by Mark Zuehlke
Winning said, “Well, get the hell out of here fast. It’s getting deadly here.” Gamba staggered off and was never seen again. As the men gathered in the dead on May 24, Gamba was not among them. Yet he had never reached the Regimental Aid Post. Like a number of other soldiers, Gamba was designated Missing in Action.17*
When Lieutenant Colonel Syd Thomson had headed by on his way to the front, Worton stopped him. “What the hell is the point of us being here?” he demanded. “Either we go forward or do something because our trucks are going to get it.”
Thomson said, “You’re going to have to abandon your trucks. Because you’re going to have to go back and we don’t want to lose our mortar people.” The platoon broke the mortars down, hefted the heavy parts onto their shoulders, and trudged to the rear. Left behind were the trucks, the ammunition, and, most important to Worton, 4,000 cigarettes he had hoarded in his vehicle.
In the battle’s aftermath, Worton dug a grave on a height of land overlooking the field where the Edmontons were also burying their dead. The men dug a grave and then waited wearily for a body to be brought up. Because so few had survived, almost every remaining Seaforth took part. Durnford accompanied each corpse to its resting place, said a few words, and then the men shovelled in the dirt. Before each man was rolled into the grave, the chaplain gathered up his jacket, pay book, and identity disk. Everyone was sweating in the heat, and Worton noticed that a sergeant nicknamed “Piss” Willy had thrown his jacket on the ground. Durnford picked it up and started to note the man’s name in his book. Worton yelled, “Hey, Willy, you’re going back in a box if you don’t watch out.” He then told Durnford that Sergeant Willy was still alive and kicking just over there with a shovel in his hands.
As the men toiled on in the hot sun, a terrible cry came from where the Edmontons were working. A wounded soldier spiked on morphine had been digging a grave and the next body dropped in front of him for burial was that of his brother.18
Elsewhere near the graveyards that 1 CID dug that terrible day, a Royal Canadian Horse Artillery gun troop stood next to their vehicles waiting for bulldozers to clear a path through the rubble below Pontecorvo. Sergeant Victor Bulger watched a burial party of 48th Highlanders of Canada unload blanket-wrapped bodies and drop them into graves. One of his gunners, Trooper Jim Brady, had recently heard that his younger nineteen-year-old brother had joined the Highlanders. “As if drawn by a hidden fear, he inspected several of the new temporary graves and found to his shock and sorrow, that his brother’s ‘I’ Tag was nailed to a makeshift cross. He was naturally devastated and inconsolable and it really shook our whole sub-section.” Bulger photographed the grave and did his best to try to calm his comrade, but everyone in the gun troop was saddened for the next few days by this tragedy. The worst of it was that Brady remained convinced that had he known his brother was in Italy he could have somehow claimed him to the artillery unit and got him out of the Poor Bloody Infantry, which always paid the greatest cost in combat.19
Owing to persistent sniper fire from fanatics who refused to surrender and continuing artillery and mortar harassing fire, it was necessary to use Bren carriers to collect many of the corpses. The collection parties had walked behind the armoured sides of the carriers for protection and piled the bodies on the back. Durnford had never been involved in such a “gruesome task.” He had also registered his complaint about the regiment’s having to recover and bury its own dead, but divisional staff offered no apology.
On May 25, he wrote, “we go back to cemetery, bury forty-two in the dark. Bodies keep coming in and lay, mute testimony to awful victory. The cemetery is filling fast. Work goes on at a fast and furious pace. The opening ceremony is for tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I go to bed but not to sleep.”20
Eventually, all the graves were finished and Durnford held a funeral ceremony for 2 CIB on May 26. Lance Corporal Jack Haley was among the men who gathered. The sheer number of rugged wooden crosses again struck him. Haley had been at Ortona, serving alongside the PPCLI, and had seen the graves there. There were many more this time. It was heartbreaking to see so many young men killed. The only thing that made any sense to Haley was the work of the Medical Officers and stretcher-bearers. They were still piecing people back together and even now bringing lost soldiers in from the battle-field. Haley was starting to think that, if he lived, perhaps he should train as a doctor. High hopes for a boy from a Depression-broken railroad family, but a light of a dream that glimmered nonetheless.21
The next day, Durnford wrote, “Service is impressive. Order and solemnity marks the occasion. Upwards of 500 there. Band also and pipe Major. More burials. Graham Fisher is killed. Poor Graham. God rest his soul. We finish our task and commit all to God. We pack up and go back to ‘B’ Echelon. Tomorrow I with a party of six will tour battlefield for last time in search of dead. . . . Brigadier Gibson, Vokes, and the Brigadier of the Armoured Division all spoke to me at the service and expressed their pleasure at the dignified service. The stricken look on the faces of the lads who search for their pal’s grave. God, grant that this may soon be over.”
The next day, however, Durnford continued his terrible duty. Even with the funeral ceremony over, there were more bodies left to recover. It seemed to Durnford that he wandered for bleak days through hell. He saw “men sitting up in their tanks with faces toward the enemy but sightless eyes and charred bodies bullet ridden or wracked with shell fragments. It is impossible to describe the inside of a tank after an explosion in which all ammo bursts and everything is torn to bits and shreds and jagged steel. . . . I buried a man in a ditch — an arty man. Also a German by the roadside. . . . We bury Russell. Back to Pioneers busy painting crosses. We take 15 and plant them.”22
* Years later, Victor de Petrillo, who as a young Italian boy had an eye torn out by shrapnel near Cassino and had been treated at a Canadian field hospital and later immigrated to Canada, sought to find Seaforth Highlanders missing from the official roster. He eventually found Gamba’s grave in a Commonwealth cemetery some distance from the Hitler Line battlefield and brought a photograph of the headstone back to the Seaforths, finally resolving the fate of this “lost soldier.”
FOUR
THE PURSUIT
20
PUNCH
At 1730 hours on May 23, I Canadian Corps commander Lieutenant General Tommy Burns authorized 5th Canadian Armoured Division to begin the breakout from the Hitler Line. Major General Bert Hoffmeister signalled his units that Punch, the codename for Operation Chesterfield’s second phase, was on. Punch entailed seizing two objectives, each involving a five-mile advance. The first was a bridgehead across the Melfa River; the second was Ceprano, a major junction point on Highway 6. Hoffmeister assigned the first task to 5th Canadian Armoured Brigade, under command of Brigadier Desmond Smith. From the Melfa River, the 11th Canadian Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier Eric Snow, would drive through to Ceprano.1 After capturing Ceprano, the armoured brigade would continue the pursuit of what should, by then, be a German army on the run.2
Because Hoffmeister’s units had to shift from their original departure points south to the gap created by 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade, the breakout started slowly. The narrow tracks were greasy with mud and choked by congestion. The 25th Royal Tank Regiment was withdrawing to rearm and refuel and the Canadians jockeyed with them for space on the roads. At 2030 hours on May 23, Hoffmeister reported to Burns that his leading elements could not possibly cross the start line until first light.3
Brigadier Smith had briefed his commanders on the plan for the breakout at a mid-afternoon Orders Group. Because the brigade’s operational area was confined to a narrow front ranging from the north bank of the Liri River to the Naples-Rome main railroad, Smith could put only one armoured regiment, supported by an infantry regiment, out front at a time. There were simply not enough good roads in the area to support more than that. Complicating matters further, the Germans still held the ground around Aquino, meaning that the brigade’s right
flank would be exposed to enemy action throughout its advance to the Melfa River.
To address these problems, Smith broke his brigade and supporting forces into two strong striking groups and a reserve group. Rather than try to advance in such a manner that his flanks were always protected, Smith planned to quickly leapfrog one strike group past the other so that the Germans would not have the time to gather a force on his flanks before the brigade was already at the Melfa. The first strike group was designated Vokes Force, after the commander of the British Columbia Dragoons. Lieutenant Colonel Fred Vokes was the younger brother of 1st Canadian Infantry Division’s commander. A Permanent Force officer, he had served in the Lord Strathcona’s Horse Regiment before assuming command of the Dragoons. Like his older brother, Vokes was a loud, profane, hard-driving officer, more inclined by nature to frontal assaults than subtle manoeuvres. Vokes’s Dragoons were to drive from the Hitler Line to a large farm — Mancini Farm — astride a road that ran west from the Pontecorvo–Highway 6 lateral straight to the Melfa River. At Mancini Farm, the B.C. Dragoons would establish a firm base capable of withstanding counterattacks. From here, the second strike force — Griffin Force, after Lord Strathcona’s Horse Regiment’s commander Lieutenant Colonel Phillip George Griffin — would advance to secure a bridgehead on the Melfa River.
The tankers in both forces would be accompanied by infantry and antitank guns. Supporting the B.C. Dragoons would be the Irish Regiment of Canada, temporarily lifted from 11th Canadian Infantry Brigade and assigned to Smith. ‘A’ Company of the motorized Westminster Regiment and two of its scout platoons would back up the Strathconas. Both forces would have a self-propelled battery from the 4th Anti-tank Regiment, Royal Canadian Artillery, a detachment from the Royal Canadian Engineers’ 10th Field Squadron, and a section of the 7th Light Field Ambulance to evacuate the wounded. As the Irish Regiment lacked adequate transport, two companies were provided with Bren carriers and the other two companies were to ride on the tanks.4
In reserve was the 8th Princess Louise’s (New Brunswick) Hussars Regiment, the rest of the Westminster Regiment, and the self-propelled guns of the 8th Canadian Field Regiment. When Griffin Force established the bridgehead over the Melfa, this reserve group would back up 11 CIB’s drive to Ceprano. Corps artillery would be available as needed.5
To guard Smith’s flanks somewhat, Hoffmeister had instructed the division’s reconnaissance regiment, the Governor General’s Horse Guards, to deploy squadrons on either side of the armoured brigade. The Guards were equipped mostly with Sherman tanks and some armoured scout cars. Two squadrons would conduct an arcing sweep to the right in order to block any counterattack from Aquino toward Mancini. Meanwhile, another GGHG squadron would screen the left flank.
Like all the armoured regiments in the 5th Division, this was the Guards’ first action. The Guards were nicknamed the GeeGees, but, because of their initials, they also styled themselves as “God’s Gift to Hungry Girls” and “Good God, How Gorgeous!” Although the Guards traced their lineage back to 1822, they had never fought as a regiment. Rather, in both the Boer War and World War I, the Guards had served as a feeder unit to regiments in active service.
“At last the day has arrived,” wrote the regiment’s war diarist. “Four long years lie behind us. . . . Four long years with a single purpose — to hit the Hun where it hurts. As the hour approaches, there is a thrill that runs through all of us. The machine is tense and ready for battle. Months of training stand behind us and we are confident that the task will not find us wanting.
“This is a great, historic moment. For the first time in their long and varied history, the Governor General’s Horse Guards stand as a Regiment, ready to give battle. Whatever may befall before this day is over, we are sure, that the honour and traditions of this unit are in the best of hands. From the Colonel to the newest trooper, sitting tense in his tank and jesting with his comrades, we shall add a chapter to its story, that will rank with the finest, in the annals of our predecessors.”6
The Guards had to remain patient. Their tanks could not move until Vokes Force shoved off. Jump-off time was 0650 hours and the B.C. Dragoons started rolling toward the San Martino River, the eastern bank of which was to be the start line, at 0530 hours. The tanks trundled through a thick ground mist on this cold, damp morning. The regiment reached San Martino on schedule only to find that the engineers, driven off by German artillery fire, had failed to bridge the gully. The Shermans could not cross here without a bridge.
Lieutenant Ron Jewell and his B.C. Dragoons reconnaissance troop started searching for a viable crossing. Dawn was rapidly approaching and Fred Vokes wanted to be across the river before the growing morning light made the tanks targets for any antitank guns dug in on the opposite bank. Although hampered by mist, Jewell found a crossing about a mile north of Pontecorvo. Racing back to the regiment, Jewell contacted Lieutenant Neil Hockin, commander of ‘C’ Squadron’s lead troop. The reconnaissance officer led Hockin’s tanks through the mist to the crossing point, while all the other squadrons followed along.7
While Jewell guided the tankers toward the crossing point, the engineers brought up a bulldozer to cut a grade into the gully and up the other side that could be negotiated by armour. Finally, at 0757 hours, the leading tanks started over.8 Once out of the gully, the tankers assumed their predesignated battle formation, with ‘B’ Squadron on the left, ‘C’ Squadron to the right, and ‘A’ Squadron in the rear. The companies of the Irish Regiment of Canada were either bouncing along beside the tanks in Bren carriers or riding on the Shermans.
Their maps had shown the ground between the San Martino and Melfa rivers as mostly open fields or clearings broken by scattered trees. What they found was a maze of meandering tracks cutting through thick groves and across small pockets of cultivated fields. Keeping direction was complicated by the fact that most of the distinctive land features were either screened by foliage or entirely concealed by the clouds of dust and smoke “hanging over the valley like a white sea mist. The troop leader, feeling his way towards an almost invisible foe, had thus to make his own decisions. On a small scale, he must fight his own battle. On his training, intelligence, and guts the success of the whole operation must ultimately depend.”9
‘C’ Squadron Lieutenant Neil Hockin at first thought everything was going according to the numbers as his three tanks rolled west from the start line and bumped into lines of German infantry still retreating from Pontecorvo. The tankers slashed into them with machine guns, but then had to break off the pursuit to turn northward toward their designated line of advance. Minutes later, Hockin, who prided himself on his map-reading ability, was lost. The map bore no resemblance to anything around him. There were also no distinguishing features to use for orientation; just clusters of dense groves, vineyards, and small grain fields randomly scattered about.
Coming across a group of Royal 22e Regiment troops dug in around some tanks of the Three Rivers Regiment, Hockin dismounted to ask directions. The infantry major looked at Hockin’s map but could offer no help. “My friend,” he told Hockin, “we have been here for twelve hours and have fought a first class battle — but where I am — I do not know.”10
Equally troublesome was the problem of maintaining contact between the tanks and the infantry. Sergeant William Kurbis, in ‘A’ Squadron’s No. 1 Troop, was in reserve behind the two lead squadrons when he saw the Irish on the back of one of the tanks ahead jump off. Kurbis thought the soldiers feared being knocked off by low-hanging tree branches under which the tank was passing. He stood up higher in the turret, intending to assure the men on the back that they had nothing to fear. There was a sharp ringing in his ears and then Kurbis noticed that bullets were bouncing off the turret around him and he was alone out there. He ducked inside the turret to escape from the snipers, while the infantry scattered into the woods to winkle the Germans out of their holes.11 From that point on, infantry and tanks fought separate battles to reach the Mancini Farm objecti
ve.
Despite the confusion regarding their whereabouts, the B.C. Dragoons drove toward their first objective with relative ease. While the infantry had to fight it out with pockets of German snipers and machine guns, the tanks faced virtually no resistance. Even the German infantry seemed in disarray. Corporal G.T. Dodd, a gunner in ‘C’ Squadron, realized that they were meeting only remnants of German regiments. The men “were scattered, poorly organized, and suffering from concussion. They wandered about, neither surrendering nor fighting effectively. Most were machine-gunned, but a few were taken prisoner, riding unhappily, further into battle, on the back decks of two Shermans.”12 With the Irish Regiment left behind, controlling prisoners was a problem. Unless the Germans clearly demonstrated their intention to surrender, the Canadian tankers hit them with machine-gun fire. There was really no alternative, since they could not expose the flanks and rear of their tanks to infantry that might be armed with Faustpatrones or other antitank weapons.
By 1030 hours, the tanks had reached the midpoint objective en route to Mancini Farm. They continued grinding toward the farm itself, which lay only 2,000 yards farther west. Not only were the tanks advancing without infantry support but they lacked the previous cover on their right flank by two squadrons of the Governor General’s Horse Guards. These squadrons had cut sharply to the right, driving on a parallel line north that followed the Pontecorvo–Highway 6 road, in order to isolate Aquino. The manoeuvre was intended to loosen the German hold there, enabling the 78th Division of XIII Corps to capture the town. It left the Dragoons with a badly exposed flank that immediately drew fire from artillery and hidden antitank positions. The German resistance, however, failed to significantly slow the advance.13