Land of Fire (2 page)

I felt sick as we climbed back topside, the captain explaining that we weren't to talk about this, not to anyone. It was all top secret. In other words, a cover-up was in force. We were to forget the girl, forget the homing device none of it had ever happened. But I couldn't get the image of her spreadeagled against that bulkhead out of my mind.

Tom and Doug were waiting on deck. The ops officer told us to get our kit together before our regimental helicopter flew us back to rejoin the unit.

That was when all hell broke loose.

CHAPTER TWO

The attacking aircraft were A4 Skyhawks belonging to the Argentine navy based at Rio Grande on Tierra del Fuego. Equipped with a pair of 500lb free fall iron bombs each, the planes' targets were the closely packed transport vessels moored in the narrow inlet of San Carlos Water off the beachhead.

It was a dangerous mission. Our ships were protected by radar-controlled anti-aircraft guns and state-of-the-art missiles, including the deadly Sea Dart which was carried aboard the Type-42 destroyers positioned at the mouth of the inlet. The Sea Dart was a fifteen-foot-long missile weighing half a ton. On firing, the rocket booster accelerated it up to twice the speed of sound within three seconds, and it could pluck an aircraft out of the sky at forty miles' range. By this stage of the war the Sea Darts had claimed three attacking jets, and the pilots were under no illusions as to the risks they faced.

But the Sea Dart had one weakness. It was primarily designed to fight the Russian navy in an open-sea war. But against a low-level target, operating against a background of clutter from the land, it was less effective. And this afternoon the Argentines had exploited that weakness to deadly effect. Screaming off the land at near wave-height, their aircraft had hit the destroyer HMS Coventry, capsizing her with a loss of nineteen men.

The catastrophe left a yawning gap in the air de fences of the San Carlos beachhead. The only guard vessel left was the smaller frigate HMS Broadsword, herself damaged in an earlier attack. Her Sea Wolf missiles were of an advanced type designed to counter sea-skimming missiles fired by submarines, so new they were still under test. They were highly accurate, but their range was just two-and-a-half miles: no time for a second shot.

As the low hills and fractured coastline of the islands loomed ahead, the lead aircraft dropped to three hundred feet and commenced its run up the coast. The pilot twisted and turned his craft, weaving among the valleys. His instruments would be able to detect the pulse of enemy radar beams feeling for him, striving to pick out his plane from the jumble of returning echoes bouncing off the hillsides.

Travelling at 500 knots, the four aircraft split into two sections for the final attack to divide the gunners' attention. The lead aircraft appeared to be heading directly for the centre of a massed group of store ships.

An urgent warning pealed from the on-board speakers: "Air raid warning red!" There was a panicked rush for the upper decks by some of the civilian seamen. They had seen the Coventry turn into a fireball and go down, and they didn't want to be caught below when it happened to their own ship.

From previous drills I knew we had about a minute and a half from the warning before the bombs started to fall. I looked towards the south-west and saw a dark shape loose itself from the land and come streaking down the sound. The next instant the twin 20mm WW2-vintage Oerlikons opened up, barn, barn, barn, barn. From all around, guns on ships and land were firing and the air was full of smoke bursts, but the planes flew on unscathed. I saw a rocket plume flash up from one of the hills. Someone having a go with a Blowpipe, but Blowpipes didn't engage crossing targets well and this one ran wild on to a hillside.

Four-and-a-half miles out, and the lead planes were so low the wash from their jet engines was striking spray from the surface of the inlet. The firing became a crescendo. The racket was unbelievable; the deep boom of the 4.5-calibre main guns of the warships was joined by the hammer of cannon fire and the shrill stammer of GPMGs. But all the gunfire seemed to be falling short, bursting in front of the planes and making the water dance. To me, watching from the deck of the Northland, it seemed incredible that planes could fly through flak that thick and survive.

The ships that had way on them were manoeuvring frantically to get clear. Northland, though, had no steam up. She was a sitting duck. Four hundred yards short, the pilot of the lead Skyhawk released his bombs. I saw them fall clear, dropping towards us as the jet screamed away overhead, two black dots growing larger by the second, and I thought, fuck, they're coming right at us. We were the target. Doug had thrown himself flat on the deck; he hated air attacks and didn't like ships much better. I was thinking, this is where we all die yet I couldn't tear my gaze away.

The first bomb hit the water twenty yards from the port quarter with a mountainous splash. "Missed, you bastard!" I shouted aloud. I knew that these bombs had a delay function, an impeller in the tail that had to spin a set number of turns after dropping to release the firing pin, so that it could move forward on impact and trigger the detonator. Flying so low meant that they had to be released at exactly the right moment or the sods wouldn't go off.

It was my last coherent thought before the world burst in around me.

In fact the first bomb flew so fast I didn't have time to see it bounce off the surface like a skimmed stone and strike the ship's side, piercing it. It passed upwards through the engine room, killing three men, and emerged through the deck without exploding.

I don't recall anything of the impact because a fraction of a second later the second bomb struck us amidships, and this time the impeller did its stuff. The firing pin released and the bomb exploded in the main hold with a force that burst open the deck where I was standing and threw everyone nearby off their feet.

I remember a bright flash and then I must have been knocked unconscious for a few seconds. When I came to I was lying on my front. My clothes were blackened and I was surrounded by smoking wreckage. The decking was all ripped and a roaring jet of flame licked upwards. Ammunition was popping off down in the holds, punctuated by the heavier whoomp of petrol tanks going up.

I stood up, and realised the ship had taken on a list. It was like walking uphill. A hand grabbed me; it was Andy. His hair was all singed and I remember wondering if mine was the same. He was shouting at me but I couldn't make out what he said because of the noise and because the explosion had left me temporarily deafened. He thrust a survival suit into my hands and pointed to the side. Time to abandon ship. A survival suit was a once-only garment you pulled on over your outer clothes before jumping into the water. Its seals were supposed to keep you dry and alive long enough to be rescued provided help came pretty quick. Without a suit the average person had a fifty-fifty chance of swimming fifty yards in these waters before hypothermia got him.

I was about to put it on when I saw the two seamen who had been guarding the girl come tumbling up a companionway from below. There was no sign of the girl with them. The bomb must have shattered the lower deck level and those guys had legged it. They weren't about to risk their lives for the sake of a spy.

I don't know why I should have done either, unless it was because I was the one who had found her and started it all. I looked around for Andy but he had disappeared. Presumably he figured I could look after myself. The ship didn't seem to be about to go down this second and the fire hadn't reached the forepart yet. I decided I had a good chance to reach her and fetch her out.

In a way it was easier than I had thought. I nipped down the ladder on to the cargo deck level. There was a lot of smoke eddying around but no actual flames yet. One guy passed me carrying a kit bag; he must have been back to his cabin. I went down two more ladders. The emergency lights were on here, but there was less smoke. All the alarm bells were ringing. The noise of firing was muffled but I could hear big thuds of mortar bombs or gas tanks going up, which kept me moving forwards and down. The tilt on the deck didn't seem to be getting any steeper so I figured I wasn't about to drown yet.

When I reached the stern, there she was where they had left her, still lashed to the ring bolts I ripped off the hood and untied her wrists and she sagged against me like she was all in. Her clothes were in a heap on the deck. I started pulling them over her arms and legs. There didn't seem much point in rescuing her if she was going to die of cold the second I dropped her in the water. She got the message and inside a couple of minutes I had her more or less dressed. I gave her the survival suit it made one less thing to carry and hustled her back to the ladders.

There seemed to be a lot more smoke and heat around now. Also the angle of the deck was suddenly worse. I pushed the girl ahead of me up the ladder. She had either recovered some of her strength or she was scared, because she went up like a squirrel. I guess after six weeks aboard she knew her way about.

Half-way up the next ladder conditions were vile. Flames were spreading into the stairwell. The ladder had broken free from several of its supports and swayed ominously as we went higher. The girl was slowing down because of the flames. I was having to climb one-handed, using the other to push her on. Another explosion shook the hold more ammunition going up. Bits of debris were raining down from overhead and the bulkhead next to the hold was smoking or steaming, I couldn't tell which. I concentrated on trying to breathe in shallow gasps to keep the smoke out of my lungs. The ladder seemed endless and the handrail was hot to touch.

Somehow we reached the landing at the top, only to find the door leading out on deck wouldn't open; the watertight latches were closed fast. Some bugger had sealed us in to die.

The girl was going limp as she suffered the effects of the smoke. I propped her up against the wall and took a hold of the top latch. It didn't budge. Heat or the ship's list must have wrenched the frame out of true. I looked around but the passage behind was filling with flames. There was no other way out. I heaved on the latch again and was rewarded with a slight movement. A series of violent tugs at last worked it free. Now for the bottom latch. This was worse. It was so tightly jammed nothing I did seemed to make it move. Inky smoke was belching up the stairwell, making it impossible to breathe. In desperation I pounded on the steel door with my fist. "Let us out, you fuckers!" I might as well have been pissing into the wind for all the chance there was of being heard.

I grabbed the handle of the top latch again with both hands, swung myself out over the stairwell and crashed both legs together against the jammed hatch. The impact jarred my spine but I thought I felt the latch move. I pushed off again with my feet, praying I wouldn't somehow fall off and drop twenty feet into the burning hold, and gave a second mighty kick and this time the handle snapped free with a clank.

Out on deck things weren't a whole lot better, except that it was possible to breathe more freely. The ship was burning furiously amidships and listing heavily. Secondary explosions were shaking the hull as fuel tanks continued to detonate below decks. It was obviously only a matter of minutes before she was going to go down. A few disciplined types were trying to run hoses into the flames but most of the crew were launching life rafts and jumping overboard in their haste to get off in case she blew. Many of the floats were overcrowded and men were being washed into the sea. A frigate nearby had boats in the water picking up survivors, and helicopters were swooping down to pluck people off the deck.

I pushed the girl ahead of me along the deck. Now I could hear men screaming down in the hold. She stood, swaying with exhaustion, surveying the scene of devastation. In her eyes was a glow of triumph. Something inside me snapped. They could be my mates down there. I seized her by the scruff and forced her to the edge of the shattered deck, made her look down into the inferno. "Now it's your turn!" I yelled.

A hand caught my shoulder. It was Andy again, his face blackened by smoke and flames. "What the fuck are you doing, Mark?" he yelled. "Come on, we've got a boat waiting."

The adrenalin rush had left me light-headed. If she was a spy, then this girl was more valuable alive.

I was turning back from the fire when the ship gave a sudden lurch that sent us all sprawling. A burst of flaming smoke spewed out from the burning hole amidships. I felt my hair crackle. Andy pulled me to my feet and dragged me back out of harm's way.

Gasping, I looked around. "Where's the girl?"

But she was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

The capsized hulk of the Northland was still visible out in the sound the next morning. How they had managed to stop her sinking I couldn't think. There was a big tug fussing about; maybe they intended towing her out to sea to clear the way for other vessels. The sun glistened on a big oil slick that was being washed in towards the shore.

Andy and the rest of us had got off the wreck with no trouble. He had found us places in a lifeboat but, as we were about to get in, a Wessex helicopter had come spinning down, lifted off our whole party and dropped us on to Fearless, our own ship, with minimum fuss. What had become of the girl I didn't know. Maybe she had been rearrested or else drowned. Either way, I had done my bit.

Andy was pissed off with me though. All he could think about was that the quartermaster was giving him grief because we had failed to bring back his precious laser target designators. Andy reckoned it was my fault for getting tangled up with the girl. He wouldn't listen when I pointed out that we had never located the missing container, and so had no idea if the fuckers were ever aboard the Northland. As far as big brother was concerned I had screwed up yet again.

Right now Andy was in the CO's office, a Portakabin welded to the after deck, with Captain Guy Litchfield, our troop Rupert, being briefed by the ops officer on the forthcoming mission. Apparently this was a proposal to insert an observation team on to the Argentine mainland at Tierra del Fuego to mount a watch on the big airbase at Rio Grande. Overnight the operation had firmed up to the extent that it now had a code name: Dynamo.