The ground was solid rock and by first light on the 25th few of the trenches were more than a foot deep. The sounds of the picks must have been clearly audible to the enemy. Wigan’s Vickers guns and the Vickers and 6-pdrs of the LRB were virtually on open ground. Daylight on the 25th found them in full view from the enemy and their positions were soon being ‘plastered’ by shells, mortar bombs and streams of machine-gun bullets. They could see little of the enemy in his dug-in positions, but vigorously engaged any target offered, though thereby further revealing their positions. Two machine-gun detachments of the Riflemen were picked off man by man, one of whom had his head taken off by an anti-tank shot. The Middlesex suffered also, one gun being knocked out.
The wounded of all units endured severe trials of fortitude, lying in shallow slits in the rock under the blazing sun, scourged by flies, the Middlesex wounded being without water or food. Operational vehicles of the LRB which had not been withdrawn and which could not disperse in the minefield drew particularly heavy fire on the Australian boundary. The watching Aussies of Second-13th Battalion recorded that ‘the carnage was terrible to watch’ and their Regimental Aid Post was swamped by wounded Riflemen, who were treated by Captain Philip Goode and a captured German doctor.
But they stayed put, stuck to their weapons and in the afternoon the Riflemen away on the right had their rich revenge as the enemy made his counter-attack of that day. A mixed force of German and Italian tanks appeared from behind the ridge. Advancing characteristically at very slow speed, with dust blown ahead of them like a rising storm, they bore down on the Riflemen near the Australian boundary, intending to drive our infantry from their newly-won positions.
The 6-pdrs held their fire until the enemy tanks had closed to about 800 yards, the layer of each gun holding a tank in his sights as it crept on. At that killing range they opened fire and a violent action burst out in ‘stupendous noise’. One after another the tanks were hit and several were quickly engulfed in flames and smoke, but the remainder still came on ‘like an irresistible steam roller’. They were supported by field artillery fire which was poured in disconcertingly from German positions to the north of the Australian flank, thus appearing to the Riflemen to have come from ‘almost behind us’. The Londoners, however, held their ground with great resolution and the enemy was brought to a halt by the guns of Lieutenant Jack Salt and Sergeant Allen at 250 yards. Obliged to withdraw, the enemy, in addition to other losses, left behind fourteen smoking and blazing wrecks.
This was the first infantry versus armour action of Alamein and the first of several manifestations that were to follow (exemplified on both sides) of the helplessness of tanks in the face of stoutly manned anti-tank guns. It was a fine and highly significant little action that has hitherto remained in obscurity to nearly all but those who took part in it.
Meanwhile, back at 1st Gordons’ battalion headquarters on the Black Line, James Hay had been preparing to reinforce Paton’s little force, cut off in their precarious scrapes in the rock in front of Aberdeen, that night. He set out on a reconnaissance in a bren-carrier, accompanied by Major J. E. G. Hay (known as ‘Scrappy’ Hay) and Major Michael du Boulay, commanding B Company. In the belt that separated them from Paton the carrier struck a mine. James Hay took the full brunt of the detonation, being severely wounded in both legs. Scrappy Hay, though himself shaken, then took command — the third CO of the Battalion in thirty-six hours. An attempt to unite with Paton was made that night with B Company under Du Boulay; though the distance was not more than 400 yards, the attempt failed. Du Boulay was given a fallacious bearing, which brought him head-on to Aberdeen itself and on to the machine-guns posted in the derelict tanks. Outlined in the moonlight against strong machine-gun positions, his companies were brought to a halt. Unprepared for such opposition and unsupported by artillery fire, du Boulay, himself wounded, very properly ordered a withdrawal.
Unaware of these misadventures, Paton’s small force hung on expectantly. As the second night came on, they rose with relief from their cramped slits, did what little they could for the wounded, improved their diggings and serviced their weapons. The men in the worst case were the Middlesex, without water or food after a day of fierce heat. Wigan sent out a party to search the wrecked vehicles of the LRB, but several of them were still burning and any movement near them was observed and at once drew fire. A sergeant, however, was able to draw off some water from one or two radiators that had not been damaged and this liquid, foul though it was averted for the while the most pressing danger. The outer casings of the machine-guns themselves, which had lost water during the day’s shooting, were replenished in the traditional emergency manner.
When no relief or reinforcement came, the Jocks and the Cockneys accepted the situation with stoic cheerfulness. The idea of withdrawing entered no one’s head; in his captured German diary Wigan recorded simply: ‘As we couldn’t go forward, we stayed where we were.’ Lieutenant W. M. MacFarlane and six men managed to get through to them with some tins of water, but there was still no relief for the machine-gunners.
The second day, the 26th, dawned and at once both sides were in action again. Another of Wigan’s guns was knocked out. The wounded of both units were grievously in need of evacuation and his own men faint from lack of water and food. Towards noon he decided that some action would have to be taken if his men were to survive. He discussed the situation with Paton in his nearby scrape and they decided that someone must attempt to get back to the battalion.
Having apparently overheard this conversation, Lance-Corporal H. Sleeth, one of Wigan’s section orderlies, at once volunteered. Wigan hesitated. It was a mission of great danger and Sleeth had already been hit twice — once in the back and the second time in the arm. The young officer looked at him hard, weighing him up; Sleeth was a quiet, rather reserved man, a trifle older than the average, steady and sensible. Wigan reflected that, having been hit twice without being killed, he probably had a charmed life and, if anyone could get through, he would.
He briefed the NCO as best he could. Waiting for a lull in the shelling, he sent him off. He watched him cover the first 200 yards when, entering the minefield which they had traversed two nights before, he was lost to view over the intervening swell of ground.
Entering the minefield, Sleeth was free of observation, but he was careful not to hurry, in case, by treading heavily, he set off a mine. He was tired and his mouth was very dry. The desert shimmered in the heat of the afternoon mirage and he felt dizzy. He had not gone far when the shelling opened up again. A mine, possibly actuated by a shell splinter, blew up within a yard or two of him and flung him violently to the ground. Dazed and shaken, he got to his feet again and somehow made his way to his company headquarters, where he collapsed at the feet of Captain Michael Pearson.
A few hours later, as soon as it was dark, refusing to be evacuated, he led Pearson up to his platoon in a bren-carrier, bringing water, food, ammunition and reinforcements.
A little afterwards, Brigadier Graham and Hay having gone up to see the position for themselves, the remainder of 1st Gordons moved up, but were spared the necessity of assaulting Aberdeen, for its garrison, having been severely shot up at dawn on the 27th by the 6-pdr Deacons of ZZ Battery (76th Anti-Tank Regiment) and having been given a hot time by everyone else, surrendered and the Gordons occupied. Major H. A. F. Fausset-Farquhar, fourth CO within a week, took command.
The key-points of Kidney Ridge were all now in our hands, but it remained a very hot horizon and anyone who showed his nose above it was immediately shot up.[38]
ATTACK BY 10TH ARMOURED DIVISION
While 1st Armoured Division was slowly forcing its way forward on 24 October in the Kidney sector and while the other divisions of Eighth Army were planning to resume operations that night, preparations of special interest and promise were being made on Miteiriya Ridge.
We have seen how, following as closely as possible on the heels of the New Zealand infantry and the sappers, the armour had been broug
ht to a halt on the ridge by the approach of daylight, just when they seemed to be on the brink of achieving their break-out. We have seen also the extraordinary congestion of warlike traffic immediately behind the ridge and in the dust-blown approaches to it, with one division overlaid upon another. All the factors of a ‘grand military mix-up’ were present if there had not been a high standard of control by commanders and staff officers and spontaneous discipline by the intermingled units.
Later in the morning Montgomery gave to Lumsden those orders that we have outlined for the continued advance of the armour. It was clear, however, that, on the Miteiriya sector, the bridgehead won the previous night could not be exploited in daylight and, accordingly, preparation was made for the break-out of the armour that night.
The operations of 10th Armoured Division that ensued became the occasion of the unfortunate row between Montgomery and Gatehouse, but no adequate account of those operations has yet been made public. On this score there is something that has to be put right historically and the operations are, therefore, of particular concern to us; they are also inherently of tactical consequence and of the liveliest interest as a battle chronicle. We shall, therefore, watch them as closely as we can, with the help of the records and of personal narratives.
Lumsden’s orders (given, consequent upon the Army Commander’s conference, in 10th Corps Operation Instruction No. 3) were that 10th Corps should continue its advance to First Bound Pierson. The method of doing so would be for 10th Armoured Division and 9th Armoured Brigade to ‘deploy clear of the enemy minefields, and, linking up with 1st Armoured Division on their right, be prepared to meet an attack by enemy tanks’. The interpolated phrase is important.
Alec Gatehouse’s division was by nightfall massed behind Miteiriya Ridge to the number of some 250 tanks. It was a formidable display of Shermans, Grants and Crusaders, their intimidating shapes clearly lit by the bright moon now riding at its full. They lined up in the minefield lanes together with their ‘soft-skinned’ vehicles in regimental groups, each armoured regiment, in its own allotted lane, being accompanied by artillery, engineer and infantry sub-units (an open-desert grouping that disabled the CRA from giving full artillery support). Far behind them the Wellingtons of 205 Group were preparing to pass over their heads to bomb the enemy armour.
On the right of the division, at the northern end of the ridge, was Kenchington’s new 24th Armoured Brigade Group, consisting of 41st, 45th and 47th RTR, equipped with a preponderance of Shermans, 5th RHA, commanded by Rawden Hoare, 11th King’s Royal Rifle Corps and 6th Field Squadron RE.
On the left was Neville Custance’s 8th Armoured Brigade Group, made up of the Sherwood Rangers under the dashing ‘Flash’ Kellett, the Staffordshire Yeomanry under James Eadie, wearing the Bass red triangle, 3rd RTR under ‘Pete’ Pyman, 1st RHA under the brilliant Douglas Packard, 1st Buffs under the courageous Smith-Dorrien and 2nd (Cheshire) Field Squadron RE.
The Sussex brigade of lorried infantry had orders to occupy the ridge as a ‘pivot of manoeuvre’, in the desert phrase that had now become of dubious validity. Their field gunners were 104th RHA (Essex Yeomanry) under R. S. G. Hobbs, familiarly known as ‘Pooh’ Hobbs. Each brigade was also accompanied by light antiaircraft batteries and 6-pdr batteries from 84th Anti-Tank Regiment and a battery of 73rd was with Kenchington.
To these brigades of 10th Armoured’s own were added Currie’s 9th Armoured Brigade, who were to operate on the left and shape their course towards the south. They had been withdrawn from the ridge early in the evening and the Royal Wiltshire Yeomanry, who had sustained heavy losses, were left out of the coming battle.
Such, in outline, was the composition of the powerful force that, as the dusty day drew on, gradually assembled, the greater part of it behind the rocky ridge. Forward of the ridge the desert sloped down almost imperceptibly for some ten feet in a distance of a mile, pock-marked with innumerable gun-pits, and then it rose again hesitantly for fifteen feet to another long, slight undulation known for convenience as the Wishka Ridge, where stood a lone palm tree. As traced in the map, the Pierson Bound was a little short of the ridge on 10th Division’s front. Between the Miteiriya and Wishka features there was thus a broad, shallow, depressed zone in which any formation brought to a halt would be liable to methodical destruction. To reach the Pierson Bound, Kenchington had to advance an average distance of about two miles and Custance a trifle more.
Zero hour was 10 p.m. and the attack was to be supported by a bombardment from nearly 300 guns under a fire plan quickly made by ‘Baron’ Ebbels.
Before the tanks could get on, it was realized, there was still more to be done in the tricky business of mine lifting. It was likely to be even more tricky tonight. There was a special difficulty for 24th Armoured Brigade, as the axis of advance now ordered for them started diagonally across the routes already cleared and marked. This change of direction arose from Montgomery’s requirement that morning that Gatehouse’s division should link-up with Briggs’s, thus obliging Kenchington to veer nearly due west, instead of pursuing the south-westerly bearing of the original ‘corridor’.
The clearing of the lanes for this brigade would be the duty of 6th Field Squadron, under Major Collins, and McMeekan (still almost completely deaf from the previous night’s shattering) felt distinctly apprehensive about their ability to carry out this tough assignment, for it was their first battle. The field squadrons of both brigades this night were under command their armoured brigades and, therefore, not under McMeekan’s operational orders.
For 8th Brigade the duty fell on 2nd (Cheshire) Field Squadron. We have noted in Chapter Eleven that it was commanded by Major Jack Perrott. Senior sister unit of 3rd Squadron, who had done such fine work the night before, it was a squadron with a high morale and offensive eagerness. Attending the Order Group of 8th Armoured Brigade, Perrott learned from Custance that he was required to provide three gaps, one for each armoured regiment, each to be in prolongation of Bottle, Boat and Hat routes. He was to begin at last light, which was at 7.30, and finish by 10 o’clock, when the armour would pass through.
This was a straightforward enough task, but a very dangerous one, for the enemy now knew the direction that each of these lanes would take if prolonged, while Hat was his own approach gap, which would quite certainly be specially watched, re-sown with mines at the enemy’s end and covered by fire.
Nonetheless, Perrott felt tremendously elated and buoyant after the brigade ‘O Group’. For this his squadron had been ardently preparing day and night for several weeks under what he described as the inspiration with which Alec Gatehouse had imbued the whole division, and the knowledge that this was the ‘big moment’ for his squadron filled him with ardour. This enthusiasm he did not fail to communicate to his own little O group immediately afterwards, when he apportioned their tasks to the Troop leaders. Bottle route he assigned to Andrew Ramsay and Geoffrey Kneale, Boat to F. G. Caldwell (a young Regular officer who, though not yet 21, had already won the MC and Bar) and Philip Holborn, and the dangerous Hat to Captain Peter Hattersley and Leslie Sage. The squadron had been assigned a company of infantry (from another formation) for their protection, but we may dismiss them from our story, for they arrived very late with no platoon officers, with no training for this special work, and were of no value at all.
Darkness fell and, before the moon rose, the three Troops of 2nd Squadron set out filled with confidence and offensive eagerness. The first task on each route was a reconnaissance. Perrott himself was on Boat route with Griff Caldwell and together they walked over the top of Miteiriya Ridge, down the forward slope and on ahead of the infantry, unescorted, unarmed and wearing soft caps. The moon had risen.
Quite suddenly some ten figures got up from a lying position a little distance ahead and stood facing them, rifles in hand. Perrott said quietly: ‘Take it quietly, Griff. They must be Jerries. Turn round and walk back casually.’
Together they did so, expecting at any moment a fusillade of
bullets in their backs. But none came and they strolled quietly back to their own lines.
On Hat route on the left, however, Hattersley was not so fortunate. He set out on his reconnaissance with Sapper Heath and when out in front they were confronted by a group of Germans who rose up from the ground in exactly the same manner, thirty yards ahead.
Hattersley, a crack shot with the new weapon, instantly seized the Tommy gun that Heath was carrying and, dropping to the knee, opened fire on the enemy. His fire was returned and he was almost instantly shot in the head. He died in the arms of Sapper Heath, who was then taken prisoner. Angry rather than dismayed, Heath protested violently that a doctor should be fetched at once to attend to his Troop Commander, but his plea was unavailing, and he was taken back to the German lines and held in a covered defence post with some Germans and one Italian who, from time to time during the night, entertained the party with a piano accordion.[39]
When Hattersley and Heath failed to return, Lieutenant Sage or Sergeant Groves attempted to make a second reconnaissance, but by this time the route was firmly closed by the enemy, who, as was to be expected, had sited an enfilading 88-mm, which opened up as the reconnaissance party advanced. This was the route assigned to 3rd RTR, under Pyman. It would have been folly to persist with it and Pyman agreed that it should be abandoned.
Meanwhile, Caldwell’s Troop was making excellent progress on the centre route, where only Teller mines were encountered. So also was Ramsay’s Troop in Bottle route on the right. Perrott, inspecting both routes, found them already filling up with the great press of traffic as the regimental groups mustered in their ordained sequences. He reflected that the deep growl of the tanks, which at night projects its drum-roll so far upon the waves of sound, must be clearly audible to the enemy. He returned to his wireless truck, which was on Boat route. The place was not only being shelled but also machine-gunned. A New Zealand sergeant and four men were trying to get some sleep close to the truck, but were kept awake by the waspish bursts of the Spandau. The sergeant, getting up from his trench as Perrott was about to speak on the radio, said to him: ‘That gun’s bothering you, Major; we’ll settle the bastards.’
Alamein (Major Battles of World War Two) Page 22