Four Hours of Fury

by James M. Fenelon

  The militia in the Wesel area had been called up the first week of March, before the collapse of the Pocket. Most of the Volkssturm companies descending on Wesel were from the neighboring towns or villages, but some groups marched as far as forty miles to reach Schlemm’s front.

  They arrived sporting a potpourri of uniforms and armed with a hodgepodge collection of weapons. Most carried thirty-year-old Danish or Italian Army rifles. The fortunate were armed with modern German K98 bolt-action rifles obtained from replacement depots. An unfortunate few still retained their personal single-shot hunting rifles.

  Almost all had managed to scrape together at least part of a military uniform. Some wore their tunics from the last war; most had obtained long gray field coats. Trousers ranged from riding breeches to slacks. Very few had steel helmets. They were identified as combatants by the only consistent part of their uniform: black-and-red armbands. The cloth bands, worn around the left bicep, bore the words “Deutscher Volkssturm” above “Wehrmacht” in white letters and were flanked by Nazi eagles clutching swastikas. The number of silver pips worn on the left collar denoted rank. The more pips, the more authority.

  Their motley appearance reflected their military prowess. With the exception of squad and platoon leaders, who’d attended four weeks of training the previous November, most hadn’t received any formal military education. Their lack of training aside, the militia’s numbers could be a factor in defensive plans; almost 5,000 Volkssturm participated in the Battle of Aachen. A well-aimed bullet fired by a sixty-year-old farmer would inflict just as much damage as one fired by a twenty-two-year-old Grenadier.

  As the militia units reached the front, they reported to Wehrmacht quartermasters who supplied them, as stocks allowed, with helmets, heavy machine guns, Panzerfaust anti-tank weapons, and most important, ammunition. Some men had arrived with only forty rounds of ammunition.

  After inspecting eight battalions of Volkssturm reinforcements, General der Panzertruppe Heinrich Freiherr von Lüttwitz reported to Schlemm, “Defense of the Rhine line with these forces would be madness.”

  Schlemm agreed. He had no intention of anchoring his defense with militia; their equipment and training were inadequate to operate independently, and they couldn’t be relied on to hold their ground. But he did intend to use them where it made sense. Originally integrated as platoons in the front line Wehrmacht regiments in the event of a hasty crossing by Montgomery, the Volkssturm were gradually relegated to fulfill the role of rear-echelon troops, freeing more soldiers for the front.

  In one of Schlemm’s divisions, each regiment had a Volkssturm battalion assigned to it. The commanding officer, Generalmajor Rudolf Langhaeuser, recalled how the system worked: “The Volkssturm battalion of the 18th Regiment consisted of five companies with high standard personnel of middle age, most of them minors, whereas the Volkssturm battalion of the 16th Regiment had rather old and exhausted men who were no longer fit for line duty. . . . The battalion with the old personnel was soon filled up with young soldiers fit for action from the supply services of the Division, while the men from the Volkssturm were transferred back to the rearward services.” Behind the main line of troops, they would construct field fortifications and man checkpoints at crossroads.

  Relations between the militia and the soldiers weren’t always amiable. The younger Army conscripts, as adolescents are apt to be, thought of the militiamen as “useless old dodderers.” The constant switching of assignments and shuttling from unit to unit left the Volkssturm unsettled, and they often drew the dregs of rations and billets.

  That Wehrmacht officers assigned the militiamen menial tasks did little to boost morale either. Wesel’s district commander ordered a squad of eight Volkssturm to guard his personal car and cache of wine. The men had a narrow escape when Allied artillery shells destroyed both. Far from their homes and families, the militiamen doubtlessly hadn’t envisioned that their contribution to the People’s War would be safeguarding cases of alcohol.

  • • •

  Schlemm continued to bolster the depth of the defenses in his sector despite his bosses’ estimate that the Allies would drop farther inland. He’d been suspicious of an Allied airborne attack since mid-February when he anticipated Montgomery might drop troops to cut off the Wesel Pocket. As Schlemm withdrew his anti-aircraft and artillery batteries back over the Rhine to take up better stations on the east bank, he cautioned them to the possibility of airborne troops landing among their positions. After it became obvious Montgomery wouldn’t pursue a brazen, improvised crossing, Schlemm shifted plans accordingly, convinced that when the attack came Montgomery would use airborne troops closer to the Rhine for better support.

  Generalmajor Heinz Fiebig, one of Schlemm’s division commanders, agreed. “According to the English system of security, which had been confirmed again and again, one had to expect an attack across the Rhine with very strong forces, exploiting all available means. . . . For our troops it was important, then, to prevent the enemy from crossing the Rhine by all means and to have alert units participate in the smashing of any enemy unit that landed in the depth zone.”

  But unlike in Normandy, where suspected Allied drop zones were laced with anti-personnel mines and wire obstacles, Schlemm didn’t have the resources for such elaborate countermeasures. He did, however, ensure that combat engineers constructed both actual and dummy minefields to channel advancing troops. He inspected machine gun emplacements to verify they adequately covered the suspected DZs. Artillery survey teams also preregistered the locations of potential assembly areas. Their data would later allow German gunners to swiftly adjust their howitzers onto these targets.

  Observation posts, often manned by Volkssturm troops, were set up to provide an early warning network. From these points alarms would send the defenders into action. Because telephone lines or other forms of ground-based communications were susceptible to interdiction by paratroops, alternate signals such as the use of red and white flares or sirens were instituted. Lookouts were reminded, “The commanding general has ordered our highest degree of alertness against airborne landings.”

  • • •

  Kanonier Peter Emmerich, a member of an anti-aircraft crew, witnessed all the activity. His battery had dug in three of their quad-barreled 20mm Flak 38 anti-aircraft guns in a cornfield.

  “The gun position was worked on, ammunition storage was made,” he recalled. “The ammunition cases were filled. As the Allied aircraft had armor plating on their belly, the ammunition cases were filled with first an armor-piercing bullet, next a high explosive followed by an incendiary. As I could see later on, this combination had a disastrous impact.”

  Emmerich’s commander, Leutnant Amtmann, ran daily drills to decrease the time it took the crews to reload the guns and change barrels. His shrill commands underscored the anxiety of the imminent action.

  “One always talked here about an airborne operation. From where these rumors came nobody knew for certain. However, they seemed to be believed by everybody. The message that was transmitted everywhere was: ‘We defend till the last drop of blood.’ ”

  • • •

  Schlemm and Blaskowitz were improvising, playing a risky shell game, just as they’d done when trapped in the Wesel Pocket. To supplement the fixed anti-aircraft positions surrounding Wesel they transferred in almost all of the mobile batteries from the Netherlands. The move built up the anti-aircraft arsenal in Schlemm’s sector to almost 400 guns of various calibers. Crews positioned their guns so that by lowering their barrels they could engage ground targets and serve as anti-tank guns if necessary.

  General der Panzertruppe Heinrich Freiherr von Lüttwitz, Volkssturm critic and commander of Blaskowitz’s XLVII Panzer-Korps, contributed as well: “I stripped the entire Ruhr District of its defensive weapons and rushed guns, men and materiel to Wesel.”

  Visible anti-aircraft positions drew unwanted attention, and the tempo of Allied air attacks increased daily. Generalmajor Heinz Fiebi
g studied the attacks with interest. He was not “particularly impressed” by what he saw. While the Allies consistently targeted his guns in the Diersfordter Wald, those positioned farther east, in the area he suspected would be used as a DZ, were “left relatively undisturbed.” Fiebig felt the Allied fighters didn’t press their attacks “with sufficient vigor or determination, retaliatory fire being sufficient to keep attacking aircraft too high to do their job effectively.” He thought their efforts “haphazard” at best.

  He took solace from the realization the Allies probably believed their efforts to be more successful than they actually were, just as all commanders tended to do. Those positions not under attack often held their fire to remain unmolested until D-Day.

  However inaccurate, the attacks against anti-aircraft guns were constant enough to be revealing to the waiting Germans.

  “Through very active fighter bomber activity the enemy tried constantly to paralyze our anti-aircraft defense, whereby the impression was increased that in the beginning of the attack, the enemy intended to employ airborne troops,” said Fiebig.

  Oberst Rolf Geyer concurred: “The targeting of German anti-aircraft weapons made the use of airborne soldiers obvious.”

  From his position, Kanonier Peter Emmerich did not feel so detached about the situation. As his crew witnessed Allied aircraft blasting a neighboring gun position, Emmerich’s sergeant muttered, “Many dogs are the rabbit’s death. Hopefully it will not be our turn soon.”

  • • •

  Schlemm had dogs too: an anti-airborne Kampfgruppe—battle group—positioned adjacent to the expected landing areas to serve as quick reaction forces. Kampfgruppe Karst, named after its commander, Generalleutnant Friedrich Karst, was a recently drafted replacement unit of 4,000 raw recruits. Karst divided his unit into five smaller combat teams, which were organized into companies of well-armed squads. Some squads were designated as special anti-tank units, wherein each man carried multiple Panzerfausts in addition to his rifle. The Faust was a single-shot, handheld weapon that fired a shaped charge capable of destroying any Allied tank. It required little training and was perfect for ambush-style warfare.

  Each combat team contained its own artillery and an assorted collection of six to twelve tanks, ranging from the smaller Mark IIIs up to the behemoth Royal Tiger.

  When the drop occurred, Schlemm expected the Kampfgruppe to engage the enemy as rapidly as possible—every man would participate in the maximum effort. He knew from his own experience that airborne troops were most vulnerable upon landing, and it was his intention to maul them at that crucial point. At a minimum, 80 percent of the Kampfgruppe was to be committed to hasty attacks. Platoon leaders were instructed to attack immediately and independently; speed and initiative would be paramount. They were to deploy straightaway, even with inferior numbers. Some platoons were issued bicycles to reduce their reaction time.

  The initial attacks, supported by self-propelled guns, were to be followed quickly by additional waves of small armored forces of three to five tanks with infantry companies and artillery support. Their mission was to wreak havoc among the still-organizing paratroopers and pin them down until the mobile reserves could be brought in to crush them. Hitting the parachutists before they could consolidate and mass their firepower would be critical.

  • • •

  German intelligence efforts culminated on Sunday, March 18, when Blaskowitz and Schlemm received a communiqué from the High Command confirming their suspicions: “[Allied] preparations of forces on the mainland for an airborne landing must be regarded as completed.”

  Later that same day, Kesselring advised Blaskowitz to place his units in a state of alert as soon as possible. He also recommended setting up more roadblock positions, reinforcing the lookout points with additional sentries, and ensuring Schlemm’s Kampfgruppes were in position and ready.

  Forty-eight hours later Blaskowitz placed the entirety of Heeresgruppe H on high alert and ordered anti-aircraft crews to sleep at their guns.

  Peter Emmerich recalled leaving the relative comfort of a nearby barn for his crew’s gun pit: “I tried to sleep at our gun position. It was a sleep with ‘eyes closed and ears open.’

  “Everybody received a tent for camouflage. I got myself a spade, and was able to obtain two hand grenades,” said Emmerich. “So I was ‘equipped’ for the final battle.”

  Emmerich’s crew was told, when the enemy arrived overhead, to focus their fire on the lumbering transport planes. Just before the parachutists jumped, the planes would slow down—making them easy targets.

  The alert stirred a renewed sense of urgency. Generalmajor Heinz Fiebig later recalled that his infantrymen sped up the reinforcement of their defenses “in feverish haste.” His units between Hamminkeln and Wesel positioned their heavy artillery to cover both anticipated avenues of approach, from the river and the open fields that might become enemy landing zones. The flat terrain lacked natural cover, so the best countermeasure for an air landing was fortifying farmhouses. While not ideal, Fiebig admitted it was “the best that could be devised in the circumstances.”

  • • •

  Schlemm knew preparation and propaganda would only get them so far. The battle itself would be the payoff; hyperbole would not stop the enemy from crossing the Rhine. It would come down to tenacity and relentless violence.

  He later wrote, “Officers and men did not fight out of slavish obedience, to benefit individual persons, or from a false regard for honor to prolong the suffering of the German people. Rather, they hoped that the unbroken, stubborn German resistance would cause the enemy, in consideration of his own losses, to grant a mild peace, one which would not ruin the future of Germany.”

  Schlemm was only being partially honest. The reasons they fought were as personal or as numerous as the men waiting in foxholes. Some fought for Prussian tradition, some fought to defend their homeland, some fought for their comrades, some fought for personal survival, and some fought to defend the ideals of National Socialism.

  Regardless, there was mounting evidence that each man would need to draw on the strengths of his individual cause at any minute. Increased Allied reconnaissance flights over the Wesel area had been noted, but the most compelling proof was the systematic attacks on the command structure itself.

  The Allied decapitation campaign started subtly enough on March 16 with an air attack on the VI Flakkorps’ command post. The Flakkorps controlled the various anti-aircraft units assigned to Schlemm’s I Fallschirmjäger-Armee. The attack undoubtedly meant to disrupt coordination between the disbursed flak units.

  Two days later another raid was directed at Blaskowitz’s Heeresgruppe H headquarters near Deventer in Holland. British Typhoons and Spitfires screamed in at first light, dropping bombs and firing rockets at the country estate occupied by Blaskowitz and his staff. Daring the ring of anti-aircraft guns, the RAF fighters zoomed in from 200 feet, making two direct hits on the main house. Blaskowitz managed to escape without injury, but his dentures did not. They were lost in the fire.

  Twenty-four hours later it was Kesselring’s turn. Using similar tactics, a formation of American P-51 Mustangs swept through mountain valleys to attack the Adlerhorst. Their explosive and incendiary bombs were dropped on Schloss Ziegenberg itself, leaving the concealed bunkers a short distance away largely undamaged. While Kesselring and his staff suffered only mild inconvenience, ten civilians perished in the raid.

  The pinpoint air raids, clearly intended to dismantle the chain of command prior to the river assault, resulted in Blaskowitz ordering all of his troops into an even higher state of alert. But the precision attacks continued.

  In the early hours of March 21, Schlemm was distracted from his morning shave by the low, throbbing sound of approaching aircraft. Seconds later, explosions ripped through the darkened cottage that served as his headquarters. Allied fighter-bombers had dropped their payload directly into the stand of trees concealing the bungalow. The General der Fallschirmtrup
pen was pulled from the rubble, alive, but unconscious and severely wounded.

  Exploration of the area revealed what appeared to be a large arrow, formed by piles of leaves, pointing to the smoking cottage. The searchers also discovered a group of displaced civilians sheltering in the nearby woods—in possession of a shortwave radio. Putting potential coincidences and explanations aside, a firing squad executed them on the spot.

  * * *

  On the evening of Thursday, March 22, one of Goebbels’ propaganda tactics landed a direct hit. In the airborne marshaling camps, GIs listening to Axis radio over the loudspeaker system heard the commentator announce, “Allied airborne landings on a large scale to establish bridgeheads east of the Rhine must be expected. We are prepared.”

  Apparently, it would take more than MPs and barbwire to keep their secrets safe.

  That same night, after hearing the broadcast himself, Brereton admitted to his diary that “the pattern of our air attacks and various other factors [are] easily apparent to all military men, plus information picked up from their agents in France, undoubtedly has warned the enemy that we are preparing an airborne operation, but it’s a hundred to one he does not know where and when.”

  Later Axis Sally chimed in as well: “Come on Seventeenth, we’re waiting for you. You can leave your parachutes at home. The flak will be so thick you can walk down.”

  At camp A-40, Thad Blanchard recalled lying in his cot and hearing the propaganda broadcast and marveling how “they seemed to know exactly where we were all the time.” The propaganda ploy had hit its target, setting off a chain reaction of rumors about the pending slaughter.

  Blanchard later wrote sardonically, “But we enjoyed the music.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “TWO IF BY SEA”

  Allied Airfields, France. Friday, March 23, 1945.

  After breakfast, Lieutenant Frank Dillon and his platoon marched out to the flight line. They passed down the long row of gliders, in some cases three deep, staged and ready to be matched with tug aircraft the following morning. Ground crews were still busy towing gliders across the runway with jeeps, installing arresting chutes, directing taxiing C-47s into position, and testing engines. Fuel trucks made their way up and down the line topping off the transport planes. Jeeps darted back and forth carrying officers, messages, or more supplies. Dillon’s group proceeded along the seemingly endless string of CG-4As until they found theirs—easily identified by the large “155” scrawled in chalk on its nose. The large numbers individualized the identical gliders and allowed the troops to find their assigned aircraft. The practice gave rise to referring to the passengers as “chalks.” As in “Chalk 155, over here!” Or, “Get your chalk loaded up.” And so on.