Ortona
Page 19
General Richard Heidrich commanded the division. Known as “Papa Heidrich” by the paratroopers, he bore a striking resemblance to Winston Churchill. Perhaps to enhance this similarity, Heidrich habitually smoked long, fat cigars. He had grey eyes that one captured British officer described as giving “an impression of ruthlessness that belied his corpulence.”17 Ruthless or not, the overweight general was highly respected by his men and by the German higher command. The soldiers thought he treated them “as if they were his sons.” In return they were fiercely loyal.18
First Parachute Division was stationed in a relatively quiet corner of the Adriatic line on the upper reaches of the Sangro River. On the night of December 9, 3rd Paratroop Regiment began boarding trucks for a move to Pescara and from there south to Ortona. The following morning other elements of the division were scheduled to move to the coast.
Eighteen-year-old Obergefreiter Karl Bayerlein was second-in-command of a gruppe (twelve-man section) in the Fallschirmpionier (Parachute Engineer) Battalion. For the past two months, Bayerlein and the other engineers had been creating obstacles to enemy movement in the mountains by destroying roads and blowing up bridges.
Bayerlein had volunteered the year before for service. Approaching the recruiter’s desk, Bayerlein noticed that his file lying before the recruiter bore a heavy stamp in black ink capital letters: “FIT TO SERVE IN THE SS.” Only weeks earlier, Bayerlein had received a letter from his father, an infantry soldier serving on the Russian front. “Avoid the SS,” his father warned. “You will be sent to the Russian front and if captured by the Russians you will be shot right away.” Heeding his father’s advice, Bayerlein told the recruiter that he did not want to join the SS, but rather wanted to be a parachutist. The recruiter, impressed by this martial ambition, approved his request.
At the Gardelegen and Wittstock airborne training centres, Bayerlein became an expert in the use of all standard German infantry weapons, as well as related Allied weapons. He was also trained to drive Allied military and civilian vehicles, including trams, in case he should be parachuted deep behind enemy lines. Although, since the heavy losses sustained during the airborne invasion of Crete, German military doctrine discouraged the aerial deployment of paratroopers, Bayerlein and all other paratroopers made six parachute jumps as part of their basic training.
When he joined the 1st Parachute Division, Bayerlein had been immediately impressed by the elite nature of the men with whom he served. The line officers were young, tough, and keenly intelligent. “They were always in the front and never claimed privileges for themselves.” They ate the same food as the soldiers, slept when and where they slept, and led the way in battle.
Of small stature, Bayerlein was assigned to 3rd Gruppe, 3rd Platoon, 3rd Company. In parachute units, the third platoons were manned by the shortest men in the company and third companies received all the shortest men in the battalion. The tallest men went to the first companies, first platoons, and first gruppes. Bayerlein was given to understand the designation of men to units on the basis of height was a parachutist tradition. But it did have practical applications as well. Third Company was largely engaged in the task of building defensive bunkers and underground shelters, a task well suited to small men.19
On the morning of December 10, Bayerlein wrote in his diary: “A message arrives alerting us. . . . We must leave our quarters immediately and drive on SS 17 to Pescara.”20 The decision to send the 1st Paratroop Division to Ortona reflected a shift in intentions on the part of Tenth Army command. No longer was the intent to merely delay the Eighth Army advance. Now the purpose was to stop a formerly insignificant oceanside town from falling into Allied hands. The battle before Ortona was rapidly transforming into one of pride, where a German defeat would become a propaganda victory for the Allies, and vice versa, if Ortona were not to fall before the onset of winter prohibited further major offensive action on the Adriatic front.
FOUR
THE GULLY
13
A LITTLE OLD HEART STARTER
MAJOR General Chris Vokes’s objective was to force the Germans back beyond Ortona. As usual, Vokes’s plan was simple and direct. He planned to head straight up the closest road from San Leonardo. It would be an Alberta show, with the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, in concert with ‘C’ Squadron of the 14th Canadian Armoured Brigade (Calgary Tanks), attacking along old Highway 16 to an initial objective designated Punch. This was a low ridge, nicknamed Vino Ridge by the Canadians, that stood midway between San Leonardo and the junction with the Ortona-Orsogna lateral road. The regiment would then advance to the junction, code-named Cider.
When the Edmontons reached Cider Crossroads, the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry would advance along the Edmontons’ right flank by seizing Vino Ridge, cross the narrow gully behind it, and push 3,000 yards down the road to enter Ortona. As the PPCLI made its move, the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada would come up to support the Edmontons’ left flank, meaning the entire 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade would be positioned on the OrtonaOrsogna lateral road. It was expected that once Cider Crossroads was firmly under Canadian control, the Germans would cede Ortona. A short, sharp fight and Ortona should fall. Vokes’s intelligence staff was certain “the next defensive stand would be made on the Arielli or the Foro Rivers several miles beyond.”1
They were wrong. The Canadian intelligence analysts had missed the unique defensive opportunity presented by what they would all soon respectfully address as The Gully. Running parallel to, and south of, the Ortona-Orsogna road at a distance varying from 200 to 300 yards was a deep, narrow gully. Three miles in length, the gully was about 200 yards wide where it opened to the Adriatic shoreline and narrowed to about 80 yards’ width where it levelled out just before meeting a secondary road linking San Leonardo to the OrtonaOrsogna highway. The Gully averaged a depth of about 200 feet, and along its U-shaped bottom the local farmers had developed rough, often intersecting, tracks backing their vineyards. Occasionally the narrow ditch in The Gully’s precise centre ran with a shallow trickle of muddy water, but usually it was dry.
On Canadian tactical maps The Gully was indicated as a thin line, but its significance was little appreciated. Italy was riddled with gullies, ravines, and valleys descending from the eastern flanks of the Apennines to the Adriatic. To the Canadian high command, this small feature was just another of many minor obstacles. Outflanking The Gully was never considered.
What Vokes and his staff overlooked was the fact that this feature formed a natural trench, deeper and better designed by inherent topography than most major defensive fortifications constructed on the Western Front during World War I. Into its steep southern slope, the Panzer Grenadiers had dug deep gun pits and shelters that were impervious to Canadian artillery fire and difficult to hit with mortars. From these positions, the infantry could foray at will into the densely tangled vegetation covering Vino Ridge and fronting The Gully to engage the advancing Canadians. On the northern side of The Gully, the lateral road provided an excellent link for communications and the movement of German armour from one hot spot to another.
The Canadians had breached the Moro River line, but The Gully would render that victory hollow. As the Loyal Edmonton Regiment set off from San Leonardo toward Cider Crossroads at 0945 hours on December 10, it moved into the jaws of a superbly set ambush.
At first the attack proceeded smoothly, infantry and tanks advancing into the smoke that drifted over the landscape following another softening barrage laid down by the Canadian twenty-five-pounder artillery. A cold steady rain fell, deepening the mud underfoot. Leading the advance was Lieutenant John Dougan’s No. 16 Platoon of ‘D’ Company. Dougan’s commander was Major Jim Stone, a six-foot-five bear of a man with a thick black moustache. Since Sicily, Stone had carved out a reputation for fearlessness on the battlefield. English born, the thirty-five-year-old Stone had been working in a northern Alberta forestry camp near Blueberry Mountain when Canada declared war. Four days later, he m
ounted his black mare Minnie, rode thirty miles to Spirit River, and hitched a ride to Grand Prairie where the Loyal Edmonton Regiment had opened a recruitment office. Having spent a couple of years as a school cadet in England, Stone knew his left foot from his right when it came to marching. This was sufficient in the poorly trained Canadian volunteer army to earmark him for promotion from private to lance corporal. Possessing a keen intelligence and great determination of will, Stone was soon fast-tracked into officers training.2 By the time the Edmontons reached the Moro River, most every officer in the regiment recognized Stone as the natural heir to Lieutenant Colonel Jim Jefferson, the Edmonton commander.
Jefferson and Stone were polar opposites. Stone was a boisterous soldiers’ soldier who mixed easily with the men from the ranks and could drink anyone under the table. Jefferson was a quiet, even shy, veteran of the prewar permanent force. Although Jefferson won the Distinguished Service Order for his regiment’s determined stand in Sicily at a village called Leonforte, he was not a commander noted for directing his companies from close by.3 On December 10, Jefferson and his battalion headquarters remained in San Leonardo. Also left behind was ‘C’ Company, kept in reserve to provide a solid footing for the Edmonton advance.
Dougan’s platoon leading, the Edmontons made good progress and at 1000 hours the signal “Punch” reached Jefferson, who immediately radioed Brigadier Bert Hoffmeister at 2 CIB headquarters. “We are now proceeding to final objective,” Jefferson said.4 Brushing aside light sniper resistance that melted away as quickly as it materialized and enduring sporadic artillery and mortar fire, the Edmontons pressed on. At 1330 hours, Jefferson radioed Hoffmeister to report that three companies were on the objective and consolidating: “Exploitation not possible yet but will organize as soon as possible. Visibility poor, endeavouring to gain contact.”5
According to the plan, the PPCLI was to now jump off from San Leonardo to cross Vino Ridge and dash for Ortona. Hoffmeister ordered PPCLI Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Ware to move out. Ware, who was at Jefferson’s headquarters when the Edmonton commander reported receiving the “Punch” signal, was certain the message was wrong. “Christ,” he said to Jefferson, “you haven’t taken the crossroad yet.”6 Despite Ware’s protests, Jefferson insisted the report was accurate and that his regiment now held Cider. Backing Jefferson, Hoffmeister ordered Ware to attack.
In fact, the Edmontons were far short of their final objective, still just approaching Punch — the point where the road crossed Vino Ridge. The signal reporting Punch as being taken had not originated from either Stone’s ‘D’ Company or Dougan’s forward platoon. Later investigations failed to resolve the mystery of where the erroneous report had originated, or if in fact Jefferson’s headquarters had misunderstood some garbled message. One theory posed was that the messages actually originated from Germans having knowledge of the objective codes and using Canadian radios mounted in a captured jeep.7 Whatever their source, the messages failed to justify Jefferson’s more extensive report to Hoffmeister that assumed the capture of the vital crossroads.
Ware was convinced his battalion was in danger of being cut to pieces by an enemy heavily entrenched on Vino Ridge, but he had his orders. With Majors W. “Bucko” Watson and Donald Brain, who had just rejoined the battalion the previous day, Ware walked over to ‘B’ Squadron of the Calgary Tanks, the PPCLI’s designated supporting armour. Just as the officers reached the tanks, a “stonk” — as the Canadians called heavy German artillery, mortar, or Nebelwerfer salvoes — pummelled San Leonardo. Ware ducked inside ‘B’ Squadron’s command tank, while Brain and Watson could only shelter behind the tank. Both men were struck by shrapnel. Brain was killed instantly, Watson wounded in the foot.8 Having lost two of four company commanders, the PPCLI attack was delayed for reorganization of its command structure.
The sporadic shelling of San Leonardo created havoc among 2 CIB’s battalion commands. All three battalion headquarters were squeezed into a village of fewer than fifty buildings, few of which were habitable because of battle damage. Saskatoon Light Infantry battalion commander Major Thomas de Faye spent much of December 10 darting from one HQ building to another, trying to maintain an accurate picture of the fighting. The mortars and medium machine guns of the SLI were supporting all three battalions. Everywhere he went enemy shells seemed to follow. One stonk falling around Jefferson’s headquarters was so intense that the two men sought refuge inside a large fireplace as protection against the shrapnel singing through the house’s windows.
Later, de Faye encountered PPCLI second-in-command Major R.P. “Slug” Clark, just a few minutes after Brain was killed. Clark was inside the PPCLI headquarters, a battered cement and stone house. Outside stood the tank behind which Brain and Watson had become casualties. As de Faye entered the house, another Moaning Minnie salvo plunked around the house. He and Clark dived under the cement stairwell for cover. Huddling there, washbasin-sized chunks of shrapnel banging against the walls, de Faye said, “This is a place that makes you very damned nervous.” Clark tugged a jug of rum from inside his jacket, pulled the lid off, and handed it over to de Faye. The SLI major took a grateful, hearty pull. Clark followed suit. “A little old heart starter,” Clark said, passing the rum back to de Faye, “a touch of the whip.” The two men stayed in their shelter, drinking rum until the enemy bombs stopped falling.9
The Seaforth Highlanders of Canada, in accordance with the battle plan, moved out of San Leonardo to form a line on the Edmonton left some 800 to 1,000 yards west of the village. Resistance was light to nonexistent, but enemy shelling continued to take its toll.
Following behind the lead companies came Lieutenant Colonel Doug Forin and his battalion headquarters. The battalion’s scout platoon led, providing a protective screen for Forin and his staff. Several staff were encumbered with the heavy radio sets that were normally mounted in a jeep or Bren carrier, but today had to be carried on the men’s backs because the mud was too deep for the vehicles. Seaforths scout Private A.K. Harris led the way across a small meadow to a house Forin planned to use as his forward headquarters. The door facing them was barred, so Harris battered it open, then turned to get help from another soldier in lifting the door off the hinges. Forin, increasingly weakened by jaundice and with nerves stretched close to the snapping point, came up behind him. At that moment, a German shell struck a tree just behind the small group. Shrapnel, wood splinters from the tree, and the blast of concussion ripped into the men.
Harris felt like someone hit him “in the back of the leg, hard, with a club.” He rolled into a ditch, yelling with pain. When he sorted himself out in the bottom of the ditch, Harris saw only a tear in his trousers at calf level. Closer examination showed there was a hole in his leg and undoubtedly a shell fragment inside. His first clear thought was, “Hooray, Christmas in bed.”10
Above Harris there were many groans of pain. He crawled out of the ditch and found Lieutenant D.S. McLaughlin, the intelligence officer who, like the PPCLI’s Brain, had only returned to the battalion the previous day. McLaughlin was in considerable pain from shell fragment wounds to both legs. Harris thought because the officer had the energy to curse his wounds he should survive. Crawling on, he found Forin’s runner, Acting Lance Corporal L.W. King, “going fast” from a stomach wound. A radio signaller, Private F.B. Beaton, lay dead a few feet away. Somebody said that Forin was also wounded by shrapnel, but Harris could get no idea of how badly. He lost track of Forin, who did not accompany the rest of the wounded to the advanced Regimental Aid Post — a house back on San Leonardo’s outskirts.
As the RAP was under heavy shelling, Harris, King, and McLaughlin were loaded into an ambulance jeep for evacuation to the main RAP inside San Leonardo. King was unconscious and very pale, but still breathing. Harris wet his lips with water, knowing that he shouldn’t give the man a full drink because of the stomach wound. The jeep, Harris later wrote, crept cautiously down “the shell pocked road to San Leonardo. . . . Shells blossom on the road on
both sides. But the driver has critically wounded aboard. To hit a shell hole at high speed might kill them. He risks his life and takes his time.”11 The jeep arrived safely at the RAP.
Harris continued: “The RAP is a dark room in a battered house. Lights from car batteries hang over blood stained stretchers. Shells are still falling outside. Their crump is varied occasionally by the peculiar whir of slate shingles blown from nearby roofs. There are many wounded.
“The MO takes a quick look at King and he is carted through to the back room. He glances briefly at the field dressing on my leg. I suddenly realize I am also hit in the head and hand, scratches only. . . . The door opens to a weird noise. Two men come in. One is over six feet and heavy. He is only a boy. His eyes are glazed and from his open mouth comes a scream that rises and falls with the noise of shelling outside. Behind him is an RAP man. He has his hands over the youngster’s ears and is talking to him in a soothing voice.
“The boy is an advanced case of ‘shell shock.’ The MO sends him into the back room to make way for the wounded. The company of the dead won’t soothe his nerves much.”12
Although Forin’s wounds were not particularly severe, Hoffmeister moved quickly to relieve him of command and ordered Major Sydney W. Thomson, the battalion’s second-in-command, to take over the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada. Like the boy, Forin had succumbed to battle exhaustion, which was starting to chalk up a heavy toll throughout the engaged Canadian regiments.13
While the Seaforths were sorting themselves out after the loss of their commander and some of the battalion headquarters staff, including two officers wounded when a room in the rear battalion headquarters was riddled with shrapnel, the Loyal Edmonton Regiment was only now closing on the western flank of Vino Ridge. Lieutenant Dougan’s No.16 Platoon still led, a couple of Calgary Sherman tanks rumbling along in support. Suddenly, from the thick vegetation blanketing the ridgeline, several German antitank guns opened up with deadly accuracy. The tanks supporting his platoon were struck and knocked out in seconds. Dougan watched in horror as the commander of one crawled out of the tank cupola, one leg blown off cleanly above the knee. Dougan’s stretcher-bearer rushed over and dragged the man away from the burning tank. All the bearer could do to treat the wound was to dust the bleeding stump with sulpha and cinch a belt around it to serve as a tourniquet.14