Knife Edge: Life as a Special Forces Surgeon by Villar Richard

Author:Villar, Richard [Villar, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Army, Doctor, Military biography, Special Forces, War surgery, War, SAS, Surgery, Memoir, Conflict
Publisher: Vineyard Press Ltd
Published: 2012-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

The Month I Should Have Died

It is difficult to tell this story. Difficult because I have never been so scared. I think about it even now, more than a decade later. When I read what others have to say about the Falklands War, it is a conflict I do not recognize. Either I was somewhere different or they are unable to feel fear.

The story behind the war is clear. Argentina felt passionately the Malvinas were theirs - the British Government, and hence us, felt differently. On the 2 April 1982 the Falkland Islands were invaded, South Georgia suffering the same fate the following day. By 5 April, 22 SAS was on its way south, throughout the campaign conducting its operations both vigorously and professionally. However, with every war there is much classified activity behind the scenes of which the public, and many senior Service personnel, are unaware. One such operation involved the Regiment. In retrospect I was privileged to be part of it. I learnt more about myself than I thought possible. We are alive, I believe, thanks to the merciful indecision of the nation’s politicians. As a soldier you consider the politics of the situation at your peril. Your job is to undertake the task you are contracted to do. You can pass comment on how a job is to be done, but not on why it should be performed. The reasons are for the politicians. You can only pray that your military superiors have sufficient leverage on Government to influence the final conclusions.

When the task force set sail, amidst all manner of tub-thumping and media hype, I was certain nothing would happen. I felt Argentina was sure to see reason and withdraw. Nothing of the sort. Slowly it became apparent they would have to be pushed off. Their politicians had too much to lose by capitulating.

While Britain hovered on the brink of war, I was hard at work as a trainee orthopaedic surgeon. Supervising my somewhat inept attempts at what surgeons call ‘cutting’ were two of the finest practitioners I have met. I shall call them Colonels Jack and Graham. Both had that enviable skill that so few surgeons have. When they used a scalpel to cut the skin, a patient would barely bleed. It cannot be learned and most certainly cannot be taught. My immediate superior was Martin. In civilian life he would hold the rank of Senior Registrar, an experienced surgeon shortly to become a consultant. Martin is, and was, one of life’s great characters. Once a medical officer to the Parachute Regiment, he is a man of action, decision and firm convictions. Together we would sit in the surgeons’ coffee room between operations, bemoaning the fact we had been left behind as the task force sailed south.

‘It’s easy, Richard,’ he would say.

‘How?’ I would ask.

‘Just bomb the bastards. Drop a nuc. That’ll sort ‘em out.’

Our fanciful conversations would become ever more wide-ranging. By the time the ships had reached Ascension Island, the halfway stage, Martin and I had hatched dozens of different plots and secret missions.

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