Greatest Escapes of World War II by Col. Robert Barr Smith & Laurence J. Yadon

Author:Col. Robert Barr Smith & Laurence J. Yadon [Smith, Robert Barr & Yadon, Laurence J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyons Press
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Night Crossing

On the wall of Bob Smith’s study in the hills of the Ozarks hangs a painting of the 42nd Highlanders, better known to military history as the Black Watch. The regiment, resplendent in kilts and feather bonnets, is starting its advance up a hill at the battle of the Alma River during the Crimean War. Their objective is a great mass of Russian infantry, which the Scots propose to drive off the hill. That they will shortly do, with much panache and great slaughter of the Russian enemy.

The Black Watch was, and still is, one of the most famous regiments in the British Army. Its First Battalion was part of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) that went to France in the autumn of 1939 in a vain attempt to shore up the crumbling French forces. Its expertise and spirit were sky-high, even if some of its equipment left much to be desired—for instance, the so-called Boys’ “anti-tank rifle” in .55 caliber was a joke, and much other gear was outmoded, in short supply, or both. At one point, the entire battalion had to make do with a total of five maps—Michelin road maps at that.

For all that, the battalion’s personnel were first class. They were professionals, both officers and enlisted men. The adjutant of the First Battalion was a remarkable young captain called B. C. Bradford.

Like so many British officers of the time, Bradford came from a military family. His uncle, a battalion commander, had been killed in the early days of World War I, and a second uncle died in the next year. His father had won the Distinguished Service Order in the same war and his grandfather had been a soldier in India, rising to become a provincial governor. Dozens of other relatives had also served with distinction. Bradford came of good blood, a soldier to his bootheels, and he was about to prove it.

When the German blitzkrieg smashed across France in 1940, the First Battalion of the Black Watch fought well in a hopeless effort. The BEF bloodied the Germans’ noses more than once, but it could not hold the German advance alone, and the much larger French army was crumbling badly. During one British attempt to evacuate wounded over a beach, panicked French soldiers tried to push past the wounded and had to be driven back by British soldiers using hand grenades and bayonets; one estimate put the toll of French dead at about fifty.

The Royal Navy and a gallant bunch of small-boat skippers lifted more than 230,000 British and French troops to safety at Dunkirk, and there were successful evacuations elsewhere, but Bradford’s battalion could not reach an open beach or port in time. Among other things, one attempt to move clear of pending encirclement was vetoed by the fumbling French command.

Accordingly, much of the battalion passed into German captivity, headed southeast toward imprisonment; but warrior Scots tend to be a contrary breed, and a good many men of the battalion immediately turned their attention to escape.

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