Falklands 40

Come back they did – and in force. From 6.30 onwards, Argentine troops and armour began pouring ashore. Within an hour, Stanley airport had been seized and, within two, armoured vehicles were rolling into the capital itself.

The defenders once again held the invader off before falling back - the sole casualty an Argentine soldier who cut his hand on a sliver of metal.
But in the long run, defence of the islands was impossible, as Major Norman warned Governor Rex Hunt.

With Brits forced to watch on, an attempt to raise the Argentine flag outside Government House was made.
With the invaders bringing a band, choir and guard of honour, the huge flag rose up the flagpole. Though halfway, the rope snapped and the symbol of Argentina crumpled on the ground.

Governor Rex Hunt, a former Spitfire pilot, reluctantly agreed to meet Carlos Büsser, the Argentine naval officer commanding the invasion force. 
He refused to shake hands with Büsser, snapping, “You are not invited. We don’t want you here.”, while locals continued to retain dignity and normalcy. 

A British task force – HMS Antrim, Brilliant, Plymouth and Endurance – was in position off South Georgia.
Antrim’s Wessex spied the Argentinian submarine Santa Fe on the surface and attacked it with depth charges, which lifted the stern out of the water, then dropped it back down forcefully.
The Santa Fe limped back to her jetty in Grytviken, as the task group continued the onslaught, while the ‘invasion force’ – fewer than 80 Royal Marines – were ferried ashore by helicopter.

The show of force was too much for South Georgia’s occupiers. As the task group approached Grytviken, they saw the white flag flying.
Not three hours after the first British troops had set foot on South Georgian soil, the island was no longer in Argentine hands. 
Antrim’s Captain Brian Young dictated a curt yet triumphant message to be sent back to London: Be pleased to inform Her Majesty that the White Ensign flies alongside the Union Jack in South Georgia. God save the Queen.

The sole casualty was Santa Fe crewman Petty Officer Felix Artuso, mistakenly shot dead by a Royal Marine who thought he was sabotaging the submarine. He was buried at Grytviken Cemetery with full military honours.
Outside No.10 Downing Street back in the UK, Defence Secretary John Nott, accompanied by PM Mrs Thatcher, announced the island’s liberation. 
The jostling press pack asked him, “What happens next," Mr Nott?”
To which the premier stepped in, responding:
“Just rejoice at that news and congratulate our forces and the Marines.”

Task force commander Admiral Sandy Woodward decided to eliminate the danger posed from the Belgrano's group by taking out the WW2 veteran. He asked permission to attack. The War Cabinet approved.

HMS Conqueror had been trailing the cruiser for several hours. It wasn’t especially hard. The ship was old, noisy, and not even taking the most basic steps to protect herself against a submarine by zig-zagging.

Conqueror’s skipper Christopher Wreford-Brown received a terse signal:

Attack Belgrano group.

Having manoeuvred Conqueror into position just 1,400 yards from her prey, Wreford-Brown fired a spread of three Mark 8 torpedoes. 

The second torpedo delivered the killer blow, smashing through the hull and exploding in the aft machinery space. The heat, flames and pressure sought a way out of the confined space, punching upwards through the decks, incinerating and obliterating two galleys and a mess.

All power failed and the freezing South Atlantic poured in unchecked.

The Belgrano was doomed.

She went down in a matter of minutes, taking 321 men with her. Bobbing around in heavy seas, their surviving comrades gave a cheer for the ship:

"Viva la patria! Viva el Belgrano!" ("Long live our Fatherland! Long live the Belgrano!")

While there was euphoria aboard HMS Conqueror briefly, many of her crew struggled following the sinking, with difficulties sleeping, and thoughts turning to those who had perished in the stormy Atlantic.

Writing to his wife following the attack, Admiral Sandy Woodward said:

"I do not enjoy consigning some Argentinians to their graves. However, it has to be faced up to. The Argentinians would do the same to me given the small half of a chance,"

Despite the human tragedy, the blow did have the effect Admiral Woodward wanted, with the remainder of the war seeing the Argentine Navy as a negligible factor.

News of the sinking back home would also see the most notorious headline of the conflict - and perhaps of all time.

Covering the day's events, The Sun newspaper proclaimed 'Gotcha' on its first edition front page on Tuesday May 4th, though later editions were toned down.

Any euphoria would also immediately subside when the next major piece of news came from the Falklands.

Portsmouth destroyer HMS Glasgow, designed and built to destroy hostile aerial threats, had already carried out one sortie, putting down 184 rounds from her 4.5in gun on May 10th.

There was no response from the Argentinians. 

Two days later she repeated the sortie in company with frigate HMS Brilliant. Mission complete, the ships began to withdraw when radar picked up incoming Argentine aircraft.

Glasgow’s Sea Dart missile system suffered a technical failure and her main gun jammed after just eight rounds, but Brilliant's Sea Wolf missiles came to the rescue, knocking out two enemy jets, and causing a third to crash into the Atlantic as it avoided a missile.

The fourth A4 Skyhawk succeeded in dropping its bomb which struck the water, bounced off like a skipping stone, passed between two of Glasgow's masts and landed back in the ocean.

Shortly afterwards a second wave of Skyhawks appeared, their pilots using more skilful tactics, with the Glasgow's missiles bedevilled by technical problems.

Two jets succeeded in getting their bombs away.

One bounced over Brilliant.

The other struck Glasgow's stern.

On its lightning-fast journey through the hull, the bomb carried away an air compressor, some of the air intake trunks to the two Tyne engines, and the diesel generator's fuel tank. The Atlantic was pouring in – about three feet deep, causing numerous electrical systems to short.

Lieutenant Commander Mike Webb, Glasgow's First Lieutenant, went down to the aft engine room to assess the damage:

"There was a three-foot diameter hole a short distance above the waterline on the starboard side, and another similar sized exit hole on the port side a little lower. And a shocked but uninjured engine room crew.

"Between these two holes it looked as if the ship had been bored out by a giant apple corer."

Damage control parties performed wonders shoring up the damage with timber and mattresses, while the destroyer retreated to the safety of the task group and engineers on HMS Invincible produced giant steel 'patches' to place over the holes left by the bombs.

Within three days, Glasgow declared herself operational again and remained on station until May 25th when the troops had been successfully landed at San Carlos and sister ship HMS Exeter arrived to take her place.

Glasgow was ordered to return to Portsmouth and became the first task force ship home, arriving back in the UK just days after the Falklands were liberated.

Having survived the holing, HMS Glasgow and her crew were warmly welcomed back home. News reports and headlines covered the attack, with the resilience and recovery of Glasgow extensively celebrated.

The media dubbed the destroyer: 'The luckiest ship alive!'.

The previous day, the Type 21 had come under ferocious Argentine air attack as she stood guard at the entrance to San Carlos – the focal point of British efforts to liberate the Falklands.

One Argentine aircraft was shot down – it struck and bent the main mast – while two 1,000lb bombs buried themselves in the ship. They failed to explode, but did kill Steward Mark Stephens.

As bomb disposal experts tried to disarm the explosives, one of the bombs detonated, killing Staff Sergeant Jim Prescott and seriously injuring one of his colleagues.

It was. "the loudest bang I ever heard,” recalled CPO Robert Shadbolt, standing by the hangar door.

Antelope herself was mortally wounded.

Shadbolt peered over the ship’s side – it was as if someone had gone along her hull with a tin opener.

"The most horrendous fire was raging," he recalled. Electric cables flapped about, arcing. Fire-fighters tried to tackle the blaze, the blast had knocked out the fire mains.

Commander Nick Tobin now ordered his men to abandon ship. The fires raged uncontrolled, reaching the Sea Cat missile magazine – mercifully after the last sailor had left the frigate.

The explosion which ensued that Sunday evening provided one of the most terrifying, yet enduring images of the conflict.

Watching from the bridge of HMS Fearless, Royal Marine Ewen Southby-Tailyour wrote that it was, "...a majestically awful sight".

Flames flared and died down. Spotlights from helicopters drifted across the water. Landing craft buzzed about, ferrying Antelope's crew to safety.

Antelope's horrific demise provided one of the iconic images of the conflict.

Her back broken, her bow and stern pointing in opposite directions at sharp angles she finally slipped beneath the waters for good.

Today, she rests some 80ft down, where her White Ensign is replaced by visiting Royal Navy dive teams when they are in the area.

Leading the final assault was Carlos Cachón, instructed by his commander to: "Take charge of the formation and lead it to glory".

Two of his bombs – plus one from a wingman – hit Sir Galahad, exploding in the tank deck, galley and engine room, while Sir Tristram was strafed, killing two RFA crew, and hit by a single bomb, which failed to detonate initially.

The Royal Marine who had urged the Welsh Guards to disembark, Major Ewen Southby-Tailyour, was ashore, enjoying the hospitality of a liberated Falklands family, the Stewarts, in their home overlooking the cove. 

And then, he recalled:

"The windows shook, everyone turned".

"The sound of fast jets died and explosions rattled the loose fittings. We watched silently as the first wisps of smoke and flames burst into something altogether more menacing and sinister. We knew instantly what we had just witnessed." - Major Southby-Tailyour.

Aboard Sir Galahad, Third Officer Andy Gudgeon heard, and felt, two distinct explosions, recalling: "The deck seemed to come up and the door caved in. I was dazed and made my way out through the surgery, crawling around."

Sea Kings of 825 Naval Air Squadron were the first on the scene, one flown by Flight Commander Lt Philip Sheldon. Though he said it was not in itself a difficult flying exercise, he'd never been so close to flames before.

With the helicopter rocking and juddering as it was struck by shockwaves from ammunition 'cooking off' in Sir Galahad’s hold, Lt Sheldon recalled:

"Bits were flying everywhere and I was very aware of the fact that any second the Galahad could blow itself to pieces."

Major Southby-Tailyour dashed down to a casualty clearing station, helping comrades as they began to stretcher casualties.

Recalling how blanket-wrapped crewmen wandered across the green in trances, he recalled there were: 

"...mutilated bodies – all alive that I saw". With infinite care, they were carried across the settlement.

The fires aboard Sir Galahad did not burn out for more than a week after the attack.

Five RFA crewmen and 55 Welsh Guards paid the ultimate price that June day.

There was no greater British loss of life throughout the Falklands conflict.

After landing at San Carlos, the commandos and paras had spent five days forging a beachhead and building up supplies. The plan was to then move towards Stanley by helicopter – until the Atlantic Conveyor and all but one of the Chinooks she carried was lost.

With typical Royal sangfroid, one green beret cursedly muttered:

"We’ll have to ****** well walk."

The yomp across the peat bogs and marshes is the stuff of Royal Marines legend - the men never dried out; boots were wet; sleeping bags, wet; jackets, wet; the wind was relentless; rain alternated with sleet.

Finally in position before the three hills, on the night of June 11th/12th, the British struck: the Paras on Mount Longdon, 45 Commando against Two Sisters, 42 Commando up Mount Harriet.

45 Commando found Argentine machine-gunners – dug in on the ridge between the two peaks – defended Two Sisters vigorously, but not their comrades holding the north peak; the summit was captured by the marines within two hours.

The men holding the opposite peak were more determined. The attack bogged down until the men of Zulu Company stormed the summit, screaming: "Royal Marines Commandos" – wanting their enemy to know who was coming.

It succeeded. The defenders fled. Two Sisters were in British hands.

A few hundred yards south of Two Sisters, Argentine 4th Infantry Regiment had set up its headquarters on Mount Harriet and dug in with two infantry companies and a mortar unit, determined to hold out to the bitter end.

A feint attack on another peak distracted them, allowing 42 Commando to get within 150 yards of the summit of Harriet before they were discovered.

Artillery and naval gunfire support from HMS Yarmouth hammered the Argentine positions. Some threw away their rifles, stood up and raised their hands; a few were sickeningly shot in the back by their superiors.

As dawn on June 12th approached, the hilltop's last defenders, surrounded by Royal Marines, abandoned by their commanding officer – who was intercepted trying to slip away to Stanley – surrendered.

Destroyer HMS Glamorgan had played an important role in the night’s victories, raining down shells on Argentine positions on Two Sisters – now in the hands of Royal Marines who signalled the ship gratefully: "VMT and good shooting".

With the battle over, Glamorgan prepared to withdraw – she was too close to land for comfort.

Ashore, a small team of Argentine naval engineers were delighted to see a blip on the tracker of their makeshift missile launcher.

The enterprising group had stripped an Exocet system from a destroyer and installed it on the back of a trailer. Each night, they drove up to the coast in the hope a British warship might fall into their trap.

Now one had. The men watched as the missile raced into the night until the red glow of its engine was swallowed by the darkness.

The faintest of blips appeared on Glamorgan's radar - bearing down on the ship just eight miles away.

On the bridge, navigator Lieutenant Commander Ian Inskip ordered the ship to turn; a Sea Slug missile was fired, but the Exocet would not be diverted.

A Sea Slug missile was fired, but the Exocet would not be diverted, with Lt Cdr Inskip stating that he: "heard a seemingly unremarkable thud, followed by a 'whoomph' as the fuelled helicopter in the hangar exploded into flame”. 

The Exocet exploded outside the hangar, blasting the port Sea Cat launcher over the side, forcing the hangar roof up and destroying everything within, and carving a hole 4ft by 5ft in Glamorgan's upper deck.

Sailors 150ft away were knocked off their feet by the blast. Flames shot 100ft into the night sky, visible almost the entire length of East Falkland.

Glamorgan was wounded, but not mortally. The fires were checked.

But the toll was heavy - 13 crew lost their lives.

With the sun setting that same Saturday, the bodies of the dead were laid out on Glamorgan's upper deck, wrapped in canvas weighed down by a 4.5in shell.

A young rating had spent the day learning the Last Post. Its haunting strains now drifted into the South Atlantic as one by one the dead were committed to the deep.

"It seemed to go on and on and tears filled my eyes," Ian Inskip remembered. "I could see other men crying. It was a service none of us would forget."