If so, would we be able to carry on? The ship was also carrying helicopters which were vital to the movement of troops and supplies in the land campaign. Only one was saved. To add to our general dismay, there was also news, based on an Argentine claim, that HMS Invincible had been hit and damaged. And somewhere east of the Falklands was the QE2, carrying 3,000 troops. For me, this was one of the worst nights of the war.
Early next morning I learnt that the news was not quite so bleak. I was told of the remarkable rescue of most members of the crews of Coventry and the Atlantic Conveyor. The nineteen Harriers had previously been flown onto Hermes and Invincible. Relief flooded over me: we were not fatally wounded after all. Moreover, the news that Invincible had been hit was totally false.
Stores were still being unloaded at San Carlos. Some landing and supply craft were attacked and hit and there were unexploded bombs, most of which were defused. Our hospital centre at San Carlos was also hit, but the doctors carried on.
Somewhat to the dismay of the UN Secretary-General and Al Haig, we made it clear that having landed we were not now prepared to negotiate. We were put under continual pressure from Washington to avoid the final military humiliation of Argentina, which they now seemed to see as inevitable. I wish I could have been as confident. I knew, as they could not, how many risks and dangers still faced us in the campaign to recapture the islands.
This was amply demonstrated by the battle to retake Darwin and Goose Green. The Argentinians were well prepared and dug into strong defensive positions which had to be approached by our troops across the open ground of a narrow isthmus. They faced heavy enemy fire. As is well known, Colonel ‘H’ Jones, the commander of 2 Para, lost his life in securing the way forward for his troops. His second-in-command took over and eventually took the surrender. At one point a white flag was waved from the Argentine trenches, but when two of our soldiers advanced in response they were shot and killed. Finally, our commander sent two Argentinian POWs forward with a message to surrender, saying that they could have a parade if they liked but that they must lay down their arms. This proved acceptable. The Argentine officers harangued their men about the justice of their cause, but they surrendered all the same. The people of Goose Green, who had been imprisoned inside the community hall for three weeks, were now released. A famous battle had been won. Today there is a memorial to the Paras near Goose Green itself and a special memorial to ‘H’.
The media had reported that our troops were about to take Goose Green the day before the attack. I had been furious when I learned of this – as, I believe, had ‘H’. Too much talk was giving the Argentinians warning of what we intended, though the fault did not always lie with the media themselves but also with the media management at the MoD.
Unfortunately, the Americans now sought to revive diplomatic negotiation. I knew that we could not afford to alienate the United States, particularly at this stage. We kept in contact with Mr Haig both about the question of how to provide for and repatriate Argentine prisoners of war and more generally about our plans for the long-term future of the islands.
What would have been quite wrong was to snatch diplomatic defeat out of the jaws of military victory – as I had to tell President Reagan when he telephoned me late at night on Monday 31 May. It was not very satisfactory for either of us that I should not have had advance warning of what he was likely to say and as a result I was perhaps more forceful than friendly. I would have a further opportunity shortly to talk to President Reagan in person during the forthcoming G7 summit at Versailles.
In the meantime, we had to deal delicately with a five-point peace plan which had been advanced by the UN Secretary-General. The pressure for a cease-fire sponsored by the UN Security Council was growing. On Wednesday 2 June after the Secretary-General had announced that he had given up his own efforts, Spain and Panama, on behalf of Argentina, sought to press to the vote an apparently innocuous Draft Resolution on a cease-fire which would have had exactly the effect we were determined to avoid. It was touch and go whether the Spanish would even now manage to obtain the necessary nine votes which would force us to veto the resolution. We ourselves lobbied as hard as possible. The vote was postponed until Friday.
At noon that day I flew to Paris for the G7. My first and most important meeting was, of course, with President Reagan who was staying at the US Embassy. We talked alone. I thanked him for the great help we had received from the United States. I asked him what the Americans could do to help repatriate the Argentine POWs. I also requested that the American vote should support us at the Security Council.
The mood at Versailles seemed very different from that which was now prevailing at the UN in New York. The heads of government were staying in the Petit Trianon. After dinner we had a long discussion about the Falklands and the response was generally sympathetic and helpful. Later the British delegation and I withdrew to the sitting room which we had been allocated. We had been talking for about fifteen minutes when a message came through from the Foreign Office and Tony Parsons that a vote was about to be taken in the Security Council and that the Japanese were voting against us. As theirs was the ninth vote required for the resolution to pass, this was particularly irritating. I tried hard to contact Mr Suzuki, the Japanese Prime Minister, to persuade him to at least abstain but I was told that he could not be reached.
Attention was, in fact, somewhat diverted from our problems by the extraordinary behaviour of the US Ambassador to the United Nations, Mrs Kirkpatrick. Having cast her veto alongside ours, she announced only minutes later that if the vote could be taken again she would, on instructions just received, abstain. Ironically, this rather helped us by distracting media attention from our veto. However, that had not been the intention. Apparently, succumbing to pressure from the Latin American countries, Al Haig had telephoned her from Versailles telling her to withdraw her vote of support from us but she had not received the message in time. There was a still more embarrassing sequel to this event for the United States. Just before lunch in the Palace of Versailles, the television cameras were allowed in and an American journalist asked President Reagan what had lain behind the US confusion at the United Nations the previous evening. To my amazement, he said that he did not know anything about it. The journalist then turned to me. I had no intention of rubbing salt into a friend’s wounds, so all I said was that I did not give interviews over lunch.
That same morning the Japanese Prime Minister gave me an extremely lame explanation of Japan’s vote in support of the resolution, claiming that he believed that it would lead to Argentine withdrawal. However, President Mitterrand’s summing up at his press conference after the conclusion of the G7 was excellent and totally supportive.
Neither Tony Parsons nor I was particularly surprised that we had finally had to use our veto. In retrospect, we were very lucky – and it was a tribute also to Tony Parsons’s skill – that we had not had to veto such a resolution much earlier.
By now, my thoughts were again on what was happening in the Falklands. The landing ships, Sir Tristram and Sir Galahad, full of men, equipment and munitions, had been sent round to Bluff Cove and Fitzroy in preparation for the final assault on Port Stanley. The clouds cleared while the ships were still unloading the Rapier missiles which would protect them from air attack and the Argentinians scored hits on both. Sir Galahad had not discharged its troops and the result was great loss of life and many survivors were left with terrible burns. The Welsh Guards took the brunt of it. As on all these occasions, the natural reaction was ‘if only’ – above all, if only the men had been taken off and dispersed as soon as they arrived then nothing like this number of casualties would have been suffered. But the losses would have been even greater were it not for the heroism of the helicopter pilots. They hovered close to the burning oil slicks around the ship and used the draught from their rotors to blow life rafts full of survivors away from the inferno into which they were being drawn.
Again, there were almost insuperable pr
oblems in releasing news of casualties. Rumours of very large numbers were spread by the Argentinians. Families were frantically worried. But we decided to hold up details of the numbers lost – although of course (as always) relatives were individually informed. We knew from intelligence that the Argentinians thought that our casualties were several times worse than they were and that they believed this would hold up our attack on Port Stanley. The attack on Mount Longdon, Two Sisters and Wireless Ridge was due to begin on Friday night. Surprise was vital.
I hoped against hope that our worst losses were behind us. But early on the morning of Saturday 12 June the No. 10 duty clerk came up to the flat with a note. I all but seized it from him, expecting it to say that the attack on the mountains around Port Stanley had begun. But the news was very different. I kept the note, which reads:
HMS Glamorgan struck by suspected Exocet missile. Ship is in position 51/58 South. Large fire in vicinity of hangar and in gas turbine and gear room. Power still available. Ship making ten knots to the South.
– MoD as yet have no details of casualties and wouldn’t expect them for several hours. They will keep us informed.
Glamorgan had been bombarding the Argentine positions in Port Stanley and on the hills around before the forthcoming battle. She had in fact been hit by a land-based Exocet while on her way out of the area.
How bitterly depressed I was. At moments like this I felt almost guilty at the comfort, protection and safety in No. 10 while there was so much danger and death in the South Atlantic. That day was the Trooping of the Colour for the Queen’s birthday. For the only time that I can remember the ceremony was marred by a downpour of rain. It was unpleasant for the Guards, but with the news so bad and the uncertainty so great, it seemed appropriate. I wore black, for I felt that there was much to mourn. John Nott arrived shortly before I was to take my place on the stand. He had no further news. But he thought he would have been told if the attack had not started. Afterwards, dripping wet, the guests, including Rex and Mrs Hunt, dried out before the fires in No. 10 as best we could.
Shortly before 1 o’clock we heard that all our military objectives had been achieved. But there had been a stiff battle. Two Sisters, Mount Harriet and Mount Longdon had been secured. The plan had been to press on that night to take Mount Tumbledown, still closer to Port Stanley, but the troops were tired and more time was needed to bring up ammunition, so it was decided to wait. I went up to Northwood that afternoon to hear precisely what was happening. There was better news there about Glamorgan; her fires were under control and she was steaming at 20 knots.
More than ever, the outcome now lay in the hands of our soldiers on the Falklands, not with the politicians. Like everyone else in Britain, I was glued to the radio for news – strictly keeping to my self-imposed rule not to telephone while the conflict was under way. On my way back from Chequers to No. 10 that Sunday (13 June), I went via Northwood to learn what I could. What was to turn out to be the final assault was bitterly fought, particularly at Mount Tumbledown. But Tumbledown, Mount William and Wireless Ridge fell to our forces, who were soon on the outskirts of Stanley.
I visited the islands seven months later and saw the terrain for myself, walking the ground at first light in driving wind and rain, wending my way around those grim outcrops of rock which made natural fortifications for the Argentine defenders. Our boys had to cover the ground and take the positions in thick darkness. It could only have been done by the most professional and disciplined of forces.
When the War Cabinet met on Monday morning, all that we knew was that the battle was still in progress. The speed with which the end came took all of us by surprise. The Argentinians were weary, demoralized and very badly led – as ample evidence at the time and later showed. They threw down their arms and could be seen retreating through their own minefields into Stanley.
That evening I went to the House of Commons to announce the victory. I could not get into my own room; it was locked and the Chief Whip’s assistant had to search for the key. I then wrote out on a scrap of paper which I found somewhere on my desk the short statement which, there being no other procedural means, I would have to make on a Point of Order to the House. At 10 p.m. I rose and told them that it had been reported that there were white flags flying over Port Stanley. The war was over. We all felt the same and the cheers showed it. Right had prevailed. And when I went to sleep very late that night I realized how great the burden was which had been lifted from my shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Generals, Commissars and Mandarins
Meeting the military and political challenge of communism from the autumn of 1979 to the spring of 1983
WELL BEFORE I ENTERED DOWNING STREET I was preoccupied with the balance of military power between the NATO alliance and the Warsaw Pact. NATO was founded in April 1949 in response to the growing aggression of Soviet policy. Although the United States is the leading power in NATO, ultimately it can only seek to persuade not coerce. In such a relationship the danger of dissension always exists. The Soviet aim, only thinly disguised, right up until the time when a united Germany remained in NATO, was to drive a wedge between America and her European allies. I always regarded it as one of Britain’s most important roles to see that such a strategy failed.
By the time we took office the Soviets were ruthlessly pressing ahead to gain military advantage. Soviet military spending, believed to be some five times the published figures, took between 12 and 14 per cent of the Soviet Union’s GNP.* The Warsaw Pact outnumbered NATO by three-to-one in main battle tanks and artillery and by more than two-to-one in tactical aircraft. Moreover, the Soviets were rapidly improving the quality of their tanks, submarines, surface ships and aircraft. The build-up of the Soviet Navy enabled them to project their power across the world. Improvements in Soviet anti-ballistic missile defences threatened the credibility of the alliance’s nuclear deterrent – not least the British independent deterrent – at the same time as the Soviets were approaching parity in strategic missiles with the United States.
It was, however, in what in the jargon are known as long-range theatre nuclear forces (LRTNF) – usually called intermediate-range nuclear forces (INF) – that the most pressing and difficult decisions were required. The so-called ‘dual-track’ agreement to modernize NATO’s medium-range nuclear weapons, while engaging in talks with the Soviet Union on arms control, had been taken in principle by the previous Labour Government; whether they would have seen the decision through to deployment I somewhat doubt.
This agreement was needed to deal with the threat from new Soviet nuclear weapons. The Soviet SS-20 mobile ballistic missiles and their new supersonic Backfire bomber could strike western European targets from the territory of the Soviet Union. But the Americans had no equivalent weapons stationed on European soil. The only NATO weapons able to strike the USSR from Europe were those carried by the ageing UK Vulcan bombers and the F1–11s stationed in Britain. Both forces could be vulnerable to a Soviet first strike. Of course, the United States could be expected by an attacking Soviet army at some point to have recourse to its own strategic nuclear weapons. But the essence of deterrence is its credibility. Now that the Soviet Union had achieved a broad parity in strategic nuclear weapons, some thought that this reduced the likelihood of the United States taking such action. In any case, there were many in Europe who suggested that the United States would not risk its own cities in defence of Europe.
Why would the Soviets wish to acquire this new capability to win nuclear war in Europe? The answer was that they hoped ultimately to split the alliance.
NATO’s strategy was based on having a range of conventional and nuclear weapons so that the USSR could never be confident of overcoming NATO at one level of weaponry without triggering a response at a higher level. This strategy of ‘flexible response’ would not be effective if there were no Europe-based nuclear weapons as a link between the conventional and strategic nuclear response. NATO knew that the Warsaw Pact forces
would never be held for more than a short time if they attacked with all the strength at their disposal in central Europe. That is why NATO repeatedly pledged that although it would never use military force first, it could not play into the Soviet hands of renouncing first use of nuclear weapons once it had been attacked. So only by modernizing its intermediate-range nuclear weapons in Europe could NATO’s strategy retain its credibility.
In an act of remarkable courage in the face of so much domestic and Soviet opposition, the NATO ministers made the required decision in Brussels on 12 December 1979. The arms control proposals, including the American offer to withdraw 1,000 nuclear warheads from Europe, were agreed. Most important, the alliance agreed to the deployment in Europe of all the 572 new American missiles which had been envisaged. The Belgians agreed to accept a share of these missiles, subject to reconsideration after six months in the light of the progress of arms control negotiations. The Dutch Government accepted the proposals as a whole but postponed the decision to take a share of the missiles in Holland until the end of 1981.
Of course, this was not the end of the matter. In June the following year we announced the sites of the Cruise missiles in Britain – Greenham Common in Berkshire and Molesworth in Cambridgeshire. From that time on Greenham was to be the focus for an increasingly strident unilateralist campaign.
Another early decision which we had to take related to our independent nuclear deterrent. Britain had four nuclear-armed Polaris submarines. The previous Conservative and Labour Governments had pressed ahead with a programme of improvement to our Polaris missiles. The programme, code-named Chevaline, had been paid for and managed by the United Kingdom in co-operation with the United States. The upgraded Polaris system would maintain the full effectiveness of our strategic deterrent into the 1990s, though at a cost which had alarmingly escalated as the development continued. However, for a variety of technical and operational reasons we could not responsibly plan for the continuance of this system much into the 1990s. If Britain was to retain its deterrent a decision would shortly have to be made about Polaris’s ultimate replacement.
Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography Page 50