Internal Communique:
September 23, 1944
From: Captain Hastings DSO,DSC
Point Unknown, somewhere north of Nijmegan, German Occupied Holland
To: Colonel Lazlo Ixlplix S.O.E.
Somewhere in Allied controlled Belgium
Ixlplix,
First off I sincerely hope you are well and unscathed my friend. A spot of hardship I suppose getting out of Germany . . . and into this shit storm, what! But in all seriousness chap, where the hell are you? Your squad of five; Crpl. Paul-Bearer, Crpl. Jergov, Sgt. McMick, Sgt. McDick, and Crpl. Stafford were split between myself and Liut. Downswell ( I got McMick and Stafford, he took the others with him to Arnhem Bridge – In God’s name Lazlo, those boys in the 2nd and 3rd battalions are catching hell . . . well, we all are).
I recall, old boy, in one of our previous correspondence, I was telling you about the troops, and flak guns I was running into all over the fields of Holland. Well It’s bad Ixlplix. Right now it’s looking like the 2nd, 9th, and 10th Panzer are all here in the vicinity. The Jerry’s have got us chopped up, pinned down, and split all over. We have no major defendable positions. Worse by far though; we’re low on ammunition, key radios are broken, and we can’t get wounded out. It’s hard to get runners out to other companies. I heard through some of the Yanks that 2nd Co. lost five runners, trying to get across the square to 3rd Co.
Lazlo, if we make it through this war, we must bring the Abbey to the forefront. Only we can provide what is needed . . . the intelligence, the logistics, the special fighters. Everything happening here, now, is avoidable. Monty wanted his big moment. Wanted to keep up with ole Ike I’d say. But he didn’t give the time of day to the daily intelligence officer from the Abbey I hear! It’s like Leige all over again mate. All these Germans, crawling all over the place like flies on a carcass. How this got past the brass . . . or did it? Were they so high after Overlord they felt . . . unstoppable? This is what we need to address back in England, God willing. I think of all the men lost today, this week . . .
Lazlo, I have seen a lot in the service of the Queen.
And now . . . I have seen much more.
I’ll bring you up to speed old boy.
So the whole event began on the night of the 16th September. I was trying to catch some fish west of a village named Elst. I had found shelter by the little stream. The night was clear and unusually warm. The evening insects of late summer were loud, and the stars were bright. I thought to myself it was like being back home in the shelter of Mother England. Out at night, fishing, drinking . . . nothing but damn gin in Holland . . . no single malt here.
I was, as I said, trying to land a fish or two – when I heard the Lancasters overhead. The roar of those aircraft; the vibration in your chest. I hauled my fish back to my little shack, fried them up with some butter and shallots provided by a lovely local girl . . . nothing like Dutch girls Ixplix.
Before dawn on the 17th I set out to cross the River Nederrjin near Driel. I was given charge to assist the 1st Airborne and it’s associated units however possible.
I arrived near to a German position on the south bank of the Nederrjin. A machine gun nest. Three men, two machine guns. This was of course at the narrowest point of the river for miles, my only easy option. I had to come up with a plan old boy, you know, give them a taste of the ole’ British Empire.
So I shouted out, “ May I fish the river?”
“What . . . who the fuck are you?” Yelled a very surprised German.
“I have come to fish for my family.”
At this point all three heads pop up and out of their firing position. They struggle to see me in the pre dawn light. But of course, I already have my fishing waders on, my rod is assembled, and I’m smoking my briar bowl.
One of the soldiers says “Are you serious?” pausing, “There are bombers overhead . . . bombs flying . . . and you, you want to fish?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
Well, Lazlo, a furious argument ensued, and in the end they said if I was stupid enough to want to – fish – then to go ahead but not to cross the river. So, I said ok and made my way down to the Nederrjin. I waded out into the river and started fishing. There was a bit of a riffle, so I worked it from below – on a dry fly. Caught a trout! A nice brown. Imagine, in the Nederrjin! I worked the river and caught several more fish, then launched my plan.
I feigned drowning. Ah what a laugh Lazlo! I pretended I took a misstep, fell in I did. Filled up my waders with the river. I had quite a fight which at one point I thought I would not win . . . done in by my own deception. I flapped about in the water for a few moments, and slowly relieved myself of my waders, creel, rod. I continued to feign near death till I hit the other shore. At this point the Germans are yelling at me to get back over to their side. I am hoping I look like quite the sight I do. I just sit down with my head in my hands; muddy, all my personal effects gone, my family’s fish gone, soaked to the bone, a seemingly broken man.
I had left a small duffle of dry goods near to the German position. And I eventually called out to the Germans, “Can you bring my duffle to the shore?”
No relpy.
Again, “Can you bring my duffle . . . there is money in it . . .”
In the now virgin light of the new day I saw one of the soldiers bring my duffle into their position. I saw them look for the money, and I saw the whole position erupt in a huge explosion as the dynamite in my duffle went off, right on time. Good show. I walked up and onto the Oosterbeek shore. The 1st was due in shortly.
I interfaced with scout elements of the 2nd battalion/1st Parachute – Lt Col Frost – along the road into KlingelBeek. This is when reality started settling in, that maybe, our intelligence had been less than desireable. They told me about crashed gliders, lost radios, lost people, bad drop zones – our boys were being slaughtered in a few areas.
But as the day wound on the 2nd rolled right into Arnhem.
They seized the north end of the bridge and quickly made a defensive perimeter. That’s where the progress ended for them. I was along for what aid I could be.
As the dawn of the 18th was upon us, the Jerry’s were probing and attacking from all sides. But the Poles were expected to come in and the rest of the 1st was not far behind. We had only to wait until relief arrived. This fact made us all a bit more confident. B Company made it to us from all of 100 yards away, they had been pinned down all night beside the pontoon bridge at the river’s edge. We were in the middle of morning tea, and some debriefing, when all hell broke loose around us. The house in which we were headquartered suddenly seemed to get right up off of it’s foundation and set back in place in a great, sudden, violent jolt. The jolt was paired with a tremendous noise, and much dust. I couldn’t hear anything but a loud long ringing. I realized that I had blood all over me, and I could not tell if it was from my body or some other chaps . . . or both. As the situation became clearer to me we had been hit by a tank shell, or possibly a mortar shell. It did the most damage on the top floor. Detonating within the proximity of a dozen men sipping tea and smoking pipes. The blast tore several up pretty bad mate. The blood of the men pouring through the broken flooring, and down into the rooms below, covering all in a blast impact spray of shrapnel and blood.
The Germans had launched a full scale recon probe. Our house was located in such a manner that we could look at nearly eye level from our roof, now a bit blown up, onto the road bed of the bridge. We could see the German onslaught coming across the bridge, and we waited till they were right there Lazlo. We opened up with salvos from several PIAT’s and small arms, initially taking out the first vehicles in the recon column and the last few, trapping the middle column to doom. I took the boys out for a walk about on the bridge along with Major Digby and a few of his men from 2nd parachute. The Germans were lined up like ants all along the bulwark of the bridge. Dozens and dozens. The Major was a bit winded after being very nearly put to his grave by a sniper’s bullet, and a bit concerned about his men getting pinned down on the bridge decking. I advised he should let the Abbey boys take care of this for them. Agreeing, he and his men drew back to supporting and cover firing positions. I took McMick and Stafford, and Reynolds from my squad – and we went over the rail down to the cat walks. Sgt. Arms took his squad and attempted to draw fire from the foot crossing on the bridges west side. As they drew fire and returned fire from their side, we would pop up and fire on enemy positions from the east side and behind the German positions. This tactic quickly terminated close to 20 Germans on “our” side of the decking. We backed off as to not over extend our force, and as we came back to the good Major he was standing in the middle of the bridge leaning on his umbrella.
“Good thing you chaps cleared the Jerry’s . . . what?” Major Digby said wheeling around on one foot like a dancer.
“Yes sir.” Sgt Arms replied.
“And do you know why?” Digby smiling, his eyes squinting, “Why it’s so good Sgt?”
Arms pauses looking at Digby, questioning more than the question.
“”Well those German bastards would have blown my head off if I was standing there like that, wouldn’t they have Sgt?
“Damn near did Allison.” I Said.
“What did you say?” Digby turns, fiery eyed to me.
“Sir, er, Major, you almost got killed right off . . .”
“No, Captain.” Digby getting closer says, “You called me Allison.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it? Sir?”
He drew in a bit closer. I assumed a defensive stance.
“Do I need to remind you the things they teach us at the Abbey . . . Allison?” I said.
He stormed off back to the HQ.
Upon our arrival back inside, I was order by Frost to find Gen. Sosabowksi’s anti-tank men and bring them into the city in the morning light. In other words we were done with the 2nd.
We left after eating and having some tea. Frost did not want us to go, but he said he needed the support of Digby more than he needed the eight of us, laughing. We shared some scotch we managed to covertly bring along . . . they may have muzzled us temporarily at the Abbey but we still do have Carte Blanche for our “special” projects. Oh Lazlo, remember the early 30’s? How vital we were. We were the kings. We trained, and fished, and hunted for game, drinking all the while . . .
Sosobowski’s anti-tank corps was due in by parachute and glider, landing in the north and west of Oosterbeek. We would bring them from the landing-zone to the area near the north end of the bridge were our boys were holed up.
Getting to the Poles was difficult. There were German Infantry everywhere. And just a hundred meters to the north were lines of Panzers. The streets were a death trap. But we being of stout Abbey training, made our way through the mayhem and west of the town, back up the Lion Route and to Hartenstein and our rendezvous. I was told to find Maj Gen Ivanskivotcher. He and his men would be escorted by my squad back to the bridge. We arrived at a scene of complete chaos. The drop was in a heath set right in front of a column of German Infantry attached to a Panzer division. The whole drop was a pigeon shoot, with the men of Major Krafft’s 2nd SS Panzers below as the Poles and British fell from the sky. We watched in muted horror. With little we could do.
We set up a small defended perimeter into which we could start ferrying in men and supplies. We started with the chaps closest and built up the perimeter slowly outward as we advanced. As we moved forward men swelled in, moved back and to the sides, supporting the forward movement towards more men. Artillery, or tank fire, started coming in from north of us, along with small arms fire. If they got to the east of us the boys in Arnhem were done. That’s why we were all there. For that bridge. All the rest of it; the other bridges, the drop zones, the wounded . . . the dead . . . are all afterthought. All for the bridge. Everything. Hold until the end – the bitter end.
Your boys and mine quickly started a rapid egress from the east side of our defensive bubble, with the west side collapsing into the interior of the bubble and beginning the spearhead out the east side. It is like a caterpillar walking, what? And a good show indeed. Provides equal force at all sides of the perimeter at all times, and maintains an astonishing rate of movement. We were all out of the clearing when the shells began hitting the area several hundred men had been moments earlier.
I delivered under constant enemy contact, the Maj Gen and his anti-tankers to Frost and his men at the bridge. I met Frost under extremely heavy fire in a blown out hotel in the square at the foot of the bridge. Frost told me Digby wanted nothing to do with us being there, and he was sending us to reach the other Poles coming in on the 21st – behind the Germans on the other side of the bridge – to relieve 2nd Battalion.
I looked at Frost and said, “Sir, that’s in two days, what are we to do until then?”
“I know what you boys at the Abbey are good at . . .” pausing, sizing me up.
“I Know what you did in Africa Hastings.” he says.
“I know what you all . . . should be doing.”
Pausing again, he continues, “Hastings, our radios are down,” looking down at his feet, “fucking wrong crystals.”
“What sir?” I was shocked, “What did you say?”
“Crystals. Wrong crystals. Radios can’t work. It’s a . . . oh, bother.” Looking up from his feet, into my eyes, I see the truth. I see fear.
“Do you have any communications sir?” I asked.
“Runners.”
“I see sir.” I replied.
“And how is that working, sir?” I queried
“We’ve lost several already. That we know of. I sent runners to try to cross the river . . . trying to get through to the Americans in Nijmegen . . . but they are long overdue now.” Frost looked serious.
“Well sir, for you, your men, and the Queen, how can we help you?” I said.
“I want you to go raise cane Hastings.” Frost turned looking at once like a child to me. “You may play the decisive role in the battle, like in Africa.”
We paused looking at each other, in the blown out hotel, covered with dust and debris and blood, the sounds of war in constant eruption outside, the constant threat, the constant reminder – that we are all, already dead men.
So we turned and left Frost, and Arnhem, for good.
We gathered up in an abandoned home on the west side of town. When we climbed to the top floor we found a patrol of armoured infantry on the other side of the dwelling, relaxing in the street; 12 men, an armored personnel carrier, 5 or 6 heavy machine guns, and a small field gun in tow. We thought it best to keep quiet and plan our next moves before thinking about our new neighbors. Stafford thought as the situation seemed to be deteriorating we should establish a rear base of operations for Frost – and a defensible corridor – should the shit hit the fan completely. We looked at several options. All looked bad.
We settled on the Old Church in Oosterbeek.
We had some nice cold meat and fish we had “acquired” along our way, we shared a bottle of scotch, and we managed 15 or 20 minutes sleep in the middle of the battle for Arnhem.
Upon waking we wanted to greet our new neighbors of course! And as I called out from the balcony window to my German friends, “Hello we’ve just moved in, have you been here long?”
The Germans, frantically swinging themselves around to see who, could have possibly called out to them. Rifles being turned my way. But it was already to late for them. Reynolds and Stafford assaulted them with a fine lot of hand grenades. Reynolds getting one right down the barrel of the field gun! Four grenades all told. No one, and no equipment survived.
We made our way to the old church, establishing runners and defences along the path. Casualties started flowing immediately. We had no radio either, but now Frost was not cut off totally.
We made our way down towards Hartenstein and eradicated several 88’s and their associated crews. These are not the same dedicated, healthy crews we saw during France Lazlo. The tide is changing, I’m certain. But the tide can not change quick enough for us, now, here.
We crossed the river early on the 21st, under constant harassment fire peppering the river. We dropped all of our weapons, clothes and other gear, and swam under water, deep under, to cross.
We came ashore in Driel. What a nest of Germans. Real trouble for 8 naked Brits
We quickly came up to a group of Germans standing around smoking and looking nervous. I had a thought. I called out to them, “My brothers, help us the British have done terrible things to our young bums. We have been stripped of both weapon and uniform.” I paused, “And pride.”
“What, who are you?” Called on of the Germans.
‘I am Hans Gruber from Spindler’s group.”
“How did you cross the river?” He shouted.
“We had no choice to save ourselves, we swam under-water to reach you.”
“Come into the light slowly.” The soldier instructed.
“No, no, we are all naked.” I petitioned, “Please come here.”
“Ya, ya ok.” Approaching us.
When he got within a good right cross distance I leveled him, my right hand – Reynolds, grabbed the soldiers MP-40 and quickly killed all the others.
We stripped them of their uniforms and moved with impunity in the German controlled areas.
We passed many German entrenchments and fighting positions. Many 88’s. Many tanks. It seemed as though we were dropping the Poles into a bad position, and it turned out to be so.
Walking through the south of Driel we heard the planes overhead, the Halifax bomber towing gliders and the Horsa carrying paratroopers – though the gliders were likely already on their own. We settled into a small wood near the landing zone. There were Germans everywhere Lazlo, everywhere. We could see at least 50 Germans within eye shot of our position. We hatched a plan.
The troops were soon above us, helpless, the 1st Polish (Independent) Parachute Brigade. Floating, in slow motion time. God I hated parachuting, Ixlplix. SO glad I wasn’t with these boys. As soon as their shoots deployed the Jerry’s open up. Oosterbeek was bad enough, horrible in fact – but this, this was slaughter. It seemed as if no Pole would make it down alive. We swung into action.
I sent Reynolds and McMick off to left flank, Stafford and two men off to the right flank, I held middle position, and old Crpl. Twombly took up the rear defensive position of our bubble. The goal was to rapidly expand the bubble to the sides while slowly moving forward, and maintaining the rear defensive position till rallying up. As soon sa the German troops around us opened fire on the Poles we went into action. Reynolds, Stafford, Twombly and the boys went their separate ways leaving me, alone in an amongst several hundred, or more, enemy troops. Reynolds and McMick . . . he is something that one, I’ll tell you Ixlplix . . . quickly opened fire on several unsuspecting adversary, seizing a machine gun. At the same basic moment in time Stafford’s men contacted a heavy force of 20 men lined up in ranks firing into the sky. The fight was over quickly, but other Germans saw Staffords men firing onto their own ranks (remember we’re all wearing German uniforms), and went apeshit. The last thing we knew Stafford and his two men were being pursued by several dozen very inspired soldiers. I shan’t think to say if they survived old chap. I believe Johansen was one of the men, your friend. Sorry old man.
At the rear and slowly drawing back in was Twombly. Cagy old bastard had the Jerrys all in conundrum back there. Was playing it up serious he was. Speaks fluent German you know. He would tell the German’s exactly what was happening, and send them in after us, shooting them as they pursued us, only to catch the next crop coming through.
While all this is happening around us, the Poles are being slaughtered, Lazlo.
Gen. Sosabowski’s men are being killed wholesale. They are not even reaching the ground and there is nothing we can do about it. We kill many, many Germans in our path. And some not in our path, as McMick took a mortar position – firing 20 odd shells back into the Germans. We took many lives. Many.
Suddenly the Poles are all on the ground – the living and the dead.
I rally the boys back into a tighter defensive perimeter and begin movement into the landing zone. But to our surprise . . . Christ Lazlo this is the . . . this is what we are taught – Think. Think.
Simple enough. Well here are four men approaching the Polish Paratroopers – wearing German army uniforms. Oh bother. And to make matters worse it seemed to have also emboldened the German troops, as they began attacking the Poles from our flanks. We quickly took off the German uniforms, and turned our defensive position into a firing position and began to dispatch the enemy soldiers coming at us and the Poles. We provided an effective force at repelling the German advance. In fact the Poles were so impressed they didn’t even care we were naked and bloody – not shooting us as we approached in a lull in the battle for the Driel landing zone.
The Poles dressed us, and we helped rally dozens of paratroopers.
I met with Capt. Schwingdowski of the 1st – my liaison to Sosabowski (whom I never met directly). Schwingdowski told me they were pinned down and many men were dying. I suggested the defensive bubble again, and that we move toward the river, hoping we would cross. Our goal at his point was to get back to Frost and his men in Arnhem. Nothing has been heard from them still, no radio. We made our way to close to the shore and formed a strong defensive position and began to plan the assault on the river.
It was now midnight. I believe at this point Lazlo I’ve been awake for most of 6 days, 4 days straight. The Poles want to try crossing the river at once, and I tell them we need a better plan, as even with a better plan this will be a bloodbath. But the Poles decide to go all out, and assault the river, getting chopped to bits by the German machine guns on the other side. I finally convince them to stop the slaughter. The Capt. and I hatch a good plan old boy. In broad daylight we will cross the Nederrijn.
I set his men on task, and got on task myself! Had a nice bottle of scotch I picked up along the way I did! I snuck to the river’s edge, and threw a dry fly in on a piece of sinking line (I keep it in my pocket always). I pulled out a nice fish – and put it back. I had taken enough lives this day.
Schwingdowski’s men were done crafting makeshift boats. We four Abbey boys had our own five Poles assigned to us. All capable, excellent soldiers. Ten men went upwind with smoke canisters and machine guns and several mortars. The idea was they would deploy the smoke, and begin firing at the opposing shore. The Germans would think a crossing was happening there, and focus their response there. Our boys would make it seem like a force was firing from their position, when in fact it would be only ten men wildly firing machine guns and mortars at the other shore. As the smoke drifted down river, of course our boys would fire more keeping a continuous flow. All that was going on a short distance down river of my group with the crossing party. A small group of men went with McMick to grab the high ground behind us and provide cover for the crossing. Before you knew it we were halfway across in the boats. Without warning the wind changed, the smoke screen lifted, and we were exposed. German machine guns opened up on the higher far shore. The Poles took very heavy casualties.
We made it to Heveadorp.
We parted ways with our Polish friends outside Oosterbeek, handing them off to our boys, 2nd Airborne – only two days too late. The Old Church, now a hospital and morgue, was overflowing. And, I believe surrounded. Defensive corridors had broken down, and it was very bad at the bridge. Frost has lost most of his men. I hear they are planning a retreat at this point.
Intelligence was the key lost point in this operation Lazlo. Lack thereof, what?
As I finish this briefing – it is early in the morning of 23 September – we have been asked to rush to secure a landing area for reinforcements, somewhere near nijmegen.
Ixlplix, fare you well soldier . . . old man.
Where are you?
Capt. Hastings DSO,DSC
William J Mullen 