I had not been following the saga of the British sailors and Royal Marines taken hostage by Iran particularly closely until Wednesday. That was the day that a column appeared in the Daily Telegraph calling the courage of the 15 captives into question as a result of statements they had made on Iranian television. A number of notable bloggers took up the theme, and suddenly, the sailors and marines had been transformed from brave heroes into weak-willed saps who embodied the decline of British strength.

I must admit that I was tempted to join the chorus. After all, the video seemed dispositive. Captive after captive appearing before maps, admitting that Iran was right — that their boarding mission had strayed into Iranian waters. And then there was Leading Seaman Faye Turney, the only woman taken with the party. In addition to appearing on camera, she dispatched letters home, calling on the British government to withdraw its forces from Iraq. All in all, it looked pretty bleak.

I got as far as typing a word or two of my draft post . But then I started thinking about Mark Bowden’s book, Guests of the Ayatollah, which I read a few months ago. The book is an exhaustively researched account of the American diplomats taken hostage from the U.S. Embassy in Tehran in 1979. I recalled Bowden’s descriptions, the result of interviews with most of the living hostages, of the Iranian interrogations, beatings and torture. And it occurred to me that, perhaps, I should reserve judging the sailors and Royal Marines until we could hear their side of the story.

Just hours later, I learned that they had been released. Still more distasteful photos of the hostages in ugly Iranian suits appeared, some with the captives smiling and waving for the cameras.

When the sailors and marines reached Heathrow airport later that day, they emerged as a group, restored to their uniforms, looking once again as members of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces should.

Merely twenty-four hours later, their story emerged. And, as is so often the case, the early criticism from commentators and bloggers turned out to be short on the facts.

Lieutenant Felix Carman, the ranking officer in the party, and Marine Captain Chris Air appeared before the press to read a statement that recounted the ambush perpetrated in Iraqi waters by Iranian gunboats and sailors armed with heavy weapons. They described ugly interrogations and the sounds of Iranian guns pointed at their heads and cocked. Most importantly, they recounted Iranian threats of years in prison unless they appeared on television and “confessed” to being in Iranian waters. Faced with the prospect of indefinite confinement measured against the promise of early release if they cooperated, they gritted their teeth and did what they had to do to get home.

I have never had a gun pointed at my head. God willing, I never will. But if I do, I hope I can be as cool headed as these sailors and marines were.

And, in case you had any doubts, as a part of their statement, Lieutenant Carman and Captain Air each made it clear that they knew their location precisely and, in spite of anything they might have said to Iranian television cameras, were certain that there were 1.7 nautical miles inside Iraqi territorial waters — exactly where they were supposed to be.

In short, the two officers and their troops did what they needed to do. They told the Iranians what they wanted to hear in order to get home. They divulged no secrets and surrendered no operational details. In all respects, their was honorable behavior befitting of the Queens’ officers, sailors and marines.

I’m glad that all fifteen have made it home.

And if I know the Royal Navy, as soon as they have a chance to hug their families and debrief with the intelligence folks from MI-6, they’ll be back at their posts on HMS Cornwall — doing their part for their country.