Ghost Force (33 page)

Perhaps in all the world, the only nation that could have absorbed that kind of punishment and still come back fighting was the United States of America. And right now she was not playing. The shocking news, flashing around the globe from the Falkland Islands, was that British resistance must be at an end. Which indeed it was. Almost.

Four hours earlier, three hundred feet from the summit of Fanning Head, Captain Douglas Jarvis and his seven-man SAS team were in their granite cave making satellite contact with the SAS Commander on board the carrier. They had been forbidden to attack anything until hostilities formally commenced. And, in the opinion of Major Tom Hills, currently masterminding the SAS reconnaissance operation, this was likely to happen in the next hour.

When news of the opening attack by the Super-Es was first transmitted on the fleet network, Major Hills unleashed his tigers.
“Attack and destroy the Argentinian position at the summit of Fanning Head,”
he ordered.

And Captain Jarvis needed no further encouragement. His team was ready. Two of them would remain in the cave manning the communications, trying as they had been for the past two hours to make contact with the British landed assault forces on the beach at Lafonia.

The other six would climb stealthily upward to the stronghold on the top of the mountain, which effectively controlled the gateway to Falkland Sound. At least it did for approximately the next twenty minutes.

At which point, Douglas Jarvis located the tent with the radio and satellite aerials erected outside, hurled a hand grenade straight through the opening, and dived behind a rock for cover as the blast killed all three occupants, and blew to pieces the entire Argentine communications system on Fanning Head.

The noise was shattering in the early morning light, high above the ocean, and it seemed to echo from peak to peak among the not-too-distant mountains. From four other tents, the Argentinian troops came running out, fumbling to get ahold of their rifles. They never had a chance. The men of 22 SAS cut them down in their tracks, all sixteen of them, the complete staff of Argentina’s Fanning Head operation.

Immediately Captain Jarvis set about his real task of the night. He hurled a hand grenade into the big Chinook helicopter that was parked on flat ground right behind the tents, presumably for lifting heavy artillery pieces and missile batteries to and from Mare Harbor.

He and his five explosives experts attached sticky bombs to the missile launchers, dynamite to the howitzers and gun barrels, and high explosive to the missiles themselves. Fifteen minutes later, the explosion that ripped across the summit of Fanning Head was every bit the equal of those that were currently sinking the Royal Navy’s destroyers.

The shallow cave in which Douglas and his boys sat cheerfully eating chocolate bars and drinking water literally shook from the violence of the impact.

“Okay, chaps,” said the Captain. “Fire up the comms and let’s tell Major Hills what we just did.”

The trouble was, his young comms man, Trooper Syd Ferry, was having no luck reaching anyone. All night long he had been trying to touch base with Lafonia, and the last time he spoke to SAS HQ in the
Ark Royal
the bloody line had suddenly gone dead.

“Fuck,” said Syd. “There’s more electronics in that damn ship than they have in Cape Kennedy. And we can’t even make a phone call.”

“Keep trying,” said Douglas. “If we have a link problem, try the destroyer
Daring
, we’ve got a secondary unit in there, Lieutenant Carey. Do your best, Syd, we need orders and we need an escape route. We can’t hang around up here. The Args must have heard or seen something, and the bastards will hunt us down like rats…”

Syd’s best, however, was not nearly good enough. Because no one was ever again going through on the military link to either the
Ark Royal
or the
Daring
. Syd kept sending his signal and the result was always silence.

Ten minutes later Captain Jarvis decided they had to pull out of the Fanning Head area, fast, before someone decided to come looking for whoever just blew up the top of the mountain.

“Christ,” said Syd, “we’re not climbing down that rock face, are we?”

“No,” replied the CO. “We don’t want to end up on an exposed beach. We’ll go up and west, down the other side of the headland. According to this map it’s still pretty steep, but not like that cliff face. We’ll walk for maybe five miles, just get out of the immediate search area. Then we’ll sleep for the day, and make our move at night.”

“Any idea where to?” asked someone.

“Absolutely none,” said the Captain. “But we can’t stay here…come on, let’s get our stuff…that’s everything…and get moving. We can get rid of things when we’re a few miles away.”

“You thinking of making for the coast again, sir?”

“In the end, yes. Because if we can’t whistle up a helicopter rescue, we’ll have to leave by sea.”

“But we can’t tell anyone where we are,” said Trooper Syd. “The comms are down. And we definitely don’t have a boat.”

“We can get one,” replied Douglas. “I mean steal one.”

“Well, what happens if the Argentine coast guard catches up and wants to know who we are?”

“Well, we just eliminate them in the normal way.”

“Oh, yes,” said Syd. “Silly of me to ask.”

“We are at war, Trooper. And the enemy’s the enemy.”

What neither of them knew was that Great Britain and Argentina were no longer at war, as of about a half hour ago. The British Prime Minister was obliged to accept the advice of his military and end the one-sided debacle before more military and naval personnel were killed.

The PM asked Peter Caulfield to contact his opposite number in Buenos Aires and offer the immediate surrender of the armed forces of Great Britain, on the land, the sea, and in the air.

The Argentine Defense Minister, Rear Admiral Juan Jose de Rozas, was courteous in the extreme, and made no further demands, save for the raising of a significant white flag over the beach at Lafonia and a formal e-mail signed by the Prime Minister that the Falkland Islands
were no longer under British rule, and that henceforth they would be known as Islas Malvinas, a sovereign state of Argentina, governed and administered entirely by that nation.

A complete cessation of all hostilities was formally agreed for ten a.m. on the morning of Saturday, April 16, 2011. Admiral Oscar Moreno, surely the next President of Argentina, was given the news on the direct line between Buenos Aires and Rio Grande.

He instantly ordered all of his pilots back to the base at Mount Pleasant, and he instructed two warships to make all speed to the battle area where HMS
Gloucester
was still burning, and to assist with rescue operations and evacuation to Argentinian hospitals by air from Mount Pleasant as soon as possible.

Sergeant Clifton’s SAS team above the airfield was informed by the Royal Marines’ commanding Brigadier on the beach at Lafonia that all was lost, and that they should surrender immediately. Fortunately this line had been established in the moments before the first rocket attack on the Apache helicopters.

Not so the line to Captain Jarvis and his men, who had been working directly with the SAS ops room in the carrier, in readiness for their task as a gunnery guidance team when the ships’ bombardment began.

The fact was, no one knew quite where SAS Team One was located, especially the Argentinians, who were hopping mad about the destruction of their highly expensive stronghold on the top of Fanning Head, in particular about the cold-blooded killing of every one of their missile personnel who were serving on the heights.

General Eduardo Kampf was extremely upset about the incident and had ordered an inquiry, informing the commander on the ground at Mount Pleasant he wanted a search conducted in the area. He added that he was certain a British Special Forces team had been involved, and his orders were simple: hunt them down and execute them.

This had taken place in the twenty minutes before the surrender, and attack helicopters were in the air, on their way to Fanning Head, none of which was especially good news for Douglas Jarvis and his boys.

They went to ground, as only a camouflaged SAS team can, swiftly becoming invisible in the sparse vegetation found on these bleak high
hills of the Falkland Islands. But they saw the Argentine helicopters moving into the area, and kept their heads well down.

The Air Brigade, which manned the Bell UH-1H attack helicopters landed on Fanning Head, were relatively shocked at what they found, the bodies of nineteen men, most of them half dressed, and the remnants of the missile systems and artillery pieces. So far as they could see, it was a classic predawn sneak attack by Special Forces, and they reported back to base those precise findings.

When General Kampf heard what had happened he was even more furious, and told the commander at the Mount Pleasant base, “Treat the British with courtesy. Make maximum effort with the wounded and dying. Try to assist the ships if possible and prepare to receive prisoners of war.

“The only exception to the regular guidance of the Geneva Convention is that Special Force, probably SAS, which sneaked up there and murdered some of our top missile men. Find them, and show no mercy. Because I do not regard them as prisoners of war. I regard them as thieves in the night, murderers. Whatever you deem necessary please carry out as you wish, in the utmost secrecy, of course.”

Again, none of this was especially good news for Douglas Jarvis and his boys.

Trapped in the western foothills of Fanning Head, out of contact with their headquarters, they were forbidden to use a mobile phone, because it could so easily be traced. And now they had not the slightest idea what was happening, on the islands, at sea with the Battle Group, or on the landing beaches of Lafonia.

Douglas had few options except to make his way furtively out of the Fanning Head area, and try to select a seaport with some kind of a fishing trawler and attempt a getaway. Trouble was, he’d have to take the crew with him, otherwise the boat would be missed and they might end up being strafed by the Argentine coast guard. Right now there was a lot of bad news for Douglas Jarvis and his boys.

1130 (LOCAL), BUENOS AIRES

The Argentinians lost no time in announcing their victory. Agence Argentina Presse released the government’s statement to the world’s media as it stood, no comments, no interviews, and no follow-up. It read simply:

The statement was signed by the President of Argentina. And countersigned by Admiral Oscar Moreno, Commander in Chief (Fleet), and General Eduardo Kampf, Commander of Five Corps, which had secured the island and was deployed to face the British in the Battle for Mount Pleasant Airfield, had that been required.

No statement ever flashed around the world faster. It has been said that King George III fell back in a chair and almost fainted when he heard of the loss of his American colonies six months after the surrender at Yorktown.

Several dozen of the world’s news editors very nearly did the same thing, out of sheer excitement, when news of the British surrender reached them about an hour and a half after it happened.