Late 1941 and early 1942 saw Britain’s darkest hours, pushed
back in the Western Desert and with its eastern empire crumbling to Japanese
aggression, the country stood alone with only the Atlantic convoys keeping the
country afloat. These convoys were threatened by one of Germany’s greatest
weapons, the Tirpitz, a battleship that far outclassed anything in the British
armoury. The sheer size of the ship limited it to only a few ports where it
could be repaired if it were to be damaged, a dry dock of immense proportions
would be required, the only one that could be accessed from its main hunting
ground, the Atlantic Ocean, was at Saint Nazaire, in western France. Originally
constructed for the ocean liner ‘Normandie’, the dry dock was itself an
impressive structure and an impossible target to destroy from the air. A force
would have to be landed and destroy it with explosives, this was the task
handed to the chief of Combined Operations, Lord Louis Mountbatten.
A force of Commandos was to be taken six miles up the Loire
estuary to Saint Nazaire aboard an antiquated destroyer packed with explosives
and modified to resemble a German destroyer. The vessel would ‘bluff’ its way
past the many German defensive positions using captured recognition codes, the
destroyer would then ram the dry dock gates, set a fuse and disembark the
Commandos who would set about various sabotage tasks. This force was to be
escorted by eighteen small motor launches, who would then embark the Commandos
and withdraw. It was an impossible task, perhaps the only chance of success was
the Germans would never imagine the British to carry out such an audacious
raid.
The Plan
As they sailed steadily towards the open sea the force
changed formation into Cruising Order No. 1, which was their simulation of an
anti-submarine sweep. On Atherstone’s signal, the longitudinal columns to port
and starboard of the destroyers opened out from the rear until they were
disposed in the form of a broad, open arrowhead, four cables behind the tip of
which steamed Atherstone. In the open spaces to the rear of each ‘wing’ steamed
Campbeltown, still with the MTB in tow, and Tynedale.
Remembering that fine first day, Newman, who with his staff
was being made very comfortable on board the Atherstone, writes that ‘the
thrill of the voyage was upon me – the study of the navigational course with
the Navy – the continuous lookout for enemy aircraft – the preparation of one’s
own personal kit to land in – and the deciphering and reading of W/T messages
from the Commander-in-Chief made night fall on us in no time.’
Across in Campbeltown, Copland and the eighty-odd men of his
Group Three parties were being made just as welcome by the truncated crew of
the old destroyer. ‘There was little to do’ he remembers; ‘all our preparations
had been made on PJC and it only remained to arrange our tours of duty for AA
Defence, rehearse “Action Stations” and wait. Troops and sailors were very
quickly “buddies”, and as no khaki was allowed to be seen on deck the limited
number who were allowed up . . . appeared in motley naval garb, anything from
oilskins to duffle coats, not forgetting Lieutenant Burtinshaw who discovered
one of Beattie’s old naval caps and wore it during the whole voyage. During
this first day too, we allocated all our landing ladders and ropes in places on
deck where we thought they would be most wanted. Gough [Lieutenant Gough, RN,
Beattie’s No. 1] was to be in charge of all tying-up and ladder control and his
help in the allocation was invaluable.’
In the MLs also the pattern of ready camaraderie between
‘pongos’ and ‘matelots’ was quickly established, the representatives of the two
services managing to live cheek-by-jowl in the crowded living spaces without
dispute. Feeding more than twice the normal complement of men from the limited
resources of the tiny midships galley was something of a problem for the
designated cook, although in the early stages of the voyage seasickness, or the
fear of it, robbed more than a few Commandos of their appetites. Tough as they
might have been on dry land, some Commandos had nonetheless blanched at the
mere thought of doing battle with the fearsome Bay of Biscay; typical of these
was Bombardier ‘Jumbo’ Reeves, of Brett’s demolition party for the inner
dry-dock caisson. A member of 12 Commando who had volunteered from the Royal
Artillery, Jumbo was a qualified pilot whose aerial ambitions had been dashed
as the result of an extreme susceptibility to airsickness. As one of those
unfortunates whose stomach tended to come up with the anchor cable, he had had
pronounced misgivings about setting off from Falmouth. For Jumbo, as for many
others, the unexpected quiescence of the sea came, therefore, as a gift from
God.
In the crowded messdecks as the sailors came and went with
the changing of the watches, the Commandos talked and smoked, dozed on the
matelots’ bunks, played cards and checked and re-checked their equipment. Proud
of their hard-won skills, they were happy to demonstrate their prowess to their
hosts, such as the nineteen-year-old Ordinary Seaman Sam Hinks, the forward
Oerlikon gunner on ML 443, who had gone so far as to change his name so that
his parents couldn’t stop him from joining up. As with so many of the other
young sailors, who, unlike their thoroughly briefed Commando brothers, were
only now being made aware of their target’s identity, Sam was still coming to
terms with the fact that they were really on their way to attack a distant
foreign port. In keeping with the times when foreign travel was still the
exclusive preserve of the monied classes, Sam knew little of France and nothing
at all of this place called St Nazaire: in fact, when first hearing the name
during a conversation with a Commando by the forward gun, he recalls that, ‘St
Nazaire meant as much to me as if you were going to Timbuktu!’
Having opened their sealed orders once clear of land, the
reaction of the officers to the revelation of their target’s identity had
generally been that this was a port into which no one with any common sense
would wish to sail without benefit of armour plate and heavy guns.
Across on the starboard wing of the formation, ‘Temporary
Acting’ Sub-Lieutenant Frank Arkle, the twenty-year-old First Officer of ML
177, who before the war had been a clerk in the offices of W.D. and H.O. Wills,
greeted the news with ‘some uncertainty and a sort of cold resignation’. Behind
him in England were his family, his friends, and his childhood sweetheart, Meg;
ahead lay a task of prodigious difficulty from which none could confidently
expect to return. It was a prospect about which he and many others found it was
best not to think too deeply. Better by far to focus on not letting the side
down and leave all the rest to fate.
On board the gunboat, which was swinging like a pendulum at
the end of Atherstone’s tow, Curtis had briefed his crew shortly after the
force adopted its cruising formation, prompting Chris Worsley to conclude that
they were all embarked upon a very ambitious and dangerous enterprise.
Strangely, though, considering all the circumstances, he neither thought of,
nor worried about, survival, as it simply never struck him that he might be
killed.
Closer to the centre point of the formation, Lieutenant Tom
Boyd, RNVR, the skipper of the torpedo-armed ML 160, was concerned about how
well the force would perform in action, bearing in mind its poor overall
standard of training. There simply hadn’t been time to school the crews
properly in working as a cohesive unit; as evidence of their lack of
preparedness he could cite the same poor standards of station-keeping that were
worring Ryder himself. Indeed, during the course of this first day Ryder would
make no less than fifty signals to boats, instructing them to close up.
Standing on the bridge of Billie Stephens’ ML 192 Leading
Telegraphist Jim Laurie, from Coldstream in Scotland, learned of his fate from
the skipper himself. A regular, who had joined the Navy in 1936 at the age of
only sixteen, Jim had led something of a charmed life, having survived the
sinking of the destroyer Delight, as well as the loss to a mine of ML 144,
while he was fortunate enough to be on leave. Looking back at the
fast-disappearing coastline, Stephens said to him, ‘Do you think if you jumped
overboard you could swim back to Falmouth?’ Replying in the negative, Jim was
then told, ‘Right. You can go in the wheelhouse and study the maps and you’ll
see just where we’re going.’ For Jim, as for all the sailors, there was never a
question of choice. The highly trained Commandos had been offered a get out,
while the much less experienced sailors had not; yet, once they were under the
German guns, the risk for all would be the same.
Standing as an example of so many of the sailors, who, on
hearing for the first time what was expected of them, rapidly concluded that
someone, somewhere must have a screw loose, was Stoker Len Ball of Ted Burt’s
ML 262. A twenty-five-year-old process chemical worker from Barking in Essex,
Len could not believe that they really intended to sail right through the front
door of such a heavily defended base in boats that were little better than
tinder boxes. After the briefing he returned to the engine room and thought
about it all; the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. He
was no more privy than were his pals to all the details of the German guns that
lay in wait to greet them, but he knew that, provided the Jerry gunners did
their jobs right, there were more than enough of them to cause very substantial
damage indeed.
Waiting for Len and the other ‘Charioteers’, along either
bank of the estuary as well as in and around the port itself, were some seventy
pieces of ordnance, varying in calibre from 20mm quick-firing cannon all the
way up to the huge 240mm railway guns of Battery Batz, a little way west of La
Baule.
Under the overall command of the See Kommandant Loire,
Kapitän zur See Zuckschwerdt, who was headquartered in La Baule itself, these
consisted of two main classes of weapon, each designed to fulfil a specific
purpose. Emplaced so as to defend the approaches to the estuary were the heavy
batteries of Korvettenkapitän Edo Dieckmann’s 280th Naval Artillery Battalion,
with Dieckmann himself headquartered close by the gun battery and Naval Radar
Station on Chémoulin Point. While for the dual-purpose defence of the port
itself there were waiting the three battalions of the 22nd Naval Flak Brigade,
commanded by Kapitän zur See Mecke, whose own headquarters were situated close to
Dieckmann’s at St Marc.
Ranging in calibre through 75, 150, 170 and 240mm,
Dieckmann’s coastal guns were arranged in battery positions, primarily along
the northern shore of the estuary, close to which lay the deep-water channel
which any ship of substance must use in order to reach the port. These fixed
emplacements began at the estuary mouth, and ran eastwards as far as the
Villès-Martin – Le Pointeau narrows, at which point the sea-space was reduced
to a mere 2.25 sea miles, and beyond which lay the province of Mecke’s Flak
Brigade.
Approaching the estuary mouth in their attack formation of
two long parallel columns extending over almost 2, 000 metres of sea, with the
gunboat in the van, and Campbeltown steaming between the leading troop-carrying
MLs, the ‘Chariot’ force would find itself entering into a perfect trap from
which it would be the very devil to escape. On their starboard beam and
guarding the southern extremity of the estuary shore would be the 75mm guns of
Battery St Gildas; while to port, and guarding the north, there would be
railway guns just inland from the Pointe de Penchâteau. Fine on their starboard
bow, as they approached across the shallows, would be the guns of Battery le
Pointeau, backed by the 150cm searchlight ‘Yellow 3’; fine to port would be the
cluster of batteries comprising the 150mm guns of Battery Chémoulin and the
75mm and 170mm cannon of the cliff-top position close by the Pointe de l’Eve.
Backing the cliff-top emplacements was the 150cm searchlight ‘Blue 2’.
It was to divert the attention of these defences that the
diversionary air raid had been proposed, for without it the ‘Charioteers’ would
be forced to rely on luck, their low silhouettes, their unexpected line of
approach and such devices as Ryder believed might confuse the enemy into
mistaking them for a friendly force. Either way, with or without the bombers,
this passage of the outer portion of the estuary would be fraught with danger,
including that from mines, patrol vessels and possibly even Schmidt’s destroyers;
every sea-mile gained towards the target without the alarm being raised would
be a triumph.
Assuming they made it to the narrows, they would then be
passing into the restricted throat of the estuary, less than two sea-miles from
their target, but with the full weight of Mecke’s three flak battalions ranged
close by them on either hand. These lighter, dual-purpose weapons of the 703rd,
705th and 809th Battalions, primarily 20 and 40mm, but with a sprinkling of
37s, would be able to switch quickly from air to surface targets, and COHQ’s
original concept of an approach by stealth had been constructed around the
premise that their crews must be far too busy firing skywards to worry about
the seaward approaches to the town.
Running past Korvettenkapitän Thiessen’s 703rd Battalion,
backed by the large searchlight ‘Blue 1’, they would come within easy range of
the defences both of the outer harbour and of the Pointe de Mindin on their
starboard beam, where were mounted the searchlights and 20mm cannon of Korvettenkapitän
Burhenne’s 809th Battalion. At this point, with the range so short, the
‘Charioteers’ would at least be able to reply in kind; however, they would also
be at their most vulnerable, which is why the air plan had been designed to
reach its crescendo during this period. Should the diversion succeed, then the
force just might reach the dockyard intact, at which point, while Campbeltown
raced for her caisson, the columns of MLs would break to port and make for
their own two landing points.
As leader of the formation, the gunboat, carrying Ryder,
Newman, Day, Terry, Holman and a handful of the HQ party, would circle to
starboard and support Campbeltown as she made her final dash. Only after she
was in place would Curtis put Newman’s party ashore in the Old Entrance. To
observe and record the gunboat’s subsequent peregrinations, Holman would remain
on board with Ryder.
In company with Curtis, and positioned at the head of either
column, the non-troop-carrying torpedo MLs, 160 and 270, were to make up a
small forward striking force on the way in, should enemy patrol craft be
encountered. While the landings were taking place, their job would also be to
draw fire and protect their fellow ‘B’s from interference.
Following ML 270 would be the troop-carrying MLs of the port
column, scheduled to land against the slipway on the northern face of the Old
Mole. Drawn from Wood’s 28th Flotilla, these were now under the direct command
of Platt in ML 447. As for the starboard column, sailing in behind ML 160,
Stephens’ ML 192 and the remaining three troop-carriers of his own 20th
Flotilla would lead the second pair of 7th Flotilla boats. Being torpedo-armed,
the latter two would have the secondary role of protecting the force from
rearward attack. All six boats in this column were to pass under Campbeltown’s
stern and put their men ashore in the Old Entrance.
Destined to play a crucial role in the coming action, both
as a primary landing point and as the position from which all retiring soldiers
were to attempt to withdraw, the Old Mole jutted some 130 metres into the
waters of the Loire. Standing twenty feet above the decks of the MLs, even at
the full height of the tide, it represented an obstacle which was almost
medieval in character – a fortress wall rising sheer from the water, which must
somehow be scaled, but from the top of which its defenders would prove almost
impossible to dislodge.
Strongly fortified by the Germans, its upper surface was
crowned by two substantial concrete emplacements, each more than a match for
the puny shells with which the ‘Chariot’ force would be obliged to attack them.
At its seaward end, a little to the rear of the lighthouse which marked its
furthest extension, was searchlight emplacement LS 21; about one third of the
way along was the 20mm gun position number 63, firing through embrasures and
all but impervious to attack. Not on the Mole itself, but situated close by its
landward end, and positioned so as to control the approaches to its northern
face, was the 40mm gun position number 62.
Protected by shallow water where it joined the quayside, the
Mole could be effectively attacked only by means of the long slipway running up
its northern face. At its tip, and giving access to the lighthouse, were tight,
narrow steps up which men might possibly scramble; however, they would then be
faced with a frontal attack on position 63. Placing scaling ladders against its
sheer stone face at some other point was always a possibility, but, with the
defenders able to direct fire downwards on to the decks of the boats, this
would surely be a tactic of last resort.
Always assuming they survived for long enough to reach the
Mole, a total of six MLs were briefed to put their Commando parties ashore at
the slipway, following each other in quick succession and then hauling off to
act in accordance with the orders of the Naval Piermaster, Lieutenant Verity,
RNVR. Designated Group One, and under the overall command of Captain Bertie
Hodgson, these parties, numbering a mere eighty-nine men, had the job of
overwhelming all the German defences in and around the Old Town and sealing the
area off by blowing up those bridges and lock-gates across the New Entrance by
means of which the Germans would surely seek to mount a counter-attack. Should
the Commandos succeed in this, then the Old Town area would be protected by
water on three sides, and by the Commandos of neighbouring groups on the
fourth, making it a secure base from which a successful withdrawal might later
be made.
Landing from Platt’s ML 447, the first party ashore was to
be Captain David Birney’s Assault Group ‘1F’, a heavily-armed fourteen-man
squad whose primary task was to capture and clear the Mole and establish a
bridgehead at its landward end. From this commanding position they could then
protect the remaining five MLs, initially as they came in to effect their
landings, and later as they sought to re-embark troops and return with them to
England. A small but important subsidiary task would involve clearing the
building containing gun position 62, so that it could be used as an RAP by the
two Commando doctors scheduled to land a short time later.
Following close upon the heels of Platt should be the ML of
Lieutenant Douglas Briault, carrying Assault Party ‘1E’, a second fourteen-man
unit, this time under the command of Bertie Hodgson himself. Also landing would
be Captain Mike Barling, the first of the Commando doctors, and two Medical
Orderlies, whose job it was to prepare to receive and treat the wounded.
Hodgson was to pass through Birney’s bridgehead and move south to capture and
secure the long East Jetty of the Avant Port, whose two gun positions, M60 and
M61, were able to fire into the flanks of any vessels approaching or leaving the
Mole. With the Avant Port secured, his party was then to picket and patrol the
built-up area of the Old Town itself.
The way having hopefully been cleared by the assault
parties, it would then be the turn of the demolition teams to land. First to
come ashore would be Group ‘1C’, landing from Collier’s ML 457 and consisting
of Lieutenant Philip Walton’s demolition team and their five-man protection
squad under Tiger Watson. Their job was to move quickly west towards target
group ‘D’ at the northern end of the New Entrance, where Walton and his party
of four would prepare the lifting bridge and lock-gate for demolition, while
Watson and his men watched over them like mother hens. In this exposed position
the men would be open to attack from several different quarters, despite which
demolition could not take place until all the other crossings had been
similarly prepared, as all the explosives were to be interconnected and fired
simultaneously. In overall charge of the demolitions within this sector was
Captain Bill Pritchard who, along with his small Control Party, would land with
Walton and Watson.
Next in line, and briefed to demolish the central lock-gate,
designated target ‘C’, would be the seven-man team of Captain Bradley, landing
from Wallis’s ML 307. This team would operate without a protection squad and
was to withdraw to the Mole immediately its work was done. Landing with them
would be Captain David Paton, the second of the Commando doctors staffing the
RAP; recording every detail for the Exchange Telegraph would be Edward Gilling.
Fifth to land, and carried on board ML 443, should be a
cluster of demolition parties charged with destroying the group of buildings
comprising target group ‘Z’. Consisting of three small teams under Lieutenants
Wilson and Bonvin, and Second-Lieutenant Paul Basset-Wilson, they would blow
the Boilerhouse, Impounding Station and Hydraulic Power Station. Landing with
them would be their protection party under Lieutenant Joe Houghton. Upon
completion of the work all three demolition parties were to withdraw to the
protection of Birney’s bridgehead.
