by Shaun Clarke
The ice surface of the glacier was covered with snow, which was gathering in the crevasses. The men could not always see the indentations in the snow, and within a few metres they came to a halt when young Danny became the first to cry out instinctively as he plunged through the snow-covered ice.
His fall was stopped by his bergen, his backpack, straddling the fissure, leaving him buried from the waist down.
‘Christ!’ he cried, frantically waving his hands above his head. ‘Get me outta here!’
‘Don’t move!’ Ricketts called to him, tugging on the rope, meanwhile pulling himself forward to anchor Danny with his pickaxe and prevent him sinking deeper into the crevasse. Andrew and Paddy then did the same, hooking their pickaxes under Danny’s armpits, then taking hold of his shoulders to pull him back up to solid ground.
Once Danny had shaken off the snow and ice, they all stepped over the crevasse, leaned into the wind and continued their advance down the white, gleaming side of the glacier. Then Paddy fell into another crevasse, compelling them to stop and start the rescue procedure all over again.
This occurred repeatedly, to one man after another. It was also happening to the other groups, whom Ricketts could see as shadowy, inhuman shapes in the snow storm, clearly struggling yet making little progress.
As the storm grew worse, their advance was reduced to a snail’s pace. By nightfall, when already they were frozen and exhausted, they had managed to cover only about half a mile.
‘I’m afraid Sheridan was right!’ Captain Hailsham shouted to Ricketts. ‘We’re wasting our time here!’
Unable to do more in the relentless, continuing snow storm, the four patrols regrouped in the gathering gloom of the evening and attempted to make camp for the night. Seeking protection from the piercing cold, they found the least exposed part of the glacier, under a rock outcrop, and there tried to put up three-man tents. When these were whipped away by the violent gale, snapping like living things as they disappeared in the darkness, the men dug snow holes and attempted to sleep in ‘bivvy bags’ with their boots on. By midnight, however, hurricane force 11 winds were howling over the mountains, which not only prevented sleep, but also brought a real risk of hypothermia and frostbite. At this point, the experience of Captain Hailsham told him to give up.
‘The troop will have to be withdrawn as soon as possible,’ he informed Ricketts. ‘Otherwise, the frostbite could become so acute that some of us might even lose our limbs. Get on that radio, Sergeant, and tell them to lift us out.’
Using the PRC 319 HF/VHF radio system, Ricketts did as he was told, and was soon in touch with HMS Endurance. He was informed that three Wessex helicopters would be despatched early the next morning, one from the Antrim, the other from HMS Tidespring, and that he was to send up a SARBE, or surface-to-air rescue beacon, when he saw them.
‘We’re freezing our balls off here,’ Ricketts said, ‘and it’s getting worse every minute, so try getting to us as soon as possible. Over.’
‘First light, on the nose,’ he was informed. ‘Over and out.’
‘Fucking first light,’ Paddy spluttered when informed that he would be spending the rest of the night on the glacier. ‘They’ll be too busy banging each other in their bunks to give us a thought. Typical fucking Navy! Just leave us to get hypothermia or frostbite, while they warm themselves by getting it up the rear end. I’m pissed off, I can tell you!’
‘They can’t fly in this storm in the dark,’ Ricketts explained. ‘It’s as simple as that. Now get as deep down in those holes as you can go, lads. Don’t let the cold get to you.’
‘Right, boss,’ Andrew replied. ‘Think of your darling Darlene,’ he then said to Danny, who was expertly digging in beside him. ‘That should keep you warm, mate!’
‘Aw, knock it off,’ said Danny, embarrassed, before turning away and curling up in his bivvy bag. ‘You’re just trying to make me blush.’
‘Some ladies like guys who blush,’ Andrew replied, wriggling into his own bivvy bag as the snow fell on him. ‘They’d drop their knickers at the very sight of a flushed male face.’
‘You’re so crude,’ Danny complained.
‘He wants you blushing,’ Paddy said, ‘’cause when you do, we don’t need the beacons. Your face glows in the dark.’
‘OK,’ Ricketts said when the laughter died down, ‘that’s enough of the bullshit. Now let’s all get some shut-eye.’
‘Yes, boss,’ they replied.
The banter was a necessary antidote to the appalling conditions, for the ensuing night was hellish, with the hurricane force 11 wind not abating at all, and the snow and ice beating at them every second, instantly flaying them if they made the mistake of exposing a patch of skin to the elements. Sleep was impossible, or at least came in fits and starts, and by dawn, when a pale sun shone through, they were exhausted and numb.
The Navy pilots were as good as their word. Even before he heard them – since the wind was still roaring, the sweeping snow still hissing – Ricketts saw the three Wessex helicopters coming in to attempt a landing on the glacier and pick them up. Wriggling quickly out of his bivvy bag, he sent up a beacon as the rest of the group came back to life, smacking the snow off their hoods and gloves, then slapping themselves to get their circulation going.
‘What a bloody disaster!’ Paddy said. ‘A complete waste of time!’
‘Shut up, Trooper,’ Ricketts barked at him while watching the green smoke of his chemical flare spreading through the still dark, cloudy and snow-streaked sky directly above.
Contacting the helo on the PRC 319, he learnt that the lead pilot in the Mark 3 was again Lieutenant-Commander Pedler, who had brought them here, and that he had spotted them and was coming in for a landing. The Mark 3 duly descended through the raging blizzard, its rotors causing a more violent snowstorm as it nervously touched down. It was followed immediately by the other two helicopters.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Captain Hailsham shouted at Lieutenant-Commander Pedler.
‘You can sing my praises later,’ Pedler replied. ‘For now, let’s load up and take off. This damned storm’s getting worse.’
As quickly as possible, given the appalling conditions, the men distributed their equipment to the three helicopters, then took their own places. Pedler’s Mark 3 lifted off first, followed by the two Mark 5s, one of which was carrying Captain Hailsham, Ricketts, Paddy Clarke, young Danny and big Andrew.
‘Good riddance,’ the latter said, looking down on the gleaming, storm-swept glacier as the chopper ascended.
‘The most useless bloody op I’ve ever been on,’ Paddy said, wiping the melting snow from his face. ‘A complete waste of time.’
‘Shut it, troopers,’ Ricketts admonished them, glancing through the window. ‘No need for …’
He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the other Mark 5 flying into a particularly fierce gust of snow, a virtual white-out, that appeared to be forcing it off course, then back down, nose first, to the ground. ‘Oh, Christ!’ Ricketts groaned as the Mark 5 wobbled widely, clearly fighting to right itself, then went down, crashing into the glacier in a mess of buckling skis, breaking rotors and flying glass, all of which was obscured in geysering snow.
The helicopter shuddered like a dying elephant as the snow fell on it.
‘They went down!’ Danny shouted involuntarily.
Even as the Mark 5 crashed, Ricketts heard Pedler’s voice coming over the radio, saying that he was going to land again on a rescue mission.
‘Message received,’ the pilot up ahead said. ‘We’re coming down after you. Over and out.’
‘Damned right, we are,’ Andrew said.
Ricketts saw Pedler’s Mark 3 turn back and descend, straight back into the blizzard, until it had practically disappeared in the swirling snow. The remaining Mark 5 followed suit, turning back to where they had come from, and soon it too was enveloped in a thick curtain of swirling snow.
It was virtually another white-out, wit
h glacier and sky indistinguishable, but then the snow thinned a little and Ricketts saw the Mark 3 landing, its spinning rotors sweeping up more snow and hurling it over the crashed aircraft, from which he could make out some figures emerging.
The wall of the glacier was now directly outside the window of the Mark 5, appearing to rise rapidly as the helicopter descended, then the rotors whipped up more snow as it settled down on its skis, bounced a little and stopped.
‘Let’s go!’ Captain Hailsham called out.
Ricketts and his men all jumped out of the helicopter, intent on a rescue operation. But when they had disembarked and crossed to the Mark 3, positioned beside the crashed Mark 5, they found Pedler’s men already helping the survivors into their own helo, all of them looking eerily unnatural in their bulky Arctic outfits, spectral in the blizzard.
An SAS corporal, a new man, was the only person injured of the seven aboard. Even though the pilot’s cabin had been smashed to hell, the pilot was all right.
‘Our helo can hold more men than yours,’ Lieutenant-Commander Collins, the Royal Navy pilot of the Mark 5, reminded Lieutenant-Commander Pedler, ‘so you take three, including the injured man, and we’ll take the other four.’
‘Right,’ Pedler said. Thanks. Let’s hope we get the hell out of here.’
‘I recommend the ditching of everything but weapons and belt equipment. You could also lighten your helo by leaving some of its special equipment on the ground.’
‘Good thinking. Let’s do it. Fix it up, Cap’n.’
Hailsham called the men together to tell them what he wanted. When the men had done as they were told, discarding everything but weapons and belt equipment, and the Mark 3 had been stripped of some of its special equipment, which was hastily buried under the ice and snow, the men were distributed between the two operational helicopters and they took off again.
The Mark 5 had barely lifted off the ground when it flew into a white-out, was buffeted by a fierce wind and, with its heavy load, became the second to crash. Ricketts felt the helo shaking like a car with punctured tyres, then it tilted to one side, showing the ground directly below, and the pilot called out a warning just before it went down.
‘Oh, Christ, not again!’ young Danny cried out in disbelief.
‘Hold on!’ Ricketts bawled.
The rotor blades made contact first, snapping off and spinning away, then the skis buckled beneath the crashing fuselage, making the helo tilt further. The men inside were scattered like skittles, hurled against each other, and scrambled about on the floor of the passenger cabin, cursing loudly, as their weapons and other equipment were thrown about, clattering all around them.
The helo shuddered and shrieked, its metal buckling, glass breaking, then it quivered in the swirling snow and sank into impacted ice.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Andrew exploded, picking himself up and glancing at the mess all around him. ‘I don’t believe this shit, man.’
‘All out!’ Captain Hailsham bawled, as he and the pilot unbuckled their safety belts and turned back into the disordered passenger cabin.
‘Not again!’ Danny complained. ‘I can’t stand it out there.’
‘Out!’ Ricketts bawled. ‘Out!’
Amazingly, no one had been hurt and all of the men made their escape from the wreckage, dropping down onto the ice and snow, back into the raging storm and its fiercely swirling sleet.
Even before the last man had emerged, Pedler’s helicopter became visible in the stormy sky as he courageously returned to the glacier, checking out their location.
‘Is that radio working?’ Captain Hailsham wanted to know.
‘Yes, sir,’ Ricketts said. ‘I’m trying to get in touch with them right now. Zulu to Tiger, Zulu to Tiger. Can you hear me? Over.’
‘Tiger to Zulu, Tiger to Zulu. I hear you loud and clear. We’re short on fuel up here, so we can’t land again. You’ll have to hang in there until I get back to the Antrim and top up the tanks. What’s the damage down there? Over.’
‘Zulu to Tiger. Zulu to Tiger. The helo’s a write-off, but no one’s been hurt. We’ll try to survive here as best we can, but you better be quick. It’s below freezing here. Over.’
‘Tiger to Zulu. Tiger to Zulu. I have your position and I’ll be back. Over and out.’
Ricketts turned off his microphone as the helicopter high above turned away and headed back out to sea, soon disappearing beyond a broad bank of dense clouds and dark sky.
‘I still don’t believe this shit, man,’ Andrew groaned. ‘What a fucking disaster!’
‘That Major Sheridan advised us against it,’ Danny reminded them. ‘He’s probably smirking right now.’
‘He won’t be smirking, Trooper,’ Ricketts said, ‘so there’s no need for that talk. What’s done has been done, so let’s just settle in here as best we can and wait for the helo. Let’s not freeze to death here.’
‘Sergeant Ricketts is right,’ Captain Hailsham said. ‘We run the risk of hypothermia or frostbite, so let’s take special care. Belt in and wrap up, men.’
This, Ricketts knew, would be the worst time for all of them – the time when the strongest man could break. First the failure of the mission, then a night of hellish cold, followed by two helicopter crashes in a row, now being trapped here again. The physical enemy was the cold, but the loss of morale could be more dangerous, particularly if it led to self-pity or a sense of despair.
However, this was exactly the kind of situation the SAS were trained for, both physically and psychologically, and Ricketts was pleased to see his 15 remaining men rising to the challenge by making themselves as comfortable as they could, with only one survival tent and hardly any kit, even as the snow continued falling and gradually buried them.
It was a long, grim day, with the blizzard unrelenting and the men, taking turns to keep warm in the single tent, gradually becoming covered in snow and merging into the landscape.
Pedler returned a few hours later, trying to find a landing place, but was defeated by the growing ferocity of the storm and had to go back to the ship. However, even later that day he courageously returned yet again, this time managing to land, and picked up the frozen, exhausted men.
Dangerously overloaded, the Mark 3 limped back to the Antrim, a red streak in the vast greyness, and dropped onto the swaying deck like a bloated fly too heavy to stay aloft. It was not a graceful touch-down, given the weight of the helicopter, but it was an exemplary display of skill and courage of the kind the SAS admired.
‘Didn’t even see an Argie,’ Danny said wryly, trying to make light of the disaster. ‘They must all be in England.’
That copped a few sour laughs.
Chapter 5
‘Let’s face it, gentlemen,’ the grim-faced OC of the Squadron said in the briefing room aboard the Antrim, now sailing for Stromness Bay, South Georgia, ‘the whole Fortuna Glacier op was a total, humiliating disaster.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ Major Parkinson said, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t agree. The fact that two Naval helicopters crashed was due to the weather, not to our men. In fact our men showed exemplary courage, given what they endured.’
‘Exemplary courage,’ the OC replied drily, ‘was also shown by the three Navy pilots, particularly Lieutenant-Commander Pedler. We can’t take too much credit for that. Even worse, it was 42 Commando’s second-in-command who warned us not to attempt it. Our mistake and humiliation, Major Parkinson. Let’s admit it.’
‘No, sir. The endurance displayed by our men is already the talk of the whole fleet. In that sense, at least, it was a victory. I think we did well, sir.’
The OC grinned. ‘Such loyalty!’ Then he became serious again. ‘Nevertheless, we can’t let the matter rest here. We must have that reconnaissance. The recapture of South Georgia will be another turn of the screw as London tries to avoid the need for a full-scale assault on the Falkland Islands. Also, though it has no airfields, South Georgia represents a base much closer to the Falklands than Ascensio
n Island – one where we can at least anchor our ships beyond the range of Argentinian fighter-bombers. If we can’t manage an insertion by air, let’s go in by sea.’
‘I second that, boss,’ said Boat Troop Captain Laurence E. Grenville. ‘I believe we should launch our Gemini inflatables and try to set up OPs on the north-west of the island.’
‘Naturally, you would,’ Captain Hailsham said tersely.
‘Well,’ Grenville replied, ‘the Fortuna Glacier is obviously out of the question, so we might as well try elsewhere, landing by sea.’
‘I agree,’ the OC said. ‘We should try for Grass Island as a jump-off point to Leith and Stromness. If we can establish a couple of OPs there, we’ll have compensated for the Fortuna Glacier disaster. I suggest we take this action immediately – let’s say this afternoon.’
‘Right, sir,’ Captain Grenville said, grinning impishly at Major Parkinson and Captain Hailsham. ‘I’ll get it organized right away.’
Hailsham grinned too, and held up his thumb, good-naturedly acknowledging Grenville’s little coup. ‘Who dares wins,’ he said.
Grinning even more broadly, Grenville left the briefing room and made his way down through the many hatches and corridors of the swaying ship to the hold used for rest and mass briefings. There, he found Sergeant Ricketts, still exhausted from the previous day’s ordeal, surrounded by the equally shattered members of the Mountain Troop and the still fresh, bantering Boat Troop.
‘… and I maintain,’ Danny was saying defensively, ‘that …’
‘Bullshit,’ Gumboot interjected. ‘No point blaming the bloody Navy. If you’d had men of calibre, like us, you’d have managed somehow.’
‘Right,’ Jock added. ‘If they’d given the job to our Boat Troop, instead of you bullshit artists, we’d be sitting in an OP on that glacier right now – not thawing out our frozen dicks on this Navy brig.’
‘The only bullshit artists here are the sods of the Boat Troop,’ big Andrew said, grinning at Danny, Paddy and Ricketts in turn, ‘and right now the bullshit’s flying like diarrhoea. You bastards can hardly row your fucking boats, let alone climb a glacier.’