Beyond Endurance: An Epic of Whitehall and the South Atlantic

by Nicholas Barker

  Later that day Endurance reported an Argentine C130 Hercules aeroplane which had been sighted by two BAS personnel up in the north-west of South Georgia flying down the coast. This meant that it must have overflown some of our ships and our cover was blown. At 14.30 our ‘listeners’ intercepted an HF transmission which we believed came from an Argentine submarine. The strength of the signal seemed to indicate that the submarine was within a hundred miles of us. This made it closer still to Antrim.

  The Intelligence cells in London and Northwood were now getting their act together. Captain Young was informed by the Chief of Staff, Admiral Sir David Halifax, of the presence of a submarine, the Santa Fe, in our area. At the same time Tidespring was out to sea doing a pump-over of fuel from another tanker, the Brambleleaf, which had just arrived in the area. It was decided that the Plymouth should make best speed south-east to be in a better position to defend the two tankers, and thence to escort them to a position 200 miles from the island.

  After consultations with his military advisers, Brian Young had decided to try and put M Company of Royal Marines ashore in Stromness Bay at first light. We were to remain in the vicinity of Hound Bay to support the SBS who were already ashore.

  The air cover provided by the Hercules for the submarine determined that orders should be given to Captain John Coward, of the Brilliant, to head south as fast as possible, leaving his little force of Type 42 destroyers, Coventry, Glasgow and Sheffield, along with my old ship, the Arrow, (and another tanker with a full load of fuel) to follow as best they may. Brian Young knew that the Brilliant was one of the best equipped ASW ships. The Brilliant had accommodation for two Lynx helicopters: most frigates and destroyers could only carry one. But even at best speed, and given reasonably good weather conditions, she would not reach our group until next day, 24 April.

  At that stage we did not know that our own submarine, the Conqueror, was also in the vicinity. She had been ordered to leave South Georgia and proceed north-west, at reasonably high speed, to act as a forward screen for the Brilliant Group.

  We were only too aware that our booming diesel engine would act as a magnet for the Santa Fe. This meant, yet again, we had to pretend to be an iceberg by night and hide in the fjords by day. To the best of my knowledge we remained undetected by the Santa Fe in these early stages, but we later thought we had been spotted by an Argentine Boeing 737.

  I had a frustrating morning. The officers commanding the remaining SBS troops, the SAS and the Royal Marines all kept appearing on the bridge, singly, in pairs, and as a full deputation, demanding that they should be landed as soon as possible. I fundamentally agreed with them. In fact I wanted rid of them. Normally the rivalry between the units would have been pretty good fun, but in their resolve to get to grips with the enemy they were constantly hyped up. You can only take so much of the macho hero stuff and I had certainly had enough. I was also beginning to fear they may dissipate some of that pent-up aggression on each other, or perhaps some poor sailor if he dared to speak a word out of turn or looked at them in a way they didn’t like.

  Meanwhile I had been trying to get hold of Sir David Halifax on the satellite telephone only to be informed that he was out at lunch. That was at 12.30. I asked if he would kindly ring me back as soon as possible. Without trying to sound over anxious I did make it clear that the matter was pretty urgent. He finally called at around 16.00.

  ‘Are you having a bit of a problem, Nick?’ he enquired. His measured tone reminded me oddly of my family physician. It’s strange how this automatically demands an equally detached response.

  ‘Yes Sir, we’re in a bit of a pickle.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it?’

  ‘In the background, you may hear the ship closing up at Action Stations. Actually Sir, at this very moment we’re trying to bring our peashooters to bear on an overflying 737. Unhappily I believe he is out of range. But perhaps you may care to hear our translation of the 737’s intercepted messages in Spanish to the Santa Fe. They’re giving our position and saying that we’re landing Special Forces.’

  ‘Oh I don’t think the submarine is that close, old chap,’ he comforted. ‘There’s really very little to worry about.’

  It was like ‘take two aspirins and go to bed’. There was nothing more I could say. But I’d been listening to them speaking on VHF, which is line-of-sight only. Both signals were extremely clear. And how, from his Northwood bunker, did he know where the Santa Fe was?

  ‘Very well sir,’ I said lamely.

  But I wasn’t comforted. I felt it was best to get our special forces ashore before we were sunk. With a multi-threat situation in the offing I believe Brian Young felt that he had left Endurance rather exposed, so he decided that Antrim and Plymouth should head back in our direction. His other preoccupation was in formulating a plan to try and deal with the submarine. The threat of an attack by submarine is every sailor’s greatest fear.

  This was a situation that should not have arisen. Our main force should not have been taken 200 miles to the east. Worse still, if the right ships had been deployed to screen Endurance we would have been in a position to hunt and sink the Santa Fe just as soon as we knew the threat was real. We had a massive asset in the submarine HMS Conqueror with her first-class ASW facility. If this resource had been combined with say two or three modern frigates, rather than the geriatric Antrim, we could have made short work of the submarine.

  In the meantime we had intercepted several encoded messages from the submarine which we sent back to UK to be broken. I was woken during the course of the night when one deciphered message came back to us. It confirmed that Santa Fe was in our area and almost certainly heading straight for Grytviken where she was to land some special forces. These presumably were reinforcements for Lieutenant-Commander Astiz, the Garrison Commander. The last part of the deciphered message was the worst possible news for us. The Santa Fe had orders to sink Endurancel This did little to enhance my beauty sleep. The possibilities were whirling through my mind. We had to take the attack to the enemy. We had to find the Santa Fe as soon as possible.

  Antrim’s Wessex helicopter, the ‘Humphrey’, had been sent on ahead, flying over the wave tops at about 200 feet. Her mission was to search out the entrance to Cumberland Bay. Both of our helicopters were ranged on deck with AS12 guided missiles at the ready should the submarine be located. We couldn’t use our Wasps in the search; carrying the AS12s seriously limited their range.

  Chris Parry, the Wessex observer, spotted a submarine ahead. It was, however, impossible at the time to determine if this was the Santa Fe or the Conqueror. But pretty soon the confirmation was made. This was an ex-American Guppy Class, the Santa Fe. And she was on the surface.

  Chris Parry was in full control of the attack, which left Ian Stanley to do the driving. They had Mark 11 depth charges which in weapons technology terms are just a modest advance on the musket. Basically they are big bangs in a tin. They are most effective in fairly shallow water; the chances of doing serious damage to a surface target are not good. The Wessex dropped a couple of these and two big splashes straddled the submarine. These may have shaken things around a bit but the damage was not enough to halt Santa Fe in her tracks. She turned and headed back towards Grytviken. But if the attack had achieved nothing more it must have caused some ringing ears.

  Following this first attack, a Lynx, armed with a single homing torpedo, was dispatched from Brilliant. This is a much more sophisticated weapon, particularly efficient when used against deep draft surface targets, or submerged submarines. The Lynx also had a machine gun.

  We were pretty close to the action and I thought it was about time to join in. I launched one of our Wasps – the 434. Tony Ellerbeck had been on ‘deck alert’ since the night before pending a sight report. He was itching to have a go but there was a snag – the success of attacks on Santa Fe depended on co-ordination. However, Endurance’s Wasps were fitted with radio kit which was entirely different from the rest
of the Royal Navy and the two systems weren’t compatible! The only way round this was for the ship to be a communication interface which was less than ideal in a situation where responses may have to be made very quickly.

  Tony had just reached the tip of the peninsula at the edge of the bay when we called him to say we’d overheard a Mayday call from the Santa Fe, giving her position. The observer, David Wells, picked up a target at two miles and they went through their pre-release checks. But when he tried to fire the port missile nothing happened. He repeated the checks and the starboard AS12 went away. David steered it through the turbulence and obtained a hit on the starboard side of the fin.

  A machine gunner who had been firing earlier at the Lynx was knocked back through a door and fell down the hatch into the control room. His sudden arrival, complete with a mangled blood-stained leg, caused much anguish. But the AS 12 had not exploded on impact because the fin is made of glass-reinforced plastic which provides little resistance.

  Tony Ellerbeck lined up for another attack and David Wells launched the port AS 12 from a height of 100 feet and a range of three miles. He was aiming it at the junction of the fin with the hull. But the missile dived into the sea 30 yards short of the submarine’s port quarter. The 434 then turned away and flew back to Endurance for a reload.

  The submarine’s captain had just two options. He could head back for the quayside at Grytviken and unload the ship’s company quickly, or he could dive and hope to escape with no more damage than had already been inflicted. We learned later that the Santa Fe already had a damaged hatch which meant her water-tight integrity was not complete. Also a torpedo from the Lynx would be more likely to score a hit on a submerged submarine. Her Captain decided to stay in the control room and try to pilot the submarine back alongside the jetty.

  Meanwhile Tony Ellerbeck had reloaded his Wasp with another pair of AS12s in double quick time. Returning to the attack he came round the tip of the peninsula at about 100 feet, heading straight for the submarine. As he approached her port quarter David Wells fired the missile. This one was a ‘rogue’ which dived all over the place on the end of its wire and finally disappeared from view. Tony closed again, David fired again. This one plunged straight through the fin. The cry of ‘Bull’s eye!’ from the Lynx resounded through the radio net. Tony observed the submarine for several minutes before flying back to Endurance to rearm again.

  At this stage a Wasp from Plymouth joined the AS 12 attack, and our other Wasp, the 435, piloted by Tim Finding, closed on the Santa Fe and found a line of sight with the port missile. This struck the surface of the sea just short of the submarine. Tim continued closing at 60 knots whilst observer Bob Nadin selected the starboard missile. They let it go at a range of two miles. Nadin’s control of the missile via the joystick was as good as his control over a football. The missile went straight through the fin but again failed to explode.

  Although the Santa Fe was now close to the jetty she was a spent force. She even struggled to park alongside. Although none of us appreciated the historical significance of the event at the time, this was the first time since 1945 that helicopters had been deployed against a submarine. It was also the very first time that a submarine had been effectively destroyed exclusively by helicopter action.

  By 10.45 all helicopters had returned to their parent ships. None of them had been damaged and all the aircrew were safe. There was understandable jubilation all round. In Endurance it was not perhaps so much for what we had achieved but for the fact that we had helped to eliminate our most feared enemy. There was also a sense of enormous relief that we had joined our Royal Marines in firing a few shots in anger. The only slightly subdued congratulations came from the aircrew and marines on board the Tidespring. This was understandable. We knew all about the pent-up frustration of waiting to engage the enemy. The sight of the submarine leaking oil into the harbour and her ship’s company scurrying up the hill dispelled any slight doubts we had that she could still be a threat.

  There were now more meetings on board Antrim. Perhaps the success against Santa Fe fostered a greater unity of purpose. We decided the time had come to abandon convoluted schemes and strategies. The time had come for a direct attack on Grytviken. Gun spotters were to be put ashore and four-and-a-half-inch guns were to range on to specific targets. The bombardment would be followed by an attempted helicopter landing of troops. Of what we had left, Brilliant’s two Lynx were best able to cope. They could carry eight fully armed men each, and at a pinch the Humphrey could take a similar number. Our little Wasps could only manage four at best.

  In order to maintain momentum we had to round up resources as soon as possible. The main troop force was still on board Tidespring 100 miles away and we judged it best not to wait for them. In all we could muster just seventy-four men – the SAS now recovered from Fortuna, Captain Chris Nunn and some of the men of 42 Commando Royal Marines, plus a mortar troop and parts of various smaller units. This little ad hoc army would lead the recapture of South Georgia.

  At about 14.00 Antrim and Plymouth got into formation and went up and down the coast pouring shells behind the enemy positions. Tony Ellerbeck was now airborne with a borrowed portable HF radio so that he could communicate direct with the other ships and helicopters taking in the advance parties. They flew in as low as they dared – at about 15 feet to try to ‘hide’ behind the cliff as they went through the narrow gap of Merton Passage. This was the same channel that Endurance had used to avoid detection. It was hardly less dangerous for the helicopters in the funnelling wind. This was a commando style assault force without the benefit of commando helicopters. Furthermore, none of the pilots was trained for amphibious warfare and the troops would not be able to make the characteristic rapid exit on landing.

  Those being dropped ashore knew it was a death or glory operation. Reconnaissance had been sketchy to say the least. Nobody could be sure of the defensive positions or indeed how well they were defended. I have heard it said that Military Intelligence is a contradiction in terms and that has sometimes proved to be the case. In this instance the men had to rely purely on their own instinct and intelligence and in my view that may well have contributed to their success.

  There is a flattish area to one side of Grytviken called Hestesletten. This is where the majority landed, ready to make their relatively short and easy approach over gently sloping terrain towards what we believed to be the main Argentine base. Meanwhile the Plymouth was creating a diversion to the north by shelling Brown Mountain. We hoped that the Argentines would believe that the main ground attack would follow from the same direction.

  In those two hours Antrim had fired seventy rounds and Plymouth 150. Nobody stopped to think then, but this must have added up to several months’ training allowance. Under the cover of Plymouth’s fire, Antrim moved into the bay, to one side of the cove. I felt hugely optimistic about the chances of success. My only regret was that Endurance’s marines, who had defended their position so valiantly, were not going to have the pleasure of recapturing the island.

  As Cedric Delves and his SAS moved over the top of King Edward Point they passed a number of Argentine positions. None of them offered any resistance; they just threw their arms up and surrendered. And it seemed hardly any time at all before a white flag was hoisted on the one and only flag pole at the base itself.

  It has to be said that our troops were fortunate. Any serious resistance could have caused heavy casualties. Guy Sheridan in particular was unhappy at the way in which sections of the ad hoc force seemed determined to do their own thing. On the ground at least, the operation, with better communications, was better co-ordinated than anything to date.

  One disaster in waiting was overcome ridiculously easily. The base was heavily mined but there were any number of Argentines ready and willing to point out exactly where they all were. Indeed the Grytviken garrison and the ship’s company from the Santa Fe were almost too eager to be rounded up. By 17.30 it was all over at Grytviken. The whole opera
tion had taken less than four hours. Brian Young sent a confident, if somewhat premature, signal to the Commander-in-Chief. He said:

  Be pleased to inform Her Majesty that the White Ensign flies alongside the Union Flag at Grytviken, South Georgia. God save the Queen.

  But it was not over. The small garrison at the other old whaling station at Leith, round the other side of Cumberland Bay, was still very much intact. The task of capturing it fell to Plymouth and ourselves. We persuaded the submarine captain, Lieutenant-Commander Bicain, to talk to Garrison Commander Astiz. the idea was to tell him that the game was over and that he may as well surrender. There was indeed a convoluted conversation in Spanish, at the end of which Bicain reported: ‘Astiz says that he will not surrender. He will fight to the death.’

  David Pentreath of the Plymouth, although much my own vintage, was slightly senior to me, so once again Barker was to wear the number two shirt. He, however, authorized me, as the local resident, to make a further appeal to Astiz to surrender. At first Astiz agreed because of the presence of the ‘civilian’ scrap metal dealers. Then, he changed his mind.

  At about 21.00 I went over to Plymouth with some of my officers. There we decided on a sustained bombardment on Leith. We communicated this to Astiz and again invited his surrender. He responded by informing me that he was a trained underwater attack swimmer who may well be inclined to pop a limpet mine on the bottom of one of the ships during the night.

  We still had ‘D’ squadron of SAS on board, minus the three men still missing from the Grass Island insertion. Our next move was to put them, plus our few SBS men, ashore. Their instructions were to surround the enemy but not to engage them. By this stage Astiz was again talking about surrender. It was decided that we would go in at 08.30 and accept the surrender on the football pitch. However, at about 07.30, I had second thoughts about trying to land in an area which was still effectively controlled by enemy troops. I changed the rendezvous at the last moment and Astiz reluctantly agreed.