Cobra, Late July 1944

155 mm Howitzer of the 969th Field Artillery Battalion firing in support of Operation Cobra
National Archives

It was late in the afternoon, the day of the second massive screw-up by the flyboys. They had again bombed short, latrine rumors had it that a visiting three-star general had been killed along with another hundred G.I.s. Such things were well above his rank, he was glad that it was someone else who had been bombed and not his outfit. Yeah, he felt bad about that but it was the truth. Sgt Brandt was getting to be rather cynical these days.

He had three new guys in tow, well, they weren't exactly new, they were musicians out of Band Company, apparently the brass figured they needed guys carrying rifles more than they needed guys playing musical instruments. Sgt Brandt didn't mind, his squad was now back up to full strength, twelve men, eight of whom were combat veterans.

"Okay, here we are fellows, your new home, 1st Squad, 2nd Platoon. Grab a seat. Alright, now that we got those preliminaries out of the way, I've got promotions for some of you jokers: Red, Cat, Duck, and Bear, you are now elevated to the lofty position of private first class. That's like another four bucks a month, don't spend it all in one place."

"I've also reorganized you guys a bit. We finally got a hold of a Springfield with a grenade launcher attachment and a telescopic sight, Ollie you are now officially our squad grenadier/sniper. One of the new guys... what was your name again kid?" He asked pointing at one of the new guys.

"Virgil, Sarge, Virgil Kennedy."

"Right, Virgil here is going to be your number two. All that means kid, is that you get to carry extra rifle grenades and stay close to Ollie."

"Now that we have two B.A.R.s, which will be schlepped around by Red and Duck, Cajun you're still Red's assistant gunner, and Gammell, you're Duck's assistant. Which means you guys get to carry your own ammo, plus extra for the B.A.R., any questions?"

The men all looked at each other, and of course, one of the new guys raised his hand.

"Sarge, I got a question, what's my job?"

Sgt Brandt just looked at him for a long second, then said, "Shoot when I say shoot, at who I say to shoot at, run when I say run, dig when I say dig, and try not to get killed. That's your job. What was your name again?"

"PFC Dickenson."

"Geez, is everybody in the freaking band PFC or higher?" Cajun asked while looking at his own naked sleeve.

"I'm a private." Kennedy chimed in.

"Well ain't you special." Cajun said, frowning at the new guy.

"Knock it off. Okay, reorg, here it is - Thomas, Tremblay, Katz, Olson, and new guy, Kennedy right, you're in my section. Simpson, Gammell, Hebert, Dickenson, and, you new kid, what's your name?"

"PFC Jack Leonard, Sarge. I play the trumpet."

"Not out here you don't. Those guys I just named plus bugle boy here are all in Corporal Wilson's section. Questions?"

This time no one had any questions.

"Alright, get some chow, get some sleep, we're riding into battle tomorrow at oh-four-hundred."

"Riding?" Ollie asked hopefully.

"Yup, we're riding into battle with a couple of Shermans from the 745th tank battalion. We're the infantry support for a Sherman platoon. At least we ain't walking, I'm betting that there aren't many Krauts still breathing on the other side of that highway. The flyboys really worked that place over. We're going in behind the 9th Infantry, those guys have fought in North Africa and Sicily, they know their business. Our job will be to dash on through the hole they and the flyboys punch in the Kraut lines, then we're off to Coutances and points south. Now go, eat, make sure your gear is up to snuff and get some sleep, no horse play tonight. Go!"

Operation Cobra Plan, the 1st Inf Div is circled in red.
(Source)

National Archives

Hauptmann Willi Steinhoff of Panzer Lehr Regiment 130, came to to find he was lying in the middle of the road. His black panzer uniform was scorched and he was bleeding from a wound on his right forearm, his jacket and shirt had been torn open by whatever had ripped his arm as well. He had a tremendous headache, his ears were ringing, and, for a moment, he had no idea where he was.

As he started to recover his senses, he looked around, there, in a ditch, burning, was his tank, a Panther, turret number 201. He commanded the 2nd company of the 1st Battalion in the regiment, a Panther company. He had gone into battle with ten Panthers. He remembered seeing four of them destroyed in the bombing of the previous day. Today, his own tank had been hit. He guessed that when the ammunition had cooked off, he'd been thrown clear. He had to wonder about his crew.

From the smell, it was obvious to him that some of his lads had not made it out of the vehicle.

He tried to stand and sat back down in the road, hard.

"Hhmm, seems my left leg is broken. Perhaps the right as well."

He laid back down on the road, not caring if he lived or died.

His hearing was returning, turning his head, he saw a Sherman coming down the road, right at him. Weakly he raised his arms into the air. Maybe they'd see him, maybe they wouldn't.

He really didn't care...

National Archives

"What d'ya think Skip, run that Kraut over or take him prisoner?"

Sgt Bob Haskell saw the German in the road with his hands in the air. One arm was covered in blood, tunic shredded. Fancy uniform, might be a Kraut officer.

"Hold up Jonesy, let's capture the guy."

The Sherman stopped and Haskell's loader got up in his hatch to cover his commander with his grease gun¹. Haskell had one as well and had it pointed at the Kraut as he approached him.

The German seemed to be in a lot of pain, which Haskell didn't really care about. Then he saw the skulls on the collars of the guy's uniform. An SS bastard, maybe I shoulda run him over!

"What's the hold up Sergeant? Why are we stopped?" Haskell's lieutenant, who had been in the second tank in the column, had come up to see what Haskell was doing.

"Looks like we caught one of them SS goons, should I just kill him now? Or let the MPs² do it?"

The lieutenant took a closer look, then shook his head. "He's not SS Sarge, he's a tank officer, they wear skulls too, but they look different. Also, no rank patch on his collar, the SS wear rank on their collars." Reaching into his pocket, the lieutenant pulled out a small metal insignia...

(Source)

Showing it to Haskell, "See, no lower jaw on this Kraut's skull insignia."

Bundesarchiv

"Okay, yeah, I see the difference, besides this guy has got a 'Gott mit uns' belt buckle, SS don't have that, do they lieutenant?"

"No, they don't sergeant. Looks like our Kraut tanker passed out..." Shouting down the road, the lieutenant got a medic from their infantry supports to take care of the Kraut.

"Get him off the road, Haskell, let's move out."

"Gotcha Sir!"

As the medic tended to the German officer, the tanks and infantry rolled on. There were more Germans ahead, the war wasn't over just yet.





¹ Grease gun, Army slang for the .45 caliber M3 submachine gun.
² MP = Military Police

Scrubbed Mission, Almost...

National Archives

"Damn it Skipper, my freaking bomb release is jammed!"

"Well, unjam it, the weather's clearing and we're dropping on time! No more screw ups!"

"Roger that, shit, there it goes!"

The pilot felt his ship get lighter. "What the Hell had just happened?" he wondered. "Bombardier, pilot, did you drop? We're not at the target!"

"Shit, shit, shit, I think I pickled part of the load."

From his position in the tail of the aircraft, SSgt William Delgado radioed, "Pilot, tailgunner, the whole formation is dropping Sir!"

"Pickle the rest of 'em Smitty, we must be close!"

National Archives

"Ain't that a pretty sight Sarn't Bill? Seeing the flyboys paste those damned Krauts makes me feel all warm inside!" Cpl Jack Wilson was standing with his squad leader, Sgt Bill Brandt, and a couple of guys from another platoon as they watched the B-17s overhead. The day was pretty cloudy but it was clearing up. They'd heard other formations of aircraft overhead, but those didn't drop.

"I dunno Jack, those explosions sound pretty close... Holy crap! Get to cover!!"

The men of the Big Red One, waiting at their assembly areas were untouched by the bombs dropped by their own Air Force. The 30th Division wasn't as lucky, they lost 25 killed and 131 wounded.

US Army Signal Corps Photo

"Skipper, the mission is scrubbed!"

"What the Hell do you mean it's scrubbed? We just dropped!"

"Ah shit, message just came in, mission scrubbed on account of the weather."

"What are those bastards in England thinking? Calling off a mission after the bomb run? Unbelievable!" The pilot was furious.

Ignorant that COBRA had been postponed, pilots of the great majority of the heavy bombers guided their big craft on toward the target. Because no precise radio channels had been designated for emergency communication, there was no certain means of transmitting the news to the planes. While air force personnel in France attempted to get word to the craft aloft, the first formation of 500 planes arrived over the target area. Fortunately, they found visibility so poor that no attack was made. The second formation found cloud conditions so bad that only 35 aircraft, after making three bomb runs to identify the target, released their loads. Over 300 bombers of the third formation, with slightly improved weather conditions, dropped their bombs-about 550 tons of high explosive and 135 tons of fragmentation before the postponement message finally got through to cancel the remainder of the strike.

The 24 July bombing was unfortunate, not only because of the likelihood of negating the surprise planned for COBRA, but also because it killed 25 men and wounded 131 of the 30th Division. The tragedy was the result of one accident. The lead bombardier of a heavy bomber formation had had difficulty moving his bomb release mechanism and had inadvertently salvoed a portion of his load. The fifteen aircraft flying in the formation followed his example and released their bombs. The bomb load fell 2,000 yards north of the Periers-St. Lô highway. 

On the ground, VII Corps had executed the initial part of the COBRA attack by withdrawing the front-line troops of the 9th and 30th Divisions several hundred yards to the north. The poor weather conditions had prompted commanders to wonder whether the lack of visibility would cancel the air bombardment, but General Collins was characteristically optimistic. He believed that the planes would get through the haze. Even if the heavy bombers were not able to take part in the air attack, he felt that the fighter-bombers would be on hand and that their bombardment would give sufficient impetus for the attack. He therefore told his subordinate commanders to go ahead. If the fighter bomber effort proved insufficient, he expected the heavy bombers to return on the following day. (Source Page 229)

The heavies did return the next day, with even more disastrous results.

In wartime mistakes happen, when they do, people get killed or wounded. There is no sure way to completely prevent these types of mistakes but it's tragic when it occurs.

Operation Cobra will proceed as planned, just not today. The men of the assaulting divisions will have a tougher fight in front of them as they had pulled back to provide some separation between them and the incoming bombers. As we saw, that didn't help.

The Germans moved in to occupy the positions vacated by the Americans. And put themselves in the kill zone for the next bombing raid, which again had bombs fall short, killing Lieutenant General Lesley McNair and many others besides. But that bomb run also killed lots of Germans and devastated the remaining tank strength of the Panzer Lehr division.

The Big Red One and Brandt's boys will be going into battle again on the morrow.

Stay tuned...

Repple Depple* - The New Guy

Infantry replacements of the 41st Replacement Battalion
National Archives photo

My name is Charlie, well, that's what my buddies back home call me. Here in the Army I'm Private Charles L. Gammell, serial number 11854229. Back at the Repple Depple it was just Hey You. I answered to other names which aren't really repeatable in polite company, but hey, it's the Army, right?

When I turned 17, I convinced my Mom and Dad to let me enlist. It didn't take much to talk Dad into it, it was Mom who took a lot of convincing.

On a trip down to the Post Office on a quiet Friday, a couple of the old biddies who know everybody and everything in town wondered, out loud, "What's a big young lad like that still doing at home? Is he yellow?"

Mom was embarrassed, I look older than I am, growing up on a farm with lots of exercise and plenty of food will do that, some of the town kids were scrawny, real Depression Era types. At any rate, that very day Mom told Dad I could go, he took me to the recruiter on Monday, now here I am. Somewhere in France, on a truck, in the rain, headed for my new unit, the 1st Infantry Division.

Sgt Brandt was standing in the rain, watching as the replacements climbed down off the six-bys¹, none of them looked very happy to be there. He knew the name of the kid he was getting as a replacement, so he yelled out the kid's name, "Gammell! Over here!"

One of the replacements turned and looked in Brandt's direction. So Brandt yelled his name again, "Gammell, if that's you, get your ass over here!"

He was a big looking kid, looked to be in his early 20s, though he had a rather naive look about him. Brandt figured him for a farm kid, big and strong. Though he looked lost at the moment, there was a quiet strength about him.

"So you're Gammell? How the Hell did you not get drafted before now, what are you 23, 24?"

"I turn 18 in November Sergeant. I volunteered as soon as I was old enough."

"You volunteered? Well, don't that beat all. Serial number?"

"11854229, Sergeant."

Consulting the scrap of paper the first sergeant had given him, Brandt nodded. "Yup, you belong to me now. Let's get you some chow and I'll show you our bivouac. Hungry?"

"Yes Sir!" The lad certainly perked up when Brandt mentioned food.

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living." Brandt grinned when he said it, but he truly hated being called "sir."

"Yes S... I mean, yes, sergeant!"

This guy seems okay. He's not like some of the sergeants at the Repple Depple who acted all high and mighty. One of the other guys at the Repple Depple (who had been in the hospital since having been wounded in Sicily) said that a lot of the sergeants at the Repple Depple were cowards. They managed to stay out of combat but loved lording it over the guys who were headed to the front.

There's a lot going on here, but I'm tired, I'm hungry, and as God is my witness, I am so scared. On the trip in I saw wrecked trucks and tanks, dead cows in the fields (that really tore me up, Dad's a dairy farmer), and I even saw a few dead men as well. One of the veterans told me, "Dead Krauts, the best kind."

Seemed callous, but I volunteered for this. I haven't really thought about actually having to kill anybody. Can I do that, point my rifle at another human being and pull the trigger?

I don't know, I really don't know.

"Cajun, where's Cpl Wilson?"

"Over talking to the guys in third squad, they have three B.A.R.s, we have one, he's trying to swap a case of rations for their extra B.A.R."

"Who the Hell would swap a B.A.R. for a case of Army rations?"

Red Thomas laughed and said, "The dumbasses in third squad!"

"Alright, this is our new guy, Gammell. He's just a kid so don't corrupt him."

"What's your first name kid?" Ollie Olson was a friendly guy, he had been the newest member of the squad, he figured he was one of the "old hands" now.

"Charles, back home everybody calls me Charlie."

"Pull up a ration crate Herr Charlie, willkommen to the Big Red One. While we're not the only squad in the division, we certainly are der beste. Right Feldwebel Bill?" Pvt Melvin "Cat" Katz, the squad's resident foreigner and German speaker, had said all of that in an Austrian accent. Gammell stood there, mouth agape, wondering what had he gotten himself into?

"Don't mind him new guy, that's Melvin Katz, or Cat as we call him. He's our pet Kraut, we captured him on D-Day and taught him the American Way. Mom and apple pie!" Cpl Jack Wilson said as he joined the group, carrying his own Garand and a B.A.R.

"Ich liebe apple pie, und deine Mutti Jack!" Cat said sotto voce.

"Those morons in third actually traded for a case of rations?" Ollie asked incredulously.

"Yeah, Ollie, they're almost as dumb as you!" Cajun laughed as he said this.

"Frog!" Ollie replied.

"Hick!" Pvt Tremblay, aka Cajun came right back at him.

Both men started laughing.

"Knock it off you guys," Sgt Brandt interjected. "What are we going to do with this B.A.R., Jack, are you gonna carry it?"

"Nah, I figured Duck could carry it, he's strong as an ox."

"And half as smart," Ollie chimed in.

Wow, these guys really seem to get along, they kid around just like my Dad and my uncles. Maybe this won't be too bad.

"Okay, Duck you get the B.A.R." Sgt Brandt said as he took the weapon from Cpl Wilson and handed it to Pvt Simpson, aka "Duck," as in "forgot to."

"Gammell, you're gonna be Duck's assistant, you're a strong looking kid, you'll carry the extra ammo for the B.A.R. You stay glued to Duck's ass at all times. Your job is to keep Duck alive and feed him ammo. Got it?"

I was a little confused, I just got here, now I'm an ammo mule for this guy?

"Got it Sergeant."

Well, just follow this guy around and keep my head down. I think I can do that.

I hope.

"Okay guys, listen up. In a couple of days we'll be moving up again. The plan is for the 4th, 9th, and 30th Infantry to punch a hole in the Kraut lines to the west of St-Lo after the flyboys bomb the crap out of the Germans holding that line."

"Once they punch a hole, we're heading through it, along with 3rd Armored. Once we reach the ocean, we head south. The idea is to flank the Krauts and get out of this damned hedgerow country. From then on, it's clear sailing to Paris. Or so the officers tell me."

"Do I believe them? Of course not. But they don't pay me to plan this stuff, just to execute it. So Gammell, you have a couple of days to get used to things around here. Then we'll try and keep you alive long enough to learn your job. Got it?"

(Source Page 216)

"Got it Sergeant."

Really, I have no idea what these guys expect of me, but carry heavy stuff and follow that guy around. I can do that. Hell, I grew up doing that.

Except no one was shooting at me...




* Repple Depple, Army slang for a Replacement Depot. Much hated by all who went through them.
¹ Six-by - Army slang for the 6-ton 6×6 (six-by-six) family of heavy tactical trucks built for the United States Army during World War II.

Operation Goodwood, Aftermath

Shermans in Escoville
(Source)

The rain had returned to Normandy.

Sgt Fitzhugh and his crew were riding on the back of one of his "Lambs." Of the four tanks his troop had taken into battle, the one he was riding on was the last. His own tank, a Sherman VC which they had all referred to as "Old 55" (based on its serial number), was a blazing wreck just outside Sannerville.

When they had received the order to pull back, as the Guards Armoured Division was taking heavy tank casualties and were themselves pulling back, all went well at first. They had lost one tank to an 88 mm gun while advancing on Cagny but the crew had all survived, they had fallen back into Sannerville and had been evacuated by truck all the way back to the tank depot near Bénouville.

Out of the gathering night they had been hit in the left flank by tanks from the 21st Panzer Division. Fitzhugh had lost another Sherman there, again, the crew had all survived though the driver was badly wounded. As Fitzhugh's half-strength troop was rather occupied fighting the Jerries, he didn't know any of that, he had seen Max Caldwell's tank hit and begin to burn but that was it.

"Old 55" had halted and had begun to engage the advancing Germans, a mix of Mark 4s (as the British often referred to the Pzkw IV) and Panthers, as the surviving Lamb, commanded by Sgt Jackie Rothstein, moved to get on the Germans' flank. Rothstein had fired on the move and had hit a Mark 4 which blew up spectacularly, it's turret flipping through the air to land on, and disable a second Mark 4.

Cpl Cecil Chapman, "Old 55's" gunner, had engaged a Panther just as Fitzhugh had been looking forward once more, the bright flash from the 17-pounder dazzled him. He could see nothing for a few long moments. He sat down hard in his seat and yelled, "Cecil, I'm blind, bloody muzzle flash!"

"Sorry Skipper, but..." Cpl Chapman was in the middle of a sentence when he stomped on the gun pedal again. He had closed his eyes when he fired and when he reopened them another Panther was burning. It was then that he'd noticed that the German tanks were not alone, he could see infantry, Panzergrenadiers no doubt, scurrying about in the light from three burning German tanks. It was at that point he really wished they had a bow gunner!¹

In front of Stabsfeldwebel Gerhard Lindner's position on the edge of Cagny, he could see at least fifteen burning British Shermans. He shook his head one more time to try and and clear his ears, they were still ringing but his hearing was gradually coming back. What he thought had been blood coming from his ears was actually a nasty cut on top of his head.

The hit atop 224's turret hadn't penetrated, nor caused any spalling, but Lindner had been startled when the round had hit them. He had jumped and smacked his head against the underside of his cupola. He was still daubing that wound with the cleanest portion of an oily rag. It stung like Hell, but he thought the bleeding had stopped.

He saw figures moving in the field between Cagny and Manneville, as for some odd reason the British had advanced with no infantry support at all, he assumed they were German. But he watched them all the same and had his MP-40 handy, should it be needed.

"Gerhard, it's me, Fromme. Don't shoot!"

Lindner watched as his battalion commander staggered into their position, along with about 20 other men. Major Fromme's uniform was torn and scorched, Lindner recognized some of the other men as tank crewmen and at least three men from the battalion staff.

"Herr Major, where are the others? Where are your tanks?"

"Gone Gerhard, the RAF hit us very hard this morning. We lost all of our tanks. Your platoon is all that is left of the 503rd."

Lindner stood there, looking northwards where he could see a sharp engagement taking place. He assumed that it was 21st Panzer attacking the British who had attacked him that afternoon.

Lindner climbed down from his tank and took the major aside, out of earshot of the others. "Herr Major, we've heard from headquarters, 7th Army headquarters, Rommel is dead and someone has tried to assassinate the Führer. Yesterday. They failed but the Gestapo and the Feldpolizei are rounding up anyone who has spoken out against the war."

"Rommel. Dead? How?"

"Strafed by a Jabo. Reports are mixed, some say he's alive, 7th Army says he's dead. The situation is very confused."

Fromme stood there for a long moment, this was insane. "Gerhard, how many tanks left in your platoon?"

"Two. I lost two when the British attacked. Those damned big gunned Shermans. We killed two of them, but they killed Walter's and Herbert's Tigers."

"Crew losses?"

"Walter lost one man, no one made it out of Herbert's machine."

"Scheiße!"

Knocked out Pzkw VI Ausf. E
(Source)

It had been close to midnight when a 75 mm round had penetrated the engine compartment of "Old 55." The tank had come to an abrupt halt and was beginning to smoke. Another German tank round hit the side of 55's turret, ringing the turret like a bell as the round glanced off and shrieked into the night, trailing sparks.

"Right lads, time to get out!" Fitzhugh ordered. He jumped off the front of 55 and ran into his driver, LCpl Thomas Ginns.

"Right Tommy, head for the rear, we'll meet up again at the tank park, off you go now!"

His loader, Chapman joined him and said, "I saw Willis get clear, told him to head for Bénouville, did you see Tommy, he get out?"

"Yes, Tommy is clear, I told him to make his way to the tank park. We need to get the Hell out of here." He could hear German voices shouting in the near distance, he felt like they were hunting him, personally.

At that moment a tank gun barked, a Sherman tank gun, to their right. He heard a loud bang, when he turned in that direction, he saw a German halftrack flip onto its side, scattering its occupants. Both the coaxial and bow machine guns on the Sherman started to chatter, slaughtering the survivors from the halftrack.

Silhouetted by the flames Fitzhugh could see a Panther roll into view, the big tank stopped and its turret began to turn in their direction. The Sherman's gun barked again, the Panther stopped, a glowing hole in its side armor.

"Come on Fitzie! We can't hang about here all bloody day, I don't think Jerry likes us very much." Jackie Rothstein was leaning down from his turret, yelling at Fitzhugh and Chapman. They scrambled aboard Rothstein's Sherman, then held on for dear life as Rothstein had his driver moving off to the north and into the shroud of night.

Knocked out Sherman and knocked out Pzkw IV
(Source)

That had been some hours ago, now Fitzhugh rode the back of Rothstein's Sherman, lost in thought and soaking wet from the rain. The red caps² had stopped them in Amfreville and redirected them to the brigade's tank park. He reckoned that his troop would be rebuilt, new tanks were plentiful, it was men they were running short of...

Just prior to GOODWOOD, the Adjutant-General of the British Army had advised Montgomery that infantry reinforcements could no longer be guaranteed in sufficient numbers to keep the British formations fighting in France at full strength.

This infantry manpower shortage led Dempsey to persuade a reluctant Montgomery to launch an attack by an all-armor corps. In mid-July, Montgomery's forces needed to resume offensive action to keep German armor tied down in the eastern half of the (Normandy) bridgehead prior to the American "Cobra" offensive in the west. An all-armor attack also was logical because Dempsey could not afford to (lose) infantrymen, but could afford to lose (armour). "Goodwood" contravened Montgomery's stated policy never to employ a corps comprised entirely of armor. This policy reflected both the often poor performance of Allied armor during break-in operations in North Africa and the realities of modern warfare, which now required intimate infantry-tank cooperation. Ironically, the shortage of adequate infantry support for the armor constituted the biggest factor in the failure of "Goodwood."

British and Canadian losses at this point in the campaign had been 37,563. Montgomery was reluctant to mass his armour, having seen the occasional disastrous consequence of unsupported tanks fighting independently in the desert, but was caught between not wanting to fight another costly infantry battle for which he had no reinforcements, and mounting pressure from London and Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF). There was still not enough room around Caen to deploy either the 1st Canadian Army, or the airfields needed to support the Allied bridgehead. Montgomery felt that above all, it was necessary to support Operation COBRA, a major American offensive tentatively scheduled for the third week of July. Major action at Caen would prevent German forces from shifting westward to meet the American offensive. (Source)

Operation Goodwood was over, Operation Cobra, on the American flank of the lodgment, was still a week away. Parts of Caen were still in German hands...

One historian, writing in the mid-1960s, referred to GOODWOOD as the "death ride of the armoured divisions" given the number of tanks that were lost in the offensive. General Dempsey, commanding the 2nd Army, later noted:

The attack we put in on July 18th was not a very good operation of war tactically, but strategically it was a great success, even though we did get a bloody nose. I didn't mind about that. I was prepared to lose a couple of hundred tanks. So long as I didn't lose men. We could afford the tanks because they had begun to pile up in the bridgehead. Our tank losses were severe but our casualties in men were very light. If I had tried to achieve the same result with a conventional infantry attack I hate to think what the casualties would have been.

The tangible results of the battle were to put all of Caen in Allied hands, and to prevent the danger of major counter-offensive on the eastern flank. The three major obstacles impeding further advance - the city of Caen, the Odon River, and the Orne - were finally behind the British 2nd Army after six weeks ashore. "Moreover, the new positions occupied by the Second Army posed a grave threat to the entire German right flank: their anchor was lost and the severe battering they had taken during GOODWOOD ensured that they lacked the strength to take it back." (Source)

¹ To provide more ammunition storage for the 17-pounder, the bow gunner's position had been eliminated in the Sherman VC. The vehicle only had a crew of four, most Shermans had a crew of five.
² British military policemen, they wore a distinctive red cover on their 

It's ALIVE!

OK, Campers, it's been a busy week at Rancho Juvat, so let's get started.

 Time hack. It's 0400 out in Tuna-Land, 0600 on the Rancho and those crazy, lazy lugs (you know who you are) on the East Coast are just starting to stir at 0700.

Next we'll go with the Weather.

Nobody does the weather quite like him.  After a week or so of 100^o+ days, we're back down to relatively cool mid-90's.  So, the walks up to feed the horses aren't quite so drenching.

On-going Mission Reports

1) Status of Little J.  Still in durance vile.  His replacement had some trouble jumping hoops to get into country which delayed his arrival in country. The past tense of that last verb telling the story.  However, like everyone else with this communist flu, the replacement is now in his quarantine period.  After which Little J and he will do some handover coordination for about a week.  Once that is satisfactorily accomplished, Little J will depart and return to Kuwait where, word on the street right now is, he will be put up in a hotel, by himself, for his 14 day quarantine.  After which, he can rejoin his beloved.  Sometime around August 20th which, if one believes in omens, was my father's birthday.

So, we've got that going for us.

2) MBD construction project status.  Since MBD is working from home (like a bazillion other folks) and SIL is beginning his final year of Seminary School, they need workspace in their house.  MBD asked if I could make a desk big enough for the both of them to work without bumping elbows all the time.

One can ALWAYS make something bigger.  The problem is how big is the container it's going into.  In this case, the living room which is not too big.  So, the desk will be L shaped with one leg at 7' exactly and the other leg at 6' 8".  About 23" deep.  I set out to my favorite big box store to buy some 5/4 cedar deck planks that I'd had great success using on my chair/bench project for the guest house.  On arrival, I found they only had two in stock and both were warped, bent and bowed (AKA unusable except for fire wood).  I asked the friendly guy at customer service when he expected another load.  Well,  apparently, the gummint dictated that saw mills were not essential business, so had been shut down. They had only recently reopened and backlog was large. I mentioned that lumber was essential to my mental health and so that decision was, like so many recently, BS.

He agreed, and asked what I was working on, so I told him and he took me by the hand (ok we stayed 6' apart, but you get my meaning) and walked me to another section of the store where he showed me some cedar boards.

They were gorgeous!  (Gorgeous is the wood worker's term for "expensive".)  So, I did some cipherin' and spoke with my banker.  Mrs J said I could go ahead and get them.  (Apparently, I had been getting cranky lately with nothing to keep me busy other than the house and the foreman was getting tired of my questions so...)

Toldja they were gorgeous

 I loaded 4 8'x12"x11/16" Cedar planks into my truck and headed home.

Now, my workshop is 15' long, so my first thoughts were how the heck am I going to plane them.  I puzzled on that for a day or so when one of those 3AM moments happened.  The Tail Gate of my Truck works pretty well as a bench for a planer and with a Saw horse for an entry support and a roller stand for the output, the planing went relatively smooth.  However, the  thickness was now just over 1/2".  So, I went back to my friend and bought a sheet of 5/8" plywood (one side sanded, no knots).  Cut it in half lengthwise then used each piece as a base to laminate two of the planks side by side together.

Used a couple of pipe clamps to gently force the sides together on the dowels

I used dowels every 6" to keep the top level and was very pleasantly surprised that it worked quite well when I put the pipe clamps on and cranked them down a bit.

Cut a notch in the side that would go against the wall, for an electric/USB charging port, then put a piece of trim around the edge.

Then came....Sanding.

Yes, Beans, I was very religious about wearing a dust mask.  (Sorry, gonna go off topic.  Even with the dusk mask on all the time I was in the shop, I still had saw dust in my nostrils.  My shop mask is much better than all the masks I see being worn at the store.  I can see sawdust, I can't see the communist flu virus.  Tell me again, why we MUST wear masks? Going back on topic,now. Sorry!)

Finally, I got the first leg sanded to satisfaction.  4 coats of Polyurethane later and Voila'.

 This week's project is a repeat of last weeks.  Is Ground Hog Day coming soon?

3) Last week, while waiting for finish coats to dry, Mrs J was being ruthless!

"VE must purge ze junk ve haf accumulated in zis House over ze past twenty years!  Get to Verk!"

"Jawohl, mein Anführer ... ich meine meine Liebe".

When Dad had passed away, we brought most of his "stuff" to our house intending to go through it when we had time.

Yeah, Right!

Well, now was the time.  So I'm going through the stuff and I find an envelope with my Mother's handwriting on it.  So I opened it up.

 This was cool.  They're the ration books for my Aunt and Uncle who were 2 and 8 months old at the time of issue.

This was my first indication that my Favorite Aunt's first name wasn't Janet.

The instructions were interesting.  Not much waffling around back then, I guess.

And signed by my Grandfather.

It was a good moment.

4) Finally, I've got a video of our construction supervisor at a critical moment in the construction process.

Yes, we have electricity and air conditioning!

And flooring and fixtures.

And a front door.

Appliances will be delivered and installed this week and then the inspections will commence.  The last major portion of this project, paving the road and putting down concrete in the low water crossings should begin in the next week or so.  Once that's done, we can set a closing date and start my 45th and last move.

Yeah...I'm a bit excited!

Operation Goodwood, Afternoon...

(Source)

Sgt Fitzhugh tossed his cigarette into the dirt and ground it out, straightening his tanker's helmet he told his crew, "Look alive lads, it's the C.O. and the Sarn't Major. Probably come to tell us where we might die today."

Fitzhugh's battalion commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Jonathan Bryce-Heath, and his regimental sergeant major, Oswald Brookes, climbed out of their jeep and stretched. Riding a jeep, at speed, over some of these farm tracks was uncomfortable and jarring to one's bones, to say the least.

"Wait here Sarn't Major," Lt Col Bryce-Heath pulled his map out, then called out to Fitzhugh, "gather your tank commanders Sarn't, I shall only be briefing this once per troop."

The other tank commanders were waiting for Fitzhugh's signal, they had all wondered what the battalion C.O. wanted. Quickly they gathered by the troop commander's tank, a Sherman VC.

"Right lads, bit of a change in plan. Brigade is attaching us directly to 7th Armoured. We're to provide support for them as they push on to Bourguébus Ridge. As you can see, we're just south of Hérouvillette, just west of here, Escoville, I think..."

"I've got that on my map Sir, just here. We're right about, there."

"Yes, thank you sergeant. Now your task is to spearhead the battalion as we push towards Cagny. The RAF claim to have obliterated that village as well as Manneville, which you should pass to your left flank. Push on, mop up any German resistance, we expect a few remnants of the 272nd Infantry in the area. Guards Armoured will be to your left and will deal with any survivors from the 1st SS. Shouldn't be many after the bombings and the artillery preparation. Now get ready to move, and good hunting!"

(Source)

Fitzhugh always hated to hear "good hunting" from some officers, as if this were a bloody fox hunt. He doubted the bombs and artillery had killed all of the Germans' big cats. He was quite sure there were still Panthers and Tigers to spare!

Looking south from Escoville, route of advance for Fitzhugh's troop.
Google Street View

Sgt Fitzhugh ordered his troop to move out, he had them in reverse wedge formation with his own tank at the rear angle of the wedge. That way he could respond to either flank and to the front should the surviving Germans engage them.

He stayed low in his hatch, all tank commanders were very leery of riding exposed as too many had become casualties to sniper fire. Even in this open country the Jerry snipers could hole up and use the ground to stay concealed. Without any supporting infantry, which rather irked him, they would just have to button up and stumble on if they were engaged by enemy infantry here in the open. Fortunately the bastards wouldn't be able to get close enough to use a Panzerfaust. He hoped.

Intended line of advance, Fitzhugh's troop
Google Maps

Fitzhugh had his map in hand, "There, that must be Sannerville to the southeast." Over the wireless he told his tank commanders, "Heads up lads, we should be seeing resistance at any moment."

Another 1,000 feet traveled, still nothing. Fitzhugh could see the signs of burning villages ahead. Maybe the RAF and the arty did kill all the Jerries, they seem to be non-existent today!

Northwest of Sannerville

According to his map, that burning place to his left front was, used to be, the village of Manneville. Fitzhugh had no way of knowing that the place was full of dead and wounded Panzertruppen¹ and destroyed Tiger tanks, a force which would have stopped the advance of his troop cold.

From the ruins of Manneville, Major Rolf Fromme watched in frustration as the Tommies advanced unopposed. Was there no one left to oppose them?

Just north of Manneville (to the left of the picture), which would be in flames due to the bombing and artillery earlier in the day.
Cagny lies beyond in the center of the photo. 
Google Street View

"Troop halt!" Fitzhugh commanded over the wireless.

LCpl Thomas Ginns, Fitzhugh's driver, had to ask, "What's up Sarn't? Why are we stopping?"

"Well laddie boy, it's like this. We've advanced better'n five miles so far and not a peep from Jerry. This is either the first time the RAF boys and the arty actually completely suppressed the opposition, or we're walking into a bloody trap. Truth be told lads, I've got the wind up, don't like this at all."

"Right then, I guess we need to get stuck in, orders ya know..."

"Half a league, half a league..." gunner Cpl Cecil Chapman started reciting.

"Stow it laddie, that's not funny at all."

8.8 cm Pak 43/41 Anti-tank Gun
Bundesarchiv

Leutnant Gregor Hoffman watched through his field glasses as the four Shermans halted. Did they smell a trap? Hoffman had had a trap until the Tommy artillery had walked over his positions, now his second gun was a smoking wreck manned by dead crewmen. All he had left was one gun, and perhaps twenty rounds of anti-tank ammunition left. His resupply had never come in, and all of his spare ammo had gone up in the barrage.

He daubed his left ear with his scarf, it was still oozing blood and he could hear nothing from that ear. He suspected that he had a mild concussion. He wanted to be clear of this place, but both of his prime movers had been destroyed along with his other gun and his spare ammo. It was a miracle that he had this gun!

"Load Panzergrenate!²"

Cagny within range, yellow circle marks rough position of Lindner's Tiger platoon of sPzAbt 503.
To the right is Le Mesnil Frémental, the orange diamond marks the position of a German 8.8 cm anti-tank gun.
Google Street View

Fitzhugh scanned the remnants of Cagny to his front and Le Mesnil Frémental to his right. Both villages were burning, but Fitzhugh noticed a line of trees on the edge of Cagny and a couple of outbuildings which seemed untouched.

"Willis, load armor piercing." Cpl Willis Seckington removed the high explosive round from the breech, stowed it, then loaded an armor piercing round. They had been expecting infantry, Seckington wondered what his sergeant had seen to want an AP round up the spout.

"Cecil, do you see that line of trees, dead ahead. Doesn't one of them have a rather blocky, something, underneath it?"

"Got it, Jesus wept, it's a bloody Tiger!" screamed Cpl Chapman. He was still picked on for identifying a Pzkw IV in an earlier battle as a Tiger. This time he could see it clearly in his gunsight.

"Ready!"

Just as he yelled that out, the unseen 88 in Le Mesnil Frémental fired. Its shot went into the engine compartment of the right flank tank of Fitzhugh's troop. Sgt Fitzhugh saw the vehicle in his peripheral vision as its bow slewed to the right. It began to smoke.

Fitzhugh wanted to look but there was another threat to his front. He had to deal with that one first while Cecil had it dialed in.

"Fire!"

"Reload!"

Willis set a personal best time for reloading a second AP round, Fitzhugh was ready to fire again within seconds.

"Again, fire!"

(Source)

The round from the Sherman VC hit Tiger 113 squarely on the right drive sprocket, knocking the track off and destroying the vehicle's mobility. The second round came in and entered the lower part of the hull, destroying the transmission and killing both the driver and the loader.

Lindner saw his men bail out of the damaged tank, "Willi, shoot that big bastard towards the rear, it's one of those 17-pounder Shermans!"

"Jawohl! Got him, firing" Feldwebel Willi Hoffmeister shouted at the same time as he stomped on the firing pedal. He was dismayed to see that he had missed completely as he saw his round hit the dirt to the right of the enemy tank.

"Fritz, for the love of all that's Holy reload! Gerhard, do you see that Sherman heading to our right? What is the other bastard shooting at?"

Fitzhugh had sent one tank to flank to the east of Cagny. His other surviving tank was engaging the Jerries to his right. They had fired a single shot but nothing since, perhaps Sullivan had managed to kill whatever killed Oswald's tank.

Leutnant Hoffman stared in horror as one of the loaders dropped the next round after they had fired a single shot, and had scored as well. Their survival depended on speed, and they were not winning that race.

He put his field glasses to his face and saw that one of the Shermans was turning his way.

"Load damn it, get that damned round up!"

The young private from Garmisch was sweating bullets as he handed another round up, he didn't drop this one. But it didn't matter.

A high explosive round from Fitzhugh's second right flank vehicle hit the gun shield near the top.  The round detonated from the impact, spraying fragments of the shell, and the gun shield, over the gun crew and the ready ammunition.

Leutnant Hoffman had been hit again, this time in the lower abdomen, but he didn't have long to suffer as two high explosive rounds in the ready pile detonated. No one survived that.

Le Mesnil Frémental was clear of Germans, only Cagny and Lindner's three Tigers stood in the way of the British advance.

Fitzhugh couldn't believe what he was hearing over the wireless, they'd been ordered to fall back towards Sannerville. Apparently the weakened, probably no tanks left, 1st SS were counterattacking and Guards Armoured was in trouble.

"All tanks, fire smoke! Withdraw to the north, smartly now."

Chapman fired one last AP round at another Tiger in Cagny. He swore it was a solid hit, but now it was behind a growing smoke screen.

Probably just as well, he thought.

Chapman's parting shot hit the top of 224's turret. It didn't penetrate nor cause any spalling, but it deafened the entire turret crew. Lindner covered his ears and felt wetness, damn it, not burst ear drums, not again!

The sun began to set on the first day of Operation Goodwood, the British and Canadians were nowhere near their assigned objectives and dozens of friendly tanks had been destroyed. The day had been a disaster.

(Source)

¹ Tank troops
² Armor-piercing round (AP)