Cruel war of the green-eyed boys

THE Falklands was a small war by any standard, a relative skirmish to all but those who fought in it. It lasted just 74 days and cost upwards of 1000 lives, most of them Argentinian. Historically, its conclusion marked what will probably be Britain's last unilateral foray into full-scale combat.

For the majority of the Paras and Royal Marines who bore the brunt of the fighting on land, it also marked a baptism of fire. No-one who took part would ever be the same again. Exposure to the horrors of close-quarters battle and the loss of close friends is inevitably a soul-searing experience.

Margaret Thatcher cruised to electoral success largely on the strength of British martial prowess. And in the best tradition of history being written by the victors, a veil was drawn across the inevitable military blunders which accompany every such expedition.

Only now, at a safer distance of 14 years, is a more realistic picture of events beginning to emerge. It was, at the time, regarded as acceptable to criticise equipment. The dismal, leaky DMS boot (known laughingly to the troops as ``Dem's My Shoes'') and standard-issue footwear for the squaddie, was a case in point.

But it was heresy to say that 2 Para's commanding officer, ``H'' Jones, awarded the Victoria Cross for a foolhardy and fatal Boy's Own assault on a machine-gun nest at Darwin Hill, had no business doing a corporal's job. His pointless death had no effect on the battle, and left his battalion without a leader at a crucial stage.

Blame for the even more pointless deaths of 48 Welsh Guardsmen and the wounding of many more on the Sir Galahad was never apportioned. The men were left stranded on a vulnerable ship in full view of enemy scouts for hours instead of coming ashore. The subsequent and sadly predictable Argentine air strike effectively knocked an entire battalion out of the war.

Both 3 Para and 45 Commando, Royal Marines, variously ``tabbed'' or ``yomped'' across 80 miles of boggy, featureless Falklands' terrain in a forced march which inflicted scores of needless casualties - broken ankles, twisted knees, exposure, and back injuries. The Paras travelled light, but the Marines were carrying packs weighing up to 90lbs.

When the exhausted, frozen, hungry troops finally limped into Teal Inlet, they discovered that their marathon had been a rampant case of military ``hurry up and wait'' syndrome. It was another 10 days before the land offensive got into gear. All that was achieved was a Grand Old Duke of York tour of the Costa Hypothermia and a reduction in fighting strength.

Several senior officers became victims of their own propaganda. The Argies would ``thin out and leg it'' - scatter and run - at the first shock of battle. There was no evidence for this, and the first major clash at Goose Green indicated the exact opposite. Yet many continued to operate as if they were on a slightly hazardous exercise rather than facing an enemy with a powerful air force and long-range artillery.

Battalions were sent into attacks with little or no artillery support and few flexible contingency plans if they ran into trouble. It was an exercise without umpires, except that the dead stayed where they fell. Argentine military capabilty had been totally underestimated.

Of all the battles for the mountain chain protecting Port Stanley, the struggle for Mount Longdon was the most bitter and the most costly. The 3rd Parachute Battalion lost 23 dead and 50 wounded in a night-long slogging match along the hill's craggy spine.

The battalion's B Company, which was supposed to roll up the Argentine defenders, was destroyed as a fighting formation. Officers panicked. Sergeant Ian McKay won a deserved, though posthumous, VC for a single-handed charge aimed at breaking the enemy's will to resist. Snipers with American night-sights picked off anyone who left the cover of the rocks.

One young platoon commander was struck by an NCO to bring him out of shock. There was no observed artillery support until late in the action. An initial, crushing bombardment instead of a silent advance might have reduced casualties on the British side. Rapid correction of fire onto Argie positions would have helped the infantry.

Instead, the ``Green-Eyed Boys'' - the young, unblooded ``Toms'' of the battalion - earned their spurs in action more in keeping with World War One than the computer age. With enemy tracer rounds ripping past and mortar and artillery fire smashing into the hillside around them, they were forced to rush or crawl from cover to cover, lobbing grenades until they were near enough to close with rifle and bayonet.

All too often, they would stumble across the bullet or shrapnel-torn bodies of friends, sprawled in the awkward poses of sudden death. Others were carried to the rear, bleeding from the horrific injuries inflicted by modern, high-velocity weapons. The regimental aid post down the hill rapidly assumed the look of an abattoir.

The battalion finally committed all three of its rifle companies to the fight, gradually picking up the momentum of the advance again, grenading bunkers in the passing and shooting or bayonetting anyone who resisted. Prisoners now began to emerge from trenches hidden among the crags, and the Paras' medics were inundated with a flood of enemy wounded to add to their own.

Even when the mountain was cleared, the agony continued. The Argentines had carefully registered the range of their own positions, and artillery batteries on the outskirts of Stanley began to pound the Paras, huddled in slit trenches shared with the dead and the dying.

The Paras' aggressive elitism had won the fight. But discipline was about to take some hard knocks in the cold light of day. As the adrenalin high of combat faded, boys who had become men overnight began to count the cost of ``glory''.

Rumours began to abound about the execution of three ``American mercenaries'' fighting for the Argentines. Four enemy soldiers allegedly tried to crawl past the Paras at the height of the battle. The first was shot through the head and died instantly. The other three surrendered. One of the survivors then produced a US passport, and some unnamed officer or senior NCO is supposed to have ordered the Toms to ``get rid of them''.

It is almost certain there were no CIA ``mercs'' on Longdon or anywhere else on the Falklands. A number of prisoners were taken in the course of the war who spoke English with a US accent because they had gone to school in America.

Jennings and Weale document two incidents which, if true, are unforgiveable - even in the context of post-action trauma. The first relates to eyewitness accounts of an NCO collecting the ears of at least one living prisoner and those of a number of dead as souvenirs. The second involves the deliberate murder of a wounded captive.

Corporal Stewart ``Scouse'' McLaughlin, of B Company, had discussed taking souvenirs on the approach march to Longdon. He was wounded leading an assault on Argentine positions and would probably have been recommended for a decoration for gallantry.

He was killed outright by a mortar bomb en route to the aid post behind the lines a few hours later. When the battalion padre, Major Derek ``The Cleric'' Heaver, went through his webbing, looking for personal effects to send back to his family, he was appalled to find human ears in an ammunition pouch. McLaughlin's platoon commander also saw the grisly trophies. Other witnesses claim to have seen live, wounded prisoners who had lost ears.

The morning after the battle, Argentine dead were being interred in a burial pit, while prisoners sat huddled nearby. Another NCO guarding these men is alleged to have suddenly pointed to a PoW with a leg wound and asked what he should do with him. His company sergeant major told him: ``Put him with the others.''

The Para pulled a captured Argie pistol while the terrified prisoner, realising what was about to happen, shouted for mercy and held out a crucifix attached to a chain around his neck. He was shot through the head. The killer claimed that his victim was a sniper. He was disarmed, but there are no records of any disciplinary action against him. After the Argentine surrender on the islands, he was sent home on a different ship from the rest of his battalion, transferred to another unit, and finally left the Army in 1994. The man was later questioned by the Metropolitan police, but never charged.

As ever, in the midst of carnage there was also humour. During a lull in the fighting, the regimental sergeant major began to brew up some hot chocolate in the lee of a rock. As artillery rounds whistled in, he grabbed the helmet from his nearest comrade and covered the bubbling liquid with it to prevent fouling by dirt and rock splinters from the bursting shells. Paras have a highly-developed sense of priorities.

IAN BRUCE