Lion Resurgent (35 page)

What had started off as being something of an adventure had long ago turned into a frustrating and miserable endurance trial. Cynthia Paine-Williams hadn’t been able to wash properly for almost two weeks. Her hair had been cut down to a short stubble and her make-up had run out over a week before. She didn’t just look like a tramp; she was painfully aware that she smelled like one. The only consolation was that everybody else was in the same boat. There was another difference as well. She was carrying an L1 rifle and knew how to use it. As much as anybody could without actually firing it. She found the stubby 7mm bullpup rifle remarkably easy to carry. Of that, she was glad. Hiding out from the Argies wasn’t a game after all; it was deadly serious.

She was the guard, watching the ground around them while Jocko ran his check on the port in the distance. The burned out frigate was still in its place, listing and half submerged with a small trawler-like merchant ship next to it. The big merchant ship was out in the middle of the bay with the other frigate and one of the very large destroyers anchored at Grytviken.

“The other destroyer’s not back then?” She kept her voice down to a very low whisper.

“Nope, no sign of it. Been away two weeks now. She’d be back by now if she was coming. Right, the radar station is still up on the hill over King Edward Point. They haven’t moved that yet.” He paused for a second. “Now that’s new.”

“What we got?”

“They’ve taken the anti-ship missiles off that burned-out frigate and set them up as a shore battery.”

“Where are they?”

Jocko handed her the binoculars and took over her job of scanning the hills for trouble. “See those long, red-roofed buildings on King Edward Point? Follow them across the water to the other shore. Now, up a touch and there they are. See them? Sort of buried in a square of rocks? That’s called a revetment. Where they are, they can take down any ship that tries to come through the harbor entrance.”

“That’s awful. You’ll tell London, won’t you?”

“Of course, Cyn, but it’s worse than you think. The position shows the Argies are working their way along this shore. Sooner or later, they’ll look at this outcrop and think what a wonderful place it would be for an observation point.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, being on the island was even less of a game than it had been before. “How long do you think it’ll be before they find us?”

“Depends on them really. We’ve had a pretty good run so far. They could start moving towards us any time. I just hope the Navy gets its finger out and gets us away from here.”

Civilian Camp, Deep Inside South Georgia

“All I can say is, thank God for bureaucracy.” Sergeant Harry Wharton spoke with fervor. The refuge was supposed to have been stocked with food to last ten people for ten days. Somehow, the paperwork had been fouled up. The food supply here was enough to last those ten people for one hundred days. It was a minimal diet for the climate and, oddly, most of it was Royal Navy survival rations that appeared to have been brought quite recently. Still, the food was better than nothing for there were fourteen people in the refuge; seven civilians, the two surviving SBS men from Grytviken and the five SBS who had been scouting Leith Harbor.

“Any word from Dusty over with the girls?” Wharton was
de facto
commander of the SBS unit survivors after Captain Hooper had been killed at Grytviken.

“Not directly, Sergeant, no. But the flash messages tell us something. Somebody’s keeping a regular watch on Grytviken and if it isn’t them, then who?”

“A good question indeed, Lofty. We can but hope the Argies can’t do decent intercepts, or if they can, they can’t read our codes. Because if they can, they’ll have come to the same conclusion and they’ll run some patrols along that coastline.”

“Foot? Or helo?”

“Could be either. They’ve got a helo. The book says they had one each on the frigates and one on the transport. Greg got one before the Argies killed him; the other must have burned out when the frigate blew up. So, they’ve got one left, probably a troop-carrying Puma. Bit surprising we haven’t seen it looking for us yet.”

“That’s Argies being smart, I reckon. We’re no threat to them out here. All they have to do is wait for our food to run out and we have to come in. They couldn’t know supply cocked things up and left ten times as much food as we can eat.”

“You’re wrong there, old son. Us being here is damned important just as the others loose on East Falkland are important. As long as we’re here, Blighty still has continuity of occupation and that’s a big thing when determining sovereignty. The Argies might not have come to mop us up yet, but they will. You can bet your own private coalmine on that, Lofty my boy. They’ll be coming out after us unless the Andrew turns up first.”

HMS
Furious,
Off South Georgia

“And now, fellow Furies, we have a special request from our colleagues over in the
Grimy Glory.
It’s that old Elvis Presley favorite

Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart? “

It was unlikely,
Mullback thought,
that Glorious actually has made a special request for Furious’s on-board ‘radio’ station.
The two carriers had separated days earlier and had been maintaining absolute radio silence ever since.
Furious
had been pounding south as fast as her aging engines would allow, bringing her air group to support the amphibious assault force that was to recapture South Georgia. Or, as the ship’s orders were dogmatic in phrasing it, ‘to relieve the forces holding out in South Georgia and defeat the Argentine invading forces’. The fact that, as far as anybody knew, the forces holding out in South Georgia were five SBS men and two civilian women was a matter of supreme unconcern to anybody. International law had been swallowing elephants and straining at gnats for centuries.

Mullback opened a hatch, stepped through and dogged it behind him. Maintaining watertight integrity was a real pain, but nobody knew where the Argentine submarines were or what orders they might have. Knocking out one of the two available carriers at this early stage in the game would be a crippling blow.
Courageous
was working up in the UK after coming out of her accelerated refit, but it would be at least two weeks before she set sail south to join her sisters. That was too long and the brief campaigning season would be close to gone by then. So, the carriers were maintaining watertight integrity and radio silence. They were also thoroughly blacked out.

“Hi Jerry. What’s come over the radio people? Putting that blasted septic dirge on. Now, a quick blast of the pipes, that’s what we need at a time like this.”

The problem,
Mullback reflected,
is that Alasdair is right. A quick blast of martial music from the pipes would have gone down well right now.
“Aye, you’re right Jock. Presley was never the same after he did his stint in SAC. I think the high altitude ruined his vocal chords.”

“Nah, it was spending all that time going around backwards. Bound to affect a man’s sense of values.”

Baillie and Mullback both nodded wisely at that. Elvis Presley had spent a much-publicized three-year tour of duty in SAC, technically as the rear-gunner on an RB-52. In fact they both knew full well that the tail gunner on an RB-52 did not sit in the tail, but they had also noted how the star seemed to have spent most of his time on public relations opportunities. That could affect a man’s sense of values as well.

Another hatch, this one to the pilot’s briefing room. Mullback stepped in and heard Baillie dogging the door behind him. A number of the pilots were already in their places. The two Buccaneer drivers joined them. A quick count showed that this was a big raid; there were twelve Buccaneer crews and four Sea Mirage F.2 pilots waiting to find out what was happening. The final attendees appeared and the hatch was dogged shut again.

“Welcome to this briefing, gentlemen.” Commander Frances looked at the assembled group. “I am pleased to inform you that the target for tomorrow morning is the Argentine invasion force currently in Grytviken. This strike will be the opening act in Operation Parakeet, the relief of the forces currently holding out in South Georgia.”

Frances threw back the sheet that was covering the map that dominated his end of the briefing room. “There are three primary targets. First will be the radar station here above King Edward Point. This will be the target for the first formation of Buccaneers. They will be flown by our four guests from the Yeovilton Operational Conversion Unit flying aircraft armed with ARMAT anti-radar missiles and 1,000 pound retarded bombs.

“Second formation will consist of Mullback, Baillie, Johnson and Canfield. You are the four highest-scoring Highball crews in the air group. There are three ships in the bay. A frigate here, a destroyer behind her and a transport in the middle. Mullback, you take the destroyer, Baillie, you get the frigate. Whatever you do, don’t hit the frigate at the front of the line. She caught fire and is a burned-out wreck. Johnson, you take the transport. Canfield, you hang back and if anything goes wrong with the first three, fill in the gap.

“Third formation will consist of Carter, Kingsman, Williams and Tweed. Your aircraft will be armed with eight one thousand pound retarded bombs each. Your target is this battery of anti-ship missiles here. They’ll be hard to see and even harder to hit but you’ll have to do your best. I suggest you attack in two waves so that the second group can correct for any errors made by the first. That way, if the first wave gets the missiles, the second pair can bomb targets of opportunity.

“You’ll be escorted by four Mirages. Pilots Adams, Pickering, Hawkings and Snell. We don’t anticipate any hostile aircraft, but you’ll be there and loaded for bear just in case. Three radar homers and four heat-seekers each. There is reported to be a single Argentine helicopter in South Georgia. If you see it flying, discourage it from doing so again. If you spot it on the ground, make sure it stays there.

“We have detailed maps and the latest photographs available. Each team will inspect them and make up their attack plans accordingly. Any questions?”

“Flak, Sir?”

“Off the ships. Assuming they’re alongside and the destruction of the radar station gives them warning, count of three twin 47mms under radar control. We know of no missiles there. The infantry may have some shoulder-fired stuff, but that’s all.”

Baillie stuck his hand up. “Sir, what about the rest of the aircraft on board?”

“We’ll be holding eight Mirage F2s for combat air patrol. The remaining four Mirages and four Bananas will be maintained as an emergency anti-shipping strike. If they are available that is. If any of the other aircraft are unserviceable, we’ll draw down on them to keep the strike groups up to strength. As far as we know, there’s nothing dangerous around here and we have
Glorious
to the west between us and the Argentine Navy. She’s our long range screen for this operation.”

“What happens after we’ve bombed the place, Sir?” Kingsman sounded slightly nervous.

“That doesn’t really concern you but you can assume there will be a follow up to your operation. One thing; if any of your aircraft are hit, try to get them back here where we can fix them. We’re desperately short of aircraft as you know. If you are shot down, escape and evade, we will come and pick you up. Any more questions?”

A general negative mumble travelled around the room. Frances looked around the room. “Very well gentlemen; get a good night’s sleep. We launch at dawn.”

The Caledonian Club, Belgravia, London, UK

“I’m sorry Madam, but ladies are only allowed in the dining room as a guest of a member.”

Igrat looked at the Club Steward and was severely tempted to be outrageous. However, she was a guest here and that meant she had obligations to her host. One of them was not to embarrass him. Also, the poor steward was only doing his job and she had an instinctive sympathy for those at the bottom of the social heap who had to do the dirty work for those at the top. So, Igrat gave him a friendly smile. “I am sorry, I should have introduced myself. My name is Igrat Shafrid and I am a guest of Sir Robert Byrnes.”

“Thank you, Madam.” The steward privately breathed a sigh of relief and checked a book on a podium by the door to the members area of the club. “Miss Shafrid, of course. Sir Robert has you listed as his guest for dinner this evening. If you would like to take a seat, Madam, Sir Robert will be down to escort you momentarily. Actually, my apologies, Madam. Sir Robert is here now. Enjoy your evening with us.”

“Prompt to the minute, Igrat. T’is a rare virtue these days. Welcome to the Caledonian Club.”

“Sir Robert, thank you for the invitation.”

“Please Igrat, call me Robbie. It’s a great joke here at the Burns Night supper.” The two exchanged grins at the shared private joke-within-a-joke. “With your permission, I’ll escort ye in to the Bar and Restaurant. Would ye like a drink before dinner? We have the finest selection of single malts in Britain here.”

Byrnes circumspectly eyed Igrat. When he’d issued the invitation, he’d sent her some information on the club and hoped she’d read the bit on the dress code. She obviously had. She was wearing an Italian designer black watered silk suit and white blouse, both discretely expensive and in perfect taste. Her outfit was an ideal complement to his own evening suit. What he hadn’t expected was how small she was. He guessed she was only an inch or two over five feet. She was hiding it with the stiletto heels she was wearing, but somehow he’d expected her to be taller.

“You’re most kind. I would greatly enjoy a single malt, Robbie.”

“Then let us awa’ to the Bar where the product of many years of skilled industry await our pleasure.” He took her arm and led her through the double doors and towards the bar. “Now, what would ye wish to try? We do offer a Highland Tour, distillery by distillery, but I would na recommend it.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at their table with Igrat trying to understand a menu that appeared to be written in some unknown tongue. In the end, she gave up and decided to take a chance. “Robbie, this place is wonderful. How long have you been a member here?”