The Epic Struggle of the First Airborne Divison
On Night Patrol

Since all our radios were out, I asked permission to take my RAF men out on patrol at night; this was refused, since they were not infantry-trained. Having had reserve infantry training myself, I was allowed to go, and I went the next 2 nights. The first night, our patrol helped to put up a bluff Sten gun barrage when the German infantry attacked on our northwestern perimeter. The attack was repulsed, and we spent the rest of the night chasing out snipers who had infiltrated our lines, but the snipers were there in large numbers.

The next night, three of us went after a machine-gun nest and found it about 400 yards from division headquarters. There were six men sitting by it, doing nothing. We threw two grenades and then went back toward camp. On the way I shot a sniper, who fell about 20 feet out of a tree, landing on his head. I think that was one of the most satisfying sights I have ever seen. He was either careless or overconfident, for he had chosen a tree higher that the others and not very thick with foliage, making him a beautiful target. He never even saw me.

The next day I was hit in the foot by mortar shrapnel, and also hurt my hip. I was diving into a dugout when hit and landed on my hip. At first I thought my left leg was broken, but after sitting still a while, I realized that it was just a painful bruise. There was a small shrapnel in my foot. Later that day I learned that my RAF personnel were hit in that barrage, two of them killed instantly and the third, Corporal Austin, badly wounded in the back and head. He was taken to the hospital in Arnhem, which was in German hands. I looked for him in the first aid post at division headquarters, but he had been taken away. Lieutenant Geddes was there on a stretcher, having been hit in the back and right arm during the same barrage. The doctor said he would have no trouble should he get surgery soon, but, with the hospital in German hands, early surgery was doubtful. He was a brave little guy, and I certainly hope he will be all right.

After I was hit, I was very slow and could not make the trip around the yard as often as I had before. After learning my responsibilities from Eden, I went around to all the foxholes at the back and did what I could for the enlisted men. I spread any good news that came in; there was constant news of reinforcements across the river. It began to sound as if one-half the British army were there, and I think I must have promised the men an armored division for breakfast four mornings in a row. It wasn't all wasted effort, because while I was trying to cheer them up I was having them dig themselves in deeper.

I tried one trip during the day after that, but I was so slow it would have been suicidal to continue, so I told the men I would come around at night. These were British soldiers whose officers had been killed and much of whose equipment had been destroyed.

After wrenching my leg again I was moved into headquarters to stay, so from then on all I could do was to man a Sten gun from one of the windows. Having been expecting an infantry attack on division headquarters, we had nine men manning the window arches under the stone veranda, to prevent the enemy from throwing grenades into the operations room. The attack never came, but we thought a thousand times that it had.

The night before we left, some Netherlands Red Cross workers cam with the offer of negotiating a short truce to evacuate the wounded of both armies to the hospital at Arnhem. This was arranged and I was evacuated with them. My leg was worse than ever and I knew I was too slow to be of any use in a moving battle. (We expected to move south, nearer the river.) I had made many friends in the  division, and I knew that in case of withdrawal they would look after me and thus slow themselves down. The odds were too great.

So I went in to evacuate, in effect to surrender. But I didn't do it and shall probably never know why. Somehow I felt I was letting my buddies down. Since I was the only Yank around headquarters (Lieutenant Johnson was ferrying Poles across the river) I was letting my own army down. So I climbed back through the window, mad everybody agree that if we had to retire southward it was every man for himself, and stayed. This was probably the luckiest decision I ever made.

After reading this report, which seems to have degenerated into a blood-and-thunder novel, I want to interject one thing before telling of the last night. I am not trying to sound courageous, for courage was commonplace and heroism was the rule. God knows I was badly scared a good deal of the time.

I learned this from the Arnhem operation: that men, born and bred as freemen, have a great strength and will power which they distrust until they need it. I saw men who were hungry, exhausted, hopelessly outnumbered, men who by all the rules of warfare should have gladly surrendered to have it all over with, who were shelled until they were helpless psychopathics; and through it all they laughed, sang, and died, and kept fighting because they were told this battle would shorten the war considerably.

The greatest tribute that I think could be paid to the 1st Airborne Division was paid by a German prisoner, a major, the old Prussian type of officer, who saw service in the last war and in this one. The prisoners were in a cage about 200 yards from division headquarters. They were complaining that they were not getting enough food. At that, they were getting more than we were, and they could sleep. The major called them together and dressed them down severely, concluding with something like this:

"These men have stood up under the most terrible artillery bombardment I have ever seen. They have fought on without food or sleep for several days. Even though they are our enemies, I never saw braver men. When you complain you make me feel ashamed of our being German. I suggest that you be quiet and follow their example."

This speech was overheard by several reliable officers who understand German, and they have sworn that it is true and not another of those rumors.

But to get back to the last day.