by Mark Zuehlke
Joe knew that Peg desperately wanted to receive a letter that was more thoughtful and reflective than the curt notes he had previously sent her way since the Sicilian operation had begun. But how to find words that would be both truthful and yet still set her mind at ease. His reality was the noise and confusion of tank battle, the hammer of the 75-millimetre guns, Shermans broken, Shermans burning, the torn or immolated bodies of friends that had to be pulled from the tank wreckages in the aftermath of battle. He could not write the truth of that to Peg. On October 21, 1943, he finally mustered his nerve and put pen to paper. “We are not fighting Italians now,” he wrote, “but the Germans, and they are in every sense equal to the toughest and finest soldiers in the world. They will not retire, they have to be killed. And there is only one way we can beat them, Peg, we have to be just a little bit tougher, and that leaves us lacking in any of the finer human feelings. If you understand this you will excuse the abrupt attitude in my letters and know it is not deliberate.”14
He went on to describe how Bill and he had gone into an action recently with Bill acting as Joe’s wireless operator. “We knew it was a bad thing to have two of us in the one buggie but we wanted to try it together.”15 Carefully sifting through the details of his daily life, Joe chose those stories that might bring a smile to Peg’s face and make her less worried about the three of them. Among other things, he wrote of a battle where an enormous panicked dog had forced its way into the turret of Bill Stewart’s tank, knocked the gunner out of his seat, and refused to be evicted until the fighting was over. In closing he wrote: “There are times when I’d let the whole job go to blazes just to see you for a wee while. But I still have a job to do and my little part of it is not finished. I don’t know when it will end but I’ll do my best until it is over.”16 Joe Turnbull knew, of course, that the end was far out of sight and many unforeseen dangers awaited the Canadians in their journey through Italy. By December 4, that journey had brought them all to the Moro River.
TWO
FOR LACK OF A BRIDGE
5
RUSH JOBS
AT 1900 hours on December 5, the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment of 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade completed taking over the positions vacated by the last of the British 78th Division’s infantry on the southern ridgeline near the Moro River’s mouth. Major A.A. Kennedy, known to his friends as Bert, was frantic with worry. Only a few hours before, the veteran militia officer and ex-artillery man had attended an Orders Group at brigade headquarters and discovered to his dismay that the Hasty P’s were expected to put the first Canadian troops across the Moro.
The battalion’s attack was intended as a diversionary exercise to draw German attention away from the main inland assault of 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade’s Seaforth Highlanders of Canada at San Leonardo, and a further secondary attack by the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry on the extreme left of the Canadian line fronting Villa Rogatti. While also undoubtedly rushed in preparing their plan of attack, Kennedy thought, the other two battalions at least had most of the afternoon to settle into positions, conduct some limited reconnaissance patrols down to the river, and had precious remaining hours to assign individual companies with defined tasks for the forthcoming assault. Kennedy faced attacking in the dark, with virtually no time for preparation, across terrain his men had been unable to reconnoitre in daylight. As acting commander of the regiment in place of Lieutenant Colonel John Tweedsmuir, who had recently been evacuated to North Africa with a severe case of jaundice, it was Kennedy’s dubious honour to organize a full-scale battalion assault under some of the worst logistical conditions possible.
Consequently, Kennedy was in a dark mood when Lieutenant Farley Mowat, serving in the intelligence section, entered battalion headquarters. Mowat had been forward on the ridgeline trying to learn what he could about enemy positions from the Royal Irish Fusiliers. Unfortunately, the Fusiliers’ intelligence officer was more eager to escape to the rear than to provide a thorough briefing. He took off almost immediately upon Mowat’s arrival, leaving Mowat with nothing to do but lie in the cover of some heavy brush, getting slowly soaked by the persistent drizzle, while trying futilely to see some signs of enemy movement on the other side of the valley. Enemy artillery shells droned overhead and exploded in the battalion’s rear areas. The coast road to the south of the blown bridge was also getting a pasting. As dusk settled in, Mowat returned to battalion HQ to report what little he had seen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Kennedy snapped as Mowat came through the door. “Goddamn it, we’re to cross the Moro right away. No preparation. No support. What’ve you found out?”
Mowat told him the precious little he knew, doing nothing to improve Kennedy’s mood. He ordered the lieutenant to take a scout platoon patrol out, find a usable river crossing, and to bloody well report back in the hour with some results. Taking three men, Mowat led a patrol down to the river. In the gathering gloom of evening, they waded along its overflowing banks until they discovered a crossable ford. Even as they returned to the ridge, they found ‘A’ Company’s men shouldering guns and ammunition in preparation for leading the assault. Mowat remained with Kennedy, while the scout leader Lieutenant George Langstaff acted as ‘A’ Company’s guide to the ford.1
As was true for all three Canadian assaults that night, the Hasty P’s were going in without the benefit of the Eighth Army’s preferred tactic of first saturating enemy positions with intense artillery fire. At the last moment, Major General Chris Vokes had decided the attacks would have a better chance of success if they went in silently. He was banking on catching the Germans napping. Orders regarding this were, however, slightly confused. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron B. Ware, commanding the PPCLI, remained under the illusion that at least his attack would be preceded by a heavy bombardment of Villa Rogatti and the surrounding area on the northern bank of the river.2
Kennedy, for his part, was well aware that the Hasty P’s were to receive no artillery or armoured support, which only reinforced his impression that the entire attack was confused and overly rushed. The plan he had managed to cobble together in a few frantic hours called for No. 7 Platoon of ‘A’ Company to cross the river by the sandbar ford discovered by Mowat’s patrol. That platoon would set up a firm defensive position across the river and hold in place until the rest of the company came up in support. ‘A’ Company, still undetected, they hoped, would then wriggle up to the “lip of the valley.” Once ‘A’ Company was established on the ridgeline, Kennedy planned to shove the rest of the battalion’s line units over and spread them out along the edge of the ridge. They would then dig in for the rest of the night. While the infantry forced a crossing, the battalion’s pioneer company, supported by Bren carriers mounting machine guns, would descend to the destroyed coast-road bridge and see if a crossing for tanks could be constructed with the minimal engineering equipment the pioneers possessed. Kennedy hoped by morning to bring tanks across to support his infantry units in repelling the German counterattacks that would inevitably come with the dawn.3
For the diversion to be effective in drawing Panzer Grenadier attention and personnel from the other two assaults, the Hasty P’s had to go in shortly before the Seaforths and PPCLI started their stealthy crossing of the Moro. Consequently, the unit with the least time to prepare and the barest idea of terrain and enemy defences set off at 2200, just three hours after it had taken over the lines from the Irish regiment. ‘A’ Company’s No. 7 Platoon, which Mowat had only recently handed over to a new commander when he was transferred to the intelligence section, descended into the valley, crossed the sloughlike stretch of river created by the sandbar, and managed to establish a forward position on the opposite bank without being discovered by the enemy. The thirty-man platoon had absolutely no idea what enemy positions or strength lurked ahead in the immediate darkness. Every man recognized the extreme danger of the situation and desperately tried to keep loose equipment from clinking, avoided even furtive whisp
ers, and took every other conceivable measure to avoid alerting enemy soldiers to their presence.
Perhaps fearful of betraying the platoon’s presence by sending a man splashing back over the river to report the first objective secure, the platoon commander neglected to send a report back by runner. Despite this oversight, the rest of the company moved off when its commander decided sufficient time had passed for the lead platoon to have reached its first objective. When the company came up on No. 7 Platoon’s rear, this platoon swung to the left, where a gradual slope led up to the ridgeline. The main body of the company started to move forward, extending the company line with the lead platoon on the far left, so that the entire company would reach the top of the valley in an advancing line. While No. 7 Platoon made good time up its slope, the rest of the company bumped into a steep cliff. Stymied as to how to surmount this obstacle at night and without betraying its movement, the company came to a dead halt, soldiers either milling about along the cliff bottom or standing rooted in place, staring up its face. Meanwhile No. 7 Platoon disappeared into the blackness of the night.4
Barely had the two segments of the company become separated than the entire company was caught in a “violent crossfire from six or seven enemy medium machine-gun positions.”5 In seconds ‘A’ Company was pinned down and engaged in a fierce firefight, green and blinding-white enemy flares soaring high overhead to illuminate the Canadian soldiers for the German machine-gunners. Mortar bombs started to rain down on the company, worsening its already desperate situation. The Germans also quickly brought the pioneers under machine-gun and mortar fire, resulting in their quick withdrawal from the area of the blown bridge.6
No. 7 Platoon was in the worst situation, out of contact with the rest of the company and directly engaged with enemy machine-gun and rifle sections firing from well-dug-in positions. The Canadians could do little for shelter but squirm deeply down into the mud behind whatever bush or tree presented itself. The other platoons were helpless to get up and support No. 7 Platoon. With no idea where the platoon was, and under heavy enemy fire itself, any advance forward to the platoon’s aid would likely result in an exchange of fire between the company and the isolated platoon. The only hope would have been for the rest of the company to come up directly on the platoon’s right, so it was obvious who they were and so they could outflank the Germans firing on the platoon. But no route up the cliffs could be found. Both the lead platoon commander and the company commander recognized the hopelessness of the situation and started withdrawing back across the river. The Germans let them go, not risking an immediate counterattack in the darkness. When they got back to the southern shore, the troops learned that Kennedy had been trying to radio orders for them to withdraw and that he considered their casualties to have been “fairly light” considering the circumstances.7 Mowat disagreed. He was horrified to see the casualties that No. 7 Platoon, particularly, had suffered. Its new commander was severely wounded, Sergeant Bates and several other men who had been in the platoon since Sicily were dead or dying.8
The attack might have failed, but Kennedy was already planning for the morning. After listening to the report of the ‘A’ Company commander, he decided it would be possible for an attack at the ford to succeed if it were properly supported with artillery and the logistics were in place to keep the infantry adequately supplied with munitions. He would, however, need approval from 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade commander Brigadier Howard Graham and probably Vokes himself. Whether he received authorization would undoubtedly rest upon the degree of success 2 CIB had in its attack, scheduled to get underway at midnight. Kennedy decided there was a good chance another attack on his front would prove worthwhile and set about organizing his units and getting the necessary preliminary permission.
An immediate problem that promised to plague any battalion successful in establishing a position on the northern bank of the Moro would be receiving ammunition resupply and evacuating wounded. With all the bridges out and no crossable fords yet constructed that were capable of supporting truck or Bren carrier traffic, resupply depended on what the men could carry on their backs. A wounded man who was unable to walk on his own posed a serious problem. In country this rough, it could easily take four men, one on each corner of a stretcher, to carry one casualty out. In the past under such combat conditions, 1st Canadian Infantry Division had turned to the Eighth Army’s reserve of Indian muleteers and their animals. Already the PPCLI and Seaforths had mules on hand to carry headquarters’ radio equipment, extra ammunition, and other equipment over on the heels of their assaults. The mules would then also be used to bring back the wounded. Kennedy, having been denied the time to make such arrangements earlier, now called up some mules to support his troops in the hoped-for morning attack.9
The presence of the muleteers presented some logistical problems of their own for Quartermaster Sergeant Basil Smith, who was rudely shaken awake just after turning in at midnight and advised to rustle up a meatless ration for a dozen Hindu muleteers. For a division fuelled on tinned meat, this was a tall order. Scrabbling about in his memory, Smith remembered seeing half a bag of rice lying in the back of one truck along with a few cases of kippers. Certain he had once heard that kippers were a Hindu delicacy, Smith gathered up the kipper cases and the rice, and tossed in a few tins of milk for good measure. That, he figured, would suffice until a proper Hindu ration — whatever that might be — was brought up from Eighth Army stores.10
While the Hasty P’s organized for an anticipated attack in the morning, the regiment’s war diarist noted that the failed night attack’s objective to “create a diversion was certainly attained, enemy activity on our front being very great for the rest of the night.”11 Whether it was sufficient to divert German resources from the fronts facing the Seaforths and the PPCLI would soon be determined.
Having enjoyed a few hours of daylight overlooking the Moro River, the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada’s officers and men were able to gain a slightly better understanding of the terrain in which they were to fight during the night of December 5–6 than had been the case for the Hasty P’s. Yet recently promoted Lieutenant Colonel J. Douglas Forin knew he still faced a rush job “and rush jobs have spelt to us unfavorable settings and advantage with the Germans. Zero hour was midnight, the Seaforths had to commit one company to the main road axis to ensure safety for the RCE’s mine sweepers.”12
The requirement to send one of his companies up the main road toward an enemy town in order to protect a planned mine-sweeping party of Royal Canadian Engineers particularly rankled. It seemed premature to think of putting RCE troops across the river before San Leonardo was seized. The requirement that he screen their activity denied him a great deal of freedom in planning his route of attack. He would have to put one company up the side of the road and support it with another company on its immediate flank. That meant committing two-thirds of his assaulting force to a line of attack Forin thought near suicidal. If he were a German officer, an attack up the road to San Leonardo would be precisely what he would expect.
To offset the difficulty he anticipated with the road assault, Forin decided to send his remaining forward company out wide on the left flank. A gully there offered a good route up the valley slope to a position between San Leonardo and the hamlet of La Torre. If successful, this company would be able to cut San Leonardo off from reinforcements out of La Torre. The whole plan was very risky, but he must proceed as ordered by 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade commander Brigadier Bert Hoffmeister.13
Forin issued his orders to the company commanders. ‘B’ Company, commanded by Captain W.H. Buchanan, would carry out the left hook manoeuvre to get between San Leonardo and La Torre. ‘C’ Company, under Captain David B. Blackburn, would lead the assault up the road, with Major Tom Vance’s ‘A’ Company supporting its flank. ‘D’ Company and battalion HQ would remain in reserve on the other side of the river, ready to move up and reinforce whichever attacking company achieved a breakthrough to San Leonardo. Two
of the company commanders were inexperienced in combat. Buchanan, a Calgary Highlander exchange officer sent to gain combat experience in preparation for the northern Europe invasion, had just come to the Seaforths from Britain. Blackburn had been recently shifted from command of the support company to infantry company command.
The inexperience of the company commanders reflected the losses the Seaforths and other 1st Division battalions had taken from sickness, mostly the jaundice epidemic. Forin himself was extremely weak with jaundice. He kept on his feet only by taking some pills the battalion doctor gave him and by eating a restricted diet of boiled chicken and tinned salmon. Although he thought the jaundice was improving, it still affected his ability to lead because of the weakness he experienced.14
Forin’s orders to the company commanders were that, in accordance with instructions from Hoffmeister, their specific task was to establish a bridgehead on the other side of the Moro River by capturing San Leonardo. Third Field Company of the RCE was standing by with the equipment necessary to build an improvised sixty-footlong crossing constructed of steel cribs that would be capable of supporting seventeen-pounder antitank guns.15 The purpose of the Seaforths’ bridgehead was to push German infantry back from the destroyed bridge that crossed the river before the town. This would allow the engineers to construct a Bailey bridge without being subjected to small-arms fire. Therefore, if successful in seizing San Leonardo, the companies were not to advance forward but to dig in and await the completion of the bridge. Once the bridge was finished, it would be possible to move tanks up in support of the Seaforths and the bridgehead could then be expanded. Forin completed his briefing by admonishing each company commander to maintain regular radio contact with HQ, so he would know when and where to deploy ‘D’ Company.16
