Insistent Nuisance

One night last week a small group of black-uniformed, tough British soldiers, faces, hands and soft-soled gym shoes appropriately blackened, made a successful hit-&-run raid on the German-held coast of French Normandy, but they took a beating at home.

Details of the raid and what it accomplished were withheld, but Germany grudgingly conceded a British thrust into occupied territory and said coldly that the attacking forces were repelled with heavy losses. Britain's Ministry of Information replied smugly that the raiding party returned intact with one lone casualty--a man shot in the arm. The Commandos--small, hardened, specially trained shock-invasion troops, who have raided enemy territory from Norway to Africa--had struck again successfully.

Commando troubles, it soon developed, were confined entirely to the home front. In a House of Commons blast that the London Times tabbed as "injudicious and un-English," Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes elaborated on his removal as Commando chief (after 15 months' service), said flatly that Britain's war effort will remain lethargic and unsuccessful until the war offices of Whitehall are thoroughly overhauled.

Sir Roger was on familiar ground. In World War I, as an advocate of bold action, he directed the "immortal" action at Zeebrugge (where he dramatically bottled up a German submarine base). Said he in his memoirs: "I was very insistent and rather a nuisance . . . and I think most of my offensive efforts remained pigeonholed in the War Staff offices." In April 1940, when Britain's Cabinet and military were still crammed with appeasement-minded men, he cited the "lessons of Gallipoli, where we failed for lack of bold policy . . . defeated . . . by the pusillanimous Government torn by conflicting advice and fearful of responsibility." A month later he revealed that the War Cabinet had refused his demand that he attempt the capture of Trondheim, and he said baldly that such a capture would have been possible and might well have changed the entire course of Germany's Norwegian campaign.

Last week Sir Roger spoke bitterly of "heartbreaking frustrations" as Commando chief, insisted that had his shock troops been given freedom of action a year ago, they "might have electrified the world and altered the whole course of the war." Said Sir Roger:

"Today we have a fighting Prime Minister, but unfortunately he is handicapped not only by the same kind of machine in Whitehall as existed in the last war, but with an even greater force apparently with constitutional power. . . . Until the staff system is thoroughly overhauled, we shall always be too late in everything we undertake. . . . Secret and swift decision, sur prise and speedy action are essentials of success in the present war. This has been brilliantly illustrated in our campaigns in Africa, but you will not get it while you are dependent for decision and action on the cumbrous machinery of Whitehall. . . . One reason suggested for my dismissal was that I was too old (69) to lead shock troops, but the command of such a force does not necessarily mean leading it into action. This is a young man's war and my object was to give youth its chance."

Sir Roger said he had been notified that the heretofore independent Commandos would be turned over to the Army. The War Office remained mum, gave no hint that he was correct or who his successor would be. War-wise Londoners chalked up the gaunt, garrulous Sir Roger as another victim of politics-in-the-military, were convinced that Winston Churchill himself had engineered the pigeonholing.

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