World War II Airborne Battles - 2014 USA

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Warfare History Network Presents

OP. VARSITY

World War II

The Final Drop

AIRBORNE BATTLES

D-DAY: The Fight for

Ste-Mere-Eglise MARKET-GARDEN:

A Bridge TOO FAR

FIRST VICTORY:

Glider Assault on Eben Emael Fallschirmjägers Bloody Fight for Crete

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CONTENTS

PAGE

52

0 4 | EDITORIAL BY FLINT WHITLOCK

06 | AIRBORNE TOUR OF DUTY General James M. Gavin and the 82nd Airborne Division became legendary during World War II. BY MICHAEL D. HULL

16 | THE FALL OF EBEN EMAEL A handful of well-trained German glider troopers subdued a seemingly impregnable fortress in a matter of hours. BY ROY STEVENSON

2 6 | SCANDINAVIAN AIRBORNE ASSAULT German paratroopers fought stubborn defenders during operations against Denmark and Norway. BY HENRIK O. LUNDE

38 | PYRRHIC PARACHUTE VICTORY IN CRETE German parachute troops found the resistance from Commonwealth soldiers particularly brutal in the fight for the Greek island. BY RICHARD RULE

5 0 | AIRBORNE! The U.S. Army’s elite infantry had to earn their wings before they could leap into battle. KEVIN M. HYMEL

52 | TARGET: SAINTE-MERE-EGLISE In Normandy on the night of June 5/6, 1944, the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division overcame countless SNAFUs to take a key village. BY FLINT WHITLOCK

6 8 | A SCREAMING EAGLE’S JOURNEY Trooper Lud Labutka of the 101st Airborne Division, fought his way through Normandy, Holland, and the Battle of the Bulge. BY RICHARD A. BERANTY

78 | GLIDER ASSAULT ON PEGASUS BRIDGE A bold British glider assault seized a pair of vital bridges in the early hours of D-Day. BY CHRISTOPHER MISKIMON

9 0 | CLOSE ENCOUNTER An American airborne engineer recalls his drop into southern France and an operation with British comrades. BY CHRIS BLENDHEIM

96 | ACTION AT ARNHEM BY DAVID H. LIPPMAN

A bridge across the Rhine proved an insurmountable goal for the ill-fated British 1st Airborne during Operation Market-Garden. BY DAVID H. LIPPMAN

112 | AMERICANS IN MARKET-GARDEN Troopers of the U.S. Airborne Divisions fought with distinction during the air-ground assault in the autumn of 1944. BY GEN. MICHAEL REYNOLDS

128 | CANINES TO THE RESCUE To help downed airmen, the U.S. Army trained dogs to parachute out of airplanes. BY MICHAEL DOLAN AND KEVIN HYMEL

130 | THE LAST DROP The mission to breach the Rhine in March 1945 was the Allies’ biggest—and final—airborne/glider operation of the war. BY STEPHEN L. WRIGHT

142 | ANGELS TO THE RESCUE Thousands of prisoners were at risk outside Manila when the 11th Airborne Division staged a daring and coordinated assault to bring them to freedom. BY DONALD J. ROBERTS II

Cover: An American paratrooper prepares to board a transport plane for a combat jump, somewhere in Europe. World War II Airborne Battles © 2014 by Sovereign Media Company, Inc., all rights reserved. Copyrights to stories and illustrations are the property of their creators. The contents of this publication may not be reproduced in whole or in part without consent of the copyright owner. Published by Sovereign Media, 6731 Whittier Ave, Suite A-100, McLean, VA 22101.

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E D I TO R I A L

Warriors in the Wind We are pleased to present the contributions of the airborne forces––American, German, and British. Like commandos, rangers, mountain troops, frogmen, submariners, etc., paratroopers are regarded as one of the “elite” military forces. Made up strictly of volunteers, these high-risk types of units are characterized as possessing tough, special training, distinctive capabilities, exceptional courage, and an unmatched esprit de corps. Often the first into battle, these units also traditionally suffered disproportionately high casualties. Yet, there were (and are today) no shortage of volunteers. It is amazing what some men (and women, too) will endure just to wear a small cloth insignia or metal badge on their uniforms signifying that they are a cut above the average. Parachutes were first imagined by Leonardo da Vinci in the 15th century and tested by the Croatia-born Renaissance scholar Faust Vrancic when he jumped from a tower in Venice in 1617. People then began jumping from hot-air balloons and, once the airplane became a practical reality, from aircraft—primarily as a means of escape. The credit for developing a military parachute doctrine goes to the French, Italians, and Russians in the 1920s. But it was Nazi Germany and Luftwaffe General Kurt Student who advanced the concept into a potent weapon of war, when Student’s Fallschirmjäger units used this surprise technique on May 10, 1940, to capture Belgium’s Eben Emael, then considered the strongest fortress in Europe. On that same day, an even larger drop of Fallschirmjäger took place during the invasion of Holland. One year later, though, after Germany’s successful airborne and glider raid on the British garrison at Crete resulted in heavy casualties to the sky soldiers, Hitler forbade further large-scale airborne assaults. At this same time, however, the British and Americans began expanding their airborne capabilities.

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In this Special Issue, we bring you fascinating stories of the airborne forces. You’ll land with the Fallschirmjäger at Eben Emael, and try to take “a bridge too far” with the British paras in Holland. You’ll learn about the harrowing experiences of a 101st Airborne Division trooper who jumped into France and the Netherlands. You’ll be treated to photo essays of American paratrooper training and even the exploits of “para-dogs”––canines who earned their jump wings! You’ll find out about by the 11th Airborne Division’s daring attempt to rescue POWs in the Philippines, and discover the little-known exploits of Canadian paratroopers during Operation Varsity––the Allies’ massive crossing of the Rhine near war’s end. There’s something here for every fan of airborne operations. On a personal note, I have a strong attachment to the paratroopers, as I made the required minimum five jumps at Fort Benning, Georgia, in 1965 to qualify for my parachutist’s badge. I still recall the mixture of fear and exhilaration that I felt on those jumps—the sense that, while jumping out of a perfectly good airplane with just a few square yards of silk attached to my shoulders, I was doing something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. I also still recall that, during my three weeks of grueling training, I gained a healthy respect and deep admiration for the airborne soldiers who, just 20 years earlier, had jumped into enemy-held territory and skies full of flying lead. Today, some say that paratroopers are an anachronism, as militarily obsolete as the horse cavalry, their arrival in a battle zone having been superceded by helicopter-borne troops. That may be true from a strictly tactical point of view, but there is no denying that those who still qualify for their jump wings consider their training and “elite status” to be an important part of the overall military tradition, worthy of respect and emulation. Flint Whitlock, Editor

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P R O F I L E S MICHAEL D. HULL

Airborne Tour of Duty

weapons, adjusting their heavy packs, and waiting for the order to hook up and jump. The U.S. 82nd and 101st Airborne divisions, led by Maj. Gens. Matthew B. Ridgway and Maxwell D. Taylor, respectively, were headed for the town of Ste. Mere-Eglise astride the Merderet River in the Cotentin Peninsula. Maj. SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT on Monday, June 5, 1944, the dark skies over the Gen. Richard N. Gale’s British 6th Airborne Division was headed for a 24coast of northern France were filled with thunder. Fourteen hundred C-47 and C-53 transport planes and 3,500 gliders were carry- square-mile area east of Caen, where the ing 20,000 British and American paratroopers to assigned drop zones behind the famed “Red Devils” were to capture French coast to spearhead the massive, long-awaited Allied invasion of Normandy bridges on the Caen Canal and the Orne on the morning of June 6. The airborne soldiers were to seize key junctions and bridges River and knock out a coastal battery at Merville threatening British landings at and to prevent German reinforcements from reaching the five landing beaches. Wave after wave of planes droned over the coast and approached their drop zones. Sword Beach. The formations of transports carrying Inside each transport and glider, young paratroopers sat tensely fingering their the American paratroopers neared six drop zones within a few miles of Ste. Mere-Eglise. In the first C-47, leading the battle-tested 82nd “All-American” Division, a slim, handsome officer peered through a window at the darkness and waited impatiently. Except for pathfinders who had jumped an hour earlier to prepare the drop zones, Brig. Gen. James Maurice Gavin, deputy commander of the division, would be the first man to parachute 10 miles behind the German lines. Thirty-seven-year-old Gavin and his men had taken off from Cottesmore in the English Midlands a few hours before. Gavin knew that his troopers had only eight and a half minutes in which to jump in order to land in the correct drop zones. After ordering the men to stand and hook up their parachutes, Gavin glanced out of the window again and saw the thickest fog he had ever seen. He could see nothing—not even the next plane. The fuselage door was opened, and suddenly the fog disappeared. “It was gone just as quickly as it had Adjusting his parachute appeared,” Gavin reported later. pack, James Gavin prepares to jump into Holland “I could see Ste. Mere-Eglise during Operation Marketdown there. I think it was the Garden in September of most dramatic moment of my life. 1944. Despite being Everything had depended on us injured in the jump, Gavin retained command of the jumping at just the right time.” A 82nd Airborne. few seconds later, he shouted,

All photos: National Archives

General James M. Gavin and the 82nd Airborne Division became legendary during World War II.

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WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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“Let’s go!” He tumbled out of the door at an altitude of 600 through the Merderet valley. He felt better. He led his band, which now numbered about 200, southward feet, and stick after stick of paratroopers leaped out into the along the embankment to the vicinity of La Fiere, where he darkness. Men of the 101st Division dropped into flooded meadows found another 300 men from various regiments milling about. near Utah Beach after their planes slipped past German coastal Gavin split the force. He kept half at La Fiere, to seize the bridge batteries without being fired on. But the 82nd ran into increas- there, and sent the other men to Chef-du-Pont to capture another bridge. ing fire, and many inexperienced pilots As the sun rose on June 6, Gavin found veered off course during the final run James Gavin, the youngest himself walking back and forth between into the drop zones. Many troopers BELOW: Major General at the time. La Fiere and Chef-du-Pont, organizing jumped several minutes too late into a BOTTOM: Dotting the sky, men of the and encouraging his troops as they sky filled with tracers and small-arms 82nd Airborne exit a C-47 transport aircraft and descend earthward. fought to secure the two vital Merderet fire. They were critically scattered. River spans. The Chef-du-Pont bridge Ridgway’s division fared much worse was seized after a bitter fight, but it than Taylor’s. Some men landed as much would take two days to capture the La as 25 miles from Ste. Mere-Eglise, and Fiere span from the tenacious Germans. many of the gliders plowed into Meanwhile, Gavin’s men dug in hedgerows and buildings, pancaked into around the Merderet and Douve crossrivers, or settled helplessly into the ings and held the rear of Utah Beach, Merderet River marshes. Casualties were where the 4th Infantry Division was high, and 60 percent of all equipment— landing. Gavin, never without his M-1 including mortars, radios, and ammunirifle, was close to his men at all times. tion—was lost. Hundreds of gear-laden They loved and respected him because troopers fell into treacherous swamps, he was a first-class soldier and was conand many drowned in less than two feet cerned with their welfare. They called of water. Only one unit of the 82nd, the him “Grandma” because his first ques505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, tion to a GI was often: “When was the jumped into its assigned zone. last time you had a hot meal, son?” His Meanwhile, scattered groups of trooprapport with enlisted men was unique ers struggled out of the marshes, using toy among generals. mechanical crickets to recognize each “He was the kind of man who never other in the darkness and trying to had to raise his voice,” said Jack Norton, regroup and organize themselves. General who served under him for nine years. “He Ridgway found himself alone, pistol in led by example.” Another trooper, hand, in a field. At this time, Gavin was Sergeant William Tucker, reported, miles away in the Merderet River “Gavin was always up front prowling swamps. He had dropped into a pasture around ... Wherever the battle was, whernorth of La Fiere, far from his assigned ever the troops needed to see and hear drop zone. But “Slim Jim” Gavin wasted him, there was Gavin.” Ted Morgan, a no time, for he knew that by dawn his medical corpsman and later selectman in men would be under heavy attack when Edgartown, Massachusetts, would recall the German defenders realized what was Gavin administering first aid to a badly happening. injured staff sergeant during the Battle of By 4 AM, he had managed to round up the Bulge and bandaging him up. a small group of stray troopers. He stood He seemed to be fearless. Bill Walton knee deep in cold water while the men of Time magazine reported, “I rememtried unsuccessfully to salvage an antiber seeing the two of them (Ridgway and tank gun from a half-submerged Waco Gavin) walking down a road in Norcargo glider. Gavin did not know where mandy with all sorts of stuff flying he was until his aide, Lieutenant Hugo around. I was creeping along down in the Olson, reported that there was a railroad ditch by the side of the road, and when embankment nearby. The general knew they saw me, they yelled simultaneously, that the Cherbourg-Carentan line passed WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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‘Get up here and walk like a man!’ And I did.” Gavin was a on. There was then no library in the town, so he had to consoldier’s soldier. One division veteran recalled, “He could jump tent himself with reading the books in the store where he higher, shout louder, spit farther, and fight harder than any picked up his newspapers. At the age of 15, Jim left school to become a clerk in a shoe store and later managed a filling staman I ever saw.” The All-Americans fought hard on a minimum of rest and tion. But by the time he was 17, he was restless. He was frustrated by his lack of education and felt that he food during those early days in Normandy. By the morning of June 8, they had gained almost full control of their objective had exhausted the few opportunities that Mount Carmel area and were eliminating pockets of resistance. Casualties offered. Learning that he could further his education in the were high; on D-Day alone, the 82nd lost 1,259 men killed, Army, he left home a week after his 17th birthday in 1924 and enlisted in the Coast Artillery. He served in the 16th and 2nd wounded, or missing. After the capture of the La Fiere bridge and the successful Regiments and rose to corporal in 15 months. Assigned to the Panama Canal Zone, Jim was delighted to drop of the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, the 82nd Airborne began a drive to cut off the Cotentin Peninsula. The find a library at his new post. He made full use of it, teaching troopers captured Saint Sauveur-le-Vicomte and advanced to himself algebra and other subjects. An old sergeant persuaded La Haye du Puits near the western coast of the peninsula. him to take a competitive examination for admission to the Casualties continued to mount; 57 percent of the division’s U.S. Military Academy. Gavin had only an eighth-grade edumen were killed or wounded in 33 days of fighting without cation, but he was ambitious and determined. He laboriously mastered the textbooks page by page, managed to pass the relief. tests, and was accepted as a cadet at West In the second week of July 1944, with Point on June 30, 1925. the Normandy beachhead secured and aircraft fly low over an open With his humble background and lack the strategic port of Cherbourg in Amer- Transport field as the 82nd Airborne conducts a of education, he realized that he was an ican hands, the exhausted troopers of the training exercise in North Africa. oddball in the Long Gray Line. “When two airborne divisions boarded LSTs for they got me, they got a case they could England. The 82nd had 5,245 of its men put in a laboratory and watch,” he said listed as casualties. In Southampton, later. “I was a perfect experimental subbrass bands greeted the All-Americans, ject. Well, they stimulated me to study and in the Midland towns around their my goddamn head off. I began to read base, they were treated to many rounds extensively.” To pass his first-semester of drinks in the inns. “writs,” the young man had to get up at General Gavin was awarded a cluster 4:30 AM and study in the barracks to his Distinguished Service Cross for “extraordinary heroism” while personlatrines. He persevered, squeaking ally reorganizing a battalion and directthrough his first year and gradually ing an attack on the town of Le Motey catching up with his classmates. He finon June 9. That August, when General ished in the top third of his class, rankRidgway was given command of the ing 185th in a class of 299. Gavin grad18th Airborne Corps, Gavin moved up uated on June 13, 1929, and was to head the 82nd Airborne Division. At commissioned in the infantry. 37, he was the youngest divisional commander in the Army After taking three months of flight training at the Army Air since the Civil War. Corps Primary Flying School at Brooks Field in Texas, LieuThe man who was proving to be one of the leading airborne tenant Gavin joined the 25th Infantry Regiment at Camp tacticians and combat officers of World War II came from hum- Harry S. Jones in Arizona. Then followed tours of duty with ble beginnings. Born in Brooklyn, New York, on March 22, the Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia (graduating in 1907, Gavin was orphaned before he was two years old. He 1933), and with infantry regiments in Oklahoma, the Philipwas adopted by Martin and Mary (Tearle) Gavin, and brought pines, and Washington State. He was promoted to first lieuup in Mount Carmel, Pennsylvania. His new father was a semi- tenant in 1934 and captain in 1939. literate immigrant coal miner, and the family lived in poverty. In August 1940, Gavin returned to West Point as an instruc“My parents were kind people; they could hardly read or tor in tactics. He studied the European war closely, particuwrite,” Gavin recalled. The boy attended parochial schools larly airborne operations, and saw their almost limitless posand did odd jobs to help support his parents—delivering news- sibilities. He applied for a transfer to a new parachute battalion papers, picking coal, and assisting in a barber shop. at Fort Benning, but he was one of the best young instructors Young Jim developed a thirst for knowledge, with a partic- at the academy and the superintendent disapproved it. But ular interest in military affairs. He wrote an outline of the Civil Gavin persisted, cajoling a friend at the War Department to War for his class and read every book he could get his hands pull some strings and find a replacement for him at West Point. 8

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So, in August 1941, the tenacious young officer left for the new Army Parachute School at Fort Benning. He completed jump training and displayed considerable ability in organizing and training units in airborne infantry tactics. Promoted to major and then lieutenant colonel, he attended the Command and General Staff School at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and eventually took command of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment at Fort Benning in the summer of 1942. He welded the regiment into an efficient unit. Gavin devoted himself fully to airborne tactics, though he would often admit to his men, “Jumping is a poor means of transportation from the plane to the ground.” The regiment was transferred to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, where it became part of the new 82nd Airborne Division. Gesturing toward a map of the landing area, Gavin holds a briefing for his staff Gavin became a temporary colonel in shortly before the Holland jump. September 1942, and the following April the division was sent overseas. After a 12-day voyage, Maj. Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway’s Gen. George S. Patton Jr.’s U.S. Seventh Army. The paratroopdivision docked in Casablanca on May 10, 1943. It moved ers would block enemy counterattacks against the beaches and overland by train to Oujda in French Morocco, where pup seize key bridges to block Axis reinforcements. Gavin’s force tents were set up and more training started. The troopers was to drop north and northeast of the port of Gela and capchafed and itched for action. Ridgway told them, “You’ve ture strategic high ground at Piano Lupo, while the British “Red got to be tough because the German you meet will be god- Devils” would land in gliders and take the Ponte Grande bridge to allow the Eighth Army to attack Syracuse. damned tough!” The Allied armada steamed toward the rocky island of Sicily. Ridgway told Gavin that the 82nd and the British 1st Airborne Division were to spearhead Operation Husky, the Allied Daylight was fading on July 9 as Brigadier P.H.W. Hicks’s invasion of Sicily, that July. It would be the largest two-nation British paratroopers clambered aboard 144 Horsa and Waco sea and air assault in history and would inflict the first sledge- gliders at airfields around Kairouan. C-47s and Royal Air hammer blow on Nazi-held Europe. There were not enough C- Force Albemarle and Halifax bombers towed them aloft and 47s available to drop the entire division, so the initial assault droned toward Sicily. Two hours later, Gavin’s force boarded would be made by Gavin’s 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 266 C-47s and took off into the night. The inexperienced pilots ran into high winds shortly after takereinforced by a battalion of Colonel Reuben H. Tucker’s 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment. They would be the first U.S. off, and the transports were blown off course as heavy weather troops to invade Europe—in the first American airborne oper- assaulted the armada below. Many of the C-47s missed signal ation on a regimental scale, and the first mass parachute drop beacons on Malta, two gave up and returned to North Africa, and one plane crashed into the Mediterranean. Instead of at night. More training followed in bivouac at Kairouan, Tunisia. approaching in orderly V-formations, many of the planes carryAfter General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Allied ground com- ing Gavin’s men neared Sicily from every direction. The British were faring worse. Approaching Cape Passero, mander, and his Algiers staff finally approved the plan for Operation Husky, Colonel Gavin distributed a letter on July the British formation was hit by enemy antiaircraft fire and 9 to his troopers. It read, “Tonight you embark upon a com- tracers, and confused pilots released their gliders prematurely. bat mission for which our people and the free people of the Sixty-seven gliders plunged into the sea with a loss of 200 men, world have been waiting for two years…. The eyes of the and only five gliders managed to reach Cape Passero. Less than world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of every Ameri- 100 Red Devils reached the Ponte Grande bridge, but they held it until British infantry arrived. can go with you.…” Meanwhile, riding in a C-47 that was off course, Colonel The airborne drops would precede an amphibious invasion by General Bernard L. Montgomery’s British Eighth Army and Lt. Gavin stood in the open door and looked for a landmark. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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There was land beneath, but was it Sicily? The green light flashed, and Gavin leaped into the darkness. Immediately behind him came bearded John H. Thompson of the Chicago Tribune. When he hit the ground, Gavin was still not sure that he had landed in Sicily. Twenty troopers landed near him, but the officer did not know that the airborne assault had been chaotic and that U.S. paratroopers were being scattered all over southeastern Sicily. Most of his men were floating to Earth near Noto, 60 miles to the east in the British sector—far from their drop zone near Gela. Gavin’s planeload had come down near the town of Vittoria, 20 miles east of Gela and in the hills overlooking the beaches where the U.S. 45th “Thunderbird” Division was to land. Four hours after the drop, Gavin still had only 20 men under his command. He had left Tunisia with 3,405. As dawn approached, he felt angry and impatient. Small groups of paratroopers were now roaming across the rocky hills, cutting telephone wires and skirmishing with enemy patrols. Shortly after 3 AM, thousands of Allied infantrymen began wading ashore from landing craft, meeting fierce but brief resistance. Gavin and his little group marched toward the sound of distant gunfire, hoping to find the rest of the combat team. But they still did not know what island they had landed on—Sicily, Corsica, or Sardinia? Early on the morning of July 11, Gavin found out when he stumbled onto an outpost of the Thunderbirds. He then led his group to Vittoria, where he grabbed a jeep and driver and raced toward Gela as dawn was breaking. Along the way, Gavin rounded up 250 wandering men of his combat team. He felt better now. Meanwhile, General Paul Conrath’s elite Hermann Göring Panzer Division was grinding toward Gela to smash the 45th Infantry Division. Along the road to Gela, Gavin heard heavy small-arms fire erupting half a mile away from the Biazza Ridge, where the Germans were dug in. A force of 750 panzergrenadiers, a company of Tiger tanks, and an armored artillery battalion, the eastern column of the Göring Division, headed over the ridge toward Gavin and his troopers. He did not know it, but Gavin and his little force were about to fight one of the critical actions of the Sicily invasion. “Jumping Jim” Gavin commanded a motley group of paratroopers, engineers, cooks, clerks, orderlies, and riggers. He had no field guns, antitank guns, or tanks, and he knew he would be greatly outnumbered. But he decided to fight; he had waited long enough for action. He formed his men into a skirmish line, with himself in the center, and waved his arm. The Germans on the ridge opened up with automatic weapons and rifle fire, killing three of Gavin’s scouts. The troopers hit the dirt, firing. More men were cut down, but Gavin and his soldiers pressed forward. The Americans fired furiously and yelled wildly. Despite increasing casualties, Colonel Gavin’s little force expanded. Hearing the clatter and whine of gunfire, other GIs in the vicinity rushed 10

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to Biazza Ridge. They included part of a company of the 180th Infantry Regiment, a lost platoon of the 45th Division, knots of paratroopers, and even a couple of Navy ensigns who had parachuted in to coordinate naval gun support. With their firepower increased, Gavin led his men up the ridge, and the Germans withdrew. By afternoon, the Americans were atop the high ground and enjoying a brief rest. But the fight was not over. As the GIs took over the enemy foxholes, German artillery and mortar fire began to rock the ridge. The Americans tried feverishly to deepen their holes. Gavin, using a shallow slit trench as his command post, then decided to follow a basic rule he had learned at West Point: when the enemy is on the run, pursue him. He ordered his men into action again. The troopers moved down the ridge and along a road toward the retreating Germans. Then they heard a fearful sound—the rumble of diesel engines and the clank of steel treads. The Tiger tanks were coming to crush the All-Americans. Rounding a bend in the dusty road, Gavin’s men suddenly were confronted by half a dozen big Mark VI Tiger tanks. The paratroopers had only ineffective 2.36-inch bazookas with which to defend themselves against armor. Fired at point-blank range, the rockets bounced harmlessly off the tanks. One GI was crushed under a Tiger’s treads, and machine gunners leaped from the tanks and overran the bazooka teams before they could reload. The Americans cursed and raged. Gavin was alarmed, and the battle raged on. But the American firepower increased slightly. A couple of 81mm mortars began lobbing shells at the Germans, and airborne artillerymen rushed two 75mm pack howitzers into position on the ridge and fired directly at the enemy tanks. Gavin dashed back and forth fearlessly, shouting encouragement to his men. “We’re staying on this goddamn ridge, no matter what happens!” he shouted. The Tigers rolled on as the howitzers blasted them and troopers edged up to them and fired bazooka rockets into their vulnerable gasoline tanks and ammunition racks. One tank turned and withdrew, and three others were demolished and their crews killed. Gavin lay on the ground, firing away with his rifle. The fight grew more intense as more German tanks were deployed. The Germans were massing for a major assault to retake the ridge. As mortar rounds kicked up dust clouds around him, Gavin decided that he needed support, so he sent an officer back to the command post of Maj. Gen. Troy Middleton, commander of the Thunderbirds. The troopers fought on as the Germans pushed to within a few hundred yards of Gavin’s command post. Then came the heartening sound of American 155mm shells whooshing overhead, and the ground shook as the rounds exploded among the enemy infantry and tanks. The enemy force wavered and then started pulling back. The shelling ceased, and Biazza Ridge was quiet until Gavin and his weary men were alarmed to hear the sound of heavy engines behind them. But it was half a dozen Sherman tanks and several half-tracks haul-

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ing antitank guns; more help had arrived from the 45th Division. Cheers went up. Salvoes blasted the German positions, and the troopers moved forward through mortar and machine-gun fire to close with the enemy. The American 155s opened up again, and the Germans withdrew from the battlefield, leaving behind their dead and wounded and tons of equipment and supplies. Colonel Gavin was proud of his untried paratroopers who had bested a battle group of the Hermann Göring Division and blocked a threat to the landing beaches. However, the cost had been high. Many of the troopers, including Gavin himself, had suffered wounds, and 50 Americans were dead. That night, the fallen were buried on the ridge as heads bowed in prayer and Gavin wept. The exhausted Colonel Gavin fell asleep in a shallow foxhole under a clump of olive trees. He was awakened early on the morning of July 12 by the hot sun on his face. One of his legs was stiff and sore, and his shinbone was red and swollen. He had fought for hours and then slept without realizing that he had been wounded by shrapnel. Fearing an infection and not wanting to be removed from the front, he went to an aid station and had sulfa powder sprinkled on his wound. Early the next morning, Gavin rode a jeep to the high ground at Piano Lupo. After inspecting the barren terrain covered with bloated bodies where other All-American troopers had blocked the western column of the German division, he rode on to Gela. There was a lump in his throat. On a hill outside Gela stood General Patton, resplendent in his trademark starred helmet, cavalry jodhpurs, jackboots, and ivory-handled pistols. As Gavin approached, rifle in hand, “Old Blood and Guts” grinned and said in his high-pitched voice, “Hello, Gavin. You and your men did one hell of a goddamn great job!” Then he offered the young colonel a drink from a large whiskey flask. Although the Allied military command was critical of the results of the airborne phase of the Sicily invasion, enemy officers were impressed. Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, commander of the German forces in the Mediterranean Theater, stated later, “The paratroopers effected an extraordinary delay in the movement of our troops, and caused large losses.” General Kurt Student, founder and commander of the German airborne forces, said, “It is my opinion that if it had not been for the Allied airborne forces blocking the Hermann Göring Armored Division from reaching the beachhead, that division would have driven the initial seaborne forces back into the sea.” Led by the British Eighth Army, the Allies next invaded the Italian mainland. At the Salerno beachhead, the British and Americans encountered stiff opposition. Despite all the power of artillery and naval gunfire brought against them after the September 9, 1943, landings there, the Germans managed to drive a two-mile wedge in the beachhead line and advance to within three miles of the water’s edge. By September 13, the situation was “touch and go” at Salerno, according to General Mark W. Clark, commander of the U.S. Fifth Army. He sent

Two paratroopers from the 82nd, with helmet covers fashioned out of parachute silk, chat with 4th Infantry Division soldiers after the fight at La Fiere, Normandy. A German soldier lays dead at their feet.

an urgent message to Ridgway in Sicily for reinforcements. Ridgway wasted no time. That night, men of Colonel Reuben Tucker’s 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment jumped into the beachhead and were in the front lines before sunrise on September 14. That night, 120 transports dropped Colonel Gavin and his 505th Regiment into the beachhead, and they, too, were positioned by dawn the next day. Allied morale at Salerno rose with the arrival of the airborne units, and by the afternoon of September 15, the enemy had been beaten to a standstill. A German withdrawal all along the Allied front began on September 18. The British and American forces began to punch their way out of the beachhead on September 23. Gavin’s regiment spearheaded the drive northward, past the ancient ruins of Pompeii and around Mount Vesuvius. Early on September 30, 1943, British armor and infantry entered the outskirts of Naples, the first major European city to be liberated in the war. While elements of the 82nd Division remained in Naples, the Allied main force pushed on northward to the Volturno River, where the enemy halted and dug in. Gavin, now 36 years old, received his first star as brigadier general (temporary) and was promoted to assistant commander of the division that October. In November, he was ordered back to England to assist General Eisenhower, now commander of the Allied expeditionary forces, as the chief American airborne planner for the forthcoming invasion of Northern Europe. The 82nd set up base near Leicester for rest and training before the Normandy invasion. After taking command of the division in August 1944, Gavin WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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was anxious to get back into combat. He would not have to wait long. The All-Americans were assigned a role in Operation Market-Garden, Montgomery’s bold, hastily planned airborne invasion of Holland—a lightning stroke that he believed would end the war in 1944. The plan was to cut off major German forces in Holland that were blocking the Allies from using the strategic Belgian port of Antwerp, to outflank the Siegfried Line, and to place sizable British forces across the lower Rhine at Arnhem, Holland, where they would be positioned for a quick thrust into the Ruhr Valley, the German industrial heartland. Lieutenant General Lewis H. Brereton’s Allied 1st Airborne Army was to lay a 50-mile carpet of parachute and glider troops from Eindhoven northward to Arnhem. After the troopers had seized key bridges and towns, Lt. Gen. Brian Horrocks’s British 30th Corps, spearheaded by the crack Guards Armored Division, would roll along the carpet to the Zuider Zee, loosing the full weight of British might on the Ruhr. The British 1st Airborne Division was assigned to capture the big Rhine bridge at Arnhem, General Maxwell D. Taylor’s 101st Airborne Division would capture a 15-mile stretch of the main north-south highway between Eindhoven and Grave, and Gavin’s division would drop along a 10-mile stretch of the road in the middle of the carpet, seizing the Waal River bridge at Nijmegen, the Maas River span at Grave, the Maas-Waal Canal bridges, and the Groesbeek Heights southeast of Nijmegen. Monty’s plan was a bold one, but it was fraught with potential problems. The Arnhem bridge was 64 miles behind the German lines, there was only one main two-lane highway, and the rest of the terrain—swampy and crisscrossed by canals— was unsuitable for an advance by armor. Several British and U.S. commanders voiced doubts about the operation. But Montgomery, the prickly, cocky victor of El Alamein, was confident and would brook no doubts. Dutch underground reports about panzers gathered at Arnhem were downplayed. Shortly after 10 AM on Sunday, September 17, 1944, the sunny skies over southern England thundered as 1,545 transport planes and 478 gliders lifted from two dozen airfields and headed for Holland. It was the greatest armada of troop-carrying planes ever assembled for a single operation. The planes streamed along two parallel routes over the coasts of Holland and Belgium. The British Red Devils took the northern route, followed by Gavin’s 82nd, and the 101st followed the southern route. Antiaircraft and small-arms fire peppered the armada, and several planes were hit. But the transports and gliders flew steadily on. At 1:30 that afternoon, the airborne army began dropping behind the German lines. As they watched the parachutes drifting down and the Horsa and Waco gliders veering in for crash landings, Dutch people returning from church services waved and cheered. After more than four years under the Nazi yoke, they saw their moment of deliverance at hand. The parachute and glider troops were dropped accurately, despite the enemy 12

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gunfire, and many soldiers said it was the most precise drop they had ever made. But the cost was high that day, with 68 transports, gliders, and escorting fighters going down in flames. The German occupation forces were caught by surprise. At his headquarters in the village of Vaught, General Student, commander of the German 1st Parachute Army, stood on a balcony and was awed by “an endless stream of enemy transport and cargo planes as far as the eye could see.” Landing in a great cluster, Taylor’s “Screaming Eagles” swiftly organized themselves on landing and began seizing bridges at Saint Oedenrode, Zon, Veghel, and Eindhoven. As in the air drops at Sicily, Salerno, and Normandy, General Gavin rode in the lead C-47 of the formation carrying his All-Americans into action. The green jump light flashed, and he stepped coolly out into space. Throughout the 25-mile airhead, the division’s infantry and light artillery elements dropped with pinpoint accuracy. Landing at both ends of the big Maas River bridge near Grave, Colonel Tucker’s 504th Regiment was able to capture it swiftly. This was the most significant accomplishment of the day by an airborne unit. Meanwhile, at 2:35 that afternoon, the great armor and infantry column of General Horrocks’s 30th Corps began its 64-mile push up the backbone of Holland along the strategic route the paratroopers were fighting to hold open. At the northern end of the carpet, Maj. Gen. Robert E. Urquhart’s Red Devils were already fighting desperately against heavy odds—the 9th and 10th Panzer Divisions positioned in the Arnhem area. One British battalion battled to hold the northern end of the critical Arnhem road bridge, and the rest of Urquhart’s division, outgunned, outnumbered, and hampered by malfunctioning radio sets, struggled to hold its drop zone near Oosterbeek. Gavin, who had fractured two vertebrae in landing near Groesbeek but was not aware of it until later, rounded up his men and led them in capturing the town of Groesbeek. The troopers then set up defensive positions along the Groesbeek Heights facing the Reichswald Forest. That night, Gavin sent two companies into Nijmegen, where, aided by a Dutch guide, they made their way to the main post office where the Germans had set up mechanisms for detonating the big Nijmegen highway bridge. The troopers cut the wires but then found themselves battling the Germans defending the span. The enemy retained its grip on the bridge for another five days. By the end of September 17, it was evident that serious problems were already threatening the success of Operation Market-Garden. The Screaming Eagles had been unable to capture Eindhoven, Gavin’s men had been halted short of the Nijmegen bridge, and the British at Arnhem were out on a limb. On September 18, the three airborne divisions endeavored to improve their tactical situations and to secure landing zones for glider reinforcements. Maj. Gen. Stanislaw Sosabowski’s Polish 1st Parachute Brigade was held in reserve and then was delayed by fog in England. After a fierce struggle against German artillery, tanks of the

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British Guards Armored Division clanked into Eindhoven that Monday evening and linked up with the 101st Airborne Division. The armor rolled on and joined Gavin’s troopers at Grave the following morning. Meanwhile, the 82nd held tightly to the Groesbeek Heights and continued to fight for the Nijmegen bridge. That night, a Dutch message from Arnhem reported that the panzers were getting the best of the British paratroopers. General Horrocks reached Gavin’s command post on the afternoon of September 19. The American general briefed him on a plan for seizing the Nijmegen bridge so that the British armor could continue northward to Arnhem. That afternoon, the 2nd Battalion of the 505th Regiment, supported by British infantry and tanks, attacked the southern end of Paratroopers move across a field to the assembly area as comrades make their the bridge, but the enemy loosed a deadly way to the ground. hail of crossfire and held on. Next, Gavin proposed to send some of his men across the Waal River in small boats to try and seize Major Cook and the survivors of the crossing scrambled the northern end of the bridge. But there were no such boats ashore, formed small disorganized groups, and dashed across in the area. Horrocks solved the problem by offering the use open ground to gain a toehold on the northern bank. With of 33 canvas and wood engineer assault boats, but they could rifles, bayonets, and hand grenades, they fought their way to not be brought up until the following day. The crossing would the bridge. Lt. Gen. Frederick “Boy” Browning, British deputy be made by the 3rd Battalion of the 504th Parachute Infantry commander of the Allied 1st Airborne Army, who had jumped Regiment led by Major Julian A. Cook. It would be a haz- into Holland with Gavin, told General Horrocks, “I have never ardous crossing because the Waal was 400 yards wide and had seen a more gallant action.” a fast current. Eventually, after fierce fighting, the Nijmegen bridge On September 20, the battalion made ready to cross sup- was in Allied hands that evening. Tanks of the British ported by mortars and artillery of the 82nd Division and 30 Grenadier Guards rumbled across the span, but they would be tanks of the Irish Guards Brigade lined up on the riverbank. unable to get through to Arnhem, where Urquhart’s Red DevFinally, after frustrating delays caused by German artillery and ils—equipped only with small arms and running out of ammutraffic jams on the single north-south highway, the assault boats nition, food, and medical supplies—were being overwhelmed arrived on 30th Corps trucks. They were hastily assembled, by the panzers. After the Nijmegen action, Gavin was visited and around 3 PM, Major Cook’s men clambered into the flimsy by Lt. Gen. Miles C. Dempsey, the skilled, unassuming comcraft and pushed into the river. A deafening British-American mander of the British Second Army, who told him, “I’m proud barrage hammered the far shore as Cook’s troopers paddled to meet the commanding general of the greatest division in the across, using their rifle butts as oars. Enemy small-arms fire world today.” By September 24, Montgomery and Brereton realized that raked them, and men were killed and wounded. The Americans used their helmets to bail out water and stuffed handkerchiefs the British paratroopers at Arnhem were being annihilated, so their withdrawal was ordered. Of the 10,005 Red Devils there, into bullet holes in the boats. The troopers paddled on into the German fire, with Major 7,578 were casualties. The 101st Airborne Division lost 2,118 Cook alternately shouting encouragement and breathlessly men in Operation Market-Garden, and Gavin’s division sufrepeating, “Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed is the fruit of thy fered 1,432 casualties. The operation had failed, and Gavin womb, Jesus …” His men struggled against the current and was angered when the British press depicted Arnhem as somewere exposed when the wind shifted and blew away a protec- thing more than a glorious defeat. After some more ground fighting in Holland while the British tive smokescreen, but somehow the 26 boats that had started out made it across. However, only 13 of them were fit for a and Canadian Armies struggled to clear the approaches to Antwerp, the two American airborne divisions were trucked to return trip to pick up the next assault wave. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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while the Screaming Eagles were ordered to defend Bastogne. Gavin met leading elements of his division when they started rolling into Werbomont on the evening of December 18. Roadblocks were set up, and Gavin established his command post in a farmhouse in the little crossroads village. Ridgway arrived that night as the truck columns continued to rumble in. As the enemy panzer and infantry groups pushed deeper into Belgium, Ridgway took over operational control of the 3rd Armored and 30th Infantry Divisions, conducting a brilliant defensive battle along the northern shoulder of the bulge. At daylight on December 19, Gavin learned that Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt’s panzers had cut the road leading southward from Werbomont to Bastogne. The situation was serious. The outnumbered American units at St.-Vith and Bastogne held firm, though both towns were surrounded by December 20. The Germans were forced to split their forces as the Americans fought desperately, and the enemy offensive weakened. While the Screaming Eagles under Brig. Gen. Anthony C. McAuliffe, deputy commander, heroically held Bastogne, Gavin’s men fought equally hard to the north. After the encircled U.S. armored forces were pulled back from St.-Vith, the weight of the enemy attack fell upon units of the 82nd Airborne Division. The 504th Parachute and 325th Glider Infantry Regiments fought stubbornly against the Germans who had overrun St.-Vith, and refused to yield much ground. Colonel Tucker’s 504th Regiment was awarded its second Presidential Unit Citation for gallantry—the first such citation won by an American unit in the Battle of the Bulge. When the enemy threatened to break through at an isolated key road junction at the village of Baraque de Fraiture, Gavin rushed in a company of glider troops to reinforce a motley force of tankers and Cold and frostbitten, members of the 82nd Airborne march with tanks of the 2nd infantrymen there. He also dispatched a Armored Division and advance into the northern sector of the Bulge. glider infantry battalion to the town of Fraiture, a mile northeast of the crossroads. The two units arrived on the morning of December 22, just in time to confront the first contingent of the 2nd SS Panzer Division. Heavily outnumbered, the GIs withstood artillery barrages and assaults by tanks and a panzergrenadier regiment. The Americans stood their ground for more than an hour but were overwhelmed. Only 44 of the 116 glider troops sent to the junction escaped; the rest were killed or captured. After General Montgomery had been ordered by Eisenhower to “tidy” the Allied lines in the northern bulge, the 82nd Airborne withdrew to a stronger, more consolidated position a few miles to the north. Gavin’s troopers groused about retreating, but their morale was camps near Rheims, France, for well-earned rests. Gavin was promoted to major general that October and was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry. He also received British, Dutch, French, Belgian, and Russian decorations, while his All-Americans were awarded a Presidential Unit Citation, the French and Belgian Fourragere, and the Dutch Order of Willem. General Gavin was dining with his staff on the evening of December 17, 1944, when the telephone shrilled. The Germans had broken through in the Ardennes Forest the previous day, and the American situation was critical. The 18th Airborne Corps was alerted to move to the front within 24 hours after daylight the following day. Characteristically, Gavin moved swiftly. He sent word to the 101st Division, alerted his troop units, and briefed the commanders. Another telephone call informed Gavin that the crisis in the bulge was now more urgent, and the airborne corps was ordered to move immediately toward the strategic road junction town of Bastogne in Belgium. Acting as temporary commander of the 18th Airborne Corps in the absence of General Ridgway, who was in England, Gavin issued orders for the All-Americans to move by truck toward Bastogne an hour after daylight on December 18, with the Screaming Eagles following in the afternoon. While his troopers drew weapons, rations, and extra ammunition, Gavin rushed to General Courtney Hodges’s U.S. First Army headquarters in Spa, Belgium. The First Army was bearing the brunt of the German offensive. Hodges assigned the 82nd Division to V Corps, defending terrain north of Bastogne and along the northern shoulder of the enemy penetration. The division would set up defensive positions around Werbomont, directly in the path of enemy units then attempting to encircle St.-Vith,

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were assigned to the U.S. occupation zone still high. They blew up bridges across in Berlin. There, Jumping Jim served as the Salm River, planted mines, and the American representative on the City strung wire. By Christmas morning, all Kommandatura. On Sundays, though still was ready. The enemy counterattack had pained by the cracks in his spine, he would run out of steam in the snow-clad, fogdrive out to the Tempelhof airfield and shrouded Ardennes, and on December make parachute drops “to get the cob26, besieged Bastogne was relieved by webs out.” He and the All-Americans left Sherman tanks of Lt. Col. Creighton W. Berlin in October 1945, and returned Abrams’s 37th Tank Battalion of the 4th home in December. Gavin and his division Armored Division. proudly led New York City’s victory The following day, Von Rundstedt parade in 1946. threw the 9th SS Panzer and 62nd VolksHe stayed with the division at Fort grenadier Divisions against Gavin’s AllBragg until March 1948, when he Americans in a last desperate attempt to became chief of staff of the Fifth Army breach the northern shoulder of the in Chicago. He was assigned as chief of Allied defense line. Howling and firing staff of Allied forces in southern Europe their weapons as they charged, the Gerin June 1951, led the Seventh Corps in man infantry attacked the paratroopers Germany, served at the Pentagon as east of the village of Manhay. One battalion was overrun, but the rest of the Gavin negotiates a well-trodden path in assistant chief of staff for plans and research with the rank of permanent Americans held their ground. When they Belgium during the beginning phases of the Battle of the Bulge. lieutenant general, and was appointed saw the big Tiger and Panther tanks chief of research and development, with rolling toward them, the GIs ducked down in their foxholes and rallied after they had passed. the status of deputy Army chief of staff, in October 1955. But Gavin found himself increasingly at odds with the “new Gavin committed a reserve company, the Americans fought fiercely, and the Germans were forced back to their own look” defense policies of the Eisenhower administration, lines. Some captured enemy soldiers said they had never before whereby strategic retaliatory power was emphasized at the expense of conventional forces. Manpower was pared, and seen Americans fight so tenaciously. On January 3, 1945, the Allied forces on the northern shoul- there was a slowdown in the development of tactical weapons. der launched an offensive to reduce the German bulge. Gavin’s The Army was cut from 27 to 15 divisions, and Gavin believed men were in the thick of it, fighting aggressively though ham- that it was being left unprepared to fight limited wars. He pered by deep snowdrifts and bitter weather. The 82nd and chafed and developed a reputation as a maverick. He was the 1st Infantry Division led the offensive. The All-Americans unwilling to watch the Army he loved whittled to a skeleton blasted through the dragons’ teeth of the Siegfried Line later of its former self. In January, 1958, after “much soul-searching,” he relucthat month, and by the night of February 2, they were on German soil. Switched to the Hürtgen Forest sector, the scene of a tantly retired. He worked for 12-14 hours a day on a book, grim attritional struggle reminiscent of the Western Front in War and Peace in the Space Age, in which he insisted that the World War I, Gavin’s division took part in the advance to the only way America could fight a limited war was to expand its Roer River. On February 17, the exhausted troopers were forces to permit maximum mobility and flexibility. Gavin proposed the “airmobile” concept. relieved and trucked back to Rheims. Gavin became vice president of Arthur D. Little Inc., but The 82nd rested and refitted, and then went back into action in April 1945. It crossed the River Elbe, and on May 2, Gavin his corporate career was cut short when President Kennedy received the surrender of the German 21st Army Group. asked him in 1961 to become his ambassador to France. Gavin Threadbare but elegant in field gray, with red collar tabs and got along well with the irascible French leader, General an Iron Cross at his throat, Lt. Gen. Kurt von Tippelskirch Charles de Gaulle, and his 18-month tour of duty in Paris was went to Gavin’s command post and asked for the general in a success. Gavin became a vigorous opponent of the Vietnam War. He charge. He was directed to Gavin, standing on a street corner wearing his faded jumpsuit and with his M-1 rifle slung over suggested in 1966 that U.S. troops in South Vietnam should fall his shoulder. He looked like any other GI except for the two back to fortified enclaves while America sought a diplomatic solution through the United Nations. He even considered runstars on his collar and helmet. “He looked at me with some disdain,” Gavin reported, “say- ning for the presidency on an antiwar platform, but abandoned ing that I was too young and did not look like a general to the idea when Eugene McCarthy made a good showing in the New Hampshire primary. He died in Baltimore on February him. It took only a moment to change his mind.” When the European hostilities ended, Gavin and his division 23, 1990.

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THE FALL OF EBEN EMAEL A handful of well-trained German glider troopers subdued a seemingly impregnable fortress in a matter of hours. BY ROY STEVENSON

AT 4:25

AM in the predawn darkness of May 10, 1940, nine German gliders silently skidded to a stop on the hilltop of the most heavily defended fortress in Europe, disgorging 71 highly trained German Fallschirmjäger. These paratroopers were about to attack what was considered the most impregnable fortress in Europe—a mission that was regarded as nothing short of suicidal. Yet, by 11:30 AM the next day a Belgian officer clutching a broom handle with a white bedsheet attached, and accompanied by a trembling bugler, appeared at the entrance of Fort EbenEmael to surrender the massive concrete fortification to the German forces. Only six German Fallschirmjäger were killed and 15 wounded, while 780 dispirited Belgian troops marched out of Fort Eben-Emael’s casemate, hands held high in surrender. Adolf Hitler’s big gamble on this early strike of World War II had worked. The gateway to Belgium had been forced. The German offensive rolled over the Albert Canal and into the neighboring country. By May 28, after only 18 days of fighting, Belgium had capitulated and German panzers had plunged deeply into France through the green, rolling hills of the Belgian Ardennes Forest, outflanking the French Maginot Line. Not only had Belgium fallen, but Luxembourg, the Netherlands, and France had also surrendered or were on the brink. By the end of May British and French forces would be forced to evacuate the Continent at Dunkirk. This marked the beginning of five long, dark years of German

German paratroopers atop Eben Emael blast the fortress with a flamethrower and machine guns, May 10, 1940. 16

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fortress in all of Europe as his opening thrust in World War II? Fort Eben-Emael lay within 15 miles of the German border, south of the Dutch city of Maastricht, and adjacent to the Meuse River, the border between the Netherlands and Belgium. The fort was situated to cover the Vise Gap through which it was anticipated that German forces would pour when they began their invasion of the Netherlands and Belgium. It was also the portal to the Gembloux Gap that led to routes into central Belgium; if Eben-Emael fell, the heart of Belgium would be open to invasion. Eben-Emael was the foremost central bastion in a large chain of 12 formidable and heavily manned Belgian fortresses interspersed with natural obstacles of marshlands, rivers, valleys, and mountains that ringed the city of Liège and protected the entry to the flatlands of central Belgium. This ring of fortresses was named Position Fortifiée de Liège. Fort Eben-Emael was designed to be the showstopper. Lying alongside the newly constructed 50-yard-wide Albert Canal, dug as a strategic defensive barrier, the fort had large gun casemates emplaced into the side of the canal. Their function was to lay covering fire up and down the canal to protect the three large steel bridges that a German army would have to cross to enter Belgium and the Netherlands. The importance of these three bridges cannot be underestimated. Hitler’s divisions first needed to cross the Kanne, Vroenhoven, and Veldwezelt Bridges to enter Belgium. If Hitler’s advance forces could be stopped cold here, or so the thiking went, there would be enough time for the Belgian and the Dutch Eben Emael was built into a 200-foot bluff above the Lanaye lock of the newly armies to prepare defensive positions built Albert Canal. The lock joined the canal to the Meuse River. farther inland, and the invasion would be held up long enough for the French and British armies to rush to the scene. Thus, Eben-Emael’s strategic position was a linchpin in overcoming other defenses behind it. If Eben-Emael could not hold, Belgium and the Netherlands would be unable to contain an invasion, and their defenses would likely unravel, exposing the heart of Belgium. The fort was built between 1932 and 1935 on Saint Peter’s Hill, a strong defensive position and natural overlook from which hostile military movement could be seen miles away. It was literally built into the hill at a cost of 50 million Belgian francs, a massive cost at the time for a small country like Belgium. Eben-Emael’s design rendered it vir-

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occupation until Europe would be liberated by Allied forces after the D-Day landings on June 6, 1944, and by Soviet forces coming from the east. World War II literature is filled with examples of shock attacks where sheer audacity, combined with swift action in a surprise lightning strike, has resulted in a small number of well-trained commandos overcoming a numerically superior force of enemy soldiers in short order. Although relatively unknown outside Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany, the dramatic lighnting strike that led to the fall of Fort Eben-Emael is, for many reasons, World War II’s most impressive example of such a shock action. Despite its relative obscurity, the classic airborne invasion and capture of Fort Eben-Emael in May 1940 is still used today at West Point and other military colleges as a classic textbook example of the effectiveness of airborne operations. The capture of Fort Eben-Emael is renowned for a number of military firsts. It was the world’s first gliderborne attack, where specially trained glidermen were inserted into an enemy’s defensive position. It was the first time that hollow shape-charge explosives were used to breach steel and concrete fortifications that were considered impregnable. And the attack on Eben-Emael (and the adjacent Albert Canal bridges) also marked the first useof Hitler’s Blitzkrieg tactics. This bold action changed the way military strategists would prosecute war in the future, and it still heavily influences military planning today. Why did Hitler choose to attack the most heavily armed

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Map © 2014 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

tually unassailable by conventional ground forces; in fact, it was built to “deter an aggressor from the east from contemplating breaching Belgian neutrality.” Shaped like an arrowhead or diamond, with the sharp point facing north, the fort measures 3,600 feet from north to south and 2,600 feet from east to west, and occupies an area the size of 70 football fields. The fort’s defenses took advantage of natural and engineered obstacles that would make it too costly to attack. The Albert Canal, running along its eastern edge, lined with near-vertical concrete sides more than 130 feet high, rendered assault from that quarter impossible. To the west, the fort was bordered by the Geer River and reinforced by an antitank ditch. To the south it was defended by a 30-foot-wide antitank ditch 20 feet deep. Fort Eben-Emael’s offensive and defensive capabilities and weaponry were awesome, even by today’s standards. To intimidate anyone contemplating attacking the fort, it boasted a total of 16 gun emplacements. The top of the fort, 120 feet higher than the located on commanding heights, the mammoth fortress of Ebenentry blockhouse at the base, was dot- Strategically Emael could only be successfully penetrated from the air—by glider troops. ted with seven fortified blockhouses armed with 60mm antitank cannon and machine guns, topped with small concrete observation two 120mm guns positioned alongside each other for maximum firepower effect. Three false cupolas made of thin domes. Six other thick, concrete casemates were sprinkled around steel were emplaced around the fort’s perimeter to further the top of the fortress, four of which were armed with triple confuse and deter potential attackers. Each casemate or 75mm guns with a range of seven miles. Two of these case- cupola had electric elevators to provide ammunition to the mates were positioned to fire to the north where the Albert gun emplacements. Two blockhouses were sited on the banks of the Albert Canal and Maastricht were located, thus they were called the Maastricht casemates. Two casemates faced south Canal to fire north and south to protect the bridges and toward the small town of Vise, and were named Vise 1 and were thus named Canal Nord and Canal Sud. Six outside Vise 2. These casemates covered the southern bridges across artillery observation posts were linked to the fort, covering the Albert Canal and could also be used to fire on the other the most likely enemy approaches. Additionally, five large, heavily defended concrete blockhouses protected the south fortresses around Liège if they came under attack. Three large, flying-saucer-shaped cupolas with 12-inch- and east sides of the fort, with Bloc 1 being the fort’s main thick, 360-degree rotating armored domes fitted with twin entrance. Gun crews consisted of 16 to 30 men, depending 75mm guns that could fire in all directions were also placed on the type and number of guns in the emplacement. And, as if all of these positions were not formidable on top of the fortress. The domes could rise four feet above the casemate for better observation and firing elevation enough, two concrete machine-gun emplacements, Mi and then be retracted for reloading. Coupole Nord (Cu Nord and Mi Sud, were sited to cover the other gun 120), the center cupola, had the largest guns in the fort— emplacements on top of the fortress in the unlikely event WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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that any enemy ground troops managed to penetrate the men attacked, and the fort’s interior was never breached. The garrison’s normal complement of soldiers was 500, impressive exterior defenses. Thus, the fort’s Offensive Battery comprised the north- and plus another 200 for command, technical, and administrasouth-facing artillery casemates, while the three gun cupolas tive duties. However, in May 1940, many were sick from and the Defensive Battery consisted of the blockhouses and throat and respiratory irritations from their weeklong stints machine-gun emplacements, with four antiaircraft pits added in the dusty tunnels. On May 9, 1940, the day before the attack, the gun battery strength was down by 100 men, as on the south end of the fort for good measure. Despite the impressive machine-gun and antiaircraft many conscripted soldiers, with war looming, were emplacements, the fort’s upper surface lacked fully devel- recruited away into the Belgian Army. Between sick soloped belts of barbed wire, mines, and trenches to protect diers, conscripts whose service had expired, and an addithe casemates and cupolas from direct airborne attack sim- tional 150 men away on leave, the garrison was 250 men ply because Belgian planners had never thought the idea of below operational strength at this crucial time. The total authorized garrison strength of 1,200 men, 233 an airborne attack was feasible. The scarcity of antiaircraft of whom were stationed four miles emplacements indicates exactly how National Archives away in the village of Wonck, meant oblivious the planners were to such that reinforcements would be late if an eventuality. Airborne assault, the fort were to come under attack; whether by paratrooper or glider, the off-base soldiers would be sumhad still not been fully conceptualmoned by the firing of 20 blank ized in 1940. Hitler ordered his airrounds from the fort’s big guns. By borne troops to train in absolute May 1940, morale was low due to secrecy, lest the Belgians be warned repeated alerts and false alarms durof his plans. ing the Phoney War, and the men Five miles of underground tunnels were bored with garrison life. Trainand galleries inside Saint Peter’s Hill ing suffered, and equipment was not were installed over the fortress’s two maintained for combat readiness. levels. Signs at intersections indiFurthermore, the Belgian troops cated which direction the soldiers were all artillery trained, versus should go to reach their defensive infantry trained, which showed in positions. Even today, when touring combat when the Belgian soldiers the fort, guides are very careful to were ordered to counterattack the keep the groups together so no one Germans on top of the fort. gets lost in the long passageways. The complicated Belgian chain of The Lower Level, accessed command meant that fort commanthrough Bloc 1, contained a deconGerman glider infantrymen dash across open der Jean Jottrand could not directly tamination room, defensive posi- space during the attack. order the guns to fire. They could tions, armorers’ workshops, toilet only be fired on the command of the and shower facilities, holding cells for recalcitrant Belgian soldiers, electrical generators, Belgian units in the surrounding area, and only at targets kitchens, storerooms, a commander’s office, barracks, an specified by them. This would prove to have dire conseinfirmary, and a pump room. The Intermediate Level con- quences during the assault—for this lack of independent decisisted of three miles of tunnels that provided access to all sion making and immediate reaction would enable the Gerfighting blocs, casemates, cupolas, and defensive block- mans to gain a foothold on the fort before the guns could fire. While no single one of these mistakes would have resulted houses, plus a command post, telephone exchange, ammuin the fall of the fort, the combined effect would cost valunition magazines, and ammunition hoists and stairs. To ensure maximum security, the fort was designed with able lives and time at critical moments during the attack. The airborne assault on Fort Eben-Emael was only one back-up defensive systems that could be brought into place if any of the cupolas or casemates were breached. A series part of a complex airborne and ground attack plan. Hitler’s of armored doors could seal off each gun emplacement if strategy called for three other glider parties to be launched the emplacement was captured. The armored doors were at the same time as the Eben-Emael assault group. These three groups were to take the three road bridges arranged in twin pairs, with a space between that could be filled with sandbags and eight-inch steel beams in an emer- across the Albert Canal. Sturmgruppe Stahl (Assault Group gency. These worked effectively when the German glider- Steel) was to capture the Veldwezelt Bridge, Sturmgruppe 20

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Breton (Concrete) would attack the Vroenhoven Bridge, and Sturmgruppe Eisen (Iron) was to capture the bridge at Kanne. All bridges had been wired for demolition by the Belgians, so the assault groups had to land as close as possible to the target bridges in simultaneous surprise attacks before they could be defeated by the Belgian defenders. All of this while the fort was being neutralized by the fourth glider assault group—code-named Sturmgruppe Granit (Granite). It was the largest of the four groups, with 87 men assigned. Altogether, 420 Fallschirmjäger and One of the gliders that delivered German paratroopers to Eben Emael lies broken atop the fortress near a false cupola. 42 glider pilots under the overall command of Captain Walter Koch were the Czechs’ fortified defense lines in the Sudetenland, then assigned these difficult tasks. Junkers Ju-87 Stuka dive-bombers would be provided for to Poland, and finally to two airfields near Cologne. The Brandenburgers trained in complete secrecy for six close air support. Then paratroopers would land to provide support 40 minutes after the initial glider landings, fol- months before the attack, completely cut off from the outlowed by the 4th Panzer Division of the German Sixth side world. No mail, no visitors, no leave, and no contact Army that would provide artillery support as the troops with other German soldiers were permitted. Their parachute badges were removed from their uniforms. The place approached the bridges from the border. The key to successfully overcoming the fort’s defenses they were going to attack was never mentioned; they only would be to knock out the fortifications within the first learned the name of the fortress after they had captured it. hour, while the Belgians were confused and disoriented. If Two paratroopers who were overheard making indiscrete this could not be done, the Belgians would have time to comments about their mission were court-martialed and regroup and counterattack, hindering the Fallschirmjägers’ sentenced to death within hours, although the sentences demolition of the guns. The pioneers (combat engineers or were commuted the day after the assault took place. Highly trained sport glider pilots were recruited for the sappers) of Granit were divided into 11 sections, with one section in each glider. Each section was assigned a particu- assault, although many at first refused the opportunity to lar numbered target on the fort’s surface. Granit’s first pri- take part in this attack; they were expected to become ority was to destroy the antiaircraft guns, then the obser- infantrymen after the landing and participate in the fightvation domes on top of the casemates. Then the Granit ing. Reluctant pilots were eventually persuaded to take part in this great adventure by appealing to their patriotism force would destroy the guns pointing north. The German combat engineers would be relieved within “for the Führer,” and were given the same pioneer train24 hours by pioneers of the 51st Battalion and 151st ing as the Brandenburgers. Hitler, who had conceived of this complex assault, had Infantry Regiment, who would attack the interior of the fort and force its surrender. Even today, many regard this another secret weapon up his sleeve. His engineers had complicated plan as too risky, yet Hitler’s Fallschirmjäger recently invented a new type of explosive, the hollow-charge weapon—without which the attack could not have been trained for it with great relish and confidence. The Sturmgruppe Granit glidermen, under the direct com- attempted. By shaping conventional explosives around a mand of 1st Lieutenant Rudolf Witzig, were essentially Ger- copper cone, the detonation produced a plasma jet of many’s first Special Forces, trained in firearms, night oper- molten metal that could penetrate nearly 10 inches of steel ations, parachuting, and survival training, with much and even go through almost 14 inches of concrete—perfect emphasis placed on independent thinking and mental and for the bunker busting at Fort Eben-Emael. The shaped charges came in two sizes. The largest charge, physical resilience. They were even trained on how to drive Belgian trams. Because the battalion trained in Branden- weighing 110 pounds, was in two sections and had to be burg, near Berlin, they were called the Brandenburgers. hand placed on the bunker. Then a fuse had to be lit while They were then moved to Czechoslovakia to practice on the soldiers took cover. The smaller charge could penetrate WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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by barbed wire and hidden from the view of other German troops by straw mats that were hung around them. At midnight on May 9 the German High Command, Oberkommando des Heeres (OKH), issued orders to start the invasion of Belgium. Captain Koch received the orders at 12:40 AM, woke the men at 3 AM, and ordered them to make final preparations. The Junkers aircrews and Luftwaffe ground crews arrived at the airfields to make lastminute preparations. The departure time was 4:30 AM, calculated to have all four glider groups landing at 5:25 AM on their various targets. All went smoothly; at 4:35 the last glider was off the ground. The pilots flew along a path illuminated by a line of blue searchlight beams and bonfires 20 kilometers apart, directing them to the Dutch border, at 8,500 feet. Problems soon arose. The glider carrying commander Lieutenant Witzig was cast loose early, and another glider was freed by a near collision, depriving the Granit assault group of two gliders before they had even reached the fort. This was 20 percent of their strength and included their commanding officer. Nevertheless, once the plan had been activated, it could not be recalled, so the remaining planes continued. A strong tail wind meant that the Junkers had to tow the gliders over the Dutch border, compromising the silent approach. The gliders were finally released at 5:10 and, after 15 minutes of gliding, approached Fort Eben-Emael. Much earlier, the Dutch and Belgian armies had detected the sound of German armor moving along the border, and Eben-Emael’s commander, Major Jottrand, received an alert order at 12:32 AM from Headquarters III Corps. The fort’s internal siren rang and the process of calling in key personnel by telephone German troops cross the Albert Canal as an artillery round smashes into Ebenbegan. Confirmation of the alert came Emael’s 40-meter-tall walls. at 4 AM, when the Junkers were heard flying over Dutch airspace. Jottrand finally sounded the invasion alert. He ordered the Kanne Bridge and the lock at Lanaye to be demolished, and for the two temporary wooden barracks at the entrance to Bloc 1 to be razed to the ground to permit a full field of fire from the position. Unfortunately, some of the gun crews sent to demolish the barracks were Jottrand’s experienced gunners, leaving inexperienced troops at the guns. These soldeirs did not know the procedures for summoning the rest of the troops at Wonck (firing 20 blank rounds). Further, firing pins from Coupole Sud had recently been removed and had not been replaced

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from 4.75 to 6 inches of steel. The paratroopers trained to carry the explosive charges by carrying heavy rocks around, making their fellow soldiers think they were military prisoners. Ironically, a Swiss scientist had invented a similar explosive for the French military, and the French officially approved it on May 10, 1940, the day the shaped charge was used by the Germans on Eben-Emael. The DFS 230 glider was based on the design for a meteorological aircraft, with a short airframe and stubby 72foot wingspan. With a framework of steel tubing covered by painted canvas fabric, the DFS could carry eight troopers, a pilot, and several hundred pounds of ammunition, for a total payload of 4,600 pounds. It was towed by a Junkers 52 transport plane and, once released from the tow plane, could glide 12 miles and land accurately on a pinpoint target. Its undercarriage was a skid attached below the fuselage. Two full dress rehearsals of the glider assault on EbenEmael were made, but it was found that the gliders could not stop on top of the fort; they would have slid right across the top and over the edge. To address this, a wooden sawtoothed drag brake was installed under the glider to dig into the ground. Hannah Reitsch, Hitler’s famous test pilot, personally tested the glider braking system and found it to be operational. As the date for the operation drew near, the gliders were disassembled and loaded into furniture trucks, then transported to the Cologne airfields under heavy security and along empty roads at night. The airfields were surrounded

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Both: National Archives National Archives

A flame-thrower attack against a Belgian position can be seen in the upper left. This photo and the opposite are stills taken from the German propaganda film, Victory in the West.

properly. Finally, an armorer replaced them and some warning blanks were fired at 3:25, but the muzzle flashes set fire to the camouflage netting, obscuring the firing periscope’s view. The warning shots were not completed, and many of the Belgian soldiers at Wonck ignored the summons. At 5:15 AM, Jottrand was informed of unidentified aircraft over Maastricht, so he put the four machine-gun and antiaircraft crews on high alert. By 5:25 the gliders were already skidding to a stop on top of the fort, and the machine-gun crews that had opened fire at close range could not zero in on the fast moving gliders. Two of the machine guns jammed. Gliders were landing simultaneously by the three bridges on the Albert Canal. Ten minutes later the German ground offensive began. The 71 German paratroopers fanned out as they landed and rapidly went about their business, now under command of Sergeant Helmut Wenzel. The machine-gun positions at the south end of the fort were captured immediately by Sergeant Erwin Haug’s section, the first glider team to land. The glider landed so close to one position that it tore a machine gun right out of the pit and stopped beside another pit. Sergeant Karl-Heinz Lange led a brief charge on the pit and threw a stick grenade into it, killing one Belgian and enabling the Germans to capture two others. Sergeant Karl Unger’s section landed within 30 meters of its target, Coupole Nord, and was joined by Haug’s section. Privates Hannes Else and Herbert Plietz dashed toward the objective. Inside the cupola, the Belgians had discovered that they did not have any canister rounds ready to sweep the top of the fort. Had they been available, these rounds may well have tilted the odds in favor of the defend-

ers. Else detonated a 110-pound charge outside the infantry exit doors, killing and wounding several Belgian soldiers inside. On top of Coupole Nord, two German glidermen had detonated one of the new 26-pound shaped charges, making an impressive explosion that shook the ground around the cupola. The blast twisted the guns, damaged the ammunition mechanism, and cut the cables to the control system. Coupole Nord was put out of action. The surviving Belgian soldiers retreated down the stairs and prepared the barricade of steel beams and sand bags. Sergeant Hans Nidermeier and his section quickly attacked the Maastricht 2 casemate after their glider landed heavily in the open ground between Maastricht 2 and Coupole 120. The two observers in the small observation post atop Maastricht 2 had not seen the gliders landing, but they knew something was up when they saw legs in German uniform on top of their casemate. A Belgian sergeant barely had time to warn the gun crews below when a charge went off atop the post, killing the men inside and causing splinters to fly in all directions. A second charge was placed below a gun port, throwing the 75mm gun off its mountings, killing two Belgians and wounding one, and opening a two-foot square hole through which the glidermen scrambled after throwing hand grenades. Some Belgians lay stunned from the blasts, but the remainder scrambled down the stairs to the intermediate level where they packed steel beams and sandbags into the security door. Sergeant Peter Arent’s section attacked Maastricht 1 after landing only 80 feet from it. They placed a shaped charge against one of the gun embrasures and blew one of the 75mm guns off its mounting. The Belgians retreated down to the WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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German troops, tank obstacles, destroyed buildings, and the shell-scarred exterior of Bloc 1 are all visible in this photo taken several days after the Eben-Emael garrison surrendered.

intermediate level and prepared to counterattack, but Arent dropped a bundle of hand grenades down the elevator, forcing the Belgians to seal off the lower entrance with the steel beams and sand bags. After landing only 55 yards from Mi Sud, Sergeant Ewald Neuhaus found it empty because its gun crew was still back at Bloc 1 clearing the administration offices and tearing down the wooden barracks. However, Belgian machine gunners soon arrived and opened fire on the attackers. Sergeant Ernst Schlosser discharged a flamethrower against the embrasure, silencing the guns, and soon two 27-pound and three 110-pound hollow charges detonated in the southern embrasure, causing the shaken Belgians to withdraw to the intermediate level below. Kurt Engelmann’s section assaulted Mi Nord in a similar manner. They attacked with flamethrowers, a 2.2-pound charge, a 27-pound charge and a 110-pound charge, blowing a hole through its walls through which they attacked. Several dead Belgian soldiers lay about. The field telephone rang, and Engelmann calmly answered it. He listened to some rapid-fire French then said, “Here are the Germans,” to which the Belgian officer replied, “Oh, Mon Dieu.” Mi Nord was to become the German command post for the rest of the assault. By 6:30 AM, Lieutenant Witzig, whose glider had been cast loose from the tow plane too early, had commandeered another glider and Junker tow plane, landed on the fort and resumed command. His immediate problem was Coupole 120, which was still rotating although its guns 24

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could not fire because its periscope had not been attached to the cupola and the ammunition hoists and loaders were not working. However, the soldiers within were firing their rifles at the attacking Germans. At 6:45, Witzig ordered another attack on Coupole 120; the Germans advanced, sheltering behind Belgian prisoners, and attached a 121-pound hollow charge above the lefthand gun. Although the charge did not penetrate, the cupola stopped turning. So the Germans moved on, thinking the cupola was out of action, and attacked Bloc 2. However, the Belgians reoccupied Coupole 120, wearing gas masks to protect themselves against the poisoned atmosphere, and continued shooting at the Germans. Later, one of Haug’s men, Sergeant Ernst Grechza, roaring drunk from rum in his water bottle, climbed up Coupole 120 and sat astride the gun, riding it like a bronco. Furious, Wenzel ordered the soldier down and placed some charges into the gun barrels. Within 20 minutes the glidermen had successfully attacked nine of the Belgian positions. Charges were placed on seven armored observation domes, with five domes rendered inoperable. Nine of the 75mm guns in three of the casemates were destroyed. Most of the other casemates and emplacements fell like dominoes. Thus, the main gun emplacements that could have seriously hindered the Albert Canal attacks, with one exception, had been cleared by only 71 men. Coupole Sud was the only gun atop the fort that remained operational, firing on targets aimed by the Bloc 1 observation posts. All German

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attempts to destroy these positions failed, including attacks by Stuka dive-bombers. As the day wore on, things got hot for the Germans as the Belgian army recovered from the initial shock of the attacks. There were two half-hearted counterattacks by the Belgians within the fort, but these soldiers were artillery trained and did not know how to prosecute a ground attack. The exhausted and thirsty Germans had not been relieved according to the timetable. An effort to cross the Albert Canal on the evening of May 10 to relieve Sturmgruppe Granit on EbenEmael was stopped by Blockhouse Nord’s 75mm guns. At the fort, Witzig’s assault group was running low on ammunition and After their successful assault, decorated Fallschirmjäger, including Oberleutnant water. To make matters worse, the Witzig (second from left) and Hauptmann Koch (third from left), pose with Hitler. other Belgian fortresses within range of Eben-Emael began directing their fire onto its upper surface to dislodge the Germans, lob- officer, Captain Vamecq, stepped outside Bloc 1, walked bing 1,200 shells onto the position. Several Germans were across the retractable bridge across the moat and, with a wounded, but most of them safely sheltered in the gun white sheet flying on a broom handle, negotiated the suremplacements they had captured. render of the fort. After dark the Germans renewed their attacks on several The firing ceased, but no one had pulled the bridge back, operational gun emplacements. Descending into Maastricht and suddenly the entire garrison of 780 men came out with 1, they found the armored doors blocking their way. They their hands in the air behind a perplexed Vamecq; the line went up to the surface and returned with a 110-pound hol- of despondent Belgian prisoners was one mile long. The low charge with which they blew in the armored doors, garrison had suffered 21 killed and 145 wounded. The surkilling four Belgian soldiers, but could go no farther into the vivors were transported to Dortmund and Hemer and kept fortress because of the debris. in strict isolation until July 4, 1940, because the Germans Meanwhile, two bridgeheads over the Albert Canal had did not want knowledge of their glider attack or their secret been taken intact, with the third, the Kanne Bridge, destroyed hollow-charge weapons to reach the Allies. Finally, they by the Belgians. Just 40 minutes after the glider landings, para- were imprisoned in a POW camp at Fallingbostel, near troopers reinforced the glidermen, and eventually Belgian Hannover, Germany. resistance was overcome. The fall of Eben-Emael demonstrated how a fast, hardAt 4 the next morning, Pioneer Battalion 51 managed to hitting, surprise attack could shock defenders, causing cross the Albert Canal to subdue Bloc II by firing a morale to plummet rapidly, leading to surrender. Through flamethrower through the aperture and exploding a 110- excellent planning, innovative use of gliders, and hollowpound charge against the embrasure, killing one Belgian charge technology Eben-Emael fell in just over 31 hours. gunner and wounding six more. By 7 AM, the Germans were Sturmgruppe Granit suffered six killed and 15 wounded. All climbing the slope of the fort and linking up with Witzig’s officers of the glider assaults received the Knight’s Cross, group, and at 8:30 Witzig turned the captured installations and the NCOs and men of Sturmabteilung Koch, the parent regiment, received a generous allowance of Iron over to them. Still, some defenders were holding out. By mid-morning, Crosses, personally presented by Hitler in a special cerethe air inside the fort was deteriorating as poisonous fumes mony on May 15, 1940. The daring assault on Fort Eben-Emael paved the way from the explosions spread through the ventilation system, and Belgian morale was falling. Major Jottrand planned for rapid German victory in the West. Within weeks, Hitler’s the surrender, and at 11:45 a Belgian bugler, Vervier, and an army marched into Paris.

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SCANDINAVIAN AIRBORNE ASSAULT

German airborne troops, known as Fallschirmjäger, retrieve their parachutes after landing in Norway north of the capital city of Oslo in April 1940.

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THE POLISH CAMPAIGN in 1939 demonstrated the awesome effectiveness of aircraft as weapons platforms for close ground support. Along with flexible control of tactical operations, it became part of the concept popularly referred to as blitzkrieg. The effectiveness of this doctrine was again demonstrated by the German military during the Norwegian campaign in 1940. This campaign also demonstrated the usefulness of aircraft as vehicles for transporting supplies and reinforcements. The Luftwaffe made a significant contribution to the reinforcement and supply effort by successfully carrying out the largest air transport operation in history up to that time. Largely due to the efforts of the Luftwaffe, for more than two months the Germans were able to hold on to an increasingly precarious beachhead in and around Narvik over the great distances that separated those forces from the other beachheads. The Germans were also pioneers in the use of airborne troops and initially planned to use paratroopers in the Polish cam-

regiments, each having only one battalion. The 1st Regiment was commanded by Colonel Bruno Bräuer. The 1st Battalion, commanded by Captain Erich Walther, constituted the airborne assault force for the invasion of Denmark and Norway. One of four companies was employed to seize airfields and bridges in Denmark, while the other three companies were used in the invasion of Norway. Company 4, commanded by Captain Walther Gericke, had two primary missions in Denmark. One platoon of 36 troops, commanded by 1st Lieutenant Eckleben, parachuted directly onto the two airfields at Aalborg (Aalborg East and West) at 7:15 AM on April 9 from three Junkers Ju-52s and secured them without resistance for the landing of an infantry battalion. The paratroopers also seized the bridge over Limfjord north of Aalborg without opposition. The mission of the rest of Company 4 was to capture the 3,200-meter Storstrøm Bridge connecting Falster Island with National Archives

German paratroopers fought stubborn defenders during operations against Denmark and Norway. BY HENRIK O. LUNDE paign; however, German success was so quick and crushing that they were not used in air assault roles. The invasion of Denmark and Norway in 1940, codenamed Weserübung, Exercise Weser, saw the first use of the vertical envelopment concept to seize airfields and key objectives far behind enemy lines. The assault on Sola Airfield and the airborne operation against Dombås were the first contested airborne operations in history. These early operations revealed problems familiar to present-day planners and executors of such operations. The German parachute forces in 1940 were organized into the 7th Air Division under Luftwaffe command. The division—organized along the lines of an infantry division—was commanded by Maj. Gen. Kurt Student, but it did not reach full strength until 1941. In April 1940, it consisted of two

Norwegian soldiers pose with their rifles and machine guns on April 9, 1940. Despite the fact that the coordinated German onslaught threatened to overrun their country quickly, the Norwegian troops fought well and killed or captured a number of German paratroopers.

Seeland Island and hold it until the arrival of Group Buck, led by Colonel Buck, commander of the 305th Infantry Regiment. The bridge consisted of two spans. The longest span by far was the one from Falster to a small island called Masnedö. A much shorter span connected Masnedö to Seeland. There was an old fort on Masnedö that the Germans believed was active and needed to be captured in order to secure the bridge. Company 4 was scheduled to make its parachute assault on WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Masnedö at 6:15 AM from nine Ju-52s, capture the fort, and secure both bridge spans. The assault was delayed 20 minutes due to weather conditions, but the paratroopers quickly captured the fort, which was not manned. Simultaneous with the arrival of the paratroopers, engineers from Group Buck were landed on Falster from ships and secured the bridge between Falster and Masnedö. The paratroopers, meeting no resistance, proceeded to secure the second span between Masnedö and Seeland. The German assault units for the attack on Norway consisted of six task forces. Task Force 5, to be landed by ship, had the mission of capturing Oslo and the Norwegian government early on the morning of April 9. The Germans believed that this would lead to a Norwegian surrender and a peaceful occupation of the country. This plan was frustrated when Task Force 5 met unexpected resistance as it approached the capital’s last line of defense, the Oscarborg fortress complex. The task force’s flagship, the brand new heavy cruiser Blücher, was sunk by gunfire and torpedoes and about 1,000 sailors and soldiers were killed. The Germans also planned to capture Fornebu Airport southwest of Oslo by parachuting two airborne companies directly on the airfield. The 1st and 2nd Companies of the 1st Parachute Regiment, commanded respectively by 1st Lieutenant Herbert Schmidt and Captain Kurt Gröschke, were carried in 29 Ju-52s. The plan called for these troops to seize the airfield quickly, allowing German transport aircraft to land 28

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On April 10, 1940, German Junkers Ju-52 transport aircraft, laden with troops and supplies, fly above a Danish village. German aircraft losses were high during the invasion of Denmark and Norway.

two infantry battalions and an engineer company from the 324th Infantry Regiment. The German airdrop at Fornebu was cancelled when the aircraft carrying the paratroopers encountered heavy fog over the drop zone. Most aircraft turned around and landed at Aalborg, captured by the Germans that morning. One aircraft crashed into the ocean, and 12 paratroopers from Company 1 were lost along with the plane’s crew. Three planes carrying paratroopers did not return to Aalborg but joined the transport aircraft that later landed at Fornebu. The paratroopers at Aalborg were brought to Norway on April 13. The landing of transport aircraft at Fornebu was predicated on German paratroopers having secured the airfield. Through a communications failure or a misunderstanding of orders, some of the transport aircraft continued on to Fornebu after the airdrop was cancelled, and they landed along with a squadron of German Messerschmitt 110 fighters, the protective force for the airdrop. The Messerschmitts did not have sufficient fuel to return to either Germany or Denmark. The German planes landed despite heavy Norwegian fire, which resulted in two German aircraft destroyed and five severely damaged. This was in addition to five shot down or

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Map © 2014 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

forced to make emergency landings as a result of aerial fights with seven Norwegian Gloster Gladiator fighters stationed at Fornebu. The number of Germans killed is not given, but the Norwegians were forced to withdraw at 8:30 AM when they exhausted their ammunition. The Germans quickly took control of the airfield and signaled for subsequent waves to land. Oslo was surrendered to the Germans at 2 PM. Stavanger is the fourth-largest city in Norway, and Sola Airfield, about 10 kilometers southwest of the city, was the best airfield in the country in 1940. Sola was a primary strategic objective since it was critical for air operations against naval forces in the North Sea and was located only 300 miles from Scapa Flow, Great Britain’s most important naval base. The German plan called for the seizure of Sola Airfield by Company 3, 1st Parachute Regiment, on the morning of April 9. The company was commanded by 1st Lieutenant Freiherr Heinz Henning von Brandis. The paratroopers would be dropped directly on the airfield from 12 Ju-52s. These aircraft along with the Ju-88 bombers and Me-110s were on a oneway mission since they did not have sufficient fuel to return to Germany or Denmark. Follow-up forces, consisting of the regimental staff and two battalions of the 193rd Infantry Regiment commanded by Colonel Karl von Beeren, were to airland as soon as the airfield was in German hands. The Norwegian Army depot at Madlamoen, three miles from Stavanger, was to be occupied as soon as Sola was secured. The 1st Battalion, 2nd Norwegian Infantry Regiment was located at Madlamoen. It had arrived there on March 29, after less than three months training in eastern Norway. The battalion was assigned to Colonel G. Spørck, commander of the 8th Norwegian Infantry Regiment. Sola Airfield was alerted to the possibility of a German attack around noon on April 8. However, the battalion at Madlamoen was not alerted until 1:30 AM on April 9. One infantry platoon and one heavy weapons platoon from this battalion, a total of 64 men, were at Sola on April 9. The heavier defensive weapons consisted of four infantry machine guns and six machine guns used in an air defense role. An Army bomber squadron of eight aircraft was stationed at Sola. This squadron was in the process of moving to eastern Norway to be replaced at Sola by a reconnaissance squadron. The exchange had already started with the departure of the ground crews. Because of these transfers, there were 10 Norwegian aircraft at Sola on April 9. Construction of concrete bunkers at Sola had begun, but only one was completed by the day of the invasion. Most of the Norwegian troops from the two platoons were in open positions at the north end of the field near the hangars and administrative buildings. The completed bunker on the eastern side of the field was occupied with one antiaircraft machine gun. Three antiaircraft machine guns were located at the northwest corner of the airfield and two at the south-

German airborne operations were a major component of Operation Weserubung, the invasion of Denmark and Norway, which was undertaken a month before the commencement of the Battle of France.

east corner, all in uncovered positions. The German assault on Sola Airfield began with dive-bomber attacks intended to eliminate Norwegian resistance while minimizing damage to facilities. Eight Ju-88s appeared just as nine Norwegian aircraft were in the process of taking off for eastern Norway. German reports that most Norwegian aircraft were destroyed are inaccurate. One aircraft was hit and unable to take off while another was damaged on takeoff and forced to make an emergency landing. The remaining seven aircraft arrived safely in eastern Norway. The Norwegian machine guns opened an intense fire against the German planes, but the small-caliber rounds had no effect on the Ju-88s. The water-cooled Norwegian machine guns overheated, causing the guns to jam to the point where only single rounds could be fired. The heavy German bombing and strafing and the inability to inflict any damage on the German planes were morale breakers for the two Norwegian platoons, WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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bunker and throw hand grenades through its firing aperture. Johansen was wounded and captured after the Germans used explosives to open the bunker door. The airfield was under German control by 9 AM. The Norwegian losses were a few lightly wounded and 40 prisoners, mostly air corps personnel. Colonel Spørck decided not to move the battalion at Madlamoen against Sola because it was his only active unit and he wanted to preserve it as a covering force for the mobilization of the 8th Infantry Regiment. With total German air dominance, this was probably the best decision. The battalion at Madlamoen moved eastward to avoid entrapment on the Stavanger Peninsula. The evacuation of the base was completed before the Germans arrived at 11 AM. Meanwhile, the third phase of the German operation, air-landing part of the 193rd Infantry Regiment, started shortly after 9 AM. Approximately 200 aircraft brought in two battalions in the course of the day. Stavanger was occupied by the German troops without resistance during the afternoon. The critical situation in Norway and the slow progress of the drive from Oslo brought on a crisis in the German high command. The German troops in the various beachheads were isolated because Weserübung had failed to achieve its most important objective— ABOVE: Lieutenant Herbert Schmidt commanded Company 1 of the German 1st a Norwegian surrender. Rumors of Parachute Regiment. He was seriously wounded and captured in Norway. BELOW: Indicative of the low altitude at which German airborne troops jumped into complanned Allied landings at Åndalsnes and bat, this photo was taken from a Ju-52 transport aircraft on April 9, 1940. Namsos reached the Germans beginning National Archives on April 13. Hitler’s primary military advisers, General Wilhelm Keitel, chief of the OKW (Oberkommando der Wehrmacht—Armed Forces High Command), and Maj. Gen. Alfred Jodl, chief of Operations at OKW, received a full preview of Hitler’s sometimes irrational behavior when confronted with bad news later in the war. The word führungschaos (leadership chaos) in Jodl’s diary gives an apt description of the tension and excitement at the highest echelons. Jodl wrote in his diary, “We are again confronted with complete chaos in the command system. Hitler insists on issuing orders on every detail; any coordinated effort within the existing military command structure is impossible.” Arguments erupted between Hitler and Keitel, Jodl, and Grand Admiral Erich Raeder, the commander of the German which withdrew rather hastily. The second phase of the attack began with the arrival of a formation of 10 Ju-52s. There had been 12, but one returned to Germany while another landed in Denmark. Approximately 110 paratroopers exited the aircraft at low altitude, between 200 and 250 feet. Most landed in an area covered by the machine gun in the only completed con- Public Domain crete bunker. The lone machine gunner, Private Gallus Johansen, made up for his comrades’ lack of determination. The Germans who landed within the field of fire of the Norwegian machine gun were rather helpless and had difficulty finding cover and retrieving the weapons canisters that landed on the airfield. Until they could retrieve the canisters, they were armed with only pistols and grenades. A substantial number of Germans were killed or wounded. The German losses were between 10 and 40, according to Norwegian reports. The German casualty reports also vary greatly from a low of three killed and eight wounded to 18 killed and about 30 wounded. It did not take the paratroopers who landed outside Johansen’s field of fire long to work their way behind the

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Navy. The disagreements between Hitler and Keitel became so heated on April 19 that Keitel walked out of the meeting. Hitler wanted Raeder to use two large ocean liners to bring a division to Trondheim. Raeder told Hitler that the whole German Navy would be required to escort the two liners and that the result would likely be the loss of the Navy, the liners, and the division. Hitler relented but insisted on the use of all means to quickly open a land route between Oslo and Trondheim. The Germans established an air bridge between Oslo and Trondheim starting on April 14. In addition to much-needed supplies, the airlift brought one engineer and five infantry battalions to Trondheim by April 20. To further speed the link up between their separated forces, the Germans launched an airborne operation in the Norwegian rear at Dombås. This was an important road and railroad junction, where the railroad and roads from Oslo to Trondheim intersect with those leading west to Åndalsnes. While the primary goal of the operation about 225 kilometers behind Norwegian lines at the southern end of Lake Mjøsa was to prevent Allied forces from reaching the southern front, it would also serve as a blocking paratroopers, some mounting bicycles, quickly assemble in their drop position for any Allied attempt against German zones near the Norwegian town of Dombås in central Norway. Trondheim. The airborne operation was launched on April 14. It was executed in all haste, without adequate ing. The soldiers had provisions for only three days, and intelligence—aerial reconnaissance could not be carried out ammunition was limited to what could be carried. Each aircraft because of bad weather—no time for planning, and inadequate carried four weapon canisters that were dropped separately. forces. When it appeared that the airborne operation against These contained a large number of automatic weapons, includDombås might be cancelled because of bad weather, General ing 22 MG-34 machine guns. Some of these canisters could Karl Kitzinger, commander of Air Region Norway as of April not be located in the darkness after the drop. The element of surprise was lost when the German aircraft 15, sent his chief of staff, Maj. Gen. Wilhelm Süssmann, to the airport to ensure the operation—ordered by Hitler through the stayed below the clouds and followed the railway on their flight to Dombås. They soon received antiaircraft fire from Norwegian OKW—was carried out. Fifteen German aircraft carried the reinforced Company 1, forces, and one aircraft, carrying part of the communications 1st Parachute Regiment (185 men). The company comman- platoon, was damaged by antiaircraft fire and forced to make an der, 1st Lieutenant Herbert Schmidt, had the only map for the emergency landing near Lillehammer. All survived the crash, but Dombås area. He used it to brief his five platoon leaders before the Germans opened fire on approaching Norwegian troops. One German was killed and three wounded in the exchange that the operation. Dombås is located in the mountains at an elevation of about followed. Thirteen Germans were captured. The German aircraft had difficulties finding suitable drop 2,100 feet, but the surrounding mountains are much higher. The German paratroopers had no winter or camouflage cloth- zones in the Dombås area since there were only a few breaks WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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kilometers west of Dombås to Folkstua eight kilometers to its northeast. Not a single platoon was able to assemble all its personnel. Lieutenant Schmidt and the 12 paratroopers in his aircraft jumped into an area six kilometers south of Dombås, along the rail line and road, and some of the weapons canisters could not be located after the drop. The aircraft carrying the 1st Platoon under Lieutenant Becker dropped its paratroopers in the Folkstua area eight kilometers northTOP: Several German Ju-52 transport planes landed on Hartvig Lake, froze solid east of Dombås. One trooper was into the ice, and were abandoned. The Norwegians later captured the planes, killed as he became entangled in power which were eventually recovered by their original owners or destroyed. BOTTOM: lines, and six were badly injured as the German planes sit on the airfield at Fornebu, near the Norwegian capital of Oslo, in April 1940, as smoke from a British air raid rises in the background. high winds dragged them along the Author’s Collection ground. Some of the weapons containers could not be found. The wounded were left at a local farm. First Lieutenant Ernst Mössinger’s 2nd Platoon was dropped near the Lie farm about three kilometers south of Dombås. One paratrooper was killed on landing. One Ju-52 from Mössinger’s platoon was shot down, with four killed and three wounded. Some paratroopers managed to jump southeast of Dombås before the aircraft crashed. Most of those who jumped before the crash were wounded in action with Norwegian forces and surrendered on April 15. Lieutenant Mössinger was able to assemble about two-thirds of his platoon and link up with Lieutenant Schmidt. The 3rd Platoon, under Sergeant Bobrowski, landed on Hill 1173 on the Library of Congress eastern outskirts of Dombås. Seven paratroopers mistakenly exited the aircraft too early, over the town of Dombås. Two were killed in fighting with Norwegian forces and the rest were captured. Bobrowski’s platoon encountered Norwegian forces four kilometers south of Dombås, and two paratroopers were killed. The remainder of the platoon linked up with Lieutenant Schmidt on April 15. The 4th Platoon, under Feldwebel Alexander Uhlig, overshot the target area and landed about two kilometers southeast of Lora along the Dombås-Åndalsnes rail line. Uhlig started moving his men in the direction of Dombås. The communications platoon of 24 in the cloud cover and they were receiving heavy fire from Norwegian forces. Furthermore, the aircraft had to return quickly to Oslo because of low fuel levels and approaching darkness. According to Norwegian sources, the drops took place shortly after 6 PM, while some German sources say they took place from 7:45 until after 10 PM. The paratroopers were dropped in different locations over a 30-kilometer area around Dombås, from Lora about 25

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Author’s Collection

LEFT: Enjoying a lull in the fighting against the Germans at Konigsvinter, northeast of Oslo, these Norwegian troops fought valiantly against a German attack there on April 28. RIGHT: Company 6, 11th Norwegian Infantry Regiment, shoulders its skis and prepares to advance toward invading German airborne troops near Dombås.

men landed near Hill 1578 about 12 kilometers southwest of Dombås. One paratrooper exited the aircraft too early. He reached Dombås, covered his uniform with civilian clothes, and managed to avoid capture until April 29. The rest of the platoon dug into the snow for the night. The return of the German aircraft developed into a catastrophe. Only five of the 15 aircraft made it back to Oslo. Two landed at Værnes Airfield near Trondheim. The rest were shot down or forced to make emergency landings as they ran out of fuel. One aircraft made an emergency landing in Sweden. The Germans had the misfortune of landing near the location of the Norwegian 2nd Battalion, 11th Infantry Regiment. The Norwegians had moved this unit to Dombås on April 13 to take part in the planned Allied operation against Trondheim. The isolated groups of German paratroopers, with no maps and in over six feet of snow, soon found themselves under attack by superior forces. Lieutenant Schmidt tried to reach Dombås on April 14 in a commandeered vehicle but ran into two truckloads of Norwegians from the 11th Infantry. The Germans attacked, forcing the Norwegian troops to retreat. However, Lieutenant Schmidt and one paratrooper were seriously wounded and another was captured. The move against Dombås was abandoned. The wounded paratroopers eventually died. The Germans entrenched themselves on two farms, Ulekleiv and Hagevoll, in excellent positions that dominated the surrounding landscape. Lieutenant Schmidt’s group grew to 63 when the men from Bobrowski’s 3rd Platoon joined them on April 15. Although suffering from a severe stomach wound, Schmidt did not relinquish command.

The German airdrop near Dombås worried the Norwegian authorities since members of the government and the royal family were located nearby and the gold reserve of the Norwegian Central Bank was being evacuated by train from Lillehammer to Åndalsnes. Intelligence was scarce, and the Norwegians had only the vaguest idea of the size and location of the German force. General Otto Ruge, commander of the Norwegian Army, was critical of the disorganized and piecemeal actions by his troops. He wrote that the first force sent against the Germans allowed itself to be ambushed and that a second attempt by larger forces on April 15 repeated the “stupidity.” Two platoons of Norwegian troops, commanded by Captain Eilif Austlid, were involved in security operations for members of the government. This force was ambushed by Schmidt’s men, and two Norwegians were killed. Captain Austlid personally led a counterattack that reached to within a few meters of the German positions. He and four of his soldiers were killed, and the counterattack failed. Twenty-eight Norwegians were captured. During the day the German paratroopers cut the rail and telephone lines. The Norwegians renewed their attacks on April 16 with one company of the 5th Infantry Regiment from the south while a company from the 11th Infantry Regiment, supported by mortars, attacked from the north. There was a break in the fighting when the Germans sent a prisoner they had captured the previous day to the Norwegian lines under a flag of truce. Lieutenant Schmidt, through the returned soldier, informed the Norwegians that their fire endangered the lives of Norwegian prisoners that the Germans had in their positions, and he WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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demanded that the Norwegians surrender. The response by the Norwegian commander was to send a German sergeant they had captured to Schmidt’s position with a demand that the Germans surrender. Lieutenant Schmidt had an ulterior motive for entering into these pointless negotiations. He had concluded that the position he occupied had become untenable, and he tried to gain time to move his men to new positions during the night. The German disengagement benefited from a sudden blizzard that, along with the darkness, concealed their movements. The Germans attacked and drove back the force opposing them in the north, then disengaged and withdrew south toward Dovre. The withdrawing Germans encountered a platoon-sized Norwegian security force at a bridge but drove it back in a sharp night attack. Other Norwegian forces meanwhile continued to mop up German paratroopers who had not managed to join Schmidt. Lieutenant Becker’s platoon approached Dombås from the northeast and ran into units of the 11th Infantry Regiment. One paratrooper died in the ensuing fight, and the rest surrendered. Sergeant Uhlig’s 4th Platoon tried to reach Dombås from the west. One paratrooper was killed in an engagement with Norwegian troops. Uhlig decided that he had no option but to surrender his 22 men near Kolstad on April 16. One day earlier, Crouching behind the cover of a Panzer I tank mounting twin machine guns, German infantrymen advance cautiously along a muddy road in central Norway. Still blanketed by spring snow, the countryside posed a challenge to logistics and rapid operations. National Archives

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Lieutenant Gerhold’s communications platoon had descended the northern slope of the mountains on which they had landed, intending to reach the Dombås-Åndalsnes road and approach Dombås from the west. They were soon surrounded by Norwegian troops, and 23 were captured near the Bottheim railroad station about nine kilometers from Dombås. The main German force sought new positions at daybreak on April 17, settling on the small Lindse farm about 800 meters from the main road and less than 300 meters from the railroad. The stone barn on the farm became the main German position. The Norwegians believed that most of the Germans were still at Ulekleiv, and they continued to send reinforcements to that area. The 1st Battalion, 11th Infantry Regiment was replaced by the 2nd Battalion of the same regiment. A 40mm antiaircraft gun was also brought in. The Norwegians realized at the end of the day that the whole German force had withdrawn to new positions. The fact that Norwegian forces were ambushed on the morning of April 17 by the Germans at Lindse provided the final proof that the Germans had escaped the encirclement at Ulekleiv. Major Kjøs and part of the vanguard of the Norwegians caught in the ambush were captured, and other Norwegian forces withdrew to Dover. By morning of April 18, the Germans were again surrounded in their new positions with the 1st Battalion, 11th Infantry Regiment to the north and the reinforced Company 1 of the 5th Infantry Regiment to the south. The Norwegians also used the antiaircraft gun against the German positions. They began their attack early on April 18, and the situation soon became desperate for the Germans.

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The only relief received by the paratroopers arrived on April 18, when a Ju-52 dropped badly needed supplies. The supply containers were dropped without parachutes, and 90 percent became unusable. Reichsmarshal Hermann Göring, commander of the Luftwaffe, refused to send reinforcements despite urgent requests. Still hoping for an early link-up with the forces in Trondheim, General Nickolas von Falkenhorst, German commander in Norway, planned a second airborne operation on April 16 to bypass the Norwegian defenses in the Lake Mjøsa area. The operation was cancelled after the Luftwaffe declined to participate because of “technical difficulties.” The German paratroopers at Lindse were completely surrounded by the morning of April 19. The Norwegians had also obtained reinforcements in the form of a howitzer mounted on a flatbed rail car and operated by a crew of British Royal Marines. The German ammunition supply was running low, and Schmidt sent his second in command, Lieutenant Ernst Mössinger (he also commanded the 2nd Platoon) to negotiate an acceptable surrender. The Norwegian commander, Major Arne Sunde, demanded an unconditional surrender, and the Germans complied at 11:30 AM on April 19. Forty-five Germans became Norwegian prisoners, among them six severely wounded. The wounded were sent to a Norwegian hospital in Ålesund, while those who were not wounded, including others mopped up by Norwegian forces, were sent to a prisoner-of-war camp near the city of Kristiansund. The prisoners were freed by German forces on May 6, and many later participated in operations at Narvik under the command of Lieutenant Mössinger. The exact number of German casualties in the operation is

Photographed on April 15, 1940, German soldiers march toward their assigned positions after landing at the military airport of Stavanger.

not known but it is believed to include 23 killed (including pilots), 25 badly wounded, and 14 missing. Norwegian losses are placed at 20 killed and about 20 wounded. The German airborne operation at Dombås, although a failure, had important psychological consequences. Norwegian and Allied commanders tied up badly needed forces in anticipation of similar threats in other areas. The operation also had repercussions at the highest level of the German armed forces. Court-martial charges were brought against General Süssmann for having allowed the badly prepared operation to proceed in weather conditions unsuitable for airborne operations. The charges were dropped in June 1940, probably due to Göring’s intervention. Narvik is located 210 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle, and the distance to Oslo is approximately 1,450 kilometers. Narvik is an excellent ice-free port, and Swedish iron ore was shipped through this town when the Baltic Sea was frozen. The Germans did not plan to use airborne forces at Narvik. The city was well beyond the range of all but specialized German aircraft until they could secure suitable airfields in central Norway. Furthermore, the Germans believed they would meet only token resistance. When this assumption failed to materialize, Maj. Gen. Eduard Dietl and his 2,000 troops from the 3rd Mountain Division found themselves isolated about 600 kilometers from the nearest friendly forces in Trondheim. The Germans captured Narvik and the nearby military depot on April 9, but were unable to secure Bardufoss Airfield WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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because of stiffening resistance from rapidly mobilizing Norwegian units that went on the offensive within two weeks of the landing. The British were also bringing forces into the region. The Germans made a concerted effort to supply the Narvik forces starting within a few days of the landing. These were primarily by long-range aircraft, seaplanes, and aircraft with modified fuel capacity. Eleven Ju-52s landed on a frozen Hartvig Lake on the evening of April 13 with a battery of mountain artillery from Berlin. Three aircraft were damaged while landing, and one was destroyed by Norwegian aircraft. The remaining Ju-52s froze into the ice, and all, except one, were unable to take off and were eventually captured by the Norwegians. After this ill-fated experience on the lake, the Germans turned to airdrops and the use of seaplanes. Germany received permission from Sweden to send supplies and personnel to General Dietl through Sweden on April 17 and 18, provided they were of “a humanitarian nature.” It is estimated that the provisions received by this route in April were sufficient to sustain 4,000 troops for three months. Some military personnel apparently disguised as Red Cross workers were also brought in. The Germans were not permitted to transport weapons, ammunitions, or reinforcements through Sweden. Despite organizing the 2,100 sailors from the crews of destroyers sunk by the British in recent naval actions into infantry units, reinforcements became the most critical problem after Norwegian forces drove the Germans from the high mountain plateau on May 22. The front was near collapse, pressure was mounting, the line of retreat was threatened, and the trickle of reinforcements was not sufficient to replace losses or turn the tide of battle. A total of 164 paratroopers from Company 1, 1st Parachute Regiment, rescued from a Norwegian POW camp and now commanded by Lieutenant Mössinger, dropped into the area near the Swedish border between May 14 and 16. Seaplanes brought in 98 mountain troops from central Norway between May 18 and 22. With his forces near collapse, Dietl needed additional troops to shore up the front and give some of his mountain troops a chance to rest. General Falkenhorst had no further airborne forces and asked OKW on May 15 for one parachute battalion. He argued persuasively that the valiant efforts by the troops in Lieutenant General Valentin Feurstein’s 2nd Mountain Division, driving north from Trondheim, would be in vain if Narvik could not be held until they arrived. Falkenhorst’s request produced results. Hitler ordered the rest of the 1st Battalion, 1st Parachute Regiment, under Captain Walther, to Narvik. This force had participated in the operations in Holland on May 10. It was anticipated that this unit should start arriving in Narvik within a week or 10 days. In the meantime, Falkenhorst’s command had carried out 36

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expedited and abbreviated parachute training for some of the mountain troops. The first group of these—65 men from Company 2, 137th Mountain Infantry Regiment—parachuted into the Bjørnefjell area adjacent to the Swedish border where Dietl’s headquarters was located on May 23. The Germans expected 10 percent casualties in the operation, but only two soldiers sustained minor injuries. Another drop of mountain troops was made the following day—this time involving 55 troops from Company 1 of the 137th. Fifty-four troops from Company 1, 137th arrived by parachute on May 25, as did 44 troops from Company 2, 138th Regiment. These were rushed to Narvik before May 28 when an Allied and Norwegian amphibious assault captured that city. The remainder of the 1st Battalion, 1st Parachute Regiment began arriving on May 26, when 81 men parachuted into the Bjørnefjell area. Inclement weather delayed the next lift until May 28 when 46 paratroopers were dropped. Another 134 arrived on May 29, and the remaining 46 were deployed on June 2. Although 599 troops arrived in the Narvik area between May 23 and June 2, Dietl concluded that he needed another 1,500 to 2,000 men to replace losses and hold out. The airdrop of weapons and ammunition for the Germans at Narvik was not without mishap. The airdrop of 15 captured Polish antitank guns was unsuccessful as all weapons became unserviceable. About 30 percent of the infantry weapons that were airdropped were badly damaged and unusable. A slightly lower percentage of the ammunition parachuted into the Narvik pocket was damaged to the point where it was useless. The OKW was searching frantically at the end of May and early June for ways to bring Dietl the reinforcements he needed to hold out until General Feurstein arrived from the south. Dietl was promised—as soon as the weather permitted—two parachute battalions, about 1,800 men and practically the whole German airborne force, and another 1,000 mountain troops who were to be given a quick parachute course. In early June, OKW planned a new operation to bring relief to the Narvik pocket. This involved landing a strong force about 90 miles north of Narvik at the same time as paratroopers captured Bardufoss Airfield. The plan included the transport of about 6,000 troops and a dozen tanks to Lyngefjord aboard the fast ocean liners Bremen and Europa. Raeder pointed out to Hitler that the operation could not be launched before June 20, too late to help Dietl, and he suggested that it would be quicker and easier for the Luftwaffe to seize Bardufoss with a parachute and glider force and then bring in troops by transports. Hitler decided that both operations, Lyngefjord and Bardufoss, were to be carried out simultaneously. The final Norwegian offensive against Dietl was under way at the end of May, but support from Allied forces was not forthcoming because of their decision to evacuate Norway on May 24. The evacuation from Dunkirk was under way, and it was decided that all available forces were needed to defend

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Great Britain. The news was kept from the Norwegians for security reasons. Any chance of forcing a German surrender or driving Dietl’s forces into internment in Sweden came to an end on June 1, when the Norwegians were informed about the British evacuation. Requests from the Norwegians for a postponement of the evacuation or air support and supplies for Norwegian forces to continue their offensive were denied. In the end, the Norwegian government opted for exile. An armistice with the Germans was concluded on June 10. Colonel Bruno Oswald Bräuer was promoted to major general in 1942, and he commanded the 9th Airborne Division in 1945. He relinquished his command for medical reasons in April of that year. Bräuer was captured by the British and extradited to Greece where he was tried for crimes dealing with the deportation of Jews. He was executed by firing squad in Athens on May 20, 1947. Captain Erich Walther participated in the airborne operations in Holland between the initial invasion of Denmark and Norway and his later involvement at Narvik. Walther rose rapidly in rank and ended the war as a major general. He was captured by the Soviets in May 1945 and died in a POW camp in 1947. Captain Kurt Gröschke rose to the rank of colonel and was the commander of the 15th Parachute Regiment in 1945. He was captured by the British and released in 1946. First Lieutenant von Brandis and his company participated in the airborne operation against the Dordrecht bridges in

Wary of potential resistance, German soldiers advance cautiously along a Norwegian road in April 1940. The Germans were surprised by the tenacity of the Norwegian troops who defended their country.

Holland on May 10, 1940. The company was decimated in heavy fighting, and Lieutenant von Brandis was killed. Dombås holds the unfortunate distinction of being the place where the first U.S. military casualty of World War II, Captain Robert M. Losey of the Army Air Corps who served on the defense attaché’s staff in Helsinki, Finlnd, lost his life. Losey had been ordered to Norway to assist in the evacuation of the embassy staff and other U.S. citizens. He was killed by a bomb fragment on April 21, 1940. Hermann Göring sent a letter of regrets and condolences to the commander of the U.S. Army Air Corps, Major General Henry H. Arnold, a few days after the incident. The citizens of Dombås erected a memorial to Captain Losey in 1987. First Lieutenant Herbert Schmidt recovered from his wounds and wrote a book about the Dombås operation in 1941, Die Fallschirmjäger von Dombas. Schmidt was killed by the French Resistance in 1944. Major General Wilhelm Süssmann commanded the 7th Air Division during the invasion of Crete in 1941. He was killed when the glider in which he was riding crashed.

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Henrik O. Lunde is a retired U.S. Army colonel and the author of a forthcoming book on World War II in Norway. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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PYRRHIC PARACHUTE VICTORY IN CRETE BY RICHARD RULE

German paratroopers advance across a dangerously open field as their comrades drop from Junkers Ju-52s in the sky above Crete during the opening of Operation Mercury. A German veteran painted the scene from memory. 38

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Elite German parachute troops found the resistance from Commonwealth soldiers particularly brutal, but prevailed at terrible cost in the fight for the Greek island.

IN MAY 1941, GENERAL KURT Student’s elite paratrooper forces descended like an anvil on the British garrison defending Crete. Instead of winning a quick and decisive victory, ----the airborne troops found themselves locked in brutal battle against some of the toughest veterans in the British Army. Here, on the sun-parched Mediterranean island of Crete, the Germans appeared to be on the brink of their first military defeat of the war. As part of Germany’s peripheral strategy against the British Empire in the Mediterranean, Hitler invaded Greece in early April 1941, with a provision for General Kurt Student’s airborne troops to seize Crete. Within weeks, Hitler’s panzer columns had decisively smashed all opposition in their path and were relentlessly streaming toward central Greece. Allied forces sent to the mainland had been completely outclassed and were soon left contemplating the prospect of another Dunkirk. While German troops were enjoying incredible success in the Balkans, General Student feared that Hitler had changed his mind regarding the deployment of airborne forces in the Greek campaign. Desperate to get his men into the fight, Student decided to present the case for an air invasion of Crete directly to Hitler. On April 21, he expansively outlined the many threats that Britain’s advanced air bases on Crete posed to German interests in the Balkans. Not the least of these were bombing raids against the vital Romanian oil fields at Ploesti, the German Army’s main source of oil.

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accumulate accurate intelligence about the enemy. Based on air reconnaissance that had detected very few prepared defenses or troop deployments, the Germans believed the Allies were undermanned and totally unprepared. It was a bold assumption. For Student to launch a major operation of this kind without solid, detailed intelligence was deemed an acceptable risk. For the men going into battle, however, it was a matter of life or death. For Operation Mercury, General Student would use his one parachute division, a glider regiment, and Maj. Gen. Julius Ringel’s tough 5th Gebirgsjager (Mountain) Division, part of which would be flown in when a suitable airfield had been captured, the rest ferried across by sea. The 22,000 troops to be deployed were deemed sufficient to deal with the Allied This early in the war, British soldiers still carried sword bayonets of the pregarrison, estimated to be fewer than World War I pattern. The older weapons proved invaluable for hand-to-hand 5,000 disorganized, ill-equipped troops fighting in Crete. likely to surrender at the first opportunity. The reality would be far different. It was a bold and tactically simple plan that would involve two waves of airborne landings in four locations along the north coast of the island. The first wave of paratroopers and gliderborne troops of the crack Air Assault Regiment, designated Group West, would secure the vital Maleme Airfield and clear the way for sea landings by the mountain troops. Simultaneously, the 3rd Paratrooper Regiment, Group Center, would land and take control of Galatas and the island capital, Canea. The German forces would then link up and push eastward to overwhelm the defenders at Suda Bay, allowing tanks to be shipped across to help roll up the defenders from the west. During the afternoon, the second wave, Group East, comprising two more paratrooper regiments, would descend on Retimo and Heraklion to seize their airfields and Heraklion’s harbor. It was a daring undertaking that would see the elite of the German Army launch the first massed airborne invasion in history; Student’s vision of war from the air was about to be realized. When it was over, however, a visibly shaken Hitler would never allow another. Crete lies in the eastern Mediterranean between the isles of the Grecian archipelago and the coastline of North Africa Hitler, immersed in the planning of Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union, reluctantly agreed to the invasion of Crete on the provision that he be delivered a swift and decisive victory. Fearing Hitler might once again change his mind if preparations stalled, Student and his staff pulled off a logistical miracle by quickly procuring the 1,200 aircraft needed for the attack, code-named Operation Mercury. While brilliantly conceived, Student’s planning for the invasion was in many ways compromised by an unrealistic time frame. The Greek airfields, for example, were ill suited to accommodating so many aircraft and no ships were yet available to carry out additional seaborne landings. The tight schedule allowed little time to

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and western Egypt. It is a rugged island approximately 65 kilometers north to south and 265 kilometers east to west. Behind the island’s northern lowland coastal plain rises a narrow mountain range with steep, rugged cliffs overshadowing a labyrinth of defiles, ravines, rock, and scrub that are passable by only a few tracks and rudimentary roads. The northern half of the island contained the only defensible harbor, Suda Bay, along with Crete’s three operational airfields at Maleme, Retimo, and Heraklion. British Middle East Command had always recognized the strategic importance of Crete, but was stretched too thinly to act on recommendations to upgrade its airfields or reinforce the garrison. It was not until the impending fall of Greece placed Crete as the most forward British position facing the Axis in the Mediterranean that Allied command would take a greater interest in the island. The question of defending Crete left many senior officers, fresh from the mainland Greece fiasco, harboring grave reservations. They argued that Crete’s physical makeup played directly into the hands of the Axis. All the key airfields, cities, and harbors were located in the north closer to German bases in Greece than British bases in Egypt. In any case, it appeared unlikely that Crete could receive enough equipment and aircraft to defend itself against an invasion. However, with the swastika now flying triumphantly above the Parthenon, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill dismissed these concerns, gambling heavily on the edge he had secretly attained through the codebreakers at Bletchley Park. As Student forged ahead with his plans at breakneck speed, he was unaware that almost the entire operation had been fatally compromised. For the first time in the war, the ULTRA intercepts had given the British almost complete knowledge of what was to come. It was a priceless advantage upon which Churchill was determined to extract maximum value, and in a blunt cable to Middle East Command he made it clear that Crete was to be held at all costs.

The upcoming battle would need a fearless commander, and Churchill chose a New Zealander, General Bernard Freyberg, for the job. Not everyone agreed with this decision. Despite his legendary fighting reputation, there were those who felt the 50-year-old Freyberg had neither the training nor intellectual capability for an independent command of such difficulty and complexity. The British prime minister, however, would hear none of it, for in Freyberg, Churchill believed he had a fighting general who would inspire the garrison and defend the island to the last. Toward the end of April, with the Greek campaign in its death throes, the Royal Navy was heroically evacuating as many troops as it could from the mainland. For the sake of expediency many of these men found themselves on Crete instead of in the relative safety of Egypt some 650 kilometers

Hard-fighting Greek soldiers and civilians displayed a wide variety of uniforms and gear, but all were committed to defending their homeland to the death.

farther south. The harbor at Suda Bay was soon swamped with a massive influx of exhausted soldiers, many of whom had arrived with nothing but their rifles. General Freyberg, one of the last to be evacuated, was landed at Suda Bay on April 29, expecting only a brief stay before moving on to Egypt. Soon after his arrival the matter of commanding Crete was placed squarely in his lap like a poisoned chalice. He was completely taken aback by the proposal, and the subsequent briefing he received did little to endear him to the task. The island, he was told, could expect air attacks almost immediately, followed up within weeks by major airborne landings supported by a seaborne invasion carrying tanks. His forces, numbering over 41,000 men, were gravely short of equipment, particularly artillery and antiaircraft guns, and could count on little help from the Royal Air Force or Royal Navy. Freyberg, who could not understand why Crete was being defended at all, felt that with most of his New Zealand command already on Crete he had no alternative but to take the assignment. From his new headquarters outside Canea, the stout-hearted Freyberg faced formidable difficulties. In spite of knowing little about Crete, he set to work bringing order to the confusion, processing and organizing the thousands of demoralized troops he now commanded. Recognizing that the close-combat encounter that loomed would be for fighting men only, he saw to it that the wounded and most of the nonessential personnel were evacuated to Egypt. Those that remained amounted to approximately 17,000 British, 7,750 New Zealanders, 6,500 Australians, and 10,200 poorly equipped WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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had been provided with a basic proximity fuse that detonated Greek troops. The Cretan population, shaped by a tradition of guerrilla their bombs just before impact, resulting in a more lethal warfare, was determined to fight alongside the Allies. Frey- spread of shrapnel. The harbor was a nightmare of exploding berg, not opposed to the idea, wanted them incorporated into bombs and choking black smoke, but with only a couple of a formation similar to the British Home Guard, but nothing fighters and precious few AA guns, there was little Freyberg was organized before the invasion. Without the protection of could do to help the men on the docks. Ships that had avoided the Stukas soon found military law, many hundreds were to be executed themselves maneuvering through a waterway clutas partisans by the Germans. tered with the debris of war to be unloaded by Due to the geographical makeup of the island troops who often worked as bombs fell around and his prior knowledge of German plans, Freythem. berg planned his defense around four self-conAs the invasion drew closer, the intensity of the tained fighting groups deployed in the regions air raids increased sharply. The island’s three airwhere the airborne invaders would most likely seek dromes at Maleme, Heraklion, and Retimo were a foothold. These areas would form the focal given special attention, forcing the Allied command points of the Crete defense plan. to withdraw Crete’s six remaining fighters to Egypt The first of these, at Heraklion, would be and leaving the troops with no air cover at all. With defended by an 8,000-man garrison comprising raids pushing men at all levels of command to the Australian, British, and Greek troops under the breaking point, many bitterly observed that “RAF” command of Brigadier B.H. Chappell. The second, should stand for “Rare as Fairies.” in the Retimo-Georgioupolis sector, would have Brigadier G. Vasey commanding Australian and Greek units totaling 7,500 men. The third, in the At 7:30 AM on May 20, an enormous air Suda Bay-Canea sector, was under the command of armada launched fierce strikes around Suda Bay Maj. Gen. E.C. Weston with a force of 8,000 men, and the vital airfields. The New Zealanders at while the fourth, under Brigadier E. Puttick, covMaleme were singled out for one of the most conered the Maleme-Galatas sector just west of Canea. centrated local air attacks of World War II. Their The New Zealanders in this region were responsipositions were inundated with high-explosive and ble for defending the airfield, the coast, and Prison machine-gun fire. Valley against the Germans. Half an hour later, the main invasion commenced Brigadier General Maleme’s airfield was vital to both sides, and its Julius Ringel (top) as nearly 600 Junkers Ju-52 troop transports surged defense fell to Colonel L.W. Andrews’s 22nd New and Major General slowly toward the island, disgorging paratroopers Zealand Battalion which, supported by two dug-in Bernard Freyberg. over the target areas. Brigadier Puttick’s New tanks and two artillery pieces, took up positions on Zealanders around Maleme bore the brunt of the the slopes of Hill 107 overlooking the airfield runfirst attack as troop-carrying gliders and paraway. It was a precarious deployment, for the nearest support- troopers of the Air Assault Regiment descended into their midst. ing troops would be over two miles away. Having lost the element of surprise, the Germans were in Brigadier Puttick’s forces covered the airfield and the coast trouble almost immediately. Many of the gliders were systemas Freyberg had ordered, but his defensive lines were very atically shredded by intense machine-gun fire while others thinly spread, punctuated by yawning gaps that could not be crashed on the rocky terrain, wounding and killing many of the sealed. Effective command coordination under these condi- occupants. Those troops that scrambled to safety quickly raltions would be difficult. lied to overrun the AA guns south of the airfield, but most Freyberg, who emphasized camouflage and concealment, found themselves isolated and pinned down by heavy and accusaw to it that each sector had a sprinkling of field artillery, a rate ground fire. few antiaircraft guns, and a couple of tanks. The lack of shortThe men of the Air Assault Regiment fared little better, range radios on the island would make communication a prob- descending helplessly into a hail of bullets from strong New lem, leaving Freyberg to rely heavily on the initiative of his Zealand defensive positions beneath them. Hundreds of paralocal commanders. In public, at least, he adopted a positive troopers, killed before they hit the ground, were paying the outlook, confidant that his men would give an excellent ultimate price for inadequate intelligence. account of themselves. Privately, he had grave concerns. The airborne forces that had landed near the village of As predicted, the Luftwaffe was soon launching round-the- Kastelli encountered an even more hostile reception when they clock raids against ships and installations in Suda Bay. 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such as these were repeated at all the drop zones as the population took up arms against the invaders. The Germans had not anticipated this type of determined civilian resistance, but would quickly retaliate with unbridled savagery of their own. Meanwhile, at Maleme the paratroopers who landed unscathed regrouped in a dried-up riverbed near the western edge of the airfield and provided covering fire for other survivors to link up with them. Instead of quickly subduing a disorganized rabble, they found themselves in a parched, dusty hell pitted against battle-hardened veterans clearly capable of holding their own. From their foothold near the riverbed, the superbly led paratroopers immediately began assaults on both the airfield itself and the New Zealanders occupying the vital Hill 107 that dominated the sector. In rugged, sun-bleached terrain, battered by searing heat and tortured by thirst, both sides were quickly locked in savage fighting that raged unabated throughout the morning. The Germans were unable to make inroads, so, in a desperate attempt to regain the initiative, they advanced up Hill 107 behind a group of RAF prisoners forced to act as a human shield. Tragically, many of the airmen were cut down by friendly fire before the defenders realized what was happening. With cries of “shame” ringing in their ears, the Germans were once again forced back. With most of the senior German officers already casualties, the operation at Maleme was in turmoil. The situation worsened as reinforcements in the Air Regiment’s 3rd Battalion were slaughtered by ground fire within moments of jumping. The few survivors who managed to link up with forces near the

Another German view of the airdrop in Crete. The Germans, expecting to be greeted as liberators, were surprised by the rough welcome they received from Cretan civilians.

airfield were too dazed to offer much fight. Confronting the dreadful realities of war with all its unimaginable horrors had left many Germans too traumatized to function at all, while scores would surrender at the first opportunity. Crete was not proving to be the glorious adventure these young men had envisioned. In the face of stubborn resistance, the Germans were unable to push the New Zealanders off Hill 107. By late morning, Freyberg’s forces around Maleme had every reason to be satisfied, for despite mounting German pressure, they had prevented the men of Group West from achieving a decisive breakthrough. While the troops at the Maleme airfield were paying a heavy price, the men of Group Center in the Canea-Suda Bay sector suffered a similar fate as airborne and gliderborne troops descended into the muzzles of the defenders. Hundreds were killed in the air or captured soon after landing, while many others were dragged to the bottom of a nearby reservoir. The survivors who had landed outside the New Zealand defensive areas quickly converted a prison into a strongpoint to which stragglers from other landing sites soon converged. The troops, who had expected to land on a gently sloping valley, found themselves corralled into a funnel-shaped depression surrounded on all sides by the enemy. The only course WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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open to them was to seize the heights around Galatas and from there break through to Canea; the alternative was to be slaughtered where they stood. Once again the New Zealanders were in the thick of the fighting and eager to hit back after weeks of constant air attack. The Germans pushed toward the village of Galatas, but casualties were high and by late afternoon they disengaged to consolidate for the night in anticipation of a counterattack. Group Center, which failed to take any of its objectives on day one of the invasion, now faced the prospect of being overrun altogether. Here, as in Maleme, the Germans had lost the initiative; any thought of taking the Maleme-Canea sector in the first attack had been completely dismissed.

News of the crushing German losses gave rise to optimism among senior Allied commanders that the situation on Crete was well in hand. Their spirits were lifted further with reports that an attempted German seaborne operation had been thwarted by the Royal Navy. Elements of General Julius Ringel’s 5th Mountain Division, en route to Crete aboard a fleet of commandeered Greek fishing boats, were intercepted by British warships during the night. In a one-sided engagement, the Navy sank many of the small vessels and scattered the rest. Ringel, who had been skeptical about the whole operation on Crete, was seething when he learned two entire battalions had been lost in the ill-fated expedition. While Freyberg’s defensive sectors had thus far weathered the storm and maintained their lines, the men were low on supplies and feeling the effects of the intense fighting. The warning signs were ominous. Freyberg was frustrated by a totally

inadequate communications network that quickly put him out of touch with the developing battles, affording him little opportunity to decisively influence events. The battle was effectively left in the hands of the four sector commanders who, due to a lack of radios, rarely knew what was happening outside their own areas. In the meantime, an air of crisis pervaded Student’s headquarters in Athens. Reports of the losses at Maleme and Canea had stunned the entire command. The man who had arrogantly anticipated a quick and glorious victory now found himself desperately trying to stave off Germany’s first defeat of the war. Acutely aware of the rumblings of dissatisfaction from Berlin, Student banked heavily that the second series of landings by Group East at Retimo and Heraklion would capture one of the airfields. The operation at Retimo depended on tight coordination between the air strikes and the parachute drops. Due to hasty planning, however, Student had not allowed an adequate turnaround time for the aircraft from the morning’s landings. As a consequence, the second wave of paratroopers was delayed and did not begin their drop until around 5 PM, nearly an hour after the Luftwaffe raids had ended. The two battalions of the 2nd Parachute Regiment, believing the Retimo airfield was virtually undefended, were given a hot reception from Australian and Greek battalions under Lt. Col. I. Campbell, who occupied the dominant features on Hills A and B to the east and west of the airfield. As the transport craft slowly flew in at 400 feet, the Australians opened fire. Within minutes, seven aircraft were shot down. In the chaos that followed, paratroopers spilled out over the ocean and drowned. Some had parachutes that did not open at all, while those who fell among the Australians were killed or captured. A sizable force had still managed to regroup outside the defensive zone and immediately started to fight its way The narrow island of Crete, 60 miles from the southernmost tip of Greece, offered an enormous harbor and multiple airfields, making it a tempting target for the German Luftwaffe.

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toward the summit of Hill A. It was a savage engagement in which Australian gunners on the hilltop defended themselves with picks and shovels and fired their artillery into the advancing Germans at point-blank range. Both sides were paying a terrible price, but by nightfall the exhausted Germans had captured the hill at a cost of nearly 400 men. Their attempts to capture the town of Retimo, however, were thrown back by Cretan police and armed civilians who put up violent resistance. For the landings at Heraklion, Student had gathered his strongest force with the objective of capturing the airfield and harbor. The Germans, expecting fewer than 400 defenders, would in fact be facing close to 8,000 men supported by tanks and deployed in a horseshoe defense around the airfield, town, and harbor.

The air assault commenced late in the afternoon of May 20 with 250 Ju-52s dropping thousands of men into battle. The strong Allied antiaircraft defenses, forewarned of what was coming, quickly went into action and sent 15 transports plummeting to earth. Some artillery on the high ground was able to fire virtually straight through the side doors as the Ju-52s flew past, blowing them to pieces. One Australian machine gunner recalled, “The planes burst into flames, [the men] leapt out like plums spilt from a burst bag. [One aircraft flew] out to sea with six men trailing from the cords of their parachutes which were tangled to the fuselage. The pilot was bucketing the plane about in an effort to dislodge them.”

A Junkers Ju-52 burns furiously as it plunges to the ground on May 21, 1941, over the Akrotiri Peninsula.

The intense ground fire forced the air transports to fly higher than normal, which in turn increased the time of the descent; hundreds were killed as they hung helplessly beneath their parachutes. Many who made it to the ground alive were cut down by machine-gun fire or set upon by Cretan civilians. Others were scattered all over the countryside and would take most of the night to regroup. These tough, resourceful troops gained their bearings and managed to force their way into Heraklion itself. Throughout the night, the ancient town echoed with the sounds of automatic gunfire as running battles raged up and down the narrow streets and lanes. As at Retimo, the Germans found themselves battling hard against Cretan police and civilians, who eventually forced the paratroops to fall back with heavy losses. The action at Heraklion descended into a bitter and bloody engagement with the Luftwaffe bombing the town itself and German troops shooting civilians in reprisal for atrocities committed by partisans. The Cretans counterclaimed that their actions were revenge against German troops who had deliberately set alight buildings with people still inside. This vicious cycle of partisan resistance and Nazi reprisal would continue without respite until the end of the war. The Heraklion landings were a disaster from the beginning. By nightfall the following day, the Allied defenders had collected 1,250 enemy dead on top of the 200 killed during WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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the initial landing. The remaining 500 troops desperately fought on. Operation Mercury appeared to be coming apart at the seams, but Student would not allow a withdrawal. With his career and the reputation of the airborne forces hanging in the balance, he decided to concentrate all his efforts on Maleme’s airfield, where his troops had at least established a tenuous foothold. He was a desperate man staking everything on one card. The situation at Maleme, however, was far from encouraging; a serious New Zealand counterattack would have easily overwhelmed the exhausted paratroopers there, spelling the end of Operation Mercury. Student planned to Dead German assault troops lie beside the wreckage of their glider. Many were reinforce Maleme with paratroopers and killed before they could even exit the aircraft. General Ringel’s mountain troops the following morning, but everything hinged on his forces holding until then. Student spent a fitful At Maleme, Student now had possession of the vital airfield night with a pistol by his bed, ready to use on himself if the sit- that the operation so desperately needed, and he wasted no uation collapsed. time reinforcing his foothold. Ignoring the intense Allied With the Germans seemingly in disarray, Freyberg sent a cau- artillery and mortar fire sweeping the runway, German pilots tiously optimistic cable to headquarters in Cairo: “We have began flying missions to replace the men and equipment lost been hard pressed. I believe that so far we hold the aerodromes in earlier fighting. In retaliation, RAF bombers from Egypt at Maleme, Heraklion and Retimo and the two harbors. The launched aggressive bombing raids on the airfield, but these margin by which we hold them is a bare one and it would be would have little impact. wrong of me to paint an optimistic picture.” As paratroopers began cautiously pushing forward beyond In reality, the battle was about to slip from Freyberg’s grasp the airfield perimeter to secure Maleme, Student flew in Genas Student’s gamble at Maleme lay the foundations for an eral Ringel’s mountain troops, many of whom had never unlikely German victory. Preceded by a massive combination flown before. Arriving at dusk they found themselves descendof dive-bomber and artillery bombardment, the Germans ing into a terrifying inferno of exploding and burning planes. pressed the attack at Maleme in the early hours of May 21. Many were killed as they scrambled from their aircraft. The Boosted by fresh troops and supplies, the paratroopers airstrip at Maleme was not designed to cope with such a large launched a surprise attack that drove the New Zealand forces volume of air traffic, and accidents and collisions were comoff Hill 107. monplace. With burning wreckage piled up on the airstrip, The Germans then turned the captured guns against Allied pilots began landing on any open space they could find to positions around the airfield. The New Zealanders, already deliver the men to the battlefield. The arrival of these addistretched to the limit of endurance, attempted a belated coun- tional troops and heavy weapons would allow Student to terattack at 3:30 AM on May 22. With typical ferocity, they weather the storm on Crete, but the general found himself loslaunched fierce grenade and bayonet assaults but could not get ing a political battle in Berlin. near the airfield until after daylight. By then it was too late; the Germans were firmly entrenched and could not be dislodged. The slaughter of the first day had shocked and Colonel Andrews’s men had put up a stirring defense, but by angered Hitler. Furious at the prospect of a drawn-out camthe third day of fighting nearly half the force around Maleme paign on Crete, he had Student unceremoniously removed from was either dead or wounded. With communication to his out- command and replaced by General Julius Ringel. Student was lying positions lost and little hope of reinforcement, Andrews devastated. There was no love lost between the pair, for Ringel saw no alternative but to pull his decimated units back from thought Student was a dreamer, while Student viewed Ringel the airfield. It was a fateful decision that altered the balance of as a plodder, blinded by the dust of the infantry. force on Crete. In spite of Student’s damning assessment, Ringel was a very 46

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capable, no-nonsense commander determined to finish the battle on Crete as quickly as possible. Upon assuming control at Maleme, Ringel wasted no time forming three battle groups to get the ground fight firmly in hand. The first would advance west and south to capture Kastelli and clear the way for the landing of tanks. The second was to cover Maleme from the east and push along the coastal road toward Canea, while the third group was to swing south on a wide outflanking move over the hills, forcing the New Zealanders to withdraw their guns, which were shelling the airfield. The ultimate aim was to join up with the survivors of Group Center and drive on to Suda Bay. Meanwhile, on the other side of the island at Retimo, elements of the 2nd Parachute Regiment were still heavily engaged in a bitter struggle with Australian troops over the hill features that dominated the sector. In a seesawing battle, fighting for control of Retimo airfield would continue without respite until May 23, when both sides agreed to a three-hour truce to bury the dead and collect the wounded. A joint hospital out of harm’s way was established where German and Australian doctors, working side by side, could share supplies and medicines. With the completion of this humanitarian task, the fight resumed, but the Germans adopted a different strategy. With the capture of Maleme airfield, the paratroopers concentrated on pinning down the Allied garrison until the situation at Canea and Suda Bay had stabilized. Ringel’s flanking drive had successfully forced the withdrawal of Allied troops at Maleme, leaving the airfield out of the reach of their artillery. The loss of the airfield severely dented Freyberg’s confidence. Neither an encouraging cable from Churchill nor the fact that the Germans had lost so many men could lift his spirits. All over the island the hard-fighting defenders battled gamely, but their isolated victories were no longer enough to stem the tide now that the Germans had a supply route onto Crete. With each passing day it became clearer to Freyberg that his forces were being bled white with no way of making up the losses. No matter how many German troops they killed, more would quickly arrive to take their place. Freyberg later remarked, “At this stage … the troops would not be able to last much longer against a continuation of the air attacks which they had during the previous five days.… it was only a question of time before our now shaken troops must be driven out of the positions they occupied.” Having committed practically all his men and running desperately short of ammunition and supplies, he would have no alternative but to order a retreat to a shorter line. Ringel’s aggressive thrusts around Maleme forced Brigadier Puttick to order a general retreat from the west of Crete to form a new line running from the sea west of the Kladiso River through the Daratsos Ridge to the Australian positions at the base of Prison Valley. With two airborne and one mountain

Wearing their distinctive rimless helmets, three German paratroopers march toward an assembly point as others land behind them.

regiment concentrated against his weary men and a second mountain regiment pushing toward Suda Bay from the south, Puttick’s 4th New Zealand Brigade was withdrawn even farther to new positions outside Canea. After four days of fighting, Ringel’s battle groups, pushing along the coast toward Palanias and through the hills to the south, finally joined with the third group at Stalos. With Groups West and Center finally linked up, Ringel prepared a major drive to overwhelm the Allied troops grimly holding the last defenses before Suda Bay. With Luftwaffe support, he wanted to crash through this line and then drive eastward to relieve the parachute troops at Retimo and Heraklion. At this time a tragic chapter in the battle of Crete unfolded as German troops probed toward Kastelli. Among the olive groves and vineyards they came across the bloated corpses of paratroopers who had been attacked by Cretans and left lying where they had fallen on May 20. The bodies showed signs of mutilation and torture. The discovery enraged Ringel, who ordered that any civilian caught with a weapon was to be WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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the road to Retimo had already been cut, the Canea front had collapsed, and Suda Bay was only a day away from being captured. There were really only two alternatives: surrender or evacuation. Ringel, sensing that the overall Allied effort on Crete was near collapse, urged his men to crush the Allies as quickly as possible and prevent them from falling back toward Heraklion and joining with the forces there. As a result, he neglected the route to the south and concentrated his pursuit along the coast with his mountain troops, leaving the surviving paratroopers in reserve around Canea.

Freyberg had done his best to defend the island,

German soldiers zero in with their light machine guns on Allied artillery on the island of Crete.

immediately shot and that 10 hostages would be executed for every hostile act against the German Army. The first to suffer under this harsh policy would be the civilians who had fought alongside Greek troops defending Kastelli. Despite protests from German POWs in the captured town, 200 male hostages were rounded up and shot. Brutal reprisals were carried out in other villages as the Germans exacted savage revenge for the atrocities they claimed had been committed against them. With the west of the island under German control and assured of a constant flow of reinforcements, morale was again high. On May 25, with 15,000 troops in the Maleme sector alone and the battle now in hand, Berlin Radio belatedly broadcast news of the invasion. It was a clear indication to all that Hitler believed the operation was now going well. The same day the German public learned of the invasion, a gaunt Student arrived at Maleme to see his men. He was now a mere spectator, only permitted to offer advice and make suggestions; for the dynamic Student it was a depressing experience. With his career in tatters, he had to endure the indignity of watching the operation, which he alone had believed in, being led to victory by a fierce rival. It was a bitter pill to swallow. As the Germans steadily advanced across Crete, the Allied command in Cairo could see the writing on the wall and ordered Freyberg to pull his forces back to Retimo and make a stand on the eastern part of the island. But it was too late; 48

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but now it was time to save his men. With the battle all but lost, he saw no other alternative but to order evacuation preparations to proceed. Rumors of a withdrawal quickly caused the roads into the mountains to be crowded with leaderless men and deserters eager to escape the fighting. Freyberg tried unsuccessfully for two days to get orders to withdraw through to the Australians still fighting at Retimo. By May 29, however, the men there were effectively isolated and too closely pinned down to have any chance of disengaging as a formed body. Utterly exhausted and with barely any food, water, or ammunition and with no hope of relief, the Australians had no alternative but to surrender. It had been a stirring defense that had cost them 120 dead and 200 wounded, but the action at Retimo had cost the Germans over 800 men. Brigadier Chappell’s forces at Heraklion were confident they could continue to hold the Germans at bay. Despite relentless pressure, Chappell had thrown up such a stiff and spirited defense that the German High Command in Athens had abandoned any hope of a landing in the harbor. However, days of continuous and brutal fighting saw the men, low on ammunition and supplies, nearing the end of their tether. With the road south cut by the Germans and reinforcements being dropped out of range, the Allied position had become untenable. The Germans could not get into Heraklion, but Chappell and his men could not get out. Unable to communicate with Freyberg, Chappell was taking orders directly from Cairo, which informed him that the Royal Navy would evacuate his men from the Heraklion harbor on the night of May 28-29, but they would have to leave their seriously wounded behind. As they had done in mainland Greece, the British and Australian troops once again destroyed their equipment and at dusk made their way silently through the stinking wreckage of Heraklion to the harbor. An Australian officer recalled the destruction they were leaving behind: “Roads were wet and running from burst water pipes, hungry dogs were scavenging among the dead. There was the stench of sulfur, smoldering fires and … broken sewer pipes but over everything hung [the] stench of decomposing bodies.”

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The resistance at Heraklion had achieved all its objectives, preventing the Germans from using either the airfield or the harbor. The men had fought magnificently, yet tragically a further 800 would subsequently be killed, wounded, or captured as a result of enemy air attacks en route to Egypt. While thousands of troops had been successfully evacuated from Heraklion, escape for the troops still engaged in heavy fighting on the main battlefields around Suda Bay, Canea, and Maleme would prove far more difficult. Freyberg wanted to conduct an orderly retreat, but with Allied ships unable to approach Suda Bay these troops faced a 30mile trek along a narrow road winding across the mountainous backbone of Crete to the southern shore town of Sfakia. With a rear guard comprising Australians, New Zealanders, Royal Marines, and commandos forming a protective screen, the weary men trudged south through vile weather to the beaches from which they might be collected by waiting ships. Initially, Ringel had disregarded reports that the Allies were heading south; he could not believe that his enemy would contemplate a mass escape from a fishing village. Ringel’s misunderstanding of the situation eased Freyberg’s problems, as did the Luftwaffe’s beginning its delayed move to Poland for Barbarossa. The troops on the road south would therefore be spared the kind of crushing attacks they had experienced earlier, as would the Royal Navy coming to evacuate them. It also meant that air reconnaissance failed to detect the Allied movement southward, affording Freyberg’s men a valuable head start. The main body initially made solid progress, but likened themselves to “souls marching into Purgatory.” The arduous journey soon began to take its toll as many collapsed, completely exhausted or totally lame. The Germans soon realized

German shells burst among the waterfront installations during the evacuation of Australian troops. This photo was taken aboard HMAS Perth.

what was happening and swung south in a hot pursuit punctuated by several violent clashes with the defiant rear guard. Braving grave hazards to reach Sfakia, rescue ships would eventually evacuate over 15,000 men from Crete, but for many in the rear guard there was no escape. The sands had run out of the hourglass before they could get to the beach. Sadly, their reward for such a magnificent effort would be years in captivity. After 12 days of what had been regarded as the fiercest fighting of the war, the Allies had once again been defeated, but it had been a pyrrhic victory for the Germans. Of the 22,000 German soldiers involved, 6,698 were casualties including 3,352 killed. Allied losses were equally grim, with the Army and Navy suffering a combined loss of over 3,500 dead and nearly 2,000 wounded, while 11,835 became prisoners. Student’s career and reputation had been dealt a terrible blow. He was not decorated for his role in the battle and had no personal contact with either Hitler or Luftwaffe chief Hermann Göring for nearly a year. His forces would never undertake another major airborne operation, and for the rest of the war they would fight with distinction alongside the infantry. Within a short time, Crete’s strategic importance had diminished; the airfields that had cost the lives of so many were rarely used for offensive action. The Nazi policy of terror instigated by Ringel continued unabated during the occupation, with over 3,500 Cretans shot in reprisal for partisan operations. In 1944, when German forces abandoned Greece, the garrison on Crete was left besieged by local forces until it was, ironically, rescued by the British after the surrender in May 1945.

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EVERY AMERICAN SOLDIER WHO JUMPED INTO North Africa, Europe, the Philippines, and other combat zones around the globe during World War II had to first learn his trade at Fort Benning, Georgia. For one month, soldiers went through tough physical training as well as classes and demonstrations on how to hurl themselves out of perfectly good airplanes. They started off learning to fold and pack parachutes. Then, it was a week of jumping into piles of sawdust from mock doors four feet off the ground. Halfway through the training, the troopers jumped out of 30- and 250-foot towers. Attached to parachute harnesses to cushion their falls, they learned the stomach churning experience of falling helplessly until the wires slowed their speed. They also learned how to collapse their chutes while fighting against a wind machine. To earn their jump wings, the paratroopers had to make five jumps out

of a Douglas C-47 cargo plane. They climbed aboard, 25 men to a plane, and waited anxiously to get airborne. The jumpmaster ordered, “Stand up and hook up!” For each man’s parachute there was a line attached to a metal clip that the men would attach to another line strung up within the length of the cabin. Once the men jumped out of the plane, their line would pull against the cabin’s line and release their parachutes. From that point on, it was all physics. The unfurling parachute would catch the plane’s prop blast and inflate. The fall would be jolted to what felt like a standstill, and the men would begin swaying to and fro until they touched down. Those lucky few who completed the training were presented with a certificate recognizing their status as qualified parachutists and the coveted Airborne wings to wear on their chest. Now, they were ready to jump behind enemy lines anywhere around the world.

AIRBORNE!

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The U.S. Army’s elite infantry had to earn their wings before they could leap into battle. BY KEVIN M. HYMEL

ABOVE: New recruits wearing soft headgear board a C-47 for their first practice jump. LEFT: Boom! Airborne artillerymen fire off a round from their 105mm howitzer during a battle simulation.

ABOVE: A paratrooper prepares to jump from a mock tower while instructors look on. Students were taught to put their hands outside the plane door before jumping. If they kept their hands inside, the instructors would push them aside and let the other students jump. LEFT: An instructor demonstrates how to collapse a parachute to a class of Airborne hopefuls at Fort Benning. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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In Normandy on the night of June 5/6, 1944, the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division overcame countless SNAFUs to take a key village.

TARGET:

SAINTE-MERE-EGLISE BY FLINT WHITLOCK 52

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www.jamesdietz.com

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Seize the Day by Jim Dietz shows men from the 505th Regiment, 82nd Airborne in Sainte-Mère-Église, the parachute of trooper John Steele still hanging from the church tower in the background.

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T

HE NIGHT OF JUNE 5/6, 1944, was pretty much like every other night since the Germans had occupied Normandy and the Cotentin Peninsula in the summer of 1940: dark, quiet, chilly, and mostly boring. While there had been innumerable overflights by Allied aircraft (probably taking reconnaissance photos) and the occasional aerial bombing, Normandy was still considered good duty for anyone who had had his fill of war on the Eastern Front and was recovering from wounds psychological and physical. Here in Normandy there was plenty to eat and drink (especially Calvados, the strong brandy made from apples), scenery that hadn’t been mostly destroyed by heavy fighting, and French people who seemed to, if not exactly warmly welcome, at least be resigned to and tolerate the presence of foreign soldiers on their soil. When not on actual watch, looking for the first signs of an invasion that might or might not come to this location, the soldiers in Normandy had busied themselves by following Field Marshal Erwin Rommel’s orders to so strongly fortify the coast that the Allied invaders would not stand a chance, that they would, as Rommel had put it, be driven back into the sea. This night, with the peninsula cloaked in darkness, and the farmers and villagers fast asleep beneath the cloudobscured moon and the German soldiers—who were on watch in their observation bunkers straining with the help BELOW: During the German occupation of Sainte-Mere-Eglise, two German soldiers on a motorcycle pose for the cameraman in front of city hall. RIGHT: Men of the 82nd adjust gear before boarding their transports on June 5, 1944. All Photos: National Archives, except as noted.

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of strong French coffee to keep their eyelids open and scan the black horizon or sound asleep in their barracks or making love to their French mistresses—had no idea what was about to hit them. A glance at a map of northwest France reveals a basic truth: there are no large cities in the arc between Cherbourg and Caen; only Carentan, Montebourg, Bayeux, and Valognes can be regarded as sizable. A spiderweb of roads connect one town and village and hamlet to another. One town at the center of a web of roads is Sainte-Mère-Église. But the roads—mostly narrow farm roads suitable for bringing produce to market or for driving herds of slow-moving cows from the barn to the fields and back again—also made it hard to move large formations of military vehicles and large numbers of troops. For centuries—ever since the Vikings or Normans first set foot here, giving the region its name of Normandie—the area has been pastoral and bucolic, with time measured by seasons rather than by the clock. The sturdy homes, shops, and churches are built solidly of stone—a whitish-grayishyellowish limestone native to the region, capable of fending off the strong winds that blow in fiercely from the North Atlantic and sometimes rattle the shutters and windowpanes. Although treated to the same warm currents that can give southern England a semi-tropical feel (there are, after all, palm trees growing along the English Channel), the winds can sometimes be bitter, and the cold can penetrate

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through multiple layers of fabric like a gunshot. The people, too, like their buildings, are a sturdy lot. Hard-working like any agrarian populace, the dour Normans typically rise at (or before dawn), put in a full day’s worth of physical work, eat a hearty dinner topped off with a glass or two of Calvados, and retire at sunset. The stolid citizens of Normandy were not happy, of course, when, in June 1940, the gray-uniformed Germans marched in and took over, but they accepted their fate the way they accepted most everything that came their way. For the most part, they did not go out of their way to welcome the occupiers, nor did they collaborate with them. They merely tolerated them and went about their usual business of growing the apples that went into the making of Calvados, pulling fish from the Channel, and pasturing their cows, extracting the milk to make into cheese. It was Sainte-Mère-Église, roughly halfway between Montebourg and Carantan, that had caught the eye of American military planners as early as 1942. Control Sainte-Mère-Église and you control the Cotentin, the planners saw. No fewer than five roads pass through it, plus it was only seven miles from the westernmost amphibious landing beach known as Utah. Drop an airborne division or two, along with their glider-infantry regiments, into the area and you stood a good chance of preventing German reinforcements from Cherbourg in the north and Brittany in the west from slamming into the troops coming ashore at Utah. The western end of the 60-mile-long beachhead that ran from La Madeleine to Ouistreham would thus be secure and the seaborne troops could move inland after overcoming local German opposition. Yes, Sainte-Mère-Église would definitely have

With faces blackened and their divisional insignia obscured by a censor’s brush, these smiling, heavily laden paratroopers prepare to board their transport plane, June 5, 1944.

to be taken in the early hours of D-Day. In the days before D-Day, Alexandre Renaud was a man with a dilemma. Besides his full-time job as the local pharmacist, the World War I veteran was also the mayor of Sainte-Mère-Église and, as such, he was expected by the occupiers to cooperate with them—and by his constituents to resist. Whenever the Germans gave him an order to do something, such as provide tools, transportation, and laborers to assist in the building of some defensive work, and he could find no one willing to perform the work, punishments would follow. In May 1944 the Germans were demanding all sorts of things. It was obvious that the local Germans were expecting an invasion and that Sainte-Mère-Église would likely be caught up in it. The roads through the town were filled with trucks towing artillery pieces and carrying troops in all directions. In the fields cordoned off by hedgerows, holes were being dug and large poles were being planted—Rommelspargel (Rommel’s Asparagus) some wag called them— designed to discourage glider landings. Trenches were being dug, and anti-aircraft guns emplaced. When Renaud spoke clandestinely with townspeople, everyone seemed to have an opinion: the Allies—if and when they attack—will cross at the Pas de Calais, Cherbourg, Le Havre, Dieppe, Boulogne, Dunquerque. Brittany will be the target. No, it will be the Cotentin. Ridiculous— the Allies will feint at Normandy but land on the Belgian coast. Few thought that Sainte-Mère-Église was in any real WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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order to find a few tools. They phone the Feldcommandantur at Saint Lô to get instructions about what punitive measures to take. He gives an evasive answer. Discouraged, they finally go to a hardware store where, after threatening to loot everything, they manage to obtain a few tools. Guns are then installed at all the town approaches; on the Carentan road, on the La Fière road, before Capdelaine, on the Ravenoville road. “Then, suddenly, three days after their installation, the guns are taken away, and I am asked to provide transport immediately to haul ammunition and food to Saint Cômedu-Mont . . . . Sainte-Mère-Église is once again alone with its anti-aircraft unit.” The invasion—Operation Overlord, with the airborne phase known as Neptune—had been delayed for a day because of a fierce storm that had swept over England, the English Channel, and the Normandy coast, but now it was back on. At RAF airfields with such quaint, typically English names as Upottery, Cottesmore, Down Ampney, Tarrant Rushton, Greenham Common, Barkston Heath, Brize Norton, and others, superbly trained British, American, and Canadian paratroopers and glider infantrymen waited for the orders to go. The U.S. 82nd and 101st and British 6th Airborne Divisions had been training for months in anticipation of just this moment. Despite some SHAEF staff officers’ worries that the American airborne and glider operations would meet with disaster, everything that could have been done to ensure success was done. The maps, aerial photos, and sand table models of each unit’s objectives had been carefully studied and memoIn a somewhat fanciful representation of D-Day, a combat artist shows Waco CG- rized. Each plane had its precise sched4A gliders mixed in with the aerial invasion force. ule as to when it was to take off. All the necessary equipment had been gathered and issued. Knives and bayonets had been sharpened, faces blackened with burnt cork, last letters home written, last prayers said. The advance U.S. assault wave that would strike Normandy before the seaborne troops arrived numbered about 17,000 men being carried by 822 C-47 transport planes. They were the dice that American Generals Eisenhower and Bradley were willing to throw. Although the overwhelming majority of the sky soldiers had never been in combat before, and had only an inkling of what to expect once they reached France and the bullets began to fly, they were supremely confident of victory. Sergeant Spencer Wurst, an 82nd Airborne trooper, spoke for them all when danger unless Allied bombers decided to target the anti-aircraft batteries that were being installed around the town. After all, air attacks had struck at the bridges at Beuzeville la Bastille and Les Moitiers en Bauptois. Someone else pointed out that leaflets were recently dropped over the area hinting at paratroop landings and showing illustrations of Allied tanks and jeeps and what British and American paratrooper uniforms looked like, and giving instructions on what to do in the event of an invasion. The Allies are probably dropping them all over France, someone else pointed out, just to keep the Germans guessing. Renaud noted that the digging of trenches around SainteMère-Église was almost completed, but that the Germans didn’t seem to be in any rush. “With the means of punishment at its disposal,” he said, “[the German command] could have made the work go five times as fast, and could have demanded that it should be done by June 1st.” Throughout May, the presence of German troops increased. Renaud said, “We have seen encamped in our fields infantry, artillerymen, Aryan Germans, and also Georgians and Mongols with Asiatic features ... commanded by German officers. In the latter part of May, the artillery units quarter in Gambosville [less than a mile south of Sainte-Mère -Eglise]. The officers come to see me at the Town Hall. They need spades, picks and saws immediately. The town is to be secured, and the work has to be finished in five days. “I reply that there are no more spades or saws in the neighborhood and that they will have to canvass all the houses in

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he said, “It may seem naïve now, but at no time did we ever dream that we would not be successful in Normandy. We never even mentioned the possibility of defeat. The commanders may have agreed among themselves that if the beaches were not held successfully, everyone who could get out would head for Sainte-Mère-Église. But down at my level, absolutely nothing was said about withdrawal or evacuation.” “That evening [June 5] we got the word that we were going,” said Henry “Duke” Boswell, G Company, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne. “They took us out to the planes in city buses; they didn’t have enough trucks. It was hard to get in the buses with all our equipment. We got to the plane and Lt. Col. [Ed] Krause, 3rd Battalion C.O., came around and talked to us, and every other word he had to say was a curse word; I guess he was a good leader, but I sure didn’t like that part of his personality.” Boswell also remembered that Krause held up an American flag and said, ‘This was the flag we raised over Naples when we took Naples, and when you meet me in SainteMère-Église, we’re going to raise this flag there.’ We loaded up [on the plane] and we were nervous. Some of the guys tried to joke, but most of the guys were quiet. Some of them had been in combat before and some hadn’t; we had had a lot of replacements. Everybody was just kind of thinking their own thoughts.” On the flightlines of a dozen British airfields, the C-47s began to roll, then took off into the dark sky and headed

Their faces displaying a variety of emotions, these paratroopers from the 101st Airborne prepare to take off in a C47 “Skytrain” on D-Day.

for France. The invasion was on, and no force of man or nature could turn it back now. Because of the German-imposed curfew, the town of Sainte-Mère-Église, like all the towns in Normandy, was dark and shuttered tightly on the night of June 5, 1944. Mayor Renaud was awakened shortly after midnight by the distant thumping of anti-aircraft batteries. As a precaution, he herded his wife and children into the family’s makeshift bomb shelter when there came a pounding on his door. Renaud opened it to find the town’s fire chief standing there in his shiny brass helmet, anxiously informing him that the two-story home belonging to the Hairon family, just off the southeast corner of the town square, was ablaze. The chief asked the mayor if he could get the commandant to lift the curfew. Renaud said he would try. He hurried to German headquarters at the town hall, explained the situation to the duty sergeant who, without waking the commandant, gave Renaud permission to call out the volunteer fire department and citizen bucket brigade to help extinguish the fire. German guards were also called out to stand watch over the volunteers and make sure no acts of sabotage were committed. Renaud then dashed to the parish house and asked Father Louis Roulland to have the sexton toll the bell as a means WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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loved ones and, no doubt, were feeling sorry for ourselves as we knew what would soon be happening. We wondered how many of us would survive. Lieutenant Grabbe sensed the tension and he loudly shouted, ‘Hey, fellows, how about some songs?’ “That broke the silence. Someone started with ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart,’ then ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else But Me,’ then ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas.’ And so it went as we sang many more oldies for the next 10 or so minutes. It was great, as it relaxed us, and took our minds off ourselves and the coming danger.” Milkovics said, “I sat there thinking, ‘Boy, that Grabbe— he is one smart cookie.’ Under our kind of pressure, I doubt if any other stick leader thought to do this. I will never forget the intelligence and smart thinking of our lieutenant.” Unfortunately, Grabbe would die of wounds suffered in the upcoming battle. Sergeant Otis Sampson, E/505/82nd, remembered his flight being quiet, no singing, “each man with his own thoughts as the plane winged its way to our rendezvous; each second drew us closer. As we crossed the coast of Normandy we stood up and hooked up. I saw no guns firing below. Everything was going good, too good for my liking; it seemed we were going into a trap. Being near the open door, I could see the moon-drenched countryside below, with no sign of life. I stood with perfect control of my mind and body as the plane went into a dive.... We leveled off and then went Aerial photo of Sainte-Mère-Église after its capture. Note American military into another dive. By this time we were vehicles lining the main street. well inland; the plane slowed down. It looked so peaceful below. I never expected it to be that way.” In the lead ship was the 82nd’s assistant division commander Jumpin’ Jim Gavin; he would be jumping with the 508th. He wrote in his memoirs, “We began to receive small-arms fire from the ground. It seemed harmless enough; it sounded like pebbles landing on a tin roof. I had experienced it before [over Sicily] and knew what it was.” Shortly after the planes entered the airspace over the Cotentin, they flew into a bank of thick clouds. Sergeant Elmer Wisherd, a flight engineer in a C-47 carrying elements of the 101st, recalled the heart-stopping moments when his formation hit the clouds: “I can’t figure out how we went through those clouds without collisions or damage to the planes. Then we came of alerting the citizenry. Soon more than a hundred men and women, some still in their nightclothes, had assembled outside the church to form a line of buckets from the pump at one end of the Place de l’Église to the firemen at the scene of the fire some 50 yards away. Some 30 well-armed German soldiers stood watch over them. While the British 6th Airborne Division was crossing the Channel toward its objectives at two bridges over the Orne River and Canal and the casemated guns at Merville on the far eastern flank of the 60-mile-long invasion area, the paratroopers of Matthew Ridgway’s 82nd Airborne Division— “Mission Boston”—were following the C-47s that were carrying Maxwell Taylor’s 101st Airborne troopers. The invasion route took the airborne armada to the western side of England, then south toward the Channel Islands, finally east across the Cotentin Peninsula. The C-47s were in formation and traveling at 130 mph; as they approached the drop zones, the pilots would reduce speed to about 110 mph or less. In a C-47 that was carrying 18 paratroopers from Company H, 508th PIR, 82nd Airborne, Lieutenant Victor Grabbe was leading his men in song, even though the tune and lyrics were swallowed up by the sound of the engines. One of Grabbe’s men, Lew Milkovics, recalled, “All was quiet for a time while we were flying over the Channel. Most of us, like myself, I am sure had our thoughts on our

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out and started getting AA fire. I could see the other planes around us taking ground fire. We went back up through the clouds; it was quite a layer of clouds. And we came out in formation! How we did it I have no idea. Our pilots were the best, all instrumentrated pilots. There was no talking between planes whatsoever—complete radio silence. But I’ll tell you, it was ‘pucker’ when you’re going through clouds and you can’t see the airplanes around you and all at once you pop out on top and here you are, still in formation. Then we dropped to 800 feet. It was clear over the drop zone.” At the controls of a C-47 loaded with 82nd Airborne troopers was 1st Lt. Bill Thompson. Despite the months of training, he recalled that many of the other pilots panicked when they All that remained of a C-47 that crashed and burned in Normandy. flew into the clouds and when the ground fire began to reach up for them. Many broke formation, swerving wildly to avoid the Richardson, H/508/82nd, recalled, “When we arrived at ordnance, suddenly accelerating, or violently going into the drop zone in France, I looked down at the DZ and saw it was covered with tracers. I felt that we should not land steep dives or sudden climbs. “I could see the tracers in front of us,” Thompson said. in that area and I told the pilot not to slow down but to “They were leading us too much since they probably were keep going, which he did. Soon, the English Channel not used to firing at slow-flying aircraft. We did not get hit became visible on the other side of the peninsula. We had so finally I let down some more and broke out of the clouds. an order that no airborne troops could return to England I could see the water on the other side.... My right wingman [by plane] once they had left. The area that I looked at then saw the water and I guess he got excited and started drop- was clear of tracers and we did the jump there; this was near the small city of Bayeux.” But Bayeux was over 30 ping [his paratroopers] before I signaled him to.” Lieutenant Edward V. Ott, Headquarters, 2/508/82nd, miles from H Company’s drop zone. James Eads, another 82nd paratrooper, remembered said that he felt the drop “was doomed to be a disaster when the C-47 pilot began to take evasive action to avoid vividly that his C-47 was receiving heavy AA fire on the the heavy flak. He gave us the green light when the plane run in. “We had been hit at the worst time by flak and was in a climbing attitude as the engines roared at top machine-gun fire. We were off target. The green light came speed. When I jumped, the prop blast was so severe that it on and the troopers started out of the plane. The fifteenth tore off my pack and equipment so that when I hit the man had equipment trouble. After some delay trying to fix ground, the only weapon I had was my jump knife. I did- his rig, I—being the 16th and last man to go out—bailed out on a dead run.” n’t see any other member of my stick.” Glen C. Drake, H/508/82nd, said, “I knew there was no Sergeant Ed Barnes, a communications section leader in 3/507/82nd, had dozed off during the hour-long flight but one more anxious to get out of the plane than I. After hookwas awakened as the aircraft closed in on France. “We were ing my static line to the steel cable that ran the length of the given the signal to stand up and hook up and check one plane, I had to hang on to the cable and the side of the plane another’s equipment. We were all standing there poised and to stay on my feet. I was next to last of our stick, and I was looking at the red light, waiting for it to turn green. As we wondering if I would get out.” At last the green light came on and the line of heavily peered out the door, we could see the flak and tracer bullets coming up out of the darkness. Then the light turned laden men began moving toward the door and disappearing into the night. “It seemed to take forever,” Drake said. green and we started to pile out the door.” As the jump master in his plane, Lieutenant J. Phil “All the way back to the door we had to struggle to stay on WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Author Photo

quickly and became really heavy while our feet and I was thinking, ‘God we tried to wait it out. The ship was damn it, let’s go, let’s go, let’s get the getting pinged from all sides. The noise hell out of this damn plane before it became awesome, an indeterminate goes down!’ mix of twin engines, flak hitting the “When I finally went out the door, I wings and fuselage, and men yelling, knew right away I had jumped from ‘Let’s go!’ But still the green light did the frying pan into the fire! It was a not come on.” night jump, but the hundreds of white To Burns the aircraft “was bouncing phosphorous flares floating on small like some wild bronco. A ticking sound parachutes turned the night into day. danced across the bottom side of the What a field day those Krauts had— plane as machine-gun rounds found like shooting fish in a barrel!” us. It became hard to stand up while Sergeant Spencer Wurst, F/505/82nd, the pilots tried to maneuver and troopwasn’t happy about the haphazard ers lost their footing and fell down. nature of the drop. The discipline They fought to get back up. Other acquired over many months of training jumpers had to help them but they with the C-47 crews seemed to have could hardly remain standing themevaporated in the heat of the moment, selves. Some were getting sick, I know, as pilot after pilot broke formation in because the stench of vomit drifted my an effort to avoid the ground fire. way from somewhere else. It was one Hopelessly lost, and under orders not Courtesy Vincent Wolf Courtesy Otis Sampson hell of a ride. With all the training we’d to bring any paratroopers back to Enghad, there was still nothing that could land with them, some pilots simply have prepared a soldier for this event. flipped the switch that turned on the I wondered if anyone of us would get green “jump” light—whether or not out of the plane alive.” they were over their designated DZ. The fire at the Hairon house was not Wurst said, “As it turned out, 2nd anywhere close to being contained. Battalion, 505, had the best drop of all And then they heard it, the citizens and six regiments in the American airborne the soldiers. Above the church bells effort. We knew exactly where we and the noise of the fire and the peowere, we knew what we had to do, and TOP: A dummy representing Private ple fighting it came the sound of airwe proceeded to do just that.” Steele, F Company, 505th PIR, craft, at first far off to the west but In his C-47, Dwayne Burns, John 82nd Airborne Division, still hangs quickly growing closer and louder F/508/82nd, was becoming more and from the steeple of the church in more anxious as the moment to jump Sainte-Mère-Église. In actuality, Steele until it was a wall of thunder beating the air directly overhead. People grew nearer. The red warning light by hung from the opposite side of the LOWER LEFT: Lieutenant Vin- looked up and out of the blackness the door suddenly came on, meaning steeple. cent E. Wolf, 82nd Airborne Division, there came human forms floating that they were just minutes away from photographed in an English studio down beneath mottled green parabeing given the “go” signal. The jump prior to D-Day. LOWER RIGHT: chutes! They were American paramaster in Burns’s plane “was hanging Sergeant Otis Sampson, E Company, PIR, 82nd Airborne Division, troopers, and they had come to liberout the door, trying to see how far we 505th was deadly with a mortar. ate a continent. were from land, when our airship All across Normandy in the early entered a cloud cover and the pilots started to spread out. Most pulled up and tried going over hours of D-Day, chaos reigned. Small groups and indithe top. It was going to be bad for jumpers because we vidual parachutists jumped into German positions and would be widely dispersed at landing, but the aircrew fought pitched battles with the enemy in the dark. Some needed to avoid possible collisions. No one wanted to be troops landed in trees and dangled helplessly until they could either cut themselves down with their combat knives taken out of action that way. “It seems we stood in position for a long time before our or were shot to death by the Germans. Others drowned flight began picking up flak; it was light at the beginning. in flooded fields, pulled underwater by their heavy equipAt least I knew we were finally over the coastline. Then our ment. Flaming transport planes crashed or exploded in waiting for the green light really started. The flak grew midair. Farmhouses became fortresses, bridges barriers, 60

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and roadways killing zones. The enemy had no idea of the scope of the airborne assault and fought back furiously, aware that their—and Germany’s—very existence depended on defeating the Allied paratroopers who seemed to be behind every tree, building, and hedgerow. In some cases, Soviet POWs, who had been impressed into German service, fought as fiercely as their German overseers but, given the opportunity, were more likely than not to surrender at the first opportunity. German commanders sent frantic messages back to higher headquarters where the captains and majors and colonels had no better idea interpreting what was transpiring than did the average Ländser in his foxhole. Almost nowhere was the scene more chaotic than at Sainte-Mère-Église. Spencer Wurst, F/505/82nd, was one of those dropping over the town. “The first thing I remember seeing as I descended was a large spire in a bunch of buildings that later proved to be Sainte-Mère-Église,” he said. “To my surprise, there were fires in the town. Almost immediately after—these things happen in microseconds—I started receiving very heavy light flak and machine-gun fire from the ground. This was absolutely terrifying. The tracers looked as if they were going to take the top of my head off, but they were actually coming up at an angle. Many rounds tore through my chute only a few feet above my body. “The third thing I remember is the explosions on the ground, making me fear that the Germans had already zeroed in on our DZ. I later found out that these explo-

ABOVE: Troopers of the 505th PIR run for the door of the church in Sainte-Mère-Église as German artillery lands in the town on June 6, 1944.

sions resulted from our mine bundles. Either the speed of the plane pulled the chutes off, or the bundles dropped faster than expected, and the impact bent the safety clips on the fuses, causing them to explode.” Another paratrooper, Pfc. Ernest Blanchard, was floating down over the town when a buddy next to him, loaded with a mine or demolitions, exploded and completely disintegrated right in front of him. Duke Boswell, G/505/82nd, recalled, “When we jumped, we floated over the edge of the town. There was fire coming up. We could see the tracers from the machine guns. And you know for every tracer round you can see there’s about ten bullets in between. When they went by you, they’d pop and made you kind of jump. It’s funny—you jump with 10,000 troops and you hit the ground and you’re all alone. That’s a hell of a thing. For a moment or so, you’re right there by yourself, period. We actually hit our designated target, right outside Sainte-Mère-Église. I think that all of the other units, including the pathfinders that went in ahead of us, missed their targets. I landed within a half a mile of Sainte-Mère-Église, or closer.” Lieutenant Vincent Wolf, a platoon commander in F/505/82nd, also had indelible memories of the drop. “The 2nd Battalion did not land in any of the flooded areas; that was mostly the 1st and 3rd Battalions, so we were WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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them and headed out of town. I ran through the graveyard and ... joined up with the 505th of the 82nd for about the next nine days. I finally rejoined my unit at Carentan.” Most of the parachutists landed safely in the dark fields around Sainte-Mère-Église, but some of them—primarily from F Company, 505th—were coming down in the very center of the town, where the light from the burning Hairon house made it easy for the Germans to spot them. Breaking out of their momentary bewilderment, the German soldiers suddenly unshouldered their Mausers and Schmeisers and began firing up at the descending forms. The paratroops hit the ground or landed in trees or snagged their chutes on utility poles, killed in their harnesses even before they could reach their Thompson sub-machine guns or remove their disassembled rifles from their carrying cases and put them together. It was an unmitigated slaughter. The civilian bucket brigade scattered as the lead flew indiscriminately and a full-scale battle for the town square erupted. But neither the French nor the Germans immediately realized that the parachutists were Americans; most everyone thought they were British. As David Howarth noted in Dawn of D-Day, “The people of Sainte-MèreÉglise, through all their years of listening to the BBC, had never dreamed that their liberators, in the end, would be Americans.” It was only after the American flags sewn onto the sleeves of the dead paratroopers’ jump jackets were seen that the truth became known. One paratrooper was caught in a tree A captain in an 82nd Airborne Division medical unit (right) gives a cigarette to a near the church and was machinewounded German soldier. gunned to death as he struggled to release his harness. Mayor Renaud recalled, “About half a dozen Germans emptied the magazines of their submachine guns into him and the boy hung there with his eyes open, as though looking down at his own bullet holes.” One paratrooper pulled his risers hard to slip away from the gunfire in the square but found himself drifting straight for the burning house. Having jumped from the plane so close to the ground, he had no time to maneuver and dropped into the inferno that was sucking in the air all around it; all the munitions he was carrying detonated. Another of the paratroopers, Private John Steele, a member of Wolf’s platoon, was shot in the foot as he descended, then got his canopy snagged on a corner of the church steeple and dangled there helplessly. lucky. After we landed, we took fire immediately from the Germans; thank God I had my Thompson submachine gun.” Misdropped men from the 101st were also drifting over Sainte-Mère-Église. The jump master of his stick, Lieutenant Charles Santarsiero, 506/101, remembered looking out his C-47’s doorway as the plane neared the town. “I could see fires burning and Krauts running about. There seemed to be total confusion on the ground. All hell had broken loose. Flak and small-arms fire was coming up and those poor guys were caught right in the middle of it.” Earl McClung, E/506/101st, was jumping with a leg bag full of machine-gun and mortar rounds that weighed more than 60 pounds. “I couldn’t lift it,” he said. When he jumped, he noticed that he was coming down above a town where a major fire was burning; it was Sainte-Mère-Église, and he was many miles from his intended DZ. “I landed on the roof of a small Catholic shrine about a block and a half west of the church. I hit that roof and bounced off. It was pretty hectic for the first few seconds. Two Germans were running toward me. I guess they saw me coming down, but they were shooting at my chute that was on this little roof. I jumped with my M-1 assembled and in my hands. It was no contest—they were only a few feet away and I took care of those guys. At least I think I did; I didn’t wait around long enough to make sure. I went on by

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With all the wild gunfire going on below him, Steele decided that the best thing he could do was play dead. A German soldier, Corporal Rudolph May, was up in the church’s bell tower when the airborne attack came. Noticing Steele dangling outside one of the openings in the steeple, May said, “There was a man hanging there, suspended. He hung there like he was dead—but after a while he started moving. Then we also heard him sighing.” May’s comrade raised his weapon as if to shoot him, but May stopped him. He decided to try and cut the suspension lines of Steele’s chute. After he had cut several, he threw Steele a rope by which he could lower himself to the ground and be taken prisoner. The exact number of paratroopers who came down in Sainte-Mère-Église is unknown, but Cornelius Ryan estimated it to be no more than 30, with about 20 of that number landing in and around the church square. Lieutenant Colonel Ed Krause patted the pocket of his jump jacket to make sure it was still there. “It” was the flag he had raised over the Naples city hall eight months earlier and he had sworn to repeat that act here in Sainte-MèreÉglise—if he lived to do so. On the outskirts of town, Krause, from Green Bay, Wisconsin, and commander of 3rd Battalion, 505/82nd, surveyed the ville which, minutes before, had been in an uproar, what with a fire blazing, parachutists dropping here, there, and everywhere, and bullets flying. One of those who landed with Krause’s battalion was Pfc.

A unit of 82nd Airborne Division troopers advances past a knocked-out M4 Sherman tank along a hedgerow in Normandy.

Leslie P. Cruise, Jr., H/505/82nd. He said, “We could hear sounds of machine-gun and rifle fire all around, but nothing was from our immediate location. We had secured our area and were waiting orders to move, which came after the confrontation with a civilian who had been convinced to join our group by a group of troopers. With the assistance of our newfound friend we moved out toward Sainte-MèreÉglise with G Company in the lead, followed by H and I Company groups. Some groups were missing by the planeload, and we had no idea where they were, but we could not wait for them because time was very important to the success of the mission.” Krause had nearly 200 men with him, hiding in the weeds and in the hedgerows and behind buildings, preparing to enter the town. Without first making a house-tohouse search, Krause and his men would slip into the town with their rifles empty, using only knives and grenades if they should encounter the enemy. That way, if any flashes were spotted in the dark, they would know it was the enemy doing the firing and be able to pinpoint the location. Krause knew that it was a dangerous gamble, but one he had to take. Spencer Wurst made a hard landing in a field outside of Sainte-Mère-Église, hurting his back and hips. “If it had WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Wolf said that, after landing, “We cleaned out buildings, ran into groups of Germans who were well-trained—German paratroopers [6th Fallschirmjäger Regiment]—who were tough guys.” Also moving toward Sainte-Mère-Église, Sergeant Otis Sampson, E/505/82nd, noted that the night sky was still filled with paratroopers. “Troopers came raining down to the rear of us,” he said. “My heart was in my throat, afraid that the first ones out would be hit by the lower-flying planes as they floated to earth, and there were some pretty close calls.” At the battalion assembly point on the outskirts of town, Sampson came across the injured Lt. Col. Benjamin Vandervoort, his battalion commander. “He had his back against a wall and his legs outstretched,” Sampson said. “He filled me in, saying, ‘Some of the planes have become lost. I have sent out to gather what men and equipment we have; we’ve got the situation in hand.’ He paused for a spell and then said, ‘I came down quite hard on this leg,’ running his hand along his left one. ‘I’ve done something to it; I’ve sent for a medic.’” Sampson said, “I could see he was in pain. There was nothing I could do for him, so I turned to go. ‘I’m proud to have you with us,’ he said as I walked away. It is me who should be telling him that, with a busted leg and still in control of the situation; it was a nice compliment.” Spencer Wurst also saw Vandervoort. “He had broken his ankle in the jump and was hopping around on one leg, using a rifle as a crutch.” Broken leg or not, Vandervoort had come to France to fight and lead his battalion, and that was what he was going to do. The 505th’s exec officer, Mark Alexander, The bodies of three German soldiers killed in the fighting in Normandy. described Vandervoort as “a hell of a good battalion commander, but he was hard-headed as hell.” Vincent Wolf recalled that Vandervoort “had a broken ankle but he wouldn’t let that slow him down. He was the greatest guy alive—great, great, great, great. We always called him ‘Ben,’ never ‘colonel.’ He’d give you a rap on the head if you saluted him in combat. I was the same way; I told my men ‘Never salute me,’ because that gives away to the enemy who the officers are, and then you’d get picked off by snipers. That’s what we did with the Germans. Once you knocked their non-coms off, the privates, hell, they didn’t know what to do. We could improvise a lot quicker than they could. been a training jump,” he said, “I would have sought medical attention; I didn’t have that luxury. Before I even attempted to get out of my chute, I crawled over to the nearest hedgerow to get some cover. I pulled my pistol out, put it beside me, and went to work on the buckles of my chute.” As he lay there, Wurst saw C-47s above him seemingly coming from all different directions and taking AA fire. He then saw a green star cluster. “This was the sign that someone in the battalion command group had reached the battalion assembly location.” With pain in his back and hips, he hobbled off in that direction and met up with his platoon leader, Lieutenant Joe Holcomb. Despite the darkness at the battalion assembly point, Holcomb could see a standing paratrooper. Not wanting to give the position away, Holcomb told Wurst to tell that soldier to get down and take cover. Wurst said he hollered at the individual. “I don’t know about the politeness of the language I used. As the individual turned toward me, I saw two big stars. It was General Ridgway. That was the first and last time I tried to chew out the general.” As a platoon commander in the 82nd, Lieutenant Vincent Wolf was supposed to be in charge of 40 men, but his platoon was scattered from hell to breakfast. Strangely, he didn’t mind. “If you had two or three guys together,” he explained, “it was a lot easier because you knew what you were going to do, instead of worrying about 30 or 40 other guys and what the hell they’re doing; you could get yourself lost in the dark a lot easier with 30 or 40 other guys. And if you have a small group and you see the enemy, it’s easier to knock them off with a knife.”

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“I knew that we were supposed to free the French people, but I was more concerned about my men and me. The men first—where the hell were they? How many guys have survived? Out of the 18 that jumped with me, Russ Brown, my 60mm mortarman, he’s the only one that survived. There were Germans all around. It was a matter of survival—who saw who first.” Vandervoort nabbed a couple of 101st men with a cart to haul him to his battalion’s objective. His mission was to get to Sainte-Mère-Église and that’s just what he intended to do, broken leg or not. As Lt. Col. Krause’s group crept closer to the town, it looked like everything was over; the fire was out, the townsfolk had returned to their homes, and the German soldiers had also vacated the square by the big church, apparently thinking the battle was over, not just beginning. Smoke still filled the air and the bodies of dead paratroopers hung from trees and poles or lay sprawled on the pavement. With stealth and silence the Americans slipped into town, found a building that was being used as a German barracks, and took 30 soldiers prisoner; 10 others were killed when they resisted. The Yanks also found the main communications cable to Cherbourg and destroyed it, then established a defense around the town’s perimeter. Although he didn’t immediately know where he was other than somewhere in northern France, Duke Boswell did his best to round up other troopers. “My mission was just to get our group together and move into Sainte-Mère-Église.

A destroyed German self-propelled gun smolders along the road leading from Neuville-au-Plain to Sainte-Mère-Église. Private John E. Atchley, H Company, 505th PIR, was credited with destroying the assault gun with a 57mm antitank gun—the first time he had ever fired one. His courageous stand caused the Germans to halt their armored counterattack against Sainte-Mère-Église.

I put a flashlight on top of a pole—several sections that fit together—about 20 feet high. I think the lens was colored— red or green. The idea was to stick it in the ground so the troops could see it as an assembly point. We found somebody right quick-like, and then we got several more together. I assembled most of my squad and we got a few more and then one of the officers got there. The officer took charge and we went into Sainte-Mère-Église. “We had certain positions around the town that we were to occupy, and the mission was to hold the village of SainteMère-Église, well, not really the whole village, but the crossroads and a bridge to keep [German] reinforcements from getting to the beach and others at the beach from retreating. Seemed like our whole regiment was in and around Sainte-Mère-Église. We established our position on the edge of town on one of the roads. The first thing we saw when we got there were some of our guys hanging from the trees. They had jumped right over the town, and were shot before they could get out of their chutes.” To hamper the Germans from returning to Sainte-MèreÉglise, Pfc. Leslie Cruise and other paratroopers had set out WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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mines on one of the roads leading into the city, then dug foxholes and set up firing positions to establish a roadblock. After the first gliders began landing in the area, Cruise heard equipment being off-loaded, followed by the sound of an American jeep being started. The jeep, with two soldiers in it, came tearing up the road toward Cruise’s position. The paratroopers tried shouting to warn the jeep’s occupants of the roadblock and mines but the vehicle flew past them at a high rate of speed. Cruise said, “The occupants of the jeep were in a big hurry as we at the roadblock heard their running motor coming in our direction. Above all the noise, the distinct yells at the roadblock of ‘Hit the ground!’ were heard clearly and we all buried ourselves in the dirt of our foxholes. The driver must have thought our men were Germans and was not about to stop. Down the road they rode on full throttle. “KAPOW ! BLOOEY ! BANG ! BOOM !—a deafening crescendo of explosives sounds as a number of our mines blew the jeep and its troopers into the air. All Hell broke loose—flashing lights with pieces of jeep and mine fragments raining down around us. Directly across the middle of our minefield they drove and immediately their direction became vertical, and in an arching skyward path they landed in the hedgerow beyond. We could hear the thump and bangs of falling parts all around us. The men had left the jeep on first impact and they had become the first casualties in our area, but they would not be the last. We had lost about half of our mines, which we had so carefully delivered, and they would be sorely needed in case the Krauts should attack. Those GI’s sure wrecked the hell out of our defenses.” The defenders would indeed need the mines, for it wasn’t long before the Germans tried to retake the town. The sky finally lightened to a gray overcast. Ben Vandervoort decided that he had assembled all of 2nd Battalion that he was likely to gather and so, with about 400 men, including some from the 101st, moved out cross-country toward Sainte-Mère-Église, sending out small patrols to farmhouses and barns to make sure that no German troops were lying in wait. Lieutenant Wolf said, “We went into Sainte-Mère-Église. It was chaos for the simple reason that everybody was all over the place. We didn’t know who was who, who was supposed to do what, where the CP was. Total confusion.” Otis Sampson recalled, “Orders were for us to take Sainte-Mère-Église. It wasn’t known at the time that the city had already been taken by Colonel Krause and was secure in his hands. It was early morning when our group came into the city with our colonel [Vandervoort] on a makeshift two-wheel stretcher. There were paratroopers still hanging from their chutes where they had been caught in the high trees before they could release themselves. 66

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Colonel Vandervoort’s first command: ‘Cut them down!’” In the northern part of town, Krause’s American flag flew proudly from the city hall flagpole. Next door, at the large hospital/hospice, 505th surgeon Robert “Doc” Franco and his medics set up shop, caring for Americans, Germans, and civilians alike. “I was there from about 4 am until noon. During that time we treated about 30 or 40 casualties. Somebody came in and told me that about a mile away there was a farmhouse loaded with wounded guys. The family who lived there was doing the best they could to care for them. I walked to that farmhouse and, sure ‘nough, all around the outside there were dozens of wounded guys, some of them badly wounded. There were a few inside, too, in this large room. I was alone, with nobody to help me.” Franco himself would himself be wounded a few days later. But if the Germans thought the onslaught ended with the paratroopers, they couldn’t have been more wrong; the glider force was on the way. By the next day, June 7, Sainte-Mère-Église was still in 82nd Division hands, but no one knew how long the Yanks could hold if the Germans decided to counterattack in force. Vandervoort’s 2nd Battalion, 505th, was supposed to have moved up to Neuville-au-Plain to prevent the enemy from attacking from the north, but a German assault from the south compelled General Ridgway to order the bulk of 2nd Battalion to remain in SainteMère-Église and reinforce Krause’s 3rd Battalion there. Vandervoort decided on his own, however, to send a reinforced platoon to Neuville-au-Plain to forestall any attack from that direction. General Gavin later called Vandervoort’s move “one of the best tactical decisions in the battle of Normandy,” for it was there that the Germans were gathering for a panzer-and-infantry assault. First Lieutenant Turner B. Turnbull III, a half-Cherokee, took 44 men up the N-13 highway from Sainte-Mère-Église to Neuville-au-Plain, pushed out the German defenders, then prepared for the counterattack. Vandervoort, in a jeep towing a 57mm gun, joined him. Receiving word from a civilian that a group of paratroopers were approaching from the north with a captured self-propelled gun and a large number of German POWs, Turnbull and his colonel watched and waited. Before long, the group was seen coming down the road. It was a trick. The “POWs” turned out to be well-armed Germans, and the “paratroopers” were either Germans in American uniforms that had been stripped from the dead or were real Americans who had been captured by the Germans. At any rate, the SP gun, and more behind it, began blasting Turnbull’s positions in Neuville-au-Plain, along with mortars and small arms. Vandervoort told Turnbull to delay the enemy for as long as possible, then withdraw back to Sainte-Mère-Église; the colonel then departed to alert the

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troops in Sainte-Mère-Église that the enemy was coming. Turnbull’s men fought off the assault by the 1058th Infantry Regiment, reinforced, 91st Air-Landing Division. The battle lasted all day, with Turnbull’s outnumbered force giving as good as it got. At one point a soldier, Private John Atchley, manning a 57mm gun he had never fired before, knocked out a German SP gun, but the enemy was flanking the Americans on both sides. Sergeant Otis Sampson, located south of Neuville, personally dropped mortar rounds on the enemy threatening Turnbull’s platoon; his aim was on target and his platoon leader, Lieutenant Ted Peterson, called Sampson “the greatest and most accurate mortar sergeant in the business.” At about 5 PM, the time came to withdraw, given the fact that Turnbull had only 16 effectives remaining out of his original number. But it was too late for him. Lieutenant James Coyle, E/505, recalled, “We engaged the enemy and prevented him from going any further in his plan of encirclement. We were able to hold them even though we were outnumbered, while Turnbull got his surviving men out of Neuville-au-Plain and on the way back to Sainte-MèreÉglise.” Turnbull never made it. Pfc. Stanley Kotlarz remembered a terrible shelling during the pull-back: “When [the shell] hit, all of us seemed to go up in the air. I got hit in the wrist and in the arm. A guy by the name of Brown got hit in the head. And Lieutenant Turnbull, it sheered the top of his head right off. When I got up, I saw Brown crawling away, staggering. Turnbull was lying there with his brains peeling

Dead American paratroopers gathered in a field by a Graves Registration unit prior to burial.

out of his head.” For his valor, Turnbull received the Silver Star, posthumously. The 82nd retook Neuville-au-Plain the following day with the help of armor that had landed at Utah Beach. Turnbull’s delaying action had given the 505th time to consolidate its position and likely saved the men in Sainte-Mère-Église. Like the battles for scores of towns and villages in Normandy, the war passed through Sainte-Mère-Église, then moved on toward the east, leaving hundreds of dead and wounded—both combatants and civilians—in its wake. But the dead were, and are, remembered. Chaplain Francis L. Sampson, 501/101st, reflected, “The French people of the little city of Sainte-Mère-Église had arranged that each family adopt a couple of graves [at the American military cemetery above Omaha Beach]. On Sundays and Holy Days they bedecked them with flowers, promising always to remember those soldiers in their prayers. This promise still holds good. American visitors to the cemetery are always moved by the sight of a French family placing fresh flowers on a grave or kneeling there offering their prayers for the soul of an adopted son or brother whom they had never seen in life.”

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This article is adapted from Flint Whitlock’s book, If Chaos Reigns: The Near-Disaster and Ultimate Triumph of Allied Airborne Forces on D-Day, June 6, 1944 (Casemate, 2011). WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Trooper Lud Labutka of the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, fought his way through Normandy, Holland, and the Battle of the Bulge.

A SCREAMING EAGLE’S JOURNEY IN AN EFFORT to calm his nerves just BY RICHARD A. BERANTY before he jumped into Normandy on DDay, Lud Labutka thought it might be a good idea to accept the drink being offered from the paratrooper sitting across from him on their C-47 transport as it crossed the English Channel. It didn’t matter to him at the time whether it came from a bottle of blended Scotch or from a bottle of after-shave lotion. Labutka was simply looking for a little kick to help him get over the anxiety he Men of the 101st Airborne Division, their faces blackened to felt about jumping from an airplane into reduce glare in the moonlight, listen to General Eisenhower Nazi-occupied Europe. as he addresses Lieutenant Wallace C. Strobel. A short time “There was a guy on our plane named later they boarded transports for their night drop into Albert Jones,” Labutka says. “He Normandy, June 5-6, 1944. looked over at me and said, ‘Lud, do you want a drink?’ I said, ‘What?’ He All photos National Archives, except where noted. said, ‘Do you want a drink?’ I still didn’t think he had any- tents had any effect on enemy troops; what is certain, howthing to drink until he pulled out a big bottle of Aqua Velva. ever, is that never again would he consider drinking after-shave I said, ‘You’re crazy!’ He opened it and sucked down a drink. for a quick buzz, just as jumping from an airplane had never I said to him, ‘Jones, if you’re crazy, I’m crazy, too.’ This was crossed his mind in 1939 when he joined the Pennsylvania 20 minutes before we jumped! So I took a big drink. When I National Guard as a 17-year-old high school graduate. Even jumped into Normandy, I was heaving. I was puking on the to this day, more than 60 years after the war, a fear of heights has kept his feet planted on the ground. Germans. That stuff made me sick.” “I wouldn’t even go on the Ferris wheel at a fair,” he says. “I History has failed to record whether Labutka’s stomach con68

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still haven’t been on one. I’m afraid of heights.” If that is the case, then how does this retired factory worker from Ford City, Pennsylvania, explain his wartime experience as a Screaming Eagle with the U.S. 101st Airborne Division, duty that not only took him into the night skies of France but also into Holland during Operation Market-Garden? It is because someone, at some point, questioned whether he had the intestinal fortitude to jump from an air-

plane. In other words, it was the result of a dare. “In 1942 the Army was taking transfers into the Air Cadets,” Labutka says. “We were kids, just 18-, 19-, 20-year-olds. Somebody mentioned Airborne and I said, ‘Airborne? Are you crazy? I’m not going to jump out of an airplane.’ So somebody called me chicken. That’s all it took. I was going. We all figured that we’d make a difference, so three of us—Rich Dinger, Joe Miklos, and myself—went to see the first sergeant of our National WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Guard company and told him to transfer us to the Airborne.” were an untested force, it seemed to the other GIs stationed in Labutka entered training on October 19, 1942, at Fort Ben- England that these so-called “Screaming Eagles” were a group ning, Georgia, where troops were hooked onto guide wires and of overpaid and overly cocky servicemen. They appeared more slid to the ground from 40-foot towers. “Scary” training is what famous for their fancy jump boots than for anything else. All he calls it. This progressed to actual jumps from an airplane, five of that changed, however, when they jumped from their C-47 transports in the predawn darkness of Normandy, fulfilling of which were required to qualify for Airborne duty. “The first time I was up in an airplane I jumped. Back then what General William C. Lee, the division’s first commanding we packed our own parachutes. At that time they were round, general, described as their “rendezvous with destiny.” Four objectives were assigned the 101st in Operation Overreally huge things. Then, after jump school, riggers packed them. Every time I jumped I always wondered if the riggers lord, the invasion of the European continent: The paratroophad placed that little rubber band where it was supposed to be. ers were first to secure the roadway leading from Utah Beach where the U.S. 4th Division was to land; second, they were to It held the end of the parachute to the static line.” eliminate a battery of large German guns Labutka left Benning for the rigors of that threatened that beach; third, they Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the new were to establish contact with the 4th home of the 101st, where its men trained Division as it headed inland; and fourth, by making more practice jumps, often in with those missions accomplished, they front of such dignitaries as Army Chief were to attack and occupy the French of Staff General George C. Marshall. town of Carentan, an important road They also endured 25-mile forced junction leading to the Cotentin Peninmarches without canteens, running the sula and the port of Cherbourg. last mile back to camp in cadence. Labutka’s 2nd Battalion was part of the “At first during these marches, the force charged with eliminating the fourroute took us through a creek and some gun battery of 122mm howitzers at St. of us didn’t mind scooping up a handful Martin de Varreville, two kilometers of water to drink. But after about three west of Utah Beach. General Omar days of this our sergeant caught on and Bradley, U.S. ground commander, called we were punished. We were made to do the guns a danger to the invasion forces push-ups.” and insisted they be eliminated. Labutka was assigned to the division’s Another anticipated danger for the D502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment Day invaders, this one limited to Air(referred to as the “Five-O-Two”), 2nd Photographed shortly after the war borne troops only, was the ability to recBattalion, Company E, 1st Platoon, ended, a youthful Lud Labutka was ognize friend or foe in the Normandy which left for Europe on September 5, nevertheless a hardened combat vet1943, in a convoy from Camp Shanks, eran. He had endured some of the most darkness. Brig. Gen. Maxwell D. Taylor, who had assumed command of the 101st New York, aboard an aging British trans- difficult fighting of the war, including the critical defense of Bastogne during in March 1944, solved this dilemma by port. The ship encountered engine trou- the Battle of the Bulge. introducing one of the most ingenious ble six days out, left the group, and put tools used in the invasion: the cricket. in at the small Newfoundland harbor of St. John’s, where repairs were made. But as the ship headed to Basically a kid’s toy, similar to those sold in five-and-tens at the sea once again, it scraped bottom, forcing it back to port. time, it proved extremely helpful for paratroopers to identify Arrangements were then made for the troops to make their one another in the dark. The toy clicked when the tab on its Atlantic crossing on the SS Ericsson, which left in another con- back was pressed and released. One push asked, “Who’s there?” voy and arrived at Liverpool on October 19. It took Labutka Two presses in reply meant “Friend.” A last-minute idea of Tay44 days to reach England on a voyage usually made in a week. lor’s, the crickets arrived about four days before the invasion. By late May the 101st was moved into new tent cities near the “The convoy we joined contained Company C of my old National Guard outfit,” he says. “By then they were the 28th airfields from which the men would fly to assault German posiDivision. I didn’t know it at the time, but I went overseas with tions in France. On June 5 at about 5:30 PM, they ate their last my old buddies from Company C of the National Guard.” preinvasion meal, consisting of pork chops and mashed potaOnce on British soil, men of the 502 lived in tent cities at Den- toes, and returned to their assembly areas to take on their gear. ford Lodge near Hungerford where they made more practice Labutka says it included an M-1 rifle with eight or 10 clips of jumps in preparation for their assigned role on D-Day. Since ammunition, six grenades, two canteens, two parachutes, flares, the division had no battle history up to that point and its men a medical kit, compass, and enough C-rations for three days. All 70

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told, their equipment weighed about 70 pounds. As evening drew on, Labutka’s platoon leader, 1st Lt. Wallace C. Strobel, called his men away from their packing for some last-minute instructions. As they gathered outside their tents, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Allied supreme commander, paid them a visit. A photograph was taken of this encounter and it became one of the most famous of the invasion. In it, Eisenhower is standing on the left talking to Strobel. The two are shown in an apparent conversation about the invasion. When asked years later about what was said, Strobel, who died in 1999, recalled that, in part, it went like this: “Where are you from, lieutenant?” Eisenhower asked. “Michigan, sir,” replied Strobel. “Michigan, eh?” Eisenhower commented. “Good fishing in that country.” Labutka (standing fourth from left) poses with fellow paratroopers of the Labutka, standing behind several other Lud 101st Airborne Division during training at Fort Benning. Labutka’s close friend men and unseen in the photo, says he Henry Fuller of Wadsworth, Ohio, stands at far right. never heard the conversation. “We heard earlier that Ike might come by and wish us luck,” he says. “But I have no idea what he said shooting at us,” Labutka says. “It looked like the tracer bulto Lieutenant Strobel. I wasn’t close enough. Believe me, if I had lets were coming out of a barrel. We could hear them hitting known they were going to take a picture, I would have gotten the wings going ‘knick, knick, knick.’ I was scared.” That was my mug in it somehow.” when Labutka took the healthy swallow of Aqua Velva. With The men entered their C-47s at around 9 PM through the air- his stomach now churning, the C-47, piloted by men of the craft’s rear door, which stayed open for the entire flight. They 438th Troop Carrier Group, neared its drop point and a red moved in single file with the first man headed to the front of light flashed, telling the paratroopers that their jump time was the plane. The 16 paratroopers took their seats, located on near. It was shortly after midnight when a sergeant yelled, both sides of the aircraft, facing one another. Along the ceiling “Stand up and hook up!” Moments later a green light flashed of the plane’s compartment stretched the static lines to which and Labutka was the sixth or seventh man to leave the plane. “The sergeant hit the first guy on the ass and said, ‘Go!’ We their parachutes were hooked just prior to the jump. The pilots were told to fly in a “V” formation of three planes each at an were lined up tight, right against each other,” Labutka explains. altitude of 500 feet to avoid German radar detection over the “We were taught to count, ‘One thousand, two thousand’ English Channel. Once they crossed the coast of France, the when we jumped. If we got to the third count and the ’chute planes were to climb to 1,500 feet and then descend to 400 feet didn’t open, we were to pull the reserve parachute. That one for the jump. Pilots were instructed not to veer from their was on our belly. The only thing I remember thinking when I assigned flight paths. The distance to their drop zone was 136 jumped was, ‘I hope I land.’” He did land, near the town of St. Marie du Mont just north miles, and it took about an hour to reach it. “We knew that it was about a hundred miles from where we of Carentan and south of the guns his battalion was ordered were in England to where we were going,” Labutka says. “We to destroy. “I landed in a farm courtyard, all brick and all were told to take out these guns. They didn’t tell us why, just fenced in, right beside a hay wagon,” he says. “The machine gunner landed in one corner of the courtyard. that we had to take them out.” The flight was uneventful until they reached the French coast His name was Dempsey, from Rome, Georgia. In the other corand German guns began firing. Since Labutka and others of ner was Golembeski, the assistant machine gunner, from Penn2nd Battalion were in some of the first planes of the assault, sylvania. They both came over to me and said, ‘Lud, what are we going to do?’ Here, both of them were Pfcs and I was just they reached France relatively unscathed. “Once we got over Cherbourg you could see the enemy a private, their ammo carrier, and they’re asking me what to WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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do! So I said to find a door so we could get out of this court- the drop linked up into larger fighting groups. The massed yard. The night was very dark. We found a door, or a gate, paratroopers set their sights to the south and the division’s final and went out and bumped into a guy here and a guy there until objective, the town of Carentan. “I don’t think we really got together with any sizable force there were six of us. We walked around, snuck around, crawled around. We didn’t meet anybody else. None of us fired a shot. until about a day and a half after we landed,” Labutka says, Finally, when it was just getting light, about 5:30, we were estimating that they then numbered about two regiments strong. “None of us had gotten any sleep, unless we slept standwalking around this hedgerow and saw a road. “We crouched down because we heard people walking and ing up. It’s hard to believe, but we did sleep standing up.” Carentan was a high-priority target assigned to the 101st talking,” Labutka continues. “These guys with me said, ‘Lud!’ because its main highway and railroad And I said, ‘Shhhh!’ I had my clicker and connected Cherbourg to St. Lô, and ultiwhen the noise got near I went ‘clickmately Paris. If American forces did not click’ with the cricket. Boy, the nicest take the town, it could be used as a corsound that I ever heard came back: ridor for a counterattack against Utah ‘click-click, click-click.’ So we jumped Beach. Army intelligence estimated the out on the road. I’d say there were about size of the German garrison there at a 60 people there including a lieutenant battalion. As it turned out, the enemy colonel, a lieutenant, and a couple of was apparently more plentiful and sergeants, and we joined them.” extremely stubborn. The division’s route Others in the drop were not so lucky, of attack was down a causeway that ran particularly those who came after the first wave. As the surprised Germans LEFT: Colonel Steve A. Chappuis com- through flooded fields and swamps. manded Labutka’s outfit, the 2nd Batgrasped the scope of the situation, these talion, 502nd Parachute Infantry Reg- Labutka remembers that paratroopers called it “Purple Heart Lane,” for obvilater planes received heavy doses of anti- iment, during the fighting in ous reasons. The 502’s 3rd Battalion was aircraft fire. Some pilots took evasive Normandy. RIGHT: Colonel Robert assigned the lead. action, broke formation, and went off Cole commanded the 3rd Battalion of the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regi“The first time I really heard gunfire course. Paratroopers were scattered ment. He was awarded the Medal of was going toward Carentan. The Geraround the countryside. Many landed in Honor for leading an assault at swamps, rivers, and flooded fields. Oth- Carentan but did not live to receive it. mans had machine guns pointed right down this road going into the town. ers found themselves stuck in trees or in Cole was killed by a sniper’s bullet in Holland. There were four bridges we had to cross the middle of minefields. Some planes and swamps were on both sides of us. As took direct hits and crash-landed or burst into flames before impact. Because of the ground fire and con- we fought our way down the road we had to run this way, run fusion, the drop zone resembled a rectangle of about 25 miles that way, run this way, kind of zigzag our way down it.” It was here that Labutka first experienced the effects of the by 15 miles. Scattered troops sought each other throughout German 88mm gun, one of the most devastating artillery pieces the day and into the next. The gun emplacements at Varreville did not pose a problem used by either side during the war. He also encountered two when Labutka saw them on June 6. They had been destroyed Airborne buddies from home, and both were wounded. “Once we started down this road I met Joe Miklos,” Labutka by Allied bombings just prior to D-Day and were void of German troops. It was there that Labutka met his battalion com- says. “He got hit from a bomb burst. There was shrapnel in his mander, Colonel Steve Chappuis, whose drop put him close to leg, and he was going back. After we crossed the second bridge, who do I see but Rich Dinger with a patch on his shoulder. He the guns. “I’m glad we had the Air Corps,” states Labutka. “They was hit pretty bad. He said, ‘Lud, don’t go down there. It’s hell knocked out a bunch of German guns. When I saw Colonel down there.’ I said, ‘Dick, I have to. My company’s going down Chappuis, he was sitting cross-legged on this cement curb. He there.’ Dinger was eventually shipped home. Farther down the said, ‘Well, it looks like the Air Force took care of the guns.’” road I came across this poor soldier who was hit right above With that threat neutralized, the gathered troops of 2nd Bat- his ear. I could see the matter leaking out. He tried to talk to talion moved toward the road leading south from Utah Beach. me. He wanted morphine. I asked him if he’d had any but he Securing it was the primary responsibility of Lt. Col. Robert couldn’t answer. He was gone. He must have been from the 3rd G. Cole’s 3rd Battalion. By 1 PM on D-Day, Cole and his men Battalion, Dinger’s outfit, because they went in ahead of us.” The German 88s were finally silenced, but not before the had made contact with elements of the U.S. 4th Division coming inland from the beach, and the paratroopers found their road’s second bridge was shattered to pieces. This kept supplies numbers increasing. Throughout June 6-7, those scattered in from being brought in and the wounded taken out. It also pre72

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vented any possibility of retreat. Regardless, the paratroopers advanced, crossed the third bridge, and ran into their stiffest resistance on the other side of the fourth bridge. It was a heavily defended farmhouse about 150 yards away. With Colonel Cole and men of 3rd Battalion still in the lead, intense fire from German machine guns, mortars, and artillery pinned them to the ground for an hour. Knowing his men were low on ammunition, Cole ordered an attack with fixed bayonets and personally led the charge over open ground, eventually flushing the enemy from their positions. A bridgehead was gained across the Douve River, and Cole earned the Medal of Honor, the division’s first award in Normandy. He would be killed by a sniper’s bullet in Holland just months later. “That Cole was a soldier,” Labutka offers. “I know Miklos didn’t like him much because he was too hard on the men. But he was a soldier through and through.” While division engineers worked to make bridge No. 2 passable, the badly depleted 3rd Battalion was replaced on the front by 2nd Battalion. More fierce fighting ensued. At one point the Germans counterattacked and some Americans thought the order was given for them to withdraw. It had not been, and reversing their rearward momentum was a challenge. The American line held, but a final German attack neared success once again until a five-minute barrage from division artillery stopped it. Afterward, the fighting diminished as glider troops from east of Carentan joined the fight. “After that we got to the edge of this hedgerow and the guys in front of us must have had luck because the Germans backed off,” Labutka recalls. “We were involved in a lot of hedgerow fighting, a heck of a lot of it.” The hedgerows in Normandy were an obstacle underestimated by the Allies. For centuries farmers had fenced their

Eight days after the 101st parachuted into Normandy, American soldiers enter the bitterly contested French town of Carentan on June 14, 1944. Troopers of the 101st had taken the village during a tough fight with German airborne troops and held it against a major counterattack.

small fields with solid walls of dirt, often four feet high, and topped them with hedges whose tangled roots bound each row into a natural fortification. They were created to prevent erosion, but the Germans used them for lines of defense and counterattack. Many little battles were fought around the hedgerows. When attacking Americans approached one row, they found a strong force of defenders behind it and properly emplaced machine guns at both ends. If the enemy were dislodged or fell back, German troops behind another hedgerow went into action with mortars or artillery. “Finally, we got in a line across this last hedgerow and went into Carentan. That’s when I saw dead Germans stacked like cordwood. Honest to God! We were shooting blind into the town, and when we got there, their bodies were stacked up just like logs. The Germans themselves must have stacked them that way. Somebody did.” On June 12, Carentan was declared clear of the enemy, and the town was occupied. The final job for the 101st in Normandy was to maintain positions at the base of the Cotentin Peninsula. As June turned into July this area proved relatively quiet, manned largely by Allied patrols and inhabited mainly by wandering cows. “It was about a month after the landing before we had a chance to get off the line,” says Labutka. “We had no change of clothes and no showers during that time, but afterward we were eating steak. We’d kill a cow and cook it over a fire. We had steak for breakfast and steak for dinner.” WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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The 101st was relieved after 33 days of continuous combat, and moved by trucks to an area behind Utah Beach on July 10. The division history records that in little more than a month of combat, the 101st suffered 4,670 casualties. According to E Company historian Emmanuel Allain of Normandy, France, Labutka’s company of the 502 lost only three men during that time: one officer and two NCOs were killed in action. The paratroopers were taken to England by landing craft from July 11-13 and returned to their old quarters north of London. At least one month of back pay awaited them, and leaves were approved. Labutka says most of the men who were given passes went to London to celebrate. “I went to London for booze and women. Don’t forget,” he says, “I was just a kid.” The division was replenished and took part in further training over the next two months. More Airborne missions were proposed, but each time they were canceled due to the rapid Allied advance in France. But the good life in England didn’t last, as the 101st was slated to take part in a plan to liberate Holland and advance quickly into the Ruhr, the industrial heart of Germany. Dubbed Operation Market-Garden and developed by British Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, it called for Airborne forces (the Market phase) to drop behind German lines and secure a hundred-mile corridor as British armored forces (the Garden phase) came up from Belgium to capture vital bridges over the lower Rhine River. Strategically the plan failed. Eisenhower had been reluctant at first to support the mission, but eventually he relented. Bradley called it “the wrong plan at the wrong time in the wrong place.” The three parachute regiments of the 101st had separate assignments in Holland. The 502 was charged with securing its landing zone near Eindhoven, capturing a bridge over the Dommel River, and attacking the village of Best to protect the lower section of the British thrust. The paratroopers were loaded with the same amount of equipment as in Normandy, and the September 17 daylight drop into Holland was picture perfect. “It was nothing like Normandy; it went off like a practice jump. There was no opposition.” The only obstacle Labutka encountered in the jump was barbed wire, which gave him a cut above his right knee. The scar it caused has remained with him. “They wanted to give me a Purple Heart, but I turned them down. Why should I accept a medal for a scratch when guys around me were getting killed?” While the paratroopers had an uneventful flight from England and an easy drop, it was different for the division’s glider troops. Of the 70 gliders that took part, only about 50 made it to Holland intact. Some landed far behind German lines, some were hit by flak, and some were crashed upon landing by obstacles planted in the fields. “The Germans had sticks, trees actually, buried in the ground every 10 feet, which ripped those gliders apart,” Labutka says. 74

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“Some of them contained jeeps and cannon and when they hit the poles there was equipment all over the place.” With the landing zone secured and the Dommel River crossed, the march on the bridge that crossed the Wilhelmina Canal at Best commenced. Just as intelligence reports of enemy troop strength at Carentan were in error, so it was there. The Germans who defended the area were thought to be of poor quality, and Allied planners anticipated that a platoon could handle the mission. When enemy defenses stiffened, a company was sent to help. Later, both 2nd and 3rd Battalions joined the attack. At one point, 2nd attacked with three companies in line across an open wheat field and took serious losses from artillery, mortars, and machine guns. “Some of the guys near me were bunched up,” Labutka explains. “I even yelled at them to scatter. You’re never supposed to get close to the next guy. That’s what they taught us— don’t bunch up because that’s what the enemy is looking for. Then a mortar shell hit three of them. One guy was hit right in his lap. Another one of them was dying. He had me recite the Act of Contrition to him. He died right there in my arms.” Another fatality was Colonel Cole of 3rd Battalion. After calling for air support, friendly fire began taking its toll on American troops, so Cole decided to place orange panels in front of the line to benefit Allied pilots. While he was doing so, an enemy sniper killed him with a shot to his temple. Cole died never knowing that he had been awarded the Medal of Honor for leading the bayonet charge at Carentan. When the battle for Best ended, nearly half of the 101st had been involved, along with a column of British tanks. The area had been defended by about a thousand enemy troops. “We captured about 200 German soldiers at Best, kids and old men,” Labutka says. “They just threw down their guns. Two guys with bazookas were taking them back to the rear when somebody said, ‘OK, we’re moving.’ So I was walking behind this machine gunner and he threw his machine gun over his shoulder and must have pulled the trigger. There was one shell in it and it hit my helmet, put a nick in it, and boy did I hit the ground. I gave him hell. I said, ‘You’re supposed to clear your gun.’ He said, ‘I thought I did.’” After the fall of Best, the 502 was ordered to hold defensive positions in the area. Company E lost 18 men killed in action in the operation, 12 of whom had been with the outfit when they jumped into Normandy. “Up to this time I was still a private,” Labutka says. “But shortly after Best I went, on one order, from private to Pfc to corporal to sergeant to staff sergeant to tech sergeant. Three up and two down. That’s how many guys got wounded or killed. In one order I went from private to platoon sergeant. I had 47 guys under me—three rifle squads and a mortar squad. That’s when I was issued a Thompson submachine gun. “This one time in Holland,” he continues, “I was looking through my field glasses and saw Germans about a hundred

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yards away. They were squatted, with their pants down, so I radioed over to my mortar sergeant, Earl Rodd, and asked, ‘Do you see that?’ He said, ‘How about me going back and laying a couple of shells in there?’ I said, ‘That’s just what I want you to do when I let you know there are more Germans.’ So he went back and I was on the radio with him and about five or six more of them came down. I said, ‘Earl, lay a couple in there now.’ He did. They were all tree bursts, hitting these big fir trees. Those Germans scattered all over. You should have seen them run with their pants halfway up. I laughed. I think it was the first time I laughed like that since I’d gotten over there.” It was also in Holland that Labutka had a chance encounter with the division’s artillery commander, Brig. Gen. Anthony C. McAuliffe, who later gained fame with his “Nuts” response to a German surrender order at Bastogne. After their Holland jump, the paratroopers were told to take off their jump boots and wear regular-issue combat boots so the Germans could not identify them as Airborne if they were captured. “One day, this was also after Best, General McAuliffe, accompanied by my platoon leader, Bill Parks, was checking our company area. Lieutenant Parks called me over and General McAuliffe said, ‘How are your men eating, sergeant?’ And we had just passed third platoon, and they had a pig on a spit. I said, ‘We’re eating well, sir.’ He said, ‘So I guess you are.’ And then he asked me, ‘How do you like your combat boots?’ I said, ‘I hate them, sir.’ He said, ‘You do know why we can’t wear jump boots?’ I said, ‘Sure, the enemy will know we’re paratroopers.’ He said, ‘That’s right, sergeant.’” Whether German forces would have treated Airborne troops any differently from the regular infantry if they were captured, Labutka is not sure. But the switch of boots would be repeated again when the division was sent to Bastogne. Since the main objective of Market-Garden, an advance into

Douglas C-47 transport aircraft fill the European sky as U.S. paratroopers hit the silk. Airborne assaults were risky undertakings during World War II, and the C-47 was a mainstay of the air bridge from England into the war-torn Continent.

the Ruhr, never materialized, the operation failed. However, the Allies did drive 65 miles through German lines, crossed two major rivers, seized airfield sites, and created a buffer to protect the port of Antwerp. By mid-November, after 72 days of combat, the 101st was moved to its base at Camp Mourmelon, a one-time airfield in France, where paratroopers received passes to Paris, enjoyed good food and champagne, and experienced frequent USO performances. “Bob Hope came one time. But that wasn’t my cup of tea. I never went to a movie or saw a show,” smiles Labutka. “I was busy drinking and playing poker. I had to be the unluckiest poker player in the world. Maybe I drank too much when I played. But what else was there to do? There were no women around.” Once again the good times were about to end as German forces opened their last offensive in Western Europe through the Ardennes Forest in Belgium. Their attack, launched on December 16, 1944, rolled through the sparsely held line of either inexperienced or battle-weary American troops. The 101st was soon in the center of the action during what has come to be known as the Battle of the Bulge. “I was AWOL in Paris when they attacked,” Labutka says. “I had a pass, but it was overextended. You see, me and my first sergeant were close. He gave me a pass whenever I wanted one. All I had to do was sign somebody’s name to it and show it to the bus driver. He didn’t know one lieutenant from another. It was easy. So me and a buddy were in Paris. I think WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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we’d been there four days and were planning to visit the Folies Bérgère, the famous nightclub. But before we got there we stopped at this little outside café drinking gin and orange juice. We never got to the nightclub because somebody rolled us. It was probably one of the girls we met. “So without any money we went back to Rainbow Corner. This was a place in Paris where all the GIs went. A lieutenant came by and said, ‘Sergeant, I got bad news for you. Be at Rainbow Corner at 5 o’clock tomorrow morning.’ I asked, ‘What happened?’ He said, ‘Breakthrough.’ There were about two truckloads of guys from our outfit in Paris and we went back to Mourmelon.” The surprise German attack easily knifed through the American lines. Poor visibility grounded Allied planes, and over the next three days the situation worsened for the Americans. One option for Eisenhower was to commit his reserve units, one of which was the 101st. With its division commander in the United States and assistant commander in England, the job fell to General McAuliffe to lead the paratroopers into battle. But this time they did not drop from the air. They went on trucks and arrived in Bastogne, a key Belgian crossroads town, on December 19. This was the southern sector of the German thrust guarded in part by the tired U.S. 28th Division, which had been sent to that area for rest. The division had seen action since just after the Normandy landings, and more recently had been involved in the desperate fighting in the Hürtgen Forest. The 28th also contained men from Labutka’s hometown National Guard unit. As the Germans advanced, the 28th fell back and the 101st moved in. “Going into Bastogne I was in charge of two trucks,” recalls Labutka. “That’s when I heard that the National Guard from Pennsylvania was there. I knew guys in Company D from Butler, and naturally I knew guys in Company C from Ford City. So here they were, the 28th Division, coming out of Bastogne while we were going in. One of the guys I knew I did see coming out, Pete Rhodes from Company C.” Once in Bastogne, the 101st immediately set up a defensive perimeter in all four directions around the town, a radius of about 16 miles. The paratroopers were surrounded by German forces, and Labutka found himself on the northwest side of Bastogne during the worst winter in years, as nighttime temperatures frequently dropped below zero. When men touched a gun barrel, their skin stuck to it. Snow was as constant as the American patrols probing the German lines. “We didn’t go too far out on patrols,” he recalls. “They just wanted to see how far [away] the Germans were. This one time we were on patrol and my radio operator, Jimmy Agnostis, was behind me. I was up the field a way, and I stopped because I thought I saw some German troops about 200 yards away. Then I heard this ‘pow-pow’ from behind me and damn if I wasn’t hit in my helmet again! I said, ‘Jimmy, you SOB! That’s twice I almost got killed with our own guns!’ 76

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He said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’” The Germans underestimated American resolve to defend the town, and overestimated their own ability to take it. Four Germans approached U.S. lines south of Bastogne on December 22. One of them carried a white flag, and another held a message that proposed the Americans, since they were surrounded, should surrender. If the offer was rejected, the note promised that Bastogne would be destroyed by heavy guns. When the ultimatum reached McAuliffe, his first reaction was “Nuts.” That answer was eventually delivered, but the German envoy did not understand its meaning. The American officer in charge said through a translator: “If you don’t understand what ‘Nuts’ means in plain English, it’s the same as ‘Go to hell!’” The German bulge in the American lines was reaching its high-water mark when the offensive began to run low on supplies and meet stiffer Allied resistance. By December 24, Hitler was said to be so incensed that such a small town could be such a big thorn in the German drive that he ordered Bastogne annihilated. “The Germans did bring in tanks and shot 88s into our third platoon,” Labutka says. “They got hammered. For the most part, my platoon was in reserve. That’s why I didn’t get into contact with German tanks. But our third platoon from E Company took it bad.” E Company losses were 11 KIA, three of whom had jumped with the company on D-Day. As Christmas Day neared, the visibility cleared enough for Allied planes, at times flying 250 sorties a day, to drop supplies to the beleaguered paratroopers who were now running low on everything. Most air drops reached American hands, although some landed too far away. Labutka remembers celebrating the holiday with an ice cream-like concoction made by putting snow in a canteen cup and adding lemonade powder from dropped C-rations. “When those skies brightened and I heard those planes coming over to give us ammunition, food, everything we needed,” he says, “I thought that was the nicest Christmas present I ever got.” A U.S. armored division finally arrived from the south on December 26 and pushed its way into Bastogne a few days later. This corridor was eventually widened, and on January 18, 1945, the 101st was poised to exit the town it had called home for a month. “We marched out of Bastogne and got on trucks. Outside of town, somebody had put up this big sign: The Battered Bastards of the Bastion of Bastogne.” Now on trucks once again, the division was sent to Luxembourg and later to the Alsace region of France. Stationed there until mid-February, the paratroopers saw little action. Afterward, they returned by train to their camp at Mourmelon where, on March 16, the 101st became the first division in history to receive the Distinguished Unit Citation (now called

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the Presidential Unit Citation) as an entire division. General Taylor also addressed the men in Mourmelon, telling them that when the war in Europe was over the division would probably be sent to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. It did not go over well. “He said that, if possible, we were going to Japan and finish off the Japs,” Labutka remembers. “We weren’t in the mood for that. Do you know what he heard? From the rear ranks: ‘Boo!’ Then louder: ‘Boo!’ Then finally from the entire division: ‘Boo!’ Can you imagine what that sounded like from a whole division?” American forces by this time were well east of the Rhine River, and the 101st was ordered to Düsseldorf and then to southern Germany and finally to Bavaria, where Allied leaders expected diehard Nazis to put up their last fight. The division’s final assignment of the war was to capture Berchtesgaden where Hitler had maintained his mountain home. That was accomplished on May 5, and two days later radio reports told that the Germans had agreed to unconditional surrender. The next day it became official, and the war was over. “We were billeted in a nice house in Kempton, just outside Berchtesgaden,” Labutka says. “At the time, people who owned the house could put their valuables in a room or on the third floor and lock it up. The house I was in belonged to Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress. It had lots of big rooms, high ceilings, but little furniture because it was all locked up. So somebody from my platoon broke into one of the rooms and took a bunch of stuff, mostly jewelry. We had a meeting with the company commander the next day, and he said, ‘We’ll give you guys ’til Reveille to put everything back. If not, there’s going to be repercussions.’ “At 5:30 the next morning, nothing was returned. So the

Relieved at last, war-weary veterans of the epic 101st Airborne defense of Bastogne trudge toward rest and a hot meal. The troopers of the 101st held the encircled crossroads town against repeated German attacks at the height of the Battle of the Bulge.

next day they made us go on a 25-mile forced march with a full pack—rifle, blanket, no water. They said we were going to do that every day until everything was put back. That night, after our march, the guys who took the jewelry put it all back. Three or four guys were involved. We knew who they were, and everybody wanted to beat them up. And they would have been beaten up if it had gone on any longer.” Labutka left Europe from the southern French port of Marseilles on September 6, 1945, and arrived Stateside eight days later. He was discharged on September 21. “I wouldn’t take a million dollars to do it over again,” he says. “And you couldn’t give me a million dollars not to have gone through it. I’m glad I went through it. I was lucky. The Lord took care of me because I’m still here. But I know one thing. I would never jump from an airplane again, unless somebody called me a chicken.” Perhaps the most fitting tribute a soldier can receive comes from the men who served with him. “Lud was a leader even before he became our platoon sergeant,” offers Tony Diarchangelo of suburban Philadelphia, who served in Labutka’s platoon through Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne. “He was one hell of a soldier, a great soldier, always calm, cool, and collected. As a unit we never lost a skirmish.”

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Richard Beranty is a teacher of high school English and journalism in western Pennsylvania. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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A bold British glider assault seized a pair of vital bridges in the early hours of D-Day.

Horsa gliders that transported British airborne troops to their D-Day objective, the bridge over the Caen Canal, lie broken in a field adjacent to the bridge. The glider pilots made their landings with pinpoint accuracy.

BY CHRISTOPHER MISKIMON

ON A DARKENED AIRFIELD AT 2230 HOURS ON JUNE 5, 1944, a reinforced company of British gliderborne infantry, D Company of the Second Battalion, Oxford & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry (Ox & Bucks), boarded gliders, prepared to start the invasion of France. Their commanding officer, Major John Howard, watched them in the night’s dim, shuffling forward under the heavy load of their weapons and equipment. He recorded, “It was an amazing sight. The smaller chaps were visibly sagging at the knees under the amount of kit they had to carry.” There was more to their burden, however, than just Sten guns and spare ammunition. On their shoulders rested responsibility for securing the left flank of the entire Allied D-Day invasion force. A pair of small bridges was situated south-southeast of Sword Beach, the easternmost of the five landing points. If they remained in Axis hands, they provided fast access for German armored units to counterattack the beaches. If taken by the British, they could be used for the advancing British ground units. The mission of these glider troops was to seize the bridges in question. Major Howard’s orders weighed heavily on his mind as they set out on their monumental mission: “Your task is to seize the [bridges] over R. Orne and canal ... and to hold them until relief….” The preparation for this attack had been in the works long before Howard and his men boarded their gliders. Once the Allied command decided on the Normandy coastline for the invasion of France, planning began on how to secure the beaches and pave the way for the advance inland. On the invasion’s left

GLIDER ASSAULT ON

PEGASUS

BRIDGE

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Bundesarchiv Bild 101I-300-1865-06; Photo: Speck

flank, attention quickly focused on a pair of bridges just a few miles northeast of the French city of Caen. The bridge over the river Orne allowed fast access for the invasion force to move east after landing. Conversely, it could allow German units to quickly move toward Sword Beach and attack the British 3rd Infantry Division as it struggled to get ashore. Just 470 meters west of the Orne Bridge sat a bridge over the Caen Canal, a manmade waterway that flowed directly to Sword Beach. Together these crossing points were vital avenues to whichever army held them. The east-west road that crossed the bridges led east to the village of Ranville, roughly 1,000 meters away, and then out to the countryside. To the west, the road crossed the canal bridge and came to a crossroads around 260 meters distant. This crossroad led north to Sword Beach or south toward Caen. On the west bank of the canal sat the village of Benouville. Over time a plan formed to seize of the bridges using gliderborne infantry. There were certain advantages to using gliders for such an assault. They were quiet and would be towed by transport aircraft; the German occupation force was by now used to hearing Allied planes overhead and hopefully would not pay much attention to them. This would provide a cover for the incoming gliders and help achieve surprise. Also, using gliders kept the attacking force concentrated. Paratroopers could be scattered by wind or varying speed, altitude, and direction of their aircraft. Even a good airborne drop would

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require time for the parachutists to concentrate and move on their objective. A glider force could touch down already concentrated with one planeload of soldiers ready to move upon landing. If the gliders could land close together a large force could be quickly brought to bear. The British 6th Airborne Division was charged with landing to the east of Sword Beach on D-Day and capturing the vital bridges. Like any airborne unit, it was not heavy enough to resist the sort of determined counterattacks the Germans could be expected to make and would need the more heavily equipped regular infantry and armored formations coming from the beaches to arrive as quickly as possible. The division contained two parachute brigades and one air landing (glider) brigade. The force for the bridge assaults was drawn for the 6th Air Landing Brigade commanded by Brigadier H.K.M. Kindersley. The division commander, Maj. Gen. Richard Gale, went to his brigade commanders with the plan for the bridges, explaining to one of them, “The seizing of the bridges intact is of the utmost importance for the conduct of future operations ... the speedy overpowering of the bridge defenses will Two weeks prior to D-Day, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, commander of the German defenses in Normandy, inspects troops of the 21st Panzer Division. This inspection took place in the vicinity of the landing zone of the British 6th Airborne Division.

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Both: Imperial War Museum

be your first objective and it is therefore to be seized by the coup de main party. You must accept risks to achieve this.” Gale asked Kindersley which of his company commanders might be up to the challenge. Kindersley chose Major John Howard, the commander of D Company. Howard, a former enlisted man, had risen quickly through the NCO and officer ranks after the war began because of his ability and professionalism. He had completed one enlistment during the 1930s and was a policeman until recalled to duty after the war started. He impressed superiors with his skill and subordinates with his willingness to share their difficulties. To see if Howard and his men had what it took, a three-day exercise was conducted, with the troops required to seize three bridges intact and hold them until relief arrived. They succeeded and ensured their place in the vanguard of the entire invasion force. After the exercise Howard was told what his mission would be and that D Company would certainly be “the first British fighting force to land on the continent.” They would not be alone, however. Gale wanted the coup de main effort to be reinforced, so Howard was told he could choose any two platoons from his regiment to be attached to his comTOP: Taken some time after D-Day, this photograph depicts the bridge over the pany. Also, a detachment of Royal Caen Canal and the Café Gondree on the left bank. The café was turned into an Engineers from the division’s 249th aid station shortly after the action near Pegasus Bridge began. ABOVE: Hamilcar Field Company would provide the gliders of the British 6th Airborne Division land near the town of Ranville, France, expertise needed to disable any demo- on June 6, 1944. These gliders are carrying Tetrarch light tanks to support the offensive operations of the airborne troops. litions placed on the bridges by the Germans. Howard chose two platoons officers who shared hardships with their men and were aggresfrom the Ox & Bucks B Company to join his unit. The detailed plan for the attack came together over the com- sive and capable. Along with their training, the glider troops benefited from ing months as the troops trained hard for their task, even though due to secrecy needs they did not know their exact mis- access to constantly updated intelligence estimates. Photo sion. They would embark aboard six Horsa gliders that would reconnaissance flights provided timely images of the bridges each hold a platoon plus a small group of engineers. Howard and their defenses; over time the British noted improvements wanted flexibility in his plan and equipped his platoons so each being made, such as the installation of an antitank gun and the could attack a bridge by itself if necessary. During training he construction of bunkers. Another invaluable source of inforenvisioned the different ways things could go wrong and tried mation was the local French Resistance network. This to compensate. Also, each platoon cross-trained so it could included Madame Vion, who ran a maternity hospital on the perform in another’s role as needed. The training was ardu- south end of Benouville. She collected information from resisous, but it bonded the men together. Howard also had good tance operatives and passed it on to her contacts in Caen durWO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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ing her periodic trips there for medical supplies. One of her primary sources of information was the conversation at the Café Gondree, located on the west bank of the canal near the bridge. The owners, Georges and Therese Gondree, simply kept their ears open and listened to the conversations of the various German soldiers who frequented the establishment. Therese was from Alsace and spoke German, while Georges spoke some English. The intelligence effort gave them a fairly accurate picture of the bridge’s defenses. About 50 troops guarded the two spans, drawn from the 736th Grenadier Regiment of the 716th Infantry Division. This unit was composed largely of conscripted men from German-occupied nations, such as Poles and Russians with some, mostly older, Germans mixed in. German NCOs and officers led the for- Imperial War Museum mation. The bridge defenses were commanded by Major Hans Schmidt. From the layout of the defenses, the Germans expected any concerted attack on the bridges to come from the east. Most of the machine guns at each bridge were oriented to the east while the single antitank gun installed at the canal bridge was located on the east side as well. Several bunkers were also constructed, and trench systems radiated around the bridges for riflemen and machine gunners. Barbed wire entanglements were also emplaced, but these were mounted in such a way as to be easily movable. Preparations had been made to destroy the bridges if necessary, but the explosives themselves had not been installed. This was due to fear of raids by the French Resistance which might try to blow up the bridges anyway. Some of these defenses, such as the antitank emplacement and the bunkers, were begun only the month before on orders of Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, who toured the coastal defenses and found them wanting. He ordered a number of

improvements throughout the area, including the upgrades to the bridge defense network. Now, on the night of June 5, the six gliders hung from tow lines attached to Handley Page Halifax bombers, the whole group making its way across the English Channel. Three platoons would land at the canal bridge in a field to its southeast: 25 Platoon, led by Lieutenant “Den” Brotheridge, would lead off with three men detailed to throw grenades through the embrasures of the bunker on the east bank, thought to be where the demolition controls were kept. The remainder of 25 Platoon would cross the bridge itself and seize the western side. Lieutenant David Wood’s 24 Platoon would remain on the east side and clear all the German positions there. Finally, in the last glider to land, Lieutenant R. “Sandy” Smith’s 14 Platoon

TOP: Photographed a month after its seizure, Pegasus Bridge appears as it did the morning of D-Day. Two gliders are visible at right, still lying in the field where they landed on D-Day. BOTTOM: The coordinated attack by elements of the 6th Airborne Division in the predawn hours of D-Day was intended to take the German defenders of Pegasus Bridge by surprise. Map © 2013 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

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would follow Brotheridge’s men across to the west side and reinforce them. The other three platoons would land near the river bridge to its northwest. Lieutenant Tony Hooper’s 22 Platoon was tasked to overrun the defenses and swarm the east side of the bridge. The men of 23 Platoon under Lieutenant H.J. “Todd” Sweeney would stay on the west side and take hold of the defenses there while Lieutenant Dennis Fox’s 17 Platoon in the last Horsa would reinforce the first two groups. The sappers attached to each platoon would disable any explosives on the bridges while the glider pilots would unload and distribute the extra ammunition and equipment. Once taken, the code words “Ham and Jam” would be sent to confirm the seizure of the bridges. With both in British hands, the glider infantry would hold until relieved by the Glider troops of the 6th Airborne Division assemble near their wrecked glider in a 7th Battalion, 5th Parachute Brigade, field outside the town of Ranville. Moments earlier, the glider had careened through a stone wall during landing. Many of the casualties sustained by the whose commander would take over glider troops were due to rough landings. when he arrived. As the platoons sat in their gliders, the soldiers tried to pass the time by singing. Private Wally Parr led the tow line. The bombers roared off for their diversionary the group with a song called “Abby, Abby, My Boy.” Parr had attack on Caen, and the gliders began their descent toward the been in the company practically since the beginning and was bridges. At three minutes and 42 seconds, Ainsworth said simonce almost RTU’d (Returned To Unit) for a disciplinary ply, “Now!” and Jim Wallwork turned the glider to starboard. infraction. Howard had personally intervened on Parr’s behalf, The glider lost altitude rapidly, and seconds later Ainsworth believing the man would be an asset once in action. Parr stayed gave the signal for a second right turn that brought the glider in the company but lost his corporal’s stripes. Now, with his onto course for the landing field next to the canal bridge. At loud, cockney-accented voice, he sang one song after another. first they could see nothing ahead of them, only the antiairIn the front of the glider, Staff Sergeant Jim Wallwork con- craft searchlights and tracer fire behind them in Caen, firing centrated on piloting the aircraft once it was free of the bomber. on the bombers. Then, just as in their training, there it was. The bridge with A series of turns had to be made during the descent, exactly on time, or the glider could wind up miles off course. Next to him its distinctive shape, the bunker, the antitank gun, and fields co-pilot Staff Sergeant John Ainsworth held a stopwatch to around it all were clearly visible. The barbed wire sat on the time each turn and phase of the landing. The other glider pilots north side of the landing strip. During training Howard told Wallwork he wanted the nose of the glider right against the likewise prepared for their landings. Seated nearby, Private Willy Gray had a much more serious wire. The pilot was dubious as to whether it could be done but problem. Before taking off he helped himself to plenty of tea promised he would do his best. At 0016 hours, he did just that. and a bit of rum and now had to urinate badly. With nothing The glider touched ground and skidded across the landing field, to do for it, he joined in the singing. Taking a break from his coming to a halt right at the wire. The aircraft stopped so suddenly both pilots were thrown own singing, Parr asked loudly, “Has the major laid his kit yet?” On every training flight, Major Howard had suffered out the front, crashing through the windscreen and landing from airsickness and experienced the natural result. For what- in front of the glider. In the rest of the glider, 25 Platoon sat ever reason, this time his troubled stomach was calm, and its stunned for a few seconds. Major Howard was unconscious contents remained in his belly. Howard took the joke well and for just a moment. His seatbelt had broken, throwing him forward where he hit his head on the ceiling. The impact laughed with the rest of the glidermen. Finally, at 0007 hours, June 6, 1944, it was time to cast off forced his helmet down over his eyes. When he came to, he WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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dozed at their positions. They had ignored the antiaircraft fire thought he was blind for a moment. Behind him, Lieutenant Brotheridge opened the glider’s door and distant bombing; such things were commonplace by now. and told a nearby Bren gunner, “Gun Out!” The platoon They had dismissed the noise made by the glider landing as falling quickly recovered and got out. The bridge was a mere 30 yards wreckage from a bomber, again not uncommon. There was no mistaking what they saw next. Dark, screaming away. Private Gray, also carrying a Bren gun, charged toward the bridge; his mission was to clear a barn on the west side. As figures raced out of the darkness, faces blackened, firing autohe neared the span he saw a German soldier and fired a burst matic weapons. The young Romer did the only thing he could; at him. The enemy soldier went down, and Gray carried on he turned and ran the other way, shouting “Paratroopers!” as across the bridge, firing as he went. He reached the barn and he ran past the other sentry, who apparently fired the flare before tossed in a grenade before emptying the rest of his magazine being shot down, possibly by Brotheridge. The soldiers in the into the structure. When he went inside to check, it was empty. bunker and trenches were quickly overwhelmed. A short distance up the road leading west, veteran German Meanwhile, Wally Parr’s mission was to knock out the machine-gun bunker with grenades. His had gone so dry that his paratrooper Sergeant Heinrich Hickman heard the weapons tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He finally freed it by fire and recognized it as British. He had been out collecting shouting, “Come out and fight, you square-headed bastards!” some soldiers on guard duty and was on his way back to his By the time he got onto the bridge, he had recovered. Now shout- unit. He told two of the soldiers to get out of their car and take ing “Ham and Jam!” he went to the bunker, opened the door, the right side of the road while he and the other two took the and threw in a grenade. When he heard someone still alive inside, left. They had crept to within 50 meters or so of the bridge Parr pulled the door open again and sprayed the interior with when Hickman spotted the British soldiers advancing toward him. What he saw frightened even him. He remembered that it his Sten gun. As Wally Parr was clearing his bunker, Lieutenant Den Broth- was “at nighttime when you see a Para running with a Bren eridge was leading his platoon across the bridge. Someone on gun, and the next with a Sten, and no cover round my back, just the German side fired a flare which now hung over the scene. me and four youngsters who had never been in action. So I Perhaps the flare’s light exposed the young officer to enemy could not rely on them—in those circumstances, you get view or it may have been simple bad luck, but just then a burst scared.... So I pull my trigger, I fire.” of machine-gun fire lashed out across the bridge. A bullet hit Brotheridge in the Royal Marine Commandos march through the town of Colleville-sur-Orne en neck, and he fell to the ground mortally route to Pegasus bridge and the relief of the lightly armed airborne soldiers. wounded. So intent were his men on the attack no one noticed he had fallen until moments later. Wally Parr later recalled just reaching the café when someone called out, “Where’s Denny?” He looked around and saw someone lying in the roadway. Running back to him, Parr discovered it was Brotheridge. The private was struck by the idea of his lieutenant spending so much time preparing for this night only to die in the first minutes. “My God!” he thought. “What a waste!” To the German sentries guarding the bridge that night, the attack was overwhelming. Private Vern Bonck, a young Polish conscript, had just turned over his post to Private Helmut Romer, an 18-yearold from Berlin. Bonck ran into another Polish draftee, and the two headed off to visit a late-night bar. Romer and the other sentry now on duty were to face the British attack. The antitank gun was unmanned, and the soldiers in the bunker and trenches Imperial War Museum

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His first target was Billy Gray, who was just reloading after spraying the barn. Gray fired back, but neither hit the other. The British soldier ducked back into the barn, so Hickman shifted his fire toward the bridge. Inside the barn, Gray finally took a moment to empty his bursting bladder. Outside, Hickman expended the rest of his ammunition and realized it was time to go. Motioning to the four privates, they all got back into their car and raced off toward Caen. With the bridge in British hands his 15-minute trip back to his unit would now take six hours as he diverted around Caen. At the bar, Vern Bonck rushed out into the street with his fellow Pole when the firing started. They ran up the street to the intersection west of the bridge. They took one look at the pitched battle and concealed in a ditch, glider troops of the 6th Airborne Division guard a ran south on the road toward Caen. Partially crossroads near Ranville on June 7, 1944. Their glider is seen across the road After running a while they stopped and where it landed the previous day. talked about what to do. Their conclusion was simple; the pair fired all their cartridges and ran back into Benouville. There, they reported poral Greenhalgh, likely out of his senses as well, wandered to their superiors that enemy paratroopers had attacked the into an undetected marsh pond near the glider and drowned. As Smith moved onto the bridge limping from an injured bridge and that they had fought until running out of ammuniknee, a German threw a grenade at him. A fragment from the tion before retreating to make their report. By now the other gliders had landed and more British troops blast struck the officer in the wrist, and the German tried to surged onto the bridge. The second glider, containing Lieu- flee. “I saw him climbing over the wall ... I shot him as he was tenant David Wood’s 24 Platoon, skidded to a halt mere yards going over—I made certain too. I gave him quite a lot of from the first. It broke in two pieces, and Wood was thrown rounds, firing from the hip—it was very close range,” Smith out onto the ground, though he managed to keep a grip on the recalled. Madge ran up and asked if he was all right. Smith bucket of hand grenades he was carrying. On the ground next inspected his torn wrist and replied. “Christ! No more cricket!” Smith moved on and was soon outside the Café Gondree. to him were Private Harry Clark and several others. Fortunately, none of the grenades detonated. They moved off, and Upstairs, Georges poked his head out to see what was hapClark remembered helping to clear the trenches. He ran past pening. Smith saw him and in the heat of the moment fired at an abandoned MG34 machine gun, an unfired belt of ammu- him. Luckily, the fire went high and the Frenchman ducked in time. He took his wife and daughters to the cellar to await the nition hanging from its feed tray. “There was a lot of firing going on and a lot of shouting,” battle’s conclusion. A short time later there was a knock at the Clark said. “We cleared the trenches on the other side very café door. Georges opened it and saw two British soldiers in black face paint. They asked in French if there were any Gerquickly ... nothing really in the way of strong opposition.” The third glider, carrying Lieutenant Sandy Smith’s 14 Pla- mans in the building. After telling them there weren’t, the café toon, had a hard landing as well. It bounced heavily and sent owner beckoned them inside. There, he took the apprehensive Smith flying through the cockpit Perspex. He landed in front men toward the cellar, using gestures to convey his family was of the glider, stunned. Luckily, Lance Corporal Madge came up down there. Finally, one of the Englishmen must have realized what to him and said, “Well, what are we waiting for, Sir?” Somehow, that snapped Smith back into focus, and he led his able Georges meant, because he told his comrade, “It’s all right, men toward the bridge. Several of his men were injured and chum.” When the Frenchman realized they were speaking Engstayed in the glider for the time being, including Captain John lish, he began crying for joy. His wife and children began kissVaughan, the group’s medical officer. Tragically, Lance Cor- ing them until their faces were smudged with the black camWO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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ouflage paint. Wally Parr recalled later giving one of the daughters, five-year-old Arlette, a chocolate bar. It was the first she had ever had. Within a short time the café was converted into an aid station. Casualties were brought into the main room while the dining table became a makeshift operating table. Captain John Vaughan would practice his skills here aided by Therese Gondree, who was a trained nurse. Out in the yard Georges grabbed a shovel and dug up some 90 bottles of champagne he had buried when the German occupation began in 1940. This he began giving out to whichever British troops came to the café. As the day went by many of the glidermen found an excuse to go to the café and get their free drink. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Wood thought his platoon had finished clearing the buildings near the bridge and had started back to report to Major Howard with his platoon sergeant and batman. As they moved off, a hidden German fired a burst of submachine gun fire that managed to hit all of them. Wood collapsed with a wound to the leg. Luckily, the platoon medic, Lance Corporal Harris, came along quickly and treated him. Wood recovered, but the injury left him with one leg slightly shorter than the other. Howard, who had set up a command post in the trenches near the bridge, initially was unaware he had lost two of the platoon commanders so early in the fight. His radioman, Corporal Tappenden, was with him. Howard first learned of the loss of Den Brotheridge. The loss of a key leader was only exacerbated by the fact the lieutenant’s wife Margaret was pregnant and due to deliver any day. Before long he learned all three of his officers were wounded or injured to some degree. Still, the canal bridge was in British hands. At the Orne River Bridge, the first glider to land carried 23 Platoon under Lieutenant “Todd” Sweeney. Unfortunately, the glider had struck an air pocket on the way down and landed hundreds of yards from the bridge, perhaps as many as 1,300 yards by one account. Its occupants had no choice but to unload and make for the bridge as quickly as possible. The glider with Lieutenant Fox’s 17 Platoon had better luck, at least in the landing. The touchdown was smooth, and Fox jumped up to open the door but it would not budge no matter how hard he pulled on it. Then, Sergeant “Wagger” Thornton came up beside him and said, “You just pull it forward, Sir.” In his excitement Fox had been tugging the wrong way. With the door now open the soldiers poured out, but another problem arose. A soldier, Tommy Clare, did not have the safety properly engaged on his Sten gun. When he hit the ground the weapon was jarred and fired a burst into the air. Quickly the platoon formed up under the wing of the glider and listened. Quiet greeted them and Fox said simply, “To hell with it, let’s get cracking.” The platoon moved out, and almost immediately a German machine gun opened fire from the far bank. 86

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Wagger Thornton was thinking ahead, however. He had already set up a 2-inch mortar. He put two bombs on the machine-gun position, and the crew fled into the dark as British soldiers sprinted across the bridge. One of them took over the now abandoned weapon and started firing at its former crew. Within a matter of seconds, the river bridge was also in British hands, this time without any casualties. Minutes later, Sweeney and 23 Platoon arrived. The two lieutenants gathered to confer. Sergeant Thornton recalled Sweeney asking Fox what was happening. Fox, recalling their training back in England, replied, “The exercise went very well, but I can’t find no bloody umpires to find out who’s killed and who’s alive!” A message was sent to Howard via radio reporting the seizure of the bridge intact. There was still no sign of the third glider, however, and ultimately there would not be. Carrying Lieutenant Hooper’s 22 Platoon along with the mission’s second-in-command, Captain Brian Priday, the last glider flew off course. It landed some eight miles away at the Varaville Bridge. So now Howard and his men had completed the first part of their mission. They had seized the bridges. Now they had to hold them with one platoon missing and several of their officers wounded, missing, or dead. Considering this, Howard modified his plan. He felt the biggest threat to his position came from the west. The British 6th Airborne was landing in the area to the east of the river bridge and would soon saturate it, providing a level of protection. Indeed, at 0050 hours, the first wave of paratroopers flew overhead and dropped to the east around Ranville. The men of Company D had a front row seat as tracer fire and searchlight beams mixed with the descending parachutes. Meanwhile, radioman Corporal Tappenden started sending the signal, “Ham and Jam,” signifying both bridges were captured intact. After frustrating minutes of transmission, finally an acknowledgement was received. Howard ordered 17 Platoon to the canal bridge to bolster the defense. When they arrived, Howard pushed them to the road intersection west of the bridge, where armored vehicles had been heard moving. Each glider carried a PIAT antitank weapon, but at the time only one could be found in working order. It was given to 17 Platoon with a few rounds of ammunition. Sergeant Thornton took the weapon and made ready. It was now about 0200 hours. As the British soldiers took cover around the intersection, three German armored vehicles rumbled down the road in the darkness. Thornton took a position 30 yards from the T-junction and watched as the armored vehicle began moving cautiously toward the bridge. The Englishman later reported he was “shaking like a leaf” and it was hard to see. Nevertheless, he took careful aim and fired at the looming black shape. The spring-loaded spigot in the PIAT launched its bomb straight into the side of the enemy vehicle. Immediately, an enormous

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explosion shattered the night air and flames rose into the gloom. Four crewmen bailed out of the vehicle, and Wagger’s assistant on the PIAT opened fire on them. A fifth man was apparently trapped inside the flaming wreckage. The other two vehicles beat a hasty retreat the way they had come as the wreck continued to burn for over an hour. Later reports variously identified the armored vehicle as a PzKpfw. IV tank, a captured French Char B1 tank, or a halftrack. The unit identified as the first to reach the bridge in these vehicles was probably Panzer Pioneer Company 1. Such a unit would probably not have had tanks, but easily could have had halftracks. If they were loaded down with explosives and mines, as an engineer vehicle would be, it would explain the pyrotechnic display of burning and exploding ordnance. Whatever the case, the Germans made a mistake trying to advance with armor unsupported by infantry. To the east at the river bridge, the glidermen were also meeting the Germans. Some of Sweeney’s 23 Platoon spotted a group of soldiers moving along the riverbank toward the bridge. Since the British 6th Airborne had landed, a challenge was given since it was expected the paras would gather at the bridge. A reply was heard, but it was in German. The defenders opened fire, wiping out the whole group. Sadly, when the platoon checked after daylight, one of the dead was found to be a British Para, a pathfinder apparently captured and brought along. Shortly after the German patrol was wiped out, the sound

Royal Marine Commandos dig trenches and prepare defensive positions near Pegasus after relieving the glider troops who had taken the bridge across the Caen Canal hours earlier. Several of the gliders used by the airborne troops are visible in this photo, and the damage to the nose of one of the aircraft is prominent.

of an armored vehicle was heard approaching from the east. An armored attack was of great concern to Sweeney. Like his comrades at the canal bridge, he had only a single PIAT. Within moments a German half-track came down the road followed by a motorcycle. Sweeney’s troops were hidden in the ditches alongside the road and watched as it approached. As it passed, the British opened fire, peppering the vehicle, but it continued across the bridge. The British troops on the other side also opened fire, and a Corporal Jennings threw a grenade into the open topped half-track as it passed him. The German vehicle veered, crashing into the ditch. With the action over, the British checked the vehicle and found a wounded German, none other than the commander of the bridge defenses, Major Schmidt. Wounded in the leg, he was taken for medical attention by Captain Vaughan. Schmidt spoke good English and proceeded to harangue the doctor with threats of Hitler throwing the Allies back into the sea. Afterward, he begged to be shot for having failed in his duties. Finally, Vaughan gave him a shot of morphine; within minutes Schmidt was much calmer and even thanked the doctor for WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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treating him. An alternate version of the story had Schmidt arriving at the bridge in a staff car after a night with his mistress, but that version turned out to be untrue. Starting at 0300 hours, paras of the 7th Battalion, Parachute Regiment began trickling in to bolster the defenses. One of them was Lieutenant Richard “Sweeney” Todd, like the earlier mentioned Sweeney also nicknamed for the murderous barber (at the time, any British soldier named Todd or Sweeney seemed to earn the sobriquet). He and his paras began to relieve the glider troops, many of whom were sent to reinforce elsewhere. A number of them were sent to man the German antitank gun mounted in its defensive emplacement, called “Tobruk,” on the east side of the canal bridge. Wally Parr was one of those on the gun. Quickly they discovered a warren of tunnels. Using a flashlight, Parr searched the tunnel under the gun and found a shaking, frightened German soldier hiding under a blanket. Nearby, Sergeant Thornton found three German soldiers sleeping in an underground barracks, rifles stacked nearby. Thornton removed the rifles, and Lieutenant Fox went to rouse the captured Germans. He pulled the blanket off the first man and said repeatedly in German, “Komm!” The sleepy German, thinking it was a friend joking with him, responded with an expletive. Wagger Thornton collapsed in laughter at the spectacle, while Fox, taken aback, left the job to his amused sergeant. Thornton alerted the Germans to the seriousness of their plight with a short burst from his Sten gun. One German prisoner could not believe what had happened but eventually wound up sharing pictures of his family. With sunrise, enemy snipers began firing on anything that moved around the canal bridge. A medic attending to Lieutenant Smith was shot through the chest as he stood up, crying “Take my grenades out!” He was worried another shot might explode the deadly little bombs on his chest harness. Thornton found two more prisoners, who turned out to be Italian slave laborers. Howard ordered them released and given food. To the surprise of the British, the two Italians went out to the landing field, now littered with Horsa gliders, and began putting up the antiglider poles they had been ordered to install by the Germans. Overhead, a pair of Spitfire fighters flew by at 0800 hours, their pilots seeing the recognition signals the British laid out to show they had seized the bridges. One of the fighters dropped a package of the early edition newspapers from England. None of them mentioned the landings, but Howard recalled his men being more interested in the comic strip adventures of the character Jane. An hour later, Maj. Gen. Gale came walking down the road with two of his brigadiers, Nigel Poett of 5th Parachute Brigade and Hugh Kindersley of 5th Air Landing Brigade. Minutes after the officers arrived, Howard’s men faced their next threat, this time from the water. A patrol boat approached 88

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down the canal from the north, armed with a 20mm cannon. When it got within 50 yards, Corporal Claude Godbold fired a PIAT round striking the boat behind the wheelhouse. It slewed over to the bank, and the crew, including its fanatical Nazi commander, an insult-spewing teenager, was taken prisoner. Eventually a fed-up British soldier shut the boy up by hitting him in the shoulder with a rifle butt. As the German boat crew was marched off to captivity, a second boat advanced from the south. Parr and the men manning the antitank gun were trying to get it operational. They had figured out how to load it but were still having trouble with the firing mechanism when one of the men simply tried a button and sent a round downrange. Reloading, they turned the gun on the boat but missed with their first shot. Adjusting, they fired a second round, which hit the boat now some 300 yards distant. The enemy craft turned around and withdrew, but not before Parr and company gave it a parting shot, another hit. Now the newly formed gun crew was getting used to its weapon. Parr spotted a water tower he thought was a perfect spot for the enemy to observe the bridges. He put two rounds through it to the cheers of his fellow soldiers. Water gushed from the four small holes left by the round’s entry and exit; they had fired armor-piercing shot, which held no explosive filler. Parr next turned his attention to a chateau to the south. Suspecting it as well, he shouted “Number 1 gun, fire!” and proceeded to put three rounds into the building’s roof. Howard was nearby and heard the shout, which he found odd considering there was only one gun in the area to begin with. Quickly he ordered Parr to cease fire; the chateau was actually the maternity hospital run by the local resistance leader, Madame Vion. After a while his fellow soldiers became annoyed with Parr for all his shooting; each time the cannon fired it attracted a swarm of bullets in return. Howard ordered him to stop firing. At 1000 hours, the men of D Company saw a rare occurrence on D-Day, the appearance of a German aircraft overhead. The fighter roared down toward the bridge, sending the infantrymen scrambling for cover. The German pilot released a bomb that soared down, hit the bridge, bounced off, and splashed into the canal. Howard, having taken cover in the pillbox, was very impressed by the pilot’s accuracy but relieved his ordnance had been a dud. Midday came and went, and D Company grimly held onto the bridge despite the incoming fire. Still, no concerted attack by forces materialized. With the airborne landings, the beach assaults, and everything else being thrown at them on June 6, mounting an attack to retake the bridges proved beyond the Germans that day. At 1330 hours, a few of the glidermen heard bagpipes. When they said so, several of their comrades scoffed at them, but after a few minutes the sound grew louder and closer. It was the 1st Special Service Brigade commanded by

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Lord Lovat. Since radio communication was spotty at best, he had posted piper Bill Millin at his side, knowing the bagpipe would be a good recognition signal. Lieutenant Sweeney recalled a D Company man standing up and playing a bugle in return. Within minutes Lovat was shaking hands with Howard, who apologized for the incoming mortar fire. Apparently Howard thought it was coming from the area of the maternity hospital but had orders not to fire on it. The commandos began running over the canal bridge, where several were hit by the ever-present snipers. It was a hard crossing for the commandos, but at least now the linkup between the landing forces and the glider troops had taken place. Howard’s force would remain at the bridge, but the pressure had slackened somewhat with the arrival of Lovat’s troops. As afternoon turned to evening, German sniping and indirect fire were still coming in but lacked the strength to threaten D Company’s position. Just before nightfall, a massive British glider drop occurred, hundreds of them landing nearby. The bombers Three days after it was secured by airborne troops on D-Day, the bridge over the towing them dropped supply canisters Caen Canal allows British vehicles to cross the waterway. The span was later renamed Pegasus Bridge in honor of the heroic airborne assault and referencing from their bomb bays. Soon afterward, the insignia of the 6th Airborne Division. friendly soldiers riding in jeeps came pouring down the road and crossed the The seizure of the bridges was featured in Cornelius Ryan’s bridge on their way east. It was all a welcome sight. Even more welcome was relief, which came a few hours later, postwar book The Longest Day, widening publicity of this not long before midnight. The 2nd Battalion of the Royal War- action. When the film version of the book was made in 1962, wickshire Regiment marched up to the bridge, and Howard the role of Major Howard went to actor Richard Todd, the turned the defense over to them. Company D had completed former para lieutenant who was at the bridge on June 6. The Gondrees continued to run their café and served free its mission. They were among the first Allied soldiers to land in France on D-Day and the first to enter combat with the Ger- drinks to veterans of D-Day each year on June 6. The café and mans. It was a very impressive job for the company’s first time bridge area are now considered national monuments, and a in combat. In their honor, the canal bridge was renamed Pega- museum is nearby. The bridge itself was replaced when the sus Bridge in recognition of the unit’s shoulder patch, while canal was widened postwar, but the original bridge sits at the the river bridge became known as Horsa Bridge. Major museum. Also on display are a Horsa glider and Major Howard was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his Howard’s beret along with various weapons and relics related to the battle. It is a fitting honor to the memory of a small actions and leadership. Months after the battle, Wally Parr was reading an Ameri- group of men who risked so much doing their part to liberate can magazine that contained an article about the battle for the France from the Nazi yoke. bridge. It mentioned how the dastardly Germans, in their cruelty, had shelled the local maternity hospital during the battle. Christopher Miskimon is a regular contributor to WWII HisHe would later say, “This was the first and last time I had tory. He is an officer in the Colorado National Guard’s 157th shelled pregnant women and newborn babies.” Regiment.

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CLOSE ENCOUNTER An American airborne engineer recalls his drop into southern France and an operation with British comrades. BY CHRIS BLENDHEIM AT MIDNIGHT, the jumpers of 2nd Battalion, 517th Parachute Regimental Combat Team, as well as the 596th Parachute Combat Engineer Company, still dripping from the paint-spray line, shuffled across Ombrone Airfield to the waiting C-47s of Serial 6 and climbed aboard. Some were so weighed down that air corpsmen had to assist them aboard. The airborne combat engineers were not only weighed down with a heavy load, but with dangerous explosives. “We jumped with boxes of tetro caps above our reserve chutes,” Hal Roberts, combat engineer of the 517th Parachute Infantry Regiment, said. “These were wooden boxes, felt-lined, with 24 caps each about the width of a pencil. If those exploded, there’d be nothing left of you. So you protected those things. They figured the only way we could get them down without exploding was with us absorbing the impact shock of landing.” The details of Operation Dragoon were mind numbing. Three hundred thousand men. Several thousand planes. A thousand ships. An advance force of 5,600 paratroopers so large it demanded its own operation title: Albatross. Before equipment was packed up, it was neatly laid out on shelter halves for an officer’s inspection, then packed. Each man had two bandoliers of .30-caliber rifle ammunition, half a belt for the squad machine gun, Mae West, a full musette bag, escape A group of British and American airborne troops takes a break beside a farmhouse in southern France. Hal Roberts participated in action against the Germans along with a group of British paras. INSET: Airborne Engineer Hal Roberts is shown in full jump gear, ready for Operation Dragoon. 90

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the plane flushed the men out in a long string within about four seconds. Any sizable gap between men could mean a jumper lost or dead. They went out at 1,500 feet, twice that of a normal combat jump. Just before the jump, the planes had climbed above the thickening clouds where the moon illuminated the blanket of white into what appeared like a shimmering sea. “As I got out into the sky,” Roberts recalled, “I thought, ‘Oh God, I thought we went inland! Am I going into the drink without my Mae West?’” Weighed down by his rucksack, a trooper tangled in a mass of suspension lines might well drown. But relief swelled within him as he slipped silently through a sheet of moonlit clouds and into the black night below. “Before I hit the ground, I could hear the rapid burp of gunfire,” Hal related. This was the German MG-42, a machine gun that could fire up to 1,200 rounds per minute. Instead of emitting the familiar bup-bup-bup-bup of the American M2 .50-caliber machine gun, it emitted the sound of ripping canvas, a buzzsaw, or a protracted belch. “I crash-landed in the bushes,” said Hal. “I didn’t know what I was in or where I was, but there was lots of burp gun fire. And they fire so fast! I thought, ‘This is not good.’” Hal had landed in a vineyard in the town of Le Muy, miles away from his planned drop zone and the rest of Headquarters Company. Row after row of low-growing grapevines striped the rock-hard soil and ran lengthwise between a road and a dry riverbed. All around him were pockets of gunfire and shouting men, all veiled in darkness. “I wasn’t able to double up, due to a bush that was jammed into the parachute backpack, so I couldn’t get my chute off,” he said. So Hal called out for help to any jumper who might be in the next row of low-level shrubs. The MG-42 immediately ripped through his area. The only thought to rush through his head was, “They’re shooting at me! I The Douglas C-47 transport aircraft was the workhorse of the U.S. Army airlift can’t believe they’re shooting at me!” operations in Western Europe. These two C-47s are en route to the skies above southern France on August 15, 1944, during Operation Dragoon. Fear paralyzed him. Adrenaline shot through his veins. Clyde Hoffman, who had been right behind Hal in the jumping stick, crashed in the distance and in Hal’s row of grapevines. Hoffman crawled to his position. “You alright? You hit?” “No, I’m okay. But this is one helluva way to greet visitors.” “Hey, are you flipping your wig?” “I can’t get outta my chute.” Hoffman took out his trench knife and cut away at the harness material. “Wait a minute, you’re cutting me!” pouch, canteen, entrenching tool, an M-1 carbine with a folding stock or a standard M-1 rifle broken down into three parts in a Griswold case, bayonet, three knives, shelter half, raincoat, main parachute, reserve parachute, and enough K rations, C rations, and concentrated chocolate D bars to last three days. Most of the men painted their faces with black and green camouflage from Lily Daché cosmetic tubes, and some shaved their heads to resemble Mohawks. The Nazi propagandists used this as proof to the French people that the Americans were murderers and lunatics. Some GIs, later lost in the French countryside, had asked Frenchmen for directions, only to scare them silly. The engineers did not jump as a company. Third Platoon jumped with 3rd Battalion, while Company Headquarters and 2nd Platoon came with Regimental Headquarters. First Platoon jumped with the 509th Combat Team. As part of Company Headquarters, Hal Roberts’s plane lifted off around 1:30 AM, flew north along the coast of Italy, then veered northwest at Elba. “We could see the marker ships below,” he remembered. These were positioned to guide the armada with marker lights. “After the last one of them, we turned inland, so I thought, ‘I’m not going to need this Mae West anymore,’ and I chucked it.” Anticipating the jump, the last man, the pusher, inched forward, causing the whole stick of jumpers to close in tightly before the door. All the men had the forward lean of marathon runners on their mark. Hal put his shoulder into the man in front as he watched the red light. Before the jump, Lieutenant Larson said three lasting words that echoed in his mind until he jumped: “God bless you….” At 4:32 AM the red light went out, and a green light pushed reality into gear. “Go! Go!” The jumpers literally pushed the men in front of them so that

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Rounds were tearing up the bushes all around them since Hal’s white chute, draped clearly over the shrub, marked his position. Soon he was free, and they moved under the only cover the orchard would afford at a low crawl, lower than a snake’s belly, low so that your helmet is plowing a trough for you to crawl through, low so that your waistband scoops dirt into your underwear and you don’t care, just as long as the German machine gun does not find you. Every time Hal pulled his leg up to move, it bumped his entrenching tool and the sound invited more fire. The Germans were listening very intently. He ditched it and his rucksack; they were too big. Any sound made the enemy machine gun come alive, and each man’s insides recoiled with the thought that any The airborne drop zones for Operation Dragoon were clustered in areas to supone of those rounds had his name on it. port the amphibious landings by Allied troops on the coast of southern France; They remained still, and all was silent however, a number of airborne units were scattered over wide areas and missed their drop zones by miles. Hal Roberts came down near the village of Le Muy, between bursts. some distance from his intended area of operations. Hal and Clyde weighed their situation. At one end of the row was a two-story The faceless Nazi passed them by. Hal thought the soldier building, beside it a tree that held a paratrooper above the ground. His body gently rotated in the harness like a hanged would hear his thumping heart. After what seemed an eternity, they slowly crawled free of the vines so that anyone watching man at the gallows. The eastern sky showed some color. “Listen,” Hoffman whispered. “It’s going to be daylight the rows could not detect movement. At the opposite end of soon. With that machine gun, we’re not getting out of here. the orchard was another two-story building heavily fortified by a rock wall. Hal motioned to Hoffman to go toward the And they’re gonna be patrolling through here at daylight.” riverbed. They began their long journey on their bellies over “What’re we gonna do?” “Listen, the gliders should be coming in soon. Once they do, and through the bushes, not as men, but as clumps of vegetation moving slower than the eye suspected. that’ll take some of the heat off of us. Then we can move.” They found other 517th jumpers—dead. They had tried to After weighing a certain death against an uncertain future, they agreed to dig in. For over an hour, the two paratroopers run out of the orchard in a low crouch, which put them high carefully cut free strands of shrubbery and camouflaged each enough for the MG-42 alongside the road to be effective. The other. Each man slipped into the small hole he had made in the gun had worked the whole orchard that night. From the last row of grapevines they spotted the riverbed. bush and pulled more branches in, above, and behind. “The rocks were white as snow,” Hal recalled. “We’d have “How do I look?” Hal whispered. From his side in the shrubbery, Clyde nodded. Sunrise soon been dead before two steps.” They turned back and crawled past the fortified building. A discovered them, shining light through the leaves and quickening their feelings of vulnerability. They watched as a group sentry on top of the building looked out over the orchard and of German soldiers swung a dead American paratrooper, hang- the surrounding countryside, then turned and disappeared for ing in his harness, against the side of the tree he landed in. The a few moments, only to return. They found a pattern to the guard’s boredom, and they moved during his absence. Germans smoked cigarettes and laughed. With dead ends on three sides, that left only one option: the The two Americans heard slow footsteps from behind. Hal road, which was protected by the machine-gun emplacement. thumbed the safety of his .45-caliber pistol. A pair of boots and the muzzle of a rifle came into view. The They slowly moved their way into a position alongside the German’s leather soles crushed pebbles into the soil. Hal shifted road where they could view it. It took six hours to crawl this only his eyes into the next row where Hoffman lay, hoping route of a few hundred yards at a snail’s pace with hearts beating time. Clyde’s camouflage resembled that of his own. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Two German soldiers manned the machine gun, a triggerman and a belt man who also had to frequently change barrels on a weapon with such a high rate of fire. They focused their gun over the open field and into the hills where activity was increasing. Hal raised his M1 Garand and fired two rounds, one right after the other. They were so close that he did not even use his sights. The triggerman fell, then his assistant. Hal mused, “There was only one way out, and that’s what I had to do to survive.” Running parallel to the road was a ditch full of water. Had they known about it from the beginning, it would have saved them hours of low crawling. They slid into the ditch just as mortars started dropping where they had been. Hal found himself up to his neck in water. Clyde was about a head shorter. They American paratroopers, with U.S. flags emblazoned on their shoulders for easy identification and bayonets fixed, take cover along a dirt road near the town of La slogged along this waterway, passing Motte, France, on August 15, 1944. underground and into the cattails, covering their trail as they went. After being in the cold water so long, the sun-warmed cattails felt wonderful. ing their equipment for the task at hand, packing plastic balls “We came across this little French kid, 10 years old or so,” of composition C2 explosive with tetra caps. “What’re we doing?” Hal asked. Hal recalled. “He came up to me and grabbed my arm and “Yank, we’re making Gammon grenades!” kissed my shoulder patch. He said, ‘L’anglais est là,’ pointing At about 2:30 PM, the major gave his men the command, and the way, and I said, ‘Merci.’” We made our way over there and met up with 40 Brits commanded by an English major. They the two Yanks went along for the ride. The lead element had been running into trouble, so I told them, ‘You’re going to sprinted across the field, a number of them yelling, “Bash ‘em! have clear going because there was a machine gun there that’s Bash ‘em!” The first set of men who made it to the wall tossed not there anymore.’ They said, ‘Yank, come on aboard!’ Hoff- Gammon grenades over and stood there, the next set hunched man and I didn’t have our packs; we had left them in the down behind them, the third set crouched on hands and orchard and donated them to the enemy. So the English gave knees—all together forming a human staircase. The remaining us food and ammunition.” Brits ran up their backs, shouting and throwing grenades. The unit, likely part of the British 2nd Independent Para- Plumes of black smoke erupted from behind the wall, and the chute Brigade, was preparing a raid on the fortified command Brits jumped headlong into them with Tommy guns firing. post, the same one with its inattentive guard that Hal and HoffBy the time Hal and Clyde got over the wall, the Brits had man had passed that morning. The plan was to approach the opened the gate from inside. They ran into the command post command post on the opposite side where a huge cornfield lay. to find the Brits stitching the ceiling both ways with hundreds One of the first things they told their American friends was, of rounds. “They were just running those Tommy guns, con“You don’t need that helmet.” stantly firing. Those guns were hot,” Hal remembered. They tore off triangles of camouflaged parachute silk and They had taken the command post in less than 10 minutes. gave them to the Americans. The Germans suffered 30 dead and 80 taken prisoner. Then “Why?” Hal discovered why the British had worked so fast: tea time. “It makes less noise, and you don’t need anything that does- “These Limeys,” Hal recalled with a laugh, “they took out n’t stop bullets. That helmet doesn’t stop bullets. Maybe a lit- their Bunsen burners and had their spot o’ tea! Three in the tle shrapnel and mud and dirt falling on your head, that’s all.” afternoon, time to take a vacation from the war! I thought if I Seeing how the Brits wore bandanas, the Americans followed was these Germans, I’d time everything to take place at three suit. They sat in a cornfield in the warmth of the sun, prepar- in the afternoon!”

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ACTION AT ARNHEM BY DAVID H. LIPPMAN

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A bridge across the Rhine proved an insurmountable goal for the ill-fated British 1st Airborne during Operation Market-Garden.

IT

was getting dark when they reached the bridge, but there it was, still intact. Lieutenant Jack Grayburn’s No. 2 Platoon was led by A Company, and soon they concentrated underneath the ramp carrying the roadway onto the bridge, out of sight of any Germans on the bridge itself. Lieutenant Robin Vlasto later wrote, “Things were organized amid the most awful row. There was a complete absence of any enemy and the general air of peace was quite incredible. The CO arrived and seemed extremely happy, making cracks about everyone’s nerves being jumpy.” It was 8 PM, the evening of September 17, 1944. After a long march from its drop zone, the 2nd Battalion of Britain’s elite Parachute Regiment had reached the objective of the entire Market-Garden campaign, the Arnhem bridge. Now the battalion—and elements of the 1st Parachute Brigade trickling in—simply had to hold it until they were relieved by the British 2nd Army, heading north from the Dutch-Belgian border. The 2nd Battalion’s arrival at the bridge was the culmination of the Market-Garden plan, which was the largest airborne assault in history. Some 35,000 British and American paratroopers dropped up to 63 miles behind German lines in The Netherlands to open an “airborne carpet” across a series of rivers, enabling the British 2nd Army to drive across the Rhine and be in a position to menace both the Ruhr and the Nazi V-2 sites in Holland. It was a plan that gambled on speed, surprise, and German disorganization, and it was the brainchild of Field Marshal Sir Bernard Law

The wreckage of German vehicles lies strewn across Arnhem bridge following a brisk fight between British troops of the 1st Airborne Division and SS forces on the afternoon of the second day of Operation Market-Garden. Although the Germans were repulsed in this attack, heavy armor and overwhelming numerical superiority eventually wore down the lightly armed paras, who surrendered after holding out much longer than expected. David Shepherd, Bridgeman Art Library

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Montgomery, the victor of El Alamein, not a man known for relying on speed and surprise. But if Monty’s audacious plan worked, it could shorten the war by weeks or months. In any case, the plan called for the British 1st Airborne Division to make the deepest drop, at the town of Arnhem, 63 miles behind enemy lines. The division’s paratroops and glidermen would land on a field six to eight miles from the Arnhem bridge, the final objective of the Allied drive. Once on the ground, 1st Airborne was to send a squadron of jeeps equipped with Vickers machine guns racing ahead of the ground forces to seize the bridge and hold it until the foot troops marched up. Assigned to reach the bridge first was the 2nd Battalion, a veteran outfit that had been formed on October 1, 1941. Under the command of the driving Lt. Col. John D. Frost, its men had made combat jumps on a raid into France to seize a radar station and airborne assaults in North Africa and Sicily. The battalion had a strong Irish and Scots character. The drop went off almost perfectly, with Frost’s 481 men forming up and heading along “Route Lion,” backed by some Royal Engineers and five 6-pounder (57mm) antitank guns. The battalion moved through the towns of Heveadorp and Oosterbeek against light opposition, enjoying a rapturous welcome. Captain Tony Frank wrote of his memories of the march to the bridge: “One was [amazed by] the incredible number of orange flowers or handkerchiefs that suddenly appeared like magic. The Dutch were very much in family groups, in staid clothing, out on this fine Sunday afternoon. The second memory was of the problem of trying to stop them slowing down our men by pressing cakes, milk, etc., on them. It was an atmosphere of great jubilation at the start of the move, mainly in the coun98

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Paras of the British 1st Airborne Division drop into an open field during the early hours of Operation Market-Garden, the Allied attempt to seize key bridges in the Netherlands and strike into the Ruhr, the industrial heart of Germany.

try area near Heveadorp and Oosterbeek, but it petered out when the first hold-up and sporadic firing started. There weren’t so many Dutch out then, but a few stout ones stayed on and watched the fun.” Private Sidney Elliott remembered, “The Dutch population rushed out of their houses, cheered us, shook hands, gave us drinks, apples and marigolds—and some of us were lucky enough to receive the odd kiss. How could this be war? It was a question that would be answered very soon.” Ordered not to accept any of the alcoholic drinks offered, the British took the advance more seriously when they came under sniper fire. Soon the battalion reached its first objective, the railway bridge across the Rhine at Oosterbeek. Lieutenant Peter Barry and his men charged the bridge. As they ran up, their hobnailed boots clattering on the bridge’s steel, the center span of the bridge exploded, and metal plates right in front of Barry flew into the air. Barry and his men halted immediately. “It was lucky that we had stopped when we did, otherwise we would have all been killed,” Barry recalled. “No one was injured in the explosion. Then I felt something hit my left; I looked back and asked if anyone was shooting. They all said, ‘No.’ It was a German bullet. Next I felt a searing shot through my upper right arm, and it seemed to become disconnected; it went round and round in circles; the bone had been completely

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severed. There were only a few shots, but whoever was firing certainly picked me out as a leader and hit me.” Barry pulled his men off the bridge, losing one man killed to German rifle fire. Aside from losing a key bridge over the Rhine, Frost’s plan to take the main Arnhem road bridge by passing a company over the rail bridge (thus taking the bridge from both sides at once) was now impossible. He would have to take the bridge at its north end and grab the south side through a coup de main. Second Battalion moved on ... under a railway bridge ... through an encounter with a German armored car ... and onto the bridge. The battalion’s B Company was embroiled in a four-hour action on the lower slopes of a terrain feature called “Den Brink,” but the rest pushed on, followed by the 1st Parachute Brigade’s headquarters party under Major Tony Hibbert. Now at the bridge, 2nd Battalion’s men moved to consolidate their position. The pilot of a Royal Air Force reconnaissance aircraft snapped this photo of the Frost chose as his headquarters a large north end of the Arnhem bridge and the destroyed German armored cars and troop carriers that were hit by British paras on the afternoon of the second day of private house, the upper rooms of which fighting during Operation Market-Garden. provided a good view of the area. Headquarters and support companies moved into buildings close by, and the vehicles and antitank guns into voices—definitely German. I told the section to be quiet and I peeped over. There was a truck with troops in the back, facing the sheltered yard of a large office building also nearby. The Dutch owners of the homes and buildings put up with south, only 15 yards or so away. An officer or an NCO was talktheir new tenants with a mixture of welcome, resilience, and ing to the men in the back. I thought that the element of surprise fear, knowing that they soon would be living at the epicenter would be gone if we burst in, so I decided to wait. It was only two or three minutes before the one doing the talking got into of a battle. Second Battalion was soon joined by the Brigade HQ party, the cab, and the truck moved off. “We started to walk along the right-hand side of the bridge. which actually initially outnumbered Frost’s force. Brigade HQ was set up in a large office building near Frost’s headquarters. It was very dark, but you could see outlines. I caught a few of Now for the bridge itself. It was guarded by only 20 or so the enemy hiding in corners of what looked like small huts and elderly or very young German troops from a local flak unit, and passed them back to the last man in the section and told him they were either in a pillbox a quarter of the way across the to take them down the steps as prisoners. You could hear firbridge or asleep in some huts behind the pillbox. They seemed ing in other parts of the town, but there was no firing on the bridge itself. Then, in the gloom, I saw a rifle starting to point unaware of the British arrival. The Germans had failed to adequately garrison the bridge at me. I swung round to the right and started firing my tommybecause they were more concerned with holding the bridge at gun. I know I hit him because he fired his rifle as he was falling Nijmegen. Maj. Gen. Heinz Harmel, who commanded the forward and I caught the bullet in the top of my left leg. I told 10th SS Panzer Division, later lamented that failure, saying the section behind me to report back and say that the bridge that if a few soldiers had been left behind at the Arnhem bridge, was well-manned and would need more troops. I managed to crawl behind an iron girder, and eventually a couple of medics it would have been a different story. Frost sent a group of men under Lance Sergeant Bill Fulton to came for me.” Fulton spent the next two years in various hospitals. take the bridge. Fulton said later, “I led off first, up those steps Major Digby Tatham-Warter, who commanded 2nd Battalon the west side of the bridge. When I reached the top I heard WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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ion’s A Company, realized a more forceful attack would be needed. He assigned Lieutenant Jack Grayburn to the assault. Grayburn’s men painted their faces black and bound their boots with strips of curtains to make sure there was no rattling equipment or weapons. Grayburn and his party crept up the side of the embankment and silently began to cross the bridge. They swiftly came under heavy machine-gun fire and had to withdraw, Grayburn wounded in the shoulder, along with seven other men. For the next effort, at 10 PM, Frost had an antitank gun under Sergeant Ernie Shelswell skillfully backed up by a jeep twothirds of the way up a path on the side of the approach road embankment and then manhandled to the top to face the bridge. At the same time, a flamethrower team was sent to the house nearest the pillbox, where a gap was made in the wall by firing a PIAT antitank missile into it. When all was ready, the 6-pounder fired shots at the pillbox, and Sapper Ginger Williams opened up with his flamethrower. The fire missed the pillbox and instead hit a hut, cooking off an ammunition and fuel store. The explosion set off paintwork on the bridge, and the fire burned all night. The attack was stalled again. Incredibly, as the night wore on a small convoy of German trucks came onto the bridge from the south. The ammunition aboard the trucks exploded, adding to the inferno and din, and the occupants of the trucks were either killed or bailed out to surrender. The 17 men bagged turned out to be part of a unit that was firing V-2 rockets at England. Meanwhile, British reinforcements arrived—part of the 3rd Battalion, the long-delayed B Company of 2nd Battalion, and more engineers. In all, Frost had a decent force: 340 men from 100

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A British 6-pounder antitank gun is shown in action during Operation Market-Garden on September 20, 1944. At the moment the photograph was snapped, the British gun crew was engaging a German PzKpfw II B2 (f) tank.

his 2nd Battalion, 110 men from 1st Parachute Brigade HQ, 75 men from 1st Parachute Squadron Royal Engineers, 45 men from 3rd Battalion, 17 glider pilots, even a war correspondent. It was an estimated 740 men dug into buildings around the embankment and ramp leading to the north end of the Arnhem bridge—a sizable force, about one and one-half parachute battalions. Frost himself was the senior officer. The 1st Parachute Brigade’s commander, Brigadier Gerald Lathbury, was with 3rd Battalion’s men, who were blocked from advancing to the bridge. During the night, the Germans did not make any major counterattacks. Both sides waited for the dawn. But the Germans had plenty of powerful forces with which to counterattack. Unknown to or ignored by British intelligence, the 2nd SS Panzer Corps, battered in the Normandy fighting, was refitting and recuperating in the woods and farms around Arnhem and Nijmegen. Despite being understrength, the corps, under Lt. Gen. Willi Bittrich, was a formidable force that fielded a variety of tanks, armored cars, assault guns, and mechanized infantry, all well trained and filled with Nazi elitism. The airborne assault had taken the corps by surprise, but as usual the Germans had reacted swiftly, deploying 10th SS Panzer Division’s guns, tanks, and troops to hold the Nijmegen bridge to the south against the American 82nd Airborne and using the smaller 9th SS Panzer Division to surround the British

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paratroopers at Arnhem and Oosterbeek. Frost did not know it, but his little force was quite cut off from the rest of the 1st Airborne Division. At dawn, the Germans began to counterattack from the east, probing the British defenses with Mark III and Mark IV tanks, which were easily beaten off. Lieutenant Arvian LlewellynJones described the action: “The gun spades [on the antitank gun] were not into the pavement edge, nor firm against any strong barrier. The gun was laid, the order to fire given, and when fired ran back 50 yards, injuring two of the crew. There was no visible damage to the tank. It remained hidden in part of the gloom of the underpass of the bridge. The gun was recovered with some difficulty. This time it was firmly wedged. The Battery Office clerk, who had never fired a gun in his life, was sent out to help man the gun. This time the tank under the bridge advanced into full view and looked to be deploying its gun straight at the 6-pounder. We fired first. The aim was true; the tank was hit and it slewed and blocked the road.” The Germans found the fighting hard, too. Members of the 10th SS Panzer Division’s 21st Panzergrenadier Regiment were sent into the attack, and one section commander, Alfred Ringsdorf, described it as follows: “This was a harder battle than any I had fought in Russia. It was constant, close range, hand-tohand fighting. The English were everywhere. The streets for the most part were narrow, sometimes not more than 15 feet wide, and we fired at each other from only yards away. We fought to gain inches, cleaning out one room after the other. It was absolute hell!” The SS attacked again with truck-borne infantry, and Private James Sims, a 19-year-old mortar crewman, saw the Germans bail out of their shot-up vehicles. “One terribly wounded German soldier, shot through both legs, pulled himself hand over hand toward his own lines. We watched his slow and painful progress with horrified fascination, as he was the only creature moving among a carpet of the dead. He pulled himself across the road, and over the pavement, then he dragged his shattered body inch by inch up a grass-covered incline leading to the bridge road. Once he had cleared a slight parapet at the top of the incline he would be back in his own lines. He must have been in terrible pain but he conquered the incline through sheer willpower. With a superhuman effort he heaved himself up to clear the final obstacle. A rifle barked out next to me and I watched in disbelief as the wounded German fell back, shot through the head. To me it was little short of murder, but to my companion, a Welshman, one of our best snipers, the German was a legitimate target. When I protested he looked at me as though I was simple.” The Germans sent in an ambulance with SS troopers hidden inside. Tumbling out, firing their submachine guns from the hip, their charge was annihilated near Frost’s headquarters. “I suppose they’ll send a hearse next,” a British paratrooper com-

Senior German officers gather for a briefing to respond to the Allied offensive code-named Operation Market-Garden. Left to right are Field Marshal Walter Model, Colonel General Kurt Student, Major General of the Waffen SS Wilhelm Bittrich, Major Hans Peter Knaust, and Major General of the Waffen SS Heinz Harmel.

mented. The attacks were piecemeal and uncoordinated, but that would change. After that, there was a period of relative calm, and Frost called it “a time when I felt everything was going according to plan, with no serious opposition yet and everything under control.” That changed in mid-morning. Between Arnhem and Nijmegen was the 9th SS Panzer Division’s reconnaissance battalion, a tough outfit equipped with 22 armored cars and halftracked armored personnel carriers. The boss was Captain Viktor Graebner, who had just received the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross the day before, for bravery in Normandy. He had led his unit over the bridge before the British got there, on a sweep down to the main road to Nijmegen. Finding that area clear, he turned back to return over the bridge to reach his divisional command post in Arnhem. He knew the British were on the north end of the bridge, but whether he intended to mount an attack or just dash through the British positions is not known. Either way, Graebner was no fool, and he prepared for a fight. He was a former Wehrmacht officer who had transferred to the Waffen SS and was described as “an impressive soldier, the right man for the job.” Dark, slightly built, and slim, he was well liked and respected by his men. He had a reputation of always being forward in combat and unafraid to expose himself when necessary in action. His attack plan depended on blitzkrieg speed and shock, as well as the firepower of his assault guns and armored cars, some of which mounted 75mm guns. All had machine guns. It was the highest concentration of armored vehicles in the 9th SS Panzer Division. At 9 AM, the SS men mounted their vehicles, wearing their “Waffenrock” mottled camouflage uniforms. Surrounded by WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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gray exhaust fumes, the battalion rumbled north up the two-lane road to the bridge. They would dash 600 meters up a ramp and across the 200-meter bridge into the teeth of the British defenses. Armored cars would lead the way, followed by half-tracks jammed with SS troops, roaring along at 20 to 25 miles per hour. Behind them came sandbagged trucks loaded with more infantry to mop up the British defenses. Graebner, leading the attack as usual, in a captured British Humber armored car, jabbed the air twice, and the column was off, roaring “like a Grand Prix start” according to historian Robert Kershaw. British lookouts in the tops of the occupied houses drew the officers’ attention to the column of vehicles assembling on the bridge approach. The armored cars reached the summit of the bridge, cannon and machine guns firing. They maneuvered their way around burning trucks left from the previous actions. The British held their fire, waiting On September 20, 1944, NCOs of the Glider Pilot Regiment search for German through the ruins of the ULO school in Oosterbeek, a town near Arnhem. for clear shots. German tracers flew in all snipers An empty supply container lies just outside the shattered doorway. directions. Two more armored cars rolled across ... then three more—then the British opened up with everything they had, blazing away with firing was Frost himself, who watched the battle and said later, Bren and Vickers machine guns, antitank guns, and PIAT anti- “A commander ought not to be firing a weapon in the middle of an action. His best weapon is a pair of binoculars.” tank weapons. Corporal Geoff Cockayne described the action: “I had a GerA leading armored car hit a British mine laid in the road, and its wheel exploded skyward, flying into the air in slow man Schmeisser and had a lot of fun with it. I shot at any Gerry motion, halting the vehicle. British troops hurled grenades into that moved. Several of their vehicles—six or seven —started the open half-tracks, which set off a terrible carnage in the con- burning. We didn’t stay in the room we were in but came out fined spaces. Black smoke boiled up in the air as burning fuel to fire, keeping moving, taking cover and firing from different snaked across the road. Nearly every German vehicle was hit positions. The Germans had got out of their troop carriers— by PIATs or antitank guns. Sergeant Cyril Robson fired solid- what was left of them—and it became a proper infantry action. shot shells at the parapet at the side of the bridge until he cut I shot off nearly all my ammunition. To start with, I had been a V-shaped section away and was then able to fire into the sides letting rip, but then I became more careful; I knew there would of German vehicles passing the gap. It is believed that Rob- be no more. I wasn’t firing at any German in particular, just firing at where I knew they were.” son’s gun did more damage than any other weapon. Resistance was greater than the Germans anticipated. VehiGerman troops in the half-tracks found their way blocked and themselves trapped under heavy small-arms fire. One early cles came to a halt when driver and co-driver were killed. victim was seen to be flung out on the roadway and literally Graebner’s attack began to disintegrate. SS Corporal Mauga, cut to pieces by a hail of fire. Some vehicles toppled over or crouching in his half-track, witnessed the setback, saying, slewed off the embankment of the lower ramp, allowing the “Suddenly all hell broke loose ahead of us. All around my vehicle there were explosions and noise and I was right in the midairborne men in the buildings there to join in the killing. Everybody seemed to be firing, even Major Freddie Gough, dle of this chaos.” With Graebner dead and the British firing heavily, German commander of the British jeep reconnaissance squadron, who blazed away with his jeep’s Vickers machine guns. One of his morale and cohesion began to break. One driver shoved his shots killed Captain Graebner. The only officer who was not half-track into reverse and hit the vehicle behind him. The two 102

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Map © 2014 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

were jammed together and became targets for British gunfire. As the vehicles burst into flames, the Germans tried to get out but were massacred by the British. For two hours the battle raged on. Two German drivers were hit and their vehicles zigzagged out of control, crashing through the left barrier of the bridge and plummeting to the street below “in a shower of cascading burning fuel, wreckage, and screaming men.” But the SS were determined. Crouching beneath their wrecked vehicles, the troopers struggled to form assault groups and fight their way north. The British used their radios to call in artillery fire from the distant 1st Airborne Division, and shells looped into the German wreckage, adding to the carnage and din. On the second day of the fight for control of the town of Arnhem and its crucial As noon approached, the Germans bridge, the British airborne troops holding the south end of the bridge were realized the situation was hopeless and already growing desperately short of food, medical supplies, and ammunition. Two began to withdraw on foot. Some leaped SS panzer divisions had moved to the Arnhem area to refit after being mauled in and the unfortunate British airborne troops had parachuted virtually from the bridge into the Rhine River, Normandy, on top of the enemy. unable to pass through blazing vehicles. As the Germans withdrew, the sound of gunfire was replaced by the wailing of a jammed horn on one Major Digby Tatham-Warter, who walked around the battleof the 12 knocked-out vehicles on the bridge, and the sound field displaying a rolled up umbrella, took over the battalion. The airborne men dug in for their first full night at the bridge. of British paratroopers shouting their war cry, “Whoa Mohammed,” which added insult to the German injury. The The houses on the western side of the perimeter had hardly been attacked, so part of B Company was redeployed to the British lost just 19 men. Graebner’s defeat had a huge impact on the 9th SS Panzer eastern sector. A house near the bridge was deliberately set Division. They realized the British paratroopers would be afire to provide illumination for the bridge area, and B Comtougher customers than the enemies they usually fought and pany was ordered to send out a standing patrol to ensure that often defeated. It would be suicide to attack across the bridge no Germans tried to cross the bridge. Royal Engineers examagain, 9th SS Panzer Division commander Colonel Walther ined the underside of the structure to be sure the Germans Harzer decided, and he would shift his momentum to the north could not demolish it. At 3 AM on the 19th, a German force apparently got lost and side of the bridge to dig the British out. The Germans were not done yet. Their next attack was stood by the school building manned by 3rd Battalion’s men, against the eastern side of the perimeter held by Lieutenant Pat talking nonchalantly. The British reacted at once. Lieutenant Len Barnett’s Brigade HQ Defense Platoon. Preceded by artillery Wright described the action as follows: and mortar bombardment, the Germans sent in two tanks and “We all stood by with grenades—we had plenty of those— infantry under the bridge ramp. The British knocked out the and with all our weapons. Then Major Lewis shouted, ‘Fire,’ tanks and drove the infantry back. and the men in all the rooms facing that side threw grenades and The rest of the day saw further minor attacks and mortar opened fire on the Germans. My clearest memory was of and artillery shelling of the British positions. Both sides real- ‘Pongo’ Lewis running from one room to another, dropping ized it would be a long siege. The British needed the bridge— grenades and saying to me that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so it was the whole point of the operation—and the Germans much since the last time he had gone hunting. It lasted about a needed it as well, to move troops and supplies to the defense quarter of an hour. There was nothing the Germans could do at Nijmegen. except die or disappear. When it got light there were a lot of That evening, Frost got word that his brigade commander, bodies down there—18 or 20 or perhaps more. Some were still Gerald Lathbury, was missing. Tony Hibbert asked Frost to moving; one was severely wounded, a bad stomach wound with take over all the brigade’s elements at the Arnhem bridge. his guts visible, probably by a grenade. Some of our men tried WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Firing his Enfield No. 2 revolver at the Germans from the window of the Hartenstein Hotel in Oosterbeek, headquarters of the 1st Airborne Division, a British para has sighted advancing Germans on September 23, 1944.

to get him in, showing a Red Cross symbol, but they were shot at and came back in, without being hit but unable to help the Germans.” The British were holding on. But there was no help at hand. The 9th SS Panzer Division and other German units had done an effective job of blocking the rest of the 1st Airborne Division from marching to 1st Parachute Brigade’s relief. Nor was there any sign of the tanks of XXX Corps, the vanguard of the ground element of Operation Market-Garden. As Tuesday dawned over a smoky and battered Arnhem, the British paratroopers at the bridge knew they had held out the two days required. Where was the relief force? The Polish Parachute Brigade was supposed to parachute in that very day, dropping on the south side of the Arnhem bridge. Frost readied a Bren carrier and two reconnaissance jeeps to meet the Poles, but they did not appear. Their lift was postponed by fog in England. Instead, the morning was relatively quiet, punctuated by artillery, mortar fire, sniping, and infiltration. The Germans were concentrating on stalling the British efforts to relieve 1st Parachute Brigade on the bridge rather than on the bridge itself. 104

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But by noon, three German tanks drove into the bridge perimeter from the east, close to A Company’s positions on that side of the ramp. Their shelling of one of the A Company positions forced the British to evacuate the house. Captain Tony Frank and a soldier operated a PIAT and hit a German tank. “I hit it first time, right in the backside,” Frank said later. “It didn’t burn, but it didn’t move again.” During the morning, the Germans requested a truce to ask the British to consider surrender. To the orderly Teutonic mind, the British were in a hopeless position with no chance of relief. The emissary from the Germans was Lance Sergeant Stan Halliwell of the First Parachute Squadron, Royal Engineers, who had been captured earlier that morning while on a sortie taking ammunition to an exposed party of his unit. He described the incident as follows: “They took me to a building where they seemed to have an Operations Room. An officer who seemed to be a big noise called me over. He inspected my pay-book; then he said, ‘There is going to be a truce and I want to send you with a message. We trust you to be a gentleman and return.’ I told him I would. The message was for Colonel Frost—he knew his name—and I was to ask him to be under the bridge at 10:30 AM to discuss a surrender. “I was taken outside and lined up with some Germans to approach our lines. But our lot were firing—there was no truce—and the Germans opened up too. I ran across, shouting at our chaps not to shoot me. Then I went to find Colonel Frost, running from building to building in all the firing and the smoke; that was the worst 10 minutes of my life. Colonel Frost told me to tell them to go to hell, but I wasn’t going to go back just to tell them that and I stayed with our troops.” The “big noise” was Maj. Gen. Heinz Harmel, boss of the 10th SS Panzer Division, and his zone of operations included the bridge and main road down to Nijmegen. He was ordered to open the road as quickly as possible. He spoke fluent English, having toured England with his school football team before the war. After realizing that the British would not surrender, the Germans started exerting more pressure. Rather than mount costly infantry attacks, the Germans decided to destroy the British positions by artillery and tank shelling, using phosphorous shells to set the buildings alight. The methodical bombardment began and would continue until the end of the battle, gradually wearing down the British ability to resist. Building after building was hit by German shells. Corporal Horace Goodrich, at Brigade HQ, described a typical incident: “The enemy brought up a self-propelled gun to shell our building, and I happened to be manning a Bren gun in the right place to engage it and the infantry who were standing round it. After getting off two short bursts, I observed what had all the appearance of a golden tennis ball at the mouth of the SP gun. The next moment I was lying on my back covered in dust and debris. The

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shell actually struck the wall at my feet. Having got the range, they were able to fire at will until the top floor became temporarily untenable.” That evening, the Germans rolled in massive Tiger tanks, which packed 88mm guns and immensely heavy armor. They crunched along the street between the Van Limburg Stirum School and the nearby houses, shelling each house, spraying the area with machine-gun fire. The British brought up their 6pounder antitank guns, but they were unsuccessful in stopping the massive Tigers. Private Kevin Heaney of the Royal Army Ordnance Corps (RAOC) described one such shelling: “A shell came whooshing through the open bedroom window and hit the back of the house. The back wall became a pile of rubble, and the floor fell in. One of the signalers, resting on a bed in the back bedroom, came down with the floor and was trapped. He could not move, as his back was broken. Sgt. Mick Walker, one of our men, climbed down to give him a morphine injection. My pack was in the back bedroom and I was disappointed when this was lost; I had not touched the rations inside. We then took shelter in the cellar and started hoping for the best. There was a noise at the top of the stairs, and someone started to wave a white handkerchief, but Mick Walker knocked this out of his hand. It was probably only more rubble falling down.” The men evacuated the house and went to another nearby, but this also had to be given up. As the shelling continued, the British evacuated more houses. The shelling did not cause more fatalities, but men were wounded. Among them Father Egan, 2nd Battalion’s Catholic padre; Major Tatham-Warter (twice); and Captain Tony Frank, putting Lieutenant Grayburn in charge of what was left of A Company. Lieutenant Harry Whittaker was hit while driving

Closing the ring around the trapped soldiers of Colonel John Frost’s 2nd Battalion, German soldiers rush past vehicles that have temporarily halted on a street in Arnhem.

a jeep hauling one of the 6-pounders—he died the next day. The British hung on with grim determination, but their ability to do so was beginning to slacken. They had lost three officers and 16 men in the last 24 hours and suffered between 100 and 150 wounded. The medical team was short of supplies. Food and ammunition were also running desperately low. Signalman George Lawson was sent to obtain more ammunition and double-timed through the smoke and gunfire to Battalion HQ. There he found Major Tatham-Warter. “He was the coolest chap I ever saw, walking about with his red beret, one arm in a sling, with his umbrella hooked over it and his right hand holding a revolver, directing operations,” Lawson said. “He asked me what I wanted and, when I told him, he said, ‘Hurry up and get some and get back to your post, soldier; there are snipers about.’” Other Britons relied on their sense of humor to cope with the situation. Signalman Harold Riley described such an incident: “We were all feeling pretty grim, when suddenly a 2nd Battalion chap who had been crouching in a corner crawled on his hands and knees towards a desk in the middle of the room. He reached up and gingerly plucked a rather battered telephone receiver from it. Speaking into it he said, ‘Hello, operator. Give me Whitehall 1212,’ a pause, then, ‘Mr. Churchill? There are some men outside annoying us.’ Maybe it sounds a little corny now, but at the time it did relieve the tension somewhat.” As dusk fell, many houses were burning. Sapper Tom Carpenter described the area around the bridge as “becoming a sea of flame. The roar and crackle of flaming buildings and dancWO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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ing shadows cast by the flames was like looking into Dante’s inferno.” Two of the nearby church towers were on fire, and one of their bells swung in the wind, clanging irregularly. Frost wondered why his men had yet to be relieved, either by the 1st Airborne from the west or XXX Corps from the south. The night passed quietly, and dawn arrived with a dull and damp drizzle. The British were still holding 10 of their original 18 houses in the perimeter, but it was split into two parts divided by the ramp. The Germans allowed stretcher bearers to pass through in the open, but all other movement was extremely dangerous. Now there was no thought of tactics or strategy. Frost’s only effort was to hold all positions until each building was destroyed. The Germans were shelling the British positions from all sides, with tanks crunching into the perimeter. The defenders needed help. None was forthcoming. The 1st Airborne Division was now in a small, thumb-shaped pocket in Oosterbeek, based on the Rhine River, barely able to hold on against German attacks, short on supplies. Relief from the south depended on the American 82nd Airborne finally taking the Nijmegen bridge, but all efforts to do so had failed so far. By now the British defenders were exhausted from lack of sleep and food. Roving German tanks and artillery hammered the British. When exhausted British troops from the Brigade Defense Platoon heard tanks clanking nearby, they thought it was XXX Corps at last and rushed to the windows to greet their liberators. It was actually a pair of German tanks, and they shelled the British position, wounding a lone American defender, communications officer Lieutenant Harvey Todd, who fired at the Germans with his Springfield automatic carbine. Next to get blasted was the Royal Army Service Corps platoon, holding a house hard by the Arnhem prison wall. The Germans blew a hole in the wall to enable them to shell the British. Driver 106

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Both: Bundesarchiv

ABOVE: Captain Victor Graebner led an ill-fated attempt by troops of the 9th Panzer Division to dislodge British airborne soldiers from positions on the north end of the Arnhem bridge and paid with his life. Graebner had previously been awarded the Knight’s Cross; however, the decoration may have been added to this photo after his death. BELOW: Rushing from the cover of houses as they advance toward British positions, German soldiers proceed to secure the town of Arnhem and prevent its vital bridge across the Lower Rhine from falling into Allied hands.

Jim Wild described it: “The first shot hit the corner of the roof. It didn’t explode there because the only resistance it had was the slates on the roof, but it left a hole nearly two yards across. The lads underneath it were showered with debris; I wouldn’t like to repeat what they said. The shell exploded against the brickwork at the other end of the long room. We were all down on the floor. A lot of shrapnel was flying about, and I think one man was killed and one wounded. We decided to get out, down to the ground floor, when the second shell exploded against the front wall of the room we had been in; we would all have been killed if we had still been there.” The two antitank guns were still in action, but the German infantry were now in positions from where they could fire directly down on anyone who attempted to man a gun. The 2nd Battalion’s 3-inch mortars were the only weapons capable of hitting back at the German artillery. But the Germans still made mistakes that enabled the tough paratroopers to score some victories. Private Sidney Elliott of B Company described one incident when a half-track halted outside his house near the riverside: “We heard the rattle and clanking of a vehicle and, on looking out of the window, we saw a half-track with, I think, four Germans aboard. We were by now extremely short of ammo, but we had one Gammon bomb left. This was immediately primed; one of us tossed it and it landed in the half-track. I can still see one of the bodies as it seemed to rise into the air and disappear into the river.” The Germans now launched a series of infantry attacks with close tank support from the east, hoping to reach the area underneath the ramp. The last defense in front of this area was a group of houses held by Brigade HQ men, signalers, and RAOC. Private Kevin Heaney, an RAOC man, described the scene: “The atmosphere and tension grew unbearable. We were expecting to be attacked but uncertain from which

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direction this was going to come. The mood varied between hope and despair, and the lack of news from the rest of the division or progress by 30 Corps was bad for morale. A young officer, a studious looking chap, gave us a pep talk, trying to be a morale booster, saying how well our brigade had done in North Africa and how our performance at Arnhem would go down in history. But I had not been in North Africa and the thought went through my mind, about fighting to the end, ‘not if I can help it,’ particularly as there was talk of leaving the wounded behind.” The German intention was apparently to seize the small archway over the road and blow that, denying the Arnhem bridge to the advancing British armor to the south, without blowing the massive structure itself. The Germans stormed in and attempted to place explosive charges against the pillars while British engineers counterattacked to stop them. Lieutenant Jack Grayburn and some of his A Company men accompanied a party of Royal Engineers, which dashed out and removed fuses from the charges around the piers. It was “a nerve-wracking experience,” according to Engineer Lieutenant Donald Hindley, “working a few feet away from a large quantity of explosives which could be fired at any moment.” Grayburn was wounded but returned after being treated, one arm in a sling and with a bandaged head. Hindley recalled, “It was obvious that the enemy would quickly restore the fuses, and a second, heavier attack was made to try to remove the charges themselves. However, the enemy had by now moved up a tank to cover the work. We were quickly mown down. Lieutenant Grayburn was killed— riddled with machine-gun fire. I escaped with flesh wounds in my shoulder and face.” Grayburn earned the only Victoria Cross awarded at the Arnhem bridge battle. His body fell into the Rhine River but was recovered in 1948 and buried in the Arnhem Oosterbeek War

This photograph of the Arnhem bridge was taken after Colonel John Frost’s airborne troops had been overwhelmed and the surrounding buildings were razed or cleared by German SS soldiers. The debris from the previous days’ fighting still litters the span across the Lower Rhine although the road has been cleared.

Cemetery. His Victoria Cross is at the Parachute Regiment’s headquarters in Aldershot. At 1:30 PM, Lt. Col. Frost was crouched on top of a pile of rubble talking with Major Crawley when a mortar bomb went off and wounded both officers in the legs. Frost was finally out of the battle, and Major Hibbert appointed Major Freddie Gough of the Reconnaissance Squadron to command what was left of the brigade. Frost agreed to the move, saying: “I was taken to the aid post. I was quite affected by the blast as well as being wounded and I really wasn’t able to control things. Freddie came along, and I told him to carry on—not that there were any orders much to give by then. That was the very worst time, the most miserable time of my life. It is a pretty desperate thing to see your battalion gradually carved to bits around you. We were always hoping, right to the bitter end, that the ground forces would arrive. As long as we were still in place around the bridge, preventing the Germans from bringing up anti-tank guns to engage the 30 Corps tanks, we were doing our job. But it was only isolated groups by then, with no proper control over the area.” At the same time Frost was wounded, the British lost one of their most important positions, the Van Liburg Stirum School building, halfway along the eastern side of the ramp embankment. The Royal Engineers and 3rd Battalion men had held this site with little heavier firepower than their rifles and a Bren gun but were now overwhelmed. They were out of food and water, low on ammunition, and had only 30 men unwounded. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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The Germans systematically began shelling the building, blasting off its roof and top story. One shell set the roof ablaze, and another burst where two officers, Major Pongo Lewis and Lieutenant Wright, were taking their turn to rest. Wright was so stunned that he had no memory of the next few hours. What happened next was a subject of contentious accounts, but the building was no longer tenable. The intention was to evacuate, but supposedly Major Lewis called up from his mattress, “Time to put up the white flag.” The second in command, Captain Chippy Robinson, asked if the fit men could at least break out. Lewis said, “Every man for himself,” and Robinson and Captain Eric Mackay dashed across the road into the gardens of some houses to the east. Unfortunately, they were taken prisoner, but Mackay eventually escaped and reached England. While some of the engineers bailed out to fight again, the wounded could not leave. Some engineers did not like the thought of abandoning the wounded and stayed behind. Major Lewis sent a sapper to the top of the embankment with a white towel tied to his rifle, but he was immediately struck in both legs by a burst of machine-gun fire. He died of those wounds five months later. The Germans cautiously moved in on the defenseless school and found the wounded men and their caretakers awaiting capture. A German officer inspected the wounded, found one of them hopeless, and shot him in the head with a pistol. At the southern part of the perimeter, a considerable body of men had gathered among the pillars under the ramp archway nearest the river. These men had been burned out of their houses and were sheltering where they could. The ubiquitous Major Tatham-Warter turned up and ordered them to move to Brigade HQ’s position, a 180-yard dash across fire-swept ground. Sergeant George Lawson recalled, “I heard the shout, ‘Every man for himself.’ A group of us made a dash for it. We had to go through a mortar barrage first; that’s where young Waterston got hit. He was leaning against this wall. I thought I should go back for him, but he was turning blue, and I carried on. Several of the others were hit, too; I was hit in the face by shrapnel. I now slung my rifle away because the bloody thing was useless; it wasn’t working properly. I took the bolt out and threw it away. A group of us then tried to cross the open road, but four or five of us were mown down by machine-gun fire. I turned back and took refuge in one of the burnt-out buildings—how long for, I don’t know, but I was forced to get up because my gas cape and my smock were burning from the hot stone.” Now the defense was starting to disintegrate. Private Kevin Heaney and six men were trapped in a hallway, the Germans 50 yards away. “How about packing it in?” Heaney asked his colleagues, including a wounded man. “One chap said, ‘I’m easy;’ I don’t think he was ready to surrender, though. I put my hand inside my jacket, tore off my vest, gave it to the man near108

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est the opening, and he waved what was, in effect, the white flag,” Heaney said. The Germans shouted for the British to come out. When they did, the Germans opened up with machine-gun fire, hitting the first four Britons. “I assumed the Germans who fired were themselves under fire from our men. That was my charitable interpretation as to why they fired, because they were very chivalrous generally,” Heaney said. He and the wounded men got back into the house and sat in the rubble, listening uneasily to mortar fire. “We were there for about two hours. I had my prayer book open and was saying the Prayers for the Dying. Later on, the Germans came in, rescuing the trapped men and taking them prisoner, and this great big German came and took the two of us also.” The defense was now squeezed into an area one-fifth of its original position, holding 10 of their original 18 buildings. The British troops were exhausted—with no food and little water, and most were still going on Benzedrine tablets. Two German battle groups, backed by rocket artillery and Tiger tanks, further pressured the British. The Germans methodically demolished the British defenses, using a pair of Tiger tanks that managed to nose their way through the wreckage of Graebner’s vehicles across the Arnhem bridge. Two further 88mm flak guns were set up on either side of the southern approach to the bridge, delivering point-blank fire. SS Section Commander Alfred Ringsdorf declared the only way the British were going to get out was to be carried out “feet first.” SS Grenadier Private Horst Weber recalled the heavy artillery barrage: “Starting from the rooftops, buildings collapsed like dolls’ houses. I did not see how anyone could live through the inferno. I felt truly sorry for the British.” Another SS man, Rudolf Trapp, watched artillery firing point blank down the Eusebius-Plein: “An artillery piece was trundled into our street from the Battalion Knaust behind us. This was two or three days after the battle started. It was the biggest gun I’ve ever seen, and was manhandled up along the side of the Rhine.” The big problem with the gun was getting it into action while under fire. Trapp said, “I covered it by shooting up the British positions along the street with long protracted bursts from my machine gun.” The Knaust gun crew was with the first Wehrmacht troops to enter the Arnhem battle. It opened fire on Major Crawley’s position, reducing a strongpoint to rubble with seven or eight shots. After the barrage, Trapp’s men stormed the position and found the occupants all dead, lying in slit trenches and prepared positions. Battle Group Knaust was commanded by Colonel Hans Peter Knaust, a one-legged Eastern Front veteran, and this powerful group fielded Panther and Tiger tanks. Two of them clanked into action near Weber, who saw them hurling shells into each house at close range. Weber recalled a corner building “where

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the roof fell in, the top two stories began to crumble and then, like the skin peeling off a skeleton, the whole front wall fell into the street revealing each floor on which the British were scrambling like mad. Dust and debris soon made it impossible to see anything more. The din was awful, but even so above it all, we could hear the wounded screaming.” The arrival of Knaust’s tanks tipped the battle for good. Frost’s men, immobilized by the superior weight of infantry around them, were being systematically pummeled into submission by the heavy guns. One of Knaust’s men, Lance Corporal Karl-Heinz Kracht, was a loader on a Mark III tank. His machine rolled past the wrecks of Graebner’s vehicles. “Personally, I felt quite a bit of apprehension as our vehicles moved into Arnhem. I still had to overcome the shock at the destruction and the corpses lying by the roadside. Maybe we were to be the next victim of the British antitank guns? This feeling was amplified when the company lost its first tanks,” he said. Kracht and his tanks supported SS infantry winkling out British paratroopers. By now the exhausted Britons were beginning to surrender. Kracht pulled out his Agfa Karat III camera and began to take snaps of the periphery of the action around him, catching panzergrenadiers going into action and buildings being wrecked. “As far as we were concerned, this shooting lasted for two days until nothing more stirred on the bridge,” Kracht said later. “Panzergrenadiers, also suffering most of the casualties, had to do the dirty work again. Even so we lost another tank. All around the bridgehead was a nightmare of buildings

Four British paratroopers move cautiously through the rubble of a house in Oosterbeek, Sten guns at the ready. When the British were forced out of Arnhem, some soldiers managed to escape the German noose and retreat to the nearby town.

reduced to rubble, shot-up vehicles and guns, and corpses—of friend and foe alike.” In such close fighting, collecting the wounded was becoming a problem. SS machine-gunner Rudolf Trapp, being 19 and agile, was assigned to do so. “We were told to get some wounded or dead SS men out of the enemy field of fire,” he said. “To achieve this we got an armored half-track. Putting down covering fire with two machine guns on it, we would race down the street, open the rear door, pull our mates in, and fire away as we sped back to cover. All the time we would hope there would not be a stoppage on the machine gun because the British fired very accurately. In one case they shot a man in the heart straight through his military record book.” The British fought on with the courage of despair. Trapp was ordered to use his half-track to crawl through the rubble and make contact with troops coming in from the east. The route they would have to take was dominated by a British anti-tank gun. Trapp recalled, “Bernd Schultze-Bernd was our driver, a farmer’s son from Sendenhorst in Muensterland. He was one of the three old company veterans. There were tears in his eyes. He told our company commander that this was not going to work. But an order is an order. To be on the safe side, the two of us stuffed the pockets of our smocks with hand grenades and ammunition for the .008 pistols. We raced past the crossroads WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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and got hit on the left, near Bernd’s driver’s seat. The vehicle came to a halt. Bernd was dead, a direct hit from the shell.” Trapp and his surviving pals bailed out of their half-track and took shelter in a ruined cellar. As the British closed in on them, they grenaded their way out and made their way to the river bank. There they abandoned their uniforms and swam through the murky water between moored boats, under rifle fire, until they reached their own men. Once back with their buddies, Trapp and his crew had their wounds dressed, were issued uniforms from their dead comrades, and rejoined the fighting. That afternoon, German tanks and troop convoys began using the Arnhem bridge again. At the same time, the 82nd Airborne made its legendary river crossing to take the Nijmegen bridge. It was 6:30 PM before the first tanks of Sergeant Peter Robinson’s troop from the Grenadier Guards rolled across the bridge. But the tanks needed to replenish ammunition and fuel after earlier hard fighting in Nijmegen, and the infantry battalion with which it normally worked was still tied up fighting in Nijmegen as well. There would be no XXX Corps drive north that evening. The defenders at Arnhem bridge were on their own. At the bridge, Brigade HQ was on fire and many buildings were full of wounded men. The two doctors told Frost that evacuation of the wounded would require a truce, so some of the German prisoners were sent out with white flags to arrange this. It was quickly agreed, and the fighting stopped for nearly two hours. During the truce, Gough conferred with Frost on what to do next. Frost was wounded and in a cellar, waking up from the morphine he had taken. “I told [Gough] to move. I gave him my own belt with revolver and compass and we wished each other luck. Down below where I lay it was pitch black and we had to use our torches continuously.” Major Gough sent the able-bodied men from the building northward into the town. Corporal Dennis Freebury was one of them, and he recalled: “Major Gough, with his arm in a sling, and his silver hair, in shirt sleeves—a swashbuckling character—gave us a pep talk. It was a bit like Hollywood. He said, ‘I want you to go out, do your best and see if you can get back to our own forces—and just remember that you belong in the finest division in the British Army.’ Nobody cheered or anything like that, but it made one feel good.” Gough did not join these men but stayed with the 2nd Battalion in their positions; the medical officers and their orderlies became prisoners. The 280 wounded, including some German prisoners, were taken with Dutch civilians who had been sheltering in the building, and most of the wounded eventually reached St. Eizabeth Hospital. It was now after nightfall, but the blazing buildings made the scene as light as day. A German officer wandered around 110

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the 2nd Battalion’s slit trenches handing out cigarettes and telling the Britons they did not stand a chance and should surrender. The British answered him with rude remarks. The Germans took advantage of the two-hour truce to advance their positions, and Major Tatham-Warter sent Captain Hoyer-Millar, who spoke some German, to protest. HoyerMillar recalled: “I found an officer in a long dark leather coat. He spoke good English. I warned him that if his men continued, we might have to open fire. He, in turn, kept stressing that there was no hope for us and that we should surrender. I told him there was no chance of that and that we were confident our ground forces would soon be up to relieve us. I think I must have introduced myself, or they got my name from someone else, because when the action continued several hours later I heard a rather uncanny, wheedling voice calling ‘Captain Millar’ or ‘Captain Muller’—just my name —quite pointless, because I made no reply.” The end was nearly at hand. The 120 men of Brigade HQ group reached the meeting point at the convent school. Major Hibbert recalled, “We decided that, as we could no longer see the bridge and had virtually no ammunition, we could be of most use if we got back to the divisional perimeter and got more ammunition. So we split up into sections of 10 men, each under the command of an officer, to try to slip through the enemy lines.” Meanwhile, the 2nd Battalion men went on fighting. Captain Hoyer-Millar and his exhausted men were practically out of ammunition but dug deep into their slit trenches to wait out the shelling, hoping to at least disrupt incoming infantry attacks. “There was undoubtedly bitterness and skepticism about the performance of Monty’s ground forces,” Hoyer-Millar later said. “But those of us who had taken part in the Primosole bridge operation in Sicily recalled that, 24 hours overdue, the first troop of Eighth Army tanks had finally reached us when we were hanging on by our fingernails; might it not happen again? I recall clearly how, during those final hours, one line of A.H. Clough’s famous poem kept springing to mind: ‘If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars’ ... but deep down there was the feeling, ‘They’ve just written us off.’” Major Tatham-Warter, limping, still clutching his umbrella, decided that the remaining men should split into two parties, one under himself, the other under Major Francis Tate, the HQ Company commander, and hide for the night before reoccupying the positions the next morning. But the Germans were now all over the area, so the plan was scuppered. More scattered fighting took place, and Major Tate was killed. The remaining Britons tried to escape, but it was hopeless. Out of ammunition, they became prisoners. One group of British engineers fired off a last radio signal to division headquarters, which astonished the Germans who intercepted it: “Out of ammunition. God Save the King.”

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Lieutenant Tony Ainslie recalled his party being trapped in a house, with Germans outside calling on them to surrender. “Some of my group had already been hit, so I yelled back in German, ‘Don’t shoot. There are wounded here.’ And we walked across the street into captivity,” he said. “The first person in authority we saw was an NCO. He was slightly crosseyed, his tunic was open, and he was wearing a blue-and-white striped civilian shirt underneath. He said, ‘Good evening. That was a lovely battle, a really lovely battle. Have a cigar. We are human too.’ So, after doing what we could for the wounded, we all sat down, smoking foot-long cigars, and had a matey chat about the events of the past few days.” They might have had a lot to talk about. The British paratroopers standing at Arnhem bridge had fought to the limits of their resistance. Of the men who started the fight, an estimated 10 officers and 71 men were killed or would die of their wounds—11 percent of the defenders. The use of the bridge had been denied to the Germans for three critical days, and a large portion of the 10th SS Panzer Division had been tied down and suffered heavy casualties. The 1st Brigade’s sacrifice enabled both the rest of 1st Airborne Division to hang on in its Oosterbeek perimeter and the 82nd Airborne to take the Nijmegen bridge, allowing the British to finally hook up with the 1st Airborne Division and evacuate the survivors.

German soldiers administer first aid to wounded British airborne troops after their capitulation in Arnhem. The coordinated air and ground offensive of Operation MarketGarden resulted in a costly failure even though some Allied commanders believed it might end the war in Europe by Christmas 1944.

In the end, it was a defeat for the British, but it was one of the valiant stands that they loved so well—an outnumbered and outgunned force hanging on against overwhelming odds, refusing to surrender. The 2nd Parachute Battalion and its cohorts never actually surrendered as an organized body. Its men were winkled out of their buildings in small groups, still defiant. It was very much Britain’s Alamo. John Frost was also down in a cellar when the Germans overran his area. “Both sides labored together to get the wounded out and I saw the Germans were driving off in our jeeps full of bandaged men,” Frost recalled. “The SS men were very polite, but the bitterness I felt was unassuaged. No living enemy had beaten us. The battalion was unbeaten yet, but they could not have much chance with no ammunition, no rest, and with no positions from which to fight. No body of men could have fought more courageously and tenaciously than the officers and men of the 1st Parachute Brigade at Arnhem bridge.”

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Troopers of the U.S. 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions fought with distinction during the air-ground assault in the autumn of 1944.

AMERICANS IN MARKET-GARDEN BY MAJOR GENERAL MICHAEL REYNOLDS

“IN THE YEARS TO COME everyone will remember Arnhem, but no one will remember that two American divisions fought their hearts out in the Dutch canal country,” wrote U.S. Air Force Lt. Gen. Lewis H. Brereton, commander of the First Allied Airborne Army, shortly after Operation Market-Garden. Sadly, his prediction proved all too accurate. Many books have been written about the fighting in the Arnhem area, but few about the actions of the two American airborne divisions involved in this operation. By the beginning of September 1944, the Allied advance toward Germany had been halted due to a lack of supplies, particularly fuel. As General George Patton is alleged to have said, “My men can eat their belts, but my tanks have gotta have gas!” No major port east of the Seine River had been captured, the British supply lines stretched 500 km, all the way back to Bayeux, and those of the Americans ran even farther, 600 km, through Paris to the Cotentin Peninsula. In addition to the supply problem, there was at this point in the campaign a serious argument between the Allied leaders over whether to proceed on a broad front, with Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery’s 21st Army Group advancing in the north toward the Ruhr and General Omar Bradley’s 12th Army Group moving at the same time in the south toward the Saar, or in a single thrust by just one of the Army Groups. The relative merits of each case have been set out clearly in the many books describing the strategy of the European campaign. LEFT: In his painting “The Parachutist,” artist Harvey Dunn captures the moment when an American paratrooper leaps from his transport aircraft. The U.S. jump into Holland during Operation Market Garden was near perfect and carried out in daylight. U.S. Army Art

On September 4, 1944, Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower issued a directive ordering Montgomery’s Army Group and two corps of the First U.S. Army to “reach the sector of the Rhine covering the Ruhr and then seize the Ruhr.” At the same time, the Third U.S. Army and one corps of the First U.S. Army were to “occupy the sector of the Siegfried Line [West Wall] covering the Saar and then seize Frankfurt.” This directive, while apparently giving Monty a green light, presented him with a problem. Surprising though it may seem, he had insufficient forces to exploit the German weaknesses on his front. Of the 14 divisions and seven armored brigades in his 21st Army Group, only two armored divisions of XXX Corps were ready to continue the advance. The six Canadian divisions had been given the essential task of clearing Le Havre and the Pas de Calais ports, XII Corps was committed to pushing the German Fifteenth Army back to the Scheldt Estuary, and VIII Corps was still immobilized back at the Seine owing to a lack of transport. Nevertheless, XXX Corps was told to push on, and on September 4, the 11th Armored Division captured Antwerp. Then, late on September 10, an armored group secured a bridgehead over the Albert Canal at Neerpelt, and the foothold required by Monty for his single thrust toward the Ruhr was a reality. WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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LEFT: On October 18, 1944, German Field Marshal Walther Model visits a forward command post of a Volksgrenadier division on the Western Front. RIGHT: Sometime after the withdrawal of airborne troops from Holland, Maj. Gen. Matthew Ridgway (left), commander of the XVIII Airborne Corps, talks with newly promoted Maj. Gen. James M. Gavin.

That same afternoon, Montgomery and Eisenhower met at Brussels airfield. After an acrimonious opening discussion, during which Ike had to remind Monty that he was a subordinate, the supreme commander eventually approved the latter’s latest plan. This envisaged the First Allied Airborne Army, Eisenhower’s only strategic reserve, securing crossings over the Maas, Waal, and lower Rhine Rivers, and then British armor advancing rapidly to outflank the West Wall and the Ruhr. The plan had the added advantage that, if successful, it would cut off all the Germans in western Holland, including the Fifteenth Army. Monty gave the go-ahead for Operation Market-Garden to be launched on September 17. The First Allied Airborne Army was under the command of General Brereton, formerly the commander of the U.S. Ninth Air Force. His deputy was British Lt. Gen. “Boy” Browning, and he had a mixed staff of Americans, British, and Poles. Brereton’s army had two corps, one American and one British. The XVIII U.S. Airborne Corps, under Lt. Gen. Matthew Ridgway, comprised the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. The 82nd and 101st were battle-experienced divisions, the 82nd having dropped and fought in Sicily and both having dropped and fought in Normandy. The I British Airborne Corps, under the command of the “double-hatted” General Browning, consisted of the inexperienced 1st British Airborne Division and the equally inexperienced 1st Polish Independent Parachute Brigade Group. The soldiers of the First Airborne Army were “like coins burning in SHAEF’s pocket.” Since early July, most of them had been on standby for a whole series of operations, none of which had been launched, either because the ground troops had moved so 114

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quickly that the proposed operation became redundant or because the necessary aircraft were being used for aerial resupply. It was, therefore, with relief and enthusiasm that Brereton and his staff began their planning to employ three and one-third airborne divisions, to be dropped in three different areas and, hopefully, to be relieved within three days by the ground troops of the British XXX Corps. The aim of Operation Market-Garden was to capture and hold the five major crossings over the canals and rivers lying across the British Second Army’s axis of advance between and including the Dutch towns of Eindhoven and Arnhem. Command was vested in the British deputy commander of the First Airborne Army, Lt. Gen. “Boy” Browning. The decision to give him command was surprising for three reasons: First, because 75 percent of the troops taking part in the operation were to be American; second, because the U.S. Corps commander, Ridgway, was far more experienced; and third, because Browning’s headquarters was basically a planning, administrative, and training organization and certainly not a command headquarters. Inevitably, Browning’s headquarters had no means of communicating with the two American divisions, and this meant that U.S. manpower and equipment had to be added to it at the last minute. In the event, Browning and his headquarters, due to totally inadequate communications, played little part in the forthcoming battle and wasted 38 gliders badly needed by the 1st British Airborne Division to increase its first lift. The basic plan was for the 101st Airborne Division to seize the several bridges and defiles between Eindhoven and Grave. The 82nd Airborne was to capture the Maas crossing at Grave,

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Map © 2014 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

at least one of the four bridges over the Maas-Waal Canal, and then, after securing the high ground between Nijmegen and Groesbeek, to capture the vast Waal road bridge in Nijmegen. At the same time, Maj. Gen. Roy Urquhart’s 1st British Airborne Division, later aided by Maj. Gen. Stanislaus Sosabowski’s 1st Polish Independent Brigade Group, was to capture “the bridges over the lower Rhine at Arnhem with sufficient bridgeheads to facilitate the passage of XXX Corps.” The XXX Corps’ Operation Instruction included the prophetic words, “The success of this operation depends largely on speed of advance.” Nevertheless, the problems and dangers of sending a complete corps of over 20,000 vehicles down a narrow corridor on only one proper road, across a series of six major canals and waterways, to link up with an airborne bridgehead 100 km away were all too obvious. It will not have escaped the reader’s notice that the extent of the missions given to the American divisions was infinitely greater than that given to the British and Poles. The latter had to hold on for a longer period, but at least their operational area was limited in size. In an attempt to deal with this problem, the Americans reinforced each of their divisions with an extra regiment, giving them four rather than the normal three. Even so, the sheer magnitude of their operational areas virtually guaranteed that the Americans would have problems holding them until they were relieved. The risks inherent in Operation Market-Garden are well known. Put simply, they were: (1) the weather, (2) insuffi- The complex Market-Garden operational plan depended on the capture of several cient aircraft and gliders to carry out all key bridges over the Maas, Waal, and Lower Rhine Rivers in Holland and the swift of the British XXX Corps up a narrow road to relieve the airborne the landings in one lift, and (3) carrying movement troops holding the spans. out the assault in daylight. The air commander for the operation, U.S. Maj. Gen. Paul L. Williams, commander of IX Troop Carrier Command, launched in a single autumn day, but also to there being insufUSAAF, decided, with Brereton’s support, that no more than ficient ground staff to turn around and repair aircraft in the time available. The effect of this decision was that three conone lift should be flown each day. This was due not only to the difficulties of navigating and secutive days of good flying weather would be needed to land keeping formation in the predawn or post-dusk flights that the whole force. In the early afternoon of September 4, General Kurt Student, would have been necessary if two separate lifts had been WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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the head of the German parachute arm, was telephoned in his Berlin office by General Alfred Jodl, head of the High Command Operations Staff, and told that he was to command a new army to be known as the First Parachute Army. Its mission was to build and hold a new defensive front on the line of the Albert Canal in northern Belgium. He was then told that General von Zangen’s Fifteenth Army of over 80,000 men was isolated in northeast Belgium and could escape only by sea across the Scheldt Estuary. Even if this were achieved, it would take at least three weeks and heavy losses were likely. Furthermore, the remnants of the Seventh Army were being pushed rapidly toward the Ardennes Forest, and the only troops available to deploy into the resulting 120 km gap along the Albert Canal between Antwerp and Maastricht were those of a division badly depleted in the Normandy fighting and a Wearing American flag armbands for easy identification by Dutch civilians, parafortress division that had been guarding troopers adjust packs and load up their C-47 before the flight to Holland. the Dutch coastline. Another division, composed of convalescents and men who had been invalided out of the Army and to 7,000 men each at this time, of whom only about half were then brought back, was currently entraining at Aachen in Ger- combat troops. Nevertheless, the Hohenstaufen was to be many and would be available in two or three days. Student’s heavily involved in the Arnhem fighting and the Frundsberg First Parachute Army was therefore to comprise all garrison, in the Nijmegen battle. From the point of view of this narratraining, and administrative troops already in Holland, the tive, it is important to note that by the time the Allies landed, divisions just mentioned, and a new force of some 30,000 Luft- two Hohenstaufen panzergrenadier battalions and three batwaffe personnel. The latter had been volunteered by Luftwaffe teries of artillery had been transferred to the Frundsberg. One chief Hermann Göring and consisted of six parachute regi- of the grenadier battalions, SS Battalion Euling, named after ments in various stages of training or re-equipping, and some its commander, SS Captain Karl-Heinz Euling, was to play a 10,000 Luftwaffe air and ground crew whose operations or major role in the Nijmegen fighting. Soon after his arrival in the Arnhem area, the Frundsberg training had been curtailed because of fuel shortages. By any standards, what followed was an incredible feat of commander, SS captain Heinz Harmel, was ordered to provide improvisation and organization. The precise details are com- a strong KG as a reserve for the First Parachute Army. The KG plicated. Suffice it to say that by September 13, General Stu- was named KG Heinke, after its commander SS Major Heinke. dent had established a defensive line, albeit fragile, from the It comprised two SS panzergrenadier battalions, companies mouth of the Scheldt to Maastricht behind which further bat- from the Frundsberg’s reconnaissance and Pioneer battalions, tlegroups or Kampfgruppen (KGs) could be formed and and an artillery battalion. Arriving south of Eindhoven on the deployed. This line was manned by a mere 32 ad hoc battal- 10th, Heinke took under command the Frundsberg’s SS panzerjäger battalion, with 21 Jagdpanzer IVs and a company of 12 ions, backed by 25 assault guns. It was while this basic defense structure was being estab- 40mm towed antitank guns, which was already in the area. lished that, on September 8, the last elements of Willi Bittrich’s His KG would also play an important part in the forthcoming II SS Panzer Corps arrived in central Holland. This corps had fighting. Field Marshal Walther Model, commander of Army Group been badly mauled in the Normandy fighting and had been sent to Holland to lick its wounds and be refitted. In fact, the B and the overall commander in the area, set up his headcorps’ two divisions, the 9th SS Panzer Hohenstaufen and quarters on September 15, just two days before the opening of 10th SS Panzer Frundsberg, numbered little more than 6,000 Market-Garden, in the Hartenstein Hotel in Oosterbeek, a 116

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mainly residential area of about 10,000 people a few kilometers to the west of Arnhem. It was sheer coincidence that he found himself less than 4 km from one of the main British landing zones (LZs) and that the units of the Hohenstaufen and Frundsberg Divisions were within 50 km of all the Allied LZs.

Operation Market-Garden began during the night of September 16-17, with 200 RAF Lancaster heavy bombers and 23 Mosquito fighter-bombers attacking four airfields in the general area of the proposed drop zones. Shortly after first light, 54 more Lancasters and five Mosquitoes attacked known flak positions while a further 85 Lancasters and 15 Mosquitoes pulverized the German coastal batteries on Walcheren. Then, just before the troop-carrying aircraft flew in, 816 U.S. B-17 heavy bombers, escorted by 373 P-51 Mustang and P-47 Thunderbolt fighters, attacked an additional 117 known flak positions on the approaches to and near the LZs. The airborne armada, protected by 919 fighter aircraft, including Tempests, Spitfires, Mosquitoes, Thunderbolts, Mustangs, and Lightnings, comprised 1,544 troop-carrying aircraft and 478 gliders. Beginning at 1025 hours, they took off over a period of 11/2 hours from 17 U.S. and nine British bases in England. Inevitably, reports of hundreds of Allied aircraft flying northeast began to arrive at the various German headquarters, but surprisingly few of the duty officers on this warm, sunny afternoon appreciated their significance. One senior officer who did was the commander of II SS Panzer Corps, SS Maj. Gen. Bittrich. He received his first enemy situation report at 1330

Abandoned gliders litter a farm field near Grave, Holland as American paratroopers float to earth on September 17, 1944.

hours (German time) and 10 minutes later issued a warning order to both his divisions. The Hohenstaufen was told to assemble its units for operations to secure Arnhem and its bridge and engage enemy air landings to the west of the city. The Frundsberg was told to assemble for an immediate move to Nijmegen, where it was to occupy the bridges over the Waal and then advance to the southern edge of the city. The Nijmegen sector and the 82nd Airborne Division’s LZs became the immediate task of Military District VI. This was an administrative command, totally unsuited for controlling combat operations. Nevertheless, its commander was promised additional troops in the form of a complete parachute corps, which would be brought from Cologne. While the British were heavily engaged in the Arnhem area 20 km to the south, 7,277 paratroopers and 48 gliders of the 82nd Airborne Division, under the command of Brig. Gen. James Gavin, had landed successfully. Lt. Col. Reuben Tucker’s 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, led by E Company of the 2nd Battalion, captured the vital bridge over the Maas at Grave, while other troopers of the regiment secured another over the Maas-Waal Canal. These actions were completed by 1930 hours. This meant that as soon as the British armor arrived, it would be able to advance straight toward Nijmegen. Meanwhile, the 505th and 508th Parachute Infantry Regiments, together with WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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The third component of Operation Market-Garden, Maj. Gen. Maxwell Taylor’s 101st Airborne Division, had also been largely successful in fulfilling its missions. Within a few hours, nearly 7,000 troopers of its three parachute regiments had captured the towns of Veghel and St. Oedenrode and all but one of the bridges in the 25 km corridor between Eindhoven and Veghel. This corridor eventually became known to the Americans as “Hell’s Highway.” The only important bridge not to be captured was the one at Son (sometimes spelled Zon) over the Wilhelmina Canal. A KG from the Hermann Göring Training Regiment had managed to hold on long U.S. gliderborne soldiers unload their wrecked aircraft after what amounted enough against part of Colonel Robert to a controlled crash in a Dutch field during the opening hours of Operation Sink’s 506th Parachute Infantry RegiMarket-Garden. ment for it to be blown at about 1600 hours. Nonetheless, during the night the Americans swam or crossed the canal in small boats and overthe divisional engineer battalion and an artillery battalion with 12 75mm howitzers, occupied the strategically vital ground came the opposition. A makeshift wooden footbridge, based around and to the southeast of Groesbeek. Owing to the enor- on the remains of the original metal bridge, was then conmity of the task, however, the majority of these defensive posi- structed by the airborne engineers, and soon after dawn the men of the 506th were approaching Eindhoven, where they tions were little more than platoon-sized roadblocks. The original orders to the 82nd Airborne specified that no were expecting to link up with the British armor coming up attempt be made to take the main Nijmegen road bridge until from the south. It will be remembered that Field Marshal Model had given the bridge over the Maas, at least one of those over MaasWaal Canal, and the high ground covering the approaches General Student’s First Parachute Army the task of dealing with from Germany at Groesbeek had been secured. Indeed, con- this airborne assault. Accordingly, three combat groups were trol of the Groesbeek feature was considered vital to the suc- deployed: first, the leading elements of the very understrength cess of the whole Grave-Nijmegen operation. Accordingly, 59th Infantry Division of the Fifteenth Army (some 3,000 men), General Gavin had briefed Colonel Roy Lindquist, the com- having escaped across the Scheldt, were ordered to detrain at mander responsible for the Groesbeek area, that he should Tilburg, only 25 km northwest of Eindhoven, and advance only send a battalion against the Nijmegen road bridge if the toward the Best sector of the Wilhelmina Canal. Second, two situation in the Groesbeek area was in hand, and then only scratch battalions of paratroopers from a training and reinforcement unit a similar distance north of Eindhoven were under the cover of darkness. By 1800 hours the situation seemed favorable enough, and at ordered to advance toward the 101st’s bridgeheads at St. 2200 hours the move toward the bridge began. Three compa- Oedenrode and Veghel. Third, Panzer Brigade 107, with a batnies from two separate battalions were committed, but the two talion of Panther tanks, a panzergrenadier unit in SPWs leading companies of the 508th ran into heavy opposition in the (armored personnel or weapons carriers), and a company each area of the main traffic island in the city, and their advance of Sturmgeschütze (armored assault guns) and SPW-mounted halted. The Nijmegen road bridge itself was defended by a Pioneers, was diverted from the Aachen area. It was expected scratch force of about 750 men from various training and reserve to arrive in the area in just over 24 hours. The first of these groups to see action was part of the 59th units in and around the city, cobbled together by a Colonel Henke, the commander of a spare parachute training regimen- Division, which, during the afternoon and night of the 17th, tal headquarters—another perfect example of German initiative thwarted H Company of the 506th Parachute Regiment in its and military competence. Henke also ensured that the 29 88mm attempt to seize a bridge over the canal near Best. What of the British advance toward Eindhoven? Although it flak guns and some additional 20mm weapons, sited to protect the road and rail bridges, were capable of firing in a ground- was supported by a massive artillery barrage and plenty of close air support, the leading brigades of XXX Corps had been support role. 118

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ordered to halt at Valkenswaard after an advance of only 12 km. This happened at 2200 hours on the grounds that the leading armored group “had been fighting hard and tanks require maintenance.” Incredibly, the advance was not to continue until 0700 hours the following morning. One Guards officer later wrote: “We should never have stayed the night in Valkenswaard but should have continued to advance all night to Eindhoven and beyond non-stop.… It made no sense to stop, bearing in mind the distance to be covered to Arnhem and the river crossings ahead.” The first German troops to make contact with the force already protecting the Waal bridges in Nijmegen, KG Henke, were those of a Major Reinhold’s Frundsberg SS Panzergrenadier Battalion and a party of Pioneers. The Pioneers immediately started preparing the massive road and railway bridges for demolition, while Henke briefed Reinhold on his defensive layout. After being told that a scratch force was already defending a line running approximately a kilometer south of Dutch children greet American paratroopers shortly after they landed near the Waal bridges and that two 20mm Nijmegen on September 17. Additional aircraft are visible in the distance. and one 88mm flak gun were covering the Waal railway bridge, Reinhold decided to deploy his men on the north bank of the river imme- ther Frundsberg units arrived, including a few Mk III and IV tanks, they were incorporated into the overall defensive system diately adjacent to the bridges. Next to arrive, at about midday, was Captain Euling’s and used to strengthen KG Henke. Mines were laid and variHohenstaufen SS panzergrenadier battalion which had been ous buildings, including factory chimneys and even church attached to the Frundsberg. Reinhold gave orders that it was towers, were demolished to create obstacles. What of the Americans during this time? Brig. Gen. Gavin to secure the immediate approaches to the road bridge and placed the various Army and police detachments already man- knew full well that until the arrival of his second lift he did not ning strongpoints in the area under Euling’s command. The have the strength to hold the vital Groesbeek area and at the latter set up his command post near the Valkhof, the citadel of same time mount a strong attack on the Nijmegen road bridge. Nijmegen and the highest point in the city, not far from the To compound his problems, the abortive attempt to take the southern ramp of the bridge, while his men took up positions bridge the previous night had depleted his forces covering the covering all the approaches to the large traffic island near the LZs and the approaches from the Reichswald. There were, however, two factors in his favor. First, there were, and still south end of the bridge. This was the same traffic island where the leading companies are, no roads or even reasonable tracks leading from the Reichof the 508th had been halted the previous evening. Four Stur- swald toward the thickly wooded high ground at Groesbeek. mgeschütze were also allocated to Euling. They had crossed Second, the Maas-Waal Canal and waterways flowing into the the Rhine at Pannerden where, since early that morning, the Waal just to the east of Nijmegen channeled any German attack Frundsberg Pioneers had constructed a ferry service. Mean- toward the Groesbeek ridge. At 0630 hours on the morning of the 18th, the Germans while, on the north bank, Reinhold ensured that the 88mm flak guns, already protecting the bridges from air attack, were launched their long-awaited counterattack. In another amazre-sited among the houses at the water’s edge so that they could ing feat of inventiveness, organization, and military compeengage with direct fire any vehicles attempting to cross. As fur- tence, they had assembled an ad hoc force of four battalions WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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armed with 24 mortars and 130 light and medium machine guns, three artillery batteries, and even a few armored cars and SPWs mounting flak guns. Totaling over 3,000 men, many of whom had never received even basic infantry training, this group, designated the 406th Division, was ordered to attack and drive the Americans back across the Maas. In view of the very thin American defenses, it was perhaps not surprising that the German attacks made some progress and parts of the LZs were overrun. With the expected fly-in not due until 1300 hours, Gavin was forced to withdraw his men from Nijmegen and throw in his last reserves—two companies of the 307th Parachute Engineer Battalion. Even so, fighting was still going on when the first of 450 Dakotas, towing 450 gliders, appeared overhead at 1400 hours. Bad weather in England had delayed their take-off. Although some casualties were suffered, the fly-in, which included 18 howitzers and eight 57mm antitank guns, was amazingly successful and caused panic among the Germans, who fled. Ninety-seven close air support sorties were flown during this action. The Americans had suffered few casualties during the day, but the German counterattack and the late arrival of his reinforcements had ended Gavin’s chances of mounting a proper attack against the Nijmegen bridges. His best hope now was a combined attack with the British armor, which he was told was due to arrive at the Grave bridge at 0830 hours the following morning. At 0700 hours on September 18, the British 5th Guards Armored Brigade resumed its advance toward Aalst. The only immediate opposition at this time was the depleted remnants of a KG that had resisted the advance the previous day and one or maybe two Jagdpanzer IVs operating on the eastern flank of the Eindhoven road. Even so, with close air support unavailable during the first part of the day due to poor flying weather, it took until midday for the leading British battle group to cover the 5 km to Aalst. Then, just to the north of the village, four 88mm guns were encountered covering another waterway and the approach road to Eindhoven. Armored cars managed to bypass this opposition to the west, and in an attempt to exploit this opportunity the reserve battle group was told to follow up. However, the weakness of the bridges in the area frustrated the advance of the heavier tanks and it was a further six hours before the leading elements of the division covered the last 2 km to Eindhoven and made contact with the U.S. 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment already in the city. Eindhoven itself was undefended, and one young Guards officer later wrote: “On the outskirts of Eindhoven we passed our first American soldier standing at the side of the road and holding the hand of a small child. He waved and shouted, ‘Great stuff, boys.’ More and more Americans appeared, strolling round the town. It was surprising to see them in an 120

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almost peacetime atmosphere. There were no barricades at main roads, machine-gun posts, antitank guns, or other static defences.” The British tanks reached the Wilhelmina Canal at Son at 2100 hours, and Royal Engineers arrived shortly afterward to begin bridging the gap. Fortunately, a heavy German bombing attack on Eindhoven during the night did not interfere with this work and by 0615 hours on September 19, a 40-ton Bailey bridge was spanning the Wilhelmina and the tanks of the Guards Armored Division were ready to continue their advance. In the meantime, a major battle had developed at Best where, it will be recalled, men of Lt. Col. John Michaelis’s 502nd, H Company in particular, had been struggling to capture the bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal. Unfortunately, elements of the 59th Division of the Fifteenth Army proved too strong and at midday on the 18th the bridge was blown. Moreover, the continuing buildup of this division now began to pose a serious threat to the 101st’s tenuous hold on Hell’s Highway. The bad weather in England affected the fly-in of the American follow-up troops. The IX Troop Carrier Command launched a total of 445 aircraft and 385 gliders on the 19th, of which 27 aircraft were lost and only 221 gliders reached their LZs. The failure to launch 258 of their gliders, carrying the 82nd Airborne Division’s 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, was to end any hope Brig. Gen. Gavin might have had of capturing either of the vital Nijmegen bridges on this day. Just as bad, only 40 of the 265 tons of essential stores and ammunition destined for his division were recovered.

The British began their advance from Son at 0615 hours and at 1100 hours reached the Grave bridge, where their commander was met by Lt. Gen. “Boy” Browning, the airborne corps commander, and Brig. Gen. Gavin. Browning said he believed that a concerted rush could succeed in capturing the Nijmegen road bridge and, after a short conference, it was agreed that Gavin would place the 2nd Battalion of the 505th under British command for this mission. As a quid pro quo, the British gave Gavin a mixed battle group of tanks and infantry to help him defend his vital 40 km perimeter facing the Reichswald. He said later, “So far, we had been spared a German armored attack, but now, with the availability of British armor, we felt equal to anything that could happen.” The advance into Nijmegen by three combined columns began at 1600 hours. The smallest group, made up of a British infantry company and four tanks, was given the main post office as its objective in the belief that it contained the demolition control point for blowing the bridges. It was captured without difficulty, but nothing was found. Stronger, simultaneous attacks were launched against the men of KG Euling defending the road bridge and KG Henke at the rail bridge. The road bridge attack was carried out by the

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2nd Battalion of the 505th, less a company, but with 12 British tanks and a British infantry company attached. The attack against the rail bridge was taken on by single British and American infantry companies and 12 British tanks. Neither was successful. A German historian, Wilhelm Tieke, gives the German version of what happened: “Heavy fire burst from all the houses and parks around the two bridges over the Waal against the attackers. On the approaches to the railroad bridge, several Shermans were knocked out by an 88mm. At the highway bridge they did not get anywhere near as close. Twenty millimeter flak hammered the length of the streets and two StuGs attacked from well-concealed ambush positions and shot up several enemy tanks. With the fall of darkness, the infantry attack was repulsed. The American paratroopers and British tanks took positions for the night 400m from the bridges.” A British liaison officer with the Americans in forward positions overlooking the bridge from its east side later wrote: “The plan had been to rush the bridge with the Grenadier Guards Motor Battalion but this failed as German SS troops and others were holding both ends of the bridge and the northern part of the town in strength.… The Grenadiers, together with the Americans, fought on all afternoon and after very bitter fighting reached a roundabout just short of the bridge where they were finally held up. These American troops are splendid types, brave and cheerful, and seemingly indifferent to the worst.” Late in the day, the commander of XXX Corps, Lt. Gen. Horrocks, came forward and met Gavin, Browning, and Maj. Gen. Adair, commander of the Guards Armored Division. They were all acutely aware that the attempts to take the bridges

Almost obscured by a shower of earth created by a bursting German 88mm shell, an American paratrooper rushes for cover during Operation Market-Garden. While the British 1st Airborne Division was decimated at Arnhem, the U.S. 82nd and 101st Divisions suffered 20 percent casualties.

had failed and that, with the Germans on both banks, their men had little chance of capturing either intact. It seemed obvious that, rather than risk losing a bridge, the Germans would demolish it. In fact, in the case of the road bridge, Field Marshal Model had expressly forbidden such an act. He was determined to use it in a counteroffensive. The Allied commanders were now facing a crisis. The British force at Arnhem was in deep trouble, the 82nd Airborne Division’s eastern perimeter was under heavy pressure, and the extremely narrow XXX Corps corridor was under ground attack from both flanks and intermittent air attack. In similar circumstances, most commanders would have given up trying to fight their way to the bridges through a built-up area and would have carried out a river crossing on one of the flanks, followed by a bridging operation. These were far from normal circumstances, however, and the time needed to mount and carry out such complicated operations would have spelled annihilation for the British at Arnhem. As Gavin put it, “If I did nothing more than pour infantry and British armor into the battle at our end of the bridge, we could be fighting there for days and Urquhart [commander of the British paratroopers at Arnhem] would be lost.” He therefore came up with a daring, but extremely risky, plan to attack WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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both ends of the bridge at once. Only 1,341 out of 2,310 troops and 40 percent of the artillery pieces destined for the 101st got through on the 19th, and many of the re-supply bundles landed among the Germans in the Best sector. Maj. Gen. Maxwell Taylor’s problem of defending his 25 km sector of the highway was now compounded by shortages of ammunition, fuel, and even food. The fighting at Best reached a crisis on this day. The 59th Division was now posing a real threat, and early in the afternoon Maj. Gen. Taylor decided he had to throw in more troops to eliminate it. Supported by two battalions of Colonel Joseph Harper’s recently arrived 327th Glider Infantry Regiment and a squadron of British tanks, he committed the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 502nd Regiment. By evening the Germans had broken and fled; more than 300 were killed and over 1,400 captured. As the fighting at Best ended, another German attack developed—this time at Son, where General Taylor had his headquarters. The new German thrust, by Panzer Brigade 107, was aimed at seizing Son and cutting off the advance elements of XXX Corps. The 107th was a very powerful formation comprising a panzer battalion with 36 Panthers and 11 Jagdpanzer IVs, a full-strength panzergrenadier battalion with 116 SPWs and eight 120mm mortars, and an SPW mounted Pioneer company. Its surprise attack, called a “reconnaissance in force” by the Germans due to the difficult nature of the ground around Son, began shortly after 1715 hours. It was very nearly successful in that a few Panthers were able to take the newly constructed Bailey bridge over the canal under fire, but the situa122

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One of the largest bridges in Europe, the span at Nijmegen is shown in an artist’s sketch after Operation Market-Garden. The bridge across the Waal River was captured by troops of the 82nd Airborne Division, but the advance toward Arnhem bogged down in the face of heavy German resistance.

tion was saved by the arrival of some of the glider infantrymen and a single 57mm antitank gun. The latter, together with bazooka fire, accounted for two Panthers, and as darkness fell the Germans withdrew. General Gavin described September 20, 1944, as “a day unprecedented in the division’s combat history. Each of the three regiments fought a critical battle in its own area and won over heavy odds.” To the southeast of Nijmegen, the 505th (less a battalion) and the 508th fought a desperate battle to hold off German forces attacking from the direction of the Reichswald, and in the city itself the third regiment played a decisive part in the capture of the bridges over the Waal. General Browning witnessed this latter event, together with General Horrocks of XXX Corps, and is said to have exclaimed, “I have never seen a more gallant action.” The German attacks from the direction of the Reichswald were launched by three KGs at around 0800 hours. By early evening they had made considerable progress against the badly overstretched Americans. They captured the villages of Wyler, Beek, and Mook and at one stage threatened the only bridge available to XXX Corps over the Maas-Waal Canal. The 82nd had by this time suffered 150 killed and 600 wounded. Casualties in the Mook battle alone were 20 killed, 54 wounded,

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and seven missing. This critical situation was eventually restored that night and the following morning by strong American counterattacks, those at Mook and Beek being supported by elements of the attached British armored group. Despite its obvious dangers, both Horrocks and the commander of the Guards Armored Division readily gave their approval to Gavin’s plan for the capture of the Nijmegen bridges. It involved joint American/British attacks to secure the southern ends of the rail and road bridges and most of the 504th Parachute Regiment crossing the river in assault boats to the west of the railway bridge with the aim of securing the northern bank. In the case of the road bridge, British tanks were to make a dash across it in conjunction with the American attack. The dangers of the Germans blowing the bridge at this point were obvious. It took five hours, until 1330 hours, to clear the jumping-off area for the final assault on the southern ends of the bridges and the bank of the Waal from which the river crossing was to be made. Further delays were then experienced in bringing forward 32 British assault boats from the XXX Corps column. A major cause of this delay was another extremely heavy Luftwaffe raid on Eindhoven the previous night, which had blocked roads and caused numerous civilian casualties. Just before 1500 hours, following an air strike by eight British Typhoons and a 15-minute artillery barrage, the boats, each with 13 paratroopers and manned by men of C Company of the 307th Airborne Engineeer Battalion, set off across the 400-meter-wide river. Major Julian Cook’s 3rd Battalion of the 504th led the way, with Lt. Col. William Harrison’s 1st Battalion following, in a total of six waves. Major Edward Willems’s 2nd Battalion and 30 British tanks provided direct fire support from the south bank near the power station, and some one hundred American guns and mortars provided indirect fire support. Smoke rounds were included in the fire plan to provide some cover for the boats, but much of it blew away before it could be effective. The story of the incredibly gallant Waal River crossing and the seizure of the north bank by the men of the 504th has been told many times and portrayed vividly in the film A Bridge Too Far. It is unnecessary to repeat it. Meanwhile, the complementary assault against KG Euling at the southern end of the road bridge was reaching its climax. By early evening, despite a considerable number of casualties and the loss of a Sherman, the attack by Lt. Col. Ben Vandervoort’s 2nd Battalion and Lt. Col. Edward Goulburn’s 1st Grenadier Guards, both supported by British Shermans, finally overwhelmed the German defenders. As the Grenadier Guards’ History put it: “All serious German resistance seemed to crack … a patrol from No. 4 Company [Grenadier Guards] moved down to the bridge and, apart from a considerable number of shellshocked Germans, found it clear.… It remained for the 2nd Battalion [the Grenadier Guards Tank Battalion] to move over the

A British tank from 2nd Army passes by Germans killed during the fight for the bridge at Nijmegan.

bridge. At 1830, a troop [platoon of four tanks], which had been held in readiness by the round-about, edged forward along the embankment, but it was still too light; they were met by strong anti-tank fire and forced to withdraw.” By this time the valiant men of the 504th, despite suffering 134 casualties killed, wounded, or missing, had secured the north end of the railway bridge and were continuing their advance to the north and east. At 1900 hours, as they approached the north end of the massive road bridge, the troop of four Grenadier Guards’ Shermans was ordered to advance again. Despite the fading light, they came under fire from two 88mm guns on the far side, a Sturmgeschütze firing straight down the bridge, and from men with hand-held antitank weapons and machine guns on the structure itself. The two rear tanks were hit but, against all expectations, the other two succeeded in crossing and after knocking out the Sturmgeschütze, linked up with Lt. Cmdr. Reuben Tucker’s paratroopers about a kilometer up the road. The time was 1915 hours. Within an hour the Americans had eliminated the antitank threat, and British engineers, more Shermans, four 17pounder antitank guns, and two companies of infantry had reinforced the slender bridgehead. With the remnants of the beleaguered 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem, less than 18 km away to the north, the Americans naturally expected the British armor to move rapidly to their rescue—but nothing happened. Lt. Cmdr. Tucker was, understandably, furious. He is said to have told a Guards major, “Your boys are hurting up there at Arnhem. You’d better go.” There is even a report that one American company commander was so angry about the failure to advance that he actuWO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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ally threatened a British officer with his submachine gun, causing him to close the hatches on his Sherman. Certainly, Tucker said to General Gavin the next morning, “What in the hell are they doing? We’ve been in this position for over 12 hours and all they seem to be doing is brewing tea.” In view of the casualties his regiment had suffered securing the north bank of the Waal, his anger would seem to be justified. A British Guards officer later wrote: “Patrols of Americans, wearing rubber-soled boots that made no sound, kept passing through us, alert and eager to engage the enemy. For our part, we just sat in our positions all night.… The situation in Arnhem remained desperate. Yet the Guards Armoured Division did nothing.” Sadly, it was true. It would be 18 hours before the advance was resumed, and yet for five hours, from 1900 until midnight, there was virtually nothing to stop an advance up the Elst-Arnhem road. Once again, however, British caution ruled the day. The plight of those in the Arnhem area seems to have taken second place to worries about the XXX Corps corridor south of Nijmegen. Or was it perhaps lethargy, military incompetence, or an unwillingness to accept a few casualties for the good of the majority—not least the Dutch people north of the Waal? Many excuses have been offered for the failure of the Guards Armored Division to advance on the evening of September 20, but none of them is totally satisfactory. One junior Irish Guards officer later wrote: “I led my platoon over the [Waal] bridge in the dark to take up a position astride the road ahead. Again, we sat there all night, with no German counter-attack.… It was a moment when you would have expected the commanders to order the Grenadiers [in Shermans] to continue hell for leather to Arnhem, with the 3rd Battalion Irish Guards riding on the tanks. Neither battalion was otherwise seriously engaged all night.” The failure of Horrocks to order the advance to continue “hell for leather” that evening, or of Adair to seize the initiative and give the necessary orders, was to result in tragic events on both sides of the lower Rhine. Not surprisingly, the situation in front of the Nijmegen bridgehead on the night of September 20 soon began to change and, shortly after midnight, a new German defensive line, some 4 km north of the bridge, began to build. It was manned initially by KG Reinhold, and by dawn the following day it had been reinforced by 16 Mk IVs and Sturmgeschütze and a panzergrenadier battalion of the Frundsberg, newly arrived from the Pannerden crossing. In an episode almost as amazing as the American crossing of the Waal, SS Captain Karl-Heinz Euling led the 60 or so survivors of his KG to safety that night. They fought on until around 2225 hours in various locations near the bridge and then managed to slip away, quite literally under the noses of the British, to find rowing boats and join their Frundsberg comrades on the north side of the river. Euling was later awarded 124

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the Knight’s Cross for his actions on this day. General Taylor’s greatest concern was another attack by German armor, and his worst fears were realized when Panzer Brigade 107 attacked Son again early on the 20th. Panthers soon controlled the bridge by fire, and it would almost certainly have fallen had not 10 British tanks “belatedly responded to an SOS dating from the crisis of the night before.” The Germans found they were unable to close on the village due to the canal, and after losing four Panthers to the British tanks they withdrew. Nevertheless, it had been a close-run thing. General Taylor had already decided that since he could not maintain a static defense along the whole length of Hell’s Highway, he would try to surprise and unbalance the enemy by limited offensive thrusts of his own. Accordingly, in the first of these operations Lt. Col. Kinnards’s battalion of the 501st swept northwest from Veghel along the Willems Canal and “accounted for about 500 Germans, including 418 prisoners.” Between 0830 and 1130 hours on September 21, two brigades of the long-awaited British 43rd Division, part of XXX Corps, arrived in Nijmegen. In view of the situation in the Arnhem sector, one would have expected them to continue to the north side of the Waal, but instead both remained in the city. This was, however, clearly a blessing in disguise for Gavin’s division. With the British assuming responsibility for the city, the 82nd could focus its attention on its vulnerable eastern flank.

Farther south, General Taylor’s tactic of carrying the attack to the enemy saw two battalions of Lt. Col. Johnson’s 501st Regiment and two battalions of Lt. Cmdr. Michaelis’s 502nd attempt to envelop the Germans in the Schijndel area between Veghel and St. Oedenrode. The operation began after dark and was progressing well, but as shall be seen, it had to be called off at 1430 hours the following day due to another all-out German effort to cut Hell’s Highway. The 101st, with help from British tanks, had so far successfully defended Hell’s Highway, but its task was being prolonged by the slow progress of the British on either flank. By the morning of the 22nd, when a major German attack was launched in the Veghel area, their VIII Corps was still southeast of Eindhoven and their XII Corps around Best, 8 km west of Son. The Americans were so stretched that in places the “front” was quite literally the edges of the main Eindhoven-Nijmegen road and defended only by the XXX Corps troops moving along it. The failure of the flanking British corps to keep pace with XXX Corps and thus relieve the pressure on the Americans has been the subject of much postwar discussion. The bare facts are that XII Corps was not ready to advance on September 17, and three days later had covered only 15 km to reach the Turnhout-Eindhoven road, while VIII Corps, which did not begin its advance until the 20th, took six days to reach the Maas River, 25 km southeast of Nijmegen. Although no one

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would question the bravery of the junior officers and soldiers or the severity of the fighting, one has to question the motivation of some of their superiors and compare it with that of their opponents. It is significant that, long after the war, General O’Connor, the commander of VIII Corps, admitted that he had been instructed not to press too hard on his flank! The German attack in the Veghel area was launched at 0900 hours on the 22nd from both sides of Hell’s Highway. A KG Huber, with three infantry battalions, an artillery battalion, a flak battery, seven antitank guns, and four Jagdpanthers, attacked from the west. Following up was a parachute regiment, but it would not reach the battle area until the following day. The heaviest assault came from the east and was mounted by a KG Walther. This KG included the Panzer Brigade 107, a Frundsberg panzergrenadier battalion, an artillery battalion, and a flak battery, and KG Heinke. Panzer Brigade 107 had already been in action two days previously at Son, losing 10 percent of its armor in the process. The 101st Airborne Division was inevitably too thinly spread to resist a strong attack at a single point. Lt. Col. Robert Ballard’s 2nd Battalion of the 501st was positioned in Veghel, but the two other parachute battalions of the regiment were already involved in the Schijndel area. Fortunately, members of the Dutch Resistance had warned General Taylor of the German buildup on both sides of the corridor, and this enabled him to deploy some of his slender reserves: Lt. Col. Ray Allen’s battalion of the 327th Glider Infantry Regiment, 150 men of Colonel Sink’s 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and a battalion of British tanks. The German attacks were violent and, although not fully coordinated, succeeded in cutting the road between Uden

A Sherman Firefly tank of the Irish Guards Group advances past Shermans knocked out earlier during the opening phase of Operation Market-Garden.

and Veghel by 1330 hours. Panthers then turned south toward Veghel, and shortly afterward KG Huber, advancing from the west, was able to bring fire to bear on the vital bridge over the Willems Canal. The Americans, however, were able to pull back the two battalions of the 501st from the Schijndel area to support their comrades in Veghel, and these battalions were able to engage and virtually annihilate KG Huber from the rear. Meanwhile, the arrival of a small reserve force heading for Uden, supported by a squadron of British tanks and a battalion of glider infantrymen from the main divisional LZ, halted the move of the German tanks from the north and stabilized the situation. According to the U.S. Official History, the Americans “requested air support, but unfavorable weather denied any substantial assistance from that quarter.” This statement is contradicted by General Brereton, who claimed that 119 Typhoon sorties were flown in support of the ground troops on this day. RAF records show a total of 74 Typhoon sorties being flown: 66 in the 101st Airborne sector where the alleged target was up to “100 tanks” and eight in the Reichswald area. By last light, the 101st was holding the Veghel area with eight battalions of parachute and glider infantry and two companies of British tanks, but this force was still not considered strong enough to guarantee Hell’s Highway for the movement of the XXX Corps units and supplies urgently needed north of Nijmegen. Knowing that the Germans would intensify their attacks during the night and the next day, Horrocks gave orders WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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that a tank battalion and an infantry battalion from the Guards Armored Division in Nijmegen were to be sent back down the corridor to help the Americans. They received the order to move at 1230 hours and, after brushing with German elements south of Uden, went firm into the village as darkness fell. In the meantime, the commander of the British Second Army, General Miles Dempsey, in an indication of how seriously he viewed the situation, placed the 101st Airborne Division under the British VIII Corps and told the VIII Corps commander to move one of his divisions to Veghel. By last light on September 23, the 82nd had expanded its Nijmegen defensive perimeter to an average depth of 7 km in the east and 12 km in the southeast. Although the Germans had been reinAmerican airborne troops patrol the city of Nijmegen in the days following the forced, the American paratroopers had failed effort to reach Arnham. Men of the 82nd and 101st Divisions stayed an addifought them to a standstill, and the tional 6 weeks under Montgomery’s command. expanded American bridgehead between the Maas and the Waal provided a muchneeded firm base for the further advance of the British VIII again. German reports confirm that Panzer Brigade 107 lost Corps. It also provided greater protection for the vital Nijmegen 16 Panthers, 24 SPWs, and over 300 men in its struggle to bridges. With the safe, if belated, arrival of the 325th Glider cut the highway. A further Allied success on this day was the safe delivery by Infantry Regiment on this day, Gavin could be justly proud of his division’s achievements. His own performance had been glider of the remaining artillery and 3,000 men of the 101st remarkable. He had been in constant pain from a suspected Airborne Division. Von der Heydte’s 6th German Parachute Regiment, with four broken back following his parachute landing on the 17th. Farther south, in the 101st Division’s sector, the situation weak battalions and a few assault guns, attacked Veghel again was less stable. The balance of the Frundsberg’s KG Heinke— at 1000 hours. Heavy fighting between the rival paratroopers SS panzergrenadiers and some panzerjägers—had closed up to followed, and while this was going on a KG Jungwirth, cobKG Walther, as had a battalion of paratroopers. Thus rein- bled together from another infantry division, found an undeforced, Walther resumed his attack on the Veghel sector of fended section of the highway, 6 km southwest of Veghel. Hell’s Highway. In conjunction with this attack from the east, Within 24 hours of Hell’s Highway being reopened, it was cut the 6th German Parachute Regiment, commanded by the again. Despite heavy interdiction from American and British famous Baron von der Heydte, already exhausted after a 48- guns, German paratroopers successfully reinforced KG Junghour approach march, was ordered to attack from the west— wirth during the night, and it soon became clear that much on basically the same axis as that taken by the ill-fated KG stronger Allied forces would be needed to reopen the vital road to Nijmegen. Huber the previous day. Neither attack was successful. At 0830 hours on Monday morning, a combined attack by By midday the paratroopers from the west had been halted by their American counterparts and, at about the same time, American and British forces was launched to clear the GerWalther, no longer able to ignore the steady advance of the mans off Hell’s Highway. The men of the 506th Parachute British VIII Corps to his left rear, decided to pull back. An Infantry Regiment advanced from the direction of Veghel, hour later the overall American commander in Veghel, Brig. while a reinforced battalion of the 502nd together with British Gen. Anthony McAuliffe, sent two battalions, with British infantry moved up from St. Oedenrode. British tanks supported tank support, north to clear the road, and by 1520 hours both groups. Although they were surrounded on three sides, his men had linked up with the British Guards units moving the Germans held on and sensibly used their time to heavily south from Uden. After 24 hours, Hell’s Highway was open mine the whole area. 126

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Although the Germans eventually withdrew after dark that evening, it took Allied engineers until 1400 hours the following day to clear the mines and finally declare Hell’s Highway safe for use. From now on, the Germans would have to resort to artillery fire and aircraft to interdict the constant flow of traffic. In this respect, a major attack by 40 German aircraft took place against the Nijmegen road bridge on the 25th. One bomb hit, but the bridge remained passable. The withdrawal of the British and Polish survivors from the Arnhem sector took place between 2140 hours on the 25th and 0530 hours on September 26 in heavy rain. Nearly 2,300 men reached safety, including 160 Poles. Operation Market-Garden was over. It had cost the Allies over 16,000 soldiers and 248 airmen. Of nearly 12,000 British and Poles committed in the Arnhem area, 1,446 British, including 229 glider pilots, and 97 Poles were killed, and 6,414 British and 111 Poles, many of whom were wounded, became prisoners. The British XXX Corps suffered 1,480 casualties, and VIII and XII Corps lost 3,874 men between them.

A total of 29,628 American troops were delivered into Holland by parachute or glider during Operation Market-Garden. The 82nd Airborne Division lost 215 killed, 790 wounded, and 427 missing; the 101st suffered 315 killed, 1,248 wounded, and 547 missing; and 122 glider pilots were lost, of whom 12 were killed. Precise details of German casualties do not exist, but they probably totaled about 6,400. With the war still in progress, it was inevitable that MarketGarden would be presented to the British and American people as a victory. Churchill described it as “a decided victory,” and Montgomery claimed it was 90 percent successful since 90 percent of the ground specified in the operation order had been taken. To this latter claim, Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands is said to have replied, “My country can never again afford the luxury of a Montgomery success.” In reality, Market-Garden was a strategic failure. The West Wall had not been outflanked, the British Second Army was not positioned for an attack on the north flank of the Ruhr, the German Fifteenth Army had not been cut off, and there had been no collapse of German arms. The salient achieved led nowhere and was to prove extremely costly in the coming months. The vast majority of those involved in Market-Garden, of whatever nationality, displayed great bravery and earned the respect of their adversaries. In the case of two of the major participants, the Americans and Germans, their senior ground commanders—Gavin, Taylor, Model, Bittrich, Harmel (Frundsberg), and Harzer (Hohenstaufen)—demonstrated outstanding military competence. The same cannot be said of the British. The seven most directly involved—Montgomery, Dempsey, Browning, Horrocks, Adair, Urquhart (commander, 1st Parachute Division), and Thomas (commander, 43rd

Infantry Division)—must bear responsibility for the failure of the operation. The aftermath for those who returned from Market-Garden differed markedly, depending on their nationality. The British survivors of the Arnhem operation were flown back to England on September 30 and welcomed as heroes. In a surprisingly generous move by Eisenhower and the American authorities, the two U.S. Airborne Divisions were left under Montgomery’s command and stayed in the line in Holland for a further six weeks. They suffered another 3,594 casualties, including 685 killed. Today, few Brits are aware of the contribution and sacrifice made by the Americans in Market-Garden. Horrocks, however, was in no doubt when he wrote after the war: “As this difficult battle progressed I became more and more impressed with the fighting qualities of the 82nd and 101st U.S. Airborne Divisions.… What impressed me so much about them was their quickness into action.… They were commanded by two outstanding men.… Both were as unlike the popular cartoon conception of the loud-voiced, boastful, cigarchewing American as it would be possible to imagine. They were quiet, sensitive-looking men of great charm, with an almost British passion for understatement.… Under their deceptively gentle exterior both Maxwell Taylor and Gavin were very tough characters indeed. They had to be, because the men they commanded were some of the toughest troops I have ever come across in my life.” The Poles, after marching back to Nijmegen under occasional mortar fire, spent the next 10 days on guard and patrol duties there before being returned to England. Their commander, Maj. Gen. Stanislas Sosabowski, was sacked on December 9, undoubtedly at Montgomery and Browning’s insistence. Not surprisingly, two of his battalions went on what turned out to be an unsuccessful hunger strike. For the Dutch people, the aftermath of the fighting was to be the most bitter and painful of all. Some 100,000 people had been forced out of the Arnhem area. Their homes had been destroyed and systematically looted by the Germans, who then cut their rations to less than 500 calories a day in what became known as the “Hunger Winter.” In retaliation for their assistance to the Allies during MarketGarden and a countrywide railway strike begun by Dutch workers on September 17, the Germans stopped all inland shipping. Without trains or barges it was impossible to move sufficient food from the agricultural east to the towns and cities of the west. It has been estimated that some 25,000 Dutch people died of starvation that winter. As they died, they wondered why the Allies did not continue their advance to free them. The answer was simple. The Germans were too strong and the ground too difficult. Any major advance would almost certainly have led to a level of destruction that would have resulted in the flooding of most of the Netherlands. The Allies turned instead toward the Rhine.

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To help downed airmen, the U.S. Army trained dogs to parachute out of airplanes.

BY MICHAEL DOLAN AND KEVIN HYMEL

CANINES

TO THE RESCUE

THE U.S. ARMY TRAINED DOGS FOR A NUMBER of tasks during World War II. From checking for mines to guarding prisoners of war, the dogs performed admirably, but a few special dogs actually earned jump wings. To solve the problem of providing assistance to downed airmen in isolated locations, the Army, with the help of its Canadian brothers, trained Siberian Huskies to jump from planes and bring the fliers supplies, aiding them in their treks to safety. To prepare the dogs for their jump, soldiers would take the animals, with full packs, on 75-mile hikes to relax before their ordeal. Next, the dogs were suited with parachutes—sometimes with two dogs to a chute—and loaded aboard a transport plane. The plane flew to a desired height and target zone where the dogs were pushed out of the side door. The parachute, on a static line, automatically opened as the canines cleared the doorway. Once on the ground, they could deliver supplies and aid the stranded airman. While the experiment was never applied to the battlefield (Europe was too well populated and the islands of the Pacific too small), it showed that the Army would go to any lengths to facilitate the safe return of its pilots.

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TOP: Two 100-pound Siberian Huskies await takeoff from a Canadian airfield. A flight surgeon, with protective gear and mask, is responsible for getting them out of the plane. BOTTOM: The Huskies are dropped from a search and rescue plane. Their parachute is beginning to deploy. All photos: National Archives

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CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Fido earns his wings! Having landed on all fours, this dog is resisting the pull of its parachute. In the background is a British Lysander biplane with Canadian markings. The two dogs waft to the ground with their supplies. To toughen up the paratrooper dogs, Army trainers (these two are with the 26th Infantry Division) take them on a 75-mile hike. By the time they are done, the dogs are in fine fettle and ready to jump.

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Both: National Archives

Operation Varsity, the parachute and glider mission to breach the Rhine in March 1945, was the Allies’ biggest—and final—airborne/glider operation of the war.

T

HE JERK OF THE CANOPY OPENING WAS A REASsuring sensation. Not so reassuring was the storm of small arms and artillery fire that roared up from the ground. The troopers from the 513th Parachute Infantry Regiment (PIR), 17th U.S. Airborne Division, had already been shaken around in their aircraft by the buffeting of antiaircraft shells. Along with their fellow troopers and airborne colleagues from the British 6th Airborne Division, they had trained hard for this moment and they were ready to do their job: to seize, clear, and secure German-held positions east of the Rhine. It was Saturday, March 24, 1945, and Operation Varsity, the largest single lift in history, was under way. Varsity was the parachute and glider component of a larger operation known as Plunder, designed to breach the Rhine at Wesel and complement two earlier American crossings of Germany’s major waterway. The two divisions had only been out of the line for two months, having suffered heavy casualties in the brutal and bitter conditions of the Belgian Ardennes. They were, respectively, part of Maj. Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway’s 18th U.S. Airborne Corps and Maj. Gen. Richard S. Gale’s 1st British Airborne Corps, together forming the First Allied Airborne Army. 130

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THE LAST DROP BY STEPHEN L. WRIGHT

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Parachutes fill the sky on March 24, 1945, in this image taken during Operation Varsity by famed Life magazine combat photographer Robert Capa, who jumped with the 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 17th Airborne Division.

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teams (two parachute and one glider) with support for the 6th. The other parachute regiment was the 507th PIR which, until the Ardennes, was the only unit of the 17th to have previously seen action. The 9th U.S. Troop Carrier Command (TCC) provided paratroop transport for both divisions and gliders for the 17th. On September 1, 1944, it was reassigned to the U.S. Strategic Air Force, for administration control, and the First Allied Airborne Army for operational control. The Royal Air Force’s 38 and 46 Groups were part of that organization’s Transport Command. Ordinarily, they carried the 6th’s paratroopers and towed the airlanding gliders, but for this operation, the latter role would be the task of the 9th TCC. The Glider Pilot Regiment (GPR) would provide transport for the Airlanding Brigade. Its members were all volunteers from the many regiments and corps throughout the British Army, and they had been trained to fly and to fight. The regiment’s greatest loss to date had been in Holland during Operation Market-Garden. Time was not available to train new pilots, so RAF pilots were drafted in. Ridgway was given operational command. He met General Miles Dempsey, C-in-C British Second Army, on February 14 and was given a broad outline of the overall plan; Gale was appointed his deputy. Careful study of the photographic reconnaissance of the area showed that suitable drop zones and landing zones were available adjacent to the immediate objectives. In an attempt to disperse the enemy’s attention and fire, 10 zones were chosen, seven for Waco CG-4A gliders carrying troops of the 17th Airborne Division fly over Wesel, the 6th and three for the 17th. Germany, in a new, double-tow formation the morning of March 24. The 6th Airborne would be required to land on the northern edge of the Schnepfenberg, a high feature topped by the Diersfordter Wald, opposite the point at which British XII Corps would cross the Rhine on the outskirts of the village of Hamminkeln and beside two road bridges across the Issel Canal. The parachute brigades would take care of the first area. The Airlanding Brigade (12th Devonshire Regiment) would secure Hamminkeln and capture two road bridges and one railway bridge. In a repeat of the initial landing in Normandy, Company B of the 2nd Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry and Company D of the 1st Royal Ulster Rifles would execute a coup de main landing on the bridges. The town of Wesel and its environs were the main objectives of the 17th.

National Archives

The 6th had entered the Ardennes as a veteran outfit, having fought throughout the Normandy Campaign under Gale, its founding CO. An experienced paratrooper, Gale had previously commanded the 1st Parachute Brigade during the Normandy invasion. The division would fly to Germany in its original format of two parachute brigades, each of three battalions, and a glider-borne airlanding brigade, again comprising three battalions. Support was provided through artillery, medical, signal, and engineer units. Maj. Gen. Eric Bols would be Gale’s successor. For the 17th, the Ardennes had been its baptism of fire. Its CO, Maj. Gen. William “Bud” Miley, like his British counterpart, was an experienced paratroop commander who had followed the traditional route of Army service. In 1940, he was given command of the 501st Parachute Battalion, thus becoming the first American officer to command a designated airborne unit. After time with his battalion in Panama, he returned to the States in 1942 to take charge of 503rd PIR. Three months later he was promoted to command the 1st Parachute Brigade. He served for a short time as assistant commander of the 82nd Airborne Division before taking command of the 17th. Following the losses in the Ardennes, particularly in the 193rd Glider Infantry Regiment, which was all but reduced to nothing, Miley instigated a new table of organization and equipment. Consequently, the division would field three combat

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The parachute regiments were to drop to the south and east of the Schnepfenberg while the gliderborne elements were to land to the north of Wesel. Tasks included seizing a bridge over the Issel, which ran along the eastern edge of the landing area. While not a particularly wide river, the Issel’s steep banks were a natural tank trap. The 194th was also to protect the right flank of the landing, and establish contact with the British 1st Commando Brigade, which was expected by then to have captured and secured Wesel. The 513th and artillery forward observers would jump from the twodoor Curtiss C-46 Commando aircraft, and its glider troops would be in double-towed gliders. This technique had been tried the previous year, unsuccessfully, in Burma. For the first time, glider troops would be landing in unsecured zones. For this reason the gliders were to execute tactical landings to confuse the defenders about the direction from which the main attack would come and to enable troops to land as close as possible to their objectives. This latter innovation had, like several other factors of the operation, been influenced by the contents of a captured German document, which had come into the Allies’ possession in December 1944. This was an appreciation of the mistakes made in Operation Market (the airborne phase of Market-Garden). The document found fault with the Allies’ failure to put down the maximum force possible on September 17; slowness in building up forces, following the first lift; keeping to the same route in resupply missions and a concern to overprotect the immediate drop zone area rather than put pressure on German forces. This latter failure allowed the Germans to concentrate troops and organize rapid counterattacks. Following their findings, the Germans put into place measures that

National Archives

TOP: C-47 Skytrain transport planes release hundreds of Allied paratroopers and their supplies over the Diersfordt area east of the Rhine River. This picture was taken from a B-17 that was shot down shortly thereafter. ABOVE: Not all the sky soldiers landed safely. A member of Colonel Edson D. Raff’s 507th PIR, known as the “Rufficans,” hangs from a tree near Wesel.

would seek out areas most likely to be chosen for large-scale airborne landings. Antiaircraft and mortar defenses would be concentrated on these areas. Air raid precautions would be improved, and new mobile patrols, trained for antiairborne defense and capable of mobilization at 20 minutes’ notice, would be created. In all the reorganization, the 194th Glider Infantry Regiment was still short one company. Following a request from Miley, Captain Charles O. Gordon, glider operations officer with the 435th Troop Carrier Group (TCG), made an immediate decision that his pilots could handle this assignment based on his knowledge of their previous combat experience and the use of various weapons. They received two weeks’ infantry training from the 194th. As mentioned earlier, the GPR suffered grievously during Operation Market-Garden. With the ensuing airborne operation leaving too little time to train new pilots from scratch, the decision was made to bring in RAF pilots. For some of these, their posting to the GPR is remembered and regarded as more by foul means than fair. Be that as it may, they all played an important role in the GPR at that time. Following the push to the Rhine, the WO R L D WAR II A1 R B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Allies were faced with the remains of the German First Parachute Army, the 84th Infantry Division and its supporting armor, and the 47th Panzer Corps with the 116th Panzer and 15th Panzergrenadier Divisions. On March 10, the German forces crossed the Rhine using a heavy rainstorm as cover and blew the last bridge behind them. At this time, the Allies estimated that the Germans had lost some 40,000 killed and over 50,000 captured. The panzer divisions had also been badly mauled by the intense assault of the combined Allied presence. Estimates of the number of enemy troops occupying the crossing and invasion area vary: 7,500-12,000 with 100-150 armored fighting vehicles and their crews available in support. More significantly, and proving that the Germans expected an airborne landing, approximately 800 antiaircraft guns were noted in the week running up to the operation. In overall command was Generaloberst Alfred Schlemm, CO of First Parachute Army. Using what time he had, Schlemm ensured that defensive works were constructed to secure or cover all areas that could be used for waterborne or airborne landings, height advantage, or speeding movement through and beyond the defensive zone. Farmhouses and suitable farm buildings were also turned into strongpoints. Understandably, as the operation drew closer security was stepped up. So it seems rather odd, then, that a reconnaissance flight of tugs and gliders was sent along the planned route for Varsity. The exercise, or Operation Token, as it was officially known, was carried out without incident and, Paratroopers of Colonel James W. Coutts’ 513th PIR hug the ground on Landing Zone “P” as others begin to dig slit trenches along a roadway. A British-made Horsa glider is visible in the distance. Imperial War Museum

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of course, as secretly as possible. Nevertheless, there was a widespread belief that the Germans were ready for the landings. The taunts of radio propagandist Axis Sally to the 17th Airborne were taken in good stead. The joke among the troopers was: “Axis Sally knows we are coming, and we know she knows, but she doesn’t know when.” Final briefings took place on March 22 and 23. On the 24th, dawn was just breaking as the British and Canadian troopers left for their respective airfields; in France, dawn revealed the 17th’s airfields as the spawning of a huge new airborne invasion. With the time difference, the Americans would be taking off as the Commonwealth contingent passed overhead. At 8:20 AM, artillery units of medium, heavy, and superheavy guns dug in on the west bank of the Rhine, began to bombard the German positions in two phases; the second was to end as the first transports passed overhead at 10 AM. As it happened, the planes arrived six minutes early. The German defenses were not subdued for long and began a steady and accurate fire as the troop carriers approached, crossed, and turned away from the zone. Across the whole area stretched a smoke screen that rose up to 2,500 feet; it was Montgomery’s idea to cover his river crossing with smoke, but it caused severe harassment and problems for the airborne element. The 513th was dropped a mile off the zone, where the 12th Devons’ gliders were headed. The C-46 of the executive officer, Lt. Col. Ward Ryan, was burning as he and his stick hooked up; the men landed in the middle of a German artillery command post. The regiment’s CO, Colonel Jim Coutts, slipped out of his harness, walked through the machine-gun fire, and began to attack before he had a battalion. The misdrop was fortuitous for the Devons, as it

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Map © 2012 Philip Schwartzberg, Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, MN

meant their zone was cleared. As Company E of the 513th’s 2nd Battalion was approaching a farmhouse, it came under fire. It was here that the actions of Pfc. Stewart Stryker led to his posthumous Medal of Honor. With no regard for his own safety, Stryker left cover and ran to the front of a pinned-down platoon. He encouraged its members to follow him, which they did. Stryker only covered a few more yards before he was cut down, dying as he fell. He had done enough, though, and the house was taken. For the 513th’s comrades in the 507th, its 1st Battalion suffered a similar fate, landing 21/2 miles off zone. The 507th’s CO, Colonel Edson D. Raff, quickly realized that the woods were east and southeast, not north and northwest. Soon, men came from various directions, and Raff assembled a solid fighting force. Enemy machine-gun and artillery fire was coming from the village of Diersfordt and the nearby woods, and a battery of five 150mm guns was also firing. Raff detailed a party to capture the guns, while he and the remaining Just as during the Normandy invasion, the Allied push toward and across the Rhine between Emmerich and Wesel was spearheaded by U.S., British, and Canatroopers engaged in clearing the woods dian parachute and glider forces. and taking the village. About 11 AM, Raff and his men were close to Diersfordt castle, an objective, when they met 517th Signal Company attached to the 507th; his glider up with another group from 1st Battalion led by Major Paul had received intense antiaircraft fire and had crashed into Smith, whose group had landed closer to the village. With a grove of trees. All the occupants were thrown out, and the majority of the 1st Battalion now assembled, an imme- upon coming to his senses Kormann found himself alone with a lot of gunfire and mortar shells exploding close by. diate assault was made on the castle. Company A led the attack, but just as the remaining com- He grabbed his gun and, keeping low, made for the woods, panies were about to be committed, Company I from the where he found a trench running alongside a single-track 3rd Battalion arrived. Since the castle was an objective of railroad. He left the woods and joined a group of parathis battalion, Raff withdrew the 1st Battalion, less its lead troopers in charging some farmhouses, from which the Gercompany, and ordered it to proceed in its primary role as mans had been shooting at them. Bringing up the rear as they passed the last farmhouse, regimental reserve. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions were dropped squarely on Kormann heard noises coming from a cellar. Convinced their DZs and assembled quickly against heavy machine- that some of the enemy was hiding there, he lifted the gun, small arms, and light artillery fire from enemy troops slanted wooden cellar door cautiously and was about to dug in in the woods north and east of the zone. One of the toss in a grenade when he remembered the letter he had members of the battalion was also to be awarded a posthu- received from his mother the previous day. She sensed that mous Medal of Honor. Private George J. Peters single- her son was going into battle. “Son, I want you to be merhandedly attacked a machine-gun position that was pre- ciful,” she wrote. “Never forget that the young man you are fighting has a mother who loves him and prays for him, venting his group from reaching its weapons. Private First Class John Kormann was a member of the just as I love and pray for you.” WO R L D WAR II A1 R B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Another Robert Capa photo, taken the morning of March 24, shows a German SdKfz-251 halftrack, knocked out by an American bazooka, burning near a small village.

Infuriated, Kormann thought: “Mother, what are you trying to do, bring about my death? I am trained to kill or be killed!” Now, he was conscious of his mother’s plea: “Be merciful!” So, instead of throwing the grenade he shouted in German for them to surrender and come out with their hands up. There was silence. His second shout brought stirring. The first to come up was an elderly grandmother. Then another woman appeared, followed by four or five little children. Finally, 14 women and children stood before him. Kormann shuddered at the thought of what he might have done and the burden it would have placed on his life had he not received his mother’s letter. The 194th, with the 681st Glider Field Artillery Battalion in support, was to seize and hold two bridges over the Issel, clear its section of the landing area, defend the line of the Issel River and Canal, and prevent enemy incursion from the southwest. In the first two serials, four gliders pulled out. Only 29 of the remaining 156 gliders reached the ground undamaged. In the third and fourth serials, 139 gliders arrived but only 18 landed without being hit. The landings were spread across the zone, and a good number of gliders landed outside it. Companies were assembled within an hour of landing, and moving toward their objectives found a solid German defense, although the enemy’s troops had no real idea where the front line was. They simply attacked U.S. positions as they came across them. Some of their machine guns were overrun, but the American line held steady. 136

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In the British sector, the paratroop and gliderborne battalions also suffered from the intense and concentrated antiaircraft fire. The 3rd Parachute Brigade’s 8th Parachute Battalion was first out, dropping into a wall of fire. Sergeant Ted Eaglen had been wounded in the Ardennes and had returned to his battalion just in time for Varsity. On his way down from his burning C-47, he felt the draft of a shell as it zoomed by. He landed on barbed wire and had a struggle to get out of his parachute––all this while bullets were hitting the barbed wire and whining past him. It seemed endless. He couldn’t believe that he was not being hit. Eventually, he got free and scuttled behind a tree, from which vantage point he saw three Germans. Giving them a burst from his Sten sub-machine gun, he saw them disappear. Despite all the fury of the enemy’s welcome, Eaglen’s Company C and Company A quickly took their objectives. For Company B it was more of a fight as a well dug-in enemy hung onto a wooded area. The company commander, Major John Kippen, led a ferocious charge through a trench; he was killed in the ensuing hand-to-hand struggle, but the area was taken along with several prisoners. The company’s Antitank Platoon also became caught up in a fierce firefight with a German signals platoon, but the British troopers came out the victors. They arrived at their rendezvous in a captured three-ton truck, which came in very handy in the later gathering of supplies from the gliders. The brigade’s 1st Canadian Battalion CO, Lt. Col. Jevon “Jeff” Nicklin, a former football star for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers, had landed above a machine-gun position and was shot and killed as he struggled to get free from his harness. His second in command, Major Fraser Eadie, took charge of the battalion. The unit’s main objective was a group of well-defended farm buildings. As with their British

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mates, the Canadians fought in a determined fashion and took buildings and prisoners. The 316th TCG aircraft carrying the brigade’s 9th Battalion received a tremendous amount of attention from the German gunners. Of the 37th Squadron’s 21 aircraft, 16 were hit by enemy fire. One of the aircraft ended up, fully loaded, at Eindhoven’s airfield in Holland. The parachute on one of the parapack containers attached to the underside of the plane had blossomed underneath the door. Attempts to bring the container on board were unsuccessful, and it was too dangerous for the paratroopers to attempt to jump past it. The men were later returned to the front by road. Another aircraft, flown by the 45th Squadron’s CO, Lt. Col. Mars Lewis, was hit by antiaircraft fire as Lewis executed a left turn from the drop zone. He held the plane straight and level for a few seconds, but the rudder and elevators were burning fiercely. The aircraft went into a diving turn to the right; no parachutes were seen. Again, as with their colleagues in the other two battalions, the 9th Battalion’s troopers suffered mixed experiences on the ground, some having to fight desperately to overcome enemy positions, others having little difficulty. Within 45 minutes of landing the battalion was almost at full strength and by 1 PM it was dug in by company, A on the Schnepfenberg, B across the main road to the southwest, and C in woodland south of the road. The quiet of their positions was broken by the arrival of a German assault gun and infantry. The Company B clerk stayed out on the road and slapped a Gammon “sticky bomb” onto the vehicle’s engine cover. The vehicle stopped, and a crewman was shot as he looked out to investigate. The rest of the crew surrendered. The vehicle, still in run-

ABOVE: British glider troops of the Royal Ulster Rifles dig in on the banks of the Issel River after landing. The RUR were "old hands" at such operations, having successfully knocked-out the Merville Battery in Normandy on D-Day.

ning order, was taken over by the British and crewed by two ex-tank drivers from the company and, with its German markings covered over, became part of the battalion’s transport for the next week or so. In the 5th Parachute Brigade aerial formation, the pilot of the aircraft carrying men of 13th Battalion, which included Captain David Tibbs, the medical officer, had suggested that the troopers jump when they saw the men from the other planes jumping. As the red light came on, Tibbs could see the broad glint of the Rhine below. Looking out, he and his friend and fellow passenger Sergeant Webster decided that they should not jump until the aircraft had cleared the trees and crossed a line of electric pylons and power cables just beyond the forest. To the men’s horror, they saw that the other two planes in their “V” were dropping their paratroops into the woods and their own dispatcher was motioning the stick to go. Ironically, most of them landed safely but dropped directly in front of a German machine gun, leaving only five survivors out of 30 men. The 5th Battalion’s mission was to clear and hold an area bounded by roads, a stream, and a collection of buildings; this it did with little opposition. Consequently, the battalion was also dug in by 1 PM. The battalion’s trenches were expertly dug by German prisoners, who seemed quite content with the work, having been told earlier by their superiors that they would be shot by the British rather than taken prisoner. WO R L D WAR II A1 R B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Meanwhile, the 12th Battalion’s CO, Lt. Col. Ken Dar- spondent Stanley Maxted’s glider was one of 12 assigned to ling, had ensured that his men would jump as light as pos- the 716th Company, Royal Army Service Corps. Also on sible. Every other man carried a toggle rope, so no one had board were Lance Corporal Michael Ham; two fellow wireany entrenching tools or grenades, and the only spare cloth- less operators, a Major Oliver, a public relations officer, a Bren carrier, and a radio trailer. Maxted planned to make ing carried were socks. In addition, platoons were allocated to aircraft so that a live radio broadcast from the field, but things didn’t work members would land on their intended part of the DZ. Fly- out that way. The glider was hit by 20mm shells and ing in the face of the enemy fire, the battalion’s transport crashed close to the Hamminkeln railroad station. The cargroup CO, Colonel Howard Lyon, took his aircraft down rier hurtled from the wreckage and Maxted was struck by to about 450 feet before the green light came on. The rest it. Pilots and occupants managed to get clear and eventuof the serial followed suit. Consequently, the battalion ally found their way to safety. On the 3rd Parachute Brigade’s dropping zone, the 6th spent little time in the descent and landed close together on Parachute Battalion’s CO, Lt. Col. George Hewetson, was the zone. Disaster struck as Lyon turned for the run back to the briefing his intelligence officer, Lieutenant John England. river. A shell entered the cockpit, went through his foot, Two sergeants were standing a few yards away. Suddenly, and exited through his knee. Instinctively, he pushed out with a terrific crash a glider came through the trees, and everything that would make the aircraft climb, which it did. Hewetson found himself lying under the wheel of a jeep. One of the two navigators, Captain Bernard Coggins, The glider pilots were killed along with Lieutenant England helped Lyon out of his seat just as another shell crashed and the two sergeants. The Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire coup de main glidinto the cockpit. Lyon took another wound in the leg, as did Coggins, while the co-pilot, Captain Carl Persson, had part ers were met with blistering fire. The first glider was seen of his hand taken off. All the crew managed to bail out and to break apart; there were no survivors. In the second glider, were captured by the Germans. Luckily, the medical aid sta- over half the occupants were killed or wounded. Glider tion where they were taken was overrun by friendly troops three came down hard but only because its pilots dived earthward to avoid the fate of the others. and they were freed. The fourth glider had the most remarkable fate of all. Hit All three companies had a fight to capture their objectives. Company B’s objective—a group of buildings—was by an antiaircraft shell, its nose was sheared off and both so well defended that the buildings could only be taken one pilots killed. One of the passengers, Quartermaster Major by one. In Company A, Lieutenant Phil Burkinshaw also Aldworth, was also slightly injured but managed to get one of the pilots out of his seat and occupied it himself. With attacked and captured a battery of 88mm guns. While the 12th and 13th Battalions concentrated on cap- brief instructions from the towing plane’s co-pilot, Aldworth turing the brigade objectives, the 7th Battalion was to land managed to land the glider, helped by a ditch and a hedge. at the northern edge of the drop zone. Its main tasks were With nothing more than bumps and bruises, the platoon to defend the zone and to prevent enemy troops from reach- made its way to the railway station. On the other bridge, the Royal Ulster ing the brigade’s objectives until the Rifles’ gliders fared in a similar manother two battalions had consolidated paratroopers man a position ner. One wing of the glider of the comthemselves. At such time, the 7th Canadian at the edge of a forest shortly after pany commander, Major Dyball, dug a would move into a reserve position. landing. The soldier in the foreground is armed with a Bren gun. trench as the aircraft slewed to a stop. Thanks to a well-considered drop The pilots and front passengers went plan, the 7th Battalion landed in comout through the front of the glider and panies; B and C established themselves were met by enemy fire. The trench in their respective defensive areas and was welcome cover for them as they began digging in. Initially things were scrambled toward it. quiet. Over the next few hours, howDyball’s radio operator was killed as ever, concerted enemy probing attacks he left the glider, so the commander kept both units busy. Company B conhad no way of contacting his other platended with attacks of platoon size or toons. He decided to head toward the slightly larger, while Company C house that he had chosen as his HQ. fought off one determined attack, As he reached it, he found that 21 Plawhich was at full company strength. toon had landed in good order and The glider landings were fraught had taken the house and several priswith difficulties. British war corre138

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oners. On the other side of the bridge, 22 Platoon had also had a fight against strong opposition but had captured the bridge. Dyball set up a defense force with support from the Ox & Bucks and glider pilots. The main parties of both battalions and the men of the 12th Devons landed against similar opposition. Squadron Sergeant Major Lawrence “Buck” Turnbull’s glider had a platoon of Ox & Bucks on board. As he cast off from his tug and prepared for the landing, a C-47 cut in front of him, and its trailing towrope began to wreak havoc on the glider. First the starboard aileron was torn off, then the lower part of the cockpit with the loss of the air bottles (required for brakes and flaps), most of the instrument panel, and half the control column. As the rope came loose, the Horsa was virtually flipped upside down. As if all this wasn’t enough, the glider was also the focus of antiaircraft batteries. Showing great calmness, Turnbull managed to right the glider and land without crashing. For his actions he was awarded Britain’s Conspicuous Gallantry Medal—the only one to be awarded to a soldier during the war. The Ox & Bucks were near Hamminkeln railway station. In the 10 minutes it took to land, the battalion lost half its strength. For several hours some of the survivors played a game of cat and mouse with German Mk. IV tanks, which used stacks of timber as cover. Private battles erupted across the compound and railroad tracks. But, despite all, the battalion’s objectives were taken within the hour, and the companies dug in. In the Royal Ulster Rifles’ (RUR) sector, both the CO and the adjutant had their gliders break up around them. The adjutant, Captain Robert Rigby, took command and coordinated the neutralizing of enemy strongpoints before orga-

A “Firefly” tank of the 15th Scottish Division supports Canadian troops on March 24. The Firefly was an up-gunned Sherman with a 17-pounder gun that was a deadly tank killer.

nizing a march to the station and level crossing, which were the RUR’s objectives. In addition to the support from artillery on the west bank of the Rhine, each division was also supported by its own artillery units. For the U.S. 17th, the 464th and 466th Parachute Field Artillery Battalions supported the 507th PIR and 513th PIR; their 75mm pack howitzers were dropped in parapacks. For the 464th, three of its 12 guns were damaged, but by noon 10 guns were in action. The 466th was dropped on the correct zone and therefore left without infantry support. Before setting up their guns, its members took on an infantry role as they worked to suppress the concentrated fire that swept their zone. Luck, however, was on the unit’s side as T/Sgt. Joseph Flanagan landed beside a German 20mm gun. He captured it and its crew, and the gun was later used to destroy stronger emplacements. Yet, American losses were significant; all the battery officers were either killed or wounded. Through sheer grit and determination, the 466th continued to ready its guns and began firing. The 194th GIR was supported by the 681st Glider Field Artillery Battalion; its gunners were under steady fire as they left their gliders and were forced to set up and fire using the glider wings as cover. By 4 PM, 10 howitzers were blazing away, and the battalion continued to give solid support through the rest of the day. The 680th Glider Field Artillery Battalion had a general support task and was to answer any specific calls from the WO R L D WAR II A1 R B O R N E B AT T L E S

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Enemy fire continued to sweep the 513th’s 3rd Battalion. Its gunners also zone, and Topham was shot through came under fire, and ammunition and the nose. Yet, even in severe pain, he guns were lost as transport gliders continued to give first aid. He then were hit and set on fire. During the hoisted the man on his shoulders and day, the battalion captured three batcarried him to cover. Topham refused teries and took 150 prisoners. For its treatment and went back into the zone actions it received a Distinguished Unit to help more wounded. He also Citation. refused to be evacuated and, such was The 155th Antiaircraft Battalion had four batteries, two in support of the LEFT: Pfc. Stuart S. Stryker, Company his determination, he was allowed to continue on duty. parachute regiments, one in an anti- E, 513th PIR, was awarded the Medal Sometime later, as he was returning tank role, and one under control of the of Honor, posthumously. RIGHT: Lt. to his company, Topham came across 194th. Members of Battery C made Col. Jeff Nicklin was killed while commanding the 1st Canadian Parachute the mortar platoon’s Bren carrier, good use of their 75mm recoilless rifle. Battalion. which was burning fiercely. The plaIn the British 6th Airborne, the airtoon, under Lieutenant G. Lynch, had landing battalions had their own antitank guns as part of their support companies, and these landed to the north of the LZ and it was during its attempt were used in varying degrees throughout the day. In addi- to reach battalion HQ that its Bren carrier had suffered a tion, the division had the 53rd (Worcestershire Yeomanry) direct hit. Enemy mortar fire was landing in the area, the carrier’s Airlanding Light Regiment RA (Royal Artillery) and the 2nd Airlanding Anti-Tank Regiment. Both units had mixed own mortar ammunition was exploding from the vehicle, days, losing men and guns in the landing—a horrifying and an officer was not allowing anyone to approach. Topham didn’t agree and ran to the carrier. In turn, he carexample of the fury into which the units traveled. For the second and last time in the war, light tanks were ried the three occupants to safety. For his gallantry throughtaken directly to the battlefield. Eight of the mighty Hamil- out the day, Corporal Topham was awarded the Victoria car gliders carried an American M-22 Locust tank and its Cross, Britain’s highest military medal. Despite all the damaged gliders, plenty of stretchers had crew. Seven of the relatively light (eight tons) tanks, purpose-built for airlanding operations, arrived on German arrived intact. Private Lenton, attached to the 8th Parachute soil, and four reached the rendezvous point with a single Battalion, said he would go and get some. His section comtank firing in support of the 12th Parachute Battalion. The mander, Staff Sergeant Walsby, said he’d never make it back four occupied a section of high ground in the Devons’ sec- alive. Undeterred, Lenton and his mate, Private Downey, ran to the gliders. Not only did they make it there and back alive, tor and gave support during the rest of the day. For medics on both sides, there was much work to be but they also rescued some wounded men who had been left in the open. For this action, Downey was mentioned in disdone. The 17th’s 139th Airborne Engineer Battalion’s medical patches and Lenton received the Military Medal. Sometimes adversaries helped to aid wounded enemy solpersonnel were carried in two gliders, one of which landed right beside a defended house. The glider was carrying a diers. Captain David Tibbs, having landed safely, made his medical officer, a medic staff sergeant, a jeep and its driver, way to the house he had selected as his field dressing staand much of the battalion’s medical supplies. The 40 Ger- tion. Settling into his work, he was surprised by the arrival man occupants of the house brought concentrated fire to of a tall, distinguished-looking German officer and several bear on the glider. A direct mortar hit destroyed the supplies men. The officer saluted Tibbs, wished him a “good mornand the jeep and killed the driver; the other two men man- ing” and said, “Why have you been so long? We have been aged to escape the burning wreckage. With limited equip- up all night waiting for you!” He worked alongside Tibbs ment, the battalion surgeon had an aid station up and run- for a while, but since there were few German casualties coming in, soon left. ning in no time. American Corporal Bill Tom arrived in the Wesel zone by As the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion settled into its defensive positions, one of its medics, Corporal George jeep. Tom had started his military career as a rifleman in the Topham, was watching the attempts of two members of 194th GIR. By various twists he became a medic-at-large in 224th Parachute Field Ambulance help a wounded man on the Ardennes. When the 17th returned to France, Bill the drop zone. Under intense fire, the medics made a dash remained with the 9th U.S. Army. On March 24, he had to care for a wounded German soldier who was shot in the for the casualty but were both killed. Without hesitation, Topham raced out to the man. head. The man was injured beyond the care of the field 140

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medics and was about to be moved to a larger aid station. Before that could happen, he died and Bill Tom was ordered to move his body to the morgue tent. It was now midnight, and no flashlights were permitted. With the help of a private, Tom carried the body to the area where the morgue tent was located, but in pain from the man’s weight he lost count of the tents (he needed number eight). He finally saw the one he thought was the morgue tent. Entering, he stepped on something hard and round and fell down. The German was thrown off the stretcher, landing heavily and making a grunt. Tom and the private took off like a shot. The tent was, in fact, the kitchen supply tent and the following morning Tom received a real chewing out from the A Churchill tank of the 6th Guards Tank Brigade carries paratroopers of the cook sergeant for scaring his cooks American 17th Airborne Division through Dorsten, Germany, March 29. half to death by finding a body on their potatoes. The planned resupply drop arrived on schedule at 1 PM; shoulder by a piece of shrapnel. The wheel absorbed some 240 Consolidated B-24 Liberators from the Eighth Air of the fragments and undoubtedly saved his life. The GerForce’s 2nd Air Division each carried 2½ tons, which had mans were soon driven off, and the party continued to been packed into 20 bundles, distributed in three locations: Miley’s HQ. Both divisions had mixed fortunes during the night. For 12 in the bomb racks, five in and around the ball turret (the turret itself had been removed), and three by the emergency many men, it was a quiet one, but for the fighting pilots of escape hatch in the tail. The vast majority of bundles were the 435th TCG it was anything but, as they came into confitted with parachutes. The planes came in at 100 feet, half tact with German armor and infantry in a battle that would to DZ B (6th) and half to DZ W (17th). As with the trans- later be known as The Battle of Burp Gun Corner. The pilots were well dug in near some houses and a road ports, many did not escape German fire and headed for junction; about 11:30 PM, their listening post reported an home with flames streaming from their engines. General Ridgway arrived on the east bank around 3 PM. approaching enemy tank leading a force consisting of two His first stop was Miley’s HQ, where he received a brief 88mm self-propelled guns and two mobile 20mm guns with report on the day so far. Miley was still concerned that he over 200 supporting infantrymen. The pilots laid down a solid field of fire, and a well-aimed shot from a bazooka had yet to hear from Eric Bols at Kopenhof Farm. As the light began to fade, Ridgway, Miley, and their struck the tank and sent it fleeing back along the road, runescort set off for Kopenhof. The convoy’s route ran through ning over the 20mm guns as it went. By 1:30 AM on the 25th, the enemy had had enough and the 194th’s sector and then the 513th’s. Ridgway stopped to get a report from each commander. began to withdraw. The pilots did the same, strengthening At the 513th’s HQ, he heard about the misdrop and the the line of defense with their colleagues from the 436th. ease with which the C-46s had caught fire. He later gave Throughout the 25th, the men of the two Allied divisions instructions that the aircraft would never be used again to continued to move deeper into Germany supported by the carry paratroops. At Kopenhof, the party also met Gen- troops who had crossed the river, meeting little resistance eral Gale. and continuing to take prisoners. Ridgway and Miley left the farm about midnight. FightTwo days later, Miley gave the order, “Advance to ing was now under way nearby, and they ran into a Ger- Dorsten. This is a pursuit.” The last drop was over. In less man patrol. As Ridgway was reloading, a grenade than two months, Hitler’s 12-year Third Reich would be exploded by one of the jeep’s wheels, and he was hit in the over, too.

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All photos: National Archives

AS THE NINE C-47s flew closer to the drop zone, the lead plane descended to an altitude of 400 feet. Lieutenant John Ringler, the jump master in the lead plane, stood in the doorway and saw the open field that was to be used as the dropzone approach. Behind Ringler’s plane flew the remainder of his B Company, 1st Battalion, 511th Parachute Infantry, 11th Airborne Division paratroopers. From his position in the open doorway, Ringler saw white smoke from a smoke grenade thrown by 11th Airborne reconnaissance personnel on the drop zone. Ringler immediately turned to his stick of paratroopers behind him and yelled, “Close in the door.” Within seconds, at exactly 7 AM, the lead C-47 flew directly over the drop zone and Ringler shouted, “Let’s go,” and jumped out the door. Their attempt to liberate 2,000 prisoners of war was under way. Following the Japanese sweep across the Philippines in late 1941 and early 1942, thousands of U.S. and Filipino military and civilian personnel were either shipped to prison camps off the islands or were forced to face imprisonment in one of the many POW camps on the islands. It was not until January 1945, following a long and exhaustive island-hopping campaign through the South Pacific, that General Douglas MacArthur—personally ordered to escape the Japanese onslaught—was ready to fulfill his promise to return to and retake the Philippines. Because much of MacArthur’s long career had been spent in the Philippines, he knew and had served with countless numbers of civilians and servicemen who were now being held in Japanese internment camps. Following the Allied invasion, MacArthur learned that Japanese guards had begun to increase the level of abuse of prisoners throughout the islands.

Thousands of prisoners were at risk outside Manila when the 11th Airborne Division staged a daring and coordinated assault to bring them to freedom. MacArthur knew that the longer it took to rescue the inmates, the more horror they would be forced to endure. Regardless of the tough fighting his troops were experiencing, MacArthur ordered “special operations” to be planned and conducted by the Army in order to rescue theprisoners. In his Reminiscences MacArthur says: “There was no fixed timetable [to reconquer Luzon]. I hoped to proceed as rapidly as possible, especially as time was an element connected with the release of our prisoners.… I knew that many of these halfstarved and ill-treated people would die unless we rescued them promptly.” During the weeks of late January and early February 1945, rescue missions were conducted in many locations. One, which was launched in late January, included members of the 6th Ranger Battalion. These men freed some 500 prisoners at Pan-

ANGELS TO THE RESCUE BY DONALD J. ROBERTS II

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In this painting by Rick Reeves, American paratroopers advance through the jungle of the Philippines, much like the raid on Los Baños. OPPOSITE: Men of the 11th Airborne board a plane for an impending jump.

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gatian. Another rescue operation, led by the 8th Cavalry Regiment of the 1st Cavalry Division, assaulted Santo Tomas University in Manila. There the soldiers were able to liberate more than 3,700 prisoners. Later, on February 4, the 8th Cavalry was able to free another 500 internees and nearly 800 Allied POWs from the Old Bilibid Prison in Manila. The final rescue operation planned during this time was to free the inmates at Los Baños Internment Camp. The assignment was handed to the 11th Airborne Division. Los Baños prison was located on the campus of the College of Agriculture of the University of the Philippines. The college was located 25 miles south of Manila, deep behind enemy lines, and along the southern shoreline of a huge inland lake, Laguna de Bay. Orders for the liberation were sent to Maj. Gen. Joseph Swing, commanding the 11th Airborne Division, on February 4, 1945. Because his men were fighting their way northward toward Manila and were involved in some very heavy combat, Swing immediately contacted Lt. Gen. Oscar Griswold, who commanded the XIV Corps, which was conducting the major offensive against Japanese positions in and around Manila. Swing asked Griswold if the rescue mission could be postponed until the 11th Airborne Division accomplished its mission to help capture Manila. Griswold realized how difficult the fighting had become and granted Swing’s request. However, he instructed Swing to “liberate the prisoners at Los Baños as soon as it becomes possible for you to disengage a force of sufficient size to carry out that mission.” Although Swing was granted a postponement on the liberation mission, he instructed his G-2 (Intelligence), Lt. Col. Henry J. Muller, to gather information about the camp. At the same Maj. Gen. Joseph Swing (on the right) conferring with Lt. Gen. Robert Eichelberger of the 8th Army on February 3, 1945.

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time, Swing ordered his G-3 (Operations), Colonel Douglas P. Quandt, to begin planning how to reach the camp, defeat the enemy guarding it, and evacuate all prisoners safely. To obtain accurate information on the Los Baños camp, Muller used a variety of resources to discover locations, defenses, and weaknesses. He used information from the division reconnaissance platoon, aerial photographs, guerrilla units, and Filipino civilians. Muller learned that the prison compound had two barbedwire perimeter fences, each six feet tall. Spaced along the fence line were pillboxes and several guard towers. Each position was manned by at least two guards armed with rifles and machine guns. Filipino guerrillas reported that prisoners left the camp every morning on work details that included finding firewood or obtaining food in the town. As Lt. Col. Muller gathered his intelligence, he was helped by Major Jay D. Vanderpool, who had sneaked into Luzon in the fall of 1944 from a submarine. Since that time he had organized, helped train, and helped to plan many guerrilla operations and attacks against the Japanese around Cavite, Batangas, and areas west of Laguna de Bay. In fact, Vanderpool had planned an attack on Los Baños in which only Filipino guerrillas would have been used. In the end, Vanderpool had decided that to ensure the safety of all the prisoners in the camp, such a mission would require a larger force. Much of what Vanderpool had learned, however, went into the planning of the operation. Then, just prior to the final planning stage, Muller and Vanderpool received very useful information from a Los Baños escaped prisoner, Peter Miles. Miles was one of many prisoners who would venture out from the compound through weak spots in the camp’s containment measures to search for food to buy. The prisoners would then return to Los Baños before first light and hopefully sneak back into the camp undetected. It was on one of the food- search escapades that Muller agreed to meet with Miles. During the meeting, Miles was able to describe the interior of the prison. Muller learned the movements and routines of prisoners and guards. Miles described the general population of the prison as roughly 2,100, plus individuals who were either Protestant missionaries and their families; Catholic nuns and priests; or doctors, engineers, and other professional people, all with families. There were also a few hundred wives and children of U.S. servicemen imprisoned at Los Baños. Miles explained that there was one big question on the minds of all inmates: Would their guards or other Japanese soldiers in the area slaughter them rather than permit their liberation by the advancing Americans? Following the meeting with Peter Miles, Muller, Quandt, Vanderpool, and the rest of the 11th Airborne Division planners began to finalize their plans. The mission would consist of four phases, a separate unit from the division conducting each phase.

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The first phase of the operation would be carried out by the 11th Airborne’s Reconnaissance Platoon commanded by Lieutenant George Skau, along with nearly 80 Filipino guerrillas. Forty-eight hours before H-hour (the exact moment the mission would commence), the platoon would cross Laguna de Bay in small native boats called bancas and hide out in the vicinity of Los Baños until dark. Then these men would divide into three groups. The platoon and the Filipino guerrillas would secure a portion of beach east of the town, infiltrate as close as possible to the guard towers and defensive bunker emplacements, and secure a large field next to the compound to be used as a parachute drop zone. Phase two would be a parachute drop of Lieutenant John Ringler’s B Company, 1st Battalion, 511th Parachute Infantry. Once Ringler’s company was on the ground and assembled, the men would assault the prison compound with elements of Skau’s recon platoon. The attack was meant to kill or capture the guards and then prepare and assemble the inmates for extraction to safety. The third part of the plan involved a formation of 59 amphibious “amtracs,” each large enough to carry a platoon of fully equipped soldiers. They would leave from Mamatid on the west shore of Laguna de Bay. They were to set out in the early hours of “D-day” and time their arrival on the shore at Los Baños at exactly H-hour. At that time, C Company, 1st Battalion, 511th Parachute Infantry would deploy from the amtracs and set up roadblocks to prevent elements of the Japanese 8th Division from launching a counterattack. A company of artillerymen from Battery D, 457th Parachute Field Artillery Battalion would deploy from the amtracs as well.

The 8th Cavalry Regiment of the 1st Cavalry Division led a rescue of prisoners held at Santo Tomas University in Manila.

Their mission was to establish and secure the beachhead east of Los Baños. And A Company, 1st Battalion, 511th Parachute Infantry would secure the area around the perimeter of the prison. The fourth phase of the operation included the 1st Battalion, 188th Glider Infantry, commanded by Lt. Col. Ernest La Flamme. While the 1/511th attacked the prison compound, the 1/188th was assigned the task of conducting a diversionary attack to the west. La Flamme was ordered to advance his glidermen across the San Juan River from Mamatid and move toward Los Baños. The glider battalion had two objectives: engage as many enemy troops as possible and, eventually, link up with the paratroopers at the prison camp in the event they had to fight their way out of Los Baños. As the plan developed, Quandt outlined the mission to Major Henry Burgess, who was commander of the 1st/511th Parachute Infantry, which was assigned the mission to liberate the camp. As Burgess began to concentrate on the final preparations for the mission, he realized the “tremendous obstacles” to be faced by his battalion and he worried, “How could my force of 412 paratroopers slip undetected deep into Japanesecontrolled territory, wipe out a large number of enemy guards at the camp before they could kill the inmates, and bring back to safety, 2,200 weak men, women, and children, many of whom were unable to walk?” On February 20, General Swing believed that he finally had WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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accomplished enough of his objectives in Manila to allow the rescue mission to proceed. On the same day, Lieutenant John M. Ringler was ordered to report to division headquarters at Paranaque. Once there, he was briefed on the Los Baños mission and told that it would be his company making the parachute assault on the prison camp. Division planners explained to Ringler that parachutes would be flown in from Leyte the next day. During the jump briefing, Ringler learned that Nichols Field, which had just recently been captured, would be cleared, and planes would be readied for the mission. Ringler was advised that just before B Company’s drop, the drop zone would be marked by guerrillas using white smoke. The jump altitude would be 400 feet so the men would not be exposed to enemy ground fire for any longer than was necessary. That night, Lieutenants Skau and Haggerty (who was an engineer from the 127th Airborne Engineer Battalion) left Paranaque to scout the Los Baños area. The two officers crossed Laguna de Bay by banca on their way to Nanhaya, a small village near the prison camp. Once there, they met with two escaped inmates, Ben Edwards and Freddy Zervoulakos. Both men agreed to escort Skau and Haggerty. Along with a few guerrillas from Hunter’s 45th Regiment, the party moved quickly but quietly toward Los Baños. The first thing the young officers made sure of was that the beach east of Los Baños was firm enough to support the column of amtracs as they rumbled onshore. They both decided it was. Next, the party checked the wooden bridges to ensure they were strong enough to support fully loaded amtracs. Again, both officers agreed that the bridges were safe. The third area Skau and Haggerty wanted to inspect was the drop zone that Doug Quandt had picked from the maps of the Los Baños area. After a careful analysis, Skau decided that the drop zone was sufficient, even though there were power lines and railroad tracks bordering the field. The final location to be checked was the camp itself. The reconnaissance group stealthily moved from the drop zone along the route Ringler’s men would take to the camp following their jump. They located the many guard towers spaced around the perimeter and decided that Ringler’s men would be able to penetrate the camp’s defenses. As soon as the men were satisfied they had learned all they could, the group moved back to the beach. Within minutes, Skau and Haggerty were back in their banca and returning to Paranaque. The next day, February 21, the troops that were to participate in the rescue mission were pulled out of the line in Manila. Division planners then decided that “D-day” for the mission would be February 23, just two days away. During the day of the 21st, Skau got a few hours sleep. After dark, he moved his reconnaissance platoon to Mamatid and met with the guerrillas, who came with bancas. They began shoving off at 7 PM. Most of the force landed near Los Baños 146

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in the early morning and moved into the jungle to hide. The remainder of Skau’s force came ashore after daylight and it, too, disappeared into the jungle for the wait until the following night. The next day the other rescue units moved to their staging areas. A and C Companies along with Battery D marched from Manila to Mamatid. Once there, they prepared their equipment and weapons for loading onto the amtracs. At 4 AM on the 23rd, just three hours before H-hour, the paratroopers were to load onto the amtracs for their trip across Laguna de Bay to Los Baños. Moving on the 22nd as well was La Flamme’s Glider Infantry. This force, designated to conduct the diversionary attack, moved to an area near Mamatid and prepared to attack. They planned to maneuver down the road from Mamatid to an area near the San Juan River and hopefully draw many enemy troops away from the Los Baños area. Ringler’s B Company was pulled out of the line and trucked to the newly liberated New Bilibid Prison. The paratroopers were instructed to offload from the trucks, and all members of B Company were assigned cells to sleep in during the night. One member of B Company recalled: “We could feel something in the air. And the rumors! Something big, something important was coming up. What was it all about? And some thanks for all the fighting we had been doing! We were being put in a prison.” On the afternoon of the 22nd, Ringler joined his men at New Bilibid Prison. He called his men together and explained what the secret mission was. Ringler warned, “Watch out in particular for the high-tension line bordering the drop zone.... If you hit it, you’re fried!” Loading back onto trucks, the paratroopers were moved to Nichols Field, where they spent a restless night under the wings of the planes. At 3 AM on the 23rd, just four hours before the attack was to begin, Skau began to move his men from their hiding places in the jungle to their final positions for attack. He sent one squad to the beach just east of Los Baños with instructions to mark the beach approach with smoke grenades for the amtracs at exactly 6:58. Another squad was sent to the selected drop zone. At exactly 6:58 this squad was supposed to mark the drop zone with smoke grenades for the approaching flight of C-47s carrying John Ringler’s paratroopers. The remainder of Skau’s platoon and guerrillas crawled through the jungle to within range of the guard towers and pillboxes of the prison compound. Once in place, the men prepared their weapons and waited for H-hour, just a few hours away. As Skau’s men moved into position, Burgess’s men began strapping their gear on, checking weapons, and moving out to their assigned amtracs. By 5:15, all amtracs were in the water and under way. Using handheld compasses to guide them, the force, in a column of threes, headed toward Los Baños.

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By 5:30, the men of B Company were struggling into their parachute harnesses and strapping on their equipment. At 6 o’clock, nine C-47s started their engines and within 30 minutes were airborne. The aircraft fell into three formations of three planes, each formation in the shape of a V. For 40 minutes the planes circled Nichols Field and then turned south. The jump masters in each aircraft stood in the open doorways, and as the planes flew across Laguna de Bay, they were able to look down and see the amtracs churning away across the lake. As the men of the 11th Airborne Division approached their objective from different directions, none of them realized the drama that had unfolded during the night. A P-61 Black Widow night reconnaissance plane had returned from its mission to report a great number of trucks, all with headlights on, moving in the direction of the Los Baños camp. Division planners were shocked. What did this mean? Did the Japanese learn about the rescue and then decide to relocate all the prisoners before the attack? Or were they sending in hundreds of reinforcements in order to defend the camp? General Swing was notified immediately. He thought for only a few minutes. He knew that he could recall everybody except Skau’s men, who would begin the attack at exactly 6:58—nothing could stop that. So he allowed the mission to proceed. At 6:45, the Los Baños camp began to stir. Hundreds of prisoners began filing out of their barracks and lined up for a head count. At the same time, most of the guards began their daily routine of exercise. Witnessing all this were Skau’s concealed men. Inside the C-47s, Ringler’s men were checking their equip-

American paratroopers near Manila in February 1945.

ment and parachute harnesses one last time as they stood waiting to jump. Ringler, the jumpmaster in the lead aircraft, leaned out the aircraft door and checked to see if all airplanes were properly aligned for the drop. At precisely 6:58, Skau’s men at the drop zone popped white smoke grenades and threw them onto the field. Ringler now looked for the drop zone. He saw white smoke billowing up from the ground—the mission was on. Inside the prison camp the inmates heard and then saw the low-flying aircraft approach. All of a sudden, parachutes began filling the sky. James Bateman, a 20-year-old prisoner, remembered: “We all thought this would be the last day of our lives, that we would all be executed.” [Japanese guards had ordered many of the prisoners to begin digging long trenches just outside the camp. Many inmates speculated that the trenches would be used for mass burial sites.] “The parachutes rained out of the sky. At first we thought they were dropping food in the camp. Then we realized they were American soldiers. We yelled and screamed and danced with joy.” Just outside the camp, Skau’s men remained hidden until they saw the first parachute. Then they opened up on the guards along the perimeter. For about 15 minutes, the reconnaissance force assaulted pillboxes, bunkers, and guard towers. Knocking out the main gate, Skau’s men ran into the camp, killing any Japanese guards they encountered. By 7:15, Ringler had his men assembled and moving toward WO R L D WAR II AIR B O R N E B AT T L E S

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the camp. Within minutes they had killed many of the guards who had tried to run away. As Ringler’s men entered the compound, they joined with Skau’s group and began to hunt down the remaining guards. On Laguna de Bay, Burgess’s amphibious column rumbled ashore at exactly 7 AM, right on schedule. Burgess dispatched C Company westward to establish a roadblock near the town of Los Baños. A Company was sent to the east to set up another blocking position. Then Captain Lou Burris’s D Battery, 457th Field Artillery was offloaded. Burris had been briefed only the day before by General Farrell, the division artillery commander. Farrell told Burris: “This operation has been kept secret because there are 10,000 Japanese troops within a two-and-ahalf-hour truck ride of the camp. Your job is to block them with your battery. There is only one pass they can use through the hills. Be able to cover that pass with all four of your howitzers at all times.” A short time after the guns were in place, they were firing on machine-gun positions east of Los Baños. With all of Burgess’s men in place, the amtracs proceeded full speed, about 15 miles an hour, toward the prison camp. Filipino guerrilla groups were well organized and well armed by late winter 1945 as compared to their earlier struggles. They helped U.S. forces immensely in wresting back their cities and villages from the Japanese.

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Back at the camp, the fighting petered out after about 20 minutes. The 243 guards had either been killed or had managed to run away. Not one of the 2,147 prisoners nor any member of the attacking force had been wounded or killed. The only casualty had been one of Ringler’s men, who had landed next to the railroad tracks during the jump and was knocked unconscious when his head struck the track. Following the attack, prisoners began cheering wildly and greeted their liberators with hugs, kisses, and back-slapping as the soldiers began to bring some order in the camp. One prisoner shouted, “Thank God for the paratroopers.… These are the angels He sent to save us!” Another prisoner, a Catholic priest, began to pray, giving thanks for the liberators who had arrived out of nowhere. Shortly, a paratrooper who came running by stopped and touched the priest. He said, “Sorry, Father, no time for prayers now.… You gotta get packed so we can get you the hell outta here before more Japs arrive.” As the soldiers tried to organize the huge mob of milling prisoners, Burgess’s amtracs approached the camp. The driver in the lead amtrac called to Burgess, “The gate’s closed, what should I do?” Burgess yelled back, “Crash through the damned thing!” The lead “trac” charged the gate and with a loud, crashing sound broke through. All the other vehicles followed. The column made its way to the basefield and adjoining fields. There Burgess witnessed a scene of complete bedlam. By this time the entire camp was in a state of total celebration. The soldiers could not settle the “milling, laughing, and wandering” crowds of prisoners and get them organized for loading onto the amtracs. At 7:45, John Ringler reported to Burgess. He said he and his men had not been able to organize any prisoners into groups to load onto the amtracs. There was too much confusion. He then told Burgess that some of the guards’ barracks were on fire and that it was causing many of the internees to move ahead of the fire toward the assembled amtracs. As the minutes ticked by, Burgess finally received word from his blocking forces back near Laguna de Bay that there were indications that large enemy forces might be making preparations to attack the rescuers. Realizing that the burning barracks might be his salvation, Burgess told Ringler to take some of his men to the upwind side of the camp and begin torching as many barracks as possible. Burgess thought that maybe the threat from fire would motivate the prisoners to gather their belongings and begin loading onto the amtracs. As soon as Ringler began burning the barracks, “the results were spectacular.” The paratroopers began to see the “internees pour out of their living quarters and into the loading area. Troops started clearing the barracks in advance of the fire and began carrying out to the loading area over 130 people who were too weak or too sick to walk. Burgess was worried about the Tiger Division advancing on the camp. He had the most seriously weakened prisoners

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loaded first. It was soon apparent that the amtracs would have to make two trips in order to evacuate all prisoners and soldiers from the camp. The strongest inmates were kept back in case they had to fight their way out with the troopers if the Japanese attacked. By 10 o’clock, the first load of evacuees was ready to move out. Burgess ordered the drivers to get them to Mamatid, discharge them, and return as soon as possible. An hour later, the camp was nearly deserted. The prisoners who had been left behind began walking toward the beachhead. A rear guard was formed from Ringler’s B Company and Skau’s Reconnaissance Platoon. There were very few guerrillas remaining in camp. When the attack had ended, most of the Filipinos had disappeared back into the jungle. It was assumed that they had returned to their units. Burgess recalled his security companies and instructed them to provide flank security for the march to the beach. When Burgess, who was in the rear of the procession, reached the shore, he received alarming news. Lieutenant Tom troops disembark an amtrack, one of the amphibious vehicles used in Mesereau, C Company commander, American the Los Baños raid. reported to Burgess that he and his men had shot up a Japanese detachment. The bad news was that he believed a much larger force of enemy few amtracs loaded up and departed, the paratroopers sustroops was approaching. “If the amtracs did not return soon, tained their first casualties. One trooper and one former prissome 1,200 civilians and paratroopers might be trapped and oner each received minor injuries. The Los Baños Prison raid was one of the finest missions of wiped out.” By this time in the mission, the diversionary attack of the its type in the war. Many of the methods utilized by Swing’s 1/188th had advanced to just west of Los Baños. Here the bat- “Angels” during the planning and execution of the mission are talion established a bridgehead next to the San Juan River and still used in modern raiding techniques by today’s special opereffectively blocked the road leading to Los Baños. Two of the ations forces. The courage and daring of the men of the 11th glidermen in La Flamme’s battalion were killed in this attack. Airborne Division, without a doubt, spared the lives of over During the next few anxious hours, as Burgess’s force secured two thousand men, women, and children held prisoner by the the beachhead, Japanese mortar rounds were fired inside Japanese. Perhaps the most poignant memory of the mission was Burgess’s perimeter. At the same time, an occasional burst of machine-gun fire kept the paratroopers pinned to the ground. voiced by Dr. Boosalis, an 11th Airborne combat surgeon who Finally, at around 1 o’clock in the afternoon, the amtracs participated in the rescue. Dr. Boosalis remembered the attitude appeared on the horizon and within minutes came motoring and “fatigued features” of the troopers as they departed from Los Baños on the amtracs, each with orders to guard the freed ashore onto the beachhead. Burgess began to hurry the remaining civilians onto the vehi- civilians from any more horrors of war. As each vehicle passed, cles as he gave the order to withdraw his men from the defen- Boosalis saw in each paratrooper a “quietude.” Each man sive perimeter. As the defensive line grew steadily smaller, appeared to be wrapped in his own thoughts, thoughts about Japanese fire “grew bolder and stronger.” By 3 o’clock, enemy what had just occurred. The men were “very quiet... no comfire on the beachhead increased to a dangerous level. As the last plaints... no levity... just quiet.”

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