Churchill's Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII

by Damien Lewis

  New recruits were drawn to the gathering force. One of the apparently least suitable for the coming raids was Porter ‘Joe’ Jarrell – ‘Joe’ for ‘GI Joe’, Second World War slang for an American soldier. Jarrell was a chronically shortsighted Canadian-American, who’d served with the American Field Service, an ambulance unit that was attached to the British Eighth Army.

  A conscientious objector, he had at first refused to take up arms, but he had distinguished himself as a medic on the field of battle. Then an RAF flight had attacked the British lines by accident, resulting in horrific casualties. Jarrell had found himself trying to tend to the dying and dead among the burned and blood-splattered sands, and wondering what on earth he was there for.

  He’d volunteered for a combat unit in the US Army, only to be told that with his jam-jar glasses and flat feet he couldn’t serve on the front line. Next he’d tried the Greek Army and the French Foreign Legion, but had ended up going to the only unit seemingly willing to have him, and to offer him the chance of battlefield exposure – Jellicoe’s raiders.

  Jarrell little knew what he’d let himself in for. At some stage this maritime wing of the SAS had been given its own name, the Special Boat Squadron (SBS), though none of the men had paid much attention to the rebranding exercise they’d been subjected to. Porter ‘Joe’ Jarrell joined up with Jellicoe’s raiders as a medic, believing the ‘SBS’ to be some kind of reincarnation of the Long Range Desert Group.

  After studying the quiet young American’s file – he was a graduate from the University of Middlebury, Vermont, in the far north-east of the USA – Jellicoe had offered Jarrell an officer’s commission. But knowing nothing of the realities of Jellicoe’s unit, Jarrell had presumed that he’d spend his life square-bashing and polishing kit if he were to go for an officer’s commission, and so he responded to Jellicoe with a polite no.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir, but I’d prefer to remain in the ranks.’

  Upon joining the Athlit raiders and getting a taste of the brutal training regime, Jarrell decided that the only way to keep his chunky glasses on was to tape them to the back of his head. He also tried unsuccessfully to wean the Athlit raiders off rugby and convert them to American football.

  When serving with the American Field Service Jarrell had been attached to two British armoured car units in the desert, and he’d done a short stint with the French Foreign Legion in the mountains – but he’d never come across anything like the bunch of piratical renegades and desperadoes that he encountered in Athlit.

  ‘They were really tough,’ said Jarrell, of his first impressions of Jellicoe’s men. ‘They had a Cockney barrow boy very proud of splitting a man in half with a burst from a Bren. A Glaswegian told me about getting into an argument in Cairo with an American who he knocked down and kicked in the chin …’

  Being a ‘foreigner’ Jarrell naturally fell into the Irish Patrol, although he was noticeably reserved compared to the Irishmen’s fierce volubility. There were those among the Brits who didn’t thrill to being ordered around by Lassen – a man who couldn’t pronounce his Vs and Ws properly – but the Irish Patrol welcomed all-comers. Even so, few could believe that their shortsighted ‘Yank’ medic was cut out for the kind of work that lay ahead. In fact Porter ‘Joe’ Jarrell would prove himself a raider par excellence, and he and their heavily-accented leader would become inseparable.

  Another ‘foreigner’ drawn to the Irish Patrol was Dion ‘Stud’ Stellin. Stellin was in his early twenties and, like Lassen, he was tall, blond and strikingly handsome. He shared with the Dane an easy success with the ladies – hence the ‘Stud’ nickname. Stellin, a New Zealander, had travelled to Britain in 1938 knowing that war was in the air. He’d volunteered for the Army, joining the Durham Light Infantry, and from there he’d drifted into Special Forces work, soldiering in the Middle East and across the Mediterranean.

  Stellin came to Jellicoe’s raiders having already fallen for the Greek Islands and their people. He loved the dramatic, timeless scenery, the food, the wine, the music, the dancing and … the dusky-eyed women. He railed against the occupiers, whose brutal excesses had caused so much suffering among an ancient people. In that sense he and Lassen were kindred spirits, and Lieutenant Stellin would become one of the Dane’s closest comrades.

  If nothing else Stellin and Lassen would be united by the fact that in the raids to come, the Germans would put a price on both of their heads.

  *

  The raid on Symi would launch the Dodecanese campaign. But this would be no butcher-and-bolt operation. Jellicoe’s men were tasked to seize and hold Symi, so it could become a base of operations. From there they’d fan out across the island chain, seizing them one by one, and compelling the Italians either to fight, or join forces with the Allies.

  That at least was the theory. It would fall to Lassen and his Irish Patrol to spearhead the action.

  Lying on the island’s north shore, Symi town straddles a high mountain saddle, with one end terminating in the narrow, deep inlet that forms the harbour, the other dipping into Pedi bay on the far side. The scenery is truly spectacular, with white-walled houses clinging to precipitous mountains that plunge into deep, azure waters. Sheltered by towering cliffs, Symi harbour is rarely troubled by even the slightest disturbance; in September 1943 its waters were little prepared for the cataclysm that was coming.

  *

  On 12 September 1943 – two months after the raids on Kastelli Airbase and Heraklion – a pair of caiques packed with forty-odd men pulled out of Haifa harbour, bound for the Dodecanese. Ahead lay a journey across the Eastern Mediterranean of some 500 miles. At the same time Jellicoe himself set sail with a larger force of men and caiques, to push north from Symi and attack Leros and Cos.

  No one knew the strength of the garrison on Symi, or its make-up. Was it solely Italians, or Germans as well? Would they capitulate, or would they stand and fight? Either way, crucial to the success of the attack would be maintaining the element of surprise.

  In order to reach Symi the flotilla would have to sail past the larger island of Rhodes, at the southern end of the Dodecanese chain, with its garrison of 40,000 German and Italian troops. Rhodes guards the gateway to the Aegean: by the time the raiders reached Symi they’d be at least fifty miles inside enemy territory. The last thing the Symi garrison should be expecting was to get hit by a British raiding force.

  Five days after leaving Haifa the two caiques crept into Symi’s darkened harbour, the slightest noise from the ships’ decks seeming to echo across the mirror-still waters like a gunshot.

  In peacetime the welcoming lights from Symi’s harbour-front glisten and glow upon the calm. But in September 1943 the town was subject to a strict blackout, and not a glimmer of illumination was to be seen all around. The two caiques drifted to a stop mid-harbour and dropped anchor. Gun batteries had been sited high on the rocky cliffs, and in the faint moonlight the caiques would be sitting targets, should the gunners be alert and poised to open fire.

  In overall command of the raiding force was Major Jock Lapraik MC, an officer new to the SBS. What Lapraik needed more than anything now was solid intelligence. Where were the enemy positioned? How were they armed? Was the harbour deep enough for his ships to sail right in and land his fighting force? Two men would have to go ashore to investigate. Anders Lassen and Douggie Pomford volunteered, climbing into a folbot and paddling silently into the night.

  They stole under the lee of a cliff and were swallowed by the moon-shadows, pulling strongly towards the quayside. The waters all around were silent, as if the very sea itself were holding its breath. Lassen and Pomford made landfall and followed the shoreline into Symi town. The harbour-front also forms the main street, and on their right were rows of shadowed houses. From one or two came the sound of muffled voices, plus the odd snippet of voices raised in muted song.

  They passed a Greek café, its doors thrown open to the street. In hurried whispers Lassen and Pomford conferred with the lo
cals and secured the intelligence that they sought: there were 140 Italian soldiers stationed on Symi, but no Germans. At this time of night the Italians were very likely fast asleep in their billets. Lassen and his men should be able to take them by total surprise.

  Word spread along the seafront like wildfire: at last, the long-hoped-for liberators had come! By the time Lassen and Pomford had reached the harbour, the first of the church bells had already started to ring. One by one the dozen churches dotted around Symi harbour took up the call: at long last the English commandos – which meant freedom – were here!

  At the quayside Lassen sought reassurances that the water was deep enough to call the caiques alongside. But no one seemed able to give a straight answer. Frustrated, he took matters into his own hands. He jumped off the quayside fully clothed and dived to the bottom. As the ‘British commando’ sank below sight in the dark water, the locals fell silent. There were a few tense moments before Lassen’s blond hair bobbed to the surface, lit a glistening white in the moonlight.

  ‘Pomford, signal to the ships that it’s deep enough,’ Lassen yelled. ‘Call ’em in!’

  By the time the two caiques had come alongside and disgorged the forty raiders, word had reached the Italians that ‘hundreds’ of British commandos had come ashore and taken Symi. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, the Italian force commander decided not to put up any resistance. When Lassen found the Italian, he was ordered to join the British in fighting the Germans, or Lassen would hunt down all his men and shoot them dead for cowardice.

  Safely ashore, Lapraik split his men into four patrols. Lassen’s was sent to the highest point of Symi town, an ancient, partly ruined fort called the Kastro. Built by the Knights of St John – also known as the Knights Hospitaller, a renowned religious and military order from the time of the Crusades – the Kastro’s massive stone towers and walkways offered a panoramic view of the town, plus the bays to either side. To Lassen, this was a prime vantage point from which they could dominate the territory, if only they possessed a weapon with sufficient power and range to do so.

  The other landmark of vital strategic import was the Monastery of the Archangel Michael, built on the opposite, southern end of the island, overlooking the anchorage of the Panormiti Bay. Like Greek holy men everywhere, the monastery’s Abbot Chrysanthos was a diehard patriot and an enthusiastic supporter of the raider’s cause. Lassen decided they needed an early-warning system based at the monastery, should the Germans opt to land in the bay below.

  Without the Italians realizing, he had a radio set installed in the monastery, and trained the abbot’s nephew how to operate it. Abbot Chrysanthos hated the Germans with a vengeance, but he reserved his greatest vitriol for the Italians, who had for decades ‘occupied’ what were ‘naturally’ Greek islands. The Italian garrison may have been persuaded by a mixture of promises and threats to stand with the British, but the abbot – as with all the island natives – didn’t trust them for one instant. That clandestine radio set was as much to warn of Italian perfidy as it was of German aggression.

  Over the coming days the raiders reinforced their positions and sailed out to recce the outlying islands. Lassen took his patrol around three in one day – Piscopi, Calchi and Alimnia. The first two harboured no enemy forces, but the third, Alemnia, possessed a deep harbour used by the Italians as a submarine base. When Lassen’s patrol landed they found the place only recently abandoned. There Lassen and Pomford discovered exactly what they were looking for: among the abandoned Italian defences was a 20mm gun.

  More specifically, it was a Breda Model 35 cannon, an Italian-made dual-use anti-aircraft and ground-attack weapon. It was a powerful piece, being accurate to a range of 5,000 feet and effective against 30mm thick armour. Mounted on a tripod it could cover a 360-degree traverse – so in all directions – and it had a rate of fire of 240 rounds per minute. The one Lassen and Pomford discovered had a footplate missing, but it came complete with a generous supply of ammunition.

  The Breda was taken aboard their caique and transported back to Symi, whereupon it was carted across the main thoroughfare, Syllogos Square, up the winding streets and into the Kastro. Lassen had it placed in a tower offering a panoramic view of the terrain below, including the sea to either side. While the thick stone structure of the tower gave good cover, the tripod lifted the Breda’s 10-foot barrel well above the outer wall, giving all-around firepower.

  Lastly, he commissioned the town’s blacksmith to manufacture a make-do replacement footplate. With the clandestine radio and the repaired Breda cannon in place, Lassen felt ready for whatever the enemy might throw at them. The Italian troops remained decidedly shaky, but the forty-strong raiding force was itching for a fight.

  *

  Yet before then Lassen faced his own problems. He’d been sterilizing a latrine using burning petrol, when there was a nasty blowback. Fire scorched both his lower legs badly. He’d also developed a nasty case of dysentery, a painful and debilitating infection of the intestine: with drinking water and food often not sterilized properly and sanitation far from perfect, it hit most of the raiders at one time or another.

  Porter ‘Joe’ Jarrell, the American medic-cum-raider, took a long look at Lassen’s badly blistered legs, which were beginning to turn septic. He declared his injuries to be so serious that the Dane should return to Athlit, or better still Cairo, and possibly even England, for treatment. Weakened by dysentery as Lassen was, it would take longer for the burns to heal.

  For over two years now Lassen had been at the epicentre of a relentless raiding campaign, and largely without any kind of a break. Jarrell figured the rest and recuperation was long overdue. But the Dane refused to leave. He got Jarrell to bandage up the burns as best he could, so he could soldier on.

  Lassen’s fierce desire to stay wasn’t only due to his determination to remain with his fellow fighters. He was also acutely aware of the needs of the locals. In spite of his weakened state, Lassen had been down to the docks to help unload heavy sacks of flour and beans for the half-starved islanders. The supplies had been placed under Abbot Chrysanthos’s control, so he could distribute them to the most needy.

  Lassen also had another responsibility here on Symi. On one of his island visits he’d discovered a small Maltese terrier, which he’d named Pipo. Formerly an Italian officer’s lapdog, Lassen had adopted Pipo to be his dog of war. He’d cured Pipo of his addiction to Italian pasta, and got him eating proper raider food, like bully beef. Many saw Pipo as a scruffy, dirty, noisy nuisance, one who peed on just about everything in sight. As for Lassen, he coupled his love of hunting with a love for all things wild, and for him and Pipo it had been love at first sight.

  But most importantly there were Germans hereabouts to fight: Lassen could sense that they were coming.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By early October Lapraik’s men had been in control of Symi for two weeks. Reinforcements had just arrived unexpectedly, in the form of twenty officers and men from the RAF’s 74 Squadron, Fighter Command. They were en route to Cos – one of the islands seized by Jellicoe’s armada – intending to crew-up a flight of Spitfires that had been sent to the Cos airstrips. The RAF crewmen pulled into Symi harbour, not knowing that they were shortly to become a key component of the island’s defences.

  After seizing Cos and Leros, Jellicoe’s men had handed the islands over to squads of elite British paratroopers and a number of follow-up Allied infantry units. Jellicoe’s caiques had sailed onwards through the Dodecanese chain, seizing Kalymnos, Samos, Chios and Patmos. On the latter island they’d overheard the Italian garrison whispering worriedly about their safe, which was stuffed full of Italian Lire, plus the odd bundle of Reichmarks. It included the payroll for the 1,000-odd Italian troops stationed on the island of Leros – which the raiders had only recently ‘liberated’ – a considerable amount of money.

  Jellicoe’s men hesitated only for the barest instant before forcing open the safe and helping
themselves to massive bundles of cash. Henceforth Italian Lire became their kitty and their fighting fund for the battles to come. Such were the spoils due to the pirate raiders as they cut a swathe through the Dodecanese.

  But as with all things that seemingly came too easy, there would be blowback. Lapraik, Lassen and their fellows would feel it heaviest on Symi. When it came, the German counter-offensive would employ serious firepower and numbers. Sensing what was coming, Lapraik – an unyielding commander possessed of a strong moral and physical courage – issued stark orders to the twenty RAF men now temporarily under his command.

  Owing to our great strategic importance there is no doubt that we shall be attacked … Let there be no doubt about it, they will come; therefore we must be prepared. Consequently it is essential that everyone be absolutely on their toes 24 hours a day. When the guard is called out it will be out in seconds, not minutes as was the case last night. When ordered to stand-to you will be downstairs in the bush like bats out of hell … Remember – be quick on the job and keep on your toes because if you don’t you’ve bloody well had it, believe me.

  At dawn on 7 October three boatloads of German troops put ashore on Pedi Bay, lying to the east of Symi town. Manning the Breda cannon that morning at Anders Lassen’s castle lookout was RAF Flight Sergeant Charlie Schofield who, like Porter Jarrell, was terribly short-sighted. Yet even Schofield had spotted the three craft, which were less than a mile away from his vantage point – putting them well within range of his cannon.

  Lassen, fresh from sleep, stared down into the bay, and roared, ‘Who the hell are they?’

  His words were drowned out by Schofield opening fire.

  The German force scattered under the 20mm cannon fire, but they were already ashore. Lassen rallied his men to head them off before they could make it into the town, while Schofield sought to keep as many as possible pinned down on the rocky coastline. The fierce percussions of the Breda’s fire brought two immediate misfortunes on Schofield: one, it shattered his glasses; two, it attracted a flight of Stukas, which proceeded to dive-bomb his castle-top position.