Bridge Too Far (14 page)

Once Generals Brereton and Browning had outlined the plan, determined the objectives and decided on airlift capability, each commander developed his own combat plans.  The choice of drop zones and landing sites had priority.  From previous operations, veteran airborne commanders knew that the best chance of success depended on how close to their objectives assaulting troops could be dropped.  Ideally, they should be landed almost on their targets or within quick marching distance, especially if they were expected to seize a bridge.  With the meager ground transport available, the pinpointing of these sites was vital.

Major General Maxwell D. Taylor was all too aware that his sites must be chosen for maximum effect.  While Taylor would have the majority of his Screaming Eagle paratroops on D Day, his engineering units, artillery and most of the 101/ transport would not arrive until D plus 1 and 2. Studying the southernmost part of the corridor where the 101/ Airborne Division was to hold between Eindhoven and Veghel, Taylor quickly noted that over the fifteen-mile stretch of highway, his troops must capture two major canal crossings and no less than nine highway and railroad bridges.  At Veghel, over the river Aa and the Willems Canal, there were four bridges, one a major canal crossing.  Five miles south in St.  Oedenrode, a bridge over the Lower Dommel had to be seized; four miles from there was the second major canal crossing, over the Wilhelmina Canal near the village of Son, and to the west a bridge near the hamlet of Best.  Five miles farther south in Eindhoven, four bridges over the Upper Dommel had to be taken.

After studying the flat terrain between Eindhoven and Veghel, with its

veining waterways, dikes, ditches and tree-lined roads, Taylor decided

to pinpoint his major landing site almost in the center of his assault

area, by the edge of a forest barely one and one half miles from Son

and roughly equidistant between Eindhoven and Veghel.  He would land

two of his regiments, the 502nd and the 506th, on this zone.  The 502nd

was charged with objectives in St.  Oedenrode and Best; the 506th with

those in Son and Eindhoven.  The third regiment, the 501/, was to land

in two

areas north and west of Veghel, within a few hundred yards of the vital four bridges.  It was a formidable assignment for his men to accomplish on D Day without their back-up auxiliary units, but Taylor believed that “with luck, we can make it.”

The task of the 82nd Airborne was more intricate.  Its ten-mile sector was wider than that of the 101/.  In this central segment of the corridor, the huge, nine-span, 1,500-foot-long bridge over the Maas river at Grave and at least one of four smaller railroad and highway crossings over the Maas-Waal Canal must be seized.  The great bridge over the Waal river at Nijmegen, almost in the center of this city of 90,000, was also a prime objective.  None of these could be called “secured” unless the Groesbeek Heights, dominating the area two miles southwest of Nijmegen, were held.  Also, to the east was the great belt of forest along the German border—the Reichswald—where the Germans might assemble for attack.  When General Gavin explained to his headquarters’ officers what was expected of them, his chief of staff, Colonel Robert H. Wienecke, protested, “We’ll need two divisions to do all that.”  Gavin was terse.  “There it is, and we’re going to do it with one.”

Remembering the 82nd Airborne’s attacks in Sicily and Italy, when his

troops were scattered sometimes as far as thirty-five miles from their

drop zone (the standard division joke was that “we always use blind

pilots”), Gavin was determined to land his men this time almost on

their targets.  In order of priority, he decided that his objectives

were: first, the Groesbeek Heights; second, the bridge at Grave; third,

the crossings on the Maas-Waal Canal; and fourth, the Waal bridge at

Nijmegen.  “Because of probable quick enemy reaction,” Gavin later

recalled, “I decided to drop the largest part of my paratroops between

the Groesbeek Heights and the Reichswald.”  He chose two landing zones

in the Groesbeek vicinity less than a mile and a half from the ridge

itself and three to four miles southwest of Nijmegen.  There, his 508th

and 505th regiments, plus the headquarters staff, would land.  The

third regiment, the 504th, was to drop on the western side of the

Groesbeek Heights in the triangle between the

Maas river and the Maas-Waal Canal, a mile from the eastern end of the Grave bridge and two miles west of the Maas-Waal Canal bridges.  To insure the capture of the vital Grave bridge, which might be prepared for demolition, an additional phase of his plan was developed in which a company of the 504th was to be dropped a half mile from the western end of the bridge.  Before the enemy could retaliate, the 504th would rush the bridge from both ends.

Obviously, the great Nijmegen bridge was the most important of all his objectives and crucial to the entire Market-Garden operation.  Yet Gavin was well aware that, without holding the other objectives, the Waal river crossing by itself would be useless.  General Browning agreed with him.  If the first bridges were not taken or if the enemy held the Groesbeek Heights, the corridor for the Garden forces would never be opened.  Therefore, Browning specifically directed, Gavin was not to attempt an attack on the Nijmegen bridge until the primary objectives were secured.

Although he was concerned about the wide dispersal of his troops, Gavin was satisfied with the plan.  One aspect bothered him, as it had bothered Taylor.  His entire division would not be organically complete until supporting units arrived on D plus 1 and 2, and he wondered how his men—who knew nothing about Market-Garden as yet—would react.  Still, in the experienced 82nd, morale was high as always; many of his men had made three combat jumps already.  “Jumping Jim” Gavin, at thirty-seven the youngest brigadier general in the U.s. Army, had no doubts that his “fugitives from the law of averages,” as they called themselves, would do their job.

The most difficult and dangerous assignment, by far, had been given to a modest, reticent career officer, Major General Robert “Roy” Urquhart, forty-two-year-old commander of the British 1/ Airborne Division and the attached Polish Brigade.

Unlike General Browning and his American colleagues, Urquhart, a highly

professional soldier who had fought with great distinction in North

Africa, Sicily and Italy, had no airborne

warfare experience.  He would be commanding an airborne division in battle for the first time.  Browning had chosen him because he was “hot from battle,” but Urquhart had been surprised at his appointment.  He had always considered airborne units “tightly knit organizations, closed family affairs and quite exclusive.”  Yet Urquhart had confidence in his ability to lead the elite unit.  Once the force was on the ground the basic fighting rules remained the same, and he viewed his airborne division as “very highly trained infantry troops.”

Despite his long combat experience, Urquhart was bothered about one thing: he had never parachuted or been in a glider.  “I was even prone to airsickness,” he was later to remark.  On taking command in January, 1944, nine months before, Urquhart had suggested to General Browning that perhaps, as the new division commander, he ought to have some parachute training.  Browning, who impressed Urquhart as a “lithe, immaculately turned-out man who gave the appearance of a restless hawk,” answered that Urquhart’s job was to get his division ready for an invasion of the Continent.  Looking over the six-foot, 200-pound Scotsman, Browning added, “Leave the parachuting to younger chaps.  Not only are you too large, but you’re getting on.”  * * At their first interview Urquhart was still wearing his Brigadier’s badges and tight-fitting Tartan trousers (trews) and spats of the Highland Division.  As the meeting broke up, Browning, pointing to Urquhart’s pants, said, “You might also get yourself properly dressed and get rid of those trews.”

Throughout the long months of training, Urquhart “often felt like an

outsider, a kind of military landlubber.”  He was aware of “being

watched closely; not with hostility, though some airborne officers had

reservations and a few did not bother to conceal them.  I was on trial;

my actions were being judged.  It was an unenviable position, but one I

accepted.”  Slowly, Urquhart’s confident, assured handling of the

division won over his officers.  And among the troopers, Urquhart was

far more popular than he knew.  Private James W. Sims, of the 1/

Airborne Division’s 1/ Parachute Brigade, remembers “the General’s

supreme confidence and his calmness.”  Sergeant John Rate, of Division

headquarters, had the impression that “General Urquhart did whatever

job had

to be done.  He didn’t just ask someone else to do it.  The General didn’t stand on ceremony.”  Signalman Kenneth John Pearce called him “a big wonderful fellow.  He called us “son” or used our first names if he knew them.”  And from Sergeant Roy Ernest Hatch, of the Glider Pilot Regiment, Urquhart earned the supreme compliment.  “He was,” Hatch asserted, “a bloody general who didn’t mind doin’ the job of a sergeant.”

To Urquhart’s frustration, his division had not been chosen for the Normandy invasion, and “the summer passed interminably, planning one operation after another, only to see each canceled.”  Now, his “Red Devils” were “hungering for a fight.”  They had almost given up.  “We were calling ourselves “The Stillborn Division,”” recalls Major George S. Powell of the 4th Parachute Brigade.  “We figured we were being kept in reserve for use in the victory parade.”  As Urquhart saw it, “there was a dangerous mixture of ennui and cynicism slowly creeping into our lives.  We were trained to a fine edge and I knew that if we didn’t get into battle soon, we would lose it.  We were ready and willing to accept anything, with all the “ifs.””

Urquhart’s principal target—the prize of Operation Market-Garden—was Arnhem’s concrete-and-steel highway bridge over the Lower Rhine.  Additionally, Urquhart’s men had two secondary objectives: a nearby floating pontoon bridge and a double-track railway crossing upriver, two and a half miles west of the town.

Urquhart’s assignment presented a series of problems.  Two were particularly worrisome.  Reports of heavy antiaircraft defenses in the area indicated that some enemy units were massing in the vicinity of the Arnhem bridge itself.  And Urquhart was uneasy about the three days it would take to airlift his entire force of British and Polish paratroops to their objectives.  Both these problems had a direct bearing on Urquhart’s choice of landing sites.  Unlike the 82nd and 101/ Airborne Divisions, he could not pick zones almost on or even close to the principal target.  Ideally, he should land his forces near the Arnhem bridge on both sides of the river; but Urquhart’s terrain was by no means ideal.

The northern exit of the crossing ran directly into the densely populated, built-up center of Arnhem itself.  Near the southern exit, low-level polder land was, according to reports, too marshy for men or gliders.  “Many of my own commanders,” Urquhart remembers, “were quite willing to land on the southern side, even though it was marshy.  Indeed, some were ready to risk injury by parachuting on the northern side—on the town itself.”

In the previous week, bomber crews returning from other missions had reported a 30 percent increase in antiaircraft fire near the Arnhem crossing and from Deelen airfield seven miles to the north.  Consequently, R.a.f. commanders whose pilots were scheduled to tow Urquhart’s glider-borne troops raised strong objections to landing zones close to the Arnhem bridge.  If sites were located near the southern exit, tug aircraft wheeling north after releasing gliders would run into heavy flak over the airfield.  Turning south was almost as bad; planes might risk collision with aircraft dropping the 82nd Airborne near Nijmegen, eleven miles away.  Urquhart was confronted with a dilemma: he could insist that the R.a.f. place his troops in proximity to the bridge, or he could choose drop zones much farther away, outside Arnhem itself, with all the dangers that choice entailed—delay, loss of surprise, possible German opposition.  The risks were multiplied because on D Day Urquhart would have only a part of his division.  “My problem was to get enough men down on the first lift,” Urquhart recalled, “not only to seize the main bridge in the town itself, but also to guard and defend the drop zones and landing areas for the succeeding lifts.  To seize the main bridge on the first day my strength was reduced to just one parachute brigade.”

Faced with these restrictions, Urquhart appealed to Browning for extra

planes.  It seemed to him, he told the Corps commander, “that the

Americans are getting all they need.”  Browning disagreed.  The

allocation of aircraft, he assured Urquhart, was “entirely due to

priorities and not to any high-level American pressure.”  The entire

operation, he explained, had to be planned from south to north, “bottom

to top”; objectives in the southern and central sections of the

corridor must be “seized first to get the

ground forces through.  Otherwise, the 1/ Airborne would be wiped out.”

In his command caravan on the Moor Park golf course near the clubhouse that General Browning used as headquarters, Urquhart pored over his maps and pondered the situation.  Some open sectors existed north of Arnhem in a national park, but these were too small and the terrain was unsuitable.  At best, these spots might accommodate a small parachute force but no gliders.  The only alternative was to land in some broad expanses of open heaths and pasture land bordered by pine woods, 250 feet above sea level, lying west and northwest of Arnhem.  The heathlands were firm and flat, perfect for gliders and parachutists.  They were ideal in every way—except one: the areas lay between six and eight miles from the Arnhem bridge.  Faced with the R.a.f.’s continued opposition to a drop in the immediate vicinity of the bridge, Urquhart reluctantly decided on the distant sites.  “There was nothing else to do,” he recalled, “but to accept the risks and plan for them.  I was left with no choice.”  * * Colonel George S. Chatterton, commanding the Glider Pilot Regiment, recalls that he wanted a coup de main, “a force of five or six gliders to land near the bridge and take it.  I saw no reason why we could not do it, but apparently nobody else saw the need for it, and I distinctly remember being called a bloody murderer and assassin for suggesting it.”