by Mark Zuehlke
Regimental headquarters was in a stone house set on the reverse slope of a low hill. Although the Germans were unable to observe the house, they were routinely mortaring and shelling the area. Pulling up near the house, Thomson heard the whistle of incoming mortar rounds and dived into a storage room. One round struck the back of the Jeep, spewing chicken guts and blood all over. A door to Thomson’s left opened and one of his runners looked out on the scene with a horror-stricken expression. “God, they got the old bastard finally,” he muttered. Thomson stuck his head out the adjacent door. “No, not yet,” he said.34
After Thomson had left, ‘C’ Company renewed its attack despite heavy casualties and the loss of most platoon commanders. Seeing one of his forward platoons pinned down by a German machine-gunner, Conway and four HQ section men moved up on the gunner’s flank. As one of the men started to throw a grenade at the German, he fumbled it. Conway scooped the grenade off the ground to throw it away, but the grenade exploded and tore his right hand off. Since the explosion’s full force was absorbed by Conway’s hand, nobody else was injured. Ignoring the bleeding stump, Conway led an attack that destroyed the machine-gun position. Conway was awarded the Military Cross for his unhesitating action with the grenade.35
Despite the terrible casualties, the attack continued, with ‘C’ and ‘B’ companies gathering up the remnants of the leading companies and driving through to Aboukir. At 1230 hours, about 100 Seaforths reached the Aquino-Pontecorvo road. As the senior surviving officer, ‘B’ Company’s Major Jim Allan organized them into a single company over which he took command. His actions during the rest of the day resulted in his being awarded the Distinguished Service Order. Like the two leading companies, ‘B’ and ‘C’ had been shredded while breaching the wire. Allan had lost 20 percent of his men getting into the forward reaches of the Hitler Line. More fell as the company fought through to the road.36
‘C’ Company had suffered similar losses. No. 14 Platoon had been caught in a tremendous mortar barrage only 200 yards from the start line. The platoon commander was killed and just eight men remained unhurt. Company Sergeant Major Joe M. Duddle took over. The eight men had gone only a short distance when a stonk of Nebelwerfer rounds bracketed them. When the smoke cleared, Duddle was alone, so he began a one-man advance through the wire that carried him to where fifteen men had gathered under command of Lieutenant W.R. Artindale. Duddle and Artindale broke the group into two sections and crossed the Aquino-Pontecorvo road to occupy some half-ruined buildings 200 yards beyond. Soon the buildings were being shelled and raked by a heavy machine gun. Artindale returned to the road and found Allan, who told him to bring the group back. When Duddle got the order, he called out to the others. Only six responded. Duddle quickly searched the buildings, finding several dead, no wounded, and others missing, probably taken prisoner. Duddle led the survivors to the road.37
While Duddle and Artindale were out west of the road, Allan and his ad hoc force had been knocking out nearby German positions. Near where the Seaforths had come up on the road, Allan spotted a Panzerturm. In front of it was a sunken track filled with fallen trees and fortified with slit trenches and dug-in machine guns. A small party of Seaforths crept down a gully that allowed them to outflank the Panzerturm and kill its crew with small-arms fire. They then dispatched the Germans in the sunken track.
Having knocked out this position, Allan gathered in the remnants of all the companies that had reached the road. He found that the regiment now effectively numbered only about fifty men. Of these, two were officers — Artindale and Lieutenant T.E. Woolley. Both were wounded, Woolley quite seriously.38
At about 1500 hours, Allan finished organizing the group in a defensive position anchored on a German trench eight feet long by two feet wide and some surrounding slit trenches, but almost immediately German tanks started firing into their position with machine guns. There was so much dust and smoke the Seaforths were unable to see the tanks. Eventually, using binoculars, Artindale sighted the tanks on both sides of the road several hundred yards north of their position. Allan told Duddle to take a PIAT team composed of Privates K.J. Gustafson and E.M. Richardson and see if they could sort the tanks out. Gustafson, the PIAT gunner, had only two bombs left. The three men crawled toward the tanks, which, as they drew closer, they could see through a gap in a hedge. Realizing a frontal shot would fail to penetrate the Panthers’ armour, Duddle and the men circled through the high grass to come up behind the tanks. As they came to an opening in the field, Duddle saw a tank standing there that had not previously been detected. Richardson crouched down and Gustafson stabilized the awkward shoulder-fired weapon on his back. This enabled Gustafson to get the weapon higher than the top of the wheat, so he had a clear line of fire. Gustafson sighted the weapon on the tank and then lowered the butt of the launcher, took off his spectacles, wiped them with a handkerchief, replaced them, lifted the butt again and fired both bombs one after the other, disabling the tank. The three men then fled through a hail of small-arms fire back to the Seaforths’ position.39
Allan, whose radio had been disabled by a damaged antenna, managed to restore the unit to life by fashioning an antenna out of some German aerial wire he found. He asked Thomson for 6-pounder antitank guns, PIAT bombs, and, most important, reinforcements. Thomson knew the ground was too rugged to move antitank guns over and he had no reinforcements. There was only one glimmer of hope. On the left flank, the Carleton and York Regiment had punched through to the Aquino-Pontecorvo road and were moving toward the second objective. Thomson asked 2 CIB Brigadier Gibson to direct some tanks behind that regiment and up the road to Allan’s position. Gibson refused, as this sector was now part of a planned major breakthrough by the rest of the 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade regiments.40
Thomson decided to move up and set up a tactical headquarters in Allan’s position. That way, he could establish a radio link to call in artillery support to protect the surviving elements of his companies. He, Intelligence Officer Lieutenant R.K. Swinton, and a radio signaller started out in a turretless Stuart tank, but it soon lost a track on a mine. They switched to a Jeep, but got stuck in a ditch. Continuing on foot, they came under artillery fire and the signaller was killed. The radio was also knocked out. Pressing on, the two officers came across a bunker filled with Germans who, Thomson was thankful to discover, wanted to surrender. He told them to stay put and that someone would eventually take them in.
At Allan’s position, some of the wounded were being gathered together to make a break for the Canadian lines. Lieutenant Woolley, although badly wounded, led this party back to safety. Duddle, meanwhile, learned at about 1600 hours that two Seaforth sections were pinned down by fire 200 yards to the right of the main group. He crawled over and found that some of the dozen men were too badly wounded to walk. Duddle cobbled together several stretchers from bits and pieces of wood, gas capes, and webbing belts. They were preparing to pull out at 1700 hours when three German tanks materialized northeast of them. Duddle and some of the other men quickly dragged the wounded on stretchers into a hollow where they were hidden from the tankers. He then watched in despair as the tanks charged the main Seaforths’ position.41
The three tanks rolled in from the right at the same time that two others struck from the left. They proceeded to hammer the helpless Seaforths with .75-millimetre main gun and machine-gun fire. There was nowhere to run. After a few minutes, the tanks ceased firing and German infantry swept through the position, rounding up the wounded and a few unhurt survivors who had no choice but to surrender. Among these was Lieutenant Artindale. Allan, who had been hit in the leg and buttocks by machine-gun bullets, was covered in blood and playing dead. The Germans missed him.
Several others also managed to avoid being rounded up in the infantry sweep. When the tanks and infantry withdrew, these slowly emerged. Allan found he had twelve men left. Most were wounded. Duddle’s group was still in the little hollow across the road and off to the right. There were also a couple o
f groups of two to three men hiding in nearby holes. Allan and his men held on as night closed in, but it was obvious the position was untenable. With his leg stiffening badly, Allan could no longer effectively exercise command. At 1830 hours, he ordered the men to withdraw toward the Regimental Aid Post situated in the Seaforths’ tactical headquarters.
On the way back through the Hitler Line, the men met no Germans. It seemed apparent that those positions not destroyed during the attack had been abandoned.42 Coming in behind Allan’s small group was Duddle’s. Once through the wire, Duddle and his party came across a number of wounded North Irish Horse tankers. Most were terribly burned. Most of the tankers could walk out under their own steam, but Duddle carried out one who was practically blind. The CSM’s small party finally arrived at regimental HQ at 1930 hours. Duddle, who would win a Distinguished Conduct Medal for his ceaseless courage during this day, turned around ninety minutes later and led a stretcher-party search for more wounded. Unable to locate Allan’s defensive position in the dark, they managed to rescue one wounded Seaforth in a slit trench and several more tankers.43
While Allan and Duddle had been withdrawing, Thomson and Swinton had finally arrived at the abandoned position. All they found were dead Seaforths. Looking at the bodies and the equipment scattered in the ditch, Thomson realized they had been overrun by tanks. A second later a machine gun started firing at them from 200 yards away. The flash of the gun illuminated the silhouette of a tank. Thomson and Swinton dived into the ditch, then crawled back toward the safety of the Canadian lines. En route, they stopped at the bunker and picked up the Germans, who had not wavered in their eagerness to surrender.
Although the battle was unquestionably a disaster for 2 CIB, the Germans were having a hard time as well. In the mid-afternoon, Ware contacted Gibson by radio to report that neither his regiment nor the Edmontons were capable of continuing the advance. Gibson responded: “Hold on, good work. Will do all we can for you, and send up more tanks. Looking at the broader picture the news is excellent. German transport is streaming up the road north westwards and the Adolf Hitler Line has been breached all along its length.”44
Despite that promising news, Ware was increasingly concerned that the Germans might counterattack and easily wipe out the remnants of the two regiments. He told Lieutenant Donald Gower to bring up the antitank guns. Having done an earlier reconnaissance, the lieutenant knew the area was so confined that he only called up half the guns. Soon the big tow trucks arrived, each pulling a gun, and Gower directed them into the preselected sites. The men unhooked the guns and wheeled them into position, dragged the ammunition off the trucks, and then the vehicles tore back to safety. The area was still being heavily shelled, and a few minutes later a massive 105-millimetre shell smacked into the ground, buried itself under one of the guns and promptly exploded. The gun was wrecked, but its crew was unhurt.
As Gower and his antitank platoon started digging in, it began to rain. Gower and Sergeant Norman McCowan found a dead Patricia in a slit trench. The man had been killed after digging down only about six inches. They picked the body up, placed it on the parapet, and dug deeper with bayonets, knives, and their hands. Working frantically, they got down to about five feet before either felt that the trench provided sufficient protection. The bottom of the trench filled with rainwater. When one bout of shells fell near their position, Gower lay in the trench bottom with McCowan on top of him. The cold water made him shiver. McCowan said, “I don’t know what you’re shaking for, I’m on top.”45
Nearby, Ware was also shaking, but less from fear than an overwhelming sorrow. The battle had broken him. He knew that. The regiment he loved was virtually destroyed and the decisions that a commanding officer must make without hesitation were too heavy a burden to bear. “You can command for so long,” he later said, “and really when you start wondering if you should send ‘Bucko Watson,’ who you don’t want killed, or Charlie McDonald, who you don’t want killed either, it’s too long.”46 A quick tally taken of the companies determined that the regiment’s initial fighting strength of 287 men was reduced to only 77.47
From the messages Ware had sent Gibson toward the end of the day, the brigade commander sensed Ware’s mental state. As evening drew in, he sent the PPCLI’s second-in-command, Major D.H. Rosser, to relieve him and pulled Ware back to brigade headquarters for a rest.48 Captain Howard Mitchell of the Saskatoon Light Infantry was nearby when Ware came in. Gibson went over to the PPCLI commander and praised his performance and that of his regiment. Ware’s eyes were glazed over with tears. “Those were fine boys. They are gone. I haven’t anybody left. They are all gone.”49
The 2 CIB regiments had suffered terribly. The first casualty figures reported were worse than proved the case, but the reality was awful enough. The final butcher’s bill for the PPCLI was 3 officers and 55 other ranks killed, 5 officers and 157 other ranks wounded, and 2 officers and 25 other ranks missing.50 The Loyal Edmontons had lost 2 officers and 48 other ranks dead, 5 officers and 120 other ranks wounded.51 Of the Seaforths, 3 officers and 49 other ranks died, 7 officers and 99 other ranks were wounded, and 2 officers and 50 other ranks had been taken prisoner. The 210 casualties this regiment suffered on May 23 were its heaviest toll in any single day of battle during the war.52 The same was true for the other regiments. Taken together, 2 CIB’s ordeal was unequalled in a day of combat by any other brigade during the course of the Italian campaign.53
The Regimental Aid Posts and all the hospitals back down the Canadian line had never dealt with such fearful casualty rates, but good advance planning paid off and the quality of care never suffered. When it became obvious that casualties were going to be higher than normal, Nos. 5 and 9 Field Ambulances moved their advanced dressing stations closer to the front, reducing the time lag that congested traffic conditions threatened to create. Soon No. 5 Field Ambulance, which was tasked to 2 CIB, found that the rate of casualties exceeded its resources, and some wounded were evacuated through the advanced dressing stations of the 5th Canadian Armoured Division. By the afternoon, “four field surgical units, two auxiliary surgical teams, and two field transfusion units were working at full capacity in the joint advanced surgical centre. Nursing sisters had also been brought forward from the hospitals, and were being employed in the post-operative care of patients.”54
Seaforths chaplain Major Roy Durnford was horrified by the rate of wounded pouring into the Regimental Aid Post. The RAP was situated in a barn next to the tactical headquarters. Soon the house from which Thomson was trying to coordinate the battle also had to be used to hold the wounded. Durnford watched the surreal scene of “maps, signals, anxious officers battered and war weary” weaving about among the wounded. The shelling was continual, but the major casualties from it were German prisoners told to stand outside the RAP because nobody had time to figure out how to move them further to the rear. To Durnford, the Germans were “dull and dopey or nervous and excitable. Pale, dirty and utterly exhausted they stagger down the line.”
Durnford concentrated on the wounded Canadians. One of the first things Durnford always did during a battle was build a small open fire near the RAP on which he boiled up gallons of tea and thin soup to nourish the wounded. This time there was never enough. “The boys keep coming in. Some bomb happy, some terribly broken and shell-shocked, some with limbs torn off and some almost gleefully with light wounds. . . . North Irish Horse tank boys went in with us. They were wonderful. Their casualties were heavy. Ours are extremely severe.” Staring around the RAP bursting with wounded and knowing how many Seaforths had perished in the Hitler Line, Durnford knew that May 23 had “been our best and worst day.”55
* Browne-Clayton, like many other Canadian prisoners taken during the course of May 23–24, was soon liberated and by July 2, 1944, he was recovering from his wounds in a Canadian hospital.
18
AN HONOUR TO DIE
While 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade was being torn asunder on May 23, the remaini
ng two formations of 1st Canadian Infantry Division were cracking the Hitler Line open — no regiment more successfully than the one from New Brunswick. The Carleton and York Regiment had attacked on the immediate left flank of the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada. Far enough south to be largely unscathed by the flanking fire from Aquino, the regiment enjoyed another major advantage over those of 2 CIB. While that brigade had been held back through May 22, not knowing whether it was to attack on the division’s extreme left or right flank, the New Brunswickers had conducted a diversionary action against the line intended to relieve pressure on 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade’s assault on Pontecorvo.
It had fallen to ‘D’ Company to carry out the hastily organized attack on May 22, ordered only an hour and a half before it was to start. ‘B’ Squadron of the 51st Royal Tank Regiment supported the company.1 Just before the attack, regimental adjutant Captain Don Smith had passed through ‘D’ Company’s ranks and paused to talk with his old friend, Lieutenant Donald W. Moffett, a platoon commander. As the two men parted, Moffett said with great finality, “Well, goodbye Smitty.” Smith knew then that he would never see Moffett again, for few lived long after such premonitions of death.2
The attack began ten minutes behind schedule at 1010 hours. With the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery heavily shelling the German defences, ‘D’ Company commander Major Rowland Horsey led his men to the wire without meeting any opposition. He then sent No. 16 and No. 18 platoons fifty yards beyond the wire. As these platoons passed through the wire, they came under heavy machine-gun fire from the front and both flanks. Moffett was killed by one of the first bursts and the other platoon commander, Lieutenant William McGrath, received a head wound.3 Horsey, who had gone forward with the two leading platoons, saw a German trying to shoot some of his men with a machine gun. Shouldering his Lee Enfield, Horsey’s third shot killed the German.4
