The Last Battle (30 page)

W
HEN THE FIRING ERUPTED
, Art Pollock and Al Worsham were crouched behind
Besotten Jenny
, smoking cigarettes and peering around opposite sides of the vehicle in the direction of the schlossweg and Itter village. The two infantrymen had gone out to provide security for Bill Rushford, who was inside, focusing his attention on trying to repair the Sherman’s balky SCR-528 radio. They’d barely registered the sound of the 88 round detonating against the side of the keep when the tank was rocked violently backward on its suspension, the lurch accompanied by a harsh metallic clang so loud it almost deafened them. The two men knew instinctively that the Sherman had been hit by an antitank round, a perception immediately reinforced by flames that shot upward from the engine access grills atop
Besotten Jenny
’s rear deck. With the same thought in their heads—get away from it before it cooks off!—the two GIs took what seemed at the time to be the fastest escape route: they vaulted over the low guardrails lining the access road and slid down into the ravine, Pollock on the east side of the roadway and Worsham on the west.
¹⁸

Struggling to stay upright on the treacherous slope and fearing that at any moment enemy troops would emerge from the nearby tree line, the six-foot-four-inch Pollock was frantically looking for some kind of cover when he heard Worsham yelling, “Pollock, Pollock, are you dead?”

“How the hell am I gonna answer you if I’m dead?” the BAR man responded. “Hell no, I’m not dead.”

“Come underneath the bridge and up the other side. I’m over there,” Worsham shouted.

Pollock hurried through the opening and found the rifleman waiting on the other side. Together the two GIs scrambled awkwardly uphill to the sally port, pounding on it and yelling until it was yanked inward far enough for them to squeeze through. To their amazement, the man opening the door for them was Rushford—they’d assumed he was dead.
¹⁹

That the
Besotten Jenny
’s driver was still among the living was nothing short of a miracle. Rushford had been standing inside the vehicle, facing the radio set in its rack at the rear of the turret when the antitank round—most
probably fired by the 75mm Pak 40 that Lee and the others had seen earlier on the parallel ridgeline east of the castle—slammed into the left side of the Sherman’s upper hull halfway between the turret ring and the center set of road wheels. The armor-piercing projectile hit at an angle, punching a fist-sized hole in the tank’s 38mm side armor and slicing through the left rear corner of the crew compartment just feet from Rushford’s right leg. Barely missing the left-side fuel tank, the round tore into
Besotten Jenny
’s V-8 engine, completely destroying it and sparking an immediate fire. Momentarily stunned but miraculously unhurt, Rushford briefly hesitated before heaving open the loader’s hatch and hauling himself onto the top of the turret. By the time he did so, both Pollock and Worsham had already gone over the walls and down into the ravine; Rushford chose a different escape route. Dropping from the turret top onto the narrow ledge atop the side hull, he jumped from the tank onto one of the narrow columns supporting the guardrail on one side of the access road and ran several feet along the wooden beam toward the gatehouse. Once clear of the fire, Rushford jumped down to the road surface, sprinted to the front gate—which Basse had opened for him—and lunged through just as the Sherman’s fuel tanks blew, turning the vehicle into an inferno of flames and exploding machine-gun ammunition.
²⁰

Besotten Jenny
’s fiery demise galvanized the VIPs still sheltering in the rear courtyard. Reynaud shouted at Christiane Mabire and Augusta Bruchlen to collect the Cailliaus and Schrader’s family and take them to the cellar; as she moved to comply, Mabire noticed that Schrader’s wife was bleeding from several small cuts on her forehead and neck. As the group ran toward the main building—trailed by Daladier and Jouhaux—the young German woman explained that when the shooting started she’d thrown herself over her children and almost immediately been struck by a shower of stones blown out of the nearby parapet wall by the enemy fire.
²¹
Running into the Great Hall, Mabire and Bruchlen—who had herself been lightly struck by flying stones—gathered up the other VIPs crouching behind the furniture in front of the fireplace and hustled them all through the door leading to the cellars.
²²

Back in the rear courtyard, four of the six Frenchmen who moments before had been calmly enjoying the morning sun were huddled closely together beneath the surrounding parapet wall, having an unusually civil and
remarkably calm discussion about what they should do next. That the men were not unduly perturbed by the enemy rounds smacking into the walls around them is not surprising: All had served in their nation’s armed forces, and each had experienced combat to greater or lesser degrees. Nor is it surprising—given that each of the men was strong willed, to say the least—that they unanimously agreed to completely disregard Lee’s orders to stay out of the fight. A second antitank round slamming into the already mortally wounded
Besotten Jenny
spurred the men to action; each hurried off to retrieve the weapons they’d liberated from the castle arms room the day before. Reynaud, decisive as ever, knew immediately what he would do:

I soon saw that, as the tank was burning, the attackers could penetrate from the other side into the courtyard by the bridge which linked up with the flank of the mountain. I dodged into the castle. I got my tommy-gun
²³
out of my trunk and went down to the [front] courtyard, where I found some soldiers. Clemenceau had already calmly posted himself at a loophole in case the attackers wished to take possession of the tank. I . . . took up a position near to him.
²⁴

Gamelin and Borotra soon reappeared, along with de La Rocque. The trio joined Reynaud and Clemenceau behind the parapet wall in the front courtyard, and all began firing enthusiastically—if somewhat randomly—toward the small inn on the schlossweg and into the trees on the south side of the ravine.
²⁵

When the Frenchmen had returned to the courtyard after retrieving their weapons, Gangl had ordered Wegscheider and Linsen to join their comrades on the upper floors of the keep and direct their fire down onto any Waffen-SS troopers attempting to reach the base of the foundation wall. As the two Germans moved off, Lee came running past them and slid into a crouch next to Gangl. After a quick pause to catch his breath, Lee motioned the German officer to follow him and then headed for the schlosshof gate and the steps leading to the front courtyard. Dashing down the stone steps, the two men emerged at the rear of the courtyard and took cover behind the parapet wall. Catching sight of the elderly Frenchmen a few yards farther along the wall, Lee caught Gangl’s eye and, pointing at Reynaud and the others, smiled ruefully.

As the two men were pondering the sight of five of France’s most famous sons blasting away with obvious delight, the rear door of the gatehouse swung open, and Basse, Seiner, and Pollock emerged in a low crouch. Motioning Seiner to stay by the door, Basse briefly conferred with Pollock, who nodded and moved to the eastern corner of the gatehouse. At a wave from Lee, Basse hurried over, being careful to stay crouched below the level of the parapet wall. Leaning in close to be heard above the din of the incoming rounds and the Frenchmen’s MP-40s, the young motor officer explained that though the GIs in the gatehouse had begun laying down defensive fires almost as soon as
Besotten Jenny
was hit the first time, smoke from the furiously blazing tank was wafting back toward them, obscuring the schlossweg and the oncoming enemy. Basse’s intent was to post Pollock on the upper floor of the schlosshof, from where he’d have a better, and hopefully smoke-free, line of sight up the access road.

While Lee and Basse were conferring, Reynaud moved closer to the gatehouse. Believing the elderly politician would be more exposed to enemy fire in his new position, Lee was about to motion to Seiner to pull him back when Gangl, who obviously also recognized the danger, stood and dashed toward Reynaud. In his haste to stop the Frenchman the German officer ran almost fully erect, and he’d gone barely ten feet when he suddenly dropped to the courtyard’s cobblestones in an awkward heap, his visored hat rolling a few feet past him. Seiner, watching from his position by the rear door of the gatehouse, at first thought the officer had tripped. But when blood quickly began pooling around his head, it was obvious that Sepp Gangl, a man of valor who’d survived the hell of Stalingrad and the maelstrom of Normandy, had been cut down by a sniper’s bullet.
²⁶

Though stunned by the sudden death of his unexpected ally, Lee had no time to mourn him. The volume of enemy small-arms fire from across the ravine was increasing, and several 88 rounds had crashed into the north wall. Shouting to be heard, Lee told Basse to hold the gatehouse as long as he could and then pull his men back up to the main building. Motioning that he was headed for the top of the keep to get a better idea of what was happening, Lee then headed for the stone steps.

Across the courtyard from Basse, Pollock was about to have his own problems. The young GI had moved into what he believed to be a relatively safe position behind the parapet wall on the east side of the gatehouse, prior to making a dash across the courtyard for the schlosshof. He’d momentarily
rested his BAR on the top of the wall and begun scanning for targets, looking away briefly when he saw Lee head up the steps. Just as he turned back, a hail of enemy fire from the ridgeline east of the castle—off to his left—forced him to drop to his belly.
²⁷
As the rounds slapped into the side of the stone wall next to him, Pollock low-crawled to the rear corner of the gatehouse and shouted to Basse that Waffen-SS troops were moving up the steep slope on the north side. Certain that the main enemy effort would be directed at the gatehouse and loath to spare any of the GIs protecting it, Basse turned to Reynaud. Shouting to be heard above the raucous cacophony of hammering weapons, the young officer brusquely ordered the Frenchman to take Clemenceau and hurry over to the other side of the castle to bolster its defenses.

The two Frenchmen scurried to the base of the same stone steps Lee had just ascended and bolted upward. As Reynaud later recalled:

We ran to the other side of the castle in order to defend the surrounding wall, although the ground fell away in a steep slope. A young Austrian patriot [Hans Waltl] with a white and red brassard showed himself very active. The Wehrmacht lieutenant [Wegscheider], glasses to his eyes, pointed out targets against which to direct our fire. . . . I regret that I cannot confirm that I killed one enemy.
²⁸

Fortunately, the defense of Schloss Itter did not solely depend on Reynaud’s skill with an MP-40. Wegscheider, Waltl, and Clemenceau were also blasting away, and the Wehrmacht troops in the keep—commanded by Lee with the help of Schrader, Dietrich, Höckel, and Blechschmidt—were pouring a far more accurate fire down on SS troops attacking from the north, west, and east. Basse and the GIs in and around the gatehouse—aided by Borotra, de La Rocque, and Gamelin—were holding their own as well, though by this time Basse was becoming acutely aware that ammunition was beginning to run low. McHaley, in the gatehouse’s upper level, had already gone through all but a few belts of the 1,300 .30-caliber rounds they’d earlier removed from
Besotten Jenny
, and bullets were getting equally short for the infantrymen’s M1s, Pollock’s BAR, and the three tankers’ M3 submachine guns. De La Rocque and Gamelin were each down to only one or two thirty-two-round magazines for their MP-40s, and Borotra’s weapon was empty. After cautioning all the gatehouse defenders to conserve their
ammo as much as possible, Basse motioned the French tennis star over and told him to inform Lee about the ammo situation.

Borotra, bent as low as his lanky frame would allow, nodded and bolted up the stone steps. Dodging and weaving as he ran across the terrace, he made it into the Great Hall unscathed and, not surprisingly, unwinded. He was about to start up the interior stairway in search of Lee when the tanker, followed by Schrader and several of the “tame” Wehrmacht soldiers, hurried in through the doors leading from the small patio on the castle’s northwest corner, while rounds from the enemy 20mm anti-aircraft gun to the northwest gouged the exterior wall above the door. As Lee pointed out new ground-floor positions to the men, whom Borotra assumed had become too exposed on the patio, the tennis player quickly relayed Basse’s message.

Lee grimly acknowledged that everybody was running short on ammo and was about to say something else when the shrill ringing of the orderly room telephone echoed through the cavernous room.