Our Man in Montevideo

Her Britannic Majesty’s Defence Attaché, a harassed Colonel GS resplendent in full regalia,  arrived in a staff car flying the Union Flag on its bonnet. It is an understatement to say that he was very angry

The RAF had ordered that all aircrew who would be involved in Operation Corporate (the codename used for the Falklands War) were to be given refresher training in what was known as Conduct After Capture and Resistance to Enemy Interrogation.  So it was that on the morning of 15 April 1982 I drove from my base at the Joint Service Interrogation Wing (JSIW) in Templar Barracks, Ashford, Kent to RAF Wittering to give a version of my standard presentation to the Harrier aircrew. My Royal Navy and Army colleagues went off to their own Service establishments.

I knew, but my two audiences did not, that the following day I would be flying to Montevideo on a highly classified mission to join up with and debrief the Royal Marines who had been captured on South Georgia and who were about to be deported by the Argentines. The Marines were thought likely to have vital intelligence about enemy activities on South Georgia and in the Falkland Islands. The Ministry of Defence thought it important enough to send a three-man team from JSIW all the way to the South Atlantic to debrief the Marines and then signal the intelligence gained back to UK as quickly as possible.

It was unfortunate that the only Harrier pilot based at Wittering who did not attend my briefing, because he was engaged on an important air test on his Harrier, was the one who was captured by the Argentines after they had shot him down. After a quick lunch, I drove on to RAF Marham in Norfolk to repeat my lecture for the Victor tanker aircrew based there.The Harrier pilots had listened politely to my talk; they had heard it all before. It was quite different when I got to Marham. Between 1970 and 1976 I had been based at Marham as a tanker captain on 55 and 214 Squadrons, a flight commander on 55 Squadron and, latterly, Officer Commanding the Victor Standardisation Unit. An old colleague from 55 Squadron, Jerry Price, was now Station Commander. He knew, but did not discuss with me because operational aircraft movements were classified Top Secret, that he would be flying out to Ascension the following day leading a fleet of Victor tankers and then assuming the role of Air Commander.

During my briefing at Marham I got a hard time from some of the Victor aircrew, many of whom had been at Marham since the early 1970s and knew me well. The conduct after capture and resistance to interrogation instruction I had to impart was not really realistic in the face of what was believed by the MoD likely to be a cruel enemy. I knew that; the Victor crews knew that; they knew that I knew they knew that! Most listened politely. A few challenged my teaching but I had heard all the very reasonable objections before from special forces on exercises and all I could do was reiterate official policy which was, even in 1982, still based largely on lessons supposedly learned in the 2nd World War and in Vietnam. When interrogated by an enemy, British prisoners of war were to give only their service number, rank, name and date of birth – the so-called ‘Big Four’. Divulging any information in addition to the Big Four was deemed to be collaboration with the enemy.

At 2300 the following day I departed from RAF Brize Norton in an RAF VC10 for Montevideo via a refuelling stop at Ascension Island. There were just seven persons on board: four operating crew and three JSIW passengers. The JSIW party consisted of an Intelligence Corps Major who was in command, an Intelligence Corps staff sergeant and me. We had been equipped with identical black attaché cases each of which contained a tiny reel-to-reel tape recorder, a miniature microphone, a camera and our personal overnight kit. All the technical equipment was state of the art in 1982. Because we were en route to a neutral country, and would pass through other neutral countries en route, we had been ordered to dress in dark lounge suits and leave behind all items of military uniform, including our military ID passes. If ever three men looked like spies, we did, but in fact our intentions were entirely honourable and legal.

On the way south towards Ascension Island we had to divert to Dakar in West Africa following an engine failure. Because of time constraints we needed to change aircraft at Dakar for the onward flights. That caused quite a fuss because the only available VC10 was standing on the apron fully laden with passengers waiting to return to Brize Norton. I have no idea who the passengers were but they all had to get off and they were not pleased. Of course, they had no idea what our mission was. While waiting in the Airport Transit Lounge the Major and I asked an Immigration Officer if we could have entry and exit stamps in the visa pages of our passports. He agreed, but the Staff Sergeant did not wish to follow suit. We were to find out later why he was reluctant.

Our replacement VC10, having been prepared for the long flight to UK, already had sufficient fuel on board to fly direct to Montevideo but, because of the all-important diplomatic clearances, the crew had to stick as far as possible to the original flight plan. Thus, we had to fly via Ascension Island where we arrived at 1040 local time on the Sunday morning, several hours behind schedule. The first group of Victor tankers had already arrived. Group Captain Jerry Price was absolutely amazed when he, now as Air Commander, came to out to the VC10 and saw me.

We were on the ground for less than an hour while our VC10 was topped up with more fuel. On arrival at Montevideo Airport, the customs and immigration folk not unreasonably wanted to inspect our brief cases and our passports. We refused to allow our cases to be inspected. The Major, rather boldly I thought, claimed diplomatic immunity for which we had no corroborating documentation. Sadly, and astonishingly, the Staff Sgt then revealed that he had forgotten to carry his passport from the UK so that did not help relations. Perhaps unsurprisingly, we were all arrested by the Airport Security Police. The RAF VC10 aircraft was impounded and quickly surrounded by armoured vehicles!

Our man in Montevideo, otherwise known as Her Britannic Majesty’s Defence Attaché (DA), was summoned. He, a harassed Colonel GS resplendent in full regalia, arrived in a staff car flying the Union Flag on its bonnet. It is an understatement to say that he was very angry. He had been briefed about our arrival but apparently thought we would simply be escorting the Marines out of Uruguay; he claimed to know nothing about our intelligence role. The Intelligence Community’s ‘need-to-know’ principle dictates that you only tell people what they need to know to do their job and someone had obviously decided that the DA did not need to know what we were up to.

The DA was eventually given permission by the Uruguayans to escort us to the British Embassy. The four-man VC10 crew apparently, and very commendably in my opinion, refused to leave their aircraft and I understand they locked themselves inside. Fortunately the aircraft was still well stocked with the in-flight rations that had been intended for the 100-plus passengers we had displaced at Dakar.

At the Embassy there was organised chaos. The small staff were expecting to be told to leave Uruguay as personae non gratae at any time. Classified documents were being shredded and everything else was being packed up. We were an embarrassment they could have well done without. In the end the DA sorted things out and the three of us were given a police escort to a rather grotty down town hotel over looking the Rio de la Plata (River Plate). We left our brief cases, the contents of which were considered by the DA to be in breach of Uruguay’s neutral status, in the Embassy safe overnight and took only our overnight personal kit with us. We arrived at the hotel about midnight. We were forbidden to leave our rooms and armed guards were posted in the corridor to ensure we obeyed. Halfway through the night I urgently needed a pee. There were no en suite facilities so, not wishing to use the window and there being no wash basin, I left my room and was escorted to a toilet by an armed soldier who stood and watched in interest while I did the necessary.

Early the following morning, after an excellent hotel breakfast, we returned in a convoy to the VC10 with a Uruguayan police escort, flashing lights sirens and all. The DA personally delivered our brief cases to the aircraft. The Royal Marine Commandos arrived from somewhere and hurriedly boarded the aircraft. There was no opportunity to question the Marines before our departure. Even had we been able to do so, there would have been no point because there were no longer any secure communications out of the British Embassy. The DA merely wanted to be rid of all of us as quickly as possible – and who can blame him?

En route to Ascension each of we three JSIW officers debriefed the Marines individually in the vast VC10 passenger cabin. We had all regularly worked with our Special Forces, and even recognised a few of them. We were not surprised when those individual Marines who did not know us would not even speak to us beyond giving us their service number, rank, name and date of birth, until their own Lieutenant had assured them that we were OK and could be trusted. We garnered as much military intelligence as they could give us as well as details about civilian matters such as food, fuel and electricity supplies still available for the Islanders. One of the Marines I debriefed was the only one who had been injured on South Georgia. He still had his arm in a sling. He had been shot on the beach by an Argentine marine shortly before they surrendered. He had later been put on a charge by his own corporal for getting shot on active duty whilst not wearing his green beret! He told me he had put his beret into his pocket because it made him too conspicuous.

Back at Ascension again to refuel, the Air Commander wanted to fill our aircraft up with a large group of passengers who needed urgent transport to UK – he even had them waiting there on the apron, fully documented, with their luggage. Our Major refused to allow them on board and by quoting more generals than the Air Commander could quote air marshals, he was able to over-rule the Air Commander. While that was going on, I went to the Operations Room to send the Top Secret signal to MoD that I had prepared during the last hour of the flight from Montevideo. The signal, which I had marked ‘Immediate’, meaning that it was to be sent with the highest precedence, ran to many handwritten pages and summarised what the three of us considered the most timely and important intelligence that we had gained.

The harassed OC Operations Room explained that with the limited amount of cipher and communications equipment available to him, he could not transmit any highly classified signals let along lengthy high precedence ones. He showed me a long backlog of ‘Immediate’ precedence signals that he said would take many hours to clear. I almost expected him to say what was often said during WW2 when denying requests: ‘There is a war on, you know!’ Seeing that it would be pointless to argue, I put the signal back in my brief case and returned to the VC10.

The Royal Marines remained on board the VC10, out of sight, the whole time we were on the ground at Ascension and no-one else was permitted to enter the aircraft. We departed for UK less than an hour after our arrival, realising that our long journey had, in effect, been wasted. Group Captain Price, the Air Commander, was someone else who was no doubt glad to see the back of us.

As we approached Brize Norton, the captain of the VC10 informed us that someone had let the cat out of the bag and that there would be a bevy of senior officers, the Marines’ families and a huge media presence waiting to greet the gallant Marines. The aircraft captain said that he had been instructed to let the Royal Marines off the aircraft first. However, once the aircraft stopped on chocks, the JSIW Major insisted that we should get off first because we had ‘vital intelligence to get to Joint HQ Northwood’. Thus it was that the world’s TV cameras showed three gentlemen in dark suits carrying suspicious looking brief cases at the top of the VC10’s steps, blinking in the floodlights and the media’s television lights and descending first. It was 0430hrs on Monday 19 April.

Whilst our Major went off somewhere to arrange for transport to Northwood so that we could deliver our intelligence in person, the Staff Sgt and I watched as the Marine’s one-star Brigade Commander at the other end of the room greeted each of his Marines personally by their first name while the rest of the top brass and the Marines’ anxious families were held back in another room.

We never did go to JHQ at Northwood. Our Major returned eventually, looking very frustrated. He told us that we had been ordered back to our own base at Templar Barracks because the marines were now to be debriefed by their own people. Our transport arrived from Ashford about three hours later. Before I handed in my black briefcase to the Quartermaster at JSIW, I shredded my carefully composed Top Secret Immediate signal.

It is absolutely amazing how many people, family, friends, and service acquaintances, recognised me on TV news broadcasts coming down those VC10 steps. None, not even my closest family, knew that I had even been out of the country!

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