Commandos and Rangers of World War II

by James D. Ladd

  While ‘No.41(RM)’ took their hill, 2 Commando moved in six columns up the heavily wooded valley with a few steeply terraced vineyards clinging to its side. Each Troop shouted ‘Commando, Commando’, every five minutes, firing occasional tommy-gun bursts and following Jack Churchill. He was with No.6 Troop on the road and they got ahead of the line across the valley, surprising several Germans in the village, one of whom was persuaded at sword point—the Colonel thought an officer not properly dressed for battle without a sword—to give the password on a round of the sentries who each surrendered in turn. With 70 prisoners the Commando were back at the start line by midnight. Then they were sent back up the valley, and with the moon rising they stormed the first hill and were in touch with the marines on their right when the Duke of Wellington led two Troops against the third hill. He and many of his men were killed in fierce machine-gun fire and a barrage of grenades, that forced the Troops to fall back on the village. Throughout Wednesday, 15 September the Brigade held the village and two hills but were under fire from 88mm (3.5in) guns and supply was difficult, for lubricating oil for automatic weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies had to be brought forward as well as rations.

  The Germans were also having supply problems in the Salerno area. The XIV Panzer Corps had started the battle with seven ‘units of fuel’, a unit probably being enough for 50 or fewer miles in their worn vehicles over hilly country. Of the Corps’ 4,074 vehicles, including 455 armoured tanks and self-propelled guns, over 10 per cent had been lost by 15 September. In battling up and across these Salerno hills, in attacking the Ranger stronghold that was never held by more than a few thousand men, although the Germans thought there was a division with two or three times this strength apparently, the German Panzer strength was weakened. They never dislodged the Rangers who, 13 days after they landed, moved on 22 September through the Sals-Chinnzi pass towards Naples.

  The British Eighth Army, with their share of supply difficulties, reached the Salerno beachhead a week after the landings (16 September), having come over 200 miles (300 + km) from Reggio with only minor losses—635 out of 63,663.

  The Fifth Army was to fight up the west coast and the Eighth Army in the east. With them went the Commandos and Rangers—‘No.41(RM)’ lost Major Edwards and many men trying to take the hill where the Duke of Wellington was killed: this made a difficult start to the drive north, for although a Troop reached the hilltop, only six of them survived to come off it next morning. (The notes on other actions by Tom Churchill’s Brigade (2, 9, 41(RM) Commandos), by John Durnford-Slater’s Brigade (3 and 40(RM) Commando and the Special Raiding Squadron), and Bill Darby’s Rangers are shown in the unit histories in Appendix 7). A good part of that winter of 1943-44, however, was spent by special forces in infantry work. They made a number of landings, from which the following paragraphs give some indication of how a Commando Group, an individual Commando, and other special forces were handled.

  The first of these landings was at the small Adriatic port of Termoli, two miles north-west of the mouth of the Bifurno river. The landing there would turn the natural defence line of the river and the German’s left flank. The Eighth Army was in contact with the enemy eight miles south of the river when the 22nd Landing Craft Flotilla—four LCI(L)s towing seven LCAs—sailed from Manfredonia at midday on 2 October 1943. Their departure was something of a triumph for John Durnford-Slater, as he had signed the sailing orders earlier, getting the craft up to this little port before it was cluttered by Royal Navy authority. Indeed, it had been occupied by the adjutant of ‘No.40(RM)’ and an advanced party from the brigade, and the Colonel’s informality has about it that special forces’ touch which got things done. However, a navy or army would be a rabble if the discipline of movement orders and so on were not strictly maintained. In this conflict lay much of some senior officers’ dislike of special forces, for whereas the seniors needed order and method, commandos expected prompt action, and achieving all three took the genius of men like Lord Mountbatten and Bob Laycock.

  Four Troops from 3 Commando commanded—as Peter Young was ill—by Arthur Komrower, recently recovered from his wounds received more than two years before at Vaagsö, Pops Manner’s 40(RM) Commando, and Paddy Mayne’s Special Raiding Squadron landed on 3 October. By 0800 they had taken their objectives, plus 500 prisoners, many found sleeping in a train about to go north, and the commander of a German battle group. By 0930 the Squadron were in contact with a battalion that had crossed the Bifurno River. The smoothness of these landings and their rapid development was due to the commandos’ experience and their close understanding with the landing craft crews. The entire orders for the operation involving 1,000 men, had been set down on half a sheet of paper, and because everyone knew what was expected of him, this brief instruction from John Durnford-Slater sufficed. Such administrative brevity, had not been achieved without much practice.

  German supply trucks kept rolling into the town, and 12 or so were ambushed by the marines, who were joined before midday by the 56th Reconnaissance Regiment with armoured cars and carriers, followed that night by other advanced units of the British 78 Division. Next morning the commandos were withdrawn into the town, but by 1200 hours 3 Commando’s Troops and a Troop from the Special Raiding Squadron were sent back to positions they had occupied in an olive grove on a hill overlooking some crossroads held by the Raiding Squadron. On their left were the 8th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders with elements of the Reconnaissance Regiment holding a church and a factory. With ‘No.3’ were four six-pounders and a 17-pounder anti-tank gun, and three machine-gun teams from the Kensingtons (London). Lieutenant-Colonel Chavasse took command of this sector and John Durnford-Slater was in the town. There the townsfolk were making a nuisance of themselves, as explained in a moment, but the Commando Colonel decided he would give the marines and most of the Raiding Squadron an opportunity to catch up on their sleep—the men had only one night’s proper sleep in the previous seven days, for the weather had been rough when they were brought up the coast before reaching their sally port. This morning he wanted them ‘in tiptop shape’, taking a calculated risk with ‘No.3’ who were now dug-in under driving rain.

  A major enemy attack began at dawn next day, D + 2, and the marines and Raiding Squadron Troops in the town were moved to form a perimeter on its west side. About this time, John Durnford-Slater called the male population together and threatened mass executions in retaliation for commando patrols being sniped on and grenades being thrown: he later wrote that this ‘sent them home in a more cooperative frame of mind’. His own mind, although seldom troubled, must have been concerned that morning, for the heavy rains had washed away the engineers’ bridge over the Bifurno. The town was cut off from the Eighth Army and Reece Corps had brought in a prisoner from 26 Panzer Division.

  About 1000 hours the Argylls lost the church, and tanks were rolling towards the commando’s olive grove. The anti-tank gunners, their officer wounded, fired at too great a range and, having given away their position, took flight when the tanks knocked out a gun. More than 10 years would pass before the Commandos had their own guns but that would be in a different context when all Infantry Commandos were Royal Marine units. The Reconnaissance Corps had been driven back and the Argylls retired, leaving a sergeant and three men who preferred to stay, although now there was only 3 Commando, a Troop of the Raiding Squadron, the Kensington machine-gunners. Lieutenant-Colonel Chavasse, and his second-in-command two miles from the town in the olive grove. The Colonel called in an artillery barrage from across the river, and the officers spotting for this shoot crawled forward down the slope from the olive trees to pass the orders ‘up 500, down 200’ along a chain of commandos, lying on the forward slope, back to the radio. At 1530 hours this fire was supplemented by Kittihawks strafing the Germans and bombing their tanks, again called in by radio—the Commando prized their set so highly that John Durnford-Slater had it carefully brought in on a stretcher for landing.

  From the town the Co
mmando Colonel had warned Arthur Komrower that he would have to stick it out. Although there is no direct evidence of his reasoning, there seems every possibility that he knew any attempt to move the marines and other Troops forward was courting disaster, for the Argylls were already moving back and probably blocking the roads. German artillery fire had been falling with unpleasant accuracy, and the Brigade headquarters was hit, killing several staff in the room next to John Durnford-Slater—an enemy observer no doubt saw the aerials. A careful search was made and the German was found in the top of the church tower: he refused to come down and was killed by bren fire, ‘a tough brave man, a great threat to the Commandos while he lived’. At night the fires in the town, with several haystacks afire, made it as bright almost as by day, and the crews of the landing craft that lay off the port throughout the action must have wondered how they might fare had they been called in.

  The men in the olive groves had seen the bombers come in, but 90 minutes later 11 German tanks appeared 2,000 yards (1.8km) from the commando positions, followed by infantry that the Vickers machine-guns kept at bay. About 1830 hours, contact was lost with the Special Raiding Squadron Troop, and the tanks were within 100 yards of Arthur Komrower’s headquarters: he could hear the crews talking from their open turrets as darkness prevented any further tank movement. The Germans lit a fire to brew coffee and Troop Sergeant-Major King, desperate for a cup of tea, left the headquarters to boil a mess tin of water on the far side of the German’s fire. With men of such nerve the Commando Colonel need perhaps have had few worries, although he later said that ‘this was the only time I thought we might be defeated’. He considered that had 16 Panzer Division been up to its old form it would have broken into the town.

  At 0330 hours, 3 Commando and the machine-gunners were ordered back into the town as John Durnford-Slater and Colonel Chavasse considered them ‘too exposed’. The next day, 6 October, 40(RM) Commando held off the last German attack, but the river bridge was rebuilt by then and the 38 Irish Brigade were in the town. Among the prisoners were men of the German 4 Parachute Brigade who had held the commandos and then pushed them from the Ponte dei Malati 10 weeks before. Some of these German élite were recognised as men who had captured commandos, and now the tables were turned the British could repay the good treatment they had received as prisoners in Sicily. Perhaps the professional respect the élite fighters had for each other contributed to their friendship, and as many of the 4th Paras spoke English there was an opportunity to exchange news.

  The Bifurno line was turned and before sending them back to Bari, ‘where there is plenty of everything’, General Montgomery told the commandos they had saved the situation.

  Handling a Commando—briefly described on page 9—differed perhaps more in the independent nature of the command than in the actual military tactics of handling six Troops. Lieutenant-Colonel R.J.F. Tod’s 9 Commando, for example, was sent across from the east coast to carry out a diversion on the lower reaches of the Garigliano river where it runs into the Mediterranean, 35 miles (56km) north of Naples. He was an experienced officer, having landed in 1940 near Boulogne, but his Commando had not been under fire. Several schemes were put forward for this operation which was intended to draw the enemy’s attention among the marshes and waterlogged estuary meadows, while the Guards’ brigade holding the front a mile south of this marsh were moved up river for the major crossing. Overlooking the river mouth, the Germans held strongpoints on Monte Argento, which jutted into the sea one and a half miles (2.4km) further north of strongpoints on the northern riverbank near the sea, (see ‘25’ map p. 152). Inland they had fortified an old Roman amphitheatre by the broken bridge where the Appian Way from Naples had crossed the river.

  Ronnie Tod divided his Commando into three Groups: X would hold the landing area, Y would attack the headland, and Z would attack the amphitheatre. They went into training once again, holding a signals exercise on Christmas Eve, and while one day is much like the next in the field, special holidays are seldom forgotten, even in the midst of a campaign.

  The Colonel wanted them back across the river before daylight, so time was an essential element of the raid. However, going into the beach in landing craft, despite being led by a radar-aided American scout boat, the Commando were landed 90 minutes late at 0025 hours on 29 December, and although correctly north of the river, they were 800 yards (720m) south of the intended landing point. This added twice that distance to the ground Group Y must go to and from their assault. By now readers will be expecting changes in an amphibious plan, and Ronnie Tod was ready to make one. Group Z had earlier put out a patrol and moving over the waterlogged ground were now more than 90 minutes behind the timetable. Captain Cameron radioed Ronnie Tod: should the attack go ahead? The Colonel made the decision: they would attack and come out over the broken bridge. Artillery fire came down 50 yards ahead of the Group, breaking up an enemy counter-attack, and the amphitheatre was taken without further resistance. Meanwhile the Guards’ brigade had been mounting a series of attacks against the south bank of the river and had men at the bridge. As Group Z turned south towards them, the commandos had to over-come strong defensive positions, prepared no doubt for all-round defence by the Germans.

  Groups X and Y came across the 100 yards or so of river-mouth in a couple of lifts from nine amphibious trucks (DUKWs) of the RASC and three RE reconnaissance (inflatable) boats. The light was improving rapidly as Ronnie Tod called to the drivers to be sure to come back for a second trip. ‘If I say I’ll come back, I bloody well come back’, was a tired reply. The two Groups were just clear of the river as a German artillery barrage fell on the crossing. Higher up the river Captain M. Long swam and waded the 15 yards of ice-cold rushing water, a rope around his waist, and once he was on the bridge’s south side this line helped haul the Group over in a collapsible boat, their crossing covered by a well-laid smokescreen. One man was drowned, but this was the only casualty here despite mortar fire, although the Commando had several other casualties. The bodies of only five of the nine dead had been brought back, so four night later Ronnie Tod and several men went back to try to find them. Tom Churchill considered it the height of folly: a man lost a leg on a mine during this search and no bodies were found. Yet in many ways this demonstrates the Colonel’s devotion to his Commando, for, at the risk of generalisation, a colonel’s command still involves thought for men as individuals, but for more senior commanders the military equations have to exclude personal feelings. That is not to say these gentlemen are heartless or even unsympathetic or their men’s position, but in the chess moves of war some pieces must inevitably be sacrificed for eventual victory. The senior officers of Special Forces often had to make their equations of death right in the middle of those who might pay the price of victory, a situation Bill Darby faced on 1 February 1944 in the Anzio beachhead.

  On 22 January 1944, the 1st, 3rd and 4th Rangers with 9 and 43(RM) Commandos spearheaded virtually unopposed landings at Anzio. This immediate success was not exploited, although there are reasons to believe the proposed 30-mile (45 + km) advance on Rome—eventually an open city—would not have been as simple as it may appear in retrospect, for when the German Gustav line was outflanked their reserves had only to turn west in the hills above Anzio to block this left hook, which they did. A battle of World War I style in trench warfare followed, the special forces suffering a major defeat in its early stages.

  The featureless beachhead of Anzio was in part reclaimed land from the Pontine Marshes, and that winter standing water in places prevented the men from digging in. A few villages and stone farmhouses were spread across this plain that was traversed by gullies, with the Mussoline canal, a useful tank trap, forming the right (south-east) perimeter. General Truscott brought the Rangers from Carrocetta-Aprilla, the factory area where they had been in heavy fighting for several days, and with Bill Darby planned a night infiltration. Two Ranger battalions would pass through the German ring of defences, which would eventually be held by 71,500
Germans to the Allied VI Corps’s 61,332 but which, on the night 30-31 January 1944, was not thought by the Allies to be too firmly closed. Therefore the Rangers planned to take by infiltration Cisterna di Littoria, blocking two routes to Cassino on the Gustav line. The move would also relieve pressure on the beachhead. Both battalions, the 1st and 3rd, were to avoid enemy strongpoints, but if caught in a fight then the 3rd Rangers would hold off the enemy while the 1st Rangers put in the planned dawn assault on the town. The 4th Rangers were to follow an hour behind the others and clear the Anzio-Cisterna road.

  The 1st and 3rd Battalions were through the enemy lines as planned in a long crocodile of men whose scouts, at about 0100 hours, killed enemy sentries beyond the Mussolini canal. Moving in this formation, as they had done several times in Africa, is one of the more risky manoeuvres for even highly trained troops: enemy enfilade fire can obliterate such a column before they get to ground, and at best the companies are not in a handy formation for all-round defence. For the 700 or so rangers crossing frozen ground that night, edging their way through German artillery positions, the odds were against success. At around 0200 hours the 4th Battalion set off, but half a mile (800m) up the road they were fired on by a single machine gun. Within minutes they were stopped against a wall of mutually defended positions that they could not breach in repeated company attacks. Meanwhile, the battalions infiltrating the enemy rear positions were moving forward towards their start line for the attack on the town.

  Anzio—examples of Commando, Ranger and North Americans’ operations, January to May 1944.

  While the 4th Battalion were losing several company commanders and many men in the enemy cross-fire, the leading Platoon of the 1st Battalion found themselves just before dawn in the middle of several German positions. They shot their way through these troops and were within 800 yards (700 + m) of Cisterna, but around them were elements of the German’s 4 Para Division who, apparently, had moved into the Cisterna area the previous night. The Para Division with its nine battalions including Italian Facist units had been fighting around the beachhead since the first landings.