Dawes crouched behind a rock, frightened, weary, and losing hope. There he saw three men of the 4th Devonshire desperately struggling to get two wounded soldiers into the cave before the Germans could gun them down. They had fought for nearly 48 hours, grudgingly giving ground in the face of superior numbers, even though for many this was their very first engagement. Their faces were blackened with soot, uniforms soiled and bloodied.
Dawes felt the sudden burn of shame that he had not done more-not done much of anything at all! I took the first shots in my harbor tower, he thought, but all I’ve done since is get jostled from one AA gun position to another while these brave men fought and died to keep me safe. And here I am holding a rifle of the 4th Devs, and I haven’t the first idea how to use it!
He could hear the sound of the German attackers getting closer, calling to one another in harsh voices. One of the Devonshire riflemen fired at them, trying to buy enough time for the other two men to drag their wounded comrades inside the entrance. Dawes crouched behind his rock, closing his eyes, shuddering when bullets from a submachine gun raked the position, to cut the soldier down. Then he heard a dull clink, opening his eyes by reflex to stare in horror at a German grenade!
The next five seconds felt like an eternity, but in those brief and fleeting moments, the last of his life, Dawes found the one thing he had chided himself for lacking-his courage. There it was, the cold metal stick of death that would explode at any moment and take them all, the two wounded men and their comrades trying to drag them to safety. And there it was, with only one thing to do that might save them.
Dawes moved, as if on instinct, and the newest recruit of the Bloody Eleventh leapt atop the grenade, taking the full force of the explosion to die a hero, while shielding the soldiers who had fought so bravely to give him that chance.
Epilogue
That night there came a lull in the fighting. The Germans secured positions around the Main Wharf where the remnant of two companies of the 4th Devonshire Battalion were now holed up. Then the gunfire abruptly stopped at 08:00. Soldiers approached the entrance to Saint Michael’s Cave under a white flag, and asked to pass a message to the British commander. It would offer terms, with fair treatment and medical care for all wounded upon surrender, and internment in Spain under decent conditions for the duration of the war. Liddell replied that he had no such orders, but if the Germans would abide by the temporary cease fire he would pass the matter up the chain of command.
The signal went to Somerville, still at sea with Force H, who contemplated it grimly when he was handed the message at 10:00. The enemy had taken several vital facilities at Gibraltar: fuel supplies, airfield, power station, gas works, and the plant for distilling seawater. Yet Liddell indicated he believed he could hold out, and asked for as much support as the navy could give him. As to the German surrender terms, Churchill would not hear of such a thing at this point. He railed that the fortress must be held as long as possible, and urged the War Cabinet to do everything in their power to assist the garrison.
The night raid made by Valiant had given Churchill the hope that if more force were applied by the Royal Navy, the Germans might be shelled senseless. Somerville had been at sea for days, and his home port was now largely in enemy hands. He knew that he had only a few more days fuel to operate, and the French Navy was still at sea, finally spotted some 200 miles to the south off Casablanca. Lingering in the western approaches to the straits was also dangerous, and German U-boat activity was becoming an increasing threat. That morning the destroyer Firedrake had engaged a suspected undersea target without results, and Somerville knew that with each passing hour the enemy might concentrate more resources against him.
He laid the matter out in no uncertain terms. “We have three U-boat sightings today — Expect continued air attack this evening and have inadequate air cover — Two French battleships
remain at large off Casablanca and could pose an immediate threat to convoy SL-46 and SL-47.”
Should he mount yet another night raid to bolster the garrison at Gibraltar, or move south to deal with the French? He signaled the Admiralty to seek clarification as to his orders-what was Their Lordships pleasure? In spite of Valiant’s success the previous night, the Admiralty felt it unwise to risk Somerville’s battleships in the straits again. Liddell was told to play for time and hold out, a bone thrown to Churchill. The Royal Navy, however, would do the one thing it was best at, and operate at sea.
At midnight on the 17th, Somerville got his orders. He was to find and engage the French, clear the convoy routes and become master of the waters off Casablanca. Plans were underway for dramatic events yet to come. Admiral Tovey got the word that same hour. Britain would now try to salvage some small measure of advantage while she could, and go on the offensive.
Orders were sent to Wavell in Alexandria that he should make every effort to drive the Italians from Egyptian soil. Liddell would hunker down beneath the imposing limestone fortress of the Rock, Somerville would steam south to engage the French and avenge the loss of Barham off Dakar, and the Azores would be seized the following morning with thunderclap surprise, after which HMS Glorious would return to support Force H. The troops at Freetown, and De Gaulle’s Free French fighters were also put on notice that they would not sit idle any longer. A mission was being planned to throw them at the Cape Verde Islands as soon as the French Fleet was properly dealt with.
Britain, down on one knee, bruised and bloodied by her foes, was getting up and ready to answer the next bell. Yet far to the north, Admiral Raeder was setting his own plans in motion. The German Jotnargruppe was cutting through the seas and heading south into the Atlantic, with the battleships of the Royal Navy in hot pursuit. Speed was now the order of the day, and the Germans slipped slowly away, until one ship loomed off their starboard bow, unexpected, undaunted, and ready to do everything possible to stop the German fleet. This time Lutjens would fight, but he was about to confront an adversary that would prove to be far more resourceful than he or any of his planners in the Kriegsmarine could imagine.
As the sun rose on the 18th of September, smoke charred the skies above Gibraltar. Fires were burning in the town, and south near the Main Wharf. The last remnants of the 4th Devonshires were still fighting, some holed up in sheds, houses and cellars, others huddled behind the heavy walls of the Main Wharf buildings, mostly held by 2nd Somerset Light. The Brandenburgers were at the Destroyer Camber, and the harbor itself, always bustling with activity with upwards of twenty or thirty vessels on any given day, was strangely empty now.
The Germans sent a motorized battalion of the elite Grossdeutschland Regiment down through the Devil’s Gap, led by their reconnaissance battalion. There they eyed the ridges and slopes leading up to a place called the Breakneck Stairs and Mount Misery. The entrance to St. Michael’s Cave was also in this area, where most of the remaining service troops, porters, artisan engineers, and other non-combatants were now huddled. Even the big 9.2-inch batteries on Windmill Hill and Europa Point had been abandoned, the guns disabled as the crews retreated to the cavernous passages of Saint Michael’s.
There Lieutenant Dawes had fallen to his fate, a hero in the end, dying to save the men that could carry on the fight. Sergeant Hobson saw them carry in the body, what was left of him, and took a long breath. He was tired, weary beyond measure, and the loss of the Lieutenant he had taken under his wing affected him deeply. He sat, head down, dreary and mournful, and losing hope, as were many others around him. Then he heard the quiet chattering of a Barbary Ape, and turned to see a solitary Macaque skittering into the cave. A Corporal threw it an orange peel, and Hobson smiled.