 Oh, yes, Sergeant. You volunteered to become a commando soldier. Yes, sir. You are, I believe, an expert with explosives. Somewhat, sir. We have decided to accept you, Sergeant. Thank you, sir. I'm proud of the honor. We have decided to accept you because we could use volunteers of your experience on a special, very dangerous job. Am I permitted to ask the nature of the job, sir? I'm sorry, Sergeant. It's secret. I volunteer, sir. Good. You'll be ordered to a combined operations training center immediately. You need a few weeks there before you're ready for this work. Thank you, Sergeant Smith, and good luck. The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime, presents the premiere of Words at War, a series based on the most important books to come out of this war. Stories of the battle fronts are behind the scenes diplomacy, of underground warfare, of the home front, of action on the seas. Each is a living record of this war and the things for which we fight. Tonight's story is based on material from the recently published book, Combined Operations, the official story of the British commandos. Words at War presents Hillary St. George Sanders, the author of Combined Operations for a few introductory words. Mr. Sanders. What you're going to hear tonight is not an actual extract from the book Combined Operations. It is an imaginative reconstruction of one of the most successful commando raids described therein. It does not pretend to be accurate in every detail. After all, why tell the enemy what he would very much like to know? But you may be assured that the incidents depicted either happened or might well have happened. In any case, here is the story. As told by a man whom we shall call Sergeant Smith. Sergeant Smith of number two commando of the Combined Operations command. Actually, Smith is not my name. But for reasons of military security, I must be Smith. Well, this is what I'm supposed to make commandos out of. Let's have a look at you. You. What's your name? Smith, sir. Sergeant John Kenneth Smith, Royal West Kent's assigned to Combined Operations. You? Corporal Ypres Van, Piper, Seaforth Helenders, assigned to Combined Operations. Carrying your bagpipes with you when you arrived, I noticed. That made you volunteer for Combined Operations. I heard you needed one good man in the outfit, sir. Hey, hey, boss, while you're at it, how come you're in this man's army? I thought the Irish were supposed to be neutral. The Irish are neutral. But who the devil do you think they're neutral against? You think we want the English to be beaten and have no one to fight with after the war? And you. Who are you? Private Edward Moiffy. Moiffy? Moiffy. Glory be to the saints. And what sort of a name is that? Irish? Why, sure. Me, I come from Brooklyn, boss. And in what part of Ireland is that? It ain't. It's in the USA. Brooklyn is the city of which New York is a subway. Oh, a yank is it. And I suppose like a good many more of you I've met, you couldn't wait for the states to get into the war. You had to rush up to Canada and join up. Is that it? That's right, boss. Me and Piggy O'Donnell from Canarsie. We've done it together. We were sick of going to Edwardsfield to throw bottles at the umpire, so as we decided we'd get into some real fighting. So we hopped in the train and gets the cattle. Spare me the complete story of your life, please. Piggy O'Donnell. Hmm. With a name like that you'd think he'd be a good soldier. Why didn't he volunteer for the commandos? Piggy didn't come back from Dunkhike. Company! You men have been very carefully chosen from all the volunteers for combined operations. You're all supposed to be outstanding. Mentally, physically. But let me put you straight. Up to now you don't even know what soldiering is. When you finish commando training, if you finish it, you'll be worthy of that uniform. But now listen to me carefully. Combined operations means just what it says. Attack and raiding operations in which the army, the navy, and the Royal Air Force work together. We don't go in for petty discipline here. Every man is on his own, more or less. We expect you to obey the rules. Too many lapses and you're out. And once you're kicked out of the commandos, you couldn't get back in again if you were His Majesty's fifth cousin. Another thing. We work in tools in the commandos. Pick yourself a mate, work with him, stick with him. You'll find it pays. Now I see you're all very tired. You've had a hard day and some of you can hardly keep your eyes open. So I'm not going to keep you standing here any longer. Pipe of Provence. Pick up your bagpipes and take your place at the head of the column. We're going someplace, Sergeant Major? Yes. We're marching to Edgemere and back. What? It's only 22 miles the round trip. 22 miles? Climb cliffs. We did exercises by eights together, balancing logs nine inches thick on our shoulders. We're going to handle one of the most devastating instruments of death known to modern warfare. Now watch me close, boys. This cottage is the strongly held German position. We're the demolition squad. Yo, over there. You're the protective squad. Open fire on the Germans. That'll give us a chance to work. Now, boys, while the enemy's supposed to be in that house is engaged by the others, we'll get our little gifts ready for them. Take this satchel charge. It's a number of blocks of TNT held together with wire with a satchel handle for carrying it. We set the fuels, like so. We insert the igniter, like so. Now, while our own fire covers us, we run to the house, ram it up against the wall. Now, run back like blazes. Run, you terriers! Run! Down, boys! Down on your faces! Down! That's what a satchel charge does, eh? Look at that cottage. Where the heck is it to look at? Brown-tossed smithereens. As you can see, boys, these satchel charges can make the Nazis very unhappy. But be careful. Please be careful how you handle them. Oh, a sergeant major? Yes, Timmins. Could I have one of them things for my mother-in-law? Ha! A colonel in London had told me my mission would be dangerous. He hadn't told me quite how strenuous commando training would be. We marched and doubled and marched and doubled and marched again over all kinds of country, with wham-rivers and full equipment, and crossed them on bridges made of toggle ropes. And we ran the gauntlet over specially prepared assault courses. Take me! Follow me, boys! Get them all on you there! But, of course, these bombs are real! I, in the bullets, too, look, it smashed the bin I'm arrayful. Half an inch lower than I'd have been ex-corporal for a van. A prime sergeant major this game of yours is too dangerous. Real bombs and ammunition assist. But what do you think the Germans will throw at you? Spitballs? Get gone and take that objective! We wrestled and boxed and learned jiu-jitsu and how to swim in from the sea, holding our Tommy guns over our heads. We learned the tricks of handling the two and three inch mortars and anti-tank rifle and how to use the rifle butt on human skulls. We learned to hunt tanks and their crews to storm pillboxes into march, march, march, march! This was learning the trade of war. The commando training gave us mastery of our own minds and bodies, too. Strengthened our mental and moral makeup. Built within each of us the self-confidence and self-reliance the good commando soldier must have. I remember well my first lesson in this. It happened one evening after we had finished a 33-mile forest march. We were sitting around singing while Scotty played his bagpipe. That was a beautiful ride, that was Scotty. Come on, Scotty. I didn't feel like playing more than new lads. Hey, Scotty, swing out with Chattanooga Chochoo or train you on that contraption. Why, Scotty? Hi, Smitty. I swear, man, you're the saddest looking Scotspiper I've ever seen in my life. I suppose I am. You see lads, I'm in love, I am. Love? I mean it, lads, with the sweetest lassie north of the border. It was home in Furlough I was to be married to her. Then came the word I was accepted for the commandos and I was called back with only enough time to give her a weak kiss on the red of her cheek. Yeah, but why get a crying jag on about it? It's the song, Brooklyn, that the banks of Loch Lomond. You see, Mae, that's her name. She's a sentimental lassie and I, she says that's our love song. She was I singing it. You see how it is? Look, here's her picture. Oh, well, she's very lovely, Scotty. Isn't she? Congratulations, Scotty. Oh, Mar, she's a beauty, ain't she? Hey, hey, here comes the great single-puss himself, boys. Hi, the Sergeant Major's riding one of them Yankee jeeps. Hi, Sergeant Major. Oh, gee, it's good to see you, boss. I wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight if you hadn't come back. I see you aren't fine, fettled, might be. Honest, boys, I'm not kidding. I was just saying to the guys that the Sergeant Major don't come back before they sound lights out. They said they won't be able to sleep. Well, there'd be no lights out tonight. You're on your own, boys. The next parade is at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning at map reference A144G16 on your scout map. A144G16. 6 a.m., where'd he say? Did you say map reference A144G16, Sergeant Major? I did. Let's see, the scale is... Well, that's 73 miles from here. That's right. It is. Well, for the love of... Well, that means we've got to ride all night. Okay, okay. Maybe this is your idea of fun, boys. When will the lorries be along to pick us up? There won't be any lorries, Murphy. Huh? What's that? No lorries? Sergeant Major, how are we supposed to get there? It's 73 miles away. That is your problem. Be there at 6 a.m. or be on a charge, absent without leave. Good night, commandos. We got there all right. Every man is best he could. By what you call hitchhiking on shanks, mayors, riding freight trains. Yes, we were beginning to realize by then that as commandos soldiers we were expected to solve our own problems. But finally the day came when we stood on parade. Those of us who had come through the grueling training on parade under the happy contented glare of our Sergeant Major. We heard our commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Newman, say. Wilmin, you've come through all right. You're now commandos soldiers. But you have no time to rest on your laurels. From now on, you'll continue training. Training constantly, side by side with the naval units of the Combined Operations Command and the RAF. Those of us who are lucky will carry out raids on enemy territory. Those of us who are extremely lucky will return from them. And between raids, we'll continue training. We'll never know when what looks like a training operation will turn out to be the real thing. Welcome to number two, commando. The Colonel knew what he was talking about. For weeks, in all weathers, we trained with the naval arm and craft large and small. Much of this I am not at liberty to describe. But I can't tell you about one cruise that we took for reasons other than the good of our health. We'd gone aboard this vessel one day in March 1942, and under orders went below and stay there. In the wardroom, Brooklyn was attempting to teach Scotty a rather non-bagpiper's tune. No, no, no, Scotty. Listen, listen, this is the way it goes. You lead the Pennsylvania station round the quarter to four. Read a magazine, then you'll involve tomorrow. Dinner in the diner. Nothing could be finer to have your hammer necks in Carolina. I'll throw that for you. You'll have me doused with your Yankees. Hey, it's just C6, Scotty. When do we get back ashore and make a regular dive boat out of you? Yes, when do we get back ashore? We've been going for hours in this ship we have. Why me if we ain't timid? What's it all about? Does anyone know the name of this ship? Why me if I do? You, Sergeant Major? Hey, what is this, Sergeant Major? As soon as we saw Colonel Newman and the troop commander, we knew something was going to happen. Maiden? This is it. We're on our way to raid Nazi-held territory. This ship, HMS Campbelltown, was formerly the USS Buchanan. No doubt you've noticed the changes that have been made in her structure in the clumsy way she's been steering. That's because she's packed to a bottom with tons of explosives and scuttling charges. It makes her hard to handle. Scuttling, sir? Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Yes. The Campbelltown's to be scuttled. In the port of Sanderseer. Sanderseer has the only dry dock on Europe's west coast big enough to accommodate the Nazi battleship Terpitz. We're going to ram the Campbelltown against the gates of the lock leading to the dry dock and keep the Terpitz out to the Atlantic. We're going to remember at exactly 0130 tomorrow morning about 20 hours now. The Navy men will take care of the scuttling and set the time fuses for the delayed action charge that will go up the ship many hours later. While they're doing that, we'll be of number two commando. We'll be ashore. Destroying powerhouses, bridges, and other objectives. We'll have just two hours to do our job. Complete instructions with map references will be issued in an hour. Any questions? Are we alone in this operation, sir? Or are the motor launches that were with us when we started out still around? As you'll see when Dave breaks, the MLs are still with us. We have also a destroyer escort. The MLs will take us off at the old mole in Sanderseer when our job is done. Anything else? But suppose it fizzles, sir. Suppose the delayed charge in the ship fails to go off and suppose we can't manage the rammer against the lock gates. What then? We've got a plan to cover that. Sergeant Smith, sir, this is the job I spoke to you about when you volunteered for combined operations. Your particular job is to get ashore with your section just as soon as you possibly can when the ship rams the lock gates. Go to the powerhouse that operates those gates and destroy it. One way or another, we'll keep the turpids out to the Atlantic. Any further questions? Very well. Carry on. Oh, that's it. Olly, you're fifty to one that none of us comes back alive. Well, what do you bright as water do? Live forever? I'll take you up on that bit, Timmons. Even if I lose, the odds are too good to pass up. But I'll not lose. I've got to come back. I'm married a fortnight from now and my girl would be very insulted if I showed up for my wedding in a shroud. Come on, give us a song, Scotty. Yeah, come on, make a shot of Nuka Chuchu, Scotty. No, Brooklyn. Somehow I don't feel like playing the pipes. I think I'll just lay down for a while and think if you don't mind. Throughout the night and the following day, the force moves steadily toward Senna's air, constantly risking discovery. But we were in luck. Now it was close to 1 a.m. of Thursday, March 28th. And the Campbelltown's nose was quietly poking its way up the estuary. Every one of us knew what his job was. We were all on deck, waiting for the crash. Hey, Smitty! Yes, Scotty? What's eating you? Hampton's overhead. Am I right, Sergeant Major? You are? Those Hamptons are on their way to provide a diversion. MRAF lads are our decoys. When the Nazi places search sites on the plains, he can't turn them on us. Look at that blooming flak. There's most of the traces, too. John, if you don't mind, you're calling 9 on the 40th of July. Those Hamptons are laying plenty of eggs in there. That on deck, everyone. That on deck, they've spotted us. All speed ahead. Force dropped. There you are, blasted Nazis. If you don't stop shining that searchlight in my face, I'll be letting you have it. Never mind the whisperer now. They've spotted us. Not any flanks. We're about to open fire. German searchlights have showered a flood of the estuary, revealing its sharpest outline of every ship in the force. Hamilton was still nearly two miles from the lock gates. From shore, the tracer shells came pouring in beautiful illuminated arcs. Our ship's bridge was being heavily battered. The deadly rockets hurt a lot from Nazi batteries to smash through the gallant ship or ricochet from his sides like exploding stars. Their foredeck was afire. Masks had toppled. Funnels sheared off. But her skipper, Lieutenant Commander BD, sent his ship tearing full speed ahead toward the lock gates. We were supposed to crash at 0130. It's now 0134. Will you kindly go up and tell the captain that there's a Scotsman aboard his ship who doesn't think much of his navigator? Covering parties protected the demolition parties while Dynamite was set and discharged. But the enemy could fight too, and many have fallen command those soldiers attested to that fact. Up went the pump house, and after the lock gate power station, my own particular job accomplished unfortunately at the sacrifice of two brave men. Building after building was set afire. For a lot of two hours, we worked like madmen. When 0330 came, we pulled us together at the appointed place. All that's left. Where's Timmons? Doctor, Thompson. Timmons coming ashore. Corporan and Thompson died in the powerhouse. Yeah. So did Willis and Peabody. The pump station. You've been hit, Murphy. Yeah, it ain't bad. That ain't exactly tomato juice that's coming out of your own sleeve there, boss. Down! Down! Machine gun left that door! Looks as though they could all except you, Scotting and Brooklyn and myself. Take me off now, Miss Pearl. Did they get you, Murphy, lad? Not bad, boss. Just ate at night in the belly. Hold on, lad. We'll get you down to the dock in the old mall. The motor launchers will be waiting there to pick you up. They'll heck they will, boss, but way over two now. And if those MLs are still sticking around, they'll be pounded a bit. He's the right sergeant, Major. Even so, we can still pull through. You'll find some way back to England. I'll just keep your chin up, Murphy, lad. Of course, I've got to figure some way of getting that bunch of Nazi machine guns in that house. You just wait for us to show our heads. You let me worry about them dirty bombs, boss. Brooklyn, what are you doing with that satchel shard? What's that? Murphy, don't like that fuse. It'll do us no good. You think you can throw that satchel over there? It's nearly 30 feet from here to that door. Don't worry, boss. I ain't gonna throw it. I'm gonna take it over personally. Murphy, stay here. You want to be killed? Stay put. Now that's an order. Do I want to be killed, he says? You know what you can do with your order, boss? I owe those Nazis something for a guy in Tunkirk. You'll never make it, Murphy, lad. Heck, I won't. Anyway, what have I got to lose? OK, she's lit. Smitty, give her a couple of grenades at that door and give me a chance. All right, Brooklyn. It's got to be... ...a highlight. I'll throw away something on that machine of yours, will you? Great shatter, no more choo-choo. I'd rather hear Glenn Miller do it, but... OK, let go of the grenades. Here goes! Tumble boy, it will out be dead harshest. He'll never make it. You'll cut him down before he can ask what you think. Stop! As I have said, a satchel charge is a terrible weapon. Its effect is deadly. Its range is wide. There was no more machine gun fire from that house. There was no more house. No more Brooklyn. No more Irish sergeant major. No more Scotty. I shall never know how I escaped the effects of that satchel charge. And you won't know, at least not yet, how I escaped from France and returned to England. I can tell you that next morning, nearly 400 Nazi officers and men were aboard the Campbelltown or on the dockside. The pick of the Nazi crop in that area. Precisely at noon, when they were deep in the bowels of the ship or close by her, our delayed charges went off, blowing them all to Helgoland. But military security forbids my telling you more. At least until the war has been won. Meanwhile, we command those who are awaiting the biggest raid of all. Bigger than the ones on San Jose, on Dieppe, and on North Africa. The raid on Hitler's Fortress Europa itself. It will be successful, we think. All the more successful for the knowledge that we have gained of the enemy in the past. Knowledge gained through the sacrifice of boys from Brooklyn. Cockneys from Lambeth. Irish sergeant mages. And gallant youngsters who will never meet again on the Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond. A new series of programs called Words at War. Stories told by men and women who have seen them happen, adapted from the most important books to come out of this war. Tonight's story was written by Richard McDonough of the NBC script staff and was based upon a portion of Hillary St. George Sanders combined operations. Next week you'll hear Wendell L. Wilkie's One World with Mr. Wilkie himself taking part in the program. Our cast tonight included Les Damon as Sergeant Smith, Jackson Beck as the sergeant major, and Walter Concella, Ian McAllister, Victor Beacraft, and Roger DeCoven. The original music was written and conducted by Frank Black. The production was under the direction of Joseph Losey. The program has been presented in cooperation with the Council on Books in War Time by the National Broadcasting Company and the Independent Radio Stations associated with the NBC...