Ghost Force (16 page)

And right now the military held sway. General Brenchley said coldly, “Prime Minister, I feel I owe you an explanation. And I’m going to give it. You and your Chancellor, over the past several years, have made the following increases in government spending budgets: sixty-one percent for the International Development Department, whatever the hell that is. Sixty percent for the Home Office, that’s several million more civil servants; fifty-one percent for Education, mostly trying to teach the unreachable; and fifty percent more for Health.

“Alternately, the Defense budget has been increased by three percent, which represents of course a massive net loss to us who try to serve in it. It used to be one civil servant for every eleven soldiers, it’s now one and a half civil servants for every one soldier, which is, of course, bloody ridiculous.”

The words of the General absolutely stunned everyone around the table. But Robin Brenchley had the beleaguered Prime Minister on the run. And they both knew it. Right now, General Brenchley, Chief of Great Britain’s Defense Staff, was unsackable, and he intended to make the most of it.

“Because you and your Chancellor for some reason regard us, disdainfully, as spenders of the nation’s wealth, you have systematically undermined every branch of the armed services, all in the cause of your constant desire to seek savings. Your disdain for us has reached all ranks—their morale, their sense of self-worth, and their concerns for their future careers.

“Defense expenditure in this country has declined by thirty-five percent. One-third of our personnel has vanished. Our conventional submarine force has gone from thirty-five to twelve. The destroyer and frigate force is down from forty-eight to twenty-eight, our infantry battalions are down from fifty-five to thirty-eight. Our tank strength has fallen by forty-five percent. The number of effective fighter aircraft in the Royal Air Force remains at zero, where it has been ever since the Phantom was taken out of service.

“Prime Minister, five years ago, you and your Chancellor scrapped the only decent fighter-bomber the country possessed. Not only was
it a highly effective all-weather interceptor, it could also operate as a ground attack fighter, a recce and probe aircraft, and as a ship strike aircraft. Furthermore, it could operate from the steel deck of an aircraft carrier anywhere in the world.

“I must tell you, Prime Minister, the loss of the Sea Harrier FA2 capability represents the loss of our fleet’s ability to defend itself. This applies also to its associated land forces and their ability to defend against any form of sophisticated air attack.

“We have no new carriers in sight. Which means we are left with
Ark Royal
, which is small, twenty-five years old, with only ground attack aircraft and helicopters on its deck. And the
Illustrious
at three months’ notice, and even older.

“We do not even have the air defense capability of Sea Harrier FA1, which we had in 1982. Today we face a greatly improved Argentinian Air Force. The FA2, which you so carelessly discarded, was, I must remind you, armed with a fully integrated missile system that could engage four aircraft, or even sea-skimming missiles, simultaneously, at ranges out to thirty-five miles, at speeds up to Mach 3.

“That little Sea Harrier effectively won the war for us in the Falklands in 1982.

“As you know, you and your financial ministers forced this brilliant little warhorse out of service, well before the planned date, purely because of cost. And with a statement we all regarded as madness, your Defense Minister—” Barely pausing, the General rasped, “Not you, Caulfield”—and then continued, “Your Defense Minister announced the Harrier’s replacement would be the Harrier GR7 or 9. Understandable. That’s the only fixed-wing aircraft we have left, which will operate from the deck of a small carrier.

“
But
, the GR7/9 is a small STOVL ground attack aircraft with no radar. It can carry two advanced short-range air-to-air missiles—ASRAAM—for strictly visual launch. That means daylight and good visibility only. And the damn thing flies for only one and a half miles. By the way, it was called advanced more than thirty years ago. Now the bloody thing belongs in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

“And you may require me to order the Navy into battle—with
that
? And I should remind you, we don’t have even one fighter attack aircraft on the Mount Pleasant Airfield. And if we did, it would sure as
hell be destroyed by now. So much for your economies. I suggest you stand up in the House of Commons later today and tell them what you have done.”

For the second time in just a very few hours, the Prime Minister of Great Britain thought it entirely possible that he might throw up. He felt as though he had been hit by a truck, and this bombastic damn General was walking all over him.
Christ
, he thought,
if this man ever gets loose in the newspapers, he’ll finish me. He could actually bring down the government
.

But it was the newspapers and the television that really bothered him, and it was clear there was no sense arguing with the military. “General,” he said, in his most conciliatory manner, “I am certain that all of my colleagues understand your point of view…”

“Not a point of view, Prime Minister,” interjected the General. “Just a few plain, simple, irrefutable facts.”

“Of course—nothing you say is in dispute. It’s just that this has all been so damned sudden, it came at us all like a bolt from the blue…”

“Did it?” said General Brenchley. “Did it indeed, Prime Minister?” His voice dripped with irony.

“Well, certainly it has tonight. And I think it would be wise for us to fight the battle we’re in, rather than several battles that have been fought, won, and lost in the past. I mean that, of course, metaphorically.”

Peter Caulfield stepped in to save his boss. “General,” he said, “I think the Prime Minister is actually looking at a worst-case scenario. What happens if Parliament demands we go and retake the Falkland Islands with military force? We cannot just tell them it’s impossible.”

“Well, it is.”

“General, I realize there are substantial difficulties. Of course, we all do, and most of them certainly not your doing. But if Parliament demands we act, is there any hope we could pull something out of the bag like last time, in 1982?”

“We have two old aircraft carriers and four active squadrons of the Harrier GR7/9. I suppose we could muster a naval force at least to go down there. The GR9 can fly off a carrier, but without the Harrier FA2 we have no Combat Air Patrols, CAPs…only last-ditch air defense for the fleet.

“By that I mean we have nothing to stop all incoming Argentine bombers, and some are bound to get through. I’m only talking about aircraft carrying two thousand-pound iron bombs, any one of which is capable of sinking a ship. They will explode this time too, like they did in HMS
Coventry
in 1982. She sank in twenty minutes.

“Our missile system has no time to do anything about it, except shoot down the A4,
after
it’s delivered its bombs and is on its way home. By which time it’s a bit bloody late.”

The General offered hardly a ray of hope. “If we had the new aircraft carrier the government promised, and just a dozen of those Harriers, we’d probably beat them…high CAPs swooping down on the A4s before they could attack. If we had both the aircraft carriers, as promised, and two dozen Harriers, we’d wipe them out. But we don’t.”

“Any chance of the new Eurofighter being advanced in time?”

“None. The bloody thing will be two years late, never mind one year early.”

“Will the Army have a view?”

“Yes, a very simple one…they will refuse to make a landing without air cover…and the only air cover they have is the GR9, which can’t see anything in bad weather and carries a missile that flies only a mile and a half.”

“And we cannot provide anything else?” asked Eltringham.

“Not against those French Mirage IIIs. But Foreign Minister, in answer to the original question…yes, I suppose we could mount some sort of a show, although the soldiers don’t even have decent boots, unless they bought them themselves.

“And there is one thing I want to make absolutely clear. If you propose to send several thousand of my troops and the crews of Royal Navy ships to what I regard as certain death, you’d better make up your minds which of you will stand up before the British people and accept responsibility, as Members of Parliament who were acting against military advice.”

No one in the Cabinet room was anxious to step into that role. And the Prime Minister himself looked positively ashen.

“How good a story can we draft to make it seem we are not too worried?” asked the PM. “That there have been many months of ne
gotiations with a view to Argentina taking over the islands…you know, makes geographic sense and all that. Could we make it seem the Argentinians just got a bit overexcited and jumped the gun…but we were always in agreement with them really?”

Admiral Jeffries looked up sharply. “With a warship and an air defense system blasted to hell, and one hundred fifty British servicemen lying dead on that godforsaken island…I don’t think so.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said the PM, “with the military situation as it is, we appear to have no options, except to negotiate, and perhaps ring some kind of apology and maybe even reparations out of the Argentinians, just to save face for us…”

“First of all, I do not think you will even have that option by the time you’ve read the morning papers,” said Peter Caulfield. “The tabloids will be baying for blood. And this ridiculous nation, which is essentially a football crowd, is going to be baying for revenge. By the time it all gets into the House of Commons tomorrow you’ll have demands for war, just like last time, from every possible corner of the British Isles.”

And Roger Eltringham, a renowned mimic, said solemnly, “And here is an e-mail from ‘Irate’ of Thames Ditton.”

At which point he put on his most exaggerated working-class English accent and said, “I’ve just about ’ad enough of this—bloody politicians sitting on their arses fiddling their expenses, while the rest of the world tramples all over us. Where’s the Dunkirk spirit, that’s what I wanna know? Let’s get down there and sort ’em out.”

“Jesus Christ,” said the Prime Minister of Great Britain.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, LONDON

The
Times
was swiftly into its stride, with a front-page headline treatment that read:

Here we go again…150 servicemen dead
ARGENTINA SLAMS BRITISH GARRISON
TO CONQUER THE FALKLAND ISLANDS
Royal Navy on 24-Hour Alert to Head South

The
Sun
went for

MASSACRE AT MOUNT PLEASANT

The
Mirror
:

SURRENDER! THE FALKLANDS
FALL TO ARGENTINA AGAIN

The
Telegraph
:

ARGENTINA RECAPTURES FALKLANDS
British Garrison Surrenders
HMS
Leeds Castle
Destroyed
150 dead in fierce fighting

By 7:30 a.m. there were 172 journalists, photographers, and TV cameramen camped outside the main door of the Ministry of Defense in Whitehall. Forty-two political correspondents were practically laying siege to the gates of Downing Street.

The Prime Minister had already announced he would broadcast to the nation at 9:00 a.m. The Minister of Defense would speak at a press conference in the briefing room in Whitehall at 10:00. And there was something close to a riot meeting taking place outside the Argentinian embassy around the corner from Harrods in Knightsbridge, where traffic was now at a complete standstill.

Pictures were scarce, and likely to remain so, since no foreign aircraft were currently permitted to land at Mount Pleasant Airfield. The Argentine military had made it clear that any flight, for whatever purpose, attempting a landing would meet precisely the same fate as HMS
Leeds Castle
. And that included any invasion of Argentinian air space anywhere around Islas Malvinas.

The only communiqué the Foreign Office had received from Buenos Aires was a polite memorandum suggesting that the British military dead be buried with the full honors of war in a hillside cemetery at Goose Green, alongside the fallen Argentinian warriors of both 1982 and 2011.

The President hoped that in less troubled times there could be a British ceremony of remembrance there, in which the Argentinian military would very much like to participate. The President further wanted to assure the Westminster government that everything possible was being done for the British wounded, and that if necessary they would be flown to the highly regarded British Hospital in Buenos Aires. A list of their names, ranks, and numbers was enclosed, as was the list of the dead.

In victory, grace and humility. And, boy, was this ever a victory.

The British government did not have the slightest idea what to do. Although everyone was keenly aware they had to do something. An emergency debate was called in the House of Commons that afternoon, starting at noon, and the Prime Minister’s entire front bench of ministers was, to a man, dreading it.