In what some historians have called the original mission impossible, a small unit of Commandos achieved the unthinkable. On 28 March 1942, the British made a daring raid on the Normandie Dock at St. Nazaire in German-occupied France. The why’s and how’s of the Raid on St. Nazaire make this a heck of a story, but the fact that the plan was ultimately a success is the most incredible part of it all.
Hitler instituted his naval “Plan Z” in early 1939, calling for a massive augmentation of the Kriegsmarine for the sole purpose of being able to challenge the Royal Navy. U-boats were threatening Allied supply lanes from the United States to Britain, routes which if destroyed would render Britain unable to wage war. Since American’s entrance into the fight just several weeks before, U-boats had crept inward toward the Eastern coast, wreaking havoc on merchant ships and sinking millions of tons of supplies.
In addition to the threat on Atlantic supply routes, the Allies had experienced repeated heavy losses in Asia with Japanese victories over Singapore & Malaya, and the evacuation of MacArthur from the Philippines. The United States was still reeling from the attack on Pearl Harbor, and hadn’t quite recovered enough to fully join the British in the fight. Churchill was desperate for a success. Aside from the knowledge of Hitler’s cancellation of Operation Sealion—the planned invasion of Great Britain—there had been no good news for the Brits since the end of the Battle of Britain.
And perhaps the greatest naval threat of all, the German battleship Tirpitz forced the Royal Navy on its toes, having to dedicate much of its fleet to the containment of the Tirpitz in Norwegian waters where it was bullying merchant convoys to the Soviet ports of Murmansk and Arkhangelsk. On several occasions, the Brits unsuccessfully tried to lure Tirpitz into a fight in the hopes of knocking her out preemptively. When that strategy failed, there was one alternate course left: to destroy the Normandie Dock at St. Nazaire—the only Atlantic dock large enough to hold the 45,500-ton Tirpitz for repairs and maintenance. In so doing, the kriegsmarine wouldn’t be able risk sending Tirpitz into the Atlantic without the availability of a dock.
A view of the German battleship Tirpitz in Norwegian waters.
The plan, known as Operation Chariot, was instituted by Lord Louis Mountbatten in late January 1942. He was not the first to suggest targeting St. Nazaire, but the idea had been repeatedly shot down by military brass who believed it impossible and therefore a waste of time and resources. Mountbatten, however, believed that “It’s the fact that it is regarded as impossible that makes it possible; the Germans will never think we’ll attempt it.” The job was given to the Commandos, a unit less than two years old, disliked by much of the regular military who saw their independence as a lack of discipline, and who resented that the best of the regular army units were recruited for Commando units. Nevertheless, Commandos received unique and specialized training meant to give them supreme confidence, the ability to fight independently, and first and foremost to conduct small-scale offensive raids in occupied territory. The group and its tactics were a favorite of Churchill’s.
Mk. 1 Bren light machine gun, a favorite weapon of the Commandos who revolutionized the use of the weapon, firing it from the hip rather than the standard manner of firing from the ground. National WWII Museum, 2005.023
British intelligence on the topography and layout of the dock facilities was vast, including aerial reconnaissance photos and even detailed renderings of the interior and underground elements of the dock area. In just nine days, the HMS Campbeltown (previously an American WWI-era destroyer known as the USS Buchanan) was metamorphosed to resemble a German destroyer. The idea was that a task force of a few hundred Royal Navy personnel and British Commandos would slither into the Loire Estuary on the incognito Campbeltown flying the German naval ensign, complete with a captured code book enabling the communication of their supposed friendliness to the Germans. The Campbeltown, stuffed with several tons of the explosive Amatol, was to ram into the 1,500-ton gate of the Normandie dock and blow it to bits. The pump station which controlled the rise and fall of the dry dock’s water, and the winding houses which controlled the opening and closing of the caissons or “doors” of the dock were also targeted for destruction.
Despite being well-prepared, the raid didn’t go exactly as planned. The Commandos, however, were prepared for the unexpected. Late on 27 March, Royal Air Forces bombers were supposed to serve as decoys, bombing random but clear targets to the east of the dock in order to detract from the German forces guarding the coast in 80 or so gun emplacements. Since it was a cloudy night, however, the bombers dropped far fewer bombs than intended for fear of harming French civilians. So instead they hovered suspiciously over the area, alerting the Germans that something wasn’t quite right. Though the Campbeltown was initially surprisingly successful at entering the estuary at around 0100 hours on the morning of 28 March, the bizarre behavior of the bombers gave them away. The Campbeltown was now under fire from German coastal and railway guns. Swapping out the German ensign for the White Ensign of the Royal Navy, the Campbeltown rammed the dock gate just a few minutes behind schedule, though her bombs would prove to be several hours tardy.
The Commandoes disembarked from the beached destroyer, heading immediately to the secondary targets. The pump station and winding houses were successfully taken out. The surviving Commandos headed to a predesignated rally point where they were to board several mahogany Motor Launches that would transport the home. These small wooden boats were particularly vulnerable, and many of them were easily destroyed by German gunfire; fuel burned on the surface of the water. This left the remaining 120 or so wounded and exhausted Commandos to face 5,000 well-armed and alert Germans. By dawn, the fighting was over. While the cost was high in terms of loss of manpower, all targets were successfully destroyed—the Campbeltown’s explosives eventually destroying the main gate a few hours later than intended—rendering the Normandie Dock at St. Nazaire useless, and thereby keeping the Tirpitz out of the Battle of the Atlantic. The success was a huge morale boost for the Brits, as well as the French who were finally given a sense of hope.
The Raid on St. Nazaire resulted in the awarding of five Victoria Crosses, the most VC’s given for a single action during the war. The success of the raid infuriated Hitler, and in response he ordered that any Commandos captured in the future were to be immediately executed as spies and terrorists. The US military, on the other hand, was so impressed with the unique capabilities of Commando units that they soon created similar units in the American military, known as Rangers, who were trained by British Commandos in Scotland. The Tirpitz would be sunk by RAF bombers in 1944.
New US Army Rangers armed with M28 Thompsons train with British Commandos
Image Courtesy of Earl and Elaine Buras, 1999.060.007
Seventy years ago today, on March 28, 1942, Delta Shipbuilding Co. in New Orleans launched its first Liberty ship, the SS William C.C. Claiborne, named after the first governor of Louisiana. Delta was one of the nine emergency shipyards established in 1941 by the United States Maritime Commission. Delta would launch a total of 187 Liberty ships (out of 2,710 produced overall) during the war. The average time it took to build one of these massive ships was two months.
Fighter Pilot, an autobiography of an American pilot downed in German-occupied France.
Gift of James & Diane Riddle, 2012
Seventy years ago today, a young man named Levitt Clinton Beck enlisted in the Army Air Corps, making a lifelong dream a reality. Having flown solo since the age of 16 and already having logged more than 60 solo hours, Beck felt more prepared than most to take war to the skies. But nothing could have prepared L. C. for the five-month ordeal that he would face after a forced emergency landing in occupied France.
After a year of training around the United States, Beck received his wings—one of the fondest memories of his career—and was quickly promoted to 1st Lieutenant. Shipping out as part of the 514th Fighter Squadron, 406th Fighter Group, Beck arrived in England to prepare for participation in the largest amphibious invasion in history: D-Day.
Taking to the air at 0330 hours in total darkness that could only be made worse by the prevalence of low-lying clouds, Beck and his fellow P-47 pilots had to fly from memory of navigation charts. The squadron ended up off course a few times, but eventually made it to the invasion beaches where they had a bird’s eye view of the unimaginably vast armada steaming towards Normandy. There were no Jerry’s in the air to oppose them, so they headed back to England unscathed.
Lieutenant L. C. Beck
Less than a month later on 29 June 1944, the entire group took up their 47s to search for bridge targets on the Seine in German-occupied France. Beck’s squadron served as cover for the bombers. Beck lost sight of his squadron for a moment; when he found them they were joined by a pair of Focke-Wulf 190s spitting bullets in their direction. Beck chased him down, and scored his first victory. Like a lion with its cub, the second 190 sought to retaliate, leaving the other 47s be. As Beck tried to pull up and react, he realized his first victory came at the cost of his engine which his prey had managed to shoot out. The second 190 saw that Beck’s 47 was earthbound and pulled up.
Beck had experience with emergency landings both from training and a more recent experience over Cherbourg just a few days before. He successfully bellied down in a wheat field and immediately heard the sputter of an MG42 raking for him. Only later would he find out that the pilot of the first 190 had bailed out and was being shot at by his own men who believed him to be the amerikanerin.
Beck high crawled to the outer rim of the field, and saw civilians approaching. He was told in French to hand over his weapon. He didn’t speak a lick of French, and wasn’t exactly in a situation to say no. Beck had to trust the Frenchmen weren’t collaborators. Luckily for him, they were members of the resistance who had experience hiding downed Allied airmen and getting them back to England.
Beck was taken to Anet, a small French town a few dozen miles southwest of Paris. His saviors gave him civilian clothes—including a beret of course—and took him to Madame Paulette Mesnard, the proprietor of a small café in town. Beck was to hide out in a small but cozy room above the Café de la Mairie until given further instruction.
Mme Paulette’s cafe in Anet, France. The circled window indicates Lieutenant Beck’s hideout.
It was while in isolation in this room that received electricity for two hours a day that Beck decided to write Fighter Pilot, dedicated to his parents. He wrote the entire manuscript on the backs of menus from Mme Paulette’s restaurant. Much of the story is in the form of letters home to his parents and his girlfriend, expressing longing to have a few “bald-headed pilots” of his own; to play his tenor sax again; wondering what a quiet, peaceful life would feel like when he got home. He described D-day and his first victory, as well as his landing and introduction to the resistance.
After two weeks of being pent up at Mme Paulette’s, Beck received direction from his newfound friends that he was to make a trip to the tiny village of Les Vieilles Ventes, from where he would catch a plane back to England. Before leaving Anet, he buried his manuscript in a box inside a box in Paulette’s backyard. He intended to retrieve it after the war, but instructed Paulette to send it to his parents if he failed to return.
Beck stayed in Les Vieilles Ventes for another week, when he was picked up by a fellow resistor known only as Jean-Jacques who drove Beck to Paris. When the next day the Gestapo picked up Beck, he realized that Jean-Jacques was no resistor, but a full-on collaborator. Imprisoned in Fresnes, Beck was denied the normal rights of a prisoner of war. He was treated the same as the political prisoners held there, and arguably worse since he was considered a “terrorist” – Allied airmen not wearing their uniform or a dog tag behind enemy lines were consider illegal combatants, and therefore were not given the “privilege” of POW status.
The Germans knew the Americans were quickly approaching, and moved the entire prison contingent to Buchenwald. Coincidentally, there were 168 other Allied Airmen who had also been sent to Buchenwald in August 1944. Of the 168 imprisoned airmen, Beck was one of only two that perished in the camp before the others were transferred shortly after. Madame Paulette kept her promise and sent Beck’s manuscript to his parents, who then had a few copies published in his honor. One of these has been donated to The National WWII Museum where it will be preserved for future generations.
“I am glad that I was destined to become a fighter pilot, even though it may cost me my life. I am proud that I can fight for that which is right. I feel sorry for anyone who cannot.”
The traitor known as “Jean-Jacques” was Jean-Jacques Desoubrie, an electrician and member of the Gestapo who was captured after the war. He was put on trial, convicted, and executed in December 1949. The story of the 168 fliers he was responsible for sending to Buchenwald is not a well known one, but has recently been given some attention through the documentary “The Lost Airmen of Buchenwald.” The fliers stuck together in the camp and maintained military standards, always marching in formation and doing what they could to maintain a clean and dignified appearance among the filth and disorder of the camp. The survivors, who call themselves the KLB Club—short for Konzentrations lager Buchenwald Club—share their unique and harrowing story in the documentary. Through their story and his own Fighter Pilot, Lt. L. C. Beck is remembered.
This Intermediate Girl Scout uniform (ages 10-14) is the style worn from 1939-1948. Due to wartime shortages, a button down front replaced the metal zipper of previous years. The many badges earned by this scout include First Aid, Hostess, Handywoman and Child Care. During WWII Girl Scouts sold war bonds, participated in scrap and clothing drives and tended Victory Gardens. Because of rationing of essential ingredients, Girl Scouts sold patriotic calendars instead of Girl Scout cookies. The Liberty ship USS Juliette Low, named after the founder of the Girl Scouts, was launched on May 12, 1944.
The Girl Scouts celebrate their 100th anniversary in March 2012.
Saturdays are big days at the John E. Kushner Restoration Pavilion, the constant sound of tools and laughter fill every space within the building. There are about 30 volunteers climbing all over PT-305, working hard and enjoying every minute of it. Part of the fun on February 11, 2012, was using a tool in a manner it was not commonly used for.
A wood planer is a tool that finishes and smooths the surface of wood, it is faster and more uniform than sanding a large piece by hand. Usually a flat board is fed into the planer create a smooth surface or cut the board down to the desired thickness. That Saturday, Frank and his crew were feeding a board through that looks like an elongated corkscrew. The scene was quite impressive, five men holding onto a board that was hopelessly crooked. Conrad even had to stand on a ladder because the board bends so sharply it’s the only way he could hold the end up.
Anyone who has ever visited the Museum has probably marveled over the beautifully restored LCP(L) on display in the Louisiana Memorial Pavilion as well as the fully-functional replica of a LCVP (both boats manufactured by Higgins Industries of New Orleans during WWII). Visitors have also toured the John E. Kushner Restoration Pavilion (or perhaps just pressed their faces up against the exterior glass!) to see ongoing work to restore a Higgins-built PT boat, PT-305. But what visitors may not realize is the long-standing relationship between the Museum and the dedicated group of volunteers who made these projects a reality. This special group of volunteers have been giving their time to the Museum back before the original National D-Day Museum even opened. This is their story told in their own words.
In 1997, a group of men gathered at a small wood shop on Foucher Street, just yards from the Mississippi River in New Orleans. They had decided that the city of New Orleans had gone long enough without fully recognizing the achievements of Andrew Jackson Higgins during the Second World War. They wanted to build a reminder of what Higgins had created and how he contributed to the war effort and the city of New Orleans.
This group eventually built a Higgins LCVP from the ground up, and completely restored a Higgins LCP(L) to its war-time condition. The Higgins Boat Society, the forerunner to the PT-305 restoration crew, prided itself on completely restoring the landing craft to their original conditions, using the same materials and techniques as often as possible. The Higgins Boat Society was just getting warmed up when it decided to restore a Higgins PT boat.
The Patrol Torpedo boat served in the US Navy during the Second World War. The concept behind this weapon is a light and fast craft, capable of delivering a knockout blow with a torpedo to any size capital ship. Their initial role as a torpedo delivery platform remained throughout the war; however, the boats began to encounter ships that were not suitable torpedo targets. PT Squadrons adapted to this role by increasing their armament, becoming fast gunboats. Pound for pound, PT boats became some of most heavily armed ships during World War II. Their impact was felt from the sudden jerk of a torpedo explosion to the violence of a high-speed gun run.
Working in close conjunction with The National World War II Museum, the former Higgins Boat Society became the PT-305 restoration volunteers when the Museum acquired Higgins built PT-305 in 2007. This is a complex and impressive restoration that could not take place without the combined efforts of The National World War II Museum and the remarkable talent and dedication of the PT-305 restoration volunteers.
Keep up with the PT-305 project with regular volunteer updates. You can also send them your questions and comments at PT305crew@gmail.com.
Just a few of the volunteers working on the PT-305 Restoration Project, some who have been volunteering their time before the Museum even opened in 2000.
A photograph of the morning’s events from the L.A. Times the day after the scare.
Shortly after the Japanese submarine I-17 successfully shelled an oil refinery near Santa Barbara, fear moved from the depths of the sea to the heights of the sky. First put on edge after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and then frightened two-fold by the ability of the Japanese to reach our coast as proven with the bombardment of Ellwood, the jumpiness of the military and civilians alike was more than reasonable. When Army radar spotted a blip 120 miles off the coast of southern California, an alert was sounded and shortly thereafter a blackout was ordered.
The varying reports of the morning’s events represent the mass confusion and paranoia of the time. Some reported there were just a few planes, while others claimed to have seen several dozen aircraft. There were even reports that planes were shot down, when in reality, nothing was hit by the AA guns—except three civilians killed and a few buildings damaged by friendly fire. Guns fired at the flying object for more than an hour between 3:15 and 4:15 a.m. on 25 February 1942.
To this day it is still uncertain what the flying object actually was, giving rise to many conspiracy theories of aliens, UFOs, and a subsequent government cover-up; but the most likely scenario is that the object was simply a rogue weather balloon. At the time, Army and Navy representatives couldn’t reach an agreement about what actually happened that night, though all agreed that the response—considering the country was at war and the harrowing events of recent months—was justifiable and even commendable.
Postcard featuring MacArthur. Gift of Gordon McWilliams, The National WWII Museum Inc., 2011.376
On this day 70 years ago, President Roosevelt as Commander-in-Chief ordered Gen. Douglas MacArthur to leave the Philippines as the islands’ defenses fell and Allied forces continued to retreat toward Bataan. Retreat, in fact, was the original plan of “defense” in the Philippines. When the Japanese attacked the Philippine Islands shortly after Pearl Harbor, the then-current War Plan (Rainbow Five) plan was not to fight, but to retreat immediately to Bataan to await better equipment and additional troops. MacArthur, however, believed Allied forces in the Philippines were stronger than the attacking Japanese, and rolled the dice by taking them head on. As the tide in the Philippines turned repeatedly for the worse, and as more and more territory in the south Pacific was lost to the Japanese, Roosevelt felt the urgent need to remove MacArthur from the Philippines.
Lt. Edward Henry “Butch” O’Hare – The First U.S. Navy’s Flying Ace in WWII
On 20 February 1942, Lt. Edward Henry “Butch” O’Hare became the first US Navy’s flying ace in World War II and was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in the South Pacific.
In January, the aircraft carrier USS Lexington (CV-2) sailed from Pearl Harbor as the flagship of Vice Adm. Wilson Brown’s commanding Task Force 11 for the South Pacific. Lexington’s mission was to penetrate the enemy-held waters north of New Ireland and destabilize the Japanese position on Rabaul, an important Japanese base at the very tip of New Britain.
In mid-February, Lexington and Task Force 11 entered the waters of the Coral Sea and headed for a strike at Japanese shipping in the harbor at Rabaul scheduled for February 21. Aboard the USS Lexington was Lt. O’Hare with Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3) and their Grumman F4F-3 “Wildcats.”
The back of this postcard reads: “The Grumman ‘Wildcat’ is the standard single-seat fighting plane of the U.S. Navy. It operates from carrier or land base with equal facility. The ‘Wildcat’ has earned an enviable reputation in war action. Lt. Commander Edward O’Hare, flying a “Wildcat,” established a record for modern warfare by shooting down six Japanese bombers in fifteen minutes.” Postcard Gift of Robert Zeller, The National WWII Museum Inc., 2008.502.006
