by RNS | Apr 29, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Nikolaos Theotokis, Airborne Landing to Air Assault (Pen & Sword, 2020)
Jumping out of a slow moving aeroplane and drifting to the ground under enemy fire takes a different kind of mentality, the bravery is a given. Perhaps that is why military history students find the paratroopers so fascinating? Nikolaos Theotokis surveys the history of paratroopers from their origins in World War I through the Gulf Wars and Afghanistan, and their geographical spread across the continents. He stops along the way to narrate specific operations that illustrate this mode of taking the fight to the enemy, usually behind their lines.
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The ‘heyday’ of military paratroopers was World War II with the Germans, British, and Americans to the fore. But many other nations deployed paratroopers; the Poles, Canadians, Japanese, and Soviets might be expected, but Finland, Serbia, Romania, and Peru might not. Similarly, Theotokis narrates the major paratrooper actions of WWII, including Crete, Normandy, and Arnhem, but he also describes lesser known missions, such as those undertaken in the Pacific Theatre. The use of gliders and airborne units deployed on the ground are included in these examples. Along with ‘regular’ paratrooper units, Theotokis adds special ops and parachute use by Airforce personnel, usually from burning planes, and the dangers that entailed.
It is apparent from Theotokis’s survey that while parachute missions declined after WWII, the use of paratroopers in combat did not. Indeed, it would be difficult to think of a post-WWII conflict in which they were not used. Theotokis considers the major actions, such as Suez, French Indochina, and Korea, alongside less familiar actions in, for example, Aden, The Congo, and the Dominican Republic. He explains that part of the reason for the reduction in parachute missions was the increasing use of helicopters to take men into battle, and nowhere was that more evident than in the Vietnam War. Thus, with helicopters, we are fully into the air assault phase of airborne warfare. Theotokis notes, however, that improving transport plane capabilities renewed parachute drops, notably in Afghanistan. He concludes that the days of elite soldiers parachuting into combat are not yet over.
Surveys like this one can often be dry and dusty reads, but by emphasising what paratroopers have accomplished over the bare bones of unit histories, Theotokis has written an engaging and informative book, which is full of wee surprises mixed in with more familiar history. Moreover, there is enough meat in here to make you want more, and Theotokis hits that mark with an excellent bibliography that will have military history students reading happily for quite a while. My only real quibble is the inclusion of peripheral forces such as special ops and an odd chapter on pilots and aircrew, where more room could have been made for combat descriptions or primary source material from regular units. Set that aside, and this is a solid military history of very brave soldiers.
by RNS | Apr 15, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Mel Kavanagh, Hitler’s Spies (Pen & Sword, 2020)
In July 1940, Adolf Hitler all but dismissed any ideas of peace with Britain and gave the green light for an invasion, Operation Sealion. All branches of the German military had their doubts, but German intelligence, the Abwehr, had to prepare the way for the invading forces, and to do that they needed to send spies. That set the platform for Operation Lena. In this detailed and fascinating account, Mel Kavanagh narrates that story.
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Kavanagh introduces the major players tasked with establishing a network of spies in Britain at very short notice. They include the well-known Jodl and Canaris, but also lesser lights such as Herbert Wichmann, Nikolaus Ritter, and Walter Praetorius. The ’Brussels Four’ is Kavanagh’s main focus: Charles Kieboom, Carl Meier, Sjoerd Pons, and Jose Waldberg. He provides potted biographies of them, noting that only Waldberg had any intelligence experience. After introducing a timeline of the war to July 1940, which runs through the narrative, Kavanagh returns to his theme with the spies in Brussels for training and planning for their missions to England. When they were deemed ready, the four set off in small boats on 3 September to spy for Hitler. It would not go well.
Pons and Kieboom were caught almost immediately on landing, Meier soon afterwards. The resultant flurry of activity by the British army ensnared Waldberg, and all four were soon in the hands of MI5. Kavanagh follows the investigation conducted in the shadow of an impending German invasion. The men were sent to Camp 020 where they were reticent to cooperate because they expected a German invasion but did so anyway. Kavanagh includes transcripts of interrogations and secret taping, revealing many interesting aspects of the intelligence war in the process. Kavanagh then works his way through the trial, verdicts, the fates of the spies, and the aftermath of the whole affair, including investigations into other spies, potential and real. He concludes by noting that Operation Lena was a waste of time and epitomised ‘woeful German planning’ and British vigilance. The Brussels Four were also a mine of information for MI5. Why the Germans sent such inept spies remains an open question.
Hitler’s Spies is an odd espionage story in that very little spying took place. Indeed, the incompetence of the spies that Kavanagh highlights bordered on the unbelievable at times. That Kavanagh could write a book packed with information on the Brussels Four and their miserably failed mission is quite impressive in itself. That said, there is a sense of missed opportunity in how Kavanagh wrote this story. Where he just narrates events, Kavanagh writes well, but too often he produces documentary evidence into his text that would have been better placed in the footnotes or appendices. Kavanagh’s attempt to connect the spy story to wider wartime events is also well-meaning but falls flat. Too often such interpolations fracture the narrative and eventually becomes mere noise. That is unfortunate because Kavanagh has a genuinely interesting story to tell, and readers interested in the intelligence war in World War II will take much from it.
by RNS | Apr 2, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Stephen Barker, The Flying Sikh (Pen & Sword, 2022)
Hardit Singh Malik was one of 1.3 million Indians that served in WWI. But he was a trailblazer, the first Indian fighter pilot in the Royal Flying Corps and a commissioned officer, despite facing resistance from within the British establishment and among his fellow pilots. He was arguably the most famous Indian combatant of the war and went on to become a distinguished diplomat after it. In this truncated biography, Stephen Barker examines Hardit’s formative years and his role in the Great War.
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Barker narrates Hardit’s upbringing from his birth in Rawalpindi in 1894 through his early years that shaped his identity and values. He completed his schooling in England then attended Oxford University from 1912. Barker notes the emergence of Hardit’s physical and character attributes, both found in his ability as a cricket player – he played for Sussex. But war loomed and the storm broke in August 1914. Barker highlights the ambiguity many Indians felt at supporting the Imperial war effort, but Hardit had no doubts and tried to gain a commission almost immediately on the outbreak, though he failed and opted for Law School. He then accepted an offer to serve with the Croix-Rouge française in the summer of 1915 and embarked for France as an ambulance driver in June 1916. It was here that he took an interest in flying.
After some bureaucratic wangling to allow a Sikh to serve in the RFC, Hardit began his formal training in March 1917. Barker follows him from cadet through to receiving his wings in July then onto more training with specific aircraft. In September, his squadron received Sopwith Camels, one of which Hardit flew to France to begin his combat career. That took place over the muddy battlefield of Passchendaele and his first ‘kill’ came almost immediately on 20 October, though he crashed on return to his aerodrome. He also was not credited with his victory. Barker narrates in some detail an intense dogfight a few days later in which Hardit made his first official kill but was wounded and spent two months in hospital. He returned to his squadron in Italy, but three weeks later, he left for England because of an allergy to Castor Oil! He still flew but remained behind the lines until October 1918, now a commissioned officer. When peace came, Hardit travelled back to Rawalpindi to a celebrity’s welcome. Barker follows Hardit into the immediate post-war amid the turbulence of Indian politics. Hardit left the RAF in August 1919, by now a married man, and entered the Indian Civil service. He would go on to have a stellar diplomatic career. Barker’s conclusion examines Hardit in the context of post-war Anglo-British relations and how he succeeded throughout his life with the British where so many had failed.
In Stephen Barker, Hardit Singh Malik has found a biographer worthy of his distinguished life. Barker does an excellent job of setting Hardit into his personal, familial, and political contexts. In particular, Barker highlights the prejudices ranged against Hardit and how he overcame them. He deploys Hardit’s autobiography as the backbone for his narrative but builds on a solid academic base of books and articles to establish the context and the veracity of Hardit’s memories. Barker also concentrates on Hardit’s early life and career as a pilot, which some biographers might have diluted in taking a longer view. Military historians will enjoy this biography as will readers of modern Indian history.
by RNS | Mar 23, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Enrico Cernushi, Italian Battle Fleet 1940-43 (Osprey, 2024)
Italian dictator Benito Mussolini’s imperialist ambition around the Mediterranean Sea in the 1930s is sometimes overlooked in the rapid build-up of Nazi Germany’s military. But on paper, Italy was a potent threat in the region. What it needed, however, was a powerful fleet to achieve Mussolini’s aims. By 1940, he thought he had one in La Squadra, the pride of Italy’s Regia Marina (RM). Noted naval historian Enrico Cernushi’s describes that fleet and its actions in an increasingly desperate struggle with the Allies.
Cernushi traces the development of Italian seapower in the Mediterranean after World War I when France was deemed Italy’s main maritime enemy. Progress was slow, and the Italians were still not ready when tensions ratcheted up with Britian during the Abyssinian Crisis of 1935-36. That led to new Littorio class battleships being laid down to form the heart of a new battle fleet. Cernushi surveys the Italian warships as they came online through the interwar period but notes the struggles the RM had with the new Italian air force for independent control of naval air capabilities. That created a deficiency in air reconnaissance, which would cause significant problems during the war. Turning to how the fleet operated, Cernushi considers command and communication, finding them more efficient than many have assumed. This was also true for Italian intelligence work breaking Allied codes while protecting their own. The RM was well supported for supplies and maintenance, adds Cernushi, though a lack of oil would all but paralyse the fleet for most of 1942 through May 1943.
With all the support set out, Cernushi examines the fleet in combat. On the eve of war, the British underestimated the Italian navy, judging them weak. Their first major test of that thesis came off Calabria on 9 July 1940, when the British were unpleasantly surprised by the RM’s gunnery and manoeuvrability. Cernushi moves on to the 1940 battles to defeat the convoys criss-crossing the Mediterranean, the attack on Taranto, and the action at Cape Spartivento. The action continues through 1941 and 1942 with Cernushi describing many engagements of differing sizes and importance. Moving into 1943, Cernushi finds the Italians struggling with fuel shortages and Allied bombing of ports; the tide had definitely turned against them. That left the Allied landings in Sicily in 1943 virtually unopposed. The end of Italy’s war was not long in coming.
In his analysis of the RM, Cernushi argues that the Italian battleships served their country with distinction while dispelling the myth of their excessive gunnery dispersion. Other aspects of maintaining a fleet in combat worked well too, continues Cernushi, but the lack of carriers affected the fleet’s balance. Overall, Cernushi contends that the RM stood up well to the RN despite the political and economic problems sinking its homeland.
The story of Italy’s naval struggle in the Mediterranean has not often been told from an Italian perspective. Cernushi’s contribution is, therefore, a welcome one; he adds a necessary corrective to post-war British efforts to diminish the Italian navy, and we can see how the Italians struggled valiantly against increasingly difficult odds. Cernushi packs a useful amount of technical and operational detail into slim volume, and his battle narratives are well executed. He is supported handsomely in that regard by Osprey’s usual excellent graphics and a variety of photographs of warships. If you have overlooked the Mediterranean theatre in your WWII naval studies, this is a more than suitable place to start.
by RNS | Mar 14, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Steven J. Zaloga, German Tanks in France 1940 (Osprey, 2024)
Anyone with even a passing interest in World War II knows that the Germans swept through France in May 1940, ending in the disastrous Allied ‘victory’ at Dunkirk. In this New Vanguard volume from Osprey, Steven Zaloga surveys the German panzers that spearheaded that assault.
Zaloga begins by narrating the development of panzer formations, which flourished under Hitler’s patronage. Combined arms tactics lagged behind, however, leading to panzers and infantry often fighting apart. The author turns to the technical factors of the various German panzers: Panzerkampfwagen I, II, III, IV, and two Czech tanks taken as booty from the German annexation in 1939. He adds the tank destroyer Panzerjäger and the Sturmgeschütz assault gun, both of which provided support for the panzers though in small numbers.
The campaign for France was titled Fall Gelb (Plan Yellow), and that is where Zaloga turns next. He describes the plan and organisation before narrating the world’s first great tank battle near Hannut in May 1940. This proved to be a hard fight, with Zaloga stressing the logistical importance of fuel and ammunition in the outcome, adding to the main problems of enemy action and mechanical breakdowns. But the panzers kept coming, pouring through the Ardennes, and peeling the French out of their defences aided by the luftwaffe. Then began the race to the sea despite orders for caution from the German high command. Zaloga notes that Allied counter-attacks fostered such thinking. The campaign culminated in much of the Anglo-French army escaping from Dunkirk with the panzers on the horizon but stalled. In his analysis of the campaign, Zaloga highlights the bold thrust of the panzers contrasted with the lacklustre efforts of the French. He puts this down to German combat experience, though they still had much to learn. Perhaps surprisingly, Zaloga argues that the German panzers were not that much better than the French machines, though they did have better tactical proficiency. In particular, he expresses disappointment at the PzKpfwIII, while extolling the virtues of the PzKpfwIV.
Zaloga has written an interesting survey of the German panzers, which works as a basic introduction. It is a slim volume, however, and there are many aspects of those tanks omitted, particularly the human experience of fighting in and against them – a deeper bibliography would have compensated for this. Nevertheless, that is balanced by Osprey’s excellent graphic depictions of the tanks along with a wide range of photographs. This makes Zaloga’s book useful for modellers, wargamers, and any military history reader taking their first step into the world of the panzers.
by RNS | Mar 11, 2024 | Beating Tsundoku
Harold A. Munnings, A Hard Lesson Wasted (Munnings, 2024)
On 16 September 1852, a sudden and violent illness overtook Ann Hall, a 60 year old white woman of New Providence in the Bahamas. She died the following morning. This was a moment the islands had feared; cholera had arrived to scythe through the unprepared Bahamians in what would prove to be the second largest natural disaster in their history. In this poignant book, Harold A. Munnings tells a ‘cautionary tale’ of confusion, neglect, bravery, and bungling that resonates still in a place many consider a paradise.
Munnings begins by introducing readers to the people and places that would figure so significantly in the cholera outbreak, revealing the fault lines in Bahamian society as he goes along. The unpreparedness of the Bahamas becomes clear when Munnings surveys the advance of cholera in the Caribbean, noting that by 1851 nearby Jamaica staggered under a severe outbreak. It was, therefore, only a matter of time and misfortune before it arrived on Bahamian shores. Munnings narrates how it did so with a vengeance, spreading illness, death, and terror across the islands. Public health, to the extent they had any, failed Bahamians, as did public prayers; efforts at treatment were, in Munnings’ words, ‘a form of benevolent homicide’. The government also fretted about the economic costs. Within six weeks, hundreds had fallen to the disease, so many that the government stopped publishing the numbers! Fear of famine and the breakdown of law and order soon stalked the Bahamas.
Enter Hector Gavin, an outspoken and belligerent doctor with a plan to fight back. He established a programme of house visits and allocated doctors, admittedly of varying professional standards, across different districts. They tackled the outbreak with mixed results, and the facilities some of them set up were, in Munning’s view, best avoided. But, by December 1852, the outbreak had waned. Munnings surveys the other islands in the colony, discovering much the same story with some wrinkles. He lingers on the case of Eleuthera, which required military intervention to establish control over the terrified inhabitants. Munnings also relates the tragic tale of immigrants on board the Ovando and their miserable fate.
Some normality returned to the Bahamas by January 1853, but cholera lingered. Unfortunately, government penny-pinching returned too. Moreover, Gavin was fired for complaining, prompting a scathing rebuke from him against the governor. Munnings closes with the, perhaps obvious, connection to the recent Covid outbreak and finds the cholera outbreak was over twenty times worse for fatalities. Most of the victims were black and poor, a situation not helped by a prejudiced administration that was more concerned with money than mortality – the number of annual deaths would not be exceeded until 1995! Munnings observes that very little was said about the cholera epidemic after 1853, when yellow fever outbreaks and the fear of smallpox took over, and he argues that this was deliberate: the government saved face, reinforced their racist notions on victimhood, and saved money. He adds that thousands still die from cholera worldwide and that the Bahamas must protect its water supplies to protect its citizens. Munnings adds sixteen appendices full of pertinent information relating to the outbreak.
A Hard Lesson Wasted is a timely book as the modern world reels from Covid and its aftermath, while some administrations appear to indulge in the same neglect that afflicted the cholera-stricken Bahamas. Munnings writes well, offering cogent analysis, and some barbed comments, alongside a fascinating, and sometimes infuriating, narrative. Thus, Munnings toes the line between academic and public history with considerable deftness. That makes his book an entertaining and valuable read with some important lessons as the world tiptoes into the future not knowing what potential disasters might lie in wait.
