by Damien Lewis
At 464 feet in length, the Duchessa d’Aosta would present an easy target to the shore-based guns, especially as she was moored just one hundred feet or so from the harbourside, making her highly vulnerable to the 4-inch cannons. In one of several worst-case scenarios the crew could barricade themselves below her steel decks while the shore-based defenders would rake the ship’s bridge with fire.
A further worrying scenario was that the anchor chains would fail to blow, and the ships would be stuck fast. In another, the raiders would be detected and fired upon before they reached the target ships – and the defender’s four-inch guns could do serious damage to the tugboats. In yet another, the tugs would fail to navigate the ships out of the shallow harbour and they would run aground. If a Spanish vessel was moved in to block the harbour exit the assault force would be trapped, at which point all guns could be turned upon them.
Any which way those planning Operation Postmaster looked at it, the chances of failure seemed to far outweigh those of success. While M and his political taskmasters in London still felt it worth the risk, the two powerful regional commanders remained unconvinced. Admiral Willis and General Gifford repeatedly cabled London and otherwise made it clear that they did ‘NOT, repeat NOT agree operation should take place.’
When London issued categorical orders that the raid was to go ahead and they were to furnish all possible help, Admiral Willis acquiesced and green-lit the Royal Navy’s part in the mission.
But General Gifford, the more obdurate of the two, found an eleventh-hour means via which to frustrate Operation Postmaster. March-Phillipps reckoned that he needed seventeen extra hands, both to help crew the tugboats and to execute the cutting-out assault. General Gifford was asked to provide those extra men, but all he would offer Maid Honour Force was his ‘best wishes for the success of the operation’. As to committing any Army personnel to Operation Postmaster, he declined.
With just days to go before the mission was scheduled to proceed, March-Phillipps had half the force that he required. Winston Churchill had been briefed at all stages on the progress of the mission, as had his War Cabinet. Not surprisingly, frustration was boiling over with the local delays. Under guidance from London March-Phillipps and Victor Laversuch, the SOE’s top agent on the ground in Nigeria, held a meeting with His Majesty’s Governor of Nigeria, Sir Bernard Henry Bourdillon, to air their grievances.
Sir Henry was a man of principle and verve who had supported SOE operations in the area from the very start. He’d served as a Major in the First World War, before going into the Colonial Service, and he’d been the Governor of Nigeria since 1935. In short, he was a fifty-eight-year-old veteran of war, intrigue and diplomacy, and he would become one of the many unsung heroes of Operation Postmaster.
Sir Henry listened to March-Phillipps and Laversuch as they outlined their predicament, after which he proposed a solution as dynamic as it was innovative. They should raise a force from within the ranks of his Colonial Service, which included many ex-military types. Sir Henry asked Laversuch and March-Phillipps to draw up a proposed list, which should include the ‘toughest individuals in the Public Service in Nigeria.’
SOE agent Guise described the new recruits thus: ‘as choice a collection of thugs as Nigeria can ever have seen’. Those chosen included three policemen, three from the Education Branch, four from Public Works, and one each from Land and Survey and Accountancy. The oldest Colonial Administration amateur invited to join the raiding force was fully 52 years of age. Their cover story was that they had been called away for two weeks leave, and in truth they would only learn the nature of the coming mission once they had departed on the tugboats for Fernando Po.
So it was that thirty-four raiders – together with a force of African stokers feeding the furnaces in the bowels of the tugboats – readied themselves for departure. Each was dressed in dark clothing and issued with a pair of soft-soled Plimsolls – perfect for stealing aboard an enemy ship. Only a handful knew anything about the wider mission: they had been told they were volunteers on an undertaking of a military nature, which would be arduous and potentially dangerous, but would boost the war effort mightily.
March-Phillipps finally had his assault force at the ready. He received a telegram from Brigadier Gubbins – better known as ‘M’ to the assembled SOE agents. It read:
Good hunting. Am confident you will exercise utmost care to ensure success and obviate repercussions. Best of luck to you and all MH and others. M
All that remained now was to set sail and execute the cut-out mission. There was little time for training and no time to delay.
The assault was to go ahead under cover of a waning moon, when the night would be at its darkest.
Chapter Five
In spite of his Danish crewmember’s youth and his borderline madness – betrayed by the unwavering stare of his ice-blue eyes – March-Phillipps was glad to have Lassen in his number. He was something of a loner, possessed of a self-belief that often made him appear arrogant, but March-Phillipps recognised in the Dane a natural-born warrior and a potential fellow leader of men. Over the preceding months the two men had grown close, and the Maid Honour Force commander had given Lassen a leading role in the coming attack: he would be the first to board the Duchessa d’Aosta.
If the coming operation proved successful, Churchill’s concept of ultra-deniable law-breaking coupled with butcher-and-bolt terror raids would have been vindicated, and the SOE and Maid Honour Force would come of age. March-Phillipps would need leaders to command a much-expanded outfit, and he had Lassen earmarked for just such a role – as two apparently unremarkable tugboats set sail for Fernando Po to launch a most unorthodox form or warfare.
The Vulcan and Nuneaton had set out early and for a very specific reason. March-Phillipps needed time at sea in which to give his new recruits a crash course in covert raiding. He had four days before the night of the assault, time in which to train his crew in their individual roles and to meld them into a fighting force.
He also had on board three Spaniards who were die-hard anti-Fascists, and who had fought with the Free French against the Germans. They had joined his crew at the last minute at the suggestion of the SOE, who argued they could furnish useful cover were the assault force to be challenged as they sailed into Santa Isabel Harbour.
At Santa Isabel itself plans for the coming deception were well underway. SOE agent Lippett had got his friend Zorilla to inveigle Frau Luhr, wife of the prominent German resident, into their plans. One dinner party had already been held for Santa Isabel’s notables – a kind of dry-run – and it had gone down a storm, with a return drinks party being held aboard the Duchessa d’Aosta. Now Frau Luhr was persuaded to book the Valencia Restaurant – a very private venue tucked away in the back streets far from any view of the harbour – for a follow-up dinner.
Frau Luhr extended invitations to the Italian and German ships’ officers, and all were persuaded to accept. As far as Lippett was concerned, the deception plan was going swimmingly. Perhaps inevitably, Zorilla sensed that something was up. Clearly, Lippett was organizing and bankrolling something more than an innocent dinner party. Zorilla asked his British friend if he would be running into danger once the evening had run its course. Lippett couldn’t deny that he might be.
The brave and spirited Spaniard made it clear that whatever blow they were about to strike against Hitler, Mussolini and Franco, he was all for it. But he suggested that it might be best if he made a quiet getaway the night of the dinner party. With Lippett’s blessing and help, Zorilla arranged for an African fisherman to be at the ready with a native canoe. Once the festivities were well underway, he would get the fisherman to paddle him across the Gulf of Guinea – a journey the local boatmen did occasionally undertake – and to drop him on Nigerian (then British) soil.
Lippett now turned to his next task – arranging the all-clear signal for the raiding force. Reverend Markham, the English Chaplain resident in Fernando Po was asked to take some lea
ve ashore. There was a Church Synod taking place in Nigeria, which offered him the perfect excuse to do so. The Reverend’s house happened to sit in a prime position overlooking the entrance to Santa Isabel Harbour. It was from his window that the final green light would be given.
All seemed set from Lippett’s perspective, but three days before the attack the wife of the Valencia Restaurant owner fell ill. The dinner booking was cancelled. The only alternative venue was the Casino Restaurant, where the previous dinner party had been held, but it sat on a raised terrace providing a splendid view over the entire expanse of the harbour, with the target vessels nestling in the bay nearby.
Lippett reminded himself of his number one priority: it was to get those German and Italian officers off their ships. Accordingly, he had Zorilla move the dinner booking to the Casino Restaurant. He drew up a detailed seating plan, ensuring that all the ships’ officers would have their backs to the sea. He also made sure to place a pretty woman opposite each of them, which hopefully would hold their attentions. Lippett made it clear to Zorilla that money was no object. The partygoers were to be plied with alcohol – as much as they could get down them – and for those so inclined the SOE’s funds would even stretch to covering a drunken roll or two in the local brothel!
The more ships officers who could be tempted to sneak away for a little carnal refreshment the better, as far as Lippett was concerned. Needs must, old boy.
Lippett also sought to use the light to his advantage. Each night shortly before midnight the electricity supply to Santa Isabel was shut down, to save power. It was then that March-Phillipps’ raiders intended to sail into the darkened harbour, to steal away the ships and their crew. If Lippett could get the terrace of the Casino Restaurant rigged with Tilley Lanterns – pressurized paraffin lamps – the diners would be entombed in a sea of light, blinding them to whatever was taking place in the dark waters below.
*
As Lippett and Zorilla went about crafting their elaborate onshore deception, so training got underway aboard the assault vessels at sea. March-Phillipps split his crew into five separate teams to prepare them for what was coming – something that SOE agent Guise described as: ‘A cut-out operation. In other words, simple theft.’ The men were divided into a cable party, an engine room party, a boarding party, back-up boarding party plus the all-important towing party.
DIY coshes were handed out, consisting of long metal bolts sheathed in rubber – for a nervous government in London had stressed that they wanted minimal casualties, especially among the Spanish population.
‘Whenever possible, intimidate,’ March-Phillipps urged his men. ‘If not, use force. Speed is essential.’
The largest weaponry possessed by the assault force were some Bren guns – a 7.62mm light machinegun – mounted on their bipods on the tugboats’ bows. Likewise, the Bren gunners were urged: ‘Deal with any boats. Shoot across bows. No useless slaughter.’
March-Phillipps and Appleyard would command the attack from the decks of the larger tugboat, the Vulcan, while Lassen would lead the assault force onto their target boat, the Duchessa d’Aosta. Meanwhile, Maid Honour Force stalwart Leslie Prout would be in charge of the African stokers in the ship’s boiler room, ensuring they didn’t down tools and run when the explosions and gunfire started. The Vulcan would need all the power she could muster to drag the massive bulk of the Italian ship free, and it was vital the stokers kept shoveling the coal into her engines. The three Spaniards were also stationed on the Vulcan, so they could cry out friendly greetings in Spanish, if challenged.
The smaller tugboat, the Nuneaton, was charged with seizing the German ship, the Likomba. Maid Honour Force veteran Graham Hayes – part of the five-man crew who had sailed the Maid Honour out from Britain – would command and lead the assault from her decks. He had with him SOE agent Guise, plus the youthful Buzz Perkins. Two District Commissioners, a Mr Newington and Mr Abell, formed part of the civilian volunteer force supporting them.
At first the weather was stormy and the Colonial Service volunteers were terribly seasick. But by day two the sea had calmed, and the first day’s training aboard the Vulcan got underway. It was vital that the wire hawsers were made fast to the Duchessa d’Aosta swiftly, so she could be hauled out of the harbour with all due alacrity. While Tugmaster Coker concentrated on schooling his raw recruits in tow-wire drill, Hayes gathered his volunteers on the Nuneaton’s sun-washed deck, to demonstrate one of the most important skills of all – how to use a Tommy Gun.
The Thompson submachinegun was over twenty years old by the time the war began. However, it remained a favourite of elite raiding forces for several reasons – some of which are reflected in the weapon’s various nicknames: ‘Trench Sweeper’, ‘Trench Broom’ and ‘The Chopper’. It was of simple, reliable design, had a high volume of fire, and its .45-calibre cartridge delivered real stopping power. When fitted with a 30-round stick magazine, or a 50-round drum, it really was possible to sweep an entire enemy trench with fire from a Thompson – not to mention the deck of an enemy ship.
But as the would-be raiders unleashed bursts of Tommy Gun fire at targets tossed in the sea, disaster struck. The Nuneaton was under tow from the Vulcan, to conserve fuel stocks – both being coal-fired vessels. All of a sudden the Nuneaton heeled over violently and seawater flooded into the wheelhouse, pouring into the engine room below. Various ship’s supplies tumbled over the side as the men clung on for dear life. The Nuneaton had swung too far to one side on her towrope, until she all-but capsized.
As the Vulcan ploughed ahead she was dragging the smaller ship further into trouble, water cascading over her deck. It was Lassen the experienced seaman who saved the day. Seeing the Nuneaton heeling over disastrously, he grabbed an axe, ran to the Vulcan’s stern and hacked through the tow-rope. Freed at last, the Nuneaton finally righted herself. Two men had ended up in the sea, and they were pulled out as quickly as possible, for sharks had been sighted in the area. When the vessels finally got underway again the Nuneaton was doing so under her own steam.
Training resumed. A pair of folbots – collapsible canoes – were assembled and painted a dull camouflage grey for night-time operations. March-Phillipps and Appleyard had decided that the Likomba could be boarded from those, for she sat so much lower in the water. The advantage of the folbots was that they allowed for an utterly silent and stealthy approach, as long as those crewing them knew how to paddle and steer them properly.
Hayes and Winter – the Maid Honour Force regulars – were old hands at such work. They would crew the first folbot, with District Commissioners Newington and Abell in a backup canoe. It took a degree of skill to master the two-man craft. With both vessels hoved to, District Commissioner Newington lowered himself into the narrow, canvas-skinned folbot, with his customary pork pie hat perched on his head and his pipe clamped between his teeth. A large and avuncular man, Newington proceeded to paddle with gusto towards the Vulcan, which right now was acting as the target ship.
He promptly capsized.
Undeterred, and with hat and pipe still in place, he began to swim his folbot back towards the Nuneaton. It was then that the sharks began to circle. Those on deck were yelling warnings at Newington, but presuming it to be nothing more than good-natured banter he continued on his slow but steady way. Luckily he made it back in one piece, but he turned as white as a sheet once he realized how close the sharks had been.
It was now their third day out from Lagos, and Operation Postmaster was scheduled to take place just before midnight on the morrow. March-Phillipps decided it was time to reveal to his newest recruits the exact nature of their mission. He outlined where they were headed, what the targets were, and the kind of forces and weaponry they were up against – both the shore-based defenders and the ships’ crew themselves. He explained how he was putting the Maid Honour Force regulars at the tip of the spear – with Lassen, Appleyard and Hayes leading the charge, and tasked with blowing the anchor chains to free the two vessels.
The Colonial Service volunteers would form a second wave of boarders, charged with overcoming and subduing the ships’ crew. March-Phillipps stressed that it was impossible to predict the level of resistance they would encounter. To aid in the taking of the Duchessa d’Aosta a platform had been rigged up protruding from the Vulcan’s wheelhouse. Four men could fit on the planking, and from there they could spring onto the larger ship’s deck. The boarding parties were arranged in parties of four, and one after the other they practised using the platform as the launch-pad for the attack.
The following day dawned fine and clear. By mid-morning the jagged 10,000-foot Santa Isabel Peak – the highest point on Fernando Po – had been spotted. A cold lunch was served, for the galley was being used to prepare the plastic explosive charges to blow the anchor chains. That afternoon the final kit issue began. Each man forming the boarding parties was handed a torch, a pistol and a Tommy Gun. They were cautioned to use their non-lethal coshes wherever possible, especially as gunfire would alert the harbour defenders to the attack.
The Maid Honour Force regulars were armed with a further assortment of weaponry, including their fearsome Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knives. Lassen carried a back-up Beretta pistol tucked away in the rear waistband of his trousers, in case all other weapons failed him. Faces were blacked up, so they would blend in with the darkness. One of March-Phillipps’ regulars, the Free Frenchman Desgranges, bedecked himself in a loin-cloth, complete with multi-coloured headscarf tied over his dark curly hair – in keeping with the raiding force’s piratical image.
Night falls quickly in equatorial Africa. It was a moonless one, and the two tugboats showing no lights were able to sneak across the water like phantoms. Under cover of darkness the Vulcan and Nuneaton altered course, steaming directly for Santa Isabel Harbour. The Nuneaton was scheduled to take the lead, for she had further to go to reach her target and she had to launch her folbots once there.
