Four Hours of Fury

by James M. Fenelon

  The losses spurred postwar questions regarding the operation’s necessity and effectiveness. The controversy appears to have started with the publication of the US Army’s official history of the war’s final phase, The Last Offensive, written by Charles MacDonald. MacDonald debated “whether under the prevailing circumstances an airborne attack [was] necessary or . . . even justified.” He based his skepticism on three assertions: (1) that the airborne bridgehead did not add appreciable depth to PLUNDER’s perimeter, (2) that ground troops could have taken the same objectives without “undue difficulty and probably with considerably fewer casualties,” and (3) that the drop did not expedite engineering efforts to span the Rhine with pontoon bridges.

  To take each point in turn: regarding the depth of the airdrop’s penetration into Germany—which was 6.5 miles—it’s important to remember that depth wasn’t one of VARSITY’s objectives. Dempsey and Ridgway debated how far inland to drop the troops during their planning, and both agreed that the strength of German defenses closer to the Rhine was the larger concern. VARSITY’s primary objective was to block German counterattacks into the bridgehead by specifically seizing crossing points on the Issel River and Canal. The airborne bridgehead therefore was as deep as it needed to be to encompass the most threatening German artillery positions and the vital Issel crossings.

  As for MacDonald’s second assertion, there’s no denying that the airborne objectives could have been taken by ground troops—ground troops have been occupying terrain since the dawn of conquest. The more pertinent question is whether ground troops could have achieved VARSITY’s objectives as rapidly as airborne troops. Comparing British and American infantry advances on VARSITY’s flanks—which ranged from two to four miles on the first day—the answer must be “doubtful.” The arrival by air of over 19,000 combatants in four hours is what secured the thirteen crossings over the Issel and prevented German armor from hampering the Allied advance.

  VARSITY’s lightning bolt strike behind the enemy’s main line of defense disrupted the German commanders’ abilities to orchestrate an effective defense and netted over 3,000 POWs. When thousands of Wehrmacht soldiers found themselves surrounded by Allied airborne troops—essentially cutting off any escape—they had to make choices that a conventional assault wouldn’t have forced. Those Germans caught in the VARSITY landings were prevented from fighting a delaying action as they gradually retreated. Had the Germans been able to destroy the Issel bridges, they would have preserved a natural line of defense—one that would have delayed the Allied breakout to the Ruhr.

  Regarding MacDonald’s claim that the speed of bridge building along the Rhine didn’t proceed at a materially faster rate in the vicinity of Wesel than it did elsewhere, that is only partially correct. While upstream bridges were in operation on D-Day, downstream—where the Germans held the high ground—bridges weren’t in operation until the day after.

  Besides, expediting a faster crossing was not a VARSITY objective per se. The point of occupying the high ground in Diersfordt Forest was to knock out German artillery batteries and deny observers a point of view from which they could interfere with Allied engineering efforts. VARSITY’s vertical envelopment of two German divisions and its destruction or capture of ninety enemy howitzers ensured that construction could proceed apace and vindicated Montgomery’s belief in the need to secure the far bank as quickly as possible.

  VARSITY veterans, unsurprisingly, aren’t much interested in armchair debates. They were soldiers, given a task that they executed with the violence expected of them. It was a sound mission, with a good plan that adhered to the tenets of World War II airborne doctrine. Those veterans still alive more than half a century later bristle at philosophical arguments that appear to diminish the sacrifices of their dead comrades.

  The survivors’ reflections on VARSITY, and the war, vary by individual personality. Some are intensely proud of their contribution; some never want to speak of it. All were changed by their experiences. The pressures of combat forged some men into diamonds; others it crushed into dust. Most were content with merely surviving. Those who did make it home wrestled for the rest of their lives with the dichotomy of their combat experience: mixed in with the terror and suffering was a daily appreciation for life and an intense camaraderie. Of all the things they held sacred, it was that most of all: the pride of standing with, and for, each other.

  Sergeant John Chester, a section chief and gunnery guru in the 466th Parachute Field Artillery Battalion. Courtesy of John Chester

  Helmut Steltermann, OSS agent and member of Operation VARSITY’s Team Algonquin. Courtesy of the Steltermann family

  American OSS agents, Helmut Steltermann and Robert Staub, stand in their German uniforms beside their captured Volkswagen Kübelwagen. Courtesy of the Steltermann family

  Twenty-one-year-old Gene Herrmann, mortarman in the 194th Glider Infantry Regiment, outside his tent near Châlons-sur-Marne. Courtesy of Gene Herrmann

  A squad of Thirteeners use their razor-sharp combat knives to shave each other’s heads while waiting in their staging camp near Achiet, France. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  American CG-4A gliders on a landing zone in Germany; note the chalk number (34) on the nose. Courtesy of Don Pinzel, Glider Pilot

  Thirteener Jim Conboy, kitted up with his parachute, rifle, and demolitions, waits to board his plane for the flight into Germany. Robert Capa/Magnum Photos

  General William “Bud” Miley at the airfield prior to boarding his C-47 transport for the flight into Germany. He will jump with the Ruffians on Drop Zone W. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  Thirteeners boarding their double-door C-46 at Achiet, France. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  Paratroopers of the 17th Airborne on their way into Germany. This trooper has his static line ready to attach to the anchor line cable. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  A platoon of Thirteeners waiting for the green light to exit both doors of their C-46 cargo plane. Robert Capa/Hutton Archive/Getty Images

  The Thirteeners landing in Germany; this photo was taken by Robert Capa as he lay on the drop zone. Robert Capa/Magnum Photos

  On the ground in Germany; dead glider troopers cut down by enemy machine guns as they stormed off the landing zone.

  American glider troopers search a German field desk for anything of intelligence value. Courtesy of Army Signal Corp

  B-24 Liberators flew in on the tail of the massive airdrop to make low-level supply runs. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  The cost of defeating the Third Reich: dead paratroopers on the drop zone, killed while getting out of their parachutes.

  One of the Ruffians’ VARSITY objectives: Diersfordt Castle, as it appeared in the 1930s. The tower in the middle provided sanctuary for stubborn German defenders.

  The burnt hulk of a C-47 transport near Drop Zone W; all of the crew perished in the crash.

  Several Thirteeners head to their assembly point as a British Horsa glider silently swoops in to land. Robert Capa/Hutton Archive/Getty Images

  A 17th Airborne anti-tank team loading their M18 57mm recoilless rifle. The M18 was far superior to its predecessor, the bazooka. Courtesy of Army Signal Corps

  A trooper carries his wounded comrade past a supply container with the bundle’s parachute entangled in overhead wires. Robert Capa/Hutton Archive/Getty Images

  One of Miley’s Thirteeners killed by the Germans before he could disentangle himself from a tree. Courtesy of Don Pinzel, Glider Pilot

  Paratroopers of the 17th Airborne Division taking a break during their advance into Germany.

  One of the Thirteeners on a requisitioned enemy bicycle showing off his newly liberated top hat.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I first learned of Operation VARSITY in 1988 when I was an eighteen-year-old private going through the US Army’s Airborne school at Fort Benning, Georgia. One weekend I went to the Infantry Museum and saw a plaque listing US combat jumps in Europ
e during World War II. Listed last was the 17th Airborne Division’s drop across the Rhine. I was surprised that I’d never heard of it since I foolishly assumed my high school history class had taught me everything about the war. My cursory exploration of the museum proved how wrong I was, but it wasn’t until 1999 that I became serious about studying VARSITY and learning more about the troopers of the 17th Airborne Division.

  The task was harder than I anticipated. The official Army history devoted barely a dozen pages to VARSITY and the operation received scant attention outside of obscure official after-action reports and commentary buried in larger volumes. While I was able to glean high-level details of the operation from these sources, they didn’t provide any insight into the actual experience of jumping into Nazi Germany. I wanted to know more.

  Eventually, I attended several veteran reunions where I met glider pilots, troop carrier pilots, glider riders, anti-tank gunners, artillerymen, and paratroopers. A lot of these elderly men were still as rough and gruff as they were in 1945. They were welcoming but also leery of outsiders. At one reunion, I was recruited into some late-night shenanigans by a group of drunken glider pilots who needed help. They were wheeling one of their passed-out comrades down the hallway on a luggage trolley. Their plan was to leave their inebriated cargo in front of his hotel room door, knock, and run away before the man’s wife could open the door and catch the bad influences in the act. The hitch was, they were all at least eighty years old and were concerned that they weren’t fast enough to make a clean getaway. That’s where I came in. After the pilots had hidden themselves around the corner, I pounded on the door and bolted. Following outbursts of laughter and much backslapping, they made it clear I was “in.” We retired to the bar where more drinks were poured and the stories flowed. This is what I’d been missing: firsthand accounts of the VARSITY battle. And after I’d regaled my wife with these secondhand stories, she suggested I write the book I’d long been looking for. Thus began my efforts—while working full-time—to interview more veterans, collect more personal accounts, and dig through the archives for more supporting material. Over a decade later, you hold the final results in your hands.

  “The narrative historian’s true calling,” said author Rick Atkinson, “is to bring back the dead.” If I’ve managed to accomplish that via Four Hours of Fury, it’s due to the support of VARSITY’s veterans and their families. Without their willingness to help, I wouldn’t have been able to obtain the level of detail that the story has always deserved. I’m thankful to all the veterans who contributed material, all of whom are acknowledged in the book’s endnotes, but there are a few who deserve special mention. Frank Dillon and his family welcomed me into their home and were a constant fan base over the many years it took me to complete this project. Frank’s friendship was an unexpected gift and I regret I couldn’t write faster so that he could have read a completed draft before he made his final jump. He is missed. John Chester’s candid storytelling helped form much of the narrative’s backbone. He was a paratrooper to the end. Glider pilot Don Pinzel’s warmth and friendship was a steady companion during the early stages of the project and his many introductions to fellow pilots were extremely valuable. Gene Herrmann’s wealth of archival documents, personal correspondence, and eternal patience with my dozens of questions are beyond appreciated. His documentation and recall are so accurate that I was literally able to locate one of his mortar team’s old foxholes in Belgium, dug by them decades ago as they slogged through the Battle of the Bulge. I couldn’t have told the story of Team Algonquin, the OSS team of agents infiltrating enemy lines in German uniforms, without the trust and support of Anneliese Steltermann and her daughter Linda. Their willingness to share family letters and personal anecdotes made the story that much richer.

  One of the thrills of researching VARSITY was the privilege of handling original documentation and artifacts from the battle, an effort that was facilitated by many archivists, historians, and librarians in four countries. In the course of my research I enjoyed meeting many of them who shared an interest and passion for history. In North America I am thankful for the helpful staff at the US National Archives and Records Administration (at College Park, Maryland), the US Army Military History Institute (at Carlisle, Pennsylvania), the US Army Center for Military History (at Fort McNair, Washington, DC), the Silent Wings Museum (the Glider Pilot museum in Lubbock, Texas), the Air Force Historical Research Agency (at Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama), and the Library and Archives Canada (at Ottawa). In the United Kingdom, the staff at the Imperial War Museums’ Research Room was very helpful. I would also like to extend much appreciation to the staff at the National Archives (at Kew, London): they’re an efficient and well-organized machine, making any visit there incredibly productive. In Germany, Johann Nitrowski, a longtime resident of Hamminkeln and expert on the battles fought throughout the surrounding area, offered his help and friendship, for which I’m grateful. Together Johann and I walked the ground where the characters in this book landed on March 24, 1945. I relied heavily on his book, Die Luftlandung, to gain an understanding of VARSITY’s impact on German civilians.

  I’m indebted to a cadre of advance readers who gave me their feedback and advice to help ensure that the narrative of this book flowed well. I’m thankful for the time and effort they invested. Among them are: Robert Lindsey, who read virtually every draft and never let his enthusiasm wane or his pencil dull; Steve Jensen, whose attention to detail was invaluable and unwavering; my longtime friend and fellow writer Mark Bristol, who pushed me to improve the prose with each draft; and Chris Schorre and Julie Pesche, both of whom provided valuable notes peppered with insightful thoughts and deep questions. My mom, Michael Southard, diligently reviewed the final manuscript multiple times and launched a one-woman campaign to drive pre-sales. Many thanks also go to Shannon Hollis, Sandy McClarty, Paul Madden, Andrei Faji, Wayne Carelock, and Robi Polgar for their insight, support, and valuable feedback. The list of family and friends who offered encouragement during the project is too long to mention, and I’m thankful for their support.

  A special thanks to my wife, Melanie, who not only provided priceless assistance of every kind—from soundboarding ideas to transcribing veteran interviews to endless edits of every draft—but also tolerated years of my early hours and late nights as I sequestered myself to complete the project. This book wouldn’t have been possible without her help.

  My agent, Jim Hornfischer, was an unceasing advocate and a skilled mentor who helped me navigate the adventure of publishing my first book. I’m grateful for his support. Rick Horgan, my editor at Scribner, provided steady guidance throughout the process and his many pages of feedback not only improved my writing craft but also the strength of the book’s narrative. Rick’s team at Scribner is top-notch and a joy to work with. I’m appreciative of the efforts and help of Emily Greenwald, Dani Spencer, Jason Chappell, Rick Willett, Joshua Cohen, and Erich Hobbing.

  While I’ve endeavored to write an unvarnished account of VARSITY’s tragedy and heroism, I’m sure that my love and admiration for the American airborne trooper has shown through. In that regard, I’m biased, having had the honor to have served briefly with a gang of devils who did their best to carry on the traditions and standards set by their WWII predecessors: Sergeant Payne, Brian, Billy, Jay, Mark, Nando, Nick D, Uncle Pester, Bubba, Chet, Yawn, Goblin, Mr. Rey, Marty, Mikey, Clayton, Tom, Jackson, George, and the Cobra Commander. Thanks, brothers, I learned more from you than you’ll ever know. This book is dedicated to those men and women who served and those who continue to stand ready to jump into the fray when our country needs them.

  Note on Sources

  Four Hours of Fury’s narrative core is based on primary, contemporaneous sources, including diaries, letters, after-action reports, communications logs, and combat interviews. The locations of specific events were plotted on period maps using coordinates documented by the troopers themselves, either in communications logs or after-action report
s. The timing of events is based on those recorded in unit logs. All quotes expressed as dialogue or thoughts in italics are taken verbatim from a memoir, letter, communications log, diary, or interview.

  Several sources were of particular value while conducting research. Clay Blair’s biography of Matthew B. Ridgway, Ridgway’s Paratroopers, provided insight into the stoic character of one of our nation’s greatest leaders. For the section on the B-24 resupply mission I relied heavily on material generously provided by Dave Shafer, son of B-24 pilot Tom Shafer, as well as Peter Loncke’s self-published report, The Liberators Who Never Returned. Peter was retired from the Belgian Air Force and an expert on WWII aviation and the Eighth Air Force’s VARSITY mission. Richard Chancellor, in the UK, kindly supplied me with copious amounts of research and period documentation covering VARSITY’s US Troop Carrier missions.