by Mark Zuehlke
Earlier, 1 CIB’s Brigadier Graham had lent Vokes a carrier tricked out with brigade-level wireless sets to stand in for the one 2 CIB had lost at sea. When Malone reached the Seaforths, he never paused to check in with Hoffmeister. Instead, he pressed on to where he looked down upon the Dittaino valley floor and up at Leonforte. Malone saw that a small bridge crossing the river was still intact. A few German shells were landing nearby, otherwise all seemed quiet. If that bridge was taken, Malone realized, the attack on Leonforte could be supported by the anti-tank and mortar platoons of whichever infantry battalion drew the assignment. Realizing he had what the infantry did not—mobility—Malone ordered the carrier driver to run for the bridge. Once he was in control of it, Malone could use the wireless to call for support. At top speed, the carrier lunged forward. About two hundred yards short of the bridge, the carrier rolled over two Teller mines planted in the road and was hurled into the air, as the metal disks, each loaded with about twelve pounds of explosive, erupted under a track. Before Malone lost consciousness he was “aware of hurtling through the air, realizing what had happened and then hitting the ground again with a great force.”58
Coming to a few minutes later, Malone stared in confusion at “a round object about the size of a football. It was red and wet. With horror, I slowly recognized that it was [a] head . . . with the scalp and flesh torn off.” When Malone tried to move, he found he was unable to do so and wondered sickeningly if his legs were gone. A gingerly probe with one hand “grabbed something wet and sticky. I brought my hand back to look and found I was grasping what looked like raw liver.” Confused, Malone thought everyone else aboard had been killed. But the driver had escaped injury because the carrier’s floor had been lined with sandbags to dampen the blast of mines. These same bags saved Malone’s life, while the wireless operator, forty-three-year-old Corporal Ralph William Devlin of the Royal Canadian Corps of Signals, had been killed outright.59
Using his arms, Malone dragged himself into the ditch by the road and fell into a half-conscious stupor. Eventually, a section of Canadians slipped down to the position and rescued the two men. Malone’s legs were fine, but his spine had suffered a severe battering and several ribs had been cracked. Evacuated to Tunis, Malone would be sidelined for months. He was grateful to have survived, and took away from the ill-conceived charge on the bridge “confidence in the knowledge that in action I did not panic or become paralysed with fear and was able to handle my job with some intelligence.”60
While Malone had been lying next to the destroyed carrier, the PPCLI had launched an attack on the hilltop positions from which the Germans had ambushed the Seaforths. ‘B’ Company had come under light fire as it moved forward along the hill left of the road. Halting in some ground that offered good cover, the company was able to provide supporting fire as the rest of the battalion advanced. ‘D’ Company led, followed by ‘C’ Company, and finally ‘A’ Company. The expected fight never materialized. The Germans had already melted into the gathering darkness. Posing a graver danger than the Germans were the blazing fires that had spread into the grain fields through which the infantry had advanced. Several men suffered serious burns, including the battalion’s intelligence officer, Lieutenant Gordon Smith.61 “In their hasty withdrawal,” the PPCLI war diarist recorded, “the enemy had been forced to leave behind considerable weapons, ammunition and equipment.”62 The battalion dug in on the heights they had won, looking down upon the Dittaino valley and the bridge where Malone had been blown up.
Neither the PPCLI nor the Seaforths recorded their casualties for the day, but the totals returned to brigade headquarters by each led to an overall report of four officers and fifty-nine other ranks either killed or wounded. Most of these were Seaforths. Although 2 CIB had managed to secure the road from Valguarnera to the three-way junction on the southern flank of the Dittaino valley, Simonds was disappointed by the day’s gains. He had hoped a quick advance to the outskirts of Leonforte and Assoro would be concluded by the following day, July 20. The fact that the Germans had been able to pin a battalion in place, then pull back at leisure and without significant casualties, was sobering. Possession of the junction—which cut a road running from Enna to Dittaino Station and also closed German use of the Valguarnera-Leonforte road—provided little comfort. Looking across the valley at the threatening heights of Leonforte and Assoro, it was clear the Canadians would face harder fighting ahead.63
[14]
Private Miracles
JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT on the night of July 19-20, the Loyal Edmonton Regiment took point on the 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade’s front and descended into the Dittaino valley. Because of Brigade Major Malone’s encounter with the road mine and other intelligence reports that “elaborate minefields might be found along the axis of advance,” the battalion went forward with its companies spread out in an extended line across a wide front. As it happened, no mines were encountered, and the Edmontons were closing on the virtually dry streambed by 0445 hours. When ‘D’ Company slipped across, they triggered machine-gun fire from four German posts to the east. While the rest of the battalion moved into cover south of the streambed, Lieutenant Colonel Jim Jefferson called for artillery fire on the enemy guns. This was quickly brought to bear and “proved to be very effective,” according to the regiment’s war diarist. Once the German machine guns were silenced, ‘B’ Company crossed into the bridgehead and the Eddies settled in with two companies on either side of the river.1 They also gained control of the bridge that Malone had failed to reach.
Dawn found all of 2 CIB dangerously exposed to German artillery and mortars positioned on the heights of Assoro and neighbouring hills. While the Edmontons were hidden somewhat in the valley, the Seaforth Highlanders were stuck in plain view and subjected to intense shelling throughout the morning from these positions. The Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry and brigade headquarters, which had moved up into their area, were “also worried by enemy harassing fire.”2
Of more concern to Brigadier Chris Vokes was the presence of a mountain, about two miles behind the Edmontons’ position, that commanded the forthcoming line of advance. Monte Desira Rossi, as the summit was identified on topographical maps, had not been noticed previously, but now Vokes realized that before he could advance the brigade the five miles from the river to Leonforte, it had to be taken.3
Vokes gave the job to the PPCLI, whose scouts returned from a reconnaissance to report that the mountain appeared to be held in strength by the enemy. This news prompted Vokes to postpone any attack to the late afternoon, so that he could put together a set-piece assault with “divisional artillery, a troop of tanks, medium machine guns and mortar detachments in support of the infantry.”4 The division’s historical officer, Captain Gus Sesia, was present for the ‘O’ Group at which Vokes outlined his attack plan to the officers from the various supporting arms and the PPCLI. Off to the right, 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade was already putting in an attack towards Assoro and being “held up by sticky mortar fire. We could see the mortar bombs bursting everywhere in their area from our position and there were numerous grass fires. It must have been proper hell for the men to be lying about in that stuff under the scorching sun.”
Turning his attention to Vokes, Sesia was “impressed by the manner in which [he operated.] It was certainly the most informal giving of orders that I have ever witnessed. To begin with, we were all smoking cigarettes and standing on the sky-line and certainly in full view of the enemy’s [observation posts]. Vokes would point out to the officer to whom he was giving the orders the target or area which was to be attacked and describe it something like this: ‘Now do you see that ridge over there, Bill? Well, that’s where I want you to bring up your troops and capture the farmhouse just to the side of it.’ Then he would say to the gunner officer: ‘Do you see that line of trees there, Joe? Well, just plunk a few on this side of it and then put a few more into that farmhouse over there, and you might as well stick a couple in the left of
that clump of bushes for good measure.’ I am sure that all his officers were as clear in their instructions as though they had been formally written out. In no case to date has it been the policy of this [Division] to issue written orders and this, I believe, has been General Montgomery’s policy since the day he took over at El Alamein.”5
As the PPCLI was forming on the start line for the attack, it was delayed in pushing off by enemy artillery fire. Soon enough, however, the battalion was on the move, with ‘B’ and ‘D’ companies leading and ‘A’ and ‘C’ companies close behind in reserve. Commanding ‘D’ Company, Captain R.W. “Sam” Potts was surprised that apart “from a difficult climb in the heat of the day, the attack was uneventful. We took up positions on the top of the hill and dug in for the night.”6
The ground was now set for 2 CIB to concentrate on seizing Leonforte, which Vokes planned to do the following day.
About the time Vokes had begun planning the set-piece attack on Monte Desira Rossi, Major General Guy Simonds learned that General Omar Bradley had ordered Major General Terry Allen’s U.S. 1st Infantry Division to seize Enna. Allen had sent his 18th Infantry Regiment with tanks from the 70th Light Tank Brigade in support.7 The Americans were expecting fierce resistance and were anxious to cover the exposed flank created when 1st Canadian Infantry Division had been redirected northward through Valguarnera and towards Leonforte and Assoro.
Seeing the concentration of force the Americans were bringing to bear on Enna, Simonds decided it was time for a little rivalry. Despite Enna being now in the Seventh Army’s operational zone, he would see if the Canadians could get there ahead of Allen’s troops. Confident that the Germans had already abandoned the town and this move was pure gamesmanship, Simonds merely ordered ‘A’ Squadron of the Princess Louise Dragoon Guards to “push out patrols toward Enna to endeavour to enter the town before the Americans.”8
This squadron was the only part of the division’s reconnaissance regiment to have been landed in Sicily. The rest of the regiment was not due to deploy until July 27. ‘A’ Squadron consisted of five officers and 159 other ranks equipped with mostly Bren carriers and a few light armoured cars.9 The squadron commander, Major Duck, decided his No. 3 Troop would suffice for the task, and its men and four carriers were duly dispatched. The troop’s Lieutenant Burkham was warier than his superiors, so the little party “made its way cautiously along the road and attained a point about [five and a half] miles from Enna.” Here they bumped into some Sicilians, armed with rifles and grenades, who started firing at them. Whether these were Fascist fanatics or merely civilians angry at the Allies for having half-destroyed Enna during numerous heavy bomber raids, the “Plugs”—as the Dragoons were nicknamed—had no idea. Wheeling about, the troop headed back for reinforcements.
En route, one of the carriers threw a track. Back at squadron headquarters, Major Duck ordered Burkham to get on with the assignment. Crowding into the remaining carriers, the troop went back up the road. By now the civilians had withdrawn, and the troop advanced to about four miles from Enna, only to find the road so badly cratered by demolitions that it was impossible to carry on in the carriers.
When Burkham contacted Duck by wireless, he was told to advance a small foot patrol to Enna. Four men, Sergeant Taylor, Corporal Jackson, Corporal Murphy, and Trooper McAllister, were detailed to the task. It was uphill all the way, following a road with one hairpin turn after another. After about a mile and a half of trudging along in the sweltering heat, the dragoons—used to riding in carriers or armoured cars—“got browned off and commandeered a donkey to carry them in turns. A pretty sight they were, a patrol led by a man on a donkey to capture Enna for the Canadians.”
Ninety minutes later, the little party “came to the outskirts of the town and lo and behold, saw two truckloads of troops just going [in]. Were they Yanks or Germans? That was the question. They were a very, very thankful patrol indeed when the Germans turned out to be Yanks who had just arrived at the edge of the town.” Releasing the donkey, the patrol hitched a ride in a Jeep and in this manner rode triumphant into Enna as part of the American vanguard. “Who took the town?” one dragoon asked in a report. “Who knows? Actually I think Corporal Jackson was the first out of the Jeep when it arrived at the town square and to him should go the honour of the capture of Enna by Canadians ... The hard work of the patrol was rewarded by some vino par excellence which made the 4-1/2 mile walk back to the squadron much easier.”10
When word of Enna’s liberation reached BBC correspondents, they broadcast reports that the Canadians alone had taken the town, although it was unclear whether they knew anything about the role the four dragoons had played or were inventing details. The reports incensed the Americans right up the entire command chain to Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, who fired off an angry letter to Prime Minister Winston Churchill demanding the record be set straight.11
“We took Enna,” Patton wrote in his diary. “The Canadians came in from the east eight minutes later... I sent a dispatch to General Alexander saying that we [both] arrived at the same time. I will bet they claim to have got there first.”12 Bradley saw the BBC reports as part of a British media pattern that “credited Monty with all the hard fighting while we were depicted as ‘eating grapes’ and ‘swimming.’ Since BBC broadcasts were our main source of outside news on Sicily, our men were naturally infuriated.”13
The Canadian division’s general staff war diarist summarized with a trace of amusement the major plan that Allen’s 1st U.S. Division had put together, which he believed entailed two infantry regiments attacking on two flanks. “From what could be observed it was a tie with perhaps our patrol getting the edge,” he observed. “In any case the credit went to the Americans.”14
WHILE THE CONQUEST of Enna had been under way and 2 CIB had been simultaneously dealing with Monte Desira Rossi, 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade had moved into the valley on the road that descended to Dittaino Station and then hooked northwestward to Assoro. The 48th Highlanders of Canada led. As the Loyal Eddies had done, the Highlanders descended in an extended line because of the danger of mines. But again none were encountered, and the battalion was soon enjoying nothing more than a fast walk under a hot sun. “Met with no opposition whatever for ten miles,” the regiment’s war diarist gloated as the Highlanders held up at Dittaino Station and let the Royal Canadian Regiment take the lead.15
It was high noon when Captain Slim Liddell’s ‘A’ Company and Captain Strome Galloway’s ‘B’ Company crossed the Dittaino next to the train station. Their orders were to seize two low foothills either side of the road leading to Assoro.16 Coming up the road behind the infantry were the Shermans of the Three Rivers Regiment’s ‘C’ Squadron. Shortly before the Highlanders had reached the railway station, Allied fighter bombers had attacked a line of boxcars standing on the tracks. As his Sherman rolled past the station, Lieutenant Jack Wallace realized the boxcars had been loaded with ammunition. 17 There was also some kind of factory beside the tracks that had been bombed and was still smouldering. Burning grass added to the pungent smoke emanating from the boxcars and factory. The entire valley floor seemed to have burned off or was still being licked by flames.18 The boxcars were on “fire and making a hell of a racket.” Clanking along behind the infantry, Wallace had to constantly warn the driver of obstacles because the terrain was “all hills, ditches, and rocks ... terrible stuff for tanks to cross.” Every few minutes an artillery shell exploded near one of the Shermans. From somewhere on the ridgeline between Leonforte and Assoro, a single German gun was taking potshots at them. For the first time since landing in Sicily, Wallace decided the situation warranted exchanging his black tanker’s beret for a tin helmet. The shelling worried ‘C’ Squadron commander Major Pat Mills enough that he ordered the tanks to spread out in the relatively open and level ground behind ‘A’ Company’s line of advance to avoid presenting a bunched target.
As the tanks jockeyed to assume
the new formation, Liddell tried to warn them off because his men had just discovered an anti-tank minefield. He was too late. Wallace had gone no more than twenty yards when a “terrific explosion . . . lifted the front . . . off the ground. I thought that we had received a direct hit on the tracks from a shell ... The force of the concussion sat me right down on the floor of the tank. I had been standing up. I knew that I had been hit on the head because blood was pouring from a gash in my forehead. My helmet was knocked off and my gunner and operator both looked at me and the gunner wrapped a dirty gun cleaning rag on my head.” Although dazed, Wallace jammed his wireless headset back on and reported that his tank had been hit. Over the wireless net he heard one tanker after another saying the same thing and realized what had happened. Rather than being shelled, they had “run smack onto a minefield. I picked up my helmet and there was a gash about two inches long and about an inch wide in it. It was a lucky thing that I wore it or else instead of getting a gash on the noggin I would have had my brains perforated.”19
Each tank squadron consisted of four troops equipped with three Shermans and a three-tank headquarters section, for a total of fifteen tanks.20 In a matter of seconds, ‘C’ Squadron had nine Shermans disabled by mines and the other six frozen on the spot. Moving an inch in any direction might well detonate a mine.21
“As we could not move we shelled the ridge onto which the infantry were advancing. We were so mad that we shelled any place that looked . . . a likely spot for the enemy to hole up in.” After about thirty minutes of this, Wallace climbed out to inspect the damage his Sherman had suffered. “We were getting shelled pretty regularly now as we were sitting ducks. I got out through the escape hatch in the bottom of the tank.” Including his, Wallace confirmed nine tanks disabled. One had detonated two mines at once, causing such a terrific explosion that the torn-off track had ended up draped over the main gun barrel. Wallace’s Commodore “had two bogie wheels and the front right drive sprocket smashed. The track was laying off to the side of the tank ... What a beautiful mess.” Word came that no engineers were immediately available to clear the mines, so the tankers started the work themselves. They had lifted between 150 and 200 mines before the engineers showed up in the midafternoon to finish the job. Shortly after the engineers declared the field clear, the squadron’s mechanics drove up in their truck to begin making repairs on the tanks, only to trigger a mine that wrecked the vehicle. The sergeant commanding the mechanic section was badly wounded.22