Ghost Patrol: A History of the Long Range Desert Group, 1940–1945

by Sadler, John

  ‘Greater love hath no man’,

  We turned our eyes away

  To where the sunshine on the hills

  Claimed glory for the day.

  ‘Than this that he should give’,

  Our thoughts cast far away

  To red-gold hair, soft creamy skin

  And sunlight in the bay.

  ‘Should give for his friend his life’,

  Our memories floated wide

  And wandered in some distant vale

  To the lapping of the tide.

  ‘Amen’, the chaplain’s voice soft fell

  We bowed our heads to pray,

  ‘Oh God, it cannot be, this price

  So soon be ours to pay’.

  —Lieutenant E. Yates: Parade Service on Deck

  I believe it will be found that the Italian and Balkan Peninsulas are militarily and politically linked and that really it is one theatre which we have to deal with. It may not be possible to conduct a successful Italian campaign ignoring what happens in the Aegean. The Germans evidently attach the utmost importance to the Eastern sphere. What I ask for is the capture of Rhodes and the other islands of the Dodecanese.

  —Churchill (to Roosevelt)1

  Context

  The Dodecanese campaign, one of Churchill’s less brilliant ideas, came about through the PM’s obsession with peripheral strategies. Britain had plenty of experience with such. From the time of the Seven Years War (1756–1763), the dominance of the Royal Navy enabled England to strike at the soft underbelly of her continental foes, France and Spain, prising away their far flung outposts; taking from their empires to add to its own. Churchill did not much care for the idea of a cross-Channel invasion, fearing it would be too costly. Instead nibbling at the margins, death by many cuts, appeared less risky. It wasn’t, as although the doomed campaign spawned, it is said, Alistair Maclean’s best-selling novel The Guns of Navarone, the rest is all bad.

  In 1912, that group of the Southern Sporades, called the Dodecanese, a necklace of fourteen islands that lie off the Turkish coast, came not to Greece but to Italy. Later, Il Duce was very pleased with his Aegean mini-empire. Rhodes has always been strategically vital, one of the very largest of all in that luminous sea of beautiful islands. Its classical traces abound. The place was ‘duffed up’ by Caesar’s assassin Cassius in the time of the late Roman Republic, and the Knights of St. John made it their great fortress and church after the final fall of the Christian kingdoms in the Levant. They held out there for two centuries, defying the rising Ottoman power, a thorn in the Sultan’s side. Twice the Turks laid siege in 1480 and again, finally successfully, in 1522. The knights, with their colours flying, marched out from the ruins with full honours. Malta would be their new home and scene of their greatest, epic battle with the Sublime Porte.

  Fascists tend to like tales of knightly valour, it appeals to their warped version of a crusader ethic. Mussolini rebuilt the citadel of Rhodes town for the glory of his re-born Roman empire and to the undying gratitude of a modern tourist industry. Rhodes became a must-enjoy fascist holiday destination. Northwards lies Cos and north again, Leros; all of these islands were strategically important in the long wars between Cross and Crescent, near to the Turkish mainland, sheltered anchorages with repair yards on Symi and Leros.

  Cos has always attracted entranced visitors from the days of Asclepius; Leros less so:

  Leros is a gloomy shut-in sort of place, with deep fjords full of lustreless water, black as obsidian and as cold as a polar bear’s kiss. Leros means dirty or grubby in Greek, and the inhabitants of the island are regarded as something out-of-the-ordinary by the other little Dodecanese islands. They are supposed to be surly, secretive, and double-dealing and, in my limited experience, I found this to be so.2

  Churchill’s plan was that with the fall of Axis North Africa and the collapse of Mussolini’s regime, a swift occupation of the Dodecanese might entice Turkey to commit on the Allied side. He envisaged a warm water route to Russia through the Dardanelles, an area the PM might have been wary of, given past experience. This one would prove no better, if at least less bloody. Nonetheless, at the Casablanca Conference in January 1943, Churchill received the thumbs up, and planning commenced at the end of January 1943.

  Operation Accolade

  The concept involved direct amphibious assaults on Rhodes and Karpathos, landing three divisions plus armour. Crete, of evil memory, was originally included in the plan but the strength of the German presence was rightly judged to be too great. Besides, the largest of the Greek islands was bottling up a substantial garrison, virtually a free POW camp. As with any such operation, control of the skies was essential and this was the prime difficultly. Allied planes from Cyprus and the Middle East would be at a disadvantage while the fighters of X Fliegerkorps were an awful lot closer. Besides, much Allied strength would be tied up in the forthcoming invasion of Sicily.

  Eisenhower was not impressed and remained sceptical. When, on 9th October with all going horribly wrong, General ‘Jumbo’ Wilson3 had to go cap in hand to the Americans at La Marsa in Tunisia to beg for aid, he came back empty handed. Even Ike’s British advisors, Tedder, Cunningham and Alexander, wished to distance themselves from Churchill’s perceived folly. Alanbrooke4 caustically commented: Another day of Rhodes madness. He [the PM] is in a very dangerous condition, most unbalanced, and God knows how we will finish this war if he goes on.5

  What made the idea more attractive during the summer of 1943 was the collapse of the Italians and their falling out with their erstwhile German allies. Italy threw in the towel on 8th September but plans for a mini version of Accolade had already been scuppered by the Americans’ continued refusal to provide air support. The surrender did open up possibilities. Italian garrisons appeared inclined to swap sides, a prospect the Germans viewed with alarm and they rushed forces onto the islands to discourage mass-defections.

  Rhodes, strategically, was the key. Both sides knew this and Boche Army Group E had committed a full division, Sturm-Division Rhodos, to its defence. On 8th September, an outlying Italian garrison on Kastelorizo surrendered to the Allies. George Jellicoe of the SBS was dropped in by parachute onto Rhodes. His mission was to persuade Admiral Campioni and his 40,000 soldiers to defect. Meanwhile, General Kleeman wasn’t taking any chances and he moved rapidly to disarm his former allies. By 11th September the Italians had been disarmed and neutralised.

  Despite this failure, Wilson pressed ahead with plans to occupy Cos, Samos and Leros. The Royal Navy was largely unchallenged at sea and two fighter squadrons were moved to Cos. It was hoped these smaller islands could form a base for an invasion of Rhodes. Enter the LRDG; they were to provide 130 troopers to support the planned landing. From 10th–17th September a full brigade of infantry (234th under Major General F.G.R. Brittorous) with SBS detachments, the Greek Sacred Band and a company of Paras secured Cos, Kalymnos, Samos, Leros, Symi and Astypalaia. The Germans responded by consolidating their grip on the islands they’d already secured and laid plans to recapture the rest.

  The Achilles’ heel was the RAF aerodrome on Cos. General Muller, commanding 22nd Infantry Division tasked with ejecting the Allies, ordered bombing raids which began on 18th September. By the end of the month, the Luftwaffe had over 350 operational aircraft committed. By 3rd October the thin Allied forces on Cos, mainly from 1st battalion DLI and some 3,500 Italians, were fighting for their lives. It was a disaster; the island fell and nearly 1,500 British went into the bag.

  The surviving Italians also capitulated, though their commander and over a hundred officers were shot. Changing sides was never a popular move. With Cos gone and its vital airfield lost, the campaign was doomed. Wilson plaintively cabled an exculpatory message to Churchill, saying he apparently had, no intelligence at our disposal which would have led us to foresee that the enemy would be able to collect and launch at such short notice an expedition of the magnitude which made the assault on Cos.6

  Operation Typhoo
n

  Muller’s planned invasion of Leros got off to a bad start. He had trumped the British very effectively with Operation Polar Bear against Cos, but the Royal Navy took a hand in sinking, literally, his projected move against Leros. A supply convoy headed for Cos was sent to the bottom, along with personnel and landing craft. The general was forced to assemble a new invasion flotilla, ships and boats scattered amongst the islands under camouflage. Though the navy kept up a relentless pressure, shelling ports and installations, Muller was, by 12th November, fully ready. His composite force or kampfgruppe was comprised of infantry, paras, an Axis SBS-type group and Brandenburgers – the Abwehr’s Special Forces. The bulk of the Allied garrison on Leros was formed by roughly the 3,000 infantry of 234th Brigade and 8,500 Italians.

  Prior to the attack, the Allies had been heavily bombed and Muller’s forces landed on both the east and west sides. Paratroops were dropped on the central high ground of Mount Rachi. British counter-attacks failed to eliminate the beachheads and the navy could not prevent further German reinforcements coming ashore. The defenders’ positions were cut in two and within four days, on 16th November, the survivors surrendered. Another 3,200 British troops marched into captivity. The remaining footholds were evacuated, and the rump of Italian garrisons surrendered. By the latter part of November it was all over.

  It would be difficult to suggest anything good that, from the Allied perspective, came out of the campaign. The Germans had air superiority virtually throughout, and their plans were both well laid and well executed. General Henry Wilson was not amongst the casualties. He kept his job as C-in-C Middle East Forces and, in January 1944 succeeded Eisenhower as Supreme Allied Commander in the Mediterranean. LRDG, on the other hand, lost more men in the Dodecanese than during the whole of the desert war. This was the last full campaign where the British were defeated and the Germans victorious.7

  Enter the LRDG

  As noted in the preceding chapter, David Lloyd Owen received orders on 11th September to take a full squadron to the small island of ‘Castellorosso’ (this is Castelorizo, a tiny island south of Rhodes that almost touches Turkey), and be ready to deploy at six hours notice. The orders, from Lieutenant-General Anderson, read: Most likely role will be to move into Cos and Samos, if the situation permits, to stiffen resistance of the Italian garrisons and local guerrillas to German control of the islands. You may however be ordered to operate in Rhodes. As Lloyd Owen himself comments, Thus began, in a tragically vague way, the Aegean campaign of September, October and November 1943. It was tragically vague throughout.8

  There was little time for speculation. Men, vehicles, kit and supplies had to be pulled together on Haifa docks for sailing that evening. The ramshackle orders contrasted sharply with the months of re-training and detailed instruction they’d been through. At least they set off in fine Henty-esque style, sliding through clear blue, late summer waters in a Greek sloop. Her patriot crew were elated that, after the years of oppression, they were sailing for home waters under their own flag. Two more sloops, one British and one under French colours, joined their little international flotilla. Spirits were further buoyed by the enthusiasm which the locals showed as, on 13th September, they cruised into Castelorizo.

  Their base, once stores and gear were ferried ashore, seemed idyllic; classic white painted cottages surrounding the harbour, a scene from Durrell’s Greek Islands. There was, however, still a war to be fought and what the hundred men of Lloyd Owen’s squadron were to be doing about that remained as vague as before. The small town was delightful and the Greeks, who had little to share, hospitable. The troopers found it rather bizarre to be so close to their former enemies, and Lloyd Owen decided not to pass on an order that Italian officers were to be saluted. The idyll was short-lived as orders were received to move north to Leros. The message did not provide any inkling as to how the ground lay, whether the Italians were friendly, or even how the squadron should get there. All three sloops had returned to base.

  They did, hopefully, have the use of a fast Italian boat and a single seaplane. They also had George Jellicoe, who had abandoned his abortive mission to Rhodes. As David Lloyd Owen points out, this initial and telling failure to seize Rhodes should have been the signal to abandon the entire scheme for the Dodecanese. Possession of the ‘Island of Roses’ with its airfields was crucial. Lloyd Owen sensibly decided to send his W/O ahead in the seaplane to recce Leros and report whilst the rest struggled to get there as best they could. The aircraft’s Italian crew proved very unenthusiastic and contrived to collide with a Short Sunderland whilst taxiing. This mishap could have served as a metaphor for the whole mess.

  The LRDG doesn’t give up. Lloyd Owen, with Stormonth-Darling, commandeered the Italian motor boat and its unwilling crew, crammed her to the gunwales with men and kit, and set off for a night dash over the Aegean. If we had not been fighting the Germans, this would have been high adventure, a fast, sleek raider sliding through the fabled sea at night, still balmy at that time of year, their passage lit by towering fires on Rhodes, like beacons from Troy, courtesy of the RAF. Lumbering transports crammed with paras bound for Cos waddled overhead.

  In the wee small hours the mighty roar of the boat’s twin engines subsided as she cruised towards the dark harbour of Leros. A kerfuffle and some wild shooting broke out as the vessel’s crew negotiated to have the boom lifted, but finally she nosed gracefully into the deep harbour to a formal welcome from Admiral Mascarpa and his entire staff, parading resplendent as though to receive royalty.

  LRDG, in terms of numbers, fell rather short of the two full divisions the Admiral was hoping for. Lloyd Owen and a score of his brigands inspired alarm rather than confidence. He hastily and with fine bravado announced he was the mere tip of the vanguard of a mighty force that was to follow. It was impossible to work out if the Italian believed him; he didn’t really believe himself.9 He did at least receive an invitation to lunch the following day.

  This was not entirely a success. Lloyd Owen, very much attired as the warrior for the working day, found his glittering, perfumed hosts, their table groaning whilst others starved, increasingly repugnant. The Admiral’s hospitality might be impressive; his plans for defending the island were not: Even with my limited knowledge of military tactics I could see that the whole defence scheme was futile. There was no depth in the defence, and no provision had been made for a reserve to counter-attack any enemy that might land.10

  Lloyd Owen took charge. Transport to supply the coastal battery sites was inadequate and lines of defence needed to be dug both north and south to seal off the landing beaches. The centre of the island, ideal for parachutists, would also have to be fortified. The Italians were truculent. Whilst they agreed to the plan, they proved snail-like in its execution. LRDG found tools, organised the 5,000-strong garrison into working parties and, stark horror, obliged the immaculate officers to strip their laundered sleeves and work alongside their men. For the Italian officer corps this was tantamount to social engineering. Happily, the element of choice was removed.

  This type of impromptu defence, Seven Samurai style, wasn’t really the designated role of LRDG. Some days later a trio of British destroyers delivered the whole of 234th Brigade and disgorged men and kit onto the harbour. Communications were so poor Lloyd Owen had no idea these reinforcements were due. Defence now became the regulars’ responsibility. Other welcome additions were Jake Easonsmith and his Kiwis, followed by Guy Prendergast. LRDG, plus SBS detachments, were now on Leros in force but there was no gainful employment for any of them on the island. It was now a regular bastion in a regular war.

  However, occupying the neighbouring island of Calymnos might prove more profitable:

  Calymnos and Leros are almost Siamese twins, but there could not be two more contrasting places. Calymnos is big, blowsy and razor shaven, yet open to the sea and sky and all their humours … you are in the island of sponges now, and it is on this hazardous trade that the reputation of Calymnos depends …
the hills are shaven and smooth as a turtle’s back and the bare rock with its fur of hill ‘garrigue’ [scrub] has the slightly bluish terracotta tinge of volcanic rock.11

  Transport would be provided by the rather grandly named Levant Schooner Flotilla (‘LSF’). This was in fact comprised of five armed caiques commanded by Commander Adrian Seligman, a celebrated yachtsman who’d circumnavigated the globe in a windjammer before the war. The boats, typically crewed by five or six sailors, were armed with a mix of machine guns and 20-mm cannon. The whole purpose of the LSF was to facilitate the infiltration and extraction of commando raiders. Like LRDG, their kit had a certain Heath Robinson quality; the vessels were often powered by marinised Matilda tank engines with comms salvaged from Curtiss P-40 fighters! These were just the breed of buccaneers whose bravado would appeal to the Prime Minister.

  By 25th September, LRDG was set up on Calymnos where they could better deploy their intelligence gathering skills. The picture was depressing. It was obvious Axis air raids were pounding Cos and Leros, grinding Allied airfields to dust. The RAF, as ever, put up a good fight but the odds were always impossible: I never saw more than two of our fighters in the air at once, yet these tackled any numbers the Germans chose to send over. We picked up a few pilots out of the sea, and watched others go down in flames.12

  At least one Axis flier was dragged from the Aegean into a small boat LRDG had rowed out to save him. No sooner was he aboard than a German flying-boat pounced and swooped to land next to the startled rescuers, relieving them of their captive – a very short incarceration!13 Cairo remained immured in Nero-like calm; messages were received intimating that no seaborne enemy action against the garrison on Cos was anticipated. Such action may not have been anticipated, but it arrived at full blast, the very next day!14

  Easonsmith and Lloyd Owen awoke in the early dawn to witness a strong squadron of ships moving on Cos. If any lingering doubts remained as to whether these were hostile, the flashes from their gun muzzles soon dispelled any uncertainty. Cos was doomed. The port of Calymnos faces directly towards Cos so withdrawal might be tricky. No matter, Cairo sent another message commanding LRDG to immediately counter-attack and recover Cos, one of the most brainless and preposterous orders that I ever heard.15 Apparently Churchill had instructed Wilson at GHQ Middle East to ‘play high; improvise and dare’. Stirring stuff but how a mere three hundred men without any heavy weapons and only a flotilla of caiques were to recover Cos when a brigade of infantry had failed to hold the place wasn’t specified.