Operation Lavivrus. John Wiseman
thrives on its tea, and rarely goes an hour without a brew.
They went next door into the captain’s office, which looked more like a museum than a place of work. It was well lit, with two large windows giving a view over open fields. Each had a pair of cheap printed curtains hanging forlornly from large brass hooks, many of which were missing. The floral design was faded, giving the curtains the look of badly stowed sails on a battered yacht. Above one window was a line of regimental plaques, adding a splash of colour. The other two walls were smothered in photos and maps. In places they overlapped, making it hard to see the lime-green emulsion underneath. The grey filing cabinets were smothered in stickers from all the three services. Different squadrons, ships and regiments were represented. One sticker in particular caught Tony’s eye: ‘Paratroopers never die, they just go to hell and regroup.’ Even the desk was covered in militaria, and a conducted tour was needed to explain the models, badges and assortment of ammunition that lay there. Under a layer of transparent plastic were more photographs, and heaped at the back a pile of bayonets and knives. Not even the telephone or the wastepaper basket had escaped from the stickers, and when the tea was brought in by a middle-aged lady, wearing a brown tweed skirt and blue woollen twinset, the cups bore RAF squadron logos.
‘Thank you, Mary. If you set it down over there.’ Chas dropped a pile of maps on the floor to make room for the laden tray on top of a bookcase crammed untidily with books and magazines.
Pete and Tony were looking around the office, thinking they had seen everything, then something else would catch their eye. Chas removed a climbing rope from one chair and a pile of pamphlets from another. He gave the inquisitive pair a few more minutes, then invited them to sit down.
‘I think we have a mutual friend: Jimmy Thompson,’ suggested Chas.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Jimmy’s running Ops Research. He was going to come with us but got called away last night. I’m Tony Watkins, and this is Peter Grey. We are both in 2 Troop and have just came from the Fort.’
They exchanged pleasantries over the tea, and Chas was only too pleased to explain a lot of the paraphernalia that littered his office.
‘This round here never went into production; it was too expensive. This blunt-nose shell came from Iran and can penetrate . . .’ He went on for a good twenty minutes, holding the pair’s undivided attention. Although they were fascinated, however, they were on a tight schedule, and Tony had to take an exaggerated look at his watch to break the spell and get Chas back to the reason for their visit.
Carefully resheathing a bayonet, he laid it back on his desk. ‘That’s enough of my toys. Let me fill you in on yours. I don’t know how much of the background you are aware of, so stop me if you’ve heard it already.’ He made himself more comfortable before continuing.
‘Your Director was asked by the War Office to come up with a plan to protect the Task Force from air attack. He requested our assistance four weeks ago, regarding the menace posed by Exocets. These have been responsible for sinking three of our ships already. Working closely with RARDE, where you have just come from, we had to come up with a solution for stopping these air attacks on our fleet. If we don’t succeed we won’t have a Task Force left. We cannot afford to lose any more ships; this would seriously endanger our invasion plans. Argentina have some very useful pilots and in the Super Etendards a first-class aircraft.’ He paused while he went to the bookcase and selected a large book before settling back in his seat.
‘It’s not just a matter of you chaps going in and blowing the aircraft up. It’s got to be more subtle than that.’ He looked at the pair intently. ‘Because of the fragile coalition with neighbouring countries any assault on the mainland would be taken as an escalation of the war, and we would lose their support. So we have come up with “Operation Lavivrus”.’
He opened the large book on his lap, entitled Jane’s Aircraft Guide, and selected a double-paged pull-out picture of an aircraft that looked menacing even on paper. ‘This, lads, is the Super Etendard. Are you familiar with this aircraft?’
‘I know it’s French and I’ve seen one at Farnborough,’ replied Tony, ‘but that’s all.’ Peter merely nodded and studied the picture before him.
‘Yes, it’s a French strike fighter made by Dassault-Breguet. It’s an old design, but modified extensively. They have a carrier-borne capability, but so far have all been based ashore. It has a new wing, fitted with double slotted flaps, with a drooping leading edge. This is mounted in the mid-fuselage position and swept back at 45 degrees. The tricycle undercarriage is uprated with long-travel shock absorbers for carrier operations.’ All this was reeled off without a glance at the book or reference to any notes. The captain was full of nervous energy and was in his element. ‘The nose wheel is of special importance to you, and we will look at one in the hangar later. The new Atar 9k50 turbojet gives this aircraft an impressive performance: 733 m.p.h. at sea level, 45,000 feet ceiling and a operational combat radius of 528 miles.’
He propped the book open on the desk and used an old whip antenna as a pointer. He indicated different components as he introduced them, tapping the book for emphasis when required. His enthusiasm was infectious, holding the pair’s attention.
‘The armoured cockpit is pressurised and fitted with a Martin Baker lightweight ejection seat. They are all single-seaters, and this is a weak point. With all the sophistication of electronic counter-measures, inertial navigation and weapon systems, it puts too much strain on one man. A second man is desirable. The fuselage is an all-metal semi-monocoque construction, with integral stiffeners. The wings are attached by a two-bar torsion box covered by machined panels.’ A thin bead of sweat formed on his brow, but nothing slowed him down. ‘Now all aircraft are vulnerable on the ground, and you know more about this than I do, but there are several options that we looked at. Considerable damage can be done with a hammer, but this takes too long and is noisy. Obviously explosive does a complete job; it destroys the aircraft, and a timed delay allows the intruders to escape. But what we are trying to achieve has never been done before. We are going to mess with their weapon-aiming systems without the Argies knowing.’ Chas paused to gauge the reaction from his audience.
Tony reflected back to the day he was summoned with Peter into the Ops Room in Hereford and told of the planned incursion onto Argentinian soil. The aim was to neutralise the air threat to the Task Force. The whole operation had to be deniable, which was a contradiction in terms: How could you destroy the threat without leaving any evidence?
The plan was to attack the Super Etendards at their base, not with explosives but with an electronic gadget. To a soldier this was hard to comprehend; he likes to see a mass of burning metal, knowing his job is successful. To infiltrate and leave a device that still allows the aircraft to fly was against his instinct. These electronic devices were untried and involved all the dangers of placement but without the guarantee of success. If they didn’t work there was no second chance.
The operation had to be completely deniable as the British Government would be politically embarrassed by such a venture, and the world would see it as an escalation of the conflict. America had warned of the severe consequences of an invasion of the mainland. Countries sympathetic to Argentina, and those on the fence, could well join the war against Britain.
Captain Minter closed the book and offered them a cigarette. ‘Smoke, anyone?’ he said, offering them a packet of Capstan Full Strength. They both declined, deep in thought as they appreciated what a complicated mission they were engaged in. ‘I didn’t think you would. I’m trying to give up myself,’ he said, flicking open a Zippo lighter with a Special Forces logo on the sides; with a deft flick of the wrist he produced a two-inch flame and lit his cigarette. The resulting clouds of smoke brought the room alive. His desk now took on the look of a battlefield. Tony became agitated and backed away from the smoke, and Chas made a circular motion of his arm, trying to dissipate it.
‘We’ll go in the hangar shortly. It’s a non-smoking zone.’ This was his last chance of a puff, and he was taking full advantage of it. ‘Is there anything I’ve missed?’ he asked, tapping ash into an ashtray made from an artillery shell.
Tony