to A Company’s positions for a recce. ‘Looks like the big push tonight, so rumour has it,’ grinned Tommo. ‘We’ll be moving in thirty minutes. Meet by the OC’s position. SLRs and mags only, he says – no need for webbing, OK?’

  A small group congregated by the OC’s position. Standing with weapons and spare mags in abundance, we awaited his instructions. The group was about ten-strong and consisted mainly of detached commanders. Captain Mason was to lead.

  The OC called us together for a quick brief. ‘I’m not going to keep you long. These artillery shells are active again. You are to recce Wireless Ridge for 2 Para’s attack tonight. We will be supporting them with SF, Milan and mortar throughout. You will all keep to this side of Longdon as the Argies are watching every move, from Tumbledown. That is also going to get a shock tonight, from the Guards. You are to note every bunker and position on Wireless Ridge, so you can lock on to them with ease tonight. See you all later.’ Captain Mason added that we were to keep evened out because of the enemy artillery.

  Johnny, Tommo and the PC were in front of me as we set off climbing through the sharp crags on the north side of Longdon. We passed the wreckage of battle along the whole of the mountain. The Argentinean bodies that still hadn’t been visited by our burial parties lay stinking and rotting. Weapons and military equipment lay discarded, evidence of the enemy’s flight. Climbing through a small crack one after the other, we gradually made our way into A Company’s position. I was surprised that they were so far away from us, about two or three hundred metres. Being near the end of the small party, I was only concerned with watching where I stepped. The muddy slopes made progress awkward. I passed the body of an Argentinean. He lay on his side, rigid as cardboard. The whole side of him that I could see was burned nearly to the bone, his fingers half-clenched in a fist. I looked at his face. His ear was missing, and blood had congealed into a thick, dark mass.

  We broke into a small open patch where we gathered for a short rest. A few A Company lads were leaning against the rock, grinning. They just nodded at our party; eye-talk was the only expression needed.

  Captain M set off in the lead again. We all kept a little closer now that we were nearing our objective. Stirred by excitement, I only hoped that we would get a closer look at Wireless Ridge and the enemy. We were now well into A Company’s position. Their lads gave catcalls and shouted after their mates in B Company, ‘Has anyone seen Taffy or Smudge?’ and the like.

  Brief messages were passed. Our party was spread across some twenty metres when the booming came from Stanley. The boys from A Company disappeared like ferrets into bunkers or small holes.

  ‘Incoming, incoming,’ shouted a sergeant as he vanished into his hole.

  A rush of air told us we were about to be hit. The party ran for cover wherever they could find it, but we had been caught well out in the open and this was A Company’s home, not ours. The scream of the shells deafened me. I spotted a small crater to my right, definitely a shell hole. The air around me had disappeared and the impact was one or two seconds away as I dived in. Two shells landed behind me, about twenty metres away.

  Two more shells rolled past us in the direction of our own position. Tommo shouted something. I stood up, only to see everyone diving to the ground again. I hadn’t heard the scream of the second salvo. I threw myself into my hole again, curling up like a hedgehog. All I remember next is an earthquake around me. The explosion was so loud I thought my eardrums must have burst. Shrapnel peppered the rocks above me and sprayed the edge of my hole, sizzling on the ground as the lethal, red-hot pieces of metal burned out. I was beyond help. I froze in complete fright, too scared to move in that split second of the shell’s impact. Earth showered all over me with such force that I thought I would be buried alive. My ears popped as it landed on my head, face and neck.

  ‘Vince, Vince,’ came a whisper.

  I wanted to jump up and answer but I had frozen.

  ‘Vince, Vince,’ it got louder.

  I raised my head and looked over the edge of the small hole that had saved my life. I saw Tommo and Johnny running towards me. As my head popped up, their running slowed to a happy trot. I was on all fours, still holding my rifle. I pushed myself up, the dirt falling from me as if a shovelful had been thrown over me.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Tommo ranted, ‘you scared the fucking life out of me. Don’t do this to me.’

  ‘What? I haven’t done anything.’

  I was still in a daze, as Tommo pointed to a smoking hole next to mine five or six metres away, the freshly upturned earth making a crater about the size of a double bed.

  ‘That’s what I call a lucky bastard,’ grinned Johnny.

  Captain Mason and the rest stood at the rear looking on. Once Mason was satisfied that all was OK, we continued on the last thirty metres of our journey. My head was buzzing and spinning. There was dirt in my ears. I recovered quickly but my mind couldn’t register the thought of how near I’d been to death.

  A second salvo screamed over us as we reached the observation post. Captain Mason turned to us as we grouped up for our recce.

  ‘You’d think they’d seen us arriving, with all these shells lately, wouldn’t you?’ Sergeant ‘Spunky’ agreed.

  We split into groups, by machine-guns, and started noting the views in front of us. To my right, just over a small group of rocks, lay Tumbledown. I nodded to Tommo that I was going to look at Moody Brook and Tumbledown. As I crawled up beside Spunky, who was also scanning the view, a shout from behind alerted us all to more shells. Three or four screamed over us and landed smack in the middle of A Company. We pushed ourselves up into our positions again.

  ‘Sergeant, Sergeant, I can see them. Over here, quickly.’

  We all turned our heads to see an A Company sergeant running up to a young private from A Company, who pointed to a batch of rocks about five hundred metres in front of us. We saw clearly five or six heads bobbing up and down behind the rocks.

  Captain Mason crawled in beside us. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir. I couldn’t say.’

  The sergeant shouted for a GPMG to be brought to him. A young gunner ran across the open patch of A Company’s position to join them. Lieutenant Oliver shouted for information.

  ‘It’s their fucking FOO position. We’ve been after these bastards all morning.’

  Apparently, this was the position that spotted and radioed to Stanley to bring the shells on to us. How long they had been there, no one knew. It could have been since the fall of Longdon or they could have moved into that position during the night.

  Spunky and I brought our SLR rifles into aim. I flicked my sights up and on to max range. A burst from the GPMG saw the tracer rounds bounce and hit the area in question. I waited for a moment and a head appeared almost at once. The rifle jerked into my shoulder as I quickly fired two shots. Spunky fired a single shot. Nothing. The GPMG stopped and we all waited again. The seconds seemed like hours. A helmet appeared on the other side of the rocks and we all opened up together, Spunky, me and the GPMG. Bullets crashed into the rocks at the target, tracer rounds bounced into the air. Still nothing. Had we hit them?

  Captain Mason shouted for us to stop. ‘Come on, let’s do what we came here for. I don’t want to get into a full firefight.’

  I looked at him, then crawled back to Tommo.

  ‘Personally, Vince, I would leave you there. You would get some of this frustration out of yer,’ he said, with a grin.

  Spunky remained, after telling the captain that as far as he was concerned as long as they had their heads firmly down then they couldn’t see what DF to use on us. However, I’d had my little shoot. I now had to prepare my gun position for that night. The shooting continued while we scanned Wireless Ridge. No more shells landed all the while the FOO position was being shot at. Who ha
d been right?

  I lay next to Tommo and Johnny. We scanned and searched the ridge through our binos. I could clearly see Argentineans walking about, bunker to bunker. They stood around in groups of two to five, chatting as if standing in the street. I heard Captain Mason say to an officer with our party, ‘What’s good for them is good for us, yeah?’

  The officer grinned, ‘Yeah.’ He picked up his handset and said a few words.

  ‘Look in, boys, the show’s on.’

  Booming came from behind us, artillery and mortars that told us the Argies were in for a bang or two. The shells began to land around them. Watching through my binos, it was like witnessing the start of a hundred-metre race, only the participants ran in different directions. We giggled loudly. The small barrage lasted seconds, but it was enough to completely disperse all the Argies who had been walking about.

  We noted down all the bunkers in sight, including a group much further back that we had missed at first. We lay there for well over two hours, noting every move the enemy made, every bunker, gun and depth. All groups finished and packed up on receiving Captain Mason’s order to move. The PC grinned at Tommo.

  ‘What’s with you two?’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t it great without the platoon sergeant up there flapping about?’ grinned the PC.

  The joke was unexpected. I hadn’t even thought of him until then.

  ‘Don’t spoil my day,’ I said. ‘I was quite happy being shelled until you mentioned that name.’

  The journey back was uneventful. As we passed the gunner who was firing at the Argentinean FOO party, he grinned and said, ‘All quiet on the Western Front now, isn’t it?’ My thoughts exactly.

  Having passed through the crags and over the littered battlefield, we were back into our positions after three or four hours. We gave the OC all our information. As we made for our bunkers, I crawled up a bank and bumped into the RSM and CO, who were on their way to meet the OC for information.