l of fire

CHAPTER ONE 'Air raid warning red!'

Autumn in the South Atlantic. 3.32pm on 25 May, a bright, cold afternoon in the narrow inlet of San Carlos Water, East Falkland. The alarm call sent a shiver through the British fleet - and my war turned bloody.

This was Argentina's national day. In enemy sorties before lunch, missiles from HMS Coventry had shot down two A4 Skyhawk bombers over the sound, with a third destroyed by small-arms fire. But an hour later the bombers had returned to exact revenge, damaging Broadsword and hitting Coventry with three bombs, capsizing her and killing nineteen men.

Now the bombers were back again.

This new message meant that the long-range radar of a ship on the forward picket line had detected hostile aircraft in descent towards the island on a strike mission profile.

Minutes earlier a Sea King helicopter from HMS Invincible had set me down on the main deck of the SS Northland, a 15,000- ton roll-on roll-off container ship. There were four of us there from D Squadron SAS, under the orders of my brother, Troop Sergeant Andy Black. The other two were Tom - one of my great mates, a huge and unflappable Fijian corporal - and Doug Easton, the troop troublemaker, who had just made selection. Doug was a bullet-headed tearaway from east London, violently aggressive and forever forcing his opinions on people. He and I had never hit it off.