Hugh McManners - Falklands Commando

“At eight o’clock there will be…”

Cedric never got the chance to tell us what would happen at eight o’clock because at that exact moment, there was a very loud explosion very close by and a whooshing, roaring noise. The ‘O’ group vanished like rabbits, diving into holes in the rocks.

Cedric remained unperturbed, kneeling on his sleeping-mat, trying yet again to light his appallingly badly rolled fag. We stuck our heads out to see what was happening.

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh I’m sorry, didn’t I tell you? I was on my timings paragraph. At eight o’clock there will be a test firing of a Milan anti-tank rocket. I see from my watch that it is now just after eight o’clock.”

The other NGS teams were clocking into the SACC by radio in the same way as the previous night. They’d been reallocated from the units from the attacks the night before, to the next fighting units. Fresh battalions were being brought up to take the lead, but with only five teams, our people had to move on after each battle, to whichever unit was leading the next attack.

I got onto the radio to our HQ, and once again lodged my point about requiring NGS for our attack. I was told that if the need for fire arose I would be treated sympathetically, which was the best I could hope for.

The shell and small arms fire were very much closer than the previous night, and the Argentine artillery seemed to be much more active. Their medium and 105-mm howitzer batteries were at work, with quite a few mechanical time shells exploding over Wireless Ridge. It was reassuring to see that the Argentine forward observers had not learned the lessons of earlier nights, as these were also mostly too high to be effective.

D Squadron left Beagle Ridge just after last light, laden with GPMG ammunition, mortars and boxes of the Milan wire-guided anti-tank missiles. Des, Steve and Tim popped their heads over the parapet for a chat, then Nick and I settled down to another cold night in the OP.

We’d been listening to the shelling, the muffled boom of the guns firing, the pause and the whistling shimmer of rounds spinning across our front toward their targets. Then another pause, and the hollow thud and echoing crump of the rounds landing. But this time, the sound was different from the usual noise. We both noticed it and came to the same conclusion. Nick was down in the basha – our improvised shelter, on the radio and I was up in the OP.

“That one sounds like it’s coming in!”

He scrabbled right down as far as he could go, and I was half into the basha as far as I could squeeze myself.

The first shell was short by about 100 metres and crashed into the forward slope of the ridge just below us. The other shells were in the air at the same time and the space between the rounds exploding was filled with the whispering whistle that large calibre shells make when they are coming for you. The next round landed a few feet below the parapet of our OP and filled the air with a peculiar humming sound.

Metallic ringing sounds made us realise this insect-like noise was shrapnel spinning through the air and ricocheting off the rocks around us. Jagged shards of hot metal, the size of a hand, cut sizzling into the moss all around us.

There was a pause while the Argie gunners adjusted their dial sights, then the next lot came down, bang on line. Thankfully, the unlucky one that comes right into our rocky cleft never arrived. Instead, the shells either plunged into the forward slope a few feet below or went over the top and into the peat valley behind us. I tried to get closer to the rocks and peat, desperately moulding myself to the shape of the ground.

There was another pause and we muttered at each other:

“Bloody hell, I hope there’s not much more where that came from.”

“They seem to have got us located all right.”

I was very angry.

“That’s bloody annoying. You spend days keeping your head down and being careful. Then those other buggers come along and wander about the place showing the Argies what’s going on. Then they thin out leaving us to get all this.”

A head stuck itself over the top of the parapet, a voice asking breathlessly, “Well booger me, that were bloody close. Are you two all right?”

Des thought we’d taken a direct hit and concerned about what he was about to find.

“Oh thank fook you’re all right. That were bloody close.”

I stuck my head back up to listen for any more incomers and said, “We’re OK mate. Still it makes a change from slaving away over a hot radio.”

“I’d best nip back in case there’s some more on the way. Keep your heads down, for fook’s sake.”

The shells stopped coming, the strong smell of RDX/TNT – High Explosive (HE) faded in the wind, and the lines of red, curving tracer fire started below us, showing us where the attacks had progressed. The SAS assault group were on their way down to meet the Royal Marines Rigid Raider assault boats at Blanco Bay.

The area then became illuminated by Argentine artillery para-illum flares. This was, for a short time, interspersed with mechanical-time HE, again bursting too high to be effective. (The D Squadron boys, on their return from Blanco Bay, said that nevertheless it had been an alarming experience, particularly before they realised the bursts were set too high.)

Rigid Raiders are flat-bottomed fibreglass dories able to skim across the surface of quite rough seas carrying up to eight fully laden people, who sit on inflated rubber sausages that absorb the impact of the flat bottom bouncing along the surface. The coxswain stands behind the upright steering column against which he must brace to avoid being thrown overboard. ‘Raiders’ are very fast and manoeuvrable, but tiring (from the jolting ride and the need to hang on grimly to avoid being thrown out) – and very wet.

The other two troops in D Squadron had moved onto the high ground to the west and were preparing the GPMG (SF)s – machine guns on tripods, for giving accurate sustained fire, the mortar base plate and a line of Milan missiles to fire across the water in support of the raid. The mortar line was in the rear. All this heavy equipment had been carried down the hill from our location. We could see tracer looping across to strike the black hump of Cortley Hill, which was almost certainly the support group of D Squadron above Penarrow Point opening up with the SF kits.

There seemed now to be searchlights coming on from time to time, down in the Port William area, off Doctor Point. These lights were being shone due west and turned out to be the Argie hospital ship lighting up D Squadron in the boats.

A hospital ship is neither Argentine nor British but neutral so long as it wishes to be exempt from hostilities. It should certainly not have attempted to use its searchlight in that way, thus abandoning its neutrality. This was a very serious breach of the Geneva Conventions.

Nick and I sat chatting, shivering and watching. Tracer from further down the hill was streaming forward in long bursts onto Corley Hill. Our radio link with Cedric came to life with a request for help. The raiding troop was under heavy fire and having to withdraw. We got onto the NGS control net and asked for a gunship. Our request was immediately granted and we were told to contact Bob Harmes who was the LO on board. At this point things became very difficult because the gunship was out of range and Bob could not tell us when he would be ready to fire and was absolutely no use to us.

The next three-quarters of an hour were filled with frustration and anxiety, but no NGS. After half an hour of the ship being “ready within a few minutes” I called Captain John Keeling, the adjutant of 29 Commando Regiment RA and asked him if he could help me out. We’d also received a few more shells in our direction, and as they came in I reckoned I could see a flash from behind Cortley Hill, above Fairy Cove, where we had for several days suspected the location of a gun battery. I had an eight-figure grid of this to hand and gave it to John Keeling who promised to do what he could. All the guns were tied up with firing for the main attacks so I was not too hopeful.