by Mark Zuehlke
The regiment had given better than it had received. Counted as captured or destroyed were seven Panthers, four Mark IVs, nine self-propelled guns, five antitank guns, one field gun, five Nebelwerfers, four multi-barrelled anti-aircraft guns, twenty-one motor vehicles, and three motorcycles. Twenty-two prisoners of war had been taken, and thirty-six Germans were known to be dead.
With night falling, the battered tank squadrons huddled together to form an all-round defensive position at Benedictine Crossroads. Since the Westminsters were all being committed to holding the Melfa River bridgehead, the tankers set out personal weapons and dug slit trenches in order to defend their tanks from possible infantry counterattack. The Germans, recovering quickly from being thrown across the river, started shelling the position soon after it was set up. Some enemy infantry and armoured vehicles still lurked in the vicinity of the Melfa’s eastern bank. The ferocious fight had exhausted everyone, but it was obvious the Strathconas would have to stand to throughout the night.15
Inside the bridgehead, the situation remained precarious even following the Westminsters’ arrival just after 1700 hours. The first platoons across were No. 4 under Lieutenant Ross Douglas on the left and No. 3 on the right, commanded by Lieutenant Heber Smith. Mahony was right behind, but as he started down the bank toward the river the major caught his foot on a vine and fell headfirst into the chilly water. He dangled there a moment, struggling to keep his Thompson dry while extricating himself. This much amused Lieutenant Ken Harrison and No. 2 Platoon, as they came up behind the major and helped free him from the vines.16
There was nothing funny after that. German fire was thick and furious. The men splashed through the river and ran through a gauntlet of fire ripping across the width of the riverbed. Private Dan Nikiforuk of No. 4 Platoon plunged into waist-deep water. Water spouted up around him and the others as they sloshed across the river. One Westminster was shot dead during the crossing. On the other side, Mahony and Perkins hammered out a quick battle plan. Mahony sent No. 3 Platoon out on the right, where there were no houses and the going should be less opposed. Then he set off to help Douglas and No. 4 Platoon go after the houses that formed the backbone of German resistance against Perkins’s left flank. A No. 4 Platoon runner intercepted Mahony and reported that one section was pinned down between the Canadians and the German-held houses.
Running up, Mahony saw the men lying face down in the open. Moving toward them, he came under fire from a Panther jutting its front end and main gun out of the inside of a house about 300 yards away. Mahony realized his Westminsters were trapped by the tank and could only “lie still and hope the folds in the ground would conceal them.” The tank, meanwhile, was trying to pick them off with its co-axial machine gun. Doubling back to Perkins’s Honeys, Mahony scooped up a handful of smoke grenades and threw these as close to the men as possible. Once the smoke thickened, he yelled for them to bug out. Two men failed to move, although one seemed to be clawing at the ground and trying to get up. Perkins and Mahony ran to help. One soldier was dead; the other wounded. They brought the wounded man in, escaping unscathed through a hail of machine-gun fire from the tank. While this was going on, Douglas had jumped the houses with the remainder of his platoon and cleared them of Germans, several men being wounded in the process. They sent back about twenty prisoners.17
Several German tanks were prowling around the Canadian perimeter and at least two .88-millimetre self-propelled guns alternately hammered the thin bridgehead and directed fire across the river toward the Strathcona’s tanks. Independently, two groups of the Westminsters and Strathconas in the bridgehead decided to tackle the SPGs with PIATs. Strathcona’s Trooper Jacob Kippenstain Funk headed out under covering fire laid down by two Westminsters manning Bren guns. His target was the SPG that had been tormenting the reconnaissance troops for hours. The trooper crawled along below the crest of the riverbank until he was about 150 yards from the SPG. He fired one round that exploded prematurely when it struck some branches in a tree. Funk left the riverbank and crawled to within 100 yards of the German vehicle. His second round was high, the third low. Firing his fourth and final round, he scored a hit on the suspension and the crew bailed out. The Bren gunners cut down one man and the rest fled. Funk was awarded the Military Medal for his efforts. The Panthers, which had been operating in tandem with the SPG, hastily retreated about 800 yards to the rear, where their fire posed little threat.18
Mahony and Westminster Corporal J.A. Thrasher stalked the other .88-millimetre SPG. Mahony provided covering fire while Thrasher manned the PIAT. His first round fell thirty yards short, but the SPG crew failed to notice the explosion. Mahony and Thrasher crept closer. This time, the PIAT bomb hit the left track, spurring the crew to bail out. No. 2 Platoon opened fire on the escaping crew, and cut down a couple of the men. Mahony and Lieutenant Harrison — nicknamed Killer — both ripped away with their Thompsons in what Mahony later called “a pretty poor display of marksmanship when we missed two of them who just ran about fifty yards past us.”19
Not everyone was engaged in heroics. Nikiforuk’s section was grouped near the river’s edge on the left flank and trying to dig slit trenches. Bullets and shrapnel snapped overhead. Exploding shells and mortar bombs threw up great clods of dirt, brush, smoke, and flame. The ground was hard and laced with tree roots from the poplars and other trees bordering the river. Nikiforuk was carrying a small round explosive dubbed the No. 25 antitank grenade, which was three inches high by six inches wide. Useless against modern German tanks, the grenades were used by the Westminsters to help loosen hard ground for digging. He dug the grenade in a bit, stretched out the built-in fuse and lit it. After waiting several minutes for the explosion, Nikiforuk gave up on the explosive charge. He wrenched it out of the ground and flung it disgustedly off into the bush, only belatedly realizing that the grenade might well have exploded and torn off his fingers. Nikiforuk dug with his bayonet, more for something to do than in expectation of carving out a useable slit trench. Everyone in his section was watching nervously for signs of a counterattack. There were supposed to be eleven men in his section, but personnel shortages had resulted in its going into battle just six strong. It had been this way since the Westminsters arrived in Italy. Most of the time it was just a nuisance being under-strength, but in combat it made one feel mighty alone and vulnerable.
Nikiforuk saw Mahony and noticed the officer had a head wound, but was going on as if it were nothing more than a scratch. His already considerable respect for Mahony heightened to new levels. It surprised him, however, that Mahony was proving such a lion under fire. He didn’t seem the type. The officer was a quiet, unassuming guy — not Nikiforuk’s normal image of a natural leader or hero.20 Mahony seemed to be everywhere at once, dodging from platoon to platoon to offer encouragement or help a platoon or section leader meet a local crisis. Crises abounded.
Lieutenant Heber Smith was wounded and evacuated. Sergeant S.R. White took over, radioing Mahony with a report that No. 3 Platoon was taking a lot of fire and suffering heavy casualties. White was a veteran of World War I and known throughout the regiment as a tough old sweat. Mahony figured he could hold if reinforced with a section from No. 2 Platoon. He got the men over to White and the situation eased, but it was clear the infusion of men had purchased only momentary relief.
The arrival of two Bren carriers from Lieutenant Bill Delaney’s No. 1 Platoon, which had managed to cross the river with a section of men aboard, only boosted the total fighting strength in the bridgehead to about sixty men. Some of these, like Mahony himself, were wounded but refusing evacuation. Mahony withdrew the sections of No. 4 Platoon holding the houses on the left and shrank his perimeter down to a narrow, horseshoe-shaped front.
From beyond the left flank came the ominous clanking and squeaking sound of tanks closing on the Canadian position. Mahony had a momentary lifting of spirits. These might be Lord Strathcona’s tanks. Then he thought of all the burning Shermans on the opposite bank and acknowledge
d that the tanks were more likely German.21 He had nothing with which to fight Panthers or even Mark IVs. Desperate, he ran over to Perkins and asked him to deploy his Honeys out front. Perkins refused; the German tanks would just chop his Honeys to pieces. All he could do was keep the Honeys hidden from sight with their engines running to give the illusion that there were actually some tanks with .75-millimetre guns lurking inside the Canadian perimeter. Refusing Mahony’s request was difficult, but Perkins believed it necessary.22
Mahony went out on the left flank to try to identify the tanks. A thick cloud of chemical smoke lay over the ground outside the perimeter, obscuring them from view. This made Mahony increasingly sure that the tanks were German and a counterattack was being set up. Still, he tried radioing the Strathconas for a report, but was unable to establish contact. Mahony spread the word through the platoons to prepare to meet a tank and infantry counterattack. The men were to hold fire until he gave permission, so they did not betray their positions prematurely.
If they could hold just a little longer, help might arrive. Westminster commander Lieutenant Colonel Gordon Corbould had radioed that the rest of the regiment was closing on the river. ‘C’ Company should cross within the hour. Breaking contact with Corbould, Mahony received a call from Sergeant White. The old veteran reported that his platoon was now so cut up that he really doubted it could hold much longer. Mahony told him “to sit tight, as Charlie Company was coming over soon.” White responded, “Wilco.” The sergeant did not bother reporting that he had taken a machine-gun burst in the stomach and was lying with the radio, incapable of any other movement. No. 3 Platoon was in shreds, but the survivors stuck grimly to their positions.
One of the forward positions reported that there were tanks forming up about half a mile off. Mahony doubled over and saw four German tanks lining up in extended order in front of a house about 800 yards from the bridgehead. Three were Panthers, the other possibly a self-propelled gun. Fifty infantrymen were milling about behind the tanks. Mahony figured they would strike right at the centre of the bridgehead, hitting his tiny company headquarters section head on. He told everyone to hold fire and ordered the platoons on the flanks to “hold their ground regardless of what happened to company headquarters.”23
The Canadians had one card left to play — the illusion that they had antitank guns in their perimeter. Perkins drew the three Honeys up in hull-down positions facing the front. By the time the attack started, Perkins counted almost a hundred infantry accompanying the three Panthers — more than enough to easily overwhelm the couple of dozen Canadians facing them. The tanks approached slowly, careful not to outpace the infantry.
Perkins’s reconnaissance troops were manning the machine guns inside the Honeys, with the extra men either armed with two PIATs or Thompson submachine guns. When the tanks were 400 yards off, Perkins told the men to open up with everything they had. The Strathconas and Westminsters in the headquarters section raked the approaching tanks and infantry, while the two PIAT teams punched bombs out toward the tanks. These initially fell about a hundred yards short, but Perkins had no expectation of actually destroying the Panthers. He just wanted the tankers to think the explosions were from antitank rounds.
The Panthers started shooting high explosives at the bridgehead, but the shots were high and the only damage was two aerials clipped off Honeys.24 Mahony was blasting away with his Thompson, the tracers dropping well short of the approaching enemy. Only the Brownings were finding the range. Mahony saw their tracers bouncing harmlessly off the tanks, but the intensity of the fire drove the German infantry to ground.25 When the tanks closed to within 200 yards, the PIAT rounds started exploding around them but no hits were scored. Then, just as Perkins and Mahony thought the jig was up and they were to be overrun, the three Panthers swerved to the right and retreated. The infantry had already withdrawn.
Minutes later, the tanks reappeared, probing toward No. 3 Platoon. Again, the tanks fired high-explosive rounds that passed over the heads of the troops facing them. Some of these shells, however, crashed down near Perkins’s Honeys just as he was climbing in to man a .50-calibre Browning. The blast knocked down the last operative radio aerial. A fragment of shrapnel scratched Perkins’s cheek and left him slightly dazed by concussion.26
White radioed Mahony to say the tanks were going to overrun him. Mahony rushed a handful of men over from the company headquarters section, knowing they were all too few to do much. In the gathering darkness, however, the German tanks failed to locate No. 3 Platoon and drove down the bank into the riverbed. After milling about for a few minutes, they started to withdraw. One Panther paused a few yards from the slit trench of Private John Culling of Swift Current, Saskatchewan. The hatch opened and the tank commander stood up, apparently seeking a better vantage. Culling rose up out of his slit trench and threw a Type 36 grenade onto the tank. The blast killed the commander. His body slumped into a sitting position inside the turret. Aiming for the open hatch, Culling quickly threw another grenade onto the turret. The grenade circled around the turret rim like a basketball on a hoop, and dropped inside. After it exploded, three members of the crew bailed out. Culling cut two down with his Bren gun and the survivor surrendered. For his actions, Culling was awarded a Military Medal. So, too, for his refusal to relinquish command and be evacuated was Sergeant White.27
Mahony was dismayed to learn that ‘C’ and ‘B’ companies of the Westminsters had run into opposition from some German remnants on the opposite side of the Melfa. Combined with their resistance and the heavy shellfire that was pounding the convoy, the advance had slowed to a crawl. They were still coming on, but Corbould expected it would be yet another hour before ‘C’ Company crossed. One White scout car coming up to Benedictine, with Lieutenant R.E. Ketcheson and nine scouts and snipers aboard, took four direct hits in rapid succession from a hidden self-propelled gun positioned about a hundred yards from the crossroads. Six of the men, including Ketcheson, were killed, and the other four badly wounded.
Seeing that both his advancing companies were meeting stiff resistance on the eastern side of the river, Corbould rerouted ‘C’ Company to bring it up directly across from ‘A’ Company’s perimeter. This way, the company could pass into the lines there and expand the bridgehead from inside, rather than by moving into unsecured ground on ‘A’ Company’s left flank.28
While ‘C’ Company moved to the crossing point, the men in the bridgehead were carrying out the more badly wounded soldiers on their backs. All the stretchers had been used up long before. Mahony ordered the bridgehead shrunk once again so that ‘A’ Company pulled in to a point where it was holding a “small, but tight” position that had previously contained only the company headquarters section and Perkins’s Honeys. Based on the house that Perkins had captured early in the fighting, it had narrow flanking lines extending back to the riverbed. The Germans by now had the bridgehead ranged in for punishment from their artillery, mortars, and Nebelwerfers. Concentrations of fire constantly plastered the position. “Each shelling,” Mahony later reported, “brought more reports of casualties in our rapidly diminishing little band.”
The ground was rock hard, making it difficult to carve out holes for protection from the shrapnel flying through the air. Having either exhausted all the little antitank grenades or, like Nikiforuk, having thrown them away, the men resorted to tossing Type 36 grenades down where they wanted a trench and loosening the ground with its explosion. Then they set to work with bayonets and a few shovels and picks to dig a useable hole.29
At 2100 hours, ‘C’ Company’s leading platoons crossed the river and entered the bridgehead. As the company commander, Major Ian Douglas, came up, Mahony was struck by the realization that today was a national holiday in Canada recognizing the birth of Queen Victoria. “What a way to spend the 24th of May!” he said.30 Douglas and Mahony quickly agreed that the reinforcements should thicken up the bridgehead defence rather than try to expand the position in the dark.31 Among those in
‘C’ Company was Sergeant Ron Hurley, the Okanagan-born running athlete who had acted as Douglas’s guide on International Ridge. Hurley was hunkered down below the crest of the riverbed, waiting for instructions on where to set his section. Mahony arrived. He had a big, blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his head like a turban. Hurley identified himself as the section sergeant. Mahony said, “Be careful, there are Jerry tanks over there and they’re going to come back.” His platoon commander, Lieutenant Art Miller, then showed Hurley where to fit the section into the Westminster line on one of the flanks. The men lay down behind rocks, bushes, and trees to anxiously await the German tanks. Occasionally, small knots of German infantry tried to probe the line. Each time, the men hit them with rifle and Bren gun fire, causing a quick withdrawal. German flares periodically washed the position with a garish light. Hurley could see the corpses scattered through the underbrush. Although some wore field grey, all too many wore khaki.32
Throughout the night, the Westminsters’ 6-pounder antitank platoon wrestled one gun at a time down the eastern bank of the river, carried it through the water, and then dragged it into the embattled bridgehead. It was slow, back-breaking work that took almost two hours per gun. All the time, Mahony kept expecting the Germans to overrun the bridgehead with tanks before the 6-pounders could get set up. But they never came. By first light, the Westminsters had three antitank guns and ammunition across the Melfa.
At midnight, Corbould had personally inspected the bridgehead. He decided that it was too narrow to hold both its present strength and ‘B’ Company, too. Not that there was much left to ‘B’ Company. In its attempts to cross the river north of ‘A’ Company’s perimeter, the company had been badly cut up. It now mustered only forty-five men. The entire regiment would break out of the bridgehead in the morning, Corbould told Mahony. They would not, however, move off alone. On their left, using the main German crossing, the Irish Regiment of Canada, which had spent the day marching up from Mancini Farm, would attack at first light. Mahony was greatly relieved, believing that the infantry regiment “would take the heavy burden off our somewhat weary shoulders.”
