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  Success rested with the first troops on the ground, including the Canadians. Lieutenant Colonel Jim Nicklin—the thirty-two-year-old former Winnipeg Blue Bomber football player turned elite solider—emphasized that “SPEED and INITIATIVE on [the] part of all ranks is the order of the day. RISKS will be taken. The ENEMY will be attacked and destroyed wherever he is found.”14 Speed, initiative, risk, attack, and destroy were watchwords for paratroops everywhere, and the Canadians had carved out a reputation for daring and toughness in previous campaigns. They had jumped at D-Day, 50 per cent being killed, wounded, or taken prisoner in the ensuing days. They next fought in the Battle of the Bulge—the German attempt in December 1944 to break through to Antwerp out of the Ardennes forest. When not fighting they trained hard and relentlessly under Nicklin’s demanding hand. At six-foot-three, he was a big, powerful man with a strict demeanour, zero tolerance for slacking, and endowed—in the words of his second-in-command, Major Fraser Eadie—with “bags of guts.”

  Preparing for Varsity, Eadie later said, the Canadians were drilled to understand “that when they were thrown into the middle . . . they were on their own hook. It would all be confusion. To cope with the things that could happen to them—like dropping in the middle of a woods alone, perhaps being wounded—and then find their positions as fast as possible, physical fitness and discipline were the two things that were going to get them there.”15

  Reveille on March 23 came at 0400 hours and 3rd Brigade was trucked to Chipping Onger, an airfield outside of London. The soldiers carried full battle kit. Upon arrival, parachutes were fitted, kit bags and weapons stowed aboard assigned airplanes, and then, at noon, the men were trucked back to camp for final briefings and a church parade.16 Brigadier James Hill was feeling upbeat. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the artillery and air support is fantastic! And if you are worried about the kind of reception you’ll get, just put yourself in the place of the enemy. Beaten and demoralized, pounded by our artillery and bombers, what would you think, gentlemen, if you saw a horde of ferocious, bloodthirsty paratroopers, bristling with weapons, cascading down upon you from the skies?” The Germans, he declared, “you will treat . . . with extreme disfavour.”17

  At 0445 on that Saturday morning, the men, having had “a good breakfast,” headed back to Chipping Onger. By 0615, they were donning gear.18 Over his standard battle dress, each man wore a parachute smock whose many pockets were crammed with personal effects. The webbing belt fastened on over the smock, an entrenching tool hooked to one side of the rump, and a small pack with ammunition pouches on either side was strapped across the chest. A toggle rope—useful for lowering oneself down from a tree—was wrapped around the waist. Ammunition bandoleers for personal weapons and the unit Bren guns were draped around the neck. Over all this went the jump jacket, which was sleeveless and fitted with a belt that passed under the crotch to prevent it becoming entangled in the equipment and clothing it covered. A kit bag equipped with a quick-release mechanism was hooked to one leg. When the release was triggered, the kit bag fell away and dangled from a twelve-foot length of rope tied to one end of the parachute harness. Some soldiers put their rifle into the kit bag, but most kept it on their person for easy and immediate access upon landing or even during the descent. So burdened, the paratroops shuffled, rather than strode, to the planes.19

  Dawn yielded precisely the weather forecasted. “Unlimited visibility existed over our bases in the United Kingdom, on the continent and over the target area, although a considerable smoke haze persisted over the latter throughout the operation,” one observer noted.20

  The 6th British Airborne Division’s parachute element began lifting off aboard 240 C-47s manned by the U.S. IX Troop Carrier Command at 0730 hours. Following close behind the parachutists were 429 British C-47, Stirling, and Halifax aircraft towing 429 gliders—381 Horsas and 48 Hamilcars. Simultaneously, 17th U.S. Airborne Division took off from twelve airfields in the Paris area aboard 903 C-46 and C-47 aircraft. Some carried paratroops, but about half were, for the first time in a combat operation, towing two gliders apiece rather than just one.21

  Soon the great armada was airborne, blocks of aircraft circling into formations. Closing around the transports were 213 Royal Air Force fighters tasked with shepherding them to the drop zone and home again. Over France, 676 U.S. 9th Air Force fighters similarly protected the American formation. Another 1,253 U.S. 8th Air Force fighters were already aloft and isolating the Rhine area from interference by German fighters or accompanying a diversionary raid by U.S. 15th Air Force bombers on Berlin.22

  The Canadians had never worked with American pilots. They were scruffier than the British pilots, with a penchant for wearing baseball hats and smoking cigars. But they exuded an easy confidence that the Canadians liked. Brigadier James Hill was also impressed. Hill’s trust in the skills of these Americans had convinced him that the plan to drop 2,200 paratroops in an area measuring little more than 800 by 1,000 yards in just six minutes was sound.23

  Aboard his plane, Private A.H. “Sid” Carrignan of ‘A’ Company’s No. 1 Platoon found the flight to the Rhine “smooth and uneventful. Old Sweats from Normandy were more serious and thoughtful than the ‘Greenhorns’ like me.” He saw “nothing unusual except that there were a lot of aircraft in a long stream. Surprised at how green the landscape was and the sudden rise or drop of aircraft beside ours. One moment 30 yards higher, the next 30 yards lower. What impressed me was the way Non-Commissioned Officers checked and rechecked every man’s gear, and went over the allotted tasks. Their calm confident behaviour was very reassuring.”24

  The 6th Division formation gained the European coast near Calais and swung northward to rendezvous with the American division south of Brussels, forming into a long, wide column with the planes bearing the British and Canadians on the left and the Americans on the right.25 Sitting close to an open cargo door, Sergeant Hartigan could see not only the hundreds of transports carrying the parachutists, but Stirlings and Halifaxes towing gliders or stocked with bomb-shaped parachute containers packed with equipment and supplies that were to be dropped to resupply the paratroops. The parachutes for these containers were much larger than those used by the men and brilliantly coloured according to a system that identified load content. Reaching in through the open bomb-bay doors, the slipstream had jerked some of these parachutes free of their pouches and torn them to shreds. “Brilliant orange, scarlet, blue, yellow, and emerald trailers . . . held by suspension lines” fluttered gaily from the bomb bays and “gave the whole scene, so serious, dangerous, powerful and crammed with portent, a slightly carnival atmosphere.”

  Hartigan was particularly impressed by the big Horsa and Hamilcar gliders. Many were loaded with glider troops, but others carried 17-pounder anti-tank guns, extra Vickers and Bren guns, ammunition carriers, jeeps, jeep-trailers, light artillery howitzers, heavy mortars, additional small arms, rations, vast quantities of ammunition, medical supplies, typewriters, paper and copy flimsies for the clerical staff at various headquarters, and drinking water loaded into tank-trailers—everything necessary to enable paratroops to fight and survive in isolation until reached by the regular infantry and armoured formations.

  The armada’s sheer size stunned Alex Pakulak, a Canadian medic. Later he learned that it took two hours for all the planes to pass over a specific spot. “It was very impressive, the numbers of airplanes were so large. I sat opposite the open door—all one could see was blue sky and airplanes . . . it was fantastic. I could imagine how the enemy was going to feel.”

  Less awed, Sergeant R.F. “Andy” Anderson of ‘B’ Company found the routine the “same as always . . . bucket seats are hard as hell. Some feign sleep, some really sleep. Others tell stories and try a few jokes that don’t go down too well.”26

  A GROWLING HUM that grew to a deafening thunder signalled the armada’s approach for both the Allies and Germans on the Rhine. “It was full daylight before the . . . intense roar and rumbling of swarms of aircraft
stole upon us,” a delighted Winston Churchill recorded.27 “Never in this war had there been such a spectacle as we witnessed that morning,” Canadian Press correspondent Ross Munro wrote. “From the banks of the Rhine we watched it spellbound.”28

  Overhead, the paratroops gazed out at an awesome scene as well. Hartigan looked on “highways and the fields beside them . . . jammed with Army traffic and stores of every kind. Flights of bombers going for softening up can be seen flying eastward. Fighters and Typhoons are in evidence everywhere, going in and coming back, a sign that the front is near. Soon a dusty haze becomes evident, and below is the unmistakable Rhine River. It is slow moving with a slick surface. Already Engineers have built pontoon bridges a good way out from the western bank.”29

  The twenty ‘C’ Company men in Hartigan’s plane were commanded by No. 7 Platoon’s Lieutenant Eric Burdon. The lieutenant would jump first, followed by the rest of the “stick” with Hartigan being last to exit. As the plane suddenly slowed for the approach, the flight engineer asked, “You guys are going to land right on top of them today, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, he added, “The whole crew wants to wish you good luck, and they want you to know how much they respect you guys.” Hartigan shook the offered hand. “Thanks. We’ll be okay. We’re trained for it.”

  Turning to look down the line formed up in a single-file stick that stretched the length of plane, Hartigan bellowed, “Listen clear now! Pay attention! Don’t forget now! As soon as you hit the bloody deck, and you’re out of your parachutes, fix bayonets and go for the goddamn woods!”

  Beside him, the red light still glowed. Just up the line a new nineteen-year-old trooper made the sign of the cross and whispered a prayer. Someone else shouted, “What the hell’s wrong with our pilots; they’re letting the red light stay on too long.” Burdon was in the door, hands braced either side of the cowling, head out, looking for the drop zone. The plane shuddered as flak burst close and the air was crisscrossed by machine-gun tracers streaming up from the ground. Suddenly, the light went green and Hartigan yelled for the stick to go. “Lieutenant Burdon, a strong, stocky man, jumps straight out. It’s as though he’s trying to jump all the way to the forest.” Hartigan saw some nearby C-47s with engines burning, while others rocked and pitched as flak shells and machine-gun rounds ripped them.30

  The stick piled out—one man hard on the heels of the other. But the plane kept rocking and rolling, causing a fraction of delay for each jumper. Then they were all gone and it was Hartigan’s turn. He took to the silk and immediately saw the raised railway embankment about two hundred yards ahead. That meant he was badly off course, far to the east. Directly below, German soldiers dashed across a field towards the embankment. On the raised rail bed, several enemy machine-gun positions were visible. Hartigan frantically climbed his parachute risers, twisting to redirect the descent towards a nearby wood. Tracers slashed holes in the chute. As the chute rushed towards the forest canopy, he dropped back into the parachute seat. With a jerk the chute snagged a tree and his descent was arrested. Ready for it, Hartigan slipped free of the chute to drop a few feet into the bushy understory, just as a machine-gun burst tore chunks out of the tree trunk and showered him with bits of splintered branches. The moment the gun ceased shooting, Hartigan slithered away—heading low and fast through the woods towards the Canadian battalion’s objectives. Hartigan figured he had landed a mile off course and could see nobody else from his stick.31

  The first planes had reached the Rhine on schedule at precisely 0955. In a plane carrying ‘C’ Company’s second-in-command, Captain John Clancy, Private Lawrence Dyck was No. 18 in the stick. Private Norman Rimmer stood directly ahead. Suddenly, just short of the drop zone, the plane “began to rock and smoke billowed up everywhere,” Clancy later reported. “We surely had been hit . . . there was a delay up front caused by the pitching of the C-47 ... Norm Rimmer went out with me close behind. So close that when my chute opened up I found myself enveloped in Rimmer’s parachute. I managed to kick free just before we hit the ground, uninjured.”32

  Vickers Platoon’s Private Len Hellerud’s plane was hit just as it crossed the Rhine, and one engine started burning. Then the American jumpmaster was killed by a bullet or shrapnel that tore through the plane’s skin. The green light came on just then and the Canadians piled out in a desperate rush to escape the crippled plane. Hellerud was second to last out the door. By then the plane was only about 250 feet off the ground. He caught a brief glimpse of the C-47 exploding in a ball of flame before he struck earth. Hellerud was square in the designated drop zone. Shrugging off his parachute, he began jogging towards the headquarters company’s rendezvous area. Other paratroops were already there, digging slit trenches.33

  ALL OF 3RD Brigade had dropped directly into a firefight with men from the 7th Fallschirmjäger Brigade, paratroops whom Company Sergeant Major John Kemp later declared “as good as us.” Opposition was fierce. From machine-gun positions dug into the tree lines, buildings, and any embankments, the Germans slashed the open fields. Enemy artillery and mortars pounded the area at point-blank range. Dead and wounded men lay tangled in the shroud lines of parachutes. Others were cut down as they struggled free. Realizing he was two hundred yards from the rendezvous point on the edge of the woods, Major Fraser Eadie crouched low and ran “like hell.” Around him bullets sang through the air and he saw several men lying motionless—presumably dead—in the middle of the drop zone.34

  “Go for the goddamn woods,” Hartigan had shouted. In the midst of chaos, such clear orders made duty simple. “Some men put down smoke with two-inch mortars. Others plop where they are on the open fields and pump Bren machine-gun fire into the enemy positions. The majority rush the enemy [in the woods], firing as they charge. The officers and platoon sergeants, together with their section leaders, shout directions, trying to guide men they could recognize into some form of organized assault pattern. Most often, however, the confusion is too much, and everyone races for the Diersfordter, firing from the hip as they charge. Among those who land close to the forest some throw smoke grenades, trying to spoil the enemy’s aim, and then charge through the smoke, repeating the process until they overrun the enemy paratroops dug in on the forest’s edge.”35

  Typical of paratroops, especially the Canadians, leadership came from all ranks. Private James Oliver Quigley landed in a field raked by “fierce fire from mortars, light automatics and rifles [positioned] at two corners of the area.” Seeing that a number of men were confused about where the rendezvous point (RV) was, Quigley “by his . . . contempt for the hail of bullets inspired them to follow him.” The group had just arrived at the RV when Major Eadie ordered the remnants of ‘B’ Company to go for its objective—clearing the woods east of the main building cluster. Quigley set off with the lead ‘B’ Company platoon, everyone firing on the run right into the teeth of the German fire. That was the last straw for many of the Germans, who dropped their weapons and stood with arms raised and shouted, “Kamerad, Kamerad.”

  As the Canadians started gathering in the Germans, a nearby enemy machine gun opened fire. Quigley spun and grabbed a Bren gun from a comrade and, “firing as he ran, dashed into the midst of the post and destroyed the whole enemy section.” This was the kind of “raw courage and intense determination to destroy the enemy,” his Military Medal citation later acknowledged, that “inspired his platoon and company.”36

  Heroism was in no short supply during those “two hours of real killing,” as one Canadian officer later described them.37 Company Sergeant Major George Green had no sooner collected many of ‘A’ Company’s men at their RV when their commander, Major Peter Griffin, ordered an immediate attack on the buildings because the fire from them was only intensifying. Clearly, a “strong and determined force” had transformed the buildings on the edge of the cluster into a highly fortified position that was getting stronger by the second as the Germans recovered from their surprise. Thirty minutes had passed since the landings and
the company was at about 70 per cent strength when it started towards the buildings, only to be checked by heavy fire. “Success hung in the balance,” Green’s Distinguished Conduct Medal citation read. “In this emergency, under heavy fire, CSM Green led a PIAT [Projector Infantry Anti-Tank Gun] detachment up to the first house. Having organized covering fire, he led the assault . . . on the house. After capturing it, he then cleared all the remaining houses in quick succession. The enemy was full of fight but was worsted by the vigour of CSM Green’s attacks.” Green’s “quick and determined action” had provided the “greatest value in clearing a dangerous obstacle and restoring the impetus of the advance.”38

  Everywhere, the Canadians imposed order on confusion and carried the day. But nowhere had the battle developed according to the detailed battalion, brigade, divisional, and corps plans. Casualties on the drop zone had been heavy, and some men had been dropped far afield. A few were taken prisoner; others were covertly evading German patrols and strongpoints while persistently attempting to rejoin the battalion. Among the missing was Lieutenant Colonel Nicklin. ‘C’ Company’s Major John Hanson, noted for his courage in combat throughout the Normandy campaign, had suffered a broken collar-bone on landing and was unable to function because of excruciating pain. He was tagged for immediate evacuation at the first opportunity. Further complicating ‘C’ Company’s situation was the fact that the second-in-command, Captain John Clancy, was also missing. (He had dropped in the middle of a group of Germans and been taken prisoner.) ‘A’ Company’s Captain Sam McGowan, another Normandy veteran, strode into its RV bleeding heavily from a scalp wound. A bullet had punched into the front of his helmet, buzzed around the inside rim, and then spiked a hole out the back.39 Twenty-one-year-old Lieutenant J.J. “Jack” Brunette of Sarnia, Ontario, died on the drop zone.