By Jon Cooksey
June 1982, and in the course of a South Atlantic iciness, the Falklands warfare is at its top. The Parachute Regiment has already been in motion - 2 Para securing a troublesome fought victory at Darwin-Goose eco-friendly at a heavy rate in killed and wounded together with their CO, Lieutenant Colonel 'H' Jones, later offered a posthumous VC.
Now, weeks later, as they appear up on the lengthy, frost shattered spines of rock which stab the air from the summit of Mount Longdon at the outer ring of the Stanley defences, the 'toms' of three Para comprehend it is their flip. As they arrange to attack their targets - positive factors code named 'wing forward', 'fly part' and 'full back'- the lads of three Para understand they're in for a struggle. earlier than 'zero' a few of them are easily instructed to wish.
This, the 1st in a brand new sequence on targeted Operations, tells the tale of three Para and the often-neglected fight for Mount Longdon. It used to be a conflict which verified the self-discipline, comradeship and professionalism of the paras to the restrict; it was once a conflict which witnessed one other posthumous VC; it grew to become out to be the bloodiest conflict of the full Falklands crusade.
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Additional info for 3 PARA - MOUNT LONGDON - THE BLOODIEST BATTLE
Her wet hair was plastered to her cheeks, but she was smiling. ‘I was just saying that one day we should have a real holiday for a change. ’ We kissed goodnight and I lay back listening to the storm, staring into the blackness, damp creeping down the ropes. I was fully clothed in jeans and a sweatshirt but still needed a blanket to keep out the chill. It all seemed faintly absurd. Hanging there in the pitchblackness, feeling the hammock rock from the trees’ sway, with debris plopping on to the plastic above, senses numbed by the drumming deluge and the crack of thunder.
Cesar pointed ahead to a tiny patch of lighter green on a river bend, insignificant in that infinite sea of forest. You could imagine the dread of a pilot peering through the drumming droplets on his windshield at a world turned grey, the only colour the red of his fuel gauge. Dropping down to look it over, the plane bouncing in the thermals, Cesar banked round in a tight turn to examine the short strip of bumpy grass. ‘The grass is long but it should still be OK,’ he said. I would have preferred more certainty in his voice.
Soon the Jari was below us, twisting and turning in those large meanders that mercifully the canoeist is usually ignorant of as he paddles along. Sometimes the river writhed in a huge circle of two miles or more, only to advance two hundred yards. Cloud was forcing us low and Cesar asked for our help to spot the little shaved patch of Molocopote. This was a nervous time, worrying whether the grass on the airstrip had grown too long, or if someone had deliberately blocked it. There could be dozens of gold 35 OFF THE MAP prospectors, or a platoon of soldiers on an exercise who might demand some authorisation for being so far off the tourist trail.
3 PARA - MOUNT LONGDON - THE BLOODIEST BATTLE by Jon Cooksey