by Sadler, John
Impressed by the performance of both LRDG and the Free French, General Dal Pozzo set up a new mobile column in November 1941. He rightly deduced that mobility was the key. With Free French forces ranging, seemingly unchecked, throughout the Fezzan region, the Italian response was overhauled yet again, shedding men but adding weight of fire. Axis successes, coming fast in the wake of Crusader’s stuttering climax, emboldened the Italians besides; there were now many captured British vehicles available to boost mobility.3 From spring 1942, Dal Pozzo ushered in a more proactive raiding strategy in the area between Fort Lamy and Khartoum, beefed up with more aggressive patrolling between garrison outposts.4
The first real patrol unit, intended to match LRDG, was the superbly named Pattuglia Vigilanza Terrestre Avanzata (Advanced Land Surveillance Patrol) which came into being in late September. Three more patrols followed before the middle of the next month. Navigational training facilities were also established. These new and elite units were able to take the fight to LRDG, the first clash flaring on 17th November with another a week later. In both skirmishes the Italians acquitted themselves admirably.5
By this juncture, however, the writing for Il Duce’s African Empire was indelibly on the wall, and units were progressively withdrawn and reorganised to assist in the defence of Tunisia. It must be one of the tantalising ‘what if’s’ of the Desert War that had Dal Pozzo been in local command earlier, operations by both the LRDG and Free French might have turned out to be considerably more difficult and costly.
The Germans
Count Lazlo Almasy did not just inspire Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient but perhaps also The Key to Rebecca by Ken Follett. His real-life equivalent was even more colourful than fictional depictions. In the Great War he served as a Hussar, and latterly a fighter pilot. After the war he gained fame as a racing car driver, and this included taking part in a drive from Alexandria to Khartoum. He joined Robert Clayton-East in the search for Zerzura (the fabled ‘White City’). Although the “Englishman” did die, it was due to natural causes rather than a plane crash. His wife Dorothy was killed when her plane came down in 1939. Romantic entanglements appear entirely fictional, as Almasy may have been homosexual.
When war broke out the Count, by now an experienced desert explorer, was obliged to leave Egypt as British Intelligence believed, probably wrongly, that he was spying for the Italians. Back in Budapest, he was certainly recruited by German military intelligence, the Abwehr. He served in a special commando unit, Sonderkommando Dora, established under the command of Major Niklaus Ritter, which had been formed to carry out Admiral Canaris’ plan to infiltrate agents into Egypt and stir up national/anti-British sentiment. Ritter was not overly impressed by Almasy’s plan to use vehicles to cross the desert, preferring air drops. Operation Condor nonetheless was a failure and the major was injured when one of the aircraft crash-landed.
Almasy now assumed command and instigated Operation Salam – a daring plan to use mainly vehicles captured from the British. A pair of Abwehr agents, Johannes Eppler and radio operator Hans-Gerd Sandstede, were successfully infiltrated into Asyut in Egypt after the group penetrated through the Gilf Kebir and Kharga Oasis. This was a daring and innovative raid, the nearest mirror to LRDG tactics the Axis achieved.
Though using British trucks, Almasy’s men retained their German uniforms. Although the mission succeeded in its immediate objectives, the wider plan failed abysmally. Bletchley Park had already cracked the Abwehr hand cipher that the agents were using for wireless transmissions.6 Operation Condor, the spy mission, proved completely abortive, and both Axis agents were rounded up six weeks after they’d reached Cairo. Blame for the fiasco could hardly be laid at Almasy’s door; his tactics had been vindicated but the Abwehr and Canaris had lost their appetite for desert adventures. Almasy was soon back in Budapest and in search of employment.
The expression ‘missed opportunity’ which could be applied to Almasy’s raid might equally be said to describe the whole German approach to Special Forces in the Desert theatre. Even when formed, units had a habit of being subsumed into the main order of battle, and there was generally a dearth of suitable vehicles apart from the handy Kubelwagen.7 Hauptman von Homeyer, an officer with previous desert exploration experience, managed to interest OKH in an idea for a small raiding patrol, and although he was able to set his unit up, they disappear from view.8 Other, larger units such as Sondverband (Special Formation) 288 and the Tropen (Tropical) Kompanie ended up fighting as conventional forces.9
Notes
1 Molinari, A., Desert Raiders: Axis and Allied Special Forces 1940–43 (Osprey ‘Battle Orders’ no. 23), pp. 26–37.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
6 An officer named Jean Alington at Bletchley had detected the signal trail. A warning sent to HQ ME in Cairo arrived too late (Rommel was attacking at this point and Afrikakorps messages had a higher priority in deciphering and analysis), and Almasy was able to return to his jumping off point at Gialo without interception. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%C3%A1szl%C3%B3_Alm%C3%A1sy, retrieved 27th January 2015.
7 The Volkswagen Kubelwagen was a light military variant of the famous Beetle, designed by Ferdinand Porsche. The name means ‘bucket seat car’ – the initial vehicles had no doors, and the seat design was intended to prevent occupants from falling out! The cars, though not four-wheel drive, were light, robust and durable.
8 Molinari, p. 45.
9 Ibid, pp. 45–46.
APPENDIX 7
Ultra in the Desert War
By mid-1942, the LRDG/SAS had developed into a major thorn in the enemy’s side, striking at seemingly safe targets way behind the lines, destroying aircraft and fuel which Rommel could ill afford to lose. Alongside Special Forces, intelligence-gathering operations proliferated. The arrival of Rommel in the North African Theatre coincided with the establishment of a Special Signals Link to Wavell and Middle East Command in Cairo.
Hut 3 at Bletchley could now transmit reports directly to the GOC. Ultra intelligence was not able to identify Rommel’s immediate counter-offensive, but Hut 6 had broken the Luftwaffe key, now designated ‘Light Blue.’ Early decrypts revealed the concern felt by OKH at Rommel’s maverick strategy and indicated the extent of his supply problems. Though the intercepts were a major tactical gain in principle, the process was new and subject to delay to the extent that they rarely arrived in time to influence the events in the field during a highly mobile campaign.1 Equally, Light Blue was able to provide some details of Rommel’s seaborne supplies, but again in insufficient detail and with inadequate speed to permit a suitable response from either the RN or RAF.
Then, in July 1941 came a major breakthrough – an Italian navy cipher, ‘C38m’, was also broken and the flood of detail this provided greatly amplified that gleaned from Light Blue. Information was now passed not just to Cairo but to the RN at Alexandria and the RAF on Malta. Every care, as ever, had to be taken to ensure the integrity of Ultra was preserved:
Ultra was very important in cutting Rommel’s supplies. He was fighting with one hand behind his back because we were getting information about all the convoys from Italy. The RAF were not allowed to attack them unless they sent out reconnaissance, and if there was fog of course they couldn’t attack them because it would have jeopardised the security of Ultra, but in fact most of them were attacked.2
Ultra thus contributed significantly to Rommel’s supply problem. On land a number of army keys were also broken; these were designated by names of birds. Thus it was ‘Chaffinch’ which provided Auchinleck with detailed information on DAK supply shortages and weight of materiel, including tanks. Since mid-1941 a Special Signals Unit (latterly Special Liaison Unit) had been deployed in theatre.
The unit had to ensure information was disseminated only amongst those properly ‘in the know’ and that, vitally, identifiable secondary intelligence was always available to mask the true source. Expe
rience during the Crusader offensive indicated that the best use of Ultra was to provide detail of the enemy’s strength and pre-battle dispositions. The material could not be decrypted fast enough nor sent on to cope with a fast-changing tactical situation. At the front, information could be relayed far more quickly by the Royal Signals mobile Y-Special Wireless Sections and battalion intelligence officers, one of whom, Bill Williams, recalled:
Despite the amazing speed with which we received Ultra, it was of course usually out of date. This did not mean we were not glad of its arrival for at best it showed that we were wrong, usually it enabled us to tidy up loose ends, and at least we tumbled into bed with a smug confirmation. In a planning period between battles its value was more obvious and one had the opportunity to study it in relation to context so much better than during a fast moving battle such as desert warfare produced.3
Wireless in the vastness of the desert was the only effective mode of communication, but wireless messages are always subject to intercept. The Germans had their own Y Dienst and the formidable Captain Seebohm, whose unit proved highly successful. The extent of Seebohm’s effectiveness was only realised after his unit had been overrun during the attack by 26th Australian Brigade at Te-el-Eisa in July 1942. The captain was a casualty and the raiders discovered how extensive the slackness of Allied procedures actually was. As a consequence the drills were significantly tightened. If the Axis effort was thereby dented, Rommel still had a significant source from the US diplomatic codes which had been broken and which regularly included data on Allied plans and dispositions, the ‘Black Code’.
Reverses following on from the apparent success of Crusader were exacerbated by a serious misreading of a decrypt from the Italian C38m cipher. Hut 3 could not really assist the British in mitigating the defeat at Gazala or, perhaps worse, the surrender of Tobruk. This was one which Churchill felt most keenly: …a bitter moment. Defeat is one thing; disgrace is another.
Until this time it had taken Bletchley about a week to crack Chaffinch but, from the end of May, the ace code-breakers were now able to cut this to a day. Other key codes, Phoenix’ and ‘Thrush’, were also broken. Similar inroads were made against the Luftwaffe. ‘Primrose’, that employed by the supply formation, and ‘Scorpion’, the ground/air link, were both broken. Scorpion was a literal Godsend. As close and constant touch with units in the field was necessary for supply, German signallers unwittingly provided a blueprint for any unfolding battle.
On the ground, Eighth Army was increasing the total of mobile Y formations whilst the Intelligence Corps and RAF code-breakers were getting fully into their stride.4 None of these developments could combine to save the ‘Auk’ but Montgomery was the beneficiary of high level traffic between Rommel and Hitler, sent via Kesselring, as the latter was Luftwaffe. The Red cipher, long mastered by Bletchley, was employed. Monty had already predicted the likely genesis of the Alam Halfa battle, but the intercepts clearly underscored his analysis.
By now the array of air force, navy and army codes penetrated by Bletchley was providing a regular assessment of supply, of available AFV’s and the dialogue of senior officers. The relationship between Rommel and Kesselring was evidently strained. Even the most cynical of old sweats had cause to be impressed: …he [Montgomery] told them with remarkable assurance how the enemy was going to be defeated. The enemy attack was delayed and the usual jokes were made about the ‘crystal-gazers’. A day or two later everything happened according to plan.5 Ultra was dispelling the fog of war.
Notes
1 Smith, M., Station X – The Code Breakers of Bletchley Park (London, 1998) pp. 97–98.
2 Jim Rose, one of Hut 3 Bletchley Park’s air advisers, quoted in Smith, p. 99.
3 Ibid., p. 100.
4 Ibid., p. 102.
5 Bill Williams quoted in Smith, p. 103.
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