Three Days in June, page 33
Pte Ashley Wright
I rejoined A Company and broke the news that LCpl Chris Lovett was dead. To be honest, I was a little bit lost, as Chris and I were good friends. We had been together all the way across, and now I was on my own, without his cheery humour. Luckily, Pte Andy Broad and Pte Mark [Archie] Statham said, ‘Come and join us in our bunker.’
Cpl Joe Black
Once we had found a solid Argy bunker with decent cover, we began making a brew. Most of the blokes were sitting eating Argy scoff, but I wouldn’t eat any, as I still had some of my rations left. We were aware that Argentines were still being found hiding in all sorts of places. But there was no fight left in them.
As the rounds flew over us, I remember looking across at Cpl Louie Sturge, Cpl Laurie Bland and Sgt Gerry Carr, who were sitting talking with the CO, who was standing up with a mug of tea in his hand. The CO seemed to be quite unperturbed by explosions on the northern side. I popped my head back out and David [Goldie] Goldsmith shouted across to me, ‘Joe, there’s something wrong with my foot.’ Kev Darke said, ‘What’s up, Goldie?’ He said. ‘I’ve been hit in the foot.’ Kev replied, ‘No, you haven’t.’ But Goldie insisted, ‘I have!’ ‘Whereabouts?’ said Kev. ‘In my foot,’ replied Goldie. Kev then got down to undo Goldie’s bootlaces and blood started pouring out, so Kev left the boot on and told him to take his morphine but Goldie refused. They put a shell dressing around his boot and Kev piggy-backed him down to the RAP.
6.5 ‘It just never seemed to stop’
While they wait for a helicopter, a badly wounded member of C Company walks in. Pte Mark Blain’s arm has been extensively lacerated by shrapnel from shoulder to wrist. They are both evacuated by helicopter at approximately 15.30hrs (zt).
Pte Trevor Bradshaw
Our platoon location was surrounded by rocks, so we felt a little bit safer. We thought we could judge by the whistle of the incoming rounds whether they would simply pass over us, or when we needed to dive for immediate cover, or when we had a few seconds to spare. People would hear the rounds coming in and say casually. ‘Don’t worry about that one, mate, it’s going over.’ But you could be so easily proved wrong.
Sgt Manny Manfred
I was getting quite annoyed with the lads. They were getting really blasé with incoming artillery fire. They could hear the crump of the rounds being fired and in their heads they thought they knew roughly the flight time. They would continue walking around, and at the last moment dive into cover. After a shell landed particularly close to one of the bunkers, we discovered that a piece of shrapnel had virtually cut someone’s poncho roll in half. I think it was Pte Bob Dobson, who was the platoon 84mm anti-tank man. The guys seemed to take the artillery a bit more seriously after that.
Major David Collett
Having been away from the battalion for some time I’d arrived back with some trepidation of the standards of the younger soldiers, but the Falklands certainly taught me a lesson. Throughout the campaign they never complained, they were always saying, ‘When are we going to Stanley?’ ‘When are we going to see the Argentinians?’ When the time came, and we actually started coming under fire and assaulting positions, they always moved under orders, even when there was fire coming down. When A Company was heavily shelled the first day, they almost had a scornful disdain of artillery fire, partly through ignorance, I think, but also through sheer bravado. Their spirit was up the whole time and was very impressive.
Pte Tony Bojko
Later that day Sammy Dougherty said, ‘Come and have a look at Stanley.’ To me, after not seeing any built-up areas since we left Freetown in Sierra Leone, my first reaction was that it looked like a big metropolis, not some fishing village as I had first thought. It also seemed to me that we were within touching distance of victory.
Cpl Louie Sturge
I went forward for a good mooch around the enemy position just to see what trophies were to be had. Nineteen-year-old Pte Alan Sparrock came along with me.
There was an enemy observer out there somewhere on the ridge who had been watching us, and Alan and I heard the rounds being fired from the gunlines around Port Stanley. We had been occasionally shelled at our previous location [north of Mount Kent]. During that time, we had learned to predict the average point of impact, just by the tone of the shell flying through the air. Alan and I both looked at each other knowing that one of these might well have our names on it. We dived down behind a large boulder and squeezed close to each other.
Then, Whooomp, Whooomp, WHOOOMP, dirt and crap were landing everywhere; I was struck on the helmet by a huge sod of earth thrown up by the blast. My neck creaked and a pain shot straight up to the base of my skull. I realized that I was okay, but I had taken a good smack. I then became aware of Alan shouting, ‘I’ve been hit.’ I turned towards him and he was clutching his chest. I quickly unzipped his smock and pulled up his jumper to get down to the bare skin of his right side. A piece of shrapnel had ripped a large chunk out of the right sleeve of his windproof smock and jumper; it had glanced off his rib cage without drawing blood! Then it exited out of his top left-hand smock pocket, passing straight through a shell dressing, reducing it to shreds. What I then saw was the fastest-growing bruise that I have ever seen, it went from an egg size to saucer size in about ten seconds and it was getting bigger.
I decided we should make our way back to the platoon location. When we got back, Alan was told to make his way down to the RAP. I had a pounding headache and my vision was becoming blurred. I think it was Cpl Laurie Bland who put me in a bunker and told me to get some rest.
Pte Trevor Bradshaw
At one stage Stu Dover got one of the .50 Cals working and began firing short bursts of two or three rounds, but it kept jamming. Some bloke came up and said, ‘I would stop that if I were you.’ Stu said, ‘And who the fuck are you?’ The bloke said, ‘I’m the FAC [Forward Air Controller] and every time you do that we’re getting fucking shelled, now fucking stop it!’
One of the lads was due to go on stag but he didn’t have a watch. Someone said, ‘There’s a pile of stiffs down there, go and see if one of them is wearing a watch.’ So he went over to them, and after checking a couple of bodies, he found one wearing a wrist watch. He began taking the watch off, when the supposedly dead man moved and made a noise. The Argentine was still alive and had a very bad injury to his lower leg, and his foot was just about hanging on. Sadly, he died shortly after he was found.
CSM Alec Munro
I saw Pte John [Sid Vicious] Haire venturing out in front of the position and said to him, ‘Where the fuck are you going?’ He said, ‘Sir, my stomach’s in bulk, I’m going for a crap.’ He was suffering badly with dysentery. He walked about 30 metres down the slope with his shovel, dropped his denims and squatted out in the open. I then heard the crump, crump, of artillery shells being fired from Stanley. You could hear them pass the culminating point as they started to whistle on the way down. These were going to land close and Sid must have thought the same. He judged it to the last second and then launched himself sideways into a shell hole, denims still round his ankles! I thought the worst for a moment, and then his head popped up from the shell hole, like a meerkat with a grin all over his face.
Pte Jeremy (Jez) Dillon
I remember sitting in a bunker and putting my arm around a member of A Company during one particularly bad period of shelling. He said, ‘I fucking hate this,’ and began to cry. I just said ‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll be all right.’ I’m not religious, but I remember praying to my dead father, praying that the next one didn’t have our names on it. It just never seemed to stop. For me this was the hardest part of the battle.
CSM Alec Munro
As the day progressed Battalion HQ wanted me to send a return of enemy equipment found on our position. For some reason they wanted me to send a runner. It was a direct order of the ‘You will’ variety. I thought, Which half-wit, sat on his arse in Battalion HQ, wants me to risk someone’s life to fill in a piece of paper?
I wasn’t about to send any guys out to conduct an inventory check just to satisfy some bean counter, so arbitrary figures were plucked out of thin air. It made it all that more tense, as I waited anxiously to see if the runner had arrived back safely, after putting his life at risk to deliver a worthless piece of paper. There was still sporadic shelling on our position, but thankfully he got back okay.
We then got another request to send a resupply party to pick up rations. I said, ‘We’re under bloody shell fire here, we can survive.’ I asked could it not be done under the cover of darkness, but was told they needed to clear the resupply area! Reluctantly, I asked the platoon sergeants to send a party from each platoon. It didn’t take a genius to realize there was an artillery spotter out there who was directing fire down whenever someone presented a good target, particularly around the northern side of the feature. As a result of this idiocy, one of our men lost his life.
LCpl Kenny Watt, 24 yrs – 1 Section, 1 Platoon
Early on the Saturday evening, I was tasked by Sgt Manfred to take five members of 1 Platoon and join a resupply party which was made up roughly of a section from each platoon of A Company. On our arrival at the resupply area, A Company’s resupply allocation had been laid out for collection. John Reeves and I gave the lads the ammunition first and warned them to be careful crossing any open ground. We sent them back to their platoon locations in pairs. Ged Bull was the last member of the resupply party to leave. He had a large ten-man ration box. There were only two of the 24-hour ration packs left, so I unzipped his smock and stuffed the two ration packs into his smock. I zipped it up and told him: ‘Make sure you run like fuck when you reach the open ground.’ He nodded and said, ‘Will do, Kenny,’ and away he went.
LCpl Graham Tolson
WO2 Sammy Dougherty asked Tony Bojko, Pete Maddocks and me to go down to the Regimental Aid Post, where a resupply area had been set up. We were to collect a dozen 24-hour ration packs, 2,000 rounds of belt ammunition and one water bottle per man. We took a water bottle off each member of our section and set off towards the resupply area.
We followed a narrow track which had been well used and was muddy. After 100 metres or so it disappeared and before me was a long slab of rock lying flat to the ground. I stepped up onto the slab and walked along its length to see that the trail continued at the other end. But the rock was thicker at the far end, so I jumped down. Protruding from the base of the rock was an arm, plus the head and shoulders of an Argentine soldier. The remainder of his body was out of sight under the rock. Pete and Tony caught up with me and we stood looking at the man. He was obviously dead and I saw a bubbly mixture of spit and blood seeping through the man’s clenched teeth, forming a puddle on the ground. The colour of his face was ash white.
I led the patrol in the general direction of the RAP until we crossed onto Route 2. Just then I heard the sound of incoming. I screamed at the top of my voice, ‘Take cover!’ Other people were also shouting, ‘Take cover.’ But there was no cover. I dropped down and hugged the ground. The earth shook and trembled as the shells exploded one after another. Something thudded into the small of my back. It felt like I’d been kicked by a mule and I shouted, ‘I’ve been hit!’ Pete Maddocks ran over and knelt beside me, and said, ‘Stay still, let me have a look.’ He pulled my hand away from my back to assess my injury, then started laughing and said, ‘You daft bastard, you’ve been hit by a lump of peat!’
We reached the RAP which was also a prisoner containment area. There were 20 or 30 Argentine prisoners, and a couple of them were wounded. I couldn’t see any sign of the resupply area. Then I noticed Cpl John Sibley, one of the medics. He was changing a shell dressing on the head of one of the wounded Argentine soldiers. I watched as he removed the shell dressing that had been covering the soldier’s head injury. What was revealed churned my stomach, and at the same time it made me marvel at the endurance of the human body. The young soldier had obviously been hit by either a bullet or shrapnel which had taken the side of his skull off, just above the ear. The hole was the size of my hand and I could see his brain through a yellowish sac. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much bleeding, although his blond hair was matted with blood around the site of the injury. John began to redress the wound. While he was doing that, he looked up and asked me, ‘What do you want?’ ‘Where’s the resupply area?’ I asked. He pointed saying, ‘Around there.’
I looked ahead and saw Snowcat vehicles and trailers, with lots of people around them unloading stores. Eventually, having got our rations and filled the water bottles, I asked one of the QM’s men, ‘Where’s the ammunition?’ He told me, ‘It hasn’t arrived yet, but it won’t be long. It’s on its way as we speak.’ We sat on the boxes of rations and waited. The battalion padre, Derek Heaver, stopped for a chat. He looked tired and drained, and from the redness of his eyes, I could tell he’d been upset. I told him about the soldier I’d seen with the head wound, and that he was expected to die, and that I felt sorry for him. He responded by saying, ‘There’s lots more like him and there’s not much anyone can do except pray.’
The Snowcat finally arrived. We collected our ammo and started back the way we’d come. I heard the whistle of incoming artillery shells heading into the same area where they had landed in before. We took cover and looked towards the explosions. It was only a short exchange, so I decide to move on at speed and get back to our position before the next salvo came in. As I approached the Second Bowl, I was running along the sheep track with Pete Maddocks and Tony Bojko in hot pursuit. Suddenly I was confronted by the sight of a body dressed in British combat clothing lying face down in the grass. I went cold as I approached him. Tony and Pete followed, ‘It’s Ged Bull!’ shouted Tony. I immediately told Pete and Tony to get into cover, and pointed over to the Second Bowl. I turned Ged’s body over and realized immediately that he was dead. I became very emotional, my chest tightened, and I found it hard to breathe.
My attention was drawn by someone shouting loudly from the rocks above: ‘Graham, Graham!’ I looked up to see the silhouette of someone waving to me. He shouted, ‘Quick, get your fucking arse up here!’ I was jolted into the realization that we were still under mortar or artillery fire. I scrambled up into the Second Bowl to rejoin with Tony and Pete. I recognized the faces of Vincent Bramley, Steve Ratchford and John Skipper from the Machine Gun Platoon. As I reached the position, Vince grabbed my arm and helped me into his bunker. Down in the area I had just left, there were several explosions in quick succession. Vince said, ‘You were fucking lucky there, mate.’
A Company report Pte Ged Bull’s death to the RAP:
20.15hrs (zt): from C/S 1 to C/S 9A: ‘Another fatality, Company Number A 107.’
Pte Mick Carr
At approximately 19.00hrs (zt), we were tasked to go and collect ammunition, rations and water from the resupply point. About halfway we were caught in an artillery or mortar barrage. We all took cover, and after the salvo ended, we picked ourselves up and carried on. At the resupply area, we loaded up with food, ammo or water and made our way back. Once again, we were caught in another barrage. We reached the platoon area and dropped our loads off, then made our way back for a second run. Again, we came under shell fire but this time they fell a lot closer to us. I was hoping that our luck would hold out as we picked up more supplies and began to make our way back.
I was behind Ged Bull, who was carrying a large ration pack, plus a number of individual ration packs stuffed into his smock. We reached the sheep track that ran between the First and Second Bowls. I stopped for a moment to adjust my load and shouted, ‘Hang on, Ged!’ but I don’t think he heard me. Suddenly, a shell dropped really close by; there was a fucking big explosion. I thought, What the fuck was that? I couldn’t hear anything. I was covered in shit. Then a couple more rounds dropped, and then it stopped as suddenly as it had started. I saw Ged lying on the ground. At first I found it hard to take in, like my brain couldn’t absorb what I was seeing, his smock was torn and smoking and he was lying face down.
LCpl Kenny Watt
I climbed up into Pte Paul Audoire’s sentry position, and he turned to me and said, ‘Ged’s dead.’ I said in disbelief, ‘Are you sure? Where is he?’ He pointed to where Ged’s body lay; I had just run past him, within perhaps 4 feet of him, and I hadn’t even seen him. He was lying in the open and was clearly dead. I told Paul that I would tell the CSM [Alec Munro] and that he should inform Sgt Gerry Carr. On my return, I told CSM Alec Munro of Ged’s death and gave him a rough description of where Ged’s body lay. He then told me to go and get a brew on. I also told Sgt Manfred about what had happened. Pte Bob Taylor made me a brew, but I had only managed a few slurps of tea when Cpl Paddy Barr said, ‘Manny Manfred wants to see you.’
Sgt Manny Manfred
I remember LCpl Kenny Watt returning and telling me that Ged Bull had been killed. I said, ‘What happened?’ He replied, ‘Artillery, over by 2 Platoon’s area.’ I was really saddened by this and asked, ‘Did anyone cover him up?’ and he said, ‘I don’t think so.’ I knew Ged Bull’s body would have to be covered over, and asked Kenny if he would go back and do it. He asked me if somebody else could go. But I said, ‘Kenny, it’s nearly dark, and you know exactly where his body is.’
