Tenth Special Forces Group
Three-Year Idyll in Bavaria
Again, to my disappointment, the army personnel managers put me on the West Point faculty track, including two years in graduate school. I contacted my good friend from Colombia, Lt. Col. Joe Koontz, now in the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel (DCSPERS) in the Pentagon. The Leavenworth course included a discussion of the role of Special Forces. The prescribed DCSPERS career path held no more attraction to me now than it had before. I wanted assignment to the Tenth Special Forces Group in Germany and asked for Joe’s help. He contacted Lt. Col. Beverly M. Read, chief of the assignment section for Infantry Branch, who telephoned me and explained the importance of the proposed assignment and what my request meant. At that time—the summer of 1960—regular officers viewed duty with Special Forces as a career-ender. I understood and insisted on my preference for Special Forces (my paperwork was already submitted). Read said he would look after it and did. My orders arrived, directing me to the Special Forces course at Fort Bragg en route to the Tenth Special Forces Group in Germany.
Many friends expressed disbelief at my choice and urged me to reconsider, pointing to the pitfalls of placing myself outside the career-building mainstream. Special Forces offered everything I desired: working with young people in physically demanding circumstances in a mission I deemed important (even if the army leadership did not share that view). The assignment would make high professional, physical, and emotional demands. When Jeannie supported my choice, I knew it was the right decision. Not only did it turn out to be my best tour, but the timing was good. The new Kennedy administration would abandon the “New Look” and “massive retaliation” as the fulcrum of defense policy, instead embracing “flexible response.” The conventional ground forces benefited because the new policy focused on forming an army—and ground forces would play the central role—possessing the capability to fight and win a midintensity war in central Europe consistent with the army’s traditional concept of its chief mission. More vital, the army’s enhanced role meant escape from the budgetary cleaver. But the new president would expand “flexible response” to include those “brush-fire wars” in emerging Third World countries that Taylor had talked about but, as it turned out, had no real intention of fighting. Kennedy and his secretary of defense, Robert McNamara, pushed hard for a shift in doctrine, army education, and training. But all that lay in the future.
The success of units like my Rangers in Korea produced a brief flowering of interest in unconventional operations. In the summer of 1952 the army formed the Tenth Special Forces Group at Fort Bragg. The preoccupation with the nuclear battlefield in the mid- and late 1950s marginalized special operations. The six-week course at the Special Warfare Training Center at Bragg did not appear that special. Attendees were not physically or mentally taxed. The attendees—two or three lieutenant colonels, a few majors, and the remainder captains—sat through not particularly well delivered daylong lectures explaining doctrine. The concept, derived from World War II experience—mostly operations staged by the Office of Strategic Services (the forerunner of the CIA) such as Jedburgh teams in Normandy and Brittany and Detachment 101 in the Pacific—called for special forces infiltrating by land, sea, or air behind enemy lines to organize, train, equip, and advise “stay behind” elements and friendly guerrillas. Cold War contingencies called for special operations, but the manuals produced in the 1950s lacked any agreed doctrinal statement other than defining the mission as conducting covert operations in enemy-controlled territory in conjunction with irregular partisan forces in support of a resistance movement, an insurgency, or in combination with conventional forces. The assignment centered on playing an unconventional role in the army’s conventional concept of how to fight the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact allies in Europe. In the event of an all-out war in central Europe, conventional forces in Germany represented little more than a trip wire. Based on the theory of reliance on nuclear countermeasures, NATO would have to destroy West Germany from the inner border to the Rhine in order to save it. What role special operations might perform in an irradiated battle zone was anyone’s guess. Special operations missions also entailed deep penetration into the “denied zone,” behind the Iron Curtain. The Central Intelligence Agency theoretically would organize cells of anti-Communist operatives, and in the event of war, it fell to special operations teams to cooperate with these indigenous partisan bands. Given the highly publicized covert operations failures of the CIA in the Balkans and Eastern Europe, deep-penetration missions came with extremely high risks. Army doctrine continued to view special operations through the lens of World War II: as clandestine operations working with partisans in the enemy’s rear. Nothing passed for instruction on counterinsurgency warfare because the partisans/guerrillas/insurgents were on our side. Obviously in six weeks we could receive no training on the languages, geography, or cultures of areas where we might operate or on dedicated communications; the course focused on doctrine. These specifics—nebulous though they were—would be the focus of unit training.
The last week featured a major tactical exercise. Field grade officers were excused from participating with the other trainees in the field. I thought exempting field grade officers was a mistake. They needed the training and experience; where else would they get it before assuming a command? Maj. Bob Rheault, a Leavenworth classmate also on his way to the Tenth Group, joined me in requesting that we participate since we believed that we would benefit from the training. After gaining permission, we took part in a compacted refresher jump course and requalified; the school staff wondered why we would go to the field when not required. The week in the field provided us with limited but valuable experience. We graduated 18 May 1960.
When we flew to Germany on a completely full civilian aircraft, our son, Tommy, then about eight months old, made the trip in a cardboard box on the floor. We landed in Gander, Newfoundland, for refueling before the flight over the North Atlantic. After a night in Frankfurt we flew to Munich, where we met our escort officer, Capt. Jim Jackson. As we continued our trip in a staff car south to Flint Kaserne in Bad Tölz, the home of the Tenth Special Forces Group (SFG), I “interrogated” Jim about life in the unit. What I heard pleased me very much. Bad Tölz, on the Isar River at the foot of the Bavarian Alps, has to be one of the most picturesque places on earth. The town boasted an interesting military history; it had served as the site of the SS officer candidate school, and Gen. George Patton selected it as Third Army headquarters during the occupation.
Team Leader
Initially the Tenth SFG was split in half, with one segment deployed to Bad Tölz and the other remaining in Fort Bragg. In 1960, the Fort Bragg element became the Seventh SFG. The Tenth SFG (A) consisted of the Headquarters and Headquarters Company and Company A. The company had eleven operational detachments (OD) “A.” Rheault assumed command of OD B1 with six detachments; I took over B2 with five. My team sergeant was M.Sgt. Charles Petry, a very experienced, knowledgeable, and personable noncommissioned officer, as were the other members of my “B” Team.
The Group participated in the annual theater-wide Unconventional Warfare Maneuver two weeks after we arrived. Upon alert, most of the teams moved to the Special Forces Operations Base (SFOB) in France. My “B” Team stayed at Tölz and immediately began a hurried preparation for a “new” method of infiltration officially referred to as “stay behind.” We did not “stay” anywhere, but that night began a cross-country foot movement of about thirty miles to our contact point with the partisan guerrillas. We covered about fifteen miles the first night before holing up for the day. My feet were a mess. Blisters covered the scar tissue, skin graft, and “okay” portions of my feet. I bandaged them carefully and prepared for the second night movement. Except for my feet, I was in excellent physical condition and covered the thirty miles over rough terrain carrying about eighty pounds of equipment.
We went into a “hide” location a few hundred yards from our contact point to await the rendezvous time that night. Petry and I went to the main contact point, and Parker and our operations sergeant, 1st Sgt. Henry D. Goodwin, moved toward the alternate point. Unfortunately, they became disoriented and missed the contact. We had to hunker down another day and try again. This time we linked with our guerrilla chief, Capt. John Hayes.
During the next six weeks, “B” Team coordinated and planned numerous raids and ambushes with our “A” Teams. The exercise simulated attacks against the conventional enemy’s vulnerable rear echelons and lines of communication. Experience and the high training status of the troops paid off. During the maneuver, I visited each of the “A” Teams, wanting to see them face to face and get acquainted with them. All our missions succeeded, and none of my men were “captured” by conventional force soldiers who played the part of the enemy. After the maneuver, we assembled for a major critique. While no particularly new lessons emerged, the field exercise demonstrated the validity of the “stay behind” concept. I thought the conclusions all too pro forma and resolved to do better next time.
One of the first challenges upon our return was the cross-training test that the group conducted each quarter. It consisted of a performance test on each of the four skills: demolitions, weapons, medical, and communications. A written test covered operations and intelligence. Rheault placed first on this portion, besting me by a half point. The weapons portion of the test concerned me. All special force personnel were supposed to know dozens of foreign weapons, but most of the soldiers, with the exception of the weapons specialists, consistently failed this portion of the test. We could not spend the time necessary to develop the knowledge required. I suggested to the group S3, Maj. Charles “Bill” Simpson, that each quarter we master three weapons for the next quarterly test. Our training would focus on what the S3, advised by his weapons experts, considered the most important. Always open to suggestions, Bill agreed. Thereafter, we spent our training time more productively and morale improved as a consequence.
Communications also presented problems. The cross-training benchmark demanded the ability to send and receive error-free seven words per minute for five minutes using Morse code in addition to other performance standards, including setting up a radio and passing a written test. Perhaps less than 10 percent of the noncommunications soldiers passed the Morse code portion. The reason was simple: nobody trained for the test. Deciding we needed focused training, I arranged for opening the code room one hour before reveille as well as during the day. I strongly urged my “B” Team members to practice and encouraged my “A” Team leaders to set the example for their teams and schedule code training during the day. Every morning I arrived when the code room opened, which made for a long day. Although I knew no code, my goal fixed on passing the code event in the next test. More of my soldiers began practicing before reveille (no other soldiers were present). I encouraged those who came and cajoled those who stayed in their bunks, dismissing as nonsense the claims of a few who said that they just could not learn code. The next test bore fruit: over 50 percent passed. This percentage rose in subsequent quarters until it exceeded 75 percent.
I paid close attention to the training schedules prepared by the “A” Team leaders, who had almost complete freedom to train as they saw fit. I scrutinized even more closely the conduct of the training. The group S3 set the goals, and our job centered on meeting them. Some resisted because for years they had done only what appealed to them. Slowly they came around, and in the next cross-training test, “B2” and three of its “A” Teams made up four of the top five teams. More individuals qualified overall and met the code standard. Officers who set examples and demand focused training produce results. Not exactly a formula out of rocket science but one often disregarded.
The physical demands of our mission were high because fitness should not be a worry during an operation. I instituted a physical fitness test each quarter. The first test was a “diagnostic,” using the then current five-event Army Physical Fitness Test. Lt. Herman Day, one of the “A” Team leaders, conducted the test. My guidance to Day: “Maintain the standards prescribed in the Field Manual.” On test day, Herman explained each event as one of his soldiers demonstrated it. I went first on each event, followed by each of my troops. Each demonstration and the testing were done to standard “by the book.” Herman and his team members exceeded my expectations. Quarterly physical tests became the norm. These tests focused on the strengths and physical capabilities required on our missions: climbing a rope to a second-story window; unloading a pallet of “C” Rations and running with them to a shelf set at the height of a hay wagon (often used by our teams working with guerrillas to move rations and other supplies air-dropped during maneuvers); each soldier, carrying a combat load, had to complete a march over a mountain and return within a specified time. All events were mission-oriented and battle-focused.
During the first winter, the operational teams moved to a “tent city” in the mountains. Snow depths sometimes reached three feet on open slopes. The wind and temperature combined to make the weather miserable. We began three weeks of winter training focused on skiing. For a Georgia boy with no experience, this training was difficult, but I soon grew to love the physical demands and being outdoors. I welcomed the challenge, and by the end, though I was far from proficient, I had gained some confidence on the slopes. We ended the winter training with a seventy-two-hour field training exercise (FTX). The exercise really pushed us physically as we labored up and down mountains through the deep snow under loads of eighty-five pounds or more. My operations officer, Lt. Jerry Scott, a particularly competent officer, helped in meeting the challenges of the new environment. He had replaced Captain Parker, who had moved to the brigade staff after we returned from the theater-wide FTX. The exercise brought home forcibly the realization, if we had not already reached that conclusion, that we were far from competent military skiers. Living at the foot of the Alps allowed for off-duty skiing, and our capabilities improved slowly.
The group commander, Col. Salve H. Matheson, selected the “B2” Team to become the water-training experts for the Tenth Group. We participated in an outstanding “Instructor Course in Underwater Diving and Demolitions” presented by a couple of our experienced sergeants who concentrated on developing our skills by repeated exercises until they became second nature. They stressed that safety was the overriding consideration. After completing the course on 23 June 1961, we developed two programs of instruction: one a qualification course with the goal of producing soldiers capable of performing the skills and emergency drills correctly and safely and the other on instructor training similar to what we had just completed. Soon “B2” trained other teams.
“B2” received the mission of developing surface and subsurface waterborne techniques and mounting training programs in those skills for the group. The specific mission included developing techniques for infiltrating from and exfiltrating to submarines, a competency that would significantly increase our operational capabilities. Special Forces included within its mission statement infiltrating into denied areas by air, sea, or land. Operating from submarines expanded our waterborne capability from surface to subsurface, a critical skill when attempting to enter denied areas behind the Iron Curtain.
My “B2” Team and 1st Lt. Ray Celeste and his “A” Team went to the Mediterranean to work with the navy. Lt. Cdr. Grant Apthorpe, the submarine skipper, and his crew were a perfect band to work with. Surprising for a submariner, “Baby Whale” Grant must have weighed three hundred pounds, but he could move remarkably fast. He told me at the outset, “Ralph, you just tell us what you want to do, and we’ll figure out some way to do it.” We spent two weeks making four one-boat infiltrations and exfiltrations each night. Several problems presented themselves. How do we surface, bring small boats topside, inflate them, load the soldiers, and cast off in the shortest possible time and avoid detection by the enemy? How do we find our way to a specific landing spot without being seen and without someone on shore to guide us? How do we exfiltrate and marry up with the submarine? The latter proved the most interesting and challenging.
One technique for connecting with a submarine at sea was for the ship to use radar to locate us as we held up a paddle blade covered with aluminum foil to make it more reflective. The sub would get between us and shore so the radar could be pointed outward, thereby lowering the possibility of revealing the sub’s presence to the enemy onshore. However, the enemy, if scanning the ocean with radar, would pick up our paddle.
We tried every imaginable technique to make contact. The best was strictly low-tech. Somebody in the boat would strike two pipes together beneath the water surface. The sound could not be heard by anyone onshore or even a few yards away. The submerged sub’s sonar picked up the sound and homed in on the small boat. When the sub closed on us, it proceeded at its slowest speed that permitted some directional control. While still underwater, the sub turned on its “red eye,” a rotating red beacon. This red beacon helped the boat team locate the sub’s periscope, but the underwater flashing light remained invisible to anyone on shore. The boat team paddled rapidly to catch the periscope as the sub passed by. The bow man threw a rope bight (a horseshoe bend in the rope) over the periscope and held on as the sub, still submerged, headed for open sea. If there was a miss, the sub required thirty minutes or more to turn around and make another pass. After going far enough (ostensibly over the horizon) for training purposes, the sub signaled the boat to cast off. As soon as the sub surfaced, there was another mad dash to it. The sailors hauled the team and its boat aboard. As soon as the boat could be deflated and taken below, the sub submerged. We held a quick but thorough “after-action review” of what had transpired after each infiltration/exfiltration while events remained fresh in the minds of the participants. Team members and navy crew exchanged ideas and suggestions as we worked to do better next time.
Working with the navy stands as one of the most enjoyable episodes of my career. Grant Apthorpe and his crew were true professionals. They made good on their skipper’s promise to figure out a way to accomplish every task that we set before them. I never worked with a more cooperative group of men than those sailors. This cooperation on a junior, face-to-face level was the rule whenever I worked with the other services. The doers—those charged with accomplishing the mission—always rendered cooperative assistance to get the job done. It is at the very top levels where interservice rivalry causes real problems.
Upon returning to Bad Tölz, we prepared a complete after-action review and submitted it to group headquarters. The techniques were rudimentary but provided a basis for continuing development and enhancement. This material should have been forwarded to the Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg for dissemination and retention in file. The army is often remiss in disseminating lessons-learned to other commands and even to subordinate units within a command. What one unit learns often disappears as members transfer to other assignments.
Bill Simpson was an energetic and far-sighted officer. He saw the opportunity for the Tenth Group to act as military ambassadors establishing working relationships with special units in other armies. Sending Mobile Training Teams (MTT) to work with NATO partners and participating in joint field training exercises would greatly benefit our training, boost morale, and build personal affiliations with officers and men we might operate with in the event of a war. B2’s MTT to Greece was one of the first of many that Simpson arranged.
In Greece, we worked with the Raiding Force, an airborne unit similar to our Rangers composed of some of the best cadre in the Greek army. Our job involved qualifying a handpicked group of eight Raiders as scuba instructors, teaching them some small boat techniques. We also helped them develop an in-house capability to conduct their own scuba training. While in Greece, we executed a short tactical exercise that included raiding a target that required us to scale a cliff. After destroying the target, descending the cliff, and moving to a pickup zone, we were exfiltrated by air.
Part of our mission involved building rapport with a NATO partner. Our team—a composite of the core of “B2” plus 1st Sgt. Joe Lisi, an outstanding archer, and a couple of supplemental medics—prepared a special demonstration for the Raiders. The medics performed some surgery on a sedated dog, and Lisi demonstrated his prowess with the bow and arrow. We spent one day at the Greek army’s parachute school. To qualify for Greek parachutist wings, we made three jumps from a C47. That day, 26 July 1961, was a high point in our MTT. We fostered a relationship that would benefit both the Greeks and the Americans in the event of war. As always, we submitted a carefully prepared after-action review, and Col. Lloyd Gomes, the chief of the Army Section, Joint United States Military Aid Group, Greece, sent a letter of commendation.
During my second year, B2 participated in another NATO special operations maneuver in Sardinia. We would take off from a carrier, jump into Sardinia, and work with a special operations clandestine group from the Italian army. The navy sent a small, wheeled aircraft and two pilots to Bad Tölz to work with us for several days. We made five or six jumps—because of the small doorway we exited in a crouched or sitting position—identifying any significant difficulties requiring adjustment. Since the navy pilots never had worked with paratroopers, we taught them to align themselves with the “T” on the drop zone that indicated the final approach and take corrections from the jumpmaster. After several days, we felt the pilots possessed enough orientation to put us over the DZ.
When the time arrived to conduct the maneuver, we went to Naples. Unfortunately, the pilots we trained with had been transferred. The assigned pilots had never worked with paratroopers. Having had some jumpmaster experience on USAF tactical troop carrier aircraft and guiding small aircraft on several free-fall jumps, I expected no difficulty. There was another change. We would not take off from a carrier. Disappointed, we made do.
The flight over the Tyrrhenian Sea was uneventful, and as we approached the DZ the illuminated T appeared. I began giving corrective hand signals to the inattentive pilot. The exit would be from a seated position because the mammoth rucksacks and other equipment precluded anything else. Seated right behind me was Sfc. Jim Beatty, my old friend who shared the foxhole with me on Hill 205 in Korea. Beatty was making his first jump in about ten years. My troopers, in the second aircraft, exited when they saw me leave the aircraft. Our landing and assembly left much to be desired. The DZ was small and very rugged. My landing was as soft as I ever experienced, but I found myself perilously near the edge of a cliff. My team sergeant, Command Sgt. Maj. William “Pappy” Greer, broke two ribs. The medic dislocated his shoulder. One of the communication sergeants slashed his knee, which required several stitches to close. Another team member twisted a knee. All four had to be evacuated, leaving us short-handed.
A steady downpour added to our misery as we struggled up the mountain that bordered the DZ. We passed back and forth the extra equipment taken from our injured troopers. The twenty-five-pound hand-cranked radio generator was a pain. We reached the ridge at about three in the morning. Our contact, who spoke limited English—none of us spoke Italian—took us to a hovel occupied by an old shepherd and his grandson. The old man wanted to know if we were Germans and broke into a big smile when he learned we were Americans. Exhausted after a very long and tiring day, we pulled off our soaked clothes and climbed into our bags for a few hours’ sleep. As Ben Ivey observed, “There is nothing like a dry T-shirt when you are cold and wet.” Little pleasures mean a lot to an Infantryman.
The next morning, we arose bright and early and made our way to the assigned position. We were attached to the Italian special forces, who bore responsibility for planning the next two weeks of the exercise. It became apparent that nothing had been accomplished. Unless significant changes happened, the maneuver would be a bust. I immediately radioed to the Special Forward Operations Base in France. Only a few hours elapsed before Capt. Dick Kim, an assistant group S3, arrived and set things straight. We moved to a secret training camp operated by the Italian equivalent of the CIA for training in preparing and retrieving cached equipment, weapons handling, and special operations. Over the next two weeks, we instructed our contacts on American procedures and equipment. At the end of the exercise, I concluded that the exercise amounted to another “win-win” situation. We expanded our capabilities, improved our performance, and established relationships with our Italian counterparts. Returning to Bad Tölz, we prepared a thorough after-action review and submitted a detailed written report. I had learned the value of both early in my service.
Caught a Lucky Break
After the most enjoyable eighteen months that I ever spent in the army, the group underwent reorganization into three operational companies. Because we lacked seniority, Rheault and I lost our “B” Team commands. The S2 and S3 assumed two of the three commands, and we took over their sections with me as the intelligence officer. I set about learning my new duties, and as was typical of the group, I was surrounded by people, both commissioned and noncommissioned, with better qualifications.
In a few months, our annual theater-wide maneuver would be conducted. Simpson, now a company commander, broke his leg on a jump as did his XO, Maj. Bill Hinton. I took over Simpson’s “C” Team. Our designation was once again Greece. “C” Team would infiltrate from a sub, and two of the “A” Teams would jump in after we were in country. I focused the training program on honing the capabilities required for Greece with emphasis on physical fitness; we stressed preparing ourselves for the great physical demands that lay ahead. The exercise shaped up to be a very challenging one, and though I was sorry Simpson and Hinton could not lead their troops, I was happy for the opportunity.
We boarded a sub in Naples and prepared for the covert voyage and infiltration into Greece. The only Greeks aware of the operation were the king and select members of the Greek Raiding Force. On the day of our infiltration, the sub entered a bay where we would land and make our initial contact. We surveyed the shore and the landing zone through a periscope: the bay was completely empty. By nightfall, the same body of water was filled with dozens of small fishing boats. Not only a safety concern, the presence of the boats might compromise security and certainly complicate matters by slowing our movements. As I watched through the periscope a brief flash of light appeared, our signal to proceed. The sub surfaced, the boats were quickly inflated, and we made our way to shore. The delays convinced the Greek contact team that the operation was scrubbed, and they departed. We went into a hide site and spent a miserably cold day waiting for nightfall. We made contact with our guerrillas using an alternate contact plan.
Our contact, a Greek Raiding Force lieutenant, led us over the side of Mount Olympus, a hot, dry, dusty trek. The first night we slept on a steep incline. Each of us made a makeshift anchor for our sleeping pads by putting our packs on the downward side of the slope to keep from rolling downhill during the night—not very comfortable but amusing. The second day was more challenging than the first. We were out of water and never saw a stream or spring to slake our thirst and replenish our canteens. At a break in the early afternoon, all of us were parched and feeling somewhat dejected. At that moment, I remembered the two packages of gum in my pack. I pulled them out, broke each stick in half, and gave each trooper a piece. After the first couple of chews, each of us was rejuvenated and eager to continue.
In the end, the maneuver played out as fairly typical. Several nights later, our two “A” Teams jumped onto drop zones that the Raiders had selected. Some of the Raiders were those we had worked with previously. We staged a few operations and both the Special Forces and Raiders developed a better appreciation of how each operated. Then back to Germany and Bad Tölz. As always, we submitted an after-action review about our experiences cooperating with the Raiders and the U.S. Navy. We focused on both the tactical play and the relationships with members of a foreign army and a sister service.
The group grew rapidly. Almost none of the volunteers had any Special Forces experience and few held airborne qualifications. The group set up its own jump school and began a continuing cycle of training. I became the company commander of the to-be-formed Company D with the mission of training the intake of officers and enlisted men. We ran a three-week course in each of the four Special Forces skills together with a special operations and intelligence course for the officers and team sergeants. All participated in a week-long round-robin tactical exercise at the end of their skills course. This tactical exercise, planned and coordinated by M.Sgt. Bud Malone, my S3, and Jim Beatty, my S2, was one of the best I had ever seen thanks to the good work of my officers and NCOs.
The question of prioritizing between training and operations presents a perpetual challenge. The trainers produce the caliber of troops that operators demand yet starve the training establishment of the cadre they need. I encountered difficulty convincing the group XO, Lt. Col. Harrison J. Merritt, to place the staff I needed on temporary duty to establish and conduct the training company’s programs. The caliber of the cadre would affect significantly how well the training was presented, and in large measure, how well the graduate performed. Trained cadre constitute the seed corn for future success. While the other company commanders recognized the necessity of the school, they proved reluctant to lose key personnel even for a short period. Merritt decided that my instructor staff, as opposed to my headquarters personnel, would be rotated through D Company for only three months and then return to their previous assignments. Disappointed that my staff would constantly rotate, I saw the benefit to the group as some of its senior NCOs would gain experience and higher levels of skill from a three-month tour in the training company. Our instructional standards were very high; they set the norm for the group.
The rotation system worked because of the extraordinary men who served in the group. My guidance for the XO and command sergeants major was simple: they would run the front office, and make the day-to-day decisions and take whatever actions deemed appropriate with the proviso they kept me informed. I spent my time in the field observing training, free from any administrative burdens. Naturally I bore responsibility if something went wrong, but it never did.
My principal instructors—the chief instructor for each program—received the same guidance and a free hand. After all, they were the subject-matter experts. I directed them to maximize practical exercise—learning by doing—rather than lecturing. Students learned the skill, and the instructors objectively evaluated their mastering of a clear set of training objectives. Although written tests were part of every evaluation, the emphasis remained fixed on performance in the field.
Not only did my duty with the Tenth SFG rank as the best in my career, the post in Bad Tölz topped the list for Jeannie and me. The children were too young to derive much benefit from living in Bavaria. We had fine quarters, and the kids went to good schools and made many friends. The area south of Munich is fairy-tale beautiful with its quaint towns, beautiful Alpine lakes, breathtaking mountainscapes, and Mad King Ludwig’s fantasia castles. We never lacked for exciting things to do on my free weekends. The mountains afforded us the opportunity to learn to ski. Our family trips took us to a number of beautiful ski resorts. Some of our best times as a family took place on these outings. We all progressed in our skills, especially the children. Every year Jeannie and I took advantage of a program offered by the Swiss Ski School to stay in a resort with a package of all-day ski instruction, lifts, and room and board.
Another family activity was camping. Jeannie was not at all enthused, but she agreed to camp in a beautiful Alpine area featuring a waterfall. We did not exactly rough it since we hauled every conceivable convenience on top of the station wagon. Still not convinced, Jeannie was offered a deal she could not refuse: a ten-day trip to Lake Garda in northern Italy where I promised to do all the cooking. A day trip to Venice was thrown in as a sweetener. The kids loved it—swimming at the U.S. officers’ beach, picnicking every day, meeting kids their age from different western European countries—and if Jeannie, always the good sport, did not, she hid it pretty well.
One thing that enhanced my time in Bad Tölz was my discovery of freefall parachuting. I joined an active group of skydivers that consisted mostly of Tenth Group men. The skydivers were not troublemakers but free spirits. Occasional violation of regulations pertaining to free-falling angered Colonel Matheson, who threatened to disband the club if it did not mend its ways. To ensure that it did, Matheson ordered me elected president of the club. Surprisingly, club members supported the “election” as they saw me as one who would ensure that they retained the support of the colonel. Another reason the group leadership were not thrilled with the club stemmed from the risk of serious injury. I broke my ankle on my third static line jump—two short of the five needed to qualify—and resumed training as soon as I recovered. Jeannie proved less sold on free-falling than Matheson. In all I made twenty-nine free falls; my longest was thirty-five seconds and a drop of 5,600 feet before the chute opened. Over time the club members modified their behaviors enough to avoid further censure.
Sadly, our three-year idyll in Bavaria came to an end. The Special Forces—as my first airborne assignment—provided the challenge, excitement, and satisfaction I sought in the army. Colonel Matheson, who commanded the group during my last two years, was the ideal boss. He gave me twenty-eight months of command time and the freedom to chart my own way. Far from causing a so-called detour on my career path, the tour with Tenth SFG boosted my prospects. No longer the pariah it had been in some quarters—although hard-core traditionalists, including those populating the senior ranks, remained unconvinced—Special Forces enjoyed a certain éclat, and as my experience amplified, a deserved reputation of an elite force.