Bridge Too Far (72 page)

As the men streamed back one officer, who had stood in the rain for hours, searched every face.  Captain Eric Mackay, whose little band of stragglers had held out so gallantly in the schoolhouse near the Arnhem bridge, had escaped and reached Nijmegen.  Now he looked for members of his squadron.  Most of them had not made it to the Arnhem bridge; but Mackay, with stubborn hope, looked for them in the airborne lines coming out of Oosterbeek.  “The worst thing of all was their faces,” he says of the troopers.  “They all looked unbelievably drawn and tired.  Here and there you could pick out a veteran—a face with an unmistakable I-don’t-give-a-damn look, as if he could never be beaten.” All that night and into the dawn Mackay stayed by the road.  “I didn’t see one face I knew.  As I continued to watch I hated everyone.  I hated whoever was responsible for this and I hated the army for its indecision and I thought of the waste of life and of a fine division dumped down the drain.  And for what?”  It was full light when Mackay went back to Nijmegen.  There he began to check collecting points and billets, determined to find his men.  Of the 200 engineers in his squadron, five, including Mackay, had come back.

On the other side of the river remained the soldiers and civilians whose jobs and injuries demanded that they be left behind.  Small bands of men too late to make the trip stayed too, crouched down in the now-unmanned trenches and gun pits.  For these survivors there was no longer any hope.  In the blackened perimeter they awaited their fate.

Medic Taffy Brace had brought the last of his walking wounded down to the river, only to find the banks now empty.

Huddling with them, Brace saw a captain coming forward.  “What are we going to do?”  the officer asked Brace.  “There won’t be any more boats.”  Brace looked at the injured men.  “I guess we’ll have to stay then,” he said.  “I can’t leave them.”  The captain shook hands.  “Good luck,” he told them all.  “I’m going to try to swim across.”  Brace last saw the officer wading out into the water.  “Good luck yourself,” Brace called.  “Goodbye.”

For Major Guy Rigby-Jones, a physician at the Tafelberg, “the division’s leaving was a bitter pill to swallow,” but he carried on his work.  With teams of medics Rigby-Jones scoured the houses in the area of the hotel, bringing in wounded men.  Often hand-carrying the casualties to collection points, the medics loaded them into German trucks, ambulances and jeeps and then climbed on themselves, heading into captivity.

Padre Pare had slept the whole night through at the Schoonoord.  He awoke with a start, sure that something was terribly wrong.  Then he realized that it was unnaturally quiet.  Hurrying out into a room, he saw a medic standing at a window, in full view of anyone outside.  As Pare came up the medic turned around.  “The division’s gone,” he said.  Pare, who had not been told about the evacuation, stared at him.

“You’re mad, man.”  The medic shook his head.  “Look for yourself, sir.  We really are prisoners now.  Our chaps have had to retreat.”  Pare couldn’t believe it.  “Sir,” the medic said, “you’ll have to break the news to the patients.  I haven’t got the nerve to tell them.”  Pare made the rounds of the hotel.  “Everyone tried to take it in good heart,” he recalls, “but we were all in a fit of deep depression.” Then in the large room where most of the wounded still sheltered a soldier sat down at a piano and began to play a medley of popular songs.  Men started to sing and Pare found himself joining in.

“It was queer after the hell of the last few days,” Pare says.  “The Germans could not understand it, but it was easy enough to explain.

The suspense, the sense of being left behind produced a tremendous

reaction.  There was nothing left to do but sing.”  Later as Hendrika

van der Vlist and other Dutch civilians pre-

pared to leave to help the wounded in German hospitals, Pare waved goodbye regretfully.  “They had suffered with us, gone hungry and thirsty, and yet they had no thought for themselves.”  As the last ambulances disappeared, Pare and the medical staff loaded their meager belongings onto a German truck.  “The Germans helped us,” he recalls.  “There was a curious lack of animosity.  None of us had anything to say.”  As the truck drove off, Pare stared moodily at the blackened wreckage of the Schoonoord, “where absolute miracles had been worked.” He was “firmly convinced that it was only a matter of a day or two, possibly this coming night, before the Second Army crossed the Rhine and took the area back again.”

Across the street from the church, Kate ter Horst had said goodbye to the wounded, all now prisoners.  Pulling a hand cart and accompanied by her five children, she set out to walk to Apeldoorn.  A short distance away she stopped and looked back at the ancient vicarage that had been her home.  “A ray of sunshine strikes a bright yellow parachute hanging from the roof,” she wrote.  “Bright yellow … A greeting from the Airborne … Farewell, friends … God bless you.”

Young Anje van Maanen, also on the road to Apeldoorn, kept looking for

her father as the Red Cross cars and ambulances passed, bringing the

wounded from the Tafelberg.  With her aunt and her brother, Anje stared

at the familiar faces she had come to know throughout the week.  Then,

as a truck passed by, Anje saw her father, riding in it.  She screamed

to him and began to run.  The truck stopped and Dr.  van Maanen climbed

down to greet his family.  Hugging them all, he said, “We have never

been so poor and never so rich.  We have lost our village, our home and

our possessions.  But we have each other and we are alive.”  As Dr.

van Maanen got back on the truck to care for the wounded, he arranged

for the family to meet in Apeldoorn.  As they walked among hundreds of

other refugees, Anje turned to look back.  “The sky was colored

scarlet,” she wrote, “like the blood of the airborne who gave their

lives for us.  We four all are alive, but at the end of this hopeless

war week the battle has made an impres-

not on my soul.  Glory to all our dear, brave Tommies and to all the people who gave their lives to help and save others.”

In Driel, Cora Baltussen awoke to a strange silence.  It was midmorning Tuesday, September 26.  Painfully stiff from her wounds and puzzled by the silence, Cora limped outside.  Smoke billowed up from the center of the town and from Oosterbeek across the river.  But the sounds of battle were gone.  Getting her bicycle, Cora pedaled slowly toward town.  The streets were deserted; the troops had gone.  In the distance she saw the last vehicles in a convoy heading south for Nijmegen.  Near one of Driel’s ruined churches only a few soldiers lingered by some jeeps.  Suddenly Cora realized that the British and Poles were withdrawing.  The fight was over; the Germans would soon return.  As she walked over to the small group of soldiers, the bell in the damaged church steeple began to toll.  Cora looked up.  Sitting in the belfry was an airborne trooper, a bandage around his head.  “What happened?” Cora called out.  “It’s all over,” the trooper shouted.  “All over.  We pulled out.  We’re the last lot.”  Cora stared up at him.  “Why are you ringing the bell?”  The trooper kicked at it once more.  The sound echoed over the thousand-year-old Dutch village of Driel and died away.  The trooper looked down at Cora.  “It seemed like the right thing to do,” he said.

“In my—prejudiced— 596-597 view, if the operation had been properly

backed from its inception, and given the aircraft, ground forces, and

administrative resources necessary for the job—it would have succeeded

in spite of my mistakes, or the adverse weather, or the presence of the

2nd SS Panzer Corps in the Arnhem area.  I remain MARKET-GARDEN’S

unrepentant advocate.”  —Field Marshal Sir Bernard Montgomery,

Memoirs: Montgomery of Alamein, p. 267

“My country can never again afford the luxury of another Montgomery success.”  —Bernhard, The Prince of the Netherlands, to the author.

A NOTE ON 598-599 CASUALTIES

Allied forces suffered more casualties in Market-Garden than in the mammoth invasion of Normandy.  Most historians agree that in the twenty-four-hour period of D Day, June 6, 1944, total Allied losses reached an estimated 10,000-12,000.  In the nine days of Market-Garden combined losses—airborne and ground forces—in killed, wounded and missing amounted to more than 17,000.

British casualties were the highest: 13,226.  Urquhart’s division was almost completely destroyed.  In the 10,005 Arnhem force, which includes the Poles and glider pilots, casualties totaled 7,578.  In addition to this figure RAF pilot and crew losses came to another 294, making a total in wounded, dead and missing of 7,872.  Horrocks’ XXX Corps lost 1,480 and the British 8th and 12th Corps another 3,874.

American losses, including glider pilots and IX Troop Carrier Command, are put at 3,974.  General Gavin’s 82nd Airborne Division had 1,432;

General Taylor’s 101/, 2,118; and air crew losses 424.

Complete German figures remain unknown but in Arnhem and Oosterbeek admitted casualties came to 3,300 including 1,300 dead.  However, in the entire Market-Garden battle area, Model’s losses were much higher.  While no figure breakdown is available for the number of enemy killed, wounded and missing, from the breakout at Neerpelt, then along the corridor in battles at Nijmegen, Grave, Veghel, Best and Eindhoven, after interviewing German commanders I would conservatively estimate that Army Group B lost at least another 7,500-10,000 men, of which perhaps a quarter were killed.

What were Dutch civilian casualties?  No one can say.  Deaths in Arnhem and Oosterbeek are said to have been low, less than 500, but no one knows with any certainty.  I have heard casualty figures—that is, dead, wounded or missing—given as high as 10,000 in the entire Operation Market-Garden campaign and as a result of the forcible evacuation of the Arnhem sector together with deprivation and starvation in the terrible winter that followed the attack.

THE SOLDIERS AND 600-601 CIVILIANS OF “A BRIDGE TOO FAR”  What They Do

Today

Following is a list of all those who out of their firsthand recollections contributed information to “A Bridge Too Far.”  First, the men of the Allied armies; then the Dutch who lived in the area during the battle; and finally the German military who fought there.  Occupations may have changed since this book went to press, and where an asterisk follows a name it indicates that the contributor has died since these lists were compiled.  All ranks given are as of September, 1944.

AMERICAN Eisenhower, Dwight David, * Gen.,

Supreme Comdr.  [SHAEF].  Gen.  of the

Army, Comdr.  in Chief, President of the

United States.  Bradley, Omar Nelson, Gen.  [12th

Army Group].  Gen.  of the Army; Company

director, Beverly Hills, Calif.  Abel, Leonard Edw., 2nd Lt

[82nd Airborne].  Attorney,

Bay Harbor Islands, Fla.  Addison, William A. B., Major

[82nd Airborne].  V.-P.  and

trust officer, South Carolina National

Bank, Columbia, S.c. Albritton, Earl M., Cpl.  [101/

Airborne].  Rural mail carrier,

Winnsboro, La.  Alexander, Mark J., Lt.  Col.  [82nd

Airborne].  Real-estate broker,

Campbell, Calif.  Alhart, John Lamar, Capt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Dentist, Rochester,

N.y. Allardyce, James R., P.f.c.

[82nd Airborne].  Engineer,

Frankenmuth, Mich.  Allen, James Mann, Lt.  [101/

Airborne].  President, Allen

Paint Supply Co., Denver, Colo.  Allen, John Henry, P.f.c. [82nd

Airborne].  Upholsterer, Levittown,

N.y. Allen, Ray Carroll, Lt.

Col.  [101/ Airborne] Black

Angus cattle rancher, Marshall, Tex.  Altomare, John G., Cpl.  [101/

Airborne].  X-ray worker for

Westinghouse, Baltimore, Md.  Anderson, Fred, Jr., Capt.  [101/

Airborne].  V.-P.  (sales),

International Corporation, Charlotte,

N.c. Ankenbrandt, Louis E., P.f.c.

[82nd Airborne].  Ammunition

plant mechanic, Baraboo, Wis.

Antonion, Anthony J., P.f.c.

[82nd Airborne].  Shoe

corrections, Long Island City, N.y. Appleby, Sam, S/sgt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Attorney, Ozark,

Mo.  Arnold, George Wm., Sgt.  [82nd

Airborne].  District manager,

Detroit News, Birmingham, Mich.  Asay, Charles Verne, Sgt.  [101/

Airborne].  Linotype operator,

Sacramento, Calif.  Atkins, Lynn Cecil, Lt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Asst.  principal,

Roosevelt Elementary School, El

Paso, Tex.  Badeaux, Nelson John, Tst5 [82nd

Airborne].  Pipeline maintenance man,

Tennessee Gas Pipeline Co., New

Iberia, La.  Bailey, Edward N., Cpl.  [82nd

Airborne].  Claims counselor,

veterans service, College Park, Ga.  Bailey, Sam H., Jr., Lt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Executive,

Connecticut Mutual Life Insurance

Co., Miami, Fla.  Baldinger, Irving M., Tst5 [101/

Airborne].  President,

Legion-Olmer Bakery Co., New

Haven, Conn.  Baldino, Fred James, Cpl.  [82nd

Airborne].  Postman, Burbank,

Calif.  Ballard, Robert Aye, Lt.  Col.

[101/ Airborne].

Grove owner and operator and

Postmaster, Goulds, Fla.  Barickman, John Hamilton, Sec.

Sgt.  [101/ Airborne].

Steelworker, Streator, Ill.  Baugh, James Emory, Lt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Medical doctor,

Milledgeville, Ga.  Baxley, George C., Pvt.  [101/

Airborne].  Special

representative, Southwestern Bell

Telephone Co., Hewitt, Tex.  Beach, Maurice M., Col.  [9th Troop

Carrier Command].  Brig.  Gen.

(retired), U.s. Air Force; consulting

engineer, Garden Grove, Calif.  Beaudin, Briand N., Capt.  [82nd

Airborne].  Pediatrician, West

Warwick, R.i. Beaver, Neal will., Lt.  [82nd