a very short fuse.
Bob's specialty was breaking and entering. Any fence, wire, wall, door, or gate, old Pigling could get it open, quietly. His task was to silently cut the airfield fence and then move on to attack a metal gate that barred their exit point. He would again move out in front for the final stage of the operation.
Everyone in the room knew of Rick Hunter, but of the five new arrivals, CPO Bland was the only one who had met him before. Admiral Bergstrom motioned them to be seated at the big table and intimated he required only a further twenty minutes, before Commander Hunter would take over and begin a thorough four-hour briefing of his team.
The twelve-man underwater group was in another section going through the same process. They would not meet until the following morning shortly before final preparations for departure.
Douglas Jarvis and his team had walked south for about fifteen miles. It was a frustrating journey, carried out in wet, squally weather down the landward side of Carlos Water. The objective was to reach the coast, but not to become stranded on the western fork, which guards Carlos from the open twelve-mile-wide Sound. The SAS team did not on any account intend to be caught with their backs to the ocean.
And that meant a walk of another few miles south to where the land became less of a peninsula, and where there was the prospect of a fishing boat in a little place called Port Sussex.
They had arrived in wide grazing land within clear sight of Mount Usborne and stared down at the deserted harbor. They could see moorings, possibly four of them, but no boats, which Captain Jarvis remarked was 'bloody dull.'
It was already growing dark, and there was just a scattering of buildings around the harbor, two of them with lights on. And the problem that faced the young Commander was the same as always — could they bang on the door and announce themselves, running the risk of Argentine soldiers being in residence? Or even the risk of a swift phone call from the occupants to the military HQ at Mount Pleasant?
Of course they could take out the enemy instantly. But what good would that do? The soldiers would be missed, then found, and a manhunt for the outlawed British Special Forces would surely begin. The men from Hereford were, as Douglas put it, buggered. Their options were narrow. There was little they could do, except feast on roast lamb, whenever possible, and try to steal, hire, or borrow a boat to get away at the earliest time.
Tonight was plainly a roast lamb situation. And they also had to find shelter. It was raining like hell, and it would be completely dark inside an hour. Their waterproof clothing and boots had all held up well, and no one was suffering from illness or injury. But this was getting depressing, with no discernible enemy, the constant threat of an Argentinian manhunt being launched, and no sign of a proper objective. The only ray of hope seemed to be the vague, encrypted satellite promise from Hereford several days ago that a rescue operation was being mounted.
Douglas dispatched Troopers Wiggins and Pearson to what he called the 'local butcher,' the 4,000-acre pasture to the east, on which there were sheep and lambs as far as the eye could see. And while they were gone, the rest of them groped around in the sparse undergrowth for a spot to light the oven. In fact, they were getting very good at this, wielding the axe, chopping both the wide bushes and the carcass of the lambs, before lighting the fire in the hole they just dug in the damp ground.
Douglas toyed with the idea of moving quietly down into one of the empty buildings on the quayside, but again the risk was too great. What if a fishing boat pulled in during the night and they were discovered? What if the fishing boats were accompanied by Argentinian Marines?
The truth was, the SAS team could cope with anything except discovery, because that might very well mean death from an Arg helicopter gunship combing the area where someone had located them.
No. Tonight looked like another night in the open. And thank God for the excellent waterproof sleeping bags, and may the morrow bring a ship into the hitherto deserted harbor of Port Sussex. Privately, Douglas thought it just a matter of time before some angry shepherd grew irritated by someone stealing his lambs, and reported the matter to the authorities. They'd snatched eight of them by now, and a good detective might easily put two and two together and make four.
He shuddered and checked the lamb, which was beginning to sizzle cheerfully, and once more they made their fast evening communication to their command HQ, and as usual there was only silence. But they left the radio switched on, ready to receive, although no one held out much hope. If they were going to be rescued, they would plainly have to rescue themselves.
Dinner was again very good, and they supplemented the lamb with their own concentrated vegetable bars. But tonight there would be no walking, principally because there was nowhere to go. Captain Jarvis decreed this harbor with its obvious active moorings was as good as any. The best plan was to sit and wait, through the weekend, and hope to hell a boat came in.
'We might even get a bit of fish,' observed Trooper Wiggins. 'Make a change from lamb, eh?'
And they drifted off to sleep under the bushes, leaving one man at a time on a one-hour sentry watch, just in case someone had spotted their fire deep in its roasting hole.
And at thirteen minutes past one a.m., Trooper Goddard saw a sight that made his hair stand on end. Winding up the coastal track to the right of the long sea inlet of Breton Loch was an unmistakable pair of headlights, moving fast. He grabbed the night binoculars and stared at the green-hued landscape to the south.
Trooper Goddard awakened Captain Jarvis, who almost leapt out of his sleeping bag in surprise, since long, undisturbed nights were the rule around here in this desolate southern wilderness.
'What's up, Bob?'
'There's an Army Jeep, sir, moving fast, coming more or less toward us. Right now it's a couple of miles south of the harbor.'
Douglas Jarvis said softly, 'Wake everyone, get into combat gear, weapons primed, and pack up everything in case we have to move fast. If we have to, we'll take 'em out, but I'd like to avoid that, because if we do, there'll be all hell let loose.'
'Okay, sir…binoculars are right there near the sniper rifle.'
Swiftly the SAS men slipped into fighting mode, boots tightened, gloves on, hoods fastened, ammunition belts slung into place. The sleeping bags and ground sheets were all packed by two troopers. All of the other six were ready either to repel an attack or launch one of their own.
Douglas Jarvis watched the Jeep pull onto the quayside and stop outside one of the houses that was lit inside. He saw two men jump from the front seats and bang on the front door, which opened immediately, and the light spilled out onto the jetty. One man came out to join them, and moments later a powerful searchlight on the roof of the Jeep began to sweep the hillside, making long lines past the boulders and scrubland below them.
The Captain assessed they were perhaps six hundred yards away, and with every sweep the beam of the light grew nearer their clump of bushes.
So far as he could tell, there were only two possibilities. Someone had seen them moving across the foothills of the mountain, or a shepherd had seen a couple of shadowy figures make off with a couple of lambs. He had always recognized this as a danger, because shepherds are inclined to wander around in the twilight.
And he was correct. Luke Milos, a sixth-generation Falkland Islands shepherd, had been darned near certain he saw someone in the pasture running away carrying something. And he knew the main Argentine garrison had issued a warning about wandering intruders who may be armed and dangerous.
And he had placed a call to the small Argentine military compound at Goose Green, which is situated right on the narrow causeway that divides Choiseul Sound.
The duty sentry said he'd have a patrol take a ride up there and maybe stay until first light. There were some British troops, unaccounted for in the battle, who might be about ready to rob and plunder local homesteaders. He'd have someone there inside an hour.
And here they were, combing the hillside with a big mounted flashlight, and right now its beam was slicing into the bushes where Douglas and his men lay facedown, pressed into the ground, gripping their machine
