bullet, and the two men who went to his rescue suffered the same fate. Command automatically passed to Giles’s younger brother, Bruce, but he was so shaken by the sight of John’s death that the attack stalled and the troop was left without effective command.
Two hundred yards away, 4th Troop had fought their way up to the Ulversund Hotel. Unaware that the hotel was bristling with enemy, Captain Algy Forrester led a frontal assault on the building, his NCOs firing Tommy guns from the hip as they charged. Sprinting towards the main entrance, Forrester was a few yards short when he pulled the pin on his grenade and was shaping to hurl it when he was cut down by enemy fire and slumped on top of his grenade which, to the horror of his men, exploded beneath him. Two others were hit and the troop withdrew to consider their options. At that moment, Linge and his Norwegians arrived on the scene and immediately took command of the leaderless troop. Ever eager to take the fight to the enemy, Linge ordered another direct assault, in spite of the misgivings of some of the troops. Having gathered his men behind an adjacent building, leading from the front he gave the order to charge, but he had barely appeared in the open when an enemy bullet thumped into his chest. He dropped like a stone. His sergeant tried to pull him clear but another bullet smacked into Linge’s body and the men were again forced to withdraw. Two assaults, two commanders dead. (Linge is still honoured in the Norwegian Army, which named a Commando Company after him. A large statue stands where he fell.)
From intelligence sources, the assault group knew there was a tank inside the garage next to the hotel. It was an outdated model, captured during the Fall of France, but in close-quarters fighting against lightly armed troops it had the capacity to cause havoc if its crew managed to bring it onto the streets. As planned, after Forrester’s 4th Troop had cleared the area around it, two sappers, Sergeant Cork and Trooper Dowling, dashed into the building and laid a string of charges around the armoured vehicle. Dowling had just crawled out of the door when Cork lit the fuses. Usually, the fuses are cut to a length to burn just long enough for the demolition team to scramble to safety but, inexplicably, on this occasion the explosion was instantaneous. Cork never stood a chance and, such was the force of the blast, men over 200 yards away were hit by flying shrapnel. Incredibly, Dowling escaped without a scratch.
With all British officers and senior NCOs in 4th Troop and the Norwegian contingent either dead or injured, command fell to Corporal White. Distraught at the death of their leaders, whose bloodstained bodies lay scattered in the snow all about them, the men of both units were baying to storm the hotel and exact revenge. Aware that a change of tactics and more firepower were required to crack the German stronghold, White beckoned over a mortar unit crouched in the shadows of a neighbouring building. Minutes later, ten 3-inch bombs, fired by a Sergeant Ramsey, rained down on the hotel. As the upper floor burst into flames, White gave the order to charge. Several dozen men rushed along the street, guns blazing, before hurling themselves at the foot of the front wall. Each man reached for his Mills bombs, the distinctive iron-cast ‘pineapples’ that the British Army had been using as hand grenades since the First World War. Pulling the pins, they counted ‘One, two . . .’ then stood up and hurled them through the windows and into the entrance. ‘. . . Three, four!’ A succession of explosions rocked the building. Glass shattered and clouds of dust, plaster and smoke filled the interior as White and his men, hollering, burst inside. Within minutes the hotel, the largest public building in town and the fulcrum of the German resistance, was cleared, and White’s casualty-ravaged unit reassembled to the rear of the hotel.
Casualties were mounting so fast
Two hundred yards away, 4th Troop had fought their way up to the Ulversund Hotel. Unaware that the hotel was bristling with enemy, Captain Algy Forrester led a frontal assault on the building, his NCOs firing Tommy guns from the hip as they charged. Sprinting towards the main entrance, Forrester was a few yards short when he pulled the pin on his grenade and was shaping to hurl it when he was cut down by enemy fire and slumped on top of his grenade which, to the horror of his men, exploded beneath him. Two others were hit and the troop withdrew to consider their options. At that moment, Linge and his Norwegians arrived on the scene and immediately took command of the leaderless troop. Ever eager to take the fight to the enemy, Linge ordered another direct assault, in spite of the misgivings of some of the troops. Having gathered his men behind an adjacent building, leading from the front he gave the order to charge, but he had barely appeared in the open when an enemy bullet thumped into his chest. He dropped like a stone. His sergeant tried to pull him clear but another bullet smacked into Linge’s body and the men were again forced to withdraw. Two assaults, two commanders dead. (Linge is still honoured in the Norwegian Army, which named a Commando Company after him. A large statue stands where he fell.)
From intelligence sources, the assault group knew there was a tank inside the garage next to the hotel. It was an outdated model, captured during the Fall of France, but in close-quarters fighting against lightly armed troops it had the capacity to cause havoc if its crew managed to bring it onto the streets. As planned, after Forrester’s 4th Troop had cleared the area around it, two sappers, Sergeant Cork and Trooper Dowling, dashed into the building and laid a string of charges around the armoured vehicle. Dowling had just crawled out of the door when Cork lit the fuses. Usually, the fuses are cut to a length to burn just long enough for the demolition team to scramble to safety but, inexplicably, on this occasion the explosion was instantaneous. Cork never stood a chance and, such was the force of the blast, men over 200 yards away were hit by flying shrapnel. Incredibly, Dowling escaped without a scratch.
With all British officers and senior NCOs in 4th Troop and the Norwegian contingent either dead or injured, command fell to Corporal White. Distraught at the death of their leaders, whose bloodstained bodies lay scattered in the snow all about them, the men of both units were baying to storm the hotel and exact revenge. Aware that a change of tactics and more firepower were required to crack the German stronghold, White beckoned over a mortar unit crouched in the shadows of a neighbouring building. Minutes later, ten 3-inch bombs, fired by a Sergeant Ramsey, rained down on the hotel. As the upper floor burst into flames, White gave the order to charge. Several dozen men rushed along the street, guns blazing, before hurling themselves at the foot of the front wall. Each man reached for his Mills bombs, the distinctive iron-cast ‘pineapples’ that the British Army had been using as hand grenades since the First World War. Pulling the pins, they counted ‘One, two . . .’ then stood up and hurled them through the windows and into the entrance. ‘. . . Three, four!’ A succession of explosions rocked the building. Glass shattered and clouds of dust, plaster and smoke filled the interior as White and his men, hollering, burst inside. Within minutes the hotel, the largest public building in town and the fulcrum of the German resistance, was cleared, and White’s casualty-ravaged unit reassembled to the rear of the hotel.
Casualties were mounting so fast
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