by Ross Kemp
It was a similar story on the inland side of the main street where 3rd Troop were edging forward through a withering hail of fire coming from all angles. They were led from the front by Captain Giles, an outstanding athlete and the heavyweight boxing champion of Southern Command, worshipped by his men. The defence on this side of town was concentrated in a large stone house, and no amount of fire was able to dislodge the Germans. Eager to maintain some momentum to their advance, Giles decided to go for broke. Followed by his men, he raced across the open ground and crashed through the entrance. Bursting into every door, the Commandos tossed grenades and sprayed the rooms with machine-gun fire. Those who survived the onslaught fled through the back door, chased by Giles. But as the burly young captain emerged in the open, he was shot in the stomach by a wounded German on the ground. He died where he fell. Almost immediately, his second-in-command, Lieutenant Hall, was cut down by a sniper bullet, and the two men who went to his rescue suffered the same fate. Command automatically passed to Giles’s younger brother, Bruce, but he was so shaken by the sight of John’s death that the attack stalled and the troop was left without effective command.
Two hundred yards away, 4th Troop had fought their way up to the Ulversund Hotel. Unaware that the hotel was bristling with enemy, Captain Algy Forrester led a frontal assault on the building, his NCOs firing Tommy guns from the hip as they charged. Sprinting towards the main entrance, Forrester was a few yards short when he pulled the pin on his grenade and was shaping to hurl it when he was cut down by enemy fire and slumped on top of his grenade which, to the horror of his men, exploded beneath him. Two others were hit and the troop withdrew to consider their options. At that moment, Linge and his Norwegians arrived on the scene and immediately took command of the leaderless troop. Ever eager to take the fight to the enemy, Linge ordered another direct assault, in spite of the misgivings of some of the troops. Having gathered his men behind an adjacent building, leading from the front he gave the order to charge, but he had barely appeared in the open when an enemy bullet thumped into his chest. He dropped like a stone. His sergeant tried to pull him clear but another bullet smacked into Linge’s body and the men were again forced to withdraw. Two assaults, two commanders dead. (Linge is still honoured in the Norwegian Army, which named a Commando Company after him. A large statue stands where he fell.)
From intelligence sources, the assault group knew there was a tank inside the garage next to the hotel. It was an outdated model, captured during the Fall of France, but in close-quarters fighting against lightly armed troops it had the capacity to cause havoc if its crew managed to bring it onto the streets. As planned, after Forrester’s 4th Troop had cleared the area around it, two sappers, Sergeant Cork and Trooper Dowling, dashed into the building and laid a string of charges around the armoured vehicle. Dowling had just crawled out of the door when Cork lit the fuses. Usually, the fuses are cut to a length to burn just long enough for the demolition team to scramble to safety but, inexplicably, on this occasion the explosion was instantaneous. Cork never stood a chance and, such was the force of the blast, men over 200 yards away were hit by flying shrapnel. Incredibly, Dowling escaped without a scratch.
With all British officers and senior NCOs in 4th Troop and the Norwegian contingent either dead or injured, command fell to Corporal White. Distraught at the death of their leaders, whose bloodstained bodies lay scattered in the snow all about them, the men of both units were baying to storm the hotel and exact revenge. Aware that a change of tactics and more firepower were required to crack the German stronghold, White beckoned over a mortar unit crouched in the shadows of a neighbouring building. Minutes later, ten 3-inch bombs, fired by a Sergeant Ramsey, rained down on the hotel. As the upper floor burst into flames, White gave the order to charge. Several dozen men rushed along the street, guns blazing, before hurling themselves at the foot of the front wall. Each man reached for his Mills bombs, the distinctive iron-cast ‘pineapples’ that the British Army had been using as hand grenades since the First World War. Pulling the pins, they counted ‘One, two . . .’ then stood up and hurled them through the windows and into the entrance. ‘. . . Three, four!’ A succession of explosions rocked the building. Glass shattered and clouds of dust, plaster and smoke filled the interior as White and his men, hollering, burst inside. Within minutes the hotel, the largest public building in town and the fulcrum of the German resistance, was cleared, and White’s casualty-ravaged unit reassembled to the rear of the hotel.
Casualties were mounting so fast that Durnford-Slater called for all spare troops to be brought forward. The clock was ticking, and if the demolition teams were to complete all their scheduled tasks, the Commandos had to secure the northern end of the town first. As it was, the assault party was still pinned down at the southern end and had advanced only a few hundred yards from the landing site. Churchill, who had completed his work on Maaloy, sent over half of No. 6 Troop, commanded by Captain Peter Young, a highly talented young officer destined for high rank. The floating reserve was brought ashore and the reserve unit at Durnford-Slater’s HQ was also sent into action. This was the critical juncture of the action and every available body was committed to the fight.
As Durnford-Slater reinforced and reorganised his men, thirteen Blenheims from 114 Squadron, each carrying four 250-lb bombs and a batch of incendiaries, arrived over the Norwegian coast 100 miles to the south shortly before midday. Dropping to a height of 250 feet, the squadron lined up and swept towards the Luftwaffe aerodrome at Herdla, the wooden collection of huts and timber runways clearly visible in the snow-bound landscape. Air-raid sirens wailed and puffs of flak filled the air as one after another the Blenheims went in and dropped their devastating payload. Explosions tore up the earth, splintered the runways into kindling, and one Me109, which had been taxiing into position, flipped onto its back under the force of an explosion. Flames and smoke poured from the buildings. Hit by flak, one Blenheim lost control and veered violently off course, straight into the path of another as it pulled up and turned for home. The aircraft were so low the crews had no chance to bale out, and both plunged into the water. The raid was all over in seconds and by the time the last aircraft pulled up steeply and banked away, the runway had been turned into a mess of mud and scattered wood. Images from the Photographic Reconnaissance Unit taken immediately after the attack revealed over twenty craters. Operation ARCHERY could now proceed without significant interference from the air. Only aircraft making the long trip from Trondheim, and the last detail to have left for Vaagso, could trouble them now.
The action was intensifying on land, sea and in the air. Back at Vaagso, HMS Offa, protecting the naval force from the west, reported a merchant ship, the SS Anhalt, and an armed trawler escort named Donner, proceeding to Vaagsfjord from the north. It was just after noon and the last of the RAF bombs were falling on Herdla, 100 miles along the coast. Unable to hear or see the fighting on the other side of the mountain, the two vessels realised their error as soon as they rounded the point and saw the Royal Navy warships strung out before them. Ordered to capture the vessels, Offa chased the Donner as it made a dash for the open sea. It was a race the converted fishing boat was never going to win. Offa could make thirty knots to her ten and she quickly closed on her prey with her guns at the ready. Offa fired a warning shot, but still the trawler refused to stop. Offa fired again, this time with deadly intent, and after securing a number of hits, the crew abandoned ship. Offa went alongside the trawler and picked up the survivors. Unfortunately, the Donner had insufficient fuel for the return passage to Scotland under a prize crew, and was promptly sunk.
While Offa dealt with the trawler, Chiddingfold went after the Anhalt, which had turned hard and was steaming as fast as it could for the shore. She succeeded in beaching herself in shallow water and the crew were clambering into their rowing boats when the captain of the Chiddingfold, using the loud hailer, ordered the oarsmen, in German, to bring their boats alongside, warning that they would be fired up
on if they disobeyed. The oarsmen kept pulling, Chiddingfold opened fire, sinking one boat and damaging the other. At that moment, enemy aircraft appeared overhead and, as the Chiddingfold’s guns were elevated to deal with the threat, the survivors of the second boat were able to scramble to safety – for the time being at least.
On his arrival at Durnford-Slater’s command post, a few hundred yards away from the naval engagements taking place, Young was informed that only one officer was left amongst the original force troops fighting their way through the town. Up the road lay a scene of hellish devastation. Much of the waterfront was ablaze, and clouds of smoke rose into the bright morning sky; casualties were being carried or helped back to the shoreline for treatment. Men crouched behind walls and the corner of buildings. The attack had ground to a halt. The new plan was for Young’s men to sweep along the waterfront, clearing the enemy from the wharfs and warehouses while the men of the floating reserve were to advance down the main street. From the outset, both parties were met by very stiff resistance, but sheer weight of numbers and firepower helped the British raiders regain the initiative and build some momentum. Houses and buildings were flushed of the enemy or set ablaze as the forces nosed northwards. Snipers once again were the greatest threat to progress. When three of Young’s men dropped in rapid succession, hit by a sniper in the upper window of a building to their rear, the rest scrambled into a small woodshed close to the water. As more enemy guns opened up, thirty men, including Young and Durnford-Slater, crowded inside the small structure, attracting increasingly heavy fire. Bullets tore splinters from the piles of logs and timber and the men crouched behind any cover they could find. It was obvious to all that they could not survive there for much longer, but it was the same problem that had dogged the force all morning – they had no idea where the fire was coming from.
While Durnford-Slater and Young pondered their next move, the wider battle raged outside. Several formations of Heinkel 111 bombers, working in details of two or three, appeared overhead and tried their luck against the naval force. One was shot down and the rest were driven off by ferocious AA fire having dropped their bombs wide. Shortly afterwards, the Ragsundo gun battery, which had remained silent for three and a half hours and was thought to have been knocked out, suddenly returned to life and caught the Kenya off guard. All morning the largest warship in the force and the communications hub of the operation had fired the odd salvo at the battery, partly to check its guns’ range but also to warn off the emplacement from attempting another attack on the force. It came as a shock when, just after one o’clock, a perfect shot from eight miles away punched a large hole in the side of the cruiser about ten feet above the waterline. Another round struck the armour belt and a near miss close to the port torpedo tubes slightly wounded one rating. Kenya immediately responded with a furious, sustained barrage that silenced the emplacement once and for all. At exactly the same time, more German aircraft had appeared overhead and the air was filled with puffs of smoke from the AA guns of Kenya and the four destroyers. The squadron of Beaufighters, circling the scene, helped to chase them away. On the ground, the demolition teams added to the din as one building after another along the waterfront was blown to pieces. Six Blenheims from 110 Squadron, based at Lossiemouth, had meanwhile arrived over the Norwegian coast to the south, with the aim of attacking enemy shipping and drawing Luftwaffe fighters away from Vaagso. Spotting a convoy, four of them dived to attack, but were immediately set upon by Me109s. None of them returned to Scotland.
Meanwhile, the sniper hampering the progress of Young’s men was spotted in the top window of an adjacent building. On the signal, a dozen British guns opened up as one and the enemy marksman slumped forward over the windowsill. The Commandos were able to move on . . . or so they thought. The struggle for control of the town was by no means over. No sooner had they eliminated one source of heavy fire, when another started up, this time from a red wooden warehouse fifty yards ahead of them. One end of the building was a stable and the men could hear the horses stamping their hooves and whinnying with fear. Wide, open space lay between raider and defender. There was not so much as a solitary lamppost for cover to protect their advance. If the assault was not to peter out, the Commandos had no option but to run the gauntlet against accurate and heavy German fire.
The problem was solved by Lieutenant Denis O’Flaherty and the men of Group 1’s 2nd Troop. They had been the very first troops ashore and silenced the gun battery at Halnoesvik on the southern tip of the island in a series of sharp skirmishes. Carrying two injuries and almost demented with fury, O’Flaherty had had enough of German stubbornness for one day. The young firebrand burst forward and dashed through the main entrance followed by a trooper. Instinctively, Captain Young followed them into the gloomy interior. They were met by a wall of fire and the first two men were cut down instantly. A bullet shattered O’Flaherty’s jaw, holing the plate of his mouth and taking out an eye. Young fired into the darkness and withdrew. Perhaps sympathetic to the badly wounded officer, or too busy concentrating on the threat outside, the two Germans inside made no attempt to stop the wounded Britons as they dragged themselves out into the open. As the casualties were led away to the aid post close to the landing site, Young and his men set about devising a plan to flush out the Germans hindering their progress. Storming the building with a frontal assault was not an experience Young thought wise to repeat. He had a better idea: they would firebomb the building.
He ordered a contingent of men to work their way around to the stable end of the warehouse and lead out the horses. As the last of the animals cantered away, no doubt to find a quieter corner of town, the troop sergeant threw a bucket of petrol through a window and followed it with a grenade. A dull thud shook the wooden frame and moments later the building was engulfed by an inferno. The fleeing Germans were scythed down in a burst of Bren gunfire. With progress being made elsewhere in the town, the enemy gun boats and batteries silenced, the balance of the battle had tipped decisively in the raiders’ favour.
Young’s men pressed on to the northern end of the town, clearing out the pockets of resistance in small groups rushing from one building to the next. Durnford-Slater gave orders to seal off the town against enemy reinforcements arriving from the north so that the demolition teams were able to finish off the last of the factories and wharfs. The sun had long since begun its descent behind the mountainous interior of the island. Time was running out to complete all the tasks. Armed only with a pistol, the commanding officer had been a highly visible presence throughout the day’s action, directing operations across town and providing a boost to morale for his embattled men. He was lucky not to have joined the mounting casualty list. The last of several close shaves occurred as the final explosives were being laid and he was making his way up to the front line to oversee the final stages. As he walked past a doorway, accompanied by a handful of minders and messengers, a stick grenade was lobbed at their feet. The grenade exploded almost immediately, severely wounding two of his men, but the Lieutenant-Colonel was able to get to his feet with nothing worse than a few abrasions and some ringing in his ears.
Unwelcome though it was, the quality and courage of the German resistance, which continued until the last man had re-embarked, impressed the raiding force. No doubt Durnford-Slater’s thoughts were sought by Admiral Burrough and Brigadier Haydon for their official report of the raid which summed up the action in the town. ‘It must be emphasised that the opposition in South Vaagso was severe in degree and skilful in quality,’ the report reads. ‘It appears from the interrogation of prisoners that the garrison had been fortuitously augmented by a detachment who had been moved into the town for Christmas but, however that may be, there is no doubt that the fighting spirit, marksmanship and efficiency of the enemy in this area was of a high order.’
At 1230 Durnford-Slater contacted the Force HQ on the bridge of HMS Kenya to inform them that resistance was nearly overcome and that final demolitions were in progress. The landin
g craft were making their way to and from the stony shore at the southern end of the town, ferrying dozens of wounded men and German and Quisling prisoners as well as a large contingent of locals. Among them were elderly men and women and mothers with babies and small children, but mainly they were young volunteers, who had been gathering all day by the landing site, eager to join the Norwegian Free Forces based in the UK. At 1250 hours, the commanders ordered full re-embarkation and the last of the Commandos, covering their withdrawal, started making their way back to the landing site. Young’s men held the area but there was no opposition on the ground now.
The Heinkel bombers that had recently appeared overhead the fjord tried their luck against the ships, but were beaten off each time by RAF fighters and some fierce fire from the Navy gunners. Against a backdrop of raging fires and billowing clouds of smoke, faces bloodied and blackened, uniforms torn, the men filed through the devastated town, with the evidence of a bloody day’s work all about them. Dead Germans littered the ground, ruined buildings smoked and steamed, charred timber and debris choked the shoreline. Some of the buildings were still burning so hot that the men had to divert from the main street and walk along the foot of the hill. In his war memoir, Young recalled the grisly scenes of their withdrawal to the landing craft: ‘As I went I counted the enemy dead. I saw about 15 lying in the open, but of course most of their casualties had been inside buildings . . . As we passed the German headquarters, the Ulvesund Hotel, I took an epaulette with yellow piping from one of the casualties. Here the dead lay thicker, some of them horribly burned.’