by Colin Gee
Thus far, the attacks had met with nothing but success, and all advances were as projected, with the exception of French II Corps, whose lead units had taken a heavy hit at Rheinbach. This was partially from a Soviet counter-attack and partially from a devastating friendly-fire attack by US bombers, who dropped on Rheinbach due to a navigational error. However, despite losses amongst command and infantry units, 2nd French Infantry Division continued to press for their objective; the Rhine at Remagen.
US Third Army was playing a modest part in the opening phase, with its US III Corps nestled between US 9th and 15th Armies, its own target Koblenz, unless the door hinged open before the city was reached.
Patton had his force spread wider than would be considered prudent, but he wanted to make sure he could plunge straight through any gap created, and had faith that his boys would manoeuvre as and when asked, to bring about a deep penetration of the enemy lines.
Not that his units stayed still, constantly moving up behind the lead and reserve echelons, topping off fuel tanks, keeping men and machines in top order, waiting for the moment to charge forward.
1803 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, US Third Army Headquarters, Hamm, Luxembourg.
The briefing followed the same pattern as before, registering more gains but, this time around, without the repetition of the friendly fire event.
Patton, savouring his pipe, listened as more Allied successes were recited, and then reflected on the situation map.
Combining the two was easy for a man of Patton’s calibre.
He looked at familiar ground, earth over which he had already fought, admittedly against a far weaker enemy than that now facing the US units, but one that Patton was confident he could send to hell just the same.
He acknowledged the arrival of a fresh coffee, but never took his eyes off the wall map, eyes that started to narrow at the possibility developing before him.
US 15th Army was making exceptional advances, well beyond projections.
Patton knew the commander well, and could imagine ‘Old Gee’ pushing his men hard and harder still.
In reality, Lieutenant General Gerow’s opposition was melting away quicker than he could pin it down.
What Patton had spotted was the fact that, regardless of the reasons behind it, the Soviet frontline was falling back to settle on the Rhine, clearly intending to use the large obstacle to halt the Allied advance.
Pausing to relight his pipe, he asked for the latest photo recon and intelligence information, specifically for the eastern side of the great river.
Although not always accurate, the intelligence and reconnaissance arms did a pretty good job overall, something that Patton acknowledged openly.
He studied the evidence to hand, trying to understand the enemy’s mind as best he could.
A large concentration of enemy units was sat across the Rhine, opposite the French and Bill Simpson’s Ninth Army.
It made sense, as the shortest route to the Rhine was marked on the situation map by where those two armies were headed.
There were yet more units further south, but less so.
This had been known, but the situation conjured up by Gerow’s success in the advance created new possibilities.
The Moselle valley was not ideal by any means, but if 15th Army could shove the enemy back at the same rate then maybe, just maybe, Patton could get the Third across the Rhine before any units of note concentrated on the east bank.
If he could achieve that, then there were many possibilities open to him, something that titillated his soldierly pride and ego in equal measure.
But for now, unusually, Patton decided to wait.
2323 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, US Third Army Headquarters, Hamm, Luxembourg.
The last briefing before General George Smith Patton took to his cot had come and gone, the whole Allied front having seemed to lift up and move forward, from the Baltic to the Adriatic.
Sharing a last coffee with three of his officers, Patton was in easy mood, knowing that time would soon bring him the opportunity he sought.
His CoS, Brigadier General Hobart Gay, was complaining about the inactivity.
“Well, Hap, be that as it may, if Leonard’s Fifteenth keep going as they are, then we’ll be busy soon enough.”
The other two officers, his G3 and G4, Colonels Halley Maddox and Walter Muller respectively, were still working over the issues that the rapid movement of the Third Army would bring.
“Sir.”
One of Patton’s personal aides arrived, red faced from his dash from the communications tent.
“Spit it out, Major Stiller.”
“There’s a break, Sir. Confirmed by Fifteenth Army.”
Patton stood, energised immediately.
“Where, goddamnit?”
Stiller extended the message sheet, which his commander snatched unceremoniously.
“Map!”
Hobart Gay grabbed his briefcase and laid one out swiftly.
“Where’s Zell-Mosel?”
Four pairs of eyes swept the map and then followed the finger that appeared before them, as Major Stiller enlightened them.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
Patton questioned his aide.
“Major, how firm is this? We need to know before we roll the goddamned parade on this.”
“General, I asked for full confirmation and Fifteenth’s intentions before I brought you the message.”
Patton nodded his approval of his aide’s actions.
“Get that confirmation immediately, Major. I want it here right now... and send me the duty signals officer.”
Stiller almost flew out of the commander’s tent, and was very quickly replaced by a worried looking signals Captain.
The four-star commander was in ‘General’ mode, and addressed each man individually, starting with Maddox and Muller.
“OK, I want logistics and planning on moving the army to take advantage of this. Hal, Twenty-two Corps’s nearest, so get ‘em prepped for an immediate movement order. Give them a probable destination so they can get the map work sorted. Then prep the rest. Captain, I have a message for you to send Fifteenth Army headquarters.”
The tent suddenly emptied, leaving Patton and the Signals Officer alone, the former scribbling a note whilst the latter felt distinctly uncomfortable being alone with the ‘old man’.
“Here, get that off straight away. Any reply comes back to me a-sap.”
Patton didn’t stop his continuity of thought and action, immediately lifting the telephone and calling for a connection to higher authority.
It took two minutes to speak to the name he asked for, indicating that his commander had already taken to his bed.
“Bradley here. What’s going on, George?”
Bradley could almost hear the smile down the phone.
“Brad, we’ve got the sons-of-bitches split, and we didn’t even try hard. They’ve done the job for us.”
“Where we talking, George?”
“On the Moselle. You gotta map to hand?”
“Yep. Fire away.”
“Seems like Fifteenth pushed on the join between two units, and they both moved open, creating a gap. Guess the bastards didn’t want to be caught in the river bends. Look at Zell-Mosel in the south, Cochem in the north. I’m finding out what Leonard has planned, but it seems to me that, if the gap is that wide, it’s a great spot to go. Brad, I know the terrain’s not ideal, but we’ve been here before, and Koblenz is goddamned close.”
“Your assets, George?”
“Have the Twenty-second to hand immediately. The logistics people are working on the rest, but I can get my whole outfit online in two days, guaranteed.”
“How firm is all this, George?”
“I’m getting the full picture now, but I see no goddamned sense in delaying, so I’m preparing all my boys for a swift move forward.”
The delay in Bradley’s was minimal, but none the less evident.
“Okay, George,
but make sure Leonard is onside with your plans before you move, clear?”
“Sure thing, Brad. Will you prep the airborne boys, just in case I need ‘em?”
“Will do. On that one, advise me of likely drop sites a-sap. I’ll call this one up to Ike with my endorsement...err…” the pause as Bradley consulted a list was considerable, “I’m assuming you are looking at Plan Delaware or Oregon?”
These were two of the thirteen possible attack options laid out prior to the assault, basic framework plans on which meat and bones could be hung when the actualities of combat were known.
“First thought’s Delaware, given the other goings-on, but I ain’t committing to anything as yet, Brad.”
“Okay, George. Keep me informed. Good luck.”
“Thanks. You too, Brad.”
Both men replaced the telephone and then picked it back up.
Both men repeated the same message, almost word for word.
“Get me Fifteenth Army, General Gerow, immediately.”
Bradley lost the race and made do with the Fifteenth Army’s CoS, who confirmed everything Patton had said, and more.
Next call was for Eisenhower, who was enthusiastic beyond words.
0723 hrs, Wednesday, 27th March 1946, Point units of the 35th US Infantry Division, Alf, Germany.
Bravo Company, 320th Infantry Regiment had point, backed up by a platoon from 35th Mechanised Recon.
The messages had driven them on faster than they would have liked but, maybe, just maybe, the brass knew what they were doing, for nothing got in their way.
Until Alf.
Sat at the narrowest point between two curves of the Moselle River, the smallest of German villages was full of desperate Soviet soldiery, all intent on escaping through a gap less than four hundred metres wide.
Bravo’s company commander knew a turkey shoot opportunity when he saw one, and soon afterwards shells from the 127th and 161st Field Artillery Battalions started to claim scores of lives amongst the retreating men.
Charlie Company pushed up level and the two units together herded the enemy into the fire zone.
A radio message shifted the fire of the 127th’s 155mm’s towards the crossing point at Zell, but the Major commanding understood perfectly that the bridge was needed intact, as did the aircraft that were soon to follow on in.
The escaping Soviets, a mish-mash of supply troops, rear-echelon security forces and escaping frontline stragglers, were pounded into pieces by the relentless accurate fire.
An AOP arrived overhead, taking over direction duties, and moving the fire to the two hundred and fifty metre summit on Barl, as well as the rear slopes on either side, down to the district of Kaimt.
The other infantry company, Able, found the bridge at Reil damaged but passable, and quickly disposed of the small engineer force waiting in vain for orders to blow the Moselle bridge between Kaimt and Zell-Mosel.
Able Company pushed hard, losing their lead half-track to a random mine, and found a vantage point from where they could overlook the main crossing point at Zell, a solid structure that was rapidly becoming crammed with fleeing Russians.
Thoroughly briefed on their mission, A Company’s commander contacted the AOP and had fire moved, and then used his own forward air controller to call in the hounds of hell.
The unfamiliar aircraft is US markings swept over Alf, travelling around the height at Barl, using the Moselle to guide their attack.
AD-1 Skyraiders, a new aircraft in the Allied ground attack inventory, had been hurried to the ETO well ahead of proper schedules, their superior abilities recognised at an early stage, although the haste of their deployment led to tragedies early on, with some structural and mechanical failures, something that low-flying tolerates very badly.
The USAAF planners had got their act together, and the Skyraiders were equipped with nothing that could overly damage the bridge.
That would be of little comfort to the fleeing Red Army soldiers.
Fourteen Skyraiders came in, line astern, pumping 20mm cannon shells into the helpless mass struggling on the bridge.
Two twin DSHK mounts, mounted on high ground surrounding the bridge, opened up, solely succeeding in drawing attention to themselves.
The flight leader detailed one aircraft for each, and both positions were obliterated in short order.
The geography of the target was poor on their first run, denying them a proper opportunity to drop ordnance, so the Major leading the squadron took his aircraft round in a lazy circular route. Approaching from the south-east, up the valley that carried Route 194, presenting a length-on target to the deadly aircraft.
The leader dropped his payload beyond the bridge, the mass of soldiers being too easy to miss.
Each M-29 cluster bomb weighed in at a healthy five hundred pounds, and the formidable Skyraider carried ten, which were now descending through the Moselle’s morning mist.
Nine hundred bomblets, ranging from five to thirty second fusing, hit the packed masses.
The Major was already pulling up on his stick, rising into the air, and therefore not able to witness the butchery that occurred as his plethora of four-pound charges started to explode.
Behind him, the second in line had placed four napalm bombs on the same spot, immolating hundreds in the blink of an eye.
The second pair dropped the same loads, but nearer the bridge, working back and pulling up before risking any harm from exploding munitions dropped by the lead.
And so it went on, seven attacks in total; cluster bombs followed by napalm, until the final drop was made on the junction of Routes 421 and 194.
Many of the men of Able Company, watching from their vantage point above Zell, watched in horror at the fate of hundreds of men, women, and horses, all destroyed by the efficient killing machines of artillery and aircraft.
The Skyraiders swept back over the scene, but the total devastation yielded nothing worth shooting at.
Not wishing to take ordnance back to base, the Major commanding split his force into two groups, both of which used their remaining weapons on the enemy troops that had avoided the devastation at Zell, killing hundreds more on the roads to Walhausen and Altlay.
After the air attacks and artillery barrages had done their work, 1st/320th pushed on.
Such was the horror of their advance that very few soldiers, from veteran to greenhorn, held their breakfast down, and half-tracks were streaked with vomit as the companies pushed forward towards the bridge.
It got no better when they got there, and the awfulness of that bridge was to haunt many of the 320th’s young soldiers until their dying day.
There was no alternative but to drive on through the sticky mass of charred flesh.
There was no chance of anyone having survived the onslaught, and it was not until the lead units reached the fork in the road that truly recognisable pieces of human or animal bodies really started to appear.
As agreed, Bravo Company and the Recon element took the left turn, following Route 421 and heading up the sharp windy hill out of the Moselle Valley.
Charlie Company committed to the right, using Route 194.
Once the units were clear of the killing field, both commanders pulled them over, set out a temporary picquet line, and gave their boys a little time to recover.
Able Company, detailed by the Regimental commander to secure Zell-Mosel and the environs, found themselves unable to avoid the dreadful sights.
Moving through Zell, squads sent to find any enemy stay-behinds found civilians and Soviet soldiers sat together in the numerous flood cellars, shocked, stunned, most clinging to each other with vice-like grips, regardless of whom it was they sought their solace and support from.
The doughboys of A Company treated all equally and, in many ways, they were as shocked and stunned as those who had seen and heard the awfulness at first hand.
One platoon of Able Company secured another route out at Merl, finding only civilians, and Route 199 free of any
obstructions or enemy troops.
As each report made its way back to the 320th’s commander, he grew more excited, seeing the bigger picture immediately.
His report arrived with the commanding officer of the 35th, Major General Paul W. Baade.
He encouraged the 320th to exploit the gap, opening it wider and pushing ahead, and to the latter task he dispatched the remainder of the 35th Recon, as well as the entire 60th Engineer Battalion.
Whilst not fully appreciating the situation at Zell, he realised enough to send extra hands, so medical units, quartermaster troops, and even the divisional band were ordered forward to help clear the way.
Before he also went himself, having decided to move his headquarters forward, Baade passed his information up the line.
Ernest. N Harmon, commander of US XXII Corps acted immediately, ordering his assets towards the potential opening, and then contacted his own superior.
0939 hrs, Wednesday, 27th March 1946, US Third Army Headquarters, Hamm, Luxembourg.
“Sir, General Harmon.”
Patton covered the distance to the telephone like a cheetah in pursuit of a gazelle, almost physically wrestling it from the Communications officer’s hand.
“Ernie, George.”
It took only a moment for everyone to understand that Harmon was giving Patton just the news he wanted.
“Sonofabitch! What you doing about it, Ernie?”
Patton flicked his fingers at the map table, sending his staff there to wait for him, grabbed the telephone’s body and moved to put some geography to Harmon’s words.
“Excellent, excellent. Now... first things first... Rheinböllen... get me Rheinböllen, secure it, leave summat to hold it and then... hell for leather, Ernie, hell for goddamned leather, you take your boys all the way to Mainz and get me across the goddamned Rhine.”
Patton half-listened to Harmon’s objections, open flank, unknown defences, poor roads... but only half-listened, because the Third Army’s commander was already looking at what he intended to do next.