Dieppe: Operation Jubilee - Channel Ports Page 17

Lieutenant R. Beswick, Landing Craft Flack 4 One of the aims of the raid had been to provoke the Luftwaffe into a major air battle. To achieve this, the Allied air forces planned to mount the largest air effort since the Battle of Britain two years earlier. However, even though the RAF put sixty-seven squadrons into the air, including three US squadrons, the range of aircraft at this point in the war meant that their time over target was strictly limited – in some cases, to under ten minutes. For example, the preponderance of Spitfires (forty-eight squadrons of them) was a problem: though an outstanding defensive fighter, the aircraft, until modified later in the war, had small fuel tanks and a thirsty engine, which limited its endurance in a battle area sixty-five miles across the Channel. However, two aircraft types that later in the war were to play a considerable role in ground attack did well in the raid. Four squadrons of Mustangs (RAF recce variants) flew from Gatwick, while two squadrons of Typhoons operated from Duxford.

  An RAF Mustang Squadron in action over Dieppe.

  During the early phases of the battle, Hurricane bombers and Spitfires attacked the headlands, all the German artillery, anti-aircraft batteries, and the main beach, while Blenheim and Boston aircraft, flying out of Tangmere, dropped smoke bombs. The latter were particularly effective, but despite the heroism of many pilots, the air strike overall lacked sufficient weight or accuracy to be effective. The Germans hit by air strikes were only temporarily suppressed, and recovered quickly once the attacking aircraft had left the area. At this early phase of the battle, the RAF’s main opposition was anti-aircraft fire from the guns ranging from small to large that ringed Dieppe. However, by 0700 hours, the Luftwaffe were in action.

  In 1942, compared with the Allied total of over six hundred aircraft, the Germans had just three hundred fighters in the west, but, in contrast to the RAF, the relatively short distance to their bases for fuel and rearming was a clear force multiplier. The COHQ report described the air battle:

  ‘The enemy reacted almost as had been foreseen: at first he did not appear to appreciate the scale of our effort and he used only 25-30 fighters in each sortie. As the day went on, the strength of his sorties increased to between 50-100 aircraft. At first fighter-bombers, and later, when the moves from Holland had been effected, night bombers in increasing numbers were used until all his resources on the Western Front were in action.

  ‘Early in the day, enemy air effort was confined entirely to fighters patrolling the area in small numbers. Occasionally, dive attacks on our ships were made from height. The German control merely instructed his aircraft to go to the Dieppe area, where large numbers of British bombers and fighters were operating.’

  At about 1000 hours, over five hours after the assault, RAF patrols encountered enemy bombers, who ‘it would seem... had not been at a high state of readiness.’ Small numbers came into the Dieppe area escorted by Focke-Wulf 190 fighters, but ‘confined its attentions to our convoy, and did not harass our troops ashore.’ Later, German bomber formations of up to fifteen aircraft attacked the Canadians under fighter cover, and it is recorded that ‘Reports from pilots indicate that a small number of reserve training bombers were included’. The enemy were clearly throwing all they could into the air battle.

  Most of those who survived the raid remembered the aircraft dog-fighting over Dieppe. One commentator wrote that ‘the air up above was black with wheeling aircraft.’ Another said

  ‘Suddenly one of our fighters flashed over our heads with a FW 109 on its tail, with streams of machine gun fire, and we were showered with empty cases – the least of our worries. They both disappeared into the clouds of smoke off the beach.’

  Off Dieppe, the Landing Craft Flak were playing their part in the air battle. Sergeant Cooke of the Royal Marines reported:

  ‘Our attention was exclusively concerned with the skies, which suddenly became filled with planes twisting and turning, their machine guns and cannon higher-pitched and more staccato than the guns of the fleet. We opened up with everything that could bear on two of the latest radial-engined FW 190s, and hits were registered.’

  Royal Navy an Royal Marine anti-aircraft gunners in action at Deippe.

  There were incidents where the anti-aircraft gunners engaged Allied aircraft, as a result of excitement or misidentification. Sergeant Cooke continued his account:

  ‘The pot shots we took at the Mustang roused the skipper’s ire. “The next shot at one of those will mean a kick up the arse for someone,” he yelled, but he appeared more satisfied when our shells could plainly be seen to mash into the wings of an over-venturesome Focke-Wulf.’

  The planned Allied attack on Abbeville airfield at 1030 hours was ‘undoubtedly successful in striking at the enemy’s most congested aerodrome at a critical period in the operation.’ It considerably reduced the Luftwaffe’s efforts against the raiding force just as the Allies were starting to withdraw.

  Initial claims of a significant Allied air victory abounded in the aftermath of the raid. One headline trumpeted ‘Allied Fliers Bag 280 Nazi Planes at Dieppe’ and Churchill even told the House of Commons that ‘Dieppe was an extremely satisfactory air battle which Fighter Command wish they could repeat every week.’ Other newspapers were equally unrestrained, with claims of up to two hundred kills. The reality is that the Germans lost just 48 planes, with some 24 aircraft damaged in air combat. Losses of Luftwaffe personnel, including anti-aircraft crew, totalled 104 killed and fifty-eight wounded. Public claims of Allied success (to offset an obvious land reverse?) were also at variance with reality: the Allies certainly lost well over the 106 aircraft that the RAF admitted, although some of the later revisionist historians’ claims of over 200 aircraft lost are way off the mark.

  RAF bombs falling on Abbeville during the course of the raid.

  Into the Town

  The Casino building, although still the scene of savage fighting, represented a covered route for the Canadians to reach the town from the beach, being just 40 yards from the seafront buildings, rather than 65 yards across the Esplanade’s open lawns. It was mainly via the Casino that small groups of Canadians penetrated into the town. Under cover of Bren gun and rifle fire from soldiers of the Fusiliers Mont-Royal and the RHLI, posted in the upper floors, men attempted to cross the fire-swept Boulevard de Verdun. One group of twelve men (all that remained of an RHLI company) was led by Captain Tony Hill in a dash across the Boulevard from the Casino’s colonnade into a side street opposite. Once in Rue de Sygogne, they tried unsuccessfully to scale one of the massive concrete anti-tank walls. Looking for an alternative route, they broke into a cinema through a side window and eventually emerged in the town beyond the roadblock. Here they were promptly subjected to rifle fire. Private Liss recalled that

  ‘We couldn’t see the flash of the rifles and couldn’t locate them. It was one of these snipers that got Lance Corporal Sam Harris. He made himself an obvious target by insisting on carrying the Number 18 radio even though the bloody thing didn’t work. They were going for commanders and radio operators and before we could get the set off his back he was dead.’

  The small engagements were far more evenly balanced, where the Germans, presumably Number 5 Kompanie, were in the streets, pressing forward from their positions in the southern part of the town. A surprising number of French people were also out and about. Some seemed to be going about their normal business, but others, who again ignored the warnings to remain impartial during the raid, actively helped the Canadians. Private Gayler reports that,

  ‘They came up to us or shouted to us where the Germans were, but on the whole it would have been better if they had stayed out of our way because they were giving our positions away as well.’

  Another group, this time French Canadians reached the town. Sergeant Major Dumais, having ‘posted every available man at the windows of the Casino to make sure he would make sure we got maximum covering fire,’ successfully sprinted across the Boulevarde with six men. They were going to have a go at crossing the anti-tank wall:
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  ‘It was about eight feet high and we were going to have to help each other over. Supporting fire came over our head from the Casino but we lobbed a couple of grenades all the same just in case there were any Germans on the other side. As we climbed over, we could see a small anti-tank gun at the next corner. This came as a surprise; it had not been there before, or we should have seen it from the Casino. Luckily for us, at least two of our Brens were firing at it and the crew had taken cover. We ran towards the gun, three on each side of the street for mutual protection. As we were closing on the gun and getting ready to throw grenades, one of the crew risked a look round the corner. He let out a yell, at which the Germans fled into a street on the right.’

  As the abandoned gun had a round in the chamber, the Canadians turned it on its erstwhile masters on the Western Headland and fired, ‘only scaring the enemy!’ Dumais attempted to lead his group to the St Remy Church, where he was to have used the spire as his mortar platoon HQ and observation post. Again, it was small-arms fire from German infantry in well-concealed positions amongst the buildings that persuaded the redoubtable Sergeant Major Dumais that he should lead his men back to the relative safety of the Casino.

  The inland side of the Casino, showing Boulevard de Verdun and the substantial buildings beyond.

  Another view of the gap between the Casino and the town, along with the knocked out ‘Blondie’.

  Helped by the fire of one of the roving Churchills, Royal Canadian Engineer Sergeant Hickson, who had earlier played a significant part in clearing the Casino, now led a group of eighteen Canadians across the Boulevarde into the town. He was hoping to reach his objective, the Dieppe telephone exchange, which he was to demolish with his prepared charges. Hickson’s group also found that they were up against mounting opposition, and that attempting to move down the roads towards their objective was futile in the face of the growing volume of small-arms fire. Consequently, as their ammunition ran out, they withdrew, ‘cutting telephone wires and damaging as much of the militarily useful infrastructure as they could’.

  Remarkably, another group of Fusiliers under Sergeant Dubuc fought their way through Dieppe as far as the Bussin du Canada. Here, largely out of ammunition, their luck ran out and they were taken prisoner. Colonel Stacey recounted that:

  ‘The party were disarmed, forced to strip to their underwear, and left guarded by one German soldier. This man they overpowered, and the party then began to run, heckled as they went by French civilians unused to seeing semi-naked soldiers in their streets.’

  Further to the east on Red Beach, the Essex Scottish had a more difficult task. They had no convenient covered approach to narrow the crossing of the fire-swept lawns of the Esplanade, and, as already noted, only twelve or so men, tossing grenades into enemy trenches, crossed into the town where they reached the Quai du Hable. Here, joined by another small group (probably RHLI), they took up positions in two buildings, and did much damage to German transport and infantry attempting to reinforce the positions along the Esplanade.

  Royal Marines’ Attempted Landing

  With the commitment of the Fusiliers Mont-Royal and the cancellation of the cutting-out operation, the Royal Marine Commando became, in effect, the last floating reserve. Again, a misleading or misinterpreted series of signals that Major General Roberts received from 0712 hours onwards, led him to believe that the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry had captured the Casino and were ready to move on into the town in force. At the same time, it was apparent to him that, on Red Beach, the enemy troops facing the Essex Scottish were far from subdued. A signal from Red Beach had stated that the enemy’s rate of fire was increasing, and two minutes later, it was reported as probably artillery fire. At 0735 hours, the Force Commander:

  ‘...learnt that a hole had been broken in the Esplanade wall near the Casino and that the tanks had been ordered through by Brigadier Southam... Moreover, it seemed that part, at any rate, of the Western Headland had been captured by the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry, but it was difficult to gauge the exact situation because of the poor visibility. A message was at that time received, asking for bombers to be sent to bomb part of the Western Headland, but this message was almost certainly bogus, for when the sender was asked to identify himself he was unable to do so. Major General Roberts therefore disregarded it.’

  Major General Roberts decided to reinforce the apparent success on White Beach. He believed that if the RHLI,

  ‘... were promptly reinforced, there was a fair chance that the infantry would be able to capture the Western Headland and still break into the town and that it would be possible to carry out many of the demolition tasks before the hour of withdrawal.’

  On receipt of orders, Commander Ryder collected as many landing craft as possible and transhipped the Commando into them from the French Chasseur craft. ‘This operation took some time and it was not until about 0830 hours that they were ready to begin the landing.’ The COHQ report records that

  ‘Covered by the fire of HMS Locust, two Landing Craft Flack, and the Chasseurs, the Royal Marines went inward in their landing craft through a series of smoke screens, which at first afforded them cover. When they emerged from the last of these, they were at once met by the concentrated fire of field guns, light AA guns, mortars, light and heavy machine-guns and small arms. This fire they returned with Bren guns from their landing craft.’

  Sailors watch a destroyer maintaining the smoke screen.

  Captain Deveraux was in one of the leading craft, and described the action in his after-action report:

  ‘We had become separated in the smoke, and we were now coming under fire from a coast defence gun and a number of MG positions. About five minutes later the smoke cleared and I saw the beach about twelve feet away. The fire was still intense. There were many prone figures on the beach. Away to the left there were many that appeared dead or wounded... I then saw the CO standing up in the MLC. He was signalling for us to withdraw.’

  However, two craft had already disgorged their cargo of commandos. Lieutenant Smale recorded, after three years in a prisoner-of-war camp, that,

  ‘The scene on the beach was one of absolute horror and carnage. The whole air was full of the smell of blood and the people who had been blown to pieces. We charged on up the beach towards this knocked-out tank, ...spurred on by the bullets coming towards us.’

  Smale was one of the sixty-six commandos killed or taken prisoner on the beach at Dieppe.

  Once he had emerged from the smoke, Lieutenant Colonel Phillipps, Commanding Officer of the Royal Marine Commando, could see how impossible the situation was. ‘He realised that, far from being clear of the enemy, White Beach was under very heavy and concentrated fire, and took an immediate decision: to halt the landing – if he could.’ In a paragraph inserted in the COHQ report by a very senior officer, Lieutenant Colonel Phillipps’ actions are described in detail:

  ‘Out of the smoke and under heavy fire, the Marines’ landing craft were close inshore. Putting on a pair of white gloves so that his hands could be more easily seen, he jumped on to the forward deck of his landing craft and signalled to the remainder to put about and head for the shelter of the smoke-screen. He had scarcely completed this signal when he fell, mortally wounded, but by his action, he undoubtedly saved his men from landing upon a beach swept by a murderous and concentrated fire.’

  On receiving Colonel Phillipps’ signal, six of the landing craft turned about and covered their retreat by making smoke. However, before withdrawing, Captain Deveraux rescued the crew of a grounded LCF and then made out to sea ‘in a sinking condition, having received a direct hit astern.’

  The withdrawal of the Royal Marine Commando was the final confirmation that the ssault on Dieppe’s main beach had failed. It only remained to extricate as much of the force as possible.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE WITHDRAWAL AND AFTERMATH

  By 0900 hours, having seen the battered landing craft with the Royal Marines aboard coming back th
rough the smoke screen, it was clear to Major General Roberts that there was little prospect of continuing the raid. The Combined Operations HQ report states:

  ‘...the Military Force Commander was satisfied that the troops on shore were unlikely to gain possession of the headlands to the east and west of Dieppe, ...and that the beaches were still under a fire from them which was steadily increasing... At sea, the destroyers were running short of ammunition... and it became increasingly difficult for ships and landing craft to close the beaches.’

  The Naval Force Commander, Captain Hughes-Hallett, came to the same conclusion as General Roberts and advised that ‘the withdrawal should take place as soon as possible and that no attempt should be made to take away material or tanks’. There was, however, as already mentioned some confusion over the time of the withdrawal, which had unfortunate results at Pourville for the South Saskatchewans and the Cameron Highlanders of Canada. At 0935 hours, the Headquarters aboard HMS Calpe had sent the coded signal ‘VANQUISH. 1030 hours’ to initiate the withdrawal. The COHQ report explains the problem:

  ‘It was at first thought that the hour of withdrawal should be 1030 hours, but this was subsequently changed to 1100 hours, for the Royal Air Force Adviser pointed out that an alteration in the hour would upset the time-table to which the Royal Air Force was working and might preclude the possibility of laying the smoke-curtain. The necessary instructions to carry out the withdrawal at 1100 hours as originally arranged were then issued.’