Churchill's Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII (17 page)

No sooner had they sneaked through the wire for a third time, than the two raiders were challenged. Striding up to the nearby sentry and calling out an order in German, Lassen raised his Luger and fired. Amid all the ammo cooking off, he hoped no one would notice the lone pistol shot that had felled that sentry. But as he and Jones stole further onto the airbase, a fierce barrage of fire was unleashed in their direction.

Lassen estimated they had at least twenty enemy soldiers converging on their position. He replied in the only way he saw fit, by hurling grenades. As the powerful Mills bombs exploded and fragmented, sending shards of jagged steel tearing through the fiery darkness, Lassen spotted a final target. Without a word to Jones he darted forward, diving into the cover of the vehicle.

Coming to his knees beside the massive caterpillar tractor, he grabbed his backpack, placed his last Lewes bombs against the fuel tank, and broke the timing fuses. That done Lassen went to ground, dropping behind some fuel drums piled at
the edge of the runway. By now Kastelli Airbase had been transformed into a sea of fire, and the Dane couldn’t help but thrill to the spectacle. Trouble was, he was caught in the midst of the chaos and practically surrounded.

The only side of the airbase that seemed quiet was the far southwestern end, and it was towards there that he moved. He jinked between patches of cover staying out of the light, but as he ran for the safety of the dark exterior he realized that he could no longer see Jones. He reached the fence, but still there was no sign of his fellow raider. In the confusion of the battle Lassen had lost him.

For the fourth time that night the Dane turned away from the beckoning darkness, and stole back into the fiery maw of Kastelli Airbase. He had one aim now: to find Jones and get him out of there. The nightmare scenario was that Jones had been captured, for there was little doubt what would befall him then.

Tiptoeing ahead, Lassen crept to within a few yards of the nearest German sentries. Keeping to the shadows he listened to voices thick with shock, fear and anger, but only for long enough to be certain that no prisoners had been taken.

It looked as if Jones must have escaped. If so, it was high time he made his own getaway.

Slipping through the wire, Lassen headed for the vineyard that he knew lay somewhere close at hand. To his rear the last Lewes bombs went up, punching through the heavy caterpillar tractor’s fuel tank. The vehicle lifted with the impact and slammed down onto the scorched and blackened ground in a seething mass of flames.

On either side of the runway lay the skeletal remains of German aircraft, many with wings blown off, their carcasses burning fiercely. The fuel and ammunition dumps had been destroyed, as had several vehicles. Any number of the airbase garrison were dead, and many more were injured. To say that Lassen’s mission had crippled the Luftwaffe operation on Kastelli was something of an understatement. But the Dane’s euphoria was to be short-lived. Come sunrise, things weren’t looking too good.

Lassen had been forced to go to ground in the only patch of cover he could find – laid flat on his stomach in a farmer’s cabbage field.

As Kastelli Airbase burned, and the fuel dump at Heraklion consumed itself in a searing firestorm, so two of the raiding forces – Nicholson’s and Lamonby’s – had melted away into the night. Convinced that Lassen and Jones were either killed or captured, Nicholson and Greaves headed first for a mountainside rendezvou with a Cretan partisan – one who’d volunteered to play a very special part in the operation.

After a two-hour trek into the highlands, Nicholson and Greaves linked up with the man who’d volunteered to be their runner, and take the ‘SUCCESS’ message back to the waiting radio operators at Apoini – from where the signal would be sent on to Cairo and London, triggering the wider information operation.

That done, the two raiders disguised themselves as local shepherds; cover for the trek back to the coast. At least dressed thus they could risk making some of the long journey by daylight. Time was of the essence. Word was out that the Germans had set a price on the saboteurs’ heads, and that they would take brutal reprisals against any villagers who sheltered them.

Trouble wasn’t long in coming. A patrol of German infantry came thundering into the village where Nicholson and Greaves
were hiding for the night. The two raiders hurried into the thickly forested hills rising above the village, only to sense other, shadowy figures flitting through the darkness.

The entire population of the village also seemed to be fleeing for the safety of the highlands. Once they were a good distance away from the enemy, Nicholson and Greaves paused to catch their breath. They asked why the villagers had also run for the cover of the forest. The Cretans explained that the Germans would very likely take hostages, and threaten to execute them unless they revealed the whereabouts of the British raiders.

‘Then why don’t you give us up to the Germans?’ Nicholson asked. It was a genuine question. The last thing he wanted was to be the excuse for a massacre.

The villagers had looked at him as if he were insane. Give the British up? It was unthinkable.

*

In spite of such dangers, at least Nicholson and Greaves were on the move and heading south. Lassen meanwhile had been forced to lie low for hours on end, his body pressed into a ploughed field and covered in dirt, as German patrols charged about. He was still dangerously close to the airfield, he had no water, and all he had to live off was raw cabbage and onion.

The Germans who were hunting Lassen and his fellow raiders could have few doubts now who had attacked their airfields. Already the information war had broken out. On receipt of the ‘SUCCESS’ signal, a brief communiqué was issued to the British press: ‘Small British land forces carried out raids on airfields in Crete last night. The operations were successful,
a number of enemy aircraft being destroyed on the ground. All our patrols withdrew successfully.’

To Lassen lying trapped in that cabbage field, his withdrawal doubtless didn’t feel that successful, but the British media pounced on the story anyway. ‘SMASH AND GRAB LAND RAID ON CRETE AIRFIELD’, ran one headline. ‘British troops landed on the Axis-held island of Crete last night. They destroyed large quantities of petrol and many enemy planes before successfully withdrawing …’

The BBC was also broadcasting its message of hope to the Greek people – one penned by the Political Warfare Executive and specifically designed to counter the German reprisals.

The German media countered by downplaying the raids: ‘Exploits by British saboteurs are insignificant from a military points of view.’ It also claimed that the British raiders enjoyed little if any local Cretan support: ‘Collaboration on behalf of the local population was completely lacking … If this action
signifies the skill of the offensive in the Mediterranean announced by Mr Churchill, the German side wants to … withstand attacks on a much larger scale.’

*

Fortunately for Lassen, local Cretan support would continue to prove spirited and outstanding. Towards the evening of the second day the farmer came to tend his cabbage fields. Lassen decided to take the risk of making contact. The Cretan immediately offered help. Once dusk was upon the fields he returned and led Lassen to the nearest village. There he was reunited with both Jones and Georgios, their guide. Jones had been sheltered by the villagers pretty much from the off. As for Georgios, having pointed Nicholson and Greaves towards safety, he’d doubled back to Kastelli to come to the aid of his brother warriors.

‘Any
maya
?’ Lassen kept gasping, ‘maya’ being an Arabic word for water, one that Lassen had picked up in Athlit.

One after the other Georgios fetched him eight bottles of water, before the Dane’s raging thirst – resulting from forty-eight hours under a burning Cretan sun, surviving on a diet of cabbage and onion salad – was quenched.

*

By now, the enemy had begun to wreak their first bloody revenge. The German commander, based in nearby Heraklion town, had taken dozens of villagers hostage. He threatened to shoot them unless the ‘foreign saboteurs’ – their blond, German-speaking leader first and foremost – were handed over. One by one they began to execute the villagers, but still none of the Cretans would talk.

The executions left Lassen incandescent with rage.

He and Jones were passed from village to village, as they made their way back towards their coastal base, and the promise of extraction and safety – but at every step of the way they were dogged by rumours of continuing German atrocities.

It was 8 July – four days after the raids – when they finally rendezvoused with Lamonby’s patrol, plus their radio operators and kit, in the hills above Apoini. The first thing Lassen set about doing was making contact with Cairo headquarters. The message sent, marked ‘Most Immediate – Most Secret – Officer Only’, reveals much about his tortured state of mind, as the local Cretans suffered at the hands of the enemy.

By anyone’s reckoning this was a strident
cri de cœur
. The situation was made all the worse by the fact that the Germans had ‘definitely shot Lt Lassen’s guide’, according to another radio message, this one from Lieutenant Lamonby. All messages sent to Cairo HQ would be picked up, and relayed if necessary, from the main raider base on the Cretan coast. There, Sutherland – the overall mission commander – was growing increasingly worried.

Sutherland had spent the last two weeks making a thorough reconnaissance of the area, and he had men out watching all the obvious routes for the raiders’ return. So far, only one had made it back. It was A Patrol. Their target, the aerodrome at Tymbaki, had – like Heraklion – proven devoid of any aircraft, and they had seen zero action.

By ‘D plus 5’, 9 July, Sutherland was starting to feel a real sense of unease at the continued absence of B and C Patrols. They were overdue, and without radio contact he had no idea of what fate might have befallen them. It wasn’t until dawn the following day that he finally got his first positive news. Nicholson and Greaves arrived, fully disguised as Cretan shepherds, and they were able to brief Sutherland on all they had achieved.

A short while later a Cretan SOE agent – one of Patrick Leigh Fermor’s men – turned up with more news. As feared, the Germans had executed dozens of villagers in retaliation for the raids. But on a more positive note both Lamonby’s and Lassen’s patrols were inbound to Sutherland’s position. Lassen had managed to gather some twenty Cretan men to add to his number, all of whom had helped aid their escape in one way or another. Those Cretans were intent on getting lifted off the island, so they could join the Allies in their fight against the German invaders.

But with all his patrols having now resurfaced, Sutherland faced a potentially insurmountable problem. Even as his radio operator was making the call to arrange their extraction, his radio died. The batteries had finally given up the ghost. Without being able to send that signal to Raider Force Headquarters, in
Cairo, no pick-up boat would come. Sutherland was acutely aware how vulnerable they were: hundreds of German soldiers were combing the southern coast, seeking to catch the raiders before they could make their getaway.

He decided to attempt a makeshift solution. He took the batteries from two of the patrols and linked them up in series, in the hope of raising enough power to send the vital message. Having cobbled them together in that way, his radio operator was finally able to confirm that contact had been made with Raider Force Headquarters in Cairo.

‘Request reembarkation urgently night 11th–12th,’ read the message calling in the Motor Launch to pluck them off the coast. ‘Sigs as previously arranged. 12 extra to be taken off. Confirm times date. DUMP requests answer urgently.’

‘DUMP’ was the codename for Sutherland’s base. Confirmation was given that the Motor Launch would be there as requested. Now all the raiders could do was wait.

The ‘12 extra to be taken off’ were those of the Cretan partisans that Lassen had drawn with him who wanted to join up with Allied forces. They were a colourful and lively bunch. Armed with ancient, bone-handled daggers and even older-looking guns, their traditional black Cretan hats framed their lined, weatherbeaten features. They were the proud people of a proud nation that had been crushed under the Nazi jackboot, and to a man they thirsted to fight. The main challenge was keeping them quiet and well hidden, as the raiders waited for the pick-up boat to arrive that coming night.

Suddenly, a cry rang out from one of the sentries: ‘Jerries!’

Two German soldiers were wandering down the dry river valley in which the raider force was secreted. Moments later they were pounced upon by a dozen commandos bristling with weapons, and they promptly surrendered. But Sutherland knew that where there were two Germans, more were bound to follow. He organized search parties, but it was now that the Cretan fighters decided to take matters into their own hands. As one they rushed up the valley to take the fight to the hated enemy.

Shots rang out. The two German captives had been part of a larger patrol. Those enemy soldiers still at large fought a skilful retreat, falling back among the cover of the rocks and beating off the Cretan attackers. Sutherland was beside himself. This was a near-disaster. The gunshots would be audible for many miles around, and if the Germans escaped they would bring reinforcement in real numbers. The Motor Launch wasn’t due for several hours, and in the interim the raiders were pinned with their backs to the sea.

He ordered Lamonby to take four men to stop the Cretans from firing, and then to deal with the Germans. The gunfire died down and the Cretans wandered back to base, but without Lamonby or his men. Finally, as dusk fell the main force of raiders headed for the beach and their rendezvous with the Motor Launch. Inflatables were made ready and loaded with gear. Finally the four raiders returned, but still there was no sign of Lamonby.

Apparently, Lamonby had insisted on going on alone to deal with the Germans. Desperate to bring him in, Sutherland sent
Lassen and Pomford, two of his prize fighters, to investigate. As they headed up the dry river valley, a single shot rang out. It echoed back-and-forth across the enclosed space, ominously. They pressed ahead, calling out to Lamonby: ‘Ken! Ken!’ Not a word of reply came from the silent hills. Lassen and Pomford continued searching until just before the Motor Launch was due, when they were forced to make a dash for the beachside evacuation point.

By now Paddy Leigh Fermor had arrived, so he could see the raiding force safely off ‘his’ island. Leigh Fermor offered to continue the search for Lamonby once the raiders were gone. One way or another, they would find the missing man.

And so, as the faint hint of sunrise lightened the eastern sky, Sutherland’s raiders sailed away from Crete, their ranks swollen with a dozen Cretan partisans, but sadly minus one of their own – Lieutenant Lamonby. Lassen hoped and prayed that his friend might be injured, or perhaps have twisted an ankle in the rocks. If Leigh Fermor’s men found Lamonby, they’d be able to bring him out at a later date.

*

As the Motor Launch slipped into the darkness, Sutherland was able to breathe a long sigh of relief. His raiders had managed to escape from the encircling enemy, complete with their two German prisoners. They’d left behind them one German airbase and an ammunition and fuel dump in smoking ruins. Even so, the execution of the innocent Cretan villagers weighed heavily upon them all: it would not be forgotten.

Lassen vowed to learn the name of the German commanding officer on Crete who had ordered the executions, and exact revenge.

Much of the German weaponry captured during the raids the men would keep for themselves, for it was far superior to British kit. It also meant they could scavenge ammunition off the enemy when out on operations. In fact, a great deal of their uniform and other kit – not to mention watches, and personal gear – was taken off the enemy dead. They favoured Italian boots and water bottles, but German weaponry and ammo wherever they could find it.

One of the prisoners had been captured with his self-loading rifle – a Walther G43, a real prize for the raiders. It was a cutting-edge piece of German engineering, and it would be handed over to British high command, yielding an intelligence bonanza. The German prisoner who’d yielded up that Walther G43 had been an English student before the war. As a result he spoke excellent English, and turned out to be a friendly-enough kind of a fellow. Before returning to Raiding Force Headquarters, in Cairo, for mission debriefings, Lassen and his men took both their German captives – Ulrich and Heinz – for ice cream sodas in Groppi’s, their favourite café and one of Cairo’s most famous eateries.