by Sadler, John
Next up was Stan Eastwood. His mission was to recce the ground north and south of Durazzo. The coast was bristling and a friendly LZ impossible to locate. It might be best to parachute his patrol in further south where they might hope for a friendlier welcome. The incursion was to prove something of an epic. On landing, Eastwood sought out Hoxha. Happily, Alan Palmer was with the self-appointed general and could offer a wealth of knowledge and advice. Mules, guides and Major Hare from the liaison team were duly enlisted, and the patrol began their march northwards.
The going was never easy, Albania is a mountainous country with few roads, a Tolkien-esque landscape as far removed from the war in Western Europe as could be imagined, enclosed, shut in, dark, primitive and treacherous in every sense. For weeks they marched, Eastwood himself laid low with a bout of malaria. It was mid-September before the patrol reached a village named Pajandra, south from both Tirana and Durazzo.
By now the Axis were in full retreat right across the board, in Italy, Greece and further east. This offered opportunities for Eastwood’s patrol to be beefed up and act as a blocking force, which made good sense. German arms were everywhere stretched to the limit; holding key chokepoints could inflict booth delay and considerable loss. Killing Germans was a job for LRDG. Lloyd Owen rightly estimated that the partisans themselves might be less excited. For them, there was no profit in attacking Germans who were merely trying to escape.
All he had to do now was to sell the idea to the Balkan Air Force, and fortuitously Brigadier Davy was susceptible. Every dead German was a good return on an additional investment of air-supply. Lochmaben became the operational code name, and Lloyd Owen intended to lead in person with Stormonth-Darling and Ken Lazarus acting as joint chiefs of LRDG staff in Italy. Three more patrols were to be dropped in, but the partisans became truculent. They could see the operation might draw German fire in their general direction and their commissars feared a potential British takeover.
Penetrating the spider’s web of Balkan politics proved tricky as ever. It took pressure directly from Alexander, ‘leaning’ on Hoxha, for anything to progress. John Olivey’s falling out with his unwilling hosts didn’t help. Hoxha prevaricated endlessly and Lloyd Owen decided to parachute in himself and join Eastwood. He might just succeed in animating the local resistors once on the ground. His first attempt at jumping, however, was foiled by the incompetence of the rather inexperienced US fliers who were providing the taxi service.
Although this initial sortie proved abortive, Hoxha had, at last, thrown in the towel and the whole crew, all thirty-six LRDG, was cleared for insertion. The three dozen commandos would be ferried in six planes. I felt a little cold, as a tremor half of fear and half of thrill ran down my spine. My eye was on the red light, which had warned me to take up my position. Soon this light would turn to green, and then I must hurl myself into that forbidding rushing wind.10
It turned out the parachutists had been dropped from a good two thousand feet above their expected ceiling. It’s a long way down, in darkness, into an unknown, possibly hostile country. Lloyd Owen landed safely but took a fearful tumble in the blackness, crashing down a ravine and badly injuring his back. This was not an auspicious start. The height of the drop meant men and kit were widely dispersed. Providentially there were no other serious injuries, but getting everyone and their gear fully re-assembled took all night and much of the next day. For Lloyd Owen, his extremely painful back became a personal Calvary. Initial diagnosis from the unit’s paramedics was confirmed through radio contact: his spine was severely damaged.11
Ken Lazarus arranged for Michael Parsons, the MO, to be dropped in. The good doctor was not an enthusiastic parachutist but Lloyd Owen’s need was clearly very great. The weather was foul but the jump went ahead without mishap, immediately after grey-bellied, autumnal clouds closed in for the duration. Lloyd Owen was in a bad way and in a bad place to be incapacitated. Stan Eastwood too was still feeling the effects of malaria. Ron Tinker took over operational planning, and he and Tiny Simpson were soon cooking up a mission to cut the Elbasan–Tirana road. The LRDG base was a cannily improvised caravanserai of billowing hutments made up from their re-cycled parachutes.
Their liaison was a rugged bandit called Myslim Peza, who actually had an impressive track record of fighting the occupiers. Lloyd Owen thought he was probably too simplistic for a political role; wrongly as it turned out, as he later became Vice-President.12 Another partisan leader appealed for direct help in seeing off an Axis sweep but, despite his weakened condition, Lloyd Owen demurred. Rightly so, LRDG had not landed just to fight as regular infantry. By now Eastwood was fitter so he and Tiny Simpson operated with their two patrols. They began a series of attacks against the main highway, establishing an effective block.
This proved a lively time. Having, on 4th October, ‘beat up’ a small convoy, despite an armoured escort, and killing many Germans, they then saw off the inevitable counter-attacks with élan. The road stayed closed and the Boche had lost eighty men. No prisoners were taken. Those Albanian fighters with them didn’t do mercy. More explosives were now needed and these were dropped along with another Kiwi officer, Paddy MacLauchlan, who aside from being a welcome presence, brought Lloyd Owen a bottle of whisky to celebrate his birthday. He was 27.
Stan Eastwood was still holding his ground astride the severed artery of the main highway. Another attempt to bull through had been seen off with loss. The Hun still maintained a well fortified OP not far from his blocking position. Being otherwise unoccupied during a lull, Eastwood decided to take steps and eliminate this enemy presence. He led a partisan ground assault, backed by rocket firing Spitfires. The battle raged fiercely till the resistance succeeded in penetrating the perimeter wire and setting a barrack hut on fire. By the time the last shot was fired, three dozen Germans were dead at a cost of two wounded. For the partisans, booty, in the shape of ammunition, boots and gear was well worth having. Prisoners were not.
For all the LRDG patrols, food was always short, and the local turkey population suffered heavy losses. Expensive too, as all had to be paid for in gold, the only currency the Albanians were interested in. Disbursing more precious metal purchased a string of mountain ponies and an endless supply of Rakia, the local firewater. As Lloyd Owen underwent his slow recovery, Michael Parsons began to exercise his considerable skills in improving care for wounded partisans. That which already existed was rudimentary and filthy. Despite much truculence from their hosts, who resented being told to improve sanitation, miracles were achieved. Levels of care soared and female fighters were trained up as nurses. Operations were performed by flickering candlelight in squalid, rain-soaked bivouacs.13
Lloyd Owen was soon strong enough to visit Stan Eastwood’s forward position. The main road had been kept firmly closed for a fortnight, but no sooner had he and Parsons arrived, the doctor continuing on his far flung rounds, than the partisan contingent upped and left. They had orders to converge on Tirana, and no amount of reason or shouting had any effect. Eastwood was now down to his twenty LRDG troopers, nowhere near enough to keep the back door as firmly bolted.
A visit to local partisan HQ proved a waste of time. Lloyd Owen found the party commissar less than helpful and uninterested in killing more enemy. The prize was Tirana. Aside from lice, the LRDG came away from the meeting empty-handed. The road watch had to be abandoned. Ron Tinker, MacLauchlan and Robin Marr had been interdicting another main arterial road, the Elbasan-Struga highway. The road was blown but the local partisans were lacklustre in their efforts and soon got bored. When the inevitable retaliatory blow fell, the LRDG were too few to contain the enemy and had to withdraw.
Undeterred, Ron Tinker decided to smash the road where a fast flowing river sped alongside, thus creating an impassable flood. The bangs were impressive but not quite biblical enough to incite the full deluge and the Germans soon returned in force, driving the raiders back up into the hills. Tinker gave the enemy a good fight as always, but was constantly fin
ding his natural aggression checked by the lukewarm or obstructive attitudes of local resistance commanders. Their eyes were firmly fixed on what they considered the greater prize, and they were under the pernicious thumbs of their political masters.14
Stan Eastwood had more luck. He had intelligence that a big relief convoy was being mustered to reinforce Tirana. They’d be moving north/south so he selected a bridge to blow. This worked brilliantly and the convoy backed up, serpent like along the narrow road. Enter the RAF who Stan had primed by radio: they sent over a large number of aircraft which together with the ground forces completely destroyed a convoy of 1,500 men, a few tanks, guns, M. T. and horse drawn vehicles.15 This was a very neat and productive bit of inter-services working and caused Eastwood’s prestige with his hosts to soar.
The end for the Axis in Albania drew near. Tirana fell on 17th November. Stan Eastwood and his troopers lent weight to the final partisan offensive, calling down more airstrikes, delivered with impunity as the RAF enjoyed almost total hegemony in the skies. During one sortie, twenty-eight Beaufighters, equipped with rockets, blasted the enemy with pinpoint strafing. The city was liberated but LRDG were forbidden to enter. Their presence, in the modern idiom, would have been politically incorrect. Eastwood ignored the order and paraded anyway. He spent his last few weeks clearing the airfield, disarming mines and booby-traps.
Albania had provided exhilaration and excellent opportunities for biffing the enemy. However, it had thrown up more than its fair measure of frustrations. The same partisans, who might one moment be fighting like demons, might just as easily up sticks and be off the next. The cancer of political control was incurable. Nonetheless, the Albanian mission had been a success. A handful of LRDG had inflicted significant loss on the enemy, cut off his lines of escape and regularly hammered his transport of which he possessed a rapidly diminishing stock.
Lloyd Owen himself left by boat in the dying days of October. Their hosts gave the party a suitably lavish and completely hollow farewell:
It was a cold night but our escort of partisans lit a good fire and we huddled round it to warm ourselves. They cooked the inevitable turkey and supplied us with quantities of raw and vicious Rakia, we had a happy evening. The Albanians sang some of their songs and we endeavoured to reciprocate by contributing in our discordant turn. They made speeches lauding our greatness and were able conveniently to forget the difficulties of the past. We were equally insincere and said a few feeble words.16
And so, LRDG went back to Italy but opportunities were also rife in Greece, where Britain’s earlier involvement from 1940–1941 had not been auspicious.
Bronze Clad Achaeans
As early as the summer of 1940, German planners had considered the possibility of supporting an Italian invasion of the Greek mainland. The Greeks, in August, already alarmed by Italian sabre rattling and overt provocations had approached the British ambassador requesting assistance in the event, as now appeared likely, of an attack. The subsequent report prepared by the Chiefs of Staff Committee and delivered to the War Cabinet on 9th September was unequivocal and unfavourable.
The overwhelming weight of military advice was therefore, and from the outset, against any intervention in Greece. Salonika, Greece’s second city and her great northern port, one which had seen much Allied military activity in the Great War, was the pivot upon which Anthony Eden’s proposed Balkan alliance (Greece, Yugoslavia and Turkey) must turn. It was also the only harbour other than Piraeus that could provide a base for an expeditionary force. To hold the city however, the Greeks would have to base their defensive line on the northern chain of Macedonian passes.
The question of where best to stand on the defensive was discussed at the Tatoi Conference.17 Here the bland eloquence of political assurance began to founder against the harsh reality of the topography. The first position was a line drawn along the Bulgarian Frontier, which would safeguard Salonika or a rearward position buttressed by the slopes of Mount Olympus and the Vermion range. This was the Aliakmon Line, stronger, but being some forty miles behind the first would mean the abandonment of Salonika. The Greeks, for understandable patriotic reasons, wished to hold the frontier and deny the Germans the soil for which they had already fought so hard.
But to hold this it was necessary to have the support of Yugoslavia, the second bastion of Eden’s proposed alliance. Militarily, the British generals favoured the Aliakmon Line, as the forward position could easily be outflanked if the Germans attacked through Serb territory, a real possibility as the attitude of the Belgrade government had yet to be ascertained.
One of the main weaknesses of the strategy determined at Tatoi was the reliance on the Yugoslavs at a time when the mood in Belgrade was unknown, as indeed was the view in Ankara, the third capital in Eden’s three great pillars. The Turks, whilst conciliatory, were not easily drawn. They had no reason to invite German aggression, and any vague assurances were clearly dependent upon them receiving quantities of aircraft and materiel which Britain was not placed to supply.
The situation in Yugoslavia was even more uncertain. The country was a political creation, born of the dismemberment of Austria-Hungary after 1918. This uneasy mix of peoples was dominated by the Serbs, who leaned toward Britain, their ally from the First War. There was, however, in Croatia a substantial minority who inclined more towards Germany and, in February 1941, Hitler had made it clear to the Yugoslavs that he expected them to ally themselves unequivocally with the Axis.
Prince Paul, the Regent, treading a delicate path between the two protagonists, was inclined to accept the German accord with the assurance that Italy would not benefit at his country’s expense. He was cautious, as he intimated, as he feared too overt a move toward the Axis could produce a backlash that would unseat his government. The Germans were not minded to temporise – it was a question of whether the Regent preferred an alliance or an occupation. At the same time he was fending off repeated calls from Britain, with the result that his country stood unhappily poised in a continuing dichotomy.
By 13th December 1940 Hitler was outlining his plans for a Balkans campaign. This would begin in March 1941 and be expected to last no more than three weeks. Timing was everything, for the divisions would soon be offered fresh employment elsewhere. The invasion of mainland Greece and the occupation of Bulgaria, codenamed ‘Marita’, would be an exercise intended to secure the southern flank whilst the main issue was settled on the Russian steppe. Even the deployment of Rommel and his Afrika Korps expedition to Libya was merely intended to bolster the Italians and keep the British engaged rather than advance into Egypt and capture Suez.
A dramatic development occurred on 26th March 1941 when an army coup unseated the Yugoslav Regent, took control of the person of the young King Peter II, and established a Serbian-dominated military regime. This course of events had been in part instigated by Big Bill Donovan, who had tapped into Serbian Nationalist, anti-Axis sentiment in Belgrade and the key garrisons. Although the junta leaned now toward the Allies the generals were not so foolhardy as to hazard their tenuous grip on power by defying Germany. Although there were discussions with General Papagos early in April, these broke up in confusion while the die was already cast. Outraged at what he perceived as standard Balkan duplicity, Hitler had, on 27th March, issued orders for the aptly named Operation Punishment.
It was now the turn of Yugoslavia to experience the full horrors of blitzkrieg with her air force shot to pieces on the ground and her capital subjected to a murderous aerial bombardment that left the city transformed into rubble and 17,000 of her citizens dead in the ruins. The Yugoslav army had disintegrated even before the panzers arrived, and on the morning of Sunday, 6th April, five full armoured divisions under General von List crossed the Greek frontier, together with two motorised, three mountain, eight infantry divisions and the Leibstandarte SS. There was no Balkan Alliance but there was now a Balkan War.
As Salonika was too exposed for disembarkation, the majority of British a
nd Dominion troops came ashore at Piraeus or further north at Volos, which was closer to the forward post at Larissa. In total the forces dispatched totalled some 58,000 men, of whom roughly 35,000 were front liners with the rest support and administrative personnel. The initial Allied plan was that the three Greek divisions, under-equipped, under-strength and under-supplied, would be used as a blocking force to blunt the German onslaught.
The remainder of the available Greek forces were enmeshed with the three Italian armies operating in Albania. This attempt at a holding action was never really a viable proposition and the blow launched on the 6th April across the Bulgarian border and to the east of Salonika was delivered in overwhelming force, with full and close air support. Paratroops were dropped behind the Greek lines guarding the Rupel Pass, but this early deployment of airborne troops was not a success. Most of the detachment of 150 were killed or captured as the Greeks fought back with considerable gallantry. Nonetheless, Salonika fell within days.
Greece was, to all intents and purposes, a country with a near medieval infrastructure. A single railway line wound from Athens to Salonika, a narrow and highly vulnerable ribbon that connected the two principal cities. Roads were little more than tracks, unsuitable for motor vehicles and impassable in bad weather. The Allied commander, General ‘Jumbo’ Wilson, was further hamstrung by the fact that, in order to satisfy the Greeks, still officially neutral, he was obliged to pretend he did not really exist, masquerading as a journalist!
By the middle of March, Allied battalions were digging in along the Aliakmon Line but the plan was already crumbling. General Papagos was unwilling and largely unable to extricate his divisions from Albania, while newly raised formations were hopelessly inadequate and under-equipped. Wavell’s expressed concerns over the vulnerability of the Allied defences proved entirely well founded. The line was also very thinly held, and a vital corridor through which the Germans could penetrate and thus turn the whole position was virtually unmanned. Hitler was not blind to the strategic opportunities his sudden and violent occupation of Yugoslavia now presented.
