Eye of the Storm

by Peter Ratcliffe

  No one knew how much of a threat the strip on Pebble Island might be to the invasion ships, or to the land forces which, as the plan was even then, were to go ashore in San Carlos Bay on East Falkland. Once it was suspected that a radar installation had been set up on the island, however, the place became a very serious threat indeed. Admiral Woodward believed that the radar might be able to detect the British main assault fleet while it was out of range of radar on the Argentinian mainland or on East Falkland, while the airstrip was only a few minutes’ flying time, even for piston-engined ground-attack aircraft, from the proposed site for the main landings.

  Although they appear as mere specks on any map of the world, the Falkland Islands cover 4,700 square miles – about the same area as Northern Ireland. Distances between settlements are long and, outside the town of Port Stanley, population is sparse, and sparser still on West Falkland. Pebble Island is a narrow strip of land some twelve kilometres long, with the sheep-farming settlement and its grass airstrip lying at the eastern end. At its narrowest, the strip of water separating the island from the north coast of West Falkland is some 500 metres.

  We had some intelligence that there was a force of between sixty and seventy Argentinian servicemen on the island, made up of engineers, surveyors, radar technicians and a guard force. There were also a number of civilians whom the enemy might be holding as hostages. This was why an early plan to bomb the runway was given the thumbs down. We didn’t want any of the islanders to be hurt, and least of all as a result of British action. That was not what we’d come all this way for.

  Some of our intelligence was conflicting, however, for other reports indicated that the Argentinian engineers might be there to prepare a new airstrip to receive Aermacchi light ground-attack aircraft which, among other armament, were equipped with Kingfisher air-to-surface missiles, representing a very real threat to any land force once it was ashore. But whatever the truth of these reports, it was absolutely clear that it was vital for someone to find out just what was happening on Pebble Island.

  ‘Someone’ turned out to be D Squadron, 22 SAS. Two four-man patrols from Boat Troop, led by Captain Ted, the troop commander, were to be sent ashore in inflatable boats for a close look at Pebble Island. By now, however, the weather was so poor that the plan was called off. Instead, the patrols were airlifted by Sea King helicopter on to West Falkland on the night of 11/12 May. Their orders were to get as close to the airfield as they could without getting caught, set up covert OPs, and radio back the information that would allow the Task Force’s planning directors to make a proper plan of attack.

  They took with them two five foot-long bags, each containing a Klepper collapsible canoe. Once they had been dropped, they laid low on West Falkland until nightfall and then ‘tabbed’ – the SAS (and Para) equivalent of the Royal Marines’ ‘yomping’ – across country until they reached a point that was closest to Pebble Island. With them they carried the dismantled canoes in their bags.

  Kleppers are constructed from willow frames which, once assembled, then have a rubber skin drawn tightly across them. Skilled hands can assemble them in a few minutes, and the Regiment’s Boat Troops are nothing if not skilled. In pitch darkness, the patrols paddled their craft across the sound and beached them on Pebble Island. Then, while one patrol guarded the concealed boats and their escape route, Ted and the other three men crept towards the airstrip across land that had barely enough cover to hide a rabbit. Indeed, so sparse was the vegetation that to avoid detection during the hours of daylight, they had to lie completely motionless in the elephant grass. Given the close proximity of a much larger enemy force, they were in constant danger of being spotted and attacked, which would almost certainly have compromised any subsequent attack on the airstrip.

  At about eleven o’clock on the morning of 15 May, the Boat Troop commander sent a signal which will go down in the annals of the Regiment. Coded and transmitted in Morse, once deciphered it read, ‘Eleven aircraft, repeat eleven aircraft. Believed real. Squadron attack tonight.’

  The timescale was very tight – clearly Ted saw the matter as urgent. In the light of this, the squadron commander and the senior planners got together and worked out that any attack launched against the aircraft on the Pebble Island airstrip would have to be completed by 0700 hours the next day to allow sufficient time for the raiding parties to be recovered by helicopter. The reason for this was because the Task Force ships closed up to the islands at night, but steamed away into the South Atlantic so that they should not be vulnerable to air attack when daylight came some time after 1100 hours. As they sailed out of danger, so the distance the helicopters would have to fly back to the ships increased.

  The plan began to go wrong from the first. Because of bad weather conditions and Hermes miscalculating her run in to a position eighty miles offshore, which would bring Pebble Island within helicopter range of the ships, the operation started running late almost from the start. The South Atlantic lived up to its foul-weather reputation, and the aircraft carrier had to sail in fierce headwinds and mounting seas. Movement on board was risky, which meant that the Sea Kings on the hangar decks could not be safely readied by the technical crews in the time allowed. Once they were ready, there were more delays while the choppers were brought up to the flight deck for lift-off.

  The helicopters were carried up from the hold of Hermes by huge lifts let into the flight deck, for all the aircraft, Sea Harriers as well as Sea Kings, were kept below deck at all times when they weren’t flying. The mood and atmosphere among D Squadron was electric, with everyone raring to go. By then our faces were covered in cam cream and we were all tooled up. Each SAS man tasked for the raid carried an M16 rifle with three spare magazines taped to the butt, and another 200 to 400 rounds of 7.62mm GPMG ammunition in belts. Everybody carried two mortar bombs, one of high explosive and one of white phosphorus, which we were to drop off when we reached the mortar pits that would be established near the airstrip. Several of the guys also carried LAWs – M72 light anti-tank weapons – which are extremely effective against aircraft on the ground.

  Adrenalin raged through our systems like rivers of fire, giving us an enormous rush. Armed to the teeth, forty-five of us boarded the Sea Kings; with us also went a naval-gunfire support team from 148 Battery, 29 Commando Regiment, Royal Artillery, whose task was to direct the bombardment from the 4.5-inch guns of the ships lying offshore. We all embarked on the hangar deck, and eventually the Sea King that my troop was to fly in was brought up to the flight deck. The helicopter’s engines roared into life. We waited on deck for at least fifteen minutes, only to be told that one of the Sea Kings carrying another troop had developed mechanical problems and would have to be replaced. All in all, this took over an hour, leaving our time on the ground less than adequate, as everything had been planned on the basis of the distance between Hermes and Pebble Island and the range of the Sea Kings, making timing absolutely critical.

  At last we lifted off, flying low level over the sea in blackout conditions, occasionally gaining fleeting glimpses of the waves below. I had never experienced surges of adrenalin to the same extent. To be part of the largest SAS raid since the Second World War was something that I would not have missed for anything, especially when I remembered that I should have been back in a Birmingham drill hall completing my two-year stint as an instructor.

  The navy pilots were terrific, lifting off in the dark and, despite very high winds, flying only forty or fifty feet above the waves to dodge any enemy radar cover. For all their efforts, however, because of the atrocious weather we were already running an hour late when they dropped us off three miles from the airstrip. We estimated that it would take us about two hours to reach the target.

  On landing we were met by Captain Ted, the Boat Troop commander, and his men. They had spent the last four days lying up on Pebble Island, watching the enemy without being seen; now it was their job to lead us to the target. The squadron commander and the headsheds of each troop were b
riefed by Ted. Once the briefing had finished, we were told that this was not a night for tactical movement; instead, we had to get our arses in gear and get to the target as quickly as possible, since otherwise we wouldn’t have enough time to carry out the mission and rendezvous with the helicopters before the latter had to return to Hermes. The plan was for Mobility Troop to attack the eleven aircraft on the ground and destroy them with plastic-explosive (PE) charges. Air Troop was tasked to mask off the settlement, and Mountain Troop was to be held in reserve at the mortar pit, from where they would be able to go instantly to the aid of any troops that might be in trouble.

  My troop, Mobility, was commanded by Captain Paul and his number two was Bob, a staff sergeant; I was number three in the pecking order. Considering the ground and the darkness, we got off pretty quickly. It was not quickly enough, however, for the going was against us. The ground was mainly of peat, spongy stuff that made walking difficult, especially in the dark, and there were lots of fences and walls to cross. Just the kind of thing you’d expect around a sheep settlement.

  Realizing that precious time had been lost, the squadron commander decided to speed-march in single file, one man behind the other. As a result, rather than observing patrol procedures, which would normally involve a stealthy approach, we often broke into a run. But when we came to a wall or a fence, we adopted ‘obstacle procedure’, which dictated that each man should be covered by others while he crossed, and this slowed us considerably.

  When moving in an extended single file, the soldier in front is responsible for the soldier behind. So as long as he can see the man ahead of him and the man behind, then everything is fine. That’s the theory, anyway, but what we didn’t know was that while we were painstakingly crossing obstacles, the squadron OC and the other troops were leaping walls and fences and racing towards the target as though their boots were on fire.

  Inevitably, we lost contact with the troop in front. They were travelling much faster than we were, and before long the man at the head of our troop could no longer see the last man of the troop ahead. Going over undulating ground at night, you can simply disappear into the darkness, and once the chain is broken you are as good as lost. In the pitch blackness we couldn’t see a thing, even through our night scopes, so our only means of contacting the leading troops was by the radio carried by the troop signaller. When Captain Paul realized our predicament he radioed the OC, who was somewhere up in front of us in the dark, and asked him for a steer. The squadron commander came back on the radio and said he didn’t have time to wait for us – if we didn’t catch up with him by the time we reached the rendezvous position, we were to stay in reserve by the mortar pit, the task originally given to Mountain Troop.

  We didn’t catch up. However, a contingency plan had been agreed before we left Hermes. Under this, if anything happened to Mobility Troop prior to our reaching the target, then Mountain Troop was to pick up the baton and lead the attack. Its members were carrying enough explosives to complete the mission.

  By the time we reached the mortar pit, we knew we had lost our starring role in the attack. Almost beside ourselves with anger and disappointment, we realized that we had been relegated to being just a bunch of extras.

  Looking back on that night, the troop sergeant should have detailed someone to be in front as the lead scout. Captain Paul was a good officer and was trying to do things properly, and it was not his fault that a gap had developed, for on this particular night there was drifting mist that continually came and went. To make matters worse, we were the only troop that didn’t have a member of Boat Troop attached to us as a guide – a mistake, since by then they knew the way to and from the airstrip better than the backs of their hands.

  Nevertheless, there can be no excuses. Mobility Troop’s delay in arriving at the target was the result of incompetence, and it should not have happened. The important thing to remember, however, is that the Regiment is not infallible. We do sometimes make mistakes. In this respect the SAS is like any other regiment, and its solders are not immune from sometimes getting things wrong, especially in the confusion of war.

  The attack started at 0700 hours Zulu when, miles off-shore, the 4.5-inch guns of HMS Glamorgan opened up. Guided on to coordinates signalled by the naval-gunfire support team and based on information from Boat Troop, the destroyer’s gunners laid down a precision barrage, shelling the Argentinian positions but carefully avoiding the islanders’ houses. At once our mortar began firing, the phosphorus rounds whumping down, turning the night sky into near daylight. Then, led by John Hamilton, Mountain Troop went in to destroy the aircraft, which were spread out all over the lengthy runway.

  Split into seven two-man teams and carrying their PE charges, they also used their machine-guns and LAW rockets to smash the grounded planes to bits. It wasn’t easy, for military aircraft are built to withstand bullets. Nor is it anything like the movies, where aircraft blow up when a bullet hits their fuel tanks. But then, there are a lot of things that aren’t like the movies – such as highly trained soldiers getting lost on a tiny island like a bunch of novice Boy Scouts.

  It was a race against time. Not only was the raid late in starting, but we had to be back at the drop-off point bang on time for the Sea Kings to come in and pick up us. They couldn’t risk waiting for us because as soon as dawn broke they would either become sitting ducks for enemy fighter aircraft, or Hermes would by then be out of their range.

  On the airstrip, meanwhile, it rapidly became apparent that the Argentinians had effectively abandoned any attempt to save the aircraft and were lying low, looking out for their own safety and hardly firing back at all. A single brave enemy officer and one of his soldiers did try to stop the raiding teams, opening fire on them, but they were quickly shot down. It was then that Mountain Troop began using the few explosive charges they had to wreck the rest of the aircraft. To reach the wings of some of the machines they had to stand on each other’s shoulders; once the first man had scrambled up he would reach down and pull the other guy up after him. The Pucaras – twin-turboprop ground-attack aircraft – were the tallest planes and caused the demolition teams the most trouble.

  By this time the pre-dawn sky was glowing orange from fires raging in the Argentinians’ fuel store, which had been hit by Glamorgan’s guns. Then the destroyer’s gunners found the range for the enemy’s ammunition dump and blew it to smithereens. As the final charges shattered the last of the aircraft, the squadron began to withdraw.

  Once the attack had finished, we all regrouped by the mortar pit in all-round defence. I was still pissed off by what had happened to my troop, but at least the squadron’s casualties were almost non-existent. One man had been concussed by the blast from a landmine, which had been triggered by the Argentinians just before we left the airstrip, and another had been hit by shrapnel; his wounds had not stopped him from doing his job, however.

  Despite my fury that we had missed the main action, I still felt a sense of pride and elation in knowing that the boys had carried out a successful mission. The squadron commander and Captain Ted had planned the raid to perfection. Nothing had been left to chance or over-looked, and the result had been a triumphant success.

  As we waited, suddenly, out of nowhere, four Sea King helicopters appeared, flying in formation and hugging the ground. It was a remarkable sight. They touched down simultaneously. We all knew by the formation in which they had landed which helicopter to get on, and we were airborne within thirty seconds. Two and a half hours after the first shot had been fired, we were again aboard the Sea Kings and heading back out to sea.

  Behind us on the airstrip lay the wreckage of six Pucaras, a Short Skyvan light transport and four Mentor trainer aircraft. Naval gunfire had taken care of the rest of the enemy installations with such effect that the whole of Pebble Island appeared to be on fire. It must have been the warmest it had been for several million years.

  It was still dark just ten minutes before we reached Hermes, but by the time we landed
first light had broken – the timing had been that critical. Our Sea Kings landed us back on the flagship’s flight deck nicely in time for breakfast. News of the raid’s success, with virtually no casualties, had arrived before us and the sailors, who had shown us nothing but kindness from the moment we had come aboard, couldn’t do enough for us. That night, in the Chief Petty Officers’ Mess, they congratulated us over a drink. Now they realized what the SAS really did for a living, when we weren’t laughing and joking and drinking beer. More than that, however, everyone from the most senior naval officer all the way down to the most junior rating also knew that, working together, the sailors, soldiers, marines and airmen of the Task Force could knock seven kinds of hell out of any enemy. As for us, we had had a great night out, and it had been wonderful to get our feet on dry land once again, if only for a few hours.

  On Pebble Island, there was now nothing left to interfere with the British landings in San Carlos Bay. The mission had been an enormous success. Apart from the recapture of South Georgia nearly three weeks earlier, it was the first major operation against the enemy on land, and one that triumphantly showed what the Regiment could do.

  Above all, we had delivered a huge blow to the Argentinians’ morale, while at the same time massively boosting the Task Force’s. Even if some of us had got misplaced…

  Chapter Twelve