The Gothic Line Page 30
When Waddell paused to interrogate the wounded German non-commissioned officer, ‘A’ Squadron’s Staghounds under command of Major Charles Vickers managed to catch up. Vickers decided that whatever might be learned from the German was not worth delaying the advance over, so he spurred the Dragoons onward. Soon the squadron came upon two 88-millimetre guns and several anti-aircraft weapons that the 4th Parachute Regiment had abandoned, which the major took as evidence that the appearance of his small squadron in the German rear was spreading panic in the manner of cavalry operations of old. “The crews,” he later noted, “had simply fled, probably in the belief that they had been enveloped in an advance from the flank.” The RCDs took this as “significant of the disorganization that armoured cars appearing suddenly at many points in the rear of the enemy can cause.”23
That any German panic was localized, however, soon became evident when ‘A’ Squadron broke out onto the coastal highway at 1420 hours and turned in the direction of Cattolica only to be immediately fired on by a Panther. Armoured cars ducked every which way to find cover while the mighty Panther swatted away at them with eleven shells. None struck home and the tank finally turned its back disdainfully on the Dragoons and growled off into the distance.24
Proceeding with subdued caution, ‘A’ Squadron got to within two miles of Cattolica before several heavy machine guns and antitank guns opened up from a narrow band of ground that stood between the road and a series of steep cliffs fronting the sea. As the squadron was driving through a cutting when the ambush was sprung, the fire largely passed overhead, although the bullets and exploding antitank rounds threw branches and stones down on the cars. ‘A’ Squadron pressed its cars up against the east bank of the cutting for shelter, while Vickers and the Van Doo company commander sized up the German position. The two men quickly realized that the paratroopers were trying to keep the band of ground between the road and the sea open for use by their comrades withdrawing from Pesaro and the position was too strong for their force to eliminate this blocking force.25
Before the two officers finished their discussion, however, several Dragoons from the Dingo troop tried probing the German position on foot. Armed with a PIAT, Sergeant H.B. Lewis crept up on one machine-gun position and knocked it out with an explosive round. But one Dragoon was killed and another wounded before Vickers could order the squadron to pull back to a position opposite Gardara and dig in for the night. The attempt to reach Cattolica by the coastal highway had for now failed.26
ON 1 CID’s far left flank another Royal Canadian Dragoon squadron was intent on seizing the Conca River bridge crossing just north of the seaside resort. At 1000 hours, Major Allen Brady’s ‘D’ Squadron slipped past Monte Luro, followed by ‘B’ Squadron with a Van Doo company riding on top of its armoured cars. The Dragoons were carrying out a long left hook, which they knew “was a long chance and required skilful execution and a good measure of luck for success.”27
Corporal Charles James Paterson of Lieutenant E.M. Jones’s troop led. So rapidly did the column move that before noon it was already descending along a road towards San Giovanni, when a German truck turned out of a side road directly in front of the corporal’s Dingo. For a few minutes, the truck rumbled unawares towards the village with the entire Canadian column breezing along behind until a glance in the side mirror by the driver revealed Paterson staring at the man over his Bren gun’s sights. The driver tumbled out of the truck without bothering to stop first, arms high over his head. Paterson quickly understood the German’s haste in surrendering when he discovered the back of the truck was full of ammunition that a burst from his Bren would have certainly ignited.28 No sooner was the column moving again than a German staff car nearly collided head-on with Paterson. The officers inside managed to escape into a cornfield before any Dragoons could bring them under fire.29
By 1400 hours, ‘D’ Squadron looked down on San Giovanni from a steep rise and saw that the road ran directly through the heart of the undoubtedly German-occupied village. The Dragoons had no option but to fight their way through, but between them and the village was nothing but open fields, so Lieutenant Donald Telfer and his troop of Staghounds was ordered to lead the way in a straight-out charge down the road. The Staghound drivers raced at full throttle towards San Giovanni and managed to get in among the buildings without a shot being fired their way. The village was a warren of old buildings with overhanging balconies on the second and third storeys looking down upon narrow streets, which the Staghounds could barely squeeze up without scraping their sides. The doors and windows of the houses were all shuttered and the village appeared empty.
Slowly, ‘D’ Squadron approached the town’s plaza, with the individual troops following streets. Corporal Paterson’s Dingo arrived first. As he edged out into the open square, a Panther emerged across the way. The tank crew’s commander was perched atop the turret, guiding the huge tank down the narrow street. Paterson let loose with his Bren, the tank commander fell with an agonized cry, and there came “a clashing of tracks as the tank driver panicked and swung. The tank wallowed sideways, lurched ahead, quivered and came to a halt. With a deafening clang the left track writhed clear of the bogeys and fell to the cobblestones. For a moment the great hulk lay there motionless; then the huge gun began to swing ponderously towards its tiny opponent.”30 Paterson ordered the Dingo reversed smartly into the street from which it had come and pressed the armoured car up against a wall. Then he and his driver waited anxiously “for the end of the street to disappear in smoke and flying bricks as the tank shelled it. But nothing happened.”31 Black smoke started streaming overhead. Paterson cautiously moved his Dingo back up the street to where he could peek into the square. The Panther was engulfed in flames, obviously destroyed by the crew who had then fled.
The short engagement with the Panther proved the only resistance the Dragoons met in passing through San Giovanni and renewing their drive towards Monte Albano and then on to the Conca. Corporal Paterson was once more well ahead in his advance scout role. Monte Albano was nothing more than a dozen buildings perched on a crest overlooking the river, and as Paterson drove up the main street he thought it was abandoned. But as his Dingo rounded a corner he suddenly confronted another Panther. Its crew was standing beside the tank and talking with a group of about forty infantrymen. Realizing that if the tankers manned the Panther they could easily tear the Dragoon column apart, Paterson ordered his driver to charge the Germans with the Dingo while he brought them under fire with his Bren gun. A sustained burst of fire knocked down about ten Germans before the Dingo raced past and zoomed out the other side of the village.
Paterson could see the Conca River ahead and also that the bridge had been blown up. But beside this torn jumble of concrete, German engineers had erected a temporary crossing that a steady progression of German infantry was retreating over either on foot or in any manner of vehicle.32 And guarding the crossing from positions down in the valley were two more Panthers. Despite the Panthers, Paterson figured if the Dragoons acted quickly enough they could capture the temporary crossing and that therefore it was imperative he report to Major Brady.
Between the corporal and his commander, however, a Panther lurked inside Monte Albano. Undeterred, Paterson and his driver raced back into the town with the hope they could slip through safely by avoiding the main street. Although they avoided the Panther, they encountered two German infantrymen who opened up with rifles. Paterson cut them down with his Bren and the armoured car dashed on to where ‘D’ Squadron was just closing on the village. Paterson gave his report, and for his actions at both San Giovanni and Monte Albano would subsequently win a Military Medal.33
Well-briefed on the opposition ahead, Brady ordered ‘B’ Squadron and the company of Van Doos to take the lead, move through the village, and then attack the temporary bridge crossing. No trace of any Germans was discovered in the village and, with evening settling in, the Panthers guarding the crossing were found to have also fled. The Dragoons a
nd Van Doos seized the crossing without a fight and dug in on the north bank of the Conca, concluding a six-mile advance, the longest achieved by any unit that day. September 2 marked the first time the Canadians had been able to turn armoured cars loose in the “midst of a withdrawing, if still resolute, enemy and the Dragoons had been able to add to his confusion”34 at the loss of only two men killed.
BOTH THE Royal Canadian Dragoons and the Seaforth Highlanders–48 RTR columns had reached San Giovanni ahead of the two 5th Canadian Armoured Division columns also assigned to capturing this village. The 5 CAD formations met stiffer opposition, primarily in the form of intense, well-directed artillery and mortar fire that doggedly pursued the advancing columns with an eerie accuracy. It soon became apparent that German artillery officers must be directing the fire from positions on the hills to the west. And with the 46th British Infantry Division lagging well behind, 5 CAD’s left flank was completely exposed.
The 1st Canadian Light Anti-Aircraft Battalion left Tomba di Pesaro for Point 250, a spur of high ground that overlooked San Giovanni and the Conca Valley. About a mile south of the village, this was their preliminary objective. ‘B’ Squadron of the Governor General’s Horse Guards was to provide close support, but tanks and infantry both missed the marrying-up position and so proceeded independently.
Sergeant Fred Cederberg, the former Cape Breton Highlander commanding a section of the no-name regiment’s Bren Carrier platoon, was painfully aware that it was the first time most of his men had been under shellfire and fighting as infantry. He wondered how they would cope and who would crack. At his shoulder, the veteran anti-aircraft gunner Sergeant Eddie Kerr pointed out quietly how one fellow, Corporal Howie MacLeod, seemed to wince visibly after each thunderous roll of artillery fire. Cederberg cautioned Kerr that it was impossible to tell from physical behaviour who would break and who wouldn’t. “It’s uncanny,” he said. “One guy you think is a shit-hot soldier, he just can’t tolerate it. But most can, somehow. If you’re asking me about the platoon, hell, they’ll do fine.” The more he looked at these fifty men from the prairies, the valleys, the cities—from all over Canada—the better he felt. “They’ll do just great. And they know it in their own way,” he told Kerr.35
Point 250 was home to several typical stone farm buildings; the carriers parked behind their south-facing walls at 1845 hours. The infantrymen, who had arrived well ahead of the tankers, started digging slit trenches on the north side of the buildings so they could defend the hill against any counterattacks. But not everyone set to this work as enthusiastically as Cederberg would have liked and more than one complained that it was unnecessary. So far, they had seen little indication of the enemy.
Cederberg thought of the map he had consulted on the journey to Point 250 and how the hill was designated clearly as the junction of two dirt tracks. “The Jerries probably have the same friggin’ maps,” he warned the men. Then the first shells started ranging in. Everyone dived for cover, Cederberg ending up under one of the carriers. “The ground heaved as the 88s exploded one behind the other in sheets of pale yellow flame, spraying the platoon area with shards of white-hot metal.”36
Amazingly, the platoon’s only casualty was a steel pot in which one of the men had been boiling some chickens they had killed for dinner. The pot was riddled with holes. Cederberg’s men suddenly became enthusiastic diggers.
Not everyone in the regiment was as fortunate as the carrier platoon. Shellfire that dogged ‘A’ Company throughout the advance to Point 250 killed nine men and wounded twelve others. ‘B’ Company’s Lieutenant E.J. Pritchard and Sergeant Tommy Graham, who had previously won a Distinguished Conduct Medal, were killed and four men wounded. Total casualties for the day were twelve dead and twenty-one wounded.37
The battalion put several patrols into San Giovanni in the early evening and, unaware that the Royal Canadian Dragoons had already swept through, reported it empty of Germans.38
On 5 CAD’s extreme left flank, the Westminster (Motorized) Regiment also spent September 2 pressing deep into the enemy rear. The Westminsters encountered little resistance beyond intermittent shelling of their advancing companies, until they were approaching the ridge overlooking the Conca River at 1600 hours with ‘C’ Squadron of the Governor General’s Horse Guards and a squadron of M10 Tank Destroyers in support. ‘B’ Company, under Major George Johnson, and Major Ian Douglas’s ‘C’ Company went in behind a heavy curtain of covering artillery fire and after a short firefight succeeded in driving a small force of Germans off the high-ground objective by 1710 hours.39
Unaware that one of Major General Chris Vokes’s flying columns had already succeeded in capturing the crossing over the Conca, Hoffmeister ordered Westminster commander Lieutenant Colonel Gordon Corbould to assemble a raiding party and break through to the coastal highway via the road running from San Giovanni through Monte Albano. Captain Vern Ardagh’s ‘A’ Company, supported by ‘C’ Squadron of the GGHG and an M10 Tank Destroyer troop, was given the task. At the last minute, the GGHGS substituted ‘B’ Squadron because ‘C’ Squadron had lost too many tanks during the advance to breakdowns and artillery fire.
The raiding party left at 2000 hours in a long, snaking line with ‘A’ Company in the lead aboard its armoured personnel carriers. As it passed through San Giovanni, gaps opened between platoons. Lieutenant J.E. Oldfield and the first seven carriers were well out in front when they roared into Monte Albano and found themselves staring down the rifle barrels of a company of Seaforth Highlanders. Oldfield radioed back to Ardagh, who became convinced that the presence of the Seaforths meant the lieutenant had gone badly astray and the column was south of their assigned road. Oldfield insisted he was on course and that he had no idea what the Seaforths were doing there.40
Pressing on to the Conca River, Ardagh was even more surprised to find the RCD already on the other side of the crossing. Minutes later, he was confronted by 1 CID provost marshals who angrily ordered the Westminster officer to get all his vehicles off the road because they were hampering the forward movement of that division’s traffic. This order was quickly endorsed by 1 CID headquarters, who made it clear to both 12th Canadian Infantry Brigade commander Brigadier J. Lind and Hoffmeister that this kind of “swanning” into their sector was unappreciated. It would be late afternoon of September 3 before the raiding party’s various elements were able to regain the roads and rejoin their parent units.41
SEPTEMBER 2 WAS the culmination of three disastrous days for the German Tenth Army’s LXXVI Panzer Corps. Tenth Army Commander Generaloberst Heinrich von Vietinghoff was trying to get the badly disorganized 1st Parachute Division safely over the Conca River in a desperate bid to establish a defensive position along the so-called second Green Line, which ran from the west at Gemmano through San Clemente to Riccione. On September 1, a German report concluded that after losing points 204, 253, and Tomba di Pesaro, “the situation of 1 Para Div was precarious in the extreme, as there was imminent danger of its being cut off in the coastal sector Cattolica–Pesaro.”42 Only von Vietinghoff’s authorizing 1st Parachute Division commander General Richard Heidrich to abandon Cattolica and the surrounding ground and withdraw to the Conca River during the early morning hours of September 2 prevented this disaster. The parachutists had to scramble back rather than conduct an orderly fighting withdrawal to the river. While 1st and 3rd regiments were able to escape in relatively fair condition and take most of their artillery with them, the 4th Parachute Regiment lost seventy per cent of its strength either killed or captured. They also had to abandon most of their anti-tank and heavy anti-aircraft guns.43
If the British V Corps had been able to match the rate of I Canadian Corps’s September 2 advance, the paratroops might have been thoroughly mauled or even surrounded. A German after-action report concluded that the 26th Panzer Division and elements of 1 Parachute Division on the German right flank facing the 46th British Infantry Division enabled “the units of 1 Para Div committed in the middle and
left divisional sector… to escape the threatened encirclement.”44
Many individual paratroopers did not escape. Among these was Obergefreiter Carl Bayerlein. The nineteen-year-old fallschirmpionier’s Cattolica idyll had ended abruptly in the late afternoon of August 31 when his 1st Combat Engineer Battalion was trucked towards the Monte Luro–Tomba di Pesaro feature. Unloading in a sunken road, the battalion came under heavy and accurate mortar fire that wounded several men. Then they went into a confused attack where some of their own artillery rounds fell short and killed a number of soldiers. Morning of September 1 found the battalion in hilly terrain “interspersed with vines, luxuriant fields of grain, and vineyards. Everywhere strewn about were farmers’ sheds. Alongside a dusty road, stooks of grain had been collected on a harvested field, and since these offered us cover, we collapsed in them.”45
Several skirmishes followed and there was always much confusion before the fighting began, for the paratroopers were wearing their yellowish tropical kit that closely matched Commonwealth khaki. To avoid firing on their own men, the Germans waited until they could clearly see the helmet outlines. In the late afternoon, the battalion received a fresh issue of ammunition and Bayerlein gratefully slung a Faustpatrone across his back. Having antitank weapons, he figured, ensured that “the greater part of the battalion was saved from annihilation!”
The munitions came none too soon, for in short order the paratroops heard “the noise of engines and the clatter of tracks. Enemy tanks were coming!” The tanks approached in single file and far behind some infantry followed. Unteroffizier Maffika “fired his MG42 at the hatches, shooting from the hip,” Bayerlein later wrote. “When I saw that my comrade, Richter, right alongside me, was running away, I became enraged. I stood up and aimed at a tank rolling towards me. There was an officer standing in the turret with a revolver in each hand. He fired at me without hitting me. Now I triggered the [Faustpatrone] and, in a jet of fire, the round streaked for the tank and hit it in the turret. At the same moment, I felt a powerful blow in my right arm, so that the barrel of the [Faustpatrone] was knocked away. I had been hit. The sleeve of my uniform was ripped open and blood was spurting out. I pressed on the artery with my left hand and ran back.”46