Within days of their meeting, Risler and Ortiz were back in London at the Baker Street headquarters of the Special Operations Executive, the OSS’s British counterpart, planning for Ortiz’s next mission, code-named “Union II.” The remainder of the team of OSS volunteers consisted of fellow Marines Gunnery Sergeant Robert La Salle and Sergeants Charles Perry, John P. Bodnar and Frederick J. Brunner; Ortiz’s second-in-command, U.S. Army Air Forces Captain Frank Coolidge, who had served with Ortiz in the Foreign Legion in the 1930s; and a Free French officer, Joseph Arcelin. The Frenchman assumed the identity of a French-Canadian Marine named George Andrews, even though he did not speak English.

As with Ortiz’s first mission, the team’s destination would be the Vercors Plateau in the Haute Savoie region, and the large force of French Resistance fighters in hiding there. The Haute Savoie was a natural fortress, 3,000 feet above sea level, 30 miles long and 12 miles wide, broken by deep gorges and a series of long, high ridges. Few roads traversed the mastiff, making it easier to defend against roadbound armor and mechanized infantry.

A key part of the Union II mission was to be a large supply drop, using 78 Boeing B-17Gs of the Eighth Air Force’s 388th Bombardment Group (Heavy). The Flying Fortresses would carry approximately 900 Type C cargo containers — each a cylinder roughly 6 feet long and 3 feet in diameter — packed with weapons, ammunition, explosives, medical supplies, clothing and rations, making Union II one of the largest equipment drops of World War II.

Ortiz’s team drew equipment and weapons — a .45-caliber pistol and a Winchester folding stock carbine, a Fairbairn-Sykes stiletto and maps of the objective area for each man. Most of their personal equipment was packed in a wire-reinforced canvas bag that was attached to a cargo chute. Each man carried 50,000 French francs and a small hip flask of “medici­nal” cognac. Ortiz also carried 1 million francs to hand over to the Maquis.

On August 1, the men attended the aircrew briefing at Knettershall Airfield and then boarded the aircraft — each in a separate plane. The bombers took off at 60-second intervals, climbed to an altitude of 17,000 feet and then moved into three formations staggered by altitude — high, middle and low — with the jumpers in the middle formation.

It was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky, and as the team crossed the French coast and picked up its North American P-51D Mustang fighter escorts, Risler could see fighting — barrage balloons and some flak — in Normandy below. As the drop zone appeared, the bombers reduced altitude to 3,000 feet. On the ground, a French Resistance fighter was helping direct the lead pilot using an S-phone — a radio­telephone for ground-to-air communications — while signal fires marking the DZ were burning.

When they neared the DZ, Risler realized with a jolt that they were flying low enough for him to be able to see not only the cattle grazing beneath them but also the bells the bovines were wearing around their necks. Still, when the waist gunner got the word and slapped Risler on the shoulder, signaling they were over the drop zone, the Marine didn’t hesi­tate. He jumped headfirst through the small rear hatch and followed his equipment bag into the turbulent slipstream.

At a jump altitude of only about 400 feet, the ground rushed up at Risler with alarming speed. He spent less than 30 seconds in the air before hitting the ground — hard. Risler leaped to his feet, smacked the quick-release cylinder in the middle of his chest and rotated it a quarter of a turn. As he struggled to shed the harness, a scruffily dressed Resistance fighter grabbed him in a bear hug and, before the Marine could react, planted a kiss on both cheeks. Hell of a reception for a combat jump, Risler thought to himself, but all in all, better than a German bayonet!

Scrambling to find his equipment bag, Risler noticed several men about 50 feet away gathered around a still form lying on the ground. It was Sergeant Charles Perry, who had died on impact. His parachute had malfunctioned: His static line had snapped six inches from the transport steel cable. Without a reserve, there was nothing Perry could have done to save himself — even if there had been enough time to do it.

Gunny La Salle was also a casualty, barely mobile, after badly wrenching his back in the jump. But the other team members were fine and spent the rest of the day assisting the Maquis in gathering the widely dispersed weapons and equipment. The next morning, Sergeant Perry was buried with full military honors. An altar of cargo cylinders, decorated with red, white and blue parachutes, was erected as a bier for the coffin. Several local dignitaries spoke of the “soldier who came from faraway America to help us in the liberation of our country.” Some French women had painstakingly sewn an American flag, which was buried with Perry.

The next week was spent instructing the Maquis on the functioning and maintenance of the weapons and planning attacks on the Germans. Then the team began a series of patrols to contact other Resistance groups in the area. (La Salle, still in extreme pain, had been left with a priest in a mountain safe house.)

On August 14, the remaining men entered the town of Montgirod, where they had heard there was a large contingent of Germans. As soon as they entered the town, they found themselves under a heavy German attack, and by the end of the day the entire village had been destroyed and left burning. The Germans took several villagers hostage and executed two wounded maquisards they found in the parish church. Forced to withdraw, the Union II team hid in the thick brush until after dark and then escaped across the Isère River.

Two days later, having successfully evaded the searching force and feeling confident, the team members started out at first light. They crossed a river and came around a blind curve about 100 yards from the village of Centron — and found themselves face to face with a heavily armed enemy convoy of 12 to 15 trucks and about 200 troops. The Germans immediately started shooting, which forced the Union II men to run like hell, zigzagging for the village, the only cover available. Coolidge and Brunner, on the edge of the village, covered Ortiz, Bodnar, Arcelin and Risler as they withdrew into the southwest section of Centron, returning fire with their carbines.

Frightened civilians were running for cover. As Risler skittered through the streets, he came upon a young mother and two small children. The kids were crying, and Risler, unable to speak French, could only gesture desperately for them to get down.

Coolidge was wounded in the leg but managed to escape with Brunner. Arcelin had also managed to slip away. The remaining three men, meanwhile, retreated from house to house, providing covering fire. The Germans had encircled the village, however, and it appeared the Americans couldn’t hold them off until dark to make their escape. The villagers were terrified and implored Risler, Ortiz and Bodnar to give up before the Germans took retribution.

Subscribe Today

• Did you enjoy our article?
• Read more in World War II magazine
• Subscribe online and save nearly 40%!!!
 

Help HistoryNet by bookmarking to