The following morning (22nd) the Germans made a renewed effort to reach the island. Walther’s account continues:
The order had not yet been carried out, therefore new instructions were issued and at dawn we again set out across the calm waters. Maybe, this time we would have more luck, maybe our opponents had still not quite woken up. So, we went through the same procedure all over again. While I left one boat to cruise along the coast, the other took me at top speed into the harbour, this time without being fired at. Yet again there was no one to be seen, except for a solitary Englishman who acted like a one-man reception party. He was a typical commando-type, very dashing, but unfortunately no use to me as apparently he ‘didn’t know anything’, he didn’t even know about an island Kommandant. At last, an Italian officer arrived, looking like a peacock in full plume and accompanied by an armed escort. Initially, he refused to negotiate with me until I was able to convince him that his war was over and that he should prepare to surrender weapons and any units as the German Wehrmacht would soon arrive and occupy the island. Eventually, he had no choice but to accept all terms and conditions.3
The identity of the British ‘commando-type’ has not been established, and while he was exempt from capture during negotiations, his subsequent fate is unknown. Walther described him thus:
He was dressed in olive green and wore a jumper and beret and had a Colt [handgun] in his belt. As an old Brandenburger I realised that he was a British Commando who had presumably been left behind to monitor events. He was courteous and polite and helped the crew to moor the boat.4
Walther was less than impressed by the local commandant, whom he nicknamed ‘Papagallo’. When the Italian officer enquired if it was really necessary to surrender those with womenfolk on the island, Walther, a tough and experienced veteran, was unmoved:
Matey, if one surrenders, it generally means everybody.5
Negotiations were swiftly concluded and German troops who had taken part in the fighting for Leros were ordered north for what would become an unexpectedly pleasant sojourn, as described in the diary of Oberjäger Haat Haacke of III./1. Rgt. “Brandenburg”:
Monday, 22.11.43
Wake up call at 6.00. Ready to march at 7.00. I read my mail from yesterday. Towards midday we cook English tinned vegetables. At around 12.00 we receive news that Samos has surrendered. We are being transferred onto boats straight away. Departure 13.00. We are a convoy of 26 boats. There are 25 of us on a small I-Boot. We land on the south coast of Samos without incident at 20.00. We move through a mined area to Vathi, where we arrive at 1.00.
Tuesday, 23.11.43
We have been placed with nice people, who immediately offered us tangerines. At around 9.00 I take over from [Unteroffizier] Zintle at the Batteriestellungen. There, people bring us Wurst and wine. Towards midday we march to the south coast. En route a car gives us a lift. We move into nice quarters in Tiganion [Pythagorio]. The town has been virtually destroyed by bombs. From today, I lead the operation.
Wednesday, 24.11.43
Got up at 6.00. I take my Gruppe on a reconnaissance patrol. In a monastery we loot some provisions. In the afternoon I go for a swim.
Thursday, 25.11.43
Slept until 7.00. For breakfast fried sausage and coffee with milk.
Wednesday, 1.12.43
The last few days have been taken up with ‘house-keeping’ duties, we stacked ammunition, rolled petrol drums, did laundry etc. We also cooked lunch ourselves. We lived as if in paradise …6
For the Italian former occupation forces, life was far from pleasant. By 29 November, the Germans had taken 4,355 prisoners, including ninety-three officers. One officer and twenty-six men were executed as ‘armed insurgents’. Only 527 ‘Blackshirts’ were allowed to retain their arms.
By this time, Santorini had surrendered and the last ‘out’ patrols of the Long Range Desert Group had been evacuated from Mykonos and Serifos, leaving the Cyclades to the Germans. In the south-east, only a token British force remained on Kastellorizo, which was retained as a base for motor torpedo boats. On Leros and elsewhere, garrison troops replaced German assault units.7
Allied submarines continued to intercept enemy vessels, and achieved a significant success on 19 November by sinking the steamer Boccacio at Monemvasia (south-east Greece). Although offensive operations including hit-and-run attacks by Raiding Forces would also continue, some islands remained under German occupation until the end of the war.
In the wake of events in the Aegean, New Zealand was quick to make known her anger. Remembering, perhaps, the losses suffered at Gallipoli by the Dominions in the First World War, the New Zealand Prime Minister, Peter Fraser, wrote to the High Commissioner in London on 27 November 1943:
In regard to the capture of Leros, New Zealand is definitely concerned, as a number of Long Range Desert Group patrol troops were ordered to take part in the attack and occupation of some of the Dodecanese Islands without either the knowledge or consent of the New Zealand Government or apparently of General Freyberg, who would have immediately consulted us. This was a breach of our agreement with the British Government and Army authorities. The circumstances surrounding the loss of Leros have already largely destroyed my own faith in the present Mid East command, if it was responsible, and when it becomes known that a number of New Zealanders were stupidly sacrificed without even consent for their inclusion in the task force being asked from our Government, the disappointment and bitterness here will be intensified many times over …
… Leaving aside all the other mistakes and miscalculations, the decision to leave the force of Leros to become the easy prey of German air and land forces combined was wrong, and indeed most reprehensible. The useless sacrifice of fine men in such a fashion is proof that the tragic lesson of Greece and Crete has not been fully assimilated and understood by some of those in the high command, or else they are prepared to take a risk, as stated by [Britain’s Deputy Prime Minister] Mr. Attlee, as to gamble on a poor chance with men’s lives. I strongly protest against any of our men being sacrificed in such a fashion.8
Sir P.J. Grigg, Britain’s secretary of state for War, disputed the issues raised by Mr Fraser. He pointed out that General Bernard Freyberg had agreed to the New Zealand LRDG Squadron being deployed in the Aegean. It was understood that Freyberg had in turn informed the New Zealand government. Even so, the latter had made representations to Britain as early as 3 November for the withdrawal from Leros of the New Zealanders. After the disasters of Levitha and Leros, the British government was hardly in a position to argue. Of eighty New Zealanders who began the Aegean venture, six officers and forty-four other ranks were all who could be mustered on 1 December prior to being released back into the service of their own country.
Only too aware of the backlash to be expected from his critics, a few days after the fall of Leros Winston Churchill recommended that the Foreign Secretary adopt an evasive policy when the issue was raised in Parliament:
Not advisable to answer in detail such questions as to why lessons of CRETE were not learned. If we only proceed on certainties we must face prospect of a prolonged war. No attempt should be made to minimise poignancy of loss of DODECANESE. Stress tremendous effort made by Germans. Don’t forget we probably drowned best part of 2,000.9
If Mr Churchill’s reference was to German deaths, the figure quoted was well in excess of actual losses; if the total included Italian and Allied prisoners, it was a gross underestimate. The Kriegsmarine acknowledged that of nearly 4,000 mainly Italian prisoners of war on board the transports Donizetti and Sinfra, close on 3,400 went down with both ships. Many more were lost while in transit outside Aegean waters.
Generalleutnant Müller recorded German casualties during the battles for Kos and Leros as totalling 1,168 and consisiting of 260 killed, 746 wounded and 162 missing. According to a Kriegsmarine report, during the Leros operation alone there were 1,109 casualites, or 41 per cent of the total number of German forces involved.10 Certainly, the Britis
h evacuated 177 German prisoners of war before the fall of Leros. The records of the Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge (German War Graves Commission) show that in 1960, 135 dead were exhumed from cemeteries and field graves in Kos for reburial at the main German war cemetery at Dionyssos-Rapendoza on the Greek mainland. It is not clear how many were casualties of Operation Eisbär. Nine bodies from field graves in Leros were also recovered and brought to the mainland subsequent to the relocation in 1972 of all 316 interred at the wartime cemetery near Alinda Bay.
In the British and Commonwealth war cemetery at Leros there are 183 dead, mostly from the fighting in November 1943. Many have no known grave, among them most if not all of the 135 all ranks of the Buffs who died when HMS Eclipse was mined while en route from Samos to Leros. Sixty-five dead from graves in Kos were reinterred in Rhodes, together with the remains of those who died on other islands. In November 1943, it was estimated there was between 400 and 500 dead or missing naval personnel. To these figures must be added fatalities among Allied aircrew, and the countless wounded.
According to German records, nearly 4,600 British service personnel were taken prisoner on Kos and Leros together with approximately 8,500 Italians. As well as the Italians who perished en route to prison and labour camps, an unknown number were killed in battle or were executed in accordance with the Führer’s directive. Among the latter were Ammiraglio Inigo Campioni, governor of the Italian Aegean islands, and Contrammiraglio Luigi Mascherpa. After falling into German hands, the two naval officers were handed over to authorities in the Italian Social Republic: They were sentenced to death by Special Tribunal, and executed by firing squad on 24 May 1944 in Parma.
And, of course, there were the civilians. Some died or were maimed in the fighting between opposing forces, others were casualties of bombing raids and some fell victim to unexploded ordnance that still litters the islands.
Both sides suffered in terms of material losses: tons of shipping including civilian vessels pressed into military service were sunk or damaged beyond repair; numerous aircraft were lost in the air, or destroyed on the ground, while tons of arms and equipment fell into German hands.
The fall of Leros brought to an end Churchill’s ambitions in the region. Someone had to be held accountable and, rightly or wrongly, for many that man was the unfortunate Brigadier Robert Tilney. In all likelihood a British defeat was inevitable in the face of a continuing German onslaught. Surrender brought no honour, but undoubtedly resulted in saving many whose lives would otherwise have been lost, and to what end? Some recognised Tilney’s efforts during his short command. In December 1943, he was recommended for the Distinguished Service Order. But the award was withheld and only announced after the war was over. Tilney retired from the army and in 1965 suffered severe brain damage as a result of a tragic riding accident. He never recovered and died sixteen years later on 1 May 1981.
After his departure from Leros, Tilney’s predecessor, Brittorous, had returned to England, retiring as Brigadier in 1946. Following a long illness, he died on 25 March 1974.
Generalleutnant Friedrich-Wilhelm Müller was eventually taken prisoner by the Soviets in East Prussia. He was handed over to the Greeks and put on trial for alleged war crimes committed during his command on Crete. Friedrich-Wilhelm Müller was executed on 20 May 1947, and is interred at Dionyssos-Rapendoza.
In the end, the battle for Leros and the Aegean was one of improvisation and daring, but not just for the British. In a final twist of irony, Winston Churchill’s heroic bluster was unintentionally echoed in Adolf Hitler’s congratulatory message to his commanders on completion of Operation Taifun.
The capture of Leros, embarked on with limited means but with great courage, carried through tenaciously in spite of various set-backs and bravely brought to a victorious conclusion, is a military accomplishment which will find an honourable place in the history of this war.
The military and political importance of this victory is great and cannot yet be assessed.
I express my full appreciation to commanders and troops, and particularly to Generalleutnant Müller.11
In London on 20 November 1943, the War Office concluded:
Our available resources compared with those required for the operations in Italy, were very small. Activities in the Aegean were, after all, a minor affair. The balance sheet is against us, but, in view of the undoubted distraction of enemy strength from other theatres and of the very great results which might have been achieved had the Italians fought stoutly with us, our losses were not in vain.12
The limitation of available resources was understood at the beginning of Operation Accolade. Furthermore, British efforts in the Aegean led to relatively few German forces having to be diverted from other fronts. As for Italian involvement: no one seriously expected any more or less from a nation whose previous war record spoke for itself.
The painful truth is that Churchill had gambled and lost dearly. The cost, of course, was borne by others: men who gave their lives and their freedom, or who were crippled by terrible wounds. For some the emotional scars would last forever. In November 1943, Reg Neep was a 20-year-old signals corporal in Headquarter Company, the King’s Own. He fought at Appetici and finished the battle as platoon sergeant before being taken prisoner and spending the rest of the war in Germany. He revisited Leros for the first time in September 2001, and spent many hours walking over once-familiar ground. But whatever had occurred at Appetici prevented him from returning to that windswept height. When asked, he explained that for many years he had tried to forget. Even now Reg Neep did not want to remember, and declined to speak further about the matter.
The period of Italian rule and, to a lesser degree, the war years have left their mark throughout the Dodecanese, especially in those islands least affected by tourism. On Kos, the Italian influence is reflected in the architecture, but there is little to remind one about the October 1943 German invasion. The island is hugely popular with holidaymakers. In summer, the once idyllic seafront of Kos town is packed with those who have no idea about what occurred there well over half a century ago. What tangible evidence there is attracts barely a glance: reminders such as the rusting remains of a wrecked F-Lighter in the shallows at Marmari are all but ignored by passers-by.
Leros is different. With less to offer as a tourist destination, it has remained relatively unspoiled. Because of its proximity to Turkey, there is a noticeable military presence. Certain areas are off-limits, such as the summit of Clidi, requisitioned for its strategic importance, the original Italian command post and surroundings having been repaired and renovated for use by the Greek armed forces.
There are remnants of Italian gun batteries throughout the island. All are severely damaged. This is due not so much to the Luftwaffe, but as a result of post-war demolitions by the British Army. Italian underground installations remain intact, however. The tunnel that housed Tilney’s headquarters is still accessible within the once-restricted Greek military zone on Meraviglia. Countryside where much of the fighting took place is littered with war debris: barbed wire, shrapnel, cartridge cases, and live ammunition. As recently as 2014, a Bren light machine gun still in working order was discovered in the vicinity of San Giovanni – the old Windmill feature. In residential areas there are ruins and buildings pockmarked by bullets and scarred by shrapnel. There are also fine examples of Italian military architecture, some containing murals created by bored German occupation troops. On an interior wall in the former Italian wireless station near Porta Vecchia there is an imposing painting of the eagle and swastika, the Reichsadler, and an inscription: Es gibt für uns nur einen Kampf – und dann den Sieg … (‘For us there is only one struggle – and then victory …’). On the facing wall is the rest of the message, but it is no longer legible, the words having faded with time, like the distant memory of an all-but-forgotten battle.
Maps
1 South-Eastern Aegean
2 Kos: Operation Eisbär
3 Levitha 1943
4 Leros: Operation Taifun
5 Leros: Clidi and Surrounding Area 1943
6 Leros: Central Region 1943
Appendix 1
German Unit Designations
In the Second World War, the German term Grenadier was used to indicate an infantryman serving in an elite unit. The distinction later became blurred when Infanterie regiments were retitled Grenadier regiments. Jäger, literally hunter, might also refer to an infantryman or rifleman, as in Fallschirmjäger (paratroopers) and Gebirgsjäger (mountain troops). A Pionier was essentially a combat engineer.
The Heer (army), Kriegsmarine (navy) and Luftwaffe (air force) comprised the Wehrmacht (the Waffen-SS was a separate formation). In the Wehrmacht, Roman numerals were used to indicate battalions; generally, Arabic numerals were used for other unit formations. There are several ways in which unit designations may be abbreviated. For example, II. Battaillon/Grenadierregiment 65 might be written as II./Gren.Rgt.65, II./G.R.65, or simply II./65. For consistency and with the possible exception of variations used in direct quotes, a style commonly used in wartime reports has been adopted for use throughout this book; in this instance II./Gren.Rgt.65.
The original German for unit components has been retained. Most are self-explanatory, but readers may be unfamiliar with the term Zug. This was essentially a platoon comprising three Gruppen (sections). Three Schützenzüge (rifle platoons) and a schwerer Zug (heavy weapons platoon) made up a Kompanie (company). There were four Kompanien in a Bataillon (battalion) and three Bataillone, with support weapons, formed a Regiment (regiment). Typically, a Zug was commanded by a Feldwebel or a Leutnant; a Gruppe by an Unteroffizier, and a Kompanie by an Offizier. As with British units, the number of personnel fluctuated, but as an example, just prior to the battle for Kos the complement of 5. Kompanie of Grenadierregiment 65 was two officers and 157 other ranks.
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