Seize and Ravage

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  ‘Only chance,’ Cassola agreed.

  The pursuers were close behind. Two shots rang out and bullets bounced off the houses on either side. The noise of the engine reverberated from the close-set buildings. Windows opened and alarmed voices called loudly.

  Lewis and Cassola darted into an entry and turned to face the enemy. The car skidded to a halt and its occupants leaped out: each had a truncheon in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  The Commandos attacked with such speed and fury that the enemy was taken by surprise. The fighting knives which they always carried flashed and the first two military policemen fell, their bellies ripped open from navel to breastbone. There was a loud crack as Lewis broke one man's neck; and a louder one, accompanied by a short-lived howl of agony, as Cassola broke the other's back.

  Lewis jumped into the driver's seat and Cassola scrambled in beside him.

  They drove off furiously, accelerating through the gears, the car lurching as Lewis settled to the strange gear lever and the awkwardness of having it on the unaccustomed side.

  They rounded a corner into a wide road. Behind them, a siren shrilled and headlights flashed. Cassola turned, to fire.

  There came the sound of two rapid shots.

  Cassola shouted ‘Oh, fuck it! My bloody shoulder...’

  Lewis spun the wheel and drove the car, on two wheels, into a narrower road which he knew would take them out of town.

  The car swayed and Cassola pitched out.

  Lewis heard him shout again; the same expletive, and then: ‘Don't stop, Tony.’

  Lewis was already 20 yards away when the brakes began to take effect. Two more shots followed him and the windscreen on the passenger's side shattered. He felt a searing pain across his right deltoid muscle. And he heard another despairing shout, Italian this time: ‘Keep going, Tony... keep...’

  SEVEN

  The patrols that came out from the fort had earned Taggart's grudging admission that ‘They don't look quite the ragged-arsed, incompetent, bunch of funks that one expects of Wop soldiery.’

  He had the impression that their Commanding Officer's purpose was more to familiarise them with the ground than to search for a hidden enemy. Pennati's troops moved in single file; not abreast, as though combing every cranny.

  Taggart had seen the rocks being marked with white paint and watched the ranging shots, heard bullets ricochet when they hit their targets.

  ‘He's no fool, that chap with an arm in a sling,’ he commented to his officers.

  Despite these activities to note, and the observation and recording of traffic along the coast road, the day passed slowly. Everyone's thoughts were on the three who had set out for Tripoli. They could not return until long after dark. Taggart began to feel the first twinges of worry when midnight came and no one had returned. He stayed awake, constantly going round his picquets, frequently looking at his watch. In the intervals of visiting the lookouts, he sat by a wood fire in the cave, talking quietly to Gosland, Stuart or Vowden; who were as restless as he, but dropped off to sleep fitfully, which he denied himself.

  Towards one-o'clock, Jorrocks came at a trot from the picquet post nearest the road. ‘Corporal Lewis is back, sir.’

  Not Cassola as well? Taggart did not betray his worried thought. He hurried outside, followed by both officers and the T.S.M.; to see Lewis loom through the faint moonlight, walking wearily.

  ‘Are you all right, Corporal?’

  ‘Got a bit of a scratch, sir.’

  Taggart said no more until Lewis was seated by the fire with a mug of tea fortified by a tot of rum, and a medical orderly was attending to the shallow wound on his shoulder. It had bled little, and Lewis had stanched it with his handkerchief.

  ‘What happened?’

  When Lewis had told his story, he sat glumly silent, waiting for Taggart's angry, withering reproof.

  ‘You did very well. It may have been luck that led you to the garrulous R.S.M., but you both handled the situation brilliantly. And I accept that you couldn't have done anything else but take the girls out in the evening, after you'd invited them, without risking suspicion. I'm sorry about Cassola. We can't afford to lose a man even before we go in tomorrow night. So now we have a prisoner in enemy hands, who has committed three capital offences and who will be very toughly interrogated; and, being wounded, is not in the best state to resist torture.’

  ‘I don't think you need to worry, sir. If anyone can tell the tale, he can. He won't let us down, sir.’

  I wish I shared your confidence, thought Taggart. ‘How bad is Corporal Lewis's wound?’ he asked the first aid man.

  ‘His arm's going to be stiff for a few days, sir.’ The wound had needed a dozen stitches.

  ‘I'll be all right, sir.’ Lewis gingerly moved his arm. ‘It's no worse than having a jab.’

  ‘You wait till tomorrow,’ the medic said.

  ‘Well, what have we got?’ Taggart looked at the notes he had been making. ‘Two troopships expected in the next five days: one with tanks aboard. A new C-in-C, General Gariboldi, takes over officially on the twelfth; three days from now. Perhaps with a new commander and more troops, the Italians will put up a better show; they might improve from bloody awful to just bad. The C.O. at the fort is a Captain Penatti who has a reputation for being tough and efficient: but what does that mean, by our standards? And there's a strong hint of a German General, Rommel, being sent here to advise the new C-in-C. That last bit I don't like at all. Well done, Corporal. You'd better get some sleep now. And I'm very sorry about Cassola.’

  Weariness, stress and shock, the last now beginning to have effect, brought tears to Lewis's eyes: the sentimentality he had inherited from both sides of his parentage came to the surface of his emotions.

  ‘I suppose they'll shoot him, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was nothing else to say.

  ‘I hope they don't torture the poor sod to death.’

  Taggard had the same fear; and little confidence in Cassola's fortitude. He had to assume that X Troop's presence was no longer a secret from the enemy.

  Lewis said, ‘Will you have me woken when Kulick comes in, sir? I'd stay up for him, but I don't think I could keep awake. That trip into Tripoli was worse than a 50-mile speed march.’

  Taggart, his two officers and Troop Sergeant Major Vowden sat in conclave. In 24 hours' time they would be in the thick of their attack on the fort. But daylight would probably bring a whole battalion of troops to search for them in this area, while other parties of equal strength searched further afield. There would also be a large number of aircraft out, seeking them.

  ‘We'll have to move,’ he decided. ‘H.Q.; will wait here for Kulick. You can let Lewis sleep on. Ted, you take the rest of the troop back to that hilltop we liked the look of on our way here.’ He pointed it out on the map. ‘If we have to make a fight for it — thanks to the Brigadier taking such a hell of a chance of being spotted, in the first place, as much as to Cassola giving us away under interrogation — that's the best defensive position; after the fort itself.’

  The withdrawal began at once and in ten minutes only Taggart with his Headquarters group and Corporal Lewis — deeply asleep — remained. Taggart brooded over his responsibility for Cassola's capture, certain torture and execution, and the betrayal which he was sure that Cassola must have committed in order to try to save his own skin. He tried to convince himself that he had been justified in what he had done, that it was Cassola's innate character defects which had led to his being caught.

  He was still struggling with remorse when, half an hour before first light, Kulick plodded into view.

  ‘Sit down, have a mug of tea and a tot of rum, before you give me your report.’

  Kulick saw Lewis stirring into wakefulness, and looked at Taggart questioningly. ‘Cassola, sir?’

  ‘They caught him.’ The reply was terse and discouraging.

  Lewis was sitting up, watching Kulick with a beseeching expression, as though Kulick could a
ssure him that Cassola had escaped.

  ‘So that's what all the hue and cry was about.’ Kulick spoke as though he were on the brink of nervous exhaustion.

  ‘You'd better tell us.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was stopped by two civvy police, as I was leaving the town, sir. There was no reason for it: I wasn't doing anything that would arouse their interest. I realised afterwards that the whole civil and military police forces were in a panic. I had to make a dash for it; no identity card, no address. I nipped down an alley and they came after me, shooting.’ He paused apologetically. ‘I had to do both of 'em, sir. I got to the outskirts by dodging about in back alleys and bazaars, but at the main road I found police patrol cars, M.Ps and civvies, going slowly in both directions, and one or two of them belting out of town at full speed; chasing some vehicle, I supposed.’ He paused again, with a glance at Lewis.

  Lewis said ‘They were after me, Ali.’

  ‘I had to wait a long time before I could cross the road. Two of the police cars were stopping the other patrols and I guessed they'd found the two bods I'd left lying around and were giving my description. Eventually, I couldn't wait any longer, so I waited until a small cloud hid the bit of moon for a moment, and nipped across the road. Nearly got run down by a police car that revved up suddenly: must have spotted me. After that, it was all dodging among suburban houses and then trees until I was right out of the town. Just as I thought I was in the clear, there was one last couple of cops, in a car parked on the edge of an orchard. A blasted dog started to bark and came at me. I had to break its head with a pistol butt. Then I dealt with the two cops.’

  ‘You didn't shoot?’ Taggart had noticed the two Italian pistols that Kulick had laid on the ground near him.

  ‘No, sir. The others would have been there in minutes. I waited until they got out and came looking for me; then I took 'em one at a time. Broke their bloody necks. After that, it was a long walk back to here, sir.’ Especially for a man who had spent the afternoon in bed with a highly active woman, Kulick added to himself.

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘The business community's very nervous, sir. Business is very dodgy. Lot of interest in opportunities elsewhere: Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco. German troop trains have been reported in Italy, going south: evidently to Sicily, where the Luftwaffe can pick them up and drop them here. Jerry's going to move into Libya very soon, sir; there's no doubt about that at all.’

  ‘So Corporal Lewis tells me. He's even heard the name of a general mentioned: Rommel.’

  ‘I didn't hear that, sir; but there are Italian reinforcements arriving any day, as well.’

  ‘That also confirms what Lewis learned.’

  Hesitantly, Kulick said ‘If they've got Cassola alive, sir, I suppose we can expect them here, looking for us, in an hour or two?’

  ‘No. Aldo won't talk.’ Lewis said it with a bitter vehemence which suggested that he was trying to convince himself as much as the others.

  ‘I see the troop has pulled out, sir.’

  ‘Yes. You and Corporal Lewis had better get moving. I'll give you the map reference.’

  Kulick gave a wry and tired smile. ‘I could use a few hours' kip, sir.’

  ‘You'll have to wait until you catch up with the others.’

  They had obliterated all signs of their occupancy of the cave, but there were still traces of their presence which would be observed by competent searchers. Sixty men could not exist for days and nights without leaving behind some indication, somewhere, of their normal bodily functions. Taggart hoped that if the enemy came hunting them, it would be in the slovenly fashion of the men he had seen leaving the fort and not as he knew the present garrison would. He waited with his group until the first two lorryloads of infantry arrived, then retired to join the rest of his troop on the eminence from which they commanded a good view for many miles around and which offered little cover to an attacker. His only consolation was that the soldiers who emerged from the lorries gave every sign of taking no interest in their task; they even looked nervous, as though expecting to be ambushed themselves by their quarry.

  Radio watch was kept for five minutes on every hour. The day's first signal aggravated X Troop's predicament.

  ‘Operation Wolf postponed. Remain in position. Orders follow.’

  Taggart exchanged angry looks with Gosland and Stuart in a strained and bitter silence.

  Stuart said ‘I hope the Brig hasn't forgotten that our rations are only supposed to last until tomorrow.’

  The attack on the fort had been planned to take place an hour after midnight: followed by an immediate withdrawal to the map reference code-named Point A, where the Valentias had deposited them. The aircraft were to land at last light, to pick them up and begin their flight back to Cyrenaica in the dark.

  ***

  In Cairo, Brigadier Weatherhead was protesting to a major general; whose embittered look showed that he shared the Brigadier's frustration.

  ‘This is monstrous, sir.’

  ‘At least we're leaving your chaps there, Wolf, old boy: which confirms that the operation is merely being put off, not cancelled.’

  ‘But why cancel the plan to advance beyond El Agheila, sir?’

  ‘Because Churchill has ordered the C-in-C to stop where we are, and to hold what we've gained with the smallest possible force; and send the biggest possible force to Greece immediately. The Air Force is under orders to pull out at once. By tonight there'll be only one fighter squadron left in Cyrenaica.’

  ‘Bloody politicians at it again. Here's an absolute certainty of being in Tripoli this time next week, and Churchill chucks it away.’

  ‘That's it, I'm afraid.’

  ‘What about my chaps?’

  ‘They'll get their chance. Wavell is just as keen on this

  raid as you are. Tell 'em to mark time for a few days.’ ‘And starve? Their rations will run out tomorrow.’ ‘Resupply them; arrange an air drop.’

  ‘And risk drawing attention to them?’

  ‘You can't have it both ways, Aubrey, dammit. What else do you suggest?’

  ‘It's the only way. I'll fly there myself, to make sure it's done properly.’

  ‘Now, don't go stirring things up, Aubrey: there's a good chap.’

  But the major general, regarding his old friend ruefully, knew that such admonitions were as futile as sending a deer into a wolf's lair and expecting it to emerge alive.

  The next signal to X Troop said ‘Have C-in-C's assurance that operation definite after shortest possible delay. Meanwhile prepare receive air drop 2359 tonight, Point A. Place three torches shape letter L with long leg pointing into wind. Recognition letter B, acknowledge C.’

  ‘At least we won't starve,’ said Taggart. ‘I'll go myself, with my H.Q. group and ten more. Will you each detail five men, Ted, Angus.’

  ‘From the amount of rations they drop,’ Stuart remarked, ‘We'll be able to guess the date of the raid.’

  Taggart gave him a rare look of approval. ‘That's rather a bright observation, Angus.’

  ‘It's a long shot. It assumes the chaps in Cairo can do their sums correctly. There's little evidence to show that they're capable of getting anything right.’

  Stuart had been unobtrusive since their arrival in the target zone. Taggart had been expecting to find him an increasing irritant. At close quarters, in difficult conditions, an incompatible comrade could drive one to the brink of murder. He was grateful for Stuart's academic intelligence and for his occasional irony. X Troop had already developed its own character and style, and Stuart was fitting in as well as Gosland.

  Hard on the receipt of this message, one of the forward lookouts whom Taggart had posted under Sergeant Randall came in to report.

  ‘Two patrols have gone out from the fort, sir. An officer and thirty men in each; platoon strength. They look as if they mean business, sir. And another company from the same regiment — we could see their badges through the glasses — have just arriv
ed by lorry and gone straight off on patrol: each platoon in a different direction.’

  ‘All right. Go back and tell Sergeant Randall to withdraw by stages, keeping an eye on any patrols that look like heading here.’

  Before the runner could leave, the drone of an aero engine suddenly became audible. It quickly grew louder and presently a Ghibli could be seen flying low and following the contours. Each time it reduced height to slant down into a valley, the engine note diminished; then surged again when it climbed over a ridge.

  Taggart was chary of using binoculars, which might betray him by reflecting the sun. He shaded his eyes with a hand and scanned the sky. His ears could faintly detect what he thought must be the mutter of other aircraft engines, and after a while he was able to discern two more: A Ghibli and a Fiat fighter, also searching.

  The place he had chosen as a strong defensive position was littered with rocks and boulders, which offered good hiding. It lacked the deep cave at the site overlooking the fort, but there were several low, shallow ones scooped out of the ridge that ran, some twelve feet high, along one side of the hilltop. Many of the boulders, also, were supported on others, to form natural shelters. All his men could conceal themselves, but would have to remain still and avoid looking up: the comparative pallor, even of a sunburned face, showed against any terrain when seen from the air. For the raid, they had brought burned cork with which to blacken their skins; but there was none to spare for use before then.

  He had chosen a third fall-back point, if they had to leave this one, further west, in an area which he hoped the enemy would think was too far for them to have reached; if the enemy had concluded that the target for a suspected attack lay in Tripoli and not to the east of it. Withdrawal by night would be difficult, for the Italians might be in hiding anywhere, hoping to have flushed them, waiting for them to walk into a trap. By day, with aircraft searching, it would be imprudent to attempt. Even the movement of a single man was risky; but that was a risk that had to be taken.

  The key question to the whole predicament was: How much did the enemy know? Had Cassola been tortured into telling them everything; or volunteered to do so in the hope of saving his life? Had he admitted to being part of a raiding force, but lied about its numbers and positions? Had he betrayed nothing, and were the enemy simply making a search of a vast area, on suspicion, because they had captured one British soldier?