The Battle of Desperation

The battle was fought in the undulating countryside just west of where the Rhine divides (into the Waal and Lek) for its final course to the sea. Here the rich burghers of Utrecht, Rotterdam and Amsterdam once had summer villas and liked to call its pleasant hills and forested hummocks "Little Switzerland." Here there were three fine towns: Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem, rich in the histories of ancient wars and in the traditions of peaceful living. And here Allied parachutists dropped behind German units like pieces on a checkerboard hopping over their opposition.

But in war, unlike checkers, the enemy pieces that have been hopped over are not thereby swept from the board. They have to be removed by force. It was the job of Lieut. General Sir Miles Christopher Dempsey's British Second Army to push through on the dotted line traced by the chutists, first to the airborne pioneers who dropped near Eindhoven, next to those at Nijmegen (the crossing of the Waal) and finally to those furthest ahead at Arnhem (the crossing of the Lek).

The safety of the paratroopers depended on the Second Army's speed. And the Second Army's speed depended in part on the paratroopers seizing bridges so that its tanks and big guns could roll ahead without interruption. The whole was a fine calculation of military risks to gain a foothold across the Rhine. In the first surprise the Second Army pushed to Eindhoven. Thereafter, as often happens in war, the stroke did not go according to plan.

Across the Waal. To take Nijmegen (pop. 95,000) and its modern (less than ten years old) five-span, mile-and-a-half-long bridge was the task of American paratroopers who were landed south of the town. They found the Germans in command of both the north and south ends of the coveted bridge. Close by the bridge was open space--the tree-lined Hunerpark. Commanding its sweep was a red-brick tower: old Fort Belvedere, a relic of Charlemagne's reign. The lower floors of Belvedere had in peacetime housed a tea room, its tower had been a tourist lookout. Now Belvedere was a fort again. Out of its doors and windows stuck the ugly snouts of German antitank guns. Atop the tower were more guns, snipers, and lookouts.

Frontal assault on the tower was impossible for the light-weaponed Americans. Like Indians around a blockhouse they harassed it with fire from trees, doorways, windows. At last three British tanks rumbled up after their 20-mile spurt from Eindhoven. As they arrived the Belvedere's guns spoke--and all three tanks were knocked out.

Not much more time could be wasted on the tower. The U.S. paratroop commander decided to send his men across the river in small, rubber assault boats, to storm the long bridge from the north.

The Americans had only 26 boats. They gathered their craft half a mile downstream while British artillery raked the Germans across the river. But when the first force of Americans pushed off, the river splattered around them with machine-gun and mortar fire. Each of the 26 boats carried a dozen men, but only 13 boats returned for more paratroopers. Some paddled, some bailed with their canteen cups. This time only eight boats returned (one carried back three dead and four wounded). After the third trip there were only five boats. They kept going.

Now the British turned their artillery on the tower in earnest. Across the bridge suddenly appeared a U.S. flag: the north end had been cleared. As if they had rehearsed it for weeks, the infantry moved in to clean out the Germans on the slope behind the Belvedere. At last the tanks moved out across the bridge. There was still one moment of awful suspense as the first tank reached the central span: would the Germans' demolition charges in the bridge explode? They did not.*

Bridgehead on the Lek. Nijmegen was a 24-hour sweet dream of tactical triumph. Arnhem, ten miles to the north, was a week-long nightmare. The British airborne division had descended north of Arnhem (pop. 80,000), which lies on the north side of its river. The airborne British, storming in to seize the bridge, had run into hot trouble half a mile short of it. Germans in force held houses, parks and wooded sections in the faubourg. The paratroops fought house to house, day & night. They occupied a small area, battered by big guns, thumped by mortars, clipped by machine guns. They set up field stations for their wounded--and wounded Germans straggled into them. The Germans captured some of the stations, and Allied and German doctors worked together.

After the third sleepless night came some Polish airborne troops as reinforcement. But still it was touch & go with disaster. And for most of the week the weather was so bad that even air-dropped supplies were scarce.

With the airborne was one reporter: Alan Wood, a British correspondent with a short-wave radio, who had one of the war's great action stories all to himself. He could tell little through the censorship, but the little he told revealed a battle for the history books. He dubbed the airborne's little island of rubble "this patch of hell." After five days & nights Wood reported "Our men are being asked to do more than ordinary flesh and blood can stand. . . .

"If in the years to come any man says to you, I fought with the Arnhem airborne force,' take off your hat to him and buy him a drink. . . . The few of Arnhem will rank in glory with the few of the Battle of Britain."

The seventh day broke bright and clear. A long train of C-47 transport planes and towed gliders came over Arnhem. More hundreds of paratroops, more tons of supplies fell to help the men in the "patch of hell."

The Few of Arnhem. Meanwhile General Dempsey's rescue force itself was in a ticklish spot. It had pierced a narrow slit into enemy territory. Behind it the Germans rushed in to cut it off. By furious tank attacks, the Germans at one point seized the road that was Dempsey's supply lifeline. After anxious hours they were thrown back, only to try again at another point. One mile from the slim corridor of advance, airborne Americans smashed a German concentration. A call for help brought rocket-firing aircraft into play against the tanks, and the second thrust was beaten back.

That night the U.S. airbornes inflated their few boats again, crossed the Lek to relieve the men in the "patch of hell." Gradually the Allied foothold across the Lek was strengthened. But still there was no letup of the German pressure. For this was also a battle of desperation for the Germans. U.S. columns advancing eastward from the rescue corridor drove into German territory a few miles from Cleve, the anchor of the Siegfried Line. This was not merely a battle to rescue the British airborne. It was a battle to turn the whole right flank of the German army.

*This week the censors allowed part of the non-exploded bridge story to come out: a young Dutch captain (unidentified) had parachuted in with the Americans, had telephoned instructions to patriots inside Nijmegen.

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