Soldier G: The Desert Raiders

by Shaun Clarke

  When the figures were calculated the results were truly shocking. Totting up those captured, missing or presumed dead, it became clear to Stirling that of the original sixty-two men, only twenty-two had made it back.

  Dispirited and badly shaken, though not yet defeated, Stirling and the remainder of his men were driven back to the base at Kabrit by the LRDG.

  6

  The LRDG took Captain Stirling and his twenty-one men to Siwa Oasis, nearly 200 miles to the south-west and across the frontier, at the crossroads of the old caravan routes. With its salt-water lake, fierce dry heat, and swarms of black flies, Siwa was noted for its ability to tax a man’s strength and destroy his will to work. For this very reason Stirling had no desire to leave his men there very long.

  All the same, it was a beautiful place. Seven miles long and two miles wide, it was abundant with water and palm trees. Beyond the palm groves, to the south, rolled the great white dunes, running north to south in the Great Sand Sea. An area approximately the same size as Ireland, it could only be crossed 130 miles south of Siwa by a route that passed the artesian well at Ain Dalla, the last watering-hole in over 300 miles en route for Kufra.

  To the north-west of Siwa lay the Quattra Depression, running further northward to stop only 50 yards from the sea near El Alamein. Unfortunately, its floor was so far below sea level that it was impassable to ordinary vehicles.

  A month after arriving at Siwa, bored and frustrated, Stirling managed to arrange a meeting with Brigadier D.W. Reid, in the Jalo Oasis garrison, nearly 250 miles away. There, in the brigadier’s tent, Stirling got down to business.

  ‘Kufra is the key settlement to the control of the inner desert,’ he promptly informed Reid. ‘Over 1000 miles from the coast and stretching for some 1300 miles from the Nile westward – an area about the size of the Indian subcontinent.’

  ‘True,’ Reid said, topping up his tea with whisky and looking up to see if Stirling wanted the same. When Stirling nodded, the brigadier also laced his tea with whisky, then sat back on his dusty wooden chair. ‘Unfortunately, it’s haunted by the ghibli …’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘A hot wind laden with dust, rather than sand,’ Reid explained. ‘In fact, true sandstorms are rare in these parts, though duststorms, as you well know, occur frequently and can be devastating. The ghibli is even worse. Also, the great variation in temperature inland – fifty degrees by noon, frost in the morning – can lead ill-equipped or irresolute men to die from exposure. In short, the Great Sand Sea was well named when the Arabs dubbed it the Devil’s Country. It’s a murderous terrain for all but them.’

  ‘Yet some SAS men,’ Stirling said, not missing his opportunity, ‘crossed that desert without boots, water or even rations, in their determination to survive. That’s why, despite the failure of our first raid, we have to try it again.’

  Brigadier Reid smiled, admiring Stirling’s tenacity, the more so because it was a virtue he possessed himself. Indeed, even as Stirling was being brought into Siwa by the LRDG, Reid had been leading his ‘Oasis’ force with great skill and tenacity to take Aujila and then capture the 600 Italians of the Jalo garrison, despite a dreadful pounding from Axis aircraft. His tenacity, and that of his men, had finally won the day.

  Now, here in Jalo, the former trading centre of the Majabra Arabs, he was deciding whether or not he should help Stirling in his bid to return to the desert for another series of raids in which LRDG patrols would also be used. Their FOB, or forward operating base, had been set up around the few sand-blown huts and Italian buildings which were all that remained of this once prosperous settlement. But it was ideal for L Detachment’s purpose: raids which would destroy German aircraft at Agedabia and elsewhere on the coastline of the Gulf of Sirte.

  ‘I still have my doubts about whether you should try this again,’ Reid said, easing his massive frame into his chair and puffing out his bright red cheeks to blow a stream of blue smoke from his cigar. ‘Nor am I alone in this. MEHQ also has doubts. There’s even been talk of pulling you out of the field altogether. Sorry to be so blunt, dear boy, but those are the facts.’

  Recalling his sodden cigarettes on the escarpment over the MSR that ran from Sollum to Gazala, Stirling was smoking with relish now while his brain worked overtime. He had always known that there were those among the gabardine swine who wanted to have L Detachment 22 SAS disbanded altogether, so he was hardly shocked to hear the brigadier confirm it. Nevertheless, he had to make his move now, before the voices of his enemies gained sway. Luckily, he had an ace up his sleeve: his old supporter, General Ritchie, the former Deputy Chief of General Staff, Cairo, who had since been placed in command of the Eighth Army.

  ‘I don’t mind your bluntness, Denys, and I accept what you’re saying, but not everyone at MEHQ is against me. In fact, General Ritchie still had great faith in the enterprise – even more so, given the tenacity displayed by my men in that desert after the first raid, irrespective of the failure of the raid itself. I’m sure he’ll support us.’

  Reid smiled again and revealed his pleasant surprise. ‘I knew that all along, David. In fact, I spoke to Ritchie about it. Ritchie in turn spoke to the C-in-C. Auchinleck’s not only prepared to let you continue your raids, but is giving you a free hand to plan the details.’

  At this news Stirling felt a great surge of joy well up inside him. In truth, he had been suffering a deepening sense of failure and despair since the disaster in the Gazala area and wished to repair the damage as soon as possible. The damage was not only to the reputation of the new-born L Detachment, but to the morale of the individual men. Many of them had been deeply shocked by the loss of friends during the disastrous parachute drop and afterwards. Others had taken the failure personally and were blaming themselves for it. Those negative feelings had not been eased by their month in Siwa Oasis, where they had little to do but endlessly retrain to keep an edge to their skills. Apart from the retraining, which bored most of them anyway, they had too much time to brood on the widely discussed failure of the first raids and its effect on the reputation of L Detachment. This doubtless explained why tempers were short and fisticuffs not infrequent during the evenings. Already many had asked to be sent back to Kabrit, which was at least nearer to Cairo, but so far Stirling had refused. He had his reasons.

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ he said to Brigadier Reid, puffing streams of cigarette smoke between each precisely placed word. ‘I’m really thrilled, Denys.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Reid replied, ‘since all of your few remaining trained men will be needed in the field, I’ll be happy to help you overcome your supply problems until you decide on a parent organization for L Detachment.’

  ‘I’ve already decided,’ Stirling said. ‘I want it to be the LRDG.’

  Reid nodded, puffed another cloud of cigar smoke, then flicked the ash into his ashtray with a surprisingly elegant movement of his large hand. ‘A good choice. L Detachment and the LRDG are natural allies, involved in similar business and operating virtually the same way. You can learn a lot from the LRDG.’

  ‘I’ve always been happy to take their advice.’

  ‘That’s why you work well together.’

  The field telephone on the brigadier’s desk – actually a trestle table – gave a loud, jangling ring. The brigadier picked the phone up, listened briefly, then put it down and smiled at Stirling.

  ‘Major Steele has arrived,’ he said, rising as someone entered the tent behind Stirling. Standing up and turning around, Stirling found himself face to face with Major Don Steele of the LRDG. The two men shook hands.

  ‘Delighted to meet you at last, old chap,’ Steele said, taking the chair beside Stirling, facing Reid. ‘I’ve heard a lot about that last op and was very impressed.’

  ‘The last op was a failure,’ Stirling said, ‘that brought me a lot of flak.’

  Steele grinned. ‘I’m sure it did. There are, however, lessons to be learnt from failure. Though the raids were not successful, your
men performed magnificently. Their hikes across an average of 50 miles of desert to the RV have already become almost legendary. Never mind the sceptics of MEHQ. L Detachment has nothing to be ashamed of and a lot to be proud of.’

  ‘It’s a relief to hear that,’ Stirling said, meaning it, liking Steele immensely. ‘The failure hit the men hard.’

  ‘You won’t fail this time.’

  ‘Now that the backslapping is finished,’ Reid said tartly, ‘can we get down to business?’

  Steele grinned again. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Reid stood and went to the covered blackboard raised up behind his desk. After picking up a pointer, he removed the canvas sheet covering the blackboard, to reveal a large map of the Cyrenaica Desert.

  ‘While your good friend General Ritchie has recently been reinforced,’ he said, ‘the Axis forces are short of men and supplies – mainly because the Allies now control the Mediterranean. This is a situation which Ritchie wants to exploit. He intends reaching Derna by 19 December and, with forward elements of the 22nd Guards Brigade, be 10 miles east of Benghazi by the 23rd.’

  ‘Ambitious,’ Stirling said. ‘What’s our role?’

  Reid tapped the word ‘Agedabia’ with his pointer. It was on the coast, approximately 120 miles north of Jalo Oasis and 75 miles south of Benghazi. ‘My Flying Squadron is under orders to link up with Brigadier Marriott’s force in this area and be in position by 22 December, in support of the Allied advance on Benghazi. My problem in doing this is the threat from the German aircraft at …’ He tapped the names off, one by one, with his pointer. ‘… Agedabia, Sirte and Agheila. Your job is to remove that threat before we move out.’

  Stirling nodded, then stood up. He went to the map and studied it carefully.

  ‘My suggestion,’ Steele said carefully behind him, ‘is that you take as few men as possible – though enough to do the job – and, instead of parachuting in, let us take you on LRDG vehicles to within striking distance of Sirte.’

  ‘Why Sirte?’ Stirling asked, still studying the map covering the blackboard.

  ‘It’s considered to be the most important,’ Reid replied.

  Stirling nodded again, inhaled on his cigarette, studied the map with his cheeks puffed out, then blew out a cloud of smoke and turned back to face the other two officers.

  ‘Right,’ he said firmly, having decided. ‘I’ll move out with Paddy Callaghan and ten men on 10 December, targeting Sirte. Captain Lewes will be assigned to Agheila, moving out on the 9th. Both groups will attack on the night of the 14th. Finally, Lieutenant Greaves will target Agedabia, in support of your move …’ Stirling nodded, indicating Reid. ‘… Greaves will move out on the 18th to make his attack on the 21st. By the time you advance, Denys, the airfields should all be out of action.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Reid said.

  ‘This time I have no doubts,’ Stirling told him. ‘My men are ready, willing and able. They’ll do a good job.’

  ‘With good support from us,’ Steele said. ‘Of that you can rest assured.’

  ‘More mutual backslapping,’ Reid said sardonically, relighting his cigar and belching out more smoke. ‘May I remind you, gentlemen, that actions speak louder than words.’

  ‘You’ll get all the action you want,’ Steele said with a wide, boyish grin. ‘Of that you can rest assured!’

  ‘We’re gonna hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line,’ Stirling said, quoting the lyrics of the morale-boosting song. ‘And it will all start right here in North Africa.’

  The three men chuckled at that, then Stirling left his fellow officers in the tent and marched enthusiastically across the sun-scorched oasis, with its cool water and palm trees, to raise the spirits of his men with what he regarded as exceptionally good news.

  He was not surprised, when he told them what was going to happen, that the men cheered and applauded for several minutes.

  7

  ‘So those are the targets,’ Stirling said, completing his summary of the forthcoming operations at a briefing in a large tent pitched in the shade of a grove of palm trees, close to the glittering water of the Jalo Oasis. The men had arrived there the day before, after a long, hot drive in lorries over the Great Sand Sea from Siwa Oasis. ‘This time, however, instead of parachuting in from Bombays, we’ll be driven in by the LRDG.’

  A disgruntled murmuring made Stirling glance uneasily at Major Steele, who was sitting in a chair beside him, behind the long trestle table, directly facing Captain Lewes, Captain Callaghan, and Lieutenant Greaves. All three officers were sitting in the front row of hard chairs with the rest of L Detachment seated behind them and Sergeant Lorrimer, his thick arms crossed on his broad chest, standing at the back of the tent, keeping a beady eye on his increasingly frustrated, contentious men.

  ‘Before any of you start complaining,’ Stirling said, waving them into attentive silence, ‘please let it be noted that the LRDG, apart from their exemplary reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering work, have actually paved the way for the kind of raids we’re planning to launch. Indeed, only last week … Well, I’ll let Major Steele tell the story.’

  Looking surprisingly nervous, the normally polished Major Steele pushed his chair back, stood up and cleared his throat.

  ‘In late November,’ he said, ‘the Eighth Army was embroiled in a battle with Axis forces between Sollum and Tobruk. Two LRDG patrols, G1 and G2, were ordered to intercept transport on the road running 70 miles north from Agedabia to the main Axis base at Benghazi.’

  ‘Big deal!’ Frankie Turner whispered contemptuously to his good friend Jimbo Ashman, though not loud enough for Steele to hear.

  ‘The patrols were attacked from the air when nearing the coast,’ the major continued, ‘but the commander of G1, Captain Tony Hay, led his patrol in an attack at dusk on the 28th against a roadside eating house located about 30 miles south of Benghazi. His eight vehicles, having driven several miles down the main road under heavy air attack, turned into the parking area and fired armour-piercing and incendiary bullets from their machine-guns. While they were doing so, a man on each lorry lobbed grenades at some thirty Axis vehicles. The patrol then escaped in the gathering darkness.’

  Always willing to listen to a tale of derring-do, the SAS men, though in a contentious mood, gave Steele breathing space. He used it to cough into his fist, clearing a throat made dry by self-consciousness, then gamely continued.

  ‘The men of G1 weren’t followed, but after lying up next day in the desert, they returned to the road at dusk to shoot up a fuel tanker, killing its driver and passenger, forcing it off the road. The rest of the Axis drivers then fled back in the directions they had come from while the LRDG vehicles drove back into the safety of the desert – again unmolested.’

  Taff Clayton yawned melodramatically, pretending to hide it with his hand, only removing his hand from his face to ask: ‘So? Did they make it back?’

  ‘Yes,’ Steele answered, suddenly showing a little mettle, or perhaps anger, in his formerly shaky voice. ‘After spending the rest of that night in the desert, they spent a further day near the road, but were recalled and reached Siwa on 3 December.’

  When Stirling saw the blank faces of his men, most of whom thought of themselves as a cut above the average, including the LRDG, he straightened his shoulders, which made him look even taller, and said forcefully: ‘The point we wish to make is that that LRDG raid, and others just like it, forced the enemy to withdraw troops from the main battle area to protect his lines of communication – a ploy we are now going to exploit to the full with the invaluable help of the LRDG, who have, incidentally, thankfully already paved the way for us.’

  Stirling nodded appreciatively in the direction of Steele while some of the more dissenting SAS men rolled their eyeballs or shook their heads from side to side in disbelief.

  ‘Any questions so far?’ Sergeant Lorrimer bawled.

  ‘No, Sarge!’ some of the men shouted back.

  ‘Then stop all that
whispering and fidgeting and listen to your CO!’

  ‘Yes, Sarge!’ they shouted back in unison.

  ‘All right, men, all right,’ Stirling said with a grin, raising his big hands to silence them. ‘Fun time is over.’ When they had settled down, he continued: ‘Now that the proper briefing is over, we’d like you to take the opportunity to ask Major Steele anything you want to know about the LRDG. Only sensible questions, please!’ He cast his gaze left and right, along the rows of seated men, then to the back of the tent where Lorrimer had put his hand in the air to set the ball rolling. ‘Yes, Sergeant?’

  ‘What does the LRDG consist of, precisely? I think we’re all a bit vague about that,’ Lorrimer asked, looking round for confirmation.

  ‘At present we consist of ten patrols,’ Major Steele informed him. ‘Each of those has the use of modified four-wheel-drive Ford F60 cars and 30 cwt Chevrolet lorries with a single tank range of 1100 miles. We have a survey section, where we make up our own maps. We have our own artillery section with a 4.5-inch howitzer, an 88mm 25-pounder, and a light tank, each mounted on a ten-tonner. We have an air section with two American WACO light aircraft purchased by the War Office. Last but not least, we have a heavy section of three-ton supply lorries, and a Light Aid Detachment for vehicle maintenance. In short, we’re a self-sustaining outfit and we’re well equipped.’

  ‘Above or below?’ Jimbo whispered to Frankie, who had to stifle his coarse laughter.