Buch lesen: «Italy’s Sorrow: A Year of War 1944–45»

CONTENTS

List of Maps

Note on the Text

Principal Personalities

Prologue

Part I: The Road To Rome

1 The Eve of Battle: May 1944

2 Battle Begins: 11–12 May 1944

3 Churchill’s Opportunism

4 The Slow Retreat

5 Frustrations

6 Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

7 Masters of the Skies

8 The Battle Rages: 13–16 May 1944

9 New Order

10 Breaking the Gustav Line: 17–18 May 1944

11 Achtung Banditen!

12 The Fog of War: 18–23 May 1944

13 Break-out: 23–26 May 1944

14 General Clark and the Big Switch: 26–30 May 1944

15 The Fall of Rome: 1–5 June 1944

Part II: The Brutal Summer

16 The North

17 The Problems of Generalship: June 1944

18 The Typhoon Rolls North

19 Breaking the Albert Line: 20–30 June 1944

20 The Politics of War

21 Differences of Opinion

22 Summer Heat: July 1944

23 Crossing the Arno: July–August 1944

24 A Change of Plan: August 1944

25 Despair: August 1944

26 The Gothic Line: 25 August–1 September 1944

27 The Tragedy of Gemmano: 1–12 September 1944

28 Mountain Passes and Bloody Ridges: 12–21 September 1944

Part III: The Winter of Discontent

29 Death in the Mountains: 22–29 September 1944

30 The Reason Why

31 Rain, Mud and Misery, Part I: 1–14 October 1944

32 Rain, Mud and Misery, Part II: 15–31 October 1944

33 The Infantryman’s Lot: November 1944

34 The Partisan Crisis: November–December 1944

35 White Christmas: December 1944

Part IV: Endgame

36 Stalemate: January–February 1945

37 Getting Ready: February–April 1945

38 The Last Offensive: 9–20 April 1945

39 The End of the War in Italy: 21 April–2 May 1945

Postscript

References

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

Abbreviations and Glossary

Guide to ranks

Index

Copyright

About The Publisher

MAPS

Italy showing German defensive lines

Cassino front, 11 May 1944, and Alexander’s battle plan for DIADEM and the destruction of AOK 10 south of Rome

The Monte Sole massif

Operational zone of the 8th Garibaldi Brigade of Partisans, also showing the river network Eighth Army had to cross, September 1944 to April 1945

The Val d’Orcia

Northern Italy, Lake Como and Lake Garda

Main Italian rail network and ports

Allied Control Commission Organisation of Italy, 1 September 1944

The Winter Line, January 1945

DIADEM: The battle for Rome and German lines of retreat for AOK 10

The Allied pursuit from Rome to the Albert Line, 5–20 June 1944

From the Albert Line to the River Arno, July and early August 1944

Alexander’s battle plan for the Gothic Line, August 1944

Eighth Army’s attack on the Gothic Line, August to September 1944

Fifth Army’s assault on the Gothic Line, 10–18 September 1944

The German attack on Monte Sole

Fifth Army’s attempt to break through the Apennines, 1–15 October 1944

The final offensive, April to May 1945

Italy showing German defensive lines

Cassino front, 11 May 1944, and Alexander’s battle plan for DIADEM and the destruction of AOK 10 south of Rome

The Monte Sole massif

Operational zone of the 8th Garibaldi Brigade of Partisans, also showing the river network Eighth Army had to cross (Sept. 1944–April 1945)

The Val d’Orcia

Northern Italy, Lake Como and Lake Garda

Main Italian rail network and ports

Allied Control Commission Organisation of Italy, 1 Sept. 1944

The Winter Line, January 1945

NOTE ON THE TEXT

One of the difficulties faced when writing about different armies of different nationalities is that many units have similar names. Furthermore, many American servicemen also have Germanic-sounding names. So in an effort to avoid any confusion, I have used the German spellings for the names of military units and ranks. For example, the German name for an army was Armeeoberkommando, or AOK as it was known; paratroopers were called Fallschirmjäger; armoured divisions were called panzer divisions. I have also included as an appendix to the book a comparison of military ranks.

On the other hand, I have translated Italian ranks, but have kept certain Italian words in their true form where there is no appropriate translation, such as contadini, who were Italian peasant farmers, and rastrellamento, the word to describe a military operation to clear an area of partisans.

Traditionally, army numbers are spelled out, and corps numbers given in Roman numerals. However, I have used numerical figures to describe German corps, purely because LXXVI Panzer Corps seems unnecessarily long-winded. I hope readers will accept these inconsistencies and anomalies in the spirit in which they were intended.

PRINCIPAL PERSONALITIES (ranks as at end of war)

Cosimo Arrichiello Italian former soldier with Fourth Someggiata Field Battery; agricultural labourer hiding in the Stura Valley south of Turin

John Barton British officer and agent with SOE, Italy

Sam Bradshaw British reconnaissance trooper with 6 Royal Tank Regiment, 7th Armoured Brigade

Kendall Brooke South African subaltern with A Coy, Royal Natal Carbineers, 6th SA Armoured Division

Friedrich Büchner German trainee artillery officer with 98th Infantry Division

Albert Burke American master sergeant with Divisional HQ, 92nd ‘Buffalo’ Infantry Division

Ion Calvocoressi British senior aide-de-camp to General Sir Oliver Leese, Tactical HQ, Eighth Army

Carla Capponi Italian civilian and member of Rome-based resistance movement GAP Central

Eugenio Corti Italian lieutenant with 184th Artillery Regiment, Nembo Division, CIL, later Folgore Combat Group

Carla Costa Italian civilian spy with German Intelligence Service (Abwehr)

William Cremonini Italian sergeant with Bir el Gobi Company, Alessandro Pavolini’s personal bodyguard

Antonio Cucciati Italian teenager paratrooper with Nuotati e Paracadutisti Battalion, Flottiglia Decima MAS

Elena Curti Italian civilian and illegitimate daughter of Benito Mussolini, working for government of the RSI

Charles Dills American fighter pilot with 522nd Squadron, 27th Fighter Bomber Group

Group Captain Hugh ‘Cocky’ Dundas British airman serving as wing commander, HQ Desert Air Force, 244 Wing; commanding officer, 244 Wing, RAF

Clara Duse Italian civilian living in Trieste

Tom Finney British trooper with 9th Queen’s Royal Lancers, 78th Division

Dick Frost South African lance corporal with D Squadron, Royal Natal Carbineers, 12th Motor Infantry Brigade, 6th SA Armoured Division

Martha Gellhorn American freelance journalist and war correspondent with Collier’s Magazine. Estranged wife of the writer Ernest Hemingway

Tini Glover Maori sergeant with 28th Maori Battalion, 2nd New Zealand Division

Hans Golda German commanding officer serving with 8th Battery, Werfer Regiment 71

Reg Harris British sergeant with 3rd Battalion, Coldstream Guards

Stephen Hastings British liaison officer with No 1 Special Force, SOE in Piacenza

Willi Holtfreter German fighter pilot with fighter group III/JG 53

Hamilton Howze American commander, 13th Armored Battalion; later commander Combat Command B, 1st Armored Division

Jupp Klein German commander with Pioneer Company, 1st Fallschirmjäger Division

Hans-Jürgen Kumberg German paratrooper with 4th Parachute Regiment, 1st Paratroop Division

Norman Lewis British intelligence officer with 412th Field Security Service

Franz Maassen German NCO with 2nd Battalion, 994th Infantry Regiment, 278th Infantry Division

Iader Miserocchi Italian partisan commander of 2nd Battalion, 8th Garibaldi Brigade; later served with 28th Garibaldi Brigade

Peter Moore British officer with 2/5th Battalion, Leicestershire Regiment

Ken Neill New Zealander flight commander with 225 Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron, RAF

Marchesa Iris Origo Irish/American/Italian civilian living in Val d’Orcia, southern Tuscany

Cornelia Paselli Italian civilian living near Monte Sole

Francesco Pirini Italian civilian living near Monte Sole

Pasua Pisa Italian civilian farmer living on Monte Rotondo, near Amaseno

Italo Quadrelli Italian civilian living at Onferno, near Rimini

Walter Reder German commanding officer, 16th Reconnaissance Battalion, 16th Waffen-SS

Gianni Rossi Italian partisan; served as second-in-command, Stella Rossa, Monte Sole

Wladek Rubnikowicz Polish troop leader with 2nd Squadron, 12th Lancers Reconnaissance Regiment, 3rd Carpathian Division, II Polish Corps

Emilio Sacerdote Italian Jew and partisan in Piemonte

Ray Saidel American private first class with G Coy, 1st Armored Regiment, 1st Armored Division

Rudi Schreiber German engineer with Pioneer Battalion, 16th Waffen-SS Panzer Grenadier Division

Stan Scislowski Canadian private with Perth Regiment, 11th Infantry Brigade, 5th Canadian Armoured Division

Willfried Segebrecht German commanding officer, 1 Company, 16th Reconnaissance Battalion, 16th Waffen-SS

Eric Sevareid American broadcast journalist and war correspondent for CBS

Hans Sitka Czech German NCO with East Regiment

Carlo Venturi Italian partisan with Stella Rossa and later 62nd Garibaldi Brigade

Roberto Vivarelli Italian volunteer with Bir el Gobi Company

Ernest Wall British wireless operator/air gunner with 1 Squadron, South African Air Force

Bucky Walters American sergeant with H Coy, 135th Infantry Regiment, 34th ‘Red Bull’ Infantry Division

Bob Wiggans American commanding officer with ‘D’ Coy, 1st Battalion, 338th Infantry, 85th ‘Custer’ Infantry Division

Ted Wyke-Smith British officer with 281st Field Park Company, 214th Field Company, 78th Division Royal Engineers

Georg Zellner German commanding officer with 3rd Battalion, ‘Hochund-Deutschmeister’ Reichs Grenadier Regiment (44th Infantry Division)

PROLOGUE

A few minutes before two o’clock on the afternoon of Thursday, 23 March 1944, Rome was a city bathed in spring sunshine and temperatures that were easily the warmest so far that year. But while the promise of summer may have lightened the mood of the majority of Romans, the heat brought no such cheer to twenty-two-year-old Carla Capponi, or ‘Elena’ as she was known amongst her fellow partisans. Clasping a pistol in her pocket, she was already feeling conspicuous for carrying a man’s raincoat on such a beautiful day.

A couple of hours before, she had been too nervous to have any of the beer and potatoes on offer for lunch. Instead, she and her boyfriend, Rosario ‘Paolo’ Bentivegna, and two other partisans of the Roman resistance group GAP Central – the Gruppi di Azione Patriottica Centrale – had left their meal and hurried over to the hideout near the Colosseum. There Paolo had collected the old dust cart that had been stolen the day before, in which there was now hidden a homemade bomb of 18 kilogrammes of TNT topped by a 50-second fuse. While the bomb was big enough to destroy an entire building, the Gappists had planned to bolster their attack with mortars and gunfire. It had been Carla’s job to pick up four mortars from the hide-out and deliver them to ‘Francesco’, a fellow partisan, waiting in the Via del Traforo. Carrying the mortars in nothing more than a shopping bag, she had managed safely to deliver them to Francesco, and then, as she had walked past, had glanced down the Via Rasella. It had been quite deserted; Paolo, with his heavy bomb-laden dustcart, had not yet reached his appointed position.

Passing the bottom of the Via Rasella, Carla had continued up the Via del Traforo and was now waiting by the offices of Il Messaggero newspaper. She spotted Pasquale Balsamo, another partisan, standing by a news-stand. Perhaps he could sense her nerves in the taut expression in her face, because as he looked across he gave her a reassuring wink.

At least they were both now in position. It was Pasquale’s job to give Carla the signal to let her know that the German troops were on their way. She would then turn right onto the Via del Tritone, a main thoroughfare that ran roughly parallel to the Via Rasella, and after 300 yards, turn right again onto another main street, the Via delle Quattro Fontane, until she reached the top end of Via Rasella. There she would wait for Paolo with the raincoat – the overcoat that was to cover up his dustman’s uniform as they attempted to make good their escape.

Standing by Il Messaggero, Carla paused to look at the newspaper pinned in a display case outside the entrance, keeping half an eye out for Pasquale’s reflection in the glass in front of her. Nearby, far too close for comfort, were two men – very obviously plainclothes policemen. The newspaper was full of news about the eruption of Mount Vesuvius five days earlier, but as her eyes flickered over the newsprint she was conscious that too much time was going by. Why hadn’t Pasquale given her the signal? And where were the SS troops? The whole operation had been built around the Germans’ unvarying Teutonic routine: every day, without fail, the same column of around 160 men of the 11th Company of the 3rd Battalion of the SS Police Regiment Bozen would march through the centre of the city on their way back to their barracks after a morning’s training at a shooting range near the Roman bridge, Ponte Milvio. As they marched, singing ‘Hupf, Mein Mädel!’ – ‘Skip, My Lassie’ – they would pass up the length of the comparatively narrow and enclosed Via Rasella.

A quarter past two came and went. Then 2.20 p.m., 2.30 p.m., 2.45 p.m. and still no sign of the troops. The plainclothes policemen approached her. As they did so Carla gripped the pistol in her pocket. ‘Excuse me, signorina,’ one of them said to her. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ For a split second she froze, then said, yes, she was waiting for her fiancé, who, she explained, worked at the Palazzo Barberini. She then began talking to them about the eruption of Vesuvius and the potential disaster this might cause for Naples. This seemed to work. She felt calmer suddenly, so that when one of them asked her sharply why she was carrying a raincoat on such a hot day, she told them that it was her fiancé’s and that she had had a stain removed from it and was going to give it back to him.

She then saw Pasquale start towards her. What was the time? She asked the policemen: 2.47 p.m. one of them told her. In that case, she said, it was time for her to go. Hurrying away from them, she passed Pasquale who muttered something she could not make out, but knowing she could not look back and believing Pasquale’s message was the signal for her to move, she turned into the Via del Tritone and then down Quattro Fontane to take up her position for the attack.

At the top of Via Rasella, Carla saw Paolo sweeping the road half way down the street, the dustcart in the middle of the road. She had been expecting to see the SS column marching into the bottom of the street but there was still no sign. She could not think what had gone wrong. One of only twelve partisans from GAP Central, she was well aware that their chances of pulling off such an attack and then successfully escaping were not high. Life in Rome was becoming increasingly dangerous with not only the Gestapo closing in on them but also the Neo-Fascist secret police. There was also a particularly vicious gang of Fascist vigilantes, which had been set up soon after the German occupation the previous autumn as a counter-partisan ‘Special Police Unit’. Known as the Koch Gang after its leader, Pietro Koch, the band was already a byword for ruthlessness and brutality, known for the particular vindictiveness with which they tortured those who fell into their grasp.

The growing dangers had done little to deter the Gappists, but all of the partisans in GAP Central, Carla included, were very aware that their planned attack in the Via Rasella was the most daring strike attempted yet. The night before, lying next to Paolo in their hide-out, she had needed to remind herself why she was taking part in such an action. In the silence and dark, she had thought of how unjust the war was, and of the destruction and devastation it had caused to her country. She thought of her compatriots who had already been shot and tortured and of all those who had been deported and who had not been heard of since; and she thought of all those friends of hers who had already died in the fighting in Russia, in Greece, in Yugoslavia; she remembered her cousin, Amleto, killed fighting the Allies at El Alamein. But while such thoughts had helped stiffen her resolve, her fears remained. If they were caught, she knew they would be killed.

At the top of the Via Rasella, in the garden of the Palazzo Barberini, Carla spotted some children playing football. Imagining the horrors of the children being caught in the bomb blast she walked over and shouted at them, ‘You can’t play football in this garden. Go home and do your homework!’ Recognising something in her tone, they all immediately scurried off.

The minutes ticked by. Still nothing. What could have gone wrong? As she waited by the gates of the Palazzo Barberini the same two plainclothes policemen approached her again. It was now just after 3.30 p. m., more than an hour and a half after the bomb was supposed to have gone off. ‘You still here?’ they asked her. Her fiancé was at the Officer’s Club in the Palazzo, she told them, desperately hoping they would not see Paolo and his rubbish cart a hundred yards up ahead. She couldn’t go in there, she explained, as it was men only, and so had to wait. ‘We’ll wait with you,’ they told her.

Carla was almost at her wits’ end when she spotted an elderly friend of her mother’s on the other side of Quattro Fontane. Excusing herself from the two policemen, she hurried across the road and after a very brief conversation, whispered to her to get away as quickly as possible.

It was at that moment that she saw one of the other partisans walking down the street towards Paolo. As he passed, Carla finally spotted the head of the column of SS men turn into the bottom of the Via Rasella. Her heart in her mouth, she watched them gradually fill the entire street, tramping rhythmically – though not singing as usual – towards Paolo and the dustcart, until he was lost from view, engulfed by the marching column.

She was still straining to see him when he suddenly appeared by her side. The front of the column was now near the top of the Via Rasella. She gave him the raincoat, which he hastily put on over his overalls, just as Carla saw the two plainclothes policemen, who had not stopped watching her, begin to cross the street. She pulled out her pistol but a passing bus came between them.

And then the bomb detonated.

The explosion rocked the entire city centre. A violent blast of air followed, pushing Carla and Paolo forward and knocking the bus, directly in front of the Via Rasella, across the street. The policemen fled and Carla and Paolo sprinted in the opposite direction, gunfire and bullets from the troops at the head of the column pinging and ricocheting all around them and bits of stone and stucco from the buildings showering them as they ran. Behind them mortars exploded, but they both kept running, sprinting for their lives until the sounds of the inferno at last began to die down.

That same Thursday in March 1944 was proving to be a significant day on the main front line as well. Just over sixty miles to the south-east of Rome, lay the town of Cassino, and towering above it, the remains of the sixth-century Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino. Emerging from the high and jagged peaks that stretched east to the Adriatic coast and overlooking the flat Liri Valley before the mountains rose once more to the western coast, Monte Cassino held the key to the route to Rome and was the single most important point in the German ‘Gustav Line’, a defensive barrier than ran like a belt across the waist of Italy.

Since January, the Allies had repeatedly tried to force their way through, but the formidable defences had prevented them. Indeed, as the dust and debris of the blast in the Via Rasella began to settle that sunny spring afternoon, the Allies were about to call a halt to their third attempt to break Cassino and Monastery Hill above.

That the Allied attack was now almost beaten had much to do with the tenacious defending by the German 1st Parachute – or Fallschirmjäger – Division. Amongst these defenders was Hans-Jürgen Kumberg, a nineteen-year-old paratrooper born in Ventspils, Latvia to German parents. In 1939, as Russia was soon to occupy the Baltic States, the family moved to Posen in German-occupied Poland, and it was here, in June 1943, that Hans finished school. Inspired by a film about the Fallschirmjäger’s action over Crete in May 1941, he promptly, aged just seventeen, volunteered to become a paratrooper himself. Before Christmas, having successfully completed his training, he was posted to the Adriatic where the Fallschirmjäger were still defending Ortona. It had been a month since Hans and the division had arrived at Monte Cassino, in time for the Third Battle of Cassino.

The German defenders had fought with almost insane bravery and determination since the moment the Allies had landed at Salerno the previous September. Almost every yard had been bitterly contested as the defenders had fallen back across rivers, through mountains and networks of mines, booby traps and wire. Through November and December, they had successfully held the Allies at bay along the narrow Mignano Gap, a mere ten miles south-east of Cassino, before retreating in January to their well-prepared defences of the Gustav Line, along which Cassino was the key position. Helped by a particularly wet and cold winter, they had in that first month of the new year, and again in February, barred the Allies from bludgeoning their way through to the wider valley beyond that led to Rome. The first two battles of Cassino had seen some of the most bitter and bloody fighting of the war to date.

In the four long weeks since his arrival at Cassino, Hans had not had a chance fully to grasp just how high up he was in the mountains, or how dominant was the monastery that overlooked the Liri Valley below. His division had reached the town in the dead of night on 20/21 February. Arriving at the foot of Monastery Hill, they had then disembarked from their trucks and walked as silently as they could – despite their heavy packs and equipment – up through a steep gully to a ridge about a mile beyond and above the remains of the monastery. It was wet underfoot and bitterly cold and the climb a difficult one; yet, whatever the difficulties of hauling equipment and supplies high into the Cassino massif, there was no denying that such an imposing landscape was an enormous advantage to the defender. Monastery Hill itself rose sharply from the town below, standing sentinel and, at 700 feet, a formidable feature for any attacker. Compared with the range of mountains stacked behind it, however, Monastery Hill was just that – a hill – dwarfed by the 5,475-foot-high giant that was Monte Cairo.

In the Liri Valley, the defenders had smashed dikes and diverted water courses to flood large parts of the valley floor and so make it impassable to vehicles, especially heavy trucks and tanks. South of the valley, as far as the sea fifteen miles away, were more mountains: the Aurunci range rising to 5,000 feet – almost as high as the mighty range of the interior. It was along these positions that German engineers and their Italian press-ganged labour force had built a network of bunkers and gun emplacements and laid intricate webs of wire and mines. And it was from here that the defenders had blocked the Allied advance to Rome for more than two months.

When daylight broke the following morning, Hans could just about see the scree-like ruins of the monastery emerging through a thick mist, but the valley floor below and Monte Cairo behind remained completely hidden. As Hans was soon to discover, he had come to one of the most desolate and violent places in the world. The hard rock and precipitous slopes of the mountains and the flooded valley below had blunted the Allies’ superior fire power. At Cassino, each yard – each foot – had to be won or defended by the men unfortunate enough to find themselves thrown into this battle of attrition.

The monastery had been just one of the victims, obliterated by the Allies a week before Hans’ arrival. Other victims from the previous months’ fighting lay scattered and strewn in front of Hans’ machine-gun post; the dead were everywhere. The stench of rotting corpses, bloated and noxious, was overpowering. Hans’ regiment occupied a small ridge known as Hill 445, some 400 yards to the north of the obliterated monastery. By day, Hans and his comrades remained at their post, the constant smoke and dust from shellfire and from British fog canisters shrouding the top of the mountain. By night, they would be able to cautiously slink their way back to the ruined farmhouse that served as company headquarters, or back down the hill to collect ammunition and supplies.

Although Hans’ arrival had coincided with a lull in the fighting, shell and mortar fire, bombing and sniping continued incessantly. Neither side could ever afford to relax; as the German paratroopers had soon learnt, they had to be on their guard at all times. Opposite them were the 1/9th Gurkha Rifles, notorious for their proficiency with kukri knives. Sometimes at night, when less ordnance was hurled back and forth, Hans could hear the screams of his fellow paratroopers as Gurkhas stealthily infiltrated a German outpost, killing – often decapitating – the men with their curved knives. Hans and his comrades hardly dared sleep at night for fear of meeting such a fate: on edge all the time, the strain was immense.

A week before, the battle had begun again in earnest. The morning of 15 March had been clear and sunny, but at around 8.30 a.m. Hans and his unit heard the sound of massed aero engines and then watched open-mouthed as the sky filled with Allied aircraft. They had come to pulverise Cassino town: nearly 800 planes in all, dropping over 1,000 tonnes of bombs. When they had gone, and the dust had settled, the town lay utterly and completely destroyed. The ruins had since proved easier to defend than when the town had been standing, as the New Zealand troops sent in afterwards had discovered at great cost – the Corps losing around 4,000 men. At the same time, the British 4th Indian Division had failed to make headway around Monastery Hill. Hans-Jürgen Kumberg and his comrades had fought hard and valiantly – and had even earned a certain respect from their enemy, who had started to refer to the paratroopers as the ‘Green Devils’.

That evening, 23 March, the British general, Sir Harold Alexander, Commander-in-Chief of Allied Armies in Italy (AAI), drove up to the front line to see the battlefield for himself. The New Zealand commander, General Freyberg, and the US Fifth Army commander, General Mark Clark, had both recommended that the Third Battle of Cassino be called off without delay. Agreeing that any further offensive action was indeed futile, Alexander concurred. The Germans had scored another defensive victory. Difficult though it was to accept in this age of highly mechanised modern warfare, the harsh winter conditions and formidable natural defences of this thin, mountainous country had ensured that the Allies would henceforth have to return to the old summer campaigning season of centuries past.

Curiously though, along theAnzio bridgehead, thirty miles to the northwest, the German Supreme Commander South-West, Feldmarschall Albert Kesselring, was drawing much the same conclusion as his opposite number as he drove along the front and talked with his commanders. It was now two months since the Allies had made their landing at Anzio in Operation SHINGLE. On 22 January, 36,000 American and British troops under the command of US VI Corps had come ashore on the flat land thirty miles south of Rome. Although intended as a means of outflanking the main front along the Gustav Line to the south-east, the shortage of available shipping had ensured that not enough men and equipment had been landed quickly enough to take early advantage of the surprise that had been achieved. The initiative was quickly lost as German troops were hurriedly sent to counterattack, and Allied hopes of forging a link to their forces further south were subsequently dashed.