Holding Juno

by Mark Zuehlke

  And to the front the sounds of battle kept growing in intensity.

  WHILE THE MAIN BODY OF ‘B’ Squadron and ‘D’ Company had been virtually wiped out in the opening thirty minutes of battle, a handful of infantry under command of twenty-two-year-old Lieutenant George Bean managed to break into le Mesnil-Patry from the right-hand flank. Also inside the village ahead of the infantry were two tanks of No. 4 Troop led by Captain Richard Wildgoose, a former newspaperman from London, Ontario. Bean had only nine men with him as the platoon pushed up to the edge of the village. During a short firefight with some Panzer Grenadiers fighting from slit trenches, Bean was shot in the leg. The young officer refused to quit, turning instead to his men. “Shall we go in and clean it out ourselves?” he shouted, while gesturing towards le Mesnil-Patry.6 When Rifleman John Lloyd Wardell and the others answered that they should, Bean, limping badly, led them forward.7

  Using a sunken road for cover, they moved in among a group of buildings on the outskirts. Bean and his men wiped out several more German positions before reaching a clearing and taking cover in a large bomb crater because of heavy incoming mortar fire. Out front of the crater, the two tanks from Wildgoose’s troop were blasting away at the heart of the village with their main guns. Running over to the tanks, Bean stood in the open trying to attract their attention and was wounded in the back. As he stumbled back towards the crater, he was wounded a third time and collapsed about fifty yards away. Seconds later, Wardell was hit and knocked unconscious.8

  Lying out in the open, Bean waved for Sergeant Samuel Scrutton to take over and press the attack home. An army brat, who as the son of a Princess Patricia’s Light Infantry regimental sergeant major had been virtually raised in barracks, Scrutton was a tough and decisive non-commissioned officer. He quickly decided that going on was plain suicide and instead dragged the wounded officer back into the crater. Meanwhile, Wildgoose’s tank had been knocked out and the officer killed. When the surviving tank started withdrawing, Corporal A. Jackson dashed out and flagged it down. He and Scrutton loaded Bean onto the back while Wardell, who had regained consciousness, “and those [others] of us who were still able to move, climbed aboard.”9

  The badly shot-up little band had to fight its way out while riding on the tank. Scrutton managed to kill about a dozen Panzer Grenadiers who attempted to prevent their escape. Pausing at about 1500 hours just beyond the worst concentrations of Germans, Scrutton counted two of the nine men in the party dead, discovered he had one missing, and two were so badly wounded they were unable to walk.10 Scrutton earned a Distinguished Conduct Medal, while, for his leadership, Bean was awarded the Military Cross.

  While Bean’s little group made its escape from le Mesnil-Patry, ‘C’ Squadron headed towards the village after finally working its way through the narrow streets of Norrey to gain the battlefield. Squadron commander Major D’Arcy Marks deployed his tanks with three troops out front—No. 4 left, No. 2 in the centre and on the tip, No. 1 to the right.11 The other two troops were back of those on the flanks and his squadron headquarters held the centre of a loose diamond formation.

  Leading the way were the two tanks of Lieutenant Bill McCormick’s No. 2 Troop. Because of the earlier fuel line leak in his own tank, McCormick was riding into battle with a different crew than normal. But except for the driver, a fresh replacement with the last name of Smith, the men had served in his troop for a long time. The others were gunner Trooper Len Magee, loader/operator Trooper William Wallace Millar (whom everyone just called W.W.), and co-driver Trooper Euclid “Frenchie” Moreau. No. 2 Troop’s second tank was commanded by Corporal Jackie Simmons, whose brother, Sergeant William “Foo” Simmons, was also somewhere out in the middle of this battle. The two brothers hailed from Timmins and so were inevitably known as “the Simmons from Timmins.” Aboard this tank were troopers Alf Cooper, Cy Bleakley, Rolly Parsons, and Bill Mugford.12

  ‘C’ Squadron pushed out into the wheatfields and McCormick lost sight of most of the tanks in the tall grain. Soon the world seemed cut down to just five Shermans—the two from his troop and the three of another. An eerie silence hung over the landscape as they advanced towards le Mesnil-Patry with no sign of friend or foe—just the yellow grain from which smudges of smoke billowed darkly into the blue sky. A few minutes later, McCormick saw a tank burning out to his front, then another, and then a whole bunch. The lieutenant had expected to see an exchange of fire going on between ‘B’ Squadron and the enemy, but not this. He still could detect no Germans and didn’t see any Queen’s Own riflemen either. Finding the whole scenario “very ominous,” he ordered the tank halted. “I’m not going into this,” he said over the wireless. Switching to the internal communication net, McCormick said, “Driver, reverse.”

  As the driver moved to comply, Major D’Arcy Marks came up on the squadron net. In a very calm voice, the commander said, “We got to attack. This is a job we’ve been given to do and we have to do it.”

  “To hell with this,” McCormick replied. None of the other tanks were moving, as everyone waited to see how this conversation played out. Nobody who knew McCormick would consider that he balked at proceeding out of cowardice. On D-Day, the lieutenant had taken his tank far out in front of the entire 3rd Canadian Infantry Division in a bold dash that carried almost through to Carpiquet airport. Had the rest of the squadron received his wireless messages urging them to come up in support and responded to them, many in the 1st Hussars believed the division would have been spared the fierce fighting that had been going on these past days.

  There was a pause and then Marks spoke. “I’m calling for volunteers.”

  McCormick chewed on that a second. What was being proposed ran counter to the old military maxim that you reinforce success rather than failure. Those burning tanks stood as evidence that ‘B’ Squadron had suffered disastrous failure in the initial attack and to go forward courted more of the same for ‘C’ Squadron. But McCormick admired Marks greatly and was also a good soldier. “Guess we go,” he responded.

  Countermanding his earlier order, the lieutenant said, “Driver, forward.” As his tank started moving, so did the rest.

  A few minutes later, McCormick saw Panzer Grenadiers moving to his left and opened up on them with high-explosive and the coaxial. Then something moved in the bushes to his right and he raked them with shells and bullets. With what seemed to be all of ‘B’

  Squadron sitting out there burning, the lieutenant was sure there must be German tanks or antitank guns around, so he was blasting every likely hiding spot.13

  ‘C’ Squadron’s advance descended into the same chaotic pandemonium of slaughter that had befallen ‘B’ Squadron. When tanks suddenly started taking hits and blowing up at 1615 hours, Marks yelled into the regimental net that the squadron was under attack by enemy tanks firing from his right flank.14 Colwell immediately passed this report to brigade headquarters and was warned by someone on Brigadier Ron Wyman’s staff to “not fire on them as they were friendly tanks… Colwell, thinking the tanks must be British armour supporting the 50th Infantry Division off on that flank, ordered [Marks] to hold fire and fly his recognition flags.”15 The major dutifully climbed out of the turret hatch and fastened the recognition flag to the radio aerial, but the tanks to the right kept closing in while continuing to fire on the squadron. Marks reported this to Colwell at 1623 hours.16 The situation, he added, was becoming untenable as his squadron casualties were escalating rapidly. Before Colwell could countermand his no-fire order, all contact with ‘C’ Squadron was abruptly lost.17

  By now, the tanks to the right were coming within point-blank range and more Shermans were being hit and bursting into flames. Peering through the smoke and tall grain, few Canadian tankers could see any of the tanks firing on them. They shot back blindly, but without any noticeable effect as the rate of fire coming their way kept increasing in volume and accuracy.

  Bearing down on ‘C’ Squadron was an entire company of 12th Panzer Regiment—No. 5 Comp
any of II Battalion under command of Sturmbannführer Karl-Heinz Prinz. The German tanker had been ordered to support the Panzer Grenadiers. Enjoying the advantage of higher ground, Prinz and his company could bring the Shermans under fire without betraying their own position. They proceeded to pick the Canadians off one by one.

  Things went from bad to worse for Marks after losing the wireless link to Colwell’s headquarters. His second-in-command, Captain Gerry Stoner, hobbled up to report that his tank had been hard hit minutes earlier and he had ordered the crew to bail out. No sooner had everyone got clear than a second round punched into the Sherman and it burst into flames. Stoner was struck in the right knee by shrapnel, but was game to stay in the fight if Marks wanted. The major ordered him instead to get back on foot to Norrey and re-establish contact with Colwell.18 He was desperate for orders permitting a withdrawal. Stoner hurried to the village, passing 12th Field Regiment’s Captain Charles Rivaz on the outskirts. The artillery officer lamented that his radios had failed and he could do nothing to summon artillery support for the embattled tankers and infantry. When Stoner reported how badly things were going out front, Colwell summoned a scout car and sent him to brigade headquarters with orders to get Wyman to release the Fort Garry Horse squadrons and remaining Queen’s Own to reinforce the attack.19

  Meanwhile, ‘C’ Squadron’s wireless net was clogged with jumbled messages from excited and desperate loader/operators. Trooper Larry Allen in Corporal R.C. “Reg” Pike’s tank recognized the voice of one man who kept pleading, “Our crew commander is killed, what do we do now?” Another operator stammered, “Our guns are getting hot. What should we do?” Someone responded tersely, “Piss on ’em and get off the air. You’re jamming.”

  AT THE SAME TIME as Colwell tried to summon reinforcements, Queen’s Own Rifles commander Lieutenant Colonel Jock Spragge reluctantly ordered Major Elliot Dalton to take the majority of ‘A’ Company holding in Norrey forward to pass through ‘D’ Company and get into le Mesnil-Patry. Neither man knew that ‘D’ Company no longer existed. As Dalton led his men out from the village, he saw Major Neil Gordon “on a tank being taken out and he had been shot through the face. He was a rather messy looking individual.

  “I got a look at the ground to see how I was going to use it and then a mortar bomb came over and lit at my feet and tore most of my uniform off and the base plug [of the bomb] went through my leg. I had actually gotten up to where the Start Line was supposed to be.

  “I had said to my batman and Bren gunner ‘Run’ and they both went to ground, and I ran and got hit, proving that the riflemen were a hell of a lot smarter than their majors in the [Queen’s Own]. I got hit and they didn’t get a scratch.”20*

  That was the end of ‘A’ Company’s supporting attack. Spragge ordered the men back into Norrey. There was nothing more that infantry could do, and Colwell was holding back his last squadron while waiting for reinforcement. The tankers and infantry still out there would have to cope on their own, for neither commander had any more than fleeting contact with them over the wireless and consequently could not order a retreat. Colwell feared the German tanks were going to turn his flank, so he kept calling over the radio for ‘B’ and ‘C’ Squadrons to come back and form up alongside ‘A’ Squadron.21 But there was no response from the battlefield. Then abruptly Marks came up on the radio and acknowledged.

  Marks no longer had contact with the rest of his squadron, however, and nobody could raise ‘B’ Squadron. Captain Cyril Tweedale was in a tank next to Marks and the two officers concurred by wireless that their tanks “were the only ones left, so we laid smoke and retired.”22 The time was about 1700 hours.

  Everyone was coming independently to the conclusion that to stay on the battlefield was to die, so an uncoordinated retreat started. Few tankers got out with their Shermans, but Trooper Jim Simpson of ‘B’ Squadron was an exception. He had rapidly burned through all the machine-gun ammunition, high-explosive rounds, and most of the armour-piercing shells. When the traverse, which the gunner had

  * Dalton soon found himself in a hospital in England being challenged as to why he was on a stretcher instead of in his bed. The nurse bustled him into a ward only to find another man sleeping in the bed that was supposedly Dalton’s. Waiting at the doorway, Dalton was unable to see the man, who had been sleeping with the sheet pulled up over his face. When the nurse said the soldier in the bed claimed to be Major Dalton of the Queen’s Own, Dalton declared he must be nuts, for that was who he was. Suddenly, the sheet fell away and Elliot stared into his brother’s eyes. Both Charlie and Elliot recovered from their wounds within a few weeks and returned to duty.

  been wildly ratcheting around to bring the guns to bear, started acting up, he decided it was time to make a break for it. His troop sergeant, Léo Gariépy, had disappeared in the opening moments of battle, his lieutenant Jimmy Martin was dead, and the officer’s tank crew had fled. The infantry were either dead on the ground near the tank or also gone. Ordering his driver to turn the Sherman around, Simpson guided it back towards Norrey. Off to one side, he spotted a half-dozen wounded Queen’s Own lying in the roadside ditch. Wary of snipers, he called to them without sticking his head out of the turret hatch, “If you can get those guys on the back, I can get them the hell out of here.” A couple of walking wounded helped the others climb onboard. Looking around, Simpson saw nothing but burning tanks stretching across the horizon all the way back to Norrey. He told the driver, “If you ever got this thing into high gear, get it into high gear now. We don’t want to be dawdling here.”

  As the tank broke out of the orchard into the wheatfield, Simpson could see German infantry and what he was sure were Panzers swarming in the open in front of Norrey. The driver had the Sherman running flat out. “The steel tracks were screaming on the blacktop” as they raced towards Norrey. Arriving safely, Simpson dropped the wounded Queen’s Own at an aid station before heading for the regiment’s base at Bray.23

  Simpson’s troop mate, Sergeant Gariépy, had a penchant for solo operating in hostile country. Rapidly outdistancing the rest of the troop, he had pushed into the streets of le Mesnil-Patry alone and was soon caught in a running fight with Panzer Grenadiers aboard half-tracks that appeared to be reinforcing the units already engaged. Gariépy sent three of the half-tracks up in flames before an explosion on the outside hull set the crew’s bedrolls and some spare machine-gun ammunition ablaze. Using the smoke pouring off the tank as a screen, Gariépy reversed out of the immediate gun battle, and once clear of the shooting ordered everyone out. The five tankers crawled along a roadside ditch “over dead Germans and Canadians” back to the safety of Norrey.24

  Sergeant William “Foo” Simmons, brother of Corporal Jackie Simmons, had his tank shot out. As the crew pulled itself together after escaping the Sherman, Simmons saw a German tank traverse its turret to bear on the group. “Shouting at his men to scatter he ran towards the [tank] to draw its fire and was never seen again. Thus two brothers who came overseas with the Hussars distinguished themselves on the battlefield with unselfish heroism,” the regiment’s historian later wrote.25

  Trooper Larry Allen in Corporal Reg Pike’s ‘C’ Squadron Sherman didn’t like the spot they were in, with a high stone wall to their right and thick brush to the left. More dense brush barred the way ahead. There was no room to turn around. To get out, the driver would have to reverse back the way they had come. Pike said there were German infantry all around them. Then he shouted, “There’s a Jerry out here with an antitank gun and he’s going to shoot us!”

  Allen yelled, “Shoot him first.” Pike yanked back the action on his Sten gun, but it jammed on sand that had got into it on the beach during the invasion landing. A round from the German slammed into the engine compartment, followed by several others that knocked the tank’s power out. “Abandon tank,” Pike yelled. As he tumbled out of the turret, Allen and the gunner decided to first fire some high-explosive shells into the brush to clear an escape route. Then
they jumped out. Pike was there with a German machine gun in his hands. “Coming with me, Allen?” he said.

  “No,” Allen replied. “We’re going to find a hiding place in the bush.”

  Acting confused and barely coherent, Pike turned and walked off towards le Mesnil-Patry rather than the rear. Allen quickly lost sight of the man, whose body would be found later.

  Allen and the rest of the crew took cover in the brush while trying to figure out what to do next. As they hid there, the survivors from three other tanks moved towards them. “What a mess they were in! Burned beyond recognition. Their flesh hanging in shreds from their faces and hands. We went to assist them. As I approached a fellow who was crawling on his knees and the backs of his hands, I asked why he was using the backs of his hands. He turned them over; the cooked flesh had been worn off in his trip across the field. I must have looked horror stricken.

  “‘Don’t you know me, Allen?’ he asked pitifully.

  “‘Silversberg!’

  “‘You’re in bad shape,’ I said. ‘Come on all you guys. Let’s get out of sight.’” Allen was shocked that he had failed to recognize Trooper Frank Silversberg. The two men had entertained the regiment often with a comedy routine where Allen was the straight guy for the comic’s wide repertoire of jokes. Allen was now in charge of about nine men, of whom five were badly burned. He hid the injured men, who were helpless to suppress their pitiful moans, separately from the unwounded so any Germans drawn by the sounds would not discover the whole group.