Land of Fire
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1982. The Falklands War. Young SAS trooper Mike Hood risks his life to capture an Argentine girl spy. To knock out enemy bombers a daring mission is planned against a fortified airbase on Tierra del Fuego, the remote tip of the South American mainland. Hood and his fellow SAS are sent in ahead to reconnoitre. Detected by the enemy, they must fight their way out.
Twenty years on and an Argentine military junta is returned to power. They determine to reinvade the Falkland Islands. Now a senior NCO, Hood is back in the South Atlantic, haunted by memories he thought he had buried. British air defences have been knocked out in a sneak attack and once again Argentine forces are being secretly readied for an assault on the Islands. A team from the crack SAS Mountain Troop is inserted by submarine. But has the mission been compromised from the start? When fate throws Hood together with the girl from his past, he is faced with a conflict of loyalties. Can he trust her now? And can they prevent an all-out war?
wall. The inner door was unlocked. I pushed it open and moved quickly up the passage, my gun at the ready. The only sound was a TV playing somewhere in the front of the building. On the left side were offices; opposite were what looked like cupboards. We moved up cautiously, checking each room as we went. I was nearing the far end when I heard the click of a door opening and a man appeared round the corner from the left. He was a young soldier of about nineteen, in battledress – one of the
catch him viciously in the small of the back. With a grunt of pain he fell forward across the couch, clutching himself. Seb moved forward and picked up the gun. Now there were two automatic weapons to cover five men, one of them disabled. The rest of the Argentines had seen what might happen to anyone who didn’t cooperate. They got down on their knees hurriedly, hands held skyward. ‘Watch them,’ I said quietly to Seb. He nodded and took his stance where he could sweep the room. I went back out
Georgia to expel a group of Argentines who had established a base on the island at the outset of the Falklands War. Set down high on the Fortuna glacier in atrocious weather, the advance party had struggled to drag their equipment through a nightmare landscape of savage crevasses, beset by continuous whiteouts and wind strengths exceeding 100 knots. After five hours, in which they progressed just 500 metres, a decision was taken to withdraw the patrol – a rare case of the SAS admitting defeat.
if searching for a marker. Whatever it was he must have seen it, for he slowed the Toyota and cut the headlights again. ‘We are near the airfield now.’ Another minute and we were bumping along a disused track with thick undergrowth either side. Seb stopped the vehicle. ‘We are less than half a mile from the airfield,’ he said. ‘From here on we proceed by foot.’ It was half-past four – four hours to set up the lying-up point before first light. NINETEEN BEFORE WE SET off for the base, Seb
NCO came up and said something in Spanish to Oliveras, who glanced up at the truck and scowled. He gave an order and turned back to us. ‘It seems transport has arrived to take you back to Rio Grande. We shall have to terminate our little experiment, but only for the present, you understand? We shall resume the investigation in due course.’ He patted Concha tenderly on the cheek and turned away. At gunpoint we were prodded towards the truck and helped aboard. Once inside the rear we were