Normandy '44

by James Holland

  The barrels were soon glowing red with the heat. Dusk was falling; it was time to move off again. By first light they had reached their next firing position, beside another former anti-aircraft battery that had been unable to protect itself; it had been destroyed from the air. ‘We were not supposed to stay in this position for twenty-four hours,’ he noted, ‘and it didn’t take long before we were spotted by the enemy.’10 Beck dug in again as shells whooshed over, exploding too close for comfort. Their commander, Leutnant Niesmayr, then called them all together. The enemy had broken through, he told them, and some of them would have to act as infantry from now on. Müller was reassigned as a runner and told to report to the regimental CP. Air bursts were now being fired – shells that exploded at waist height, showering the area with shrapnel. Müller saw one man running for cover only for another shell to burst above him. ‘His head was torn off by a shell,’ he recorded, ‘and he ran a few more steps until he collapsed covered in blood.’11 No one at the CP could tell him anything, so he hurried back to their battery firing position where once again they were packing up to move out.

  TOTALIZE, meanwhile, continued on 9 and 10 August. Sergeant Charlie Martin from the Canadian Queen’s Own Rifles was back in the thick of it, attacking Quesnay Wood, which ran either side of the Roman road and where the 12. SS anti-tank guns were dug in; Meyer’s men had been helped by the arrival of a self-propelled anti-tank company. The Queen’s Own had been supposed to attack alongside Polish tanks, but these had not shown up because they had been accidentally hit by Allied bombers. The Canadian infantry attacked anyway, with artillery support, but were unable to clear it; the Queen’s Own lost a further eighty-five men, including another of Martin’s great mates, Jimmy Browne. ‘When he was killed by a sniper’s bullet,’ noted Martin, ‘sadness filled the air like lead.’12

  TOTALIZE had burned itself out by 10 August, but while the breakthrough had again not occurred, they had at last pushed on south well beyond Caen and stretched 12. SS and the remaining infantry to breaking point. It had certainly been a bleak couple of days for Kurt Meyer and his men. ‘The enlisted soldiers and the officers presented a pitiful picture,’ he noted.13 They were, he knew, at the end of their tether. ‘Why didn’t we call it quits? Why did we continue this senseless struggle?’ His division pulled back and handed over to the 85. Infanterie on 12 August. By this time, Meyer had just twenty armoured fighting vehicles left, 300 grenadiers, four 88mm flak guns and a handful of other guns. His division, which had arrived in Normandy with 20,504 men, was now less than 1,000 strong.

  Everywhere, the Allies were pressing forward, with one exception: the original eastern flank on the far side of the River Orne north-east of Caen. Here, Denis Edwards, Richard Todd, Hubert Fauré and Frank Wright were all still in much the same place as they had been immediately after the invasion. It had been like the Western Front of 1914–18, with the men dug in, rotating in and out of position but essentially moving very little as both sides held their ground. ‘We have been in Normandy for seventy days or so,’ Denis Edwards scribbled in his diary on 15 August, ‘and during that time we had never moved more than a few miles from our bridges.’14 German counter-attacks along that part of the line had been repulsed, while the British and Canadian effort had been southwards; after all, there was little point trying to attack eastwards over the flooded Dives Valley.

  British Second Army, meanwhile, continued on from the gains made by BLUECOAT, while the Canadians now launched Operation TRACTABLE, the latest drive on Falaise. A tantalizing opportunity was rapidly opening up to trap the remains of the bulk of the German armies in Normandy in a devastating encirclement. Because of LÜTTICH, a large part of the German forces had concentrated to the west of Falaise. Now that the counter-attack had failed, however, they were being pressed from all sides. If the Allies were quick, there was a chance for the American troops now to the south of the ancient Normandy city and the British, Canadians and Poles to the north to seal off the Germans’ escape route. Already, this narrowing corridor was being referred to as the ‘Falaise Gap’ or ‘Pocket’.

  On 13 August, Sergeant Walter Caines attended an O Group of the 4th Dorsets where they were given an intelligence briefing on the current situation. ‘We were informed that troops well to our left had gone well past the town of Caen and that the Americans had driven well south,’ he noted, ‘and were now tightening the neck of the Falaise Gap.’15 The following day, the brigade attacked the village of Proussy, some 14 miles south-west of Ondefontaine, which they had captured during BLUECOAT. The 4th Dorsets’ objective was a hill at the edge of the village. They attacked through enemy shelling, but Caines reckoned the enemy had been pretty well plastered by their own artillery and the companies were able to advance swiftly with only a few casualties. ‘Many prisoners were captured during this push,’ wrote Caines, ‘all seemed fully prepared to give themselves up to us.16 Some of them were a pitiful sight to see, they looked unshaven, hungry and very badly clothed.’

  Yet although most of Brittany had been swiftly overrun, because of Hitler’s fortress order the defenders of Brest, Lorient and Saint-Malo had all done as ordered and so far had refused to throw in the towel, which meant some unpleasant and difficult fighting continued long after Patton’s armour had swept up most of the peninsula. And it was the infantry who had been left to fight it out, while Patton’s mobile forces turned east.

  The American 121st Infantry, for example, had been given Dinard as an objective, a small and comparatively insignificant town on the opposite side of the narrow estuary from Saint-Malo. In four days of bitter fighting between 8 and 12 August, Lieutenant Richard Blackburn’s 1st Battalion had got nowhere against a mass of enemy strongpoints, while the 3rd Battalion, moving on their flank, had managed to become encircled, something that would have been ridiculous in the circumstances of the rest of the campaign had it not been so tragic. Because, strategically, Dinard was of little importance, and because most of Third Army was now driving east, there had been precious few troops with which to relieve the beleaguered 121st. The encircled 3rd Battalion had held out for four days without any resupply at all before finally being relieved with the help of the 331st Infantry. Blackburn’s Company A had begun the push to Dinard with 180 men and six officers, but by the time they resumed their drive on 13 August they had only three officers and around a hundred men. On Sunday, 13 August they were finally approaching the town. Although the campaign was nearly over, they were still expecting a tough fight and Captain Arthur Kaiser, the Company A commander, sought out Blackburn. The two had been become close friends, a deep camaraderie forged over the past five weeks of intense combat. Kaiser was on edge, however, and wanted to make a pact that, should one or other of them not make it through the day, the survivor would write to the other’s parents, explaining exactly how he had been killed and then visit them when he eventually got home. Blackburn agreed and they shook hands on it. It left Blackburn feeling deeply unsettled, however.

  Their attack was supported by artillery and Kaiser planned to assault with three platoons up and Blackburn following with 4 Platoon plus the mortars and machine guns. Bang on schedule, at 9.30 a.m., the guns stopped firing and Kaiser came over to Blackburn to talk through some last-minute instructions. They were on their knees looking at a map when enemy fire began whooshing in and exploding around them. Just as Kaiser stood up to move, a shell hit the tree above them – neither had heard it coming in, so it must have been an anti-tank round – and shrapnel burst all around.

  ‘Oh, Blackie, no …’ said Kaiser and collapsed.17 Horrified, Blackburn laid him down as blood sprayed from his friend’s chest. ‘As I took my hands away from the Captain’s lifeless body,’ he wrote, ‘they were completely covered in blood; and I realized his chest had been ripped open by several large pieces of shrapnel.’ Blackburn reeled in shock and despair. Tears were streaming down Kaiser’s grimy face, even though he had died in moments. Blackburn struggled to absorb the enormity of what had happened; he had s
een countless dead, but it was the shock of his friend being alive and talking to him one moment and then gone the next that he found impossible to fathom.

  He was wounded himself, with small shrapnel fragments in his arm and hip, but, with Kaiser dead, he was now company commander. Pausing a moment, he briefly closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. Then he was up and ordering his men forward – they needed to get moving – although with each pace he felt a shot of pain in his hip. Realizing his backside was also covered in blood, he quickly dropped his trousers and had a medic pour sulfa powder on to his wounds and patch him up. Another soldier had been killed nearby, while a further man had lost a leg. Blackburn knew he had been lucky and, although it was painful to walk, he decided he had to stay with the company.

  The attack was successful and they captured the German gun crew that same afternoon. Blackburn realized it was more than likely that these were the men that had killed Kaiser and the others. As the Germans walked towards them with their hands aloft, he heard several of his men flick their safety catches. ‘But I was always taught to do what was just and to love mercy,’ he wrote, ‘even in a world that seemed to have gone mad.’18 He ordered his men to hold their fire.

  The final assault on Dinard jumped off at 9 a.m. the following day, 14 August. Initially they secured their objectives rapidly, until by the afternoon they had to cross open ground and once again came under withering fire. They pressed on, however, and by around 4 p.m. had reached the water’s edge and finally the guns fell silent. Some 13,000 prisoners were taken in the Saint-Malo–Dinard operation, but at a terrible cost. In Company A, there were just eighty-four men left from the 180 that had begun the advance on 8 August. The number was about to be reduced to eighty-three, as Blackburn now finally went to the first aid collection unit, standing in the queue of walking wounded. Buildings were still burning and smoke rising into the sky, while the streets were littered with battle debris and the dead, both Germans and civilians. The smell was overpowering. Once Blackburn was seen he was swiftly told he would not be returning to his unit any time soon. Rather, he was being evacuated back to England. Richard Blackburn’s Normandy campaign was over.

  Back in action in VIII Corps’ sector were the men of the 2nd Northants Yeomanry. Just ten days earlier, after BLUECOAT, Reg Spittles and his fellows had had just fourteen tanks, but now, once again, they were back at full strength of sixty-five, including a new Challenger – a Cromwell equipped with a new turret and armed with a 17-pounder. On the night of the 14th they reached the edge of Vassy, a small town some 25 miles due west of Falaise. By morning, however, the infantry found the town had been evacuated and so they pressed on, the speed of the Cromwells taking them all the way to Flers, some 12 miles to the south, that same day.

  The German evacuation from Flers was the attempt to withdraw the westernmost parts of 7. Armee. Hitler was still insisting on counter-attacking with Eberbach’s phantom panzer force, but this was clearly now impossible. On the evening of 14 August, von Kluge left La Roche-Guyon and drove to the front to confer with Sepp Dietrich at 5. Panzerarmee headquarters. It was agreed the situation was utterly hopeless, but early the following day von Kluge headed to meet with Eberbach and Hausser at Nécy, about 6 miles south of Falaise. En route, he was attacked by Jabos and his radio car destroyed. The field marshal was now completely uncontactable and no one knew where he was, which meant he was unable to exercise any kind of command. Late that evening, Hitler agreed that Hausser should be in temporary charge, but before that order reached 5. Armee von Kluge reappeared. It was patently clear to all that the withdrawal order was already too late, but still needed none the less. None of them dared defy the Führer, however, despite the carnage on the roads and despite the near complete encirclement.

  Meanwhile, Operation TRACTABLE had jumped off on the 14th as the Canadians began their renewed drive to Falaise in an effort to close the gap. The Germans were now completely encircled, so the hope was to drive swiftly south and cut off those still in the pocket. Once again, this was General Simonds’ plan and he decided to follow a similar format to TOTALIZE. There would be combined-arms columns, heavy bombing and lots of armour to push through, although this time they would attack in daytime, but with smokescreens to cover their advance.

  Coningham’s Second TAF attacked first with medium bombers at 11.37 a.m., then 805 aircraft of Bomber Command began arriving at 2 p.m. For the most part, the bombing was incredibly accurate until, halfway through the raids, some aircraft began dropping their bombs on a quarry where a Canadian artillery regiment was located. The Canadians set off yellow warning flares; unfortunately, through one of those terrible, inadvertent but tragic mistakes that happen in war, the marker flares were also yellow that day. Down below, Sergeant Charlie Martin could see what was happening. ‘Talk about fear! We were helpless,’ he wrote.19 ‘Other British planes, who seemed to know better, were swarming their own bombers, shooting and stunting, trying to warn them away.’ All they could do was pump out more yellow smoke, but this was literally adding fuel to the fire. Most managed to take cover in their slit-trenches, but thirteen men were killed, fifty-three injured and a number of vehicles and guns destroyed. Charlie Martin was nearly one of the casualties, but had taken cover in a nearby house rather than his slit-trench. When it was over, he discovered his trench had taken a direct hit.

  The smokescreens also caused confusion, and then the Canadians, British and Poles of II Canadian Corps had to cross the River Laize. Heavy fighting took place all afternoon as 12. SS and the last remnants of the German infantry divisions fought against overwhelming enemy fire-power. Kurt Meyer lost another old and trusted friend that afternoon, Sturmbannführer Karl-Heinz Prinz, commander of II. SS-Panzer-Regiment 12. ‘Once again I was witness to the last battle of a warrior friend,’ Meyer wrote.20 ‘Prinz had been with me on all fronts since 1940.’ It was an artillery shell that did for him, thousands of them screaming over and hammering the German positions. Typhoons also swooped in with their rockets while Meyer was with one of his regiment commanders, Max Wünsche, on Hill 159, a commanding position already being attacked by tanks and infantry. Rockets exploded around them and Meyer felt a burning pain on his head; blood ran down his face. Feeling giddy, he glanced back at the road – his Kübelwagen had vanished, but then it reappeared with one of his men at the wheel. Urging Meyer to jump in, together they sped off; later, as dusk fell and with the Allies through Potigny and nearing Falaise, Meyer pulled his men back.

  The following day, the 15th, Simonds was able to send his armoured divisions around the ever-weakening blocking force and Falaise finally fell the next day, Wednesday, 16 August. The remnants of 21. Panzer were split in two: one Kampfgruppe, with all the tanks, fell into the Falaise Pocket, but Major Hans von Luck’s battle group remained just outside. He was now given orders to set up a blocking position near Vimoutiers, close to where Rommel had been wounded. At La Roche-Guyon, von Kluge had been waiting all morning for an answer to his request to withdraw. At 12.45 p.m., he finally rang General Alfred Jodl at the OKW. ‘No matter how many orders are issued,’ von Kluge told him, ‘the troops cannot, are not able to, are not strong enough to defeat the enemy.21 It would be a fateful error to succumb to a hope that cannot be fulfilled and no power in this world can accomplish his will through an order it may give. That is the situation.’ Calling off, he then ordered Speidel to prepare the withdrawal orders. When there was still no response at 2.30 p.m., von Kluge finally issued the withdrawal nine minutes later. The field marshal was promptly sacked for this – after all, Hitler needed someone to blame – and replaced with Feldmarschall Walter Model, who would not be able to reach the front for at least two days.

  Fighting continued. Ken Tout spent a few days as a gunner in a Firefly, as they headed to Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives to try to close the gap. By 17 August, because of a shortage of tank commanders, he was given command of a Sherman instead. Stanley Christopherson and the Sherwood Rangers had been in action pretty much continually since B
LUECOAT. On 17 August, they helped capture Berjou, halfway between Vire and Falaise and at the western end of the Falaise Pocket. They took the hill in a classic example of all-arms cooperation, but not without suffering more losses as shells and mortars rained down on their assault. C Squadron had, by then, lost all its officers except the commander. That evening, after Berjou had fallen, Christopherson walked to the end of the village and looked down on the Noireau River. ‘From there,’ he noted, ‘I had a wonderful view of the surrounding country and could fully appreciate why the mortar and shellfire had been so accurate.22 The Germans could see every movement that we made.’

  ‘Between August 7 and August 17,’ noted Lieutenant Orion Shockley, ‘we lost fifty-three men to mortar, artillery, machine-gun and rifle fire.’23 Of these, eleven had been killed. By 17 August, he and his company were near Saint-Hilaire-de-Briouze, 12 miles south of Falaise and part of First Army’s sweep around the south of the pocket. It was getting dark as they approached the village and, as they reached the road through, a German half-track came slowly round the bend. Shockley stepped out and shot at it with his pistol, hitting a door but nothing more and the half-track rumbled on – one that had got away.

  Most did not, however. The countryside around Falaise was – and is – stunningly beautiful, normally an Eden of green fecundity and tranquil rural charm. Villages linked by weaving, narrow country lanes dotted this pastureland of woods, fields and streams. Yet in this third week of August, it had become a scene from hell as desperate German troops tried to escape through the last remaining routes available. Saint-Lambert-sur-Dive and Chambois, once two of the most lovely villages in all Normandy, had become a death trap as men, tanks, half-tracks, horses and wagons funnelled into the fords and narrow bridges across the river. No longer waiting only for nighttime, in this August heatwave they were easy prey for the Jabos. Major Dick Turner and the fighter boys of the 354th, now operating from a new base not far from Rennes, were in action every day. Between 14 and 18 August, Turner flew five patrols, strafing German columns and shooting up anything that moved.