First to Jump

by Jerome Preisler

  There would be another day when Agnew, briefly relieved from his post, found a pig that had been run over by a tank in the snow. But when he stood the carcass up against a tree, hoping to slice some meat from it, it was stiff as a board, and he dejectedly returned to the brick pile with his growling stomach and wilted dreams of a roasted ham dinner for himself and the boys.

  Throughout those days, Agnew would continue to see the burial details hacking bodies out of the snow with the edges of their shovels, the breath steaming from their mouths as they struggled to maneuver their rigid bodies onto the stretchers.

  Those days. Long, hard, and always the maddening, bone-deep cold.

  Like the rest of the men in Bastogne, Agnew had heard that General George Patton’s Third Army was making a breakthrough, and that the German siege was already starting to crumble at its outer edges, and he guessed that was one of the things that got him through.

  But the thing that really did it for him, McNiece, and the rest of the men who had jumped to bring in the planes, was just seeing the cargo parachutes descend from the sky with the incoming waves of planes. Up on the bricks as the transports came in, half-frozen, his finger an icicle jabbing at the radar button every thirty seconds, Agnew would watch the chutes spring open above the bundles, yellow, red, white, and blue, and feel his heart lift in his chest.

  “It’s a great Christmas present,” he said to McNiece on the first day. “One these men won’t forget for a long time.”

  He’d been up on the pile with the CRN-4, Jake and the others standing beneath him, all of them using the bricks for cover and watching the parachutes float above them, bright as balloons at a summer fair, or possibly a grand and special birthday celebration.

  McNiece watched the bundles thump onto the snow, their chutes flapping in the wind as the soldiers hurried over to bring them back to their trucks.

  Delivered by air, he thought.

  6.

  Lieutenant Everett G. Andrews of the 101st Airborne’s 377th Field Artillery Battalion was a Normandy replacement who couldn’t have suspected what he’d be in for when he got shipped into Bastogne.

  On December 18 his unit had been ordered to set up gun positions on the outskirts of Savy, a farming hamlet near a major road and rail juncture north of the city. Their command post was a small house occupied by the LeRoy family—a farmer, his wife, and their four daughters—and Andrews had known it would be a stress on them when he and three other officers moved in. But they’d done their best to assist the LeRoys with their chores, and had hooked up a small generator to restore the electricity that had been knocked out by German shellings. That gave them lights, and a radio, so they could listen to the BBC. These were good accommodations compared to the cold foxholes the infantrymen had to endure, and Andrews had considered himself most fortunate to be inside.

  A day or so after reaching the little village, the officers had sent some trucks out for supplies and ammunition, but they’d never seen them again. Ironically, it was through the BBC news broadcasts that they found out they were surrounded by enemy forces.

  Early on the 23rd, Andrews received word from Headquarters about the airborne resupply and was told to be ready for when the flights came through. On a signal from a group of Pathfinders who’d marked out the drop zone, he and his men were to speed out in every available vehicle to assist with collecting the bundles.

  Andrews would remain there for all the airdrops, watching the C-47s fly in over a German flak belt situated just beyond the DZ, making them easy targets. He saw transports arrive damaged, some trailing smoke, their engines on fire. But the pilots had kept them in formation long enough to drop their supply loads before the crews bailed . . . though some were unable to escape their aircrafts before they crashed or exploded. It was the bravest act his eyes ever witnessed.

  On the ground, there was a danger of getting hit by some of the hundred-fifty and two-hundred-pound bundles that broke free of their chutes in the air, and Andrews took to ducking under the trucks until after a plane dropped its load, only then crawling out to gather the supplies.

  Over the course of those days, the troopers assigned to pick up the bundles started hanging on to the parachutes. They’d found all kind of uses for them—they made great outer linings for their boots and bedrolls, and even spare blankets. Andrews took four of them, one of each color, yellow, red, white, and blue.

  When Patton thrust through the German defenses the day after Christmas, far ahead of most predictions, Andrews was redeployed to Longchamps, northwest of Bastogne, where elements of the II SS Panzer Corps were staging one of the final enemy attempts to retake the hub. He would remain there until January, when he sustained wounds that sent him back to the States for hospitalization.

  But before that he returned to the farmhouse in Savy and gave the light blue parachute to the LeRoy family, explaining that it was a token of appreciation for the courtesy they had shown him and his fellow officers. On his second visit there a year later, Mrs. LeRoy would proudly display the blue dresses she’d sewn out of the fabric for their four daughters.

  Andrews left Europe with the yellow, red, and white parachutes in his possession. The white one became his wife Margaret’s wedding dress. After the war, in the 1950s, he decided to donate the yellow one to the 101st Airborne Division museum, but still kept the red one as a cherished reminder of the day those planes came in and saved the men in Bastogne.

  In 2014, the ninety-three-year-old Andrews learned about a World War Two reenactment group that was planning to stage a para-bundle drop over Bastogne on the seventieth anniversary of the wartime events that occurred there. It was then that he decided the fourth parachute should be used in the commemoration, and got in touch with the group, who accepted it with deep appreciation. The rigging was all fouled up, and Andrews couldn’t remember how to fix it, so he gave it to some riggers at Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne, and they repaired it for him.

  “This may be the last one that’s fit to use,” he would say. “The last of all that fell that day.”

  Donating it to the group, Everett Andrews decided that he would travel to Belgium with the parachute, return there so he could look up one last time to see it blossom open beneath the wings of a soaring plane in the high, cold winter air of the Ardennes Mountains.

  And maybe, he thought, that was why he’d held on to it for so long. So they could go back to Bastogne, both of them, back to where heroes fought and died for something immeasurably greater than themselves, back to where thousands of besieged, weary, desperate American soldiers received the most precious thing of all as a Christmas gift.

  Everett Andrews was going back to Bastogne, one last time, to look up and see that dash of red against the blue sky and white clouds, coming gently down to earth, as bright and enduring as hope itself.

  7.

  The breakthrough of General Patton’s 4th Armored Division on December 26, 1944, did not immediately end the fighting in the Ardennes. Although Hitler ordered a retreat in early January, scattered armored elements held out in the Bois Jacques pine woods around the villages of Foy, Noville, and Recogne, north of Bastogne—some because they did not have enough fuel left to return to their side of the line. Ragged but able, the 101st Airborne Division would clear those areas, but only after some of the bloodiest combat of the war.

  Snuffy Smith, the original Pathfinder/medic who had dropped on Normandy and Holland, had taken retraining at Chalgrove with the IX TCC in December, but wasn’t among the men Jake McNiece chose for his team or Rothwell’s backup stick. Reassigned to the 502nd PIR, he was sent to Bastogne to join Lieutenant John F. Stopka’s 3rd Battalion with other reinforcements after Patton’s tanks and infantry reopened the roads in late December. As the fighting raged on, the Pathfinders were often used as recons and given the dangerous job of scouting the snowy mountain terrain ahead of the main troops.

  In mid-January, Stop
ka’s unit was advancing through the Bois Jacques between Foy and Bizory, moving along one side of a railroad track that had been built up almost twenty feet above the clearing, when they spotted German tanks sheltering on the other side of the berm. The Germans had set up gun emplacements that would have made a ground attack on the tanks all but impossible, and one of Stopka’s men radioed for airpower to knock them out.

  The fighter planes arrived quickly, strafing and bombing the enemy armor. But their attack came too close to Stopka and his men, leaving thirty dead and forty wounded.

  Smith, who would treat the wounded and tag the dead, recalled the attack as the most horrifying experience he had “from D-Day all through the 101st battles,” thinking it even worse than watching the glider tows go down over the fields of Holland as he guarded the T with the rest of the Pathfinders. Separating the loose ends of war from its main threads was an exercise for the generals and historians. For the men fighting and dying on the ground, the pattern and perspective remained those of daily survival.

  But the fighting in the Ardennes soon would be over. By the end of the month, the last of the German units in Belgium either had been destroyed or were limping back across the lines. Hitler’s thrust to divide the U.S.-British alliance and win a compromise peace with them had failed, leaving his country still engaged on two fronts, with nearly all its military resources exhausted, and the armies of the East and West racing toward Berlin.

  The Third Reich’s days of ascendance were long gone, its everlasting night coming on fast.

  8.

  In early January, Jake McNiece and his two sticks of Pathfinders were transferred out into France, where they stayed for several days before taking off in a flight for Chalgrove. On their return, Captain Frank Brown of the IX TCC would recommend all of them for Silver Stars for their daring jump into Bastogne, citing valor and gallantry in action. But Colonel Robert Sink, executive officer of the 506th—and the commander of McNiece’s Regimental HQ demolition-saboteurs—would quash the request, asserting they had done nothing that wasn’t within the range of normal action for paratroopers. McNiece, who cared about as much for medals as for promotions in rank, would react with indifference. “It had not been different from anything else I had ever done,” he would say about the mission later on.

  Ultimately the men were given Bronze Stars for action and inserted entry. Jake didn’t turn his down.

  Later that same month, Captain Brown asked Sink’s permission to keep McNiece and the five troopers he’d brought from headquarters at Chalgrove. He was again overruled by the colonel.

  Send them back to me, Sink cabled. Evidently, I can kill them quicker than you can!

  Brown would reply that he could have all of the men but McNiece, who was “essential to this operation” and needed for the training of new recruits. In the end, Lieutenant Schrable Williams stayed on too.

  Meanwhile, the war was entering its final stages. With the victory at Bastogne behind them, the Allies would make their push across the Rhine throughout the early part of 1945 and encounter mostly weak and disorganized resistance. In February, the 4th and 90th Infantry Divisions were tasked with plowing through the Siegfried Line near the town of Prüm. What was left of the Wehrmacht mustered a counterattack that boxed in the American troops at the Prüm bridgehead, depleted their supplies and ammunition, and threatened to inflict heavy casualties.

  On short rest, McNiece was ordered to train a new group of Pathfinders that would parachute down inside the enemy perimeter and set beacons for an aerial resupply similar to the one that saved the 101st in Belgium. McNiece and Williams pulled the team into shape and led them on their mission, which went off without a hitch.

  Two months later, in April, with no further Pathfinder missions anticipated, McNiece was returned to Regimental Headquarters and rejoined the 506th as a demo-sabo when the unit took control of Hitler’s abandoned Bavarian chalet, the Eagle’s Nest.

  On May 7, 1945, General Alfred Jodl, chief of Germany’s High Command, signed his nation’s complete and unconditional surrender to the Western Allies at Reims, France.

  When he spoke about the war decades afterward, McNiece was dismissive of the Pathfinders’ role in the Allied triumph, and specifically the jump into Bastogne.

  “It wasn’t particularly patriotic of us, it was self-preservation,” he said, leaving it to others to call them heroes.

  Colonel Joel Crouch. In civilian life, a United Airlines pilot. After Sicily, he brainstormed the Pathfinders idea with General “Jumping” James Gavin.

  All photos courtesy of the National Archives

  Captain Frank Lillyman chewing on one of his lucky cigars. When he ran low on his Army allotment, he had his wife mail him stogies.

  Lieutenant Charles Faith and his stick pose before they board the C-47 for Operation Market Garden. Most will be killed when the plane is hit by German flak.

  Officers, including Captain Frank Lillyman (center left), look over a sandtable before the drop into Normandy.

  The Rebecca unit (above) in the C-47 transport sent out a time radar pulse that was picked up by the Eureka (right), which the Pathfinders had set up in the drop zone. The Eureka sent back a confirming pulse to the Rebecca.

  Sergeant Jake McNiece applies war paint to another trooper. He wasn’t much of a garrison soldier, but he was a warrior on the battlefield.

  Paratroopers drop on Holland on the first day of Operation Market Garden.

  Troopers from the 101st make their way through the Dutch town of Veghel.

  Jack Agnew sits on a pile of bricks in Bastogne. He will guard the Eureka here for several days in the bitter cold.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  A great many primary and secondary source materials were used in the preparation of this narrative. These include interviews, letters, declassified action reports and other archival documents, newspaper and magazine stories, official military histories, published books, and various Internet sources.

  The dialogue in First to Jump is taken entirely from primary sources and interviews, and to that end I owe a special debt to the oral histories of George Koskimaki, and the memoirs of Acting Sergeant Jake McNiece (with Richard Killblane).

  War is inherently chaotic, and in instances where there may be conflicting recollections of events, I’ve used logic and judgment to draw an account that is consistent with available facts. Any errors or omissions that may occur in the telling of the tale are my responsibility alone.

  A list of major sources follows.

  ARCHIVAL U.S. MILITARY DOCUMENTS

  (UNCLASSIFIED AND DECLASSIFIED)

  Operations of the 101st Airborne Division in the Invasion of France, Army Ground Forces Report No. 116, Headquarters, European Theater of Operations, United States Army WD Observers Board, July 15, 1944 by Charles H. Coates, Colonel, Infantry.

  Report of D-Day Pathfinder Activities, 101st Airborne Division Pathfinder Group, APO-472 U.S. Army, July 1, 1944 by Frank L. Lillyman, Captain, 502nd Parachute Infantry, Division Pathfinder Officer.

  Report of Pathfinder Employment for Operation Neptune, Headquarters 82nd Airborne Division, Advance Command Post, APO-469—In the Field, June 11, 1944 by M.L. McRoberts, Captain, Infantry, 82nd Airborne Division, Pathfinders.

  Annex 12 to Ninth Air Force Tactical Air Plan for Operation Neptune, Headquarters IX Troop Carrier Command, APO-133 U.S. Army, May 2, 1944 by Paul L. Williams, Brigadier General, USA, Commanding.

  Regimental Unit Study Number 3, 506 Parachute Infantry Regiment in Normandy Drop, Historical Section, European Theater of Operations, 8-3.1 BB 3 by S.L.A. Marshall, Colonel.

  Battalion and Small Unit Study Number 9, Cassidy’s Battalion, Historical Section, European Theater of Operations, 8-3.1 BA 9 by S.L.A Marshall, Colonel.

  Operations of the 101st Airborne Division in the Airborne Invasion of the Netherlands 17 September–27 September 1944 (Rhineland C
ampaign), Personal Participation—Battalion Executive of an Airborne AA-AT Battalion, Robert R. Kemm, Major, Infantry.

  Report on Operation Market, Air Invasion of Holland by IX Troop Carrier Command by Paul L. Williams, Major General, USA, Commanding.

  AGF Report 449—Pathfinder Teams U.S. 101st Airborne, Division Operation “Market,” APO-887, December 12, 1944 by Harvey J. Jablonsky, Colonel, Infantry, WD Observers Board.

  Report of Airborne Phase Operation “Market,” APO 109, October 5, 1944 by Headquarters XVII Corps, Airborne

  Escape and Evasion Report 2307, Faith, Charles M. (1st Lt.), MLR Number UD 133, UD 134 by War Department, U.S. Forces, European Theater, Military Intelligence Service (MIS), Escape and Evasion section (MIS-X).

  Memorandum: Pillaging and Plundering, Headquarters 101st Airborne Division, Office of the Division Commander, APO-472, October 17, 1944 by Maxwell D. Taylor, Major General, USA, Commanding.

  The Operations of a Regimental Pathfinder Unit, 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment (82nd Airborne Division) In Normandy, France 6 June 1944 (Normandy Campaign) by Captain John T. Joseph, Infantry, Advanced Infantry Officers Class Number Two.

  Graphic Survey of Radio and Radar Equipment used by the Army Air Forces, July 1, 1945 by United States Army Air Forces Air Technical Service Command, N-12836-D-2.

  Training Progress Report 1 Dec 1944–14 January 45, Headquarters IX TCC Pathfinder Group (Prov.), Office of the Corps Pathfinder Officer, APO-135, 14 January 1945 by Frank L. Brown, Captain, Infantry (Parachute) Corps Pathfinder Officer.