Saturday, January 14, 2017

Operation Tiger: D-Day's Disastrous Rehearsal

"Now, the idea was that the shelling would stop very, very shortly before the American soldiers came onshore, so that the wreckage of war would still be around," Milton said. "The smells of war, the sounds, the shell-blasted beach would be there. But there was a terrible mixup of timings, which meant that as the American soldiers came onto the shore, the British were still shelling the beach. [This] meant the Americans came under devastating friendly fire from the British."
Within minutes, 300 more American troops were dead. Gerolstein helped ferry some of the wounded to the hospital.
"The orders were, in the hospital, you will not ask these men anything," he says. "You will not ask them anything, you will just take care of them."
When the whole affair was over, close to a thousand American troops were dead.
Before there could be D-Day, there had to be a rehearsal. On April 28, 1944, 30,000 American troops stormed the beaches of Slapton Sands in south England — and it…
NPR.ORG
Sixty-eight years ago today, the Allies launched a massive dress rehearsal for the invasion of Normandy — the famous D-Day landings that would happen five weeks later. But that rehearsal turned into one of the war's biggest fiascos.
It took place on Slapton Sands, a beach in southwestern England. British historian Giles Milton wrote about the rehearsal on his blog last week.
"The beaches there are long and they're wide, so it gave the soldiers plenty of opportunity to really experience what it was going to be like," Milton tells weekends on All Things Considered host Guy Raz. "The beaches in the west of England are almost identical to the beaches in Normandy."
The rehearsal was given the code name Operation Tiger. The plan: To get landing boats into the English Channel, then have them simulate a water landing on the beaches of the Devon coast. The man in charge was the great Allied commander Dwight D. Eisenhower.
"He wanted to put them out in the rough waters of the channels, have them shaken around, [exposed to] seasickness, everything else that soldiers are prone to," Milton says.
"Then, the idea was for these ships and tank landing craft involved in this operation, to bring them up toward Slapton Sands where there was going to be shellfire and gunfire so the men would land in real battlefield conditions."
But to ensure the safety of their men and the effectiveness of the whole exercise, Allied Command had to keep the operation a secret — even from their own men.
"They told us nothing. They told us absolutely nothing," 91-year-old Paul Gerolstein tells NPR's Raz. "We didn't know anything."
Gerolstein was a gunner's mate, second class, on a tank landing ship called LST 515. His ship and 299 others were sent into the English Channel, and just after midnight on April 28, 1944, they started their approach toward the British shore.
An Unwelcome Surprise
But the lack of Germans on the shore belied a German presence on the water.
"A German patrol fleet is out in the English Channel," Milton explains. "And quite by chance, it picks up on its radar this enormous flotilla of vessels, and dramatically and suddenly launches attacks on some of the easy pickings of the flotilla."
Near the edge of the flotilla was LST 515, with Gerolstein on board.
"A flare broke over our head, over our ship," Gerolstein remembers. "I said, 'Oh my god, we're gonna get it.' And apparently we didn't. It must have gone under us, see, because [the] LST was a flat-bottom boat. I looked to the stern and saw LST 531 or 532 get torpedoed."
The damage was significant.
"The torpedoes tear into these vessels and literally blow them apart," Milton says. "They all catch fire and there's complete carnage, pandemonium. Men on fire, tanks on fire, the ships on fire. And of course, the ships starting to sink."
Allied commanders, monitoring from London, ordered all the boats to scatter immediately, hoping to avoid any more direct hits from the Germans. But the order left hundreds of men floating in the icy waters.
Gerolstein's commanding officer refused the order and turned his boat back, directing his men to rescue their compatriots still in the water.
"We put cargo nets over the side," Gerolstein recalled. "I went down the cargo net to the last hole. I put my leg through one [hole] and my arm through another one. And as [the men in the water] came by, we'd grab them and pull them onto the net, and they could work their way up."
All told, Gerolstein and the rest of the LST 515 crew managed to save 70 or 80 lives. Later, he recalled seeing the scene clearly for the first time as the sun rose over the water.
"When we got back and then the light broke, you could walk across the dead bodies in the water," he said. "There was over 700 of them killed."
A Second Disaster
Yet the carnage wasn't over. Many of the ships continued on toward the beach at Slapton Sands. Eisenhower had ordered live fire to be used in the rehearsal, because he had wanted to simulate real-world conditions.
"Now, the idea was that the shelling would stop very, very shortly before the American soldiers came onshore, so that the wreckage of war would still be around," Milton said. "The smells of war, the sounds, the shell-blasted beach would be there. But there was a terrible mixup of timings, which meant that as the American soldiers came onto the shore, the British were still shelling the beach. [This] meant the Americans came under devastating friendly fire from the British."
Within minutes, 300 more American troops were dead. Gerolstein helped ferry some of the wounded to the hospital.
"The orders were, in the hospital, you will not ask these men anything," he says. "You will not ask them anything, you will just take care of them."
When the whole affair was over, close to a thousand American troops were dead.
"It's a staggering figure," Milton says. "All the more staggering when you realize that more people were killed in the rehearsal for the landing at Utah Beach than were killed in the actual landing at Utah Beach." Utah Beach was one of the beaches in Normandy that Allied troops charged on D-Day.
The Lessons of Operation Tiger
For nearly 40 years, well after the end of the war, Operation Tiger remained a secret.
"Allied Command did not want the bulk of the troops about to risk their lives going over to Normandy knowing that this disaster had unfolded in the west country of England," Milton explains.
Operation Tiger did have its benefits, however, Milton says. The Allied commanders ordered better life preservers, for one, and made sure each soldier was properly trained on its use. For another, a system was put in place to collect soldiers who were left stranded out in the water.
But perhaps the most important change was to fix the broken system of communication, Milton says.
"All the different command structures and all the different ships involved in the D-Day landings, all these radio frequencies were standardized so that this miscommunication could never happen on the big day itself."
Five weeks after Operation Tiger, hundreds of thousands of Allied troops unloaded onto the beaches of Normandy, a decisive victory that was to be the beginning of the end of World War II.
Today, on the beaches of Slapton Sands, there remains a small memorial to the 946 men who lost their lives that April day, 68 years ago Saturday.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

How a group of New Zealand Army prevented a massacre in Vietnam


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Heroic stories from the war in Vietnam are little remembered, but the actions of a group of New Zealand gunners 50 years ago saved the massacre of almost 100 Anzac troops.
Anzac soldiers commemorate the Battle of Long Tan in 1969 with the dedication of a memorial cross on the site. Three New Zealanders, attached to an Australian regiment, were directly involved in the 1966 battle on a rubber plantation. Photo/Noel Bell collection courtesy www.vietnamwar.govt.nz
Anzac soldiers commemorate the Battle of Long Tan in 1969 with the dedication of a memorial cross on the site. Three New Zealanders, attached to an Australian regiment, were directly involved in the 1966 battle on a rubber plantation. Photo/Noel Bell collection courtesy www.vietnamwar.govt.nz


Pinned down by enemy fire in a Vietnamese rubber plantation, 21-year-old Willie Walker thought his number was up. Confronting his company of barely 100 soldiers was a heavily armed force of 2500 Viet Cong and North Vietnamese, some just 10m away. It seemed only a matter of time before he and his New Zealand and Australian mates were overwhelmed.

The battle had been raging for almost four hours in torrential rain. Thunder and lightning added to the intensity of the fierce firefight.

“It was just nonstop bedlam,” Walker recalls. “Tracers, machine-gun fire, mortar fire and artillery fire. But we managed to put into place what we trained for.”

What became known as the Battle of Long Tan, on August 18, 1966, was the bloodiest clash involving New Zealand and Australian soldiers in the entire war – 18 were killed and 24 wounded – but the heroic actions of New Zealand gunners would be instrumental in preventing a massacre of Anzac troops.

Vietnam veterans marked the 50th anniversary of the epic encounter at gatherings in Wellington and Canberra this month. In New Zealand, where public disenchantment persists with our involvement in the war, few would have been aware of it. But for the men who survived that dreadful day and returned to a largely indifferent homeland, it was a big deal.

From left, Murray Broomhall, Morrie Stanley, Willie Walker. Photo/Supplied
From left, Murray Broomhall, Morrie Stanley, Willie Walker. Photo/Supplied


There is no question that what happened at Long Tan, in Phuoc Tuy Province, southeast of Saigon, was a defining moment in the lives of the men, some barely out of their teens at the time. Many have battled the depression and despair that beset so many Vietnam veterans. Some, such as Aucklander Morrie Stanley, regarded as one of the heroes of Long Tan, have fallen to sickness or old age. The remaining members of that diminished band of brothers are in their late sixties or early seventies now, but the memories of that day and how they acquitted themselves are still as sharp as ever.

Pat Duggan was deployed to Vietnam as a signaller with 161 Battery, Royal New Zealand Artillery. He was only 19, so he needed parental consent. “Mum refused point blank but Dad knew that the form only required one parent to sign, so he did just that. I don’t think Mum ever forgave him.”

He didn’t even know where Vietnam was at the time but saw the war as an adventure. “It didn’t hit home until I was on the aircraft taking me there that I might not come home.”

Another young recruit was 20-year-old Murray Broomhall, who saw it as his duty to go to Vietnam and “do what the legitimate government of New Zealand ordered me to do”. By mid-1966, the pair were in Nui Dat where 161 Battery operated alongside the Australian Task Force as well as American army and air force units.

Within a week they were in the thick of the action. Duggan was deployed as a signaller with Australian troops providing support for the Americans who were building a road near the Bien Hoa airbase when four battalions of Viet Cong attacked.

“I was scared shitless,” he says. “Flares were dropping right into our area and in the harsh white glare I felt like a sitting duck,” he remembers.

The action lasted most of the night and in the morning, his ears still ringing, Duggan got his first look at the enemy. Three Viet Cong were lying in the track no more than 10m from his position: one had been shot under the chin, another several times in the chest and “a third poor bugger had taken two bullets in the legs and had bled to death.”

Broomhall, meanwhile, attached to the Australian army contingent at Nui Dat, joined a three-man forward observation party with Walker and Stanley, an artillery captain, who was in command.

At 35, Stanley was an experienced officer, held in the highest regard and but for his skill none of the 108 troops besieged in the rubber plantation might have survived.

Walker. Photo/Supplied
Walker. Photo/Supplied

Mortar attacks


The first inkling of trouble had come two nights earlier when Viet Cong troops launched mortar attacks on the base at Nui Dat. New Zealand military historian Ian McGibbon, who has written extensively on the war, told the Listener that intention was not entirely clear, but it seems they wanted to overrun the base before it was fully operational and the mortar attacks were part of the preparations.

The following day, B Company of 6 Battalion Royal Australian Regiment fanned out into the countryside east of Nui Dat to find the mortars. They were relieved by D company the next day. Many of the troops, including Stanley, Walker and Broomhall, had been looking forward to a camp concert featuring Australian singers Little Pattie and Col Joye, but found themselves out on patrol instead, listening to the strains of the concert several kilometres away. “Everyone was pissed off,” Broomhall recalls with feeling.

As they made their way through a rubber plantation, they were assailed by heavy fire from Viet Cong and North Vietnamese soldiers, who outnumbered them more than 20 to one.

Before he died, at the age of 79, in 2010, Stanley described the scene: “It was like an exceptionally violent thunderstorm, supplemented by the crack of the rifles and machine-gun fire and the noise of detonating shells. Rain and the intense gunfire caused the area to be shrouded in smoke, steam and fog. It really was bedlam.”

Amid the chaos and confusion, it fell largely to Stanley to direct artillery fire from the 18 New Zealand, Australian and American guns at Nui Dat, five kilometres away, onto the attackers, who were so close to the embattled Anzacs that one misdirected shot would have hit the men he was trying to save.

“I realised how important it was that my communications remained effective and that the guns were able to maintain … constant and accurate fire,” Stanley was later to write. “I needed the comfort of knowing that my battery commander Harry Honnor, an experienced gunner, was on the end of a radio and could provide constant support for me.

“I had to overcome my dread that I would make a mistake.”

Stanley praised Walker, his radio operator, for keeping the set operational “under the most trying conditions”.

For his part, Walker has nothing but the highest praise for Stanley’s actions that day.

“He had a hell of a job trying to gauge where the shells were falling in the rain and the bloody bullets whistling around.

“You couldn’t keep your head up too long looking to see where the artillery fell, but he was pretty calm, I thought.”

Walker has three vivid memories of the battle: of tracer fire “about three or four feet above ground level, so it was a matter of keeping the head down as much as you could”; of bugles that told you “another bloody banzai charge” was coming, and of the weather conditions – the rain, the lightning and the mud.

Ken Ford, left, and Graeme Williams with an American M60 tank.
Ken Ford, left, and Graeme Williams with an American M60 tank.

A prayer or two


As the afternoon wore on, Walker says, things were looking pretty grim.

“I got the feeling that we were not going to make it out of this and I was getting really pissed off, so I think I said a prayer or two and I thought of my family especially. Then moments later the Company Sergeant Major came around asking if we had any spare ammunition and I thought, ‘Christ, this is it. We are down to our last few rounds.’

“So we gave him what we had and we were left with just one magazine each.”

The gravity of the situation was not lost on Stanley, who outwardly, at least, remained as stoic as ever.

“I think many of us were uncertain whether we would [get out] or not,” he later recalled. “I was concentrating on what I was doing and really had no time to think about that.

Back at Nui Dat, Duggan was also in the thick of the action, as 161 Battery gunners fired some 1100 rounds of 105mm high explosive at the enemy over nearly four hours using a procedure called “danger close”, which required every bubble on the gun sights to be exactly right.

The monsoon weather was playing havoc at the base. Lightning strikes took out vital communications systems and the gunners sometimes lost contact with their command post. Lightning also struck two soldiers, leaving them dazed.

“The noise was intense,” recalls Duggan. “To the untrained eye it would probably have looked like hell on earth and total confusion, but that was certainly not the case. We were all pitching in to help and the fire support we were providing was done in a very professional manner.

“Even the cooks were on the position, ladling out soup to the guys, and the Commander of V Force in Saigon, Colonel Smith, who had come down to visit the battery, found himself rolling his sleeves up and helping.”

Ford on patrol in a rubber plantation.
Ford on patrol in a rubber plantation.

Tough decisions


As the casualties mounted, Stanley had to make some hard decisions, including disregarding a request from a desperate Australian platoon commander. Sergeant Bob Buick, who had taken command of 11 Platoon after his commander was killed, asked him to bring down fire on top of his own position. With only 12 men left out of 28 and under attack on three sides, Buick was gambling that an artillery barrage would kill more Vietnamese than the remnants of his platoon.

Stanley thought otherwise. With pinpoint accuracy, he directed the shells to land almost on top of the Vietnamese, allowing Buick and his troops to beat a hasty retreat.

The scene was witnessed by Second Lieutenant Dave Sabben, the Australian commander of 12 Platoon, which was also attempting to rescue them.

“They were haunted men,” he recalls. “They were out of ammunition, carrying their wounded on their backs and completely emotionally drained.”

Sabben eventually managed to get the walking wounded of 11 Platoon plus his own men back to their Company HQ, which itself was still trapped in the rubber plantation and about to face a fierce enemy onslaught.

“We saw them coming through the mist and the gloom. They would charge, fall to the ground, and then get up and charge again. It looked as if the dead men were coming to life. The buggers just kept on coming and I wondered whether we were going to survive.”

Broomhall, who at this stage was acting as the section commander of the Company HQ machine-gun section, had similar misgivings. As enemy figures appeared in the murk just 40-90m away, he stood up to direct the fire of his machine gunner.

“A few seconds later some of the branches above me started to disappear so I promptly gave that stupid idea up and lay down beside him.”

As night fell and wave after wave of Viet Cong continued to press home the attack, a relief force in armoured personnel carriers finally arrived. The attackers retreated into the night.

“It was like the cavalry saving everyone from the Indians in a western movie,” Buick said afterwards. “I just yelled as soon as I saw them.”

As morning dawned it soon became clear that the Battle of Long Tan was over. “An eerie silence pervaded a scene of utmost devastation,” Stanley wrote, and Broomhall’s recollection is much the same.

“No tree was unmarked, most of them looked as if someone had hit them with a giant flail; there were no leaves, no twigs, just shattered stumps, fallen branches and whole trees toppled over.

“Bodies and parts of bodies were strewn everywhere and we spent the next two days burying the dead and collecting the weapons and equipment that had been left by the Viet Cong.

“After that, the shock set in and we were all zombies, so a couple of days later we went to the beach at Vung Tau and had a massive piss-up.”

Patrick Duggan and his M16.
Patrick Duggan and his M16.

How many more?


Australian soldiers were no less traumatised by the experience. “After the battle is over, it hits you in the solar plexus and when it hit, it was devastating,” Sabben recollects. “And worse, despite the huge battle and to us enormous losses, the referee hadn’t blown the whistle.

“It was still a match and there was no guarantee that this was the last battle. We were only 72 days into a 365-day tour, so at the back of my mind was, ‘How many more Long Tans will there be for us?’”

As the survivors recovered, others took stock of the human cost and just what had been achieved. Despite being grossly outnumbered, the Anzacs emerged from the battle with the loss of 18 lives and 24 wounded; their antagonists lost at least 245 men, half of them victims of shellfire.

At the time both sides claimed victory: US General William Westmoreland described it as “one of the most spectacular in Vietnam to date”. Members of D Company, which included Stanley, Walker and Broomhall, received gallantry citations from the American and Australian governments, and two of the New Zealanders received individual awards for their role in the action.

Some felt Stanley deserved a Victoria Cross, but he received instead an MBE (military division); Walker was mentioned in despatches.

Not surprisingly, the Vietnamese put a totally different spin on the battle. Radio Hanoi reported afterwards that “the Australian mercenaries, who are no less husky and beefy than their allies, the US aggressors, have proved good fresh targets for the South Vietnamese liberation army”.

“On August 18, it wiped out almost completely one battalion [around 800 men] of Australian mercenaries in an ambush in Long Tan village.”

US President Barack Obama dabs his brow before laying a wreath to mark the Vietnam War’s 50th anniversary in Washington in 2012. Photo/Getty Images
US President Barack Obama dabs his brow before laying a wreath to mark the Vietnam War’s 50th anniversary in Washington in 2012. Photo/Getty Images

Winner and losers


Half a century later the military historian McGibbon is in no doubt who the winners and losers were, He is full of praise for the New Zealand, Australian and American gunners who undoubtedly saved the day.

“New Zealanders Morrie Stanley and Harry Honnor certainly played a major part in the action because they directed the fire of the 18 105mm guns. Their skill in using this firepower by bringing in fire very close to the defenders’ position played a major part in the successful extrication of the company from its predicament.

“Overall, it is certain that D Company would have been overrun without the artillery support.”

But what did the battle achieve from a strategic point of view? McGibbon does not mince his words.

“From a strategic point of view, the battle had no significance as it had no bearing on the progress or outcome of the wider conflict in South Vietnam. But in terms of the situation in Phuoc Tuy province, Long Tan ensured that the Australian Task Force [ATF] was not subjected to a major assault.

“The action prevented the communists from perhaps inflicting an embarrassing defeat on these newly arrived troops. The battle was therefore a tactical victory for the ATF of limited long-term significance.”

McGibbon’s assessment is shared by two Viet Cong veterans who survived the carnage in the rubber plantation.

The men, Nguyen Minh Ninh and Nguyen Duc Thu, made their views known to Dave Sabben and Bob Buick when the Australians returned to Long Tan 10 years ago.

Asked who won the battle, Ninh replied: “It is a very good question. You won, but we won also. Tactically and militarily you won but politically, we won.”

In Ninh’s eyes it was a political victory because the bloody encounter helped fuel the anti-war movement that led to Australian and New Zealand troops being withdrawn from Vietnam.

And for many Kiwis, such as Pat Duggan, who did two tours of duty in Vietnam, coming home proved almost as traumatic as anything he had witnessed in the Battle of Long Tan.

“The Viet Cong were welcomed home as heroes. We were told to go away and be quiet and not tell anybody,” he says. “That played on people’s minds a lot and it tipped a few over. We were told not to wear our uniforms in public and not tell anybody we were Vietnam veterans.

“That said, I would do it all again in a heartbeat and I stand by that. My military service made me the person I am today and for that I am ever thankful.”

Thursday, January 5, 2017

What a miraculous Story from WW2!

 
A real miracle - from WWII
B-17 "All American" (414th Squadron, 97BG) Crew
Pilot- Ken Bragg Jr.
Co-pilot- G. Boyd Jr.
Navigator- Harry C. Nuessle
Bombardier- Ralph Burbridge
Engineer- Joe C. James
Radio Operator- Paul A. Galloway
Ball Turret Gunner- Elton Conda
Waist Gunner- Michael Zuk
Tail Gunner- Sam T. Sarpolus
Ground Crew Chief- Hank Hyland
In 1943 a mid-air collision on February 1, 1943,
Between a B-17 and a German fighter over the Tunis dock area,
Became the subject of one of the most famous photographs of WW II.
An enemy fighter attacking a 97th Bomb Group formation went out of control,
Probably with a wounded pilot, then continued its crashing descent
Into the rear of the fuselage of a Flying Fortress named"All American",
Piloted by Lt. Kendrick R. Bragg, of the 414th Bomb Squadron.
When it struck, the fighter broke apart, but left some pieces in the B-17.
The left horizontal stabilizer of the Fortress and left elevator were completely torn away.
The two right engines were out and one on the left had a serious oil pump leak.
The vertical fin and the rudder had been damaged,
The fuselage had been cut almost completely through
Connected only at two small parts of the frame,
And the radios, electrical and oxygen systems were damaged.
There was also a hole in the top that was over 16-feet long and 4 feet wide at its widest;
The split in the fuselage went all the way to the top gunner's turret.
Although the tail actually bounced and swayed in the wind
And twisted when the plane turned and all the control cables were severed,
Except one single elevator cable still worked, and the aircraft miraculously still flew!
The tail gunner was trapped because there was no floor connecting the tail to the rest of the plane.
The waist and tail gunners used parts of the German fighter and their own parachute harnesses
In an attempt to keep the tail from ripping off and the two sides of the fuselage from splitting apart.
While the crew was trying to keep the bomber from coming apart,
The pilot continued on his bomb run and released his bombs over the target.
When the bomb bay doors were opened,
The wind turbulence was so great that it blew one of the waist gunners into the broken tail section.
It took several minutes and four crew members to pass him ropes from parachutes
And haul him back into the forward part of the plane.
When they tried to do the same for the tail gunner,
The tail began flapping so hard that it began to break off.
The weight of the gunner was adding some stability to the tail section, so he went back to his position.
The turn back toward England had to be very slow to keep the tail from twisting off.
They actually covered almost 70 miles to make the turn home.
The bomber was so badly damaged that it was losing altitude and speed and was soon alone in the sky.
For a brief time, two more Me-109 German fighters attacked the All American.
Despite the extensive damage, all of the machine gunners
Were able to respond to these attacks and soon drove off the fighters.
The two waist gunners stood up with their heads sticking out through the hole in the top of the fuselage
To aim and fire their machine guns.
The tail gunner had to shoot in short bursts because the recoil was actually causing the plane to turn.
Allied P-51 fighters intercepted the All American as it crossed over the Channel
And took one of the pictures shown.
They also radioed to the base describing that the appendage was waving like a fish tail
And that the plane would not make it and to send out boats to rescue the crew when they bailed out.
The fighters stayed with the Fortress, taking hand signals from Lt. Bragg and relaying them to the base.
Lt. Bragg signaled that 5 parachutes and the spare had been "used"
So five of the crew could not bail out.
He made the decision that if they could not bail out safely, then he would stay with the plane to land it.
Two and a half hours after being hit, the aircraft made its final turn
To line up with the runway while it was still over 40 miles away.
It descended into an emergency landing and a normal roll-out on its landing gear.
When the ambulance pulled alongside, it was waved off because not a single member of the crew had
Been injured.
No one could believe that the aircraft could still fly in such a condition.
The Fortress sat placidly until the crew all exited through the door in the fuselage
and the tail gunner had climbed down a ladder,
at which time the entire rear section of the aircraft collapsed.
This old bird had done its job and brought the entire crew home uninjured.
Please pass this on to someone who will also appreciate this amazing story.