The "Rangers" became an offensive force, too, copying Native American tactics of the surprise raid. The most famous of the early Rangers were formed by Robert Rogers and fought during the French and Indian War (1745-63). A life-long soldier, Rogers recruited his men himself and designed a demanding training programme for them which included exercises under fire. William O. Darby would incorporate this live ammunition training into the programme of his own Rangers nearly 200 years later. He would also have the same attitude towards transport. Rogers's Rangers moved against French positions in the dead of winter using, as Black says, "Snow shoes, slides, and even ice skates". Joe Larkin remembers how Darby, in the height of the desert battle in Tunisia, simply told his men to disperse and reassemble at a point some miles away. How they got there was their own business. He himself favoured a First World War courier's motorcycle.

When the 2nd Battalion of US Rangers scaled the cliffs of Point du Hoe to knock out the German guns on D-Day, they knew they were carrying on a particular tradition, and none more so than William O. Darby. A student of American history at the US Military Academy, West Point, he needed no books to convince him what a formidable adversary the Native American warrior had been and how much could be learned from study of their tactics. Residents of Fort Smith remembered times when their Indian neighbours had taken on the US Cavalry and almost beaten them. Nor was Darby unaware that to his companions at West Point he was something of a frontier Ranger himself. Even though in 1929, when Darby entered the Academy, the US Army had a relatively small number of men and was a most egalitarian institution, there still was the sense of a West Pointer as "an officer and a gentleman".

Located in upper New York State and full of lore from the Revolutionary War, the Military Academy was very much as "Eastern" establishment institution, full of rituals and nineteenth century inspired codes of behaviour. Since candidates had to be appointed to the Academy by their congressional representatives, and since the number of the prized appointments amounted to only 122, young men from modest backgrounds usually had little chance for selection. William O. Darby owed his place to the influence of his Aunt Pearle. She worked as a court reporter and had earned the respect of the Arkansas judges and politicians who frequented the Grecian-style courthouse with the old gallows on its lawn. All politics are local, and eventually in a small state such as Arkansas local politicians move up the governmental chain. His aunt was friendly with Otis Wingo, who became a congressman. She could "reach out" for her nephew in a way that made him the equal to the sons of more influential families from richer, more powerful states. He received his appointment to the military academy in spite of being the second alternative choice and failing the physical. Darby did well, though not brilliantly at the Academy. He repressed his cowboy side and performed as the farmer he needed to be in the outhouse confines of the Academy. He finished 177th in a class of 346. Though Darby left no memoir and his biographers' interests rest in his military achievements, it is safe to assume that Darby was aware of the differences between his background and those of his classmates. In pre-Second World War America, regionalism was still a great force and many veterans of the war mention that the first time they actually got to know someone from another part of the country was during their military service. One soldier from a small town in Illinois recalled: "I met more guys from different places on the troop ship going to Belfast than I had in my whole life before that."

Efforts were made to overcome the stereotyping that went along with insolation. During the musical, in spite of differences between farmer and cowman, the Oklahomans awaiting statehood feel they must present a united front:

And when this territory becomes a state
And joins the union just like all the others
The farmer and the cowman and the merchant
Must all behave themselves and act like brothers.

This was the attitude Darby brought to the formation of his unit.

In the film based on the Rangers' exploits, Darby's Rangers, Darby, played by James Garner, is working at the Pentagon in Washington when the idea of forming the Rangers occurs to him. This is not correct. He conceived the idea in Northern Ireland. Darby was aide to General Hartle when he and Major General Edmond H. Leavy opened the headquarters of the United States Army in Northern Ireland at Wilmont House, Dunmurray, on the outskirts of Belfast. The orders note the time 10.00 am and the date 29 January 1942. Since General Hartle's personality did not make social interaction easy for him, he relied more and more on his personable young aide to act as a liaison with members of the Northern Ireland community. Indeed, Darby's first commendation came as a result of these abilities. On 18 July 1942 Darby received his first citation of merit for his work during the period of January to June 1942. The award "is given in recognition of tact and demeanour, which contributed much towards the exceptionally pleasant relations existing between the American troops and the citizenry of Northern Ireland."

Being honoured for his ability to interact with civilians, however, was not the stuff of dreams of the young man from Fort Smith. The cowboy agitated against the farmer, and Darby began to look for ways to transfer to a tactical unit. He approached General Leavy, who had become General Hartle's Chief of Staff. Leavy agreed to help. The opportunity presented itself when Colonel Lucian K. Truscott arrived in Northern Ireland. Truscott was on a secret mission for General George A. Marshall. Marshall felt that the US Army should have a force equivalent to the British Royal Marine Commandos. At first the motivation was to give as many Americans as possible combat experience before the full-scale invasion of Europe was launched. The British planned to do some invasion raids and the American Commandos would accompany them. General Truscott was sent to Northern Ireland to meet with General Hartle and discuss the formation of a battalion-sized unit from elements of the 34th Infantry Division and the First Armoured Division. The first task was to find an officer to organise the battalion. General Hartle, General Leavy and Major Darby were together one Sunday morning on their way to church service in Belfast. Hartle was discussing the need for a good commander with Leavy. Leavy looked at Darby. "What about Bill?" he asked Hartle. Hartle turned to Darby. "Would he be interested?" The young major's frontier blood stirred. Here was his chance. The farmer and the cowboy and the boy who knew about Indians: all elements of his personality would have to combine to accomplish this task. And they did.

Major William O. Darby was not only brave in battle and inspiring to his men, but he was also adept at manoeuvering within the army's command structure to ensure that his Rangers were properly supplied. Darby's public relations skills, indeed, were the key to the Rangers' continued existence in those early days. Often Colonel Herman Dammer, Darby's Executive Officer, would see to the details of the day-to-day organisation of the battalion while Darby dealt with the parade of both American and British officers who came to see if the Rangers could be a viable unit.

"Colonel Darby was charismatic", Ranger after Ranger said. Indeed, his ability to generate enthusiasm and to attract the best men enabled him to complete the first and perhaps the most crucial task of the formation of the Rangers: selecting the officers. They in turn would select the enlisted men. But all of these men had to be volunteers. Darby himself insisted on that. So he had to inspire men to join a unit which did not exist yet, and when it did come into being would expose them to great danger. Joe Larkin recalls Darby's visit to his unit at Holywood.

When Colonel Darby, then Major Darby, came to us to request volunteers of the First Ranger Battalion, I remember one of the questions that seemed to be the key to being selected was: Why do you want to join the First Ranger Battalion? And I really didn't have a good answer. I just wanted to get into the fight. He was looking for young athletic officers who were highly motivated. They had to be volunteers and had to be looking for action. The attitude he wanted was: "The war's going on, let's get with it and get on with it." He was looking for youth. But most important to him was that he was going to have volunteers. Darby himself was rather young, charismatic, good looking. He told us the unit was to be patterned after the Commandos. He was interested in volunteers from each unit through all of Northern Ireland and gathered a total of twenty-six officers. I was the youngest, junior-most officer of the group. They ranged from me, the young second lieutenant, to experienced captains representing all the services - armoured, artillery, infantry, quartermaster, coast artillery. Three of us from my unit volunteered and were ultimately accepted. None of us realised that the others had volunteered to join the Rangers, but we found ourselves on the same truck bound for Carrickfergus which was across the bay from where we were then stationed.

He made one of the officers from my unit - Herman Dammer - his executive officer. The other officer with us was Al Miller. At Carrickfergus, we were to select the enlisted men to join the First Ranger Battalion. That task was carried out by the more senior officers. We began to organise the battalions, drew our uniforms. We were billeted at a small military installation called Sunnylands Camp. We slept in Nissan huts and tents. The weather was foul, rain and fog, but not terribly cold.

The choice of Carrickfergus rested on the existence of Sunnylands Camp, a British military installation one mile from the centre of town.The poet Louis MacNiece grew up across the hawthorn hedges from the camp and in his poem "Carrickfergus" writes of "the sound of bugles" and the flares lighting up the night. So that's where we came.
Joe Larkin

Major Darby then began touring Northern Ireland, looking for interested men to fill the ranks of his new comrnand. Milburn Henke remembers when Darby came to Dungannon to talk to his company.

Two of us, Sid Faulkner and myself, wanted to join the Rangers. So they said, "Well, you guys go up there and sign in." Well, about two days later the first sergeant came in, and he says, "Faulkner, you're going. Henke, you're staying." He says, "I couldn't in good conscience put the two of you in the same outfit at the same time." I didn't get in, and he did! I remember two other guys from our outfit joined the Rangers - Zip Coons and Roy Brown. Roy Brown was the type of guy who loved to sing. He carried a guitar all the time. He had it on his back. I understand that even when he was in the Rangers, when they made the Dieppe raid, he had it with him.
Milburn Henke

Bob Reed volunteered for the Rangers and was accepted. His lett~ did not mention his new unit, though there is a hint.

15 May 1942 - Northern Ireland
Well, anyway, we're beginning to feel like natives and can change a sixpenny, a tupenny and six ha'pennies for a "bob" as fast as Old John Bull himself. Yanks aren't the novelties they once were and we can act natural again, now that the Hollywood illusion in dissipated. But I've bought a bicycle (seven pounds it cost me) and a Yank on a bike still draws smiles. But they're handy things to have - everyone over here uses them, and they will be in demand in the States soon, I suppose. All their bikes have the brakes operating from a lever on the handlebars, and the best ones have three speeds, pretty nice, eh?

Been golfing a few times, but still need an electric commutator to keep score, and then I don't count the "whiffs". There's a little creek which crosses the course. I always land in that damned creek.

Right now, I'm in an old brewery, and dislike it for two reasons. First, there's no brew left, and second, it's not as sunny as my former location. Won't be here long, I hope!
From the letters of Bob Reed

When Bob Reed wrote this, he knew he would not be living there long. He was on his way to Carrickfergus and as a medic, assisted the doctors in the exams which would determine who would become a Ranger. When Art Schroeder appeared for his physical he seemed a perfect candidate. Art Schroeder was a quintessential Chicagoan: compact, direct and no-nonsense. He resembled a middleweight Golden Gloves fighter - a perfect candidate for the Rangers, until the doctor noticed his feet.

I went overseas with the 34th Division, and I felt as though we should have the best possible training in order to have a chance to get back home in one piece. I volunteered for the Rangers because I knew their training would be the best. There was about 3,000 of us that went up for physical examinations and mental. They weeded us out, and got down to about 500. One of the doctors said, "Well, they won't take you. You've got flat feet." I said, "Flat feet don't bother me. I run all the time." I told him I'd give him a quarter-mile head start and I'd beat him in a one-mile race. He said, "Okay, but they'll throw you out later." But I made it.
Art Schroeder

The training at Carrickfergus was designed to be tough. Major Darby and his officers wanted only men who were physically and mentally suited for the demands of such a unit.

As an officer, Walt Nye was responsible for producing what he described as the "hard rocks and knocks of training" which would allow them to see who was fittest.

At Carrickfergus we were developing, trying to find out from all the troops that were coming in which ones were qualified to become Rangers. So we were taking them out on speed marches and running up and down the hills. We had to get it down to about 500 good, healthy bodies.
Walter Nye

Sometimes even soldiers who wanted to join the Rangers and had the requisite healthy bodies were not allowed to leave their units.

Our commanding officer saw the names of some of the guys who volunteered; "No. 1", he said to them, "you're married." He would only let single guys who had no commitments leave the 109th Engineers to join the Rangers. Milt Session, the Indian from the Black Hills, tried to join, but no dice. He was married and had a kid. When we got to Carrickfergus it was speed marches, physical conditioning. They were testing us. Then when some of the guys who had come found out that we were going to form a Battalion Commando Unit, many said "No, that's not for me" and they left. But a lot of us wanted to be tested, wanted to do more.

We were a bunch of college guys all young, strong, all good health out of the midwest, raised on good beef, potatoes and gravy: Iowa boys and Minnesota boys and South Dakota boys with one or two years of college. They put us under survival conditions during training to see if we could take it. We learned hand-to-hand combat, how to climb, how to fire weapons expertly, how to use a bayonet, a knife, and they piled it on fast. Speed marches - five miles in thirty-seven minutes. Guys would pass out on the side of the road, but we had this determination. Remember, we started out with 3,000 volunteers and only 400 were chosen. Those 400 had to be pretty qualified guys. The training was discipline.
Chuck Leighton

Among those being tried was a young man whose imagination was also particularly fit for the task ahead. This was James Altieri, who would become the Ranger's chronicler. Able to both participate and observe, he gives a picture of those first days at Sunnylands Camp, Carrickfergus, in his memoir The Spearheaders.

The training camp, one mile north of Carrickfergus, was a beehive of bustling activity. There was a peculiar briskness about the place. Men were occupied cleaning greasy cosmolene off newly issued weapons; some were playing football in the large playing field; others were busy cleaning out their new quarters. Lines of men waited in front of a building for another physical examination, the first step for the newly initiated.

Most of them looked rugged and sturdy, and as our convoy made its way to the headquarters, we got a lot of heckling and jibing.

After we dismounted and swung our heavy barracks bags and gear onto the ground beside the trucks, we were surprised to see the trucks being mounted by a group of dejected-looking men who had been waiting for our arrival. "Where are those guys going?" I asked the burly sergeant detailed to assign us our quarters. "Right back where they started from," he said. "Boy, this doesn't look so good to me", my friend Carlo said after we had been temporarily assigned to a bunk side by side. "It looks like the weeding out process is designed to get the deadheads out in a hurry", I answered. The next morning we were assigned to our companies.
James Altieri

The people of Carrickfergus watched truck loads of Americans move into Sunnylands Camp and other truck loads move out. But the camp was closed and these soldiers rarely came to town. Only one local person had access to Sunnylands, not the mayor or a military commander, but a young paper boy. He is now a member of the Carrickfergus Borough Council; then he was just another young boy on a bike.

I was employed by a local newsagent at what was called the Corner Shop. Today, although it has changed hands, we still call it the Corner Shop. It was never called by a name. My round was up the north road, which included Sunnylands Camp as we knew it then. I delivered the papers there. I was never allowed to go into any of the tents. They had quite a large wooden type building, and I would have to go in there and deliver the papers there, and from there they were taken to the various people.

One thing that struck me about the Americans who came to Carrick was the way they were dressed and the type of uniforms they had, and the difference between American soldiers and British soldiers. The cloth in their uniforms was a totally different texture. In 1942, we were already into the war three years. Things were in very short supply. As a newspaper boy, I was quite fortunate, because I used to take home in my bag at night some of the things that we could not have out of the shops. One thing that I remember very well was a chocolate cake. I had never seen a chocolate cake in my life. But the soldiers had said, "Well, we'd like to give you something to take home with you." So I got the chocolate cake and took it home.
Sammy Smith

There was one other Carrickfergus resident who knew something about the GIs at Sunnylands Camp.

My cousin Bill Bunting arrived here with the American forces at Carrickfergus. He knew he had relations here, but there really hadn't been much contact. They weren't supposed to leave the camp, but he climbed over the wall around the barracks and gave some girl a few coins and asked her if she would try and contact his relations, who were called Finley. She made the telephone call to us. So, the next day, my mother and father went to see him. Of course, there was great interest in all of this. They wondered how my relations got to know he was there since they weren't supposed to have left the barracks at this time. But I think they closed a blind eye to it all. And that's how the relationship all began.

My mother, who was the sister of this American soldier's mother, and all my uncles, were particularly interested in him. His mother was the only other sister. She had gone out to the States years before and now here was her son. They really took him under their wing, and the relationship was very, very close indeed. He brought some of his friends to visit us. But he was the one who was particularly close to us all. In fact, there were times when both he and I were sorry we were related at all! I shouldn't say that, really, should I? Anyhow, I think it's quite true.
Miss Findley

The first weeks were a time of experiment. Would the right men be found for the unit? Would it become a real fighting battalion, or would its members simply train men as Commandos and then return to their own units? Promoted to Major on 1 June, Darby soon received a memo confirming his position, and the clothing, equipment and rations allocated to the corps. The two men Darby chose to aid him most directly in this shakedown period would later go on to command two Rangers battalions themselves. In his choice, Darby was true to his Fort Smith border instincts and looked to both east and west. His executive office, Herman Dammer, came from the east, New York. A former cavalry lieutenant in the New York National Guard, the tall, soft-spoken Dammer embodied the gentleman officer. A member of the same artillery unit as Joe Larkin, he too had spent his first months of the war training at Holywood Barracks. He did not wish to spend the war guarding a coastline, however, so the horseman decided to volunteer for the walking army and become an infantryman.

He was surprised when Darby chose him as his executive officer. Traditionally, a regular Army man such as Darby would not favour or promote a member of the National Guard or Reserves. Darby was not encumbered by an allegiance to any such caste system. As the musical Oklahoma proclaimed: "The farmer and the cowhand should be friends/the farmer and the cowman should be friends/One man likes to push a plow/the other likes to chase a cow/But that's no reason why they can't be friends."

Indeed, the other officer Darby made key to the unit was the Westerner Roy Murray, who was a reserve officer. At thirty-three-years old, Murray was six months older than his commander William O. Darby. Robert W. Black, in his book Rangers in World War 11, makes these observations about Roy Murray.

Murray was an athlete and outdoorsman, a cross-country runner whose hobbies included hiking and fishing. He had experience in civilian life in navigation and boat handling. Murray had keen analytical and good communication skills. His recommendations were sound, and he was a strong leader who had a profound influence on subsequent Ranger activities.
Robert W. Black

Roy Murray also impressed James Altieri.

The afternoon of the first day was entirely devoted to sports. Some fellows played baseball, some wrestled, some put on boxing gloves, while the rest played football. I joined the group playing football and got a good opportunity to study the slim, trim captain who was commanding our company. He was as fast as a deer and as tough as nails. I guessed him about thirty-years old, but he moved with the agility of a nineteen-year-old. What impressed me most was that he made no effort to dominate the team's strategy. His name was Roy Murray.
James Altieri

Obviously, the minister's daughter from Castlerock was not on the opposing team, or Altieri's first impression of Murray may not have been so positive. But Murray had left the days on the golf course and nights at Mary's Bar far behind. Now he was leading untrained men over rough terrain in the hills around Carrickfergus, and the pace he set was purposely punishing.

The next morning we received our first introduction to the speed march, which was to become one of our outfit's secret weapons. With Captain Murray and a small, wiry lieutenant at the head of our double column, we started off at a brisk pace down the narrow macadam road. Each man looked fresh and vigorous; each man looked confident. Already I could sense the difference in spirit between this outfit and the one I had just left. As we marched past the camp gate and swung up a steep road which wound its way northward through green-velveted fields. Private Gomez, a stalky Mexican, broke out into song:

The Infantry, the Infantry,
With dirt behind their ears,
They can lick their weight in wildcats
And drink their weight in beers.
The Cavalry, the Artillery, The lousy engineers,
They couldn't be like the Infantry
In a hundred thousand years.

When we returned to carnp at the finish of a five-mile hike, which we made with full pack and equipment in one hour, the company seemed as high in spirit as when we first started out - even though five men dropped out. Before we were dismissed for chow, the short, wiry lieutenant, a Louisianian named Lancalot, gave us a short talk more or less what to expect in the new outfit. He spoke slowly and deliberately with a faint suggestion of a drawl:

"Men I want to welcome you all to Company F. We are all here for the same purpose - to prove ourselves qualified for the new American Commando outfit. We may be here for two or three weeks before leaving for Scotland, and during that time our training will be stepped up each day. Any man who can't keep up with us will be sent back to his old outfit immediately. Discipline in this outfit rests with the individual himself - it's up to you, as we don't intend to waste any time on foul-ups. And remember, you are free to request to return to your old outfit at any time."
James Altieri

Bob Reed remembers passing the tent where Darby, Murray and Dammer were discussing which men would be sent back to their units. He stopped for a moment to listen to the voices coming through the open flaps.

Someone had said that they should just eliminate anyone who had not gone through basic infantry training. Well, as a medical officer I hadn't had that kind of basic. I was so afraid that this meant I would be sent back to my unit. But no, as each round of eliminations was posted I looked for my name. It wasn't there. I was still a Ranger. Somehow making it, being a Ranger, had become very important to me.
Bob Reed

The first hike proved a snap compared to the next two weeks of strenuous marching, drilling and training. Every morning was spent on a long speed march or a mountain climb. We were driven relentlessly until it seemed our aching bodies could take no more. The sight of men dropping out on the marches, broken and beaten, was disheartening; each day the distance of our marches would be lengthened until we were doing twelve miles in two hours, which included a five-minute break. At the breaks, men would drop like sacks of beans, tired and exhausted.

Each day I thought would surely be the last for me - I felt I couldn't take it. Then I would think of returning to the battery as a failure, a would-be Commando. No guts, nothing but a lot of talk; I resolved to die rather than go back. I would look at the captain who was setting the marching pace and curse him under my breath. Then I would look at the small lieutenant who was also having a hard time, more so than the rest of us because of his shorter legs. "Dammit!" I would say half aloud, "If they can do it, then so can I!"And I would dig in.

Every day new volunteers arrived at the camp to find lines of men awaiting truck transportation to return to their old outfits. Over 2,000 men had volunteered - and slightly over 500 men were still at camp.

That was the beginning of our second week. After that, the numbers leaving diminished to a mere handful every day.
James Altieri

That was at the beginning of our second week. After that, the numbers leaving diminished to a mere handful every other day.
James Altieri

The weeks at Carrickfergus transformed the men from a group of individuals who had volunteered for different reasons, and with little knowledge of what they were actually going to be, into a unit determined to become Rangers.

Bob Oleson comes from Racine, Wisconsin, a small city fifty miles north of Chicago, where an ordered life is valued and any cowboy instincts are kept in check. Oleson volunteered to come to Carrickfergus for a good practical reason. He wanted to be well trained and competent. He did not picture himself going on night raids behind enemy lines. He stepped forward because he wanted to be ready to do his job as an infantryman.

I had been standing and listening to this little pitch about being trained by the world-famous Commandos. A fellow that was standing next to me by the name of Harold Davies looked up at me and said, "What are you going to do?" And I said, "Well, I think I'm going to give it a try." I felt as though I'd like to belong to the best. And I did. It ended up that we were.
Bob Oleson

There was a growing sense that they were going to be something special, that the Rangers could become the best. In two years almost to the day General Norman "Dutch" Cota would give the Rangers their motto and battle cry.

The 116th Regiment of the 29th Infantry Division was pinned down on Omaha Beach by fire from the heights of the cliffs of Point du Hoe, during the early hours of the Normandy invasion on 6 June 1944. Members of the 2nd and 5th Ranger Battalions who landed with the 116th had manage to advance toward the heights. General Cota, assistant division commander of the 29th, literally stumbled upon them. "Who are you?" "Rangers", the! replied. "Rangers, lead the way", he ordered. Under heavy fire the Range climbed up to the sites of the German guns and captured them. They opened a break that allowed supporting troops to land and changed General Cota's order into a tribute. "Rangers, lead the way."