“You three, take that corner!” shouted Kelly, pointing to the corner of one of the flanking buildings. “You three take the other,” pointing to the other flank. “The rest of you, FOLLOW ME!” There was a scramble as the soldiers sprang into action, taking up their required positions. Kelly ran his group of five about thirty yards to the rear of the barricade and went into defence facing the enemy.
They would have a little time, as the platoon that had attacked regrouped and licked their wounds. The Camerons had given them a bloody nose, but Kelly knew they would return. He called the two flank groups to manoeuvre back whilst his group laid down covering fire. The Camerons were well drilled and recognised the movement. They pulled back about thirty yards beyond Kelly and immediately laid down fire.
The enemy had regrouped and were beginning to return fire, but Kelly didn’t dare hesitate; he needed to get his group back to the rearguard, where there would at least be some element of protection. On his command, his group, under the covering fire of the two flank groups, ran between them and took up a defensive position. To his relief, covering fire was also now coming from the rearguard.
As soon as his group were down and in a defensive position, he called the flanks in. They passed his position and continued into the relative safety of the defensive positions of the rearguard. The only exposed group now was Kelly and his team. The rearguard team was now giving covering fire, but the fire coming from the enemy was intensifying. He had no option but to move.
On his command the group sprang to their feet, then, crouching, ran back towards the rearguard. There was a cry of pain to his left. Looking back Kelly saw Delacroix sprawled on the grass. Kelly changed direction. He swooped down and in one movement hoisted the Belgian onto his shoulders and sprinted as fast has he could towards his comrades. As he approached them, he flung Delacroix over the barricade which he then hurdled without breaking stride and landed in a crumpled heap on the other side, as round after round thudded into the much more solid barricade of the rearguard.
When Kelly was able to catch his breath, he found that other groups also falling back from Petit Appeville were reinforcing the rearguard. The party was now a substantial size and the advance of the Germans was halted. This gave a senior officer from one of the groups the opportunity to reorganise into a single unit. He began an ordered withdrawal under fire.
There was at first little resistance to the retreat. However, as they approached the beach the firing intensified again. On the beach the landing craft were manoeuvring, ready to evacuate the troops. Kelly was impressed at the bravery of the landing craft coxswains who, whilst under sustained fire, waited patiently for the troops to embark.
The Colonel, who had taken charge, was now organising a new rearguard to keep the Germans occupied whilst the rest of the party embarked on the landing craft. Kelly, still carrying Delacroix and beginning to sag under the weight, was immediately waved towards one of the craft. As he approached, a Canadian moved alongside him. He was one of the biggest men Kelly had ever seen.
“Give me your buddy, sir,” he drawled, effortlessly lifting Delacroix off Kelly’s shoulders and placing him on his own, “You look all in.” Before Kelly could protest, the giant, with Delacroix on his shoulders, had disappeared in the general mêlée on the beach. Kelly caught a glimpse of the two men clambering onto a landing craft to his right, whilst he was steered by the throng onto another craft.
Within minutes the craft had turned on its axis and was weaving and bobbing its way back to the transport ships and the safety of the destroyer protection force.
Kelly sat in stunned silence as Gareth Owen retold the fate of ‘A’ Royal Marine Commando on that fateful morning at Dieppe.
Kelly had returned from his temporary secondment with 10 Commando and was again on the strength of ‘A’ Commando, now renamed 40 Commando. It had transpired that Delacroix had survived his wounds and would appear to have been fulsome in his praise of Dan Kelly for his leadership, bravery and selflessness. As a consequence of this, Kelly had surmised at the time, his request for a transfer back to 40 Commando had been readily agreed and rapidly implemented.
However, he had been disabused of that notion when he found, on arriving at the unit, that there could well have been a much simpler, more pragmatic reason for his transfer back. There simply weren’t enough officers left from Dieppe for the unit to be viable.
Gareth recounted the tragedy. “Things went well in the south as you know. The Canadians at Pourville didn’t link with the main force, but in retrospect, that was probably just as well. In the north it was a complete disaster. Only eighteen of 3 Commando landed in the right place and, despite distracting the battery at Bernaval, it wasn’t disabled. And at Puys, virtually the entire Canadian regiment was annihilated.”
He went on, “Under the circumstances you question the wisdom of going ahead with the main assault, but it did go ahead. None of the regiments sent in made it past the esplanade.
“When it became clear that the front assault was failing, our boys were sent in, but the plan was changed. Instead of going in on fast motorboats into the docks to destroy the naval installations as rehearsed, we were redeployed onto landing craft to land on the main beach and reinforce the main assault force.
“It was clear from the off that this was going to be all bad news. The Germans had found their range and were picking the landing craft off at will. Those men that made it to the beach were annihilated by the crossfire from the cliffs. When the CO realised what was happening, he stood up on the stern of his landing craft, donned a pair of white gloves and signalled to all landing craft following to return to the flotilla.”
Gareth stopped for a moment, overcome with the memories of the disaster. Composing himself he went on, “Tigger was shot as he stood there in the craft, directing the others to return. He died saving hundreds of lives.”
Kelly dipped his head, unable to take it all in. “I heard the casualties were high, but I had no idea.”
“Of course, the official figures have been withheld, but a conservative estimate puts the losses at around 1000 dead and 2500 wounded or captured,” Owen finished.
Kelly shook his head but stayed silent.
Owen stood up and walked the floor for a moment, struggling with his emotions. At last, he felt composed enough to go on. Putting all thoughts of Dieppe out of his mind, he said, “Thanks for agreeing to come back, Dan. We have need of good men. I wonder if you’d mind being second-in-command of 4 troop?”
“Of course,” said Kelly. “It will be an honour. Do I start straight away?”
“’Fraid so,” said Owen. “We are very short handed.”
“That’s fine,” said Kelly, rising. “I’ll find the Troop Commander and report for duty.”
Kelly felt an air of sadness pervading the camp as he made his way towards 4 Troop lines. He stopped in his tracks on hearing his name called. “Dan! Lieutenant Kelly!” Owen waved frantically from the HQ building, beckoning him to return. Kelly jogged back and raised his eyebrows as he approached Owen.
“Telephone call for you, Dan, in my office. Some commodore or other. Says it’s urgent!”
Part III
Return to Norway
Raid
“Kelly! Is that you, old chap?” The line was poor and crackly, the voice faint and distorted, but it was unmistakably the voice of Archie Jenkins.
“Yes Sir!” said Kelly. “Second Lieutenant Kelly speaking. Good to talk to you again, Commodore.”
“You might not think so when we’ve finished speaking, old man. Are you secure there?”
“Yes Commodore. I’m in Captain Owen’s office here in 40 Commando.”
“Good!” said Jenkins. “Have you spoken to the new commanding officer today?”
“No Sir, I haven’t,” responded Kelly, wondering where this was going.
“In that case,” said Jenkins, “I’m going to steal his thunder. Congrats are in order. I’m pleased to be the first to congratulate you
on your promotion to First Lieutenant. Well done, old chap! It will be gazetted later this week.”
Kelly was genuinely pleased and expressed his thanks, but Jenkins cut him short.
“Don’t thank me, old man. Nothing to do with it. These things just seem to happen. Anyway, you may not thank me for the next bit of news.”
“Go on, Sir.” Kelly was intrigued.
“I want you to go back to Norway.”
Kelly was thunderstruck.
Taking no answer as consent, Jenkins went on, “We want to hit that plant! What do you say?”
“Count me in, Sir. I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world!” Kelly recovered his composure.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” said Jenkins. “I want you to go as second in command of a Commando Force. You’ll have about a hundred and twenty men drawn from three troops, are you game?”
“Trust me, Sir,” said Kelly, fighting to contain his excitement.
“I do, Dan, that’s why I volunteered you for 2ic,” replied Jenkins drolly. “Now there is a complication.”
Kelly said nothing, but waited for the Commodore to continue.
“Phase one will have to be a stealth approach to clear the area for a landing and knock out communications. You will have a dozen SBS for that part.”
“And the complication?” asked Kelly.
“Quite simply that this phase must be led by someone who knows the area, that is to say, you, Dan.”
Jenkins waited for that part to sink in before going on, “The approach will be underwater to avoid detection. Therefore, old chap, you will need to get yourself trained!”
“You mean an SBS course?” inquired Kelly.
“Precisely” responded Jenkins. “If you recall I did promise you a selection assessment and at the moment that’s all I can promise, but there is a lot hanging on this, old man. If you fail the assessment, the raid may not be possible.”
“I’ll do my best, Sir. Do you know when I might be called to the selection assessment?” Kelly asked
“Yes, no hurry old man, as long as you fetch up in Eastney barracks by midday tomorrow. Give Owen my regards!”
With that the phone went dead.
First Lieutenant Kelly sat down in the chair indicated. This was the final part of the selection process and consisted of an interview with three of the section’s senior members to assess his ‘psychological’ suitability to join this elite section.
He had passed the other sections with little difficulty; he was a natural swimmer and had breezed through the swimming tests. His regular battle fitness training with 40 Commando and recent spell of active service had ensured that he had achieved the endurance and fitness tests. He had remembered his lessons on weapons at Achnacarry, so was able to strip, assemble and fire all of the weapons on that particular test. Now he faced the final hurdle.
What happened next surprised Kelly.
The senior person on the board, a Royal Marine Commando Colonel, spoke. “Lieutenant Kelly, well done. You have successfully completed all of the other parts of the assessment. Normally we use this part of the assessment to weed out the undesirables that apply to join the section, people who want to join the SBS for all the wrong reasons, glory seekers in particular.”
He shook his head, explaining, “We do not seek glory. Quite the reverse. We do our job best when we do it without anyone knowing where we’ve been or what we’ve done. We make no noise, we leave no trace, we cast no shadow.”
He paused before adding, “We have decided therefore, having taken advice,” he waited for the other two members to nod their approval, “to forgo this part of the assessment as far as you are concerned. Your past record speaks for itself, and we have it on very good authority that you have the mental attributes to join this section, subject to successfully completing the training.”
Kelly had a fair idea who the ‘good authority’ was.
The Colonel continued, “I am therefore delighted to offer you a place on the next training programme starting in three days’ time.”
Kelly responded immediately in the affirmative.
The Colonel smiled, stood up and extended his hand. “Hope you enjoy the training,” he said as he shook Kelly’s hand. “They say the assessment is harder than the training.”
Kelly inched himself up the cliff face using all his strength until he could just reach into the small crevice barely visible above his head. Once he had his hand inside, he curled it into a fist and wedged it between the two faces of the crevice, providing him with the best hold he’d had since starting the climb.
It was the early hours of the morning and pitch black. He was holding onto a cliff face that was virtually sheer, while the rain lashed against him. This was the final exercise of the SBS training programme, and he was leading a four-man section on a simulated raid.
They had been released from a landing craft which was simulating a submarine approach, although it was hardly convincing, thought Kelly. They’d had to swim the five hundred yards to shore underwater, wearing wet suits, breathing apparatus and fins.
Once ashore, they had retrieved their weapons, rope and footwear from their waterproof bags and made ready for phase two, the cliff assault. Kelly had been delegated as cliff leader and so had to negotiate the cliff face, make fast the rope, and then let it down to enable the other three to climb quickly to the top.
He took a few deep breaths before continuing, shaking his free arm to encourage the circulation back into it and releasing the pressure on his legs as much as he dared. What was it that the colonel had said about the training? Easier than the assessment? Not at this moment, he thought.
Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he peered into the darkness, willing his eyes to focus. The fissure in the rock seemed to go up quite a way. It was the first lucky break he’d had since starting the climb. Forcing his free right hand into the crevice above his left again, he made a wedge, scrabbled for a foothold on the wet face, then released his left hand and repeated the process hand over hand.
He was making much quicker progress now and his spirits rose as he caught sight of the grassy top of the cliff. By now the fissure had opened out too much to use the wedged fist approach, but there were enough good handholds, ‘jug handles’ his instructor had called them, to ensure he would reach his objective.
He slid over the cliff top—rather than climbed over—trying to keep his profile as low as possible to prevent detection. They had been warned that they would be considered ‘eliminated’ if they were observed. Kelly slithered in from the edge, about six feet, took a spike and a small rubber mallet from his waist bag and hammered the spike into the ground as far as possible. He tested the hold. Satisfied, he took the rope from around his shoulders and attached one end to the spike, then without a word threw the rest over the cliff face.
Within a moment, the rope tightened, and number two was on the way up. Climbing up the rope was second nature to all of them. They had practised day in, day out.
In considerably less time than it had taken Kelly to free climb the cliff, the others joined him, carrying the weapons and all necessary equipment for phase three. No words were spoken; Kelly relayed his orders with hand signals.
Bent double to maintain a low profile, they fanned out in diamond formation, moving swiftly and quietly forward. Once in sight of the objective, in this case an old Austin Champ guarded by two sentries, they went to ground. As they had rehearsed for hours prior to the ‘mission’, two and three were on either side of Kelly within touching distance, while number four was behind. Two and three were now quietly slinging their Stirling sub machine guns across their backs and unsheathing the mock Sykes-Fairburn daggers ready for the final assault.
Kelly waited. They dared not rush it. He delayed until the two sentries, apparently moving randomly, both had their backs to the group. Then he tapped two and three simultaneously. In an instance they were on their feet and on the sentries, clamping one hand over their mouths and simulating a knife t
hrust to the throat and again to the stomach and yet a third between the ribs on the left side. Any one of the thrusts if carried out in reality would in all likelihood result in death, but this was also about maintaining silence.
Playing their part to the full, the sentries slumped down to the ground. Only then were the hands removed from their mouths. Two and three took up a guard position as four, on Kelly’s hand signal, rushed forward with his haversack of ‘explosives’, placed it against the vehicle, primed the detonator and set the timer.
Job done, three and four ran back to Kelly while number two covered, then he in turn returned to the rendezvous.
Again they fanned out, and made for the cliff top where each in turn abseiled down the rope. Gathering their fins and breathing apparatus from the hideaway where they had stowed it, they took to the sea, submerged and were gone.
“Right! Listen in!” A pause as the room went quiet, then “Orders!” Pause. “Orders!”
At first Kelly had thought that the appointment of Major Tom Foley as Raid Commander was an extraordinary coincidence, but on reflection it all made sense. This was Archie Jenkins’ show and Archie had particularly wanted Dan to be involved because of his first-hand knowledge of the ground and his appraisal of the situation. But it was Jenkins who had organised his pre-commando training and had used Foley for that purpose. Clearly Tom was one of Jenkins’ ‘men’. Someone he trusted and valued.
Tom had called his team of officers and NCOs together for an orders briefing. “Let me make some introductions first, so that everyone knows who everyone is, prior to formalising who does what,” he said. “Did that make any sense to anyone?”
There was a general chuckle before Foley went on, “My name is Major Tom Foley. I will command this raid. My second-in-command will be Lieutenant Dragan Kelly.” Kelly nodded acknowledgement as Foley continued.
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