teeth and stay? Not for the first time, I felt glad I wasn't an officer. Sometimes it calls for more courage to call a mission off than it does to stay.
Andy began arguing fiercely. "These are raw troops," he was saying, punching his fist into his palm. "Conscripts. They get jumpy at night and fire at shadows. They set off flares to chase away the dark, like frightened kids. They are no threat to us."
Guy was unhappy. "They picked us up on radar. They got a lock on for God's sake. They must be aware there was a helicopter out here. They've tracked it across the border on their screens, seen it land. They'll search until they find us."
I was not so sure of that. The SAS were trained in concealment. We could go to ground like crabs in a whore's bush.
"If they do take us it'll blow the main operation wide open," said Guy.
"Without us on the ground the assault would have to be aborted anyway," Andy answered back. "It would be suicide for them to go in blind. They know that."
We peered into the darkness with the night-vision goggles. After the blasting noise we had all been subjected to in the helicopter it seemed astonishingly quiet. I was aware of the wind and the rustle of the grass. It was bitterly cold too.
If we had been spotted the patrols would be already setting out; there was no time to hang about, it was stay or go.
As if determined to make up our minds for us, another flare arched up, much closer this time, bathing the sky in a lurid glow.
It was enough for Guy. "Doug, get on the radio. Contact the helicopter and have them return to pull us out." To Andy he said, "I'm sorry, it's no use. We have to abort."
Doug whipped out the VHP band 320 radio with its V-shaped aerial and started transmitting. According to the mission plan the helicopter was supposed to remain on station for fifteen minutes after dropping us off, ready to return for extraction or repositioning if we should need it. Doug tried two different frequencies before turning back to Guy.
"Can't raise them on the com ms
"Keep trying," Guy told him. "They may be shadowed by the hills." If the helicopter was hugging the ground to avoid radar it might well be out of radio reach.
"Bloody Argies," Taffy swore. "Bloody Navy. Fuck the lot of them. All this way for nothing."
All of us felt a bitter disappointment. The mission had failed before it had started. No one, though, questioned Guy's decision.
Doug flung the transmitter down. "Fuck all!"
"Try the satcom," Andy told him. "Send the abort code. Say we need extraction and we've lost contact with the helicopter."
"Maybe they'll change their minds and send in another Sea King to lift us out," suggested Tom as Doug snapped shut the 320 set and unfurled the satcom dish. This transmitter was more risky because the satellite communications system made a bigger splash-out, and its transmission was easier to detect, but it was imperative that we let Hereford know as soon as possible that the mission had aborted. The coded message was recorded and sent in a high-speed burst. It took just seconds for a transmission to be made once a connection had been established.
Doug dispatched the message and got a bald acknowledgement back. It would take Hereford a few hours to figure out an extraction. The probability was that we would have to leg it for the border. In the meantime we had to operate on the assumption that the Argies had heard the helicopter land and were searching for us. That meant finding a safe hiding place to lie up until nightfall.
"Right," Andy ordered. "Shoulder packs and move out. Hard routine." Hard routine meant no fires so no hot food, nothing to eat or drink in fact but a mouthful of water from our canteens and some chocolate to keep us going.
Andy and Guy studied the map. The shortest route to the border was due west, but the country was mountainous and cut by rivers. We would do better to take the longer route across the pampas to the north.
"It's about forty miles," Guy said. "If we
Andy began arguing fiercely. "These are raw troops," he was saying, punching his fist into his palm. "Conscripts. They get jumpy at night and fire at shadows. They set off flares to chase away the dark, like frightened kids. They are no threat to us."
Guy was unhappy. "They picked us up on radar. They got a lock on for God's sake. They must be aware there was a helicopter out here. They've tracked it across the border on their screens, seen it land. They'll search until they find us."
I was not so sure of that. The SAS were trained in concealment. We could go to ground like crabs in a whore's bush.
"If they do take us it'll blow the main operation wide open," said Guy.
"Without us on the ground the assault would have to be aborted anyway," Andy answered back. "It would be suicide for them to go in blind. They know that."
We peered into the darkness with the night-vision goggles. After the blasting noise we had all been subjected to in the helicopter it seemed astonishingly quiet. I was aware of the wind and the rustle of the grass. It was bitterly cold too.
If we had been spotted the patrols would be already setting out; there was no time to hang about, it was stay or go.
As if determined to make up our minds for us, another flare arched up, much closer this time, bathing the sky in a lurid glow.
It was enough for Guy. "Doug, get on the radio. Contact the helicopter and have them return to pull us out." To Andy he said, "I'm sorry, it's no use. We have to abort."
Doug whipped out the VHP band 320 radio with its V-shaped aerial and started transmitting. According to the mission plan the helicopter was supposed to remain on station for fifteen minutes after dropping us off, ready to return for extraction or repositioning if we should need it. Doug tried two different frequencies before turning back to Guy.
"Can't raise them on the com ms
"Keep trying," Guy told him. "They may be shadowed by the hills." If the helicopter was hugging the ground to avoid radar it might well be out of radio reach.
"Bloody Argies," Taffy swore. "Bloody Navy. Fuck the lot of them. All this way for nothing."
All of us felt a bitter disappointment. The mission had failed before it had started. No one, though, questioned Guy's decision.
Doug flung the transmitter down. "Fuck all!"
"Try the satcom," Andy told him. "Send the abort code. Say we need extraction and we've lost contact with the helicopter."
"Maybe they'll change their minds and send in another Sea King to lift us out," suggested Tom as Doug snapped shut the 320 set and unfurled the satcom dish. This transmitter was more risky because the satellite communications system made a bigger splash-out, and its transmission was easier to detect, but it was imperative that we let Hereford know as soon as possible that the mission had aborted. The coded message was recorded and sent in a high-speed burst. It took just seconds for a transmission to be made once a connection had been established.
Doug dispatched the message and got a bald acknowledgement back. It would take Hereford a few hours to figure out an extraction. The probability was that we would have to leg it for the border. In the meantime we had to operate on the assumption that the Argies had heard the helicopter land and were searching for us. That meant finding a safe hiding place to lie up until nightfall.
"Right," Andy ordered. "Shoulder packs and move out. Hard routine." Hard routine meant no fires so no hot food, nothing to eat or drink in fact but a mouthful of water from our canteens and some chocolate to keep us going.
Andy and Guy studied the map. The shortest route to the border was due west, but the country was mountainous and cut by rivers. We would do better to take the longer route across the pampas to the north.
"It's about forty miles," Guy said. "If we
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