Heroes of the South Atlantic. Shaun Clarke

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СКАЧАТЬ plans of the buildings on King Edward’s Point were carefully traced from drawings. The buildings housed the British Antarctic Survey settlement before the Royal Marines were forced to surrender to the Argentinians. The same buildings now house the Argentinian HQ. They’re located at the mouth of a cove a thousand metres from Grytviken. That’s what we hope to observe from the OP on the Fortuna Glacier.’ After a short silence, Hailsham asked: ‘Any questions?’

      There were no questions, so Ricketts said: ‘Silence is consent. I say let’s go now, boss.’

      ‘I always take note of the wishes of my men,’ Major Parkinson replied with a grin. ‘OK, Cap’n, get going.’

      Captain Hailsham enthusiastically left the cabin, followed by the others.

      The men prepared themselves with their usual thoroughness. Arctic cold-weather kit was drawn from the Endurance’s stores, including Swedish civilian mountaineering boots, which they used instead of their normal-issue boots. Weapons were signed for and carefully checked, including SLR semi-automatic rifles with 20-round steel magazines; 7.62mm general-purpose machine-guns; a couple of Armalites with single-shot, breech-loaded, pump-action grenade-launchers; M202s with 66mm, trigger-mechanism incendiary rockets; Browning 9mm high-power handguns; and fragmentation, white-phosphorus, CS-gas and smoke grenades. The weapons were thoroughly checked, then the machine-guns, rifles and pistols were cleansed of unnecessary lubricants, to prevent them from seizing up on the freezing glacier.

      Other equipment, apart from food and drink, included a couple of PRC 319 HF/VHF radio systems and an older Clansman high-frequency set, which could also be used as a Morse or CW, continuous-wave, transmitter. Also loaded onto the troop-carrying Wessex helicopters were four sledges, or pulks, which could be hauled by hand and would be used to transport the weapons and other equipment from the LZ to the summit of the glacier.

      When this vital work was done, the men gathered on the landing pads of the ship and took their places in the two Royal Marine Wessex Mark 5 helicopters flown in for this op from the fleet oiler, the Tidespring, and the smaller Wessex Mark 3, from the RFA Antrim, to be flown by Lieutenant-Commander Randolph Pedler RN. At midday the helicopters took off and headed for South Georgia, flying above a sludge-coloured sea, through a sky ominous with black clouds.

      ‘It looks as welcoming as hell down there,’ Trooper Winston observed, glancing over his shoulder, through the window. ‘It’s just not as warm.’

      ‘Getting cold feet, are you?’

      ‘My feet are fine, Gumboot. I’m merely casting my poetic eye over the scene and making a measured observation. That landscape’s as white as your face. Feeling ill, are you?’

      ‘Very funny,’ Gumboot said. ‘The company poet has just spoken. He’s trying to hide the fact that he’s got cold feet by changing the subject. We all know just how white he’d be looking if he wasn’t so black.’

      ‘Now that’s real poetic, Gumboot.’

      ‘Thanks, Andrew, you’re too kind. When you come down out of the trees and learn to spell you can write me up in your notebook.’

      ‘Ho, ho,’ Andrew said. ‘A shaft of wit from the white-faced wonder. They grow his kind like turnips in Devon, where the folks all chew straws.’

      ‘I like Devon,’ Baby Face Danny, said. ‘I once took Darlene there. We stayed in a hotel at Paignton and had a wonderful time.’

      ‘In separate rooms,’ Paddy said.

      ‘Having simultaneous wet dreams,’ Gumboot added.

      ‘You shouldn’t make fun of young love,’ Taff Burgess rebuked them. ‘I think it’s cruel to do that.’

      ‘I don’t mind,’ Danny said. ‘I know they’re just pulling my leg.’

      ‘To keep him from pulling his dick,’ Gumboot said, ‘which he seems to do all the time these days.’

      ‘That’s true love,’ Andrew said.

      ‘I’d call it lust, but what’s the difference?’

      ‘Now we know why your missus ran off,’ Andrew said, flashing his perfect teeth at Gumboot. ‘You were too sensitive and sentimental for her, too romantic to live with.’

      ‘Now that’s cruel,’ Gumboot said. ‘That’s hitting a man below the belt. I could reply in kind by making comments about your girlfriends, but since I know that it’s little boys you like, I’ll keep my trap shut.’

      ‘Little boys like me, Gumboot.’

      ‘Yes, Andrew, I know they do. They like your nice smile, your black skin, your poetry and the fact that you have a dong so tiny you can slip it in smoothly. Say no more – I’m outraged.’

      ‘Scared shitless more like it.’ Paddy’s grin was wicked. ‘I can tell by the colour of his gills that he has constipation.’

      ‘Scared? Me scared? Who said that? Stand up and be counted!’

      ‘I would if I could but I can’t because my poor knees are knocking. Yeah, Andrew, you’re absolutely right: it looks like all hell down there.’

      The bantering, Ricketts knew, was not a cover for fear, but a healthy way of psyching themselves up for the work to be done. Now, having exhausted conversation and nearing the LZ, they fell into a contemplative silence, each secretly preparing in his own way for what was to come.

      Ricketts studied them with pride and a great deal of admiration. Trooper Danny Porter, who was a baby-faced Audie Murphy with the same lethal instincts, looked grave and almost delicate beside the enormous bulk of Trooper Andrew Winston, who was scribbling down his thoughts, or poetry, in a notebook, as he often did just before an action. Corporal Paddy Clarke, born and bred in Liverpool, was tapping his left foot and soundlessly whistling as he checked his SLR semi-automatic rifle. Trooper Taff Burgess, a beefy Welshman with a dark-eyed, slightly childish face, was glancing distractedly about him and offering his usual dreamy smile. Corporal Jock McGregor was rolling his own ciggies, which he would smoke at a later date, and displaying not the slightest sign of concern. And Trooper Gumboot Gillis, the small, sinewy, ferret-faced, former Devon farm-worker, was distractedly scratching at his balls.

      All of them, in their different ways, were exceptional soldiers – truly the best of the best, a hand-picked elite. Which is why, as Sergeant Ricketts also knew, they were in the SAS.

      Unclipping his safety belt, Ricketts made his way to the front of the helicopter, where Captain Hailsham was strapped in beside the Mark 3 pilot, Lieutenant-Commander Randolph Pedler RN. Looking out, past Hailsham’s head, Ricketts saw a charcoal-coloured, snow-streaked stretch of mountainous land on a grey horizon, growing larger each second.

      ‘Is that South Georgia?’ he asked.

      ‘It sure is,’ Lieutenant-Commander Pedler said. ‘And it doesn’t look good out there. We’re hoping to reach the LZ 500 metres above sea level, but I think we’ve got snow. That won’t make it easy.’

      Pedler was right. Within minutes the mountains of the approaching island could be seen more clearly and were covered with falling snow.

      ‘You’d better go back and strap yourself in,’ Captain Hailsham СКАЧАТЬ