by Mark Zuehlke
Now able to plainly see the 75-millimetre gun protected by a concrete emplacement, MacLeod sent for Corporal W.E. Oikle and told him to take a crack at knocking the German weapon out by firing on it from the second-storey window with his PIAT. When Oikle’s first round fell short, he started the awkward and slow process of reloading. Private Bismutka suddenly burst into the room with news that fifteen more men had arrived. He was just finishing his report when a high-explosive shell ripped through the wall, flying shrapnel filled the room, and the explosion detonated Oikle’s supply of PIAT bombs with devastating effect.
Lieutenant Walker and Oikle died instantly. MacLeod and Bismutka were gravely injured. At first thinking himself unscathed, Thompson looked down at the broken rifle cradled in his arms to see part of one hand was missing.14 With the lower half of MacLeod’s face torn away, it was clear the officer was dying. Bismutka’s situation was equally desperate.
It was just after 0100 hours. Sergeant M.C. “Mosher” MacPhee, now the senior ranking soldier, took charge while medical aide Private William Ducker raced through a hail of machine-gun fire to reach the gatehouse in order to help his injured comrades. One by one, the medical aide carried MacLeod and Bismutka back through enemy fire to the château, where he had established an ad hoc aid post. For his actions in trying to save the two men, Ducker was later awarded the Military Medal.15
The sound of many planes throttling back their engines overhead announced the imminent arrival of the rest of the paratroops, but there was nothing the small force could do to help with the landing besides what they were already doing—keeping the Germans at the gatehouse bottled up. MacPhee frantically reorganized to mix the newly arrived men in among the survivors of the original force, with orders to fire only at targets they could see in order to save ammunition. Targets proved few and far between, though, for after hitting the gatehouse with the two 75-millimetre rounds the Germans seemed content to hunker in their holes rather than taking further offensive action.16
THE REMAINING ELEMENTS of 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion, the British 9th Parachute Battalion, and the headquarters of 3rd Parachute Brigade ended up scattered as badly as ‘C’ Company. In fact, all of 6th British Airborne Division was badly dispersed. So were the two American divisions when they landed on the opposite side of the invasion beaches at the base of the Cotentin Peninsula. An unknown number of British and Canadian paratroops drowned in the flooded area and many others barely escaped its icy waters. Most who did reach firm ground had either lost or been forced to abandon their heavier equipment. Of the twenty-six C-47 Dakotas carrying Canadian paratroops, nine dropped their sticks over the flooded zone. Five more planes gave the jump signal over Breville, a village two and a half miles west of Drop Zone V, and two (including Madden’s) ended up on the west side of the River Orne. Most of the other sticks were scattered so widely afield it proved impossible after the fact to accurately determine their drop locations.17
While the deliberately flooded ground posed great hazard to the paratroops, dying in a watery pool or deep bog was possible anywhere in the valley between the River Dives and River Orne. Where the Germans had breached the Dives, the adjacent fields had been transformed into shallow lakes but water also flowed westward from these areas across the fields to fill the numerous irrigation ditches and shallow depressions to the brim. The water table also rose, so that the fields were dotted with freshly formed marshy bogs. It was into this quagmire that 6th British Airborne Division had been cast and the Canadians had the worst luck of all.18
The Dakota pilots crossed the coast and entered a maelstrom of anti-aircraft fire as the fully alert German gun crews threw up everything they had. When the pilots zigzagged wildly to dodge the rising streams of fire, the paratroops were tossed about in the back like ten-pins and many were unable to follow their mates out after the green light was switched on. Hoping to salvage the situation, the pilots often ordered the men remaining aboard to wait until they made another pass over the same spot the first cluster had jumped onto. Few managed to accurately locate this position and one stick after another was widely dispersed.
Other planes took direct anti-aircraft hits and the men inside had to jump for their lives. The plane bearing a stick composed of many of the battalion’s headquarters people, including Regimental Sergeant Major W.J. Clark, Padre George Harris, and Private Tom O’Connell took a direct hit in its left-wing engine. As flames started engulfing the wing and the plane nosed towards the ground, the paratroops took to the silk. O’Connell and Harris jumped so close together their parachutes tangled and the two men plunged towards the earth under largely collapsed canopies. Panicked, O’Connell thrashed wildly about in an effort to pay his field kit out below him so that he would not be crushed by it when they hit ground. Speaking almost into his ear, a voice calmly said, “Take it easy, old man. Whatever you do, take it easy.” O’Connell calmed instantly at the padre’s softly spoken advice and even as the two men crashed down through some trees managed to assume the correct landing position. The force of the impact knocked the private unconscious. He did not awaken until about noon on June 6 and was saddened to find Harris lying dead beside him. Their two parachutes were twined together like a rope and it was a wonder they had managed to slow the men’s descent at all. Had it not been for Harris’s calming counsel, O’Connell believed he would surely have died.19
After O’Connell, Harris, and twelve other men had bailed out of the stricken plane, the flight crew managed to bring the fire under control and stopped the remaining soldiers from jumping until they made another pass over what they believed was the drop zone. The plane was dangerously low when Private Harvey Minor of the battalion’s antitank platoon jumped. A few seconds later, he “somersaulted through some low trees and landed in water.”20
Minor cut himself free of entangling parachute lines with his commando knife and wallowed to dry land. After wandering alone for a while, he heard a man coughing and shortly came upon RSM Clark. Eventually, they rounded up the other four men who had jumped with them. “We were in terrible country—crisscrossed by canals but not flooded—nothing like the flooded canals around the Drop Zone.”21
Medical Officer Captain Colin Brebner was in another plane that had to keep five of its men aboard for a second pass after the first fifteen jumped. Brebner went out in the second group and after a fifteen-second descent ended up dangling about thirty to fifty feet off the ground with his parachute completely entangled in the upper branches of a large elm. His parachute lines stretched twenty-two feet from the silk canopy to his shoulders and the tree trunk was at least twenty feet away with no intervening branches. Brebner’s field kit was filled to bursting with vital medical supplies and he was unable to release it, but the weight prevented his climbing up the lines to free the canopy or to swing in a wide enough arc to grab hold of the tree trunk. Then his parachute straps started slipping up his body until they snagged on the holster of a 45-calibre pistol he was technically prohibited by the Geneva Convention from possessing. Brebner realized that there was only one way to free himself and that was to hit the quick release button on his chest and fall out of the parachute harness. But the fall was likely to kill him.
Brebner hesitated, but kept thinking of the fact that he was the battalion’s only doctor and might even now be badly needed to save Canadian lives. Positioning his body as trained for a hard landing, he hit the release button, wriggled free of the straps, and the next moment was knocked unconscious. It was still dark when he awoke later and he was relieved to discover his legs could still move. Then he felt the smashed bones in his left wrist. That was okay, he thought, for he could conduct surgery one-handed. Rolling over, he levered himself to his feet with his good hand and took a step, only to fall hard on his back. Brebner knew instantly that his pelvis was broken and he was helpless.22
A half-hour later, Brebner’s batman, Private Bill Adams, appeared. Brebner by now had a pretty good fix on his probable location and was able to direct Adams towards
the battalion headquarters’ rendezvous point. Ignoring the man’s protests that he could not leave the doctor behind, Brebner ordered Adams to load up with all the medical supplies he could carry and take them to the battalion. After Adams left, Brebner tried to inject himself with a morphine syringe but was unable to break the seal because of his useless left wrist. He gritted his teeth and waited to be rescued.23
DESPITE LANDING KNEE-DEEP in a marsh near the River Dives, Lieutenant Colonel G.F. Bradbrooke reached the battalion’s main rendezvous site near le Bas de Bréville, southwest of the Varaville–le Mesnil road, in good time. He found Major Jeff Nicklin already there along with the battalion’s signals officer Lieutenant John Simpson and intelligence officer Lieutenant R.D.J. Weathersbee. Also present were about seventy-five paratroopers, of whom only a third were Canadian. The rest were a mixed bag of Brits from the 8th and 9th battalions and an antitank detachment of the Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry. The latter had been landed by Horsa glider and were still equipped with their gun and a good supply of ammunition.24
Hearing gunfire from the direction of Varaville, Bradbrooke told Weathersbee to take two men and find out what was happening there. He then told his second-in-command Major Nicklin that the rest of the force would advance on le Mesnil crossroads.25 Lieutenant Simpson and a small party of men were sent to destroy the signal exchange building that had been one of ‘C’ Company’s uncompleted assignments. Simpson quickly returned to report that the building had been abandoned and the equipment easily destroyed.26
As Bradbrooke set off with his main force on a slow and cautious march towards the crossroads, more British and Canadian paratroops filtered in to bulk its strength. Such intermingling of battalions was commonplace as lost men bungled into each other in the inky blackness and decided to stick together at least until they reached a recognizable landmark.
Corporal Dan Hartigan had been searching for an opening in an impenetrable hedgerow when suddenly an ear-splitting whistle warned him that one of the bombs overshooting Merville Battery was about to land right on him. Hartigan dropped flat against the base of the hedge and the bomb exploded on the other side directly opposite. He was stunned by the blast and completely buried under two inches of mud. After frantically freeing himself, the corporal discovered the blast had so badly concussed all his joints and muscles that his limbs jerked spasmodically every few moments. The pervasive nature of this condition earned him the nickname “Hopalong.”
After staggering along the hedge in a barely conscious state for a few minutes, he felt something running down his face and wiped away blood dribbling out of his mouth and nose. Despite his condition, Hartigan was sufficiently lucid to feel sure that the J-shaped hedgerow was only a few hundred yards away if he could just find a way past the impenetrable hedge. Finally, he came to a gate and started climbing over it to get to the other side. As he swung over the top, someone poked him in the rear with the point of a bayonet and growled, “Punch.”
“Judy, you dumb bastard,” Hartigan yelped, and scowled down at his friend Private Eddie Mallon. The private was bomb happy, too. What had seemed a promising route to the rendezvous point came to nothing. Hartigan realized they were wandering in circles about the time they neared a paved road and another Punch-Judy challenge. This time, it was a 9th British Battalion lieutenant wandering lost with six of his men. The officer ordered the Canadians to fall in and follow him towards where he hoped the 9th Battalion was rallying for the attack on the Merville Battery. By now, Hartigan could hear gunfire coming from Varaville and insisted that he and Mallon’s duty was to go there. The lieutenant finally shut the two men up by telling them he was in command and they would do as told.
At 0230 hours, the party arrived at the rally point and the lieutenant reported to Lieutenant Colonel Terence Otway, who was forming up only 150 men to carry out the attack that was to have been mounted by the entire battalion. Otway, frantic with anxiety at possibly failing to complete the vital mission on schedule, ripped into the lieutenant that the two Canadians were of no “bloody use” to him and should be sent “back to where they bloody well came from.” Hartigan was initially infuriated by the commander’s apparent disdain, but then realized the attack on the battery had been meticulously planned, with every soldier repeatedly drilled on his precise role. That plan was now in tatters and Otway and his men were going to have to improvise—not 9th Battalion’s strength.
Somewhat sheepishly, the lieutenant set a course for Hartigan and Mallon to follow that would take them back to Varaville and sent them off, but it would be dawn at the earliest before they could cover the distance that now lay between them and ‘C’ Company’s objective.27 Behind them, at 0250 hours, they heard the sounds of the 9th Battalion going into the attack and the gunfire quickly drowned out the lighter and more distant sounds of shots coming from the southeast where the Canadian battalion was fighting.*
FOR THE MANY PARATROOPS wandering in small packs or alone through the countryside, the approach of dawn promised a chance to get their bearings, link up with comrades, and complete missions. A critical target for the Canadians was the Robehomme Bridge spanning the River Dives. Its destruction was one of ‘B’ Company’s tasks, specifically that of No. 5 Platoon commanded by Lieutenant Norm Toseland. As soon as the officer landed, he had set about gathering as many of his men as possible while trying to puzzle out in which direction the bridge lay. At 0200 hours, Toseland, with about ten men from his platoon and a mix of the same number of British paratroops, encountered a young French girl riding a bicycle along the road they followed. Sergeant Joe LaCasse flagged the girl down and asked her to show him on a map where they were located in relation to the bridge. Jumping off her bicycle, the girl led the paratroops across a field to the river and then pointed the bridge out in the distance.
Toseland and his group arrived at the bridge to find Major Clayton Fuller already on the scene. The major had landed squarely in the
* Against heavy odds, the British paratroops successfully overran the battery but lacked the demolitions (these had been lost in the jump) to demolish the guns. They were, however, able to temporarily disable them. But the cost was high. Only eighty men were left and twenty-two had been taken prisoner.
river itself, but managed to swim ashore. Neither he nor any of the men with him had any explosives and so they were simply attempting to prevent the Germans using the bridge until a demolition team arrived. Toseland canvassed the men in his group and scrounged together sufficient plastic explosives to lay charges under the bridge girders, but the resulting blast failed to sever the span. The blast did, however, serve to guide about thirty more paratroopers to the position. Among these was Captain Peter Griffin, who took over command of the group from Toseland. Although Major Fuller was the senior officer present, he had no intention of hanging about long, as his assigned task was to get to where ‘B’ Company was supposed to rally at le Mesnil crossroads. The presence of additional paratroops, however, gave Griffin and Toseland sufficient strength to establish a strong defensive position around the bridge. At about 0600 hours, Captain A.J. Jack of the Royal Engineers arrived with enough explosives to finish the demolition.28 Twenty minutes later, he had the bridge nicely wired with dynamite and turned to Griffin. “It’s your bridge,” he said. “Would you like to light the fuse?” Griffin did and the bridge was quickly ripped apart.29
Sometime before the Robehomme Bridge was blown, Sergeant Gordon Davies and the man sent with him by Major MacLeod to destroy the crossing of the Divette near Varaville succeeded in their task. When the men dug in at the château’s gatehouse heard the explosion, a cheer went up. There was precious little else to give the men cause for joy. Just before dawn, Captain John Hanson had arrived in time to hold Major MacLeod’s head in his lap as the man died. Private Bismutka, MacLeod’s loyal runner, succumbed shortly thereafter. Hanson assumed command, but could do nothing to shift the impasse between the Canadians and the Germans beyond the gatehouse. So he had everyone ma
intain the positions set out earlier by Sergeant MacPhee.30
Meanwhile, ‘C’ Company’s Lieutenant Sam McGowan and a group of men had entered the village of Varaville en route to the château, but stumbled into two sections of German infantry. A sharp firefight ensued, in which McGowan’s men were able to deny the Germans access to the village. The lieutenant had his men dig in around the village’s church and established an observation post in the steeple. Although successful in driving the Germans back, McGowan’s party soon drew heavy mortar and artillery fire and started to take casualties. Their hold on the village was tenuous at best but McGowan determined to hang on.31
Not far away, Lieutenant Colonel Bradbrooke was still pushing his force up a road towards le Mesnil crossroads, but being greatly held up by snipers firing from various houses bordering the road along the way. Each sniper had to be cleared out by an attack on the house, with the British six-pounder antitank gun snapping out shells in support. Bradbrooke realized it would be well into morning before his men reached the crossroads.
And far away to the west of the River Orne, Lieutenant John Madden’s seven-man party had made scant progress inland from their starting point only 1,200 yards from Sword Beach. No sooner had they set out than Madden was forced to take evasive action to avoid being discovered by German infantry that must have seen their parachutes during the descent and were now actively searching for them. Consequently, they were still close to the coast when the massive pre-invasion naval and aerial saturation bombardment of the beaches opened at 0500 hours. Suddenly the countryside around them seemed to erupt. The men dived into any available depression and cringed as the air sang with shrapnel and the ground violently trembled. Hell had come to Normandy.32
[ 10 ]
All Aflame
THE SMALL SHIPS of the 31st Royal Canadian Navy Minesweeping Flotilla were in the vanguard of the invasion fleet approaching Omaha Beach when the mighty guns of the American, British, and French battleships and cruisers loosed their first salvoes. As it had throughout the long night’s operation, Acting Commander Tony Storrs’s Caraquet led the formation. The pace of the ships was measured, their course necessarily unwavering despite the fact that they now parallelled the French coast, with Caraquet just two miles offshore. Broadside to the shore, Storrs knew the ships surely presented tempting targets for any German shore batteries still unscathed from aerial bombardment.1 In front of their respective sections of beach, all ten of the sweeper flotillas conducted the same final mission—clearing the sea that the LCAs and LCTs bearing the assault troops to the beaches must travel.
