HM Ambassador at UN to Cabinet office: 12.00 hrs 5/5/82. Regret to inform you that Argentine Junta has refused to accept Peruvian Peace Plan. Await instructions.
Hosier smoothed his well-manicured hands across Jamie Robertson-Macleod’s desk. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he loved sitting there, in the CO’s office at Stirling Lines. It was a post he’d always wanted, but had been denied, he thought unfairly. Luffenden had been Director when the job became vacant, and whatever recommendations the short-arsed swine had made to the Army Command hadn’t included him. That should have cut him off from the Director’s job, no doubt another consideration in his predecessor’s mind. No one had ever been granted the Director’s job without first being Regimental CO. But Luffenden had underestimated Hosier’s determination, as well as his ability to lobby those who made such decisions.
His first order issued was to make sure the men he needed were on the base. To his mind it was one of the laxities of the Regiment that they were allowed to accommodate themselves outside the camp regardless of their marital status. Given time, and a CO he would himself appoint, that would begin to change. Once he was sure they were assembled, he sent for Gerry Tooks and Lippy Grant.
‘It has been decided to activate B Squadron. Archie Grosvenor will take over temporary command of the base. He and A Squadron will stay here, in Hereford, to look after Ulster and Counterterrorism duties.’
Gerry Tooks had been wondering why only he and Lippy had been called in to the office. Now he knew. Both men were too experienced to respond to Jock the Sock’s enquiring look. But Tooks heard Lippy Grant suck in a deep breath. They knew if Hosier had something to add he would say it without prompting.
‘Just to clear the decks, Gerry, I am taking over direct control of the two remaining squadrons. Until they are active in the operational theatre they are my responsibility.’
‘Director,’ he replied, formally, unblinkingly and without emphasis.
Hosier pulled out an envelope from his camouflage jacket and spun it across the table. ‘That comes from the top table, and has already been copied to Jamie Robertson-Macleod so that he knows the score. Any comments?’
‘Welcome aboard, boss,’ Gerry Tooks replied.
He was fighting to keep the irony out of his voice. He was being relieved but he hadn’t even moved to open the orders. That was because they were unnecessary. Cornelius Hosier was a Brigadier and Director of Special Forces. He was already in command. But such a move, the protection of his own back, was typical. He had a reputation of being a past master at the art of hogging success and shifting the blame for failure. And this had an added feature, being in some way part of the turf war between him and the Regimental CO.
What followed was a roundup of the intelligence picture. The problems of the Task Force now that they had to stay well to the east of the islands. The continuing arguments regarding landing sites, and the political unacceptability of heavy casualties, either at sea or on land. This was mixed with the knowledge, scary to the government, that having finally got 3 Commando Brigade on its way from Ascension, withdrawal was even less palatable. Most of this both his listeners could have gleaned from the Daily Telegraph, even down to the fact that the air-launched Exocets were the main worry.
‘The intelligence on those is confusing. The French aren’t being very helpful, and it appears that Argentine embassies all over the world have been ordered to send out buyers to scour the globe for more. And they may get some, despite the best efforts of MI5 to stop them, who can tell? Then there is the factor of range, which is a great concern to the PM. So, if we don’t know for sure how many of the buggers we will be dealing with now, or in the future, or how far they can travel, we have to assume the worst.’
‘Range is important, boss,’ said Tooks. ‘But they’ve only got so many planes to deliver them?’
‘The reckoning is a maximum of five. But they must have more trained pilots than that, so flying double sorties could be a problem. Both elements of our fleet, carriers and escorts as well as transports, have to come well within their present range in daylight to execute and cover any landing. That’s when they’re vulnerable. And given the number of targets the enemy will be spoilt for choice. They can either go after the carriers or try to take out Canberra. You know how many men she is carrying. I need hardly tell you what tremors such a possibility engenders in the political breast.’
Lippy Grant cut in, his eyes boring into those of Jock the Sock. ‘I’m betting there are one or two brass hats who’re having trouble keeping their bottle when they look at this lot. They’ll be shitting their pips.’
The look that produced on Hosier’s face had Gerry speaking quickly.
‘Any news on the UN front?’
‘Hot air, Gerry. The Argies won’t budge.’
‘There’s not much of an alternative to a Falklands landing if we’re determined to take the islands back. That is where the enemy main force is concentrated.’
‘Wrong! There is a very good alternative. One that will make the buggers reassess their aims. And we are just the chaps to pull it off. Follow me.’
Hosier led the way to the War Room. It was as new as the rest of the HQ section, a square uncluttered space, where the attached personnel, green slime, beavered away. The scaleys, non-operational, were in the adjoining signal room. They had direct comms links to Fearless, Hermes, Fleet HQ at Northwood and Ascension Island. The walls were covered with maps of the Falklands, one with blue flagged pins inserted to show where the G Squadron men on ground had set up the observation posts.
Another showed the results. Even after only a few days the main map was marked with a comprehensive outline of the Argentine positions, both in numbers and equipment: artillery, machine gun posts, bunkers, trench systems, minefields and troop concentrations. Most of the blue flagged pins covered the expanse of East Island, and a quick comparison showed many of them cheek by jowl with the Argentinian positions. It looked as though the enemy could hardly move a latrine bucket a hundred yards without it being logged.
Hosier allowed Gerry to take him through the scenario, nodding sagely as each fact was detailed. Tooks pointed out the pair blue/red flags around Goose Green, pointing out that these were the B Squadron men who’d first gone in off Scylla. But his favourite site was in the harbour of Port Stanley itself, where the SBS had set up a hide inside an abandoned wreck.
‘Never thought they’d pull that one off. They can see the whole harbour and its approaches, as well as keep tabs on the airfield.’
‘It just goes to show, Gerry, that the motto we live by is correct. “Who dares wins”, what!’
There was something about the way Hosier said that which produced a funny feeling in Gerry Tooks’ lower gut. It wasn’t inspiring. It was scary. With Hosier leading they moved over to the opposite wall, to where a green slime bod was working out and taping a route that led over the South Atlantic. It went all the way from Ascension to Tierra del Fuego. Alongside each course change and refuelling point was a pencilled-in ETA, and when Gerry Tooks examined them he knew straight away that the times given were not for a fast, attacking fighter jet.
‘Cl30s,’ Lippy Grant murmured.
‘That’s right, Lippy,’ Hosier replied, picking up a thick file. He jabbed a finger at the point where the tape ceased, the Rio Grande air base. ‘And that is B Squadron’s target. We’ve got to get in, get busy and cripple the Argentinian air offensive capacity. And gentlemen, we’ve not got to just surprise them, we have got to give the buggers the fright of their lives. Once they think the whole of their mainland is compromised, a landing might well be superfluous.’
‘You’re suggesting a direct assault on the Rio Grande airfield?’
‘Correct.’
‘Do we have any intelligence on the forces guarding the base?’
‘Very little. But we can make an educated guess at the number of aircraft, which gives us aircrew and support staff. Then we just have to look at what we would assign to an airfield ourselves to get a profile of the defence.’
‘I take it you’ve done that, boss?’
‘I have, in a rough sort of way. I expect the number of personnel, from pilots to guard units, to be in the region of a thousand men. Not all of them will be capable of putting up a fight, of course. Aircraft mechanics are rarely commended for their battle skills.’
‘In a HALO drop operation we won’t be able to take enough kit,’ Tooks said. ‘And a low-level para drop will be picked up on radar. The Argies will know we’re coming in, and judge by the aircraft numbers our available strength. I don’t think fifty guys, however good, are going to give a thousand men the fright of their lives, however poor.’
Hosier had a cunning look in his eye, as well as half a smile on his lips.
‘Who said anything about a parachute drop, Gerry, high altitude or low?’ He spun round and pointed to the drawing he’d just laid out on a table. ‘The flight times for C130 are accurate, subject to air currents, and it would obviously be preferable to have a tail wind close to target. Two Hercules transports, with half B Squadron in each, can carry as much equipment as they desire including vehicle-mounted gunnery. They can choose anti-tank weapons, explosives or machine guns, whichever seems the most appropriate.’
Gerry Tooks guessed what was coming, and didn’t want to confirm it. But despite himself he couldn’t help asking, since Hosier had paused.
‘And what do we do then?’
‘It’s just like Entebbe. We land the buggers on the runway, before the Argies have even woken up to the fact of who they are. Then in four-man teams we destroy what aircraft they have, kill the pilots to a man, then find and neutralize their missile capacity.’
Hosier’s finger was on the Rio Grande air base, and with his back to the two men he couldn’t see their stunned expressions.
‘Surprise, gentlemen, the key to war, the entire raison d’être of the Regiment. At one stroke we will have nullified half the air offensive capacity of the enemy. I need hardly tell you what a difference that will make to the proposed operations.’
‘There were no real hostile ground forces at Entebbe,’ said Gerry Tooks. ‘At least none worth the title.’
‘Would it have made any difference if there had been? By the time they’d have chosen to intervene the operation would have been complete.’
‘Numbers don’t tell us very much, boss. I grant you the mechanics, but do we know the quality of the troops charged with airfield defence?’
‘We must assume they are good, Gerry, without being special. We, on the other hand, are just that. The very best there is, and that includes the Israelis. And since, like them, we are going to land inside their defences, most of those troops will actually be useless.’
‘Always assuming we can get in.’
‘We can, Gerry, and we must!’
‘What about the radar pickup?’
‘Four minutes is the best guess. Our intelligence indicates that the Argentines have nothing more sophisticated than that. And there are no air traffic control corridors that far south of Buenos Aires.’
‘Ground to air?’
‘Our intelligence is that they’ve shifted most of that to the Falklands. But I would assume they have retained some capacity to defend their main air bases.’
‘Roland Two ground to air has a range of eighteen hundred metres, and the kind of multiple warheads that will trash a transport plane. And they will be at a high alert condition, set to fire. They’ll take us out in about sixty seconds. And if they miss, there’ll probably plenty of Oerlikons and Bofors.’
Gerry Tooks dropped his voice deliberately, so that no one in the room could hear. ‘You’re proposing to land.’
‘Crash-land, Gerry,’ Hosier interrupted, ‘and in the type of aircraft the Argentinian air force use themselves. We will have to use countermeasures to confuse them. So they won’t be sure who we are, and that will give us time.’
‘OK. We’ve slipped the radar and the Rolands and have crash-landed. Now we’ve got two pranged Hercules on the runway. Our guys are inside, and might already have taken casualties. They will certainly be under fire as they debus and set out to destroy their designated targets.’
Gerry Tooks paused then, to see if his words were having any effect on the Brigadier: The sole response he received was a smug smile, which was in sharp contrast to that of SSM Grant. He was seething, his face growing redder and angrier by the second. His troop commander wasn’t much better placed, and had to fight to keep his voice even.
‘Does it occur to you they could be slaughtered?’
Hosier’s nostrils flared. ‘We will suffer losses certainly, Gerry. But the SAS, just because it is an elite unit, cannot evade the notion of taking casualties. Quite the reverse!’
‘They’ll take more than that,’ Gerry Tooks replied, looking at the files Hosier had laid on the table. ‘Is there an E&E plan there for when it all goes pear-shaped?’
‘There’s no plan there,’ snapped Hosier, sidestepping the need to explain how the men engaged would get clear when the operation was over. ‘That is your job. What I have given you is a whole-squadron task, one that has to be put into effect with speed. l need hardly remind you that our ships and men are in grave danger. And if we don’t get our fingers out that will apply, in spades, to the chaps thrown in on the ground as well.’
‘Can I ask one question?’
‘I hope you will find it necessary to ask several.’
‘You mentioned the top table. Just who has this operation been sanctioned by?’
Hosier was infuriatingly smug in his reply. ‘I believe I also mentioned the War Cabinet and the PM. The idea of a Special Forces operation was given the green light at the highest level. The aim is to produce a speedy conclusion to the conflict at the minimum cost. To, if possible, obviate the need to land a main force at all. The detail of how we achieve that is down to the Regiment. Or, more specifically, to you, Gerry, as OC of B Squadron.’
‘You’re not asking for a plan, boss. You’re asking me to come up with a sure-fire way of writing off my men. Damn the consequences, just go over the top.’
Hosier put his hand on Gerry Tooks’ shoulder, in an act of such blistering insincerity, coupled with such a sugary tone of voice, that he nearly earned himself a full force butt from the Major’s head.
‘As I said, there will be losses, Gerry. Of that I am in no doubt. But you are, like me, an officer. And accepting that some men will die or be maimed is part of the responsibility of rank.’
Gerry Tooks heard the words, but doubted that it was actually him that said them.
‘I won’t do it!’
‘What?’
He could feel the blood heating his reddening face as he continued, his passion so strong that his choice of words lacked any care. ‘I’m not planning a massacre so that you can ponce about at Northwood playing the big cheese.’
‘Me? Big cheese! What are you talking about man?’
‘You know very well what I’m talking about,’ Tooks said, his voice rising as he lifted up one of the files Hosier had laid out on the table. ‘What if we don’t even get down? What if the bastards lock on with their Rolands and just shoot us out of the sky? A Hercules has a limited ability to avoid those type of missiles. They’re way too slow.’
‘I can’t recall saying this was an operation without risk.’
Lippy Grant, still seething in the background, finally exploded, speaking so rapidly that the words were garbled.
‘Risk! It’s not a fuckin’ risk for you, ya useless, stuck up bastard.’
Hosier went bright red, and opened his mouth to deliver a rebuke. But Lippy, fists bunched, had pushed past Gerry Tooks, who grabbed his jacket in an effort to restrain him. Jock the Sock, wisely, took a couple of quick steps backwards.
‘You’ll be sittin’ drinkin’ whisky at Headquarters while we get our arses shot to hell. The best we can hope for is to get blown to bits without feeling any pain.’
‘SSM Grant,’ Hosier hissed, the shock for once making him forget regimental informality. ‘I will, if you apologize, at once, for old times’ sake, ignore your outburst.’
‘Lippy!’ said Gerry Tooks, still trying, only marginally successfully, to hold his SSM back.
‘You useless, no good fucker, stick your old times’ sake up your jacksy. You never were any bloody good. You’re nothing but an arse-crawling bag of shite.’
Gerry turned to address the other men in the Ops room, fighting to keep himself from shouting. He ordered them out. Then in a forced, gentle tone, with Hosier moving discreetly away, he spoke to his sergeant.
‘You can’t talk to him like that, Lippy.’
The fight suddenly seemed to go out of Don Grant. The shoulders slumped and his voice had a pleading quality to replace that of his previous anger.
‘You’ll have to apologize.’
It was as if Lippy Grant couldn’t hear him, and his voice rose as he continued, so that Hosier couldn’t help but register what was being said.
‘We all fuckin’ hated him in the Gulf, except for a couple willing to kiss his arse. The bastard would be at home in the First World War. Never mind the body count as long I get another pip on my shoulder.’
‘Major Tooks,’ said Hosier, from several feet away. His voice was as tight as the skin on his face, evidence that he had heard what Lippy had said. And for once the use of Gerry Tooks’ rank was appropriate, certainly to the words that followed. ‘Please see that the SSM is removed. He is RTU’d forthwith. Only the good of the Regiment, and a desire to avoid washing our dirty linen in public, stops me from ordering a court martial.’
‘Wait over by the door, Lippy,’ said Tooks, pushing his SSM away. He waited till he was far enough distant, shaking his head and cursing both himself and Hosier. Then Gerry Tooks turned back to talk to the Brigadier, who was standing, feet apart, hands and swagger stick behind his back, and eyebrows raised. Even with all that had been going on, he’d had time to think of the consequences of the course he’d adopted.
‘Well, Gerry?’
‘I think Lippy is out of order. But he’s been in the Regiment a long time.’
‘That, Gerry, is history. We are here and we are now. You know very well the question I am asking.’
He couldn’t answer right away. The consequences of the only reply he could give were reeling about in his brain. Everything he’d ever striven for falling apart in one brief moment. His voice had a hollow quality, inside his own head, as though it wasn’t him who was speaking.
‘I have no choice but to repeat what I said, Director.’
‘Which is?’
The tone of stiff formality was a touch alien, but he knew he had to employ it. He had to sound like an officer.
‘I said that I will not work on any plan that’s going to achieve nothing but get the men it is my honour to command, killed. Some of the people I’m talking about served with me when I was a trooper.’
‘Do you like service in the Regiment, Gerry?’
‘You know I do!’
Gerry Tooks wanted to scream that it had been and was his life, but that would sound like pleading, a thing he was determined to avoid.
‘Then you have a stark choice. Either do as I have ordered, or pack your kit and head for Platform Four.’
‘That’s a decision I would need to have confirmed by my Co.
That earned Gerry Tooks a snort of derision. As if to underline that, as well as himself, the CO of the Regiment was an ambitious serving soldier. Hosier touched one of the red collar tabs.
‘Don’t get your hopes up on Jamie Robertson-Macleod. He knows what the Regiment is for, even if you do not. Why do you think we have such privileges and extra pay? To duck out when the going gets rough?’
‘I can take the rough, Director. I have in the past. But there’s such a thing as common sense, even in the Army.’
‘I give you one more chance. I am ordering you, as your superior officer, to plan, train for and execute an assault on the Rio Grande airfield, forthwith.’
‘No!’
‘Then remove yourself as well, Major Tooks, and send me your second in command, Captain Lowry.’
It was like a knife in Major Tooks, a surgical cut that told him in no uncertain terms that he was no longer in the Regiment. He was back in the Green Army, with all the bullshit that implied.
‘No threat of a court martial?’
Hosier half-turned, so he was no longer looking at Gerry Tooks. ‘I will extend to you the same favour I gifted to Grant. You see, Tooks, I care deeply about the Regiment’s reputation, something you clearly do not.’
‘Bollocks,’ Gerry replied, suddenly reverting to talking like a trooper. ‘Maybe I’ll ask for one, so we can have this pile of shit examined in open court.’
‘Don’t fool yourself that you’ll ever succeed, laddie. Now get out of my sight. And you will oblige me by speaking to no one about what has happened here. That, in case you are in doubt, is a direct order that you will disobey at your peril.’
Gerry Tooks turned to leave, knowing what Lippy Grant had already discovered, and for which the Sergeant was still berating himself. That this might be the Regiment, the best fighting force in the world. But it was still the good old British Army, a place where shit floats and usually ends up telling you what to do.
David Lowry was too junior to take over the command himself. But the SAS usually had a ready supply of officers on various detached duties. His first task was to contact Major Vere Symington, who’d been Special Forces liaison officer in Washington. He’d returned when the Argentine invasion was confirmed and was, at present, in London. The offer to take temporary command of B Squadron was accepted with alacrity. Symington didn’t even ask why it had come about; just told Lowry he’d be at Stirling Lines in three hours.
Hosier had the captain call all the men from B Squadron to the briefing room, his gentle question as to the whereabouts of his previous Troop Commander brushed aside by a clearly angry Brigadier. The men filed into the room, another part of the new building shaped like a small theatre. They entered with that lack of discipline in the face of a superior officer which they saw as a token of their special status. Not one of them was in a complete uniform, though several wore camouflage trousers and tee shirts. Many were smoking and some carried cans of soft drink. They too seemed curious about the missing men, gazing quizzically at the stage, as though something quite common was absent. To Hosier, standing at the front looking at them, they seemed to represent the kind of lineup the police might gather to stand with a particularly physically fit suspect.
God!’ he thought. ‘If ever I’d got my hands on this unit, I would have changed all this.’
‘OK, men, settle down,’ he called, then waited till the fifty men in the room comported themselves, and exchanged jokes. Of the eyes that were on him, he suspected that several were ill disposed. But that didn’t matter: he had to carry the bulk of the group. Do that, and those he’d had to put in their place in the past would fall into line. ‘I know I risk the accusation of being over-dramatic. But what I am about to impart to you will be details of probably the most important operation ever undertaken by the Regiment since the Second World War.’
That got their attention. By the time he finished that teaser you could hear a pin drop. He took them through a situation report on the developments in the Falklands: how well the reconnaissance groups were performing, and listing some of the valuable information they were sending back.
‘So far the Regiment has performed brilliantly. But that still leaves a problem. We have to land our troops in the face of an extremely potent threat to both our ships and our men, namely that of the Exocet missiles.’
He rehashed all the things that he had said to Tooks and Grant, realizing as he did so that they were slipping, losing their concentration, not listening because they’d heard all of this on the bloody news and endless discussion programmes which clogged the airwaves, as well as filling the newspapers. Every retired know-all was at it, coining appearance fees for just sitting talking balls. There was nothing the top brass knew which wasn’t bloody common knowledge.
‘I intend that you, B Squadron, will disabuse the Argentine forces of any notion that such technology will save their hides.’
That got them back again, and they were grinning now, sitting forward, and exchanging glances, eager once more to hear what he had to say. It gave Hosier a good feeling, and made him puff his chest out a little more.
‘I dare say that of the four squadrons that make up the 22nd SAS Regiment, you think you’re the best.’
The boots should have been stamping before his last words were out, accompanied by cries of ‘too right, boss’, and several whistles. That was the sort of thing that would happen in any normal line regiment. But it didn’t here. All he got for his flattery was a few self-conscious grins. There were also silent unimpressed stares from the long-serving members of the Regiment, men whom no one could impress.
‘Now is the time to prove it.’
Inside his head, Hosier was chanting to himself, ‘Build them up, build them up.’ He’d never admit it, but what had happened with Tooks and Grant had jarred him. He was determined there was to be no repeat.
‘You know we’re not interested in medals, or recognition. Princes Gate would have in some senses been more satisfying without a TV camera in sight.’
Several heads were nodding, including those of some of the troopers who’d done the Iranian Embassy siege, the thought that being seen on the box had exposed an organization supposed to be secret and discreet to the full glare of public adoration.
‘But that has done nothing to alter our basic task, which is not just to infiltrate and report on enemy movements, but to take them on where we find them and give them a bloody nose.’ Only half responded to that, the less experienced judging by their youth. ‘And that is what we’re going to do.’
He could feel the tingling in his fingertips as he outlined the operation, feel the eyes of over forty men boring into his own, some in quite evident disbelief. Beside him, David Lowry, the commander of Boat Troop, was sitting as stiff as a board, looking over the heads of the men, some of whom he would have to lead to Rio Grande.
‘Our first task,’ Hosier concluded, ‘is to formulate a workable plan. Then we will institute a programme of training. I have already spoken to the Air Staff, though without going into details, and they are setting things up. We will start at 08.00 hours the day after tomorrow, which will give you time to sort out what kit you need. David here will inform you of your detailed tasks in that department. Vere Symington is on his way from London, and is, from this moment on, your squadron commander. That is all.’
Hosier came down off the platform and strode up the aisle, eyes front and ignoring everyone. He needn’t have bothered. No one was looking at him; they were just staring ahead in stunned silence. Just as he reached the door a voice spoke.
‘The cunt’s mad. Stark staring fucking mad!’
The buzz of agreement, larded with expletives aimed both at him, Ruperts in general, and his orders, followed him out through the door, to be silenced as it swung shut. That also allowed him to pause and take a deep, very necessary breath.