Ghost Force

Ocean, had been ferrying the Rapier batteries into the rolling hills to the west of Seal Cove. From there they were well placed to down any incoming Argentine jet fighter or attack helicopter flying in low from the north after takeoff from Mount Pleasant. It had taken them several hours to install, and the 2,700 landed troops all felt considerably safer.

But both Admiral Moreno and General Kampf had fought and lost in the 1982 conflict. And both of them clung, in their own minds, to the rare Argentine successes against the invading Brits.

One of these had been conducted by three Skyhawks, bombing the British landing ships Sir Tristam and Sir Galahad as they lay at anchor in Port Pleasant Bay. The key to this successful attack was that the Skyhawks came in from the open ocean, and then streaked straight up the bay and unleashed their bombs, which killed fifty still embarked soldiers, and decimated the First Battalion Welsh Guards.

Admiral Moreno understood this monstrous chess game, and he knew the answer was to come in from out of the Atlantic from the southeast, away from the British Rapier missile defense. He was accurate in his assessment, and once again the British landing ships, stationary in calm waters, were sitting ducks.

Admiral Moreno planned to go on launching his air attacks from Rio Grande all day, if necessary, with Skyhawk and Dagger bombers, and Super-Etendard guided-missile aircraft. All day, until the British flew the white flag. As he knew they must, sooner or later.

On the beaches, the troops tried to dig in, tried to find cover, manned their machine guns, strived to get Rapier batteries into position to fire out over the sea. But time was short. Indeed, time was running out.

One hundred miles offshore, the aircraft carrier had sunk. Captain Mike Fawkes, now effectively an acting Admiral, assessed the carnage inflicted upon the fleet, assessed the weapons with which he could still fight, and the inevitability of the Argentine bombing attacks, against which he had no defense.

At 0800 on that Saturday morning, after just two hours of ferocious battle, Captain Fawkes, with tears of sorrow and anger streaming down his face, sent the following signal to Britain's Joint Force Command Headquarters in Northwood, to the West of London:

160800APR11. From Captain Mike Fawkes, HMS Kent. Flagship Ark Royal hit and sunk. Type-45 destroyers Daring and Dauntless hit and sunk. HMS Gloucester burning and abandoned. The frigates Grafton, St. Albans and Iron Duke all destroyed. More than 900 men believed to be dead in Ark Royal, 250 in the other ships. Medical facilities now nonexistent. We are defenseless against Argentine bombing. The land forces ashore are without protection. None of us can survive another two hours. Can see no alternative but to surrender.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Captain Fawkes copied his Northwood signal to the Marine Brigade Commander on the beach at Lafonia, where his HQ had just been established. Things were bad: five fully fueled Apache helicopters were on fire and forty-seven men had been killed in the rocket and strafing attacks.

The scale of the damage to the assault ships Albion and Largs Bay was as yet unclear. But there were two huge plumes of black smoke rising to the south, and Brigadier Viv Brogden was uncertain whether the Ocean could possibly now survive another attack from the Argentine bombing force.

The signal from Captain Fawkes added another, near-impossible dimension to the myriad of problems. With the Navy out of action, the fact was, the British landing force was now effectively stranded, 8,000 miles from home with no cover from the air or even the sea. Evacuation was out of the question, and their fate was effectively sealed — surrender, or perish under Argentine bombing, here on this godforsaken beach, essentially fighting for what?

Never, in a long and distinguished career, had Brigadier Brogden, a decorated Iraq War veteran, faced such an insoluble conundrum. It was plain the remainder of his 10,000-strong force, currently marooned in the cruise liner Adelaide, could not possibly make a landing. Not without naval escort or air cover. The Army Commanders would never permit that, and the Adelaide had no defenses of her own.

Brigadier Brogden ordered his satellite communication team to open the line for transmission. His signal, also to Joint Force Command, Northwood, read: 160816APR11, Brigadier V. Brogden RM. Lafonia, Falkland Islands. Helicopter attack force destroyed. Forty-seven dead. Fifty wounded. Believe two assault ships also hit and burning six miles south. Like Captain Fawkes, we have no defense against bomb and rocket attacks. Landed force of 2,700 men now faces unacceptable losses. Agree with Captain Fawkes. Surrender our only option.

The signals from the South Atlantic landed within fifteen minutes of each other in the headquarters of the Joint Force Command. General Sir Robin Brenchley, Chief of the Defense Staff, was in the war room when the duty officer brought in the first signal and handed it to the C-in-C Fleet, Admiral Palmer. He read it, and passed it to General Brenchley, who stared at it with undisguised horror. He had, in his soldier's soul, expected something like this would occur in the next three or four days. However, he had not expected anything quite so stunning as recommendations for total surrender after just two hours of battle.

He looked up and said quietly, 'Gentlemen, you are about to bear witness to possibly the most humiliating surrender in the history of the British armed services, certainly since General Cornwallis asked for terms from the Americans at Yorktown in October 1781. General Cornwallis, however, had the excuse of running out of appropriate ammunition and artillery. I am afraid we never had either, even before we went.'

He passed the signal back to Admiral Mark Palmer, who stared again at the sheet of paper that heralded the destruction of his beloved Royal Navy. 'My God!' he kept saying, over and over, 'This is beyond my comprehension.'

General Brenchley, part of whose job was to keep the Minister of Defense, Peter Caulfield, informed, seemed to be transfixed by the signal. He just stared at it, knowing the words had somehow made him a prophet, but nonetheless hating the experience, knowing he must now inform the Defense Secretary that all was lost.

'Anyone know the correct procedures here?' asked General Brenchley. 'No one ever really taught me what to do in the event of a national surrender of our deployed forces.'

'Well,' said Admiral Palmer. 'I suppose we inform first the Ministry, and then the Prime Minister. I think he must be told of the necessity of informing the Argentine government that Great Britain is no longer able to pursue the war, and would like to sue for peace and a swift cessation of hostilities.'

At that moment, the duty officer returned with the signal, just in, from Brigadier Brogden on the beaches in Lafonia. He once more handed it to Admiral Palmer, who just stared, and passed it to the General.

'Good God!' he breathed. 'There's no braver chap than Brogden, but the damned landing force is marooned with no air cover and no sea cover. They'll be bombed to hell. Someone better get this on a fast track. We could lose two thousand men in the next two hours.'

He picked up the nearest telephone and looked around the room, growling, 'You deal with the Ministry, I'll talk to the PM…' And then to the operator, 'Downing Street, fast.'

Twenty seconds later, everyone heard him say, 'Operator, this is General Brenchley, Chief of the Defense Staff. Please connect me to the Prime Minister immediately, whatever he may be doing.'

It took four minutes, which seemed a lot longer in the operations room in Northwood. Finally the Prime Minister came on the line and said calmly, 'General Brenchley?'

'Prime Minister,' he replied, 'it is my unhappy duty to inform you that the Royal Navy has been badly defeated in the South Atlantic. Also the land forces that landed on East Falkland early this morning are now stranded, and taking quite heavy casualties. Both battle commanders are defenseless against the bombing, and are recommending an immediate surrender.'

'A what!?' exclaimed the PM. 'What do you mean surrender?'

'Sir,' said the General, patronizingly, 'it is the course of action battle commanders usually take when victory is out of the question, and casualties are becoming totally unacceptable. It applies mostly to forces that are not