Raiders (8 page)

With the raid taking place in broad daylight and with little room to manoeuvre in the tight confines of the fjord, the ships were going to be vulnerable to air attack.
Anti-aircraft fire alone would not be enough to see off the threat of divebombers.
They
were as good as sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe pilots.
Air cover was essential, the RAF role crucial to the outcome.
The two nearest bases in Scotland, Sumburgh on Shetland and Wick on the mainland, were 250 and 400 miles away respectively.
Fuel was a major issue and the margins were extremely fine.
The plan was to rotate four squadrons of Beaufighter and Blenheim fighters, each arriving to a strict timetable so that the naval force was exposed for the shortest period of time possible.
In addition, ten Hampden bombers were assigned to attack enemy gun installations, six Stirling bombers were to hit Luftwaffe airfields at Herdla and Stavanger, and nineteen Blenheim bombers were to attack airfields and coastal shipping to draw off Luftwaffe resources and prevent them from attacking the assault force at Vaagso.

The Commandos were split into five groups with Group 2 handed the toughest task of leading the raid into the town of South Vaagso itself.
In the final plans, the objects of ARCHERY are stated as:

1. To destroy or capture enemy troops and equipment
   
2. To destroy enemy industrial plants
   
3. To seize documents, codes and instruments
   
4. To arrest Quislings (collaborators known as Quislings after Vidkun Quisling, Hitler’s puppet ruler in Norway)
   
5. To withdraw Norwegian volunteers for the Free Forces
   

With only five hours between sunrise and sunset, timing would be critical.
The Commandos were to carry ashore all the weapons
and ammo they would need for a day’s hard fighting.
Most of the men carried the standard infantry Lee Enfield rifle with long bayonet (and 100 rounds), but a handful were issued Thompson ‘Tommy’ machine guns.
All men carried Mills bomb hand grenades and the Fairbanks-Sykes Commando dagger.
Bren gun crews and mortar detachments provided the heavy firepower on the ground.
There was no chance of resupply during the action.
All men were to help carry ashore the Bren magazines and mortars during the landings.

III Commando had been in intensive training for months at their camp at Largs on the West Coast of Scotland, concentrating specifically on amphibious landing operations.
The men knew a major operation was in the offing but they had no idea where or when it would take place.
Rumours swept through the wooden barracks when the daily exercise programme was suddenly intensified in the first half of December.
Speculation turned to near-certainty when the 500-strong unit embarked in two troopships on the Clyde and steamed for Scapa Flow in the Orkneys, the base of the Royal Navy’s Home Fleet during the war.
Two full-blown rehearsals involving all three services took place before Brigadier Haydon summoned his officers and NCOs and unveiled details of the operation.
After months of hard training and a mounting hunger for action, there was a palpable buzz of excitement below deck when the news reached the men.

The planners at COHQ had built a full-scale, minutely detailed model of South Vaagso based on recce photos and intelligence.
Every building, street, alley and natural landmark was featured.
While the companies of the seven ships refuelled, loaded the magazines with shells and stored away the final shipments of provisions, each of the five Commando groups took it in turns to pore over the intricate model and run through the tasks they had been assigned.
What they saw was a miniature version of a hilly island, eight miles long by four wide, situated on the west coast of Norway and facing onto the North Sea at the mouth of a fjord known as Vaagsfjord.
Roughly 250 miles from the capital Oslo and 500 miles from the northernmost tip of mainland Scotland, it is one of thousands of islands along the coast, surrounded by a maze of waterways and inlets.
It is separated from the mainland by a narrow stretch of water known as the Ulvesund that runs for five miles between the north and south exits to the North Sea.

Most of the island’s 2,500-strong population lived in South Vaagso, the main town and home to the fish-processing factories concentrated on quays along the waterfront.
The main street, running parallel to the coast for almost a mile, formed the spine of the community with a few smaller streets and lanes branching out towards the steeply rising hills of the interior.
A few hundred yards to the east of Vaagso lies the much smaller island of Maaloy, where the Germans had built the gun batteries to guard the southern entrance of the Ulvesund.
The area was defended by troops of the German 181st Division, amounting to around 250 men as well as 50 sailors.

On 22 December the large force detailed for Operation ANKLET set sail from Scapa into an ominously gathering sea
for the longer passage to the Lofotens.
The men of 3 Commando completed their last rehearsal and ran through their final checks for the first-ever large-scale operation involving all three services undertaken by the British armed forces.
Operation ARCHERY was also Britain’s first major incursion into Nazi-occupied Europe since Dunkirk eighteen months earlier, the first step in a gruelling fightback against the most powerful military force the world had ever seen.
In one respect, ARCHERY was just a sideshow next to the titanic struggles of the Eastern Front, the North Africa campaign and the Atlantic convoys, but a great deal was riding on its outcome: the lives of 2,000 servicemen, the future of Combined Operations, the reputation of the newly formed Commandos and the morale of a battered, despondent British public reeling under the hellish bombardment of the Blitz.
Failure was not an option.

It was an inauspicious start to the operation.
When the seven ships of the raiding force slipped the sheltered sanctuary of Scapa Flow at 2215 on Christmas Eve, they steamed out into the teeth of a Force 8 gale.
Heading for Sullom Voe, an anchorage 150 miles to the northeast in Shetland, the flotilla was battered by crashing waves and roaring winds.
It was a particularly difficult passage for the two troopships,
Prince Leopold
and
Prince Charles
, which were tossed around in the churning seas like corks.
Below deck, Commandos heaved and vomited and clung on as the ships lurched from side to side, up and down.
No one slept a wink.
There was no let-up in the storm for twelve hours.
By the
time they reached the calmer waters of Shetland at noon on Christmas Day, both ships had each taken on over 120 tons of water, most of it in the forward compartments where the flooding reached 14 feet.
Both former North Sea Ferries had been damaged and needed emergency repairs.
Rear Admiral Burrough had no choice but to postpone the operation by twenty-four hours.
Christmas dinner was eaten at anchor, not on the open sea as planned.

When all repairs were completed by 1400 the following day, the winds had begun to drop and, to the relief of the commanders, the weather forecast they received was far more promising.
Burrough gave the order to move out at 1600.
Operation ARCHERY would launch at dawn, 27 December 1941.
Before setting out, the assault force received a surprise visitor.
Mountbatten was piped aboard
Kenya
where he delivered a short but inspirational address.
Conscious that most of the men before him had never experienced combat, he warned them not to be too soft on their opponents, recalling the day his ship, HMS
Kelly
, was sunk off Crete, when the Germans machine-gunned his men in the water.
‘There’s absolutely no need to treat them gently on my account,’ he said.

The weather was still fairly lively at the start of their passage across the North Sea, but it improved rapidly and by the time they closed on the Norwegian coast, conditions were excellent.
Having made contact with HMS
Tuna
, Burrough lined up his ships as planned and, still shrouded in darkness, the force edged towards the southern end of Vaagso.
But for the odd word on
the bridge of the ships and whispered words of encouragement below deck on the troopships, the 2,000 men slid quietly towards their target.
The one sound that the commanders wanted to hear was that of approaching RAF aircraft.
Sure enough, bang on time, the distinctive hum of Hampden bombers began to fill the still, wintry air.
Their target was the giant gun emplacement on the island of Rugsundo, eight miles to the east up Nordfjord, one of Norway’s most beautiful and famous fjords.
The AA guns stayed silent.
The British presence had so far passed unnoticed.

Or so Burrough thought.
In fact, the ships had been spotted by a lookout who immediately telegraphed the harbourmaster at South Vaagso to raise the alarm.
The sleepy harbourmaster brushed aside the eager lookout’s anxieties.
‘Relax, it’s nothing,’ he told him, ‘a convoy is expected this morning.’
The idea of a squadron of Royal Navy ships having the audacity to slip into the narrow waterways of the well-defended coastline verged on madness .
.
.
But dim flashes soon lit up the northern horizon and the thud of explosions from the bombing raid at Rugsundo echoed down the water.
Ack-ack tracer streaked skywards, criss-crossing the dark sky.
In their barracks and billets, the German troops were either asleep or slowly starting to wash and dress.
At this time of year, the sun did not rise till ten o’clock.
The fleet edged into the fjord, dwarfed by the steepling snow-blanketed cliffs and mountains.
Brigadier Haydon said later that he felt as if he could stretch out his arms and touch the walls of the narrow waterway.
Others said it was like entering a dark tunnel.
Tense with anticipation, the silence was unnerving for
the Commandos as they stood on deck by their landing crafts, breathing steam into their cupped hands and moving from foot to foot to counter the bitter cold.
They all knew that within minutes the peace was going to be shattered in the most spectacular fashion.

Burrough checked the time again and announced: ‘Hoist the battle Ensign!’
Splitting off from the rest of the force, HMS
Chiddingfold
escorted the two troopships to the bay south of South Vaagso, out of sight of the main gun emplacement on Maaloy Island, half a mile or so around the corner.
Kenya
and the other destroyers crept forward to take up position.

The Commandos climbed into the Higgins landing craft suspended over the sides of the
Prince Leopold
and
Prince Charles
and the crews quickly loaded on the heavier equipment including ammunition magazines, Bren guns, mortars – and 250 kitbags full of Christmas stockings for the children of Vaagso.
Embarkation was completed on time by 0835.
For four minutes the men sat silently in the swaying craft, fidgeting with their weapons, focusing on the tasks ahead, praying for a safe return to the ship.
At 0839 the landing craft began to descend.
Chains clanked and jangled, pulleys whined and screeched, the boats splashed into the icy water as one and the formation moved off into the gently rolling water of the fjord’s mouth.
Within five minutes, as planned, No.
1 Group was ashore at Halnoesvik, the southernmost tip of the island, scrambling over the rocks towards the gun battery.
Groups 2 and 3, the largest of the assault units, continued towards the main targets of South Vaagso and Maaloy.
The gap between the two islands was now clearly visible in the moonlight as they rounded the headland.
The gunners aboard
Kenya
and the destroyers
Offa
,
Oribi
and
Onslow
braced themselves for the first salvos of the bombardment.

The first dim stirrings of dawn had lightened the sky above the Norwegian mainland only a little when the unflappable Burrough calmly gave the order: ‘Open the line of fire!’
It was 0848.
The bridge-talker immediately passed on the command to the fire control department.
Seconds later, a barrage of star shells burst over Maaloy, lighting up the snow-covered outcrop like a giant overhead lamp.
Battle had commenced.
And some battle it was to be.

Moving slowly between the two islands,
Kenya
immediately opened up with her two forward turrets, firing six-inch shells, before the captain turned her side-on to the island and opened up with a mighty barrage from all four turrets, fore and aft.
Almost instantaneously, twelve shells, each weighing roughly half a ton, slammed into the German batteries.
A cloud of flame and smoke burst into the sky.
Offa
and
Onslow
joined in the bombardment with their own broadsides.
There was no return fire.
They had caught the Germans by surprise, just as they had hoped.
The gun crews were still in barracks when the first wave of the bombardment crashed down on the island.
For the next nine minutes, the three warships pounded an area the size of a village green with between 400 and 500 shells.
It was saturation shelling, and the mighty concussion of the guns reverberated along the
coastline.
When his landing craft were within 100 yards of the shoreline, Durnford-Slater took out his Verey pistol and fired 10 red flares in rapid succession, the ‘cease bombardment’ signal.
As he and the men of Group 2 prepared to beach at South Vaagso, behind him plumes of smoke hung over Maaloy and the stench of cordite drifted across the short stretch of water.