by Dick Camp
“I didn’t want to hurt the old man,” Risler recalled, “and instead I ended up on my ass!” One trainee described the demanding training as “malice in wonderland.”
Parachute Training School
After completion of OSS training in November 1943, Risler and eight other Marines—Maj. Bruce Cheever, Gunnery Sgt. Robert LaSalle, Platoon Sgt. Larry Elder, Sgts. Homer Mantooth, Fitz Brunner, Charles Perry, Don Roberts, and John P. Bodnar—were transferred to the No. 1 Parachute Training School (PTS) at Manchester’s Ringway Airfield. They were billeted in an old brick-walled estate (Durham House), nicknamed “House on the Shore,” several miles southwest of Manchester, England. The PTS was the training ground for the SOE. Major Cheever and Gunnery Sergeant Elder were the first to arrive; the rest followed several days later. When Risler arrived at the mansion, he was surprised to be met by the casually dressed Cheever—uniform pants, shirt, and a silk scarf—and offered a drink, not the normal Marine reporting in procedure. “Great place, this Durham House,” Risler commented.
The parachute course at Ringway was condensed into one action-packed week during which the students completed five jumps, one of which was at night. The school was run by a British captain, who had been training agents to jump into Europe since 1940. Trainees included Americans, Belgians, Canadians, Czechs, Dutch, Norwegians, and Poles. For security purposes, no names were used. The men were all called “Joes,” the women, “Josephines.” Security was vital for their survival. A number of training aids were used: aircraft fuselages in the hangars to show the trainees how to exit the aircraft; trapezes for teaching correct flight drills; wooden chutes to practice falling and rolling; and the “Fan,” a steel cable wound around a drum with the end attached to a parachute harness. When the trainee jumped from a platform twenty feet from the ground, his weight caused the drum to revolve; however, its speed was controlled by two vanes which acted as air brakes and thus allowed the trainee to land with the same impact as he would when using a parachute. A one-hundred-foot steel tower was used to separate the men from the boys. A parachute canopy was stretched across a large metal hoop and suspended from the tower by a cable. The student climbed to the top of the tower, attached the parachute harness, and stepped out into space. He was suspended in mid-air until the instructor felt he was in the correct position for landing and then released. This method provided the pupil with a real test of nerve before attempting his first free parachute descent.
The initial jump was conducted from a large modified hydrogen-filled barrage balloon named “Bessie” that was tethered to a winch vehicle. Four students and a “dispatcher” were crammed into a wicker basket. On a signal the balloon was released and, after reaching an altitude of eight hundred feet, the vehicle moved slowly forward, keeping the cable at an angle, out of the jumpers’ way. Risler said that many of the commands were different from what he had learned in the United States. “The jump master was called the ‘dispatcher,’” he said. “He called out ‘running in’ as the aircraft approached the landing zone. When the red light came on, he gave the command, ‘Action station.’ The number one man swung his legs into the hole. When the green light flashed he said, ‘Number one man go.’ Then the next man and so on.”
At altitude, the jumpers dropped one by one through a thirty-six-inch hole in the bottom of the basket—”jumping through the hole,” often without seeing the ground because of England’s persistent fog. Risler recalled, “If the jumper pushed off too hard or looked down when dropping through the hole, he would invariably hit his head or nose on the opposite side. This was known as ‘ringing the bell,’ which had painful consequences.”
The night jump was made from a pre-war Whitley twin-engine bomber. Risler with all his training had to relearn the British method of parachuting. The reason for the different style of jumping was due to the difference of the American parachute verses the British parachute. The American chute comes out of the pack after the risers and suspension lines, where the British chute operates in the reverse order: the chute comes out first, then risers and suspension lines. There is less of an opening shock with the British chute than the American and once on the ground, the jumper can get out of the chute much faster.
Chance Encounter
After completing training, Risler and the others were able to wrangle a forty-eight-hour pass to the big city. Wartime London, with its blackouts and nightly air raids, was not exactly a tourist paradise—but then again, it offered liberty-bound Marines a little more fun than hand-to-hand combat in the country club garden. As luck would have it, they ran into Marine Maj. Peter J. Ortiz, who had just returned from a very successful clandestine mission to France. “Glad to see the Marine uniform in London,” he greeted them. After introductions and explanation of what they were doing in London, Ortiz asked, “Want to do something exciting?” and went on to say that he was looking for volunteers to join him on a classified mission. Risler remembered thinking, “Where have I heard this before?” but agreed to the invitation along with the others.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ortiz responded.
Major Peter Ortiz had a reputation for adventure. He joined the French Foreign Legion, rising to the rank of acting lieutenant before returning to the United States. During his six years’ service, he fought in a number of engagements in Africa and was wounded once. He received several French decorations—Croix de Guerre with two palms (one gold star and one silver star), the Croix des Combattant, the Ouissam Alouite, and the Médaille Militaire. When war broke out, he returned to the Legion and received a battlefield commission. In June 1940, he was wounded and captured. He spent fifteen months as a prisoner of war before escaping to the United States and enlisting in the Marine Corps.
After graduation from boot camp, Ortiz was commissioned. Because of his experiences and language skills—French, German, Spanish and Arabic—he came to the attention of the major general commandant. “The rather unique experiences and qualifications of Lieutenant Ortiz indicate that he would be of exceptional value to American units operating in North Africa. It is suggested that [his] services be offered to the Army.…” He was also promoted to captain from second lieutenant and assigned to Tangier, Morocco, as the assistant naval attaché, under Col. William A. Eddy. During this assignment, Ortiz volunteered to lead a special operations group. In a memorandum for Gen. William J. Donovan, director of the Office of Strategic Services, he noted, “I was placed in command of a group of five Spaniards and a British radio operator to determine the enemy’s [German] armored strength.” Ortiz left his men in an observation post while he crept alone toward an enemy position. “It was an extremely dark night, still raining heavily, the visibility so poor that I could scarcely see bushes and trees a few yards away.”
Ortiz scouted several wadis until, “Suddenly, at very close range automatic weapons to my front and right opened fire on me. Before I could fall to the ground, a bullet had gone through my right hand and another had grazed my right leg. Rolling a few yards to my left … I could make out the dim silhouette of a vehicle … I managed to throw a Mills grenade but it fell short and had little effect. I then got in a well-aimed Petard Grenade. It exploded with a terrific blast and stopped the automatic weapon fire from the front and I heard excited shouts and cries of men in pain.” Ortiz managed to get away and make his way back to Algiers for medical attention. He was eventually returned to the United States. After recovery, he was assigned to the OSS Naval Command for duties in the Haute Savoie region in occupied France. The three-man Allied mission—Frenchman Pierre Fourcaud, British agent H. H. A. Thackthwaite, and Ortiz—code named Operation Union, was ordered to survey the strength and organization of the French Resistance, the maquis. In late May 1944, Ortiz was withdrawn to England for further assignment.
Union II
Ortiz proved as good at his word and within days the men reported to the London headquarters of the SOE. This was based at 64 Baker Street, and led to the SOE’s occasional nickname of “the Baker Street Ir
regulars,” after Sherlock Holmes’s fictional group of young helpers. It was also known as “Churchill’s Secret Army” or “The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare” because of the Prime Minister’s interest in its operations. Soon after arriving, the men learned they were going to be part of General Donovan’s new strategy of using heavily armed contingents known as an Operational Groups (OG) to take direct action against the Germans. Their mission was to assist the resistance, sabotage, seize key installations, and to prevent retreating German units from destroying them. Ortiz, code name “Chambellan,” was assigned to lead Marine Operational Group Union II, consisting of U.S. Army Air Corps intelligence officer Capt. Francis T. “Frank” Coolidge, codename “Aimant” (who served with Ortiz in the French Foreign Legion and would subsequently lead a team (Spaniel) in China), five Marines—LaSalle, Perry, Bodnar, Brunner, and Risler—and Joseph Arcelin, code named “Jo-Jo,” a representative of Gen. Charles de Gaulle’s French Forces of the Interior (FFI, Forces Françaises de l’Interieur). Arcelin, who did not speak a word of English, was given the false identity papers of a French-Canadian Marine named George Andrews.
Union II’s objective area was the Glières Plateau in the Haute Savoie region of southeastern France. The remote plateau was a natural landing area, very open, soft terrain and covered with pastures. Few roads traversed plateau, making it easier to defend against a road-bound armor and mechanized infantry attack. Starting in 1942, the plateau had become a mecca for the French resistance. A year later, the OSS/SOE estimated that over three thousand ill-trained and poorly-armed maquisards (resistance fighters) had assembled in the plateau’s vastness. In January 1944, Major Ortiz and two others were sent into the area to determine the maquisards’ military capabilities and requirements. As a result of their reconnaissance, tons of weapons, ammunition, and clothing were delivered, in one of the largest parachute drops of the war. In July 1944 the German army mounted a brutal offensive against the Glières Battalion, killing almost 150 and dispersing the organization.
In late July, the team received word that the mission was set for 1 August 1944. Each team member drew a .45 caliber pistol, a Winchester folding stock carbine, Fairbairn stiletto, maps of the objective area, and 50,000 French francs ($1,000) to pay for incidentals. Major Ortiz carried a suitcase containing a million francs for the resistance. They packed their personal equipment in a wire-reinforced canvas bag that was attached to a cargo chute. Risler noted that, “the night before we left, Major Ortiz paid for a going-away party at an exclusive restaurant … I could not help but reflect that this might be our ‘last supper.’” On Sunday, 30 July the team was taken to the RAF airfield at Knettishall and on Monday they made a practice jump from a B-17 from the 388th Bomb Group (Heavy), the same group they would use for the mission. OSS headquarters had decided that the team would be inserted as part of a massive supply drop by the 8th Air Force, code named Operation Buick.
Operation Buick
During the critical first weeks of the invasion of France, the Eighth Air Force’s 3rd Air Division diverted almost two hundred B-17s from the air campaign to maquis supply missions. For Operation Buick, three combat wings (4th, 13th, and 45th) consisting of thirty-nine B-17s each were assigned to drop on four targets. One wing went to the Chalonsur-Saône area; another wing dropped 451 containers west of Geneva; a third wing dropped 463 containers to the maquis in Savoie, and. finally, seventy-five B-17s, escorted by P-51s of the 359th Fighter Group (mission 179) delivered 899 containers to Haute Savoie. In all, 192 B-17s dropped 2,281 containers, at a cost of six planes slightly damaged.
Ortiz’s Union II team was part of the Haute Savoie drop. After an early breakfast, the team attended the aircrew briefing and then each boarded a separate aircraft. Risler remembered that, “The bombers took off at sixty-second intervals, climbed to seventeen thousand feet and formed into three formations, low, middle [the team flew in the middle formation], high. It took the B-17s an hour to gain formation and altitude.” As the formation neared the coast, the on-board Rebecca radar picked up the Eureka ground transponder, guiding them closer to the objective. Flying over Normandy, Risler said the weather was perfect: he could see barrage balloons and some flak bursts. North American P-51 Mustang fighters took station to escort them to the drop zone. The bombers reduced altitude to three thousand feet as drop zone Ebonite appeared. The lead pilot talked to a maquis over the S-phone—a radio-telephone for ground-to-air communications—with specific directions while decreasing altitude to four hundred feet for the drop. “The zone is clear, and the signal fires are burning,” the Frenchman reported. “The three signaling fires were built in equilateral triangles, prepared with old tires that were soaked with gasoline and tar.”
Risler thought they were “flying too low because I could see cows with bells around their necks! I felt the plane slow down and the waist gunner slapped me on the shoulder.” He pushed his jump bag through the rear exit hatch and then leaped out himself. “We were using the English parachute with a wire cable static line about 3/16 of an inch in diameter. I was worried that the cable would get wrapped around my arm or leg or form a kink and snap.” This happened to one of the jumpers. Sergeant Bodnar jumped from another aircraft. “We normally would jump at about one thousand feet. Because of the [terrain] limitations, we had to make this jump at four hundred feet,” he remembered. “As soon as we were out of the aircraft our chutes opened and the next thing I remember is I was on the ground. Boom! It happened that fast.” Risler thought the air speed must have exceeded 150 mph. “The B-17 pilots tried to slow the plane down, however they were afraid of the mountains. For this reason they lowered the landing flaps, which did reduce the air speed, but still had plenty of propeller rpm. This caused a bad propeller blast, plus they went to full power as soon as we left the aircraft.”
Risler hit the ground and was immediately embraced by a jubilant Frenchman. After freeing himself, he scrambled to find his equipment bag among the hundreds of containers that littered the ground. In all the 78 B-17s dropped 864 containers loaded with 1,096 Sten guns, 298 Bren automatic rifles, 1,350 Lee-Enfield rifles, 2,080 Mills anti-personnel grenades, 1,030 Gammon grenades, 260 automatic pistols, 51 P.I.S.T. antigun guns, 2 1/2 million rounds of ammunition, several tons of explosives, medical supplies, clothing, rations, bicycle tires, and chewing gum. A man ran up to Risler and frantically pointed to a group of men gathered around a still form lying on the ground. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he ran toward the group. He made his way through the men and discovered Sergeant Perry’s crumpled form. His parachute failed to deploy after the steel static line snapped six inches from the drogue. Without a reserve, there was nothing he could do to save himself. Minutes later he found out that Gunnery Sergeant LaSalle was also a casualty and barely mobile after badly wrenching his back in the jump. The mission was off to a very rough start.
The team spent the rest of the day assisting the maquis in gathering the widely dispersed weapons and equipment. Risler said, “By nightfall the plateau was well defended. Captain Jean Bulle, the maquis commander established road blocks and ambush sites around the drop zone. Fortunately the Germans did not react quickly. We found out later that they were waiting for reinforcements.” The next morning, Sergeant Perry was buried with full military honors. An altar of packing cylinders, decorated with red, white, and blue parachutes, was erected as a bier for the rough-hewn coffin. An honor guard of maquis stood in two ranks, while several dignitaries spoke of the “soldier who came from far away America to help us in the liberation of our country.” Local women had painstakingly sewn a homemade American flag which was buried with the Marine.
For the next several days the team instructed the maquis on the functioning and maintenance of the weapons and planning attacks on the Germans. Ortiz took the opportunity to inspect several of the resistance companies in the area. He was accompanied by Capt. Jean Bulle, the local maquis commander and legendary hero (He was later killed by the Germans while attempt
ing to negotiate a bloodless surrender. The SS shot and killed him and then dumped his body alongside the road.) “On the twelfth, we traveled in two cars as far south as we could,” Risler said, “to link-up with other resistance groups around the town of Beaufort. Gunnery Sergeant LaSalle was in such extreme pain that we left him with a priest in a mountain safe house.” The group set out by foot with their equipment and weapons. “We spent the night in a barn owned by a local resistance fighter. He gave us cheese, bread, and wine and refused payment. ‘It’s for France,’ he explained fervently.” The team did not realize at the time that a French spy had informed on them and the Germans were in hot pursuit.
Sergeant Brunner recalled that, “On 14 August we proceeded to Beaufort where we made contact with other F.F.I. [Forces Françaises de l’Interieur] companies and from there went on to Montgirod where we were told there were heavy concentrations of Germans. We were able to enter the town but had no sooner done so than we were heavily shelled by German batteries located in the hills around the city.”
Risler said that, “We reached the center of town when the shooting started. Four maquis that were with us were wounded, two seriously. When the Germans swarmed into town, we were forced to hide them in the parish church. Several houses were on fire as we retreated.” The team withdrew up a steep hill north of the village where they hid in the thick brush. After dark, they were able to make their way past the surrounding enemy positions. “It took us until almost mid-night to cross the Isere River and find a hiding place about a thousand yards from the small village of Longefoy.”
