Ortona (33 page)

By noon, as the 2 CIB attacks faltered before stiff opposition from The Gully, Vokes belatedly comprehended what he was up against. It was now clear even at divisional headquarters that the area fronting The Gully was “infested with anti-tank mines, the olive groves were booby trapped, [and] every house had been made a machine-gun post.”
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Vokes wrote: “Although a strong weight of artillery was used to support throughout, it was apparent that the defilade afforded by the steep reverse side of the gully, in which the enemy was well dug in, could not be adequately searched by the low trajectory field and medium guns. The only answer to the problem was provided by the 4.2- and 3-inch mortars.”
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Vokes failed to mention that even the mortars lacked sufficient punch or density of fire to rip a hole in the fabric of the German defences.

Remarkably, appreciating the toughness of The Gully as an obstacle did nothing to alter Vokes's tactics. Having mired 2 CIB in a hopeless face-to-face punch-up with the Panzer Grenadiers, and with 1 CIB strung out all along the Moro River's northern ridgeline, Vokes decided to commit his reserve brigade in further frontal assaults on
The Gully. Vokes ordered 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade commander Brigadier Graeme Gibson to pass his West Nova Scotia Regiment through the tattered Seaforth lines and capture Casa Berardi.

The West Novas, under commander Lieutenant Colonel M. Pat Bogert, accordingly moved directly behind the Seaforths. Zero hour for the attack was 1800 hours. Because tanks had been of no value during the day, none were assigned to support the assault. Instead, close artillery support was promised by the 1st Field Regiment Artillery (Royal Canadian Horse Artillery), which assigned Captain John Ross Matheson the task of forward observation officer. The twenty-six-year-old son of a United Church minister from Arundel, Quebec, Matheson commanded ‘B' Troop of ‘A' Battery. Strapping his heavy #18 radio set on a mule, Matheson and his technical assistant Sergeant Gordon Denison linked up with the West Novas shortly before the attack.

What the Seaforths had failed to achieve in daylight, Vokes expected the West Novas to manage in darkness. The plan called for three West Nova companies to carry out the assault, while ‘B' Company formed a mobile battle group and firm supporting base at San Leonardo with a squadron of Ontario Tanks. This group's task was to patrol to the west in hopes of finding a tank route that could be used to get armour onto the Ortona-Orsogna lateral.
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As had been the case with breaching the Moro River line, any gains on the north side of The Gully would be hard to hold in the absence of tank backup. Finding a route that would enable the tanks to join up with the infantry was imperative if the Canadians were to repel the powerful combined armour and infantry counterattacks favoured by the Panzer Grenadiers.

Bogert met with his Seaforth counterpart Syd Thomson, who had only the previous day taken over battalion command. Thomson warned Bogert that the objective set by Vokes was unattainable. Bogert said he could and would seize Casa Berardi as ordered, opening the road to Ortona. Thomson was not impressed by this bit of braggadocio.
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The West Novas attack went in on a two-company front with ‘A' Company to the left, ‘C' Company on the right. In the centre, battalion HQ and ‘D' Company followed close behind. Matheson, Denison, and their radio-carrying mule trailed Bogert's HQ group.
The Panzer Grenadiers expected the attack. As the West Novas crossed their starting line 500 yards northwest of San Leonardo, intensive artillery and mortar harassing fire tore into the soldiers. Three HQ soldiers were wounded, including the signals officer. The mule carrying the battalion's #22 wireless set fell, breaking the equipment, which provided the critical link to the artillery and brigade headquarters.
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Matheson's #18 radio now provided the battalion's sole link to the rear.

Over the Adriatic a cold moon rose, and a wind off the sea swept aside the day's storm clouds. The night was frigid, frost glistening on the vegetation. With the moonlight providing only the faintest glimmer, the advancing infantry groped through the poles and overhead wires of the vineyards. The mud was often ankle deep, globbing onto boots to form a thick, heavy weight that made walking difficult.

To avoid these obstacles, battalion HQ kept to the road. This provided better footing for the mules, but it also channelled the unit over ground pre-targeted for artillery and mortar attention. The FOO unit approached one of the many curves in the road. Matheson led, Denison followed immediately behind, and a West Nova private trailed with the mule bearing the radio set. Behind this mule was another loaded with a Vickers medium machine gun. Matheson had just been issued a new improved helmet which, although still featuring the classic Commonwealth “piss-pot” design, was purportedly heavier and able to withstand shrapnel and bullet strikes.
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As the group entered the curve, a solitary German shell landed directly on top of them. Six tiny steel fragments from the bursting round sliced through the new helmet and pierced Matheson's skull. He slumped to the ground unconscious. Both mules were killed. The infantryman leading the mule with Matheson's radio suffered a broken leg from shrapnel. Denison, caught between Matheson and the mule party, was amazingly untouched. As had been the fate of the West Novas' #22 set, the FOO radio was crushed by the dead mule.
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Denison could do little for his badly wounded comrade. He sat in the mud and held Matheson's head in his lap. Matheson was bleeding profusely, and appeared more dead than alive.

A short distance ahead of Matheson's party, an ambulance jeep driven by Chaplain Waldo E. Smith was coming back down the road. The chaplain and an orderly were returning from picking up a
wounded Seaforth. They saw the shell strike on the opposite side of the approaching curve. “Good, that means we get by before the next one comes,” Smith said and gunned the jeep through the gooey mud. Smith later wrote that as they turned the corner, the ambulance crew “found a shambles. . . . On the ground were men who twisted and cried out, and one who was still.” Smith and his orderly jumped from the jeep and started tending the wounded. The private was in terrible pain from his broken leg, screaming in agony. Smith jabbed him with a morphine shot and bandaged the leg wound. He then turned to the soldier lying with his head on another man's lap. “There was a terrible gash in the top of it and two shell dressings were needed.” As Smith worked, another ambulance jeep arrived. The wounded were loaded into the two vehicles and evacuated.
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Matheson's head wound left him in a coma for several weeks and rendered him permanently hemiplegic. Through the rest of December, he was moved ever further back down the Eighth Army's chain of hospitals, remaining on the “dangerously ill list.” Initially, he was completely paralyzed due to damage to the brain's motor centres. He also suffered from traumatic epilepsy and amnesia. For months, the pain was excruciating. However, possessed of extraordinary determination and a belief in “God's grace,” Matheson regained much of his mobility. Eventually he recovered the use of his arms and hands, and could walk with crutches.
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The loss of its artillery FOO, and all the radio sets enabling communication with the supporting guns, left the West Novas to attack with what they carried: Bren guns, submachine guns, Lee Enfield rifles, and grenades. A plea was sent back for a new FOO to come up, but long before this unit arrived the West Novas were embroiled in an intense close-range firefight. At 2220 hours, the battalion approached The Gully's lip and the two forward companies walked into a storm of small-arms fire. With the rising moon at the Germans' back, the Canadians could barely see the flash of the enemy guns, let alone the firing soldiers. For the Germans' part, the moonlight starkly illuminated the West Novas, rendering them perfect targets. Men fell all along the front and the attack broke before it started. To the West Novas, it seemed as if the “Germans had popped up as if by magic
out of the earth.”
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Pinned down, hopelessly outgunned, and suffering a devastating rate of casualties, Bogert ordered his men to dig in and keep their heads down until morning. By then he hoped to have a new FOO up and consequently break The Gully defences with well-directed artillery fire.

At brigade HQ in San Leonardo, Brigadier Graeme Gibson tried unsuccessfully to learn what was happening to the West Nova Scotias. With the battalion-to-brigade radio knocked out, only infrequent and jumbled reports were picked up by brigade's attempts to monitor the battalion radio net. At 0230 hours, a message reported the “enemy's unsparing use of shell and mortar.” Gibson's anxiety increased. Lack of communication rendered him powerless, unable to provide artillery support. Confusing the picture further was the disquieting discovery that the military maps were riddled with topographical errors, especially in the area of The Gully. This meant it was difficult for FOOs and infantry commanders to determine their precise location and accurately direct artillery fire on nearby targets. The potential for artillery to hit its own side was increased exponentially.
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The map inaccuracies caused other problems. Shortly before midnight, Captain C.R. “Chuck” DePencier from the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery's ‘A' Troop set off in a Bren carrier to find the West Novas and replace Matheson as their FOO. With him were technical assistant Gunner Bert Good, driver Gunner Bob Caughey, and radio signaller Gunner Rod Anderson. They followed two Sherman tanks along the north edge of the Moro River, and Anderson was surprised to suddenly lose sight of the big machines ahead of them. Turning a corner, Anderson looked down into the bordering ravine and saw that both tanks had run off the road. One had fallen on top of the other. Caughey kept going, leaving the tankers to sort themselves out from the accident. The West Novas needed the FOO team now, so stopping to help was out of the question.

Passing through San Leonardo, the artillerymen looked about for the West Nova guide who was to take them up to the battalion's headquarters. Nobody showed. They pressed on, winding past debris and shell holes that threatened to block the road. The carrier soon bumped into a road-blocking power pole. DePencier feared they were lost. The map and the surrounding lay of the land seemed at odds with
each other. DePencier told the rest to stay with the carrier and set off alone on foot toward the front, hoping to find the West Novas.

Tensely, the artillerymen waited in the carrier for their officer's return. From about 200 yards ahead they started hearing sounds of armour and trucks heading toward Ortona. Then a firefight broke out behind them. The three men held a “war council” and decided Good and Caughey would walk back to contact the infantry engaged in the shooting. Anderson would remain with the carrier and radio sets. Breaking out a Bren gun he had retrieved from a dead 48th Highlander in Sicily and never used until now, Anderson prepared to defend the carrier. While he waited for his friends to return, a salvo of Canadian artillery crashed down around him, but caused no damage. Who directed this fire remained a mystery. Things were getting very hot and Anderson hoped the others would come back soon so they could clear this area.

Finally Good and Caughey returned. They had found a Canadian outpost and the infantry there confirmed the tanks heard earlier were Panzer Mark IVs. Anderson felt certain DePencier was either a prisoner or dead. Caughey turned the carrier around and the men fled back to San Leonardo, arriving just as day broke.
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Not long after DePencier wandered off into the night, he determined that the map reference for his scheduled rendezvous with the West Nova guide had been about half a mile too far north. DePencier realized he was well behind enemy lines. It was eerily quiet and he felt a gripping sense of danger. Suddenly he was surrounded by “some people in odd soldier suits and funny hats.” The Panzer Grenadiers roughly led him away. Soon he was stripped of the Canadian division's secret codes for coordinating artillery fire, which he had had no time to destroy.