by Mark Zuehlke
Hoffmeister had originally thought the attack would be a night operation and knew that was what Brigadier Johnston wanted because of the wide-open valley the attacking regiments must cross. But Burns had upped the ante by ordering the attack to begin as quickly as possible.
Hoffmeister and Johnston worked frantically through the mid-afternoon to move the designated regiments to their jumping-off positions. Behind the Perths and the Cape Breton Highlanders, the Irish Regiment of Canada and the Princess Louise Dragoon Guards—borrowed from 12th Canadian Infantry Brigade—stood in reserve and offered a firm base of support in case the entire operation turned sour and the leading regiments had to retreat. Squadrons of the 5th Canadian Armoured Brigade’s 8th Princess Louise New Brunswick Hussars hovered close by, ready to move forward on a moment’s notice. Self-propelled antitank batteries were also positioned in the trail of the two columns and the 17th Field Regiment, RCA had its guns at the ready.24
But there would be no initial artillery fire on either Canadian division’s front. This was to be a surprise attack hurled into the valley at 1730 hours. And it was an attack that had been thrown together in a few short hours. Hoffmeister wasn’t worried by the haste. He felt in his gut that 11 CIB could break right through. If not both columns, then surely one.
Despite the fact that Major General Chris Vokes had tried and failed with this kind of operation at the Hitler Line, he shared Hoffmeister’s and Burns’s enthusiasm. “If we attempted a breakthrough with all possible speed, we had every chance of quick success. Following this we should be able to turn the operation into the pursuit phase readily,” he later wrote.25 For the pursuit phase, Vokes formed an AD hoc armoured task force comprised of squadrons from the 21st Royal Tank Brigade supported by infantry regiments and the Royal Canadian Dragoons—his divisional armoured reconnaissance regiment. He planned for 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade to establish a bridgehead across the Foglia through which he would pass the rest of the division in successive stages to the Conca River, which was just under seven miles away and drained into the sea a bit north of Cattolica. Once 1 CID reached the Conca it would be halfway to Rimini. Vokes “hoped to be able to effect this break-out during the night 30–31 August.”26
For such a grand design, Vokes’s initiation of the plan was strangely tentative. He assigned just one company of the West Nova Scotia Regiment to conduct the first probing of the Gothic Line at a point midway between Borgo Santa Maria and Osteria Nuova. “When this was successful,” Vokes wrote, “remainder of the WNSR was to cross the river and join this company and establish a bridgehead. [Royal 22e Regiment] was then to relieve WNSR and effect the break-in.”27 Brigadier Paul Bernatchez, commander of 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade, told Lieutenant Colonel Ron Waterman by phone that his West Novas were to take Point 204, a high point on the ridge behind the two villages. If successful, the remainder of the brigade would follow. Waterman could arrange for some artillery support if he wished, but there would be no tanks. Bernatchez told Waterman to issue the company with extra PIATs and ammunition for the men’s personal weapons. Waterman said he could strike at 1600 hours.28
PART THREE
THE GATECRASH
[ 13 ]
Go Down, Boys
TO A MAN, the soldiers of the West Nova Scotia Regiment knew about the minefield that started three hundred yards north of the Foglia River. The previous night, a patrol had probed quietly into the field and returned with a frightening report on how thickly the Germans had sown the explosive charges. Then, at 1330 hours on August 30, regimental intelligence officer Captain R.E. Campbell listened to two Italian farmers describe in grim detail how the ground across the river was literally riddled with mines.1 A worried Campbell feared the intelligence on the threat of the minefield was too late arriving. Thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Ron Waterman convened his final O Group. The attack was on and must start in just two-and-a-half hours.
Waterman selected Captain J.H. Jones’s ‘B’ Company to spear-head 1st Canadian Infantry Division’s attack. Its task was to cross the river and push up to Point 133, midway between Borgo Santa Maria and Osteria Nuova and about seven hundred yards north of the lateral road. Once this objective was secure, the West Novas’ remaining three rifle companies would establish a bridgehead extending from the riverbank to ‘B’ Company’s position. They would hold this small triangle of ground until relieved by the Royal 22e Regiment and then renew the northward advance. During his briefing, Waterman never mentioned the minefields. Nor did he assign sappers from 4th Field Company, Royal Canadian Engineers to clear a path for ‘B’ Company through the mines.2
The West Nova commander had started the war as a Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry lance corporal, working his way up to officer’s rank. On December 12, 1943, he had been the second-in-command of the West Novas when Lieutenant Colonel Pat Bogert was wounded. Waterman had commanded the regiment since. At the Hitler Line he had led the West Novas bravely and wisely, consequently being awarded the Distinguished Service Order. In the past couple of months, however, the strains of war had taken their toll on this once fine officer. He had become self-indulgent to a fault, lounging about in a caravan of the type normally the preserve of only divisional and corps commanders. There were rumours of excessive drinking. And there was Waterman’s mysterious disappearance from the regiment for several weeks after the Liri Valley campaign ended. Eventually, he was discovered shacked up in a mansion with an Italian contessa. Major General Chris Vokes had wondered then if he should not replace Waterman, but had hesitated because to do so would inevitably scuttle the man’s career.3
‘B’ Company walked down the slope towards the valley bottom in extended order with two platoons forward and one back. Right on time at 1630, the soldiers stepped down into the riverbed.4Ten minutes later, the first soldier trod on a Schümine concealed beneath a one-inch covering of turf and was badly wounded. Captain Jones sent men to find a route around or through the minefield. Several of these scouts triggered mines and were maimed or killed. Jones radioed Waterman that he was going to “continue cautious advance.”5 Again and again, there was the sharp booming of mines exploding under men’s feet. Unconscious soldiers sprawled brokenly on the ground, while others writhed and screamed in agony or stared in shocked horror at the blood pumping out of a stump where a leg had been just moments before.
Despite the punishing losses, ‘B’ Company pressed on. Thirty minutes later, the remnants exited the minefield and stood at the base of the ridge. A gully cut up to the lateral road on the crest, offering a covered approach. Jones signalled his men to move up it. The leading section was just about at the top when intense volleys of small-arms fire ripped into the most forward platoons. Men dodged for cover only to find that the banks and rim of the gully had been sown with Schümines. More men died or were wounded. ‘B’ Company froze and went to ground just south of the road. Jones radioed Waterman at 1850 hours that he desperately needed reinforcement.6
Ten minutes later, Vokes was chivvying Brigadier Paul Bernatchez to get the West Novas to hurry up with establishing the bridgehead. He was anxious to get the breakout going. Bernatchez called Waterman and was told that ‘B’ Company was on Point 133. Waterman soon radioed back with a correction. ‘B’ Company, he said, was “moving very slowly through the minefield under MG fire.”7 He assured Bernatchez “that the company would be able to get through the minefield and to the lateral beyond” and that his plan for the rest of the regiment to cross into the bridgehead was “all arranged.”8
It was not until 1930 hours, however, that Waterman ordered his other three rifle companies to establish the bridgehead. They moved across and took up positions just in front of the minefield. Meanwhile, the beleaguered Jones requested permission to withdraw to the bridgehead at 2000 hours. Waterman approved. Jones’s men spent the next forty minutes extracting themselves slowly and fearfully back through the minefield. They were dogged by intense German small-arms fire almost the entire way.9
Bernatchez knew nothing of the company’s withdrawal. He still thought that ‘B’ Company was “just short of the main lateral road… and still trying to get forward. . . . Since it had previously been reported that all arrangements for this move were complete it was expected that the remainder of the battalion would shortly be up to the leading company. At 2220 hours it was reported that the battalion was complete in the bridgehead positions but there was no indication that any move forward of that area was in progress.”10
Exasperated, Bernatchez grabbed his artillery liaison officer, Lieutenant Colonel H.E. Brown of the 1st Field Regiment, RCA and headed for Waterman’s headquarters. Half an hour later, Bernatchez observed that “the situation was confused and that orders for the attack by the battalion had NOT been issued.”11 He immediately radioed brigade HQ to advise that he was organizing a new attack, but it would be 0200 hours before it could proceed.
Bernatchez and Waterman agreed that this attack should entail a second company moving up alongside ‘B’ Company, which Bernatchez still understood was “close to the lateral road.” Even now, he “was NOT aware that it had been withdrawn,” Bernatchez later wrote.12 Brown arranged a short, simple artillery-fire plan to support the two companies in crossing the lateral road and establishing a firm defensive base immediately on the other side. A third company would then jump through and seize Point 133. One company would remain inside the bridgehead. Bernatchez, having found it difficult to get the strangely sluggish Waterman to coordinate the attack, was forced to set the start time back to 0300 hours. Believing everything now in order, he and Brown returned to brigade HQ.
At 0235 hours, Waterman notified Bernatchez that the attack would have to be delayed because “difficulty was being experienced in gathering company commanders for an O Group.”13 Not until 0420 hours did Waterman report the O Group underway and that the regiment would attack at 0530 hours. At 0505 hours, Waterman pushed it back to 0600. Twenty minutes later, he again reported ‘B’ Company as being 250 yards short of the road and held up by mines. In what seemed pure fantasy, considering that ‘B’ Company was tight inside the bridgehead and nowhere near the road, he said the Germans were dug into a bunker along the road that “would have to be broken down, but that there was no antitank ditch.” Bernatchez ordered him “to mop up the area of the road on either side of the gap once his battalion reached the main lateral road.”14 Although concerned about Waterman’s apparently muddled reports, Bernatchez had no idea how badly misinformed he was as to the true state of affairs.
Beyond the bridgehead a small, heroic group was at work. Led by regimental chaplain Captain Laurence Frank Wilmot, a party of stretcher-bearers had ventured into the unknown hazards of a minefield subjected to searching artillery and machine-gun fire from the German positions on the ridge. Dead and wounded West Novas were scattered throughout the field, requiring Wilmot and his men to warily zigzag about to reach them. Wilmot never hesitated. Showing amazing calm, he directed the evacuation of the wounded. Few of these men were capable of walking because of mangled legs. Wilmot scoured the minefield in advance of the following stretcher-bearers, marking the wounded men for evacuation. After spending a few moments talking softly with each man in order to calm him down, Wilmot renewed his quest. Throughout the night, he continued this work until satisfied that all the casualties were evacuated. Wilmot’s selfless actions resulted in his winning a Military Cross.15
ON THE WEST Nova Scotia Regiment’s left flank, two regiments of the 5th Canadian Armoured Division crossed the Foglia River in the late afternoon of August 30. The Perth Regiment was immediately left of the West Novas and the Cape Breton Highlanders farther to the west. Two squadrons of the 8th Princess Louise New Brunswick Hussars were ready to follow the infantry once the engineers established river crossings. The Perths headed for the grassy knoll of Point 111, about a half-mile east of Montecchio. From here, the regiment would press northward to Point 147, which lay about a third of a mile beyond Point 111. For the Cape Breton regiment, the job was to capture the village of Montecchio and then the pine-studded promontory of Point 120 to the west.16
Lieutenant Colonel Boyd Somerville told the Cape Breton officers at 1515 hours that resistance should be light to nonexistent. Company ‘B’ was to secure Point 120 and then ‘A’ Company would advance to the nearby target of Point 136 while ‘C’ Company secured Point 119. ‘D’ Company would remain in reserve.
‘B’ Company crossed the Foglia at 1730 hours with No. 12 Platoon leading. At first there was no opposition. When 11 CIB commander Brigadier Ian Johnston asked Somerville for a situation report at 1806 hours, he was told that ‘B’ Company was not yet on its objective “but everything is going OK.”17
The infantry company reached the summit, passed through Montecchio, and started up the slope towards Point 120 without incident. As the leading platoon closed on the summit at 1840 hours, however, streams of tracers from well-sited heavy machine guns dug in on the hill to the company’s front, and from Point 111 to its rear, ripped into the Canadians. No. 12 Platoon was overrun by a strong counterattack. Just five men and the platoon commander reeled back to rejoin the rest of the beleaguered company. Hoping to reclaim the initiative, the company commander shouted for the two-inch mortar team to get its tube firing. Before the men could set up the weapon, they were shot down and killed.
Retreat was now the only option, but breaking off contact with the closing Germans proved impossible. Realizing the entire company faced destruction, twenty-four-year-old Private Alphonse Hickey of Whitney Pier (Sydney), Nova Scotia, volunteered to cover the retreat with his Bren gun. Everyone knew there were scant odds of the young man surviving. Showing no visible signs of fear, Hickey said: “Go down, boys. But leave your Bren gun magazines with me.”18
Each man dropped every Bren magazine he carried at Hickey’s side as they ducked by and dashed towards the ruins of Montecchio. Behind, they heard the hard thumping of Hickey’s Bren covering their withdrawal. The company escaped without suffering any further casualties.
From behind Montecchio a group of 8th Hussars’s tankers watched a lone figure silhouetted in the fading light near the top of Point 120. The soldier stood with machine gun braced into his shoulder like it was just a Lee Enfield rifle, firing in a semi-circle at the closing Germans. Hickey’s bullet-riddled body was found the next day amid a cluster of dead Germans. Five spent magazines lay beneath his Bren gun. Because the only medal a Canadian could be awarded posthumously was a Victoria Cross and no application for such an award was made on his behalf, Hickey’s heroism went largely unrecognized. He received only a Mention in Despatches.19
Pinned down inside the village, ‘B’ Company remained snarled in a cauldron. When ‘A’ Company attempted to come up on the left of Montecchio, the enfilading fire from Point 111 tore into the advancing men. They hugged the ground, unable to either advance or withdraw.20
Somerville called for an artillery smokescreen to blind the Germans on Point 111, but even with that position shrouded in grey-white smog the two companies were unable to renew the advance. Somerville told Major Howard Keirstead of the Hussars ‘B’ Squadron that he wanted immediate tank support for his trapped infantry.21 Keirstead, who had come up to Somerville’s HQ to better monitor events, sent a dispatch rider racing back to his second-in-command, Captain Bob McLeod, with orders for him to “move the tanks up.”22 McLeod led the tanks into the valley, but as the column approached the Foglia River a provost party blocked the road and signalled a halt. Another tank regiment that was “going straight through to Rimini” had priority on the crossing, the provost officer excitedly claimed. McLeod engaged the officer in a shouting match, but he steadfastly refused to budge or to recognize that he awaited a phantom tank regiment.
Unable to raise Keirstead on the radio, a frantic McLeod jumped on the back of the dispatch rider’s motorcycle and told him to get them both up to Somerville’s HQ, but a salvo of German shells bracketed the road and forced the two men back. By now, the p
rovost officer had ordered McLeod’s Shermans to get off the road and wait in a neighbouring field. The movement into the field resulted in two Shermans throwing tracks and a third becoming stuck. McLeod was furious at having lost these tanks because of sheer stupidity. Ordering the remaining tanks to form behind his Sherman in column, McLeod ground towards the crossing. The provost officer shouted orders and waved his arms, but McLeod, sitting high in the turret, ignored him. When the red cap realized he must give way or be run down, he scampered aside.23 The tanks reached the Cape Breton Highlanders’ HQ at 1930 hours.
Somerville was by now realizing he needed to regroup before renewing the attack. He asked permission to pull ‘A’ and ‘B’ companies back from Montecchio, so that it could be blanketed with artillery fire. Johnston agreed. When the two companies fell back, they brought with them five German prisoners, identified as members of the 26th Panzer Division. The prisoners said their division had relieved the 71st Infantry Division just that afternoon and had been moving into their positions when the Highlanders attacked.24 The Canadians knew they now faced a fresh, tough division on their left flank. Furthermore, the ground in front of Tomba di Pesaro was believed defended by the 3rd Regiment of the 1st Parachute Division with this division’s 4th Regiment holding the right-hand flank where I Canadian Corps’s boundary adjoined that of the II Polish Corps. It was going to be a tough gatecrashing operation.