Beyond Endurance: An Epic of Whitehall and the South Atlantic

by Nicholas Barker

  It was a major operation to transfer this number of troops in such a desolate bay. It was conducted from the bridge of the QE2, largely by my own officers, and in particular Lieutenant-Commander Wills, who had been lent to me as an operations officer. He masterminded the whole of this operation which extraordinarily took only three days. As ships were emptied, or filled, they departed. As each one left we heaved a sigh of relief. The Argentines were constantly overflying the area and only the low cloud base concealed exactly what was going on in Cumberland Bay. If they had seen our Dunkirk-style operation I believe they would have been sufficiently impressed to send a gatecrasher to the party.

  It was in many ways almost unreal to see such a mass of shipping in such a place. It was an equally odd experience for our helicopter crews. They had become used to working from the flight decks which looked like table tennis tables alongside the football pitch areas on the big ships.

  The consequences of conflict were brought home when the Stromness arrived with some 650 survivors from the Ardent, Antelope and Coventry. Among this number was Captain David Hart-Dyke whom I had known for many years. His radar had blown up in his face making his features unrecognizable. One doctor described his injuries as ‘superficial burns’. If that was the case I would not wish to see anyone who was badly burned.

  On 29 May, the last day of the transfer operation, the weather cleared enough for an Argentine Hercules at some considerable height to target a British tanker passing South Georgia. A whole stick of bombs rained down from the sky. Only one hit the ship. The others created one hell of a fireworks display as they blew up in the sea. Until then I had believed that the only land-based air threat to South Georgia was posed by Canberras carrying just two bombs apiece and operating pretty much at their range limit. The armed Hercules proved that my evaluation was faulty and increased the sense of urgency to get the QE2 in particular under way. Captain Jackson recognized the threat too and accepted that departing ASAP was a damn good idea. But he was almost as worried about icebergs as Argentines, particularly if he was to get up a fair head of steam. The QE2 sailed at around 17.00. She took a dogleg course out to the east before making a fast run up to Ascension.

  The Canberra and Norland left soon after. Meanwhile the Stromness was transferring ammunition from one of the ‘STUFT’, i.e. one of the ships (in this case the Lycaon) taken up from trade.

  I was still very concerned about the air threat and thought it was a reasonable assumption that the Argentines may try again. I posted the Wasps high up in the mountains as ‘lookouts’ and armed up with missiles intended to put as much flak into the path of any incoming Hercules as possible. Ships that were not involved in transfers were sent east to lie up hidden among the icebergs.

  We were delighted to intercept a signal from an Argentine recce aircraft saying that there were now no enemy ships at South Georgia. It meant that the ruse of clearing the harbours had worked.

  The problem now was transferring stores. Although South Georgia’s harbours were reasonably sheltered from a sea state point of view, we were anything but sheltered from wind velocity, so trying to manoeuvre two large merchant ships alongside each other with limited tug resource was not easy. I was relieved when the tugs Salvageman and the Yorkshireman were despatched back to South Georgia. We had lost them to the main task group so that they could tow the damaged ships, including the Sheffield, to South Georgia, but that task failed and there was no longer any point in keeping them with the carrier group.

  It was also about that time that the North Sea vessel Wimpey Seahorse appeared with a large deck cargo of buoys, mooring chain and shackles. We were able to lay several buoys in the bays for securing merchantmen and helping to avoid anchor dragging problems. I think perhaps we were fortunate not to lose a merchantman or two. The Saxonia in particular, had suffered in the storm force winds.

  It was now the beginning of the Antarctic winter and the weather was to become an increasing, almost constant source of consternation. Winds of up to 70 knots would spring up rather rapidly, batter us for a few hours and then subside to a gentle breeze. Blizzards were now also arriving with some regularity. But the onset of poorer weather was not altogether a bad thing. We were grateful for the fog and low cloud that shrouded us and for the presence of icebergs to conceal high-value targets.

  And we were encouraged by the flow of news from the Falklands. There had been a successful landing at San Carlos and our Paras had won a famous victory at Goose Green. We knew that Royal Marines and Paras would now be yomping their way towards Stanley.

  On 2 June Antrim was despatched back to South Georgia which was a great relief to us. Now we had a ship with Exocets which, in addition to her anti-aircraft capability, could also be used effectively in an anti-submarine rôle. But the joy we felt at Antrim’s return was diluted immediately. On the same day Chris Nunn, the Garrison Commander, was informed that his brother had been killed in the battle for Goose Green. Lieutenant Richard Nunn, also of the Royal Marines, was a helicopter pilot with the Second Battalion Parachute Regiment. Six days earlier he had been flying a shuttle in and out of the area lifting forward ammunition and evacuating casualties. He had been given the task of evacuating Lieutenant Colonel Jones, the dying Battalion Commander, when his Scout helicopter was attacked by a Pucara and shot down.

  On the evening before we heard this news Chris Nunn was having dinner with me on board Endurance. Out of the blue he had said, ‘I think Richard’s been killed.’ I did my best to convince him to put such nonsense out of his mind but he remained adamant. As the job of informing him that his premonition had been correct fell to me I felt utterly dreadful about the way I had handled things the previous evening.

  In all we lost 260 men in the Falklands. The Argentine surrender on 14 June put an end to the killing and we were told quite simply that Operation Corporate had been brought to a successful conclusion. At that moment I can hardly have been the only one who thought that the cost of that success had been far too high.

  One effect of the surrender was that most of the merchant ships which had been using South Georgia could now be transferred to Fort William, the deeper harbour outside Port Stanley. They would be able to make a passage direct to the Stanley area rather than the more dangerous passage to San Carlos Water. Here they would be used to shuttle between South Georgia and Stanley with stores and munitions.

  The war was over in the Falklands, the war was over in South Georgia, but for Endurance the conflict was to continue a little longer. The Argentines were still in occupation of the Antarctic island of Southern Thule. There was only a small garrison billeted there, but it was still an irritation and had to be removed. Admiral Woodward received his order to evict the Argentines on 15 June. From this Operation Keyhole was born. This would be a race against the Antarctic winter which could lock us in for months.

  Sandy Woodward asked me what I needed to do the job. My shopping list opened with a frigate to create a bombardment in case we met opposition. That meant we also needed a tanker, partly for the fuel, but also as accommodation for a modest force and perhaps for prisoners. To make it a belt and braces operation we also required one of the heavy tugs for the ‘bollard pull’ in case we got caught in the ice.

  ‘What do you think this is Nick? Fucking Gallipolli?’ he said after hearing my requests.

  ‘I think it’s pretty much a bare bones list,’ I said. ‘It’s not the enemy that worries me. It’s the ice.’

  Of all the operations that made up the Falklands conflict, this was something I was particularly pleased to be associated with. Southern Thule had been one of the sparks that lit the fire of war. When the Argentines had walked in in 1977 the FO response had been characteristically weak-kneed. Their diplomatic response, such as it was, was to argue that Southern Thule was technically part of the Sandwich Islands which placed it in the Antarctic area. This was therefore a violation of the Antarctic Treaty. But this was hardly the case. Southern Thule is the southernmost island of a long chain
of overgrown boulders, like mini-Gibraltars, stretching along a line as far as 59 degrees 30 minutes south. They were first sighted by Captain Cook in 1775 and have since been visited by many of the most famous names in exploration. All of the islands are north of the Antarctic area.

  When I had ‘spied out the land’, under the cover of the Attenborough visit, we had guesstimated there was probably about forty people at the base. What was more important was that the island is within range of Hercules aircraft, either from the Antarctic base at Marambio or from the mainland. The significance of this was that the base could have been reinforced at any time during the Conflict. We therefore had little idea of the strength we would be facing.

  At this time of year the pack ice advances north at a rate of approximately six miles a day and this, together with Antarctic winter conditions, made the operation less than straightforward. The rush was on to get there, do the job and get out again in the shortest possible time. We sailed almost immediately and arrived off Southern Thule on 15 June.

  My orders, prior to departure, were to issue an ultimatum by radio to try to persuade the occupants to surrender merely by the threat of force. The message was: The Falklands and South Georgia are now in British hands. To avoid further bloodshed, you are to give up possession of the base. You will be embarked in British ship Endurance to be repatriated to Argentina or we will bomb Thule by overwhelming force.’

  The calculated bluff was that they would assume Endurance was already in the area. It seemed an age before we received the reply: ‘You are navigating in Argentine waters. The base is carrying out scientific work.’

  Since this reply did not commit the garrison to anything, we had to proceed with plans for evacuation by force. I was delighted to have my own and ‘M’ Company marines. This was a golden opportunity for them to enjoy being part of a winning team this time.

  Again I was being driven from the back seat at Northwood. Happily this time the ‘driver’ was to be my old friend Rob Woodard. Because of the rapport between us there would be no doubt that I would be very much my own boss this time. There would be regular liaison of course, but I knew Rob would back my judgement and offer purposeful advice as required.

  I asked to be supplied with Blowpipes, hand-held surface to air missiles, and their operators. I had seen only too recently the effect of a Hercules air attack. The Blowpipes were at least some defence against that. We were also given the tug Salvageman, the frigate Yarmouth, and the tanker RFA Olmeda. And, if trials were successful, Endurance would embark a Wessex 5 from Regent to improve the troop-lift capability and allow a single-lift recce insert. It was planned that I could get the troops in position on the mountain above the base at least 24 hours before the arrival of Yarmouth and Olmeda. I had been given just about everything I had asked for.

  We sailed from South Georgia at about 15.00 on 17 June with our twenty-two marines and a rather large Wessex filling half our hangar. Salvageman was in station astern. The weather remained reasonable which helped us to maintain 11.5 knots. Although we encountered various icebergs there were still no signs of the dreaded pack ice.

  We arrived in the vicinity of Southern Thule on Saturday, 19 June. The wind was 20–25 knots which hardly counts for a breeze in that part of the world. The main problem was going to be visibility reduced by persistent snow showers.

  I had asked for the RAF to fly a Nimrod south from Ascension to check on the advance of the pack ice. We had no idea how tight our schedule had to be. Without aerial photographs we could assume no more than three days. The RAF, however, had obviously decided the war was over. A Nimrod? At the weekend? Out of the question, old chap.

  We stopped in the lee of a tabular iceberg five miles south of the island. Shortly after sunrise, we flew a Wasp reconnaissance flight to pick a spot on the ice cap to insert the recce troop. Flying conditions were marginal at best. We put the recce troop in the Wessex with our AS12-armed Wasps riding ‘shotgun’ at low level. This was the chance for Lieutenant-Commander Blight and his Wessex crew to see if they could live up to the exploits of Tony Ellerbeck. They did extraordinarily well. Unfortunately the Argentines were listening in and rumbled part of our plan. We tried a diversion run and then landed where we had intended.

  Endurance and Salvageman remained by the iceberg overnight. Yarmouth and Olmeda closed from the north-west and joined us at about 04.00. But by now the weather had worsened and was too bad for the transfer of orders and maps. We now had to wait for first light for the helicopters to do the job. I maintained radio contact with the recce troop overnight. In the now atrocious weather conditions they had dug themselves in to the side of the mountain above the base. I asked Sergeant Napier if everything was all right. In his broad Northern Ireland accent he said, ‘Ah sure, we’re fine, sir, but I went and forgot my hot water bottle, didn’t I?’

  ‘What’s the temperature?’

  ‘I think it’s around minus 52. But don’t worry about us sir. We’re having a fine time. I’ve had two invitations to join the Peter Pan Club already.’

  The Peter Pan Club was exclusively for those who had fallen down a crevasse. I later learnt he’d fallen about 15 feet the first time but had been lucky. He had chosen a curving crevasse so they were able to haul him out. The second time he’d only dropped about six feet as he led his troop down the side of the mountain. Even the most perfectly smooth snow could conceal a crevasse. Royal Marines do not rope themselves together when they’re in action conditions although they do on exercises.

  The following morning he reported no activity at the base and no sign of any defensive positions. I called the base on radio to demand a surrender, but was unable to raise any reply. We had to do something now to demand their attention. We set ‘H’ hour for 13.30 and all the ships moved in to their assault stations. This meant I was going to take Endurance as close to the shore as I dared which was a few yards off the ice cliff. From this range our 20 mm guns would encourage a conversation. Yarmouth had also moved to her bombardment position with orders to knock hell out of a cluster of rocks at the side of the base.

  We were just about ready to open fire and give the order for the recce troop to come down the mountain when someone popped out of the base waving a white flag. The fireworks party was immediately cancelled in favour of sending in the other section of ‘M’ Company and our own marines. These were to be my insurance policy when I flew ashore to accept the surrender. It was all a bit of an anti-climax but at least we could be content to have reached this stage without anyone being hurt.

  The garrison turned out to be military personnel led by a naval crew. Some of them were genuine technicians. This was still outwardly a meteorological station. In the three days since we had informed them of our approach they had systematically destroyed everything of value and had even thrown their arms into the sea. The Garrison Commander calmly admitted that he had destroyed perhaps 2 million dollars worth of equipment. Happily he had been more circumspect about the food and wine which we duly claimed as the plunder of war.

  The prisoners were taken off by helicopter and parked in Olmeda. We held a ceremonial surrender in Endurance at which representatives of all the British units took part. For me this was an especially sweet moment. I had now taken two surrenders in two months.

  By 24 June Endurance and Salvageman had returned to Grytviken. Yarmouth and Olmeda had returned to the Falkland area two days earlier to transfer the prisoners to one of the merchant ships who were to repatriate them, with some of the Falklands garrison. During our absence the Antrim had remained at South Georgia as the air defence unit, together with the Scottish Eagle, as the station tanker. RFA Regent, whose helicopter we had borrowed, was also there as the station store ship. Wimpey Seahorse was still laying moorings and the tug Yorkshireman was still helping ships berth. There was also MV British Enterprise III, a despatch vessel running between the task groups with mail, signals and official correspondence

  M Company had a rough deal. Some of them had been left behind o
n our jaunt to Southern Thule. I did my best to get them transported back to the UK, or at least to the Falklands where they could join the rest of 42 Commando. Eventually HMS Ambuscade arrived with a small detachment of fifty-five Scots Guards to install them in the place of ‘M’ Company, who were at last to be lifted out. Although they had never been particularly happy with their task there was no evidence of this in their performance.

  By now the weather in South Georgia was evil. The winter snow had arrived and the temperature never rose above zero. Tracks that we had been using between the base and the whaling stations became impassable because of the depth of snow, and whenever the gale force winds died away they were invariably replaced by blizzards. But despite all this we did enjoy a few gloriously sunny days. Then we had a go at using the snowshoes and skis, but I do not recall anyone who was particularly proficient with the snowshoes.

  A day or two after our return to South Georgia we were given a new task – dealing with what remained of the Santa Fe. When Regent and Scottish Eagle sailed on 28 June, and Antrim the following day, we began to wonder if we were ever going to get home as we knew we still had to return to the Falklands at some stage.

  We were now downgraded to the status of task unit. The salvage operation which I monitored was not only dangerous but carried out in weather conditions that had turned from dreadful to appalling. I really do not know how those involved managed to remain so resolutely cheerful. It was even more extraordinary because the work was carried out without the support of submarine experts until the last day. What expertise we had was supplied by our hydrographer, Lieutenant-Commander David Ives, who had served very briefly in submarines, and by Lieutenant-Commander Arthur Ainsley, our supply officer, who had done a single tour of duty in a Polaris sub. We succeeded, I think, largely because we were blissfully unaware of some of the risks we were taking.