The Winter Line. The Gothic Line. The Po Line. This line, that line. Every time the Allies broke through, the Germans and Italians had another line to mass behind. The Battle of Anzio lasted almost six months, for God's sake, as the invaders were pounded on the Italian beachhead.
Bill Darby, he of Darby's Rangers and Fort Smith, Ark., would be killed in the last few days of the Italian campaign. Bob Dole was seriously wounded there. Hundreds of thousands of Germans, Italians, Americans and British soldiers would become casualties as the Allies slugged through the terrain, which proved a great advantage to the defenders. Rivers flooded constantly, making the engineers' jobs almost impossible. An infantryman would have to moonlight as a mountain climber to get anywhere.
Canadians, Poles, Czechs, Aussies, free French . . . . They would all leave men on Italian soil. Civilians died by the tens of thousands as both sides blew bridges, shot at moving targets and tried to out-guess and anticipate their enemy. Hitler would be dead for several days before his army in Italy finally laid down its arms.
In short, the Italian campaign was a bloody mess.
Churchill was so worried about the Italian campaign that he was reluctant to sign off on D-Day, not wanting the Allies to lose everything on the boot opening that second (or maybe third?) front in France. After all, his men had lost so much in Italy already.
Even after Rome fell in the summer of '44, the Germans and fascist Italians kept fighting. Smilin' Albert Kesselring was a smart general, with a competent staff. He kept his troops and panzers retreating north, regrouping when barely possible, and shooting back. Over and over again. No acre of land was given up easily. If the generalfeldmarschall's machine-gun fire didn't get you (Dole), his artillery would (Darby).
Even after the Italian government began negotiating with the Allies, when all was known to be lost for the Axis, the fascists kept fighting. And reinforcing. In the summer of '44, the Germans had 19 divisions in country, and hardened troops at that.
During the campaign, while troops and equipment and, most importantly, boats for beach landings were siphoned off to send elsewhere, the Allies in Italy were expected to "keep the whole front blazing." Or as Churchill put it, maybe bitterly, "They could keep the enemy on their front busy at any cost and risk of a hard offensive. They could at least do their duty."
Churchill decided to visit Italy in the blistering late summer of 1944 to talk to the generals in charge of an operation that had been pushed from top-of-the-fold news as Normandy commenced and the Russians moved forward:
"In our friendly and confidential talks, I realised how painful the tearing to pieces of this fine army had been to those who controlled it. I toured the [Livorno] harbour, which had often played a part in our naval affairs, in a motor torpedo-boat. Then we went to the American batteries . . . . I was asked to inspect and address a parade of the Brazilian Brigade, the forerunners of the Brazilian Division, which had just arrived and made an imposing spectacle, together with Negro and Japanese-American units."
--Triumph and Tragedy, chapter 7
When the British prime minister mentions the black troops from the United States, he was talking about the Buffalo Soldiers.
The 92nd Infantry Division, a segregated unit of black troopers given the nickname Buffalo Soldiers in times past, was the only infantry division of American black soldiers to see combat in Europe during World War II. And see it they did, caught among the flying shrapnel and land mines of that slug-fest in Italy.
A private from south Arkansas was among the men doing their duty. He would not make it home. Until now.
Private Rudolph "Rudy" Johnson was living in Malvern when he was drafted in 1943. He went through Basic, learned how to move, shoot and communicate, and was sent to war with the 92nd. He was 20 years old when his unit reported him missing in action on Feb. 6, 1945. Two weeks later, the brass reported him KIA.
The papers say in 1947, the graves registration service recovered some remains in the area of Lama di Sotto, and they were held in Italy for years. Just recently, they were identified as Rudy Johnson's. This past week, they held a funeral service in Hope, Arkansas, and Private Johnson was laid to rest at the State Veterans Cemetery in North Little Rock, next to his brothers-in-arms.
Private Johnson, killed in what is called the most bitter fighting the West saw during the Second World Catastrophe, will be forever 20.
And his country will be forever grateful.
Private, at ease. You're home now.
Editorial on 03/23/2018