Ortona

by Mark Zuehlke

  It was a poor start for an officer as yet untested by combat. In less than forty-eight hours as battalion commander, Mathers managed to earn the hostility of almost every officer and man in the regiment. In the mud and terrible conditions of the Ortona area battleground, being clean-shaven and maintaining a tidy uniform were clearly impossible. None of the men bothered shaving in urine. Quiet anger lurked in the ranks. Mathers told ‘B’ Company commander Major Strome Galloway that although he must remain with the reserve companies rather than marching at the head of the attacking companies, he did so with regret. Galloway, facing his fifteenth attack of the war, replied that he would happily remain with the reserves. Brimming with martial feistiness, Mathers ordered one platoon commander to conduct a fighting patrol into the very heart of Ortona the moment Cider Crossroads fell. “It is a job any subaltern would give his right arm to get,” Mathers responded testily when the officer protested that the order was suicidal.26

  If Mathers wanted to see the RCR perish in a bold and glorious charge against the enemy, he had no need to do so by throwing men into Ortona. Orange Blossom would come close to doing the job for him. As ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies crossed the start line, shells from the artillery barrage started falling on the Carleton and York Regiment overlooking The Gully and also on the 48th Highlanders. Both battalions radioed panicked calls for the artillery to be lifted.

  The attack itself was going well at this point. Both companies were progressing against minimal resistance with ‘A’ Squadron of the Three Rivers Tanks following close behind. But the ever more wildly inaccurate artillery was killing and wounding soldiers in several Canadian positions. To stop what could turn into a friendly-fire slaughter, the gunners had to lift the barrage 400 yards ahead of the RCR and stop laying down protective fire on the battalion’s exposed right-hand flank, which was bordered by the deeply entrenched German positions inside The Gully.

  The moment the barrage was adjusted, the Germans returned to their guns. Both leading companies were decimated in minutes by a combined outpouring of machine-gun, mortar, and light artillery fire. ‘D’ Company commander Major Gerry Nelson, who had given Galloway a wink when he learned his company would lead the attack, was killed. Captain Chuck Lithgow, ‘C’ Company commander, was severely wounded. All the platoon leaders of both ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies were dead, wounded, or missing. Every man in Lieutenant Mitch Sterlin’s No. 16 Platoon died. Sterlin was in the lead, with his men following behind in an arrowhead formation. The German paratroopers cut them down in a sustained volley of machine-gun fire.27

  Acting Corporal Red Forrest was the senior man left in ‘C’ Company. He took over command of the remaining dozen men. Pinned in a couple of shell holes on the edge of The Gully, the small force held out for more than an hour against repeated counterattacks until a rescue party cut through to cover their withdrawal. When the rescue force arrived, they found Forrest fighting like a demon. He had been fighting almost maniacally for the entire time the unit was cut off, throwing grenade after grenade and loosing off furious bursts from his Thompson submachine gun. His actions probably saved the unit from capture or destruction. At one point, a sergeant lying in a nearby shell hole called out to him, “Who the hell do you think you are — Sergeant York?”28 (Sergeant Alvin York was a World War I American who single-handedly captured 132 German soldiers on October 17, 1918.) Forrest’s courage won him the Distinguished Conduct Medal.

  But bravery was not enough. The RCR attack had been stopped cold. With the two forward companies both reduced to no more than fifteen men, Mathers ordered the battalion to consolidate in the shelter of a few buildings just 100 yards ahead of the start line. As he delivered the orders, Mathers was shot in the arm by a sniper. Galloway later found him looking “the heroic commander. His right arm rested in a black silk sling. He was smoking his pipe, and with his left arm was handing out instructions with dramatic gestures.”29 The seriously ill second-in-command, Major Ian Hodson, was brought up from the rear to replace Mathers. The RCR were happy to see Mathers go.

  In the aftermath of Orange Blossom’s failure, a new plan was improvised to seize Cider Crossroads the next day. Lieutenant Colonel Spry, seeing the battalion he loved in ruins, was forced to make a “terrible” decision. “The battalion,” he wrote later, “was reduced to a strength of nineteen officers, one hundred and fifty-nine O.Rs [Other Ranks]. . . . I knew that as a battalion, the RCR would be worthless from the point of view of morale unless they got on their objective. . . . For morale and tactical reasons therefore it was vital for the RCR to return to the attack.”30

  During the night, Galloway approached Lieutenant Jimmy Quayle and offered him a revolver. “Where did you get it?” Quayle asked. “From Sterlin’s body,” Galloway replied. Quayle responded automatically, “No thanks, I don’t really need it.” He was in a state of shock. He prayed that a ghastly mistake had been made. Sterlin and he had survived so much together. “We were indestructible,” he later wrote. All night Quayle waited for Sterlin to “come wandering in, dumb grin on his big, fat face, remnants of his platoon following, and saying, ‘Hi fellows. Sorry we’re late.’ But he never came, that evening or ever.”31

  19

  THE DRIVE TO ORTONA

  AT dawn on December 19, the remaining officers of the Royal Canadian Regiment gathered in a small shack for an Orders Group. Major Ian Hodson told them that ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies, with a platoon from ‘B’ Company, were to amalgamate to form a single company numbering barely fifty men. ‘A’ and ‘B’ companies, each mustering about sixty-five men, would once again assume the lead, as they had done for every attack except the previous day’s fiasco. Zero hour was noon. Lieutenant Jimmy Quayle shuddered as the attack plan developed: “. . . all expendable,” he thought, “every single one of us.”1

  Even before the RCR Orders Group, offensive action was underway to ensure that Cider Crossroads fell at last. At 0600 hours, Captain L. Maraskas rolled up to December 18’s RCR start line with tanks of ‘A’ Squadron’s No. 2 Troop. Forming a line, the five tanks hammered two buildings housing machine-gun positions that had played a primary role in destroying ‘D’ Company. The tanks kept firing until the buildings were demolished. As No. 2 Troop returned from this mission, one tank lost a track to a Teller antitank mine.2 It was believed the mine must have been planted by German sappers during the night, as the area had appeared free of mines the day before.

  ‘A’ Squadron joined up with the RCR just before noon. Major Strome Galloway climbed into the squadron commander’s tank. Galloway would be the infantry force commander, as Hodson was too sick to perform the task. From the tank, he could direct the armoured support for the infantry, have constant radio communication with the supporting artillery, and still pass orders to the infantry platoons.3

  Noon came and the orders to move were postponed. Fuel and ammunition for the tanks had failed to arrive. The road between San Leonardo and the front lines was awash with mud, hampering the movement of armoured supplies. Zero hour was set back to 1415 hours. The delay, noted an after-action report, “caused considerable mental agony to the waiting troops.”4

  Finally it was 1415. Supported by another intense creeping artillery barrage, the RCR moved out with the refuelled and re-armed tanks in tow. ‘B’ Company led, ‘A’ Company followed along in line with the tanks. It was a grisly advance. Quayle wrote that he “plodded despairingly over the shattered terrain past the bodies of ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies. I walked by Mitch. He lay flat on his back, ungainly as usual. Unseeing brown eyes stared at the sky and dark brown hair, neatly combed, stirred slightly in the wind. His steel helmet had fallen off and sat close by. His men lay in a ragged line on either side. . . . But something was missing. Madame Tussaud had done a good likeness but it was not quite Mitch. An astoundingly good effigy but that was all. Good waxworks.”5

  Shortly before dark, ‘B’ Company virtually strolled onto Cider Crossroads. They had met hardly any resistance and taken only two casual
ties. ‘A’ Company arrived and set up south of where the railway crossed the road running from Cider to Villa Grande. The tanks assumed supporting positions among the infantry.6 Galloway hopped down from the tank he had been riding in and stared about at the objective over which so much blood had been spilled. It was “one complete mass of smoking shell craters and blasted trees.” Selecting the largest nearby house as a command post, he moved a radio inside and then contacted battalion HQ. Major Hodson was now to bring up the amalgamated force built out of ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies and No. 4 Platoon (the Bren Carrier platoon) acting as straight infantry.7

  Hodson’s small group crossed the start line, expecting a virtual walk in the park after the easy time the lead companies had enjoyed. For 200 yards it was just that, but suddenly an intense barrage of well-directed German artillery caught both No. 4 Platoon in the lead and the battalion HQ section at the rear. Three men were killed, several others wounded. No. 4 Platoon started taking concentrated small-arms fire from a house on its flank. The small unit fell back “in disorder” to the rest of the force. Hodson decided to go to ground where they were until the German artillery eased.

  Growing sicker by the minute, Hodson found it difficult to control his men and make firm decisions. He vacillated this way and that, but “eventually . . . decided to wait and move up after dark,” the regimental war diarist recorded the next day. “When darkness came there was still much indecision until some of the junior Officers took the matter in hand and organized the move. . . . The group moved off, Sgt. Terry and Cpl. Davidson volunteering to lead. They led the composite [company] under Lt. [J.B.] Smith along the left of the [railway.]”8

  Hodson’s command group and what was left of No. 4 Platoon covered the rear. Things were so confused that some of the men failed to receive the order to advance and were left behind. They only joined the rest of the battalion in the morning. Not until 2100 hours did Hodson’s group reach the forward companies of the RCR at the Cider Crossroads objective.9 By this time, Galloway had organized a defensive firing plan with the supporting artillery. Plans had also been made to bring antitank guns, mortars, and Vickers medium machine guns into the position the following morning. Having finally seized Cider, the RCR was not going to be thrown back from it. If the Germans counterattacked, Galloway was determined the regiment would make the paratroopers suffer the same fate the RCR had endured the previous day.

  At 1st Canadian Infantry Division headquarters, Major General Chris Vokes wasted no time celebrating the capture of Cider Crossroads after two weeks of fighting. For the past few days, 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade had been kept largely out of the battle, giving it a chance to regroup, draw some reinforcements, and have a brief rest. On the evening of December 19, Vokes had the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada relieve the exhausted Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment from its long-held bridgehead on the coast road before The Gully. The Loyal Edmonton Regiment moved up to a position just behind Cider Crossroads. Meanwhile, the Carleton and York Regiment crossed The Gully and mopped up enemy positions on the north side of the lateral road to clear the way for the morning’s assault on Ortona. Serving as a reserve battalion, the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry remained on Vino Ridge about a mile inland.10 Another creeping barrage was planned that would precede an attack by the Loyal Edmontons up the Ortona-Orsogna lateral road into Ortona itself. As this attack went in, the Seaforths would break through The Gully directly in front of Ortona and fight their way into the town. Zero hour was set for noon on December 20.

  Canadian intelligence officers advised Vokes that: “Having lost control of the [crossroads], the enemy is likely to fall back under pressure in the Northern sector, abandoning Ortona, and making his next stand on the line of the Arielli. . . . This is difficult country, well suited to delaying tactics and should provide a firm hinge for an eventual withdrawal in the Northern sector.”11 Vokes felt confident that once Brigadier Bert Hoffmeister got his two infantry regiments up to the Ortona outskirts, the 1st Parachute Division would withdraw to the north of Ortona.

  Eighth Army headquarters staff were so convinced that the Germans would make no serious stand at Ortona that they were busily developing plans to turn the town into a maintenance and rest area. The high stone buildings of the town were thought ideal for providing comfortable winter quarters for a tired army. It was imagined that the port could soon be reopened and the damage caused there by the Germans easily repaired. For this reason, Ortona had been spared serious aerial or artillery bombardment. This contrasted starkly with the fate of Orsogna to the west, which had been reduced to rubble by almost daily aerial attacks by heavy bombers, light bombers, and fighter bombers flying out of bases in North Africa.12 One British intelligence summary breezily predicted, “Eighth Army is going to reach the line of the Arielli by 24 Dec.”13 As so often in European and North American wars, the promise of the end of battle for Christmas was being extended to the soldiers on the front lines. It was a promise that relied on the Germans putting up only a token act of defiance in Ortona.

  Unknown to the Canadians, 1st Parachute Division had accepted on the evening of December 18 that its defensive line based on The Gully and Cider Crossroads was lost. As the Carleton and York Regiment patrol discovered, the Germans started pulling men out of the deep fighting holes in The Gully soon after nightfall.

  In Ortona, the Germans were preparing for far more than a token defence. Paratroop engineers and infantry worked frantically side by side to strengthen the defences. Obergefreiter Carl Bayerlein’s Fallschirmpionier platoon had set up quarters near the old castle. Already the streets in the area were so full of debris from buildings shattered by Canadian artillery fire and the German demolitions that reaching his quarters entailed climbing over large rubble piles.

  On December 18, Bayerlein and two comrades had gone back to Pescara to bring up more mines from the supply depot there. After loading up a truck with mines, the three men started driving back to Ortona. It was dark and they drove without headlights. Visibility was extremely poor. The driver failed to make a corner and the truck ploughed into a ditch on the right-hand side of the road. Unable to get the truck out of the mud, the three men spent the rest of the night in an abandoned nearby farmhouse. In the morning, the truck was spotted by the Canadians and artillery shells fell near it, but failed to score a direct hit. Bayerlein’s companion Marcus, however, was badly wounded by shrapnel. He was evacuated to Pescara by motorcycle.

  Bayerlein became separated during the day from his remaining comrade. Deciding nothing could be done to rescue the truck, he started walking back to Ortona. Near an abandoned German artillery piece, he found some captured British grenades and a revolver. He stuffed the booty into his pockets. Ortona was across a ravine. He could see it, but there appeared no easy way to get across the ravine and into the town. Endless salvoes of Canadian mortar shells flew overhead, many detonating harmlessly in the nearby sea. Coming across a large new home, Bayerlein entered it and found a group of men, women, and children in hiding. They offered him warm soup made from tomatoes and beans. He wolfed it down. It was the first food he had eaten since setting off for Pescara the day before. After leaving the house, Bayerlein came upon a railroad tunnel that passed under the ravine to the Ortona docks. Emerging from the far side of the tunnel, he saw for the first time the docks and fishing boats that had been destroyed by German engineers earlier in the month.

  As he started following a track up the hill toward Ortona, Bayerlein came under friendly fire. Hitting the dirt, he saw that right ahead of him the path was sown with anti-personnel mines. He retreated, feeling very alone and frightened. Finally he found another route up the escarpment. Exhausted from the climb and his walk across the embattled terrain north of Ortona, Bayerlein flopped down not far from the body of a dead civilian. He slipped into an exhausted stupor.14

  Soon after the 1st Parachute Division engineers started blowing up buildings, Americo Casanova’s mother Angela, sister Maria, and brother Mario
left Ortona. While she had sent Americo much earlier to Tollo, Angela had kept her nineteen-year-old daughter and twenty-one-year-old son with her. They had camped out in the countryside, maintaining a protective vigil over the four-unit apartment building that provided both home and livelihood. The decision to stay placed all three of them at great risk. Allied artillery fire often fell almost on top of them and the German soldiers were less predictable than before. Angela thought their behaviour seemed increasingly menacing.

  When the soldiers entered the apartments, Angela would go down and try to keep the place from being ransacked. At about the same time that Cider Crossroads was falling into Canadian hands, she realized the futility of her mission when the Germans wired the entire apartment with explosives. Angela tried to reason with them, but was left with the impression that she was being punished for the many American furnishings and other goods that the family apartment contained. She tried to explain that these were from her husband, who worked in the chocolate factory in Hershey, New Jersey, and that she was neither pro-American nor anti-German. The soldiers ignored her. Finally realizing they intended to follow through with their plan, Angela fled. Minutes later, the Germans blew the apartment building in upon itself. Angela Casanova found her two eldest children and the three of them left Ortona, walking north toward Pescara.15

  Throughout the night of December 19 and well into the following morning, the sappers of 4th Field Company, Royal Canadian Engineers, worked frantically to repair the concrete bridge crossing The Gully adjacent to Cider Crossroads. Although the Germans had attempted to destroy it with explosives, the structure still stood. By 1000 hours on December 20, the engineers had laid a new deck and reinforced the minor structural weaknesses. The bridge could now support the massive weight of a Sherman tank or a Bren carrier pulling a six-pounder antitank gun. There would be no more need for the armour and other support weapons to slog across the muddy track curving around The Gully’s westernmost extension. They could now come directly from San Leonardo to Cider Crossroads on the old coast highway. The new coast highway, following the Adriatic shoreline to Ortona, remained closed where The Gully widened to meet the sea. The Germans had succeeded in destroying the bridge there and ownership of the surrounding ground remained contested — something the Canadians were determined to change by day’s end.