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  In the two years leading up to Market Garden, many of the Dutch operatives had not been deployed due to the success of a German counterintelligence plot codenamed Nord Pol. This superbly executed German operation managed to confuse and undermine SOE’s clandestine activity in the Netherlands. It was only after the elaborate ruse was discovered, in early 1944, that SOE could once again start rebuilding its confidence in many of the Dutch underground groups. But it was still difficult for the Allies to develop a widespread network with the capability of communicating via radio to the UK.

  By the end of March 1944, Special Forces Headquarters (SFHQ) had established radio contact with the RVV. Despite exercising extreme caution, SOE realized that the council was legitimate and was willing to work with SHAEF on the upcoming invasion. Agents were dispatched to the Netherlands, where they confirmed that the RVV was a centrally controlled paramilitary organization, closely aligned to many larger resistance groups. It was hoped that RVV could co-ordinate low-level sabotage missions against principal enemy communication systems, such as railways and roads. It was also thought that the widely represented OD would be capable of maintaining administrative services and civil order after the liberation – at least until the Queen and her government could return from exile. Despite rumors of National Socialist infiltration, the Allies still believed the OD to be a vital and important asset. In the area around Eindhoven, another group, calling themselves Partisanen Actie Nederland (Partisan Action Netherlands or PAN), was also active alongside the LKP. However, Allied intelligence had little or no direct radio communications with PAN or any other groups in Eindhoven, Best, or Son.

  When plans arose for Linnet and Comet, the tightly knit Dutch agents training in the UK were re-formed under the new title of the Dutch Liaison Mission (DLM). Milton Hall determined the composition of each team, often augmenting them with other specialist personnel. The newly organized cells began to orientate themselves by studying maps and intelligence, but, like the men from the 101st, the Dutch Jeds would be frustrated as mission after mission was cancelled. At one point they almost gave up hope of ever being deployed, and started to learn languages such as Chinese, for more reliable missions destined for the Far East.

  The Jedburgh teams participating in Market Garden would be jumping with the divisional headquarters of their assigned units. SFHQ planned to drop limited supplies of orange armbands to selected RVV units and send team “Clarence” to the 82nd Airborne and “Claude” to the 1st Airborne Division. Team “Edward” had overall responsibility for the mission and was attached to the British Airborne Corps. Two Dutchmen, Lt Abraham “Martien” du Bois and Sgt Fokker, became the nucleus of team “Daniel II” which was to be embedded with the 101st Airborne Division. A British team leader, Maj Robert K. Wilson, was assigned to Daniel II shortly before the invasion along with radio operator Sgt G. W. Mason. Wilson and Mason were both long-standing Jedburgh operatives, but they were unable to speak or understand Dutch.

  4

  “A parade ground jump”

  September 17, 1944

  Back at Chilbolton, Sunday religious services, led by 442nd chaplain Robert Tindall, were held at 0730hrs, followed one hour later by a final weather briefing. As expected, the layer of fog covering the airfield had begun to lift and by 0940hrs the crews were out by their aircraft.

  Forty-five C-47s were assigned to the battalion battle group for the airlift. Each company was loaded across nine aircraft, with the average planeload comprising 19 paratroopers, along with a jumpmaster. By 0900hrs the battalion had formed into plane groups and a guide allocated to march each group out to their aircraft, where the parachutes and prepacked equipment bundles were waiting. “I got back to the UK four weeks before we invaded Holland,” recalls medic T/5 Johnny Gibson. “Coincidentally, I was jumping with the 81mm mortar platoon and was once again part of 1st Lt Lewis ‘Pinky’ Sutfin’s stick. We spent most of our time reflecting on the men who had jumped with us on June 6 – three of whom were killed and four had been captured.”

  The troopers began to attach the heavy equipment bundles to racks under the aircraft, fit parachutes, and readjust personal equipment. The MG Ptn decided to convert the large canvas bags normally used for spare barrels to carry the A6 light machine gun (LMG) and half a belt of ammunition. “We figured it was the most efficient way to jump, tucked safely across the chest under the reserve,” recalls Bob Rommel. While the troops were making final adjustments, jumpmasters like Bill Wedeking and Derwood Cann turned their attention to their aircraft. It was the responsibility of each jumpmaster to check the exterior as well as the interior of the plane. Inside, particular attention was paid to the static line anchor cable and its fixings. To avoid snagging, all handles and other projections (inside and out) were covered with masking tape. Seats and safety belts were also checked for serviceability and all loose equipment on board was either stowed or removed. All aircraft, except lead planes equipped with the more sophisticated SCR 717-C radar, were carrying between four and six bundles of equipment.

  At 0945hrs, the men began emplaning and almost 50 minutes later, the first aircraft from serial A10 lifted off. It took exactly five minutes for all 45 aircraft to become airborne (15 seconds short of the existing TCG record that was held by the 442nd).

  At 1043hrs, serials A8 and A10 joined around 400 other aircraft flying at 1,500 feet along a pre-designated “southern route” (codenamed Miami) towards Ghent. An additional 1,033 aircraft were flying a longer “northern route” (Tampa), carrying paratroopers and gliders from the 82nd Airborne and the British Airborne Corps to their targets at Nijmegen and Arnhem. An incredible total of 3,957 Troop Carrier Command aircraft were involved in the operation. The southeastern coast of England became an enormous marshaling area as transport planes flying from 25 airfields merged into two streams, stretching for miles. On the ground, thousands watched for almost 90 minutes as the greatest air armada of all time passed overhead. Many who were leaving churches after Sunday services, returned to say an extra prayer for the men above. The southern formation crossed the Essex coast near Bradwell-on-Sea, before turning southeast across the Thames Estuary, toward North Foreland Point in Kent. Hundreds of ships and barges moored in Kentish ports blew their sirens as the planes headed out to sea towards Belgium.

  Looking through the open cargo door of his plane over the North Sea, Derwood Cann marvelled at the number of aircraft. “They were on either side and as far back as the eye could see, giving us all confidence in the absolute might of the ‘First Triple A.’ Before reaching the Belgian coast, we were joined by our fighter escorts who furnished high and low protective cover. The jumpers in my plane were extremely quiet, and most like me were just staring into space or trying to sleep. About 30 minutes from the drop zone, the pilot accidentally turned on the green light and we leapt to our feet. After realizing it was a mistake everyone nervously returned to their seats but we were all on edge for the remainder of the flight.”

  Radio silence was maintained except for extreme emergency. As usual each formation was divided into three columns (left, right, and center) with three aircraft in each element known as a “V” and part of a nine-ship flight called a “V of Vs.” The journey across Belgium to Ghent was uneventful until the mass of aircraft crossed over the enemy lines near Rothy and antiaircraft fire began bursting through the formation. Over 500 fighter-bombers from the 2nd Tactical Air Force (TAC), comprised for the most part of P-47s, P-51s, and a handful of P-39s, were on hand to support the slow-flying C-47s. Many of the concrete flak towers were neutralized by the fighter pilots, who were flying in groups of six or 12, using rockets and heavy machine guns. Ahead of the 442nd TCG were 850 B-17 Flying Fortresses from the US Eighth Air Force, whose job was to bomb gun positions and other military targets across the region. The timing between the 2nd TAC and the “Mighty Eighth” was superb, and together they destroyed over 165 enemy sites.

  No further evasive action could be taken after the C-47s reached the Initial Point (IP) at
Geel. Maintaining a vulnerable northeasterly heading, about ten miles away from Son, the formation began to reduce air speed to around 110mph in preparation for the drop. As the red light in each aircraft came on, the jumpmasters shouted the order to “Hook up.” The paratroopers clambered out of their seats and began checking parachutes and equipment. It was vital that all individual harness fittings were secure before the snap fastener on the static line was locked onto the steel cable. Only then could the jumpmaster personally check each man’s equipment before calling the stick forward into the door. “I stood with Jack McKinstry, either side of Herb Spence to make sure that unlike Normandy – he jumped,” recalled Bob Dunning. “There was blood everywhere when Ed Templin was wounded by a bullet. Templin said that it had come up through the floor but none of us believed him and thought he’d actually shot himself in the foot to avoid parachuting!”

  The drop zone

  Approaching the drop zone, the flak grew in intensity, emanating from antiaircraft positions around Best, Valkenswaard, Eindhoven, and a barge moored along the Wilhelmina Canal near Oirschot. The little black puffs of smoke looked harmless but disgorged a deadly cargo of ragged steel with each burst. “I believe that some of the local antiaircraft fire may also have come from two or maybe even three 88mm guns located at Son,” recalls Alex Andros. Jim Martin was told that the southern route was more convoluted to avoid flak: “I don’t know where that idea came from because there was a lot of AAA but we were also low enough to get plenty of enemy machine-gun fire as well. In fact we were hit several times and the left engine of our plane burst into flames just before we jumped.”

  Two hours before the main air assault, Allied planes had attacked and bombed the area around the drop zone at least three times. A group of locals had been forced by the Germans to dig trenches adjacent to DZ B, when the second wave of bombers arrived. During the raid three civilians and two German Red Cross workers were killed, after the ambulance in which they were sheltering was destroyed. Thirty-yearold Berta Roefs lived with her family at Helena Hoeve farm, on the southeastern corner of the drop zone at Sonniuswijk, and recalls her own fateful experiences of that morning:

  We had been warned not to attend mass on Sunday September 17, because there was a rumor that the Germans would be visiting local churches to round up the congregations for work parties to dig defenses. We decided to stay at home and look after our “guests,” the van Dinthers who along with their six children, had been ordered from their home by the Germans a few days earlier.

  While preparing lunch around 11am, we heard planes roaring across the fields from Best and moments later they started strafing and bombing the woodland south of the farm. [Ironically many of these were Spitfires flown by Dutch pilots from the Royal Netherlands Air Force.] Afterwards, my sister Dora told us that one of our neighbors, 17-year-old Kees Coppelmans, had been killed during the attack and his father and sister badly wounded. Dora had gone over with Piet and Cor Wilbers [who had been in hiding at Helena Hoeve farm] to offer assistance. It transpired that the Coppelmans had been trying to retrieve their cattle when the raid started. My sister wrapped Kees’ body in a blanket and, helped by Piet and Cor, managed to carry him to the nearest house.

  Afterwards the families began to hear a pulsating drone as more planes headed towards Son. Berta’s father (Bertus) ordered everyone to the air-raid shelter at the rear of the house.

  Minutes later the antiaircraft batteries opened fire as the parachutists began to jump. We sat and waited and it was not long before we heard the sound of footsteps outside. Moments later Piet, who had remained in the house with my dad, came over and handed us chocolate and cigarettes given to him by the Americans who had just landed in the fields directly behind our farm.

  Around 2.30pm we plucked up enough courage to leave our haven and were surprised to find a parachute draped over the roof of the shelter. We went across to the barn and saw three injured paratroopers lying on the ground. One was quite badly wounded and we tried to express our feelings but sadly the medics could not understand what we were trying to say. Shortly afterwards, the Americans set up an aid station behind the farm and the following morning more wounded soldiers were brought in. We supplied the orderlies with boiling water to help clean wounds and sterilize instruments. Just like tourists, a lot of people came over from Son to see what was going on. On the morning of the 19th, the wounded (who numbered around 60) were evacuated to the Sanatorium at Son. Entering the barn we noticed two German soldiers among the wounded about to be moved. I’ll never forget the way they looked at us with pure hatred in their eyes, as if we had betrayed them in some way.

  Later that afternoon more supplies were dropped and one of the planes crashed a few hundred yards from our house and burst into flames. It looked to us like one of the crew who had parachuted from the stricken aircraft was going to land amongst the burning wreckage! We wanted to help but were told it was too dangerous.*

  Thirteen-year-old Cam Pas and his older sister had been visiting Acht to collect milk from their grandparents’ house on the day that the preliminary air attacks began. Hundreds of B-17 Flying Fortresses bombed the airfield at Welschap. “My mother and father lived about three miles away on the northern outskirts of the city along Boschdijk. Walking home we noticed that main road was devoid of pedestrians.” The teenagers had not gone far when they heard the familiar sound of air-raid sirens. Moments later, the German AAA batteries opened fire on the first wave of Allied bombers. The children ran behind a nearby house and huddled in the corner of an empty air-raid shelter. “A low-flying aircraft dropped dozens of fragmentation bombs along the main road, no more than 60 yards from where we were hiding. After the raid we emerged to find the asphalt surface of the road ripped to shreds and tree limbs scattered everywhere. Walking towards Eindhoven, I started to collect pieces of shrapnel that were still warm.” Avoiding racks of unexploded fragmentation bombs as they walked, the “all clear” sounded as Cam and his sister passed the clay pits and the Van Hapert brick factory (where the Philips Nederland National Headquarters are today). “At Barrierweg [the railway crossing in Eindhoven] we met up with my dad who was anxiously cycling along Boschdijk trying to find out where we were. The air-raid siren sounded again, forcing the three of us into the municipal shelter on the corner of Wattstraat as the railway station and gasometers on Nachtegaallaan came under attack.”

  Circling above the vast air armada was a B-17 Flying Fortress and a Douglas A-20 Havoc (Boston) photo recon aircraft charged with observing and recording the airborne phase for posterity. LtGen Brereton was on board the B-17 excitedly watching the proceedings from the front turret. Before leaving England, Brereton had issued a message to his troops:

  You are taking part in one of the greatest airborne operations in military history. The success of your mission today relies not only on navigation and flying skill and courage of the aircrews but also the courage and speed of the landing force – here rests the difference between a quick decision in the west and a long drawn-out battle. I know I can depend on you.

  Shortly before the 3rd Bn’s departure from Chilbolton, four pathfinder teams belonging to the 101st Pathfinder Company (P/F) took off from the newly established American P/F HQ at Chalgrove in Oxfordshire. Of the four aircraft involved in the mission, two were destined for DZ “B” at Son. On board the first plane, A/C No: 42-93096, flown by 1st Lt Dobbins, were the 506th PIR P/F group comprising ten men led by 1st Lt Gordon Rothwell, codenamed “Team 4.” The second aircraft, flown by 1st Lt Gaudio, was carrying “Team 3” from 502nd PIR, commanded by 1st Lt Gordon DeRamus, whose regiment was scheduled to land ten minutes after the 506th along the northern edge of the vast jump field onto DZ “C.” The primary function of DeRamus’ team was to identify the 502nd DZ, with yellow marker panels and violet smoke. In addition, if required, they were to provide security, spare personnel, and equipment for Rothwell.

  Flying in close formation, the pilots reduced airspeed from 180mph to 85mph as the planes approach
ed the jump field, before successfully delivering the teams within yards of each other onto the ground. Although there was slight enemy resistance, Rothwell was able to set up and activate his five-channel electronic Eureka beacon (coded A to E) and radio magnetic direction finder (MF) within one minute of landing. Officially known as CRN-4, the transmitter (which had only recently been introduced) was interfaced to each aircraft’s onboard radio navigation compass. Within four minutes all air panels and visual markers for both DZs were in place. The 3rd Bn serial arrived several minutes later than expected, due to marshaling problems and a slight navigational error over Europe. Both P/F teams remained on the landing field for nearly a week, to direct subsequent glider lifts and resupply missions before their own was finally complete.*

  Back in the formation, Derwood Cann was watching from the open cargo door of his plane and could see the red smoke and white identification panels, set up by the 101st Pathfinder Company, stencilled with the letter “B.” Ten seconds after crossing the Beatrix Afwatering and Wilhelmina Canals, the red lights in the aircraft switched to green, signalling the start of the drop. Altogether, 2,195 paratroopers from the 506th PIR (including 12 Forward Observers from the 321st Glider Field Artillery Regiment – GFA) were dropped from 131 planes onto DZ “B” along with hundreds of heavy equipment and supply bundles. For the sky soldiers, the vast 400-acre site at Son (three miles long by one and a half miles deep) seemed to reach out to infinity. Being the first to jump, 3rd Bn was assigned to secure the DZ. The drop was followed three minutes later by 1/506 and Regimental HQ and then after another three minutes, by 2nd Bn. The entire regiment was expected to be assembled and clear of the drop zone within one hour of landing.

  First Sergeant Fred Bahlau and 14 men from HQ Company had been aboard chalk 57, flown by 1st Lt Ken Bain, from Oakland, California. “The jump was fantastic but I ripped my trousers and cut my leg on a wire fence as I landed,” recalls Bahlau. “One of my buddies from Michigan, Pvt Bernie Rinne (A Co), was shot in the forehead by a sniper and killed as the first battalion were clearing the field.”