Whisper Who Dares

There was a church service on this morning, in the cathedral, in Stanley. We had 3 Para, who had finally joined us, and were living in what empty houses, and various places of shelter, they could find. Some, still living in improvised sangers, made from sods of peat turf. Built up into quite jazzy little block house affairs.

We were passing the bottles around, that had been liberated from the Argy ration packs. We had found them in a rather large, blue, ship's container, which we had broken the seals on. It was smack in front of the governor's house. They hadn't contained the LVPT 7 's, and such, like which we had expected. Better an empty Johnny Walker's  (Black Label no less), miniature, hitting you in the back of the head, as opposed, to a 50. cal. No contest, to which one  gives you the biggest headache, though.

We did the rounds, and went to see, that all the other OP Partys were okay, and that everyone was still intact. John Patrick, Dinger, and company, were doing rather nicely, in a Swiss style chalet, that had once been the property of the  Argentinean Commander, of the Malvina's Airforce. Here, they had full sized, bottles of whiskey, and, a joint of roast beef in the oven. We were all given a large shot of whiskey, and a slice of beef, then politely sent on our way, as we had all become a bit pissed, and were getting rather loud, now.

Everybody had decided to go back to where we were temporarily living, and wait for the parade, that was being held in the afternoon. As happens some times, when you get the taste, you don't want to stop. I had the taste. I spied a couple of dodgy characters, and drifted away from the others, and headed hopefully, towards another drink.

I was invited into their humble abode. They told me, they had been just talking to the owner of the house. Whom, they reliably informed me, had told them to help themselves, to the contents of his cocktail cabinet. He was that grateful of our efforts, he felt, that it was the only way, that he could repay us. As to this end, my nefarious drinking companions, shall remain nameless, (that, and my total inability, to remember names).

Once inside, it was apparent, why my two associates were pissed . They had obviously already found the drinks cabinet, and there wasn't a great deal left. There was, however, a ship's decanter, with what can be best described as, diesel, in it, ( there were, what appeared to be, chilli peppers, floating around in it, but it may have been dead things, for all we knew, the state we were in, at the time).

They passed the decanter to me, "Cheers", they said in unison. That was enough for me to halt the progress of the bottle, as it headed towards my lips. "You've had a taste of this already, then ". I enquired. "Yes, course we have", they replied, once again in unison, but their heads were shaking, from side to side . A definite no - no.

That was it. We sat on the floor, and had a debate, about the contents of the decanter. We held it up to the light, we tried to set fire to it. We dipped our fingers in it. In the end, I caved in, and took a small swig, from the bottle. It nearly blew my frigging head off. I don't know what it was, but I was nearly dying.

It put my two companions off the idea. About ten minutes later, when I had stopped choking, and was managing to breathe almost normally again, we left the little yellow house, with the green corrugated roof. The decanter being the lone contents, of a very sorry looking drinks cabinet. On the road, forming up, were A Coy, and the lads. We drifted off, down to join them. I always maintain, it was a result of the decanter, that caused me to put my hand up. We fell in, and the Sergeant Major, was sorting out, he sizing off, and all the other necessities, for our little final march, into Stanley. He asked for the gunners to put their hands up. If I had been just a bit more sober than I was, my hand would have been in my pocket.

He wanted the machine gunners, not the gunners, from the Royal Regiment of Artillery. Too late, the next thing I knew, was that I was the left hand marker, and I now had a General Purpose Machine Gun, instead of my sterling submachine gun.

"Parade,,,, Parade,,, shun!!. Will move to the right, in columns, R I G H T turn!!. Dressing,,, by the left,,,,, Quick March!!". And off down the road, we jolly well went.

There was a bit of noticeable shuffling behind me, but it soon spread. I thought shades of France. But no. Because we all began to shuffle, just a little bit. It was a slight, down hill slope, to the cathedral, no big deal, under normal circumstances. Today ,we were half pissed, the road was covered with chunks of ice and slippy as hell. Oh. Did I mention the world's media? There were all these camera men, just outside the entrance to the cathedral. I was beginning to feel bad. I knew I was going to end up on my arse, in front of the world. Luck, smiled down on us. We all stayed upright. Fortunately, they showed us from the waist up. Missing out the little, Eskimo Nell, shuffle to a halt. The church service was a bit of a blur. 2 Para's padre took it, I believe, the Rev. David Cooper. A thoroughly nice man ,and I should know. He performed my wedding ceremony, prior to sailing South. I was given 4 hours off, to  get married. Then waited, ten more days, before we actually sailed. He made us all laugh, during the service, and it  was captured on the world news. It was where he was asking us all to think of our loved ones, back home. Our  wives, girl friends, dogs. I suppose you had to be there.

I don't remember too much after that. I may even have muddled the sequence of events. But who's telling it anyway? We marched back, I suppose, and must have carried on drinking. Later, a group of us decided to go down town. We were supposed to go no further, than the war memorial, or the race course. This of course, meant that all the shops, and pubs, were in, an out of bounds area.

Perhaps I'll re-phrase that. The two shops, one pub, and the hotel. Were now in, the out of bounds area. We were also, getting kicked out of the house we were in, sometime in the next couple of days. An alternative location, was to be found, but only short term, as we were expecting to be sent back to the UK, quite soon.

Using the excuse, we were looking for new accommodation, we went off on a few recce's, of our own. We looked around the jetty areas, down by the Falklands Island store, in main downtown Stanley, itself. One of the lads from B Coy, was calling to me. He wanted a light, for his cigarette. I duly obliged, and asked what he was doing down here, tucked out of the way .

He told me, he was guarding the weapons, in an effort to stop them being looted, but officers kept appearing, and taking bits, and pieces. It was getting to be a right pain in the arse. The sooner they all disappeared, the better. I casually asked him, what kind of weapons he was guarding. "Oh you know", he said. "Pistols. 45's, 9 mills. All sorts of shit".

I looked around in the gloom, it was getting dark. We were still working on Zulu timings. So, although we all knew that it was ten o'clock in the morning. It was really, about four or five o'clock, in the evening. Totally confusing, to say the least . We had local time, ships time, Zulu time, GMT. At one stage, the Navy, Army, and Pilots, were all, on different times, it amazed me, that we actually won.

He obviously saw the look in my eyes. "I'm just going to have a seat, while I finish this smoke. Do us a favor, and keep an eye on this lot for me, while I'm gone". "Not a problem", said I. "Take your time, I'll be fine". He trudged  off, into the darkness, the slight smell of tobacco smoke, lingered fleetingly, and then was lost in the night. I looked  around, for the mates, but couldn't see didley squat.

I bent down on one knee, looking out the corner of my eyes. All I could see, was what appeared to be, three enormous piles of coal, or such like. They were about two meters across, and about one and a half meters high. I looked round again, then stood up. They must have all gone, or maybe they were behind the piles of coal. I went for a closer look.

As I got closer, I managed to kick an empty magazine, which went skidding across the wooden jetty, and flew off, into the sea. I tried to climb the first pile of coal, and a barrel of an FN rifle, poked me in the shin. I dropped to a squat. It  was a pile of weapons, and not coal, as I had previously thought. The next pile, was also rifles, but the last, at the back,  was the mother load.

I started to fill my pockets. That's what I said, fill my pockets, remember, I was pissed. I checked each pistol was unloaded, then, stuffed it in to my pockets. I had about six, or seven, 9 MM. and about four, or five, 45's. I thought I had enough, after all, I didn't want to be too greedy. But there must have been hundreds, if not, many a thousand, at least. They weighted a ton. They also, smacked each other, as I walked. I was clicking away. when matey
boy, called out, from the corner of the boat house.

"Watch out for the monkey's, they'll take 'em off you, and I don't  know you either ".
"Who's there", I replied . To which, a voice from the darkness, told me to
"fuck off jock, you owe me a beer".

I was making more noise, than a bus load of pad's wives, wearing love balls. Click, click , click, clack. I stopped, and started to put the pistols down the front of my smock. I stuck a couple, down my waist band, as well. I walked off the  jetty, and up the hill .To the left was the Globe, the Royal Marines haunt. But it was dark, and uninviting, as opposed to  the bright, front, of the Upland Goose hotel. I Walked towards the lights of the Upland Goose hotel.

I never made the made the Upland Goose, for as I turned, I spied Smithy, looking rather the worse for wear. He'd had a few as well, but his main problem, was that he had the shits. He had pinched a joint of meat from the same cold store, that Dinger and Co., had. Either it was off, or he had pigged it, and his stomach couldn't cope with the rich food. The Globe was closer, I helped him up the street.

There was a row of Panhard armoured cars, parked on the hill. While Smithy popped round the back for a shit, I decided to have a look at the inside of one, to see if there were any further souvenirs, that I could acquire. The side panel was open, and I stuck my head and shoulders through. I got out my torch, before I climbed in any further and a good job I did, too. The torch light, managed to pick up the thin trip wire, than ran across the center of the vehicle . It went behind, and between, a couple of the 90 mm high explosive shells, that at first, looked as if they had been scattered haphazardly, in the crew compartment. I backed out gingerly .

Smithy was back, and feeling much rejuvenated , said he'd spring for a couple of beers. I turned my torch off. And as I went to put it in my pocket, dropped it on the pavement. I bent down to pick it up. While on my hands and knees, found a steel Tommy bar, about 18 inches long. It must have been from the armoured car. Chuffed to bits, I had got another souvenir. I slid the bar up my sleeve, along the length of my fore arm. Then, followed Smithy through the door, and into the bar.

It wasn't too dark in the bar, a bit small, though. It was also full of Marines. We pushed our way to the bar, and Smithy ordered. Then he was off, and out the door, to the shithouse. I paid for the beers. They looked suspiciously like the beer we had on board the ships, on the way down, they were half sized cans of Tenants. I was just raising the can to my mouth, when I received a none too gentle, tap, come punch, on my shoulder. I placed my beer on the bar, and turned round.

I'm not that small myself. I'm about six foot two. Turned, to see the third button, on a windproof jacket. Raising my head, I could see, the epitome, of the Royal Marine. He wasn't big, he was fucking huge, like Alaska. When'd you get here then Para ? I didn't see you, on any of the Heli lifts. That's right mate, you wouldn't, would you? We walked it mate. We've been here, three days now. What kept you then? I started to step backwards, at the same time reaching up my sleeve, to release my new souvenir, the Tommy bar.

The Tommy bar started to slide through my fingers, and I got ready to take a swing if I had to. That's when it went pear shaped, just when you thought a plan was coming together. I dropped the Tommy bar on the floor. It clattered and rolled off, under the foot rail. Just a minute, I said, and bent down to retrieve it. Bad move number two. Pistols and magazines, started to fall out the front of my smock. I hadn't done up the top pockets, after putting away my torch and wallet. The huge Marine just looked on, standing over me.

I managed to put the last of the pistols down the front of my smock, and actually find the Tommy bar. I stood up again. Right mate, I said, what's the problem?, Tommy bar at the ready. Man mountain to my front, and my one and only ally, Smithy, still apparently, in the shit house. I received another slam on the back. I half turned my head, it  was Mad Jack, and a few of the boys. Apparently the hooligans were on the piss, as well. Fancy a beer, you crazy bastard, Jack still had hold of my shoulder, after he'd slapped it, he hadn't let go. It was pretty hard to swing my arm so I relaxed, and he let me go. I stuck the Tommy bar, back up my sleeve.

We had a couple of beers, and by the time we left, everyone was bosom buddies, and Smithy, was out of the shit house. We decided to go to the Upland Goose now, as they had draught beer, apparently, so rumor had let known. It  was fairly crowded in there, as well. There were a few hooligans, trying to get their heads down on the floor, between the tables, and a fair crowd, at the bar. My clicking pistols, brought a fair few comments, and the next thing I knew, I  was doing a fair trade, at the bar.

The guy that owned, and ran, the hotel, was behind the bar, and accepting all forms of cash, for his booze, English, Argentinean, American, you name it. If it was a legal tender, he was accepting it. I wasn't accepting money, however but was accepting booze. Standard deal, was two bottles of wine, got you one pistol and two clips. I wasn't too fussed, as all they had to do, was walk about fifty meters or so, and just bend down and pick one up. I'd get some more tomorrow morning.

While I was in there, my Battery Commander, Tony Rice, and one of his crew, SAS McGoldrick, came in. SAS told me they had been looking all over for me. And the boss had me down, as MPP. I knew KIA, was killed in action. MIA was missing in action, but I had to ask SAS, what MMP was, as I couldn't figure it out. Sas said, the boss knew, that I  would be in one of the two bars in Stanley, and when he heard I was missing, said, that it was more than likely, Missing  Presumed Pissed, hence, the MPP. Now they had found me, they were off, back up to the Swiss Chalet . John Patrick  had organized all the officers, a meal. They'd see me later. I'd probably be in the shit, tomorrow.

Not long after they left, a couple of journalists, arrived in the bar. They were obviously looking for a beer, and nobody was going to stop them having it. It was a bit crowded at the bar, as most of us, had been there some time now. The rest of the spare space, was taken up, by guys sleeping on the floor. We ignored the media men, and turned back to the bar, and our conversation. One of our new guests, a little more frustrated than the other, decided to move one of the bodies on the floor, so he could get to the bar.

He kicked one of the prostrate figures up the arse, shouting at him, to, "Move out the way, you drunken bastard". He was just finishing off the word bastard, when the figure he had been kicking, was up off the floor, had the media man by the throat, whilst poking one of my traded 45's in his face. Media man, meet SAS man.

"I'm trying to sleep", was all the man from Hereford said, releasing the media man. Who slumped to the floor, as a wet patch appeared on the front his trousers. We carried on drinking, and I managed to trade, another two pistols.

The pile of pistols had vanished during the night. When I went back the next day, there was not one left.

GiAjl