Tragedy at Dieppe Page 34

  As the morning wore on, the wireless equipment on the two command destroyers also became increasingly unreliable as the anti-aircraft gunners fended off Luftwaffe air attacks and the ships undertook increasingly violent evasive action to throw off the aim of coastal batteries. The wireless-set tubes became prone to problems that made receiving or sending messages impossible until the ship steadied.7 Such was the potential for concussion damaging the radios that neither destroyer was permitted to fire its main 4-inch guns.8

  The most reliable news proved to be that delivered in person. This was how Hughes-Hallett and Roberts finally learned the cause and consequences of the naval battle to the east. Forced to play hopscotch from one vessel to another—each time being unable to establish wireless connection to Calpe—Group 5 Commander Derek Wyburd and Lieutenant Colonel John Durnford-Slater finally arrived to report in person.9 Both “bleeding profusely from head wounds,” they told Hughes-Hallett of No. 3 Commando’s fate.10 Even then the information was erroneous, for they believed none of the commando had landed.

  Not surprisingly, below decks Durnford-Slater found Roberts “in a mood of the deepest depression.”11 His knowledge of events ashore was vague. Calpe’s wireless log reported both the Essex Scottish and Rileys landed by 0550 hours. He had received no word from Blue Beach. The signal “Doug in faint comm[unication] with Sherwood” at 0555 clarified nothing, as Brigadier Sherwood Lett added no details about what Lieutenant Colonel Doug Catto reported, if anything. Precisely at 0600, a signal from Cecil reported the Camerons landing on Green Beach. At 0610, Lett’s 4th Brigade further muddied the waters by reporting having “no word” from the Royals, and ten minutes later an unattributed signal reported the battalion had “not landed.”12 This was followed at 0615 hours by a signal from a naval beach officer aboard a landing craft off Blue Beach that reached Calpe as “impossible to land Blue Beach.” The original signal had actually read, “impossible to land any more troops on Blue Beach.” Convinced that the Royals were still all at sea, Roberts sent a signal to Catto directing him to land at Red Beach and assist the Essex Scottish in an advance up the eastern headland overlooking Dieppe.13

  At 0610, meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Fred Jasperson’s signal to Lieutenant Colonel Bob Labatt that a dozen Essex Scottish were inside Dieppe reached Fernie in such distorted form that Brigadier Church Mann was happily telling Roberts that the entire battalion was “across the beaches” and in the town.14 This was followed at 0615 by Labatt’s reporting the Rileys had taken the casino.15

  For Roberts, 0615 was a time for decisions. He understood that No. 4 Commando had destroyed the battery at Varengeville. On Green Beach, the Sasks and Camerons appeared to be doing well. The Essex Scottish and Rileys were making progress in front of Dieppe, and at least two flights of tanks had landed in support. Most of his problems, he thought, lay to the east, where the Royals apparently were still at sea and No. 3 Commando had been scattered without having landed. Although the Berneval battery appeared not to be firing, the reason for this was a mystery. Ominously, the German guns on the eastern headland were heavily shelling Dieppe’s beach and the landing craft offshore. If the raid were to succeed, those guns must be silenced.

  That the raid’s success was no longer possible eluded Roberts. Isolated in his headquarters below deck, he could not see the obvious. Had he gone to the bridge, the evidence would have been plain. Calpe had a crew of about one hundred men. Already its decks, wardrooms, infirmary, and most other available space were crowded with wounded Canadians transferred from landing craft for treatment by the doctors aboard. Limping towards the boat pool were LCTs, LCMs, and LCAs jammed with casualties—most of their naval crews included—and decks streaming blood. Intermittently, the smoke thinned sufficiently for the flash of the guns on the headlands and out on the mole to be seen spitting fire at Red and White Beaches.

  Roberts would also have seen the gallant sacrifice of LCF2 as it steamed with guns blazing to within point-blank range of White Beach. Despite being straddled by artillery fire, raked by machine guns, and pummelled by mortars, she hammered the buildings around the casino and positions on the headlands with her 20-millimetre Oerlikons and 2-pounder guns until Captain E.L. Graham and all other naval officers were killed. Then surgeon Lieutenant M.P. Martin took command, keeping her fighting until all the guns aboard “were put out of action one by one.” As LCF2 sank, Martin “swam away, was picked up and transferred... to Calpe [and there] helped the Surgeon on board with the wounded.”16

  Roberts witnessed none of this. And Hughes-Hallett, curiously, decided not to communicate his own forebodings. Having never previously shied away from interfering in military planning, he now decided that as “a professional sailor,” it was not for him “to adjudicate.”17

  Consequently, Roberts decided that the “information received indicated that RED beach was sufficiently cleared to permit the landing of the floating reserve.” Turning to Lieutenant Colonel Joe Ménard, who had been standing by since 0610, Roberts ordered Les Fusiliers Mont-Royal “to land, and, moving to the west, establish themselves on WHITE beach and on the edge of the town of Dieppe.”18

  As Ménard departed, Lieutenant Commander Colin McMullen reported to Hughes-Hallett the news that he had overseen landing the Royals on Blue Beach and that they had met with disaster. “There was,” he concluded, “no prospect of the east cliffs being captured” from the direction of Puys.

  According to plan, the Royal Marines No. 40 Commando was to enter Dieppe harbour at 0700 hours aboard the gunboat HMS Locust and seven French chasseurs. Hughes-Hallett immediately summoned Locust’s captain, Commander Red Ryder, and said he doubted the mission “was feasible.” Ryder replied “that he felt certain... any attempt to enter the harbour would be attended by the loss of all the ships concerned, since they would have to run the gauntlet at point-blank range of batteries of medium calibre guns concealed in caves dug into the side of the cliff.” After consulting with Roberts, the harbour mission was abandoned.19 Locust and the chasseurs stood offshore.

  Before leading his 584-strong force of Fusiliers towards Dieppe, Ménard cruised along the broad line of twenty-six fragile R-Boats at about 0700, shouting orders through a loudhailer.20 The entire battalion was going to charge directly at Red Beach, he said. Ménard had come to know his men well. “They were nearly all French Canadians like myself. I’d seen snapshots of their wives, kids, mothers and girls. I wondered how many of them would be coming back and I started praying—not for myself particularly, but in a general sort of way: ‘O God, please let as many of us as possible come back.’

  “Every man in the battalion knew a lot of us were going to get killed or hurt. But I didn’t think that I was going to get killed and I don’t believe a single man thought he was... That’s why I say the first element of what they call bravery is a sort of optimism or egoism. It brings you up to the action itself—sort of pays your bus fare to the battlefield.”

  Ménard knew “we were going to get hell. There were a lot of guns going, and at first you could pick out the sounds. The heavy, dull thunder of the artillery... The ripping clatter of the machineguns. The boom of the mortars. The whine of the sniper’s rifle. Then, as we moved in closer, all these sounds began to merge into one continuous roar that pressed hard on your eardrums... Those last 200 yards were bad. The German fire was getting the range of our boats. I had a dry, hot feeling in my throat. I wanted to do something—not just sit there in that damned boat.”21

  The boats were deployed with ‘D’ Company on the far right, then ‘A’ Company, ‘C’ Company, Ménard’s headquarters, and finally ‘B’ Company. Because Ménard’s R-Boat guided directly towards the burning tobacco factory, this meant most of the Fusiliers were actually angling towards White Beach. ‘C’ Company’s Lieutenant Antoine Masson’s boat passed through one thin smokescreen and emerged into a wide expanse of clear water. Ahead lay another thin screen of smoke, but for now they were
nakedly exposed. The Germans struck with “heavy and accurate fire... either from mortars or howitzers... mainly from the east cliff.” The boat to his left exploded and sank. Several other craft were hit. Water erupted around his boat, but it suffered no damage. Masson shouted at his Bren gunners, who set up on each side of the boat and began firing bursts at the headlands.

  The entire formation was shrinking westward to gain distance from the heavier eastern headland fire. As a consequence, a large number of boats were soon headed for the stretch of the beach that was but a narrow strip under the cliffs to the west of the casino.22

  From the shore, Brigadier Bill Southam saw the R-Boats approaching the casino area. “I took it to be the FMR and wondered why they were coming in there. I could see quite plainly that they were subjected to murderous fire as they came in.”23

  Lieutenant Peter Ross, the Royal Navy officer beach party commander, had earlier signalled for boats to evacuate the rapidly growing number of wounded, and he assumed these R-Boats were his. “The craft landed along the whole length of White Beach, but at least two which had landed between the casino and cliffs were put out of action owing to coming within point blank range of the honeycomb of machine-gun positions in the face of the cliffs—the bullets penetrating their thin wooden hulls or setting the petrol tanks on fire.

  “Owing to the falling tide the remainder of the craft did not touch down on the beach but dropped the troops off knee deep in water and made off as quickly as possible out to sea. As the craft never came within hailing distance of the beach... it was not possible to detain them.”24

  Sergeant Major Lucien Dumais and twenty men from No. 3 (Mortar) Platoon landed fifty yards east of the casino. Dumais and five men leapt ashore. Looking back, Dumais saw that the boat had backed out to sea so quickly that the other fifteen men and mortars were still on board. His cries for it to return were ignored. Dumais and his remaining men stood between two beached LCTs, one burning furiously. A couple of these men were hit as fire came in from both flanks. Leading the survivors westward, Dumais came upon his commander, Lieutenant Pierre Loranger, and the rest of the mortar platoon.25 Wounded in the leg, Loranger handed Dumais his Sten gun and told him to “take command of the platoon.” One man stayed to help Loranger board an R-Boat.26

  Many Fusiliers were killed or wounded before reaching the beach. Private Joseph Noel’s platoon commander, Lieutenant André Vennat, fell mortally wounded beside him. The survivors piled out and ran to the seawall in front of the tobacco factory.27

  Corporal Robert Berube’s platoon came ashore close to the cliffs. “After we landed all that could be done and all that was done was to take cover.” The Germans above them were “covering a wide area of the beach” from “well protected emplacements.” Machine-gun and mortar fire made it impossible for the men caught on the narrow beach to either move or return fire.28

  On the opposite flank, Major Guy Vandelac’s ‘B’ Company landed facing the tobacco factory. As Vandelac ran ashore, an officer hiding in a hole with some men shouted at the Fusiliers “not to open fire because we will all be killed.” Vandelac retorted that “he was not going to lose his company just standing there, and if he didn’t like it, he should... move somewhere else.” Vandelac yelled for the company to make for the seawall, “but his men refused to move.” Company headquarters in tow, Vandelac continued to the wall. “After a while the men on the beach, suffering casualties from enfilade machine-gun fire and snipers, and without a leader,” joined him.

  Vandelac ordered Captain Roland Gravel’s platoon to investigate the possibility of breaking into the town by advancing from the west jetty along the Quai du Hable. Reaching the jetty, Gravel sent a section forward, but it was immediately eliminated. After several futile attempts, Gravel returned to Vandelac with just two men left. Vandelac next tried calling down smoke shells in front of his position but could get no response on the wireless. Sending one section up on the promenade without any smoke cover only got the men killed. Mortar, machine-gun, and sniper fire shredded ‘B’ Company as it cowered against the seawall. It was 0730 hours, Vandelac was out of ideas, and his men were helpless.29

  As Lieutenant Masson’s R-Boat landed close to the west cliff, his sergeant was hit. So, too, were the boat captain and a naval rating. No sooner had the Fusiliers vacated the boat than it was smashed by a mortar round. The tide was out, exposing a lot of ridges and holes that provided some cover. Without that, Masson figured everyone near the cliff would have been killed. Instead, “although the fire was very heavy indeed, there were comparatively few casualties.”

  Germans dropped grenades down the cliff, but most exploded harmlessly overhead. When Masson’s men returned fire with their two Bren guns, one jammed and the tracers from the other drew immediate and accurate counter-fire. Masson thought “his men seemed extremely bewildered by the turn events had taken.” Deciding to try getting away from the cliff and into the casino, Masson threw a smoke canister to provide cover. It failed to ignite. Struck in the right knee by shrapnel, Masson led his men crawling and rolling to the seawall before the casino. The wire topping the seawall was uncut. When one man attempted to open a path with wire cutters, a bullet struck his helmet and he dived for cover. Masson and his group were stuck.30

  East of the casino, Ménard had been hit by shrapnel after taking only three steps up the beach. “You say a bullet or a piece of shrapnel hits you but the word isn’t right. They slam you the way a sledgehammer slams you. There’s no sharp pain at first. It jars you so much you’re not sure exactly where you’ve been hit or what with.

  “I felt confused and shaken up, the same feeling you get on the football field after getting tackled from behind. Stunned, surprised, frustrated.” Staggering to his feet, Ménard stood dazed for a moment in the open, bullets and shrapnel flying past him. A touch to the right shoulder resulted in blood covering his left hand. As he fumbled out his first-aid kit, Ménard thought, “How the hell can I bandage my shoulder with my left hand?” The question jogged him out of his stupor. Move or die! Straight ahead, a machine gun was spitting bullets at him from a pillbox slit. He yelled at the Fusiliers to flank it in a pincer action. Shrapnel ripped away part of his cheek.

  One of Ménard’s closest friends fell, clutching his stomach. “A bad place to be hit because nothing outside of a hospital operating room could help him. His face was grey and he was sucking hard for breath.” Ménard put a morphine tablet on his tongue. “There was nothing else I could do. He knew it and I knew it.”

  Before, Ménard had just been surviving. Now rage propelled him. It made him “think harder and faster.” As he bounded onto the promenade, a bullet tore through his right arm above the wrist and snapped two bones. Knocked backwards off the wall, he slammed onto a steel picket and seriously injured his spine. Somehow mustering strength, Ménard regained the promenade to discover that the Fusiliers had silenced the pillbox. He established the battalion headquarters next to it. Another chunk of shrapnel gouged into his right leg just above the knee. Ménard remained standing, determined to exert command over a battalion being cut to pieces.31

  From his headquarters near the casino, Labatt had watched in dismay as the Fusiliers landed. He had tried to head off this catastrophe, but his signals to Calpe were never acknowledged. “It was a suicide job, gallantly done, but they never had a chance... Landing near the casino under terrific fire they found the beach littered with dead and wounded and suffered so heavily themselves in crossing it that they could accomplish nothing.”32

  At 0706 hours, Lieutenant Colonel Johnny Andrews signalled Calpe and recommended “holding up” landing the last two flights of Calgary tanks.33 Aboard LCT8, he and Brigadier Sherwood Lett discussed the merits of attempting a second landing themselves. Andrews wanted to personally assess the situation ashore before committing more tanks. Lett was also anxious to land. The wireless traffic from the beach was confused and contradictory. The two men un
derstood “that the tanks could get through at one spot. Some had [perhaps even] gone through [into the town], but it was not possible to find out how many.”34

  Lett said they should have “another go at it.” Major Paul Garneau, a brigade headquarters staffer, heard Andrews reply that he “was more than willing to go back. The men on the beach were calling for support and it was more than evident that... penetration by tanks of the beach defences would completely change the picture.” As LCT8 headed for White Beach, Lett signalled Lieutenant Colonel Bob Labatt “that we were landing and to give us full support.

  “Only M.G. fire was whistling overhead, our naval gunners answering back with 20 mm. Then hell broke loose... arty from that high ground on the left, from the centre of town was firing at us. We kept on moving. A direct hit just below the gun turret on the port side killed Captain [Theodor Marie] Insinger” and seriously injured many others. “By this time it seemed that every half minute we were hit by shellfire... One gun was out of action. We kept on going and were just arriving at the beach when a shell broke the remaining chain that supported the ramp which dropped in, caught the sand, and brought our craft to a standstill.”

  Andrews ordered his tank Regiment forward. “The craft had unfortunately beached too far at sea and Colonel Andrews’s tank went right in the water, four inches only of the turret above water... Slowly our craft started drifting sideways along the beach.”35

  The Churchill’s waterproofing might have kept the tank watertight had not a ventilation louvre broken off when it scraped the LCT’s side during the exit. Water gushing in, Andrews and his crew evacuated and were taken aboard a motor launch. Struck immediately by shellfire, the launch burst into flames. Andrews was killed by machine-gun fire while swimming shoreward.36