Hammer of God

Chapter 10

March 12, 1941

The Australians of the 7th Division had done their best to conceal their presence near the Lebanese border. Vehicles had been hidden beneath the cool shade of olive groves, their tracks rubbed out in the loamy reddish soil. The infantry went without their slouch hats, or bent them into odd shapes, but the locals were not fooled. To them they were “Ostralees” from top to bottom, the big men from a far away land who called them the “Wogs” like the British did, though they were an amiable sort. It was a term of deprecation reserved for those not privileged to be among the landed gentry and citizens of the British Empire-white citizens-but such prejudices had not been burned away in the crucible of time yet. There was Jerry out there for the Germans, the Macaronis in Italy, Ivan in Russia, the Japs out east. And the enemy these brawny young men would now face were the “Frogs.” They thought they would just simply walk in, wave their hats at the French, and walk on to occupy the territory, but they were wrong.

Zero hour was to be 01:00, under a nearly full moon, and some hours before this, the engineers of 2/6th Field Company slipped across the border led by local guides. One man there was a member of the Jewish underground militias, Moshe Dayan, who would later become famous in Israel’s many wars. It was in this campaign, while peering through field glasses that were struck by a bullet from a French sniper, that Dayan injured his eye, forcing him to wear the signature eye patch for the rest of his life.

The engineers mission at the outset was to find and cut the telephone lines from the outpost at Ras en Naqoura to a second post further up the coast where the French had a demolition team ready to interdict the narrow coastal road. There the terrain rose steeply to a 385 meter hill called Chamaa, and one good landslide there could close the road to vehicles for hours.

The engineers, under Captain Gowling, were led by Jewish and Arab guides, making their way over the hushed stony ground, through thickets of thorn bush. They pushed on over the hills to the coastal road, finding and cutting the wires before circling back inland to try and get to a point north of Iakandaroun, where the demolition charges were believed to be. Posting three man teams on the road to stop any vehicles from heading south, other teams scouted through culverts and low bridges to look for the mines, but none were found.

“It has to be further south,” said Lieutenant Allen. “There, where the road hugs the side of that hill. That’s where I’d place my charges.” So they moved south until they came within sight of a block house, and at that point a single shot broke the quiet of the night, the first shot fired in this private little war to be fought between the British Empire and the Vichy French and their allies.

“Spread out,” said Lieutenant Allen, “and get down through that culvert. We’ll provide cover fire, and Kyffin can have a go at them from the left.”

And so it began. The Australians rushed the strong point and took it by storm and fire, the sound of that little fight echoing from the high hills and setting off the chatter of a machine gun in a nearby orchard. This was attacked and silenced by a grenade from the hand of Private Henderson, who captured the Hotchkiss gun and a mortar in that position. But others had heard the commotion, and reinforcements were drawn to the scene in small groups. When a French column was seen coming from the north, Lieutenant Kyffin and his men mounted the captured Hotchkiss and mortar on the blockhouse and now it was Australian troops firing from the position at an enemy from the north.

They came in small groups, a few mounted tirailleurs, then two armored cars, which were stopped by a well aimed round from the captured French mortar. Twelve more horsemen were scene and fired upon with the Hotchkiss, and sent galloping away into the hills seeking cover. It was soon found that there were more French in the nearby orchard than first thought, and Lieutenant Allen was sent with his men to root them out. While this action was fought, Captain Gowling heard a loud explosion behind them. His eye caught that of Lieutenant Kyffin with the obvious look of frustration.

“The charges were further south,” he said grimly. The demolition they had been sent to prevent had been carried out by the French somewhere on the road behind them, and now the small team of engineers was cut off until their comrades could clear and break through along that road. They held out, until they had collected some 30 prisoners and an armored car from forces wandering in to the scene unaware of the action underway.

Further south, 2/27th Battalion was leading the attack across the border. When the demolition went off, Lieutenant Rudd was sent with six light MG Mark VI tankettes and a pair of 2-pounder AT guns with more engineers. He pushed his small column up through Naqoura without incident, encountering a small group of French infantry blocking the road beyond the town, which forced him to stop and deploy his 2-pounders. The tankettes engaged point blank with their machineguns, while infantry flanked the position from the hillside above. It was soon discovered that the demolition had produced a large crater in the road, and a small landslide. The roadblock would have to be flanked.

The job went to the men of the 2/16th Battalion under Lieutenant Colonel MacDonald. He pushed two companies of infantry across the border to converge on the village of Bent Jbail, where they drove out a detachment of French Spahis cavalry. The pioneers cleared a track to the road leading north, and the carriers of Lieutenant Mills, 6th Australian Cavalry, pushed on, intending to move along the winding mountain road to Tyre, which was well north of the blocked coastal road. They reached the old Turkish castle at Tebnine, clearing it if enemy troops that had gathered there from posts further south.

It was then that the Arab mayor of the town approached the British waving a white headdress, which he had removed. He was taken to Mills, where he welcomed the “Ostralees” as liberators and said he had friends in Tyre ahead that he could call to check on the enemy defenses. To the surprise of the Australians, he was soon informed that Tyre was not yet held by the enemy in any strength, and that they would be welcomed there.

“Then let’s get on with it,” said Mills enthusiastically. This was more of what they had expected of this offensive, a quick advance with little opposition and welcoming locals. The column set off, through the furrowed hills until they reached a point where they finally overlooked the ancient crusader town of Tyre. There they saw British naval units off the coast, but they were under attack by French planes, and the sharp pock of the anti-aircraft batteries punctuated the stillness. It was Force A, with the destroyer Kimberly close inshore, looking to shell French positions. When the infantry pushed in through the bleached white stucco buildings, they were soon greeted by a throng of locals, and an Arab ovation, the trilling tongues of the women accenting the cheers.

Lieutenant Colonel MacDonald decided to send a troop of Rolls Royce armored cars from the Royals north from Tyre, heading up the coastal road towards the vital bridge over the Litani River. By this time, the long night had passed, and the sun was up as the column approached the bridge, where they saw the French had set up a roadblock south of the river. A few men dismounted to clear the obstacle, and the “Battle of the Litani” started when French troops near the bridge opened fire with both field guns and 47mm AT guns. Well registered mortar fire came in as well, forcing the armored cars to make a hasty withdrawal. They had to abandon two cars that had been hit by enemy fire, and the shelter of a nearby wadi provided little cover to Lieutenant Dent’s troop of infantry in universal carriers. Dent’s own carrier broke down, and the situation looked difficult.

“Better get word back to Mac,” he said to his driver, Trooper Judd. “We’re in for a fight here.” It was clear that the main enemy line of resistance was now the Litani. The crater on the coast road was found to be thirty feet deep, and it was late afternoon before engineers could get it filled to permit the passage of vehicles and finally link up with the men hold in the block house further north. By day’s end, the 21st Brigade had taken all the ground south of the Litani, but it was clear that the real battle was now about to begin.

Further inland, the Australian 25th Brigade was to advance from the roads flanking the high cliffs above the Jordan, take the town of Merdjayoun, and push on through the highlands beyond and into the valley to take the vital French airfield at Rayak. The first major obstacle they encountered was an old stone fort beyond a bridge, over a swift mountain stream just south of Khaim. “Fort Khaim,” as it was called, was manned by about 100 French infantry, and protected by 75mm field guns, mortars, machinegun posts and wire. The job of taking it was handed to Captain Cotton’s company, and he sent Lieutenant Connor’s platoon to take the bridge and then push on to survey the fort.

“We’ll have to come at it on a wide front,” Connor whispered to his men. “Get the lads well dispersed, and when we move, make it quick. The sooner we cut through that wire the better.”

It was approaching noon on that first day when the Aussies rushed forward, their advance soon being opposed by heavy fire. The dispersal of the troops allowed them to push on until they reached the wire, some 50 yards from the squarish fort. There they fired everything they had to silence the two machine guns that were raking the wire area, and Lieutenant Connor rushed forward with five other men and wire cutters. This small squad was able to get through and work their way to the base of the fort, where another machinegun on an opposite corner took them under fire.

Amazingly, there was an unguarded door there, and Conner shouldered his way in, hefting his sub-machinegun as he did so. A Sergeant and two Corporals followed him as they climbed another wall that led to a long barracks. Connor ran the length of the room, which opened on the inside of the fort, firing his sub-machinegun the whole way until he and his men reached a bastion at the other end. There they took refuge, finding a French officer, who quickly raised his hands and wisely told them in English he now wished to join the Free French forces of de Gaulle!

“This one has a head on his shoulders,” said Connor. “Alright mate, you can throw in with us if you mean to. But one false move and I’ll have Sergeant Sweetapple there throttle you. Understand?”

Sweetapple wasn’t a very intimidating name, but the man who had it looked more than capable of carrying out that threat. Connor found a rifle slit in the wall of his little toe hold on the fort, and called out to Captain Cotton, who sent men forward to try and cut a hole in the dry sandstone wall at the base of the bastion. Little by little, they opened a breach, put men through to reinforce Connor, until a full platoon had occupied the barracks and began pouring a withering fire at the remaining French positions on the interior of the fort.

By nightfall, Fort Khaim had been taken, and the little action there presaged the events that now lay ahead. Just up the road from Khaim was the main enemy position on the upper Litani. It stretched from the town of Merdjayoun in the northeast, where there was yet another fort, then southwest to the Litani itself where the famous imposing walls of the old Crusader castle, Chateau Beaufort, overlooked the main road. The approaching slopes to these redoubts were bare and open, offering little cover. Pill boxes and mortar pits connected the two forts anchoring the line, which was strongly held by men of the French Algerian Rifle Regiment.

A Free French liaison officer was sent forward under a flag of truce to try and talk their way through the obstacle, but the request to join the Aussies was denied, and he got a bullet in his shoulder on the return journey for good measure. Machine guns and mortars opened up, and within minutes the three companies of Australian troops under Captains Byrne, Brown, and Houston were pinned down, and Brown himself was wounded.

“This is no good,” said Byrne. “They held fire until we were right in front of them on this exposed ground. Send back that we need bloody artillery support!” The runner was off, a stream of enemy MG fire in his wake that almost cut him down, but he made it back. Soon the 25-pounders of 2/6th Field Regiment responded, laying down a well sited barrage of covering fire to allow 2/31st Battalion to fall back.

It was some time withdrawing, and at one point three Mark VI tankettes were brought up to provide more covering fire. The two lead tanks were hit by hot enemy fire, the third tank under Sergeant Groves bravely charging to their side to rescue the surviving crewmen. But the incident was enough to allow Captain Byrne to get his company back another 400 yards, harried by enemy mortar fire the whole way. Houston’s last company had to cling to its position until dusk, under fire the whole time, with casualties mounting.

“So much for waving our hats at these fellows!” said Byrne when he reported to the battalion commander. The Vichy French were going to fight, and Brigade commander Cox knew he would now have to make a deliberate attack, well supported by artillery fire. After watching this preparation some time, the artillery commander made a suggestion that an armored troop of the cavalry be sent up to the village of Khirbe to draw enemy fire so he could better target his guns. It was to be a reconnaissance that they would come to regret.

Lieutenant Millard got the assignment in 1/6th Australian Cav, and he led his troop, consisting of one light Mark VI tankette and six carriers with infantry, up the narrow road. The detachment planned to split into two groups of three carriers each, with the tank in the middle, and with this modest force they thought to take the town by storm. Lt. Millard deployed his men on the left, and Lt. Florence had the right flank, but both groups immediately came under fire by mortars and machineguns when the men began to deploy.

“Better tell the lads to get back,” he said to his wireless operator, Corporal Oswell. But when he looked at the man he could see he was clutching a wounded arm with a bloodied hand, and was unable to send the signal. So Millard waved for the men in Lt. Florence’s squad to fall back, then got on the Vickers MG to lay down covering fire on the French positions.

“I hope the bloody artillery spotters are having a good look at this mess!” he shouted. “Driver, get us back!”

As the carrier tried to back off, a small caliber mortar shell landed right near the front of the vehicle, rattling it with shrapnel and blowing off a track. Millard and his remaining crew leapt from the damaged vehicle, the ground around them peppered by enemy fire. They made it to a low stone wall, unable to so much as raise their heads further against the enemy gunnery.

“We’re in the soup now,” said Millard. “Where’s that artillery?”

“I’ve good legs on me, sir,” said Corporal Limb, his driver. “I think I can sprint back to the carrier and call them on the radio.”

They waited until the French fire slackened, then Limb ran for all he was worth, shots ricocheting off the carrier even as he leapt inside. Amazed that he was still alive, the Corporal reached for the radio set and found it dead, shot through by a machinegun round. Then, as if in answer to the call he had hoped to make, the Australian artillery fire began to register in on the French positions.

Lt. Florence got his men safely back, but saw that Millard was still trapped. He jumped into his carrier, gunned the engine, and made a mad dash right up the road towards Millard’s damaged carrier, with no more than a pistol in his hand for a weapon. He reached the scene, finding the carrier empty, as Corporal Limb had used those good legs of his to make it safely back to the wall.

“Come on!” he shouted to Millard and the others, maneuvering his carrier closer. The men were up and into the vehicle, still under heavy fire, but they all made it safely in, and Florence backed off. By the time they got back, a third of the men in the troop had been hit and wounded, and the carrier itself had taken heavy damage. But they were alive, and glad for at least that. Lt. Millard wiped the sweat from his brow with a bloodied arm.

“Message from battalion,” said a runner. “We’re to make ready to support the infantry attack.”

“With what?” Millard exclaimed. He had one carrier and the Mark VI operational, and twelve men.