Scram! (14 page)

Ten days and 4,000 miles later,
Intrepid
arrived at Ascension on Wednesday 5 May to join the armada of ships that formed the amphibious group. The sight of so many ships was both shocking and impressive. Later that day, Crabtree and his flight transferred from
Intrepid
to the fuel tanker RFA
Tidepool
, sister ship of
Tidespring
, for the next stage of their journey to the South Atlantic. On 7 May, the two Ascension-based Wessex, Yankee Juliett and Yankee Kilo, were flown onto
Intrepid
and then, with blades folded, winched down into the cavernous hold of the assault ship for use as reserve replacement aircraft. With the Argentine navy now out of the way, the amphibious fleet led by
Fearless
and
Intrepid
set off from Ascension on Saturday 8 May. Meanwhile, four more Wessex were flown out from Yeovilton in the back of a
Belfast
to replace the Ascension aircraft that were now in the hold of
Intrepid
, and to provide a fresh set of aircraft for Mike Tidd's ill-fated flight.

By mid-April all of the
junglie
Sea Kings had left the UK. But there were plenty more Wessex. For a while there was talk of expanding 845 Squadron into one giant monster squadron, incorporating the training squadron and anyone else available. Instead, on Monday 19 April, the training squadron instructors and their aircraft were recommissioned with front-line status at Yeovilton.

The first new squadron, 848, was formed mostly from the aircraft and crews of the Wessex training squadron from which I had emerged just a couple of months earlier. It was a proud moment for commanding officer Lieutenant Commander David Baston to reclaim the name of the original
junglies
with the motto ‘
Accipe Hoc
' – ‘Take that!'

Most of the pilots and aircrew were either highly skilled instructors or pilots taken from the course following my own – that is, still technically in training – to make up numbers. The first two Wessex of the newly formed squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Chris Blight, had already been despatched to the supply ship RFA
Regent
which was embarking in Plymouth Sound the same day. Another two were to be despatched to the fuel tanker RFA
Olna
. But most of the aircraft and crews were to sail south on the giant roll-on roll-off container ship the SS
Atlantic Conveyor
, one of six similar ships owned by Cunard, two of which,
Conveyor
and
Atlantic Causeway
, had been requisitioned by the MOD.

David Baston and several of the aircrew took an aircraft down to Plymouth dockyard to have a look at their new ship. Looming over them at the dockside,
Atlantic Conveyor
was simply massive. A giant bridge superstructure towered
over
a vast forward deck that stretched out several football-field lengths in front. Behind the high bridge was a smaller deck, still comfortably big enough to take at least one helicopter. The forward decking appeared to be awash with men brandishing angle grinders. Containers were being lifted into place by a giant crane and were being stacked one on top of each other to line the sides of the deck as protection from the South Atlantic weather. Men were moving around levelling the new deck structure in preparation for the Harriers and helicopters that were to operate from it. Trailing behind them was a man carrying the biggest paint roller any of them had ever seen. The colour of the paint was the ubiquitous ‘pussers' grey.

There were several false starts before the squadron was able to embark for the first time. Two of the Wessex became unserviceable while waiting at the Royal Marine base in Plymouth and needed replacement from Yeovilton. Last-minute modifications to the ship meant more delays. On Sunday 25 April, the six Wessex helicopters finally embarked on
Atlantic Conveyor
, underway in Plymouth Sound. Lieutenant Pete Manley conducted a first-of-class load-lifting trial.

The safe arrival of
Atlantic Conveyor
in the Falklands was crucial. In the giant holds underneath the flight deck was a huge volume of stores. This included an entire tent city for 10,000 people, sufficient to house both 3 Brigade, already en route on
Canberra
and
Norland
, and 5 Brigade due to head off shortly on the
Queen Elizabeth II
. There was also a portable runway, JCB diggers to build it, and all the ancillary equipment needed to operate Harriers ashore, including giant plastic fuel pillows. There was even a squadron of black raiding craft, presumably belonging to special forces.
Conveyor
's holds were so vast that even this huge volume of kit and equipment failed to fill them.

The container ship arrived at Ascension on Wednesday 5 May. As well as the six Wessex,
Conveyor
also carried other valuable aircraft including replacement Chinook and Lynx helicopters. They were joined at Ascension by six RAF Harriers and eight Royal Navy Sea Harriers, each landing vertically on the huge forward flight-deck area of the ship. Helicopters and jets were then parked in rows between the walls of containers and wrapped in plastic for further protection. In the rush to get aircrew south, a further flight of four Wessex pilots and three crewmen also embarked on the troop carrier MV
Norland
at Ascension, with the intent of being allocated aircraft later.

Behind
Conveyor
's bridge was the smaller deck jutting out to the stern of the ship. A ramp, used for access to the huge spaces underneath, folded up behind the deck. During a brief stop at Ascension Island, Pete Manley had paid an unofficial visit to the local golf club to acquire important stores. In calm weather, Manley figured that the ramp would be the obvious place for a South Atlantic cocktail party on a balmy evening. With a plentiful supply of hundreds of beer barrels on board
Conveyor
, obtained by clambering over the reserve supply of cluster bombs, all that was needed was a handle, some gas and a suitable umbrella. The golf club generously obliged with the beer equipment but no umbrella.

With all of the Wessex and Sea Kings either despatched to the Falklands or on detachment to Northern Ireland, 845 Squadron senior pilot Mike Booth was now virtually the only
junglie
left at Yeovilton. To meet the demand for more troop-carrying helicopters, he was asked to form a new squadron out of the detachment in Northern Ireland plus various extra aircraft and aircrew engaged with search-and-rescue duties, plus the odd test pilot and those
‘flying
desks'. It was a huge relief to all of us stuck out in Northern Ireland. We were increasingly worried that we had been forgotten.

848 Squadron show how to squeeze several Wessex onto the stern deck of
Atlantic Conveyor
. The pilot of this Wessex will have felt very uneasy watching his blades whirling so close to the other helicopters. This is where you really have to trust the white lines.

This second new squadron, 847, was assigned to embark in
Atlantic Causeway
, twin of
Atlantic Conveyor
, and in RFA
Engadine
, a flat-bottomed training and support ship. Because of problems trying to find sleeping space for everybody, the new squadron had to be split disproportionately. It was not an ideal solution. Four of the aircraft and fifteen pilots embarked on
Engadine
. The remaining twenty aircraft embarked on
Atlantic Causeway
with just four pilots.

On Sunday 9 May, Major Adrian Short and I flew X-Ray Mike down to Plymouth and landed on
Engadine
which
lay
alongside the dock. I was assigned a cabin with one of the
Engadine
junior officers and my fellow Sub-Lieutenant Dave Kelly. As we dumped our kit bags on our bunks, Kelly peered out through the scuttle. ‘Oh look,' he said smiling, ‘our cabin is about nine feet above the waterline. What flies at nine feet, Harry?' He then smiled again as he informed me that
Engadine
's sister ship had reportedly rolled over and sunk in the Irish Sea. Not surprisingly,
Engadine
and its flat bottom had never been south of the equator.

Having contemplated this happy news, the fear of missing out once again became our number one concern when we learned that
Engadine
's maximum speed was twelve knots. It would take forever to reach the Falklands. We quickly calculated that the earliest we could get there would be by Saturday 5 June, twenty-six days hence. It could all be over by then. We could swim faster.

Three days after
Engadine
sailed, the four pilots of 847 ‘B' flight led by Lieutenant Commander Peter Hails shuttled their twenty aircraft the short journey across from where they had been dropped off in Plymouth by ‘A' flight onto
Atlantic Causeway. Causeway
also embarked 825 Squadron, whose Sea Kings had their anti-submarine pinging kit stripped out in order to convert them to troop carriers. The very much faster
Causeway
set off on Friday 14 May and quickly overtook the plodding
Engadine
. There were further frustrations as we were forced to divert to Gibraltar overnight for engine repairs.

Now that the task force's additional aircraft had set off, the
QE2
sailed from Southampton on 12 May with the task force's additional soldiers of 5 Brigade, comprising Scots Guards, Welsh Guards and Gurkhas.

For all squadrons and flights heading south, the long journey was an opportunity to practise deck landings,
load-lifting
, winching, cabin gunning, formation flying, instrument approaches, and navigation over the sea.

847 was the newly formed Wessex squadron with which I went to war. This badge was sewn onto the sleeve of my flying suit. The squadron motto
Ex alto concutimus
translates roughly as ‘We zap them from on high'!

Our new senior pilot, Lieutenant Commander Rob Flexman, was pleased to be going; he had only just returned from an exchange tour with the French navy flying Super Frelon helicopters. However, with such a top-heavy squadron, he was concerned that there might be friction with some of his more experienced colleagues who might feel they should have been appointed number two in his place. He also wondered how he would perform individually in action. His first task back in the Wessex saddle was to get up to speed with deck landings.

Some of my colleagues found it hard to conceal their
glee
after watching the senior pilot bouncing wildly across the flight deck in ground resonance a couple of times. For me, it simply diluted the embarrassment when, on my own first sortie at sea, six out of eight attempts at deck landing resulted in the same ground resonance and the need to take off again in a hurry. Coached and generously encouraged by my experienced senior colleagues, Lieutenant Commanders Neil Anstis, Mike Spencer and Mike Booth, I learnt how to do it properly. On most days and a handful of nights, I got airborne for short sessions of deck-landing practice. These flights felt fantastic. My confidence grew as my landings on the moving flight deck got better and better. I began to feel more like a Royal Navy pilot. Over the next two years as a front-line Wessex pilot, I would complete over 400 deck landings at sea, both at day and night.

The highlight of my trip south was the 847 Squadron flying competition. The challenge was to spill the least amount of water whilst dangling a bucket from the winch, navigate the most accurate triangle pattern to end up exactly overhead the ship, and land most precisely on the required spot on the flight deck. The squadron was divided into teams of two, one pilot, one aircrewman. Petty Officer Aircrewman Chris Eke and I were pitched against the formidably experienced opposition. We won. I accepted congratulations with all the modesty and reserve that I didn't feel. I couldn't have been more thrilled.

Our progress south remained painfully slow. Different kinds of training helped to fill the long hours. I worked on my physical fitness. All of us did. I wanted to go into battle at the peak of health in case I got shot down. We did sit-ups and push-ups and squat thrusts and star jumps and ran laps round the ship until we felt physically sick. Wearing incredibly short shorts – very much the fashion of the 1980s
–
we played a relentless amount of deck hockey. We did military training, firing machine guns, rifles, pistols and light rockets – usually at the few seagulls trailing behind the ship. The lowlight of my trip south was my embarrassing failure to wake up one morning in time for a training session on the handheld 30mm Light Anti-tank Weapon. My well-deserved punishment was to be handed the manual and told I was to brief all of the pilots after lunch on the use of the LAW weapon. I didn't miss any training after that.