From information gathered by patrols the Intelligence section produced sketches of the defences and a map with notes of what had been discovered as to the strength and habits of enemy posts near by. After the colonel and the officer chosen to lead the raid had worked out the plan of attack from this information, the raiding party were told the scheme in detail, and shown either on a map or a sand-table model exactly what each man had to do. Sometimes a model of the post to be raided was constructed inside the perimeter, and the attack rehearsed, first by day and then by night. This thoroughness was well rewarded.
On the eve of the raid the patrol was usually given a good hot meal and a tot of run before it set out. In the last few months of the defence, the troops were well equipped for patrolling. They had special boots – with thick, soft rubber soles; special patrol suits – one-piece, khaki overalls with reinforced elbows and knees to save them when crawling over stony and thorny ground. But before this they made the best of what they had. To deaden their footsteps, the Australians often wore thick socks over their boots; occasionally they attacked in stockinged feet. The Indians made themselves silent sandals out of strips of old motor-tyre.
Each man carried two or three grenades, and a patrol of a dozen normally had one man with a Bren, to be fired from the hip, as many as six with tommy guns, and the remainder with rifles and fixed bayonets. Almost invariably the raiders attacked without artillery support, relying on surprise; but often they withdrew under a protective barrage. Mortars and Bren carriers were usually sent out to positions half a mile or a mile from the enemy post so that they too could give covering fire as the attacks withdrew. The Bren carriers were also used for bringing in wounded. To guide any who were lost or cut off, single tracer bullets were fired every few minutes from the post to which the patrol was to return. One company in the 2/15th often guided its men home with music from the saxophone which Ted Donkin played in front line posts with all the persuasiveness he later revealed in Tobruk concerts. And never did the strains of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ reach such receptive ears.
Finding the objective was the hardest part of the patrol leader’s job. Often the men were saved much foot-slogging by being taken a mile or so outside the wire in trucks to some well-marked spot, from which an accurate compass bearing could be taken. But from there the leader had to rely on his pace-counter and his compass. It was not easy for the pace-counter to maintain steps of regular length while walking over rough ground, studded with camel-thorn, and it was seldom possible to follow one compass bearing direct to the objective. Usually, in order to achieve surprise, the enemy post had to be attacked from the flank or rear and that demanded a dog-leg approach, with considerable margin for error.
Sometimes, however, the enemy unwittingly guided our patrols to a post – in one case ‘by the strong smell of cigar smoke’, and in another by the strains of a gramophone which was providing an Italian labour squad with music while it worked. Often the Italians revealed their positions – and their nervousness – by excited chatter.
Once a patrol had reached the enemy position there was still the problem of getting into it. Even courage did not make up for bad reconnaissance as a patrol of the 2/10th found to its cost on the night of July 20th–21st. The battalion had been ordered to raid an enemy position, known as ‘Fig Tree,’ about a mile and a half south-west of the perimeter. There was only one preliminary reconnaissance and the four Australians who made it found the Italian garrison asleep. They could not resist the temptation to strike then and there. Crawling up to the enemy sangars they tossed hand grenades inside and followed in with bayonet and tommy gun. Enemy casualties were optimistically reported as twenty killed and ten wounded. The patrol stated that there was no barbed wire around the post and that it could easily be raided again.
On the strength of this a platoon, commanded by Lieutenant M. R. Ellenby, was sent out the following night to attack the post after a preliminary strafing by artillery and Vickers guns. Under cover of this, Ellenby and his men approached the post; seventy-five yards from it he called on them to charge, but the enemy was on the alert. They were met by heavy machine-gun fire from the post they were attacking and also from those on either flank. After thirty yards they ran into trip-wires; stumbling on another twenty, they were stopped short by a concertina wire fence. Only Ellenby and one of his tommy-gunners, Private George Booker, found a way through. While the rest of the men were freeing themselves from the wire, Ellenby and Booker dashed for the Italian machine-gun pits. Ellenby had nine hand grenades and had thrown seven of them before he fell – wounded in the arm and head.
Booker crawled over to him and was told – ‘Blow three blasts on my whistle – that’s the withdrawal signal. Don’t worry about me; get the others out.’ Booker blew the signal, and then, collecting another man, Mick Fallon, helped Ellenby back through the wire. As they got clear of it, Ellenby was hit a third time – in the leg.
Fallon, a wheat lumper in Port Lincoln before the war, said he would carry Ellenby in, while Booker went back for a stretcher. By this time the enemy was plastering no-man’s-land with shells, mortar bombs and machine-gun fire. ‘Whenever we heard a shell or a mortar coming,’ Ellenby told me later, ‘Mick would put me on the ground and crouch down to shield me. It took him two and a half hours to carry me a mile and a half to the stretcher party. But if it hadn’t been for him, I would have been out there still.’
Instead of misfiring as it did, however, this raid might have been a great success if the previous night’s patrol had done its reconnaissance thoroughly and found the barbed wire, rather than easy victims.
By contrast a raid by an officer and ten men of the 2/15th Battalion on the night of August 30th–31st gained a brilliant success – at a cost of two men killed and one missing – primarily because of the thorough reconnaissance, on which their C.O., Lieutenant-Colonel R. W. Ogle, always insisted. The objective was an Italian strongpoint east of the El Adem road, and the raiders were led by Captain F. L. Bode, a giant of a man, who had been a noted amateur boxer in Queensland. The hero of the attack was Sergeant R. A. Patrick, a slip of a lad, who barely looked his twenty-one years and who before the war had been a clerk in a country store. He made the two reconnaissances, which were the basis of the raid’s success, and was personally responsible for at least five of the fifteen Italians believed to have been killed.
The following day I sat in Ogle’s dug-out while the raiders were being interrogated. Patrick told his story just as if he were describing a football match:
About 3000 yards out we came to the enemy minefield a little to the west of the post we were going for. We crawled through that and then moved round till we were behind the post. Still crawling, we got over the low trip-wire behind it and were within forty yards of the post, when the Ities sent up a flare and opened with a Breda. We went down flat.
The firing stopped and Captain Bode said, ‘Come on boys, up and at ’em.’ We charged. Another flare went up behind us and the Ities must have seen us silhouetted against its light. They swung four machine-guns straight on to us and a volley of hand grenades burst in our path. For a few seconds the dust and flash blinded us, but we went on. In the confusion I ran past the machine-gun pit that I was going for, and a hand grenade – one of the useless Itie money-box type – hit my tin hat. The explosion knocked me down but it didn’t hurt me. As I lay there, the fight was going on all around, and I could hear Ities shouting and screaming and our tommy guns firing and grenades bursting.
I rolled over and pitched two grenades into the nearest trench and made a dash for the end machine-gun post. I jumped into the pit on top of three Italians, and bayoneted two before my bayonet snapped. I got the third with my revolver as he made for a dug-out where there were at least two other men. I let them have most of my magazine. Another Italian jumped into the pit and I shot him too. He didn’t have any papers so I took his shoulder-badges, jumped up and went for my life.
I cleared the concertina wi
re in front of the post, but caught my foot in a trip-wire. Luckily it brought me down, for just then a machine-gun burst got the chap next to me. I wriggled over to him, but he was so badly hit I couldn’t do anything to help. I took his last two grenades; crawled out through the booby-traps and then threw one grenade at a machine-gun that was still firing. As this burst, I made a dash for it, and a hundred yards out reached a shell-hole. I waited till it was all quiet again, and then came back.
This patrol did everything but take prisoners, although it nearly captured two. Bode was wounded early in the attack but kept his tommy gun going until he ran out of ammunition. He then caught two Italians in a trench, grabbed each by the scruff of the neck and was about to drag them out when a grenade burst in front of him. The blast spattered his face and chest with pieces of metal, so he ‘banged their heads together and threw ’em back’. Nearly blinded by the explosion, Bode came in singing, ‘My eyes are dim I cannot see.’
Sometimes attacks on enemy positions came about by accident. One night in July two officers (Lieutenants P. S. Hayman and J. T. Finlay) and fifteen men of the 2/24th Battalion went out to shoot up Italians who were laying a minefield three and a half miles south-east of the perimeter. In searching for them, the Diggers stumbled right into the undefended rear of a half-finished Italian strongpoint. They did not realize where they were until Italians rising from trenches at their feet began shouting ‘Australianos’. The ‘Australianos’ replied with grenades, tommy guns and bayonets, but enemy positions on either flank immediately turned all their fire on to this post. Finlay and Hayman were wounded but, when one of their men was hit, they went back to rescue him. Both were wounded again and they had to leave him behind lest they should prejudice their chance of getting the rest of the patrol back through the minefield. This was a ticklish job, but an engineer, Lance-Sergeant H. J. Spreadborough of the 2/4th Field Company, guided everyone safely through. ‘He almost put each man’s foot down for him – step by step,’ said one of the men when they got back.
The raid which evidently most impressed the enemy was that made by the 2/12th Battalion on the night of July 11th–12th. Led by Lieutenant A. L. Reid and Sergeant N. H. Russell, two parties, each of nineteen, raided a heavily defended enemy position astride the El Adem road. They attacked under cover of strong artillery and Vickers gun fire; dealt severely with one Italian strongpost and put a covering force to flight; and then withdrew leaving more than 50 enemy dead or wounded and bringing back five prisoners. Three men of the 2/12th did not return and one officer and nine other ranks were wounded.
On the Axis radio this successful, but not unusual, raid became an ‘attempt to break out with tanks’. Rome was so pleased with this line of talk that on July 15th it broadcast a long and entirely fictitious account which began: ‘During the past few days the British forces in Tobruk have repeatedly tried to attack the German and Italian troops and to break through their lines.’
It went on to tell how the Tobruk garrison had made three vain attempts on the 11th and 12th to break out, and added:
The enemy have been forced to realize the impossibility of changing their unhappy condition as besieged men. The progressive and systematic work of the Axis land and air forces, the destruction of warehouses and the blocking of supplies to the stronghold render the British situation at Tobruk more unsupportable, difficult and precarious with each passing day.
Rome’s outcry was evidence of the raid’s success and Morshead sent congratulations and the following message to Lieutenant-Colonel John Field, the 2/12th’s C.O.: ‘I am glad you are seizing every opportunity to inflict casualties on our unneighbourly enemy and to harass him. It is good for him and also for us. And remember what the Good Book says, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”’
The following week, on the night of July 17th–18th, ‘B’ Company of the 2/28th Battalion on the Derna road sector showed that the garrison’s patrols could penetrate deep into the enemy defences if they wished. Led by Major M. A. Buntine, two platoons moved out at midnight to attack an enemy position known as ‘White Knoll’, a mile west of the defences. The raiders found White Knoll itself unoccupied but, as they pushed on, they ran into heavy fire from defences farther west. Undaunted, they advanced with mortar and artillery support and broke through three lines of Italian positions. After fighting their way half a mile into enemy territory, the attacking platoons withdrew only when their ammunition began to run short. Buntine’s sole casualty was one man slightly wounded, but nineteen Italians were killed for certain and twice as many wounded. Eight of them were killed by Corporal W. F. France; single-handed he accounted for two enemy machine-gun posts.
Another Australian patrol, which got behind the enemy’s forward defences in the Bardia road sector, had at least one prisoner to show for its efforts, although he was obtained in a rather unorthodox fashion. One moonlight night Captain R. Rattray, Lieutenant N. E. McMaster and 14 men of the 2/23rd Battalion were discovered by the enemy when they were halfway between the forward and the supporting positions which the Italians had constructed astride the Bardia road. The enemy at once sent out two strong fighting patrols of Germans and Italians to box Rattray’s party in. As one patrol came towards them, the Diggers held the fire of their ten tommy guns until it was only fifty yards away. The enemy patrol was stopped in its tracks and Rattray’s men began to crawl slowly backwards.
When the Australian fire ceased the Germans rallied the Italians and moved forward again. This time they were halted so sharply that they made no further attempt to come on. The Diggers continued to crawl backwards. Rattray told me afterwards:
As we went we saw the shadowy figure of a soldier moving out from the forward enemy position to the patrol, which we had pinned down. Every few yards he would stop and give a low whistle. When he whistled the third time, McMaster whistled back. The figure turned towards us and as he got nearer we could hear him calling, ‘Herr Leutnant! Herr Leutnant!’ McMaster called back ‘Si, si, Comradio!’ and the Itie walked right into our arms. We had been sent out to get a prisoner and so now we could go back. But we still had to crawl 600 yards before we were clear of the second patrol which was waiting to cut off our retreat. Next day we all had badly lacerated knees, hands and elbows, but we had the unusual distinction of having whistled a prisoner in.
Individually these raids were not of great military importance, but their combined result was to give the Tobruk garrison a remarkable freedom of movement, in addition to forcing the enemy on to the defensive. He was compelled to waste time, men and material making strong fortifications, and even when these were completed it took at least one German and three or four Italian divisions to man them and keep in check the one and a half divisions inside the perimeter. (Italian infantry divisions are only about half the normal strength of Australian infantry divisions – 7000 men as against 14 000. However, the Australian brigades in Tobruk were so much below strength that the total garrison between May and September was less than 23 000. The investing force in September numbered well over 40 000. It consisted of the 21st German Armoured Division, plus some infantry battalions of the German 90th Light Division; the 27th Brescia, 17th Pavia and 25th Bologna Infantry Divisions, plus part at least of the 132nd Ariete Armoured Division.)
If it had not been for these raids, Rommel could have left merely a light covering force holding Tobruk. As it was, he had three times as many troops outside it as he had on the Egyptian frontier watching the rising strength of the Eighth Army. As well as tying-up enemy forces, these patrols inflicted not inconsiderable casualties.
More significant than casualties, however, was the damage done to the enemy’s morale. The Italians became so nervous that the smallest alarm brought down defensive fire right along their front. One night when a raid was made on the Derna road sector, we recorded a running commentary on the action from Post S19. We could not see much but there was plenty of sound and fury for the Italians let fly with everything they had and wasted nearly a thousand shel
ls, providing us with a lively broadcast.
Italian morale was not improved by the V for Victory campaign which the 20th Brigade organized in the southern sector in July and August. Murray had leaflets stencilled with ‘V Per Vittorio’ and ordered that these be attached ‘by the use of clips, string, nails, pins, etc., to enemy bodies, posts, wire, sandbags, sangars, etc., by patrols’. The result was to make the Italians even more nervous than before, as day after day they found these Victory leaflets stuck in their own defences by patrols which usually they had not heard.
AXIS COUNTER-MEASURES
The measure of the Tobruk patrol successes was indicated by the steps that both the Germans and Italians took to protect themselves. Early in the siege the enemy gave up counter-patrolling and stayed behind his defences. In July on the Bardia road sector Italian officers – in an attempt to force their men to patrol – ordered them to build cairns of stones at the end of each leg of their route. At first the 2/48th Battalion, which was then manning this sector, thought the cairns must be artillery ranging marks, or some new form of booby-trap. The first cairn was taken to pieces with much care. A sergeant tied a piece of cord round the top stone, withdrew a discreet fifty yards, lay flat, tensed his nerves for the expected explosion and pulled the cord. The stone flopped harmlessly to the ground. Stone by stone he took the cairn apart, his annoyance mounting all the time.
Tobruk 1941 Page 30