First to Jump

by Jerome Preisler

  McNiece hadn’t wanted to influence him. “This is just what I believe,” he said. “It is not firsthand knowledge. I can’t give you any guarantees.”

  The private made it clear he didn’t need any. He turned and left the barracks, gave his acceptance to Brown, and returned minutes later to start packing his own gear bag.

  The barracks was a crowded place, and the men had ears, and not much to do at night besides keep them perked for the latest buzz. Even as McNiece and Majewski prepared for their morning flight, word that they’d volunteered for Pathfinder training had been racing through the grapevine.

  As McNiece later recalled, Jack Agnew didn’t bother discussing it with him before he marched out to Brown’s office.

  “Are McNiece and Majewski really going?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” the captain replied.

  Agnew only needed a minute to reach his decision. Hell, he thought. Jake’s not going without me.

  A few minutes later, he returned to the barracks, told McNiece he was coming along, and got busy packing. Two more demo men, a “kid” named William Coad and John Dewey, decided to go along too.

  They were gathered in McNiece’s hut later that night when Lieutenant Williams came through the door. “What’s the deal here?” he asked. “I’m losing half my demolition platoon!”

  McNiece told him why they’d all shared in his decision. As Agnew would have said about “Little Willie,” he was a good officer because he listened to his men. Jake figured he deserved to hear it straight.

  “It isn’t foolproof,” McNiece concluded. “But it’s almost. I don’t think any one of us will ever jump again.”

  Williams didn’t take long to ponder the idea. He went back to Toccoa with the demos, had been through Normandy and Market Garden, and was tired of the war.

  “If you guys are going, I’m going too!” he said, hurrying to put his name on the dotted line.

  And so early the next morning, six men from the 1st Demolitions Section—including the last original members of the Filthy Thirteen and their lieutenant—left their billet in France on a C-47 transport with a group of other Pathfinder volunteers from the 101st Airborne. While it would not be the only planeload bound for RAF Chalgrove that day, it likely was carrying the happiest, most satisfied man among them.

  Jake McNiece had boarded the plane thinking he’d not only matched the United States Army at its own game, but outplayed it, hands down.

  What he didn’t suspect was that the game was about to be drastically changed.

  2.

  Early night of December 8, 1944, Captain Frank L. Brown, commanding officer of the newly restructured Pathfinder Company, was in his office at RAF Chalgrove feeling dissatisfied, not to say unhappy, about some things of great importance to him. A short while ago, his fresh crop of eleven officers and eighty-nine men from the 101st Airborne Division had landed at his base for training as Pathfinders, having made the flight from Mourmelon aboard a small fleet of Joel Crouch’s IX TCC transports. Their arrival had given him a lot to ponder.

  Brown understood that, in one respect, he had every reason to be pleased. He’d been eager to secure replacements for the men who’d been either lost in Holland or had opted out of the group—a soldier’s commitment to Pathfinder duty only extended to a particular jump, after which he could ask for reassignment to a different unit. The trainees, then, had been sent at his specific request, with a similar number of volunteers from the 82nd Airborne slated to arrive within four days, for a total of more than two hundred recruits.

  From that perspective, the headquarters of the XVIII Airborne Corps was giving him exactly what he needed. But looking at it another way, Brown had no doubt that his request had come as a convenient opening for other officers down the line to rid themselves of their worst, most persistent nuisances and embarrassments.

  In hindsight, he might have seen it coming. In mid-October, Major General Maxwell Taylor, the 101’s appointed commander, had distributed a stern memorandum titled “PILLAGING AND PLUNDERING (LOOTING)” that he insisted be read by every current and future officer of the division. This had followed complaints from Dutch officers about incidents in and around the village of Heteren, which had been occupied by elements of the 501st PIR before they were relieved by the British.

  While Taylor had apologized for the damage to the town, he’d felt there was no evidence to substantiate the accusations and exclude “civilians as well as troops of various organizations” other than the 101st from blame—and had, in fact, told the Dutch their claims were “irresponsible.” At the same time, he’d written the memo to inform his officers that “instances of pillaging, plundering and similar offenses” had recently come to his attention, and to remind them that those crimes were punishable by death under military law. But Taylor hadn’t stopped there. Making it clear he expected anyone with knowledge of such conduct to take action, he added that commanders would be held accountable for the conduct of their units, and that anyone who proved negligent in the discovery and suppression of looting would be “summarily relieved of command” and have “appropriate disciplinary action” taken against them.

  The general’s unambiguous warning had prompted the recipients of his memo to clean house of troopers they thought could bring trouble down on their heads—and they’d quickly gone about encouraging or outright pressuring them to volunteer for the Pathfinder program.

  Brown didn’t appreciate having their problems dumped on his shoulders. The Pathfinders had always been a landing spot for guys who flouted authority. Guys who hadn’t been good at obeying rules, but who’d mostly been good combat soldiers . . . men who were capable of receiving instruction, fought hard, and could be trusted to do the job when it counted. While the current batch had a few reliable holdovers from Normandy and Holland, a glance at their files suggested that too many of them had been selected without regard for their qualifications. Brown had serious reservations about their ability to be competent and dependable Pathfinders.

  That was the reason he’d summoned Jake McNiece into his office on this cold, blustery Friday evening. McNiece was the furthest thing imaginable from a choirboy. But his Filthy Thirteen had gained quite the reputation when it came to soldiering, one that went far beyond words in a magazine article. In Normandy, they’d blown two bridges and held one against vastly superior numbers. And they’d performed no less ably and courageously in Holland, with two-thirds of their platoon sacrificing their lives in combat.

  Brown needed McNiece, needed him badly. And he would not be shy about letting him know it.

  He was ready when his aide showed the sergeant through the door. His uniform rumpled, his hair disheveled (he no longer wore a scalplock), a dark scruff of beard shadowing his cheeks, McNiece looked exactly as Brown had imagined. It encouraged him that they might indeed be kindred spirits under the skin.

  “What’s your big problem?” McNiece said, taking a seat front of his desk. “I just got here at five o’clock this evening and went to bed. I don’t know what your big deal is but I did not do it and wasn’t even involved.”

  Brown looked at him. “McNiece, I don’t know you or anything about you,” he said. “I know you are a goof-off or you wouldn’t be here. But I need an acting first sergeant and you’ve been recommended.”

  McNiece’s expression hung somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Boy, somebody’s been pulling your leg,” he said. “I’ve been here for nearly three years and haven’t made private first class yet. I don’t care about garrison soldiering or military discipline or courtesies or that sort of thing. I’d have my arm fall off before I would salute an officer. I would not pick up a cigarette butt if you all were going to put me in chains. I don’t go for any of that. I don’t care about that whole malarkey. You don’t want me as the first sergeant. I’m not first sergeant material. I’m the biggest goof-off in the army.”

  Brown listen
ed calmly, his eyes on McNiece’s face, waiting for the right moment to make his pitch. “I’m here for the same reason you are,” he said, sensing he’d reached it. “I’m a goof-off just like you. We’ve got four hundred goof-offs here—a hundred from the One-Oh-First, a hundred from the Eighty-Second, a hundred from the Seventeenth, and a hundred foreigners. They told me you’ve been through this thing from Normandy on through, and made two jumps, and that you could whip this deal into shape and get it right and ready quick. That’s what I want.”

  The captain fell silent. The number of jumps wasn’t the important thing, of course. McNiece was not alone in that distinction, and they both knew it. The crux of it was that Brown wanted someone the Pathfinders would trust with their lives, and whose leadership he could trust. You could call McNiece a lot of things that weren’t too flattering and they would all be true. But the man was fearless and would do whatever was necessary to reach his objective—and that made him a damn good soldier. Brown’s instincts told him he was the right man for the job.

  McNiece sat there digesting his words. “It sounds like we might be dealing on the table,” he said. “But if I’m going to do this, I want my men treated halfway reasonable for a change. We have never had a square meal since we went in the Army three years ago. I want good food. I want good quarters, and I want these people to have an almost permanent pass as long as they’ll respect it. And the first thing they’re going to do is take a three-day pass to London.”

  Brown didn’t know about that one. London offered far too many opportunities for them to get into hot water. “That may be beyond my line of reason, McNiece,” he said. “How many of these guys do you think we’d get back?”

  “You’ll get back all of them except the ones that are in jail. And just as quick as the bobbies notify us, we’ll go get them. Most of these boys are fine soldiers . . . they’re just field soldiers, not garrison. They are a good bunch of men. They’ve been behind enemy lines for seventy-two days. They need to get into town and let off some steam.”

  The captain only needed to think about it for another moment.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll get you a passbook and you can let everybody in here have a three-day pass without destination.”

  McNiece looked satisfied with that, and why not? He’d mainly gotten what he’d wanted. But Brown wasn’t finished. This was all about trust. If they were going to build some between them, it had to extend both ways.

  “You’ve got to stay here, get these sticks organized, and get a training program set up,” he went on. “You’re going to have to pick yourself out a stick. You’ll all stay here the three days while the others are gone and familiarize yourselves with the organization and objectives. When they get back, then you can go.”

  McNiece was still bargaining. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be the first sergeant under that kind of a deal.”

  That wasn’t a request Brown was prepared to grant . . . not that he found it unreasonable. Most military units had a table of organization that broke down the kind of staffing they were to be provided—the number of officers, noncoms, and enlisted men needed to fill their structural requirements. In a typical unit, the responsibilities McNiece was being asked to take on would have fallen to a first sergeant. But there was no TO for the Pathfinders. They were not permanently assigned to IX TCC Pathfinder Group, but had been placed on temporary duty for what had, under its reorganization, become an accelerated two-week rather than a two-month training period.

  Based on all that, Brown explained that if McNiece was to receive a boost in rank—and pay—to sergeant it would be up to his commanding officer at HQ/501 to recommend one. He did not believe he had the authority.

  “You’ll serve the same grade you came in,” he said. Meaning he would remain a private essentially performing the duties of a sergeant, but without an official promotion.

  McNiece didn’t put up an argument. The pay commensurate with a boost in rank hadn’t been important to him. “Let me jump in where there’s money and I’ll get my own pay raises,” he said.

  Brown knew he was referring to his demo team’s ability to blow safes at will but correctly dismissed the comment as bluster. His instincts were right on target. Although he had no way to know it, McNiece never expected to make a combat jump again.

  McNiece left the office with the passbook and gave out furloughs to all the recruits except those he’d selected for his stick. These were guys from his regiment, and guys he considered the cream of the crop. He knew he was far from expert on everything, and wanted men who knew what they knew. He also wanted demo-sabos with him, thinking that if a DZ or LZ was mined, they would be able to clear the area fast. That placed Agnew, and the kid, Dewey, at the top of his list. McNiece chose T-5 George Blain, a fellow Toccoa man, because he’d been a Pathfinder in Normandy and Holland and had experience with the Eureka box. The rest of the team were solid, all-around soldiers he’d known awhile, and in some cases fought beside—Sergeant Cleo Merz, Sergeant Leo Schulenburg, and Private George Slater. Since nominal command of every stick went to a commissioned officer, he would request, and get, Lieutenant Schrable Williams for his team leader.

  With Pathfinder doctrine calling for redundancy built upon redundancy, McNiece chose a backup team whose performance he felt would approach his own in the heat of battle. Once again putting together a mix of seasoned Pathfinders, demos, and combat veterans, he strongly weighed his selections toward guys from Toccoa. Corporal Richard “Red” Wright, Corporal Carl Fenstermaker, Private Lachlan “Mac” Tillman, and Private Lavon P. Reese all went back a long way and were original Pathfinders, the first three having survived the crash of their transport when it ditched on D-Day Minus One. Private Mathon Ferster, Private Floyd Thomas, and Private Irv Schumacher, rounding out the stick’s enlisted men, were also battle-tested guys who would hold up under fire. Lieutenant Gordon Rothwell, who’d been CO on the downed Normandy flight and led a stick of Pathfinders into Holland, would repeat his role as team leader for a third time. His scorn for officers aside, McNiece figured it counted for something that Rothwell had never lost a man.

  The last guy he chose for this secondary team was Max Majewski. One of the best soldiers he’d ever met, Max had changed after his wife got sick and died back home—become kind of unbalanced. His temper was on a short fuse, and you never knew what would set it off. That was why Gene Brown had wanted him out of his hair, and Jake had hardly been able to blame him. It was the same reason he’d decided against putting him on his own stick.

  Max was a concern, no two ways about it. He knew he’d have to keep a close eye on him.

  As Pathfinder school got under way in the second week of December, Brown and McNiece would have to deal with some early snafus to keep it on schedule. One source of frustration was an arctic storm front that would bring heavy snows to the British countryside, blanketing it with whiteness and grounding the practice flights. This would force the men to drill with their light panels and dummy Eurekas under conditions that didn’t quite duplicate the rigors of jumping with the equipment. But there was nothing to do but work around Mother Nature when she refused to cooperate.

  Brown did get one problem rectified after he noticed the men had arrived at Chalgrove poorly clothed and supplied. Coming out of Market Garden, they were in uniforms and undergarments that were worn, threadbare, and falling apart at the seams, with only a few of the troopers lucky enough to still have their sleeping bags. McNiece was wearing the same boots he’d had on through Normandy and Holland, and had patched quarter-sized holes in their bottoms with pasteboard.

  Though Brown understood that requisitions were backlogged following the Holland campaign, he’d found this unacceptable and gotten his quartermaster to press the Army for urgently needed replacements. By late December their tenacity had paid off. The station was given high priority for shipments of supplies, and all the Pathfinders were clothed
and equipped up to standards.

  Another issue Brown dealt with as the course progressed was attrition. By late December, he and McNiece had booted fifteen troopers—two officers and six enlisted men from the 101st and six enlisted men from the 82nd—from Pathfinder school for ineptitude or breaches of conduct. This number was higher than the normal rate of dismissal, and Brown would blame it on the quality of some of the recruits selected for the training—in other words, dumped in his lap—by their commanding officers. But with both divisions in combat, and those COs having cleaned house of their worst problems, his requests for substitutes were ignored . . . and intentionally so, he suspected.

  Repaying their consideration in kind, Brown shipped the castoffs back to their parent units in a hurry, caustically explaining in each instance that it didn’t seem advisable to keep men who “weren’t qualified for instruction” at his base when they were needed for combat duty. Later on, in a report to Major General Matthew Ridgeway of the Eighth Airborne Corps, he would request that more consideration be given to the selection process “in order to provide competent and dependable Pathfinders.”

  In polite terms, he was telling the commander of all airborne forces in Europe that he’d had his fill of inheriting other officers’ rejects and wanted that to change.

  For his part, McNiece was okay with the guys he had available, and remained convinced the war would be over long before they brought their training to the battlefield. But a deal was a deal, and he stuck to it, working the men hard until he was satisfied they knew what they were doing.

  Near the end of the two-week course, a group of Air Force officers arrived to watch the men showcase their use of the navigational beacons. Naturally, one of the lieutenant-colonels asked Majewski, of all those he could have asked, to demonstrate the operation of the AN/CRN-4 homing transmitter, a smaller, lighter, trimmed-down version of the Eureka the group had been practicing with in the field. The same device that had brought in the gliders in Market Garden, it would now be used exclusively by the Pathfinders—although they’d only been given dummy models for training purposes.