Hugh McManners - Falklands Commando

We were radio’d to expect a Sea King in the next hour, so we packed up our shelter and humped the bergens down to the LS. There was quite a considerable wait and it was very cold. When the distant engine noise was finally heard everyone was galvanised into activity, stores lined up on the correct side so as to be loaded straight on, sticks nominated and grouped. FO1 were to be in the second stick.

When the aircraft came into distant view an orange smoke-canister was thrown to indicate the wind direction and leave no doubt as to our location. The first lift went off, and very soon we were clambering aboard the second.

The crewman handed round cans of beer – extremely generous and very welcome, but they made us feel ill. We thundered over the moorland moonscape to San Carlos Water to land back on Sir Lancelot . The SAS got out, and I negotiated our flying onward to Intrepid where we could marry up again with the SBS and our equipment.

When we landed back on Intrepid , Roy Laney was as always in his glass-fronted ‘Flyco’ box overlooking the flight deck, and gave us a huge smile and wave of welcome. We were now at home base, reunited with our baggage. It was also lunchtime, so we split rapidly to our respective dining-areas to eat at least three meals apiece.

Although we were now able to relax, Intrepid was far from being able to take it easy. She was due to sail for Fox Bay to pick up the Argentine garrison from there and transfer them to Canberra for the return trip to Argentina. In the meantime we boxed up all our gear and packed personal belongings. SB Squadron were due to go home on the RFA Fort Austin . We loaded everything except our personal kit on to the LCM that arrived to make the transfer. As far as we knew, we would shortly transfer with it. No one was answering my signals asking for firm instructions, so it was a question of doing what we thought best.

Des, Tim and Steve were offered a helicopter lift into Port Stanley, and so they went off sightseeing – having been urged by me to be bloody careful. I had not even the slightest desire to go, having become so intimately concerned with Stanley through the Swiftscope, and especially after the tragedy of the civilian deaths. I think Nick felt the same way.

We sat down on his mess-deck wearing ‘Survivors’ Kit’ sweaters, plimsolls and blue trousers, as our combat kit was still wet from the dhobi. We drank a few cans of beer, and reflected on how well our ‘scratch’ crew had done.

Des, Tim and Steve came back from Stanley with some interesting ‘gizzets’ (the name for war booty; if you see something you want, you say “Give us it”), and tales of absolute confusion. And as one might expect, the taking of souvenirs soon got of hand.

There were so many brand-new weapons lying around ashore, some still wrapped in their original greaseproof paper, that everyone had acquired something. The most flourishing trade was shore-to-ship with the sailors, who were very keen to get their hands on a pistol to show off at home. We realised that no one would be allowed ashore in the UK with any of these souvenirs. Consequently, the pistols and weapons that had been gathered by us in the normal course of the operation were sold to willing matelots who were delighted – until later, when presumably they had to throw them over the side.

Intrepid sailed for Fox Bay to pick up the Argentine garrison, arriving at night and putting a prisoner reception party ashore to meet up with a similar team from Avenger who were already there. The following day, once the prisoners had been organised, they would be flown on board and incarcerated on the lower tank deck. I should mention that on our sister ship Fearless, for three weeks before the landings, the Blues and Royals had been living there – an indication of the exceptional social acceptability of the lower tank-deck.

Lieutenant Paul Humphries, the co-pilot of the Sea King that had crashed into the sea just before the San Carlos landings, offered to take me along in his co-pilot’s seat, to fly the PoWs on. After escaping from the sinking helicopter with only scratches after punching his way through the front windscreen, Paul had been seriously and understandably shaken by the accident. However, with the shortage of pilots, he’d rapidly returned to flying, and was still flying very long hours. It would be a long, boring shuttle run to and from Fox Bay, so we could chat.

We took off just after first light, and as we flew in, Paul showed me how to handle the helicopter using the dual controls. I flew the long runs in and out, making the easy turns, while Paul did the landings and take-offs. This was a real treat for a simple soldier.

Avenger was anchored in the centre of Fox Bay, not far from where we’d been in such difficulties with our sinking rubber boat a few weeks previously. The LS from where we were to collect the PoWs was on the periphery of Fox Bay East. It was a lovely clear day with the occasional sudden rain squall. The spartan beauty of the two small settlements was revealed in bursts of bright sunshine, and the weather-board houses with their red, corrugated-iron roofs and palisade fences looked very peaceful.

The LS was a large, green field with Dusty A. (the Quartermaster of the Special Boat Squadron) standing at one end, hands outstretched to marshal us down. There were also two naval officers, I supposed from Avenger, wearing that incredible garb naval officers wear when they leave their ships to ‘rough it’ ashore: black leather gaiters, blue waterproof jackets and big, blue, dustbin-sized berets; looking like building-site foremen crossed with members of a field-gun racing team. Their pistols and rifles, carried rather ostentatiously, seemed an incongruity, for the prisoners were lined up smartly and quietly in a gentle drizzle. Most were under cover in the sheep-shearing sheds, but there were several lines of fifteen (a SeaKing-load) sitting in the open on their kit bags, waiting to be picked up.

There were also four Royal Marines, from the landing-craft detachment on Intrepid , with their officer. Just six soldiers and two naval officers were in charge of over 1,000 Argentinians.

A few Falklanders stood by, quietly watching it all. On a couple of occasions, before getting into a helicopter, one of the Argentine senior NCOs or officers would step forward and offer his hand to them, and pat the children on the head. There were farewells, and what I imagined could have been promises to keep in touch (but possibly not), being made in a strangely poignant scene.

Some of our prisoners did not seem to have been in a helicopter before, having to be told to put out cigarettes and shown how to fasten seat belts. The crewman had to heave them up through the door and stow the kit bags they were clutching, which were filled with tins of food. We took off with the first load, and as we got about halfway to the ship, with the doors shut a strange and very unpleasant smell began to accumulate, a combination of wood smoke and the dysentery from which most of them seemed to be suffering.

On Intrepid they were put straight down on to the tank-deck and fed immediately with traditional Royal Navy corned beef stew. They were noticeably less than delighted with this, but the ship did not have any other sort of food. The stew was nutritionally good. We’d been eating it for weeks. But despite their moaning, it was soon all finished.

Unfortunately the prisoners also made a disgusting mess, which was probably the result of their officers not bothering, or being unable to exercise any control. Back on land, there’d been trouble with Argentinean officers who’d attempted to keep their pistols because they were frightened of what their men might do to them. By contrast with their soldiers, the Argentine officers seemed to have been looking after themselves pretty well, so their fears were understandable. A naval officer at Fox Bay appeared at the LS wearing an immaculately clean, dark-blue greatcoat and peaked hat with gleaming gold braid. Their officers were clean, shaved and dry, whereas the soldiers were sallow-faced, wet, unshaven and filthy.