The Falklands Intercept by Crispin Black Page A

bundle of smoking rags and wildly staring eyes with no lids. The young man was saying the word ‘Mam’ over and over again. Jacot did not recognise the voice – and there was no face left and no eyelids. Just eyes staring with fear and puzzlement. And blood pumped from the shredded bottoms of combat trousers where the legs had been. Jacot found a patch of unburnt skin just below the neck and injected the morphine. The young guardsman shook and the burned head fell forward. Jacot at the top of his lungs shouted ‘Don’t worry I’ll get you out’. But it was too late. Jacot held the young man’s shoulders and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. ‘Ein Tad yn y nefoedd, Our Father in Heaven.’ A final shudder and the young guardsman was gone. He had taken the full force of the blast. Jacot pulled off the identity discs – chunks of neck-flesh came away too. Mortar ammunition, British ammunition – over a thousand rounds of it stacked at the other end of the tank deck was ‘cooking off’ – exploding because of the heat. Jacot could hear the angry whizzing and whining of shrapnel doing its deadly work in a confined space – pinging and hissing as it hit the steel superstructure. Time for the rest of the Lord’s Prayer later. He had to get out – fast.
    His hands smarted. The skin on his hands had begun to peel off. The pain was starting. Not just his hands but his face and chest. His legs damp with blood did not feel so bad.
    It all seemed so strange. One minute clear blue South Atlantic sky and the ship at anchor in a calm bay. The only sounds the breeze, the thuds, creaking and sometimes muttered cursing of over-laden soldiers climbing down rope ladders into landing craft. The occasional clang as a rifle hit the side. Invariably followed by the gruff admonishment of a non-commissioned officer. And then Jacot’s radio operator had shouted, ‘It’s Red. It’s Red. Air Raid Warning Red, sir.’
    It was a bit late. They appeared to have escalated from Air Raid extremely unlikely, or whatever the precise definition was, to Air Raid Warning Red meaning an air raid was imminent or under way, without any of the intermediate levels. Such was life. But there were no planes thank God. Maybe it was just a false alarm.
    Still definitely time to get off the
Oliver Cromwell
. Jacot’s heartbeat began to return to normal. And then it came. The radio operator screamed ‘Handbrake, Handbrake, Handbrake’ – the single word most feared by the Task Force. It was the warning for an Exocet attack. Jesus no, thought Jacot. Then the massive concussion from the blasts threw him off his feet.
    Jacot could not concentrate. His mind was wandering and the pain second by second was becoming unbearable. Above all he wanted to get out. Get into the open air. Live. But he could not think. He was tired. Maybe he was dying. Was this what it was like? An arm grabbed him from nowhere and dragged him through a door pushing him upstairs.‘Keep going sir. We’re nearly there.’ It was his platoon sergeant. Where was the rest of the platoon? One final push and suddenly they were on the deck. Jacot collapsed. He wanted to cry.
    â€˜Don’t worry I’ve got you now sir.’ Sergeant Jones turned Jacot over and injected morphine into his thigh. And the pain began to go away.
    A Chinese crew member walked vacantly by – stunned by what had just happened to his ship.
    â€˜Kung Hee Fat Choi’
, Jacot called out. It was the only Cantonese he knew, picked up while living in Hong Kong as a teenager with his parents. Happy New Year. They grinned at each other.
    The sounds from the ship began to change. The dying were dead. Their screaming – the sounds of men trapped and burning to death – animal cries of claustrophobic anguish and agony – had stopped. And the wounded were calmer or sedated – many of the burnt faces