In Europe

to break through at Nancy and Metz, had to wait. The plan was daring, and at the same time extremely complex, a chain of minor and major military actions that had to be closely coordinated and succeed without exception. If one link in the chain failed, the entire operation could fall apart. Here, more than in any supposed betrayal, lay the core of the failure of the Battle of Arnhem: in the risks the Allies took, and in the flush of optimism and nonchalance with which the plans were then carried out.
    To start with, the advance of the Allied tanks from Eindhoven went much slower than expected. The Germans – and particularly those parts of the 15th Army the Allies had allowed to slip away at Antwerp – put up fierce resistance. Only with great difficulty could the Waal Bridge at Nijmegen be taken and held long enough to cross. At Arnhem, however, things went wrong. The British in their haste had taken the wrong radio transmitters with them, effectively cutting off all contact with headquarters and with each other. The consequences of this technical blunder alone were catastrophic. Furthermore, and inexplicably, the hardened American paratroopers were dropped at relatively easy positions, while the inexperienced British of the 1st Airborne Division were faced with the toughest job. Even their German foes noticed that. Winrich Behr: ‘The Brits just lay there, along the lines of: what do we do now? Their radios didn't work, their plan wasn't working either, and then they proved unable to improvise. They fought bravely, no doubt about that, but they didn't seem very experienced to us.’
    The 10,000-plus men of the 1st Airborne had not been counting on any serious resistance. Their commanders should have known better. On the basis of decoded Enigma reports, the British Ultra project had concluded that the Germans were planning to send their 9th and 10th armoured divisions to the surroundings of ‘Venloo, Arnheim and Hertogenbusch’ for ‘rest and recuperation’. Yet this was put aside. When the information officer reporting to the commander of Operation Market Garden, Lieutenant General Frederick ‘Boy’ Browning, showed his commander aerial photos confirming the presence of the armoured divisions in the area, Browning sent the man on leave. His paratroopers received absolutely no warning. The only overt protest came from theexperienced Polish airborne general, Stanislaw Sosabowski. He considered the plan outright suicide. ‘These Brits had never seen a German,’ was how he typified the mood within the army staff.
    Fatal risks were taken as well with regard to the location of the landing. According to the original plan, most of the gliders and paratroopers would land close to the bridge. At the last moment, however, for security reasons, a landing spot was chosen on the other side of Arnhem, some fourteen kilometres from the objective. As a result, the airborne troops first had to fight their way through Oosterbeek and Arnhem before taking the bridge, while at the same time securing their landing spot for any reinforcements that might follow. Their firepower, to use the military parlance, was simply too limited for that.
    In and around Arnhem the troops fought with a courage born of desperation, and sometimes with remarkable chivalry as well. For example: when the British headquarters beside the bridge, with its cellar full of wounded men, had been shelled, the medics arranged a ceasefire; the Germans, working side by side with the British, dragged the wounded men out of the burning building. Then the fighting resumed. Sosabowski's courageous Poles were deployed only after four days of fighting. They landed across the Rhine at Driel, under murderous German fire. From there, in heavy fighting, they succeeded in keeping the most important escape routes open for the trapped British troops. After the defeat, it was this same Sosabowski who served as Browning and Montgomery's scapegoat. The general ended his life as a worker in a British factory.
    On this quiet Sunday I drive through Oosterbeek. Hotel Hartenstein is still there, as are many other legendary locations. Around the old parsonage lies a splendid vegetable garden, a paradise of cabbage, beans, lettuce, blackberries, currants and flowers. In 1944 this was the home of Jan and Kate ter Horst, a couple with four youngsters and a baby, but still involved up to their ears in the resistance. While Kate stayed in the cellar with the children, amid the roar of