by Damien Lewis
The Germans managed to open fire, but their aim was poor. Patterson’s raiders returned fire with deadly effect, and a brutal battle at close quarters ensued. At one stage Patterson’s gun jammed and he was seized by a German. A fellow raider ran forward and blew the enemy’s brains out, so rescuing their commander.
Not a single enemy soldier escaped from the orphanage. Two lay dead, seven were injured and the rest were taken prisoner. With no time to delay, Patterson led his men down to the harbour, armed with a Bren gun, grenades and personal weapons. Patterson got the Bren set up on some high ground and zeroed it in on the enemy boats. Below him, two of his men were creeping forward to surprise the German crewmen, who were lounging about sunning themselves on deck – the gunfight at the orphanage being too distant to be audible to them.
But two Germans had been sent to the orphanage to investigate what the delay might be and where the children were. They blundered into the bloody carnage that had been left inside. They came running down the hill, yelling wild warnings at their comrades on the boats. Patterson cut them down with the first burst from his Bren, then turned it on the two ships. Below him, his men ran forward onto the dockside and tossed grenades into the boats.
Some of the Germans managed to get to the vessels’ guns, and they began to return fire. Patterson kept cutting them down from his vantage point, and his men tossed their final grenades. All out of Mills bombs, they resorted to hurling their Lewes bombs into the two ships. The plastic explosives ripped into the vessels, the violent blasts bringing an end to the Germans’ resistance. A white flag was raised, and those who could came out with their hands in the air.
The entire population of the island seemed to have watched the battle, and they were exultant at the Germans’ defeat. The German captain commanding the boats was less enthused. Defeated by a far smaller force, he put it down to ‘the black treachery of the Greeks’. He vowed to be back in Nisyros within six months, to take his revenge. In fact, he sailed with the rest of the German prisoners – aboard the two seized ships – for interrogation under the South African Priestley’s baleful gaze: I will say all I can and all that I know … He was never to see Nisyros again, for a POW camp beckoned.
Patterson’s adventures weren’t yet over. He set sail that evening in the Motor Launch upon which they had arrived on the island. They were well within Turkish waters when the launch’s captain spotted two more barges. Presuming them to be friendly the captain pulled alongside. It was only when they tied up to the nearest vessel that they discovered it was crammed full of German soldiers. There was a third barge on the far side, plus a caique armed with a 3-inch gun.
Undeterred, Patterson grabbed his Tommy Gun and leapt aboard, followed by two others. Moving through the dark confines of the ship, they sowed havoc and terror as the Germans tried and failed to identify friend from foe. The German gunboat opened fire on the British Motor Launch, her 3-inch gun killing two of the British sailors. The captain managed to get away, but not before he realized that Patterson and his two comrades weren’t aboard.
Patterson, meanwhile, had fought his way to the front of the barge and seized its twin Breda cannon. He put it to devastating effect on the surviving German troops. When the ammunition was exhausted, he yelled orders at his fighting comrades, and all three of them dived into the sea. They struck out for the coast and managed to make the Turkish shoreline. The following day, still decidedly damp, Patterson and his men made it back to the SBS base by local mules.
The pace of raiding grew ever fiercer. Barely had one force returned than another set sail. With Lassen’s opportune attack on Halki, and Patterson’s lightning raid on Nisyros, General von Kleemann was being given a run for his money. The general ordered news of any raids to be strictly censored, so that the sense of unease and panic didn’t spread any further among his troops. But word leaked out anyway, and at his more distant island outposts General von Kleemann’s officers slept far less soundly in their beds.
Yet it was now – just as they were riding high – that the raiders’ fortunes were about to turn.
*
By April 1944 Lassen was back in action with his men. But it was another patrol, led by Captain Bill Blyth, that was to come to grief among these islands. Captain Blyth had served as an instructor in the Scots Guards for three years, before being granted his wish and getting a transfer to the SAS Regiment, from where he was posted to Jellicoe’s raiders, in the Dodecanese.
Blyth had been given a mission to raid Halki – where Lassen had fired the opening salvoes of the present campaign – as well as the tiny islet of Alimnia. Just three square miles in area, and sheltering no more than sixty inhabitants, to date Alimnia had been an insignificant player in the wider Dodecanese campaign.
But General von Kleemann had been passed a vital piece of intelligence, indicating that a British SBS unit was heading for those islands. Thirsting to strike back at the raiders – who come like cats and disappear like ghosts – von Kleemann dispatched four German gunboats escorted by two submarines. The ships were packed with soldiers from the Brandenburger Regiment, the nearest the Germans then had to Special Forces.
The Brandenburger fighters had been drafted in to help General von Kleemann combat the threat of unconventional warfare presented by the British raiders. The German ships landed a contingent of the Brandenburgers on Halki, plus a further force on Alimnia – with orders to lie in wait for the British force.
At well after midnight on 7 April Blyth and four men were put ashore on Alimnia, but then the converted fishing boat in which they had been travelling was spotted by the enemy. Four German gunboats and one E Boat bore down on her. In the firefight that followed her commander, Sub-Lieutenant Allan Tuckey, decided their situation was hopeless and he ordered his men to surrender.
Tuckey and four others were taken prisoner. They were loaded aboard the German E Boat, which set sail for Rhodes. Blyth’s patrol had heard all the gunfire, and from the high ground they’d seen the fate that had befallen the boat’s crew. Knowing that Alminia would be crawling with the enemy come daybreak, they persuaded a Greek fishing crew to take them off the island that night.
But en route to the Turkish coast the fishing boat was stopped and searched. As luck would have it, it was the E Boat carrying the five men already taken captive that had intercepted the Greek vessel. Blyth and his fellow fighters were discovered and they were taken captive, along with the hapless Greek fishermen.
In just a few hours all ten men who had set out to raid Halki and Alminia had been captured. They were taken for interrogation first to Rhodes, and then on to Athens, before finally in Blyth’s case being sent to Stalag 7A, a POW camp in southern Germany.
The questioning of the captives became increasingly intense and brutal. Repeatedly, they were threatened with Hitler’s Sonderbehandlung – his infamous Commando Order – decreeing that all such captives be handed over to the Sicherheitsdienst (SD), the Security Service of the SS, for termination. By early June 1944, after horrific torture, the interrogation of the captives was deemed complete. All but one were released to the SD for ‘special treatment’ – in other words, likely execution.
Only Captain Blyth would survive, and that only due to the comparative decency of Colonel Otto Burger, the commandant of Stalag 7A. Twice Colonel Burger was ordered to hand Blyth over to the Sicherheitsdienst, and twice he refused. Eventually, the SD seemed to have forgotten about Blyth, and he would survive the war.
Among the nine of Blyth’s raiders executed was Corporal Ray Jones, the man who had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Anders Lassen during the Kastelli Airbase raid.
None of the raiders based in the Gulf of Cos could know of the captives’ exact fate: that would only become clear many years after the war. But they were under few illusions as to what would happen to any raiders taken prisoner.
*
Continuous raiding – month after month, year after year – pushed men to the limits, even those as well trained and self-discip
lined as Jellicoe’s. The narrow escapes and close shaves took a cumulative toll. Many a raider had hidden under a rock, as a German or Italian hunter patrol had paused to have a smoke sitting astride it. In one instance, a Motor Launch packed full of raiders had rounded a headland, only to discover a German destroyer steaming into its path.
The Motor Launch’s commander had ordered: ‘Open fire – abandon ship!’ almost in the same breath.
The raiders had raked the destroyer’s bridge with Bren fire, before diving into the sea and swimming to the nearest landfall. Behind them, the Motor Launch had been blasted into matchwood, but at least they’d managed to make good their escape. Yet it had been by the bare skin of their teeth, and as always the thought of capture and the horrors that would follow played heavily on the raiding man’s mind.
Acute stress was a natural consequence of such relentless fighting, and over time even the most unlikely candidate might find himself in danger of what the raiders termed ‘crapping out’ – not being able to take it any more. Invariably, those who ‘crapped out’ couldn’t face going into action ever again. If a man’s nerves cracked during a mission, he became a liability to his fellow raiders. It was something they all dreaded.
Some feared that as Lassen drove himself to extremes, he was going to end up being one of those who ‘crapped out’. But there was no sign of anything like that happening just yet.
In the face of what had befallen Captain Blyth’s patrol, no one in Jellicoe’s raiding force was about to lose it. Quite the reverse, in fact. There was, of course, another reaction to such acutely distressing news – one that the forces gathered in the Gulf of Cos were more inclined to. It was to redouble their efforts, and to wreak a campaign of terror throughout General von Kleemann’s command, in an effort to make amends for those friends and comrades who had been executed in cold blood.
Fittingly, the charge would be led by Anders Lassen and the men of his Irish Patrol. It would spawn perhaps the Dane’s most infamous raid of all – what would become known as ‘The Bloodbath of Santorini’.
*
Santorini forms part of the Cyclades, a chain of islands lying to the west of the Dodecanese, some 150 miles from the raiders’ Gulf of Cos base. Santorini is formed of a rugged and bare chunk of volcanic rock some ten miles long by three wide. Sheer, dour cliffs of black basalt rear out of the waves to a height just short of a thousand feet, offering an uncertain welcome to any visitors sailing through her waters.
Human habitation – ancient castles, aged monasteries and narrow, twisting rows of white-walled houses – clusters along the cliff tops, which sweep in a crescent-shaped ridge through waters as deep as the cliffs are tall, being the remains of a half-collapsed volcanic crater. That crater forms an almost circular harbour – one with the added benefit of warm, sulphurous waters to help the local fishermen de-weed their boats.
Santorini is the southernmost of the Cyclades, so it would be the first targeted by the raiders. It would remind Lassen very much of Fernando Po, the island nation off equatorial Africa where he had launched his career as a piratical raider, some three years and what seemed like a lifetime ago. Now Lassen was a triple MC winner, commanding the toughest of the few – the Irish Patrol – and a man very much on a mission of vengeance.
Jellicoe’s plan of attack – approved in early April 1944 – suited those ends perfectly. It called for nothing less than the liquidation of the islands’ entire garrison in one dark and bloody night.
The fate that had befallen Captain Blyth’s patrol had changed things irrevocably for the raiders. No longer would German prisoners be dined at Groppi’s, or taken for a few beers and to the movies. The capture and execution of an entire SBS patrol could not go unavenged or unpunished, and from now on Jellicoe’s men would be disinclined to take many prisoners.
Just five days after Blyth’s patrol had been listed as ‘missing’ – and few doubted what that meant in reality – Lassen and his men set sail. From the Greek islanders on Halki they had received snippets of news concerning the fate that had befallen Blyth’s unit. It was far better to keep busy, than to let minds linger on what kind of treatment those ten captives were being subjected to.
In targeting Santorini, Lassen would be blessed with an unexpected piece of good fortune. One of their German captives – an Obergefreiter Adolf Lange – had yielded vital intelligence under Priestley’s relentless questioning. Fortunately for Lassen and his Irish Patrol, Lange had been stationed on Santorini throughout the previous year. With the help of a map he was able to detail the number and location of those garrisoning the island – twenty Germans, with some forty Italians in support – including the site of the island’s radio station.
The voyage from the Gulf of Cos to Santorini took three days. It was completed wholly at night, with the two schooners lying-up during the day under their specially-made camouflage netting. On board were many of Lassen’s old and bold, and all had scores to settle: Sergeant Jack Nicholson, the Maid Honour original and Kastelli Airbase raid veteran, who knew by now that fellow Kastelli raider Ray Jones had fallen into enemy hands; the Irishman Sean O’Reilly, who was determined to make amends for shooting Lassen in the leg during the Halki raid, and for putting him out of action for so long.
But there were also several new faces, many of whom were decidedly light on experience. Lassen’s second-in-command for the Santorini mission was Lieutenant Stefan Casulli, a man with the fine good looks that went with coming from a family that could trace its ancestors back to the Greek heroes of old. Casulli’s parents were well-known, wealthy Greeks, and they had built for themselves a good life in Alexandria, in Egypt, far from the dark troubles that had overtaken their native land. Casulli – with his classical nose, dark smouldering eyes and sensitive mouth – was married with a young family, and he was under no compulsion to go to war.
Yet upon hearing of the actions of the SBS all across the lands of the Greek people, Casulli had volunteered to join the raiders. Lassen and Casulli shared an instinctive bond: both ‘foreigners’, Casulli’s Greece and Lassen’s Denmark were reeling under the Nazi occupation – one that seemed to grow in savagery and excess, as the Axis fortunes worsened. Lassen had met and befriended Casulli’s family, growing especially close to his wife and their one young child. He had a high regard for Casulli’s abilities as an officer and a spirited leader of men.
Lassen also had a new medic on his patrol as stand-in for the American Porter Jarrell, who wasn’t able to make the Santorini raid: Sergeant Kingston, formerly of the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC). Another relative newcomer was Sammy Trafford, who hailed from the Royal Marines. After O’Reilly had had the temerity to accidentally shoot him, Lassen had sought out a new ‘bodyguard’. Sammy Trafford was it. In truth, the Dane wasn’t really in need of a minder: Trafford was more Lassen’s driver, the pilot of his boat, and his personal attendant.
Lastly, there was parachutist Jack Harris, another relatively new recruit, one who had never experienced a full-on Lassen raid. Boosted by those newcomers, Lassen’s force was some two-dozen strong.
Sergeant Jack Nicholson, Lassen’s veteran right-hand man, welcomed the newcomers to the Irish Patrol with distinctly ominous words, although they were doubtless meant to be somewhat reassuring: ‘Coming with the killers, are you? Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.’
*
In the early hours of 23 April 1944 Lassen’s patrol put ashore on the eastern landfall of Santorini, near Point Vourvolous, an isolated promontory. Having dropped the raiders on a darkened stretch of black volcanic sand, the two schooners sailed for the nearby Christiana islets – isolated rocky outcrops some fifteen miles to the south-west of Santorini. Uninhabited, and surrounded by treacherous rocky ledges and shallows, the Christianas should shelter the two schooners from prying eyes, at least until Lassen and his men were done.
Ashore on Santorini, Lassen’s patrol shouldered their weapons and their loads. Ahead of them lay a five-mile trek south-west across the
island, towards some caves lying near the village of Vourvoulous. The caves were only ever used by goatherds, and their local Greek guide knew them to be the ideal place for the raiders to hide-up and gather intelligence for the coming raid.
By 0500 hours the men were safely ensconced in those rocky caverns. Lieutenant Casulli, together with their local guide, headed into Vourvoulous village to gather intelligence. Lassen was keen to verify the numbers of the enemy garrison. If Obergefreiter Lange’s testimony had been correct, there were sixty German and Italian troops billeted in nearby Fira, Santorini’s capital. If so, Lassen’s patrol was outnumbered more than three-to-one, and especially as he needed to split it into groups, so as to hit a number of targets simultaneously.
Casulli returned with encouraging news. The garrison was said to number no more than thirty-five mixed Germans and Italians. It was still a significant number, but less than the sixty Obergefreiter Lange had reported were there. Lassen was inclined to give up-to-date local intelligence more worth than the reports of a German prisoner some months old. There was one other highly intriguing development: the enemy garrison was billeted above the Bank of Athens. If all went well with the attack, the bank might also be there for the taking.
Lassen split his patrol into three elements. A five-man force would hit the radio station, situated on the Imerovigli headland on the northern outskirts of Fira town. A smaller, three-man force would head for the German commanding officer’s house in Fira, with orders to kill him or better still, take him captive. The main force, led by Lassen and Casulli, with twelve ranks in support, would hit the main barracks at the Bank of Athens building, in central Fira.
Zero hour for the attacks was 0045 that night, by which time all three raiding parties were to be in position. A good hour prior to midnight the men set out. The caves at Vourvoulos lie no more than two miles north of Fira. Lassen soon found himself approaching its narrow, twisting streets, the white walls and cobbles ahead of him shimmering in the faint silvery moonlight.