by Shaun Clarke
The informality went beyond that. The word ‘boss’, first used, perhaps accidentally, by Sergeant Lorrimer, gradually replaced ‘sir’ and so-called ‘Chinese parliaments’, in which decisions were agreed between officers and other ranks after informal discussion, became commonplace. This in turn increased the mutual trust between the men and greatly enhanced the feasibility of the four-man patrol. Also, as each of the four men had a specialist skill – driver/mechanic, navigator, explosives and first aid – but all had been cross-trained to do the other men’s jobs if required, this made them uniquely interdependent.
Their psychological bonding was made even solider by the harsh fact that anyone who failed at any point in the training, or who dropped out from fear, exhaustion, thirst or other causes, was RTU’d – Returned to Unit – without mercy. As the numbers were whittled down, those remaining were forming the kernel of an exceptional band of widely talented, closely knit and proud fighting men.
‘We’re the fucking crème de la crème,’ Jimbo said. ‘That’s why we’re still here, lads.’
The taciturn but brilliantly inventive Captain ‘Jock’ Lewes, who was constantly devising ways of testing the men to their limits, increased the chances of being RTU’d himself by introducing desert marches by day and by night. Not a man to demand of others what he could not do himself, Lewes turned himself into a guinea-pig by making the first marches entirely alone and gradually increasing the distance he had to hike, the length of time he had to go without water in the desert, and the weight he had to carry in his bergen backpack. Finally, he set himself precise navigation tests that had to be completed within a certain time.
‘He’s a fucking genius, that Lewes, I’m telling you,’ Jimbo informed his mates. ‘Remember that day he took me out on my own, just the two of us? He said we were gonna hike to an RV twenty miles away and that he’d know when we’d done exactly that. The desert’s so empty – no landmarks to navigate by – I couldn’t figure out how he would manage it. Then I noticed he was carrying lots of small stones in the pocket of his trousers and kept transferring them, one at a time, from that pocket to the other. When I asked what the fuck he was doing, he said he’d just devised this new way of navigating and measuring distance. What he did was count his paces. After each hundred steps, he’d transfer one of the stones to the other pocket. The average pace, he said, was thirty inches, so each stone represented approximately eighty-three yards. That way he could easily calculate just how far he had marched. Pretty damned clever, eh?’
‘Too right!’ Frankie said.
The men admired Jock Lewes not only for his many inventions and innovations, but because he never asked them to do anything particularly demanding or dangerous without first doing it himself. Indeed, regarding the murderous hikes into the desert, only when he had personally ascertained that they could actually be accomplished did he introduce them as part of a specific, extremely demanding selection course. These included nights sleeping in laying-up positions, or LUPs, scraped out of the freezing desert floor; signals training, covering Morse code, special codes and call-sign signals, all undertaken in the field; the operation of radios, recognition of radio ‘black spots’, and the setting up of standard and makeshift antennas; the weapons maintenance in the windswept, freezing desert darkness; the procedure for calling in artillery fire and air strikes; and general desert survival, both by day and by night. Those who failed to meet the rigorous standards set by Lewes were brutally RTU’d. But in view of the fact that Lewes did all those things himself, the men understood why.
‘If he can do it,’ Taff said, ‘then we should be able to do it as well. If we can’t, we don’t deserve to be here. Lewes has set us the highest of standards.’
While Captain Stirling was forced to spend an increasing amount of time by himself, either developing the strategies to be used for forthcoming operations or commuting between Kabrit and Cairo to keep MEHQ informed of their progress, Lieutenant Greaves and Captain Callaghan between them supervised the general training and ensured that the administrative side of the camp ran smoothly. They also, however, took part in the many arduous physical tests devised by Lewes and thus forged a close bond with the other ranks. This bond was further strengthened by the officers’ willingness to forget their rank and meet the men on a level they understood.
For instance, one day, after Lieutenant Greaves had checked the men’s water canteens to ensure that they had not drunk more water than permitted during their latest hike, a particularly troublesome trooper complained that the officers’ canteens were never checked. Greaves instantly handed the man his own canteen and invited him to ‘finish it off’. When the man opened the canteen, he found it completely full – because Greaves had deliberately made the whole hike without drinking a drop. This revelation, while shaming that one trooper into enduring his thirst, impressed all the other men.
Again, when the men were resting on a sun-scorched escarpment after another murderous march, Captain Callaghan, who had a short temper and took no nonsense from anyone, got fed up with a trooper complaining that they needed a rest. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, picked him bodily off the ground, and held him over the edge of the cliff, threatening to drop him into the sea if he did not shut his trap. The terrified man shut up and the other men, rather than resenting Callaghan, respected his flamboyant way of dealing with the situation.
When Captain Stirling heard stories like this, he felt even more guilty.
‘I hate being away so often,’ he explained to Greaves and Callaghan, ‘but I simply have to keep pushing at MEHQ. Those sods don’t approve of us – they think we’re a bunch of cowboys – and a lot of them are actively working against us in the hope that we’ll fail. I’d rather be here, working with you and the other men, but it just isn’t possible. Please bear in mind, though, that if you think I need to set an example by taking part in a particular exercise, you have only to say so.’
‘That’s understood, boss,’ Greaves said.
‘I think the men understand the situation,’ Callaghan added. ‘As long as we officers do what they do, they’ll be all right about it.’
Greaves grinned at that. ‘And we do it, David, believe me. We have the bruises to prove it.’
Stirling nodded, relieved. ‘I’ll be with you when the raids commence,’ he said. ‘Of that you can rest assured.’
During one of Stirling’s many trips to Cairo, Sergeant Lorrimer, as requested, fixed up a meeting between him and Lieutenants Beevor and Parkinson of the LRDG. The first meeting took place in the desert near Tobruk, where the LRDG was acting as a reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering unit under the very noses of the Germans. The two widely experienced lieutenants, both old hands from Bagnold’s desert expeditions of the 1930s and now just back from another dangerous R and I mission around besieged Tobruk, were instinctively sceptical about the raiding-party concept of the immaculate, urbane Captain Stirling, but they agreed to read the report he had put together and give their response. The second meeting took place over glasses of whisky in the Anglo-Egyptian Union, the officers’ club located just outside Cairo, where the same two LRDG officers admitted to being impressed with the report and agreed to act as a ‘taxi’ service to L Detachment when the first raids were mounted. The four men then shook hands and went their separate ways: Beevor and Parkinson back into the desert around Tobruk; a delighted Stirling and Lorrimer back to the sun-scorched camp at Kabrit, now more determined than ever to ensure that L Detachment became a viable entity.
Parachute training began a few weeks later with the building of a steel framework some 35 feet high, from which the men could be dropped to learn the skills of landing. While reasonably effective in teaching the men how to land properly, the static frames could not be used to simulate the vertical and lateral movement of a proper parachute drop. Stirling therefore contacted the only parachute school then extant, Ringway in England, and begged for assistance. Largely ignored, he asked the inventive Jock Lewes to devise their ow
n methods of training.
After personally experimenting with various ways of rolling as his feet impacted with the ground, Lewes decided that the best way to simulate the two-directional movements of a proper parachute jump was to have the men leap from the back of moving Bedfords onto the hard desert floor, then roll in the direction of the lorry, which would simulate the wind movement of a real drop. At first the Bedfords travelled at a relatively safe 15mph, but as the men became more efficient, Lewes gradually doubled the speed, which made the jumps a lot more dangerous and eventually led to many accidents, including severe sprains and fractured bones.
‘That Lewes is barmy,’ Taff said. ‘I respect him, but he’s crazy. Those jumps from the Bedfords are more dangerous than real ones could possibly be. We’ve lost a lot of good men through them and those of us still here are black and blue. That crazy bastard will kill us all.’
‘He’s making the jumps as well,’ Neil reminded him.
‘Just shows he’s mad,’ Taff replied.
Nevertheless, the brutal jumps from speeding lorries continued until it was time for the remaining men to make their first jumps from an aeroplane. MEHQ had finally made a Bombay bomber available on a daily basis for this purpose; however, as Ringway was still being uncooperative, the Detachment had to rely on guesswork and self-tuition. Luckily, unlike the Valentia which had almost killed Stirling, the Bombay had a proper overhead suspension for the static line of the chutes, allowing for the use of a snap-link.
Feeling that it was necessary for him to make a showing at this point, Stirling made the first two jumps with the men. These were successful and the men were euphoric. But during the next jumps, when Stirling remained on the ground to visually check the air and landing patterns, the snap-links attaching the static lines of the first two parachutists to the overhead suspension cable twisted, the rings slipped free, the parachute canopies remained in their packs, and the men plunged screaming to their deaths.
Shocked, Stirling cancelled the rest of that day’s jumps and gave the men the day off. Nevertheless, the jumps were ruthlessly resumed the following morning, with Stirling setting a good example by being the first out of the aircraft. This time the snap-links were carefully checked and there were no further casualties. Within a matter of weeks the remaining men were expert, confident paratroopers.
One major problem remained. As the main purpose of the planned raids was to destroy enemy aircraft and other vehicles on the ground, as well as fuel and ammunition dumps, the men, if using orthodox explosives, would need to hump murderously heavy loads to their chosen targets, then set them off almost instantly and make a quick getaway. Given the state of contemporary explosives, neither of these ideas was feasible: most explosives were too heavy to carry over such distances and the usual constituents – gelignite, thermite and ammonal – took too long to be ignited or exploded.
What Lewes wanted was something smaller and lighter, and therefore easier to carry. What he also wanted was a combination of the explosive and the incendiary that could be set off almost instantly. When told by a disdainful Royal Army Ordnance Corps expert that this was impossible, he studied the subject during his three busy months in Kabrit, eventually producing a blend of plastic explosive (PE) and thermite kneaded together with a lubricant into a bomb the size of a tennis ball. This explosive-inflammable mix gave a charge of about 400g.
‘On the boss of a propeller,’ Lewes explained to Stirling, Greaves and Callaghan, ‘it will not only damage the prop itself but also set alight any petrol or other fuel within range of the blast. In other words, it’s perfect for destroying grounded aircraft and other vehicles – and certainly for fuel and ammunition dumps. It’s also exceptionally small and light, and so easy to carry. Last but not least, with the explosive fused in its own right and the incendiary device timed to ignite just after the explosion, you won’t find anything quicker or more devastating.’
‘I’m not sure what all that means,’ Stirling said with a broad smile, ‘but I’m sure it will work.’
It did. Tested in the presence of Royal Army Ordnance Corps representatives, the device was highly successful and immediately named the ‘Lewes bomb’.
‘Thank you kindly,’ Captain Stirling said to the RAOC representatives, speaking on behalf of the man he now considered to be a modest genius. ‘It’s the least you can do.’
Vengeance being sweet, it was now time for L Detachment to stop practising and see some action. Stirling was well aware of the fact that the only kind of man who could pass the tests set by Lewes was the kind of man who could not easily endure boredom. This belief was confirmed when Greaves and Callaghan informed him that the men were becoming frustrated with their endless retraining in the furnace of Kabrit and wanted to put their learning to good use. As it happened, their enthusiasm coincided with General Auchinleck’s first major offensive to relieve Tobruk and push Rommel’s seemingly invincible Afrika Korps out of Cyrenaica.
‘To aid this push,’ Stirling explained to the whole detachment at a briefing convened in the mess tent, ‘we will raid five forward airfields spread around Gazala and Timini. This will involve five separate raiding parties of twelve men, travelling in five aircraft and being dropped at five specific locations, well away from the targets. The drop will take place on the night of 16 November. You will march throughout the night to lying-up positions in view of the targets. From your LUPs you will observe the targets and assess their individual situations. Infiltration of the airfields, the placing of bombs and detonation will take place in the early hours of the morning. The fuses will be coordinated, as far as possible, to detonate under cover of darkness. The groups will then make a forced march before first light, back to a preselected RV to join up with the LRDG, who will return them to base. Exfiltration will be by LRDG lorry to Siwa Oasis, then back to here. Average distance from airfield to RV will be forty miles. The commanders of the five groups will be myself with Sergeant Lorrimer as second-in-command; Captain Callaghan; Lieutenant Greaves; Lieutenant Bollington; and Captain Lewes. Are there any questions?’
‘Yes, boss,’ Sergeant Lorrimer said after a long silence. ‘When do we leave?’
‘This afternoon,’ answered Captain Stirling.
5
The five raiding parties boarded five Bombays late that afternoon with a certain amount of trepidation, since reports of likely ground winds of thirty knots – almost twice the hazard level – had led Stirling to call a last-minute Chinese parliament, asking if the men were willing to carry on despite the dangerous weather, which could scatter them widely over the desert. The men were unanimous that they should go anyway, particularly as the last three raids planned by Layforce had been cancelled earlier that year, leaving most of them extremely frustrated.
‘Then let’s do it, lads,’ Stirling said.
With packed bergens strapped under their Irvin X-Type parachute packs, and burdened down with a wide variety of weapons, they were heavily laden. The weapons included 9mm Sten sub-machine-guns, M1 Thompson sub-machine-guns, or tommy-guns, and Bren light machine-guns. Their criss-crossed webbing was festooned with 30 and 32-round box magazines, hand-grenades, water bottles, survival kits and, of course, the brand-new Lewes bombs. Strapped to the belt around their waists were the ubiquitous 9mm Browning High Power handgun, Fairburn-Sykes commando knife, bayonet, compass and binoculars. The bergens were crammed with other items, including food, and weighed nearly 90lb on their own.
When Stirling’s Bombay took off, at 1930 hours, the roar of its twin engines made conversation impossible among the twelve men sitting on the fuselage floor above the bomb racks. The lack of room was made even worse than usual by the enormous long-range fuel tank taking up the middle of the plane, down much of its length.
‘Are we expecting flak on this flight?’ Jimbo asked nervously.
‘Yes,’ Frankie replied. ‘And I know just what you’re thinking. If any hits that fucking fuel tank we can call it a day.’
‘Too bloody right,’ J
imbo said.
Though the Bombay had taken off in a clear, windless night, the weather soon deteriorated, and as they neared the target area the engines laboured more strenuously through dark storm clouds and the vibrations became worse. Shortly after they had flown into those boiling clouds, the clap of thunder was heard above the labouring engines and fingers of lightning illuminated the sky.
Even as the aircraft began to buck and shudder wildly from the storm, the sound of anti-aircraft guns was added to the bedlam and tracers began flickering past the windows, as if competing with the lightning to light up the dark sky with jagged phosphorescent lines.
‘Shit!’ Neil exclaimed. ‘If we don’t get it from the weather, we’ll cop it from the flak. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
While the aircraft bucked and rolled crazily, Stirling made his way along the hold and disappeared into the captain’s cabin at the front. Eventually returning to the men, some of whom were now feeling airsick, he said, ‘I feel obliged to tell you that the captain’s having trouble estimating the force and direction of the wind, which means he’s having difficulty navigating. He dropped a sea marker flare which showed that we’re off course, so he’s going to attempt to use the coastline’s configuration as a navigational aid. This will, of course, expose us to more anti-aircraft fire, so be prepared for the worst.’
‘Fucking great!’ Jimbo muttered.
The worsening vibrations of the struggling Bombay almost numbed the paratroopers’ senses as they methodically checked their gear for the last time. Five minutes later, however, when the aircraft was flying through an inferno of thunder, lightning, tracers and exploding flak, it was hit by something, rocked violently, then shuddered and started descending in what was clearly not a controlled manner.
