Operation Market Garden: The Legend of the Waal Crossing

Preface

In the September 2009 edition of the US magazine World War II, an angry reader wrote to complain about its recent review of a ten-volume history of Germany’s role in the Second World War. ‘I have not read the 12,000 pages,’ he admitted, ‘but I am guessing they did not even come close to the truth. I am guessing they left out the part where …’ before going on to list various atrocities and concluding ‘I am tired of people trying to rewrite history the way they see it.’ With a patience and diplomacy one can only admire, the reviewer pointed out that it was ‘unnecessary to guess about its contents. The review includes several specific references to volumes in the series that present the Reich’s atrocities in context and in detail.’ There are, unfortunately, many people out there searching for a reason to take offence. This book will be a critical goldmine for those readers who enjoy being upset when long cherished ‘facts’ are challenged and who would rather assume a knowledge of history than acquire one.

History is a commodity like any other to be sold in books, documentaries and films to an audience who want to hear a story they can relate to. Fifty years after the end of the Second World War and at a time when America’s use of military might to enforce its foreign policy cast it on more questionable moral ground in the eyes of the international community, harking back to a time when it had fought a ‘good’ war against an identifiably ‘evil’ regime was a comfort. In an exchange in Brecht’s play The Life of Galileo, the character of Andrea claims, ‘Unhappy the land that has no heroes’, to which Galileo replies, ‘No, unhappy the land that needs heroes.’ Whether America at that time needed heroes is a debate to be conducted elsewhere but whatever the truth, broadcast journalist Tom Brokaw provided a new form of hero worship when he coined the term The Greatest Generation (1998) to describe

America’s citizen heroes and heroines who came of age during the Great Depression and the Second World War and went on to build modern America. This generation was united not only by a common purpose, but also by common values – duty, honor, economy, courage, service, love of family and country, and, above all, responsibility for oneself … At a time in their lives when their days and nights should have been filled with innocent adventure, love, and the lessons of the workaday world, they were fighting in the most primitive conditions possible across the bloodied landscape of France, Belgium, Italy, Austria, and the coral islands of the Pacific. They answered the call to save the world from the two most powerful and ruthless military machines ever assembled, instruments of conquest in the hands of fascist maniacs. They faced great odds and a late start, but they did not protest. They succeeded on every front. They won the war; they saved the world.1

Modestly proclaiming this group of Americans to be ‘the greatest generation any society has ever produced,’ Brokaw’s approach proved immensely popular and celebrated a nostalgia for a time when national self esteem was high and the world was divided more easily into good and bad. His view of the isolationist stance many of that generation favoured and their reluctance to oppose the Nazi regime, or of the hundreds of thousands of American men who were investigated for dodging the draft is less clear but the popularity of the notion of the greatest generation quickly caught on. The book was followed almost immediately by Gerald Astor’s The Greatest War: Americans in Combat, 1941–1945 (1999) and an outpouring of veteran memoirs which escalated still further with the success of Steven Spielberg’s television series Band of Brothers (2001). Based on Stephen Ambrose’s book of the same name, the series triggered an entire industry devoted to the memory of the 101st Airborne Division. Although never quite reaching the same mass audience, veterans of the 82nd Airborne followed suit. Soon, the paradigm spawned a mass market for military history aimed at the general reader that is now heavily slanted towards hagiographies lacking the will to question or analyse wisdom passed down from the exalted position of veteran status. In doing so, the war has become mythologized into a great moral crusade. As historian Michael C.C. Adams puts it:

All societies to some degree reinvent their pasts … Sometimes we conjure up the past in such a way that it appears better than it really was. We forget ugly things we did and magnify the good things. This is wishful thinking, the desire to retell our past not as it was but as we would like it to have been. If the past is remoulded too drastically, it ceases to be real history … Then, through repetition, people come to believe that this partial portrait is the whole landscape of history, and what is forgotten will be thought never to have existed. Such a process happened with World War II, which has been converted over time from a complex, problematic event, full of nuance and debatable meaning, to a simple, shining legend of the Good War. For many, including a majority of survivors from the era, the war years have become America’s golden age, a peak in the life of society when everything worked out and the good guys definitely got a happy ending. It was a great war. For Americans it was the best war ever.2

It is not, of course, a uniquely American phenomenon; Britain too is guilty of sanitising its past. Peter Fleming, writing about the events of 1940, speaks of how, in terms of the way the British view that time,

legend plays a large part in their memories of that tense and strangely exhilarating summer, and their experiences, like those of early childhood, are sharply rather than accurately etched upon their minds. The stories they tell of the period have become better, but not more veracious, with the passage of time. Rumours are remembered as facts, and … the sequence of events is blurred.

Excluded from the decision making process and denied access to detailed information,

the average citizen knew less than usual about what was happening and why it happened. Like a child who is excluded from the confidence of the grown-ups, he accepted the existence of a sphere of knowledge into which he could not be admitted, even though within it his own destinies were being decided; and like a child he tended afterwards to remember events without a full understanding of their significance.3

As one veteran put it, his view of the war was limited to ‘what I could see through my rifle sights’ and anyone who has experienced frontline service is all too aware that the world of the combat soldier is a very small one bounded by his immediate vicinity and governed by the dictum that a sensible soldier should believe nothing of what he hears and only half of what he sees. Few in the frontlines either know or care what the grand strategy might be, nor do they have the time or opportunity to record details. Yet over time, some come to believe that they, and only they, really know what happened in their battle based on their own small part of it. Those not in their direct sight are always suspect. Those further behind the lines are always slackers. Their memories, often recorded decades later, reflect what they have come to believe about their experiences as much as what actually happened.

For a mass market audience, seeking only an exciting story, the ‘greatest generation’ paradigm is not necessarily a problem. For the serious student of military history, it becomes a significant barrier to understanding. In keeping with the ‘greatest generation’ myth Phil Nordyke, for example, opens his finely researched and detailed 776-page account of the experiences of the 82nd Airborne Division during the war with the unequivocal assertion that

The World War II 82nd Airborne Division has legendary status in the honoured fraternity of great American military units … The veterans of the World War II 82nd Airborne Division are held in awe not only by other members of the airborne fraternity, but by countless others in the US and British armies who fought beside them; the citizens of Sicily, Italy, France, Holland and Belgium who were liberated by them; and the German soldiers who fought against them. Having the 82nd fighting alongside of your unit instilled confidence … It is through the words of these veterans that the reader will come to know incredible bravery under fire, an undying devotion to duty and comrades, and some of the most incredible feats of arms ever achieved by any military unit.4

Unsurprisingly he finds nothing to fault in any aspect of the 82nd’s behaviour during the war – although to his great credit, in memoirs published shortly after the war 82nd veteran Ross Carter freely admitted that whilst their performance in combat was highly efficient, out of action and in dealings with people outside the unit the paratroopers of the 82nd could be arrogant and boorish to a degree he found hard to justify.

As we shall see, the belief that the US servicemen were an elite lay at the very heart of the problems that emerged between the Allies in the European campaign of 1944–45. Over the years the unquestioning acceptance of the notion of the ‘greatest generation’ has created the impression that US units were universally excellent and filled with highly motivated and skilled soldiers who were needed to balance the ineptitude and timidity of the British in order to free the world. In 1985, for example, US historian Colonel Trevor Dupuy published a study of the relative fighting capabilities of Allied and German troops in which British performance scored badly. However, as Professor David French has shown, Dupuy’s criticism of the poor performance by the British 7th and 50th Infantry Divisions is perhaps best explained by the fact that the 7th existed only on paper as part of a deception campaign whilst the 50th’s reported poor performance at the Battle of Monte Grande on 16/17 October was affected by their never having landed in Italy and being in transit back to the UK at the time.5

Any attempt to challenge received wisdom will inevitably be criticised by some as ‘rewriting history’, although those who condemn ‘revisionist’ history seem at a loss to explain why history must be carved in stone and why new information should be ignored. In going against the idolising of the ‘greatest generation’, no doubt this book will also be condemned as ‘anti-American’ by those who use the term as a synonym for ‘wrong’. It is not my intent to be anti-American – a term which, in itself is frequently criticised as being the product of a totalitarian mindset and the antithesis of the American value of free speech – but I do challenge some of the more offensive attitudes and behaviour of people who happen to be American. Those two things are very different. The more astute reader will recognise that no attempt is made to spare the blushes of my own countrymen in describing their often equally petty and self-serving actions.

Although I do not subscribe to the belief that we should idolise the ‘greatest generation’, this does not mean that I do not hold their achievements in the highest regard. I would argue that by creating a myth that the Second World War generation were somehow more noble, courageous and patriotic than those who followed after, their achievements are actually diminished. They achieved great things, we might say, because they were more capable of great things than their children or grandchildren’s generation. For a generation of John Wayne-style heroes, storming the Normandy beaches might be all in a day’s work. For an ordinary young man, terrified to the point of soiling himself but going ahead anyway because he was determined to do his duty, it was – and is – an awe-inspiring accomplishment. Perhaps, as Max Hastings has suggested, we should consider them more appropriately as the generation to whom the greatest things happened.

I am very much aware, as I sit in my safe, warm office, that we owe a great deal to that generation. Having experienced war on a small scale, I thank God daily that I was never called upon to experience what the soldiers I am writing about endured. My aim in writing this book is not to pass judgement or to score political points. It is to explain, not excuse, the factors that contributed to the failure of Operation Market Garden and the decisions made by ordinary human beings, no matter what uniform they wore.

Tim Lynch

Notes

1   Brokaw, T. The Greatest Generation (New York: Random House 1998)

2   Adams, M.C.C. ‘Postwar Mythmaking About World War II’ in Stoler and Gustafson, ed. Major Problems in the History of World War II (Cengage Learning 2002) p.432, pp.428–437

3   Fleming, P. Invasion 1940 (London: Rupert Hart Davies 1957) pp.9–10

4   Nordyke, P. All American, All the Way (Zenith Press 2005) pp.1-2

5   Dupuy, T.N. Numbers, Predictions and War: The use of history to evaluate and predict the outcome of armed conflict (Fairfax VA:1985) quoted in French, D. Raising Churchill’s Army (Oxford University Press 2000) pp.8–9

Introduction:

‘A Storm in a Teacup’

No American veteran’s account of his experiences in Europe during the Second World War seems complete without reference to the fact that his British allies drank tea. Almost invariably at some point in the narrative the author will encounter a group of British soldiers serenely brewing a cuppa – sometimes using china cups and serving freshly toasted crumpets no matter how remote the position – as all around them chaos reigns. Whilst some might regard the ability to hold a tea party under fire as an example of admirable sang froid, the reactions described by their American counterparts many years after the event still range from bemused tolerance of British eccentricity to, more commonly, outright hostility. The overwhelming impression one is left with is that the average American GI was annoyed that the British just weren’t taking the war seriously enough.

Bud Warneke, a soldier of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the US 82nd Airborne Division, was typical. Fifty years later he would recall his first time working with British troops; ‘They were good soldiers, but compared to us I thought they had a nonchalant attitude about the war. They would stop whatever they were doing, brew some tea with crumpets but then again I did not work with them much.’1 By the standards of many veteran memoirs, Warnecke’s implied criticism of the British attitude is mild; wildly exaggerated stories of British troops breaking off fire fights to toast crumpets are not unknown.2 By contrast, it was this same casual approach that so impressed Warnecke’s commander, General James Gavin. Gavin was to write that these British troops were ‘the best soldiers that I saw on either side in the war – not only because of their soldierly qualities, but because of their nonchalance and style; they seemed to enjoy what they were doing, and I shall always remember some of the teas they gave after things had quietened down.’3

American soldiers, of course, preferred coffee. Although adequate supplies could be sent from the United States pre-prepared in sealed tins, 32 US Army mobile trailer-mounted coffee roasting and grinding units attached to field bakeries and each operated by six specially trained men began operations in France on 25 July 1944, to ensure a theatre-wide supply of freshly ground coffee. Together with another 37 such units based in the UK, throughout the campaign in northwest Europe the units produced around 90,000lbs per day, every day.4 Clearly, the Americans were not averse to hot beverages themselves, so why the preoccupation with tea?

Throughout the war in Europe the US generals, or so the story goes, took risks and suffered enormous casualties to get the job done but the British response was slower, more hesitant and timid almost to the point of cowardice. In short, it was left to American boys to save the world at enormous cost to themselves whilst their ‘allies’ sat back. The image of British troops on their tea break came to symbolise this belief. The more objective US commanders recognised the simple economics of it all. America could still afford casualties, Britain could not. From its 1939 population of 46 million, the UK had mobilised 4,758,000 men and 559,390 women totalling just under one in nine of Britons serving in the military. Of these, 264,443 were killed – more than 1 in 20 of those mobilised.5 The United States mobilised 16,112,566 of its 142,164,569 population (about the same proportion as Britain) of whom 405,399 or about 1 in 40 were killed. During the Second World War, the US Navy suffered a total of 36,950 battle deaths, the US Marine Corps some 19,733. By contrast, British civilian casualties alone reached 67,073 – over 60,000 of them by the time the first US troops entered Britain.6 Having fought the war alone for two years and suffered heavily in doing so, it was perhaps not surprising that British forces were becoming war weary.

British leaders were also aware of the economic cost. Every ship, tank, jeep and bullet supplied by the US would have to be paid for once the war was over – and Britain was almost bankrupt. As the US Army tripled in size yet still retained huge reserves, the British were forced to disband some units to provide reinforcements for others. Montgomery had no reserves to replace his losses. Every casualty weakened his army, every loss had to count. The response was a slower, more measured approach. US commanders, aware that any losses could easily be replaced, could afford to take chances. To the average American, however, the story that the British were sitting back, drinking tea and letting them do all the work was attractive. ‘In my mind’, wrote Lieutenant ‘Maggie’ Magellas of the US 82nd Airborne Division, ‘tea and the deliberate British approach in combat became synonymous.’7 Almost 70 years on, the legend of US troops fighting heroically whilst their British counterparts brought out their teapots has evolved into accepted fact, nowhere more so than in the story of the failure of the British attempt in September 1944 to race armoured forces over an ‘airborne carpet’ across the Dutch countryside to cross the Rhine into Germany at the bridge of Arnhem – Operation Market Garden.

On 20 September 1944, as part of that operation, men of the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the US 82nd Airborne Division made a bold and valiant daylight crossing of the river Waal in flimsy boats under heavy fire to secure the Nijmegen bridge and open the route to the besieged British 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem. Once the paratroopers had established control of the northern end of the bridge, tanks of the Guards Armoured Brigade dashed over the span from the south – fully expecting the bridge to be blown beneath them and with no room to even attempt to evade the heavy fire directed at them all the way across.

After their link up with the paratroopers, the British tanks pushed forward, only to be stopped on the single narrow route open to them by anti-tank fire from a German roadblock north of Lent. Without infantry support to neutralise the hidden gun, they pulled back. According to Captain T. Moffatt Burriss, an American company commander of the 504th, ‘That’s when the British tank crews brought out their teapots. I was furious.’ In a dramatic, colourful and vehemently anti-British memoir, he describes meeting a tank commander:

‘I can’t go on without orders,’ he said. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’m giving you orders.’ He was a British captain. I was an American captain. He wasn’t about to recognise my authority. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I have to have orders from my British commander …’ I looked him straight in the eye. ‘You yellow-bellied son of a bitch. I’ve just sacrificed half my company in the face of dozens of guns, and you won’t move because of one gun.’ Then I cocked my tommy gun, put it to his head, and said, ‘You get this tank moving, or I’ll blow your damn head off.’8

In the mythology of American veterans who took part in the campaign, this was the moment that doomed Market Garden to failure and proved that the US alone had the drive, professionalism and courage to win the war. Even today, there remains a widely held belief that where Montgomery failed, Patton would surely have succeeded and, if evidence is needed, the memories of veterans of the Waal crossing are invoked as irrefutable evidence of British incompetence and timidity holding back their allies. But how true is the legend of the Waal?

A British tank crewman, kettle in hand, struggles through the mud to find water for tea.

The story of Operation Market Garden has been told and retold many times by writers with far greater tactical experience than this author. It has also, thanks to the internet, received the attention of a great many individuals with no tactical knowledge whatsoever (or often, it seems, even a passing acquaintance to factual information about the subject). With what Gregory Blaxland once termed ‘the fraudulent benefit of hindsight’ and the wealth of information now in the public domain that was not available to decision makers at the time, pointing the finger of blame has become a popular pastime. The debate usually takes the lines of highly partisan arguments fuelled by national pride and/or inter-service rivalry between British and US armies and air forces and, perhaps most of all, between airborne and ground troops. Arguments rage as to whether it was a British defeat caused by incompetence or a German victory brought about by a superbly improvised and rapid response or whether Patton would, as one overexcited contributor to an internet forum claimed ‘have been stood in Arnhem watching the British land and asking what had kept them.’ In such forums one quickly gains the impression that Patton would not have needed the bridges but could simply walked over the various waterways, parting the waves behind him for his unstoppable tanks to follow. In discussing Market Garden, emotions run high and it will be some considerable time before objective discussions become the norm. In the meantime, whatever the reader’s preferred conclusion, ample evidence exists to support it. It is not the intention of this book to tread that well worn path by rehashing the decisions made at command level using the benefit of hindsight to show how failure was inevitable.

Instead, this book adopts an approach first put forward 140 years ago by the French officer and military theorist Charles Jean Jacques Joseph Ardant du Picq. Until his death at the Battle of Metz on 15 August 1870, du Picq studied closely the ‘moral and psychological’ aspects of battle at the small unit level and his ideas would prove highly influential for the generation who fought the First World War. Essentially, his argument was that whatever technological or tactical advances might be made, human nature remains the same and that an understanding of psychology was vital to the successful management of troops in battle. In Battle Studies, published posthumously in 1870, du Picq claimed that

The smallest detail taken from an actual incident in war is more instructive to me, a soldier, than all the Thiers and Jominis in the world. They speak for the heads of states and armies, but they never show me what I wish to know – a battalion, company or platoon in action … The man is the first weapon of battle. Let us study the soldier for it is he who brings reality to it.9

Military histories have tended to describe how objective X was taken by Y Battalion. As a description of events it is a valid approach but in reality, the objective was not taken by an anonymous, homogenous mass called Y Battalion, rather it was taken by the men serving in it – by Tom, Dick and Harry. In contrast, Bill, Fred and George in Z Battalion might have failed. In a series of lectures on military psychology delivered a century ago, Captain LeRoy Eltinge observed that ‘on successive days, even, the same body of men will break the first day with a loss of 5 per cent and the next, fight its way to victory, in spite of a loss of 40 per cent’ and concluded that ‘A leader’s knowledge of war is incomplete, if in addition to his skill in conceiving technical combinations he does not possess a knowledge of the human heart, if he have not the power of gauging the momentary temper of his own troops.’10

This book, then, explores the reality of the Waal crossing, the myths that have grown around it and what the two between them tell us about the wider war in Europe in 1944–5. To paraphrase Epictetus, history is defined not by events, but by the view people take of them. By applying a forensic examination to the ‘smallest details’ of the testimonies of those who took part in the Waal crossing, we gain an insight into factors that become so very telling. Why, for example, did Captain Burris immediately assume that cowardice was the only reason for the tanks to fall back? Why did he assume he had any authority over a man of equal rank? Why do two of the most outspoken US veterans of the crossing complain of British delays repeatedly stalling the crossing from an original start at 0800hrs when another veteran, Captain Kappel, reports that the warning order was not issued until 0900hrs for a crossing ‘that afternoon’ or indeed when the after action report of the engineers assigned to operate the boats notes that they were specifically briefed at 0600hrs to be ready for a crossing at 1400hrs? Why is much made of the difficulties faced by the US troopers in handling the unfamiliar craft when Gavin himself had refused an offer to supply experienced British engineers to operate them? Was this a failure of the British to meet their obligations as the legend claims, or was it a problem amongst the men of the 504th?

The term ‘elite’ is widely used in military history but rarely defined. In examining the story of the Waal crossing, we will see that both the British and US units involved were considered, not least by themselves, to be elites, but by very different definitions of the term. Regardless of the (usually self-selected) criteria for defining oneself as part of an elite, the effect is the same. Outsiders are automatically inferior. In the following account we will explore the very different cultures that had developed in the two armies and how this influenced their attitudes to each other and the operation.

To do that, however, we need to first understand the wider context, not just of Operation Market Garden, but of the political and military climate in which the entire campaign took place. Both armies fought on behalf of democratic countries and political interference in military decision making was commonplace – indeed many of Britain’s early setbacks in the war can be traced to Churchill’s enthusiastic if incompetent directions to the General Staff. So, too, it is argued, Eisenhower’s contention that ‘public opinion wins wars’ created a situation in which journalists became, in his words, ‘quasi-staff officers’. By extension, editors of American newspapers came to heavily influence, if not directly determine, military strategy in what was a US election year.

Compounding the problem was the cult of personality surrounding the leading Allied generals and a competition for personal glory, whatever the cost to the men under their command. The intense loathing and rivalry between Montgomery and Patton was a decisive factor in the failure of Market Garden. Patton’s powerful influence on his senior, Bradley, and their boasting about actively having sabotaged at least one airborne operation, as we shall see, highlights their vested interest in an airborne failure in order to divert resources to their own ends. Patton’s drive for personal glory openly rewarded his men for stealing supplies from other American units to ensure that his army stayed ahead of the rest – even at the cost of leaving their countrymen at risk. Although the behaviour of the two men forms part of this account, the wider implications of their respective personalities have been discussed in far greater detail elsewhere than space permits here. It is important to recognise that Montgomery was a master of the logistical battle and a competent all-round general but was sometimes slow to exploit success. Patton was a superb cavalry leader but, like Rommel before him, was essentially a ‘one-trick pony’, good in pursuit warfare but, as the experience at Metz amply demonstrates, totally unable to cope with organised