Operation Carthage (Carter's Commandos Book 4), page 13
The commandos knew he meant Spain and possibly Portugal, but it might even include Turkey, which had signed a Treaty of Friendship with the Germans in 1941 when German troops had entered neighbouring Bulgaria. Turkey entering the war on the Axis side could cause problems for both the British and the Russians.
“Would it really come to that, Sir?” A voice from the rear asked.
“There are fascist factions is all the neutral capitals of Europe who use every excuse to try to persuade their governments to side with the Nazis.” The Brigadier replied, sweeping the room with a baleful look. “Let’s face it, the commandos haven’t got a squeaky-clean reputation in some quarters2. Personally, I don’t think that reputation is justified, but the enemy turns every incident into a potent propaganda message. We cannot afford to gift the enemy anything that could be turned into another of those messages which will be whispered into the ears of Franco and his ilk.” He turned his attention back to the briefing and nodded to Riddick to continue.
“So, gentlemen, to destroy that fuel dump requires a surgical strike, not a sledgehammer. I’ve been told by Brigadier Duncan that you are the surgeons we need.”
The assembled commandos allowed themselves a small chuckle at the American’s compliment. They normally saw themselves as the sledgehammer.
“Sir, surely the Jerries have broken the Geneva convention by siting the fuel dump there.” One of the newer officers spoke up. “It makes it a legitimate target.”
The Brigadier fielded that question. “That’s probably one for the lawyers to argue about. But our understanding is that so long as they aren’t using the hospital itself to store warlike materials, or as a refuge for combatants, then we can’t touch it. To be honest, we wouldn’t want to, apart from the humanitarian grounds, there’s also the matter of self-interest. We wouldn’t want to give the Jerries an excuse to start attacking our own medical facilities in retaliation.”
“Any idea of how strong the defences are?” The 2IC asked.
Being more familiar with the problem, Major Riddick took up the question once again. “From the aerial shots we calculate it can’t be more than a company strength. The perimeter doesn’t include the hospital. If they armed it they would be in breach of the Geneva Convention themselves. You can’t even approach the fuel dump from the hospital side. Any exchange of gunfire would risk hitting the hospital and we would take just as much of the blame as the Krauts. Everything you do has to make sure that not a scrap of damage is done to the hospital, not even so much as a splinter in the pinkie.”
The information on the size of the defence force brought a sigh of relief. Operational doctrine dictated that you needed three times as many soldiers in attack than you did in defence if you wanted to achieve your objective. With three hundred and fifty men in the commando they would be strong enough to overcome a company with a strength of about one hundred and twenty. On the other hand, attacking the fuel dump without any stray bullets hitting the hospital tents was going to be a considerable challenge.
“What about approach routes?” Someone else asked. “We’re going to have to get there without anyone seeing us, if it’s behind Jerry lines.”
“There’s a route through the mountains.” The Brigadier replied. “It’s another reason we’ve chosen you for the task. You’re the only troops available that have done any training on that sort of terrain. There’s no way through for vehicles though. You go in on foot.”
“What about getting back?” Andrew Fraser asked.
“Same way as you went in. We’ll get you to your jumping off point by midday tomorrow, so you still have daylight to get through the pass. It’s about ten miles long. Then you have a few more miles to cover in the dark before you attack. You blow up the fuel dump and then withdraw. It depends how quickly you can do that, but if you have to withdraw over open country by day, we’re already arranging air cover to try and give you some protection on the way back.”
“The key issue,” Riddick continued, “is how you’re going to destroy the fuel dump without burning down the hospital. There will be bits of red hot metal flying about, as well as burning camouflage netting and who knows what else. It’s highly likely that something will land on the hospital tents and set them on fire.”
“We’re open to suggestions.” Vernon added.
Heads were scratched, chins were rubbed and muttered conversation took place as the commandos considered the matter. It was Carter that thought he saw a solution.
“Sir, a hospital isn’t really a place. It’s more of a system. It might be in a building, or in this case, some tents. But mainly it’s a collection of doctors and medical orderlies, their equipment and the people they’re treating. Would I be correct in saying that?”
“I suppose you might. But is this really the time for such philosophising, Captain?” The Brigadier asked somewhat scathingly.
“Bear with me, Sir. If we were to force the medical staff to evacuate the patients from the hospital tents and take them to a safer location, we wouldn’t be destroying a hospital, we’d only be destroying some empty tents.”
“That’s a bit of a fine hair to split, young man. And what happens afterwards? We can’t just leave badly wounded men lying in the desert, even if they are the enemy. The Geneva Convention requires us to protect those wounded soldiers, so we’d still be in breach of the Convention.”
That was the flaw in Carter’s plan. But he was quickly rescued by the QM. “We could give the Jerries another field hospital. They come packed up and ready to load onto lorries. All we have to do is get it there.”
“What about an air drop?” Someone else said, as their brains followed the logic of the suggestion.
“Or a landing, if the ground’s smooth enough.” A voice added.
“We’ve got a complete field hospital in the stores depot,” The Brigadier admitted. “and the people who know how to put it together.”
“And we’ve got C47s sitting at airfields across Algeria.” The Major added, looking questioningly at the Brigadier.
“It would have to be a landing operation, though.” The Brigadier said “The hospital team doesn’t know how to parachute and there’s no time for them to train. Which means they’d have to come out with your men, Col Vernon. We couldn’t risk keeping the aircraft on the ground waiting for them to finish the job.”
“I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade.” Maj Riddick intervened, “But there’s no airfield; at least, not that we know of. That means no landings.”
“In that case we parachute the equipment in.” Vernon interjected. “My men can put up the tents if someone can sketch the layout of them and the bundles and poles are all clearly marked. The rest, the unpacking of the medical equipment, will be down to the Jerries to sort out after we’ve gone.”
There was a moment’s silence while everyone tried to find any loopholes. The main problem with the plan was that it delayed the commando’s withdrawal from the fuel dump. Burning fuel would send a thick plume of smoke high into the sky above the dump. It would be clear to the Germans from miles away that something was wrong, even if the guard force hadn’t managed to get a call for help out over the radio. The very minimum that could be expected by way of reaction was for a strong reconnaissance force to be sent to find out what had happened and to assess the damage.
On the other hand, cutting off the German fuel supplies would vastly reduce the ability of the enemy to win the battle. It could save hundreds, even thousands of lives. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to work out what had to be done.
“Very well.” The Brigadier made the decision for them. “Be ready to move out at midnight tonight. I’ll arrange transport … more transport, to get you to your jumping off point. Major Riddick will stay and help you to plan your route in and out and to act as liaison with the 1st Armoured Division. If you need anything from me, other than the field hospital, telephone me and I’ll do what I can.” He looked at the commandos, silently asking if there were any final objections. He saw only determined looks and the occasional excited smile from those officers that hadn’t yet seen combat. “Now, can I get a lift back to HQ?”
“We can offer you the use of our Jeep, Sir.” The 2IC said, escorting the Brigadier from the room.
The officers visibly relaxed as soon as the brass3 was through the door.
1 Zouaves – pronounced zwav. Light infantry recruited predominantly from the colonial French community in North Africa. They served in the French colonies across the globe and saw considerable service on the Western Front during World War I. As described, they did wear trousers that looked very like ‘harem pants’, but which were the original pyjamas as worn in many eastern countries. The red floppy hat referred to above was a Fez, which could look a bit floppy when badly battered. The Algerian Zouaves were disbanded in 1962 when Algeria gained its independence, though they did form a sort of interim ‘peace keeping’ force for a while as they were trusted by both the French and the Algerians.
2 From the very first, the Germans accused the commandos of committing war crimes. Most of the accusations were false, but the odd couple of incidents did appear to have some foundation. Five German prisoners were killed while trying to escape during Operation Basalt, a raid on Sark on 3rd October 1942, their hands having been tied. As mentioned in an earlier footnote, Hitler used it as an excuse to issue his Kommandobefehl authorising the summary execution of all British and American special forces personnel when captured. In 1945, in his recordings of his wartime memories, my father recalls that German prisoners of war received some “rough handling” after the discovery of the concentration camp at Belsen. Quite what he meant by that I’m not sure, but we can assume that it didn’t involve tea and biscuits.
3 Brass – From ‘brass hat’, a mocking reference to the gold oak leaf pattern braiding that officers of the rank of full Colonel and upwards wear on the peaks of their caps. Also the origin of ‘top brass’, to refer to senior commanders.
* * *
In the darkness the commandos lined up and passed ammunition boxes from hand to hand, loading them onto the trucks that had arrived earlier in the evening. After that would come the food and water, then they would be ready to leave.
In the general office, Sgt Etienne Dubois was acting as interpreter between the 2IC and the officer commanding a company of Tiralleurs1 who had arrived to guard the barracks until the commandos returned. Although most of the military equipment would be going with them, the commandos would be leaving most of their personal kit behind. The men eyed the Algerian troops with some suspicion, unused to seeing brown faces wearing uniforms. They were even more unused to seeing brown faced soldiers carrying MAS-36 rifles topped with seventeen-inch spike bayonets.
Apart from the weapons the sight wasn’t so unusual for the young men raised in the East End of London, Bristol or Liverpool and other cities with major ports, but for those from the back streets of Manchester, Birmingham, and a dozen other cities, or from the green hills of Devon and the flat fens of Lincolnshire, the close proximity with the native troops suddenly made them feel a long way from home. Some even realised, perhaps for the first time, that it was they who were the foreigners, not the Algerian soldiers.
“Do you think our kit’s going to be OK here?” One of the newer recruit’s to Carter’s troop asked, suspicion heavy in his question. All the soldiers knew that despite their rigorous attention to guard duties, equipment had gone missing from the fort.
Carter gave a non-committal shrug. “Probably as safe here as it would be in the Ordinance Corps2 compound.” He understood his men’s mistrust of foreigners, it was as British as warm beer, but he believed in giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. “Why, what have you got in your pack, the Crown Jewels?” Carter said with a grin, just to show he was teasing.
“No, Sir. But my Mum’s photo is in there.”
Such small things were talismans that the soldiers clung to; their one remaining contact with the homes they had left far behind them. He could understand the soldier’s anxiety, while also acknowledging to himself that it was unlikely that an Algerian infantryman would have any interest in Pvt Cornrow’s mother.
“I’m sure your Mum’s photo is as safe here as it is anywhere.” Carter tried to reassure the man. “Now, get these trucks loaded before we get too old to do any fighting.”
At last all the kit was loaded and the convoy of trucks, now mixed between British and American models, trundled off into the night following Major Riddick’s Jeep. At first the roads were good, well maintained concrete or hard packed earth. Tarmac was no use here. It melted too easily. But as they got closer to their objective, they turned off onto mountain roads so as to avoid the combat area around the Kasserine Pass. These were hardly more than goat tracks, full of potholes and ruts. As dawn broke, the convoy stopped to refuel from cans they had brought with them and the commandos took the opportunity to brew up and grab a bite to eat, consuming the food cold from the cans as there was no time to heat both the food and the tea.
As the sun reached its zenith they drew up at a point along the road that looked no different from any other spot. Lt Col Vernon joined Major Riddick at the front of the column and they consulted a map, laid flat on the bonnet of the Jeep with a stone at each corner to stop it from blowing away.
Carter watched from the back of his truck as they pointed, consulted the map and then pointed again. Riddick and the CO walked a little further along the road, passing an outcropping of rock and must have found what they were looking for.
With a shout from the Sgt Major the troops started to clamber from the back of their vehicles, throwing their webbing and packs down ahead of them. Unlike their previous raids, all the commandos were in ‘marching order’, complete with their big packs, rather than their less cumbersome ‘fighting order’. But their previous raids had been lighting in-and-out raids. They had only needed to carry enough food and ammunition to sustain them for a day. This operation might be a lot longer, so they had to carry more to sustain them. Not just food and ammunition, but also spare items of uniform. It was no use finding you needed a fresh pair of socks if your spare ones were back in Algiers.
The ammunition was broken out and spare magazines were loaded. Each man would carry a hundred rounds for his own use, plus as much as he could squeeze into his ammunition pouches and backpack for use by the Bren guns. In addition, each man would carry two bombs for the two inch mortars, one in each side pocket of their large pack.
They were allowed thirty minutes to heat up some lunch and make another cup of tea, then they were ready to march.
While everyone else was eating lunch, Vernon and the officers of 1 Troop had gone ahead to carry out a reconnaissance of the first part of their route. 1 Troop were the designated reconnaissance troop and would lead the way along the pass, along with Sgt Dubois. Dubois had to admit his ignorance of the area. They were now in Tunisia and he had never crossed the border into the neighbouring French territory. But in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is King and at least Dubois had the experience of working in the sort of terrain they were about to deal with.
With a section of 1 Troop in the lead, the commando made their way into the mouth of the narrow pass. It was more of a ravine, carved out over the millennia by rainwater and snow melt. Even in Africa it sometimes snowed, Carter had discovered. Today the clouds were thick and low, threatening rain. Carter thought he heard the rumble of thunder, then realised he was hearing artillery fire from the fighting to their north.
“I always though Africa was hot and sunny.” Paddy O’Driscoll observed as he clumped along behind Carter.
“We’re less than a hundred miles from the coast.” Carter replied. “That’s close enough for rain to reach us. Besides, even deserts get some rain.
“And here was me thinking I’d be getting a bit of a suntan.”
“With that red hair of yours, if the sun came out, you’d spontaneously combust.” Carter replied with a chuckle. O’Driscoll had already had to be treated for sunburn caused by too much time on the beach without a shirt on. It had affected most of the fairer skinned men to some degree, Carter included.
There wasn’t much for the commandos to do other than follow the pack of the man in front of them. Occasionally the ravine would widen to allow several men to walk side by side, but more often they were in single file. The route twisted and turned as the water that had formed it sought out the easiest path. Fissures split the sides where water had tumbled in from the flanks, increasing the flow along the bottom. Very occasionally they found a pool, formed in a hollow in the rocks, but for the most part the ravine was dry. For the moment they were heading up hill, but the slope was gentle enough for it not to cause the commandos any problem.
Even in the rocky terrain, life clung on. Anywhere that a little soil could gather scraps of vegetation dug in a toenail. There was coarse grass and skinny shrubs, protecting itself with vicious thorns to prevent itself being eaten. Thick leaves stored water until the rains came once more.
From time to time they would stop and scouts were sent scrambling up the steeply sloping sides to try to see ahead. They weren’t expecting any trouble, but there was always the possibility of an enemy patrol having been dispatched to make sure that the route wasn’t being used to infiltrate behind the lines; the very purpose for which the commando was now using it. For the same reason a section of 1 Troop had been sent ahead of the main column. It wouldn’t do for the commando to stumble into an ambush.
