Operation Neptune

by Kenneth Edwards

  Everything went according to plan, although the noise on that still night seemed deafening after the long silence. Sure enough a red flare went up just to the north-westward. A few minutes later a German patrol of eight men came hurrying along the dyke straight into the ambush which had been prepared for them. There was a flurry of fire. Five of the Germans were killed outright. Two were hit but got away, although it is thought that one was seen falling over the dyke into the floods. The other was also wounded, but was carried quickly down into the LCA to be taken away as a prisoner for interrogation.

  The shouting had, of course, well stirred up the Germans. There seemed to be flares everywhere, and there was a certain amount of shooting, but it proved quite ineffective and, with the Marines and the prisoner safely embarked, the LCA went astern out of a position which promised momentarily to become exceedingly uncomfortable. Fortunately there was by this time a slight low-lying mist on the water, which hid the LCA as she made her way to seaward and away from the flares.

  As the flares fell farther and farther astern another noise was suddenly heard. The LCA at once stopped and lay motionless. It was the unmistakable slow throb of Dutch barge engines—two of them. Those two barges were going towards West Schouwen, where the flares were still going up. Those in the LCA saw them clearly as they passed within a few hundred yards, but the LCA was not seen by the Germans.

  As soon as the barges were clear the LCA made her best speed back to Colijnsplaat to report these curious German moves, and on arrival there the British artillery was “laid on” to hammer Zerikzee, where the wagon convoy had halted and was being loaded into barges. The barges which had been seen on the homeward voyage could not have been these same barges. The time factor made that impossible. It was obvious, therefore, that the German troop movements were more extensive than had at first been thought, and this was confirmed soon after.

  With the shells bursting in great profusion over Zerikzee we drove back to Bergen-op-Zoom in the dawn. It was the dawn of the day of the second battle for Arnhem, which proved to be the opening of the final battle for the Three Rivers.

  For this battle, in the initial stages of which LCA’s of “Force T” were to play a vital part, temporary naval headquarters were set up in the shell-torn village of Huissen, across the river just south of Arnhem. Huissen was closer to the enemy than even the shorter-range light guns which put down so terrific a barrage on Arnhem, and was under enemy machine-gun fire. It was, in fact, a very hot and noisy spot. We drove up to Huissen after the big guns had begun the longer-range bombardment, and found the ruined village illuminated by the flying tracer. To this was soon added the artificial moonlight under which the assault was made and the prolonged flashes as the “mattresses” of rockets landed on the German positions.

  The key to Arnhem was the point of land which juts out at the intersection of the Lower Rhine and the River Ijssel. This long narrow point is less than a mile south-east of Arnhem docks and it could only be assaulted by water. The van of the attacking forces, which consisted of an assault company of the Gloucestershire Regiment, were carried in five LCA’s under the command of Lieutenant C. W. R. Cross, DSC, RNVR. These had been lying up during the afternoon in the Pannerdensch Canal which connects the River Waal to the Lower Rhine. These craft did the final stage of their voyage under the terrific gun barrage and rocket “mattresses.” So effective was this barrage that the LCA’s met only slight opposition as they approached the spit and “touched down” on its eastern side from the River Ijssel. As has so often happened, the Germans held their fire until the assault troops were disembarking and then opened a withering fire with Spandaus and other automatic weapons. Fortunately for the LCA’s they were by that time shielded from this fire by the bank of the spit.

  The assault company of the Gloucestershire Regiment did wonders, but they had a harder task than had been anticipated. The Germans had turned the whole spit into an intricate defence system of great strength, so arranged that the defenders hardly had to show themselves. Moreover, the follow-up waves of troops did not arrive as had been planned. The following waves, which were to be the main body of the Gloucestershires, had been assembled east of the Ijssel River with a large number of “Buffalo” amphibians in which they were to storm across the river and land in the wake of the first wave from the LCA’s. To reach the river from the place where they were parked in the shelter of a big dyke, a gap was to have been blown in the dyke. Unfortunately, however, a chance shell had detonated the explosives collected for this purpose, and it was then too late to bring up further supplies. As a result, they had to negotiate the dyke itself as best they could, and for a time only two “Buffaloes” were available in the river instead of the forty which had been expected. Largely as a result of this accident, the spit was not finally cleared of the enemy for some hours, instead of in about half an hour as had been expected.

  The second naval part of the operation had therefore to be postponed, since it depended upon the clearing of the spit and the arrival of our troops on its western side, followed by the clearance of mines from a landing place near the dock entrances from the Lower Rhine.

  Crossing the Rhine in a Buffalo.

  This second naval part of the operation consisted of the landing, on the western side of the spit where it joined the “mainland,” of a battalion of the Leicestershire Regiment, which were embarked in landing craft in the Pannerdensch canal for the purpose.

  Throughout the day after the night assault, the LCA’s which had landed the initial assaulting troops on the eastern side of the spit “lay up” in the Lower Rhine, just round the point of the spit. The shell fire and machine-gun fire all passed harmlessly over them as they lay under the shelter of the bank. Then, as the situation clarified they were placed at the disposal of the military to act as ferries.

  Shortly before the attack at Arnhem there had taken place an amphibious operation unique in history, for it demanded the use of naval craft two hundred miles from the sea and in waters to which there was no access by river or canal which was not still dominated by the enemy.

  This operation was the crossing of the Rhine, in which craft of the British and American navies played a vital part.

  It had for some time been apparent that when the armies forced the Rhine and established bridgeheads on its eastern bank they would need a fast ferry service capable of carrying heavy weights, and would have to rely on the ferry service for all that they would need until bridges, even of a temporary nature, could be thrown across the great river. Exhaustive experiments had been carried out in the United Kingdom on rivers giving similar conditions of banks and current to those of the Rhine. These experiments had been carried out in order to determine which of the available types of craft would be best suited to the task of carrying tanks, bulldozers and mobile guns across the Rhine. Account had to be taken of the fact that the craft selected would have to be taken to the Rhine by road over shell-pitted surfaces and Bailey bridges and through villages and towns.

  A 48 Commando Buffalo enters Serooskerke, 8 November 1944. ‘A’ Troop of 48 Commando was ordered up to Veere to find out what the enemy was doing up there and to make contact with 52nd Division. The whole of the inland part of the island was under water so they travelled in four amphibious Buffaloes. Serooskerke was reached without incident and members of ‘A’ Troop laughed and celebrated with the villagers on their liberation.

  It was decided as a result of these experiments that LCM’s (Landing Craft, Mechanised) and LCV(P)’s (Landing Craft, Vehicle, Personnel) were the best craft for the purpose. An idea of the overland transport problem involved can be gained from the fact that an LCM. weighs 26 tons and, when on its carrier for overland transport, is 77 feet long, 14 feet wide and 20 feet high.

  A considerable amount of training had also to be given to the crews of the craft chosen for the Rhine crossing, for they were called upon to operate them in conditions which differed greatly from the beach conditions for which their former training had fi
tted them. For the Rhine crossing these craft had to be launched down muddy banks into a swiftly-flowing river instead of being lowered from ships’ davits. Moreover, when carrying out their Rhine ferry duties their commanding officers, instead of operating through waves and surf to beaches constantly changing with the tide, had to manoeuvre their craft to and from fixed landing places with a strong current running at right angles to their course.

  As the world knows, all difficulties were overcome and the Allied navies helped the armies across the Rhine as they had placed them successfully on the Normandy beaches. The British craft which took part in the crossing of the Rhine were under the command of

  Winston Churchill crossing the Rhine River in an amphibious Buffalo vehicle crewed by British soldiers. Germany, 1945.

  Captain P. G. H. James, RN, and the American craft were under the command of Commander W. J. Whiteside, USNR.

  Like all the operations which had carried the Allied Armies from Great Britain to the heart of Germany, the crossing of the Rhine was carried out with an absence of “red-tape” and an unconquerable light-heartedness. Both these factors seem to be demonstrated by a young officer who commanded one of the British craft on the Rhine. This officer was Lieutenant R. O. S. Salmon, RNVR—known as “the Ross Salmon” on account of his initials. He was immensely proud of his command and saw to it that she was always smarter than any other. When attention was drawn by signal to the orders that landing craft were to be painted in light blue and white camouflage, Lieutenant Salmon “scrounged” paint from somewhere and his craft became a very smart olive green with a sheen which told of oil having been put to an improper use. It was Lieutenant Salmon too, who always took his craft across the Rhine, even under fire, wearing a very smart top hat. How that top hat was preserved and kept ironed in the rough and tumble of amphibious warfare was a mystery known only to his crew.

  CULMINATION

  Scenes at the unconditional surrender of the Germans at Rheims and in Berlin.

  By the beginning of May, 1945, Germany was prostrate. The years of blood, toil, sweat and tears were very near their end. The might of Germany, weakened by beating itself against incredible fortitude, had gone down before the “war on two fronts” which had always been so dreaded by the German High Command. From the east the Russians had advanced beyond Berlin. From the west the Allied Armies of Liberation had reached and crossed the last river barrier. The Third Reich was but a narrow corridor between breached walls. The final fruits of “Operation Overlord” and of “Neptune,” which made “Overlord” possible—could not long be delayed.

  In his capacity of Allied Naval Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Sir Harold Burrough played an important part in the negotiations for the final and unconditional surrender of Germany. It was he who signed on behalf of the Supreme Commander the orders to the German Navy. The following is his description of a sequence of events unique in the history of the world.

  Admiral Sir Harold Martin Burrough, (1889-1977). Burrough joined the Royal Navy in 1903 and during the First World War he was present at the Battle of Jutland in 1916. He was awarded the DSO after a successful raid on the Norwegian islands of Vågsøy and Måløy on 27 December 1941 in which nine enemy ships were sunk by the Navy and Royal Air Force and the garrisons were wiped out by the military forces. In July 1942 he had been given command of the close escort force for Operation Pedestal, and subsequently placed in command of Allied naval forces in the assault on Algiers during Operation Torch. He remained as naval commander occupying post-war Germany.

  By Friday, the 4th of May, it seemed evident that it could only be a matter of days, if not hours, before the German unconditional surrender took place, and that day I therefore left my headquarters at St Germain-en-Laye and proceeded to Supreme Headquarters at Rheims.

  Admiral Friedeberg of the German Navy arrived next day, but it soon became apparent that he had not been entrusted with sufficient powers by Admiral Doenitz to negotiate any surrender. Saturday, the 5th of May, was therefore rather a wasted day.

  On Sunday, the 6th of May, General Jodl arrived, and at once went into conference with General Bedell Smith, Chief of Staff to General Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander. Negotiations went on all day and well into the night, and it appeared that this was going to be another wasted day, so most of us retired to bed before midnight. At 2.10 a.m. I was called and told that the signature would take place as soon as everyone was assembled. By about 2.35 a.m. we were all in the War Room of the Supreme Headquarters.

  General Bedell Smith entered the room with General Jodl and Admiral Friedeberg, and the business of signature was accomplished in a very short time. At the conclusion of the signature General Jodl made a short speech, in which he stated that Germany had gained more and lost more than any other country in the war, and said that he hoped for this reason his country would be treated with generosity.

  I was particularly impressed with the appearance of Admiral Friedeberg, who appeared to be a very broken man.

  A short meeting took place afterwards to report to and to congratulate our Supreme Commander, General Eisenhower. It was difficult to appreciate at the moment the very great historical significance of the event in which we had just taken part.

  I returned to my headquarters the following morning, but shortly after my arrival at St Germain-en-Laye on Monday, the 7th of May, I received a message to say that I should be ready to proceed from Rheims to Berlin early on Tuesday, the 8th of May.

  I at once returned to Rheims, and at 8.00 a.m. on Tuesday embarked in Air Chief Marshal Tedder’s Dakota aircraft. We landed first at an Allied aerodrome in the Allied lines west of the Elbe, where we awaited the arrival of the German delegation, consisting of Marshal Keitel, Admiral Friedeberg and General Stumpf.

  The whole party of aircraft took off together a little later, accompanied by an escort of Russian fighters, and we arrived at the Templehof aerodrome at 1.00 p.m.

  The Germans were at once taken away to a villa in the outskirts of Berlin. Air Chief Marshal Tedder was greeted with a large guard of honour and band, which he inspected. We then drove off, passing through a part of Berlin on our way to a villa on the outskirts.

  On arrival at the villa we were told that Marshal Zhukov would hold a conference at 3.30 p.m. At this conference the formalities for the signature of the German unconditional surrender were discussed. The actual terms of the document of unconditional surrender had not, however, previously been seen by Marshal Zhukov, and he wished to have until 7.30 p.m. to examine them. This, of course, ruled out all our plans for returning to our headquarters on the same day, and it was obvious that we should have to spend the night in Berlin.

  Discussions on the terms of the document of unconditional surrender commenced at about 7.30 p.m. and continued until almost midnight. Eventually, however, full agreement was reached on all points, and shortly after midnight we took our places in a very large conference room which had been prepared for the occasion.

  As soon as we had assembled, Marshal Keitel, Admiral Friedeberg and General Stumpf entered, with their aides, and were seated at a separate table. Friedeberg looked a very sick man, but Keitel bore himself with all the outward show which one has learned to associate with the Prussian generals.

  After a few preliminary questions and answers, Marshal Keitel was called up to sign the document of unconditional surrender, of which there were nine copies in three different languages. He strode up in truly Prussian fashion, removed his right glove and placed his baton and glove on the desk; then adjusted his monocle, seized the pen, and made his signature. Each motion, and his whole bearing, were theatrical in the extreme.

  Friedeberg and Stumpf followed, and then returned to their table whilst the witnessing signatures were made.

  The ceremony over, we retired to another room for about forty-five minutes, while a host of waiters and waitresses converted the conference room into a banqueting hall. We returned to what had been the conference room at about 1.30 a.m. to sit down to one of those b
anquets at which the Russians excel on such great occasions.

  There was a very good Russian orchestra on a balcony, and each of the many speeches was announced by a flourish, while between speeches a very good selection of music was played.

  Most of the toasts were proposed by Marshal Zhukov and replied to by the different distinguished officers associated with the toast.

  I was particularly gratified when, at approximately 4.15 a.m., Marshal Zhukov proposed the toast of “The Navies,” with which he was kind enough to associate my name.

  The banquet broke up at about 5.0 a.m., by which time it was full daylight, and after a short pause we embarked in motor cars and spent an hour and a half driving round and looking at the ruins of what had once been Berlin. It reminded me more than anything of a visit I had made to Pompeii many years before.

  We arrived at the Templehof aerodrome at about 7.0 a.m., where Air Chief Marshal Tedder again inspected a large Russian guard of honour and band. Then we embarked in our aircraft and returned to our Headquarters, all suffering in various degrees from fatigue.

  On 8 May 1945, Doenitz authorised Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel to sign an unconditional surrender in Berlin. Although Germany had surrendered to the Allies a day earlier, Stalin had insisted on a second surrender ceremony in Berlin.

  THE END