Mission to Britain

by J Eugene Porter

  The demeanor of the colonel had changed when he discovered these American Marines were all volunteers with many years of experience in small unit combat. A few of them, including Sergeant Laird and Corporal Dean, had experience in the Banana Wars in Nicaragua, plus each man spent time in China before the war.

  The colonel was also interested in Flannigan’s experiences in the Philippines, which was in the communique from Combined Operations. Any combat experience was meaningful to Colonel Vaughn, including bad experiences in France, Crete, and North Africa. He used every opportunity to discover and dissect battle experience to learn what happened and why certain decisions were made. He was well aware of the successes and failures of the Commando operations to date but would not discuss those with Flannigan until he could be properly vetted. He knew a big operation was about to get underway. The commandos who were participating had been training at various bases all over Britain for the last ninety days in preparation for what he knew would be a hazardous mission. He also realized this mission would snuff out the lives of many men trained by his command.

  “Tomorrow,” the colonel explained with a grin on his face, “will be a good test of your men and their ability to withstand extreme pressure. I am sure you will enjoy it as well.”

  7

  21 March 1942

  Commando Training School

  Achnacarry, Scotland

  • Libya--British Eighth Army continues raids on forward landing grounds of Axis forces as diversion for convoy to Malta. Raids are partially successful, drawing off part of enemy’s aircraft, but convoy is unable to reach Malta intact and suffers additional damage under air attack while unloading.

  • Australia--Lt. Gen. George H. Brett, U.S. Army, becomes commander of combined air forces in the region.

  The day had begun at 0400 hours with the men dressed in very uncomfortable British army uniforms made from the scratchiest wool imaginable. They lined up outside the building along with sixty Commando recruits and began a short speed march of five miles to be accomplished in under one hour with full equipment and packs weighing at least fifty pounds. It was also drizzling and just above freezing with dawn several hours away. The drill instructor was a very cheery Scotsman who yelled at the recruits and particularly the Americans the entire distance. Luckily for Flannigan, he had been drilling the men since the first days in Bethesda, and all were in excellent shape. The best performer was the corpsman, Doc Hamlin, who also carried a Bren gun on this exercise and his full medical pouch in addition to the fifty-pound haversack. Hamlin seemed to enjoy the run in the Scottish mud and muck.

  When they arrived back at the training base, all the Marines were greeted by the current recruits plus a few of the instructors. The Brits had heard Americans were coming to see what Commando training was all about, so they were very intrigued to meet their new Allies. Many of the British trainees were surprised to see the Americans were all non-commissioned officers, and for the most part, older than they were. The only exception was the medic who was a naval rating and might be twenty-two or perhaps younger. The corporals were at least in their late twenties, and the sergeant must have been in his early or mid-thirties. The Brits heard about the American version of the Royal Marines but did not know much about the organization. One of the commando officers watched with amazement as the American captain assembled his small group of men outside the entrance to the castle. He observed the Marine captain with more and more interest, and then it hit him, Robert was still alive and kicking.

  Capt. Roger Atwood of his Majesty’s Royal Marines dashed out of his office in the front of the castle and as soon as he got close yelled out, “Marines and Chinese are not permitted on these premises!”

  Flannigan turned around to see the bright shiny face of his old friend from their days in China. Approaching quickly, Flannigan first grabbed his hand, then pulled him closer into a bear hug. “You dumb British bastard, I thought for sure you were in some Jap prison or dead. How the hell did you get out of Asia anyway and what are you doing here?”

  Atwood smiled at his old friend from the days of pink gins in Shanghai and of other nights that would help provide a young man with profound knowledge of the art of sex. “I thought you were stuck in the Philippines learning to speak Japanese or worse dead. How did you get out?”

  The trainees watched as the two captains, one American and one British, seemed lost in conversation and looking like two long lost brothers.

  Sergeant Laird decided he needed to get his men moving, so he walked up to the two officers and made his request. “Beg the Captain’s pardon, sir, but do you want me to get the men into quarters?”

  “Sorry, Sergeant, but I seem to have found the prodigal son. This is my old friend from Shanghai days, Captain Atwood. Roger, this is Staff Sergeant Laird, who also spent a significant part of his life in China.”

  “Glad to meet you, Sergeant. It’s good that you are here to take care of Captain Flannigan because I’m sure he will be looking for ladies and drinking all of our whisky.”

  Laird knew the friendliness of the talk coming from both officers. Anyone who had spent time in China had developed certain idiosyncrasies, which only someone who had been there understood. “Glad to meet you, Captain. We look forward to working with your men and learning new skills.”

  Atwood looked at the sergeant knowing far too well that Marine non-coms were well skilled in taking charge of junior officers and how they ran both the Royal Marines and the U.S. Marines. He looked at the men assembled by the truck. “Sergeant Laird, I will get one of the training sergeants to provide for you and your men and see if we can find some edible food. It seems we do not have the cooks we had back in Shanghai.”

  Flannigan smiled at his old friend as Atwood asked a nearby sergeant if he could escort the Americans to the mess hall. The British sergeant saluted and walked over to meet the American Marine sergeant, and they set off to find some food for the unit. Atwood then took his old friend Robert back into the castle and led him to his office. “It appears you have had an early morning run, plus a full march across the River Arkaig. I’m sure you are hungry. Would you like something to eat? I can get my orderly to find you something from the officer’s mess.”

  Flannigan looked down at his uniform which was splattered with mud and was wet up to his knees. His boots were covered with mud, and you could barely see the leggings for the dirt. His face was also covered with dirt and had many scratches on his face to go along with a bruise on his chin from falling near the river. “Roger, I could kill for some coffee and perhaps a shower, but I understand we’re heading off to small arms training in about an hour. Are the officers always supposed to look clean and pressed or do we get some slack for leading our men in the training.”

  Atwood laughed at the remark and walked out the door and asked his orderly for a pot of coffee, and a towel for the dirty Marine in his office. As he came back in, he saw that Flannigan had removed his jacket and pulled up his shirt sleeves to check on his arm. Noticing the telltale scars of a major burn, he quickly glanced elsewhere. “Tell me, Robert, did you get your burns in the Philippines?”

  Flannigan knew his old friend well and did not shirk the answer. “Seems I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Japs bombed our base in Cavite, and I got hit. I was sent out to Java, then on to Australia and finally back to the United States for final treatment. It looks bad, and I have some issues to work out with my grip and feeling in the arm, but the doctors tell me that I’m at ninety percent and getting better.”

  He rolled down the shirt sleeves and changed the subject to Atwood’s escape. “Last time we saw each other was in the fall of ’41. I was making a courier run to Singapore and found you there working as an aide to a British admiral. What happened after that?”

  The orderly brought in a pot of coffee and two large mugs common in both the Royal and American navies. Atwood poured coffee into the first mug, passed it to Robert, and poured one for himself. He sipped the coffee as he
watched his American friend do the same. Flannigan looked up from his coffee with his eyes saying, “Tell me the story.”

  “I had been assigned to Singapore in early 1941, although I had not requested the posting. I wanted to get back to the real war here in Britain and had requested to get into a commando unit the Royal Marines were setting up. The first units were all army, but the Marines wanted to do some specialization for small boat operations. The navy wanted to keep some people in Singapore who had firsthand knowledge of Japan, and I was the only Marine officer in town that met the criteria, so I was slotted to the admiral. The job was boring as you well know, and I spent most of the next six months drinking at Raffles or attending cocktail parties with the high commissioner.”

  Flannigan took another sip of the hot brew, which he thought was tolerable, but not up to Marine standards. He looked up to see the British Marine lost in thought and after clearing his throat, spoke in a strong voice.

  “On December 2, Adm. Tom Phillips arrived in Singapore with the Prince of Wales and the Repulse escorted by four destroyers. I had been working for Admiral Palliser who was the chief of staff for the Far Eastern Naval Command, so when Phillips took over, I began working for the new admiral as his Marine aide. We flew off to the Philippines on one of our PBYs and met up with your Admiral Hart on . . . I think it was December 5 or 6. Were you aware of this meeting in Manila?”

  Flannigan shook his head no and added, “I was working for Admiral Hart but spent most of my time at the Cavite station, so if you and Phillips were there, I sure didn’t know it.”

  “Phillips wanted this meeting to be as quiet as possible with only a few witnesses. He wanted your admiral to send his ships to Singapore in the event of war so that we could have a larger combined fleet. I think your admiral was good with this plan, but events got in the way so to speak.”

  Atwood took another sip of coffee as he thought back to those days just before the breakout of the war in Asia and wondered about some of his comrades who did not escape from Singapore. “The meeting ended with a commitment to work together, and as you know, most of your ships were already scattered south before the bombs fell on the Philippines. It is too bad that arrangements were not made earlier so a larger fleet could have been established which might have slowed the Japanese or at the least, hurt them.

  “Well, after we got back from the Manila meeting we had only a day of rest before the Japs attacked you at Pearl Harbor and us in Malaya. Phillips immediately waited for information on the location of the Japanese invasion fleets. This information was not forthcoming in any logical sense. Our reconnaissance capabilities were dismal and communication with the army in northern Malaya was spotty.”

  Captain Atwood moved a bit in his chair as he thought back to those bad days. He was still suffering nightmares from his time aboard the British battleship and wondered if he would ever get over the memories of the Japanese attack. He looked at his American counterpart knowing of all the men at the Commando Training school, Flannigan would understand. He now used his hands to explain what happened to the British ships.

  “On the ninth of December, there were several reports, and the admiral decided to take what he called Force Z to find the enemy. Admiral Phillips was a very impulsive man, at least that is how I found him over the course of the eight days I knew him. He charged out of Singapore with the Prince of Wales, the Repulse and four destroyers—Electra, Express, Vampire, and Tenedos. For a night and part of a day, we looked up and down the coast before he decided to go look up the coast again. Reports were coming in wildly, and we had no air cover. He did not think planes could sink his ships, believing his battleship would handle herself, so he had not asked for constant air coverage.”

  He looked out the window to collect his thoughts once again. Flannigan knew the stare and the suffering of old wounds, whether physical or mental and waited for his friend to continue.

  “Soon we could see a plane far off to the north just watching us, and in another hour a good sixteen or twenty dive bombers began an attack along with a dozen twin-engine bombers which carried these huge torpedoes. I don’t think we shot down a single plane in the next hour or so. The Repulse was hit hard and slowed. Then we were hit by several torpedoes and began to list. I was on the flag bridge with Admiral Phillips, and all he could say was, “No, this is not right,” or something like that. He sent me down to the executive officer’s location aft where he was fighting for the life of the ship as the principal damage control officer. When I found him, the ship was listing at ten or twelve degrees, and he told me the pumps could not counter the flooding, and we were doomed.

  “I began my struggle to go back forward when I got hit by a piece of shrapnel from a Jap bomb, or maybe it was a secondary explosion. That is all I remember until I was pulled from a raft by the destroyer Express. They fixed me up, and the doctor told me I had a concussion and a big piece of Japan stuck in my shoulder. I had surgery when we got back to Singapore. Admiral Palliser came to see me and asked about what I could tell him about the last minutes of the Prince of Wales, which was what I just told you.

  “He had hoped for more information, but the result was that both the admiral and Captain Leach died as did three hundred twenty-seven other members of the ship’s company. After another week in the hospital, I was ordered out of Singapore and made it to Ceylon on a transport, which was attacked twice by Japanese planes flying out of our former bases in Malaya. From there, I went to Bombay for two more weeks of treatment before being ordered to report to London. I was part of the inquiry into the loss of both ships and, as you can guess, the conversations were not pleasant at all. I cannot tell you any more details because of secrecy.”

  Flannigan looked at his friend Roger with new respect and understanding. Only those who had experienced the loss of comrades, plus being injured, can truly understand what they are feeling. “So, Roger, how did you get sent here to become a mad dog commando?”

  Atwood’s smile returned at the comment from his American brother in arms. “Thank God you are an ally otherwise I would probably damage your manhood for such a comment.” Both men laughed, and the serious discussion about loss and recent history ended.

  “In early February after I had been given a clean bill of health by the doctors, or were they veterinarians, I was given a couple of choices for future billets. One was being an aide to another admiral, who will go nameless. Another option was to be the executive officer of the Marine detachment on the new battleship Duke of York, and the third was to come up here and help create Royal Marine Commando units. This sounded more like fun until I started going through the training course. So here I am in Bonnie Scotland, now serving as a nanny for a bunch of American Marines led by a derelict captain from China days. Does that sound appropriate to you, Robert?”

  Flannigan laughed heartily at the comment and the story of how he ended up in Scotland. “This at least makes sense, Roger, because I doubt you wanted to be an aide again and drink yourself silly nor did you want to be sitting on another big floating target. You chose wisely, my friend. I’m glad that through the odd coincidence of events not in our control, we meet again. Now, if only we could find a drink around here, we could toast to old friends and fallen women.”

  8

  22 March 1942

  Commando Training School

  Achnacarry, Scotland

  • President Roosevelt sends a message to General MacArthur now in Australia expressing his desire that General Wainwright control all forces in the Philippines. General MacArthur concurs.

  The morning began like every morning at the Commando School by awakening to the sound of a banging garbage can or a helmet or something else that could wake the dead. The British trainees along with the Americans had an early morning run through the wild country and along the River Arkaig where they finally stopped at dawn. A cold ration for breakfast and the Marines for once wished for American C-Rations because the British canned ration was some sort of mystery meat. S
ome of the Brits said this meat was beef, another swore it was an old goat, while the consensus agreed it was horse. No matter, as one of the Marines said, it was food, even though it was hard to get down. The next hour involved a lecture on how to live in the wilderness without supplies or shelter. Captain Atwood had told Flannigan how important this was because of the nature of some of the commando missions. Some of which had limited means of escape without going to ground in some enemy-held territory.

  Flannigan and his Marines enjoyed these talks because it was one thing not covered in their training. The American training focused on the primary mission of seizing ground and holding it until relieved. The idea of hit and run attacks against heavily defended enemy targets was both exciting and frightening to career men such as Flannigan. But he and his men saw the merit of this method of warfare and began to appreciate the training they observed each day in Scotland.

  They were told that they would participate in a three-day exercise which would utilize the “living off the land” training they had received. Flannigan volunteered his men to pair up with some of the British trainees. His men were not as keen on this as he was, but there was no grumbling. Even Sergeant Laird, who had spent fourteen years in the Corps, thought it was a clever idea but wasn’t looking forward to being wet, cold and hungry for three days. However, it was better than being stuck on some ship again manning the brig or being the number two non-com on a cruiser. He told himself this would not be a boring couple of days. This assignment with Captain Flannigan had been one of the most interesting he had experienced in his entire career.

  The afternoon small arms training was the highlight of the training for the Marines. The program was under the watchful eye of Capt.Wally Walbridge, who held the title of Weapons Training Officer. He had been in many of the early operations, including the retreat from Narvik in 1940 and the first commando raids in Norway in early 1941. He was an expert with anything that would shoot up to large cannons, plus he could handle most of the enemy weapons as well.