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dropping his voice as we moved into the lee of the superstructure,
    'that talk of your brother's about flying out with the rest of the squadron is just bullshit. The only way we're getting home is on our own feet."
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Final preparations started immediately. The aircraft carrier Invincible, escorted by a single frigate, would transport the recon team with its Sea King in towards the coast during darkness and fly them off at midnight. That meant a great deal of cross-decking of supplies, and we were taking a mountain of kit along. The Navy people all seemed to know their guys were not expected to make it back and were blaming us. There was a generally bad atmosphere and non-cooperation on all sides. We wouldn't have anything to do with them, and they weren't having anything to do with us.
    Our kit went over first. It took a long time to get everything together. We had Norwegian arctic warfare clothing, Goretex bivvy bags, night-vision scopes, weapons, satellite communications equipment, food, ammunition and surveillance gear -enough to enable us to carry out our mission and survive for two weeks in the tundra if need be. Each man would be carrying his bergen, plus weapons and his share of kit, a load of 1201bs in most cases.
    It was late afternoon by the time we were ready. The carrier with its escorting frigate was already out of sight to the southwest, proceeding towards the Argentine coast.
    As well as the six of us there were eight other guys making the crossing, six of them SAS from another troop who were being positioned for another mission against East Falkland in two days' time. One of them, Nick Brown, was a mate of mine, a fellow Scot from life with white Celtic colouring and blue-black hair. We'd completed the induction course together and been friends ever since. Nick was a family guy. He was looking forward to going into action, but worried for his wife and kids in case anything happened to him.
    The helicopter reappeared and touched down on the heaving deck. It had refuelled on the carrier. We piled in and it lifted off directly. We sat on narrow seats along the side of the cabin, facing into the cent reline I was sitting next to Nick with Tom on the other side, and Andy sat opposite with Taff, Doug and Guy. The rest of the guys were back in the tail. Our huge berg ens were stacked down the middle between the two rows of seats. The pilots and navigator were on the flight deck, which was accessed through a hatch forward and up a few steps. Even with the side door shut the noise in the confined space was deafening.
    We had barely cleared the deck and were coming out of the hover, moving over open water, when there was a loud bang overhead. A terrific concussion shook the helicopter and a shower of heavy impacts hammered the fuselage. In the same instant the aircraft lost forward speed and lurched towards the sea.
    As the cabin tilted, I grabbed the straps holding me into my seat and braced my feet for a possible crash. The helicopter wallowed for a second or two, and for a moment I thought it was recovering and would put back to the ship. I guessed there had been an engine failure. But the next instant the fuselage dropped like a stone, so fast I felt myself lifting out of my seat. We hit the surface with a bone-jarring smash and rolled straight on to the starboard side, so that I was hanging up in the air from my seat belt straps. Water surged violently into the cabin and in no time at all it was over our heads.
    We had all trained for this. Many of our exercises had been helicopter-borne, and we had all spent time on the simulators -they strap you in a large box, turn it upside down and dunk you in the drink. It had been drilled into us that speed is vital in this situation. Helicopters all behave the same way on a ditching: their engines are on top, so they turn over and sink like bricks. The only chance is to get out fast.
    The water was shockingly cold. It seemed to strike straight through to my