Developing Elitism

Like most elite units across history, the airborne relied on three primary components—voluntarism, special selection criteria and training, and distinctive clothing and insignia—to attract the individuals required to fill its ranks. Would-be paratroopers first had to volunteer for airborne training. Many airborne volunteers were originally drafted into the army yet chose to join the paratroops once in the service. Seventeen officers and over two hundred enlisted personnel volunteered for the one platoon leader and forty-eight paratrooper positions available in the original 1940 test platoon. In August 1941, four hundred enlisted men volunteered to join the newly formed 503rd Parachute Infantry Battalion despite requiring a reduction in rank to private. Second Lieutenant Richard “Dick” Winters chose parachute infantry over armor because “they looked impressive, were physically fit, and demonstrated what I could only call a tolerant scorn for any soldier who was not airborne qualified. I wanted to be with the best, and paratroopers were the cream of the crop. I volunteered immediately to become a paratrooper.”⁶

Hand-selected recruiters traversed bases in the United States looking for volunteers who embodied the airborne ideal. Commanders designated men for this duty based on their fit appearance and ability to recruit like-minded volunteers from the various training bases that dotted the American landscape. Pfc. Vincent Speranza—a replacement in the 501st PIR after Operation Market Garden—described the airborne recruiters he saw as “magnificent men in sharp uniforms, brilliantly shined boots, and glittering silver wings on their chest.” Money was also an important incentive. Billy Pettit of the 511th PIR—a man who had never seen an airplane before—commented that when he inquired about the airborne, the sergeant replied, “I don’t know much about this paratrooper business, but they get $50 jump pay.” That was enough for Pettit to join. Many volunteers were attracted to the daredevil nature of the occupation and its distinctive symbols—a form of self-selection in which like-minded individuals already prone to dangerous behavior chose to join the paratroops. Money, prestige, testing oneself, and the prospect of excitement were significant motivating factors in finding the personnel required to fill parachute units. Young men struggling to live up to the new idealized wartime male image were enamored with the prospect of jumping from airplanes—even those who had never seen an airplane before.⁷

The training was too danger-prone for the army to assign men to parachute duty haphazardly—volunteers were required. This voluntarism became a fundamental distinguishing feature of the airborne regiments in an army of draftees. Just to volunteer, prospective paratroopers had to meet specific criteria. In addition to strict physical standards, paratroopers also had to score 110 or higher on the Army General Classification Test (AGCT), the same score required for those wishing to attend Officer Candidate School or enter the Army Air Forces. This test was designed to measure an inductee’s intelligence and determine the type of military occupational specialty an inductee was suitable for. Numerical scores were grouped into five classes. Class 1 represented the men of highest intelligence and Class 5 the lowest. All arms and services were supposed to receive a proportionate distribution of men from all five classes. While the rest of the army struggled with finding capable recruits, the airborne received preferential treatment because of “the special intricacy of their problems.” The army allowed airborne divisions to dismiss any soldiers who scored in Classes 4 and 5 on the AGCT, which gave airborne units a much higher percentage of Class 1 men than the average ground forces divisions. This policy allowed the airborne to keep only the smartest and best-qualified men and ensured special treatment in manpower policies.⁸

Qualifying to volunteer was only the beginning of separating the potential paratrooper from the ordinary soldier. Pvt. Kurt Gabel of the 513th PIR explained, “In my euphoria at having passed the magic score of 110, the first barrier to the exclusive club of the paratroops, I was in a little world of my own and lost what slight identification I had with my fellow draftees.” In addition to AGCT scores, prospective paratroops then had to meet stringent physical requirements: age between 21 and 32, no more than 185 pounds, and minimum visual acuity of 20/40 in each eye. Selections of volunteers were to be further screened at the unit level for “demonstrated soldierly qualities, agility, athletic ability, intelligence, initiative, determination, and daring.” These standards were higher than those for regular recruits—this was the next rung on the ladder separating these volunteers from the rest of the army. Paratroopers believed they were better because they met the standards for volunteering. The sheer number of volunteers enabled commanders to select only the most intelligent and fit men to form their units.⁹

Because the parachute troops were all volunteers, and commanders had the final say in staffing their units, voluntarism became another gate of entry. The initial doctrinal manual for airborne forces, Field Manual 31–30, directed that “where choice of volunteer personnel is possible, preference should be given to those of an active, agile type.” The 511th PIR, for example, included a timed run up Currahee Mountain (elevation 1,735 feet) at Camp Toccoa in Georgia to gauge hardiness for training. The regiment wanted fit, intelligent, and audacious men who could make split-second decisions, and it had the latitude to find them. Of 12,000 original volunteers, the 511th brought 2,176 from its basic training at Camp Toccoa to the Parachute School at Fort Benning. The experience of crafting the 506th PIR is likewise typical—5,800 volunteers for 2,000 positions. The 506th, according to William Guarnere, was whittled down to 1,500 enlisted men before they went to jump school, mostly owing to an inability to keep up with physical training. Underlying the entire course was basic psychology to dispel the fear of heights and translate that confidence into combat. Dick Winters understood how the training steeled his paratroopers’ hearts against the tragedy of death. “I don’t believe that, as paratroopers, we faced the shock of our first fatality to the degree that most outfits do in combat. Every paratrooper encounters the possibility of serious injury or death on every jump.” Physical exercise was for far more than just building muscles; it was used to build automatic responses—of the sort required to keep men alive on the drop zone and in combat.¹⁰

New paratroop recruits encountered psychological screening on arrival. The cadre asked volunteers to jump from the notorious thirty-four-foot training tower, dismissing any hesitant volunteer. The same was true for any exhibition of fear throughout their training. Jumping required soldiers to control their fears to accomplish their mission—just like in combat. Gabel described further opportunities to quit before the training intensified, and many did. For those regiments that began at Fort Benning rather than Camp Toccoa, “The Frying Pan” represented another selection process that would-be paratroopers experienced before assignment to their regiments. The Frying Pan was a training area so named for the hours of physical toil recruits spent there under the hot Georgia sun. After surviving his Frying Pan experience, Gabel and the 513th PIR then spent thirteen weeks in collective unit basic training before attending the Parachute School, a similar process to that of the regiments formed at Camp Toccoa.¹¹

Perhaps just as important as the training itself was the belief it was more challenging than that endured by other soldiers. Col. Mark Alexander, who commanded three separate battalions during the war, called jump school “some of the toughest physical training I have ever experienced.” The belief that one’s endurance was superior fostered an elitist attitude; whether it was elite or not was irrelevant. Donald Burgett remembered that during one of the morning runs “we kept going on and on without any sign of the break we were used to getting in the regular infantry.” Maj. Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway—commander of the 82nd Airborne Division—believed their training developed the men’s fighting spirit while conditioning them to championship boxer level. Its rigorous nature, high failure rates, and emphasis on physical fitness and mental toughness created cohesive fighting units that viewed themselves as different and superior to the rest of the army. The men who made it through selection and endured training believed this, as did their commanders.¹²

Ridgway found his way to the 82nd by assignment rather than volunteering. He had served alongside George Marshall in the War Plans Division in Washington, preparing for war with Japan or Germany throughout 1941. After Pearl Harbor, he waited patiently for word from Marshall about whether he would be given a troop command. At the time, he was a lieutenant colonel, but by January 1942 he was advanced to brigadier general and assigned as the assistant division commander for the 82nd Infantry Division under Maj. Gen. Omar Bradley. Bradley was reassigned to the 28th Infantry Division in June 1942, leaving Ridgway in charge. By August of that year he wore the two stars of a major general and was ordered to convert the unit into an airborne division. “My knowledge of airborne operations at that time was exactly nil,” Ridgway recalled, but he set about learning and turning his unit into a first-rate outfit. His leadership style—that he would never order his men to do anything he was unwilling to do himself—was well suited to help shape airborne culture.¹³

After completing their basic training, new paratroopers entered the Parachute School at Fort Benning. The Parachute School consisted of four lettered stages, A through D. Physical conditioning comprised most of stage A, but units that arrived at the Parachute School together generally skipped this requirement because their four-month-long basic training hardened their bodies more than a week at Fort Benning ever could. Stage B consisted of learning the basic techniques of how to tumble upon landing and how to manipulate the parachute risers to slip away from fellow jumpers or obstacles. The students then practiced the proper jump procedures, first from an airplane mockup and then the infamous thirty-four-foot tower. Stage C included more training from the thirty-four-foot tower but centered on using the 250-foot “free towers” installed at the center of Fort Benning. Inspired by similar towers constructed for the 1939 World’s Fair in New York City, the 250-foot towers allowed the prospective paratrooper to practice controlling his descent and make a proper parachute landing fall, all while receiving coaching from instructors. Stage D consisted of five jumps from a C-47 aircraft—the fourth jump introduced combat equipment, and the fifth and final jump was a nighttime operation with assembly by unit, as if in combat. After completing Stage D, the young paratroopers were awarded their coveted jump wings.¹⁴

The American airborne forces of World War II were known for distinctive uniform items. Jump boots, the baggy pants of their jumpsuits, jump wings, unit flashes behind those wings, and parachute patches on their garrison caps all designated the wearer as something special. Authorization for blousing their pants into their jump boots in dress uniform came in January 1941, followed by the parachute patch for wear on the overseas garrison cap. The silver parachutist wings, still awarded to Parachute School graduates to this day, were designed by test platoon member 1st Lt. William P. Yarborough in March 1941 and awarded a patent in 1942. Babe Heffron commented on the power of the jump wings when he noted that “your jump wings mean more than anything. You can have your Purple Heart or Bronze Star, but don’t ever take the jump wings.” The wings carried an almost mystical quality. Cargo-pocketed baggy pants tucked into high leather boots were borrowed from the German Fallschirmjäger uniform debuted in their 1940 operations in Norway and the Low Countries. Loose pants appeared in other elite units throughout history, such as French Zouaves and their predecessors, the Ottoman Janissaries. Looser pants can allow increased comfort and agility when moving; deep pockets provide more places to stow equipment on the jump or on the move. Like the airborne, Zouaves and Janissaries also enjoyed special status and prestige; all wore baggy pants to designate their differences. Unique uniforms—especially baggy pants—are integral to elite, specialized units throughout modern history.¹⁵

A distinctive two-piece jumpsuit, also designed by Yarborough, replaced earlier mechanics’ coveralls, and an earlier two-piece suit became the field uniform of choice in 1942. The uniform continued to evolve; cargo pockets were enhanced with reinforced stitching after the first combat jumps in 1942 and 1943. Yarborough also helped design the jump boots and create many airborne uniform elements, including oval-shaped wing backgrounds bearing regimental colors. At a time when regular infantrymen wore canvas gaiters around their lower legs that gave them a straight-leg appearance, paratroopers’ bloused boots created a distinctive look. A wartime survey from sociologist Samuel Stouffer showed that jump boots were the most iconic symbol of paratroopers. Stouffer’s team found in 1943 that “seventy-five percent of 500 interviewees noted the jump boot as the most distinguishing mark of the paratrooper. Ninety-five percent said the jump boots meant a great deal to them, and three-quarters who did not have them claimed they would pay over $16 per pair (approximately 1/3 of parachute pay) out of their pocket if they could.” The uniform, boots, and wings cemented the paratroopers’ image as different from ordinary soldiers—a critical component of elitism. The jump uniform, jump boots, and parachutist badge were tangible items that showed the rest of the army that the wearer was special. Maj. William “Bud” Miley—commander of the first parachute battalion—authorized each of these characteristic, recognizable group identifiers and awarded them to each paratrooper as he completed parachute training.¹⁶

Francis Sampson, regimental chaplain for the 501st PIR, described the transformation into arrogant, egotistical paratroopers after parachute training: “We then hastened to acquire the overbearing mannerisms and obnoxious characteristics of pre-combat paratroopers.” As could be expected, cocksure paratroopers caused problems at the various training bases and towns in which they found themselves around the country. In places like Columbus, Georgia, and Fayetteville, North Carolina, fights broke out between paratroopers and any of the myriad nonparatroopers around the base. Anytime a military policeman arrested a paratrooper for being drunk, out of uniform, fighting, or destroying private property in an off-post bar, more brawling could ensue. Even the army’s highest-level commanders noticed arrogance emanating from parachute regiments. At a Washington press conference on paratroopers, Lt. Gen. Lesley J. McNair, commander of Army Ground Forces, remarked, “They [the paratroopers] … are our problem children. They make a lot of money, and they know they’re good. This makes them a little temperamental, but they’re great soldiers.” Gavin agreed it was better to learn to live with the problem and “tolerate a certain amount of their misbehavior but have guys who were really capable fighters and confident and proud.” Putting up with boisterous behavior was one risk associated with creating units that believed themselves better than anyone else.¹⁷

Drinking beer and singing macabre songs were some of the paratrooper’s favorite pastimes. Bob Bearden of the 507th Parachute Infantry marveled at how his instructors drank all night in Columbus or nearby Phenix City, Alabama. They still led recruits on early morning five-mile runs, “barking commands all the way.” A peculiar, ritualistic tradition known as the prop blast served as another practice for building cohesion among the units’ officer corps. The 501st Parachute Infantry Battalion, commanded by Miley, started the tradition by holding the first ceremony. Beginning with the battalion commander and then in descending rank order, each blastee drank a concoction of vodka, lemon juice, sugar, and champagne out of a 75mm casing with two ripcord handles welded on either side, which became known as the Miley Mug. Each officer climbed onto a chair, jumped, and attempted to perform a satisfactory parachute landing fall. The blastee then jumped to his feet and downed the contents of the mug while the other officers counted “one-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand” as on a jump. The blastee was supposed to finish during the count or face a penalty of more drink. The dangerous nature of parachuting encouraged other forms of cynical humor, inspiring memorable ballads such as “Beautiful Streamer,” set to the tune of Bing Cosby’s 1940 rendition of Stephen Foster’s “Beautiful Dreamer,” and the perennial favorite, “Blood on the Risers,” set to the tune of “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”¹⁸

Even leaving a parachute unit was a ritualized experience. In the 506th PIR, each soon-to-be-former unit member had his patches ripped off and was forced to un-blouse his boots and change into regular infantry shoes before marching off. A drummer maintained a slow, ominous roll with his drumsticks and snare drum throughout this morose ceremony. The result of this ritual was unmistakable—the regiment experienced fewer problems with discipline, particularly late returnees from furlough. Other regiments simply insinuated that tardiness meant removal from the paratroops. Being a member of the airborne was so revered and held in such high esteem that members of this fraternity were reluctant to leave their unit at any cost—especially if that meant letting down the cohesive teams they had spent months building.¹⁹

The Airborne Command’s emphasis on voluntarism, special selection and training, and distinctive insignia served to create a highly motivated group with confidence in self and collective efficacy. Ridgway understood the importance of molding units during this time, especially the power of symbols and unit pride: “Little things can help greatly, guidons [unit flags], signs in your areas, letterheads on your official papers,” and other ephemera stressed to individuals their place in the larger organization, thus deepening pride in their unit. Yet simply believing in their superiority was as essential as any other facet of the paratrooper mystique. This belief produced an enhanced sense of importance, that these men and their unit could handle anything that came their way. For a group that would soon have to jump into enemy-held territory and regard isolation as a normal battlefield condition, believing in their collective elitism was critical to mission success.²⁰

Flexible, Innovative, and Adaptive Leadership

Airborne operations required immense flexibility and improvisation, often more than other military operations. The ability to innovate and respond to changing conditions was paramount to success. Furthermore, this tenet, alongside the inherent lightness of airborne divisions (fewer men and less equipment, firepower, and transportation), helped breed an expeditionary mindset comfortable responding to various contingencies. Leaders stressed to their men that they would endure more significant hardships than regular infantrymen and therefore had to excel at everything asked of them. Flexibility became an integral part of the airborne’s capabilities. Paratroopers were supposed to meet the enemy in any direction immediately upon landing; the vital need for resilience and adaptability meant that every unit, from the squad to regiment, needed to be as self-sufficient as possible.²¹

Division structures were thus organized to achieve maximum flexibility. The airborne division was never considered a true division but rather a headquarters structure to command regiments and other forces as needed. Deliberate training for flexibility emphasized capabilities needed on the drop zone that were often outside the regular infantryman’s scope. While airborne divisions were designed lighter than regular infantry divisions, the creation of actual divisions did not occur until 1942, as most commanders viewed parachute units as enhanced commandos with parachute capability. A parachute infantry platoon originally consisted of two maneuver squads, unlike the three in a regular infantry platoon. Glider infantry regiments had only two battalions, compared to the three in all other infantry regiments—including parachute regiments. Fire support and transportation assets were likewise far fewer. The division consisted of 8,600 personnel, compared to the roughly 14,000 in a standard infantry division. This overall streamlining effect forced commanders to consider how and when to apply their forces and for how long, even during training. With so few personnel, sustained combat operations were impossible, especially in unit structures requiring specially trained volunteers.²²

Training inculcated flexibility to prepare for battlefield conditions, and shortages in training equipment further reinforced this. A significant factor compounding training problems came from the Army Air Forces’ inability to provide adequate transport aircraft for training. Lend-Lease and the burgeoning airplane industry pulled pilots and airframes to all corners of the globe, leaving aircraft and pilots for parachute training in short supply. The independent-minded Air Forces also preferred to focus efforts on equipment that might prove their worth as a separate service, requisitioning larger numbers of bombers and fighters—pilots and aircraft—than less-exciting transport planes. The shortage of planes hamstrung the growth of a new branch whose very existence depended on parachuting from flying aircraft. Aircraft shortages continued well into the airborne concept’s development as the 501st Parachute Battalion trained with only twelve aircraft through the entirety of 1941. Each C-47 carried a maximum of twenty-eight paratroopers, so there was not enough capacity for the entire battalion. The largest drops could carry two companies with attached enablers—if there were no aircraft maintenance issues. According to the Combined Chiefs of Staff in April 1942, the army had only seventeen aircraft available for airborne training and made plans to requisition all civilian airplanes in the United States to carry out future airborne operations in Europe.²³

Under these circumstances, the Army Ground Forces commander, Gen. Lesley J. McNair, did not see the need for more than a handful of mass tactical airborne operations in training before sending units overseas. Problematic combat jumps in Sicily and Italy revealed the error in McNair’s thinking. Shortages in the number of gliders available for training were even more problematic and played a significant role in reorganizing airborne divisions’ structure. Indicative of a country shifting from a peacetime to a wartime economy, shortages extended throughout the fledgling airborne experiment, from parachutes to radios, living quarters to training facilities, and even ammunition. The need for equipment became so acute that the original test platoon and subsequent classes wore modified football helmets and practiced landings by jumping out of the back of troop trucks while they drove fifteen miles per hour down dirt roads. Proper parachutist training equipment did not yet exist, and commanders learned to make do with what they had.²⁴

Despite the lack of resources and equipment, airborne soldiers needed to continue to train and develop flexibility to handle their potential battlefield conditions. To help meet this goal, training plans included increased attention to weapons proficiency across the platoon and company levels. In the regular infantry, crew-served weapons such as machine guns and mortars were used by designated personnel. In the paratroops, every man was required to understand and operate those complex weapons to offset the impact of casualties and dispersal. The first official doctrine concerning airborne operations, Field Manual 31–30, emphasized the difference between training regular and parachute infantry units of all levels: “Unit training of parachute troops closely approximates that of rifle regiment of comparable size. It differs principally in that all parachutists must be qualified to handle all platoon weapons… . In addition, parachute troops must be trained in executing demolitions.” Gavin noted that the “problems were without precedent. Individuals had to be capable of fighting at once against any opposition they met on landing… . We had to train our individuals to fight for hours and days, if necessary, without being part of a formal organization.” This attitude emphasized empowering subordinates who understood they must solve each problem at the lowest echelon. These men were highly qualified infantry prepared to fight with minimum support while surrounded by enemy forces. This mindset undergirded every aspect of airborne training.²⁵

Creating flexible paratroopers was the natural byproduct of tough and realistic preparations. Hands-on field training followed every classroom block of instruction as the training cadre accounted for every minute; there was no time to spare in preparing these men for combat. In a training memorandum from Airborne Command to the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, the higher headquarters stipulated that “all individuals will be conditioned to withstand extreme fatigue, loss of sleep, limited rations, and existence in the field with only the equipment that can be carried by parachute, glider, or transport aircraft.” Gabel registered these techniques’ effects, noting that their experiences made his unit feel that they “were already veterans” by the time they entered combat. Spencer Wurst of the 507th PIR remarked that his unit “did more shooting on tactical problems than the regular infantry.” He also commented that they concentrated more on difficult night training than other infantry units.²⁶

The same memorandum from Airborne Command also reminded airborne leaders that “all units will be prepared to either enter combat immediately on landing or move promptly by marching against an objective.” Donald Burgett, a machine gunner in the 506th PIR, noted the cumulative effect of his training and its role in preparing him to meet the enemy in combat: “The rules were simple: operate with automatic efficiency as the result of a deliberate process of manipulation.” Commanders and planners knew ahead of time that flexibility on the battlefield was necessary for successful units and acted with this in mind through every step of their training regimens. Flexibility was integral to the airborne experiment from its inception in 1940 throughout the war and beyond. Maintaining a lighter unit structure in a unit that stressed versatility, adaptability, and air transportability bred an expeditionary ethos that ensured airborne units were prepared to respond to crises.²⁷

Improvisation, innovation, and an ability to adapt to changing situations were hallmarks of the airborne mindset during World War II. Pioneering a novel way of warfare attracted innovative minds, the same sort of minds that would find ways to transform the military wherever they went. Leaders who exhibited a penchant for new ideas in a parochial and static interwar army—one still teaching horsemanship to officers at the onset of war—found a home in Airborne Command. As the head of the unit, William C. Lee encouraged innovation. Small-group tactics and the potential for scattered drops required troopers at all echelons, from squad to division, who were comfortable improvising and adapting to the situation at hand—often forming ad hoc small units. This ability to fight in what became known as LGOPs—little groups of paratroopers—became a trademark of airborne soldiers throughout the war and continues to undergird airborne culture into the twenty-first century.²⁸

In 1941, James Gavin, a captain teaching at West Point, had difficulty persuading the academy to release him for airborne training, so he wrote to the test platoon leader William T. Ryder for help. Ryder’s response emphasized the need for progressive, innovative officers in the airborne. “I know that you will like the [parachute] service, because there is nothing to this jumping out of an airplane, and there is a great need for ideas,” Ryder wrote. “We are still suffering from growing pains, and if there was ever a place in the Army where people were willing to listen to your ideas—this is it! The older officers are always willing to listen to the jumping officers’ point of view.” Ryder helped bring Gavin to the paratroops, persuading Lee to ask the army to override West Point’s decision. That young officers had the forum to express opinions and test new ideas represented a shift in mindset for a hierarchical organization like the US Army. Perhaps no one exhibited more innovative savvy than Gavin, who upon being assigned as the Provisional Parachute Group S-3 operations officer proceeded to write the first manual for airborne operations, Field Manual 31–30, Tactics and Technique of Air-borne Troops, based on his knowledge of Soviet and German doctrine.²⁹

Maxwell Taylor, in contrast, was not an enthusiastic paratrooper. Yet he found himself the beneficiary of working for Gen. George Marshall in 1942. After Joseph Stilwell requested his services in the China-Burma-India theater (Taylor spoke fluent Japanese), Marshall approved Ridgway’s request for Taylor to serve as his division chief of staff instead. Taylor found most paratroop officers overly enamored with jumping and too quick to excuse rowdy, undisciplined behavior. Rather than the hundreds of jumps logged by other officers, he made no more than six in his entire career, two of which were combat jumps. “I viewed the parachute strictly as a vehicle to ride to the battle, to be used only when a better ride was not available.” In this regard, Taylor was an opportunist who was requested by name and made the most of his service in the airborne.³⁰

Leaders willing to share every hardship with their men are often an elusive ideal. Stories abound of poor leaders throughout all units, including the airborne. Nevertheless, leading from the front was a requirement, as paratroop officers always led their men out of the jump door; standard operating procedures dictated that officers jump first. Commanders used this ideal to promote and showcase the leadership necessary for bolstering the leader’s image and capacity to maintain control and respect under fire. Furthermore, because they needed to fight in a dispersed manner after landing, airborne units required “prompt, decisive, and intelligent leadership,” as outlined in the field manual. More so than anywhere else, leaders in the airborne were required to embody the ideal they expected of their men. Airborne officers were always with their men and sharing their hardships. Of course, this is not unique to airborne units; examples of dynamic leadership abound in regular combat arms formations. The difference is that airborne regiments sought to attract men who exhibited these traits, while also cultivating dynamic and inspired leadership from within the ranks.³¹

Having leaders who had earned their men’s respect was critical to success in the sort of desperate situations paratroops might find themselves. “They were leaders from the general on down,” Pvt. Irvin Seelye of the 505th PIR recalled decades later. Taylor tells the story of a chaplain assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division who had problems understanding his unique flock. The chaplain all but begged Taylor for a chance to prove himself by attending the Parachute School. Taylor relented. “I let him go to parachute school and he came back a changed man. Henceforth, he was one of the boys, and they accepted him as such… . Throughout the war, he was a tower of spiritual strength among the men.” This sort of front-line leadership was crucial to engender mutual trust within individual units. Samuel Stouffer’s survey found that the best, most-respected officers were those who were “always with [their] men in combat and led by personal example,” yet the researchers also found that 75 percent of enlisted respondents agreed “that most officers are more interested in getting promoted than in doing a good job.” To be sure, many airborne officers also suffered from this lure, though airborne units generally proved the exception. The division commander and a private first class might find themselves alone on a drop zone in the middle of the night, and it is for this reason that everyone had to meet the same standard, and why leaders led with conviction. This trained-for tenet separated the airborne from the rest of the infantry.³²

The press noticed, too, and reported that paratroopers possessed a close-knit identity forged in a communal crucible unique to their profession. “Everybody in a parachute outfit jumps, the chaplain, the doctors, the adjutant and the cooks and the K.P.’s and the clerks,” the journalist Marshall Andrews reported. The reason for this was simple: if everyone was not a parachutist, “a hard-boiled paratrooper might not show the respect and confidence a doctor or a chaplain deserves.” The Chicago Tribune correspondent Jack Thompson noticed as well: “The morale of these young troops is excellent. One of the reasons for this is the close association of officers and men. All get identical training. They jump together and every soldier knows that whatever he has been asked to do, every officer can do. They share the same rations and, in the field, live under identical conditions.” Even the public relations officers trained like infantrymen—every man was supposed to jump into combat.³³

Owing to the heightened sense of occupational danger, leaders understood that unit cohesion and control hinged on reinforcing their capability to endure whatever their men endured. While preparing to become the 82nd Airborne Division’s chief of staff, Taylor realized that to control this rowdy bunch of paratroopers who thought they were better than everyone else meant that he and the rest of their new leaders needed to jump, too. “It was apparent to us visitors that if we were to impose our authority and the discipline needed on these troops,” Taylor wrote in his memoir, “the first thing to do was to get a parachute jump to our credit.” Officers also shared the load on long marches, often carrying machine guns or mortar tubes; the men’s welfare became their top priority, and by and large airborne leaders demonstrated this to their units. Paratroopers knew they could trust their officers. Even during parachute training, “we had the officers jump out first,” Andrew Carrico of the 511th PIR recalled, “so, it is up to the officer to show you weren’t afraid.” Sometimes, to reinforce the importance of leadership by example, the platoon leader was relieved alongside his soldier if a trooper failed to jump.³⁴

Airborne units carried the expectation of independent operations far from higher headquarters, in a mindset that persisted from division to squad level. Trust in leadership was critical for building and maintaining esprit de corps for the airborne. Leaders knew they had to “be quite willing to do anything you asked them to do” and do it better than the men. Leaders stressed the need for innovative personnel flexible enough to train despite equipment shortages; they also recognized the need to balance cohesiveness with individual thinkers prepared for decentralized operations. Recent psychological studies have vindicated the efficacy of this kind of training in developing leadership traits. Identification with and faith in the larger organization are essential for what sociologists call vertical bonding or hierarchical cohesion. In the military, this concept equates to pride in one’s larger organization above the primary group, and soldiers often identify with multiple levels, such as their battalion or regiment. In World War II, however, divisional loyalty was common in the US Army owing to identifiable division patches on each soldier’s left shoulder. This concept was enhanced in airborne units as a result of the unique elitism bred within the organization, the distinctive uniform items, and trust in leaders up and down the chain of command.³⁵

Individualism, Decentralization, and Cohesion

Operating in small units far from friendly support posed a real challenge to paratroopers in World War II. Jumping behind enemy positions, with the subsequent need for small units and individuals to operate independently, was new for an army still mired in close-order drill. During the beginning of the airborne project, leaders realized a need to break from the norm, taking measures to stress the individual paratrooper’s importance. The reality of airborne operations practically guaranteed that even the most accurate drop would scatter troopers over a wide area, forcing small groups to fight for days as independent, ad hoc units. Therefore, Airborne Command stressed its units’ ability to operate in a decentralized fashion, with a doctrinal requirement to “be prepared to either enter combat immediately on landing or move promptly by marching against an objective.” To prepare for this eventuality, leaders gambled that emphasizing the individual would enhance the group’s overall efficacy, which paid off with immense success in combat.³⁶

Because every member of a parachute unit, from commander to private, might find himself in the same situation—scattered and with only small groups forming a command—following their jump, every member of the unit needed to think of himself as a self-sufficient actor on the battlefield. All paratroopers needed to understand the mission and their role in achieving their objectives. Young officers in airborne units thus promoted individuality and found success when leading isolated small units—sometimes without formal leadership—and often with men from adjacent units. The initial field manual stressed such an eventuality, stating that every member of the parachute force “must seek decisive action immediately upon landing. Success depends largely upon rapid execution of missions assigned to subordinate units,” and “failure of one of the smaller units to accomplish its mission may mean defeat of the entire parachute command involved.” This reality represented a unique problem; while most infantry units arrive at the battlefield intact and disperse when the fighting commences, parachute units enter the battlefield even more dispersed and had to come together under fire.³⁷

In his memoir, Gavin elaborates on how airborne leaders sought to emphasize individualism. He recognized the unique nature of the issue, writing that all the problems he and his fellow officers were trying to solve “brought into sharp focus the most important problem of all—how to train the individual paratrooper.” Gavin and his contemporaries understood that paratroopers sometimes had to fight on their own for days (or even weeks) and thus needed a strong, independent mentality. As one of Gavin’s subordinate battalion commanders later wrote, “The last thing he wanted was a regiment of automatons who did not act until told to do so. This applied from the top all the way down to the lowest private.” In a relatively small but important move, Gavin and his fellow airborne leaders emphasized self-sufficiency by pioneering name tags on the uniform—something antithetical to most military units’ standard operating procedures that stressed uniformity. Previously, armies had relied on close-order drill to build and maintain cohesion. This is also not to say that drills and ceremonies no longer had a place in military training—even in the airborne. Marching and running together, in formation, continued to serve as building blocks for training the whole and proved essential to creating cohesive units later.³⁸

Gavin’s ideas surrounding individualism had a threefold impact. First, they stressed airborne distinction—regular infantry had not yet adopted name tags. Second, they taught individual paratroopers that they were superior and capable of anything asked of them. Third, Gavin reinforced the need for soldiers on the battlefield to think for themselves. Leaders encouraged paratroopers to articulate their tactical opinions and try new ideas. Critical thinking about leadership and understanding the mission helped junior leaders take charge when senior leaders were absent or became casualties. For Gavin, this was one of the great successes of stressing individuality. In his memoir, he wrote that “there were many occasions in combat when the paratroopers were mixed up with regular ground formations, and paratrooper officers and NCOs effectively took over the command of larger formations of other units. Aside from the impact of this type of training on airborne formations themselves, it had a tremendous significance to the army as a whole.”³⁹

The balance between individualism and discipline has been a routine problem in Western militaries since the creation of light infantry in the seventeenth century. The French revolutionary-era Armée du Nord of the late eighteenth century emphasized the individual in developing tirailleurs (skirmishers). Achieving compliance in individual soldiers without close supervision and coercion became possible thanks to French nationalism and a belief in the cause. The tirailleur, in turn, relied on the confidence he had in his comrades—something that could only develop through time and experience. This trend continued in the United States as well. By the end of the nineteenth century, American trainers placed increasing emphasis on skirmish formations. During the 1880s and 1890s, the US Army abandoned stifling linear tactics and tedious drills to enhance the individuality of junior soldiers and leadership of noncommissioned and junior officers in the field. The German Stroßtruppen of the First World War represents another evolution in the decentralization of infantry combat and reliance on junior leaders and individual squad movement. Tasked as they were with infiltration behind enemy lines as rapidly as possible, reliance on a keen understanding of the mission and the independence to act within that intent prioritized decision-making at the lowest tactical level, which was necessary to ensure their ability to exploit an advantage gained.⁴⁰ Since the advent of firearms, the infantryman has been undergoing an evolution of tactical individualism on the battlefield. By World War II, all infantry could fight as light infantry, and the airborne represented the apotheosis of this centuries-long trend. Airborne forces emphasized individuality, dispersed operations, a light equipment footprint, weapons expertise, junior leadership, and athleticism. The primary difference was how airborne units emphasized these traits to mitigate the unique battlefield condition of starting dispersed resulting from arrival by parachute behind the enemy’s lines.⁴¹

When faced with an entrenched enemy, taking the initiative and carrying it through to an objective could help smaller units maintain a psychological advantage over their adversaries. One way to train that principle included rotating people in leadership positions during exercises. In contrast to those in airborne unit training, many regular infantrymen lacked initiative or aggressiveness in combat, reflecting bureaucratized training regimens that emphasized overbearing leadership. In the 506th PIR, Bill Guarnere noted, “the kids took turns being an officer or a sergeant out in the field—they tried to prepare everyone to take over if you had to.” Of course, this was a reality in any combat unit, but parachute units trained for that eventuality. Because units rarely realized who was a casualty until days into the operation, taking charge of larger units was a critical capability practiced in airborne units.⁴²

Airborne leaders, of course, could not focus purely on battlefield autonomy and individualism. Squad-size training and small-unit tactics were another trademark of the training process, also steeped in the reality of potential dispersal behind enemy lines. Recognizing the importance of small units for overall mission success, Field Manual 31–30 stated, “When operating as part of a larger unit, the missions of the parachute squad are substantially the same as those for any other infantry squad. However, the parachute squad usually is given much greater freedom of action than the infantry squad and may act independently.” To meet these requirements, battalion commanders such as Richard Seitz of 2nd Battalion, 517th PIR, stressed that “the attention to squad and section training was considered important because when the squad or jump stick hit the ground after the jump, they would be the first and only group with immediate tactical or unit integrity. They would be required to fight independently during the initial phase of action. All parachute units accepted this doctrine.” Squad-level training is the benchmark for any combat organization. Still, it is essential for airborne units that will find themselves in ad hoc squads made of members from across their regiment or divisions.⁴³

The training schedule issued to parachute infantry battalions accordingly emphasized small units. After thirteen weeks of basic training, fourteen weeks were dedicated to squad, platoon, and company training, while the battalion training phase lasted two weeks. (Of course, wartime constraints played a vital role in this truncated training schedule.) Henry Langrehr recalled the necessary emphasis: “So much of my training, and [that of] the rest of the units, centered around what we called small group tactics in the army. We learned to engage the enemy in multiple ways, usually without support… . I was expected to be able to do it for days and even weeks, if necessary, without an officer or even a sergeant directing me. Heady stuff for a nineteen-year-old.”⁴⁴

These ideas were unorthodox in the army of the early 1940s. Army-wide efforts focused on battalion-and-above collective training in preparing infantry divisions for combat. Infantry divisions trained from squad to regiment over eleven weeks, with a second eleven-week period focused on combined-arms training above the regimental level—a full five fewer weeks of unit training. The most important factor in training (and combat) was leadership, and most divisions at least reached an acceptable level of proficiency despite less focus on small-unit training than airborne units. Those leaders who emphasized training below the battalion level found their units more effective than those who did not. Airborne leaders understood that they were asking their paratroopers to exhibit abilities usually reserved for commandos and special-mission units trained to perform reconnaissance or demolition raids. Leaders expected their men to succeed in the most desperate situations by stressing the individual’s capability. The division yearbook noted, “There can be no such animal as a typical parachutist. Every 82nd Airborne trooper is by the nature of his mode of warfare an individualist of the first rank.”⁴⁵ This training regimen instilled in each trooper the belief that he would succeed in dire circumstances. It might seem antithetical that training individualism might foster cohesion, but that was precisely the net effect. From the beginning of their training, paratroopers understood that they were volunteering for something hazardous. The skills and confidence developed from proving themselves worthy of inclusion were influential in fostering collective confidence in their and their unit’s ability to survive and even succeed in combat.

Military skills like shooting and maneuvering were essential, but the relationships developed and cohesion engendered in their training yielded strong primary group ties among airborne soldiers as they completed what they believed was tougher schooling than any other army unit. And as Gabel remembered, “morale and motivation continued to grow as our confidence increased.” Motivation, morale, and confidence grew from knowing the men with whom they were soon to be fighting alongside. “We were a family, way before we hit the battlefield,” remembered Guarnere. Richard Eaton, a member of the 517th PIR, remarked that the isolation of training “in the hinterlands of Georgia and North Carolina undoubtedly contributed to the esprit that developed.” Even regimental and battalion staffs stressed group cohesion. And confronting the shared danger of jumping imbued these units with cohesion, which played an instrumental role in setting them apart from regular units.⁴⁶

Cohesion in airborne units was built through shared hardship and performance. Members of units unite during training toward a shared common goal. This execution of collective practices cemented bonds that felt very much like personal affection but were highly utilitarian. The adversity experienced in training—emphasized by the life-and-death situation of jumping out of airplanes—built group ties before the experience of combat, whereas most regular infantrymen built these ties during combat. As much as jumping played a key role, unit precombat training regimens proved critical to building esprit de corps. Jumping and training together meant that, despite high casualty rates, paratroopers experienced lower neuropsychiatric casualty rates during the war—about half when compared to regular infantry divisions.⁴⁷

The division, with its distinctive patch or unit insignia, is often cited as the most important echelon with which soldiers identified during World War II. For paratroopers, airborne wings and distinctive uniforms combined with divisional patches to help cement group identity. While every unit in the army experienced unit esprit and cohesion in one way, shape, or form, this comradeship was a degree stronger in airborne units and resulted from a training program designed to create an elite group that expects to fight isolated in enemy-held territory and launch coordinated assaults on objectives within hours of landing.⁴⁸

“There was a powerful feeling of comradeship,” recalled John Magill. “In some cases, when it was in the States, it would get a little bit out of hand as our division commanders would sometimes have to clamp down in terms of behavior in town and that stuff. But it was a very, very strong feeling of esprit de corps and being among the best.” Chaplain Francis L. Sampson, a recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions in Normandy, noted the bonding that airborne school fostered. “We sensed, too, that our mutual experience really made us brothers in the airborne family,” he wrote in his memoir. Sampson made a significant point that this experience was more extensive than merely the platoon, company, or even regiment—paratroopers felt a bond with the entire airborne community. Jack Nix of the 505th PIR, however, noticed that this inseparable bond between airborne soldiers created a degree of vanity, which he found to be a useful attribute that made these men unwilling to succumb to defeat even when outnumbered or outgunned in their forthcoming battles.⁴⁹

During World War II, the US Army created a new, elite subculture within the service and, through training, imbued it with distinctive values, beliefs, and norms that maintained and enhanced the light infantry mindset upon which airborne culture was erected. Throughout their entire course of instruction, paratroopers endured planned psychological conditioning that convinced them they were “pretty much a super-soldier, mentally and physically.” Elitism, flexibility, innovation, decentralization, individuality, and robust leadership created a cohesive force ready for any mission. Some problems arose, including hoarding the most capable leaders in airborne units rather than spreading them around the force. Another problem involved paratroopers treating non-airborne soldiers as inferior, which could lead to fights, especially when fueled by alcohol. However, the army would assume the risk associated with elite units for a return on their investment in the form of increased combat performance. Of course, that is what leaders hoped. The doctrine would still need to be tested in combat.⁵⁰

The values, beliefs, and norms that began percolating in the Parachute Test Platoon of 1940 permeated the entire airborne community. Every newly formed battalion, regiment, or division included trainers drawn from previously created units. Nearly every parachutist passed through the Parachute School at Fort Benning, while those who did not took the same training at other locations. Airborne training was a toughening ordeal that established the paratrooper’s courage in the face of danger before entering combat. It also created a new ideal combat leader where “even generals … had to be flat-stomached and young.” This ideal had lasting consequences for the postwar army.⁵¹

The first American parachute unit to face the enemy entered combat on November 9, 1942, spearheading Operation Torch, the Allied invasion of Vichy French North Africa. The first regimental-size operation did not occur until July 1943, when the 505th Parachute Regimental Combat Team jumped into Sicily as the vanguard of Operation Husky. American paratroopers performed sixteen parachute operations of varying success between November 1942 and June 1945 as the war continued. The paratroopers acquitted themselves well, and their abilities as regular infantrymen often overshadowed their proficiency as parachutists in both the European and Pacific theaters. Their exceptional performance and the shortage of regular infantry meant that commanders continued placing airborne forces in combat longer than intended, especially during and after the summer of 1944. Their reputation then grew to almost mythical proportions during the final year of World War II.

Meanwhile, at the training bases of the American South, an intense mystique emerged surrounding US paratroopers. Fort Benning served as both incubator and crucible for forward-thinking leaders encouraged by general officers to test new ideas and develop distinct fighting behaviors. Thanks to this effort, paratroopers captured the American public’s imagination. From their first prominent feature in Life magazine, paratroopers became the US Army’s poster children. It was glamorous to “hit the silk.” A recruiting poster for the post-Vietnam Special Forces—in part cultural descendants of World War II–era paratroopers—proclaimed that “men join us not because we are different, but because they are.” The same was true for the parachute units of World War II, and their test in combat would reinforce a burgeoning airborne culture.⁵²