Operation Absolom (Carter's Commandos Book 1), page 12
“We’ll give ’im a good ’iding.” A voice called from the anonymity of the back of the room. Others joined in, agreeing with him.
Vernon raised his hand for order again.
“I’m sure we will give him a good hiding, but it will be even better if we can catch him napping when we do it.
Now, the operation is still some weeks away, but as of now we start training for it. Each troop will follow a particular training programme aimed at improving and enhancing your skills. Later we will start to join the troops up to work together in larger groups until, eventually, we will start to work as a full commando and rehearse the operation just as it will be carried out on the day. By that time you will each know what you have to do, how you have to do it and when you have to do it,” Vernon smiled. “You’ll even will be able to do it backwards, blindfolded, and in your sleep.”
He paused to let the men chuckle at his little joke.
“Now, once we start training the only thing we will stop for is sleep and food. If you thought Achnacarry was intense, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He paused again to allow the men to chuckle at the Al Jolson reference.
“So, with that in mind, I’m granting you all a forty eight hour pass to go out and enjoy yourselves.”
This brought renewed bouts of cheering. which the Sergeant Major had to use the power of his voice to quieten the men once again so that the CO could be heard.
“I know it won’t give you time to go home, unless you are one of those who originates from north of the border, but it will give you time to go to Glasgow or Ayr and let off a bit of steam. However …” he let the word hang in the air, “that does not give you licence to run amok. Any man who gets into trouble with the police, however minor, will find himself RTU’d. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a loud “Yes, Sir” from the assembled throng. Carter knew the threat would do no good. Someone would get too worse for wear and end up in a police cell, he suspected. It’s what soldiers did when they were let loose for a few hours. But perhaps he was pre-judging the men. They had a lot more self-discipline than the average solider.
“Right, men. Off you go and I want you back on parade, sober and ready for a speed march at oh seven hundred hours on Saturday.”
“Parade! Parade ‘’shun.” The Sergeant Major bellowed once again, as the CO marched from the room and back to his office.
As Carter left he was intercepted by the 2IC once again.
“I’ve just got to go and have a chat with the CO, but pop by my office in about half an hour. I’d like to hear more about that rock climbing idea of yours.”
5 – Operation Absolom
Carter decided to spend his forty eight hours of freedom catching up with his correspondence. He wrote a long letter to his parents and another one to his sister, the tone of that lighter and more relaxed. He followed that up with letters to his college friends and to a couple of friends he had made during his time at the Officer Training School. The letters would have to go via Martin Turner to be checked to make sure that Carter hadn’t given away any secrets, but that was an accepted fact of life during wartime. By the middle of the second day, however, Carter was starting to get bored.
He had already run ten miles that morning, but he felt restless, too much pent-up energy coursing through his body, caused by the excitement of the impending raid. It was weeks away, he knew, but it was like waiting for Christmas when he had been a child, caught up in the anticipation of the big day.
He decided that a long walk might be beneficial, perhaps taking his mind off the Op. Following the A77 southwards he found a footpath that led into a range of low hills. The fields were dotted with grazing cattle and the late autumn sunshine bathed the scene in a golden glow. He turned off the road and started to climb the gentle upward slope. Reaching a high point he turned and looked back the way he had come, glimpsing the sparkling waters of the Firth of Clyde, the bulk of the Isle of Arran dominating the horizon.
It was a fine view and one that he hadn’t had much time to appreciate since his arrival, less than a week before. He doubted he would get much more time before they departed to carry out the operation. And then? Afterwards, would he ever stand here again? He pushed the thought from his mind. That’s not the way commandos think, he scolded himself.
He wondered where Operation Absolom might be taking them; what sort of landscape might he encounter. The most likely destination was Norway. If they were going to raid France or the Low Countries they would be moving south so as to train on terrain similar to that which they would land on. The fact that no mention had been made of moving suggested that more rugged terrain was required, such as that found in Scotland. Well, they would find out soon enough.
“I never tire of this view.” A female voice came from behind him. Some commando he was, allowing someone to get that close without him knowing it. Complacency got people killed. It said so on one of the crosses at the entrance to Achnacarry.
He turned to see an attractive young woman of his own age approaching. She was dressed in the clothes of a working farmer, a waterproof jacket hung open to reveal a thick sweater and her legs were clad in heavy tweed trousers. Her skin was wind beaten to an attractive shade of brown that matched her hair, which was held back in a pony tail and covered with a peaked cap. On her feet were wellington boots. A black and white border collie dog trailed at her heels.
“Sorry. You took me by surprise.” Carter smiled. “I’m not trespassing, am I?”
“Technically, yes, but don’t worry about it. It would be wrong to prevent anyone from seeing this.” She swept her arm to take in the vista. She held a horn handled walking stick in her hand.
“This is your land?”
“My father’s. Our family have farmed here for generations. Father’s health isn’t too good, so I’m pretty much running things these days. It’s a tough job with so many of the men in the army.”
“I thought farming was a reserved occupation.”
“Yes, but the men lie about that when they go into the recruiting office to volunteer. If every man who said he worked in the sweetie factory had actually worked there, the place would have been too crowded to make a single sweet.” She laughed. “I’ve got a couple of Land Army1 girls, but they’re townies and I spend most of my time showing them how to do things. It’s often quicker to do it myself.” She laughed again, a pleasant, almost musical sound. Carter was reminded that he had hardly spoken to a woman for many months, at least, not one that wasn’t related to him.
She examined the insignia on his uniform. “So, you’re one of those commandos that keep us awake at night with your banging and crashing.”
“I’m sorry. Yes, we can be a bit noisy.”
“There’s a war on, so I guess we have to put up with it, but it does scare the animals.”
On the night he had arrived, drinking in The Clansman, stories had been told of rapacious farmers claiming compensation for cows that weren’t giving milk or hens that were laying eggs without shells. The Colonel sent the claims off to HQ South West Scotland to be dealt with, annotated with comments regarding whether or not they had been making any noise on the days or nights in question. What happened then the commandos neither knew nor cared. Carter decided not to mention his fellow officers’ opinions of the local farming community.
It was pleasant standing on the hillside talking to this attractive young woman, but it was starting to get late and Mrs Bliss would be none too pleased if he wasn’t back in time for his dinner. “Which is the best way to get back to town?” He asked.
“Past our farmhouse, probably. That’s where I’m going, so we can walk together.”
The idea wasn’t entirely repulsive, so Carter followed the young woman across the fields. He tried to make small talk, but he had never been any good at it. They did manage to get into a more in-depth chat about a film they had both seen and had differing views on.
“You don’t have a very strong Scottish accent.” Carter observed.
“The result of an expensive boarding school education. But don’t be fooled. When I need to I can swear like a Glaswegian shipyard worker in language a Sassenach like you would never understand.” She had broadened her accent considerably to demonstrate her mastery of the local dialect.
At last they reached a large stone-built farmhouse standing at the corner of a yard, surrounded by outbuildings.
“I’m sorry, where are my manners.” Carter blurted. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Steven Carter.” He extended his hand to compete the formality.
“Fiona Hamilton.” She replied, shaking it.
“Is that old farm up there anything to do with your family?” He pointed in the general direction of Hamilton Farm.
“It belonged to my great uncle. He died without any heirs, so it came to my father as his closest relative. We farm the land, but we never used the house, so it fell into ruin.”
“That was where we were making all the noise the other night.” He confessed.
“I know. The land girls spent several hours picking up your cartridge cases.” She frowned.
“Are they a problem?”
“Not around the farm buildings themselves, but if they’re in the fields and the animals stand on them they can get them lodged in their hooves. It can hurt them quite badly and their feet get infected. The vets bills can be astronomical.”
Carter began to get the feeling that he was being told off. “I’m sorry. I’ll let the Colonel know. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to cause unnecessary suffering to the animals.” Nor would he want relations with the local community to become strained, Carter knew.
Fiona seemed to relent a little. “Sorry for going on about it.” She paused for a moment, considering something. “Would you like to come for supper tonight? If you’re not busy, of course.”
It was a tempting offer. Though Mrs Bliss did her best with the food she was able to get with the officers’ ration cards, it was hardly gourmet standard. Fiona must have sensed what he was thinking.
“I’m able to offer a few things that aren’t readily available in the shops.” She had lowered her voice, sharing a confidence. “We rear a couple of pigs up in the woods where they won’t be seen by the Ministry men. The ham we get from them is home cured.”
That swung it for Carter. It was a long time since he’d had ham. The curing took too long, so most pork went straight to the shops. “What time shall I arrive?”
1 Land Army – the Women’s Land Army (WLA) was established during the First World War to provide labour for farms in the absence of men serving in the armed forces. Known colloquially as Land Girls, they were reactivated during World War 2. While the government handled the recruitment and postings for Land Girls, they were paid by the farmers themselves. The minimum wage was 22 shillings (about £44 p.w. at current currency values), from which up to 14 shillings could be deducted for board and lodgings. By comparison, a Private in the army was paid 14 shillings per week but didn’t have to pay for food and accommodation. While the majority of Land Girls had a pleasant experience, conditions varied considerably from farm to farm and some, the author’s mother included, had a less than happy time. By 1944 there were 80,000 women serving in the WLA, of which 22,000 lived in hostel accommodation rather than on the farms.
* * *
While the evening he’d spent with Fiona and her parents had been very pleasant, it had been all too brief. As he had left the farmhouse he had extracted a promise from Fiona to go to the cinema with him, then rather spoilt the invitation by warning her that it might be several weeks before he could deliver on the promise. But she had agreed and that was the main thing and it was something he could focus on during the challenge of the next day’s speed march. It was the longest he had ever done in a single day, from Troon to Irvine, inland to Kilmarnock and then back to Troon; a total of twenty five miles. While he was physically fit enough for the task, the tedium of it was another matter. He allowed himself to fantasise a little about Fiona Hamilton and what the future might hold for them.
But for the future to hold anything, he must first survive Operation Absolom, which would be no simple matter.
The days started to blur into each other as the training intensified. One of their regular exercises was to board one of commando landing ships, usually the Prince Leopold, sail up the considerable length of Loch Fyne to land on the west side, close to Inveraray. They would storm ashore and run up the steep hill to Dun na Cuaiche monument, close to the Castle, before running back down to the shore again. By that time the landing craft would have withdrawn from the beach in a simulation of the tide having changed. That meant wading out to them through the freezing waters of the loch. They did that by day and by night, often not having time to dry their uniforms between assaults.
On an uninhabited island in the Hebrides a mock up of a village was created using tents and wooden packing cases, which the commandos had to assault. Local Home Guard units often provided the defending troops and on some occasions soldiers would be brought in from one of the garrisons on the mainland. The commandos would never act as defenders; their role in Operation Absolom was purely offensive. On one occasion troops from 14 Cdo made up the defenders but disputes over who had ‘won’ the engagement resulted in the two sides exchanging blows and it was decided that pitting commandos against each other wasn’t a good idea. The inter-commando rivalries were too strong.
Great emphasis was placed on demolition training with the commandos being given the opportunity to blow up several structures that local landowners wanted rid of. Explosives were all but impossible for civilians to get hold of, even for bona fide demolition companies, so the training allowance granted to 15 Commando was put to good use.
As Lt Col Vernon had predicted, the commandos started working in ever larger formations, learning to co-ordinate their attacks with the units alongside them until they found themselves spending more time at sea than on land.
It was on the 4th December that the whole commando was paraded once again in the cramped sweet factory. The CO stood in front of them.
“The time has come, men, for you to leave Troon for the last time until Operation Absolom is concluded. Tomorrow we will board transport to take us up to Port Glasgow where we will embark upon the Prince Leopold and the Princess Beatrix. They will become your home until we return here again. There are still a couple of weeks more of training to go, but we will be doing that in locations that make it impractical for us to return here to Troon, even for a couple of days. On board you will be told the location of our objective and the date on which the operation will take place. Once you have heard that you will not be allowed to leave the Commando for any reason. That includes compassionate grounds such as family funerals.”
That attracted an intake of breath from some of the men. It was an unwritten rule that a soldier would be allowed home for the funeral of a close relative if it was humanly possible for them to arrive in time. Soldiers had even been allowed out of military prison to attend a funeral. But the needs of operational security overrode even that. There was too much risk that a solider might inadvertently reveal some small detail which an enemy agent might send back to his masters in Berlin.
“If you are injured or fall sick you will be treated on board ship. You will receive incoming mail, but you won’t be allowed to send any letters. While you are on board you may write letters, but these won’t be posted until the ships return to port, or you can take them back and replace them with new letters if you wish.”
The thought was a sombre one, writing a last letter home, letting your loved ones know that even as you were going into battle, you were thinking of them. Would such a letter be a comfort? Or would it be a reminder of the loss of the husband, fiancé, son or brother that had written it? Carter hoped that his family would never have to find out. He might not even write a letter of his own.
“Those of you who have not already done so will also be able to make your Will.”
Well, that certainly lightened the mood, Carter thought. But these things were important and the men needed to know that every eventuality had been considered. Most of the men didn’t have much to leave behind, but they had to be given the chance to pass it on to the right people. The army even provided blank Will forms, so the soldiers only had to fill in the details.
“Now, the officers have put money behind the bar at McNeil’s.”
Oh, have we? thought Carter. He chuckled inwardly. By the time the men got there the QM will have held a collection from the officers to replace whatever money had already been deposited.
“So, I suggest that you go and drink it up. Parade in your troops with full kit at oh six hundred in the morning.”
* * *
HMS Prince Leopold had barely slipped her moorings and set course into the drifting fog of the Clyde when the CO summoned the officers to one of the large rooms which, in more peaceful times, had served as the First Class lounge for the fare paying passengers. Once their troops were on board the two ships the officers had been directed to sail aboard the Prince Leopold, which had been selected as the CO’s floating HQ. They would be reunited with their men when the ships docked later in the day. Each officer held a notebook in his hand, ready to record the detail of what they were about to be told.
In the centre of the room stood a table, about six feet square, covered with a blanket. The officers had seen similar arrangements before. It was a scale model of their objective, to be revealed when the CO arrived. Carter felt tempted to lift one corner of the blanket and take a peek, but it probably wouldn’t tell him that much. Any place names would be meaningless to him. The Sergeant Major arrived with an easel, which he quickly set up, before returning a few moments later with a blackboard which was also covered with a blanket. That would be a larger scale map, so that they could get a feeling for the general geography of the location and compare it to the finer detail of the model.
