Long Range Desert Group Read online

  To begin with all went well. The ambush party was in position, an Italian lorry approaching and Jake “broken down” on the track, with his own head and the driver’s inside the bonnet and the gunner lying under a tarpaulin in the back. The lorry drew near and Jake held up his hand. It stopped and he walked over to ask for help, with one hand gripping a Tommy-gun hidden not very successfully behind his back. As he stepped up to the lorry the driver realised what was up, threw open the door and grappled with him. The passenger, an officer, drew his pistol, emptied it at Jake and the struggling driver, missed all his shots and bolted up the hillside to be brought down by machine-gun fire from the trucks. The driver wrested himself free and bolted but was stopped by a quick shot from Jake.

  Meanwhile the situation was developing. The lorry had in fact been the first of a convoy of twenty which, when Jake first moved into position, had been hidden by dead ground. These had by now come up and halted and men were clambering out, some to hide under the trucks, while others, bolder, seized their rifles and opened fire. From the high ground the Lewis gun added to the confusion. But so far Jake had not got his prisoner and it was clear that he was badly outnumbered and soon would have to withdraw.

  The last scene, as one of the patrol told me afterwards, was of Jake, with his pockets stuffed with Mills bombs, crying, “I must get a prisoner, I must get a prisoner,” hunting down the line of lorries and bolting the Italians like rabbits from underneath them with his bombs.

  In the end he got two : one died the same day, but the other gave the information we needed : Italian prisoners were never reluctant to speak, and a day later Middle East knew that the Trieste Motorized Division was moving down to Mechili.

  1The Gebel Akhdar (“The Green Mountain”) hereinafter also called simply “The Gebel,” is the high-lying, fertile part of Cyrenaica.

  2Cpl. A. H. Gave, M.M., Royal Wilts Yeomanry.

  3 To-day, 16.11.43, I heard that Jake, who had succeeded Prendergast as O.C. L.R.D.G., was killed yesterday in Leros. Brave, wise, with an uprightness that shamed lesser men, he was, I think, the finest man we ever had in L.R.D.G.

  4 In the case of some of the exploits described in this book, where 1 considered it necessary for their safety, I have changed the names of those who took part in them. I ask those who find themselves treated in this way not to suppose that I have ascribed their achievements to others. If, after the war, the opportunity arises I will restore their proper names.

  Author, 1927

  Sandstone Desert From a drawing by Capt. P. McIntyre

  Mushroom Rock From a drawing by Capt. P. McIntyre

  Target Practice with the Vickers Official War Office Photograph

  In Wireless Touch with the Outside World Official War Office Photograph

  ‘Unsticking’: Sand Sea Official War Office Photograph

  An Oasis in the Fezzan Royal Italian Air Force

  In the Eghei Mountains Royal Italian Air Force

  Rough Going in the Harug

  Trooper R. J. Moore, D.C.M. From a drawing by Capt. P. McIntyre

  Tibesti: the Rocks of Dourso From a drawing by Capt. P. McIntyre

  ‘Unsticking’ Official War Office Photograph

  Supper Official War Office Photograph

  New Zealand Patrol From a drawing by Capt. P. McIntyre

  Night Camp Official War Office Photograph

  The Waco brings in a Wounded Man Capt. R. P. Lawson

  Jake Easonsmith

  Leeside of a Crescent Dune Royal Italian Air Force

  A Meeting in the Desert: T and R Patrols Official War Office Photograph

  Lunch Official War Office Photograph

  T2 Patrol: After the Stukas

  Dust Storm Crown Copyright Reserved

  Siwa Oasis

  Road Watch: On Duty Official War Office Photograph

  Road Watch: Off Duty Official War Office Photograph (Note camouflaged car)

  Moving North to Barce Capt. R. P Lawson

  General Montgomery and General Freyberg with R1 Patrol, December 1942

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE AUTUMN OFFENSIVE, 1941

  TOWARDS the end of October, 1941, we knew that the Eighth Army’s attack on the Solium line would begin in mid-November. There is a strange satisfaction in sharing a really big secret, and it was exciting to go with Prendergast to Main Army H.Q. at Ma’aten Bagush where in the cool, concrete dug-out among the sand hills, with the paper screens carefully let down over the maps on the walls, Thorburn and Harding Newman of the “Plans” staff told us as much as they thought it good for us to know.

  L.R.D.G.’s part in the advance was to “observe enemy reactions.” This meant in fact that on November 18th most of the patrols were to be sitting on the desert tracks south of the Gebel Akhdar to report on enemy reinforcements or withdrawals.

  The first thing to do was to move Headquarters and the Kufra squadron to Siwa and here we profited from the Clayton-Steele reconnaissance of a year before. Untroubled by the enemy in Jalo the patrols crossed the Sand Sea by the Howard’s Cairn route and were all in Siwa by November 10th. All, that is, except Holliman with Si patrol, who was on a real L.R.D.G. job, planned before we knew about the coming offensive.

  It happened as follows :

  At 6 a.m. on the morning of November 7th a Lancia lorry was moving northwards on the Hon-Misurata road near Bu Ngem. In it were a handful of Italian soldiers and some Libyans. The Italians, from the garrison at Hon, were on their way to Tripoli, thence to be repatriated to Italy on compassionate grounds in view of their long service in Africa. One of them, Saladini, was a sergeant pilot in their air force who had been at Kufra in 1940 with a flight of Ghiblis, and had had the fun of bombing W patrol on their way to attack ’Ain Dua at ’Uweinat in November. When he got back to Italy he would have some fine tales to tell of how the glorious Regia Aeronautica had scattered the British desert raiders.

  The morning was cold and a steady drizzle of rain was falling, but the Italians, thinking of their own sunny homes, did not worry about the weather. They could hardly have been worrying about the enemy, for they were at least 500 miles from where the nearest British could reasonably be expected to be. Life seemed pretty good to the men in the lorry.

  At ten past six the Lancia was blazing by the roadside and the Italians were on top of the Si patrol trucks at the beginning of their six-day journey back to Kufra and a P.O.W. camp.

  To return to the enemy “reactions.” To begin with these were few. Our advance had not gone as well as had been expected and the patrols sat watching empty roads.

  Simms had some excitement, caught in one of those unfortunate incidents which happened two or three times in L.R.D.G.’s life. On November 17th, he was moving up to position on the Tariq el ’Abd when three Beaufighters roared over the horizon and opened fire on the patrol. This was one of the risks which L.R.D.G. just had to take. Naturally it was impossible to warn the R.A.F. of the position of all patrols at all times, and a pilot could hardly be blamed for assuming that a party of cars a hundred miles west of Solium were of the enemy. Nor could we paint on the cars the standard ground-to-air recognition markings used on all vehicles up on the coast. The Beaufighters straffed Y1 patrol till their ammunition was finished and the W/T truck ablaze, in spite of Simms’s calm attempt to spread out the flapping ground recognition strips, and with fingers numbed in the cold wind to light the “flares, ground, illuminating,” which were the pre-arranged signal for the R.A.F.

  However, Timpson got one back on the Italian Air Force a day or two later. He was hiding up with G2 Patrol near Ma’aten Grara, watching for cross-desert traffic from Agedabia to Tobruk, when a B.R.20, with its engine spluttering, came low over his cars and force-landed behind a rise. When Timpson, with two trucks, arrived on the scene, the Italians were busy putting up their aerial to signal for help. They might have got it from him if the rear-gunner, still inside the aircraft, had not jumped so hurriedly to his gun.

  Timpson sent two prisoners back
to Siwa; the rest of the crew he buried beside the ashes of their plane.

  Meanwhile most of the signals coming into Siwa said that no movement had been observed. The patrols were getting bored and begged for a job of work to do. They soon got one.

  At Eighth Army things were not going too well. Our own high command had changed and Rommel was pushing his tank columns up to the frontier wire; there was a hectic afternoon when every driver, batman and cook at Advanced Army H.Q. was being mobilised to beat off one of these thrusts. On November 24th we received a signal, on “Emergency Ops” priority, which afterwards became a household word—“Advance and attack.” That was all it said, but a second message was more explicit, “Act with utmost vigour offensively against any enemy targets or communications within your reach.” A free hand to carry out a tall order.

  I have not space here to describe all that was done. As usual with L.R.D.G. the operations were widely spread; Tony Hay with G1 shot up the coast road near Agedabia; Simms destroyed a dozen or more vehicles in a car park near Sidi Saleh; Olivey (S2) and Browne (R2) attacked traffic on the Barce-Maraua road and Lloyd Owen captured the fort at El Ezzeiat. In a small way we did what we could.

  Here is David Lloyd Owen’s story of the action at El Ezzeiat :

  “General Cunningham’s attack had been in progress for about a week and we were getting rather bored at seeing nothing pass by the crossroads at Rotunda Segnali. Before we left Siwa for this patrol I was quite sure we should have a busy time watching these tracks, all of which I felt the enemy was bound to use. However, on the 24th my impatience was relieved by a signal which came at the evening call-time, telling us to make contact with the other Yeomanry patrol and go north with them to the main Tobruk-Derna road. We had orders on arrival there to do all we could to interrupt the enemy’s flow of petrol and supplies.

  “At last it seemed that we were to have some fun, and though I was thrilled at the prospect of a free hand to do all the damage we could, I was at the same time a bit anxious, for the work was all so strange and unknown to me. This was my first patrol and I knew little of the country and less of the successful methods of raiding the enemy behind his lines. That night we met Y1, and. Frank Simms and I arranged to attack the road simultaneously and then withdraw to make fresh plans before we went in again. We hoped that over a long stretch of road we would be able to play this sort of game for some time, and I was encouraged by Frank’s reckless confidence.

  “The next day we waited in cover and made all our preparations to move late in the afternoon. We knew that enemy aircraft did not usually fly later than about tea-time in that area and so we lay low all day. It was a disturbing day for many aircraft passed low over our hideout as though they had warning of our plans and were searching for us.

  “After a good meal Frank moved off ahead of me and we agreed to spend the night together a little further north. We watched him go off in a cloud of dust and again I hoped that the Italian airmen would have finished for the day. We followed soon afterwards, strung out in a long line and hoping that it would not surprise any one unduly to see six vehicles moving peacefully along a track about a hundred miles behind the enemy’s lines.

  “The sun had set and it was turning cold when of a sudden I heard the warning cry of ‘Aircraft’ from my gunner. Hearing that shout so many times during the day at our hiding place I had become almost indifferent to it, but this time I knew it was serious and turned round to see a single-seater Italian fighter sweep over the last truck. It roared over our heads and we could only wait and see what it would do. I watched it swing twice round us in a wide circle and told the men to hold their fire till we were sure that it meant trouble. The third time the pilot flew a little wider and then came in straight as though to strafe us. Suddenly I thought he might think better of us if we all showed our friendliness, and so I waved up to him and in the dusk we watched him fly off waving cheerily out of his cockpit and going home satisfied to dinner.

  “We moved on a bit further and slept, but did not see Frank again that night. Next morning we overtook him, made a plan for a rendezvous later in the day and parted again. We had not gone far when a single truck appeared to the west; I knew it could not be one of Frank’s, and soon through my glasses I could make out a small Ford with a lot of soldiers standing in the back. We drew closer and in the early morning light they looked cold and miserable, and one shot from my gunner behind me was enough to make them surrender.

  “We were pleased to get a good vehicle and a few prisoners, but sorry for them as they were on their way to Derna on leave. One spoke English well and admitted that they did not much mind being captured as they were all keen to see Cairo.

  “The interpreter said they had come from a small fort in the neighbourhood. I had not heard of this place and encouraged him to talk, and before long had all the details of the garrison and their armament and also his ready cooperation in our desire to go and attack it. It was only a few miles off and he sat on my truck and guided me over the best route.

  “Soon we could see this small desert outpost of the Italian Empire and I hoped that by driving straight up to it we could get reasonably near before the garrison suspected anything. As we approached I could see a man on the roof watching us through his glasses. Our Italian friend said they would probably surrender if we showed fight and so I decided to attack. We made a hasty plan, but I was not well versed in the art of attacking forts in unarmoured 30-cwt trucks.

  “We drove forward in open formation till they began to fire by which time we were only about two hundred yards away and it was unwise to endanger the trucks further. So we left the drivers to guard the prisoners and rushed towards the fort on foot. We reached some outhouses unhurt and took cover.

  “Then there ensued a short period of close range sniping during which we killed two of the enemy and made the others keep their heads down. It seemed that we should have to change our plan of attack for I could see no end to this friendly sniping; it had done us no harm, but we numbered only eight and could hardly hope to take the place by storm. An idea came to me—a hope that we might bluff them into surrender. I shouted for the Italian prisoner who crawled up to me amidst a volley of shots from his friends. He came on bravely and sat down with me behind a wall. I told him that I intended to offer the garrison an armistice so that they could come out and discuss terms of surrender because I had strong reinforcements which would be arriving at any moment. I stood him up and with courage unusual in an Italian he walked towards the fort.

  “For some strange reason he seemed to regard himself on our side for he cajoled and implored the commander until he came out to meet me. The armistice had begun and I could not but laugh at this strange form of warfare as we shook hands and smoked cigarettes together. We talked for about ten minutes but the commander was quite adamant that he would continue to fight. I said I was sorry as I had wished to avoid more bloodshed, wondering all the time what to do next in order to avoid an ignominious retreat. We shook hands once again and I gave him time to get back to his position before the battle was restarted.

  “We had done all we could with rifles, pistols and machine-guns and the only trump card left to us was a grenade from a discharger cup. We didn’t really know how to use the thing but hoped that a well-planted shot on the tower might silence opposition from that direction. I decided to renew the attack, firing everything at once and trying to get the range with the grenade thrower. With the good fortune that comes to beginners the first grenade landed full on the tower. Such a chance was too good to miss and we rushed headlong towards the fort, shouting savage cries and firing wildly at everything. This was too much for one Yeoman, left as horseholder with the trucks, and with a shout to his Italian prisoner, ‘Here, look after this car,’ he sped after us to join the fun. Before we had reached the walls we were met by the garrison, seventeen strong, pouring out of the gate with their hands held high.”

  As so often in L.R.D.G. the disposal of the prisoners was a problem, for Lloyd
Owen was still on his way to his main objective, the coast road. Finally they were dumped thirty miles south in the desert, given food and water and the general direction for a march on Rome.

  The next night the patrol was on the Via Balbia near Martuba. I quote the official report of what they did :

  “1700-1800 hrs.—Very heavy rain turned the wadis into fast flowing torrents. Made plans to take 2 vehicles with 12 men to the road that night. Left at 1800 hrs. leaving 3 vehicles with drivers and W/T operator at rear R.V. Approached to within 3 miles of road where 2 trucks were left. Walked due east to road arriving at 2100 hrs.

  “2200 hrs.—One large covered wagon and one car went west. No more movement till 2400 hrs.

  “2400 hrs.—Large petrol tanker with trailer fired at. Vehicle did not stop but was undoubtedly hit as range was less than 5 yards and fire heavy.

  “0045 hrs.—10-ton lorry approached. Opened fire and punctured tyres and petrol tank. Lorry stopped and two hand-grenades thrown into back. Two officers in front jumped out and were shot. One man got out of the back and was shot. Wrecked vehicle, leaving two dead officers and seven others. Cut telephone wires and withdrew to rear R.V. Moved south and lay up all day.”

  Next week Y2 destroyed three io-ton tankers on the road north of Agedabia. Five weeks later they were raiding the fort at Scemech (look on the map a hundred miles south-east of Tripoli) and settingup anew “farthest west” record for L.R.D.G. The fort was empty and all they could do was to burn it and mine the roads nearby. A high escarpment overlooks Fort Scemech from the south-east, almost impassable to cars, and Lloyd Owen spent a day and a half in pouring rain trying to find a way down. When he finally reached Scemech some Bedouin appeared and remarked in a friendly way, “So you’ve got down the cliff at last; we’ve been watching you for the last couple of days.” It was just as well the fort was empty.