Sam Neill's James Bond in Shatterhand

For reasons not even known to myself, I decided to redraft my 'Sam Neill debut' "Shatterhand". Probably spurred along by reading books on the Falklands but also the fact a few years have passed.

My memory of the original is that I flung it upon the old forum (and thence 'Neill' adventures VTAK, Death if So Permanent and DAD) and compared to my previous outings (all 'Lazenby'), it was long. Usually I wrapped it up in 20 chapters but Shatterhand reached 30-odd-. Largely I suspect as I got wrapped up in the detail of the war but it felt that though a Bond story, it was necessary to detail the war. An alternate Falklands War at that.

So what you might read is set in an alternate 1984 (Lazenby's 'last' adventure, Octopussy, being about 1981).

With the original story, I was intrigued with Bond being caught up in something 'real'. DAD after all thrust Bond into a realistic scenario (the two Koreas etc) and the rest of the films prior sometimes hinted at it be it the Cold War or the growing threat of China.

This redraft will likely die a quick death as my course advances but I have a few chapters done. Whatever we might think of Sam Neill as Bond (and certainly he seems grateful to dodge this bullet), I hope it's vaguely entertaining for good or for ill.

PREAMBLE

“This is the BBC World Service broadcasting from Bush House in London to hundreds of countries overseas. Today is March 31, 1984, just after 7am and I am Adam Fennell presenting…
…the time is now seven twenty-three and so our last story just before we deal with the weather forecast and after that, Patrick O’Hallan will be here for his daily show looking at current affairs where you are.
The Ministry of Defence this morning reiterated its statement issued yesterday that the United Kingdom remains firmly committed to the safeguarding of the Falkland Islands. They also said that the coming retirement of the ice patrol ship HMS Discovery has no bearing on governmental attitude to the islands. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office made an additional statement in which they said and I quote: ‘Her Majesty’s Government continue to dismiss the supposed claims of the Argentine government over the islands’ sovereignty. We are fully prepared, should the unlikely need arise, to defend the interests of those who live in the islands’. End quote.
And now, for the weather.”

[BRITISH ANTARCTIC SURVEY TELEX, March 31/84]

FROM: BAS STANLEY, FI
TO: BAS HQ, CAMBRIDGE, UK

BAS South Georgia has not communicated in several hours. Have been awaiting communication at 9am (South Atlantic time). Attempts to raise the military detachment at Grytviken have also proved fruitless. Simply dead air. Possible atmospheric problems. No planes available to investigate.

Falklands Weather Bulletin via Falklands Radio

31/3/84. Mt Pleasant.
Temperatures will peak at 8C today with a possible low of -2C tonight. Sea state calm with visibility maximum.
Perfect weather for fishing or sailing.

PREAMBLE

“This is the BBC World Service broadcasting from Bush House in London to hundreds of countries overseas. Today is March 31, 1984, just after 7am and I am Adam Fennell presenting…
…the time is now seven twenty-three and so our last story just before we deal with the weather forecast and after that, Patrick O’Hallan will be here for his daily show looking at current affairs where you are.
The Ministry of Defence this morning reiterated its statement issued yesterday that the United Kingdom remains firmly committed to the safeguarding of the Falkland Islands. They also said that the coming retirement of the ice patrol ship HMS Discovery has no bearing on governmental attitude to the islands. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office made an additional statement in which they said and I quote: ‘Her Majesty’s Government continue to dismiss the supposed claims of the Argentine government over the islands’ sovereignty. We are fully prepared, should the unlikely need arise, to defend the interests of those who live in the islands’. End quote.
And now, for the weather.”

[BRITISH ANTARCTIC SURVEY TELEX, March 31/84]

FROM: BAS STANLEY, FI
TO: BAS HQ, CAMBRIDGE, UK

BAS South Georgia has not communicated in several hours. Have been awaiting communication at 9am (South Atlantic time). Attempts to raise the military detachment at Grytviken have also proved fruitless. Simply dead air. Possible atmospheric problems. No planes available to investigate.

Falklands Weather Bulletin via Falklands Radio

31/3/84. Mt Pleasant.
Temperatures will peak at 8C today with a possible low of -2C tonight. Sea state calm with visibility maximum.
Perfect weather for fishing or sailing.

PRE-TITLES

HMS Determined, Royal Navy Recreation and Recuperation Centre, Port Stanley
East Falkland, 31 March 1984

Just to the west of Government House close to the shore of Stanley Harbour lay the newest building on the Falklands. It was a local bone of contention but mostly humour, that when the British government –just over 8000 miles away- stumped up military cash on the islands, it was to build a place like the Royal Navy’s R&R Centre.
The former Royal Marine who had retired to the islands last year after twenty-five years honourable service, idly wiped mugs as he watched the men in the NAAFI. Closest to him at a table was a commander (a three-ringer) and his sub-lieutenant, away from them at tables or at the various games tables, were a mixture of ratings and others. Next door was a squash court –the sound of squeaky shoes and thudding of a ball could be heard. There were various other smaller rooms tasked with improving the wellbeing of those who came here.
“Another white coffee, please,” the commander said suddenly at the bar.
The ex-Marine smiled. “Sorry sir, I didn’t see you. One coffee coming up.”
A few moments later he put a fresh drink down. “Twenty-five pence sir.”
As the three-ringer handed over his coins, there was a distant thudding sound. To anyone else it might seem just a random sound, maybe even the surf. However, these men knew different.
“That was gunfire,” the commander said.
“Reckon you’re right, sir.”
As if to underline this, there came now the distinct chatter of machine gun fire which managed to stop activity in the room dead. The commander dropped his coffee, the mug shattering mutely, training overrode his initial reaction.
“All of you get to your arms now!”
As one the twenty or so men rushed to the far side of the cafeteria and into a corridor where two men opened concealed doors and started passing out weapons. In the meantime, the ex-Marine reached under the countertop and produced a shotgun. There was no harm in being prepared. With one hand he took off his apron and then leapt over the counter wincing as he got to the other side. He used to be younger. He got to the corridor just as the others passed through the end door into the open.
Reaching the outside he fell flat upon muddy grass near the stone path leading down to the harbourside. A hail of bullets passed over his head. Lifting his gaze he could see the Royal Navy men that had left before him either pressed against the R&R’s brick wall. Then he saw that the shots had come from the harbour. Getting up he ran forward ignoring the shouts to stay down. He tucked in behind a stone boulder on which ‘HMS DETERMINED’ was stitched. The name of what the navy called a Stone Frigate, seemed to match his mood right now.
Away from him, the Navy men who had been in the caf’ now scattered across the grass taking cover where they could. The ex-Marine peered round the edge of the boulder and frowned. On the water of the harbour he saw a pale-grey small naval vessel move along. A patrol boat. Too small for long oceanic journeys which meant it had either come from a larger ship or somewhere else. Then he realised what the flag fluttering at the stern was.
“Argies!” he whispered.
A man on the boats stern fired, bullets tore strips of stone out of the boulder. The ‘D’ of the name pinged off the path nearby. Sighting the Navy commander nearby sheltering behind a small statue of Nelson he called out:
“What do we do?”
The commander seemed at a loss for a moment then pulled up his Browning handgun. “We’re going to defend as long as we can. Men! Start fanning out to cover the approach to Government House.”
As the R&R personnel started to move to defend Government House, things had already moved swiftly. At Government House, the Governor of the Falkland Islands had at the time been talking with the military commander on daily matters when they had heard the chatter of gunfire. Going to the dining room window they saw an Argentine boat sail into the harbour past the navy’s own patrol boat based here whilst two more Argentine patrol boats offloaded dozens of men onto the quayside. The military commander instructed the governor to prepare to leave the islands for Ascension Island and thence London.
“I won’t leave my people.”
“Now’s not the time for that nonsense. Get going man!”
The military commander went to a telephone and began issuing instructions.
However, the situation had already tipped against the defenders. Aside from the two dozen Royal Navy personnel centred on the R&R centre and patrol boat, there were only twenty Royal Marines stationed in Stanley and then the same amount that technically made up the Falkland Islands Defence Force. The Marines reacted the quickest organising the defence of Government House from the Argentines landing at the harbour.
Yet, the enemy –for enemy they were- were not without surprises beyond their initial one. The Argentines were landing elsewhere around Stanley.
Within half an hour of the landings, the entire British military presence was engaged in fighting the enemy in pitched battle.
Well, except one man.

BBC Bush House, London

The young apprentice journalist was half listening to the voice from 8000 miles away. The recording booth in the 1920s cellar of the building was cool with a fan whirring away. Even so sweat dribbled down his back and he wiped at his brow.
“…so, the plan is that we will have some football to report on when the Americans come next month.”
The journo dropped his pen nodding, stifling a yawn he tapped a button. “Guess that’d give you guys something to do out there.”
“We find our ways…,” the voice of Radio Falkland abruptly stopped. A sound like muted thudding rasped in the journo’s headphones. “What the Hell was that?”
The Londoner sat up detecting the change in tone of the voice all the way in the South Atlantic. “What is it?”
A routine weekly task, of preparing a weekly programme about life in the Overseas Territory, seemed to be changing into something else.
“There’s something going on outside, if I didn’t know better I’d say it was gunfire…Shit! Get out you mad bastard!”
There was the sound of a scuffle, glass breaking, grunts and punches. The journalist found himself standing. “Hello? Hello!”
Silence fell for a moment or two.
“The Isla Malvinas are now in new owner hands,” a Spanish accented voice said brokenly before the line dead.
“Bloody hell,” the journalist said taking his headphones off. He then picked up a telephone to dial his boss.

HMS Determined, Stanley

The R&R centre only had a small basement level that was about big enough for a swimming pool. In it a dark haired man in black trunks was determinedly going up and down. Each push off the end of the pool seemed to send him faster. The water churning furiously around him. Reaching the end once again, he stopped and hauled himself out. Leaning to reach for a towel he sat on the edge of the pool.
James Bond’s face was set wearily as he towelled his face. Just as he was about to curse M again he heard the trouble upstairs. Bond went into the cramped locker room and changed into his clothes ignoring the fact he was still wet. Some things were not done but sometimes, you had to get on.
Heading upstairs the sound of gunfire was distinct and he swiftly reasoned that either someone had gone mad with a gun or that the Argentines had finally lived up to their threats.
Moving swiftly to the open weapons cabinet he found only a Browning left. Grabbing it he quietly padded to the door and saw the chaos unfolding. The grey cloaked Argentines running across from the harbour. Bond slammed the door shut and bolted it before heading down the corridor and through the café. Out the other side Bond threaded his way to the offices of the centre. The military on the island were controlled from elsewhere but the offices here still had good communications systems. Bond though soon found out that the system was ruined. The radios were dead, the telephones were dead and thus Bond concluded the Argentines had jammed them or cut lines. Scowling at a map of the islands on the wall, Bond was startled by smashing glass down the corridor.
“Time to move out,” he muttered and went to a window. In seconds Bond had climbed out and started to trot towards Government House separated from the R&R centre by two 5-aside football pitches. Vaulting the small fencing Bond lay flat. Looking up through a thinned out hedgerow he could make out two Royal Marines on one knee each firing. Their weapons ran empty and they fell back towards the front of the building. Bond headed to the south side. A Rolls Royce with the number plate FKL 1 was heading at speed out of the driveway east for, Bond assumed, Stanley Airport. Sighting a Marine jeep, Bond climbed into and glanced about. Then his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. It was not his fight really, he was only here because of M.
Yet he was also in the Navy, or one of the Navy. He was also for all his mutterings at SIS HQ, loyal to crown and country. The idea of being forced to surrender did not appeal to him. So Bond clambered out and started his way into the back streets of Stanley. His mind working out a plan, James Bond made good his escape.
An hour later, with dead on both sides, the Royal Marine and Royal Navy defenders at Government House reluctantly surrendered. Outnumbered, outgunned, they had fought bravely.
However, it was the Argentine flag that was raised over Stanley that afternoon.

SAM NEILL as Ian Fleming’s JAMES BOND 007 in

“SHATTERHAND”

STARRING Rutger Hauer as JAN SHATTERHAND
Maggie Smith as M
Michael Palin as Q
Caroline Bliss as Moneypenny
Tanya Roberts as Miranda Truelove
Geoffrey Palmer as Admiral Roebuck
Barbara Murray as the Prime Minister

With RICARDO MONTALBAN as Admiral Sandos AND
CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER as Admiral BEECHAM

CHAPTER ONE

COBRA room, beneath the Cabinet Office, Whitehall London
April 1, 1984

“As April Fool’s jokes go, this one isn’t funny!” growled the Commander of the Defence Staff (CDS) slamming a copy of a broadsheet down on the table before him. “A British territory taken inside of an hour.”
“Bravely defended,” the stony faced Admiral Roebuck glowered back at CDS. The First Sea Lord had slept little since being informed at the Admiralty in Northwood about the invasion.
“Having to hear about this from the bloody BBC too!” added the RAF’s representative, a balding stocky Welshman with the braids of an Air Vice Marshal.
There were grumbling agreements stated as the military men sat. The only other two present was a secretary with blonde hair and black framed spectacles and a young man from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Everyone stood as the doors to the COBRA room opened and in swept two middle-aged women. The first had brown, going to grey, finely tended to hair that resembled to Roebuck a peacocks fan and wore a blue jacket and skirt. The other women had black hair similarly styled.
The first was the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and the second was a woman Roebuck had had dealings with before. The first female head of SIS or MI6.
“Gentlemen,” was all the PM said gesturing for them to sit. M sat at the PM’s right hand. “Well, the press is crowing for blood and I can’t say I blame them. Though no one in this country had even heard of the islands until today. Where do we stand?”
CDS reached for a sheet of paper before him and grabbed it at the top. He narrowed his eyes. “Looks like the Argentines have a sizable force on and around East Falkland with a scattered presence on the West Falkland Island…”
“Where does this come from?” asked the PM curtly. Tiredness underlined her eyes.
“Would be a mixture of Electronic Intelligence –ELINT- and Human Intelligence –HUMINT, Madam Prime Minister,” CDS replied. “The HUMINT is partly the Americans as well as our own prior to the surrender.”
“Surrender,” she said the word as if it were poison.
Roebuck decided to butt in now. He was never one to mince words or wait for others to finish. “Much of their navy put to sea for this engagement. Their aircraft carrier, destroyers, frigates and so forth. Yet, of course, some has remained behind owing to maintenance issues. Even what they have at the islands is partly antiquated such as the carrier. On paper we have a superior force.”
“Indeed,” the PM said. “And there’s something else, I hear from my intelligence people that South Georgia fell before the Falklands?”
CDS looked across the table at M then at the PM. “We believe so, Madam Prime Minister though we had no idea until after the Argentines made a statement about the Falklands.”
“Is South Georgia at all important?”
“Not now,” Roebuck dryly answered. “Until a few years ago it was a whaling station. No, it’s just the bastards flagwaving. If they could, I’m sure they’d do the same to our Antarctic possessions.”
“M,” was all the PM said. All eyes swept to the female intelligence chief but she was used to such scrutiny ever since she was a field agent some time ago.
“Gentlemen, this has been in the news, so to speak, for some weeks. My agents in Argentina and South America have been aware of Argentine plans…”
“Then why the Hell is this such a bloody shock?” roared Roebuck rising, he planted his hands on the table and glared down towards M. “A nation like ours caught with my pants down.”
“Sit down please, admiral,” the Prime Minister said quietly. As he did, she sighed. “The failing is ours. The Foreign Secretary did not believe these to be credible threats and partly did not issue these to me. The fault is thereby in government. We should have taken it seriously but then the Argentines have been making noises like this for years. However, M has raised something else to me. M.”
“My man in Buenos Aires came across an apparently disused port a few miles along the coast from the main navy base. Heavily guarded though with signs of activity. Two nights before the fleet sailed, he photographed a submarine departing the port before submerging.”
Now the eyes went to behind the PM to where a monitor flickered into life and a picture appeared. It was slightly out of focus and using an infrared lens but it was unmistakably the profile of a submarine.
Roebuck’s face was dumbstruck. “My God, that’s a Russian Alfa!”
“It would appear so,” M said her voice cold. “Somehow in Argentine hands.”
“The Soviets wouldn’t sell them one of them even if they did need the money badly,” CDS said face ashen. Army man or not he was the CDS after all and knew his stuff. “How did this slip us by?”
“Even we can’t say,” M replied. “However, they have it.”
“And it could, if used well, do damage to us,” Roebuck said casting his eyes at the desk as if seeking answers. The PM’s next question made him sit up.
“Admiral, how soon can a task force be put together and set sail for the islands?”
Roebuck did not hesitate. “A task force can be put together in the next forty-eight hours. I can assemble from Portsmouth, Portland and Plymouth with ships joining from Gibraltar. The sooner the better, ma’am, it will take three weeks to get there and the South Atlantic weather changes in July.”
The PM stood. “Gentlemen, I firmly intend to take back those islands. Admiral, send your ships as soon as possible and use whatever authority to muster that force. CDS, do the necessary work elsewhere. I imagine we’ll need the RAF and Army involved.”
The other men nodded. They were soon dismissed. This left M and the blonde secretary. The PM did not look at M as she studied the sub picture then folded her arms. “You say you have a man on the islands?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s there for R&R?”
“He was.”
“Then I hope he can do the job you say he can.”
The PM walked out. M glanced at the blonde and then took her by the arm. “Let’s go Ms Moneypenny, we have some work of our own to do.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Sitrep: Operation REPAY”

In 1984 the machinations of war was somewhat different. History records that in 1939 Britain was ‘sort of’ ready for the world conflict, it all the same mobilised for war and did, shall we say, reasonably well.
The world of 1984 was somewhat different. Politics played a greater part (do we sink every Argie ship sighted? For example) and there was the matter of the Cold War. Plus what was the point of spending money or blood on windswept islands eight thousand miles away from London? Indeed, islands that had a convoluted history?
The Britain of 1984 was a marked contrast to 1939 or even 1945 or 1956. Militarily Britain was ill-prepared for anything via budget cuts and the times they lived in. Britain was no more ready to liberate the Falklands than they would be the Isle of Wight if the French landed on it (and the island was not even a mile from the mainland).
In short, it was embarrassing.
And yet, the PM decided that these people 8000 miles away were to be liberated. In some respects they were more British than the motherland.
The first response was to be from the RAF, the saviours of the nation. The force that first stood up to Hitler in the summer of 1940 and then, in the shape of Bomber Command, took the fight to the Hun.
Britain had to demonstrate, to the Argentines, if not the world, that she was solidly prepared to liberate the islands. The only way presently was her V-force. The Vulcan bomber was almost done service-wise. She had been introduced in the 50s with the view of delivering Britain’s response in the event of atomic war. Now, she was to go through several hurdles just to bomb Stanley airfield.
Stanley airfield needed to be disabled. To do so would involve every single Vulcan the RAF had plus every single Victor –to act as refuelling aircraft- from Ascension to the Falklands. One by one the Vulcans would diminish until one was left to strike. Were it not for the titanic efforts of engineers the V-force would not have been able to do its even greater mission.
Vulcan V1309 dropped a stick of bombs over Stanley airfield and got the Hell out of there promptly with very little fuel. She would be refuelled by a Chilean tanker east of Rio which would enable her to reach Ascension.
The airfield was disabled thus denting the enemy’s efforts to bring in supplies and reinforcements to the so-called Malvinas.

**

“I think some Members of this House fail to grasp the seriousness of the situation! These islands might lie eight thousand miles away but they are British! The people identify as British and we should not abandon them to the instruments of a tyrannical bunch of despots!”
The PM paused as the government benches began stomping feet, cheering and jeering, the lattermost action aimed across the floor at the Opposition benches. Even some of the Opposition was showing support for the PM –something the Opposition’s Chief Whip was no doubt making notes on. As the noise subsided, driven by the Speaker of the House’s shouts and stern glares, she continued.
“As I speak, we have already struck the first blow. A reminder to the Argentines that we mean business, that if we have to, we will fight for these islands, for these people!”
The House erupted anew in scenes unparalleled since the so-called Norway Debate in May 1940 when Chamberlain faced his political fate. TV cameras picked out the Leader of the Opposition who seemed to be shrinking under the noise.
It was the PM this time who commanded a relative silence by glancing about her. She spoke a little more quietly. “Yes, I have authorised the dispatch of a task force to the South Atlantic. At present, they have orders to continue onto the islands unless they hear otherwise and if to take any action they see fit if threatened or attacked,” her words now fell into a deathly silent House of Commons. “In the interim, this government is reaching across the Atlantic to Argentina and will continue to seek a peaceful outcome, a just outcome, over these islands.”
She looked to the Leader of the Opposition. “I ask my honourable friend to join me in wishing the task force Godspeed and good luck, as well as there being a diplomatic outcome.”
As she sat down there were cheers, jeers as the Opposition leader stood and some noise when he did support the PM’s sentiments. Other MP’s would go onto speak in a similar vein with one or two castigating the government for being ‘jingoistic’ and ‘blood thirsty’.
When she left the House in her official Jaguar, the PM was lost to her thoughts. Though she was looking in the direction of the statues in Parliament Square, she did not see them but wind swept islands many, many miles away. She re-focused as the Jaguar soon approached Buckingham Palace.
The PM stepped out of the car ignoring the two press photographers allowed in by the Palace.
“Good luck, Madam Prime Minister,” her driver said as she passed his window.
“Thank you, but I don’t need luck,” she said and with her head high walked into the Palace.

**

Korean War notwithstanding this was the first time in nearly forty years that the British had dispatched a sizeable naval force. Crowds did what crowds had done for a while in Portsmouth and crammed the battlements of the Tudor defences of the Round Fort and Square Fort, as well as the pebbled beach nicknamed Hot Walls (on account of where water from the nearby power station emerged into the sea) and anywhere else they could. Many carried banners, many had relatives in the fleet. Many of course shed tears. No one watching the opening to Portsmouth Harbour knew if they would see their loved ones again. Even the government was unsure if the fleet would be engaging in warfare. There was faint hope that a diplomatic solution would be found with Buenos Aires before the fleet even reached Ascension never mind the South Atlantic.
From Portsmouth the brand new Invincible-class carrier Indefatigable gamely made her way out on the heels of two of her frigate escorts. The ‘Indy’ was so new that fresh paint stung the nostrils of many of the crew and only one propeller was so far working. The FRS31 Harrier VTOL (Vertical Take Off and Landing) jets embarked were so new that only one aboard had even been flown never mind for a while. The pilots of the Fleet Air Arm squadron embarked would be testing their aircraft in a potential battlefield engagement.
Around ten ships left Portsmouth, home of the Navy since 1485. They would join more ships from the Portland naval base. In turn these ships would meet with others –including the 1945-built carrier HMS Arrogant- who were sailing from Gibraltar and carried the flag officer commanding the task force, Admiral Beecham.
The British response, OPERATION REPAY, was on.

CHAPTER TWO

“Sitrep: Operation REPAY”

In 1984 the machinations of war was somewhat different. History records that in 1939 Britain was ‘sort of’ ready for the world conflict, it all the same mobilised for war and did, shall we say, reasonably well.
The world of 1984 was somewhat different. Politics played a greater part (do we sink every Argie ship sighted? For example) and there was the matter of the Cold War. Plus what was the point of spending money or blood on windswept islands eight thousand miles away from London? Indeed, islands that had a convoluted history?
The Britain of 1984 was a marked contrast to 1939 or even 1945 or 1956. Militarily Britain was ill-prepared for anything via budget cuts and the times they lived in. Britain was no more ready to liberate the Falklands than they would be the Isle of Wight if the French landed on it (and the island was not even a mile from the mainland).
In short, it was embarrassing.
And yet, the PM decided that these people 8000 miles away were to be liberated. In some respects they were more British than the motherland.
The first response was to be from the RAF, the saviours of the nation. The force that first stood up to Hitler in the summer of 1940 and then, in the shape of Bomber Command, took the fight to the Hun.
Britain had to demonstrate, to the Argentines, if not the world, that she was solidly prepared to liberate the islands. The only way presently was her V-force. The Vulcan bomber was almost done service-wise. She had been introduced in the 50s with the view of delivering Britain’s response in the event of atomic war. Now, she was to go through several hurdles just to bomb Stanley airfield.
Stanley airfield needed to be disabled. To do so would involve every single Vulcan the RAF had plus every single Victor –to act as refuelling aircraft- from Ascension to the Falklands. One by one the Vulcans would diminish until one was left to strike. Were it not for the titanic efforts of engineers the V-force would not have been able to do its even greater mission.
Vulcan V1309 dropped a stick of bombs over Stanley airfield and got the Hell out of there promptly with very little fuel. She would be refuelled by a Chilean tanker east of Rio which would enable her to reach Ascension.
The airfield was disabled thus denting the enemy’s efforts to bring in supplies and reinforcements to the so-called Malvinas.

**

“I think some Members of this House fail to grasp the seriousness of the situation! These islands might lie eight thousand miles away but they are British! The people identify as British and we should not abandon them to the instruments of a tyrannical bunch of despots!”
The PM paused as the government benches began stomping feet, cheering and jeering, the lattermost action aimed across the floor at the Opposition benches. Even some of the Opposition was showing support for the PM –something the Opposition’s Chief Whip was no doubt making notes on. As the noise subsided, driven by the Speaker of the House’s shouts and stern glares, she continued.
“As I speak, we have already struck the first blow. A reminder to the Argentines that we mean business, that if we have to, we will fight for these islands, for these people!”
The House erupted anew in scenes unparalleled since the so-called Norway Debate in May 1940 when Chamberlain faced his political fate. TV cameras picked out the Leader of the Opposition who seemed to be shrinking under the noise.
It was the PM this time who commanded a relative silence by glancing about her. She spoke a little more quietly. “Yes, I have authorised the dispatch of a task force to the South Atlantic. At present, they have orders to continue onto the islands unless they hear otherwise and if to take any action they see fit if threatened or attacked,” her words now fell into a deathly silent House of Commons. “In the interim, this government is reaching across the Atlantic to Argentina and will continue to seek a peaceful outcome, a just outcome, over these islands.”
She looked to the Leader of the Opposition. “I ask my honourable friend to join me in wishing the task force Godspeed and good luck, as well as there being a diplomatic outcome.”
As she sat down there were cheers, jeers as the Opposition leader stood and some noise when he did support the PM’s sentiments. Other MP’s would go onto speak in a similar vein with one or two castigating the government for being ‘jingoistic’ and ‘blood thirsty’.
When she left the House in her official Jaguar, the PM was lost to her thoughts. Though she was looking in the direction of the statues in Parliament Square, she did not see them but wind swept islands many, many miles away. She re-focused as the Jaguar soon approached Buckingham Palace.
The PM stepped out of the car ignoring the two press photographers allowed in by the Palace.
“Good luck, Madam Prime Minister,” her driver said as she passed his window.
“Thank you, but I don’t need luck,” she said and with her head high walked into the Palace.

**

Korean War notwithstanding this was the first time in nearly forty years that the British had dispatched a sizeable naval force. Crowds did what crowds had done for a while in Portsmouth and crammed the battlements of the Tudor defences of the Round Fort and Square Fort, as well as the pebbled beach nicknamed Hot Walls (on account of where water from the nearby power station emerged into the sea) and anywhere else they could. Many carried banners, many had relatives in the fleet. Many of course shed tears. No one watching the opening to Portsmouth Harbour knew if they would see their loved ones again. Even the government was unsure if the fleet would be engaging in warfare. There was faint hope that a diplomatic solution would be found with Buenos Aires before the fleet even reached Ascension never mind the South Atlantic.
From Portsmouth the brand new Invincible-class carrier Indefatigable gamely made her way out on the heels of two of her frigate escorts. The ‘Indy’ was so new that fresh paint stung the nostrils of many of the crew and only one propeller was so far working. The FRS31 Harrier VTOL (Vertical Take Off and Landing) jets embarked were so new that only one aboard had even been flown never mind for a while. The pilots of the Fleet Air Arm squadron embarked would be testing their aircraft in a potential battlefield engagement.
Around ten ships left Portsmouth, home of the Navy since 1485. They would join more ships from the Portland naval base. In turn these ships would meet with others –including the 1945-built carrier HMS Arrogant- who were sailing from Gibraltar and carried the flag officer commanding the task force, Admiral Beecham.
The British response, OPERATION REPAY, was on.