大象传媒

Chapter 2of3.

Since 1937, when Mussolini forbad flying over the island or its "territorial waters", to convince the world that here was another Gibraltar or Malta, the Italians considered the island impregnable and the first outpost of "Hitler's European Fortress". This, then, was Pantelleria.....and here were we in our little LCI.

Unlike the LCA (Landing Craft, Assault), with a square bow and ramp, our LCI had more the appearance of a holiday pleasure boat complete with bridge, small funnel and masts. The bow was of conventional shape but to either side a gangway could be lowered forward to the water, the drill being that the assaulting troops form a queue along each side for the length of the vessel and, at the given moment, the gangways are lowered, down which the queues run ashore as quickly as possible. The craft had a length of 159ft and had, of course, a shallow draft.

The number of "passengers" was about 130 fully armed men seated in a well-deck on wooden benches which was quite a squash when infantry impedimenta, mortar bombs, platoon weapons and the like are included not forgetting ammunition pouches, tin hats and personal weapons; in addition every man was self-sufficient for 48hrs....haversacks stuffed with a two-day ration, pullover, one blanket, personal gear, etc. It was a strange quirk of fate that I found myself seated next to a Lt R.F Goode of 1DWR with whom I was during our school-days. He was KIA (killed in action) in Italy.

There was a considerable exodus of small craft from Sousse harbour as was also the case from Sfax and elsewhere. This armada of small boats had aboard 1Div. (1st (Br) Infantry Division), which had been chosen for the task with the support of the Royal Navy, the RAF and the US Air Force. The Divisional strengh in attack was reduced to essentials. Roads on the island were few and exits from the port made impassable by the collapse of bombed buildings, consequently motor transport would have been nothing but an hindrance; also we were due to be relieved by US forces on D+7. "B" Echelon and administrative elements were, therefore, left behind. Nevertheless the number of small boats coming together to deliver the participants clearly indicated that something big was afoot.

Once underway, and with the approach of evening, we were allowed on deck to find ourselves part of a small fleet and settled down to enjoy(?) part of our 48hrs haversack ration. Those who wished, could stay on deck so Sgt MacVean and I spent the night on the deck plates above the propellers, which, although uncomfortable and noisy, was sheltered from the cold. The middle of the night was disturbed by propeller noises as the ship did much manoeuvring and we came to wonder if they had lost their way!. Eventually things quietened down a bit and we composed ourselves as best we could.

11th June was D Day. Shortly before dawn I was invited onto the small bridge with the courtesy which is the naval way. As the early morning light stole over the horizon there, around us, was an unforgettable sight. As far as one could see were the shadowy grey shapes of countless small boats, motionless on a tranquil sea tinged with the pastel tints of an early dawn. In its own way it was beautiful. Around us was a massive naval presence:.......Destroyers,...HMS Laforey, Jervis, Tartar, Nubian, Loyal, Troubridge, Lookout and Waddon sped here and there as they shepherded our craft to their destination. Four cruisers.....HMS Aurora (with General Eisenhower aboard) Newfoundland, Penelope, and Eurylaus, and the river gunboat Aphis, were there awaiting their moment. Up above, the fighters of the RAF glinted in the sunlit sky as they patrolled the airspace. We, the soldiers, depended so much on them all - we were helpless without them to take care of us and get us ashore to fulfill our part of the job in hand. Our absolute confidence in the other Services and the feeling that they would see us right gave us heart.

No sign of Panty as yet - just a blank horizon. At last a smudge appeared as slowly we moved forward, which resolved itself into the topmost peak of Monte Grande. No hostile noises as yet but this could not be for long delayed and the expected soon began to happen. The approaching sound of aircraft warned us what this was to be. The Luftwaffe mounted an air attack on our fleet with, as later we were told, some 50 planes. Fighter/bombers and Stuka dive bombers were promptly engaged by the RAF and those that got through then had to run the gauntlet of the barrage put up by the Navy. Not all made it - those that did dropped their bombs but failed to do much damage, although the Headquarters ship for the whole operation, containing one Rear Admiral, two Generals and a variety of Colonels, including my own, had a near miss. There could have been chances of promotion had things been slightly different! Our later information was that the enemy had lost 37 planes but that, sadly, six of our pilots failed to return.

By now, Panty was looming larger by the minute and we were perhaps 10 miles distant. We must have been clearly visible to the defenders - in fact, sitting ducks and the future was awaited with quiet expectancy. What was going on? Why was the 9" artillery not having a go? Every ear was anxiously strained less the sound of an approaching salvo break the silence. Perhaps they were waiting until we came still closer so as not to miss! For the past fortnight the island had been under constant air attack by bombers of the RAF - Bostons,Mitchells, Marauders, Wellingtons - to destroy and demoralise. Could they have been so successful?
Any doubt was soon dispelled. From behind came the rumble of heavy aircraft engines which developed into a steady roar as Flying Fortresses of the US Air Force passed right over us, at no great altitude, in a succession of single Vees. The line of planes seemed to stretch back endlessly: someone said they counted up to an hundred. The first sound of bombardment reached us; a succession of thudding "crumps"which merged as a continuous thunder as each passing Vee unleashed a rain of bombs. On and on it went without cease until the shock waves trembled the very air around us. Then, remarkably, Pantelleria began to disappear behind a gigantic cloud of dust; firstly the lower part and eventually the very peak of Monte Grande itself. Only to be seen was this amazing dust cloud hanging before our astonished gaze like a great curtain from the sky. Still the bombs fell until the last Vee passed overhead and faded into the distance. Could anybody, any thing, survive such an onslaught?

The plan was for elements of 3IB (3rd Infantry Brigade) to make the initial assault and establish a bridgehead, to be then reinforced by 2IB with which the airfield would be captured jointly; 24Guards Brigade was the follow-up force. The assault wave of LCA assembled and set about their business. As the LCA were on their way, destroyers closed-in to the shore and shelled defensive positions whilst the cruisers added a spectacular display of heavy naval gunfire.

The Assault wave hit the beach about 1145hrs and clambered over the rubble which once had been the town. There were no mines to hinder progress and, except for a few random shots, the landing was unopposed. Leaflets had previously been dropped demanding surrender, to be signified by the display of a large white cross on the airfield. By 1400hrs troops of 1 Bn The Sherwood Foresters and 2nd Bn The North Staffordshire Regiment were overlooking the airfield. The Union Flag was hoisted and the job was done.

We were part of the 2nd wave, and from being hove-to and kept in station by an occasional turn of the screws, all was sudden activity. Our craft trembled underfoot and surged forward as we took up our positions in the queues ready for running ashore. In the absence of hostile noises when the assault wave went in we guessed all had gone well but we were yet to realise how well. The port is sheltered on one side by an headland and on the other by a breakwater and, as we sailed at speed through the jaws of the entrance, we were pleased and relieved to see there was no great opposition. Before us could be seen the total demolition of the town. My Colonel tells the tale that as he landed a broad Yorkshire voice was heard to observe in awed tones "What DE-VAS-TAT-ION."

Our LCI went aground, bow-on to the beach, the gangways were lowered and we filed forward and ran ashore dryshod. The so-called "shore"?....well, mostly a collection of dust and lumps of lava, as was the remainder of the island. The road fronting the port was deep with this gritty dust and heaped with bricks and masonry from collapsed buildings; bomb craters were everywhere and movement was awkward. Closer observation of the ruins shewed all exits from the port area blocked by huge mounds of debris, the few remaining walls standing in jagged outline.

The words "combined operations", with emphasis on "combined", took on a new meaning. The more usual combined op. is a much more extensive affair spread over several miles of coast-line and involving some number of Divisions in the assault. The roles of the Royal Navy and RAF are correspondingly extended and their presence more remote. However, in the case of Corkscrew,not only was just a single Division involved but the whole assault was funnelled towards one small stretch of beach, consequently the work of the sailors in their various ships, those in the air and the soldiers in the landing could be observed as a whole, operating together under a co-ordinated, single command. It was only afterwards one came to marvel at the planning and organisation that went into our relatively small operation and, later, to appreciate the brilliance which brought about much larger and more complex landings culminating in the invasion across the Channel.

The Luftwaffe and Germans had already evacuated the airfield, with the exception of a few technicians, leaving a garrison of some 10,000 Italians. This was the second mass surrender of axis forces we had witnessed in a matter of 4 weeks, the first being the surrender of 240,000 Germans and Italians, with a vast array of guns, tanks and vehicles, at the end of the Tunisian campaign...At last we seemed to be winning the war!

We sappers had specialist duties in the port. As a return trip
along the length of the port frontage was a tramp of a mile, much foot slogging, bad temper and lost time was obvious as only transport absolutely essential to the operation was allowed - bulldozers, motor cycles etc; but not for the likes of us. Something had to be done about this sorry state of affairs. Sgt MacVean's first priority - never mind the operational plan - was to obtain by any means, fair or foul, some form of transport, a bicycle would do, to remedy such a tiring prospect! So off he went clambering over piles of rubble about this important business. whilst the-happy-band and I set off towards the far end of the port where, from aerial photographs, we knew our base was to be established. On reaching the area we discovered one of the many caves in the volcanic rock, which were a feature of the island, which seemed an ideal spot. Closer inspection indicated it had already been occupied by the defending soldiery and we were congratulating ourselves on getting such a good spec., when we discovered a considerable flea population was intent on making a good breakfast on our bare knees and up the trouser legs. The speed and disorder of retreat excelled anything achieved on the field of battle

Eventually we came upon a light railway, used in the construction of an outer breakwater to the harbour, which boasted a loading platform with a small brick hut. By this time craft with our stores and equipment were beaching in the port so, leaving two men on guard to prevent anyone stealing our precious place, we set-to unloading and getting our gear back to HQ. (But where WAS Sgt MacVean?)

Meanwhile, it had been discovered that the floor of the railway platform sounded hollow so a sledge hammer was vigorously applied until an hole was produced through the concrete and, sure enough, there was a void beneath; another hole furthur on ensured a free flow of air and a means of escape in the event of calamity. This provided a good shelter from anything smaller than a bomb and became our night-time refuge. (Where on earth HAD he got to?) The brick hut became a rudimentary cookhouse and a good store for our gear....including explosives! We were well in business.

Sgt MacVean's arrival was quite spectacular. Around the corner he comes, with clatter of tracks and roar of engine, atop a most splendid prize which, with his usual initiative and enterprise,he had extracted from who cares where. In short, he had "liberated" a most unusual means of locomotion; quite a handy size - about 10ft in length - on tracks like a mini-tank. The driver sat aloft behind the engine with two levers for steering and everything worked perfectly. We were thus equipped with a tractor as unit transport which was promptly christened "Miss Carriage". Sgt MacVean could have been unique in his acquisition as never was any other captured vehicle seen. Miss Carriage performed valiantly in the Allied Cause by saving much perspiration and bad language in the dust and heat of the port.

A group of Italian soldiers put in an appearance and came to surrender signifying their purpose by drawing a descriptive finger across the throat with gurgling noises and shouting "Mussolini finito". They were a poor lot, with several day's stubble, ill-fitting uniforms, suitcases held together with string, guitars and other home comforts. They were unarmed, only too anxious to get away from the place and were harmless enough. We had no time to bother with them so they were pointed in the right direction and off they shambled happy enough to join a growing throng ready for captivity. Shipping did not linger unduly in the port so as soon as unloading was completed the POW were crammed aboard and taken out of the way to Tunisia.

Yet still they came only too anxious to surrender, but firstly we put them to work to help us sappers with unloading the Braithwaite Tanks and victaulic piping; they were eager to please!. It gave one pause for thought to see sappers and Italian soldiers, completely unable to communicate yet working as two-man teams, carrying length after length of victaulic piping (special water piping with rapid couplings) from the LCA and stringing them along the ground ready for fixing; and doing so without rancour whereas an hour previously, had things turned out differently, they could have been otherwise disposed. War was still played to certain rules.....

However, back to Braithwaite Tanks......By D+2 all four had been unloaded, and erected in and around a building, and the 4"victaulic water main constructed along the length of the inner breakwater, the end of which was "L" shaped as a berth for a small ship. The small ship in question was the only ship able to transport water in the whole of the Mediterranean! Eventually it put in an appearance, the intention being that it would come into the berth, connect onto our water main and pump its load of water into these Braithwaite Tanks. In high expectation we watched its approach to the harbour when for some occult reason it came to a sudden halt and, despite much churning of water under the stern, stayed precisely where it was.....stuck on the bottom. The Military Minds had not thought of this one! There was nothing we could do and, to turn the knife in the wound, some of the precious fresh-water cargo was seen to be pumped overside to lighten ship. This did the trick and she arrived in harbour one day late. The arab-with-a-hat was obviously the man in charge. In due course, all was connected up and the pumps started, to fill our Braithwaite Tanks. These tanks had been transported by land and sea, loaded and unloaded several times, over a journey of perhaps 2500 miles from UK to Africa and 600 miles from Algiers, just for this one purpose and this was to be their justification.....and, after all our exertions, our moment of triumph.

The Luftwaffe arrived. No one was waiting to watch, but there was a lot of noise and a big bang and, when we emerged from wheresoever we were, the only water-ship in the Mediterranean was clearly not as originally designed! .....most certainly that hole over the engine room should not have been there.....nor all that salt water. On seeing this, the arab-with-the-hat gave a howl of alarm and leapt aboard his foundering vessel and disappeared down a ladder. Surely he was not going down with his ship in the finest maritime tradition? But no!...he reappeared and jumped ashore, clutched in his hand...a large leg of lamb!! There must have been well over 200 individual attacks during the seven days we were in occupation yet, except for our water-ship, no shipping was sunk - not that ships lingered; as soon as they could they were up and away.

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