by Peter Hart
Lieutenant Erwin Rommel, Württemberg Mountain Battalion
All the gains that had cost so much in Italian blood had to be hastily abandoned as they were forced to pull right back to a new line established along the Tagliamento River. Soon there was chaos and only the fact that the German and Austrian communication lines had been overstretched prevented a real disaster. There was no chance of holding on to the Tagliamento Line, so back went the Italians all the way to the Piave River just in front of Venice, where they were able to form a more compact and easily defensible line that linked across to the Asiago Plateau and the Trent front sector.
Now the Allies reluctantly came to the help of the Italians. By the end of the year five British and six French divisions had been despatched to prop up the Italian Front, although by then the line had stabilised. It had been a stunning victory for the Central Powers and another demonstration of the potency of their new attack tactics which the Italians had been unable to counter. The Italian casualties were estimated at 305,000, of which the vast majority had become prisoners-of-war during their chaotic retreat. As a direct consequence, on 8 November General Cadorna was dismissed and replaced as Chief of General Staff by General Armando Diaz, who promptly began the arduous task of rebuilding confidence throughout his battered armies. A further consequence was an Allied conference that had been convened at the Italian town of Rapallo on 5 November. This assembly resolved to form an Allied Supreme War Council to establish some unity of command among the Allies, with a particular emphasis put on building up a collective reserve that could be employed in threatening situations such as had just been experienced in Italy. In some ways the worst was over for the Italians. On 10 November an attack by German and Austrian troops failed to break through. A further attempt on 4 December nearly did so, but in the end the Italian line again held. Shortly afterwards, the Germans withdrew their troops, intent on securing victory on the Western Front before the Americans arrived. They had run out of time to finish the job in Italy.
The Piave and Trent fronts were relatively quiet during the early part of 1918. Both sides had suffered too much to gather their resources easily for another offensive. The Italians had by now been thoroughly admitted to the inner circle of the Allies and much effort was expended on improving standards of training and inculcating a working knowledge of the new tactics. Thus Diaz reorganised his lines to secure defence in depth, preparing defence works not only on the Piave but also covering the Brenta, Adige and Po rivers. In addition, a leaf was taken out of the Belgian book in that preparations were made to inundate the flood plains should disaster loom at the hands of the Austrians.
It was as well they were prepared, as the Germans demanded that the Austrians launch one last great attack. The Austrians had recently undergone a change in command, and the new Austrian Chief of Staff, General Arthur Arz von Straussenburg, was also keen to try to finish off the Italians. The offensive commenced on 15 June 1918, with a two-pronged assault, one into the main Piave defensive positions and the second thrusting down from the Trent front towards the Brenta. The Italians were augmented by the three British and two French divisions that still remained on the front – and perhaps even more importantly, by their 450 guns. Private Norman Gladden was occupying a defensive position up on the rocky peaks of the Asiago Plateau.
Flashes lit up the hills on the far side of the plateau and a roar of artillery rolled along the entire front. A crescendo of sound, and then the storm burst upon us. Screaming shells rushed to earth amidst the wire, and behind us, or further over in the woods. Lumps of rock were hurled about by the explosions. The trench soon became swathed in a cloud of acrid smoke. Coloured lights went up out of the valley. The enemy’s barrage continued unabated, but our own guns remained silent. The shells were dropping with awful regularity about the trench; only the hardness of the ground saved us from being buried. But this protective hardness had a terror of its own, as lumps of rock and stone hailed down into the trench. Over my shoulder, as I crouched, I could see the bursts of incendiary shells, and, as I watched, a tremendous flame rose up as some of the trees caught fire. The flames leapt up like gigantic red seas beating against a breakwater and glowed through the gaunt trees which banked up the hillside above us. It was a terrifying but magnificent sight.8
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
Until the very last moment, Gladden and his comrades were confident that this was just a demonstration by the Austrian artillery.
Through the din, which had certainly lessened, we heard whistle blasts and were puzzled. Suddenly there was a shout from a watcher on the firestep to our right. ‘Stand to! He is coming over!’ A chill trickled down my spine. My first impulse was to deny the possibility. The enemy to come all that way across the plateau to attack us: that was an absurd idea! We grasped our weapons and rushed pell-mell to the firestep. The barrage was lifting. More coloured lights went up – despairingly, it seemed – and the hollow crash of bombs punctuated the rattle of musketry. A stiff fight was being put up by our advance posts. Then I saw khaki figures running back, followed closely by grey lines of the enemy, moving more methodically, while reinforcements continued to stream across the plateau.9
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
In the fighting that followed Gladden and his team had a close escape.
The attackers, appearing to enjoy charmed lives, then put something into the wire and ran back quickly. The bomb or torpedo exploded with considerable concussion, blowing a complete section of the wire into the air and clearing a passage through the belt. It was an amazing feat. A party of the enemy then rushed the gap under cover of the dense smoke from the explosion, and were in the trench in a matter of seconds. Almost simultaneously a stooping figure appeared above the brow about twenty-five yards in front of us, an enemy soldier bowed down with the weight of some infernal contrivance, a flame-thrower as we subsequently discovered. The trench belched fire from end to end and the poor brave devil fell forward on the skyline riddled by dozens of bullets. With one’s knowledge of the possibilities of this fiery weapon, who can say how near to success this lone attacker had come?10
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
It was a close-run thing all along the line, but the Austrian attacks could not break through. Even when they made small gains, the Italians counter-attacked vigorously and Austrian morale began to crumble as they were left utterly frustrated.
For a period all remained calm, but behind the lines Diaz was preparing for an offensive against the increasingly demoralised Austrians. As the Germans began to collapse on the Western Front this left the Austrians distraught, all their hopes for victory having been pinned on the Germans. Alone they were all but helpless by late 1918.
The final blow came on 24 October with the Battle of Vittorio Veneto, launched all along the Trent and Piave fronts. Although the Austrians resisted in places, their line soon began to crumble and the Italians and a British force both managed to establish bridgeheads across the Piave. Private Norman Gladden describes that crossing of the Piave late on 26 October.
The bridge swayed. The dark waters swirled and foamed below between the boats. A shrapnel shell burst venomously above. Slowly, now, no panic! Tramp, tramp, tramp. The bridge swayed rhythmically. A shell screaming into the waters alongside threw up a column of water, which splashed across the planks. I wanted to run; but no, we kept our paces, proceeding as if by clockwork. And then I saw the opposite bank looming out of the darkness. A shell burst somewhere behind; the bridge trembled and there was a sound of rending woodwork. I ran and jumped clear, sinking to my knees on the welcoming shingle.11
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
They then had to wade across the final section of the river.
In front of us swirled an ominous black current which, with the enemy barrage now well in the rear, we had the unmixed blessing of contemplating without other fears intervening. The guides
started forward into the darkness; we linked together in continuous chains of four or five and scrambled after them. The cold waters swept up round my body. I gasped as my heart seemed to stand still and I felt my feet going from under me. I had to hold the gun well above the waters. We strove vigorously in the torrent, which now came up to our shoulders. Then the worst was past, and the bed sloped up to the shore, on to which I scrambled, frozen and breathless from the struggle. Drenched and bedraggled, we had little of the appearance of an assaulting force at that moment.12
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
At last they had broken through. But this was a new kind of warfare.
We were already feeling very different in this open country warfare, which to us was a completely new experience. Despite our doubts as to where we ought to be, a new carefree attitude was taking control. We were no longer the frightened troops nailed to the earth by a storm of steel in many different forms. We were advancing into enemy-held territory, victors at last, after all those months and years of fear and stultification. Death was still about, perhaps only just round the corner, but the dice were no longer weighted against each one of us. It felt good to be alive on that sunny autumn morning on the Plains of Lombardy.13
Private Norman Gladden, 11th Northumberland Fusiliers
For a while there was still some fighting to be done. The Italians and their allies commenced a drive on Vittorio Veneto in a successful attempt to separate the Austrian armies and cut the communications between them. Suddenly the brittle facade of the Austrian opposition crumbled apart as they commenced a withdrawal all along the line. The Trentino sector, that bastion of Austrian defence for three years, was over-run, and a general advance was commenced pushing north and east. As they fell back, over 300,000 Austrians became prisoners-of-war, mirroring the disaster of Caporetto the year before.
THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGN WAS FINALLY OVER. The formal armistice began on 3 November 1918. In the end the Italians had helped bring the Austro-Hungarians to their knees, already weakened as they were by their titanic battles with the Russians on the Eastern Front. The Italians had played a major role by distracting the bulk of the Austrian Army that might otherwise have been redeployed to other fronts after the Russian Revolution. Throughout the campaign had been a terrible carnage, fought in a hostile mountainous environment. Neither side had made any allowances for the appalling conditions as troops were ordered forward in circumstances in which they had minimal chances of success. The Italians had faltered when the Germans had briefly intervened during the Battle of Caporetto, but in the end they had re-established the defensive line along the Piave through their own efforts before moving forward with British and French assistance to achieve victory. The completeness of the Italian triumph can be seen in that the Austrians were forced to cede all the elements of the Italia Irredenta still under their control, including the South Tyrol, the Isonzo Valley, Trieste, Istria, Carniola and Dalmatia. The Italian gamble of 1915 may have paid off, but the cost had been excruciatingly high: some 651,000 killed during the three years of brutal war.
17
THE SINAI AND PALESTINIAN CAMPAIGNS, 1914–18
‘The British Empire owes a great deal to sideshows. I have no doubt at all that, when the history of 1917 comes to be written, and comes to be read ages hence, these events in Mesopotamia and Palestine will hold a much more conspicuous place in the minds and the memories of people than many an event which looms much larger for the moment in our sight.’1
Prime Minister David Lloyd George
THE BRITISH HAD ESTABLISHED A STRANGLEHOLD on the Ottoman Empire suzerainty of Egypt in 1882 and, whatever the legal niceties of the situation, had been in effective control there ever since. The importance of Egypt lay in its location as the neck containing the jugular of the British Empire. The hundred miles of the Suez Canal stretching from Port Said on the Mediterranean through to Port Suez on the Red Sea provided a shortened sea route linking the British homeland with her dominions in India, Australia and New Zealand. This crucial waterway had to be defended at all costs, which entailed a considerable military commitment to prevent any hostile incursion or possible sabotage. After the outbreak of war with Turkey in November 1914, Egypt was formally declared a British Protectorate and a considerable army was built up under the command of General Sir John Maxwell. This was far from a homogeneous force, being made up of the Territorials of the British 42nd Division and the 10th and 11th Indian Divisions, joined later by the ANZAC Corps, to complete its training with the original intention of then continuing on to the Western Front. The Indian troops were deployed along the western bank of the canal with strongposts on the eastern bank.
What was obvious to the British was also obvious to the Turks: by taking Suez they could sever the life’s blood of the Empire. A successful operation in Egypt would also add much weight to the ‘Holy War’ declared by Sultan Mehmed and help his attempts at fermenting revolt in Egypt. But equally the prime obstacle to a successful expedition was obvious from a cursory glance at a map: the inhospitable wastes of the Sinai Desert that separated Egypt from Palestine. The Turkish Suez Expeditionary Force (SEF) was placed under the command of a German staff officer, Colonel Friedrich von Kressenstein, who was henceforth responsible for the meticulous logistical preparations that would have to be made if the Turks were to have any chance of getting some 25,000 troops across the wilderness. Thousands of camels were collected to carry stores, while supply and water replenishing posts were established along the route to be taken. But there still remained a 30-mile gap which would have to be jumped as quickly as possible. The SEF finally started out on 14 January 1915, with three main columns and diversionary forces slogging their way across the desert. The Turks were further hampered by the necessity of dragging heavy steel bridging pontoons and bulky rafts to enable them to cross the Canal.
At first the SEF movements were tracked by British aerial reconnaissance, but a deterioration in the weather brought swirling winds and a blanking sandstorm which, in conjunction with a final bold night march, concealed where the actual blow would fall. At 03.25 on 3 February, the Turks were sighted massing on the eastern bank of the Canal, near Tussum Post, where they launched their pontoons and rafts into the water and boldly attempted to force a crossing. Two companies managed to get across the Canal and dug in to establish a bridgehead supported by the fire of Turkish batteries from the other side. It had been a courageous attempt, bordering on foolhardy, but in the end it failed when an Indian counter-attack eradicated the Turkish enclave on the east bank. There was nothing left for the SEF to do but to retreat ignominiously; the Turks could not maintain their position without any effective lines of communication. Had the British been a little more thoughtful they might have noticed that, although the Turks had been beaten, they had fought with exemplary courage in near impossible circumstances.
The situation then settled down in Egypt as all eyes turned to the Gallipoli Campaign, with Egypt acting as a reservoir for troops. The Turks were also drawing on their troops in Palestine to bolster their defensive operations in both Gallipoli and Mesopotamia. Once Gallipoli was over, both sides would look again at the situation in Middle East.
The British priority remained to secure the defence of the Suez Canal, but until towards the end of 1915 it could fairly be said that the Canal was protecting the troops rather than the other way around. The inadequacies of the existing defence scheme had been brought to the attention of Maxwell by Kitchener in November. The response was the creation, in early 1916, of two full new defence lines out in the desert designed to fend back any aggressor from artillery range of the Canal itself. This demanded a huge investment of labour to dig the trenches and establish the water and supply arrangements necessary to allow men to exist out in the desert. In March 1916 General Sir Archibald Murray took formal command of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force (EEF) which was created from the remnants of the forces slinking back after the Gallipoli debacle. Many of the divisions were r
ecycled through to France or Mesopotamia and by June 1916 the EEF consisted of four infantry divisions (all Territorial formations), a large force of cavalry and finally the Imperial Camel Corps.
There were considerable fears that the Turks would return to the offensive. Murray believed that an active defence would serve his men best. He conceived a plan for an advance right to the coastal town of El Arish close to the Egyptian border, from where his forces could threaten the flank of any renewed Turkish moves across the Sinai Desert. Water supplies were crucial, so Murray’s first step in April 1916 was to secure the oasis area between Qatiya and Bir el Abd while at the same time sending smaller cavalry expeditions to destroy the Turkish water points that had been the basis for their attack in 1915, thereby severely restricting Turkish offensive options in the foreseeable future. The capture of the oasis was achieved, but not without difficulty as the Turks had recognised the importance of the brackish water supplies and launched spoiling attacks on the British outposts.
The British were intent on not repeating some of the mistakes made in Mesopotamia in 1915 and so were determined to secure a proper line of communications back to the Nile Delta. The Sinai Desert may not have resembled the muddy floodplains of the Tigris, but it nevertheless required a similar investment in resources to establish a viable transport infrastructure from scratch. One solution was startlingly simple: the wire road. Ordinary wire netting was unrolled and pegged out to form a ‘road’ which prevented soldiers from sinking into the sands as they marched. But the railway feeling its way out into the desert towards Romani (which lay some twenty-three miles from the Canal) was the only way that any large force could be maintained for long. Water was paramount and the amounts needed were huge; nothing could be done in the desert without securing water supplies. An impressive 12-inch-wide pipeline was laid to pump drinking water forward, with storage tanks established, from which the ubiquitous camels would carry the water to the forward positions in zinc containers. With temperatures spiralling, no shade and frequent sand storms, the desert environment was excessively harsh.