Scram!

by Harry Benson

  If Conveyor had been vulnerable to Exocet out at sea, Causeway was even more exposed to air strikes in San Carlos Water. Losing nine British helicopters on Conveyor had been a disaster; losing another twenty-four helicopters on Causeway could prove catastrophic. It was therefore vital to get aircraft off the ship as quickly as possible before daylight and the arrival of Argentine jets. On the improvised and crowded flight deck, there was initially only room to spread the rotor blades of one Wessex at a time. Manoeuvring the aircraft into place ready for launch involved a complicated game of flight-deck chess.

  The day started badly. Flipper Hughes had just run through his pre-flight checks in the dimly lit cockpit of X-Ray Echo. Time was now crucial. He pressed the starter button for the port engine. To the collective dismay of aircrew and engineers waiting to prepare the next aircraft, the engine spun up but was not followed by the usual cracking of the igniters and whoosh of flame through the jet pipe. The igniters had failed. Hughes decided to get the starboard engine going and fly off unconventionally on a single engine. As an experienced pilot, he knew the Wessex could handle this. Alas the starboard igniters also failed to fire.

  A sense of panic now began to grow. Twenty Wessex and four Sea King helicopters sat immobilised on the deck of the most obvious target in San Carlos Water. Thoughts of Atlantic Conveyor edged closer. History threatened to repeat itself. Precious minutes were lost as the frantic senior maintenance engineer decided which other aircraft to rob for spare parts. X-Ray Echo was minutes from being unlashed and pushed into the sea. The hastily fitted replacement igniters worked and the disembarkation process could begin.

  Lieutenant Paul McIntosh had recently qualified as an instructor at the grand age of twenty-three with several Wessex tours in Northern Ireland already under his belt. While Hughes struggled to get X-Ray Echo started, he had been waiting anxiously alongside the second aircraft X-Ray Golf with its blades still folded. He could just make out the first glimmer of dawn as his cab was wheeled out onto the landing spot where the blades could be spread.

  Hughes held in the hover alongside the ship, waiting for McIntosh to launch so that they could approach Port San Carlos together in the early morning light. Lieutenant Willie Harrower followed in the third aircraft to ferry the pilots back to Causeway for their next delivery. Not knowing the number of other Wessex already ashore, the plan was to disembark the first twelve aircraft and leave eight aircraft on board Causeway in reserve.

  For the newcomers getting airborne for the first time, the scene in San Carlos Water was incredible. Warships, newly arrived passenger liners and supply ships jammed the bay. As the two Wessex approached the settlement of Port San Carlos, the unmistakeable shapes of the other Wessex became apparent in the bottom of a small valley. There was not going to be space for a dozen more aircraft. Worse, to McIntosh, the aircraft were not well dispersed and looked highly vulnerable to air attack themselves. Lieutenant Commander Peter Hails made the same observation when he arrived soon afterwards and told McIntosh to sort out a new landing site immediately.

  From the air at dusk, these dozen Wessex at Port San Carlos look like a juicy target. There was an ongoing discussion about whether it was better to keep the aircraft close together like this at night – easier to defend – or spread them out – harder to bomb. I suspect we simply parked them closer so we wouldn’t have to walk so far!

  After all the nerves and fears about what might have been, the day turned out well. The new arrivals were able to get most of the Wessex and the four Sea Kings safely off the ship without incident. Causeway sailed back out to sea with eight Wessex left on board as a reserve. A very relieved Lieutenant Ralph Miles and Sub-Lieutenant Jerry Thomas and Leading Aircrewman Martin Moreby also joined the influx of crews that day. Originally sent down on MV Norland as passengers, it was their third visit to the Falklands. At last they now had aircraft to fly.

  With thirty helicopters operating out of Port San Carlos, overcrowding was going to be a real problem. The Sea King new arrivals sensibly moved around the corner of the bay the next day to base themselves at San Carlos, leaving the Wessex and Chinook.

  Jack Lomas found himself in charge of what amounted to an entire Wessex squadron of nineteen helicopters and twenty-five aircrew. For the first time since the landings, groups of Wessex could be allocated to units on the ground or even to lift an entire battalion into action.

  The only Argentine air activity that day involved an unfortunate C-130 Hercules, intercepted and shot down north of Pebble Island by a Sea Harrier flown by 801 Squadron’s Sharkey Ward. Apart from a couple of ineffective bombing runs by Argentine Canberras on the Mount Kent area, there were no other daytime air raids on San Carlos that day, or indeed for the next few days.

  Setting up camp required a great deal of ingenuity and making-do. Some of the aircrew found spaces to sleep in the settlement buildings. The engineers found an outbuilding in which to keep their books and tools organised and dry. The Royal Marine cook improvised using rocket boxes for his field kitchen. Other aircrew and most of the engineers stayed in tents. With so much flying to sort out, an operations and briefing tent was also set up.

  Some new arrivals used more ingenuity than others. Bill Tuttey and his fellow aircrewman Petty Officer Jed Clamp didn’t fancy setting up their own tent. A glance at a nearby tent spattered with chicken supreme confirmed it would be best to find somebody who knew what they were doing. They headed instead for a smart-looking tent nearby. The two Royal Marine stores sergeants inside were quick to invite them in. Tuttey and Clamp merely wanted to know where they could store thirty bottles of assorted spirits landed from Atlantic Causeway.

  Aircrew were quick to take advantage of their ability to transport goods to keep the squadron fed. Pilots Sparky Harden and Ric Fox simply helped themselves to a pallet full of ration packs from the Brigade Maintenance Area at Ajax Bay one afternoon. Aircrew were masters at persuading stores managers to part with other goods. There were also other ways when persuasion didn’t work.

  On the way south, Bill Tuttey had noticed a large cage deep in the bowels of Atlantic Causeway’s vast interior that was full to the brim with boxes of Mars bars. The stores chief on Causeway was adamant that the chocolate ‘nutty’ was to remain locked away. It would return to Plymouth in the absence of any documented destination. The Mars bars were most likely a gift from a corporate well-wisher. It seemed ungrateful to send them back home.

  Just before Causeway sailed back out to sea, Peter Hails and Bill Tuttey shut their Wessex down on the big foredeck and wandered casually down below. They felt it best not to draw attention to the large bolt croppers they had signed out from the aircraft maintainers, after promising to return them with interest. Several trips up and down the stairs later, the helicopter returned to Port San Carlos loaded with 15,000 Mars bars.

  As well as treating themselves to the occasional Mars bar, Wessex crews were able to make themselves very popular with troops on the ground. The freezing and remote Rapier air defence missile sites surrounding San Carlos were especially grateful for their box gifts. There was no shortage of food or ‘nutty’.

  Nor did their sister squadrons miss out. One of the junglie Sea Kings had been lifting a pallet-load of Mars bars, this time donated by NAAFI, from one of the stores ships in the bay. The load started swinging from side to side underneath the helicopter. Eventually the swing got so bad that the load had to be jettisoned. Fortunately they were now over land. The pallet plummeted out of the air and landed on an otherwise unremarkable patch of Falklands grass. With resources stretched so thin, there seemed little point in flying out a new pallet and repacking the load. The ‘nutty mountain’ was left where it had fallen. However, Bill Pollock made sure all his Sea King crews were given the grid reference so that they could stop for refreshments. The labels on the boxes showed that the ‘donated’ Mars bars were out of date. But they tasted just fine.

  Not all of the new arrivals were happy campers. Although the decision to keep the
Wessex close in together at night turned out to be a deliberate one, it was clear that some operating practices had definitely slipped. With no flying possible during the long nights, aircrew were happy to drink and play spirited games in the great junglie peacetime tradition. However, this was war.

  Of far greater concern was the routine use of too much power in the air. In their understandable enthusiasm to get desperately needed ammunition to the guns as quickly as possible, aircrew had noticed that they could physically lift an extra layer of shells in an underslung pallet load if they were prepared to pull more power than was usually allowed. One of the great strengths of the Wessex was that it could fly a medium payload on only one engine. With both engines running, the power limitation was usually the torque that could be applied to the transmission. Too much torque meant overstressing the helicopter drive shafts and gearbox. And nobody knew how much of this punishment the Wessex would take before it all broke and a helicopter simply dropped out of the sky.

  Junglie aircrew were living in tolerable, if spartan, conditions. However, it was a completely different story for the troops advancing across the northern flank of East Falkland.

  Most of the work for the newly enlarged fleet of support helicopters in the early days of June was necessarily focused on supporting 45 Commando and 3 Para. Both units had endured appalling conditions to march in long lines across miles of streams and bogs carrying enormous 80-pound bergens on their backs and weapons in their hands. As well as the physical endurance, they had to cope with the mental strain of when and where they would encounter enemy troops or enemy aircraft. In fact they encountered neither. The epic yomp, or tab, was an extraordinary feat. But it also took its toll, injuring Royal Marines and Paras alike. Every soldier fought their own private battles with wet and blistered feet, aching and strained shoulders, and the icy cold and wind of the Falklands winter.

  Three days after leaving Port San Carlos, the Royal Marines arrived at Teal Inlet as the Paras were setting off. On the following night, 42 Commando were flown onto Mount Kent by the 846 Squadron Sea Kings. So, by Friday 4 June, three major units of 3 Brigade were in position on the hills around Mount Kent waiting to make their final push on the Argentine defences surrounding the capital Port Stanley.

  Although the Argentines were not threatening the British advance on the ground, their vigorous defence of Goose Green had dispelled any hope that their defences might crumble. Major General Jeremy Moore wanted to add the 5 Brigade units of Welsh and Scots Guards and Gurkhas and form a second advance on the southern flank. The problem was how to get them there with most of the support helicopters focused on keeping the supply line open along the northern flank. They would have to do it on foot, joining up with 2 Para at Goose Green along the way.

  Five Brigade troops dig in at San Carlos. Freezing muddy trenches are quite a contrast to the comfort of the QE2 and Canberra luxury cruise liners. But as we used to say in the military, ‘If you can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined.’

  Five Brigade and their commander Brigadier Tony Wilson were concerned they might miss out on the action, presuming that 3 Brigade on the northern flank could finish off the job while 5 Brigade were still muddling around San Carlos and Goose Green.

  Meanwhile, 2 Para were less than impressed at the prospect of waiting for the Guards units to arrive, and still having to walk all the way east towards Fitzroy. So, on Wednesday 2 June, they hatched a unilateral plan for a coup de main to achieve a giant leap forward. Five Scout helicopters armed with anti-tank SS-11 missiles and a small group of Paras conducted an air assault on a group of outbuildings at Swan Inlet. Finding the buildings empty, they then made a telephone call to the settlement manager at Fitzroy. Confirming that it was safe to talk and that there were no ‘Argies’ in the area, the Paras told the surprised Falkland islanders to expect to see them soon.

  Back at Goose Green, Brigadier Wilson commandeered Bravo November, cramming the helicopter far above capacity with eighty-one heavily armed Paras. The Chinook set off at low level across the open terrain to land the troops at Fitzroy, following up with a further load of seventy-four Paras.

  It so nearly ended in disaster. Royal Marine Mountain and Arctic Warfare observation posts in the hills overlooking Fitzroy heard the Chinook and spotted large numbers of troops on the ground through breaks in the low cloud cover. They hadn’t been told to expect any British operations in the area, so had to assume the helicopter troops were Argentine reinforcements. By radio, they set up a fire mission with their headquarters to the north at Teal. Communication limitations between San Carlos, Teal and Goose Green meant that nobody outside 2 Para had any idea of the surprise move to Fitzroy. The fire mission was accepted. Guns were prepared and ready to bring down the first burst of three targeting rounds ‘for effect’. It was only a break in the clouds that revealed a British Scout helicopter. The observation team realised what was going on and cancelled the fire mission with seconds to spare.

  The Royal Marines and Army Air Corps operated these Scout helicopters that were used extensively for casualty evacuation and missile firing. These Army Scouts are taking off from Darwin, just yards from where a Pucara shot down their Royal Marine colleague during the battle for Goose Green.

  The first Major General Jeremy Moore knew of this coup de main was when the RAF Chinook pilots, Flight Lieutenant Nick Grose and Flying Officer Colin Miller, marched into headquarters back at San Carlos declaring: ‘You’ll never guess what we just did …’. With their giant leap forward, 5 Brigade had catapulted themselves into the action. Moore was now forced to switch his attention towards strengthening the southern flank and supporting the isolated units at Fitzroy.

  It was now essential to reinforce the position at Fitzroy with more troops and equipment. Although the Gurkhas made light work of their march to Goose Green, the Welsh Guards found the going more difficult. Progress was slow. Vehicles became bogged down, lacking the cross-country manoeuvrability of the Royal Marines’ snowmobiles. After just twelve hours marching, the Welsh Guards were recalled to San Carlos, inevitably attracting derision and disbelief once news had filtered through to the 3 Brigade units on Mount Kent.

  The only way to get 5 Brigade to Fitzroy was now by sea, exposing a landing ship to attack from the air. A further danger was the risk from land-based Exocet missiles fired from Stanley. Days earlier, a missile had been fired at the Type-21 frigate, HMS Avenger, causing the Royal Navy to establish a twenty-five-mile no-go zone around the Falklands capital.

  Even with the arrival of the new Sea Kings and Wessex, most support helicopters were still busy ferrying equipment between the new Brigade Maintenance Area at Teal and the growing number of troops in the hills around Mount Kent. Bad weather restricted flying availability and flying into the front line meant frequently coming under fire. Simon Thornewill’s Sea Kings had arrived in the middle of a firefight while landing the first batch of 42 Commando Royal Marines on Mount Kent. During a troop move in the same area, newly arrived Flipper Hughes found his Wessex rocked by a mortar blast. As the net closed in around the Argentine ground forces, almost all aircrew came into contact with the blast from mortar and artillery shells at some stage.

  It wasn’t the only unnerving experience for aircrew.

  On Thursday 3 June, Sparky Harden was carrying an underslung load of munitions beneath his Wessex to the gunnery positions now establishing themselves in the hills around Stanley. At the exact same time that he pressed the red button on his cyclic stick to release the net from the load hook, an almighty blast shook the hovering helicopter. He thought his load had gone up, only to realise it was the guns firing. Even above the thundering noise of the Wessex, the blast from a 105mm howitzer makes a spectacular heart-stopping bang. Later that day, Harden fondly recalled the close encounter: ‘I nearly shat myself.’

  A consequence of the constant exposure to extreme danger was that pilots risked becoming blasé and even reckless. After two weeks of surviving air raids and conducting daring resc
ues from burning ships, Hector Heathcote wondered if he really was invincible. It was late afternoon the same day. Heathcote and his crewman, Kev Gleeson, had one final task to complete in Yankee Charlie, dropping off an urgent load of jerrycans full of fuel for the gun battery on Mount Kent.

  ‘Why don’t we see if we can see Stanley,’ said Heathcote as he pulled in power to lift away.

  Gleeson was not quite so keen on seeing the capital: ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea, Hector.’

  In the dwindling light, Heathcote headed east at very low level towards the skyline, ignoring Gleeson’s objections. It soon became obvious that there was little to see in the poor visibility and he turned back. The incident was harmless, but Heathcote knew that he’d upset his crewman.

  Though only two years older than Heathcote and Harden, new arrival Paul McIntosh was something of a Wessex veteran. Despite the poor weather and visibility, one of his first missions was to lead a six-aircraft detachment to set up a new forward operating base at Teal Inlet on Friday 4 June. Flying X-Ray Bravo, McIntosh slowed the formation into a low-level hover-taxi across the high ground, one helicopter following behind another. He had then found the 45 Commando headquarters in the murk, got out and talked to the staff to establish their needs and those of the special forces. It was a good example of how close cooperation between the Royal Marines and the commando squadrons worked really well.

  However, McIntosh’s particularly unnerving experience wasn’t due to overconfidence or bad weather or dangerous tasking. Approaching a landing site downwind to pick up troops meant that he needed to reverse track to land into wind. As he passed the troops, he flared the nose of the Wessex up sharply and tipped the aircraft on its side. At the same time, he dumped all power by lowering the collective lever as far as it would go, allowing the aircraft to slow down. The manoeuvre was technically called a ‘downwind fast stop’ but to the rest of us it was known as a ‘steely commando landing’. As he levelled the aircraft in front of the troops, he tried to pull in power to cushion the landing. The lever jammed solidly down. He almost pulled his arm out of its socket as he wrenched desperately upwards on the lever. It still wouldn’t move. He shouted ‘Brace, brace!’ through the intercom. Through skill, he had judged the landing perfectly without the need to use any power at all. But it was only through luck that the grassy terrain was level.