“The route over the canal at Berg is still open, but the Soviets are constantly artillerying the approaches, although they are careful not to drop near the bridges themselves.”
As an after-though, he added.
“My frontline is sound, but I have no real reserve until I recover Fox. At this time, I have a group of approximately sixty men, postmen, bakers, musicians, and signallers uncommitted. They have tracks and the Chaffee,” he referred to an M24 light tank, which had mysteriously come into the possession of George Company, the day beforehand.
Marion Crisp stepped back.
“Thank you. And now, the Air Force. Major?”
The USAAF officer looked dejected, his contribution to the proceedings little more than confirming the obvious.
“Sir, Air is unavailable until this storm moves on.”
The statement was punctuated emphatically by the smash of a lightning bolt striking nearby.
“According to met reports, this could be set in all day. Some indications are that we may also have problems tomorrow, Sir.”
Above the sound of the storm, the screech of a vehicle was heard outside. The door flew open, permitting a disgruntled and extremely wet Colonel to enter.
“Hot damn, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, Bud!”
Joseph H. Harper, Colonel of the 327th Glider Infantry, was not pleasantly disposed, but still managed a dry comment.
“Well don’t get too excited, Joe, it’s pretty much only me that’s here.”
The Colonel threw off his wet jacket, and accepted a towel offered by one of the staff officers hovering on the fringes of the briefing.
Higgins quickly brought Harper up to speed.
“So, where are you, and what have you got Bud?”
Moving around to the northern edge of the map, Harper dripped water as he illustrated his words with movements over the map.
“I’ve brought two companies and some heavy weapons platoons with me, presently inside the 501st’s lines, here at the woods,” the position was west of Tüddern, and on the flank of the area attacked by Fox Company earlier.
“The rest of my Regiment is either at Born, Holtum, or Echt, outside the encirclement.”
“Thank you, Bud. What sort of shape you in?”
“Mad as hell, General. The boys are spoiling for a brawl, and that’s no error.”
Higgins pondered for a moment, and then went with his gut decision.
“OK, Colonel Harper, your companies will take over responsibility for this northern area from,” he squinted at the writing, “Guttecoven into North Sittard here.”
Harper nodded, understanding and already working on the movement.
“Crisp, that means you can use your relieved units as a reserve. Added to Fox, that should give you three companies in total.”
Crisp did not bother to remind the General that a company was only a company in name, as battle had taken its toll on the numbers.
“I want one of these under my command as my personal reserve, as soon as possible.”
“Yes Sir,” Crisp’s eyes already transmitting his order to the commander of Able Company. The man nodded his understanding.
“Right then, Gentlemen. We can do nothing fancy, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t take advantage when the opportunity presents itself. Be aggressive when you can, try and keep them on guard and worrying about what we are going to do.”
He accepted the general low mumbling as agreement and understanding.
“We have no room to trade here, so we must stand where we are now. Every man that can hold a gun, or throw a grenade, must be in the field.”
Almost as if suddenly realising the predicament the force was in, Higgins wearily ran his hand over his forehead, taking a moment’s pause.
“The Dutch authorities have already offered to help where they can. I have agreed that their people can help move our supplies where they can, and take our seriously wounded back to the aid stations.”
“Some have military experience and will even fight.”
Von der Heydte sneezed.
“Gesundheit!”
“Danke, Herr Oberst.”
Crisp returned the German’s grin, although part of him felt he shouldn’t.
‘Carentan.’
“Return to your units, and get the changes done immediately, Report in constantly. I want no surprises like we had at Gangelt ok? No retreat. Questions?”
There were none.
In the end, it was quite straightforward.
They would hold at all costs, or they would go under.
“Mon dieu!”
The artillery barrage swept up and over the defenders, transforming the already battered Dutch village into a moonscape of holes and rubble, shattered wood and piled earth, all liberally decorated with the body parts of the Belgian and German defenders, and their civilian Dutch helpers.
Captain Alain Cirisse, the commander of the Belgian Battalion’s 3rd Compagnie, was an interested observer, undistracted by his present predicament. His men worked swiftly in the area around him, not realising that he still lived. Some recovered and repositioned the machine gun, knocked over by the force of the shell that had demolished the building, dropping tons of brick and cement on top of the position in which Cirisse sheltered.
Attempting to escape the collapse, the Belgian Army officer, and former resistance fighter, had nearly made it, until a large chunk of wall smashed him down, crushing his legs, and pinning him to the roadway.
His Sten gun lay next to him, pristine, untouched by the passage of tons of building.
The damaged machine-gun opened up again, its tracers probing the sodden air, the downpour the same, if not slightly increasing.
Soviet tanks moved carefully forward, wary of the Panzerfaust that had already claimed a number of their comrades.
Stopping to fire at a safe distance, they put shell after shell into the defending positions.
A 90mm anti-aircraft gun, emplaced across the canal in Urmond, took up the challenge, smashing one of the T-34’s with its first shot.
The tanks moved forward, into the lee of a large building, from where they continued to put accurate rounds into the Allied lines, whilst their flank was protected from the fire of the big American gun.
A German paratrooper took his chance and popped out of a manhole, putting his Panzerfaust on target, knocking the Soviet tank battalion’s commander out of the fight, along with the entire crew.
A hull machine-gun lashed out at the tank killer, bullets striking home and sending him tumbling down into the sewer below.
Cirisse felt nothing below the waist now, his legs completely crushed and numb, the anaesthetic nature of the cold rain helping to kill the pain.
The machine-gun crew next to him were taken out by a mortar shell, the three men badly wounded and out of the fight.
Soviet mortars increased their rate of fire as the infantry moved in front of the T-34’s, pushing forward to protect their armoured colleagues from the deadly anti-tank weapons.
The mix of Belgian fusiliers and German paratroopers stood their ground, pouring fire into the advancing Russians.
The guardsmen crouched lower, and continued to move forward, the downpour helping to obscure much of their movement, although many of their number were shot down.
Again, the T-34’s moved forward, tucking in behind the knots of infantry.
The mortars halted their fire, fearing friendly casualties, pushing the barrage up to concentrate on preventing enemy reinforcements from getting forward.