by Hamish Ross
On this particular evening, however, I did not know him so well. One only sensed that here was a quietly forceful and rugged leader who could be relied upon in any emergency; a man who was as ruthless as he was quick-witted in action. Later on I used to think that you were as safe as you possibly could be when you were with Paddy, because he took such great care of the people who were under him. But there was one thing that it did not take long for you to find out, and that was his shrewd judgement of character. ‘Shooting a line’ cut absolutely no ice at all with him and he could detect it straightaway. Some people, anxious to create a favourable impression, thought that because he was so quiet then they had better do most of the talking, but he could ask the most discomforting questions in the blandest of manners, and he could cut a person short with hardly a word spoken. No, it did not pay to pretend when you were with him, and this evening you could almost see him sizing people up from the very questions they were asking.61
This was a characteristic that remained with him throughout his life.
However, on 21 June 1941, when Stirling and Mayne reached Siwa after the Berka and Benina raids, they found the LRDG in the process of moving out. The Gazala battles were over: that day Tobruk had fallen to Rommel’s Panzerarmee; and later that same day Rommel learned that the Führer had promoted him to Field Marshal. Four days afterwards, Auchinleck dismissed Gen Ritchie as Commander, 8th Army and took on the role himself, in addition to his responsibility as General Officer Commanding Middle East Forces.
Changes also came about in the way L Detachment operated. Hitherto, the unit had been conveyed by the LRDG, but, according to the official account of Special Forces in the Middle East, in June 1942 ‘Capt Mayne suggested to Major Stirling that Jeeps should be provided to carry men of L Detachment during the last stages of the approach to an objective, in order to save walking.’62 The idea was adopted, and then adapted by installing two Vickers K guns on each of fifteen Jeeps. According to Jellicoe, the unit had only four days in which to prepare them.63
On 3 July, the unit left Kabrit, but with the enemy now as far east as El Alamein they had to head south to the northern rim of the Quattara Depression, and four nights later Stirling and Mayne made for Bagoush. The airfield was close to the road, where Stirling positioned himself with a small group, setting up a road block. Mayne and five men went on foot to stalk aircraft. Pleydell, at the rendezvous some distance to the east of the airfield, described the effects: ‘There was a terrific flash which lit up the skyline like summer lightning.’64 Mayne and his group had destroyed twenty-two planes. But Mayne was far from satisfied: there had been about forty aircraft lined up on the field; he subdivided the group and systematically placed bombs on all planes; yet they counted only twenty-two explosions. When he examined some bombs in his sergeant’s bag, he discovered that the primer was damp because it had been inserted in the plastic too long in advance.65 Frustrated, he rejoined Stirling and told him what was wrong. They had a brief discussion, then both of them drove their Jeeps back to the airfield and onto the runway and opened up with the Vickers K. The result was that another twelve planes were destroyed; they had developed an alternative to an approach by stealth.
Stirling had to return to Cairo for replacement vehicles and supplies on the evening of 12 July; Mayne also went, bringing back wounded. While he was in Cairo, Stirling received an Instruction (No. 99) from HQ 8th Army giving a revised set of targets and a new order of priorities: tank workshops, tanks, aircraft, water, petrol.66 Returning to Bir el Quseir on 23 July with reinforcements and new vehicles, Stirling decided to try out a new tactic of making a mass attack with Jeeps in full moonlight. Three nights later, on 26/27 July, in a grand finale to the month’s work, Stirling led this mass attack with eighteen Jeeps on Sidi Haneish airfield. Sadler navigated them to the perimeter, then they formed up in two columns and Stirling’s Jeep, like the Fighting Temeraire at Trafalgar, led the formation through the rows of planes with spectacular effect. Storie was one of the raiders:
On that night we had only one man killed. It was very successful. I was in the last Jeep and it got caught in barbed wire; we had to drag it for miles before we could stop and cut it.67
About thirty planes were destroyed although only about eighteen burst into flame.68 So it was all the more galling for Stirling at the end of July, at what must have been a high point for him, to be ordered back to Cairo to take part in planned future operations.
On the wider military front, Auchinleck (still operating as commander-in-chief and commander of the 8th Army) had fought Rommel to a standstill at the first battle of El Alamein. The Allies knew from the code-breaking work of Ultra that Rommel had been stretched to the limit and was desperately short of fuel and tanks; the same source revealed that he was unlikely to be resupplied until September. In addition, Maj Gen Dorman-Smith’s appreciation of the situation pointed up that Rommel had only three serviceable ports at which supplies could be landed: Benghazi, Tobruk and Matruh. Stirling found in Cairo that, in a sense, he was a victim of his earlier determination to carry out significant damage at Benghazi harbour. Continuing with its policy of making strategic use of the unit, Middle East Headquarters determined that L Detachment should be part of a larger force, which Stirling was to lead and which would attack and paralyse Benghazi harbour. Operation Bigamy incorporated L Detachment, a naval detachment, part of the Special Boat Section and two LRDG patrols, the whole group being called ‘Force X’, whose objectives were: block the main harbour; sink all shipping and lighters in the harbour; and destroy oil storage and pumping plants.69 Stirling had reservations. Compared to the way L Detachment’s raids were planned, too many people were involved and he had doubts about the security of the plan.70 Between the early planning of Operation Bigamy and its execution, the Prime Minister had visited the Middle East and there had been further changes at the top. Auchinleck had been replaced by Gen Alexander as commander-in-chief, and Gen Gott had been appointed to command the 8th Army. However, his subsequent death when his aircraft was attacked resulted in Montgomery being given the appointment.
On 4 September, Mayne led the advance party, which consisted of 5 officers and 118 other ranks. When he arrived at the first rendezvous, Mayne sent Bob Melot along with Lt Maclean and a private from the Libyan Arab Force to carry out a reconnaissance.71 The information that came back was ominous: about 5,000 Italian troops were dug in, apparently prepared for an attack. Stage one of the operation involved attacking the fort on the escarpment; Melot led a small group, bluffing his way to the gates, calling out in Italian that they were Germans sent to relieve the garrison; but the ruse was spotted. In the short engagement that followed, the defenders capitulated but Melot was wounded. Without him, they had no other guide who knew the route from the escarpment in detail and so by the time the force reached the approach to Benghazi, it was four hours late. Not only that, the enemy was lying in wait. After a fierce and costly exchange, Stirling ordered a withdrawal. The operation was a disaster. The internal GHQ report of the raid listed seven factors contributing to its failure: the first was that ‘The strictest control must be exercised on those who are brought into the planning.’72 But the failure did not redound on the unit. It had achieved a higher profile, having been at the centre of what was MEHQ’s brainchild; indeed, moves were afoot for its enlargement and redesignation.
On 28 September 1942, the unit was reorganised and called 1 SAS Regiment; Stirling was promoted to lieutenant-colonel; Mayne advanced to the rank of major and was given command of A Squadron. He chose his men from among the most experienced of L Detachment and from the more recent recruits. The Allied build-up was almost completed; the assault on Rommel’s forces was imminent; and A Squadron’s role would be integral to the development of the forthcoming battle: attacking lines of communication, ammunition dumps and transport, followed by airfields and retreating enemy transport.73 The period that followed was a very successful one for the unit. Bill Fraser, now a captain, was Mayne’s second-in-command,
Mike Sadler was commissioned and was now a lieutenant and among the newcomers to the squadron, of whom more will be heard, were Harry Poat, Sandy Wilson and Tony Marsh. While its priorities were clearly enumerated, it was up to the judgement of the Squadron Commander as to how and when they were carried out. Mayne’s plan was to establish forward bases in the Sand Sea and from these to harry and impede the enemy.
They arrived at the remote oasis of Kufra, deep in the Great Sand Sea, on 13 October. The following day, Fraser left with a party on the first leg of the long drive north to the railway line east of Fuka; Mayne, with Donohue, Ward and Allan, met with Marsh’s group and attacked a convoy. These were the first of numerous raids, but the period is not comprehensively documented; most of the information comes from radio signals. Throughout October and November they continued their attacks, changing the priorities as they were instructed in the light of the 8th Army’s progress. The railway line, convoys and, later, airfields were their targets. It was also a time of exceptional individual achievement. This was when Sillito carried out his epic walk of 180 miles to reach the squadron’s forward rendezvous in the Sand Sea; it took him eight days.
Mayne, in a letter to Douglas, gives a vignette of their work:
I am lying here beside a three-tonner, under its tarpaulin, in the sand, and listening to the wireless. It is pleasant now, cool and fresh, but in the summertime it is no place for any Christian body. We are in the Sand Sea about 200 miles from the nearest oasis and just going out and acting the fool from here. The loot question has looked up very well in the last few days – inside a week first of all we came on a Heinkel, which had force-landed. The crew were tapping for assistance – they got it. Out of it we got automatics, a shotgun and a Rolleiflex camera. It is a nice one with the reflex viewfinder. I bought it off the laddie who found it. Then I was on a job and on the way back I ran into a nice soft convoy. We were like a lot of pirates – 10 days’ beard – the poor wee Jerries and Eyeties driving along as happy as you like, 160 miles behind their lines. We whipped in from behind and the first they knew was our bullets, smacking through their three-tonners. Out of it I got another camera, a very nice little one, £15–£20-worth. I’ll send you some photographs, not snaps.
Funniest thing were the prisoners – we can never afford to take many, as they eat too much of our rations, so I intended only to take one. I put him on the truck and told the others to beat it, but he started to cry and the others looked so pitiable at being left that I took a couple more – they are useful at washing dishes and keeping my equipment clean.74
Mayne’s gleeful description of their acquiring and trading for loot, set alongside his more restrained account of his prisoners at the Litani operation, carrying his men’s booty for them, shows that he had no scruple about following the age-old practice of troops helping themselves to the spoils of war. Indeed, to this day, in his old home are his high-powered German binoculars – courtesy of the Wehrmacht.
Expanding the unit while at the same time increasing its operational activities meant that new recruits lacked some of the induction lessons that their senior colleagues had received. Storie was the most experienced member of a two-jeep patrol that ran into trouble.
This time they were all new except myself: even the officer was new. We went into this recce and came across trouble and we had to get out. The Jeep I was in was hit by an armour-piercing shell; it took the engine right out of the Jeep. But what used to happen with the old hands – if you got hit, one of them would swing right round and pick you up – but they were new boys and had not been taught this. So we were left high and dry. We got out of the Jeep and got away.75
They walked to the rendezvous area, which they estimated to be twenty-five miles distant, but found that the others had gone. Running short of water, they made their way north to the coastal road. They found an abandoned British truck and started to drain its radiator when they were surprised by a German patrol. Next morning, Storie found himself on a plane bound for Munich.
The second battle of El Alamein marked the opening of the final phase of the desert war. With Rommel in retreat, A Squadron was ordered to move further west to Bir Zalten to keep pressure on a retreating army. The squadron had been active over the previous two months while B Squadron was built up and trained. Then Stirling came out to Bir Zalten and outlined the situation to Mayne. In the short term, A Squadron was to operate between Agheila and Bouerat while B Squadron covered further west. Beyond that, however, Stirling envisaged that the regiment would be involved in mountain warfare in the Balkans, so when A Squadron’s work in the desert finished, it would undergo ski training at the Cedars Warfare Mountain Training Centre in Syria. In the meantime, Stirling would join B Squadron; he took Sadler with him as navigator, for he intended at some point to link up with the 1st Army, which had landed in Algeria.
When its operations were over, A Squadron began to move back to base. Mayne and one other rank arrived at Kabrit on 7 January 1943; the bulk of the squadron followed.76 A spell of leave before beginning new training had to be delayed a few days, for Commander-in-Chief Gen Alexander visited Kabrit on 14 January. He was shown demolitions with Lewes bombs and treated to a demonstration of the firepower of the jeep-mounted Vickers K. Then, for Mayne, the world of family and home was brought in sharply when he received news that his father had died suddenly on 16 January. The following week, though, on 24 January, along with the sixty-five officers and men of A Squadron, he left Kabrit for the ski school of the Cedars of Lebanon where the resilient Bob Melot, recovered from his wounds at Benghazi, joined him as a member of the unit.
The unit’s final days in the desert – like those of its beginning – are rounded off by a myth centred on Mayne. However, this is not part of the ‘revelation according to Cowles’: it first appeared from anecdote in Bradford and Dillon and duly became a tenet of accepted belief.77 The theme is by now familiar: a victim, a persecutor and a rescuer. It went along the lines that Mayne, aggrieved because he had been denied leave to go home on the death of his father, sought out the well-known BBC correspondent Richard Dimbleby at his Cairo hotel to give him a doing for allegedly reporting from the safety of the city instead of being at the front experiencing what the war was really like. Intercepted before he could reach his quarry, in one account he knocked out (not three or four or even five, but) six military policemen before being taken to the cells, from where next morning he was released following a signal from (an amazingly swift and responsive) MEHQ to the effect that this officer was too valuable to be reduced to the ranks.78 Of course, in reality, at the time of Mayne’s father’s death on 16 January 1943, Dimbleby had already been in London for seven months, having been recalled by the BBC in June 1942.79 If there had been a problem with Dimbleby’s credibility with the military, it was not because he broadcast from Cairo: it was because of his concern for verisimilitude, recording a particular unit or squadron’s progress at the front and extrapolating from that to the general military situation.80
But beneath that tale, there probably lie half-remembered grievances with the media. For example, while the press printed gung-ho versions of Mayne’s first raid at Wadi Tamet airfield and referred to a well-known international sportsman, the unit was not named. Perhaps the most flagrant example of the achievements of the SAS not being acknowledged by name occurred as late as the 1944 short official account, The Eighth Army, September 1941 to January 1943, prepared for the War Office by the Ministry of Information. This account said ‘The Long Range Desert Group, under Lieut-Colonel (then Captain) David Stirling, and the Middle East Commando carried out two remarkable raids on Sirte and Agedabia airfields, destroying, in all, sixty-one machines.’81
It was not surprising that these raids were attributed to the LRDG, for they had been the unit that had principally carried out such attacks in the past. What is surprising is that David Stirling should later write that Mayne was callous on that first Wadi Tamet raid, because his own actions on a couple of operations were broadly si
milar.82 One occasion, which was referred to earlier, was recorded by Mayne about the time he, Stirling and some others attacked enemy tents and trucks with their machine-guns. A similar opportunity turned up when Mike Sadler set out with David Stirling in a three-jeep patrol to destroy enemy communication lines near the coast and turned their machine-guns on some soft-skinned transport. Comparing their actions is rather pointless, for according to the war policy of the time, these attacks were but one aspect of a strategy which had been pursued by the Allies. As early as January 1941, the LRDG took completely by surprise a fort at Murzuk and shot down some soldiers strolling outside it.83 The details of how Mayne led his attack on the building at Wadi Tamet may be impossible to get at now. There is his own brief summary of results which suggests that he used his favoured weapon at close quarters, his Colt revolver; there are the newspaper articles based on Stirling’s press release; and Reg Seekings, who was in the team, said that fire was returned from the house. The LRDG, however, kept a log of each of their patrols; and while they were not present with Mayne on the airfield, they had to have a verbal report from him for their own records. Their account is close to what he wrote, and concludes, ‘a house containing about 40 of the enemy was “soundly shot up”’.84 Over the period of the desert war, surprise attacks of this kind were carried out by Special Service units. No moral opprobrium was attached to them by the High Command: Gen Wavell wrote of the enemy’s lively apprehension of the work of the LRDG; and his successor, Auchinleck, sanctioned the attack by No. 11 Commando on the house at Beda Littoria. So there is no sound basis for singling out Mayne’s actions that night for judgement in isolation.