Ortona (15 page)

Frustrated, sure he would never see the mules or his radio equipment again, Haley passed word down the advancing line of soldiers ahead for anyone seeing the mules to gather them in and wait. To his surprise, just before the river Haley caught up to the mules, with two hefty infantrymen holding them by their chains. The men handed over the animals and all too happily departed. Haley hooked the wires back to the battery, discovered he still had power and was able to go on the air, and then continued on to the river. As his mule team started across, he realized it was just about light. The river was shallow, barely boot-top depth, but daylight was coming surprisingly fast. “My God,” Haley thought, “they'll see us for sure. Here we are on this riverbed and we'll get shot at.” But the Germans, so eager to fire at any sound only minutes before, were inexplicably silent as the entire formation of soldiers crossed the river and started up the slope toward Villa Rogatti.

Things remained quiet the whole way up the main trail into the village. Once inside, Ware established his headquarters in a farmhouse
overlooking the valley on the community's southeastern flank. Haley and his assistant quickly dug a slit trench next to the house, put up the radio aerial, and established an excellent link with brigade HQ.
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While Ware's party crossed the Moro and came up on Villa Rogatti, ‘C' Company had advanced at first light against the positions that had earlier blocked them. This time there was no opposition. About one hundred yards uphill from where the ambush had been sprung, Garbutt's platoon discovered a dead German lying in a slit trench. There was no indication of what had killed the man.

The soldiers pressed on and reached some relatively level terrain across which a number of empty slit trenches were scattered. Farther uphill, Garbutt saw a figure run across an opening and heard a man yell, “Herr Oberleutnant.” Garbutt moved up quickly, expecting a fight, but found only two soldiers, who he thought were probably Poles, sitting in a slit trench. They immediately surrendered.

Continuing up the hill, Garbutt next saw a German soldier moving around near a machine gun only about seventy yards away. He seemed to be picking up things lying on the ground, shell casings perhaps. Garbutt and his platoon opened fire. The German dashed to his gun and started firing back, ripping off burst after burst toward the Canadians for a full minute or more. Then he must have realized that he was in trouble and outgunned, for he jumped away from the gun and ran uphill through some small brush and high grass. Garbutt's platoon kept shooting. Brens and rifles were pounding away but he disappeared apparently unscathed. “Amazing,” was all Garbutt could think.
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From there, the advance into Villa Rogatti went unopposed and ‘C' Company fell in just behind battalion HQ to serve as the reserve company. The other companies were dug in throughout the village and there seemed to be a lot of firing going on. But, with four rifle companies, its medium machine-gun platoon, and combat HQ section all in position, there was no doubt that the PPCLI had secured its objective and was determined to stay. Ware was even beginning to think it possible the battalion could achieve its next objective: to clear the way for an advance by the Loyal Edmonton Regiment
through Villa Rogatti to the fortified villages of Villa Jubatti and Villa Caldari, and on from there to cut the Ortona-Orsogna lateral highway. Such a move would isolate the German west flank, which rested on the fortress position of Orsogna. This would open a route for outflanking Ortona, perhaps allowing the town to fall to the Canadians without a shot being fired in its streets.
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If the tanks got over and reinforced the PPCLI, Ware began to feel such an exploitation of his battalion's success was possible. First, however, he had to repel the counterattacks that were surely coming.
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Morning skies over Villa Rogatti were clear, the sun's surprising warmth raising steam off the soggy clothing of German corpses scattered among the surrounding olive groves and vineyards and in the streets, backyards, and houses. But the fighting continued unabated. Shortly after dawn, it was evident that the 90th Panzer Grenadiers' 200th Regiment had recovered from the surprise that had caused it to lose the village the previous night to the Patricias. Mortar and artillery field guns started pounding the houses and streets; machine-gunners and riflemen opened up from the dense cover of the surrounding farmland.
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Crouched in his slit trench, bullets and shrapnel flying overhead, Lance Corporal Jack Haley hunkered over his radio, ensuring that brigade HQ was kept informed of developments in the battle. He was also passing firing coordinates to the supporting artillery regiment on behalf of its forward observation officer, whose radio was broken. The FOO's radio loss was actually good news to Haley because the set's batteries were still strong, giving him some badly needed spares. Haley's main concern was that, lacking any opportunity for resupply of fresh batteries, his radio would fail at a critical moment. Responding to orders from Ware, the FOO was concentrating artillery shoots from the gun companies at the town's edges to break up German formations trying to fight their way back into Villa Rogatti's streets. The intensity of the German counterbombardment and lightweapons fire seemed to keep increasing. Shrapnel flew all over battalion HQ's farmyard, snapping through the house's windows. Bullets scythed the air. Haley saw a young girl, not more than six or seven years old, run into the street between two buildings and
abruptly tumble to the ground. A soldier rushed over, scooped her up, and carried her to cover. Later he saw the girl being treated by the medical officer, who told him she had miraculously been grazed across the lips by a bullet. Although both lips were severely swollen, she would be all right. This was not the case for Haley's recalcitrant mules. They were sprawled beside a building, legs up, bodies continuing to be mangled by shrapnel and shell blasts.
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For the rifle companies on the village edge, conditions were much worse. Fire coming into the west of the town was thicker than anything the PPCLI had yet seen in Italy. Having only the ammunition each man had carried across the river on his back, the soldiers were running desperately short. One Bren gunner refused to fire on enemy groups of “less than twenty,” in an effort to conserve bullets.
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‘B' Company Sergeant Major W.D. Davidson scrambled back to where ‘C' Company waited in reserve by battalion HQ and begged three bandoliers of ammunition. Throwing the heavy load over his shoulders, he lurched back to his men with the vital resupply.
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Early in the morning, the Germans increased the pressure on the PPCLI by launching an all-out counterattack. Luckily for the PPCLI, the attack's execution was poorly organized. Obviously confused about the overall Canadian disposition, a platoon of Panzer Grenadiers began forming up behind a hedge directly opposite battalion HQ. Ware looked out a second-storey window and beckoned for the men around him to grab their guns. About five battalion staff, including Ware who carried a Thompson submachine gun, poked their guns out the window and broke up the German formation with an intense volley of fire. The Germans scattered back into the vegetation, leaving several dead.
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One officer and a sergeant were pinned down in some brush, but ignored calls to surrender. A couple of soldiers were detailed to ensure the Germans were kept in place with rifle fire every time they tried to slip away.
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Meanwhile, troops in the forward sections of ‘A' Company watched helplessly as the Panzer Grenadiers manhandled an antitank gun up the hill to a firing position beyond the range of their weapons. Minutes later, shells from the gun started punching holes in the buildings they were using for cover. Infantry, supported by heavy
machine-gun fire and the antitank gun, forced their way into the streets. Major Bucko Watson shifted his ‘A' Company platoons to meet the threat, but one five-man section under the command of Lieutenant R. Carey found itself isolated and out of ammunition. The unit had to surrender and the Germans quickly led the Canadian soldiers away before a rescue could be effected. Casualties in the company were heavy and it was beginning to seem that the Germans might wipe out more sections.
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Realizing he could do little to influence events from battalion HQ, Ware dashed 300 yards across open ground raked by machine-gun fire to link up with Watson. The battalion commander took over command of the company and proceeded to reorganize its units to meet and repel the attack through effective counterassaults supported by fire from other sections. Slowly the Germans gave ground and withdrew into the tangled vegetation of the shell-torn vineyards.
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Repelling this attack brought the PPCLI no respite. The tired soldiers soon heard the distinctive roar of engines and the squeaking, clanking sound made by the tracks of German tanks. Supported by the 75-millimetre cannon and mounted machine guns of several Panzer Mark IVs, German infantry were soon in among the Canadian positions on the west flank of the village. Crouched in his slit trench, continuing to send orders that directed the artillery bombardment practically into the battalion's forward positions, Haley looked longingly toward the eastern road snaking up out of the Moro valley. He could hear tanks down there grinding and churning away. But it was obvious they were mired in the mud and having a rough time getting up. If they didn't arrive bloody soon, Haley worried the battalion might just be overrun.
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Ware, sharing this concern, sent Lieutenant W. Riddell sprinting back toward the river to find the tanks and guide them into the village. Rushing down the slope, Riddell jumped off a ledge and landed directly on top of a hiding German soldier. Hearing a groan from the man, the officer drew his pistol only to discover another German coming out of some brush with his hands up. Riddell's orders were to get to the tanks, not to mess about with surrendering Germans, but luckily his orderly was in tow. Handing off the surprisingly docile Germans — who outgunned Riddell's little pistol — to the similarly armed orderly, Riddell hurried on. A few minutes later, he linked up
with the commander of the 44th Royal Tank Regiment squad. Four of the unit's tanks were hopelessly bogged down in the mud, but the other seven were able to advance into Villa Rogatti.
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“Just like the cavalry in the movies,” Haley thought as the British tankers roared up over the lip of the valley. The tanks rolled past battalion HQ and drove directly into the battle raging on the west side of the village. With the appearance of the tanks, the German officer and his sergeant who had been hiding near headquarters came out with hands up and walked into the Canadian perimeter.
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The tanks reached ‘A' Company at a critical moment, just as the unit was becoming increasingly disorganized, ammunition was rapidly disappearing, and casualties were mounting. Although the company had tried knocking out the German tanks with its PIATs, none of the unreliable and difficult-to-fire rounds from the hand-held antitank weapon had scored a crippling hit. Formally designated “Projector Infantry Anti-Tank,” the PIAT was a thirty-two-pound shoulder-braced launcher, firing a 2.5-pound bomb that looked like a short-barrelled version of the more commonly recognized American bazooka. It required an extremely steady hand to aim and fire accurately. And, unless the firing soldier was lucky enough to score a hit on one of the more lightly armoured sections of a tank, the chance of doing significant damage was slight. Most Canadian soldiers hated the weapon, knowing that it was probably going to fail in knocking out the tank while also bringing the man firing it to the tank crew's attention.
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