CHAPTER 17

Frustration

No stretch of the English Channel attracted such a weight of shot, bomb and shell as did the narrows between Dover and Calais – Hell Fire Corner as it liked to be known with grim pride. Since June 1940 it had been the exception to a rule when some sort of aggression did not occur. Long before spring 1942, the towns and villages overlooking the Straits bore lurid scars of battle and had been considerably depopulated of civilians by casualties and evacuation. Fighting men were now the dominant occupants where commerce with Europe once thrived. Convoys still sailed under heavy escort, hugging the coastline. Long-range guns lobbed shells over as the occasion demanded. Aircraft tangled in combat overhead while bombers provided the most frequent form of hit-and-run raid hereabouts. The seabed, a graveyard over the centuries for the wreckage of war, regularly received a fresh quota of ships, aircraft and their crews. Here neither side could ever afford to relax its guard. Even if the Germans had failed to put a single raider ashore by boat in 1940, that was no reason to dismiss the possibility of it still happening. And with every moonless period that elapsed the Germans were made forcibly aware that their turn to receive assailants was greater. Nightly, while the French civilians who remained took shelter, German small ships put to sea and their gunners and infantry went on stand-by, tensely watching and listening for enemy ships and craft.

Ten days after the damaged tanker at Boulogne blew up as a result of Operation JV, the alert was sounded again. Operation Abercrombie should have hit the beach on the night 19/20 April, but the sea, that incorrigible wrecker of the best laid raiding plans, took its toll. Outward bound, the MGBs and LCAs were unexpectedly pummelled by a high wind which whipped up waves, one of which suddenly broke over an LCA’s bows, swamping her, with the loss of two men, and causing the MGB captain to cut the tow and abandon the sinking craft. Two days later, after a period in close confinement for security reasons, the same 100 men of 4 Commando, under command of Major Lord Lovat, set off again on what was intended as a reconnaissance but which the men eagerly hoped would lead to a fight. On board was the Exchange Telegraph Company’s special correspondent whose task was almost as important as that of the fighting men – to bring back useful propaganda for world-wide consumption as proof of British intentions to strike hard in compliance with the mounting chorus demanding a Second Front. On St George’s Day, when the story broke, most of the papers would focus upon the heroic and colourful 30-year-old Lord Lovat, a leader of charisma, skill and gallantry. The report in The Times, if more prosaic, was closer to accuracy than some of its competitors, guarded as it had to be to meet the censor’s requirements:

 

Fifty-three regiments were represented. All the men had blacked their faces and all wore gym shoes for silence, with the exception of one officer, a former police inspector in the East End of London, who wore carpet slippers kept on by elastic… Veiled in light mist, the landing craft had crept silently inshore, and the Commandos had dropped swiftly and quietly into the shallows through which they had to wade to the beach. Searchlights began to flicker. Whistles were sounded. They could be heard by the advancing troops… But the Commandos had swept across the sand and were at the beach wire before they met machine-gunfire. ‘We were lucky,’ said Lord Lovat.

 

His remark concealed the immense difficulty his men had in cutting a lane through thick barbed wire entanglements. Several things went wrong, such as the memory of a patrol leader who failed to give the correct password and might have been shot by his own side had not a Bren gun become clogged by sand. The correspondent continues:

 

The Germans fired a shower of Verey lights. The first German encountered was a one-man patrol who, swinging a torch, shouted Halten. Tommy guns were fired at him, the torch went out, and no more was heard. British patrols went out [to a depth of 800 yards] and contacted enemy strongpoints… One patrol leader said, ‘The pillboxes had no idea where we were and what we were doing.’ After spending two hours on enemy-occupied territory every man was withdrawn with his weapons. The Navy encountered stiff opposition… For many minutes the sky was lit by the fierce exchange of fire between the escort craft and the attacking German flak ships and smaller craft. One of the flak ships made off, apparently on fire.

It was a drawn encounter, although claimed as a victory by both sides. The German account of the raid boasted, ‘British shock troops and equipment covered the shore’. It was also a warning to both sides – to the British that the defences were a lot tougher than two years ago when Operation Collar landed at the same spot: to the Germans as notice of future determined enemy intent. Nevertheless Abercrombie did make an impression, which was more than could be said for its immediate successors. Next on the list and scheduled for May was Operation Blazing, the resurrection of an old ambition of Churchill’s, an attempt to capture and hold Alderney rather in the manner of the unlamented Tomato which had been turned down in the summer of 1940. Nothing could have been more damning than the Chiefs of Staff’s reasons in their letter of rejection to the Prime Minister, who seems once more to have been behind this scheme:

 

The essence of the plan is to soften the defences by a terrific preliminary air bombardment. To be effective this must continue until the last moment before assault on the analogy of a barrage. For navigational reasons the landing cannot take place in darkness. This means the bombers will be exposed to attack by fighters during daylight and are likely to incur heavy casualties. The air defences on the island are exceptionally strong. Fighter Command cannot promise to provide fighter cover. Our fighters would only have about 20 minutes over the target. There would be gaps.

If the operation looked like paying a really worthwhile dividend it would be worth doing, but it would not draw off troops from Russia and the Chiefs of Staff do not consider the killing or capture of 2,000 Germans worth the candle.

 

To what extent the islanders might have been affected seems not to have been considered, but Churchill made no protest, so they went on to consider another rather similar operation called Aimwell and rejected that also, for the same reasons. Time was wasted in setting up Aunt Sallys for the pleasure of knocking them down when so much else was consuming the Chief of Staffs’ time. Yet certain important points affecting strategy and the general conduct of amphibious warfare were exposed. Note the way the Chiefs used Churchill’s original reasons for vetoing Barbaric, by deftly questioning the profitability of such a limited objective. Observe, too, the rubbing-in of the need for air cover, which, quite clearly, Churchill had yet to understand. See, also, how the planners were now interested in supporting a daylight landing with massive bombardment and thus turning aside from the method of attacking weak spots at night which they had pressed upon the US Marines the previous summer and towards the system preferred by their American colleagues. Yet Blazing was small fry compared with another even larger and more risky project under consideration in June for possible execution in August.

Operational National, quite frankly described as ‘a replanning of Myrmidon’, was conceived as a landing at St Jean de Luz by two Commandos followed up by one and a half Royal Marine Battalions, an armoured regiment and a motor battalion. The 3,000 marching infantry having got ashore and formed a beachhead, the mobile troops (about 48 tanks and 80 other vehicles) were to move swiftly southwards to the Spanish frontier and northwards to Biarritz and Bayonne. It would have been a trial outing for the three Maracaibos, and probably their last. For even if they had put their cargoes safely ashore, it is unimaginable that massive German reaction would have been long delayed or that a force without even minimal air cover could have survived. Without convincing resistance from the planners, and bearing in mind that Rutter or Jubilee were already in the offing, this large-scale raid vanished.

May, therefore, drew a blank for raiding and June got off to a bad start. Operation Foxrock – a raid against St Valery-sur-Somme by 100 members of 12 Commando with the object of destroying lock gates, railway bridges and rolling stock on the night of 1/2 June – looked set to reach its objectives when, at 2200 hours on the 1st, it found it was being shadowed by an enemy aeroplane. For the time being the navigating ML, six Eurekas under their own power and four MGBs kept going, backed up by a destroyer. But when, at 2345 hours, the Y Service, which monitored enemy radio transmissions, reported an intercept revealing that the raiding force had been spotted, the Force Commander decided to cancel, a very wise decision since 14 minutes later the force was challenged by a German surface force.

The next intended raid was Lancing, which consisted of two coinciding raids between Boulogne and Le Touquet – Dearborn to the north, which was dropped, and Bristle to the south, centred upon Plage St Cecile. As a glorified Biting, its aim was the removal or destruction of radar apparatus so as to create a gap in the German coverage, Bristle did at least have the virtue of attacking a target related to the main prop of Allied offensive pretensions in North-West Europe – the air battle which, the Chiefs of Staff were led to believe, might be of most assistance to the Russians at that moment. Had the Russians been witnesses, they could have been impressed only by British determination and courage, for nothing went to plan once the LCAs had been lowered from their LSI 9 miles from the beach.

For a start the eight MGBs and navigating ML lost contact with the LCAs, even though conditions were good. Compelled to carry out a sweep in search of one MGB with a faulty engine silencer, they may well have alerted the enemy. Therefore the 250 men of 6 Commando had to navigate for themselves, unescorted and in the presence of light enemy naval forces, their course determined by the flashes from Le Touquet lighthouse and periodic disclosures by a searchlight known to be situated at Hardelot. The Force Commander, in discussion with the senior Naval Officer with the LCAs, had a tricky decision to take:

 

As the moon rose the coastline became clearer and the hills inland made a good silhouette… We decided that we were still 2000 yards to the north and the exact place appeared to be in front of a saddle in the hills. The searchlight to the north swept over us, but apparently did not pick us up. At about 0240 hours [nearly an hour behind schedule] the whole flotilla did a left turn and went towards the beach – they were very strung out. Just as some of the craft grounded, the searchlights from the north were turned full on. It was found necessary to wade from between 40 and 80 yards.

The troops were off the beach and into the sand dunes rapidly … by the time the northern enemy MG opened fire… A white flare was put up just as we were disembarking… The right-hand enemy MGs opened up shortly after the left-hand MGs. The shooting appeared very high and a considerable amount of tracer was used. A number of bullets struck the landing craft. On reaching the beach … I ordered the plan NOT to be undertaken but instead a large bridgehead to be formed.

 

Confusion, typical of any infantry battle when communications are at a premium, was now rife. For most it was each man for himself. Troop Commanders who tried to reply to the enemy fire got the range wrong. Tracer criss-crossed overhead. Fire coming from seaward indicated the presence of enemy warships.

 

Bearing in mind the difficulty we should have in re-embarking under fire and in deep water, I gave the signal to re-embark by wireless and by bugle.

 

It was essential to do this because the RAF was due to start bombing to cover the retreat at 0400 hours, and it took a considerable time since the LCAs stayed well out. Now the moon, augmented by searchlights, flares and approaching dawn, made it easy to see, and warranted the landing craft putting down smoke screens while their gunners tried to suppress the enemy fire. From the noise, flash and smoke a terrific battle seemed to be in progress, though few were hurt and only two of 6 Commando were taken prisoner. Meanwhile, out at sea in an MGB, Major Williams-Thompson, from COHQ, experienced his first naval battle:

 

We sighted two enemy patrol boats and the officer in charge decided to attack them. This ended, after a thrilling engagement, with the sinking of one and the damaging of another… After this engagement we were fired on by a coast defence battery, which we evaded by a smoke trail. The exposing of the searchlights about this time disclosed empty LCAs off the beach… This was the first we saw of the LCAs after their dropping from the Prince Albert.

 

As the withdrawal went on, the air battle started, RAF aircraft coming in low to batter the shore defences as a fighter screen orbited the landing craft, which were reinforced by three SGBs and a couple of MLs. Williams-Thompson recalled,

 

At this time the fighter cover had apparently been withdrawn. The planes that had been guarding us formed up together and flew away. It was about twenty minutes more before we received further fighter protection. During this interlude … the rear party was attacked by German fighters and bombers which caused four naval and two army casualties. They sent out an S.O.S. to Dover and in due course our fighters arrived.

 

Williams-Thompson considered this to be masterly timing by the Germans and saw it as proof of how good the German radar system was, but it was probably a fluke. Anyway, the enemy tried later and had to be driven off, demonstrating that, although the Luftwaffe was content to ignore ‘sweeps’ by RAF fighters, it could be lured into action when RAF bombers were out or vulnerable surface targets were presented. But Williams-Thompson also voiced an old complaint that the MGBs employed, coming as they did from a flotilla not accustomed to working with Combined Operations, had fallen below the desired standard of expertise. In other words, amphibious raiding remained within the province of specialization and the universal high standards needed to support a major invasion or very large raid, such as Rutter, were still wanting.

Bristle had included and used almost every weapon in the hit-and-run armoury, but this feat of intricate co-ordination had produced little or no return on outlay. The objective was not reached, the object unattained, no prisoners taken, eight casualties suffered, a couple of fighters lost, besides superficial damage to craft and, most telling of all, forfeiture of prestige – of which the Propaganda Ministry of Dr Goebbels was quick to take advantage in its English-language programmes by making the enforced British retreat seem a rout and pouring scorn upon the Commandos.

 

Isn’t Commando just another name for poor bloody infantry? Germany does not find it necessary to carry out tip-and-run raids on the English coast. The reputation of the German infantryman has become almost legendary by itself, without any artificial plugging… But what is more important is whether Britain needs Commandos.

 

This was a question that Captain Maund had posed in a different context back in 1940.

In the occupied countries the German propagandists adopted the wedge-driving technique, endeavouring to exploit French sensitivity and anti-British feeling. A commentator on Radio Paris entitled his piece ‘The Commando Raid on Dunkirk Anniversary’, remarking,

 

The British could hardly have celebrated the occasion except with a military display. So far the military demonstrations of British friendship have been attacks on our Colonies, and the assassination of Frenchmen desirous of living without the British.

 

And over Free India Radio, which broadcast in English for India and Indians, who at that moment were threatened with a Japanese invasion that some India nationalists would have welcomed, the following was broadcast:

 

Practically all their weapons were abandoned. This theatrical show indicates growing nervousness in Great Britain. Moreover the Russian reverses compel the British Government to stage farcical comedies to cheer up the British public. But in reality every attempt to land on the French coast brings home to every man in England that the way to Europe is barred to them forever.

 

In Britain those at COHQ were intrigued that the German propagandists gave Bristle such prominence although they let it be known that it was only a small raid, suggesting ‘the sensitivity of the Axis to this type of operation’. This was, in fact, all too true, and emanated from Hitler himself, who, in the aftermath of the winter reverses in Russia and the attacks against Vaagso and St Nazaire, spent an increasingly disproportionate amount of time each day discussing raids with his military advisors.

One wonders what might have happened if the pressure had been kept up, but once more there was a lull; with three propositions in train or under consideration for July, not one left port. Rutter, a large-scale raid by Canadian troops against Dieppe, was scheduled for early July but, for reasons which will be described later, was postponed and then cancelled. Foretop, an all-embracing operation somewhere between a raid and an invasion in support of the Battle of the Atlantic against the U-Boat ports of Bordeaux, St Nazaire, La Pallice and Lorient, was dropped (probably correctly) because it was considered too costly. Armstrong, a trend-setting scheme to tackle a four-gun battery south-west of Cayeux by a co-ordinated attack of Commandos from the sea and a company of parachutists or glider troops from the air, was set aside despite keen interest by General Eisenhower, the newly appointed American Commanding General, European Theatre of Operations.

Similarly Syncopation, a small raid against the Ile Bréhat to capture prisoners, was ‘cancelled at the C-in-C’s wishes for fear of drawing unwanted attention to the location’ (this was because Sledgehammer loomed ahead); Acrostic, a raid on Belgian defences at Knaben, was abandoned because mines were found in the difficult sea approaches; and Pipeline, a small reconnaissance in MLs and canoes by six members of a new private army called the Small Scale Raiding Force (SSRF) of a landing ground near Fécamp, was not proceeded with. There emerged at this time a mood of worried frustration on the part of the Prime Minister and those at COHQ. Despite the bold talk and aggressive posturing of the winter and early spring, summer raiding was negligible, the results poor and the political pressure to help Russia unassuaged. Tempers were rising, impatient men turning to desperate measures. It is arguable that the revival of Operation Rutter under the name of Jubilee was one such ‘desperate measure’, but a fascinating two-man raid put forward by Captain P. Pinckney could certainly be classified as being within the realms of Missions Impossible.

Forgiven for his indiscretion the previous December of throwing film into the sea after Operation Anklet, Pinckney made a hand-written submission to his Commanding Officer on 23 June asking permission to ‘snatch’ a specimen of a Focke Wulf 190, the latest German fighter, of which little was known:

 

I further propose that the pilot to accompany me should be Geoffrey Quill who is a close friend of mine and, as a well-known test pilot of fighter aircraft, is well qualified to bring back the plane. He is also young, active, a yachtsman, and a man in every way suitable to carry out the preliminary approach by land and sea.

 

In outline the detailed scheme put forward by Pinckney envisaged transport by MGB to within 1 or 2 miles of the French coast, going ashore in a Folbot and hiding up, with the boat, throughout the next day. By stages the two men would then head for the airfield, penetrate its defences and conceal themselves near the selected aircraft.

 

At the start of nautical twilight on D.4, when the aircraft are warmed up by ground mechanics, the two officers will take the first opportunity to shoot the ground mechanics of the selected plane as soon as it has been started up.5 The pilot officer will take off in the machine and return to England. The Commando officer will first ensure the safe departure of the aircraft and will then withdraw to a previously reconnoitered hide-up.

 

Thereafter home by foot, Folbot and MGB, the Focke Wulf having long ago evaded shooting down by British fighters on its way to a new home and close investigation.

Operation Airthief, as Pinckney’s plan was named, was given immediate attention, followed by approval. But, by a happy coincidence, as final preparations were being made, the pilot of an FW 190 became disorientated when engaged in aerial combat over England and put down on an airfield in South Wales in broad daylight, presenting the RAF with a completely serviceable specimen. Airthief, to the fury of Pinckney and the relief of Quill, was called off. Yet it presaged a new style of raiding about to be launched by SSRF by underlining the feasibility of a small party achieving results undetected, while large bodies were shown to draw unwanted attention to themselves. Airthief might well have succeeded out of surprise even if Pinckney did sacrifice himself in the attempt.