Johnson in Yemen: having been proposed for the venture by Col David
Stirling, he arrived there on a Canadian passport under the name of Cohen and
with a pocketful of sovereigns.
Undercover: Liam McSweeny in Arab dress as former SAS men fought a
desert war in Yemen.
The London circle was known as the Aden Group. Before that,
it had been the Suez Group, political cheerleaders for the Anglo-French
invasion of the Suez Canal Zone, with Israeli complicity, in 1956. One of the
group was Neil (“Billy”) McLean, a British Member of Parliament, wartime
veteran of SOE in Albania and the Far East, and SIS “asset.” Another was Air
Minister Julian Amery, son-in-law of the then Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan.
Amery would later double, secretly, as “Minister For Yemen.” In September 1962,
King Hussein of Jordan visited London, met Amery, and appealed for
non-recognition of the Yemen Arab Republic (YAR). Amery asked McLean to visit
the country to obtain ground truth about the war. Could the royalists hold out?
Was the Egyptian Air Force using chemical weapons against civilians? Using
journalistic cover, McLean took to the hills of Yemen with enthusiasm. In
December, he returned to advise Macmillan that the Egyptians could be defeated.
In January 1963, the British cabinet received an unsourced intelligence
assessment, based on McLean’s report, suggesting that to recognize the YAR
would be to surrender control over the Gulf to America. Diplomatic recognition
of the Sana’a regime withheld, the movement toward a deniable military
intervention began.
The operation had a slow start, possibly because McLean and
others depended on the Secret Intelligence Service to handle recruitment, while
the Saudis acted as banker for this enterprise. In mid-April, at White’s, a
gentleman’s gambling club in London, Amery and Home (then Foreign Secretary)
met SAS founder Colonel David Stirling, Brian Franks, by now Colonel-Commandant
of the SAS, and McLean. By this time, McLean had visited Yemen again. British
positions in the Aden Federation were coming under guerrilla assault from
Yemen, confirming the worst fears of the U.K. government about recognizing the
YAR. A delegation from the Yemeni royalists had visited Israel, which was now
delivering arms into areas under royalist control.
One of those involved in the later operation recounts what
happened. “McLean told the gathering, ‘Whatever the Egyptians are telling
Washington, the coup in Yemen is not a success. Resistance continues. We have
to get some sort of operation going.’ Home reported that SIS was having difficulties.
Alec [Home] said, ‘I will talk to SIS but they say they have no agents in Yemen
and it will take six months to set something up.’”
Stirling snorted: “Rubbish. I can produce a guy in London
who has just given up command of 21 SAS [the reserve regiment ostensibly
dedicated to stay-behind actions should the Warsaw Pact invade western Europe].
He could put something together.” The man Stirling had in mind was Jim Johnson,
former Guards officer and a broker at the insurance market, Lloyds. Franks
telephoned Johnson immediately and invited him to have a drink at the club. As
they exchanged regimental small talk, Franks asked Johnson: “Do you fancy going
into Yemen and burning the MiGs which are upsetting the tribes and bombing
them? The tribes have no defense against them.” Johnson thought this was a good
idea. At a later meeting in London, Johnson and McLean met the Imam’s foreign
minister, Ahmed al-Shami. Johnson asked what funds were available. Al-Shami
laid his checkbook in front of them and wrote a check for around $10,000. The
money trail, which ultimately led back to Saudi Arabia, had to be concealed.
Franks picked up the check and funneled it through the Hyde Park Hotel account,
a process made easier by his role as chairman of the hotel board.
Johnson took leave of absence from Lloyds and opened a
secret headquarters near the headquarters of 21 SAS. The commander of the
regular, full-time 22 SAS Regiment obligingly provided unattributable weapons
including Swedish submachine guns, which were stored in Johnson’s fashionable
London home on Sloane Avenue. Stirling drummed up his wartime comrade and
one-time driver, Major John Cooper, now working as a contract officer for the
Sultan’s Armed Forces in Oman.
On 6 June, the anniversary of D-Day, Johnson, Stirling, and
Cooper were at a mansion in Paris to meet two mercenaries nominated by the
French Secret Service. These were Colonel Roger Faulques, a scarred veteran of
a Vietnam prison camp and the Algerian war, and Robert Denard, a hulking
freelance soldier from the French Atlantic coast. The gathering also included
senior government officials from London and Paris. If Kennedy was mentioned, it
was in less than reverent tones. The SIS also probably came in for its share of
criticism. Much wine was drunk. Johnson later told the author: “We were
entertained royally. The French side said they had a lot of ex-Foreign Legion
Paras who had served in Algeria and spoke Arabic. But it was the wrong Arabic,
Maghrib Arabic. They were unintelligible to everyone but themselves.”
What emerged from this gathering was a decision to send an
advance party of four French and four British freelances on a reconnaissance
mission to Yemen, led by Cooper, whose experience with the French Resistance
during the Second World War would be useful in calling in Israeli supply drops.
Back in London, the word was sent to Morse signals specialists serving with 21
SAS. On arrival, they were “invited” to join Johnson’s secret army. Three
regular soldiers serving with 22 SAS—Geordie Dorman, a mortar expert; Corporal
Chigley, a medical orderly; and Trooper Richardson, all-round firearms
expert—were given leave of absence, or sheep-dipped (nominally discharged from
the Army), to join the team.
The French volunteers drove from Paris in an official staff
car, with a uniformed military driver and concealed weapons. One of them was
Tony de Saint-Paul, alias Roger de Saint Prieux, a tall, sinister figure with
deep-set eyes who went into battle dressed as an Arab, a curved dagger at his
waist. He was to meet a painful death in Yemen soon afterward.
Shortly before they were to leave, Johnson received word
that the U.K. government had taken fright. Scandals in high places, including
the forced resignation of War Minister John Profumo, meant that there could be
no other source of political embarrassment for the time being. Risky military
adventures were not wanted. Nevertheless, Johnson hastily booked the team in
ones and twos onto any flight available out of Britain, in the direction of
Aden, before the British government could intervene. In a duplicitous farewell
that night, Lord Home dined with Johnson and the team.
Cooper flew first to Tripoli, in Libya. He later recalled:
“We had just collected our baggage from our various incoming flights when one
of the cases broke open, spilling out rolls and rolls of plastic explosive.”
Some of the Libyan security guards, he added, “actually helped us repack the
stuff. I told them that stuff was marzipan, because of the smell, for various
Arab heads of state.”
In Aden, the mercenaries and their dangerous cargo were able
to bypass the usual formalities with the help of a young officer serving with
British forces there: Captain (later Lieutenant-General) Peter de la Billiere.
DLB, as he is known in SAS circles, arranged for the team to move by a Dakota
of Aden Air to a border area controlled by an ally among local rulers, the
Sharif of Beihan. Then the party of six, dressed as Arabs, with two guides,
loaded their camels and joined a train of 150 camels carrying supplies to the
royalists to cross the border. It was a hazardous journey, moving by night to
avoid Egyptian aircraft, in single file through minefields.
From a mountain village called Gara, headquarters of Prince
Abdullah bin Hassan, Taylor sent out reconnaissance patrols stiffened by his
mercenaries in spite of continuous air raids in which attacks with iron bombs
were followed with low strafing runs by Yak fighters using machine guns. Next,
he set up an ambush for Egyptian infantry and tanks obliged to climb a gully to
reach Hassan’s redoubt. Each gun position was camouflaged and sheltered by
rocks, with additional shelter nearby in case of air attack. Cairns were built
as markers, or orientation points for the defenders. Cooper wrote later: “As
the enemy reached our markers, our men opened up with devastating effect,
knocking down the closely packed infantry like ninepins. Panic broke out in the
ranks behind and then the tanks started firing, not into our positions but
among their own men. Then the light artillery opened up, causing further
carnage.”
The mercenaries’ campaign ran for the next three years,
during which the Egyptians were increasingly confined to paved roads. They hit
back with air power and poison gas. For example, on 4 July 1963, McLean, back
in Yemen, reported to the U.K. ambassador to Saudi Arabia on his visit to a
village called Kowma. “I went to the exact spot where two bombs had landed….
Even after an interval of about…five weeks during which heavy rains fell…I was
immediately aware of, from between twenty and thirty yards away, an unusual,
unpleasant and pungent smell…rather like a sweet sour musty chloroform mixed
with a strong odour of geranium plant…I was told that all of the 120 people in
the village still have severe coughs, irritation of the skin and of the
twenty-two people injured, many still vomit black blood after severe coughing.”
A gradual stalemate developed. The Egyptians placed a bounty
on the heads of the mercenaries. Just before he was blown up by an enemy shell,
the Frenchman Tony de Saint-Paul wrote: “The Egyptians’ price on my head has
now grown from $500 to $10,000. I hope they increase it even more.” His companion,
known only as “Peter,” blinded by poison gas, survived a two-week journey by
camel to Aden, before being flown home to France. Though outgunned, the
royalists enjoyed two powerful advantages thanks to the mercenary force. First
was the use of tactical communications, which gave the Imam’s men flexibility
the Egyptians usually lacked. Second, the supplies parachuted by Israel into
drop zones controlled by Cooper gave the royalists an increasingly
sophisticated edge. Jim Johnson, the political commander of the mercenary
force, flew on some of these missions, using a new identity supplied by Israel
with a Canadian passport and an escape kit including gold sovereigns. Serial
numbers on the weapons Israel supplied had been filed off. Wood shavings in the
containers were imported from Cyprus and the parachutes from Italy. A total of
50,000 British rifles was also dropped by civilian aircraft piloted by former
Royal Air Force pilots, one of whom was now on Johnson’s team.
In 1965, 300 camels were used in the buildup for a royalist
ambush on a road linking Sana’a and the Saudi border at a defile known as Wadi
Humaidat. The ambush would need 81-mm mortars to destroy an Egyptian convoy and
cut the road. The historian Clive Jones writes: “In what was perhaps the most
efficient battle fought by the Royalists, 362 soldiers of the First Army,
backed by 1,290 tribesmen…directed by two British and three French mercenaries
cut this main supply route and, despite several days of determined Egyptian
counter-attacks, held on to their positions.”
In 1966, the French mercenaries launched a barrage of
covering fire to assist a royalist advance on Sana’a, but the Imam’s men did
not move. The royalists’ lack of resolve went beyond the front line. Johnson,
after conferring with the Saudis who bankrolled the operation, concluded that a
stalemate that pinned down 70,000 Egyptian soldiers in a war of attrition
suited the Saudis nicely. With a new, Socialist government in London, SIS was
also lukewarm about the right-wingers’ Yemen adventure. So in October 1966,
Johnson wrote a memorandum describing “the apparent lack of interest by HMG
[Her Majesty’s Government] and the stated indifference to our activities by MI6
[SIS] coupled with the absolute disinterest…of HRH [Saudi Prince] Sultan we
appear to have three courses open to us….” He nominated the first of these, “to
withdraw as soon as possible from the Yemen before disaster overtakes us,” for
“there is no indication that HMG wants us to continue now.”
On 6 October he confronted the Saudis and asked: “Do you
want us to win this war or not? The British have announced the date to leave
Aden. If I go before they leave, it will be a shambles.”
The stalemate became a political fact in 1970, recognized by
Egypt and Saudi Arabia, backed with a $300 million bribe from Kuwait and Saudi
Arabia to compensate Egypt for lands lost to Israel during the 1967 war, the
outcome of which was affected by the absence from that battlefield of Nasser’s
lost army in Yemen. The timing of this event oozed with dramatic irony. It was
the year in which Communist guerrillas, based in the Peoples’ Democratic
Republic of Yemen (formerly the British-controlled Aden Federation), launched
an offensive on Oman, coming close to bringing that kingdom into Moscow’s orbit.
The SAS were to spend the next six years defending this gateway to the Gulf. No
one now sought to defend Kennedy’s idealistic, unquestioning support of newly
independent former colonies with a taste for republican government. Such
countries were now part of a global battlefield over which the Cold War was
being fought for real.
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