Shaun Clarke - Heroes of the South Atlantic

All of them, in their different ways, were exceptional soldiers – truly the best of the best, a hand-picked elite. Which is why, as Sergeant Ricketts also knew, they were in the SAS.

Unclipping his safety belt, Ricketts made his way to the front of the helicopter, where Captain Hailsham was strapped in beside the Mark 3 pilot, Lieutenant-Commander Randolph Pedler RN. Looking out, past Hailsham’s head, Ricketts saw a charcoal-coloured, snow-streaked stretch of mountainous land on a grey horizon, growing larger each second.

‘Is that South Georgia?’ he asked.

‘It sure is,’ Lieutenant-Commander Pedler said. ‘And it doesn’t look good out there. We’re hoping to reach the LZ 500 metres above sea level, but I think we’ve got snow. That won’t make it easy.’

Pedler was right. Within minutes the mountains of the approaching island could be seen more clearly and were covered with falling snow.

‘You’d better go back and strap yourself in,’ Captain Hailsham warned Ricketts. ‘We’re in for a bumpy ride.’

‘Right, boss,’ Ricketts replied, then returned to the main cabin to strap himself in with the other troops.

Nearing the LZ, they were met by wind-driven snow that created a ‘white-out’ by making earth and sky indistinguishable. Nevertheless, with the aid of the Mark 3’s computerized navigational system, Lieutenant-Commander Pedler led the other two helicopters on through the dangerous gorges of South Georgia until the sheer face of the Fortuna Glacier emerged eerily from a curtain of falling snow. There they hovered, then ascended and descended, trying to find a place to land, with the roaring helicopters being buffeted dangerously by the fierce, howling wind.

The first attempt to land was unsuccessful, so eventually Pedler and the others flew away to circle the glacier in the hope of finding a clear area. They weren’t able to land until the third attempt, later that afternoon, when the wind was blowing at 50mph. It was like landing in hell.

When the troops disembarked from the helicopters, or ‘helos’ as the Navy called them, the fierce wind was driving fine particles of ice before it. These stung the men’s eyes if they were not wearing goggles and, more dangerously, choked the mechanisms of their weapons.

As they unloaded their equipment and long, lightweight pulks , they were sheltered from the worst of the weather. Also, the hot exhaust fumes of the helicopters gave them a deceptive feeling of warmth. But when they lifted off, the 16 SAS troopers, being suddenly, brutally hit by the full force of those biting, 50mph winds, realized just what they were up against.

‘Shit!’ Paddy exclaimed, wiping snow from his Arctic hood and examining the weapons he was putting onto his pulk . ‘They’re not only choked up – they’re frozen solid as well. Completely fucking useless.’

‘Damn!’ Captain Hailsham exclaimed softly, also checking the frozen weapons. ‘During the helicopter flight the warm metal must have attracted a thin film of water. Exposed to this damned wind, it froze.’

‘Great!’ Andrew said, rolling his eyes, then squinting into the howling gale. ‘Weapons like ice lollies. Let’s just hope the bloody Argies don’t show up until we get them thawed out again.’

‘The Argies won’t show up here,’ Ricketts said.

‘Still,’ Captain Hailsham warned him, ‘we have to get off this glacier before nightfall. ‘If we don’t, we’re likely to freeze to death.’

‘Right, boss,’ Ricketts said, forced to shout against the raging wind, but finding it difficult because his lips were already becoming numb. ‘We better get going then. I suggest we break the men up into four groups, each roped together, and go down the glacier in arrow formation. That way, we won’t lose each other and can help each other out if there’s trouble.’

‘Right, Sergeant, let’s do it.’

After splitting up into four patrols, one of which included Ricketts, Andrew, Danny, and Paddy, the men attached themselves to the pulks loaded with food and ammunition, roped themselves together in four separate groups, then advanced down the glacier in arrowhead formation, inhuman in their bulky Arctic suits and hoods, ghostlike in the mist and swirling snow.

One patrol had orders to watch Leith, one Stromness and one Husvik, four miles from the LZ. The fourth, led by Ricketts, had intended going down the opposite west slope to recce Fortuna Bay for boat and helicopter landing points. However, this was not to be. As the men edged slowly forward, the storm actually grew worse, with the wind howling louder and the snow thickening around them, reducing visibility to almost zero.

The ice surface of the glacier was covered with snow, which was gathering in the crevasses. The men could not always see the indentations in the snow, and within a few metres they came to a halt when young Danny became the first to cry out instinctively as he plunged through the snow-covered ice.

His fall was stopped by his bergen, his backpack, straddling the fissure, leaving him buried from the waist down.

‘Christ!’ he cried, frantically waving his hands above his head. ‘Get me outta here!’

‘Don’t move!’ Ricketts called to him, tugging on the rope, meanwhile pulling himself forward to anchor Danny with his pickaxe and prevent him sinking deeper into the crevasse. Andrew and Paddy then did the same, hooking their pickaxes under Danny’s armpits, then taking hold of his shoulders to pull him back up to solid ground.

Once Danny had shaken off the snow and ice, they all stepped over the crevasse, leaned into the wind and continued their advance down the white, gleaming side of the glacier. Then Paddy fell into another crevasse, compelling them to stop and start the rescue procedure all over again.

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