The Elite

  For Charlie Burton –

  brave and adventurous and a great companion in adversity.

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  1: THE IMMORTALS

  2: THE SPARTANS

  3: THE SACRED BAND OF THEBES

  4: ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE SOGDIAN ROCK

  5: THE ROMAN PRAETORIAN GUARD

  6: THE VARANGIAN GUARD

  7: THE KNIGHTS TEMPLAR AND HOSPITALLERS

  8: THE ASSASSINS

  9: THE MONGOL KHESHIG

  10: THE MAMLUKS

  11: THE OTTOMAN JANISSARIES

  12: THE LANDSKNECHTS

  13: THE NINJA

  14: CROMWELL’S NEW MODEL ARMY

  15: THE DUTCH MARINE CORPS

  16: THE BRITISH LIGHT INFANTRY

  17: THE IRON BRIGADE

  18: THE STORMTROOPERS

  19: THE RAF AND THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN

  20: THE COMMANDOS

  21: HITLER’S BRANDENBURGERS

  22: THE PARATROOPERS

  23: THE SAS

  24: THE GREEN BERETS

  25: US NAVY SEALS

  26: THE FUTURE

  Photographs

  Bibliography

  Index

  About the Author

  INTRODUCTION

  Stories involving incredible courage, in the face of unfavourable odds, have always inspired me. From my schooldays at Eton, I would sit enthralled, listening to the adventures of the likes of Scott, Shackleton and Hillary, all venturing to far-off lands, attempting feats most thought to be impossible. Hearing such thrilling escapades eventually drove me to embark on my own adventures around the globe. I’m also quite sure that their examples of bravery have helped drag me out of many a hairy encounter along the way. However, no story has captivated me more than that of ‘Colonel Lugs’ and the Royal Scots Greys. For Colonel Lugs was my father, and, while we were never to meet, I seem to have spent my life trying to emulate him, and it is his story that has inspired me to write this book.

  My father joined the Royal Scots Greys when he was just eighteen. At the time, the Greys were a cavalry regiment, who were famous for using grey horses in battle, most notably in the Battle of Waterloo. On that muddy Belgian battlefield, just as Wellington’s British forces looked to be overwhelmed by Napoleon’s infantry, the horses of the Scots Greys thundered into the French line. With wild abandon, they viciously bayoneted one French soldier after another, even striking down their drummers and fifers without mercy. On seeing this dramatic change in fortunes, the previously demoralised 92nd Highlanders yelled ‘Scotland for ever!’ and, clad in kilts, roared into battle. This juggernaut of aggression forced the French back, giving the allies vital time to regroup, and eventually win the Napoleonic Wars in the most dramatic reversal of fortunes. For their heroic deeds, the Greys suffered particularly heavy losses but their sacrifice, just as the war had seemed lost, was for ever embroidered into military history.

  Such stories of courage saw the Greys exalted and their beautiful grey horses known far and wide. It is for this reason my father was determined to join them. However, by the time the Second World War erupted in 1939, the regiment was not only about to undergo significant change, but also to face its greatest test, in which my father would play a crucial role.

  On the outbreak of war, the Greys were initially sent to Palestine, to help keep the peace between the Jews and the Arabs. It seemed that their days as an elite fighting force were over. During the First World War, in the face of trench warfare and the machine gun, their horses had been virtually redundant, while the rapid advance of the tank and aircraft in the interim had also changed the military landscape. Horses now seemed a remnant of the past on the modern battlefield.

  However, as the Greys were being put out to pasture in Palestine the war was turning against the British in north Africa. With the Italians in retreat, Rommel’s panzers had come to the rescue. Advancing on all fronts, they had destroyed Britain’s under-gunned, undermanned and under-armoured tanks, and looked to be an unstoppable force.

  With British forces floundering and facing defeat, the decision was made to redeploy the Greys in more ways than one. Firstly, my father and his men would be sent to north Africa. Secondly, with their grey horses of little use in such a battle, the fateful decision was made to retrain the men for tank warfare. The prime minister, Winston Churchill, an ex-cavalry officer himself, said of this, ‘It has been heart-breaking for me to watch these splendid units waste away for a whole year . . . These historic regiments have a right to play a man’s part in the war.’

  The task ahead of the Greys was monumental. Not only would my father and his men have to retrain and somehow master these mechanical beasts, they would then have to face off against Rommel’s fearsome division, who had been sweeping all before them. Psychologically, this must have been tough. A big reason many had joined the Greys was to experience the thrill of riding a horse into battle in the open air. Now they had to say goodbye to their beloved animals, of whom they had grown very fond.

  From feeling the wind against their faces, the men now had to endure being crammed into a small, hot, metal box. With the hatch battened down, to prevent a grenade being lobbed inside, the conditions in the desert heat were unbearable. At times, with barely any fresh air available, it felt like being baked inside an oven. Because of this, like many others, my father ended up dispensing of his uniform and wore only shorts and canvas shoes. The smell inside was also unpleasant, not so much from the men’s sweat, but because the ventilator fans struggled to extract the cordite fumes after the main armament was fired. In time, the Greys would grow used to these conditions but how they must have yearned for their horses in those early days.

  The training was also relentless, with the men bruised black and blue at the end of most days. Trundling over rough and uneven terrain, often for hours on end, the crew would bang their joints up against the protruding pieces of hot metal. There were certainly no home comforts either. Resources were so tight that the training tanks had no intercom, so instructors had to tie string to the trainee driver’s arms and guide them accordingly. Despite all of these obstacles, my father and his men did not complain. There was a war to be won, and, if they were to overcome Rommel’s panzers, they knew they had to focus all their energy on the job at hand.

  Yet, after just a few short months of training, the British military could wait no more. Whether or not the Greys felt they were ready for action was unimportant. If they didn’t meet Rommel’s panzers in battle soon, then all would be lost. Thankfully, the British had upgraded their inferior tanks in the interim to the far superior American Grant tank. At least the Greys would have a machine whose armour and guns could finally match the Germans’, even if they were still novices on the battlefield.

  Soon after, the Greys were hurled onto 1,400 miles of stony, scrub-covered desert, stretching between Cairo and Tripoli. Against all the odds, with shells bursting, tracers flying and minefields a constant hazard, they somehow held Rommel’s panzers at Alam el Halfa, then helped to turn the tide of the war by overcoming them during the Battle of El Alamein.

  Over the course of those three days, the men suffered through the most appalling conditions. Cooped up inside their tanks, with no time to sleep, they manoeuvred their way through minefields and rain-sodden mud. All the while, they did battle with the ferocious German tanks and desperately tried to avoid the bombs being dropped from above by Italian planes. During this, my father shrugged off repeated injuries, the worst of which saw shell fragments just missing his femoral artery and what he described in a letter home to my mother as ‘other vital bits’. But the Greys’ training, firepower and refusal to yield soon saw Rommel’s panzers forced into a humiliating retreat. Just four months prev
iously, the German tanks had crushed the Allies in Libya, where they had captured 25,000 troops. Now they were on the run.

  Churchill later described this battle as the ‘turning of the Hinge of Fate’. He wrote, ‘Before Alamein, we never had a victory: after Alamein, we never had a defeat.’

  While I beam with pride at the thought of my father leading his men to such a heroic victory, I believe the true measure of the man can be seen in the aftermath, as described by Lieutenant Colonel Aidan Sprot, in his fantastic book Swifter Than Eagles:

  Colonel Lugs, during one of his recces, saw two Italians lying wounded away out in No Man’s Land. He took Astra out to pick them up while all available enemy arms were directed at him. He and Alec were lucky in that the only damage was a 20mm through a bogey wheel and a 5mm explosive bullet which hit the A/A gun and spattered their faces.

  While my father had courageously and gallantly led his men into battle, it is stories such as this – going to the aid of the wounded, no matter for whom they fought, putting his own life on the line in the process – that made me idolise him. However, despite these momentous victories in north Africa, the war continued to rage throughout Europe. My father barely had time to enjoy the moment before he received orders to prepare for another mission impossible: the invasion of Italy.

  As with the later D-Day landings in France, the Allies achieved a partial surprise by landing on the Salerno beaches against moderate German defences. The Greys, and their new Sherman II tanks, led the advance for some 2 miles inland before the enemy regrouped and forced an infantry retreat back to the beaches. I am told that, upon this retreat, my father stood in the middle of the road and, after being asked by a group of fleeing soldiers, ‘Which way to the beaches?’, he replied in his calm, unhurried manner, ‘You’re going the wrong way, the beaches are over there,’ pointing towards the front line. The soldiers sheepishly turned back, and helped to keep the Germans at bay.

  At this time, it seems my father encountered a difficulty that I have also faced all my life – how to pronounce our surname. Sprot writes:

  Two troopers, who were taken prisoner, escaped back and told us that, when they were being questioned, the German officer said to them, ‘We know your squadron leaders are Borwick, Roborough and Stewart, and your commanding officer is F-I-E-N-N-E-S, but we don’t know how to pronounce it. Is it Fee-ens or Fines?’

  For the avoidance of doubt, I can declare once and for all, on behalf of myself and my father, that the correct pronunciation is ‘Fines’. In 2011, the New Yorker magazine even ran an article pointing this out in relation to my thespian cousin, Ralph. It seems we Fienneses have always had our work cut out in this regard.

  In any event, just as it looked as though the Germans would force the British back into the sea, the Greys unleashed a devastating counterattack. Striking across the enemy’s flanks, they restored their position, then chased the retreating Germans up the toe of Italy until the whole of the Neapolitan plain lay below.

  Just days after a humiliating defeat had looked on the cards, the Greys entered Naples to the cheers of grateful crowds. But, even in this moment of celebration, my father had no time to revel in glory. Sprot recalls, ‘While we were forcing our way through the melee, one would see the colonel charging about with a pick-helve knocking civilians off the tanks!’

  General McCreery, the overall Allied commander, later thanked the Greys for the vital part they had played at Salerno. He claimed that it was entirely due to them that the Allies were not thrown off the beaches. Another tribute later came from Major General Graham, the officer in charge of the 56th Division at the landings, who wrote:

  At the Salerno landing, I was indeed fortunate to have to work with my Division such a grand Regiment as the Greys. I shall never forget all they did at the time. There were some anxious moments but all was well in the end. That it was so was largely due to the steadfastness and indomitable spirit of your Regiment. There are many glorious episodes in your history, but what you did at Salerno will bear comparison with any.

  Following this success, my father returned home to be with my mother for a few days, and it was during this time I was conceived. Yet he was never to know. Just weeks later, he returned to the regiment and, as he set off in his Dingo Jeep to check out enemy positions, he drove over a mine. While he did not immediately succumb to his wounds, he was to perish days later in hospital. Sprot writes warmly of my father on his passing: ‘This was a sad day, for the colonel was loved, admired and respected by all in the Regiment, and no finer officer had ever been in it.’

  From all that I have read, and been told, my father was not only a legendary commander, but he was also a fine man. It is with immense regret that we were never to meet. As I grew older, and heard of his exploits, I saw it as my destiny that I too would one day follow in his footsteps, seeing action with the Greys in far-flung deserts and jungles, and serving my country by fighting the enemy of the day, which back in the time of the Cold War was the Soviet Union.

  With this ambition driving me on, I eventually attended the Mons Officer Cadet School at Aldershot and soon after managed to pass into the Royal Scots Greys as a second lieutenant. For three years, I served as a troop leader, with twelve men and three 70-ton Conqueror tanks at my disposal. With a taste for danger, and an ambition to serve in the most elite units the British Army could offer, I soon set my eyes on joining the SAS. However, after completing the training course I was sadly thrown out in ignominy (more on which later). Undeterred, I volunteered to serve in the Sultan of Oman’s Armed Forces in Dhofar for two years, during a time when the communist armies of China and the Soviet Union were looking to invade.

  As a consequence of all of the above – my father’s courageous deeds, coupled with my own experiences in elite fighting units, as well as an avid interest in stories that involve impossible odds and incredible bravery – I have been inspired to write this book.

  With great relish, I have cast my eyes back over 5,000 years of history, revelling in the tales of some of the most remarkable military units of all time. Whether it be fighting on the battlefield, storming forts and castles, rescuing hostages, high-stakes reconnaissance missions or the dramatic assassination of enemy leaders, these men have frequently succeeded against all odds and have often changed the face of history in doing so. But what has been the key to their successes? And what ultimately led to their downfalls? I have sought to answer these questions, and more, while also putting some forgotten, yet heroic, figures into the spotlight, including my father.

  1

  THE IMMORTALS

  539 BC

  On the sandy banks of ancient Babylon’s River Tigris, Cyrus the Great’s massive Persian army gathered outside the fortified city of Opis. This was a place of considerable strategic importance for Cyrus. If he could take Opis, then Babylon would inevitably fall, just as so many countries had done before it. But Opis was well defended by the Babylonian king Nabonidus, and Cyrus had been unable to break the siege through military might alone. To all intents and purposes, there appeared to be no way in. Yet, ever since his birth, Cyrus had defied the odds. Indeed, it is a miracle that he had even survived to this point.

  The Greek historian, Herodotus, claimed that Cyrus’s grandfather, the Median king, Astyages, had a dream that signified that his as yet unborn grandson was a threat to his rule. Not wishing to take any chances, Astyages subsequently ordered one of his most trusted men, Harpagus, to kill the infant child upon his birth.

  Unsurprisingly, this was not a task Harpagus particularly wanted to undertake. He subsequently passed it on to Mithradates, one of the royal shepherds. However, Mithradates also did not wish to murder a baby, particularly as his own wife was still grieving after having given birth to a stillborn child. At this, Mithradates concocted a plan. Taking the body of his stillborn child to the royal constabulary, he claimed it to be that of Cyrus. The constabulary had no reason not to believe him and took him at his word. With this, Mithradates proceeded to raise Cy
rus as his own.

  Despite the need for great secrecy regarding Cyrus’s true identity, the young boy still enjoyed playing the role of king with his playmates. In fact, he played the role a little too well. During one game, he so severely punished the son of a respected man of the Median community that Cyrus was called before King Astyages to be punished. However, upon seeing the 10-year-old Cyrus, the king immediately realised that it was none other than his own grandson. Harpagus had evidently not carried out the task as had been ordered. The punishment for such duplicity was severe. Herodotus records that Astyages proceeded to invite Harpagus to a banquet, where he cruelly served him the flesh of his own son.

  Despite this, Astyages decided to spare Cyrus, sending him to Persia, where he rejoined his family. It was a decision he would soon regret, as it seems that his premonition had been true. In 553 BC, Cyrus rebelled against Astyages, with the vengeful Harpagus by his side. Going on to conquer the Median Empire, Cyrus mercifully spared his grandfather, but kept him in his court until his death. No doubt Astyages rued the day he had not ensured his grandson’s death.

  After establishing himself as the new ruler of the combined Persian and Median kingdoms, Cyrus rapidly expanded his empire, whether through marriage, negotiation, outright slaughter or ingenuity. For instance, when meeting the Lydian forces in 546 BC Cyrus created an improvised camel corps from his baggage train, and placed the baying animals at the front of his formation. The unaccustomed smell and sight of the camels was reported to have thrown the Lydian cavalry into disarray and helped lead Cyrus’s forces to victory.

  Such tactical brilliance soon saw the Persian Empire cover an area that included the modern countries of Turkey, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Iran, Kyrgyzstan and Afghanistan. The only remaining significant unconquered power in the Near East was the Neo-Babylonian Empire, which controlled Mesopotamia, as well as kingdoms such as Syria, Judea, Phoenicia and parts of Arabia. And Cyrus aimed to take them all, with the help of his elite special forces: the ‘Immortals’.