Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers: From the American Revolution to the Iraq War [3 vols.] 144086358X, 9781440863585

Table of contents :
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
List of Documents
Preface
Acknowledgments
Introduction
VOLUME 1
1. The American Revolution
2. War of 1812
3. Mexican War
4. The Civil War
5. The Indian Wars
VOLUME 2
6. Spanish-American War
7. World War I
8. World War II in Europe
9. World War II in the Pacific
10. The Cold War
VOLUME 3
11. The Korean War
12. The Vietnam War
13. The Persian Gulf War
14. Afghanistan War and the War on Terror
15. The Iraq War
About the Editors and Contributors
Index

Citation preview

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers From the American Revolution to the Iraq War

VOLUMES 1, II and III

Christopher R. Mortenson and Paul J. Springer, Editors

Copyright © 2019 by ABC-­CLIO, LLC All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other­wise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Mortenson, Christopher R., 1975– editor. | Springer, Paul J., editor. Title: Daily life of U.S. soldiers : from the American Revolution to the Iraq War / Christopher R. Mortenson and Paul J. Springer, editors. Description: Santa Barbara, CA : Greenwood, an imprint of ABC-CLIO, LLC, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018051337 (print) | LCCN 2018060605 (ebook) | ISBN 9781440863592 (ebook) | ISBN 9781440863585 (set : hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781440863608 (vol. 1 : hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781440863615 (vol. 2 : hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781440863622 (vol. 3 : hardcover : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Soldiers—United States—History. | United States—Armed Forces— Military life—History. | United States—History, Military. Classification: LCC UA25 (ebook) | LCC UA25 .D26 2019 (print) | DDC 355.10973—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018051337 ISBN: 978-1-4408-6358-5 (set) 978-1-4408-6360-8 (vol. 1) 978-1-4408-6361-5 (vol. 2) 978-1-4408-6362-2 (vol. 3) 978-1-4408-6359-2 (ebook) 23  22  21  20  19   1  2  3  4  5 This book is also available as an eBook. Greenwood An Imprint of ABC-­CLIO, LLC ABC-­CLIO, LLC 147 Castilian Drive Santa Barbara, California 93117 www​.­abc​-­clio​.­com This book is printed on acid-­f ree paper Manufactured in the United States of Amer­i­ca ­ very reasonable effort has been made to trace the ­owners of copyright materials in this book, but E in some instances this has proven impossible. The editors and publisher ­w ill be glad to receive information leading to more complete acknowl­edgments in subsequent printings of the book and in the meantime extend their apologies for any omissions.

Contents

List of Documents  vii Preface xi Acknowl­edgments  xiii Introduction xv VOLUME 1 1 The American Revolution  1 Scott A. Cook 2 War of 1812  91 Robert Wettemann Jr. 3 Mexican War  171 Robert Wettemann Jr. 4 The Civil War  255 Christopher R. Mortenson 5 The Indian Wars  317 Paul J. Springer VOLUME 2 6 Spanish-­American War  385 Jordan R. Hayworth 7 World War I  455 Richard S. Faulkner 8 World War II in Eu­rope  533 Jonathan A. Beall 9 World War II in the Pacific  617 David J. Ulbrich

vi Contents

10 The Cold War  683 Robert T. Jones VOLUME 3 11 The Korean War  775 Michael E. Krivdo 12 The Vietnam War  863 Robert J. Thompson 13 The Persian Gulf War  919 Paul J. Springer 14 Af­ghan­i­stan War and the War on Terror  979 Ryan Wadle 15 The Iraq War  1033 Jared R. Donnelly About the Editors and Contributors  1095 Index 1099

List of Documents

THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Anonymous: ­Battle of White Plains  63 Boyrereau Brinch: A Skirmish in New York  64 John Burrowes: S ­ ullivan’s Campaign against the Six Nations  66 Joseph Plumb Martin: A Private at the B ­ attle of Monmouth  73 Albigence Waldo: Valley Forge  76 POWs’ Letter to General Washington  79

WAR OF 1812 1. John P. Kennedy: A Mary­land Volunteer in Defense of Washington  147 2. James Mann: Recollections of an Army Surgeon  157 3. Adam Walker: Surrender of Detroit  160

MEXICAN WAR 1. 2. 3. 4.

General Zachary Taylor: ­Battle of Buena Vista  225 John Blout Robertsen: With the “Bloody-­First” at Cerro Gordo  234 George C. Furber: The Siege of Vera Cruz  237 Luther Giddings: The ­Battle of Monterrey  239

THE CIVIL WAR 1. Thomas R. Duncan: A Confederate Account of the Fort Pillow Massacre  294 2. Harry Gilmor: Guerrilla Combat in V ­ irginia  296 3. Charles B. Kimbell: Trench Warfare during the Atlanta Campaign  298 4. Samuel McNeil: An Ohio Veteran at Chickamauga  299

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List of Documents

5. 6. 7. 8.

James M. Stone: A Mas­sa­chu­setts Soldier at the B ­ attle of Antietam  301 Sam R. Watkins: The B ­ attle of Kennesaw Mountain  303 William A. Fletcher: A Rebel Private at the Seven Days B ­ attles  306 William A. Fletcher: The Texas Brigade at Chickamauga  308

THE INDIAN WARS 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Isaac Naylor: A V ­ irginia Volunteer at the B ­ attle of Tippecanoe  362 Ransom Clarke: The Dade Ambush  366 Debenneville Randolph Keim: The Campaign against Black K ­ ettle  368 Frederick Frances Girard: The ­Battle of L ­ ittle Bighorn  370 F. A. Culbertson: The Reno Court of Inquiry  372

SPANISH-­AMERICAN WAR 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

John Bigelow, Jr.: Black Troops Storm San Juan Heights  434 Mark L. Hersey: Search and Destroy Operations on Samar  437 George Kennan: The Red Cross and the ­Battle of Santiago  439 Paul B. Malone: The 13th Infantry in the Santiago Campaign  441 G. E. Meyer: The Balangiga Massacre  443 George J. Newgarden: Caring for the Wounded during the Santiago Campaign  446

WORLD WAR I 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Major Manton Eddy: Machine Gun Com­pany in WWI  505 Fighting in the B ­ attle of Mont Blanc  508 Paul Andrews: A Private in the “Lost Battalion”  510 Charles P. Darby: Wounded in France  512 Instructions Pertaining to the Training of an Infantry Division in Trench ­Warfare, and the Establishment of Divisional Schools  513

WORLD WAR II IN EU­ROPE 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

William Hurle Collier: A Forward Artillery Observer  595 Marshall Webb: Attacking the Gustav Line  596 William Funk­houser: D-­Day  598 Guy C. Nicely: The ­Battle of Aachen  600 Alan D. Evans: An Artillery Fire Direction Center  602



List of Documents ix

WORLD WAR II IN THE PACIFIC 1. Handbook on Japa­nese Military Forces, October 1, 1944  662 2. Combat in the Pacific Theater  663 THE COLD WAR 1. NSC 68: The Fight against Communist Aggression  741 2. George F. Kennan: Containment  746 3. Harry S. Truman: Executive Order 9981  757 THE KOREAN WAR 1. Dwight David Eisenhower: Executive Order 10631  836 2. Douglas MacArthur: Address to Congress, April 19, 1951  838 3. Regulations Governing the Separation from the Ser­vice of Certain ­Women Serving in the Regular Army, Navy, Marine Corps, or Air Force  845 THE VIETNAM WAR 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Anonymous: Operation Cedar Falls  902 N. Michael Bissell: A Nomination for the Congressional Medal of Honor  905 Bayes L. Bryant: A Platoon Sergeant  907 Terry Davis: Forward Observer with the 1st Air Cavalry Division  908 Charles L. L ­ ittle: A Maintenance Battalion Clerk  909

THE PERSIAN GULF WAR 1. George H. W. Bush, Radio Address to U.S. Armed Forces Stationed in the Persian Gulf Region, March 2, 1991  963 2. Final Report to Congress, Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, April 1992  964 3. The B ­ attle of Wadi Al-­Batin  969 4. Statement of Derek E. Davis before the Committee on Veterans Affairs, House of Representatives, February 11, 1997  970 AF­GHAN­I­STAN WAR AND THE WAR ON TERROR 1. John F. Kerry, “Tora Bora Revisited: How We Failed to Get Bin Laden and Why It M ­ atters ­Today,” November 30, 2009  1020 2. Tommy R. Franks, “ ‘Lessons Learned’ during Operation Enduring Freedom in Af­ghan­i­stan, and Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operations in the United States Central Command Region,” July 9, 2003  1022

x

List of Documents

THE IRAQ WAR 1. Justin Prather: Killing Al-­Zarqawi  1080 2. Jeremy Adam Bowen: Night Raid in Fallujah  1082 3. Hans Hull: A New War: Improvised Explosive Devices  1086

Preface

­ hese three volumes of the Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers include 15 chapters that cover T Amer­i­ca’s most notable conflicts, from the American Revolution to the War on Terror. More traditional histories of warfare concentrate on b­ attles and leaders, or “guns and trumpets,” but the last few de­cades have led to the rise and solidification of the New Military History. Prac­ti­tion­ers of the latter have studied the many aspects of warfare beyond the commanders and ­battles, with some works easily being categorized as institutional or social histories. ­These efforts have resulted in a much better understanding of the lives of the men and w ­ omen who have undertaken the call to wage war. Our knowledge of ­these warriors and their lives is constantly evolving; over two centuries of reflection and writing, our views, biases, and interests have changed. A general introduction to the volumes ­will provide additional context to the study of soldiers’ lives. Each chapter begins with an overview of an American war’s campaigns, ­battles, and other notable events. The body of each essay includes 15 dif­ fer­ent topic sections, each addressing an aspect of an American soldier’s life in uniform, culminating in a section examining “Unique Aspects of Soldiering” in that era’s conflict. A timeline, source notes, and bibliography follow, assisting the reader in their attempts to learn more about the war and its combatants. In addition, a se­lection of primary documents for the war introduces readers to some of the source material that allows us all to understand the efforts of the country’s troops. The volumes include roughly 64 documents, each with a brief introduction to add context, as well as a note on where one can find the source. A note on language: primary documents and quotations retain their original language. Some of this language may be uncomfortable for the modern reader. Nonetheless, in order to preserve an individual’s au­then­tic voice, we have chosen to leave the language unchanged. To omit potentially uncomfortable language is to deny the reader the chance to understand more deeply the nature of t­ hese times and events. All of this should be of interest to high school students, undergraduate and gradu­ ate students, officers engaged in professional military education, soldiers stationed on military bases, and the general public. Anyone interested in beginning a research proj­ect related to soldiers in an American war ­will be wise to consult t­hese volumes first. Furthermore, ­those interested in the ser­vice of a parent, grandparent, or long-­gone ancestor ­will find much assistance in the respective chapter, especially the bibliography and notes. One can easily argue that warfare, while dangerous and

xii Preface

destructive in so many ways, has been the catalyst for so much change in U.S. history—­f rom the founding of the republic, the end of slavery, American expansion, and the end of the ­Great Depression, to the increased pressure to ensure freedoms for ­women and minorities ­after the world wars. Anyone interested in such changes w ­ ill also find much to enjoy in the coming chapters.

Acknowl­edgments

The editors would like to thank—in order of appearance—­Scott A. Cook, Robert Wettemann, Jr., Jordan R. Hayworth, Richard S. Faulkner, Jonathan A. Beall, David J. Ulbrich, Robert T. Jones, Michael E. Krivdo, Robert J. Thompson, Ryan Wadle, and Jared R. Donnelly for the excellent chapters included in ­these three volumes. Padraic (Pat) Carlin and Jane Glenn have expertly shepherded us all through the publication pro­cess. Shruti Chopra, Michelle Scott, Lisa McCoy, and Ellen Rasmussen produced a well-­edited manuscript, beautiful images, and an appealing cover. Air University and Ouachita Baptist University, homes to some very supportive colleagues, allowed us time to complete the proj­ect. And, of course, Autumn Mortenson and Victoria Springer continue to tolerate us.

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Introduction

Wars are awesome and terrible events. They are characterized by vio­lence, through which p­ eople die, experience terrible injuries, lose their homes, and commit atrocities. But Amer­i­ca’s major military conflicts have also included or influenced military, constitutional, po­liti­cal, and social events. The American Revolution resulted in the formation of the republic, and the War of 1812 served to solidify many of the values of the early republic. The Mexican War saw the first ­great recruitment of volunteers, as opposed to militia units, in order to raise large armies. The Civil War ended the institution of slavery and resulted in greater federal power and bureaucracy in order to provide pensions to veterans, oversee Reconstruction of the South, and manage the counting and burying of the dead. The Spanish-­American War arguably brought northerners and southerners back together and ushered in a new oversees imperialism with the addition of islands in the Ca­r ib­bean and the Pacific. World War I forced the U.S. government to engage in its first g­ reat movement of armies oversees for war on another continent. The next world war cemented the hegemony of the United States, arguably ended the G ­ reat Depression, encouraged w ­ omen and minorities to continue the drive for equal rights, and birthed a G.I. Bill that benefitted millions of veterans, as well as significantly improving the colleges and universities in each state. Veterans lamented that the home front seemed to forget the Korean War, the first overt conflict in the Cold War, while all of society seemed to want to forget a Vietnam War that demonstrated many weaknesses in the U.S. Army. The Persian Gulf War ushered in a better era for the military and led to its overt, long-­standing, and frustrating involvement in the affairs of the ­Middle East, as well as to the emergence of Osama Bin Laden. The ­later wars in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq, collectively lumped ­under the War on Terror, continue adding to the federal debt while reinvigorating debates about counterinsurgency doctrine, nation building, and the army. In other words, wars have been so very influential in defining Amer­i­ca and its role in the world, as well as significantly influencing its ­f uture. When arguing about the ­great changes created by warfare, many fail to think of the sacrifices of the men and ­women who served, even though films, tele­vi­sion programs, and books have attempted to depict the lives of soldiers. To help break down the common themes of ­every soldier’s experience, each chapter has a series of topic sections. ­These allow the easy comparison of specific aspects of soldiers’ lives across dif­fer­ent eras. The topic sections for each chapter are:

xvi Introduction

Overview Conscription and Volunteers Training Social Structure Daily Life Religion Popu­lar Culture Pay and Compensation Weaponry Combat Elite Troops Health and Medicine Prisoners of War Home Front Veterans’ Issues Military Discipline Unique Aspects of Soldiering in the War Readers ­will discover that love of country, peer pressure, thirst for adventure, and economic concerns have always led Americans to enlist in the military. Also, citizens have served as militiamen, volunteers, and conscripts in vari­ous conflicts. The rivalry between militia, volunteers, and regulars characterized many war efforts. Training has improved over time, especially in the last few de­cades. The makeup, or social structure, of American armies has evolved in complicated ways; African Americans strug­gled in the eigh­teenth and nineteenth centuries to argue for greater freedoms based on their honorable ser­vice in the armed forces. ­Women served as nurses, disguised themselves as men in ­earlier wars, and proceeded to make the case for a greater role in combat operations. The food, shelter, and uniforms of soldiers have changed a lot over the de­cades. Old wars ­were characterized by subpar food, shelter, and uniforms. Soldiers have always complained about the quality or variety of food provided during their ser­vice. On the other hand, l­ater wars have demonstrated the ­g reat wealth of the United States, as allies and enemies have envied the endless flow of supplies to support American GIs. Americans continue to find and lose religion during war­time, and chaplains have done their best to counsel t­ hose who must kill o­ thers to survive. Soldiers have craved the ­music, reading, and other entertainments popu­lar on the home front while, at the same time, taking part in wars that influenced the country’s popu­lar culture for years to come. Pay and compensation have become more reliable and steadily increased over time, with veterans’ benefits becoming a significant part of Amer­ i­ca’s yearly bud­get. Regardless of the weapons employed on the battlefield, thousands of American grunts have lost their lives to ­battle, to disease, and to failed medical care—­all common themes in ­earlier wars. Chronic sickness, disfigurement, handicaps, amputations, and ­mental illness have regularly plagued the postwar lives

Introduction xvii

of Amer­i­ca’s soldiers. Prisoners of war have at times suffered greatly, experienced humane treatment, and been almost non­ex­is­tent ­because the ­enemy refused to take them alive. The early American discomfort with standing armies and regular soldiers resulted in militia and volunteers who preferred to be treated as ­free citizens, even when in uniform; such an attitude led to serious disciplinary prob­lems in a number of conflicts. Still, even with many common themes, soldiering in each war was unique in some way. The authors of the several chapters attempt to understand ­these issues with the help of soldiers’ letters, diaries, memoirs, and the increasingly available online resources. Furthermore, one must not ignore the work and changing interpretations of so very many scholars over time. Much of the scholarship in military history of recent de­cades has expanded the field to include institutional, social, or cultural studies, and our understanding of the lives of soldiers has benefited greatly as a result. For that ­matter, even the histories of campaigns and ­battles include ­these concerns to a much greater degree than in e­ arlier years. Unit histories have also become much more in­ter­est­ing as they focus on the lives of the soldiers more and more than where they ­were during a b­ attle; the social aspects of their lives and connections to the home front—­understanding them beyond the battlefield—­have become greater parts of such histories. Without all of this, ­these three volumes would not be pos­si­ble. The reader ­will see much of this in biblio­graphies and notes, pointing one to sources that focus on more narrow subjects for an even greater understanding of a favorite war or issue. Moreover, a timeline for each war provides the reader with some context as they make their way through the topic sections. The collections of primary documents that follow each chapter give the reader a taste of what it is like to learn more about ­these lives through their own words and the words of their commanders. T ­ hese con­temporary pieces include excerpts or full text from letters, autobiographies, official reports and o­ rders, executive ­orders, and legislation. The combination of an overview, topical sections, timeline, bibliography, source notes, and con­temporary accounts w ­ ill allow the reader to more fully engage the subject and continue research beyond t­ hese three volumes. It is the editors’ hope that ­these volumes ­will lead readers to a greater interest in the subjects covered by each chapter and provide a guide for how to engage in deeper studies of the vital aspects of soldiers’ lives. By gaining a greater understanding of the experiences common to soldiers in dif­fer­ent eras, readers might also gain insights into modern military roles, how troops interact with and reflect the socie­ties that supply them, and the likely need for military force in the f­ uture. By obtaining a comprehension of the costs of conflict, not only in the aggregate but also at the individual level, perhaps this work ­will in some ways contribute to a reduction in the need for military force and a desire to utilize other tools prior to engaging in interstate conflict.

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1 The American Revolution Scott A. Cook

OVERVIEW The story of the American Revolution began with a non­ex­is­tent national military and ended with a weak but victorious Continental Army contemplating a refusal to disarm ­until Congress met their demands. Their military ­battles ­were directly linked to the strug­gles and joys of their daily lives. As they fought, they ­were concerned about providing for their families; they w ­ ere aware of how po­liti­cal decisions affected their well-­being; and they w ­ ere involved in discussions about equality, justice, and freedom. The first colonials to participate in the conflict considered themselves citizen-­soldiers fighting for their inalienable rights against an overbearing British Empire. The American soldiers who finished the fight ­were members of the lower classes of society who w ­ ere beginning to question their role in the newly emerging nation. One of the first sources of tension between the ­mother country and 13 of her American colonies was the stricter enforcement of a series of laws known as the Navigation Acts, which imposed taxes and forbade the colonies from trading with any foreign governments except the ones controlled by the British Empire. ­These acts ­were not new, but prior to the French and Indian War, the British Crown seldom enforced them. In fact, in the approximately 150 years ­after the colonies ­were first settled, they had grown to enjoy a relatively high level of autonomy from En­glish authority. A ­ fter the war, the British began to enforce the acts more strictly in an effort to raise revenue; a seemingly logical action since the war was fought for the protection of colonial citizens. Both the British and Americans attempted to find compromises during this time. The British reduced and even repealed some taxes, and the Americans sent Benjamin Franklin to London as an emissary. Ultimately, the divide between the two sides was too large for reconciliation, and on March 5, 1770, British troops quartered in Boston clashed with local citizens. Three civilians ­were killed during the confrontation, and two ­others died ­later. A newspaper article from the time described

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

the five men who ­were killed as Mr. Samuel Gray, killed by a musket “ball entering his head”; Crispus Attucks, a “mullato man” from Farmington who was in Boston on his way to North Carolina; “Mr. James Caldwell, mate of Capt. Morton’s vessel . . . ​killed by two balls entering his back”; “Mr. Samuel Maverick, a promising youth of 17 years of age” who died the next day; and “Mr. Patrick Carr, about 30 years of age,” who worked as a “leather breeches maker” and died ­later of wounds from a ball that “entered near his hip and went out his side.”1 While the American Revolution had not officially started, in the minds of some colonial Patriots, the deaths of ­these citizens “put an end to ­every idea of reconciliation betwixt the contending parties.”2 Thus, they became martyrs for the revolution and symbolic of the men who would become the first soldiers in the Continental Army. Eight British soldiers w ­ ere arrested for the deaths of t­ hese men. In the belief that every­one deserves fair justice, patriot John Adams defended the soldiers. Six of the eight w ­ ere acquitted, and the other two ­were convicted of manslaughter but given reduced sentences. The trial showed that the soldiers ­were provoked more than disclosed in the propagandized newspaper article; however, the article does illustrate the feelings and beliefs among the inhabitants of the colonies. Tension between ­England and her American colonies increased in 1773 when a group of Bostonians dressed as Mohawk Indians boarded three British ships docked in the harbor and tossed 342 chests of tea into the ­water, rather than pay the taxes upon them. In response to the “Boston Tea Party,” Parliament passed a series of laws, known as the Intolerable Acts, designed to punish Boston. The harshest of ­these acts was the Boston Port Act, which levied a fine on the town equal to the cost of the tea that had been destroyed, and it closed the harbor via military blockade ­until the fine was paid and peace restored. While the Boston Massacre put an end to the idea of reconciliation, the Intolerable Acts started the idea of a united re­sis­tance. For example, on the day the Boston Port Act went into effect, the V ­ irginia House of Burgesses held a day of “Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer, devoutly to implore the Divine Interposition . . . ​that the Minds of his Majesty and his Parliament . . . ​may be inspired from above with Wisdom, Moderation, and Justice.”3 This act of unity was followed three months ­later by the first meeting of the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. Even though the delegates did not vote for rebellion or in­de­pen­dence, they did resolve that the colonies would not send, receive, or consume any British goods. Additionally, Congress a­ dopted the Declaration of Rights, which asserted (1) that the colonists ­were “entitled to life, liberty, & property, and they have never ceded to any sovereign power what­ever, a right to dispose of ­either without their consent”; (2) “that all statutes, for taxing the ­people of the said colonies, are illegal and void”; and (3) “that the raising and keeping a standing army within ­these Colonies in time of peace, ­unless it be with the consent of the Provincial Legislatures, is illegal, pernicious, and dangerous; and that ­every statute for quartering or supplying troops within the said Colonies is illegal and void.” 4 While the Continental Congress responded to Britain with resolutions, colonists ­were taking actions of their own. Thousands of men “armed with clubs and accompanied by drummers and fifers” confronted royally appointed officials and refused to pay taxes. Rural militia officers began to stockpile weapons and practice drills with their young soldiers. General Thomas Gage, the military governor



The American Revolution 3

of Mas­sa­chu­setts, had l­ittle control over the colony and feared a rebellion. As a result, he sent 250 troops to seize gunpowder and cannons from militia arsenals at Charlestown and Cambridge. While the British managed to retrieve the munitions without conflict, the colonial propagandists spread rumors of civilian massacres and warships bombarding Boston. In a show of unity, nearly 20,000 militiamen from New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut came to aid their colonial neighbors.5 In April 1775, Gage ordered Lieutenant Col­o­nel Francis Smith to destroy military supplies in the city of Concord and possibly to arrest “two obnoxious” leaders of the Congress: Samuel Adams and John Hancock. The British hoped to catch the Americans by surprise, but a spy in Gage’s camp, most likely his American wife Margaret, sent word of the mission to Paul Revere through Dr. Joseph Warren.6 As the sun started to rise in the town of Lexington, a militia of about 70 men had already assembled. Upon receiving word that the Patriots w ­ ere alerted to the British attack, Smith s­ topped short of town and sent an advanced party of light infantry ahead ­under the command of Major John Pitcairn. When Pitcairn and his men entered the town, they ordered the militia to disperse. When the revolutionary troops refused to move, both sides began firing their weapons. The outnumbered and overpowered militia eventually dispersed, and the British continued ­toward Concord.7 In Concord the British destroyed military supplies, although the Americans had managed to remove a majority of the supplies prior to their arrival. By this time, several thousand militiamen from eastern and central Mas­sa­chu­setts had assembled around Concord and fired at the British from covered locations such as buildings, trees, and walls. Smith’s men took heavy casualties and ­were unable to safely retreat u­ ntil Gage sent Lord Hugh Percy with reinforcements to escort them back to fortified headquarters in Boston. The militiamen followed the British troops and formed a line of encampment around their fortification. The Mas­sa­chu­setts regiments ­were soon joined by colonial troops from Connecticut led by General Israel Putnam. Gage’s fortifications ­were strong enough to deter any aggressive actions by the militiamen but not strong enough to drive the militiamen away. This formation of militiamen from dif­fer­ent colonies was one of the first signs of military unification against the British forces. The Mas­sa­chu­setts Provisional Congress accepted responsibility for supplying the army and appointed Artemas Ward to be its first commander in chief. During this same time, the Rhode Island General Assembly passed an act “raising fifteen hundred men, as an army of observation, and to assist any of our ­sister colonies.” At least in the New ­England colonies, the revolutionary spirit was high.8 In May 1775, 150 men from Connecticut, Mas­sa­chu­setts, and New York set out on an expedition to capture supplies and munitions from the British garrison at Fort Ticonderoga, New York. About 100 of the men belonged to Ethan Allen’s “Green Mountain Boys” and the rest w ­ ere commanded by Benedict Arnold. At Ticonderoga, they captured cannons, mortars, gunpowder, prisoners, and an En­glish sloop, all without losing a life on ­either side.9 Meanwhile, the Continental Congress reconvened for its second session and selected Col­o­nel George Washington from V ­ irginia to lead the new Continental

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

British regulars and colonial militia exchange fire at the ­Battle of Lexington. Often referred to as the “Shot Heard around the World,” the B ­ attle of Lexington was the first significant engagement of the Revolutionary War. (Library of Congress)

Army. The members also urged the colonies of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire to send additional forces to support the colonial militias in Boston.10 Even before Washington left Congress in Philadelphia, the army in New ­England took action by building a redoubt on Breed’s Hill (formerly thought to be Bunker Hill). This high ground overlooked Boston and gave the troops that controlled it command of the city. Gage sent William Howe and General Robert Pigot with 2,500 troops to attack the lines and redoubt. The Americans inflicted ­great losses upon the British and ­were close to winning the ­battle u­ ntil General Henry Clinton joined the ­battle with relief forces. Clinton and his men drove the Americans from Breed’s Hill and secured it for the British. Among the British dead was Pitcairn, who just two months ­earlier had been pre­sent at the B ­ attle of Lexington 11 and Concord. The Continental Congress wanted the army to take additional offensive action and ordered General Philip Schuyler to evaluate the condition of the American troops at Fort Ticonderoga, the status of their supplies, the state of the sloop, and the disposition of the Canadians and Indians. If Schuyler found it practical, he was to “immediately take possession of St. Johns, Montreal, and any other parts of the country, and pursue any other mea­sures in Canada, which may have a tendency to promote the peace and security of ­these Colonies.” The goal of this mission was to prevent the 700 troops commanded by British General Guy Carleton from stirring up an Indian rebellion or assisting the troops ­doing ­battle in Boston.12 Schuyler did find the mission practical, and by the ­middle of November he, along with General Richard Montgomery, captured St. Johns and Montreal and forced Carleton to consolidate his forces in Quebec. In December, Arnold brought additional troops in an effort to complete the victory in Canada; however, the British ­were too well entrenched and possibly alerted to the Americans’ plans. During the attack grapeshot killed Montgomery, his principal officers, and most of the party he commanded.



The American Revolution 5

Additionally, Arnold was severely wounded in the leg, and ultimately the Americans had to withdraw from Canada.13 General Washington, who had officially assumed command of the New E ­ ngland troops on July 2, 1775, sent his artillery commander, Henry Knox, to Fort Ticonderoga to retrieve cannons and gunpowder. Late in January 1776, Knox returned to Boston with 59 cannons, which Washington used to bombard the British. The attack continued for 14 days ­until Howe de­cided he needed to take action. He considered attacking the Americans at Dorchester Neck but determined they ­were too well fortified. Instead, Howe de­cided that an evacuation was his only choice and loaded his troops for Halifax.14 As soon as the British army departed Boston, the Continental Army marched to New York, where they feared Gage would attack next ­because it was Amer­i­ca’s second-­largest city and had the best harbor for housing the British navy. As Washington suspected, the British sent 32,000 troops to New York Harbor in July. In August, the British attacked, and many of the American soldiers had their first experience with European-­style warfare where columns of men faced and fired at each other only yards apart. The inaccuracy of the muskets made this brutal technique a necessity, but to be successful it required discipline, and this was a quality the new Continental Army had yet to acquire. Additionally, they had not yet learned to put the accuracy of their ­rifles to advantageous use in this type of major combat.15 Despite being surprised by the initial attack, Washington managed to rally his men on Brooklyn Heights near the East River. ­After camping for two days, Washington’s men abandoned their location on the dark and foggy night of August 29, 1776. With the utmost secrecy and silence, the troops ferried themselves across the river and into Manhattan. The next morning Howe realized that he had missed the opportunity to perhaps quickly end the war. Two weeks ­later, Howe sent British troops to the north of Washington’s location and fired cannons from warships. This action forced the Continental Army to retreat out of Manhattan. Unlike the orderly retreat from Brooklyn Heights, the men broke ranks and fled, with many throwing away “their packs and guns to run faster.”16 The exceptions ­were 250 troops from Mary­land, who attacked the British forces to allow the rest of the American army to escape to Harlem Heights. A ­ fter the retreat, the British captured and hanged a 24-­year-­old Yale gradu­ate and member of the Connecticut Militia named Nathan Hale, who had been posing as a Loyalist and reporting troop movements back to the Americans.17 Throughout the fall of 1776, the British pursued Washington and his men ­until they fi­nally landed in New Jersey. From ­there they crossed the Delaware River, where they established camp at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. In camp, the men w ­ ere cold, hungry, and restless. The Continental currency had lost any value, and it was difficult to find Patriots willing to sell provisions to the American army. Many men deserted, and the ones who remained w ­ ere coming to the end of their enlistments on December 31. With ­these circumstances in mind, Washington de­cided to initiate action against a Hessian outpost across the Delaware River in Trenton, New Jersey. His men crossed the icy river on Christmas night and surprised the Hessians early the next morning. They killed the Hessian commander and easily took

6

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

General George Washington meets with members of the Continental Congress at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Keeping his forces intact during the winter encampment proved one of the most difficult challenges of the war. (National Archives)

possession of the camp.18 A week ­later, the return of British troops forced Washington and his men to move to Morristown, New Jersey. In August 1777, Howe landed his army in Mary­land just 57 miles from the American capital of Philadelphia.19 Meanwhile, the Marquis de Lafayette had joined Washington’s staff as an unpaid volunteer. By this point, Washington was beginning to understand that survival of the army was his primary objective, and this required a defensive strategy of warfare.20 He tried to prevent Howe’s advance on Philadelphia through a series of skirmishes and a campaign of general harassment, but when this proved in­effec­tive, he knew he would have to meet Howe head on. On September 11, Howe, Washington, and Lafayette met at the B ­ attle of Brandywine Creek. Howe’s tactical maneuvers forced the Americans to disperse and cleared his path to Philadelphia.21 The Continental Army headed to Reading, and the Congress fled to York. Philadelphia was not the only battleground at this time. On July 5, 1777, British General John Burgoyne with 8,000 soldiers, including 800 Native American scouts, approached Fort Ticonderoga, which was occupied by General Arthur St. Clair and a force of 3,000 colonial Americans. Seeing that he was outnumbered, St. Clair abandoned the fort before Burgoyne could completely surround it. The British pursued the retreating Americans, and a series of skirmishes ensued. As part of their retreat, the Americans slowed down the British by blocking the road with fallen trees. This and Burgoyne’s slow supply lines gave St. Clair time to meet up with his superior Schuyler at Fort Edward. Before Burgoyne could get to Fort Edward,



The American Revolution 7

however, Schuyler and St. Clair moved to Saratoga, New York, where they established a new headquarters at the unoccupied Fort Edward. In August 1777, the Continental Congress removed Schuyler and St. Clair ­because of their inability to hold Fort Ticonderoga. Congress selected Horatio Gates to replace Schuyler and appointed Daniel Morgan and Benedict Arnold as his subordinates. ­Under new leadership, the American forces gained momentum against the British. Morgan’s riflemen ­were establishing their reputation as an elite unit due to their ability to harass scouting expeditions with their sharpshooting skills. Additionally, Arnold led vigorous assaults against the infantry. Furthermore, militias played an impor­tant role by providing a readily available source of temporary fighters. While reluctant to engage in long-­distance ­battles or agree to long-­term enlistments, they ­were willing to briefly leave their vocations to participate in nearby engagements. Eventually, the Americans surrounded the British at Fort Edward and forced Burgoyne to surrender.22 The year 1777 ended with the Continental Congress adopting the Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union on November 15 and sending the agreement to the states for ratification. Washington ended the year by taking his troops back to winter quarters at Valley Forge, 18 miles away from Philadelphia. The states could show their loyalty to in­de­pen­dence by ratifying the Articles of Confederation, and they could show their loyalty to the Continental Army by keeping them fed and supplied through the harshest winter of the war. Nine of the 13 states ratified the agreement by the end of winter; however, the Continental troops ­were not as lucky. Washington’s cold, tired, and hungry men had to build log huts for their quarters. The huts ­were a mere 14 by 16 feet, and many ­housed a dozen men. The floors ­were dirt and the walls contained no win­dows. Prospects for curing their hunger w ­ ere even worse. Many of the nearby farmers preferred to sell their food to the ­enemy b­ ecause the British pound was much more reliable than the colonial dollar.23 In early 1778, the arrival of Lieutenant General Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben brought hope for the f­ uture. Steuben had been a charter member of Frederick the ­Great’s general staff in Prus­sia and was extremely knowledgeable in military drill, tactics, and discipline; talents that ­were severely lacking in Washington’s army. In Washington’s opinion, the military campaign of 1777 had suffered, at least in part, due to a lack of training. His plan was to standardize training, discipline, and regulations by establishing a special agency within the military dedicated specifically to ­these functions. Washington and the Continental Congress appointed Steuben to lead this agency, and one of his first tasks was to write the army’s military code establishing the rules and regulations governing the conduct of the Continental soldiers.24 In Eu­rope, news of the capture of Burgoyne and of the perseverance of Washington helped convince the French of the viability of an American victory. In Paris, the signing of the Franco-­American Treaty of Commerce and Treaty of Alliance brought the French into the war on the side of the Americans. This action set off a chain of events that shifted the war­time advantage to the colonials. For example, the British army and navy could no longer concentrate on the American campaign;

8

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

they now had to disperse to protect British possessions in the Ca­rib­bean, Mediterranean, and Asia, as well as the homeland. Thus, when Clinton relieved Howe as British commander in 1778, his army was about two-­thirds the size of the one entrusted to Howe.25 ­These new circumstances caused the British to abandon Philadelphia and consolidate their forces around New York. Washington hoped that the soon-­to-be joint operations with the French would provide the necessary force to bring the war to an end. A ­ fter initially planning on joining forces in New York, the French navy and American army de­cided to meet up and attack a smaller British force in Newport, Rhode Island. Unfortunately, coordinating the efforts of vari­ous militias, Continental troops, the French navy, and French marines proved to be more difficult than ­imagined. So much time was wasted trying to integrate the fighting forces that Admiral Richard Howe (William’s ­brother) managed to sail from New York to Rhode Island and threaten French dominance of the sea coast. This move diverted the French navy’s attention from supporting the operations on land to defending his fleet against the British. Additionally, a violent storm damaged French ships before the marines could disembark, and they had to sail to Boston for repairs. This turn of events caused most of the militias to return to their homes, and the British seized the opportunity to attack the Americans. The Continental soldiers and remaining militiamen retreated, and the plan to defeat the British at Newport failed.26 As the year 1778 came to an end, the British and Americans engaged in skirmishes and raids with each other throughout the New ­England states. Neither side seemed to gain much ground in ­these encounters; eventually, as part of their strategy of consolidation, the British relocated their troops from Rhode Island to New York. Admiral Howe went back to ­England and was replaced by Admiral John Byron. Concurrently, Washington and his men entered winter quarters at Middlebrook, New Jersey, while the French sailors and marines went to the West Indies, a higher priority for the French in the war against Britain than defending the newly forming United States of Amer­i­ca. The British developed a new strategy for 1779. They de­cided their best chance at victory was to subdue the Southern colonies first. They hoped to find a more sympathetic population in the South and thus establish a foothold in the colonies from which to conduct their operations. They began by sending ships and troops from New York to Savannah, Georgia. They also sent General Augustine Prevost, the British commander in East Florida, northward to meet up with the troops in Savannah. The British met very l­ ittle re­sis­tance, and by the end of January, Georgia was once again a British colony.27 Defending the southern states was General Benjamin Lincoln. Initially, Lincoln had trou­ble building up his forces ­because the militias considered the region ­either not worth defending or ­u nder no real threat from the British. This also helps to explain why Prevost met so ­little re­sis­tance in Georgia. Once the British captured Georgia, the ­battle in the South consisted mainly of the British defending Savannah and the Americans defending Charleston, South Carolina. Back in the north, the spring and summer of 1779 saw the British engage the Americans in a series of ­battles in ­Virginia and Connecticut. It was not u­ ntil July that Washington de­cided to take the fight to the ­enemy at Stony Point, New York.



The American Revolution 9

Washington sent General Anthony Wayne with 1,200 light infantry men to attack the British post. They entered the fort a­ fter midnight and subdued the e­ nemy using only bayonets. Once inside, they used British cannons to repel approaching ­enemy ships. In a similar attack on August 19, Major Henry “Light Horse Harry” Lee of the Light Dragoons with a detachment of foot soldiers captured the British post at Paulus Hook, New Jersey. Perhaps most importantly, ­these victories raised the morale of the army and reengaged the spirit of the American public.28 In the fall of 1779 French officials in Eu­rope sent ­orders directing their fleet to leave the West Indies and assist Lincoln and the Americans at Savannah. By the ­middle of September, the Americans had blocked most of the land routes around Savannah and the French had secured the sea lines of communication. On October 9, the Americans and the French de­cided to surround and attack the British fortifications. Initially, the allies made pro­gress by breaking through some of the British redoubts, but ultimately Prevost’s defenses and forces ­were too strong and they repelled the attack, sending the Americans back to Charleston and the French back to France.29 In December 1779, the Continental Army settled into Morristown, New Jersey, for their fifth winter encampment. Like the previous winters, it was bitterly cold, they lacked supplies, and ­there was not enough food to prevent hunger. The British had their trou­bles as well. As a part of the new Southern strategy, Clinton moved 8,500 soldiers, their ­horses, and their equipment from New York to South Carolina. What should have taken 10 days by ship took five weeks due to blizzard conditions at sea. On February 11, 1780, the expedition fi­nally landed on Johns Island near Charleston.30 While Lincoln knew that his forces could not successfully defend the city, he hoped reinforcements would arrive in enough time to support his efforts. The conditions at Morristown made it impossible for Washington to send troops to South Carolina, but V ­ irginia and North Carolina agreed to send militias. Perhaps due to Loyalist sympathies in the area, very few militias from South Carolina w ­ ere willing to support the defense of Charleston. The few replacements that did arrive w ­ ere not enough to increase Lincoln’s chances for success.31 Clinton’s plan was to surround the city and slowly fight his way through the defenses. By April 1, his troops ­were within 800 yards of the American camp, and within two weeks they had cut off the American supply and escape routes. As the British began firing upon the city, the fighting seemed to continue day and night.32 Knowing that the loss of the city was inevitable, Lincoln proposed a surrender on the condition that he and his men be allowed to leave during a 10-­day cease-­fire. Clinton rejected the offer, and the fighting continued. Early in May, about a month ­after the British first started firing upon the city, Lincoln and Clinton agreed upon surrender terms. The Continental Army troops became prisoners of war, but the lives and property of the p­ eople living in Charleston w ­ ere spared and the militia forces w ­ ere paroled.33 The news of 1780 was not all bad for the Americans; on July 10, the French entered the harbor at Newport, Rhode Island, with seven ships of the line, several frigates, and 6,000 troops ­under the command of General Jean Baptiste Donatien de Vimeure, also known as Comte de Rochambeau. ­After two months of travel from France, the soldiers and sailors ­were tired and hungry. The ­people met the French

10

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

with the “Market of Newport, all Kinds of small Meats, Poultry, Milk, Vegetables,” and any useful items they could bring.34 The French had a pre­sent for the Americans as well: a renewed commitment to the alliance. Rochambeau announced that King Louis XVI of France had given o­ rders that the w ­ hole power of this army should be exerted for the support of the American cause. Rochambeau added “that the French troops w ­ ere u­ nder the strictest discipline; and, acting u­ nder the o­ rders of General Washington, would live with the Americans as their brethren.”35 They also promised additional troops would arrive within the next few months.36 Meanwhile, the British w ­ ere continuing to gain ground in South Carolina. Since the weather was warm and the men in good health, Washington considered sending troops from New York to assist Gates, who was now in command of the Southern Department of the Continental Army. However, Washington eventually de­cided that defending New York was too impor­tant; thus, Gates was forced to rely on inexperienced militiamen to augment his 1,000 Continental regulars. Also factoring into Washington’s decision was the knowledge that Clinton had returned to New York and left 8,000 British troops in South Carolina ­under the command of Lord Charles Cornwallis. Washington expected Clinton to take offensive action with his troops in the northern theater of operations.37 Since the ­battle at Charleston, the fighting in South Carolina consisted mainly of guerilla conflict. Lieutenant Col­o­nel Banastre Tarleton and his fast-­moving cavalry seemed to enjoy this type of warfare; however, his commander, Cornwallis, longed to fight a regular war. Foolishly, Gates was ­eager for engagement as well, and when their armies met in Camden in August 1780, Gates had about 4,000 men to 2,000 for Cornwallis. Unfortunately, the militias augmenting the Continental regulars started retreating even before the fighting started, thereby giving the advantage in numbers to the British. And, for some reason, Gates joined in the retreat, leaving General Johann de Kalb to lead the remaining regulars. Although de Kalb was a capable veteran of the South Carolina conflicts and his men ­were well trained, the British defeated the Americans.38 Cornwallis wanted to press his advantage and thus pursued what remained of the Continental Army and South Carolina Militia. On October 7, about 1,400 Loyalists fighting on behalf of Cornwallis met up with a larger force of eight separate American militias at King’s Mountain, North Carolina. This time the Patriots got the advantage and surrounded the British forces, killing 150 and taking 810 prisoner. However, a month ­later, the fortunes turned back to the side of the British when Tarleton and his cavalry attacked a Patriot force of 1,000 at a place called Black-­Stocks. The British killed 120 Americans while losing 50 of their own.39 About the same time that Washington received news of Gates’s defeat and be­hav­ ior, he also found out that the additional French forces he had been expecting in the northern theater ­were not coming. He solved his prob­lem in the South by replacing Gates with General Nathanael Greene, but was unsure how to solve his prob­lem in the North. And as 1780 came to an end, Washington established his main winter quarters at West Point while still maintaining a satellite camp at Morristown. At his headquarters in Hillsborough, North Carolina, Greene was supported by perhaps the most capable staff in the Continental Army: General Daniel Morgan, Col­o­nel “Light-­Horse Harry” Lee, Col­o­nel Otho Williams, and Lieutenant Col­o­nel



The American Revolution 11

William Washington. Cornwallis still desired a major b­ attle and was e­ager to advance on North Carolina for a confrontation with Greene and his men. Cornwallis sent his best commander, Tarleton, to pursue Morgan and Washington, and he trapped their forces against a river at Cowpens, South Carolina, about 10 miles from the North Carolina border. However, Greene’s staff was able to reverse the situation and sent the British in retreat. Rather than retreat and recover, Cornwallis was determined to press the attack against Morgan before he could re­unite with Greene and the rest of the southern army. Morgan managed to stay ahead of Cornwallis by securing the British prisoners in Yadkin, North Carolina, and then stubbornly marching through any terrain he encountered. Luck also helped. He managed to cross the Catawba River the eve­ning before a ­great rainstorm, which made it impassible for several days. On the other side of the river, Morgan was surprised but pleased to see Greene, who had de­cided that meeting Morgan en route was better than waiting for him to return to headquarters. ­After conferring with Morgan, Greene sent word back to General Isaac Huger at Hillsborough to move his forces to Guilford Court­house just north of Greensboro. With ­great expediency, the southern army re­united at the designated location and then moved another 50 miles to the North Carolina border with V ­ irginia, where they established camp.40 On the other side of the border, in ­Virginia, newly commissioned British General Benedict Arnold sought revenge on his former nation. Steuben, who had been the top commander in ­Virginia since Greene was given command of the Southern army, received the difficult task of stopping Arnold. The defense forces in ­Virginia ­were almost non­ex­is­tent; therefore, Steuben had to rebuild them before he had any hopes of actually confronting Arnold. As a result, Arnold spent much of the month of April destroying tobacco ware­houses, flour supplies, and shipyards.41 Fi­nally, Washington sent Lafayette with 1,200 men to assist Steuben and to prevent Arnold from moving southward to meet up with Cornwallis.42 Back in North Carolina, the British had ceased gaining ground, and thus Cornwallis, without consulting with Clinton, de­cided to move the majority of his army to ­Virginia. He believed that complete victory over the Americans could only come by combining British forces. By mid-­May, he joined up with Arnold at Petersburg, ­Virginia, about 25 miles south of Richmond. Upon receiving word of Cornwallis’s arrival in ­Virginia, Clinton recalled Arnold to New York. Clinton had resented Arnold since the time he betrayed the Americans. Arnold’s treachery had not only angered his former countrymen, but many of his new countrymen considered him to be no more than greedy and arrogant. Furthermore, his actions ­were mainly responsible for the capture and execution of Major John André, one of Clinton’s favorite staff officers. Clinton knew that Arnold’s main goal was gaining glory for himself, and to Clinton that was good enough reason to keep him out of the action.43 ­After Arnold’s departure, Clinton ordered Cornwallis to establish a deepwater port where the British fleet could stay for the winter. He de­cided the best location would be Yorktown and began fortifying his surroundings and preparing the wharves to accommodate the British ships.44 With the departure of Cornwallis from North Carolina, Greene quickly took control of the state. His victories brought a sense of encouragement to the inhabitants

12

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

of South Carolina. Working with militia leaders such as Francis Marion, who specialized in irregular warfare, Greene pursued the remaining British in South Carolina. Most of the fighting involved harassing and weakening the ­enemy. Before sunrise on May 10, the British abandoned their headquarters at Camden, burning the mill, the jail, the supplies, and even private ­houses as they left the town and marched farther south. It was not long u­ ntil the only parts of the South u­ nder British control w ­ ere Charleston and Savannah. It was now apparent that the South would not be the British road to victory.45 Washington wanted to attack New York City, and when British intelligence intercepted messages of his intent, Clinton de­cided to keep 20,000 soldiers entrenched in the city. The French, on the other hand, found the combination of Cornwallis’s army and the British fleet at Yorktown an inviting target. Rochambeau convinced Washington to fake an attack at New York and send the main portion of his army to attack Yorktown. On September 14, Washington arrived in Williamsburg, ­Virginia, and began to prepare his soldiers for a siege on Yorktown. ­Under his command ­were 16,000 troops, about half French and half American, and aboard the French fleet ­were 19,000 sailors. At Yorktown, Cornwallis had 7,000 soldiers made up of British, Hessians, and Loyalists. He also had 1,000 sailors protecting the port.46 The French fleet quickly took control of the Chesapeake Bay and cut off Cornwallis’s sea lines of communication. On September  29, the Continental Army started to move into position for the siege, and two weeks ­later, the French and American troops, led by Lafayette and Col­o­nel Alexander Hamilton, broke through two British redoubts and advanced to within 350 yards of the British troops. This put the allied artillery within range to inflict heavy damage and casualties. The cannon fire was able to destroy the village’s 60 ­houses, and the accuracy of the infantry weakened the ­will of the British soldiers.47 By October 17, the British defenses w ­ ere nearly destroyed and the soldiers w ­ ere nearing starvation. Two days ­later, Cornwallis surrendered his post. On that same day, General Clinton left New York with 25 battleships and 7,000 reinforcements for Cornwallis, but once he learned of the new situation, he quickly returned to New York.48 Following the fighting at Yorktown, Washington established his new headquarters at Newburgh, New York, along the Hudson River in a position that allowed him to keep an eye on Clinton in New York City. The entire British army was not lost at Yorktown; they still had substantial numbers of troops in New York, South Carolina, and Georgia and in other parts of the world fighting against France. Although ­there ­were no more major ­battles in Amer­i­ca, at least 100 skirmishes ­were fought, with 500 combatants losing their lives.49 While the loss at Yorktown did not destroy the British army, it did destroy the British ­will to fight back in ­England. British citizens ­were fed up with paying taxes to support the war. Many in Parliament’s ruling party resigned and ­were replaced by delegates who had long opposed the war with Amer­i­ca. In April 1782, British and American diplomats met in Paris to begin negotiations for a peace settlement. The continued fighting between Britain and France delayed the peace pro­ cess, but on February 14, 1783, the Treaty of Paris officially proclaimed an end to hostilities.50



The American Revolution 13

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Prior to the formation of the Continental Army, each colony was responsible for its own fighting forces. While the structure and names of the militaries varied across the colonies, they generally consisted of local militia units and state military companies. Men formed and joined militias to protect their families and neighbors.51 Each militia had its own leadership and its own priorities, and the members w ­ ere usually unpaid. State militaries worked for the colonial governments and performed their duties throughout the colony. Their forces w ­ ere usually paid and primarily consisted of rangers who served as scouts and guides for militias, but their forces also had the capability to perform offensive operations in terrain where militia units ­were in­effec­tive. Neither local militias nor state militaries w ­ ere considered part of the British military. A colonist who was part of the British military was referred to as a “Regular” and fought with the British throughout the world.52 In most cases, local militiamen and state soldiers ­were volunteers; however, in times of crisis, the colonial government might require the local communities to supply a certain number of men for a fighting force. If the leaders of the community could not find enough volunteers to serve, they had two main choices: not meet their required quota or select nonvolunteers to serve. Both of t­hese options w ­ ere used. Vari­ous methods, including pulling names from a hat, w ­ ere used to select nonvolunteers. If one of t­ hese “conscripts” still did not want to serve, they usually had the option to hire someone ­else to go in their place or to pay a fine. Frequently, communities ­were unable to find enough men, ­either volunteers or conscripts, to meet the needs of the colonial governments. As a result, military commanders would often find themselves with fewer soldiers than they needed.53 The Continental Army was formed out of t­hese militia and ranger companies, and thus, the volunteer situation was similar. When the Continental Congress established recruiting quotas, each colony divided their share of the quota among local communities. When Washington first assumed command of the army in Boston, he had only six months before the enlistments of the majority of his men expired. He needed more stability in the army but knew that the colonists, with their fear of standing armies, would reject attempts at recruiting men for longer than a year. Even if the army had enough soldiers, the fact that enlistments w ­ ere a year or less meant that experienced soldiers ­were continuously being replaced by inexperienced ones. Only ­after ­great frustration with the recruiting pro­cess did he decide to risk upsetting the colonists by urging Congress to enlist men for the duration of the war. The lack of soldiers was not necessarily due to a lack of patriotism. While fighting the war, many men still had families to support. They could not afford long enlistments ­because they had crops to tend and businesses to run. Congress tried to alleviate the recruiting prob­lem by passing legislation requiring states to enlist soldiers for three years or for the duration of the war. Men enlisting for three years received a $20 bounty, while men enlisting for the duration received the money plus a promise of 100 acres of land at the end of the war.54 Congress established a goal of 63,000 troops for the army, but the most they had at any one time was around 19,000. Perhaps the only worry Washington had that was bigger than his concern over the lack of soldiers was his consternation over

14

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

Congress’ inability to feed, clothe, and pay the soldiers he did have. He constantly pleaded with Congress for more troops; in turn, Congress pleaded with the colonies, and then the colonies pleaded with their citizens. For example, on June 5, 1780, the Mas­sa­chu­setts House of Representatives issued the following Resolve: WHEREAS a requisition has been made to this Court for a reinforcement for the Continental Army in order that it may be able to act vigirously [sic] the ensuing campaign; and the pre­sent situation of affairs requiring the utmost exertions at this period; and affords the most flattering prospect of putting an end to this distressing war, if the army is reinforced at this juncture, and enabled to improve the ­great advantage now offered Resolved. That ­there be three thousand nine hundred and thirty-­ four men raised within the several towns and plantations in this State, hereafter mentioned, by draft, lot, or voluntary inlistment [sic]; each town and plantation to furnish their quota agreeable to the schedule herewith annexed.55

Other colonies sent resolutions such as this to their local communities pleading for additional volunteers, yet a year l­ ater Washington reported to Congress, “It can be no News to tell you, that by the expiration of terms of enlistment I was left last Winter with a force so much reduced as to be scarcely able to garrison at West point; but it may be News, and is not less true than surprizing [sic] to you, to hear that not half the Men which w ­ ere required to be with the Army, as recruits for the Continental Battns. by the first day of Jany. last are yet arrived; and of ­those asked by me from the Militia, not one is come.”56 Washington even communicated directly with the state governors to impress upon them the importance of meeting recruiting quotas. He made one such plea in a letter to V ­ irginia Governor Thomas Nelson: To recruit the Regiments assigned as the quota of this State, to their full establishment, and put them on a respectable footing, is in my opinion, the first ­great object, which demands the attention of your Legislature. The Arguments, which have formerly been so frequently urged to enforce the expediency of this Mea­sure, must I presume, have carried conviction with them; but unhappily for us, the situation of affairs, especially in the States which w ­ ere the immediate seat of War, was so perplexed; and the embarrassments of Government so numerous and g­ reat, that t­here could be hitherto but a partial compliance with the Requisitions of Congress on this subject. Many of ­these difficulties are now removed, and the pre­sent moment, which is certainly very favorable to the recruiting ser­vice, ­ought to be eagerly embraced for the purpose.57

Washington not only pleaded with Congress and governors for recruits, but he also put the recruiting burden on the officers themselves. When a captain wished to rejoin the army, Washington made a deal with the officer that if he could “recruit a Com­pany of Men,” Washington would allow him to reenter. The captain did get his recruits and was allowed to rejoin the army.58 The impact of recruiting was that men who could not afford to pay for a substitute or men who needed money tended to be the pool from which the recruits w ­ ere drawn. According to historian Don Higginbotham, the Continental Army was forced to “scrape the bottom of the barrel of h­ uman resources.” The recruits signing up for longer enlistments tended to be “the willfully unemployed, absconding



The American Revolution 15

husbands and ­fathers, indentured servants, vagrants, ­free blacks, and Indians.”59 However, many of ­these recruits did turn out to be loyal, dependable, and effective soldiers. The Continental Army’s reputation for “hunger, exposure, hard marching, scant pay, harsh discipline, and brutal combat” made recruiting even more difficult. To increase the numbers of troops, the states began sending more nonvolunteer troops to Washington. Since men of means could pay for substitutes when they ­were selected, the new draftees tended to be “apprentices, transients, beggars, drunks, slaves, and indentured immigrants.” Additionally, British and Hessian prisoners of war along with Loyalists in American prisons w ­ ere offered p­ ardons if they would agree to serve three years in the Continental Army, and many of ­these men accepted the offer. Even seasoned soldiers found reasons to complain. While they suffered from lack of food and pay, many of their civilian counter­parts ­were prospering from the war by charging higher prices for goods sold to the army. The enlisted men also resented the fact that their officers slept in beds in warm ­houses, leaving them to sleep in cold stables or, even worse, in the rain and snow without tents.60 During the winter of 1775–1776, Joseph Plumb Martin was a 15-­year-­old boy living in Connecticut. He heard stories of Washington and the Continental Army fighting against the “­mother country” in Boston. He considered himself to be “as warm a patriot as the best of them” but felt that a one-­year enlistment “was too long a time” to do something he had never tried. He “wished only to take on a priming before [he] took upon [himself] the ­whole coat of paint for a soldier.” In June 1776, he got the chance to take on his priming when the army offered six-­ month enlistments for militiamen willing to support the Continental soldiers. When Martin arrived to enlist, several of his acquaintances w ­ ere also t­ here. The boys w ­ ere anxious about their decisions to enlist. “If you w ­ ill enlist I w ­ ill,” one would say to another. When the recruiter placed the enlistment ­orders in front of him, Martin held his pen above the paper but was careful to not let it touch the paper. A friend pushed his hand, causing the pen to leave a mark on the paper. At this point, Martin figured he was committed and went on to sign his name. His next task was to tell his grandparents with whom he had lived since he was seven years old. They ­were saddened by his decision but showed their support by providing him “with arms and accouterments, clothing, and cake, and cheese in plenty, not forgetting to put [his] pocket Bible into [his] knapsack.”61 As a member of a militia, he and his unit served as an auxiliary force for the Continental Army. When Martin’s six-­month enlistment was finished, one of his companions tried to convince him to reenlist. Martin declined and returned to Connecticut, where he, like virtually all males between the ages of 16 and 60, was a member of the militia ready to protect his local community. In April 1777, that local militia was given a quota to provide one man for enlistment into the Continental Army. Martin agreed to fill the quota, but when it came time to sign the papers that would commit him to ser­vice ­until the end of the war, he felt as though his “execution day” had come. The militia had fulfilled its quota, but he was the “scapegoat” that had to pay the price.62

16

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

TRAINING Since the Continental Army was primarily formed out of the local militias, the men ­were not professional soldiers. Instead, they ­were farmers, merchants, doctors, l­ awyers, and ­every other type of civilian found in a community. For the most part, they ­were undisciplined and unfamiliar with the princi­ples of warfare. The days militiamen did get together to train, they w ­ ere usually more interested in socializing than actually learning military skills. In the minds of colonists, this was not a prob­lem ­because they believed that the enthusiasm of defending the homeland and the honorable quest for freedom could overcome the experience and professionalism of the British military. But as Washington noted when first inspecting his troops in July 1775, “their Spirit has exceeded their Strength.” He recognized “the Difficulty of introducing Discipline and Subordination” into the army, not to mention the near impossibility of training them how to fight in the short amount of time before their enlistments expired.63 Washington obtained his military education in much the same way as the doctors and ­lawyers of his time attained theirs. For one ­thing, he discussed warfare with veterans of military campaigns. Washington’s older ­brother Lawrence and their close friend Col­o­nel William Fairfax told a young Washington of their experiences fighting with the British military in Spain. Washington also read extensively to increase his knowledge about military strategy, training, and discipline. Perhaps somewhat foreshadowing his ­future, his favorite play as a youth was Cato, a Roman tragedy about a military and po­liti­cal leader who led a re­sis­tance movement against Julius Caesar. As a young officer, he was fond of the book Treatise of Military Discipline: In which is Laid down and Explained The Duty of the Officer and Soldier, Thro’ the several Branches of the Ser­vice by British author Humphrey Bland. As the title suggests, it explained the details of being an officer and a soldier. It covered every­thing from training to marching to performing in combat. For example, it tells officers how to give ­orders for firing in ranks and it tells the soldiers how to perform when given ­those ­orders. Fi­nally, Washington enhanced his military skills through firsthand experience. While serving as commander of the ­Virginia Regiment in 1755, he adapted what he read in Bland to the unique circumstance of frontier life. He combined drill and training techniques taught in the British army with the target shooting and woodland tactics used in the colonial frontiers to build the ­Virginia Regiment into the finest military force in the colonies.64 It was this same spirit of discipline and training that Washington sought to bring to the new Continental Army. His task was enormous. The officers ­either did not know how to lead or ­were unwilling to enforce their authority, or both. The enlisted men had dirty uniforms, broken and rusty weapons, and no military skill. The camp was disor­ga­nized. Tents ­were arranged in a haphazard manner, ­horses roamed unsecured, garbage covered the ground, and the uncovered latrines emitted a nauseating stench and presented a health h­ azard.65 Washington started by teaching his officers how to lead. He expressed his philosophy in a letter to a young col­o­nel at the beginning of the war: I do not mean to flatter, when I assure you, that I highly approve of your appointment. The inexperience you complain of is a common case, and only to be



The American Revolution 17 remedied by practice and close attention. The best general advice I can give, and which I am sure you stand in no need of, is to be strict in your discipline; that is, to require nothing unreasonable of your officers and men, but see that what­ever is required be punctually complied with. Reward and punish e­ very man according to his merit, without partiality or prejudice; hear his complaints; if well founded, redress them; if other­wise, discourage them, in order to prevent frivolous ones. Discourage vice in ­every shape, and impress upon the mind of e­ very man, from the first to the lowest, the importance of the cause, and what it is they are contending for. For ever keep in view the necessity of guarding against surprises. In all your marches, at times at least, even when ­there is no pos­si­ble danger, move with front, rear, and flank guards, that they may be familiarized to the use; and be regular in your encampments, appointing necessary guards for the security of your camp. In short, ­whether you expect an ­enemy or not, this should be practised [sic]; other­wise your attempts ­will be confused and awkward, when necessary: Be plain and precise in your ­orders and keep copies of them to refer to, that no ­mistakes may happen. Be easy and condescending in your deportment to your officers, but not too familiar, lest you subject yourself to a want of that re­spect, which is necessary to support a proper command.66

Washington concluded the letter by recommending that the col­o­nel read Bland’s book as the “foremost” way to acquire the “knowledge to be a soldier.” He also taught officers to be better administrators by ordering “Exact returns to be made by the proper Officers of all the Provisions Ordnance, Ordnance Stores, Powder, Lead working Tools of all kinds, Tents, Camp ­Kettles, and all other stores ­under their respective care.”67 Washington expected his officers to teach their men to be proper soldiers. He conveyed this message to them in a general order sent from his headquarters at Cambridge, Mas­sa­chu­setts, on January 3, 1776: It is expected that the Commanding Officers of Regiments, ­will be exceedingly attentive to the training, exercising and disciplining their men; bringing them as soon as pos­si­ble acquainted with the dif­fer­ent Evolutions and Manoeuvres [sic], necessary to be practiced; and as nothing reflects more disgrace upon an Officer, or is more pernicious and dangerous in itself, than suffering Arms to be in bad order; the General assures the Officers and Men, that he ­will never overlook, or ­pardon, a neglect of this kind—­There are many practices in Regular Ser­vice, highly worthy of Imitation, but none more essential than this, and keeping Soldiers always clean and neat: The first, is absolutely necessary for self-­preservation; the other, for health and appearance; for if a Soldier cannot be induced to take pride in his person, he ­will soon become Sloven, and indifferent to ­every ­thing else—­Whilst we have Men therefore who in ­every re­spect are superior to mercenary Troops, that are fighting for two pence or three pence a day: Why cannot we in appearance also be superior to them, when we fight for Life, Liberty, Property and our Country?68

Before training the men how to conduct themselves in combat, Washington began training them on how to conduct themselves in camp. A clean camp was a necessity for good health, an orderly camp was required for good discipline, and an or­ga­nized camp was needed to begin training. When he moved the army from Boston to New York in 1775, he had them dig trenches, build redoubts, sweep streets, clean old latrines, dig new latrines, dispose of animal carcasses, corral livestock, and build barracks. Once the camps ­were put in order, Washington urged

18

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

his officers to spend their time wisely in training so that they could bring the men into the field of ­battle in a more regular manner than they had in the past.69 The most impor­tant advancement in training for the Continental Army came with the arrival of Baron von Steuben. As a member of Frederick the ­Great’s staff in Prus­sia, he became extremely knowledgeable of military drill, tactics, and discipline. But rather than try to train the Americans like Prus­sians, he modified his methods b­ ecause he understood that the American temperament was dif­fer­ent. Ideas like freedom and in­de­pen­dence ­were part of the character of Continental soldiers. While harsh discipline is always part of military training, Steuben’s methods also relied on reasoning and appealing to the men’s sense of honor. Washington appointed Steuben as inspector general of the Continental Army, and his job was to standardize training for all units and soldiers. In 1779, Steuben completed the Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States. In this manual, he established regulations for the army and provided instructions on how to lay out a camp, how to enter a camp, how to preserve order and cleanliness in camp, how to conduct roll calls, how to inspect men and their weapons, how to exercise vari­ous ele­ments of the army, how to march in columns and in line, and how to maneuver with the drum beats. Mixing strictness with humor, he ensured the men mastered drilling, marching, and firing their weapons. As Joseph Martin recalled ­after the war, “I was kept constantly, when off other duty, engaged in learning the Baron de Steuben’s new Prus­sian exercise; it was a continual drill.”70

SOCIAL STRUCTURE Ideas like freedom and equality did not apply equally to all parts of colonial society. For example, with very few exceptions, only white males who owned property ­were allowed to vote. While the colonies, and l­ ater the states u­ nder the Articles of Confederation, had dif­fer­ent laws and customs that influenced the rights of the poor, ­women, and minorities, ­there existed in all colonies and states some degree of separation between classes, genders, and races. Unlike ­later revolutions in France and Rus­sia, the American Revolution did not radically overturn the social structure, but it did cause some changes. British policies such as the Stamp Act and the Tea Tax annoyed wealthy colonials, but they burdened the lower class. The rich, who tended to be large landowners, merchants, doctors, ­lawyers, and government officials, favored a conservative solution. They wanted to abolish ­these policies, but they wanted to do so with as ­little po­liti­cal friction as pos­si­ble. The poor, who tended to be small farmers, laborers, or unemployed, preferred a more radical solution. They also wanted to change ­these policies, but they wanted changes that provided them a larger role in po­liti­cal ­matters and a greater share of economic gains. In the minds of many in this class, the American Revolution was not only about the right to home rule but also about who should rule at home. In short, the prosperous wanted small changes to the po­liti­cal system, whereas the impoverished wanted big changes to the social structure. Fortunately, men like Samuel Adams ­were able to bridge the gap between t­ hese two classes.71



The American Revolution 19

Adams was a Harvard gradu­ate and a member of a prominent Boston ­family. However, he had also been a failure in law, in business, and in public office. He was a radical who sought dramatic change. He sought to rally the eco­nom­ically and socially advantaged through po­liti­cal slogans that contrasted the freedom and moral virtue of the colonies to the tyranny and moral degradation of E ­ ngland. To this rhe­toric, Adams added ideas of democracy that gave the disadvantaged hope of improving their social and economic status u­ nder an in­de­pen­dent American government.72 On the other hand, the ideas that united classes in Boston caused friction in the Continental Army. When Washington arrived at Cambridge in 1775, he noticed that some of his officers, especially the ones from Mas­sa­chu­setts, seemed reluctant to enforce their authority over the enlisted men. In the spirit of democracy, many of ­these officers w ­ ere elected to their positions by the men they ­were supposed to lead. Washington objected to this activity for two main reasons. To begin with, electing a leader from within their own ranks meant that they ­were likely to select someone based on popularity rather than ability. To gain popularity, a man might make outlandish promises. As Washington put it, the officers seemed to be “of the same kidney with the Privates” and “currying f­ avor with the men [seemed] to be one of the principal objects of their attention.” A second reason he objected was that the practice reinforced the sectionalism that existed among the colonies and in the military. At this point, the Continental Army was a conglomeration of local militias and state regiments, each with their own identity, customs, and be­hav­iors. Rather than individual units belonging to individual communities and states, Washington envisioned the entire army belonging to the ­whole nation. The soldiers of any unit should be able to operate ­under the command of an officer from any other unit. To bring this idea into practice, Washington recommended that the right to appoint officers be taken out of the hands of the individual units and given to the commander in chief or to the Congress. While the demo­cratic practice of allowing the governed to elect their own leaders may have been acceptable in civil society, Washington believed that it was detrimental to military discipline and to the effectiveness of the Continental Army.73 Class conflict partially explains the mutinies that occurred in the army. Members of the Continental Congress and high-­ranking officers in the military did not depend upon their government paychecks for subsistence, but the ordinary soldiers did. When the soldiers did not get their promised salaries, their and their ­family’s lives ­were in peril. Though the specific target of their rebellions was usually the Congress, their resentment t­ oward high-­ranking officers was also evident. T ­ hese military rebellions w ­ ere also echoed in civilian sectors. Roughly 10 ­percent of the white population held half of the nation’s wealth. ­These Americans could endure events such as the devaluation in the Continental dollar and the scarcity in food. In fact, many prospered from t­hese events by buying up cheap land, foreclosing on mortgages, or evicting tenant farmers. ­Those negatively affected by ­these events would demonstrate their frustration by stealing from the rich or rioting in the streets.74 The life of Joseph Martin illustrates the social status of the typical soldier. His ­father was a Yale-­taught minister whose unpleasant manner made it difficult for

20

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

him to keep a congregation and whose uncontrolled spending made it difficult for him to pay his bills. His ­father narrowly avoided debtors prison on multiple occasions by declaring insolvency and issuing public apologies. As a result of his ­father’s failings, Joseph’s ­mother sent the boy to live with her parents when he was seven years old. His grandparents ­were farmers in Connecticut, and although Joseph considered them wealthy, they ­were in debt. Joseph seldom, if ever, attended school while living with his grandparents, and his main form of education was learning to farm. Unfortunately for Martin, his ­mother had several ­brothers who would inherit the farm, if the debt collectors did not get to it first. Therefore, as Martin grew older, his prospects for earning a living ­were ­limited, and while patriotism may have been his initial reason for joining the Continental Army, the lack of other ­career options kept him t­ here for the duration of the war. As for the social status of ­women during the revolution, traditional colonial society l­imited their role. A ­daughter was legally dependent upon her ­father, and a wife was legally dependent upon her husband. The law recognized a married ­couple as one l­egal entity; however, it was the husband who represented the c­ ouple. Due to this status, ­women ­were not allowed to vote, hold po­liti­cal office, or serve on juries, and only w ­ idows ­were allowed to own property. The role of w ­ omen was to 75 wash, iron, cook, and have c­ hildren, usually eight to ten of them. The American Revolution helped to change this. While still denied formal access to po­liti­cal power, ­women joined street protests, published po­liti­cal essays, raised money for troops, and used female patriotism to encourage enamored men to enlist. Some w ­ omen even used their feminine charm to serve as spies. This new sense of power increased as the war progressed.76 Wives and ­daughters of soldiers had to keep ­things ­r unning at home while their husbands and f­ athers w ­ ere away. They operated businesses, harvested crops, and tended to other needs normally handled by the men. When their husbands first left for war, they would send letters informing them of the status of “his” business or farm. As the war progressed, ­women referred to the enterprise as “ours,” and by the end of the war some of the w ­ omen ­were even calling it “my” farm or business. In one case, the wife of General Henry Knox warned him upon his return, “I hope you w ­ ill not consider yourself commander in chief in your own house—­but be convinced . . . ​that t­ here is such a t­ hing as equal command.”77 Some w ­ omen, most of whom had no farm or business to tend, traveled with the army. Known as camp followers, ­these w ­ ere usually the wives of soldiers, and they and their c­ hildren would simply follow the army as it moved from place to place. Even though some of t­hese camp followers w ­ ere prostitutes, the army tolerated them ­because the presence of ­women, ­whether wife or prostitute, prevented many men from deserting. Another group of ­women served as nurses, cooks, seamstresses, and washwomen, and even received a small salary for their ser­vice. The Continental Army allowed one ­woman to serve alongside the soldiers for ­every 15 men in the ranks.78 ­Women also participated in combat situations. Some would bring food, w ­ ater, and ammunition to the soldiers during ­battle, and some scrounged ­enemy corpses for anything of value. ­Women such as Molly Corbin helped to load and fire cannons or even completely took over their husband’s duties if he ­were wounded or



The American Revolution 21

killed. Molly was with her husband during the ­battle of Fort Washington, and when he was mortally wounded, she took over his position at the cannon ­until she was struck by grapeshot, permanently disabling her left arm. Molly was captured by the British and eventually released along with several male wounded soldiers. A ­ fter the war, the Continental Congress awarded her a veteran’s pension. Some ­women went as far as to disguise themselves as men to serve in the Continental Army. ­Robert Shurtleff served two years and won a commendation before falling ill and being discovered by a doctor to be Deborah Sampson. ­After the war, she, too, was awarded a veteran’s pension.79 The poor and ­women ­were not the only segments of the population looking to make advances during the American Revolution. African Americans, especially ­those in slavery, sought to improve their positions as well. In fact, race relations ­were perhaps the most notable aspect of the social structure. African Americans made up about 20 ­percent of the population of the colonies, but the color of their skin gave them fewer rights than any other social group. The vast majority ­were slaves, although a small portion had gained freedom by the beginning of the war. Barzillai Lew was born a ­free black in Mas­sa­chu­setts in 1743. He served in the French and Indian War and was one of the first patriots to sign up for the Mas­sa­ chu­setts 27th Regiment at the beginning of the American Revolution. Lew was one of 150 African Americans who fought at Breed’s Hill.80 As the war progressed, more and more states began to ban slavery. Between 1777 and 1784, Vermont, Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut legislated partial bans on slavery. And in 1783, Mas­sa­chu­setts completely banned slavery. With few other prospects for employment, ­free blacks ­were a fertile source for recruiting sergeants. ­Free blacks ­were not the only ones fighting in the war. Black slaves fought as well; however, more of them fought for the British than the Americans. In 1775, the British offered freedom to any slaves who wished to join their ranks. One thousand V ­ irginia slaves answered the initial call. Even Pennsylvania, reputed to have benevolent and enlightened slave o­ wners, saw many of their servants escape to the British. In total, about 10,000 American slaves served in the British army, including slaves formerly belonging to Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Patrick Henry.81 Some colonies, however, proved to be more difficult for the British. In Georgia, for example, most of the slaves belonged to Loyalists. Thus, the British could not recruit them for fear of alienating their Loyalist supporters. This was especially impor­tant, since the British strategy from 1779 forward was to leverage Loyalist support in the Southern colonies by using Savannah and Charleston as strongholds while they attempted to slowly conquer the North.82 For slaves fighting on the American side, freedom had two meanings. First, and prob­ably foremost, it meant their personal freedom. And second, it meant in­de­ pen­dence for Amer­i­ca. One way that slaves made it into the American army was by serving as a substitute for a master who had been drafted. If the servant enlisted for the duration of the war, they usually received their freedom in return. Another way they entered the army was through direct recruiting. The New ­England states enlisted blacks by promising them freedom and paying compensation to their

22

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

masters. One slave who entered the ser­vice was Peter Salem of Framingham, Mas­sa­chu­setts. Like Barzillai Lew, Salem was at the ­Battle of Breed’s Hill and is reported to have fired the shot that killed John Pitcairn.83 Not all states approved of recruiting slaves. In 1779, the Continental Congress approved the recruitment of 3,000 slaves in South Carolina and Georgia. They would receive no war­time pay, but at the end of the conflict they would receive $50 and their freedom. Congress also agreed to compensate the slave ­owners for the value of the slave. However, South Carolina legislators overwhelmingly rejected the plan out of fear that arming slaves might lead to a revolt against their former masters. Also, in V ­ irginia, rather than enlist slaves, the state government offered poor whites who enlisted for the duration of the war one slave and 100 acres of land.84 Despite the reluctance of some states to enlist slaves, by the end of the war black soldiers comprised one-­tenth of the Continental Army. Most served the new nation with honor and courage. One French officer praised the mostly black regiment from Rhode Island as “the most neatly dressed, the best u­ nder arms, and the most precise in maneuvers.” In all, about 5,000 blacks served in the American army, and nearly ­every regiment had black soldiers. In fact, this was the first and only conflict in which American troops fought in integrated units u­ ntil the Korean War in 1950.85 Prior to the end of the war, Cornwallis had over 4,000 blacks of both genders and all ages with him at Yorktown. However, just before he surrendered, he expelled them from his camp. Some claim that he did this b­ ecause rations w ­ ere r­ unning low and he wanted to reserve as much as pos­si­ble for the white soldiers. On the other hand, some have recognized that had Cornwallis surrendered with them in camp, he would have been forced to turn them over to the Americans, where they would have most likely suffered a worse fate. At least Cornwallis gave them a chance at freedom.86 When the war ended, African Americans ­were still located with the British in Savannah, Charleston, and New York City. The Loyalists in Georgia had about 4,000 slaves in their custody. When they sailed from Savannah, ­these slaves would remain the property of their ­owners in their new homes abroad. In Charleston, the British granted 160 slaves their freedom and compensated their former ­owners for the loss. ­These ­free blacks mostly wound up in Nova Scotia or ­England. ­There ­were also about 3,000 slaves belonging to Loyalists in Charleston. Most of them ended up relocating to the British West Indies where slavery was still harshly practiced on the sugar plantations. Another 2,000 slaves and their masters traveled to East Florida. And in New York City, about 2,000 newly freed slaves ­were relocated to Nova Scotia. The largest number of ­free blacks, however, chose to stay in the United States a­ fter the war.87

DAILY LIFE Daily life was difficult for the Continental soldier. Living quarters ­were crowded when they existed, food was almost always scarce, and clothing was usually inadequate for the harsh weather conditions.88 ­These conditions made recruiting difficult and led to rebellions by ­those who did enlist. To cope with ­these arduous



The American Revolution 23

conditions, the men found creative forms of recreation to pass the time, and occasionally, t­ hese activities did not conform to military regulations. Living quarters for Continental soldiers ranged from sleeping ­under the stars, to improvised structures made of what­ever building materials could be found, to sailcloth tents constructed in accordance with army specification, to ­family homes, to college dormitories. The poor accommodations usually h­ oused the enlisted men, while the more permanent structures usually ­housed the officers. In a standard camp, the noncommissioned officers and privates ­were ­housed in groups of six in tents roughly six feet by seven feet in size. The tents ­were lined up in rows two feet apart. They ate and slept in ­these quarters. The officers had private tents that would get progressively larger as they increased in rank, with the average size being about 10 feet by 14 feet. The ju­nior officers’ tents ­were located 20 feet ­behind the tents of the enlisted men, with the field officers’ tents another 30 feet ­behind theirs. The tents of the surgeon, the paymaster, the quarter master, and other se­nior officers ­were in the rear of the camp. If homes ­were nearby and the ­owners willing, officers would stay with them. And when the army was camped at Cambridge, the officers stayed in buildings of Harvard University.89 Due to shortages and harsh conditions during the war, camps w ­ ere seldom arranged in the standard configuration. Joseph Martin’s adventures during the Northern campaign of 1779 help to illustrate this point. While marching ­toward their camp near Stony Point in July, a cold wind coming from the northwest accompanied by a strong rain forced the men to camp without tents or any other protection on the western side of a cleared hill. Chilled and “wet to the skin,” Martin commented that he had “never come nearer [to] perishing with the cold in the ­middle of summer” than he had that night. When Martin and his fellow soldiers entered camp in the winter of that year, they pitched their tents in groups of four facing each other so they could share the warmth of a fire burning in the center.90 The standard daily ration for soldiers was a pound of beef, pork, or fish; a pound of bread, flour, or rice; and a quart of beer or other sanitary drink. Weekly they would get three to five pints of peas, beans, or vegetable; one pint of meal; and half a pound of butter. Items like vinegar, soap, and rum ­were also available. When in camp, each group of six men was issued a set of cooking utensils they used to prepare their food. When on the march, they ­were given cooked food such as biscuits and dried beef.91 Washington and Martin both bore witness to the fact that soldiers seldom received the standard rations. Washington lamented that “in such an extensive and abundant Country, No Army was ever worse supplied than ours with many essential Articles of it.” Even while camped at the headquarters, the soldiers w ­ ere short on vegetables, salt, vinegar, beer, and rum. The meat and ­water available ­were often unsanitary and led to diseases and death. In a letter to New York Governor George Clinton, Washington described the life of the American soldier at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777/1778: A part of the army has been a week, without any kind of flesh, and the rest three or four days. Naked and starving as they are, we cannot enough admire the incomparable patience and fidelity of the soldiery, that they have not been ere this excited by

24

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

their sufferings, to a general mutiny or dispersion. Strong symptoms, however, of discontent have appeared in par­tic­u­lar instances; and nothing but the most active efforts ­every where can long avert so shocking a catastrophe. Our pre­sent sufferings are not all. T ­ here is no foundation laid for any adequate relief hereafter. All the magazines provided in the States of New Jersey, Pensylvania [sic], Delaware and Mary­land, and all the immediate supplies they seem capable of affording, w ­ ill not be sufficient to support the army more than a month longer, if so long.92

Washington was not exaggerating the severity of the situation. As reported by historian Alan Taylor, “Two thousand men, nearly a fifth of the army, perished that winter from a debilitating combination of filth, exposure, malnutrition, and disease.”93 From the perspective of the common soldier, Martin wrote, “We arrived at camp ­after a tedious and cold march of many hours, some with frozen toes, some with frozen fin­gers and ears, and half-­starved into the bargain.” ­Later he noted, “I did not put a single morsel of victuals [food] into my mouth for four days and as many nights, except a ­little black birch bark which I gnawed off a stick in woods, if that can be called victuals. I saw several of the men roast their old shoes and eat them, and I was afterwards informed by one of the officers’ waiters that some of the officers killed and ate a favorite dog that belonged to one of them.” Martin summarized the experience by saying that the “times not only tried men’s souls, but their bodies too.”94 In addition to food and shelter, clothing was another impor­tant item for the army. Each militia unit and state regiment had their own uniforms; thus, men in the Continental Army w ­ ere dressed in a variety of fashions. Some ju­nior officers and enlisted men wore elaborate uniforms they looted from royal store­houses or received as a ­family heirloom, while some high-­ranking officers wore homespun hunting shirts. Initially, Washington ordered his officers and enlisted men to wear different-­colored ribbons so as to distinguish between the dif­fer­ent ranks.95 Knowing that funds w ­ ere scarce at the beginning of the war, Washington recommended that the Continental Congress supply the men with hunting shirts, long breeches, and gaiters fashioned about the legs. He believed, “No Dress can be had cheaper, nor more con­ve­nient, as the Wearer may be cool in warm weather, and warm in cool weather by putting on u­ nder Cloaths [sic] which ­will not change the outward dress, Winter or Summer—­Besides which it is a dress just supposed to carry no small terror to the ­enemy, who think ­every such person a complete Marksman.” Due to the lack of funding, and perhaps other reasons, Congress never met this request.96 The official color of the Continental uniform was brown, but most officers, including Washington, preferred the bright blue coats that presented a stark contrast to the British red coats. A uniform consisted of a hat or leather cap, a cotton shirt, a wool coat of a distinguishing color, a linen waistcoat, a leather stock worn around the neck, a pair of breeches or overalls, and a pair of leather shoes. In 1778, the French donated a large number of uniforms to the Americans. In addition to brown, they made the uniforms in a variety of colors, including blue, green, gray,



The American Revolution 25

and sky blue, so that they would match the uniforms of the vari­ous militias and regiments.97 For many soldiers, uniforms ­were a luxury; very few had coats for the winter, and many lacked basic necessities such as shoes. Washington even stated that some of his men ­were entirely without clothing: Sir: From the wretched and miserable condition of many of the Troops for want of their Cloathes [sic], Many of them being absolutely naked, I must urge again in the most earnest terms, that you ­will use ­every pos­si­ble and Instant exertion to have the clothing as formerly directed, brought forward that it may be delivered. The public ser­vice, as well as the dictates of humanity require that it should be done without a moment’s delay. That ­there may not be any impediments on the score of transportation, you ­will apply to the Quarter Master Genl and inform him it is my desire that ­every practicable exertion should be made to get the Cloathing [sic] down.98

As a diversion from their misery and military duties, soldiers found ways to entertain themselves. Popu­lar recreation during the colonial era included card games, billiards, hunting, and fishing; however, most of ­these activities ­were prohibited in the camp. In an 1777 order, Washington, “in the most pointed and explicit terms,” strictly prohibited “ALL officers and soldiers” from playing cards, dice, or any other games that could be associated with illegal gambling b­ ecause it was impossible to distinguish between games played for innocent fun and t­ hose played for criminal purposes. Instead, he suggested, “Officers, attentive to their duty, ­will find abundant employment, in training and disciplining their men—­providing for them—­and seeing that they appear neat, clean and soldier-­like—­Nor ­will any t­ hing redound more to their honor—­afford them more solid amusement—or better answer the end of their appointment, than to devote the vacant moments, they may have, to the study of Military authors.”99 Like many generals, Washington believed that soldiers engaged in idle activities could only lead to trou­ble. He wanted them usefully employed at all times. He also barred the discharge of firearms in camp ­because “it tends to create disorder” and prohibited fishing in nearby ponds for fear of spreading typhoid or cholera.100 Martin, like many enlisted soldiers of the time, did not always follow ­these regulations. Knowing that he was ­r unning the risk of what he called “keelhauling” if detected, Martin “often” took the opportunity of “getting out of hearing [range] from the camp” so that he could “divert” himself “by killing birds or squirrels, or any such game.” While it is easy to understand the need for such distraction, his actions did run the risk of upsetting the local citizens and made him vulnerable to capture by the ­enemy, ­either of which would have been reason for punishment.101 Due to the physical exertion required in most professions and occupations during the colonial era, recreational sports w ­ ere not common. Although military life was busy, soldiers occasionally found themselves with more f­ ree time on their hands than they had as civilians, especially when in long encampments such as winter quarters. To fill this time, recreational sports started to appear as a form of exercise, or as stated by Sergeant Simon Griffin in 1778, ­there ­were times when ­there was “Nothing to do But Play Ball.” At this point, ­there ­were no or­ga­nized leagues

26

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

or designated teams, and it is likely they did not keep score. Even Washington, who forbade most forms of recreation, believed that “games of exercise, for amusement” should “not only be permitted but encouraged.” In fact, he participated in ­these activities by occasionally throwing and catching “a ball for ­whole hours with his aides-­de-­camp” and by playing wicket, a game similar to cricket. In addition to wicket, men played shinny, a game related to field hockey; fives, a handball-­type game; nine-­pins, a variety of lawn bowling; and football, a game that involved kicking a ball and was a par­tic­u­lar favorite of Nathan Hale.102

RELIGION In revolutionary Amer­i­ca, the word of God was in ­every man’s mouth. Religion was a burning issue in the pulpit and politics both. T ­ here was a ce­re­bral contest of ­wills between deism and orthodoxy. . . . ​­There ­were ­bitter instances of prejudice and bigotry at the same time Amer­i­ca embraced more varied and divergent religions than any other country on the globe, beginning an original and unusual experiment in toleration.103 —Robert Aldace Wood As indicated by Wood’s quote, religion played a large part in the daily lives and politics of colonial Americans. Religious tolerance was an attempt for individuals to practice their own religions without government interference; it was not an attempt to accept the religious practices of other faiths and religions. Thus, even within the most common religion, Protestantism, ­there ­were differences that often led to clashes. To avoid ­these clashes, religious groups would find new areas where they could practice their beliefs, and as a result, the colonies became sectionalized by religion. While ­there ­were significant differences between each colony, and even within each colony, the influence of religious beliefs can be seen by examining the colonial regions. The New E ­ ngland colonies had the most radical and fervent beliefs. Founded by Puritans and Separatists wishing to rid the Protestant Church of E ­ ngland of the influences of Catholicism, the citizens in colonies like Mas­sa­chu­setts sought a lifestyle ruled by biblical princi­ples. The Mid-­Atlantic colonies tried to promote religious tolerance. Pennsylvania became the home of outcast groups such as the Quakers, and Mary­land was planned as a safe haven for Catholics, even though the majority of Mary­land colonists remained Protestant.104 The Southern colonies had the strongest affiliation with the Church of ­England. Colonies such as Georgia ­were founded as Crown colonies; thus, many p­ eople in ­these colonies followed practices very similar to ­those in ­England. This religious connection with ­England helps to explain the Loyalist sentiment in the Southern colonies during the Revolutionary War.105 Given its history of religious radicalism, perhaps, it is not surprising that much of the radical fervor for the Revolutionary War came from the New ­England colonies. Before the war, the Protestant religion promoted ideas such as individual choice and the separation of church and state. While the church did not necessarily intend for ­these ideas to promote revolution, they did blend nicely with the rhe­toric of men like Samuel Adams. As a ­matter of fact, in 1774, the colonial governor of



The American Revolution 27

Mas­sa­chu­setts noted how sedition flowed freely from the pulpits in the churches around the state.106 Not only w ­ ere preachers supporting revolutionary ideas from the pulpit; they almost always served in the local militia, they w ­ ere usually the moderators at town meetings, and they ­were often the town’s official correspondent with the Continental Congress. In addition to the re­spect they garnered as representatives of God, they ­were revered as one of the best educated men in the community. Their support of revolutionary c­ auses was instrumental in rallying local citizens.107 The Continental Army had about 30 chaplains, which equated to about one chaplain for ­every two regiments. ­There was also a chaplain for the hospitals, but not one for the cavalry and light dragoon regiments b­ ecause Congress de­cided that ­these units w ­ ere constantly detached, and therefore, a chaplain would prob­ably only see them about once a year. For the duration of the war, all but one of the chaplains was Protestant. The exception was ­Father Louis Eustace Lotbiniére who ministered to the two Canadian regiments ­under the command of Benedict Arnold in 1776. Initially, chaplains received pay that was equivalent to that of a captain, but as the war progressed and their responsibility increased, their pay became equal to that of a col­o­nel. T ­ hese chaplains w ­ ere expected to not only provide spiritual guidance to the troops but ­were also responsible for inspiring and encouraging them. For example, during the winter encampment of 1777, when the soldiers w ­ ere cold and hungry and their enlistments ­were about to expire, Reverend John Hurt preached a sermon to a brigade of ­Virginia troops on “the Love of Country” and went as far as calling it the highest of all virtues. And before a group of New Hampshire soldiers ­were about to head into b­ attle, Reverend Thomas Allen told them “to play the man, and act the part of valiant soldiers.”108 Washington used religion to promote morality and maintain discipline among his troops. In his effort to prevent vice and immorality, he strongly encouraged his officers to “see that the Men regularly attend divine worship.” Moreover, he ordered his officers to attend ser­vice to set the example. All Chaplains are to perform divine ser­vice to morrow, and on ­every succeeding Sunday, with their respective brigades and regiments, where the situation ­will possibly admit of it. And the commanding officers of corps are to see that they attend; themselves, with officers of all ranks, setting the example. The Commander in Chief expects an exact compliance with this order, and that it be observed in ­f uture as an invariable rule of practice—­A nd ­every neglect ­will be considered not only a breach of o­ rders, but a disregard to decency, virtue and religion.109

The clergy and their followers did not approve of all military practices. They did not like the vio­lence of war, nor the swearing of the soldiers.110 While Washington could do very l­ittle about the vio­lence of war, he did attempt to curtail the swearing of the soldiers. In another General Order he stated his dis­plea­sure with the use of foul language: The General is sorry to be informed that the foolish, and wicked practice, of profane cursing and swearing (a Vice heretofore ­little known in an American Army) is growing into fashion; he hopes the officers ­will, by example, as well as influence, endeavour [sic] to check it, and that both they, and the men ­will reflect, that we can have

28

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

l­ittle hopes of the blessing of Heaven on our Arms, if we insult it by our impiety, and folly; added to this, it is a vice so mean and low, without any temptation, that ­every man of sense, and character, detests and despises it.111

While in Connecticut in 1779, Joseph Martin encountered such a situation. He and his fellow soldiers entered a village, where they ­were invited to eat at the ­house of a local deacon. Once inside, some of the men began to swear. When the deacon’s wife asked them to stop, one of the men asked what harm was caused. She replied that she was offended, but they continued. Exasperated, she could only reply, “I do not like you soldiers.”112 This example illustrates one of the reasons Washington considered swearing a detestable vice—it offended the public. Washington realized that the majority of colonial citizens ­were neither strong Patriots nor strong Loyalists. Both sides needed the support of the public for food, supplies, and intelligence gathering. The military that could win their f­avor, and subsequently their support, would be the victor in the American Revolution.

POPU­L AR CULTURE The reading collection of officers usually consisted of professional books and magazines. As part of their professional military reading material they might own a copy of Humphrey Bland’s A Treatise of Military Discipline. And since officers had other professions outside the military, they would also have reading material for their other ­career. Beyond t­hese professional readings, they would most likely possess a copy of Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations and some books by Enlightenment phi­los­o­phers such as an Essay Concerning H ­ uman Understanding by John Locke and The Social Contract by Jean-­Jacques Rousseau. Lighter reading options for educated soldiers of the time might include Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift or Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes. Their collection might also include a subscription to Gentleman’s Magazine, a publication dedicated to bringing news and commentary on any topic the educated public may wish to know. While the officers needed to be literate to perform their duties, most of the enlisted men possessed the ability to read as well. Martin, a man who spent most of the war at the rank of private, used his skill as a writer to rec­ord his experiences in a diary that he ­later turned into a book. Historians estimate that 50 to 85 ­percent of soldiers could read at least at a basic level. Rather than own a collection of books, they would most likely go to a lending library and check out a copy of a book such as The Devil upon Crutches by Tobias Smollett about a man who releases a devil from a ­bottle and embarks on a journey filled with romance, humor, and sexual intrigue. Another popu­lar book of the time was Arabian Nights, a collection of ancient stories translated into En­glish by Antoine Galland. Some of the well-­known stories in this book ­were “Aladdin’s Wonderful Lamp,” “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” and “The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor.” The common soldier would prob­ably own a copy of the Bible and might make an annual purchase of Poor Richard’s Almanack, which included weather forecasts, h­ ouse­hold hints, and puzzles.113



The American Revolution 29

Prior to the American Revolution, attitudes t­ owards m ­ usic varied across the colonies. The Puritans in the New E ­ ngland states shunned most forms of entertainment, including musical instruments, and only tolerated singing that accompanied worship. The Quakers in Pennsylvania shared the Puritans’ dislike of theater, games, lotteries, m ­ usic, and dancing. However, the rest of Pennsylvanians along with New Yorkers, Virginians, and citizens of the Southern states ­were more welcoming of secular entertainment.114 During the American Revolution, a wealthy officer had vari­ous forms of entertainment available. In ­Virginia, for instance, an eve­ning of entertainment might take place at the home of a prominent ­family. It began with a meal served at a formally set dinner ­table, where the host and each guest followed strict protocol with regard to seating assignments and conversation. Afterward, they toasted popu­lar public figures with a glass of Madeira, and then moved to a large candlelit room where they danced to minuets played by two or three musicians with violins and brass instruments ­until the eve­ning came to an end around midnight. On other occasions entertainment consisted of ­going to a concert hall where local musicians performed the works of Haydn, Handel, and other composers popu­lar at the time. The m ­ usic halls w ­ ere also used for the per­for­mance of plays. Two of the more popu­ lar plays of the time w ­ ere The Beggar’s Opera and Rosina.115 One of the most popu­lar forms of entertainment for the common soldier in ­Virginia was the outdoor festival. The food came from a hog that was roasted u­ nder

John Trumbull’s Surrender of General Burgoyne (1821) depicts the surrender of British general John Burgoyne to American general Horatio Gates on October 17, 1777. Burgoyne’s surrender was the first for a British field army in four centuries. It galvanized American morale and convinced the French government to offer open support of the in­de­pen­dence effort. (Architect of the Capitol)

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

a large tree, and the drink included plenty of alcohol. A “toddy” was a favorite among many of the young ­people. This drink was made with an alcohol such as rum, hot ­water, a sweetener such as sugar or honey, and sometimes spices. The dancing was relatively informal and involved wild and provocative movements, and the accompanying ­music was provided by a banjo and a fiddle. Some of the songs popu­lar with ­these revelers would have been “The Hay-­Makers Dance,” “Sally in Our Alley,” “Old King Cole,” and “Girls and Boys Come Out to Play.”116 Occasionally, citizens would show their appreciation for the military by hosting a cele­bration in honor of the soldiers. For example, near the end of the war, the city of Philadelphia held a dinner for the officers of the federal army. ­After dinner they toasted the U.S. Congress, the king of France, the states of Holland, General Washington, the martyrs to liberty, the strength of the new ­union, and the state of Pennsylvania. Between the toasts, soldiers fired cannons and a band played military marches.117 ­Music played an impor­tant role within the military as well. Militia units used the steady rhythms of drummers to practice drill movements, and in the Continental Army, each com­pany had one fifer and one drummer for similar purposes. As a ­matter of fact, Steuben’s military manual included a section titled, “Of the Dif­ fer­ent Beats of the Drum,” which explained the dif­fer­ent purposes of the drum beats. Since poorly trained musicians could have a negative effect on drill practice, Washington appointed a superintendent of m ­ usic to oversee all training of musicians. Additionally, the Continental Army had at least seven regiments with bands made up of multiple drummers and fifers that accompanied troops into ­battle to inspire them t­oward victory. For instance, at Saratoga, the motivation from the band helped reverse the fortunes of the troops battling against Burgoyne in 1777, eventually resulting in his surrender.118 According to historian Thomas Fleming, soldiers would also sing songs in ­battle. For example, the British supposedly sang “Yankee Doodle” during their march to Lexington. Their version of the song dismissively portrayed the Continental soldier as “an arrant coward” with “a swamping gun as big as a log of maple” who sold his only cow to buy a commission so that he could fight in the war. As the war continued, the Yankees changed the words and made the song their own. One of the favorite verses among American soldiers was: Yankee Doodle is the tune That we all delight in; It suits for feasts, it suits for fun, And just as well for fightin’. The song also played a role at the end of the war. When the British marched out of Yorktown ­after surrendering, they looked only at the French troops and pretended the Americans ­were not ­there. An outraged Lafayette ordered his band to play “Yankee Doodle.” Recognizing the intended insult, the British then turned to acknowledge the Americans.119 Fi­nally, spectator sports in Amer­i­ca ­were dif­fer­ent from sports in Eu­rope. While formal activities such as golf and tennis with well-­defined rules ­were popu­lar in



The American Revolution 31

Eu­rope, less formal activities w ­ ere popu­lar in Amer­i­ca. Sports ­were often eschewed by many Americans not only ­because of the Puritan mentality but also due to their brutality. However, for the colonists who did enjoy this type of entertainment, two popu­lar sports w ­ ere h­ orse racing and cock fighting. One of the more prevalent forms of ­horse racing was the Quarter Race. This sport involved two ­horses with their jockeys on a quarter-­mile straight track. When the starter signaled for the riders to go, they would take off down the track at full speed. Often the rules would allow them to whip, push, or other­wise disrupt their opponent’s pro­gress. Like ­horse racing, cock fights usually drew large crowds. Equipped with large metal spikes on their legs, ­these birds would fight to the death of one or sometimes even both competitors. They fought in duels with a typical event featuring 30 individual fights.120 The American Revolution brought an end to most forms of entertainment. In an effort to fund and support the war effort, the Continental Congress passed an act to encourage frugality, economy, and industry. This act discouraged e­ very species of extravagance, “especially all ­horse racing, and all kinds of gaming, cock fighting, exhibitions of shews [sic], plays, and other expensive diversions and entertainments.”121 While the act curtailed the popularity of t­hese activities, it did not completely eliminate them.

PAY AND COMPENSATION For multiple reasons, it is difficult to fully comprehend the value of military compensation during the American Revolution. For one ­thing, the common soldier would be more accustomed to working and trading on the barter system than receiving money. A person might be given vegetables, poultry, livestock, or a basket of coal in exchange for ser­vices. Thus, currency was not frequently used nor highly valued by many of the soldiers. Another prob­lem with estimating the value of money in colonial Amer­i­ca was the variety of currency in circulation. At any given time, monetary transactions might involve the British pound, Spanish peso, Dutch guilder, or the currency of some other foreign government. The money could also have come from the government of one of the colonies ­because the dif­fer­ent colonies and states ­were known to issue their own currencies or trea­sury notes from time to time. Furthermore, not only w ­ ere their dif­fer­ent currencies from the dif­fer­ent colonies, but an individual colony or state might have multiple currencies that ­were issued at dif­fer­ent times. Multiple types of currency in circulation also made counterfeiting easier. This is all to say that ­there was no standardization in the types of money being used. Some forms of currency ­were more common in one region, while other forms ­were more common in other regions, and the value of a form of currency was likely to vary from region to region as well. At the beginning of the American Revolution, Congress did issue a Continental currency. The Continental dollar was meant to be a standard form of currency used throughout the colonies and states for the purpose of paying war expenses. Unfortunately, Congress issued them in such large amounts that they quickly lost their value, and many merchants refused to accept them. In an attempt to control the

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

growing inflation caused by the currency, Congress issued a resolution allowing the punishment of anyone not accepting the Continental dollar at face value. They also urged state governments to make Continental bills lawful tender in the public and private transactions of their states.122 Thus, soldiers ­were paid with an inflated currency for which they held ­little re­spect. To boost recruiting and retention efforts, Congress increased salaries offered throughout the war. On average, the expected monthly salary of soldiers near the beginning of the war was $7 for privates, $8 for sergeants, $13 for lieutenants, $20 for captains, $33 for majors, $40 for lieutenant col­o­nels, and $50 for col­ o­nels. From this salary was deducted the cost of any clothing allocated, food rationed, or arms provided by the government.123 What­ever method you use to calculate the value of their compensation, they ­were underpaid. Primary evidence of this fact comes in the difficulty the army had recruiting new soldiers and retaining veterans throughout the duration of the war. According to Washington, an officer’s pay was not enough to support him. An officer’s ser­vice to his country came at the risk of financial ruin ­because it took him away from his civil occupation. As for the common soldier, Washington commented “that however high the men’s pay may appear, it is barely sufficient in the pre­sent scarcity and dearness of all kinds of goods, to keep them in Cloaths [sic], much less afford support to their Families.”124 In a sense, the amount of money Congress agreed to pay soldiers was irrelevant ­because they ­were frequently at least six months b­ ehind on paying the salaries of soldiers.125 In 1781, Joseph Martin received a month’s pay in the form of coins, which ­were donated by the officers of the French army. According to Martin, “This was the first that could be called money, which we had received as wages since the year ’76, or that we ever did receive till the close of the war, or indeed ever ­after as wages.”126 When the war was over, most of the enlisted men w ­ ere e­ ager to return to their homes and their families. Though many had formed strong bonds with their fellow soldiers and their commanders, they would not miss the harsh conditions of military life during war­time. Additionally, the war was about freedom, and now that they had won it, they ­were ready to enjoy it. Congress still owed them several months’ worth of pay. Congress had also promised ­those who signed up for the entire length of the war 100 acres of land. B ­ ecause of the way they had been treated thus far, the soldiers expected to receive neither. Furthermore, many expected they would have to find jobs so they could earn enough money to return to their homes.127 The officers ­were also owed back pay. Plus, they had been promised half-­pay for life. It appeared to many that the new federal government would not have the power to impose taxes without the consent of the states, and now that the war was won, the officers feared the states would be reluctant to agree to any new taxes. Without ­these taxes, the officers knew they would not receive compensation. While camped at Newburgh, New York, Col­o­nel Lewis Nicola sent a letter to Washington describing the officers’ grievances. He noted that their “pecuniary rights” had long been neglected and he feared that “when our ser­vices are no longer wanted, and that the recompence [sic] of all our toils, hardships, expence of



The American Revolution 33

private fortune, during several of the best years of our lives w ­ ill be, to t­hose who cannot earn a livelihood by manual ­labor, beggary, & that we who have born the heat & ­labour of the day ­will be forgot and neglected by such as reap the benefits without suffering any of the hardships.” He hinted at the pos­si­ble actions the officers might take if Congress did not follow through with promises made to the veterans: “God forbid we should ever think of involving that country we have, ­under your conduct & auspices, rescued from oppression, into a new scene of blood & confusion; but it cannot be expected we should forego claims on which our f­ uture subsistence & that of our families depend.”128 The American officers hoped that by refusing to demobilize and possibly marching on Congress in Philadelphia they could pressure the Congress and the states into paying them what they ­were owed. Washington sent an order directing the officers to meet “to hear the report of the Committee of the Army to Congress.” A ­ fter hearing the report, he advised them to engage in “mature deliberation” in order to determine “what further mea­sures ­ought to be ­adopted as most rational and best calculated to attain the just and impor­tant object in view.”129 The men met as directed, but they ­were soon surprised when Washington entered the room and began speaking. He said that any action against civilian authorities would “tarnish the reputation of an Army which is celebrated thro’ all Eu­rope, for its fortitude and Patriotism,” and he appealed to their last bit of loyalty by encouraging them to “place a full confidence in the purity of the intentions of Congress.”130 ­After he spoke, the men said nothing, and Washington was unsure of how to change their attitudes. He then pulled a letter out of his coat pocket he had recently received from Congress. It explained the dire financial situation that prevented Congress from fulfilling their promises to the soldiers; however, before he could read the letter, he reached into his vest for his eyeglasses. As a man who always wished to appear strong before his men, this move somewhat embarrassed Washington, and he ner­vously joked that the war had not only turned his hair gray but had also taken away his eyesight. The honesty and purity of this gesture touched the emotions of the men even more than his opening statement or the words written in the letter and persuaded them to abandon their plan to march on Congress and to pursue their grievances without the use of vio­lence.131 Congress responded by granting the enlisted soldiers three months of their back pay. The officers, instead of getting half-­pay for life, ­were granted full pay for five years. And at the end of November 1783, Washington fi­nally sent the last soldier of the Continental Army home.132

WEAPONRY Perhaps the most useful tools during the war ­were the shovel and the ax. Digging new latrines was the most effective way of keeping camps sanitary and preventing diseases that incapacitated or killed the men. Additionally, men used shovels to dig trenches necessary for the defense of their camps. Axes ­were used to chop down trees that slowed the ­enemy’s movements and to sharpen sticks used in making abattis. Abattis ­were small trees that ­were cut down and then their branches

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

sharpened into spikes. They ­were placed near trenches to slow the advances of ­enemy troops. As for combat situations, Washington’s strategy involved small skirmishes, defensive operations, and retreats. His goal was to keep the army alive ­until it was strong enough to conduct major offensive operations. T ­ hese small ­battles often involved close-up fighting, and since a musket only fired once before it needed to be reloaded, a soldier needed other weapons to repel an attacking ­enemy, who was usually armed with a bayonet. Axes, swords, knives, and tomahawks ­were useful in such situations. When it came to major combat operations, the favorite weapon of the infantry soldier was the musket. Some used the British-­made Brown Bess, a 0.75-­caliber, smoothbore, flintlock, muzzle-­loaded gun. It weighed about 10.5 pounds and was 58 inches long. Other colonial soldiers used the French-­made Charleville, a 0.69-­caliber, smoothbore, flintlock, muzzle-­loaded gun. It weighed nine pounds and came in two lengths: 57 inches for standard infantry and 51 inches for dragoons. Many believed the Charleville to be more durable, reliable, and accurate and to have a greater range. Muskets could be equipped with bayonets, and about half of American soldiers used them in combat. Also, the musket stock was designed to be used as a club in close combat.133 The multiple steps required to prime, load, aim, and fire the musket ­were clearly explained in Steuben’s training manual and routinely practiced during exercises. A good infantry soldier could fire about three shots per minute. ­These shots produced a lot of noise and smoke, and ­after about 12 shots, the soldier would then need to stop in order to clean his musket. Muskets ­were accurate only up to 100 yards; thus, to increase the possibility of hitting an ­enemy soldier, Steuben’s tactics called for infantry soldiers to fire in volleys. A row of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder would fire si­mul­ta­neously and then move to the rear. Next, a second row of soldiers would fire in the same manner. This rotation would continue ­until the original line of soldiers was back at the front firing their volleys.134 The favorite weapon of the partisan soldier was the ­rifle. Spiral grooves cut inside the barrel caused the bullet to spin and therefore fly straighter. This gave the ­rifle an accuracy up to 250 yards. Like the musket, the ­rifle could fire only one shot at a time. But since the pro­cess of priming, loading, aiming, and firing the r­ ifle was even more complicated than that of the musket, a rifleman could only fir e one shot ­every 90 seconds, as opposed to ­every 20 seconds for the musket. Thus, the ­rifle could not be used effectively by an infantryman in formation but could be used successfully by a rifleman in the woods using trees for cover.135 The delay between priming and firing ­rifles and muskets made bayonets effective weapons during traditional confrontations between formations of infantry units. A unit equipped with bayonets could quickly overtake their ­enemy as they methodically primed, loaded, aimed, and fired their weapons. While both sides used bayonets, the British had more experience and ­were more proficient with the weapon. At one point during the war, Washington ordered Morgan’s riflemen to use spears as a c­ ounter to the British bayonets. The use of bayonets and spears, along with similar weapons such as pikes, contributed to the savagery of ­battle for the infantry soldier.136



The American Revolution 35

Cavalry with swords could also attack lines of ­enemy artillery; however, unlike infantry units, cavalry did not have their own gunfire to assist with their attack. And although the fast-­charging ­horses provided a violent attacking force, a well-­ trained and patient infantry unit could easily shoot the ­horses from under­neath the riders as they charged. Thus, cavalry tended to be most effective when pursuing a retreating e­ nemy where they could use their swords without the threat of coordinated ­enemy gunfire.137 The weapons found in artillery regiments included cannons, mortars, and howitzers. Cannon sizes ­were based on the weight of their cannon ball. The most commonly used cannons ­were 3-­, 6-­, 8-­, and 12-­pounders. Smaller cannon usually fired small canisters filled with marble-­sized, or smaller, lead balls. Slightly larger cannons could fire grapeshot, which was canisters filled with marble-­sized, or larger, lead balls. Both canister and grapeshot ­were effective at killing the ­enemy on the battlefield. Larger cannons could fire solid or hollow iron balls. The hollow balls ­were filled with gunpowder and equipped with a fuse so that the ball would explode and cause a fire upon impact. ­These ­were effective at destroying ­enemy buildings, fortifications, and artillery. Cannon shelling distances ranged between 1,000 and 2,000 yards. This vast range made it difficult for operators to accurately determine how to aim their weapons. It also made it difficult for opposing forces to determine when they ­were safely out of cannon range.138 Mortars looked like short, stubby cannons mounted on heavy wooden platforms or sleds. While cannons would fire their ammunition on a fairly flat trajectory, mortars would lob their ammunition on a high trajectory that would fly over any defenses and explode when they landed on their target. Mortar effectiveness ranged from 750 to 1,400 yards.139 Howitzers ­were like mortars, only more mobile since they ­were mounted onto wheels. Like mortars, they lobbed exploding bombs high into the air and over e­ nemy defenses. Their effectiveness was similar to that of a mortar, ranging from 750 to 1,300 yards.140 Like most supplies during the American Revolution, guns, artillery, ammunition, and gunpowder ­were in short supply. Even though Washington’s army was always short of soldiers, he never had enough weapons for the soldiers he had. At one point, he reminded the Pennsylvania Council of Safety that it was useless for them to send him militiamen “who have no Arms” ­because he had no guns or ammunition to give to them. In fact, he believed that part of the British strategy was to wait for the Americans to exhaust their weapons supply and then to overtake the Congress at Philadelphia.141 One clever technique the Americans used was to paint logs to look like cannons. William Washington used ­these “Quaker guns” to trick a group of 100 Loyalists into surrendering during his ­battles in South Carolina.142 COMBAT At the beginning of the American Revolution, the Continental Congress only authorized the establishment of infantry and artillery units, but by the end of the war, the standard configuration of the Continental Army contained three primary combat regiments: infantry, artillery, and cavalry or light dragoons. About 85 ­percent

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of the soldiers belonged to infantry, 6 ­percent to artillery, and 6 ­percent to cavalry or light dragoons. The dif­fer­ent regiments had similar structures; for example, they ­were usually divided into eight or nine companies. The combat regiments ­were also supported by companies of engineers, partisans, and artificers. And a typical com­ pany had about 65 enlisted soldiers and 12 officers.143 The infantry soldier’s time was spent performing guard duty, participating in drill practice, marching from an old fort to a new fort, marching to meet the e­ nemy, and occasionally engaging in combat with the ­enemy. Guard duty could last anywhere from one day to several months. Groups of soldiers ­were posted to guard camp entrances, weapons stores, impor­tant bridges, corrals of ­horses, or other objects deemed worthy of protection. Camp guards not only patrolled the perimeter of the camp but would also take up advanced positions outside the camp to provide an early warning capability should the ­enemy be seen in the area. The size of the guard detail depended upon the size and importance of the object being protected. A soldier on guard duty could expect to spend one to two hours performing sentry duty followed by four hours of sleeping on the ground. Drill practice for infantry soldiers lasted from six to eight ­o’clock in the morning and then again from four to six ­o’clock in the after­noon. Training served at least two purposes: one was to keep the men from getting into trou­ble ­because of too much idle time, and the second was to prepare the men for combat. The primary duty of an infantry soldier in offensive operations was to attack the ­enemy’s infantry. While Eu­ro­pean infantry units often used shock tactics such as charging at the ­enemy with bayonets, the American military preferred that their infantry men attacked the ­enemy with shots from muskets or ­rifles. Thus, marksmanship was an impor­tant skill.144 Artillery provided the firepower for the army. American commanders used artillery in two dif­fer­ent roles. Field artillery units traveled with or near infantry to provide direct and integrated support. Carrying only two to four guns gave them their desired mobility. The six-­pound cannon seemed to provide the optimum balance of mobility and firepower against ­enemy troops. Heavy artillery companies operated the more power­f ul and thus less mobile cannons. ­These weapons w ­ ere fired from fixed fortifications and ­were used for defense of friendly forts or to destroy e­ nemy defenses in siege operations.145 Since they often operated from fixed fortifications, artillery units worked closely with engineers ­because the engineers had the knowledge of how to build fortifications. Engineers knew where to dig the trenches, build the redoubts, and construct the abattis. They also knew how to move and where to place heavy artillery. Although engineers had the knowledge, it was usually left to the artillery and infantry soldiers to do the digging, building, constructing, and moving. Engineers also knew where to attack ­enemy fortifications, how to calculate the trajectory of artillery, and how to determine exact distances troops should march. ­T hese skills required knowledge of geometry, geography, meteorology, and vari­ous other subjects; thus, engineers ­were a much-­needed and hard-­to-­find group.146 The light ­horse troops ­were initially added to reconnoiter the Atlantic coastline for British ships “and to serve as couriers,” but as the war continued, they became critical components of skirmishes and large engagements.147 Seasoned militaries



The American Revolution 37

such as the British made a clear distinction between cavalry, which ­were intended to fight from ­horse­back, and dragoons, which ­were intended to dismount for combat (and as a result, ­were occasionally called mounted infantry); however, in the Continental Army, a single man with a h­ orse could be used for a variety of purposes; thus, the terms cavalry and dragoon ­were often used to refer to the same unit, depending on the purpose they w ­ ere serving for a par­tic­u­lar combat mission. Combat operations usually included soldiers from all t­ hese dif­fer­ent units. A typical ­battle attack formation started with 10 brigades of infantry deployed as the main front line. B ­ ehind this line w ­ ere six brigades of infantry forming the second line, with one brigade of infantry remaining in the rear as the reserve. The left and right flanks each consisted of two regiments of dragoons along with infantry from militia units and additional infantry companies from the main line regiments. Field artillery was located in nearby hills, and partisan units ­were positioned to harass the e­ nemy should they decide to retreat.148 Joseph Martin experienced his first combat in New York City during August 1776. As part of a militia unit, he was supporting the Continental Regulars fighting the main ­battles. When he and his regiment landed at Brooklyn, he saw wounded soldiers for the first time: “some with broken arms, some with broken legs, and some with broken heads.” He admitted to feeling daunted and a ­little homesick at the sight, but the urgency of their tasks soon erased ­these feelings from his mind. As the regiment marched forward to take a supporting position far to the right of the main line, they came upon a small group of artillery soldiers dragging a 12-­pound cannon. The artillery soldiers pleaded for assistance, but the officers in Martin’s regiment kept the men marching ­toward their destination. They soon arrived at a creek where American and British soldiers ­were engaged in ­battle. The British infantrymen, with support from field artillery, had backed the Americans into the creek, but before they could completely finish off the Americans, the soldiers dragging the 12-­pounder arrived and began firing at the British. This caused the British to retreat and put an end to the b­ attle. As the surviving American soldiers emerged from the creek covered with mud, Martin noticed that the majority of them ­were very much like himself: teenage boys. Martin and some other members from his regiment went into the creek to get the corpses of the fallen soldiers. When this unpleasant task was complete, they rested for the night. The next day they went out to find food, but instead encountered a group of British soldiers also looking for food. The Americans took cover ­behind a haystack, the British ­behind a fence. About 50 Americans drove the British back from the fence, but the British received reinforcements and began to push the Americans back. The ­battle continued with both sides alternately being reinforced u­ ntil the Americans had the ultimate advantage, with nearly all of their brigade engaged in the action; thus, they ­were able to drive the British out of the area. According to Martin, no one was “killed outright,” but several soldiers w ­ ere “severely wounded,” with some d­ ying l­ ater. The 5th Regiment was now in sole possession of this location, not only f­ ree of the British but isolated from other Continental regiments as well. They cut down some trees to “prevent the approach of the enemies’ ­horse” and unsuccessfully resumed their search for food. The next day a heavy rain soaked them “all to the skin” and damaged much of their ammunition. When the rain ­stopped near sunset, the officers

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told the men to assem­ble for training. As they attempted to fire in unison, they “made blundering work of it.” Late that night the officers ordered the men to form up. They ­were told “not to speak, or even cough, while on the march.” They left without knowing their destination or the purpose for the secrecy and only ­later discovered they had taken part in one of Washington’s well-­executed retreats.149 One of the best examples of combined arms occurred at the ­Battle of Cowpens during January 1781 when Greene’s talented staff of Morgan, Lee, Williams, and Washington fought with Cornwallis’s best commander, Tarleton. Morgan, commanding a force of about 1,900 men, outnumbered Tarleton’s infantry and cavalry, which totaled about 1,100. Morgan divided his troops into two lines. The first line, ­under the command of Col­o­nel Andrew Pickens, consisted of the North and South Carolina militias. A few hundred yards ­behind the first line was the second line ­under the command of Lieutenant Col­o­nel John Howard. It consisted of light infantry and a com­pany of ­Virginia riflemen. Washington’s cavalry and about 45 mounted militiamen with swords led by Lieutenant Col­o­nel James McCall ­were in reserve. The battleground was a low-­density wooded area. The British opened the ­battle with constant fire from their muskets. Pickens ordered the militia on the front line to hold fire ­until the ­enemy was within 50 yards. Though they followed the order with ­great discipline, the ­enemy still broke through the front line. As the British engaged the second line, Washington sent his dragoons to engage a British unit attacking the Americans on the right flank while Morgan and Pickens rallied the militia and returned them to order. This caused confusion among the British

At the B ­ attle of Cowpens, Patriot forces ­under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan inflicted a decisive defeat upon British regulars commanded by Lieutenant Col­o­nel Banastre Tarleton. The victory provided a much-­needed surge of morale for Patriot forces operating in the Carolinas. (Yale University Art Gallery)



The American Revolution 39

and they began to retreat. Howard took advantage of the confusion to charge his light infantry forward with fixed bayonets. This caused even more confusion among the British and soon they ­were in a disor­ga­nized retreat. Howard offered the British the opportunity to surrender, and many accepted, although some took advantage of the opportunity to escape. Among ­those escaping ­were Tarleton and many of his cavalry. Washington and his cavalry pursued ­these men for several miles but ­were unable to reengage them in ­battle. British losses ­were substantial. Ten officers and 100 enlisted men ­were killed. Two hundred men ­were wounded, and more than 500 men ­were taken prisoner, including 29 commissioned officers. The Americans also recovered two pieces of artillery, 800 muskets, 35 baggage wagons, and 100 dragoon ­horses. Twelve Americans ­were killed and 60 wounded in the ­battle.150 At times, combat would involve ­either defending a fort or trying to overtake the fort. A defensive combat position would include heavy artillery b­ ehind redoubts. Infantry fired from locations inside the camp and from trenches dug around the camp, while cavalry and partisan units tried to slow the ­enemy’s approach by harassing them as they marched and by destroying roads leading to the camp. An example of defensive combat occurred when the Americans tried to defend Charleston in 1780. When Clinton sailed his soldiers from New York to Charleston, their first task was to defeat the Continental Navy protecting the Charleston coast. U ­ nder the command of Captain Abraham Whipple, the Continental fleet contained three frigates loaded with 28, 28, and 24 guns and an 18-­ gun sloop led by John Paul Jones. Whipple’s fleet was accompanied by two French warships with 44 and 26 guns and by four ships from the South Carolina Navy with 26, 20, 18, and 16 guns. Given the fairly significant firepower at his disposal and his familiarity with the area, Whipple could have blocked the British navy’s entry into Charleston Harbor. The rough weather had weakened the British fleet. Plus, three British ships had removed guns and equipment in order to cross a shallow bar near the entrance to the harbor. Clinton’s sailors and soldiers aboard the ships presented a vulnerable target; however, Whipple chose not to engage the British at sea, but rather sent his forces ashore to help reinforce the defenses at Charleston.151 Once in Charleston Harbor, Clinton demanded the town surrender. He had about 10,000 troops and Lincoln had about 5,500, half of which w ­ ere untrained militiamen. Despite his disadvantage in numbers, Lincoln refused to surrender. He hoped the trenches and abattis protecting his soldiers would provide enough defense against the attacking British.152 The engineers cleared away the abattis and drained the dams supplying ­water to the Americans while the infantry navigated the trenches. The Americans used muskets, ­rifles, and artillery to slow the pro­gress. One British officer estimated that he lost eight men a day to the American ammunition. The British returned fire, but ­were less effective since the Americans ­were in the more protected position. The infantry and artillery fire lasted day and night causing the ground to shake almost constantly. Although the noise from the artillery was deafening, the men could still hear musket balls as they whizzed by their heads. Most men expected to die, and many recorded what they believed would be their last thoughts in letters and

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diaries.153 Eventually, Clinton and his men closed in on all sides of the city. Knowing that the loss of the city was inevitable, Lincoln proposed a surrender on the condition that he and his men be allowed to leave the city during a 10-­day cease-­ fire. Clinton rejected the offer and the fighting continued. Early in May, about a month ­after the British first started firing upon the city, Lincoln and Clinton agreed upon surrender terms.154 ELITE TROOPS Many of the successes in ­battle depended on specially trained or skilled troops. For example, when Washington and his men crossed the Delaware River into Trenton, New Jersey, on Christmas night in 1776, his plan relied on a unique regiment from Marblehead, Mas­sa­chu­setts. ­T hese men ­were fishermen by trade and thus excellent sailors and boat handlers. Their job was to ferry the 2,400 Continental soldiers with h­ orses and cannons across the river at night in the ­middle of winter during foul weather. They performed magnificently and enabled Washington’s surprise attack against the Hessian troops. Another group considered elite was light ­horse soldiers. The heavi­ly forested land and lack of roads made cavalry and dragoons impractical in the wars prior to the American Revolution, and at the beginning of the war, ­there w ­ ere no regiments authorized by Congress; however, small units did exist such as the Philadelphia Light Horse, which escorted Washington from Philadelphia to Boston when he first took command of the Continental Army. When Congress did authorize the first light ­horse detachment in 1776, the cavalry soldiers refused to participate in training or the daily chores of keeping an orderly camp. Horse soldiers had to supply their own h­ orses, and since it cost a lot of money to buy, feed, and equip a h­ orse, t­hese ­were usually members of colonial society with money and land. Typically, they entered the military with many of the skills necessary to carry out their duties and tended to perform more professionally than regular infantry units; however, since they had at least a small amount of wealth, they did not need to join the military for monetary reasons and could prob­ably afford to pay for a replacement if they ­were drafted. Thus, it tended to be more difficult to recruit dragoons than infantry soldiers.155 The elite attitudes of the cavalry soldiers caused morale prob­lems among the other troops, and Washington resolved the prob­lem by dismissing the cavalry. On July 16, 1776, he sent a letter to the cavalry commander, Col­o­nel Seymour, in which he wrote: Gentn.: In answer to yours of this Date, I can only repeat to you what I said last Night, and this is, that if your Men think themselves exempt from the common Duties of a Soldier, ­will not mount Guard, do Garrison Duty, or the Ser­vice seperate (sic) from their Horse, they can be no longer of Use h­ ere, where Horse cannot be brought to Action, and I do not care how soon they are dismissed.156

However, by the end of the year, Washington recognized that he would need mounted troops to c­ ounter the British cavalry and dragoons. He wrote to Congress



The American Revolution 41

and recommended they authorize the establishment of ­horse troops, and they responded by establishing four regiments.157 Another group of elite soldiers ­were partisan companies. ­These men knew how to adapt frontier skills such as marksmanship to military combat. Partisans ­were essentially elite infantry units that specialized in irregular warfare tactics and sniper missions. They would skirmish in small ­battles, harass marching ­enemy troops, or annoy encamped forces. ­These men ­were often called riflemen ­because they preferred to use a ­rifle rather than a musket, and they ­were led by legendary frontier fighters like Ethan Allen and Daniel Morgan.158 Ethan Allen’s Green Mountain Boys started out as a militia protecting their property from government officials trying to confiscate land. They did not get involved in the war ­u ntil Benedict Arnold asked Allen to assist him with capturing Fort Ticonderoga. The Green Mountain Boys used ­r ifles instead of muskets to shoot at the British from wooded areas or other covered locations; however, this was not the only tactic they used in ­battle—­they ­were also courageous. They understood that capturing a fort required physically occupying it, and at Ticonderoga Allen was one of the first to confront the British guards. In fact, his boldness took the British by such surprise that they surrendered without putting up much of a fight. It is said that Allen told one of the guards that the Americans ­were “taking the fort and the British had better run.”159 Daniel Morgan’s riflemen ­were similar to the Green Mountain Boys. Morgan required that ­every soldier in his unit pass a test of marksmanship: they ­were required to shoot a seven-­inch target from 250 paces. They also operated as a light infantry unit and carried all of their food and supplies with them. When the British recaptured Fort Ticonderoga in 1777 and pursued the retreating Americans, Gates used Morgan’s riflemen to harass British scouts and enable the Americans to regain the advantage over the British. And in the subsequent ­battle of Bemis Heights, Morgan’s snipers blocked Burgoyne’s escape routes and ­were instrumental in forcing his surrender, an event that greatly influenced the French decision to join the war.160 ­Later, Morgan joined Greene in the Southern campaign and played an impor­t ant role in destroying Cornwallis’s light infantry. Near the end of the war, Washington approved the formation of elite units known as sappers and miners. T ­ hese men w ­ ere selected from infantry units and trained on the basic engineering skills required to construct field fortifications, repair roads, and dig trenches. T ­ hese men could supervise infantry troops while they did the constructing, repairing, and digging, or they could do the work themselves if necessary. This new unit eliminated some of the need for professionally trained engineers. A special group similar to sappers and miners was artificers. While sappers and miners w ­ ere attached to engineering companies and supported the entire army, artificers ­were attached directly to artillery regiments, and thus they ­were trained in duties that ­were unique to supporting artillery forces. ­These duties might include performing maintenance on cannons, mortars, and howitzers, or improving roads and bridges used to move t­ hese weapons.161

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HEALTH AND MEDICINE Combat care during the American Revolution was very rudimentary. Field treatment facilities consisted of nearby ­houses or open fields, and the only surgical tools available ­were the ones doctors could quickly carry from one temporary location to another, such as “homemade ban­dages, a few drugs, syringes, hot-­water ­bottles of pewter and crockery, knives, saws, and a mortar and pestle.” Most combat medical providers had very ­little, if any, training. For example, the “doctor” for a unit in New York was a cobbler prior to the war. Doctors with proper medical training could successfully set broken bones or remove shallowly embedded bullets, but the only major operations attempted ­were amputations, and due to the unsanitary facilities, lack of anesthesia, and primitive tools, many soldiers would experience shock during the operation, and ­those who did survive the operation ­later died of infection. A good doctor could expect about 35 ­percent of his patients to survive ­after an amputation.162 ­Enemy soldiers ­were not the only risk to one’s health during the American Revolution; in fact, a bigger risk was disease. Conditions both inside and outside the army ­were ripe for the outbreak and spread of many dif­fer­ent diseases. As a case in point, the air in New York City was filled with “unwholesome smells” and the inhabitants ­were “very dirty” and sick with some disease such as “the itch, pox, fever, or flux.”163 And within the military, disease and other forms of ill health kept many soldiers from ­battle and contributed to Washington’s difficulties in meeting desired end strengths. Dysentery, known at the time as the “pox” or “bloody pox,” along with smallpox, yellow fever, and influenza, infected thousands of soldiers and as a consequence caused many men to avoid military ser­vice out of fear of getting the disease.164 Inoculations ­were effective against smallpox, but the best treatment for all diseases was prevention.165 Filthy clothing, unsanitary food and w ­ ater, poor hygiene, dirty camps, and weak immunities all contributed to the outbreak of diseases. In an effort to eliminate some of the conditions causing diseases, the Board of War instructed Dr. Benjamin Rush to publish Directions for Preserving the Health of Soldiers: Recommended to the Consideration of the Officers of the Army of the United States. In this 1777 publication he acknowledged, “Fatal experience has taught the ­people of Amer­i­ca that a greater proportion of men have perished with sickness in our armies than have fallen by the sword.” To combat disease, Rush recommended a healthy lifestyle, which included “I. DRESS. II. DIET III. CLEANLINESS. IV. ENCAMPMENTS. And V. EXERCISE.” While the general concept of improving sanitation is a proven way to prevent disease, in hindsight, some of Rush’s recommendations are more medically sound than ­others. Nevertheless, a close look at his advice gives us insight into thinking and activities of the times. To begin with, Rush believed that the use of linen to make clothing was a health ­hazard. He wrote, “It is a well known fact, that the perspiration of the body, by attaching itself to linen, and afterwards, by mixing with rain, is disposed to form miasmata [unpleasant or unhealthy odors] which produce fevers.” Unlike Washington, Rush was not an advocate of the homespun hunting shirt. In addition to its linen “accumulating putrid miasmata,” he recommended



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banning it ­because it also “conceals filth, and prevents a due regard to cleanliness.” Armies of the past, he reasoned, such as the Romans and even the British during the French and Indian War, ­were never sick ­because they wore nothing but flannel shirts. Uncombed hair was another source of disease ­because it accumulated perspiration on the head. He recommended two methods to combat this prob­lem. The first was daily combing and dressing of the hair, but he acknowledged this was not practical ­because it would cause delays in the soldiers preparing for ­battle. The second was wearing the hair short. This method, Rush said, was strongly recommended not only by himself but by all modern writers on the military art. He had several recommendations for improving the diet of the soldiers. To begin with, due to “the nature of their duty, as well as their former habits of life,” their diet should consist chiefly of well-­cooked vegetables. Also, “damaged flour should not be used in the camp. It is the seed of many disorders.” Additionally, “flour should not be rendered unwholesome by an error of making it into bread.” Again referring to the Romans, he noted that they used wheat instead of flour. Wheat boiled in ­water with “a ­little sugar or molasses” added was “not only a most ­wholesome food, but a most agreeable repast.” Rush also criticized the popu­lar belief that alcohol negated the effects of heat and cold. He argued, “The temporary elevation of spirits in summer, and the temporary generation of warmth in winter, produced by rum, always leave the body languid, and more liable to be affected with heat and cold afterwards.” He further claimed that the use of rum gradually wore away the powers of the ­human immune system and laid the foundation for “fevers, fluxes, jaundices,” and most of the other diseases that occurred in military hospitals. The best solution, he thought, was to follow the example of the animals and quench the thirst created by severe ­labor with nothing but cool ­water. Again referring to the Romans, he noted they filled their canteens only with vinegar, which they mixed with ­water to make a sanitary drink. Cleanliness, Rush believed, could not be overemphasized. He urged soldiers to wash their hands and ­faces at least once e­ very day and wash their entire bodies two or three times a week, especially in the summer. He wrote, “The cold bath was part of the military discipline of the Roman soldiers, and contributed much to preserve their health.” Cleanliness also involved laundering clothes frequently and washing cooking utensils each meal. Another condition leading to disease was overcrowded and messy sleeping quarters. This was a prob­lem b­ ecause “the perspiration and respiration of the ­human bodies” could not be diluted in such a narrow space. He noticed that soldiers ­were usually their healthiest when circumstances forced them to sleep without their tents. To reduce the risk of disease caused by close confinement, he recommended frequently changing the straw or hay upon which they slept. They ­were to also expose their blankets to the sun each day in order to “prevent the perspiration from becoming morbid and dangerous by accumulating upon it.” Wet clothes, blankets, and straw ­were to be dried before used. And animal entrails ­were to be kept out of tents and ­were to be buried beyond the neighborhood of the camp.

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Rush also contended that the location and formation of the encampment contributed to disease. For example, when camped near a river during the fall of the year, if the winds crossed the river before reaching the camp, they would “prob­ ably bring with them the seeds of bilious and intermitting fevers.” This required shifting the camp’s location when the changing seasons cause winds to shift directions. Plus, an added benefit to frequently moving camp locations was that it reduced exposure to health risks associated with the accumulation of waste and filth. Smoke caused by campfires, the burning of sulfur, and the firing of weapons also contributed to bad health. Rush reported that men had been known to fall “ill with a putrid fever” when exposed to excess smoke. As an early environmentalist, he urged them to take g­ reat care in preserving the purity of the air. Fi­nally, Rush emphasized that the daily exercises of maneuvers as required by Steuben’s training program contributed to the health of soldiers, but cautioned commanders that they “should be performed in the cool of the morning and eve­ning in summer.” He urged commanders to furnish sentries with watch-­coats and to relieve them often in very hot, cold, and rainy weather. He encouraged any soldier performing sentry duty “always to eat a hearty meal before he enters upon duty in cold weather” b­ ecause “the gentle fever excited by digestion contributes to guard him in a degree against the effects of the cold.”166

PRISONERS OF WAR The living conditions of the American soldier w ­ ere harsh; however, the life of a prisoner of war was even harsher. Fewer than 7,000 American Patriots died in combat, whereas more than 18,000 died in British prisons. ­These conditions ­were partially the result of a lack of preparedness to accommodate prisoners, but it was also the result of animosity on the part of British prison guards.167 At the beginning of the war, the British believed they ­were fighting an insurrection rather than a full-­scale war. As a result, they made no plans for taking prisoners. For example, of the 31 prisoners taken at the 1775 ­Battle of Bunker Hill, 21 died of starvation and disease. And, as of 1776, ­there ­were 5,000 American soldiers held prisoner in New York City. This far exceeded the capacity of the city’s jails, and the British w ­ ere forced to convert ships sitting off the coast, some of which had already been decommissioned, into prisons. Spaces ­were so small that many prisoners did not have enough room to lie down while sleeping. Similarly, during the ­Battle of Charleston in 1780, Prisoners ­were ­housed in overcrowded and disease-­ filled ships anchored off of the coast. Several prisoners defected to the British to escape the misery. Many who stayed died. At almost any time or place, prisoners during the American Revolution never had enough clothing or heat during the winter, fresh air during the summer, or food and sanitary w ­ ater during any season.168 Lack of planning was not the only reason for the poor treatment of American prisoners; in many cases the treatment was the result of poor funding, corruption, and cruelty. During the Revolutionary era, each side had an agent for prisoners who was empowered to make the necessary purchases of food and clothing for their soldiers in ­enemy prison camps. The agents would then ship the supplies to ­enemy



The American Revolution 45

prisons; however, ­there ­were two prob­lems with this system. First and foremost was the lack of funding provided by the Continental Congress. The American agent simply did not have enough money to adequately supply the American prisoners of war. Second, it is rumored that some British jailers profited by selling what ­little food was sent to the prisoners.169 On the other hand, not all prison officials ­were corrupt; some American prisoners survived b­ ecause of small amounts of food provided by the captors. Starvation, exposure, and disease killed many American prisoners, but cruelty also played a role. Some of the British soldiers thought it humorous to give prisoners used bath ­water for drinking ­water and then watch the dehydrated and gaunt men desperately consume ­every drop. In one example, a Hessian chaplain thought it “comical” to watch one of his soldiers grab a prisoner “on the ears with both hands” and verbally abuse him while ­others “hit him on the sides of his head” and “gave him a kick in the rump, so that he flew through three ranks.” Furthermore, many British officials considered captured Continental soldiers to be traitors rather than prisoners of war, and as such, they ­were always ­u nder the threat of execution.170 Short of ­dying or the war ending, the only ways out of ­these conditions ­were escape, prisoner exchanges, and defection. Due to the indifference of prison guards, some prisoners could escape with very l­ ittle notice. One escape that required a l­ ittle more planning and effort occurred at a jail in Philadelphia. Seven officers and 49 soldiers dug a tunnel under­neath the jail and fled into the wilderness in the ­middle of the night. Upon discovering the breakout, the British ­were consoled by the fact that the officers’ paroles had been taken, meaning that they could not legally serve in the Continental Army ­u ntil they had been officially exchanged for British prisoners.171 Prisoner exchanges ­were usually reserved for officers. When the British captured Charles Lee, they thought they assured victory by eliminating the only general capable of beating them; however, before long, they w ­ ere e­ ager to send him back home. The British respected Lee ­because of his extensive military experience. He was born into a military ­family in ­England, commissioned at the age of 11, and served in the British army during the Seven Years War. ­After the war, he served with the Portuguese and Polish militaries, and it was not ­u ntil 1773 that he moved to the colonies. However, his ser­vice in the Continental Army was unremarkable, and many of his colleagues considered him to be arrogant and ­bitter. In December 1776, he was captured while meeting with his mistress at a tavern near Basking Ridge, New Jersey.172 As a former British officer, Lee had good reason to fear that he would be executed as a traitor. Instead, his captors treated him with ­great re­spect. Unlike most soldiers, Lee’s conditions included a private room with a large and comfortable bed. Genuine re­spect was not the only reason for his treatment—­his captors also hoped to gain information about the Continental Army by softening up Lee. When they agreed to let Lee’s favorite dogs share his quarters, he gladly cooperated and even offered to serve as a mediator between the En­glish and the Americans. The Americans rejected the offer, and the En­glish eventually grew tired of Lee and offered to exchange him for a British officer of equal rank. The Americans ­were in no hurry

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to get him back and allowed the negotiations to drag on for months ­until fi­nally reaching an agreement on the exchange.173 In fact, ­after Lee returned to ser­vice, Washington ordered him court-­martialed for “not attacking” the ­enemy as directed and “making an unnecessary, disorderly, and shameful retreat.”174 For many prisoners, escape or exchange was not an option. Their choices ­were starvation or desertion. For ­these men, no ­matter how strong their patriotism, living and eventually ­dying in ­these wretched conditions w ­ ere too much for their country to ask and they gave in to the temptation of joining His Majesty’s ser­vice.175 Treatment of British prisoners in American jails was not much, if any, better. The British agent for prisoners had as much difficulty supplying his men as did the American agent, and British prisoners wrote directly to Washington complaining of tainted meat, missing medical care, intolerable smells, and lack of blankets. Eventually, the Continental Congress authorized the quartermaster general to provide British prisoners with “bread, beef or pork, soap, salt, and vinegar.”176 But like the British, lack of provisions was not the only reason for the poor treatment of ­enemy prisoners. Sometimes, the treatment was in retaliation for abuses committed at British prisons. And perhaps not surprisingly, the worst treatment was usually given to Loyalists captured in b­ attle. Rather than treat t­ hese men as prisoners of war, they w ­ ere considered common thieves and charged with crimes such as murder. Even the Loyalists who did not take up arms against their fellow colonials but simply refused to serve in their local militia w ­ ere susceptible to accusations of being 177 a traitor or spy. The Americans separated the British from the Hessian prisoners and the officers from the enlisted. They viewed the British as more hostile and more likely to escape than the Hessians, and thus tended to provide them with less freedom. While the Hessians w ­ ere detained in multiple locations, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, was a popu­lar spot due to the large German-­speaking population that had settled in the area. Prison camps, such as the one in Lancaster, w ­ ere administered by local militia, and as a result, ­there was no uniformity in conditions and procedures. Frequently, officers ­were permitted parole within a designated area around the camp and could even ­house themselves in private quarters at their own expense. Enlisted prisoners ­were confined to barracks within the prison camp.178 An illustrative, although somewhat unusual, example of prison life involved Burgoyne and the Convention Army. ­Under the terms of his 1777 surrender agreement with Gates, Burgoyne and his soldiers ­were granted f­ree passage back to Britain via the Port of Boston. While the prisoners awaited their voyage, the officers ­were granted a parole of 10 miles surrounding the camp. As winter approached, the possibility of departing from Boston diminished and Burgoyne requested permission to depart from Providence, Rhode Island. The Continental Congress, fearing the potential firepower of Burgoyne’s troops should they be exchanged or released, not only denied the move to Providence but forbade any departure ­u ntil the British king and Parliament ratified the surrender agreement. Since ratification by the British government would be an acknowledgement of the legitimacy of the American government, ­there was no hope of this happening.179



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With this new development, the housing of the Convention Army became a long-­ term issue. The British prisoners w ­ ere moved to Rutland, Mas­sa­chu­setts, where greater security was available, while the Hessians remained in Boston. In Rutland, the British officers ­were allowed to find quarters in private homes while the enlisted men ­were confined to barracks surrounded by 20-­foot picket fences. To help alleviate the prob­lem of insufficient food and clothing for the enlisted prisoners, they ­were allowed to work as laborers and artisans in the nearby countryside. The Americans believed that exposing the British to peaceful country living would help them forget their duties as e­ nemy soldiers and possibly entice them to desert, and many prisoners proved the Americans correct.180 By October 1778, Congress de­cided other colonies needed to share in the burden of housing the Convention Army and moved the prisoners 800 miles to Charlottesville, ­Virginia. Although it was winter, the marchers experienced good weather from Mas­sa­chu­setts to Pennsylvania. In places like Lancaster, the Hessian prisoners saw the comfortable lifestyles of German Americans, and more prisoners deserted. The march from Pennsylvania to V ­ irginia was hindered by heavy snowfall and miserable conditions, causing more desertions to avoid the misery. The town of Charlottesville was unprepared to ­house the prisoners. T ­ here was one court­house, one tavern, about a dozen homes, and several roofless log cabins. ­Because of the conditions, the officers ­were allowed a 100-­mile parole, which included the city of Richmond. The remaining prisoners went to work improving their own circumstances. They grew their own food, finished their log cabins, constructed a theater, built a coffee h­ ouse, and installed a cold bath. Some of the officers even built ­houses near the prison and brought their families from ­England to live with them. While many of the German prisoners ­were content with circumstances (being paid by the British, not having to fight, and making extra money by selling crafts in the local area), the British, especially the enlisted prisoners, found their situation unbearable and attempted to escape. ­Those recaptured ­were placed in more confined and secured barracks.181 In 1780, Congress feared that Cornwallis’s move into ­Virginia might include an attempt to ­free the Convention Army and consequently de­cided to move them to an undetermined location. Both Mary­land and Pennsylvania refused to accept them ­because of the economic burden, with Mary­land even threatening the use of armed force if they crossed the Potomac. Eventually, the states worked out a compromise to equally share the financial cost of housing the prisoners and they ­were moved to Fredericks Town, Mary­land. ­Later, the officers ­were sent to Kings Bridge, Connecticut, where they ­were released in an exchange, and the remainder of the Convention Army went to Lancaster, where most remained ­until the end of the war.182

HOME FRONT Since the American Revolution was fought on American soil, the physical division between the soldier and the home front was relatively small; however, the ideological difference grew as the war continued. The majority of the population ­were neither radicals who fully supported the war nor Loyalists completely against

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the war, but rather undecided. During the initial fervor they ­were willing to make sacrifices for the cause, but as the war persisted, their material needs and desires grew and their support waned. As the colonies w ­ ere uniting po­liti­cally, the apathy of some of the colonists made social unity more difficult. As evidenced by the lack of response from the Southern states to the ­battles in the m ­ iddle and Northern states, the unity of the colonies was tenuous. Unity existed in the minds of men like Samuel Adams and George Washington, and they worked to make it a real­ity. For example, Adams was instrumental in developing the Correspondence Committee that l­ ater became the Continental Congress. This committee united community leaders from across the colonies by allowing them to share ideas and information and to unite in their opposition to British taxes prior to the war. Also, prior to accepting his position as commander in chief, Washington made it clear that he was not just defending the interests of V ­ irginia, but rather he was defending the welfare of the nation and that all local, state, and regional loyalties must yield to it. Washington felt compelled to make such a statement ­because as Benjamin Franklin noted, the 13 colonies ­were “not only ­u nder dif­ fer­ent governors, but have dif­fer­ent forms of government, dif­fer­ent laws, dif­ fer­ent interests, and some of them dif­fer­ent religious persuasions and dif­fer­ent manners.” Suspicion and mistrust ­were common between the citizens of the dif­fer­ ent colonies. New En­glanders believed they would have to provide the majority of the financing and manpower to support the war b­ ecause in their minds Southerners had never carried their share of the load.183 ­These regional divisions show that support for in­de­pen­dence was tenuous. In­de­pen­dence was not the only issue that concerned the colonists. Social issues, economic issues, religious issues, and local issues ­were on their minds as well. For most, in­de­pen­dence was secondary to t­hese other issues. While Loyalists and Patriots may have held strongly opposing opinions regarding the war, the majority of citizens ­were indifferent. If supporting one side or the other would have resolved some of ­these other issues or brought the war to a quicker end, they would have done it. This tension on the home front is also seen in the relationship between the private citizens and the members of the military. Many colonists took advantage of the army’s need for food and provisions by charging as much money as they could for supplies. While soldiers suffered with hunger and shivered with cold, many citizens grew wealthy. This did not go unnoticed by the soldiers, and they grew increasingly resentful ­toward the civilian population for whom they w ­ ere supposedly fighting.184 Joseph Martin denounced the “wiseacres” whose entire ser­vice to the American Revolution was occasionally allowing soldiers to warm by their fires but who then had the nerve to criticize the Continental Army as a “useless appendage to the cause.” Similarly, Washington, who usually went to g­ reat lengths to ensure the military had good relations with Congress and the civilian population, was beginning to feel this distance as well. When the Pennsylvania legislature criticized the army rather than supply it, Washington replied, “I can assure t­ hose gentlemen that



The American Revolution 49

it is a much easier and less distressing ­thing to draw remonstrances in a comfortable room by a good fireside than to occupy a cold bleak hill and sleep ­under frost and snow without clothes or blanket.”185 While differences and tensions existed throughout the war, demonstrations of unity and support for the troops also occurred. In many communities w ­ omen would gather at a town hall or the home of a local minister to spin thread and weave cloth for the soldiers. Communities would compete with each other to see which could produce the most cloth, and newspapers would report the results. The ­women may have acted out of dif­fer­ent motivations: po­liti­cal ideals, religious commitment, and patriotism, but the result was a unified effort to win the war.186 Religion also provided signs of unity. At least twice a year Congress would issue proclamations based on the observance of religious beliefs. Usually in springtime, Congress would proclaim a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer where citizens ­were to be “sincerely penitent for” their transgressions and ­were to pray that God would “animate and unite the hearts of all to promote the interests of their country” and “bless the public defence (sic), inspiring all commanders and soldiers with magnanimity and perseverance, and giving vigor and success to the military by sea and land.”187 Around the beginning of December, Congress would proclaim a day of thanksgiving. Interestingly, in 1779, they ended this proclamation with the words “[may God] establish the In­de­pen­dence of the United States upon the basis of religion and virtue, and support and protect them in the enjoyment of peace, liberty and safety.”188 Clearly, both religion and military force w ­ ere united in the quest for in­de­pen­dence.

VETERANS’ ISSUES Officers who signed up for the duration of the war expected to receive half-­pay pensions for life; enlisted men expected to receive 100 acres of land. This is what their nation had promised to them for the sacrifices they made during the war. But when the war ended, neither the officers nor the enlisted men would get what they ­were promised. Following a near mutiny at Newburgh, Congress promised the officers full pay for five years in lieu of half-­pay for life. Paying veterans for life was too much like paying a standing army, and this conflicted with the values of the new nation. For their part, the officers knew getting something was better than getting nothing. What they got ­were certificates promising ­future pay with interest. By the time Congress was able to pay off on ­these promissory notes in 1790, many of the officers, who ­were in desperate need of cash, had sold their certificates to speculators for a fraction of their value.189 When the enlisted men left Newburgh, they ­were granted three months back pay and still had the hope of getting 100 acres of land, but they did not know where this land would be located. Several years ­after the war, Martin summed up the opinions of many enlisted soldiers:

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When the country had drained the last drop of ser­vice it could screw out of the poor soldiers, they ­were turned adrift like old worn-­out ­horses, and nothing said about land to pasture them upon. Congress did, indeed, appropriate lands ­under the denomination of “Soldiers’ lands,” in Ohio state, or some state, or a ­f uture state; but no care was taken that the soldiers should get them. No agents ­were appointed to see that the poor fellows ever got possession of their lands; no one ever took the least care about it, except a pack of speculators who ­were driving about the county like so many evil spirits, endeavoring to pluck the last feather from the soldiers. The soldiers ­were ignorant of the ways and means to obtain their bounty lands, and ­there was no one appointed to inform them. The truth was, none cared for them; the country was served, and faithfully served, and that was all that was deemed necessary. It was, soldiers, look to yourselves, we want no more of you.190

When the soldiers returned home, both officers and enlisted, jobs ­were difficult to find. Soldiers who ­were unfit for ­labor due to injuries received during the war ­were eligible for the invalid corps and a modest disability pension if they demonstrated a need for money; however, t­hese pensions w ­ ere to be paid by the states, and each state varied in its ability and willingness to pay. It was not ­until 1790 that the federal government took responsibility for ­these payments. Officers received a monthly pension “not to exceed half-­pay,” and enlisted men received five dollars.191 As time passed and the federal government grew more solvent, it began to improve benefits for veterans and their families. In 1793, Congress granted seven years of half-­pay to the ­widows and ­children of the officers killed in the ­Battle of Bunker Hill. Almost 35 years ­after the end of the war, Congress passed the War Pension Act of 1818, which gave a modest pension to anyone who had served nine months in the Continental Army and who now stood in need of public assistance. And fi­nally, in the 1830s they extended pensions to ­those who had served six months in active militias, as well as to w ­ idows and orphans of veterans.192

MILITARY DISCIPLINE In a sense, discipline prob­lems within the military w ­ ere a reflection of the freedoms sought by the American Revolution itself. As historian Derek Beck adroitly describes, The rebellion was a concerted effort of social insubordination: the lower-­class colonists ­were rejecting their social place amid the Empire, refusing subordination to and instead demanding equality with their better-­educated and ostensibly altruistic En­glish nobles. The crux of this argument was that all (white) males are created equal, which in turn influenced the breakdown of colonial social classes. But in opposition to this, the organ­ization of any army, with its rigid rank system, is inherently a class system, the two macro classes being the enlisted men and the commissioned officers appointed over them, a system reinforced in that era by the fact that officers ­were generally drawn from the upper social classes, such as landowners.193

Thus, it should not be a surprise that men spirited enough to rebel against the king of ­England would also have the spirit to disobey the ­orders of their military commanders when they did not agree with them.194



The American Revolution 51

Alcohol was prob­ably the least of the disciplinary worries of Continental commanders. Although soldiers ­were punished for “getting drunk, when on duty,” usually by 30 lashes on the bare back, for the most part drinking “spirits” was encouraged. In fact, on December 29, 1777, General Washington ordered that “spirits be served this after­noon to each non-­commissioned officer and soldier.” And he was frequently distressed over the lack of rum available to the men, at one point recommending “that a quantity s­ hall be drawn from the Hospital Stores, where I have been informed ­there is much more than can be wanted for the sick. It seems as though the only person opposed to the use of alcohol by soldiers was Dr. Benjamin Rush. Not only did he think that completely banning alcohol would be good for the health of the soldiers, but he believed it would also greatly improve discipline.195 The most common crimes among military members involved slipping out of camp at night to steal food from local residences. Soldiers would sneak into barns or raid gardens to satisfy their intense hunger. Commanders sympathized with their soldiers’ predicament but still ­were required to administer punishment when a culprit was caught. Washington issued ­orders demanding that soldiers cease this type of be­hav­ior. He ordered some of the guilty to be whipped 39 times and even approved the executions of a few; however, he was very careful with ­these punishments ­because he knew that too much discipline would lead to the more serious disciplinary prob­lems of mutiny or desertion.196 In January 1781, the lack of food, clothing, and pay led to a mutiny at the Morristown encampment where a unit of troops known as the Pennsylvania Line, about 1,300 strong, declared they would no longer serve ­until their demands ­were met. They revolted and attacked several of their own officers, killing one. They collected artillery, stores, provisions, and wagons with the intent of marching on Congress in Philadelphia. Before they left New Jersey, General Wayne confronted them, and they agreed to negotiate. The negotiations lasted for a month, and in the end they agreed to some tough terms: 600 men ­were granted discharges, 700 men ­were granted furloughs ­until April, and the men responsible for the death of the officer, about a dozen, ­were sentenced to execution.197 ­Later that same month, this mutiny was followed by a rebellion of the New Jersey Line. This time ­there w ­ ere no negotiations. Washington ordered that the mutineers be brought to unconditional submission. In less than a week, this rebellion was over and two of the leaders ­were executed.198 Mutinies ­were not uncommon, but they ­were usually not coordinated and thus ­were confined to units or regiments from a specific state. This made it easy for commanders to find a unit from another state to subdue the rebellion. Throughout the course of the war, many soldiers participated in mutinies, and most ­were resolved peacefully. Even ­career soldier Martin participated in more than one rebellion to protest the harsh conditions of military life. When members of a mutiny w ­ ere punished, the mood was usually somber and reflective. As the wife of a man executed for mutiny in 1779 asked, “What must be the Feeling of the Man be who fought at Brandywine, at Germantown, and at Stony Point and did his duty, and when on another March in defence [sic] of his Country, with Poverty staring him full in the face, he was denied his Pay?”199

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As Beck pointed out, militiamen who envisioned themselves as volunteers and not professional soldiers w ­ ere inclined to leave units b­ ecause they believed that po­liti­cal freedom was of ­little use if it did not include personal freedom. Beck tells the story of a ­battle early in the war where a group of artillery soldiers ran out of ammunition. Thinking of nothing better to do, they wished the remaining defenders good luck and departed the b­ attle.200 Some officers found it difficult to punish captured deserters. They reasoned that the nation had v­ iolated the bargain it made with them when they enlisted by not providing them with adequate food, clothing, shelter, or pay; therefore, it was understandable that ­these men no longer felt obligated to keep their side of the bargain. However, since desertion was a serious crime, it could not go unpunished. But like other crimes, commanders knew that if their discipline seemed unreasonable, it would lead to more prob­lems. Thus, each case had to be examined individually. For example, one soldier charged with “desertion” was found not guilty of the offense but was rather convicted of the lesser crime of “absenting himself without leave” for which the court-­martial board recommended clemency. On the other hand, three men from an artillery regiment w ­ ere convicted of “Desertion and attempting to go to the e­ nemy” for which they each received death sentences.201 Perhaps walking away from a ­battle or camp was better than having defeated and dejected soldiers in camp b­ ecause t­hese soldiers w ­ ere inclined to engage in rowdy and sometimes criminal acts. For example, ­after the loss at Long Island and the retreat from Brooklyn Heights many men deserted, but ­those who remained ­were so unruly that Washington complained, “The constant firing in the Camp, notwithstanding repeated ­Orders to the contrary, is very scandalous, and seldom a day passes but some persons are not shot by their friends,” and he demanded, “The Plunderers of Lord Stirling’s ­house, are ordered to restore to the Quarter Master General, what they have taken, in failure whereof they ­will certainly be hanged.”202 Martin demonstrated his feelings t­ oward desertion when he was sent to retrieve a deserter in 1782. The soldier had recently been discharged from a New Jersey regiment and subsequently joined Martin’s unit. Shortly ­after enlisting in his new unit, the soldier returned to New Jersey on furlough but with no intention of returning to the unit. The soldier then enlisted in another unit in New Jersey. Upon hearing of this, Martin’s captain sent him and two other men to New Jersey to retrieve the man. When they reached New Jersey, Martin “cared but ­little about” finding the man ­because he knew the man “would get nothing with us, if we caught him, but a striped jacket, and as we concluded the war was nearly ended, we thought it would be but ­little ser­vice to him, nor his com­pany any to us.”203

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION One truly unique aspect of the American Revolution was King Louis XVI subjecting French troops to Washington’s command. Rochambeau’s ­orders from the French Secretary of State for War Alexandre de Saint-­Mauris, Prince de Montbarrey, specifically ordered that the French commanders and forces “should always



The American Revolution 53

be ­under the command of General Washington.”204 For a seasoned and disciplined army such as the French to place themselves subordinate to a newly formed military was certainly a sign of re­spect for this new military. For the French to place command specifically in hands of one man instead of a generic American commander in chief was an even greater demonstration of the re­spect the French had for Washington, who understood the importance of this gesture. When the governor of ­Virginia asked Washington to leave the Continental Army and return home to command the V ­ irginia military in defense of the state where his property and ­family resided, Washington responded by saying that one reason mainly prevented him from accepting the offer: “no other person has power to command the French Troops.”205 Examples of a power­f ul nation placing its troops u­ nder the command of a less power­f ul nation are rare. Many other aspects of the war ­were unique ­because they represented “firsts.” For example, the war birthed the U.S. Army and Navy, it produced Steuben’s field manual, it saw an insurgent group of rebels defeat a power­f ul nation, and it was won by a commander who did not seek authoritarian power. However, in a sense, many of ­these aspects are not unique ­because they have become common practice. Steuben’s field manual set the standard for military manuals, Washington’s defensive tactics have been copied by multiple insurgent leaders, and subservience of the military to civilian authority is now an expected norm in American politics. From a broader perspective, the war helped to establish some of the first norms of American society, and in some ways, ­these norms still define our be­hav­ior. The war was won by a professional army mainly composed of soldiers with ­little material means and ­little social power, yet many citizens and citizen soldiers preferred to claim that it was the virtues of society that won the war. This was the society in which many members of the Continental Army played only a small role. ­T hese claims took the victory away from ­those who won it, such as African Americans and poor whites, and gave it to ­those who prospered at their expense. Many citizens ­were happy to display their patriotism, but not all Patriots ­were willing to make the same sacrifices. Part of this be­hav­ior may have been due to the colonists’ inherent distrust of professional militaries, but ultimately it was the result of an unwillingness to share the fruits of freedom with ­those considered outsiders to society. TIMELINE 1763 The French and Indian War ends, but it leaves Britain with significant debt. 1764 Parliament begins to strictly enforce the Navigation Acts in an effort to raise revenue for the purpose of reducing debt. March 5, 1770 British troops clash with local citizens in what was called the Boston Massacre.

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December 5, 1770 John Adams successfully defends eight British soldiers involved in the Boston Massacre. Six soldiers ­were acquitted and two ­were convicted of manslaughter but given reduced sentences. May 10, 1773 Parliament passes the Tea Act. December 16, 1773 Bostonians toss 342 chests of tea into the ­water, rather than pay taxes upon them. June 1, 1774 The Boston Port Act goes into effect. In a show of unity with the ­people of Boston, the V ­ irginia House of Burgesses holds a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. September 1, 1774 General Thomas Gage sends troops to seize colonists’ gunpowder at Charlestown and Cambridge in Mas­sa­chu­setts. September 5, 1774 First Continental Congress convenes in Philadelphia. October 14, 1774 Congress adopts a Declaration of Rights. February 5, 1775 Parliament declares the Province of Mas­sa­chu­setts to be in rebellion. This declaration gives Gage broader authority in the use of force. March 23, 1775 Patrick Henry delivers his “Give me liberty or give me death” speech at Richmond, ­Virginia. April 18, 1775 Gage o­ rders expedition to destroy military supplies at Concord, Mas­sa­chu­setts. April 19, 1775 “The Shot Heard round the World” at the ­Battle of Lexington and Concord. The Siege of Boston begins ­after British retreat. May 9–10, 1775 Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold capture Fort Ticonderoga. May 10, 1775 The Second Continental Congress convenes at Philadelphia. May 19, 1775 Mas­sa­chu­setts Provincial Congress appoints Artemas Ward commander in chief of the Mas­sa­chu­setts army. May 24, 1775 John Hancock elected president of the Second Continental Congress.



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May 26, 1775 British Generals Howe, Burgoyne, and Clinton arrive in Boston with 4,000 fresh soldiers. June 12, 1775 Gage declares martial law in Mas­sa­chu­setts. June 15, 1775 Continental Congress selects George Washington commander in chief of the Continental Army. This signifies the birth of the Continental (U.S.) Army. June 16, 1775 The New ­England army fortifies Breed’s Hill (formerly thought to be Bunker Hill). June 17, 1775 The British attack Breed’s Hill. Peter Salem, a former slave, reportedly fires the shot that kills British Major John Pitcairn. June 27, 1775 Congress ­orders General Philip Schuyler to evaluate the condition of the troops at Fort Ticonderoga and assess the possibility of capturing St. Johns and Montreal. July 2, 1775 Washington arrives in Cambridge, Mas­sa­chu­setts. July 3, 1775 Washington assumes command of all Continental forces. August 23, 1775 King George III declares all of the American colonies to be in rebellion. September 6, 1775 Schuyler begins the siege of St. Johns. September 12, 1775 Start of Arnold’s expedition to Quebec. September 13, 1775 General Richard Montgomery takes command of American operations at St. Johns. October 10, 1775 General Sir William Howe succeeds Gage as British commander in Boston. October 13, 1775 Continental Congress passes resolution creating the Continental Navy. November 1775 The last British governor of ­Virginia, Lord Dunmore, offers freedom to any slaves joining the Royal Army. November 2, 1775 Montgomery captures St. Johns. November 13, 1775 Americans ­under Montgomery occupy Montreal.

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December 3, 1775 Arnold meets up with Montgomery outside Quebec. December 31, 1775 Montgomery killed and Arnold wounded during attack on Quebec. January 9, 1776 Thomas Paine’s Common Sense published in Philadelphia. January 24, 1776 Col­o­nel Henry Knox reaches Cambridge/Boston with 43 cannons and 16 mortars from Fort Ticonderoga. March 2, 1776 Washington ­orders troops located at Dorchester Neck to bombard British troops in Boston. March 17, 1776 British evacuate Boston. April 13, 1776 Washington and main army arrive in New York from Cambridge. May 4, 1776 Rhode Island is first colony to declare its in­de­pen­dence from Britain. May 6, 1776 British reinforcements at Quebec drive away Americans. June 1, 1776 British expeditionary force appears off Charleston, South Carolina. June 4, 1776 General Charles Lee takes command of American forces at Charleston. June 7, 1776 ­Virginia delegate Richard Henry Lee introduces resolution for in­de­pen­dence in Congress. June 11, 1776 Congress appoints a committee to draft a Declaration of In­de­pen­dence. June 12, 1776 Congress creates a Board of War and Ordnance. June 12–30, 1776 Americans retreat from Canada. June 20, 1776 General Assembly of Connecticut proclaims in­de­pen­dence from Britain. June 30, 1776 British occupy Staten Island, New York. July 2, 1776 Congress votes for in­de­pen­dence.



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July 4, 1776 The Declaration of In­de­pen­dence signed by Continental Congress. July 6, 1776 Joseph Plumb Martin enlists in the militia with Connecticut’s 5th Regiment at the age of 15. August 22, 1776 Howe lands 20,000 troops on Staten Island. August 27, 1776 The Continental Army, supported by state militiamen (Martin and Connecticut’s 5th Regiment), engage in b­ attle with British troops at Long Island. August 29–30, 1776 Washington and the Continental soldiers defeated at Long Island and retreat from Brooklyn Heights. The British and the Americans accuse each other of starting a fire that burned about 1,000 homes. September 9, 1776 The name United States of Amer­i­ca ­adopted by resolution of Congress. September 16, 1776 British expel American army from Manhattan at the ­Battle of Harlem Heights. September 22, 1776 Nathan Hale executed by the British as an American spy. October 23, 1776 Washington completes evacuation of New York. November 21, 1776 Washington begins retreat across New Jersey to the Delaware River. December 3, 1776 Washington establishes winter camp at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. December 13, 1776 British troops capture Charles Lee while eating at a tavern near Basking Ridge, New Jersey. December 13, 1776 British army goes into winter quarters in New York and New Jersey. December 19, 1776 Thomas Paine’s American Crisis is published. December 26, 1776 Continental Army defeats Hessian soldiers at Trenton, New Jersey, and takes control of the town. January 1, 1777 Cornwallis reaches Prince­ton in advance t­ oward Trenton.

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January 1, 1777 Congress appoints Ben Franklin commissioner to France. January 2, 1777 Continental Army evacuates Trenton. January 6, 1777 Continental Army re-­establishes winter quarters at Morristown, New Jersey. April 12, 1777 Joseph Martin enlists in the Continental Army for the duration of the war. May 1, 1777 While marching to camp, Martin and a group of other soldiers stop for dinner at the home of a deacon; the foul language of the soldiers offends the wife of the deacon. May 6, 1777 General John Burgoyne arrives in Quebec to command British forces in Canada. May 8, 1777 Washington issues order prohibiting gambling or any games that could be mistaken for gambling. June 14, 1777 Stars and Stripes ­adopted by Congress as American flag. June 30, 1777 Burgoyne’s army begins disembarking near Fort Ticonderoga. July 5–6, 1777 Burgoyne approaches Fort Ticonderoga, forcing General St. Clair and the Americans to flee. July 23, 1777 Howe sails from New York for Mary­land with 15,000 troops. July 27, 1777 Arrival of the Marquis de Lafayette and “Baron” Johann de Kalb at Philadelphia. July 29, 1777 General Philip Schuyler evacuates Fort Edward, New York. July 31, 1777 Congress commissions Lafayette a major general. August 4, 1777 General Horatio Gates replaces Schuyler as commander of the Continental Army of the North. Daniel Morgan and Benedict Arnold are appointed as his subordinates. August 25, 1777 Howe’s army disembarks at Head of Elk, Mary­land.



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September 5, 1777 Dr. Benjamin Rush publishes his manual for preserving the health of soldiers. September 11, 1777 Howe defeats Washington and Lafayette at the B ­ attle of Brandywine, Pennsylvania. The Continental Army moves to Reading. September 18, 1777 Congress flees Philadelphia. September 26, 1777 British occupy Philadelphia. September 30, 1777 Congress convenes at York, Pennsylvania. October 7, 1777 Gates sends Arnold and Morgan to attack British troops at the ­Battle of Bemis Heights in New York. October 17, 1777 Burgoyne surrenders to Gates at Saratoga, New York. The Convention Army becomes prisoners of war. November 15, 1777 Continental Congress adopts Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union. December 19, 1777 The Continental Army goes into winter quarters at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. January 1778 Continental Congress forbids the Convention Army to return to ­England u­ ntil the British government ratifies the surrender articles. February 6, 1778 The French and Americans sign the Treaty of Commerce and Treaty of Alliance in Paris. February 23, 1778 Lieutenant General Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben arrives at Valley Forge. March 7, 1778 Clinton relieves Howe as British commander in chief. May 5, 1778 Von Steuben appointed inspector general of the Continental Army. June 18, 1778 British evacuate Philadelphia. June 28, 1778 British forces led by Clinton defeat American troops led by General Charles Lee at the B ­ attle of Monmouth Court­house in New Jersey.

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June 30, 1778 Washington ­orders the arrest and court martial of Lee for not attacking the ­enemy and making an unnecessary retreat. August 8, 1778 The Americans and French attempt joint operations at Newport, Rhode Island. October 1778 Congress passes resolution to move the Convention Army from Mas­sa­chu­setts to Charlottesville, ­Virginia. December 11, 1778 American army goes into winter quarters at Middlebrook, New Jersey. December 20, 1778 British take control of Savannah, Georgia. May 9–11, 1779 British attack Norfolk/Hampton Roads/Suffolk/Portsmouth, ­Virginia. May 11, 1779 British advance from Savannah to threaten Charleston, South Carolina. June 19, 1779 British attack Greenwich, Connecticut. June 30, 1779 Steuben completes the Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States. July 15–16, 1779 Americans defeat the British at the ­Battle of Stony Point, New York; Martin participates in ­battle but does not engage in major combat action. August 19, 1779 Major Henry Lee and a detachment of dragoons capture British post at Paulus Hook, New Jersey. September 16, 1779 Americans and French initiate siege of Savannah, Georgia. October 9, 1779 British repulse allied assault on Savannah, Georgia. October 20, 1779 Allies abandon siege of Savannah, Georgia. December 1, 1779 Washington’s army goes into winter quarters at Morristown, New Jersey. December 26, 1779 Clinton sails from New York with British expedition to Charleston, South Carolina.



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January 26, 1780 Court-­martial directs reprimand of Arnold, commanding Philadelphia, for minor financial irregularities. February 1, 1780 Clinton’s expedition arrives off Charleston, South Carolina. February 11, 1780 Clinton’s expedition lands on Johns Island, near Charleston. April 10, 1780 British begin siege of Charleston. May 12, 1781 General Lincoln surrenders Charleston to the British. June 5, 1780 Mas­sa­chu­setts House of Representatives issues proclamation soliciting 3,934 recruits from local communities. June 13, 1780 Congress appoints Gates to command Southern Army. July 10, 1780 Comte de Rochambeau and 6,000 French troops arrive from France at Newport, Rhode Island. July 25, 1780 Gates takes command of Southern Army at Coxe’s Mill, North Carolina. August 5, 1780 Arnold assumes command at West Point. August 16, 1780 British troops led by Cornwallis defeat American forces led by Gates in Camden, South Carolina; Gates quickly retreats, leaving General Johann de Kalb in charge of American forces. September 20–24, 1780 Washington and Rochambeau have a planning conference at Hartford, Connecticut. September 21, 1780 Arnold meets Major John André near Haverstraw, New York, for the purpose of giving secret information to the British. September 23, 1780 André captured by three American soldiers. September 24, 1780 Arnold escapes to British ship Vulture. October 2, 1780 André executed by hanging.

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October 7, 1780 Continental troops defeat British forces at King’s Mountain, North Carolina. November 1780 The Convention Army is temporarily moved to Fredericks Town, Mary­land, and then the officers are sent to Kings Bridge, Connecticut, while the enlisted men are sent to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. November 20, 1780 British defeat Americans at Black-­Stocks, South Carolina. December 6, 1780 Washington enters winter quarters at West Point, New York. January 1, 1781 Mutiny of troops from the Pennsylvania Line at Morristown, New Jersey. January 5, 1781 Newly commissioned British General Benedict Arnold attacks Richmond, ­Virginia. January 17, 1781 Morgan defeats Tarleton at the B ­ attle of Cowpens, South Carolina. January 21, 1781 Mutiny of troops from the New Jersey Line. February 20, 1781 Washington ­orders Lafayette to assist Steuben in ­Virginia. Washington specifically instructs Lafayette to prevent Arnold from moving southward to meet up with Cornwallis. May 20, 1781 Cornwallis joins troops with Arnold at Petersburg, ­Virginia; Cornwallis takes over command of forces from Arnold. July 6, 1781 Wayne engages in combat with Cornwallis near Portsmouth, ­Virginia. August 1, 1781 Cornwallis sets up camp at Yorktown, V ­ irginia. September 14, 1781 Washington arrives in Williamsburg, ­Virginia, with 16,000 troops ­u nder his command. September 29, 1781 Continental Army prepares for siege on Yorktown, ­Virginia. October 9, 1781 American artillery begins bombing Yorktown. October 10, 1781 French artillery joins American bombardment of Yorktown.



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October 14, 1781 French and American troops break through British defenses at Yorktown. October 17, 1781 Cornwallis notifies Washington of his intent to surrender. October 19, 1781 Americans defeat British at Yorktown. April 1782 British and American diplomats meet in Paris to begin peace negotiations. July 11, 1782 British evacuate Savannah, Georgia. December 14, 1782 British evacuate Charleston, South Carolina. February 14, 1783 Treaty of Paris officially ends hostilities between Amer­i­ca and Britain. March 15, 1783 At Newburgh, New York, Continental officers threaten rebellion if not paid; Washington resolves dispute. November 2, 1783 Washington publishes his Farewell ­Orders to the Continental Army. December 23, 1783 Washington resigns his commission and symbolically surrenders his sword to Congress.

Documents of the American Revolution: Personal Accounts 1  Anonymous: B ­ attle of White Plains On October 28, 1776, the British army drove General George Washington’s army from its defensive position at White Plains, New York. A Mary­land officer’s letter described his unit’s experiences during the b­ attle. A LETTER from White Plains, dated October 29, says, “I now snatch an opportunity, by the post, of informing you that General McDougal’s brigade, of which the Mary­land regulars is a part, having laid in the woods for three nights, two miles from this place, and to the right of the main body, as a covering party, was ordered to advance along the road, about a mile, near a place called the Mile Stone, and ­there take place, which was accordingly done. The brigade was ­there joined by Hazlet’s Delaware battalion, and a small regiment of militia from Connecticut; they ­were no sooner formed than the e­ nemy began a heavy cannonade from a g­ reat

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number of field-­pieces, advantageously disposed on several rising grounds, which was answered by the (only) two cannon which attended our brigade, ­little or no execution being done on ­either side, till Col­o­nel Smallwood, with the Mary­ landers, was ordered to march down the hill and attack the ­enemy, which they did, and a smart contest ensued, in which the ­enemy gave way, but rallying again, and attacking the right of the brigade, composed of the militia aforesaid, they got the advantage, and their situation being such, and being drawn up in a heavy column, only our regiment and another (Ritzma’s) could come in for any part of the action. ­Those two brave regiments stood a very heavy fire of their artillery and musketry for about half an hour, when the ­whole brigade, being vastly out-­numbered, and cramped in re­spect of ground, was obliged to retreat, a reinforcement ­under General Putnam not being able to get up in time to give the necessary assistance; their reinforcement was General Beall’s brigade. The ­enemy now occupy the ground where we took post yesterday, and are a mile from our lines at the White Plains. Col­o­nel Smallwood staid upon the place of action some time ­after the retreat had begun, and received two wounds, one a flesh wound on his hip, the other through his arm; he is however in good spirits, and I hope ­will soon be in a condition to take the field again. All our officers and men behaved with their usual bravery. We have lost of our regiment Captain Bracco, killed in the retreat; serjeants ­Belt and Westbay, killed. Captain Scott is mortally wounded, indeed I fear he is dead at this moment; Lieutenant Goldsmith badly wounded in the leg, and Lieutenant ­Waters’s leg broke to pieces. As near as I can guess, our regiment has near forty killed, wounded, and missing. The ­enemy form a considerable body near to our main body, and I expect e­ very moment to see them attack.” Source: ­Virginia Gazette (Dixon and Hunter, Williamsburg), November 29, 1776.

2  Boyrereau Brinch: A Skirmish in New York Boyrereau Brinch was born in West Africa around 1742. At age 16 he was captured and taken to the Ca­rib­bean island of Barbados and sold. ­After fighting as an enslaved sailor on a British ship during the French and Indian War (1756–1763), he was taken by his owner to Connecticut and sold again. In 1777 he enlisted in the American army and served in an infantry regiment u­ ntil the end of the war. In 1783 he was honorably discharged and, due to his military ser­vice, emancipated from slavery. His recollections include an account of a skirmish in 1778 in New York that typifies the war’s numerous small unit actions as soldiers on both sides tried to procure food and supplies from the countryside. Nothing of consequence took place that related to me till spring, when we moved to Hackensack in the Jerseys. Soon ­after our arrival ­there, the ­enemy stole some ­cattle from our lines. Capt. Granger with twenty chosen men was sent in pursuit of them, with ­orders to go about two miles to a place called Hackensack-­four-­corners. I was one of the number, but when we arrived at the destined place, we discovered that they had passed with the ­cattle; one Ahiel Bradley, a sergeant in the com­pany said if myself and one Adam Waggonor, would accompany him, he would go and



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find them, as he believed that they ­were driven to a certain meadow back from the road, which meadow he was acquainted with. The captain consented and we pursued our course upon the track, to a pasture fronting the meadow, into which we discovered they had been driven, we came to a small hill or rise of land over which they must have passed. This rise being covered with bushes, it was thought prudent, that I should wait upon the hither side of the hill while they went over and examined into the fact, w ­ hether the c­ attle ­were actually in the meadow or not, and at the same time, to keep a look out for the ­enemy. While I stood ­there anxiously waiting for their return, I suddenly discovered a man riding up to me not more than eight rods distant on full speed with a pistol in his hand, and ordered me to lay down my arms. But not being so instructed by my officers you may well suppose that I did not. At first I thought he was a Jerseyman and was attempting to fool me, as they had played some such pranks before, upon some of the soldiers belonging to our line—­therefore in return I demanded to whom I was to surrender and by what authority he demanded it.—he said I must surrender to him who demanded me in the name of the King his majesty of G ­ reat Britain. I then plainly told him that neither him or his King’s majesty would get my arms ­unless he took them by force. He immediately cocked his pistol and fired; I fell flat upon the ground in order to dodge his ball, and did so effectually do it, that he missed me. I ­rose, he drew his sword and rode up to me so quick that I had no time to take aim before he struck my gun barrel with his cutlass, and cut it almost one third off—­also cut off the bone of my ­middle fin­ger on my hand, as he struck the ­horse jumped before he could wheal upon me, again altho’ my gun barrel was cut, I fired and killed him, as he fell I caught his ­horse and sword. He was a British in disguise.—­I mounted immediately, and that instant discovered four men on ­horse back approaching me from dif­fer­ent direction, I fled, passed one man, just before I came to a stone wall. Both of our ­horses ­were upon the full run he fired and missed me. My ­horse leaped the wall like a deer; they all pursued me. When we got into the road, they ­were joined by many more; and all with swords in hand pursued me in full ­career. I drove my ­horse as fast as pos­si­ble, stabbed him with my sword and gun, kicked my heals in his side, but having no spurs, and not being so good a h­ orse­man they gained upon me. I looked forward and saw my Capt. in full view, almost a mile distant. This encouraged me, and the long shanked negro, soldier with a leather cap, mounted on an elegant en­glish gelding light ­horse, made all whistle again. When I came in about twenty or thirty rods, I heard the Captain say, “­there come one of our leather caps, and it is Jeffrey.—­reserve your fire so as not to kill him; however the men fired, and three balls cut my garments, one struck my coat sleeve, the next hit my bayonet ­belt, and the third went through the back side of my leather-­cap. They ­were so close upon me, that the same fire killed four of the British and five horses—­and wounded some more; I did not stop for this salute, but pulled on for head quarters. When our men fired the ­enemy ­were within two or three jumps of me; but being so handsomely saluted upon surprise, as our men ­were concealed from their view, they made the best retreat pos­si­ble. I made no halt ­until I arrived within our Camp. When I dismounted tied my ­horse and went to set up my gun, I found I could not open my hand which was the first

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time that I discoved that I was wounded. As slight fear and precipitation had turned me almost as white as my fellow soldiers. In consequence of my wounds, I was unfit for duty again for almost three months. But ­after all the poor ­simple Negro was cheated out of his ­horse; as I sold ­horse ­saddle and bridle, holsters, pistols and sword, to col. Sherman for his contract of two hundred and fifty dollars, who thought proper never to pay the same. Yet I felt more gratitude ­towards the ­horse than regret for the loss of him, as he with the assistance of divine providence saved my life. Source: Brinch, Boyrereau, and Benjamin F. Prentiss. The Blind African Slave, or Memoirs of Boyrereau Brinch. St. Albans, VT: Printed by Harry Whitney, 1810.

3  John Burrowes: S ­ ullivan’s Campaign against the Six Nations General John S­ ullivan’s expedition against the Iroquois took place from May to November 1779. It was in response to raids from Canada by Indian and Tory forces. New Jersey–­born Major John Burrowes participated in the expedition with the 5th New Jersey Regiment and maintained a journal describing daily events. The country continues mountainous and the road very disagreeable. The sight of Carriages in this part of the world is very odd, as t­here is nothing but a foot path. We got this night at a large flat three miles distant from Chemung where corn grows such as cannot be equalled in Jersey. The field contains about 100 acres, beans, cucumbers. Simblens water-­melons and pumpkins in such quantities (­were it represented in the manner it should be) would be almost incredible to a civilized p­ eople. We sat up u­ ntil between one and two o­ ’clock feasting on t­ hese rarities. Shemung 28th August 1779. The army dont move ­until 2 ­o’clock this after­noon. The detention was occasioned by the badness of the defile we crossed the day before. Genl. Clinton with his brigade, pack-­horses & ­cattle could not pass it ­until this morning. We arrise at this place at sun-­set, the pack ­horses being in the rear, made it ­after dark before we got our tents pitched, the badness of two defiles we had to cross took up the ­whole after­ noon to get three miles. We crossed the Cayuga twice. The river was three feet deep, and the rapids very strong, it swept a number of our pack-­horses down the river. Observations.—­Directly ­after we crossed the Cayuga the second time, Genl. Hand sent Genl S ­ ullivan word t­ here w ­ ere a party of Indians coming down the mountain just by us. The men w ­ ere immediately paraded and in readiness to give them a reception but soon a­ fter we found it to be Genl Clintons advanced guard. Middletown 29th August Sunday. The gun was fired for the usual signals. The army marched at half past 10 ­o’clock, we had marched about three miles and a half when we heard some firing in front and soon was informed that Col. Butler who commanded the advanced guard had received some Shots from a party of Indians, who soon as gave the fire ran. with a



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view of drawing our men ­after them into their works, when the advanced guard had marched half a mile further they w ­ ere met near a very bad pass by a number of Indians (thought to be between two and three hundred) They also gave a few fires and ran. Our men pursued ­until they got over the defile, when they perceived their works. They halted and some of the rifle-­men got ­behind trees where they fired in their lines which was returned. ­After their firing at each other some time a few single shots, the rear of the army had got up Genl. Poor Genl Clinton w ­ ere sent off to gain their left flank which was very difficult, as their lines ­were a half a mile long—­Their right secured seemed by the river, and their left by a very high mountain, which Genl Poor and Genl. Clinton had to go over. ­After they had marched some time Col. Proctor was sent with three pieces of artillery in front to amuse them while we w ­ ere gaining their left. Their sentry on the mountain discovered our troops trying to get around them. They immediately gave their whoop for a signal, the body instantly left their lines, they retreated to the mountain where our troops fell in with them and gave them a few shots and ran up. it was returned from them and they ran, our men pursued we killed and scalped—­took one tory prisoner. The army marched on ­until we arrived at the town, about a mile and a half within their works where we encamped, and Genl. Poor and Clinton join and take their posts and encamp also—­Genl Hand advanced two miles in front a short time ­after we had halted. Genl Hand sent a negro to Head-­quarters. Some of his men took him ­r unning off. he was separated from his com­pany and almost scared to death—­The tory and negro told one story on their examination, they say their body consisted of 400 Indians and tories commanded by Col. Butler and Brant and McDonald was with them also. They ­were much alarmed at our artillery and hastened their retreat greatly. Monday Middletown 30th Aug. The army dont march this day but are employed in cutting down the corn at this place which being about one hundred and fifty acres, and superior to any I ever saw. Our wounded to be sent to Teoga in boats—­They go just ­after dark (Observations.) The land exceeds any that I have ever seen, some corn stalks mea­ sured eigh­teen feet, and a cob one foot and a half long. Beans, cucumbers, watermelons, muskmelons, cimblens are in ­great plenty. About dark the army was paraded on their dif­fer­ent parades and a request of the General read to them, w ­ hether they would draw but half a allowance where corn and beans w ­ ere to be had, that we might make our provisions last so as to accomplish our business in this part of the Continent, it was agreed I and answered to by three hearty cheers. Camp Ten Miles from Middletown 31st August 1779 Tuesday. Our march commences this morning at 11 ­o’clock and continues ­until sunset—­We make our halt in an open piece of pine land, formed the hollow square for the safety of our ­cattle and pack-­horses. On our way burnt all the ­houses on our road. Newtown Shared the same fate—­Col. Daytons regiment ­were sent further up the Cayuga and on his way destroyed some large fields of corn and, burnt a number of ­houses.

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(Observations.) The country mountainous. makes our marches very tiresome. The men find a deal of plunder of dif­fer­ent kinds at ­every town and settlements we come to. all of which the Indians had taken from the inhabitants on our frontier. The savage villians continue flying before us and generally leave their towns a few hours before we enter them. Its variety that makes time pass with ease but thro this country it is directly the contrary, as ­there is nothing but wood and mountains and swamps perpetually. French Catharines Wed, Sept. 1. We reach this place at eleven ­o’clock at night, a march of 14 miles, thro roads that cant be described, eight miles of the way was a most horrid swamp, the last four miles the army had to ford one creek seventeen times mud holes ­were excessively bad—­Our pack-­­horses tired out. sticking fast in the Swamps, the packs in the mud. The men giving out, they having fourteen days provisions on their back exclusive of their other baggage. We make up a fire, and roast corn for our supper and layed down about one o­ ’clock to sleep with the heaven to cover us. (Observations.)—­We never had so bad a days march since we set off, but what ­will not men go through who are determined to be f­ ree. French Catharines 2nd Sept 1779 Thursday. One of the soldiers found at this place this morning an old squaw in a bunch of bushes, she not being able to go off with them, was hid ­there to be safe. She is the greatest picture of old age I ever saw. The General sent for her, she was carried to his marque. The poor old creature was just ready to die with fear, thinking she was to be killed. She informed the General that t­ here was a ­great debate between the warriors their squaws and ­children. The squaws had a mind to stay at home with their ­children. It was carried to such a length that the warriors ­were obliged to threaten to scalp the ­women if they did not go. They sent them off about the ­middle of the after­ noon. The warriors themselves staid till a­ fter sunset the eve­ning we got in. This place gets its name from a French w ­ oman that married an Indian and settled the place. She also fled with her c­ hildren. She has two very handsome d­ aughters. (Observations.)—­This town is on a large creek that empties into Seneca lake, and about four miles from the Lake. The land exceeds any I ever saw. ­There is a number of peach, apple & plum trees at this place, and the only Indian town that had that we had been to. The soldiers find plunder at ­every town of dif­fer­ent kinds. They got six or seven Indian h­ orses to day and two cows. Camp 12 miles from French Catharines 3’D Sept. Friday. The usual signals ­were given to pack. The army marched at half ­after 8 ­o’clock. ­After we marched about two miles from French Catharines we rise a high mountain, on it we found the woods very open, no underbrush. The artillery and baggage march very well. We meet with three bad defiles through the day. other­wise it is the best marching we have had yet. In marching about four miles from Catharines we struck on the south end of Seneca lake, and march on the east side



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within a small distance of it the w ­ hole day. On our march we catched more h­ orses and saw where the Indians had killed a beef the night before. We halt half ­after four ­o’clock ­after marching over a ­great quantity of very good land, our ­horses are tied up to the trees, without anything to eat for this night, and ourselves suffer some hungry hours, for not being near any cornfields. We are obliged to be very careful of our half allowance to take us back if necessity should require it. The General got intelligence directly a­ fter our halt that the Indians w ­ ere about three miles ahead. Col. Smith was sent off with a party to make discoveries and take a prisoner if pos­si­ble. The intention of taking a prisoner was to let him go again giving him to know we would not hurt the w ­ omen and ­children, that they might stay at home in peace. This was in hopes of making them treat, had it have been accomplished, but when Col. Smith had got within sight of their fires and marching on very easy in the path, he started a ­horse­man of theirs who rode off and alarmed them. When Col. Smith had advanced to their fires they had just left them. ­There ­were ­kettles of corn on the fire and some roasting which they left in their flight. Camp 24 miles from Catharines, Saturday 4th Sept. Began our march this morning at 9 ­o’clock, and on our march Strike on the side of the lake at a ­little Indian town called Appletown, where I had a beautiful view of the lake, it is about 4 miles wide and 40 long. It is very straight and not an Island to be seen, nothing can resemble the prospect more, than it does, the view of the bay and narrows at Middletown Point N. Jersey. The soldiers drove three Indian ­horses into the lake and caught them. We have the lake about half a mile on our days march. Halt at 7 ­o’clock pitched our tents, and are just ­going to get some sleep Kendaia Sunday 5th Sept. ­ fter a march of about 5 miles we reached this place. The drums beat the March A at half ­after 10 ­o’clock this morning and halt at 3 ­o’clock for the day. Before the men ­were dismissed Col. Smith ordered me to take two platoons and go to gather corn for the regiment. I did. I marched about a mile and a half where I found a cornfield, I set the men to gathering immediately. When they got as much as they could carry I returned to the regt or camp. This town is about three hundred yards from the lake, the best ­houses I have seen and about 15 of them, with an orchard of seventy trees, to appearance had been planted fifty years. The Indians fled from it with their families and effects two days ago. H ­ ere a man the Indians had taken at Wyoming came to us. He told us that Butler had gone through ­here two days before us. Camp 3 miles from Kendaia Monday Sept 6th. The drum beat the usual Signals and the march began at 3 ­o’clock this after­noon. About half an hour before an express arrived with letters from Gen’l. Washington to ­Sullivan and a number of letters for the officers of this army. Among which I find the disagreeable news of the death of my dear friend Capt. Combs (when living) was possessed of every­thing that constituted a man. How did I feel? How was

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the countenances of all his acquaintances changed? Its beyond description. In the ­faces of all his friends is seen nothing but sadness, and from the tongues of his acquaintances only expressions of sorrow. We cross some bad defiles occasioned by ­little rivulets that run into the lake Halt at Six ­o’clock on the side of the Lake where ­there is ­great plenty of pea vines, which is as good as clover for ­horses with which this part of the country abounds. Kanadasaga 7th Sept. Tuesday. The army marched this morning at 8 ­o’clock and proceeded with ­great ease and rapidity, the marching very good. No defiles to hinder us ­until 2 ­o’clock when we arrived at the end of the lake, which was a march of 11 miles. ­After a considerable halt we began our march for this place. We cross the ford at the outlet of the lake and march on its edge through a bad defile a mile in length. A plan being laid for surrounding the town. Genl Maxwells brigade being next to Genl Hands went on the right of the town, Genl Poor in front of it. The plan was well executed but have not the plea­sure of finding any of the yellow villains in it. We found a ­little white child about four or five years old. He can understand En­glish and talked Indian. He is very poor and appears to have been sick. When he was found he was entirely naked. The officer that has him, has got clothes for him which seems to please the ­little fellow much. The town consists of forty dwelling ­houses and a Council House. It is far superior to any town we have seen. We have come a northerly course since we left Tioga, and have had most beautiful weather. All the land on the lake very good. Mounted guard this night. Marched 14 miles to day. Kanadasaga 8th Sept Wednesday. Came off guard this morning at 10 o­ ’clock. The army dont march to day. The brigade commissary employed in examining into the mens provisions, and provisions not issued, for the purpose of knowing ­whether we can proceed farther. The determination of the General came out in o­ rders this after­noon that we march to Genesee which is about eighty miles further, and are to march at 6 ­o’clock to morrow morning, living already hard. We eat meat twice in three days, and bread once in four or five days. The country abounds with corn and beans which we solely live on. Salt very scarce. Camp 8 miles from Kanasadara Thursday Sept 9th 1779. Got up this morning very early to get ready to march at the time ordered, but the army dont march so soon, the delay occasioned by sending off all the sick of the army to Tioga, and by Mr. Bloomfield I send a letter to my ­father, also sent an Indian ­horse to Tioga by Mathew Smith a soldier in my com­pany. Marched at 11 ­o’clock and continued ­u ntil we reached this place which we did by six ­o’clock. We had several very bad defiles in our way. ­There was a party of men sent last night to a town called Cashong on the west side of the Seneca lake. They returned this eve­ ning. By the officers I am told it was the best town we had seen yet. The ­houses new and built very neat and appeared that they ­were whites that lived ­there. They got a ­great many peaches and apples and the only place ­there has been any. The ­houses all shut, and when they broke them open, on the inside of a number of doors



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was written “He who destroys this h­ ouse his offspring ­shall suffer for it” a poor satisfaction for the dastardly villains. Kanandaigua Friday Sept 10th. Marched this morning at 8 ­o’clock and arrived at this place at 5 distance ten miles. The town large and prettily situated, the number of ­houses about 30. and very neat. In this place they have two posts fixed, to appearance for the exercise of their cruelty, as t­here was a war mallet at each of them. Corn and beans plenty which is now of ­great consequence to us. The town is within a mile of the northwest end of Kanandaigua lake, and 18 miles from Kanadasaga. Anyayea 11th Sept. Saturday. Marched at 6 o­ ’clock in the morning, fine march u­ ntil 12 o­ ’clock, when we make a halt to refresh the ­horses. March again at 2 ­o’clock and reach this place at 4. The town not very agreeably situated, but very good ­water, which is the first we have had since we left Tioga. It is about half a mile from the north west side of the Anyayea lake, and consists of 12 h­ ouses, large fields of corn and. beans. Genl. S ­ ullivan gave ­orders to fix one of the ­houses in such a manner as to defend it. as all the stores (except a few that is ­really necessary) are to be left ­here. Capt. Cummings commands the garrison. Observations.—­After the tents w ­ ere pitched Capt. Cox Mr. Kearney and myself went to the lake to wash ourselves before we had done, we saw a heavy cloud rising accompanied with thunder, on which we made what haste we could back to camp. We had not been in long before it began to rain with some thunder and lightning and continued ­until between eight and nine o­ ’clock at night. Camp 11 miles from Anyayea in the woods called Younghaugh Sunday 12th Sept. The morning rainy and disagreeable ­until between 10 and 11 ­o’clock, when we begin our march and tho: the day not so pleasant as we could wish we made a march of eleven miles and encamp in a piece of open woods. Nothing for ­horses to eat this night, the night very cool and a heavy frost. Kasawasahya Monday 13 Sept. Marched this morning at 6 ­o’clock and ­after gaining the distance of two miles we arrive at the town of Kanaghsas consisting of 11 houses.—­make a halt and men turned out to destroy the corn as also the town. A party of riflemen in number 26 ­under command of Lieut. Boyd with Hanyost an Indian went last night from our last nights encampment to this town to make discoveries. He went to the town where he staid all night, sending off a man to acquaint the General that the town was deserted and not any body t­here. In the fore part of the day, he for some reason thought fit to return. When he had reached within two miles of the army he was attacked by a number of Indians (Seven of the men got in one of them was wounded) supposed to be about one hundred. On our march this after­noon we found four killed and scalped, the rest supposed to be taken—­At the time Maj. Parr being about three quarters of a mile from them, as soon as he heard the firing immediately went

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on and came so close on them before he was discovered that they left seventy packs on the ground with some arms, but unhappily for Parr they got off. We arrived within about half a mile of the town when the General received intelligence that they ­were ­there paraded ready to fight us. It was now sundown, and when we got around the town it was dark, a most disagreeable time for fighting, but getting close into the town found they had left it, we encamped in the town and all necessary caution is taken by the General for the safety of the army. Chenesee 14 Sept. Tuesday. Began our march at 11 ­o’clock this morning. ­After we left the town half a mile we cross a very bad creek on a log. which makes it very tedious, and the detention of the army for two hours. The army being now all crossed the march begins again and proceed across a plain about two miles and a half wide (some places wider) and to all appearance in length about 12 miles. Not a rise of ten feet through the ­whole, not a stump on it. a few acres of timber which stands in small groves make it appear much more beautiful. The land cant be equalled. I have frequently heard the expression when a person has been describing good grass and good pasture that it was knee high, and pasture up to the ­horses eyes, but ­here it is higher than a mans head when on his ­horse. When we marched through the plain we came to the Chenesee river, which we ford being about m ­ iddle deep and the current very strong. This river empties itself into Lake Ontario and makes the falls of Niagara. The army all cross and proceed to the town where we arrive at half ­after five ­o’clock and encamp around the town. ­Here we find Lieut. Boyd and one of the men laying on the ground just on the edge of the town, and so inhumanly murdered it is almost too much to describe. Their heads ­were cut off and scalpt. They had been whipped horribly. Their bodies speared all over and Lieut. Boyd partly skinned. Such is the barbarity of ­these savage villains. This town is the largest of any we have seen, it consists of one hundred h­ ouses and most of them good. This night we live sumptuously on beefsteak and potatoes, as we have got to our journies end. Camp on the Large Flats 6 miles from Chenesee 15th Sept. Wednesday Morning. The ­whole army employed till 11 ­o’clock destroying corn, ­there being the greatest quantity destroyed at this town than any of the former. It is judged that we have burnt and destroyed about Sixty thousand bushel of corn and two and three thousand of beans on this expedition. On our return to camp the General assured the army the business of the expedition was entirely accomplished, and gave ­orders to be in immediate readiness to march on our return to Tioga, which order gave more general satisfaction than any that could have been given. A few hours before our march a ­woman came in with a young child who had been taken by the Indians in 1778. About one o­ ’clock began our march and arrived at this place at 7 o­ ’clock. Source: Cook, Frederick. Journals of the Military Expedition of Major General John ­Sullivan against the Six Nations of Indians in 1779. Auburn, NY: Knapp, Peck & Thomson, 1887, 44–48.



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4  Joseph Plumb Martin: A Private at the ­Battle of Monmouth Massachusetts-­born Private Joseph Plumb Martin was pre­sent at the June 28, 1778, ­Battle of Monmouth. His account includes mention of a w ­ oman serving with her husband in an artillery unit. That ­woman, Mary Ludwig Hays, became known in history as “Molly Pitcher.” The officer who commanded the platoon that I belonged to was a Captain, belonging to the Rhode-­Island troops, and a fine brave man he was; he feared nobody nor nothing. When we ­were paraded,—­“Now,” said he to us, “you have been wishing for some days past to come up with the British, you have been wanting to fight,—­ now you ­shall have fighting enough before night;”—­the men did not need much haranguing to raise their courage, for when the officers came to order the sick and lame to stay ­behind as guards, they ­were forced to exercise their authority to the full extent before they could make even the invalids stay ­behind, and when some of their arms ­were about to be exchanged with ­those who ­were ­going into the field, they would not part with them,—­“if their arms went,” they said, “they would go with them at all events.” ­ fter all ­things ­were put in order, we marched, but halted a few minutes in the vilA lage, where we ­were joined by a few other troops and then proceeded on. We now heard a few reports of cannon ahead; we went in a road r­ unning through a deep narrow valley, which was for a considerable way covered with thick wood; we ­were sometime in passing this defile. While in the wood we heard a volley or two of musketry, and upon inquiry we found it to be a party of our troops who had fired upon a party of British ­horse; but ­there was no fear of ­horse in the place in which we then w ­ ere. It was ten or eleven o­ ’clock before we got through t­ hese woods and came into the open fields. The first cleared land we came to was an Indian corn-­field, surrounded on the east, west and north sides by thick tall trees; the sun shining full upon the field, the soil of which was sandy, the mouth of a heated oven seemed to me to be but a trifle hotter than this ploughed field; it was almost impossible to breathe. We had to fall back again as soon as we could, into the woods; by the time we had got ­under the shade of the trees, and had taken breath, of which we had been almost deprived, we received ­orders to retreat, as all the left wing of the army (that part being ­under the command of Gen. Lee) ­were retreating. Grating as this order was to our feelings, we ­were obliged to comply. We had not retreated far before we came to a defile, a muddy sloughy brook; while the Artillery ­were passing this place, we sat down by the road side;—in a few minutes the Commander-­in-­chief and suit crossed the road just where we ­were sitting. I heard him ask our officers “by whose order the troops ­were retreating,” and being answered, “by Gen. Lee’s;” he said something, but as he was moving forward all the time this was passing, he was too far off for me to hear it distinctly; ­those that ­were nearer to him, said that his words ­were—­“d—­n him;” ­whether he did thus express himself or not I do not

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know, it was certainly very unlike him, but he seemed at the instant to be in a ­great passion, his looks if not his words seemed to indicate as much. ­After passing us, he rode on to the plain field and took an observation of the advancing ­enemy; he remained t­ here sometime upon his old En­glish charger, while the shot from the British Artillery ­were rending up the earth all around him. ­After he had taken a view of the ­enemy, he returned and ordered the two Connecticut Brigades to make a stand at a fence, in order to keep the ­enemy in check while the Artillery and other troops crossed the before-­mentioned defile. [It was the Connecticut and Rhode-­Island forces which occupied this post, notwithstanding what Dr. Ramsay says to the contrary; he seems willing, to say the least, to give the southern troops the credit due to the northern; a Historian ­ought to be sure of the truth of circumstances before he relates them.] When we had secured our retreat, the Artillery formed a line of pieces upon a long piece of elevated ground. Our detachment formed directly in front of the Artillery, as a covering party, so far below on the declivity of the hill, that the pieces could play over our heads. And h­ ere we waited the approach of the e­ nemy, should he see fit to attack us. By this time the British had come in contact with the New-­England forces at the fence, when a sharp conflict ensued; ­these troops maintained their ground, till the ­whole force of the ­enemy that could be brought to bear, had charged upon them through the fence, and ­after being overpowered by numbers and the platoon officers had given ­orders for their several platoons to leave the fence, they had to force them to retreat, so ­eager ­were they to be revenged on the invaders of their country and rights. As soon as the troops had left this ground the British planted their cannon upon the place, and began a violent attack upon the Artillery and our detachment, but neither could be routed. The cannonade continued for sometime without intermission, when the British pieces being mostly disabled, they reluctantly crawled back from the height which they had occupied, and hid themselves from our sight. Before the cannonade had commenced, a part of the right wing of the British army had advanced across a low meadow and brook, and occupied an orchard on our left. The weather was almost too hot to live in, and the British troops in the orchard ­were forced by the heat to shelter themselves from it ­under the trees. We had a four pounder on the left of our pieces which kept a constant fire upon the ­enemy during the ­whole contest. ­After the British Artillery had fallen back and the connonade had mostly ceased in this quarter, and our detachment had an opportunity to look about us, Col. Cilly of the New-­Hampshire line, who was attached to our detachment, passed along in front of our line, inquiring for Gen. Varnum’s men, (who ­were the Connecticut and Rhode-­Island men belonging to our command;) we answered, “­Here we are;” he did not hear us in his hurry, but passed on: in a few minutes he returned, making the same inquiry,—we again answered, “­Here we are.” “Ah!” said he, “you are the boys I want to assist in driving t­ hose rascals from yon orchard.” We ­were immediately ordered from our old detachment and joined another, the ­whole composing a corps of about five hundred men. We instantly marched t­ owards the e­ nemy’s right wing, which was



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in the orchard, and kept concealed from them as long as pos­si­ble, by keeping ­behind the bushes. When we could no longer keep ourselves concealed, we marched into the open fields and formed our line. The British immediately formed and began to retreat to the main body of their army. Col. Cilly, finding that we ­were not likely to overtake the e­ nemy before they reached the main body of the army, on account of fences and other obstructions, ordered three or four platoons from the right of our corps to pursue and attack them, and thus keep them in play till the rest of the detachment could come up. I was in this party, we pursued without order; as I passed through the orchard I saw a number of the ­enemy lying ­under the trees, killed by our fieldpiece, mentioned before. We overtook the ­enemy just as they ­were entering upon the meadow, which was rather bushy. When within about five rods of the rear of the retreating foe, I could distinguish ­every ­thing about them, they w ­ ere retreating in line, though in some disorder; I singled out a man and took my aim directly between his shoulders, (they ­were divested of their packs,) he was a good mark, being a broad shouldered fellow; what became of him I know not, the fire and smoke hid him from my sight; one ­thing I know, that is, I took as deliberate aim at him as ever I did at any game in my life. But ­after all, I hope I did not kill him, although I intended to at the time. By this time our w ­ hole party had arrived, and the British had obtained a position that suited them, as I suppose, for they returned our fire in good earnest, and we played the second part of the same tune. They occupied a much higher piece of ground than we did, and had a small piece of Artillery, which the soldiers called a grashopper; we had no Artillery with us. The first shot they gave us from this piece, cut off the thigh bone of a Captain, just above the knee, and the ­whole heel of a private in the rear of him. We gave it to poor Sawney (for they ­were Scotch troops) so hot, that he was forced to fall back and leave the ground they occupied. When our Commander saw them retreating, and nearly joined with their main body, he shouted, “come, my boys, reload your pieces, and we w ­ ill give them a set-­off.” We did so, and gave them the parting salute, and the firing on both sides ceased. We then laid ourselves down ­under the fences and bushes to take breath, for we had need of it; I presume e­ very one has heard of the heat of that day, but none can realize it that did not feel it. Fighting is hot work in cool weather, how much more so in such weather as it was on the 28th of June, 1778. ­ fter the action in our part of the army had ceased, I went to a well, a few rods off, A to get some ­water; ­here I found the wounded captain, mentioned before, lying on the ground, and begging his sergeant, who pretended to have the care of him, to help him off the field, or he should bleed to death; the sergeant, and a man or two he had with him, ­were taken up in hunting ­after plunder. It grieved me to see the poor man in such distress, and I asked the sergeant why he did not carry his officer to the surgeons; he said he would directly; directly! said I, why he ­will die directly. I then offered to assist them in carry­ing him to a meeting-­house, a short distance off, where the rest of the wounded men and the surgeons w ­ ere; at length he condescended to be persuaded to carry him off, I helped him to the place, and tarried a few minutes, to see the wounded and two or three limbs amputated, and then returned to my party again, where we remained the rest of the day and the

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following night, expecting to have another hack at them in the morning, but they gave us the slip. As soon as our party had ceased firing, it began in the centre, and then upon the right, but as I was not in that part of the army, I had no “adventure” in it, but the firing was continued in one part or the other of the field, the ­whole after­noon. Our troops remained on the field all night with the Commander-­in-­chief; a regiment of Connecticut forces ­were sent to lie as near the ­enemy as pos­si­ble and to watch their motions, but they disappointed us all. If my readers wish to know how they escaped so slyly without our knowledge, ­after such precautions being used to prevent it, I must tell them I know nothing about it. But if they ­will take the trou­ble to call upon John Trumbull, Esq. perhaps he w ­ ill satisfy their curiosity. If he should chance to be out of the way, (and ten chances to one if he is not,) apply to McFingal, Canto 4th. One l­ittle incident happened, during the heat of the cannonade, which I was eye-­ witness to, and which I think would be unpardonable not to mention. A ­woman whose husband belonged to the Artillery, and who was then attached to a piece in the engagement, attended with her husband at the piece the w ­ hole time; while in the act of reaching a cartridge and having one of her feet as far before the other as she could step, a cannon shot from the e­ nemy passed directly between her legs without ­doing any other damage than carry­ing away all the lower part of her petticoat,—­ looking at it with apparent unconcern, she observed, that it was lucky it did not pass a ­little higher, for in that case it might have carried away something e­ lse, and continued her occupation. The next day a­ fter the action each man received a gill of rum, but nothing to eat. We then joined our regiments in the line, and marched for Hudson’s river. Source: Martin, Joseph Plumb. A Narrative of Some of the Adventures, Dangers, and Sufferings of a Revolutionary Soldier. Hallowell, ME: Glazier, Masters & Co., 1830, 92–97.

5  Albigence Waldo: Valley Forge Connecticut-­born Albigence Waldo served as surgeon in the Connecticut line during the winter of 1777–1778. While frequently sick himself, he observed and attended to the soldiers around him during the difficult winter encampment at Valley Forge. December 11.—­At four ­o’clock the Whole Army ­were Ordered to March to Swedes Ford on the River Schuylkill, about 9 miles N. W. of Chestnut Hill, and 6 from White Marsh our pre­sent Encampment. At sun an hour high the ­whole ­were mov’d from the Lines and on their march with baggage. This Night encamped in a Semi circle nigh the Ford. The ­enemy had march’d up the West side of Schuylkill—­ Potter’s Brigade of Pennsylvania Militia ­were already ­there, & had several skirmishes with them with some loss on his side and considerable on the Enemies. An En­glish Serj. deserted to us this Day, and informed that



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Webb’s Reg kill’d many of their men on 7th, that he himself took Webb’s Serj. Major who was a former Deserter from them, and was to be hanged this day. I am prodigious Sick & cannot get any ­thing comfortable—­what in the name of Providence am I to do with a fit of Sickness in this place where nothing appears pleasing to the Sicken’d Eye & nausiating Stomach. But I doubt not Providence ­will find out a way for my relief. But I cannot eat Beef if I starve, for my stomach positively refuses to entertain such Com­pany, and how can I help that? December 12.—­A Bridge of Waggons made across the Schuylkill last Night consisting of 36 waggons, with a bridge of Rails between each. Some skirmishing over the River. Militia and dragoons brought into Camp several Prisoners. Sun Set—­We ­were order’d to march over the River—­It snows—­I’m Sick—­eat nothing—­No Whiskey—­No Forage—­Lord—­Lord—­Lord. The Army ­were ‘till Sun Rise crossing the River—­some at the Waggon Bridge & some at the Raft Bridge below. Cold & uncomfortable. December 13.—­The Army march’d three miles from the West side the River and encamp’d near a place call’d the Gulph and not an improper name neither, for this Gulph seems well adapted by its situation to keep us from the pleasures & enjoyments of this World, or being conversant with any body in it. It is an excellent place to raise the Ideas of a Phi­los­o­pher beyond the glutted thoughts and Reflexions of an Epicurian. His Reflexions ­will be as dif­fer­ent from the Common Reflexions of  Mankind as if he ­were unconnected with the world, and only conversant with immaterial beings. It cannot be that our Superiors are about to hold consultations with Spirits infinitely beneath their Order, by bringing us into ­these utmost regions of the Terraqueous Sphere. No, it is, upon consideration for many good purposes since we are to Winter ­here—1st ­There is plenty of Wood & ­Water. 2dly ­There are but few families for the soldiery to Steal from—­tho’ far be it from a Soldier to Steal. 4ly ­There are warm sides of Hills to erect huts on. 5ly They ­will be heavenly Minded like Jonah when in the Belly of a ­Great Fish. 6ly They ­will not become home Sick as is sometimes the Case when Men live in the Open World—­since the reflections which ­will naturally arise from their pre­sent habitation, ­will lead them to the more noble thoughts of employing their leisure hours in filling their knapsacks with such materials as may be necessary on the Journey to another Home. December 14—­Prisoners & Deserters are continually coming in. The Army which has been surprisingly healthy hitherto, now begins to grow sickly from the continued fatigues they have suffered this Campaign. Yet they still show a spirit of Alacrity & Contentment not to be expected from so young Troops. I am Sick—­discontented—­and out of humour. Poor food—­hard lodging—­Cold Weather—­fatigue—­Nasty Cloaths—­nasty Cookery—­Vomit half my time—­smoak’d out of my senses—­the Dev­il’s in’t—­I ­can’t Endure it—­Why are we sent h­ ere to starve and Freeze—­What sweet Felicities have I left at home; A charming Wife—­pretty ­Children—­Good Beds—­good food—­good Cookery—­all agreeable—­all harmonious. ­Here all Confusion—­smoke & Cold—­hunger & filthyness—­A pox on my bad

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luck. ­There comes a bowl of beef soup—­full of burnt leaves and dirt, sickish enough to make a Hector spue—­away with it Boys—­I’ll live like the Chameleon upon Air. Poh! Poh! crys Patience within me—­you talk like a fool. Your being sick Covers your mind with a Melanchollic Gloom, which makes e­ very t­hing about you appear gloomy. See the poor Soldier, when in health—­with what cheerfulness he meets his foes and encounters ­every hardship—if barefoot, he ­labours thro’ the Mud & Cold with a Song in his mouth extolling War & Washington—if his food be bad, he eats it notwithstanding with seeming content—­blesses God for a good Stomach and Whistles it into digestion. But harkee Patience, a moment—­There comes a Soldier, his bare feet are seen thro’ his worn out Shoes, his legs nearly naked from the tatter’d remains of an only pair of stockings, his Breeches not sufficient to cover his nakedness, his Shirt hanging in Strings, his hair dishevell’d, his face meagre; his ­whole appearance pictures a person forsaken & discouraged. He comes, and crys with an air of wretchedness & despair, I am Sick, my feet lame, my legs are sore, my body cover’d with this tormenting Itch—my Cloaths are worn out, my Constitution is broken, my former Activity is exhausted by fatigue, hunger & Cold, I fail fast I ­shall soon be no more ! and all the reward I ­shall get ­will be—­“Poor ­Will is dead.” P ­ eople who live at home in Luxury and Ease, quietly possessing their habitations, Enjoying their Wives & families in peace, have but a very faint Idea of the unpleasing sensations, and continual Anxiety the Man endures who is in a Camp, and is the husband and parent of an agreeable ­family. ­These same ­People are willing we should suffer ­every ­thing for their Benefit & advantage, and yet are the first to Condemn us for not d­ oing more!! December 15.—­Quiet. Eat Pessimmens, found myself better for their Lenient Opperation. Went to a ­house, poor & small, but good food within—­eat too much from being so long Abstemious, thro’ want of palatables. Mankind are never truly thankfull for the Benefits of life, ­until they have experienc’d the want of them. The Man who has seen misery knows best how to enjoy good. He who is always at ease & has enough of the Blessings of common life is an Impotent Judge of the feelings of the unfortunate. . . . December 16.—­Cold Rainy Day, Baggage ordered over the Gulph of our Division, which ­were to march at Ten, but the baggage was order’d back and for the first time since we have been ­here the Tents ­were pitch’d, to keep the men more comfortable. Good morning ­Brother Soldier (says one to another) how are you? All wet I thank’e, hope you are so (says the other). The ­Enemy have been at Chestnut Hill Opposite to us near our last encampment the other side Schuylkill, made some Ravages, kill’d two of our Horse­men, taken some prisoners. We have done the like by them . . . . December 18.—­Universal Thanksgiving—­a Roasted pig at Night. God be thanked for my health which I have pretty well recovered. How much better should I feel, ­were I assured my ­family ­were in health. But the same good Being who graciously preserves me, is able to preserve them & bring me to the ardently wish’d for enjoyment of them again.



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Rank & Pre­ce­dence make a good deal of disturbance & confusion in the American Army. The Army are poorly supplied with Provision, occasioned it is said by the Neglect of the Commissary of Purchases. Much talk among Officers about discharges. Money has become of too ­little consequence. The Congress have not made their Commissions valuable Enough. Heaven avert the bad consequences of ­these ­things !! . . . ​up the Bristol Road & so got out unnoticed. He inform’d that Cornwallis was embark’d for ­England, and that some High-­landers had gone to N. York for Winter Quarters. ­ here is nothing to hinder Parties of the like kind above mention’d, continually T coming out between Delaware and Schuylkill, and plundering and destroying the Inhabitants. Our brethren who are unfortunately Prisoners in Philadelphia meet with the most savage and inhumane treatments that Barbarians are Capable of inflicting. Our Enemies do not knock them in the head or burn them with torches to death, or flee them alive, or gradually dismember them till they die, which is customary among Savages & Barbarians. No, they are worse by far. They suffer them to starve, to linger out their lives in extreem hunger. One of t­hese poor unhappy men, drove to the last extreem by the rage of hunger, eat his own fin­gers up to the first joint from the hand, before he died. ­Others eat the Clay, the Lime, the Stones of the Prison Walls. Several who died in the Yard had pieces of Bark, Wood, Clay & Stones in their mouths, which the ravings of hunger had caused them to take in for food in the last Agonies of Life! “­These are thy mercies, Brittain!” December 21.—[Valley Forge.] Preparations made for hutts. Provisions Scarce. Mr. Ellis went homeward—­sent a Letter to my Wife. Heartily wish myself at home, my Skin & eyes are almost spoil’d with continual smoke. A general cry thro’ the Camp this Eve­ning among the Soldiers, “No Meat! No Meat!”—­the Distant vales Echo’d back the melancholly sound—­“No Meat! No Meat!” Immitating the noise of Crows & Owls, also, made a part of the confused Musick. What have you for your Dinners Boys? “Nothing but Fire Cake & W ­ ater, Sir.” Source: Waldo, Albigence. “Valley Forge, 1777–1778. Diary of Surgeon Albigence Waldo, of the Connecticut Line.” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 21, no. 3 (1897): 305–309.

6  POWs’ Letter to General Washington In 1781, Philip Rauthe and other prisoners held by the United States requested better conditions for their prison camp. Treatment of British prisoners in American jails was not much, if any, better than that of Americans in British jails. The British agent for prisoners had as much difficulty supplying his men as did the American agent, and British prisoners wrote directly to Washington

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complaining of tainted meat, missing medical care, intolerable smells, and lack of blankets. Translation Done at New York the 8th day of March 1781 before a Committee of Officers consisting of Captain Volpert [sp?], Lieutenant de Seelhorst of the Regiment of Lansgrave, and Judge Advocate Plumque. Philip Rauthe: non-­commissioned Officer of His Excellency Lieutenant General Knyphausen’s Regiment, being duly sworn, deposeth: That he with a number of o­ thers was made prisoner of war at sea on the 29th of Sept. 1779, and carried to Philadelphia, where he was confined in the Goal [sic] for via months; That he, and the other prisoners, British as well as Hessians, when no Salt-­meat was issued to them, received four pounds of bread for three days, and ­water; the established allowance of a prisoner being 10 ounces of meat, and 10 ounces of bread a day, without and pease, rice, butter, or other species of provisions; That one or more barrels of Salt-­meat ­were delivered to them from the time to time of weight in proportion to their number and above mentioned allowance; But that the meat was found several times to be cured[?] with Keckery[?] ashe, so much tainted, that nothing but the vio­lence of hunger could have obliged them to eat it; That no difference was made in this re­spect between the sick and the healthy; That, in stead [sic] of bread, they ­were furnished five dif­fer­ent times, as far as the Deponent recollects, with two kinds of biscuit, the one quite black, and the other full of worms, which also they ­were forced to eat by extreme hunger, and to the prejudice of their health; That ­after many and pressing ant[?] each half a pint of salt, taken from the salt-­ meat barrels, was delivered to 22 men for three days; That all, not even the lowest of their sick excepted, w ­ ere obliged to lay on base boards, without any blankets, none being furnished, u­ nless paid for by the prisoners; That the attendance of the American Physicians to the sick was very loose, and unfrequent [sic], their visits often being at more than a week’s distance from each other which rendered the situation of the sick the most miserable, that could be ­imagined, and the Deponent was pretty sure of five men having died merely from neglect, and bad victuals. He added, that they ­were not allowed to buy bread in the city, a certain baker only having the exclusive permission to come to the Goal, and sell his bread ­there, for



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a loaf of which, of about one pound weight, they ­were obliged to pay four dollars of Paper money, while in the City they might have bought twice that quantity for the same money; That he was exchanged with a number of men of the same regiment, and came to New York the 22nd of December last. [Signed by] Volpert Capt

C[??] Seelhorst, Lieutenant

Plumque Judge Ad Gen’l

Continued New York March 17th, 1781 Three privates, viz. Henry Peter, Balthasar Schmeis, and Eckhard Kaufmann, also of His Excellency Lieut. Gen’l Knyphausen’s Regiment taken, and exchanged at the same time with the former, being duly sworn, and separately examined by this Committee, their evidence was found perfectly conformable to that of Philip Rauthe in e­ very material circumstance. [Signed by] Volpert

C[??] Seelhorst, Lieutenant

Plumque Judge Ad Gen’l

Source: General Correspondence: Philip Rauthe, March 8, 1781, Deposition on Treatment of German and British Prisoners of War, George Washington Papers at the Library of Congress.

NOTES   1. “Boston, March 12,” The Providence Gazette and Country Journal (Providence, Rhode Island: March 17, 1770) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 1/30/2018).   2. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” Encyclopaedia: or, A dictionary of arts, sciences, and miscellaneous lit­er­a­ture; constructed on a plan, by which the dif­fer­ent sciences and arts are digested into the form of distinct treatises or systems, comprehending the history, theory, and practice of each, according to the latest discoveries and improvements; and full explanations to natu­ral and artificial objects, or to ­matters ecclesiastical, civil, military, commercial, & c., including elucidation of the most impor­tant topics relative to religion, morals, manners, and the oeconomy of life; together with a description of all the countries, cities, principal mountains, seas, rivers, &c. throughout the world; a general history, ancient and modern, of the dif­fer­ent empires, kingdoms, and states; and an account of the lives of the most eminent persons in ­every nation, from the earliest ages down to the pre­sent times (Philadelphia: Printed by Thomas Dobson at the Stone ­house, 1798), 579.

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  3. Rhys Isaac, The Transformation of ­Virginia 1740–1790 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1982), 243.   4. Library of Congress, Journals of the Continental Congress, 1774–1789, ed. Worthington C. Ford et al., 34 vols. (Washington, D.C., 1904–37), 1: 64, hereafter abbrevia­ ted JCC.   5. Alan Taylor, American Revolutions: A Continental History, 1750–1804 (New York: W.W. Norton & Com­pany, 2016), 121–22.   6. “Parliamentary Proceedings, February 10,” New York Gazette, and Weekly Mercury (New York: April 24, 1775) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 1/31/2018). See also Paul Johnson, A History of the American ­People (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1997), 148. “Mr. Gill,” The Continental Journal, and Weekly Advertiser (Boston: March 9, 1780) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 1/31/2018); William J. Bennet, Amer­i­ca: The Last Best Hope, 2 vols. (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006), 1: 77.   7. Taylor, American Revolutions, 132.   8. Taylor, American Revolutions, 133; Derek W. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence 1775–1776 (Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2016), 4; “News,” The Newport Mercury (Newport, RI: May 22, 1775) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 2/4/2018).   9. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 182. 10. JCC, 2: 97–99. 11. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 584. 12. JCC 2: 109–10. 13. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 183; Taylor, American Revolutions, 152; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 588–89. 14. Taylor, American Revolutions, 154; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 590; George Washington to Continental Congress, March 7, 1776, letter, from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers, series 2, letterbook 7, image 254 (accessed March 23, 2012). 15. Taylor, American Revolutions, 164; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 164. 16. Taylor, American Revolutions, 165. 17. Bennett, Amer­i­ca: The Last Best Hope, 1: 88; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 594; 6: 238. 18. Bennett, Amer­i­ca: The Last Best Hope, 1: 89; John C. Fitzpatrick, ed., The Writings of George Washington from the Original Manuscript Sources 1745–1799, 39 vols. (Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1937), 6: 443. 19. Taylor, American Revolutions, 182. 20. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 7: 272. 21. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 597. 22. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 600–601. 23. Taylor, American Revolutions, 185. 24. John McAuley Palmer, General Von Steuben (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1937), 3, 47, 131. 25. Taylor, American Revolutions, 191. 26. George C. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson: New York City and the Hudson River Valley in the American War of In­de­pen­dence (New York: W.W. Norton & Com­pany, 2016), 203–04; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 209–11, 604; Taylor, American Revolutions, 192–94. 27. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 216–17; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 605. 28. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 226; “Extract of a Letter from Major Gen. Greene,” The Pennsylvania Packet (Philadelphia: July 20, 1779) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 2/15/2018); Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 16: 136, 374. 29. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 606. 30. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 232–33; Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 18: 124; To George Washington from Major General Benjamin Lincoln, 14



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February 1780, The Papers of George Washington Digital Edition, ed. Theodore J. Crackel, et al. (Charlottesville: The University of V ­ irginia Press, Rotunda, 2007) (accessed February 17, 2018). 31. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 238. 32. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 610. 33. Taylor, American Revolutions, 234. 34. “News,” The Newport Mercury (Newport, RI: July 15, 1780) (accessed in Amer­i­ ca’s Historical Newspapers, 2/18/2018). 35. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 613. 36. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 20: 76–80. 37. Taylor, American Revolutions, 235. 38. Taylor, American Revolutions, 235–37; Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 254–55. 39. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 614. 40. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 279. 41. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 618. 42. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 21: 255, 437. 43. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 22: 156; Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 294–97. 44. Larrie D. Ferreiro, ­Brothers at Arms: American In­de­pen­dence and the Men of France and Spain Who Saved It (New York: Knopf, 2016), 233–34. 45. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 307. 46. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 23: 117. 47. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 621; Taylor, American Revolutions, 294–95. 48. Taylor, American Revolutions, 295. 49. Ferreiro, ­Brothers at Arms, 292–93; Taylor, American Revolutions, 297. 50. Taylor, American Revolutions, 297; Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 340. 51. The colonies did not officially become states ­until they signed the Constitution of 1787; however, the terms state and even country ­were used during the time to refer to a colony. For simplicity, the term state is used interchangeably with the term colony in this chapter. 52. Scott A. Cook, George Washington: Progenitor of American Public Administration Theory (Tallahassee: PhD Dissertation. Florida State University, 2012), 47. 53. Don Higginbotham, George Washington and the American Military Tradition (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1985), 26. 54. JCC, 6: 947. 55. “General Correspondence: Mas­sa­chu­setts General Court, June 5, 1780, Recruits, manuscript,” from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers at the Library of Congress, series 4, image 1 (accessed February 7, 2018). 56. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 22: 384. 57. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 23: 270. 58. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 23: 334. 59. Higginbotham, George Washington, 26. 60. Taylor, American Revolutions, 194–96. 61. James Kirby Martin, ed., Ordinary Courage: The Revolutionary War Adventures of Joseph Plumb Martin. 4th ed. (Chichester, West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons, 2013), xi–14. 62. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 41. 63. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 3: 327; Higginbotham, George Washington, 13. 64. Humphrey Bland, Treatise of Military Discipline In which is Laid down and Explained the Duty of the Officer and Soldier, Thro’ the several Branches of the Ser­vice

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(London: John and Paul Knapton, 1743); Cook, George Washington, 43–56; Higginbotham, George Washington, 14–15. 65. Edward G. Lengel, General George Washington: A Military Life (New York: Random House, 2005), 106–07.   66. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 3: 308, 4: 80–81.   67. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 3: 308, 4: 80–81.   68. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 4: 207.   69. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 10: 280.   70. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 77.   71. James Truslow Adams, “The Role of Merchants and Radicals,” in John C. Wahlke, ed., The ­Causes of the American Revolution (Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath and Com­pany, 1973), 108–09; David M. Kennedy, Lizabeth Cohen, Thomas A. Bailey, and Mel Piehl, The Brief American Pageant, 6th ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Com­pany, 2004), 87.   72. Adams, “The Role of Merchants,” 108–10.   73. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 3: 450–51.   74. Howard Zinn, A ­People’s History of the United States (1980). http://­historyisaweapon​ .­com​/­defcon1​/­zinnkin5​.­html (accessed June 30, 2018).   75. Taylor, American Revolutions, 27–28.   76. Taylor, American Revolutions, 110–12, 199.   77. Taylor, American Revolutions, 200.   78. Taylor, American Revolutions, 201; Martin, Ordinary Courage, 88.   79. Taylor, American Revolutions, 202; Edward T. James, Janet Wilson James, and Paul S. Boyer, Notable American ­Women 1607–1950: A Biographical Dictionary (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971), 385.   80. Gary B. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth: African Americans in the Age of Revolution (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 8.   81. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 28–47.   82. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 31–32.   83. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 10; Taylor, American Revolutions, 230.   84. Taylor, American Revolutions, 231–33.   85. “the most neatly dressed . . .” quoted in Taylor, American Revolutions, 231; Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 10.   86. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 34–40.   87. Nash, The Forgotten Fifth, 34–48.   88. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 18: 125.   89. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 5–6; Baron de Steuben, Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the United States. Part I (Philadelphia: Styner and Cist, 1779).   90. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 107–09.   91. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 10: 433.   92. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 10: 469.   93. Taylor, American Revolutions, 185.   94. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 8: 441; Martin, Ordinary Courage, 111–13.   95. Lengel, General George Washington, 107.   96. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 336; Beck, The War before In­de­ pen­dence, 170.   97. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 175; Ferreiro, ­Brothers at Arms, 66.   98. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 17: 287.   99. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 8: 28–29. 100. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 468; Lengel, General George Washington, 108.



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101. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 105. 102. “Nothing to do” and “ball for w ­ hole hours” found in Bonnie S. Ledbetter, “Sports and Games of the American Revolution,” Journal of Sport History (Winter 1979): 29–30; Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 8: 129; David Block, Baseball before We Knew It: A Search for the Roots of the Game (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005). 103. Robert Aldace Wood, We the ­People, A Portrait of the Life and Times of the Revolution (Kansas City, MO: Hallmark Crown Editions, 1975), 58. 104. Bennett, Amer­i­ca: The Last Best Hope, 1: 36–46; Johnson, A History of the American ­People, 108–17. 105. Wood, We the P ­ eople, 67. 106. Rhys Isaac, The Transformation of ­Virginia 1740–1790 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1982), 34–35. 107. Isaac, Transformation of V ­ irginia, 38–39. 108. Charles H. Metzger, “Chaplains in the American Revolution,” The Catholic Historical Review 31, no. 1 (April 1945): 31–79. 109. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 8: 129, 308. 110. Lengel, General George Washington, 445. 111. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 367. 112. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 104. 113. Clare A. Lyons, Sex among the Rabble: An Intimate History of Gender and Power in the Age of Revolution, Philadelphia, 1730–1830 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 148; Jack Lynch, ­Every Man Able to Read: Literacy in Early Amer­ i­ca (Winter 2011). http://­w ww​.­history​.­org​/ ­Foundation ​/­journal​/ ­Winter11​/­literacy​.­cfm (accessed March 14, 2018). 114. John Tasker Howard, The M ­ usic of George Washington’s Time (2017). www​.­ameri​ canrevolution​.­org​/­washingtonsmusic​.­php (accessed June 26, 2018). 115. Isaac, Transformation of V ­ irginia, 76–84; Howard, ­Music of George Washington. 116. Isaac, Transformation of V ­ irginia, 85; Howard, ­Music of George Washington. 117. “Omitted Last Weak (sic) for Want of Room,” The Freeman’s Journal (Philadelphia: July 30, 1783) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 7/1/2018). 118. U.S. Army, A History of U.S. Army Bands (October 2005). https://­fas​.­org​/­irp​/­doddir​ /­army​/­armybands​.­pdf (accessed July 1, 2018). 119. Thomas Fleming, “A Short History of ‘Yankee Doodle,’ ” Journal of the American Revolution (December 6, 2013). https://­allthingsliberty​.­com​/­2013​/­12​/­short​-­history​-­yankee​ -­doodle/ (accessed July 3, 2018). 120 Isaac, Transformation of V ­ irginia, 99–102. 121. “News,” The Boston Gazette (Boston: November 11, 1774) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 2/18/2018). 122. Gordon S. Wood, The Radicalism of the American Revolution (New York: A. A. Knopf, 1992), 248; Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 7: 39. 123. John Marshall, The Life of George Washington (Fredericksburg, VA: The Citizens’ Guild of Washington’s Boyhood Home, 1926; originally published by C. P. Wayne, 1804– 07), 2: chapter 2; JCC, 2: 220–21. 124. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 7: 109–10. 125. Marshall, Life of George Washington, 2: chapter 9. 126. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 141. 127. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 338. 128. “Lewis Nicola to George Washington, May  22, 1782,” letter, from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers, series 4, images 261–66 (accessed November 1, 2011).

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129. “George Washington, March  11, 1783, General ­Orders,” order, from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers at the Library of Congress, series 4, image 929 (ac​cessed November 2, 2011). 130. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 26: 222–27. 131. Scott A. Cook, George Washington: Progenitor of American Public Administration Theory (Tallahassee: PhD Dissertation. Florida State University, 2012), 47. 132. Ferreiro, ­Brothers at Arms, 339. 133. Robert K. Wright, Jr., The Continental Army (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1983), 114; John R. Galvin, The Minute Men, The First Fight: Myths & Realities of the American Revolution (Washington, D.C.: Pergamon-­Brassey’s International Defense Publishers, 1989), 63–64. 134. John Hamilton, Weapons of the American Revolution (Minneapolis: ABDO Publishing Com­pany, 2013), 8–12. 135. Hamilton, Weapons, 8. 136. Wood, We the P ­ eople, 82–83. 137. Daniel Murphy, “Infantry vs. Cavalry,” Journal of the American Revolution (February 27, 2014). https://­allthingsliberty​.­com​/­2014​/­02​/­infantry​-­vs​-­cavalry/ (accessed July 3, 2018). 138. Hamilton, Weapons, 20–23. 139. Hamilton, Weapons, 24. 140. Hamilton, Weapons, 25. 141. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 6: 222–27. 142. National Park Ser­vice, The American Revolution: Lighting Freedom’s Flame (July 19, 2012). https://­w ww​.­nps​.­gov​/­revwar​/­revolution​_­d ay​_­by​_­d ay​/­1780​_­bottom​.­html (accessed July 3, 2018). 143. JCC, 18: 894 144. Wright, Continental Army, 114. 145. Wright, Continental Army, 105. 146. Ferreiro, ­Brothers at Arms, 120. 147. Moran, Birth of the American Cavalry. 148. Wright, Continental Army, 113–14. 149. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 15–21. 150. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 616. 151. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 234–37; Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 18: 165. 152. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 238. 153. Carl P. Borick, A Gallant Defense: The Siege of Charleston, 1780 (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 196–98. 154. Taylor, American Revolutions, 234; Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 239. 155. Donald N. Moran, The Birth of the American Cavalry (January  2018). www​ .­revolutionarywararchives​.­org​/­cavalry​.­html (accessed June 26, 2018); Rudolf Cronau, The Army of the American Revolution and Its Or­ga­niz­er (New York: R. Cronau, 1923), 25–26; Wright, Continental Army, 105–08. 156. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 286. 157. Moran, Birth of the American Cavalry. 158. Wright, Continental Army, 117. 159. Paul Pavao, Janelle Whitelocke, and Esther Pavao, The Green Mountain Boys (2017). https://­www​.­revolutionary​-­war​.­net​/­green​-­mountain​-­boys​.­html (accessed June 28, 2018). 160. “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 600–601. 161. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 125. 162. Wood, We the P ­ eople, 86–90. 163. Quoted in Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 132.



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164. Wood, We the P ­ eople, 87–88. 165. Marshall, Life of George Washington, 2: chapter 7; Martin, Ordinary Courage, 43. 166. Benjamin Rush, The Health of Soldiers: Recommended to the Consideration of the Officers of the Army of the United States (Lancaster, PA: Printed by John Dunlap, 1777). 167. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 134. 168. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 72. 169. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 8. 170. Lengel, General George Washington, 167. 171. Lengel, General George Washington, 286. 172. John Headley, Washington & His Generals (New York: Westvaco, 1991), 157–61; Taylor, American Revolutions, 166. 173. Lengel, General George Washington, 289. 174. Taylor, American Revolutions, 192; “United States of Amer­i­ca,” 604; Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 12: 133. 175. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 196. 176. George G. Lewis and John Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization by the United States Army 1776–1945 (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, June 1955), 3. 177. General Correspondence: Philip Rauthe, March 8, 1781, Deposition on Treatment of German and British Prisoners of War, George Washington Papers at the Library of Congress (accessed March 8, 2018); Lengel, General George Washington, 271; Taylor, American Revolutions, 225; John Shy, A ­People Numerous & Armed: Reflections on the Military Strug­gle for American In­de­pen­dence. Rev. ed. (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1990), 240. 178. Lewis and Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization, 2–3. 179. Lewis and Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization, 9. 180. Lewis and Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization, 10. 181. Lewis and Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization, 10–11. 182. Lewis and Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization, 12. 183. Cook, George Washington, 5, 51. 184. Martin, Ordinary Courage, xvii; Taylor, American Revolutions, 203. 185. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 179; Taylor, American Revolutions, 203. 186. Taylor, American Revolutions, 111 187. “Proclamation,” New Jersey Gazette (Trenton, NJ: March 29, 1780) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 7/3/2018). 188. “Proclamation,” Connecticut Gazette (New London, CT: November  10, 1779) (accessed in Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers, 7/3/2018). 189. John Resch, Suffering Soldiers: Revolutionary War Veterans, Moral Sentiment, and Po­liti­cal Culture in the Early Republic (Boston: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts Press, 1999), 2. 190. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 174–75. 191. Edward F. Waite, “Veteran’s Pensions: Early History,” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 86, no. 512 (January 1893). 192. JCC, 70; Shy, A ­People Numerous & Armed, 255. 193. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 165. 194. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 165. 195. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 6, 10: 225, 15: 322; Rush, Health of Soldiers. 196. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 272; Taylor, American Revolutions, 197. 197. Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 272–73. 198. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 21: 135; Daughan, Revolution on the Hudson, 273.

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199. Taylor, American Revolutions, 199; Martin, Ordinary Courage, 187. 200. Beck, The War before In­de­pen­dence, 123. 201. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 15: 49, 72. 202. Fitzpatrick, Writings of George Washington, 5: 500–501. 203. Martin, Ordinary Courage, 158–59. 204. “Alexandre M. L., Prince de Montbarey to Jean B. Donatien de Vimeur, Comte de Rochambeau, March 1, 1780, in French,” letter, from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers, series 4, image 761 (accessed April 22, 2012). 205. “George Washington to Joseph Jones, June 7, 1781,” letter, from Library of Congress, George Washington Papers, series 3h, letterbook 2, image 242 (accessed April 22, 2012).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adams, James Truslow. “The Role of Merchants and Radicals.” In The C ­ auses of the American Revolution, edited by John C. Wahlke, 104–116. Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath and Com­pany, 1973. Beck, Derek W. The War before In­de­pen­dence 1775–1776. Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2016. Bennett, William J. Amer­i­ca: The Last Best Hope. Vol. 1. 2 vols. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006. Bland, Humphrey. Treatise of Military Discipline In which is Laid down and Explained the Duty of the Officer and Soldier, Thro’ the several Branches of the Ser­vice. London: John and Paul Knapton, 1743. Block, David. Baseball before We Knew It: A Search for the Roots of the Game. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005. Borick, Carl P. Gallant Defense: The Siege of Charleston, 1780. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003. Cook, Scott A. George Washington: Progenitor of American Public Administration Theory. Tallahassee: PhD Dissertation. Florida State University, 2012. Cronau, Rudolf. The Army of the American Revolution and Its Or­ga­niz­er. New York: R. Cronau, 1923. Daughan, George C. Revolution on the Hudson: New York City and the Hudson River Valley in the American War of In­de­pen­dence. New York: W. W. Norton & Com­pany, 2016. Ferreiro, Larrie D. ­Brothers at Arms: American In­de­pen­dence and the Men of France and Spain Who Saved It. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2016. Fitzpatrick, John C, ed. The Writings of George Washington from the Original Manuscript Sources 1745–1799. Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1937. Galvin, John R. The Minute Men, The First Fight: Myths & Realities of the American Revolution. Washington, D.C.: Pergamon-­Brassey’s International Defense Publishers, 1989. Hamilton, John. Weapons of the American Revolution. Minneapolis: ABDO Publishing Com­pany, 2013. Headley, John Tyler. Washington & His Generals. New York: Westvaco, 1991. Higginbotham, Don. George Washington and the American Military Tradition. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1985. Isaac, Rhys. The Transformation of ­Virginia 1740–1790. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1982.



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James, Edward T., Janet Wilson James, and Paul S. Boyer. Notable American ­Women 1607– 1950: A Biographical Dictionary. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971. Johnson, Paul. A History of the American ­People. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1997. Kennedy, David M., Lizabeth Cohen, Thomas A. Bailey, and Mel Piehl. The Brief American Pageant. 6th ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Com­pany, 2004. Ledbetter, Bonnie S. “Sports and Games of the American Revolution.” Journal of Sport History, Winter 1979: 29–40. Lengel, Edward G. General George Washington: A Military Life. New York: Random House, 2005. Lewis, George G., and John Mewha. History of Prisoner of War Utilization by the United States Army 1776–1945. Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1955. Lynch, Jack. ­Every Man Able to Read: Literacy in Early Amer­i­ca. Winter 2011. http://­ www​.­history​.­org​/­Foundation​/­journal​/­Winter11​/­literacy​.­cfm (accessed March  14, 2018). Lyons, Clare A. Sex among the Rabble: An Intimate History of Gender & Power in the Age of Revolution, Philadelphia, 1730–1830. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2006. Marshall, John. The Life of George Washington. Fredericksburg, VA: The Citizens’ Guild of Washington’s Boyhood Home, 1926; originally published by C.  P. Wayne in 1804–07. Martin, Joseph Plumb. Ordinary Courage: The Revolutionary War Adventures of Joseph Plumb Martin. 4th. ed. Edited by James Kirby Martin. Chichester, West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons, 2013. Metzger, Charles  H. “Chaplains in the American Revolution.” The Catholic Historical Review 31, no. 1 (April 1945): 31–79. Moran, Donald N. “The Birth of the American Calvary.” Revolutionary War Archives. January 2008. www​.­revolutionarywararchives​.­org​/­cavalry​.­html. Murphy, Daniel. “Infantry vs. Cavalry.” Journal of the American Revolution. February 2014. Nash, Gary B. The Forgotten Fifth: African Americans in the Age of Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. National Park Ser­vice. The American Revolution: Lighting Freedom’s Flame. July 19, 2012. https://­w ww​.­nps​.­gov​/­revwar​/­revolution​_­d ay​_­by​_­d ay​/­1780​_­bottom​.­html. Palmer, John McAuley. General Von Steuben. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1937. Pavao, Paul, Janelle Whitelocke, and Ester Pavao. “The Green Mountain Boys.” ­Revolutionary War. 2017. https://­www​.­revolutionary​-­war​.­net​/­green​_­mountain​_­boys​ .­html. Philbrick, Nathaniel. George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and the Fate of the American Revolution. New York: Viking, 2016. Readex. Amer­i­ca’s Historical Newspapers. 2018. http://­infoweb​.­newsbank​.­com​/­. Resch, John. Suffering Soldiers: Revolutionary War Veterans, Moral Sentiment, and Po­liti­cal Culture in the Early Republic. Boston: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts Press, 1999. Rush, Benjamin. The Health of Soldiers: Recommended to the Consideration of the Officers of the Army of the United States. Lancaster, PA: Printed by John Dunlap, 1777. Shy, John. A ­People Numerous & Armed: Reflections on the Military Strug­gle for American In­de­pen­dence. Rev ed. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1990. Steuben, Baron de. Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the United States. Part I. Philadelphia: Styner and Cist, 1779.

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Taylor, Alan. American Revolutions: A Continental History, 1750–1804. New York: W. W. Norton & Com­pany, 2016. United States Army. “A History of U.S. Army Bands.” Federation of American Scientists. October 2005. https://­fas​.­org​/­irp​/­doddir​/­army​/­armybands​.­pdf. United States Continental Congress. Journals of the Continental Congress, 1774–1789. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1904–37. “United States of Amer­i­ca.” In Encyclopaedia: or, A dictionary of arts, sciences, and miscellaneous lit­er­a­ture; constructed on a plan, by which the dif­fer­ent sciences and arts are digested into the form of distinct treatises or systems, comprehending the history, theory, and practice . . . , 575–626. Philadelphia: Thomas Dobson, 1798. Waite, Edward F. “Veteran’s Pensions: Early History.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 86, no. 512 (January 1893). Washington, George, Papers, 1741–1799. Library of Congress, Washington, DC. https://­ www​.­loc​.­gov​/­collections​/­george​-­washington​-­papers. Wood, Gordon S. The Radicalism of the American Revolution. New York: A. A. Knopf, 1992. Wood, Robert Aldace. We the ­People: A Portrait of the Life and Times of the Revolution. Kansas City, MO: Hallmark Crown Editions, 1975. Wright, Jr., Robert K. The Continental Army. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1983. Zinn, Howard. “A P ­ eople’s History of the United States.” History Is a Weapon. 1980. http://­ historyisaweapon​.­com​/­defcon1​/­zinnkin5​.­html.

2 War of 1812 Robert Wettemann Jr.

OVERVIEW In his September 19, 1796, Farewell Address, President George Washington cautioned the p­ eople of the United States, arguing that with regard to Eu­rope, it was “unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary combinations & collisions of her friendships, or enmities.” Therefore, he added, it would be a wise policy to “steer clear of permanent Alliances, with any portion of the foreign World.” The war between France and ­Great Britain that broke out in the aftermath of the French Revolution soon put Washington’s words to the test, as a young American republic desirous of Eu­ro­ pean trade often found itself caught in the m ­ iddle as both Eu­ro­pean powers sought to exploit the young republic’s neutrality to their own advantage.1 ­These Eu­ro­pean entanglements, more than anything e­ lse, caused the War of 1812. As the British monarchy fought against the growing radicalism of the French Revolution, the United States attempted to chart a neutral course. Seeking to maintain peace with G ­ reat Britain, President Washington sent Chief Justice John Jay to negotiate. In the ensuing treaty, the British agreed to reimburse the United States for ships and cargo seized since 1793, abandon six forts in the Old Northwest held since the end of the American Revolution, and permit U.S. ships to trade in the British West Indies. The French interpreted “Jay’s Treaty” as bringing the United States ­u nder British influence and sent ships to attack American merchantmen, seizing more than 300 vessels by the inauguration of Washington’s successor, John Adams. To halt this “quasi-­war,” Adams entered into negotiations with France, though when U.S. diplomats arrived, three anonymous French representatives, whom he came to refer to as Messieurs X, Y, and Z, demanded a pre-­negotiation bribe of $250,000 and a $12 million loan from the United States to France. When the United States refused, the undeclared naval war between the two countries intensified, leading to increases in the U.S. Army and construction of a few warships.2

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This increased naval presence only intensified the challenges of continued American neutrality, as neither the French nor the British ­were willing to recognize the American right to ­free trade. French warships preyed on American ships in British ­waters, and the British continued their policy of impressment, seizing British sailors who had escaped the harsh discipline of the Royal Navy by signing on to crew American vessels. Believing “once an En­glishman, always an En­glishman,” the British policy of impressment led to the forceable halting and inspection of American vessels, not only for contraband en route to France but also in search of British sailors who could be returned to the ser­vice of the Crown. In the absence of any formal means to prove nationality, many Americans ­were impressed into the ser­vice of the Royal Navy. ­These British depredations culminated in June 1807 when the HMS Leopard halted the USS Chesapeake off the ­Virginia coast. When the American commander refused to heave to and allow the British to search for deserters, the Leopard opened fire, killing three Americans and wounding eigh­ teen ­others. British naval officials subsequently boarded the American warship, seized four men, and hung one of them, who had in fact deserted from the Royal Navy.3 Seeking an apology from ­Great Britain, President Jefferson called for the mobilization of the American militia, but lacking any significant means to proj­ect American power, was forced to rely upon a policy of “peaceable coercion.” He hoped that restricting trade with both G ­ reat Britain and France could win fair treatment overseas, though ­these efforts ultimately caused more damage to American merchants than the Eu­ro­pean powers and fueled American calls for war. With Napoleon occupied by a campaign against Rus­sia, G ­ reat Britain emerged as the more repressive Eu­ro­pean power, issuing a series of ­Orders in Council that restricted neutral (American) trade with Eu­rope and established a naval blockade of continental Eu­rope. This hostility, coupled with repeated attacks on the western frontier by Indians believed to be incited by British Canadians, and compounded by fears that Spain, weakened by Napoleonic intervention on continental Eu­rope, was unwilling or unable to halt depredations along the southern border, galvanized bellicose southern and western congressmen, popularly known as the “War Hawks,” to take action. Citing ­free trade, sailors’ rights, and the threat to the American frontier as justification, they called upon President James Madison for a declaration of war against ­Great Britain. On June 18, 1812, an emboldened President Madison gave them what they wanted, arguing that while the United States was in a state of peace against G ­ reat Britain, G ­ reat Britain was in a state of war against the United States. Unbeknownst to the U.S. Congress, ­Great Britain had rescinded its ­Orders in Council, effectively lifting the embargo only two days prior to the American declaration, though announcement of war would not reach London ­until July 29, 1812. By then it was too late. If ­there was ever a war that the United States should not have fought, it was prob­ably the War of 1812. Despite a general lack of military preparedness, the United States entered the war with high hopes. As early as 1810 Kentucky Senator Henry Clay had condemned the use of trade restrictions against ­Great Britain, calling for “re­sis­tance of the sword” to secure American interests. Advocating an invasion of Canada, he claimed “the militia of Kentucky [­were] alone competent to place Montreal and



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Upper Canada” ­under American control. Two years ­later, John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, part of a growing number of congressional “War Hawks,” echoed Clay when he opposed repealing an American trade embargo against the Eu­ro­pean powers. Noting the relative unpreparedness of British Canada, Calhoun believed that four weeks ­after an American declaration of war “the ­whole of Upper and a part of Lower Canada” could be captured and added to the United States, largely through the efforts of militia raised in the western states and territories.4 When the United States fi­nally declared war against ­G reat Britain, President Madison made ­little mention of Canada, though many influential Americans regarded the nation’s citizens as ready for the challenge. Writing to William Duane in August 1812, former president Thomas Jefferson remarked that the “native energy of our citizens” would make capture of Canada the result of “a mere ­matter of marching.” To a man, Clay, Calhoun, and Jefferson believed that armed, ­free Americans ­were superior to the hirelings of a Eu­ro­pean army. T ­ hese notions, pre­sent since the earliest settlement of the American colonies, w ­ ere by no means new. They represented the natu­ral evolution of a uniquely American military debate that pitted the risks and utility of maintaining an army of professional soldiers against the costs and benefits of a popu­lar militia of citizen-­soldiers.5 Throughout much of the war, American military campaigns ended in chaos, confusion, and defeat. Uninspired command and aged leadership, inadequate military planning, lack of consistent war­time vision, and hastily assembled U.S. forces composed of inexperienced regulars and raw volunteers functioning u­ nder a wholly in­effec­tive command structure doomed most American efforts to failure. Losing nearly ­every campaign, the irony of the war came with its last ­battle. By defeating British veterans of the Napoleonic War bent on recasting the territorial ­f uture of the United States, General Andrew Jackson’s ­great victory at New Orleans, fought ­after a peace treaty was signed in Ghent, Belgium, not only left the young United States with a sense that they “won” the War of 1812 and sparked a new sense of nationalism in the young republic but did so leaving a mixed message regarding the efficacy of the militia, despite the successes that only a standing army could provide.6 The United States opened the war in 1812 with a hastily crafted campaign directed against British Canada, hoping not only to prevent further hostilities inspired by the British on the frontier but also to seize territory from a northern neighbor believed to be vulnerable. The result was a three-­pronged offensive, with drives against Upper Canada opposite Detroit, across the Niagara frontier from New York, and ­toward Montreal from New ­England, capitalizing on the fact that most British military assets remained in Eu­rope in efforts to ­counter Napoleon. In August 1812, less than two months ­after war was declared, Revolutionary War veteran General William Hull launched an ambitious offensive to capture Fort Malden. When he received word that the British had captured Fort Michilimackinac, his short-­lived offensive came to an ignominious conclusion when he retreated back to Detroit, fearing that thousands of Indians ­were en route to attack his army from the north. Returning to Fort Detroit with a force of 2,500 regulars and volunteers, British commander General Isaac Brock and his army of 1,300 regulars, Canadian fencibles (militia), and Indian allies soon surrounded the American post. To

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further confound the Americans, the wily Brock dressed his Indian allies in spare redcoat uniforms to accentuate the number of regulars ­under his command. Trapped, though unaware of the fact that he outnumbered the besieging British attackers, Hull pondered the fate of the garrison, fearing what atrocities the British-­backed Indians might commit against the defenders of Fort Detroit (including his ­daughter and grandchildren who accompanied him). Much to the consternation of Col­o­nel Lewis Cass and the officers ­under his command, Hull raised a white flag and surrendered Fort Detroit without firing a shot, a decision that led to his eventual court-­martial for cowardice and neglect of duty and removal from the army rolls.7 Two months ­later, New York militia General Stephen Van Rensselaer, commanding American forces along the Niagara frontier, ordered nearly 1,000 U.S. regulars and militia across the Niagara River into Canada to attack British positions on Queenston Heights. T ­ here, British troops and their Iroquois allies surrounded American forces commanded by Lieutenant Col­o­nel Winfield Scott. Despite observing New York militia on the American side of the river, Scott’s troops had no choice but to surrender or face annihilation, as Van Rensselaer was unable to convince the New York militia to assist them. Not only ­were the militia reportedly frightened by the sight of hostile Indians and disheartened by returning American casualties, but when the course of b­ attle appeared to go against the United States, they proclaimed their terms of ser­vice did not permit them to fight outside their home state. Following this failed effort, Van Rensselaer retired from command. He was succeeded by General Alexander Smyth, whose ensuing efforts ­were so feeble and indecisive that Smyth was soon relieved from duty and dropped from the Army register.8 The third American effort of 1812 also met with failure. In upstate New York, Revolutionary War veteran General Henry Dearborn, whom President Madison appointed as se­nior major general of the army, hoped to use the largest American force u­ nder arms to capture Montreal. Anticipating that pressure on the Niagara front would minimize British opposition to an American offensive north of Lake Champlain, Dearborn hoped for an easy march to victory. Arriving at the Canadian border, however, his New York militia failed to advance, arguing that they had been raised to defend their state, not to conduct offensive operations against a foreign power or nation. With no choice but to return to Plattsburg, Dearborn concluded his campaign by submitting his resignation to President Madison.9 The second year of the war brought even more failure, although President Madison attempted to improve military operations by naming John B. Armstrong to replace Secretary of War William Eustis, who had resigned ­after the failures of the previous year. With the duties of the position of commander in chief lacking a precise definition, Armstrong’s lack of a coordinated military strategy and ­little or no direction from an ill-­prepared War Department did ­little to foster American success, as victory was more often a product of zealous theater commanders and lackluster British support to North Amer­i­ca. In April, American regulars and militia led by General Zebulon Pike raided York, the capital of Upper Canada, destroying government buildings and carry­ing off ­enemy provisions and military stores before the unexpected detonation of Fort York’s magazine tragically took Pike’s



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life. The British retaliated one month l­ ater, driving away more than 500 militia near Sackett’s Harbor, New York, before nearly 400 regulars held firm and thwarted the British attack across Lake Ontario. Nevertheless, a considerable amount of American naval stores ­were destroyed to prevent their falling into British hands. The stalemate on the Lake Ontario front represented a sharp contrast to the events near Lake Erie, where troops commanded by General William Henry Harrison won the first major victory for U.S. land forces. Capitalizing upon the naval victory on Lake Erie won by Master Commandant Oliver ­Hazard Perry, Harrison’s campaign into Upper Canada culminated in the ­Battle of the Thames. ­T here, more than 3,500 troops, most of whom ­were Kentucky volunteers, defeated British troops and their Indian allies, forever ending the threat of British-­inspired Indian re­sis­tance in the Old Northwest. The death of the Shawnee Chief Tecumseh, who had begun organ­ izing a multitribe confederacy bent against American expansion nearly a de­cade ­earlier, effectively ended Indian re­sis­tance on the northwestern frontier. To emphasize the effectiveness of American citizen-­soldiers, however, overlooks other ­factors that contributed to the victory. British Major General Henry Proctor’s forces ­were not only outnumbered three to one but his core force of British regulars was exhausted from frontier ser­vice and stuck at the far end of a supply line that rarely met their military needs.10 American forces in the South had greater success in 1813, launching military campaigns in response to Indian attacks on the southwestern frontier. Since 1805, an increasing number of white settlers had moved into Creek territory in what is now southwestern Georgia and southern Alabama. Inspired by the prewar efforts of Tecumseh in the Old Northwest, a faction of the Creeks known as the Red Sticks turned to vio­lence in efforts to halt further white immigration. Supplied by Spanish traders (with British support) who maintained trading posts in Spanish Florida, the Red Sticks stormed the stockade surrounding the home of Samuel Mims in August 1813, killing or capturing nearly 500 militia, settlers, slaves, and Creeks loyal to the United States in hopes of preventing further encroachment onto tribal lands.11 At the order of Tennessee governor William Blount, militia general Andrew Jackson mobilized state militia, U.S. Army regulars, and Cherokee and Creek allies in a campaign against the militant tribesmen. A ­ fter victories at Tallushatchee and Talladega, Jackson’s army wintered at Fort Strother, awaiting reinforcements. Renewing his campaign the next year, Jackson marched against a fortified Red Stick stronghold located on a sweeping curve of the Tallapoosa River known as Horse­ shoe Bend. Winning a signal victory and forcing the tribes to the peace ­table, the ensuing Treaty of Fort Jackson, signed on August 9, 1814, resulted in the cession of more than 23 million acres of Creek territory to the United States and earned Andrew Jackson a commission as a major general in the regular U.S. Army.12 By 1814 the fortunes of war seemed poised for change, but not to the advantage of the United States. Napoleon’s defeat and subsequent exile to the isle of Elba allowed ­Great Britain to shift troops away from Eu­rope and direct their full force against the United States, shaping a g­ rand strategy designed to force the United States into submission. First, ­Great Britain targeted New E ­ ngland, hoping that British troops marching across the Niagara frontier and down Lake Champlain, coupled with a renewed blockade of New ­England and raids along the coast, could

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drive a po­liti­cal wedge between that section and the rest of the country. Second, they targeted Baltimore on the Chesapeake Bay, a haven for American privateers and only a day’s march from the nation’s capital at Washington, D.C. Fi­nally, the British set their sights on New Orleans, which not only controlled access to the Mississippi River but, due to what the British believed was an unlawful transfer from France to the United States in violation of the Treaty of San Ildefonso, was potentially ripe for the taking by a Eu­ro­pean power.13 Before the British could bring force to bear, the United States attempted a major offensive hoping to gain an advantage at ongoing treaty talks in Ghent, Belgium. ­After surrendering at Queenston Heights in 1812, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Winfield Scott had been a prisoner of war ­until exchanged in the spring of 1813. Distinguishing himself in the capture of Fort George, he earned a promotion to the rank of brigadier general before assuming command at Buffalo, New York, in the spring of 1814. In the ensuing Niagara campaign, Scott demonstrated what a well-­prepared and effectively led regular force could accomplish and why a standing army was necessary for the continued defense of the republic. Establishing a reputation for regulation and discipline that would characterize the remainder of his military ­career, Scott molded more than 2,000 recruits into a well-­disciplined force. By the time they faced the British in ­battle, they ­were not the raw volunteers that failed American leadership so often during the War of 1812.14 Scott’s tutelage and attention to the intricacies of linear tactics reaped dividends on the after­noon of July 5, 1814. Victorious at Chippewa, Scott faced the British 20 days ­later at Lundy’s Lane, this

Brigadier General Winfield Scott leads his brigade at the ­Battle of Chippewa, July 5, 1814. Scott commanded the U.S. Army in the Mexican-­American War and remained a general officer for over 50 years. Although he retired at the beginning of the Civil War, before ­doing so, he helped devise the strategy that led to Union victory. (U.S. Army Center of Military History)



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time as part of a larger force u­ nder the command of General Brown. In vicious fighting that saw one British and three American generals (including Scott) wounded, American forces failed to ­either affect the course of the war on the Niagara frontier or capture the attention of American negotiators overseas. Nonetheless, Scott’s victory at Chippewa marked a dramatic turning point in American military affairs, one that instilled a sense of pride in the Army and emphasized the need for a force of disciplined regulars as the mainstay for the nation’s defense.15 In a war ostensibly caused by ­free trade and sailors’ rights on the high seas, the overwhelming power of the Royal Navy compelled the United States to avoid major fleet actions on the world’s oceans, thereby limiting naval actions to isolated, ship-­ to-­ship engagements where sturdy and heavi­ly armed American frigates could ­either engage British vessels on equal terms or flee to fight another day. Such was not the case on the ­Great Lakes, where inland isolation allowed both the United States and British Canada to build navies on more or less equal terms. Such had been the case in 1813, when Perry’s victory at the ­Battle of Lake Erie opened the path to success at the B ­ attle of the Thames, circumstances nearly repeated on Lake Champlain in the summer of 1814. Hoping to gain a victory and capture American naval stores in upstate New York, British Major General Sir George Prevost marched from Montreal at the head of an army of more than 10,000 British veterans of the Iberian Peninsula campaign. Opposing him at Plattsburg ­were fewer than 4,000 Americans, commanded by General Alexander Macomb. While the British prepared their offensive, Master Commandant Thomas Macdonough engaged in a naval building campaign that robbed the British of naval superiority on Lake Champlain. Outgunned by the British fleet, Macdonough anchored his fleet in Plattsburgh Bay, forcing the British to sail against both wind and current and providing the Americans with the clear advantage. When the b­ attle began, Macdonough effectively employed his ships, swinging them around on their anchor cables and bringing both broadsides to bear on the British fleet. With the British Captain Thomas Downie killed early in the ­battle, Macdonough exploited his advantages over his adversary, and by late morning on September 11, 1814, had won what many naval commanders have labeled the “False B ­ attle of the Nile.” Without naval support, the British offensive against Plattsburgh faltered, and Prevost withdrew to Montreal.16 British designs on the U.S. capital led to the greatest defeat of the war, much of which stemmed from command confusion and the military unpreparedness endemic to “Mr. Madison’s War.” On August 19, 4,500 British troops landed 25 miles up the Patuxent River and began marching ­toward Washington. Warned of the attack, President Madison confused the chain of command by first granting and then withdrawing authority over the capital’s defense to Secretary of War John Armstrong, all the while maintaining a physical presence on the battlefield. When British troops reached Bladensburg on August 24, only General William Winder’s 6,000 hastily raised Mary­land militia blocked the approach to the nation’s capital. When the fighting began, the result was nothing short of total military collapse. ­After firing a few volleys, most of the militia broke and ran, prompting the “Bladensburg Races,” with the British following closely in pursuit.17

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With the approach to Washington undefended, British forces occupied the city, burning the U.S. Capitol, the Trea­sury, the War Office, the Executive Mansion, and much of the city. First Lady Dolley Madison barely escaped, leaving a t­ able set for dinner to British troops bent on repaying the Americans for the destruction of York a year ­earlier. By day’s end, the fires of the burning capital city illuminated the night sky, creating a glow vis­i­ble for nearly 50 miles. Hoping to repeat their success in Baltimore and destroy American privateers anchored ­there, British troops returned to their fleet. ­After two days on the Patuxent River, they sailed for Baltimore. Landing at North Point, Mary­land, the invaders clashed with Mary­land militia u­ ntil their commander, Major General John Ross, fell mortally wounded, victim of a bullet fired by an American rifleman. Ross’s death and the spirited American defense of North Point, coupled with the determined nighttime defense of Fort McHenry and other fortifications manned by U.S. artillerymen and Baltimore militia, led the British to abandon the Chesapeake offensive with a mixed rec­ord against American troops, though the defense of the star-­shaped fortification provided Mary­land ­lawyer Francis Scott Key with the opportunity to write the most well-­k nown poem of the war. Although the militia played a signal role in the successful defense of Baltimore, this was in stark contrast to Bladensburg, where American citizen-­soldiers broke and ran in the face of a concerted British attack.18 Smarting from the destruction of Washington, with defeat tempered by the successful defense of Baltimore, American diplomats in Eu­rope strug­gled to extricate the United States from the conflict. The status quo ante bellum terms agreed upon in the Treaty of Ghent brought the war to a welcome conclusion, relegating the prospect of secession by New En­glanders assembling at Hartford, Connecticut, to the distant background. Although the treaty failed to address any of the war’s fundamental ­causes, leaving issues of trade, bound­aries, and ­future territorial aspirations unresolved, many Americans embraced the terms of the treaty with the belief that they had won this “second war of in­de­pen­dence.” This attitude was not a product of events that had tran­spired at a distant Eu­ro­pean treaty t­ able, but b­ ecause of martial achievements won by General Andrew Jackson and a hastily assembled army of both regulars and citizen-­soldiers.19 Concurrent with treaty talks in Ghent, a second British invasion force set sail for the crucial American port at New Orleans. The long-­term intent of the British invasion force remains subject to debate, as when British diplomats first arrived in Belgium to discuss peace terms with American commissioners John Adams and Henry Clay, they came with explicit instructions from Lord Bathurst demanding that all territorial settlements in the treaty be made on the basis of uti possidetis (as you possess), not status quo ante bellum, as the final version of the treaty read. That, coupled with the fact that the British had held on to a number of forts in the Old Northwest despite what had been stipulated in the 1783 Treaty of Paris, and the British belief that France had illegally sold the former Spanish territory of Louisiana to the United States, called American possession of New Orleans into question. The ultimate outcome of the New Orleans campaign, however, rendered any objectives moot, as the ensuing victory provided many Americans with the sense that the young nation had actually been victorious in the War of 1812.20



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Rushing to the defense of the city ­after his victory over the Creeks, General Andrew Jackson hastily assembled a polyglot army of U.S. regulars, U.S. Marines, sailors from the U.S. Navy, Tennessee and Kentucky volunteers, Louisiana and Mississippi militia, New Orleans volunteers, Baratarian pirates, and a handful of Choctaw Indians. In a campaign lasting from December 1814 through January 1815, Jackson and his American army accomplished a seemingly impossible feat—­they defeated an army of British troops, many of whom ­were battle-­hardened veterans who had driven Napoleon from the Iberian Peninsula. Jackson’s victory left an indelible mark on the national psyche, making the Treaty of Ghent acceptable to the Senate, which ratified it on February 15, 1815.21 From a military perspective, however, the events of January 8, 1815, provided the United States with a confused legacy. The victory won by Jackson and what many believed to be an army of citizen-­soldiers soon eclipsed the ­Battle of Chippewa, where Brigadier General Winfield Scott demonstrated the value of well-­ disciplined regulars, and despite martial success, the ­Battle of Chippewa had minimal impact on how the American ­people regarded a standing army. The successful defense of the city of New Orleans was not only crucial to the further economic development of the republic, but Americans heralded Jackson’s victory as a triumph of innate martial virtue over Eu­ro­pean automatons. The British defeat on the plains of Chalmette Plantation had a profound influence on American civil–­ military relations for de­cades, fueling the debate over the most effectual means of national defense: a well-­regulated professional force officered by formally educated officers, or a band of citizen-­soldiers led by virtuous and talented commanders.22

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Since American in­de­pen­dence, two schools of thought existed as how to best defend the republic. Based upon the American Revolution experience, many regarded standing armies as a threat to personal freedom, with citizen-­soldiers composed of ­either virtuous volunteers or a popu­lar militia representing the best way to protect rights and liberties of the p­ eople. Advocates of popu­lar militias feared professional soldiers, believing that a standing army held the potential of becoming the tool of a despot, despite the fact that their experience and willingness to take ­orders generally made them more dependable in combat, which the revolutionary experience certainly proved. Consequently, ­either a drafted militia or short-­ service volunteers represented the republican ideal, as citizens demonstrating virtue gave of themselves to ensure the safety of the w ­ hole, though the l­ imited martial prowess and minimal military training of undisciplined citizen-­soldiers represented a significant liability on the battlefield.23 The Constitution struck a balance between ­these positions, providing a means to maintain both in balance to protect both the nation and popu­lar liberty. Congress received the power to raise and support armies, to raise and regulate the state militias, and to declare war, balancing that power by granting the president the position as commander in chief over said military forces and extending to him the power to make treaties. To ensure that said forces would not be used against the

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p­ eople, the Second Amendment to the Constitution granted the ­people the right to keep and bear arms as part of an or­ga­nized militia, recognizing that Congress directed the organ­ization, arming, and discipline.24 During the early years of the republic, Federalists and Republicans integrated contrary positions on military policy into their po­liti­cal philosophies, though fiscal concerns as much as civic virtue drove the decision-­making pro­cess. Considering both economy and security, the regular army was kept small (1,200 men in 1790), with states retaining control over generally underfunded and poorly trained militias. In response to external threats, the employment of small numbers of regular soldiers, augmented by untrained state militia or well-­meaning, short-­service volunteers, frequently contributed to military disaster, as was the case with the defeat of General Arthur St. Clair and his army in the Northwest Territory by the Ohio Indians on November 4, 1791. The passage of the Uniform Militia Act in 1792 attempted to impose a national standard for militia ser­vice, but aside from requiring all able-­bodied men between the ages of 18 and 45 to enroll in state militia units and provide their own weapons and equipment, it did ­little to ensure the safety of the republic. General Anthony Wayne’s campaign against the northwestern tribes and ensuing victory at the ­Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794 made almost exclusive use of regular forces as part of the “Legion of the United States,” though upon achieving victory, this force was quickly disbanded. When President George Washington mobilized 12,900 V ­ irginia, Mary­land, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania militia to suppress the Whiskey Rebellion in 1794 and President John Adams authorized 500 regular federal troops from Mary­land, New York, and Pennsylvania to put down a rebellion against Pennsylvania property taxes led by John Fries in 1799, conservative Americans cast t­hese as proof-­positive examples of the Federalist administrations’ willingness to employ armed force as a tyrannical central government.25 Thomas Jefferson’s election in 1800 led to an evolution regarding the place and utility of a standing army in American society. Choosing not to eliminate the army entirely, Jeffersonian Republicans continued to rely upon the militia as the first line of the nation’s defense. President Jefferson’s decision to establish the United States Military Acad­emy at West Point, New York, appeared to be contradictory, given his belief in virtuous citizen-­soldiers. His plans, however, for creating such an institution had much greater implications in the long term. On the one hand, a military acad­emy filled with Republican-­appointed cadets would lead to the commissioning of Republican-­leaning ju­nior officers to balance out what had become an overwhelming Federalist presence in the existing army’s officer corps. On the other hand, four years’ education in military arts and sciences, followed by a one-­year ser­vice commitment, would plant the seeds of military knowledge throughout the American population, allowing West Point gradu­ates to step forward and capably command the militia in time of war.26 Unfortunately, ­there was precious ­little time for Jefferson’s policies to reach fruition, as only 71 officers had graduated from West Point by the beginning of the War of 1812. This paucity of gradu­ates, despite the addition of a regiment of light artillery, dragoons, riflemen, and five regiments of infantry in the aftermath of the 1807 Chesapeake-­Leopard affair, effectively tripling of the size of the regular army



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to 9,921 men, did ­little to prepare the United States for war. By 1810, not only ­were ­there fewer than 5,000 soldiers in the regular army, but the officers, few of whom could capably command more than a com­pany, had the unflattering reputation, at least in the eyes of Lieutenant Col­o­nel Winfield Scott, of being ­little more than “swaggerers, dependents, decayed gentlemen, and ­others ‘fit for nothing ­else’ which always turned out utterly unfit for any military purpose whatsoever.”27 As relations with ­Great Britain continued to deteriorate, Congress strug­gled to bring the regular army to its authorized strength, offering bounties and land incentives to encourage men to enlisted or reenlist for five years, so this yielded an army of fewer than 7,000 men. As 1812 began, Congress authorized the mobilization of six companies of mounted volunteers—­rangers—to patrol the northwestern frontier for one year, shortly thereafter passing legislation increasing the size of the regular army by 25,000 men (adding ten regiments of infantry, two of artillery, and a second regiment of light dragoons), bringing the overall size of the regular army to 35,000 men. With few men flocking to the colors, on April 8, 1812, Congress reduced the length of enlistment for new recruits, requiring them to only serve 18 months, as opposed to five years. ­After declaring war Congress expanded the call for manpower, authorizing 30,000 federalized volunteers, 100,000 state militia, and the rangers, in all a combined force of approximately 166,000 men.28 The failures in the northwest and on the Niagara frontier shattered the hopes of relying upon militia. Subsequent legislation provided manpower for l­ater campaigns, but ­these new additions ­were unsuccessful in bringing the war to a successful conclusion. ­After considerable congressional debate over the pros and cons of both a regular army and a popu­lar militia, new legislation passed by the Second Session of the Twelfth Congress in early 1813 authorized the formation of an additional 20 regiments of infantry (one of which was subsequently replaced by 10 companies of rangers).29 Even with the addition of ­these new units, the 1813 campaigns offered only a slight improvement, with many prob­lems stemming from officers being “utterly ignorant of their duty, or to use the words of a worthy young officer in ser­vice, ‘many of them [­were] incapable of learning it.’ ”30 While U.S. forces ­were successful in sacking York, the capital of Upper Canada, and General William Henry Harrison not only recaptured Detroit but also defeated the British and their Indian allies led by Shawnee Chef Tecumseh at the 1813 ­Battle of the Thames, the United States was no closer to victory at the end of 1813 than it had been in 1812. Continuing to seek victory, 1814 witnessed a third increase of the regular Army, raising its authorized strength to 62,674 men with the addition of three regiments of riflemen. By this point in the war, War Department officials strug­gled to fill regular units through recruiting teams operating out of each of the military districts, and filling t­ hese units remained a challenge throughout the entire war.31 ­There was ­little that could be done to make an 18-­month or five-­year enlistment appealing to most Americans, as the vast majority would be satisfied by a shorter stint in the militia. In the 1810 census, ­there ­were over 7 million ­people living in the United States, with some 1.1 million being white males of military age (18 to 45), eligible for enrollment in the militia of the vari­ous states.32 By the end of the war, 527,654 men served ­u nder arms in some capacity, with the vast majority (458,463) serving as ­either militia or volunteers. In many states (particularly New

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­ ngland) po­liti­cal opposition to the war ­limited the willingness of the states to proE vide militia or, as was the case in New York, militia refused to serve outside state lines. In other circumstances, governors placed their state troops ­u nder federal authority, as was the case with Governor James Barbour of ­Virginia. In the final analy­sis, while the Militia Act of 1792 provided for a national militia structure ­under the organ­ization and direction of the Congress, no such structure existed when the War of 1812 began. State governors had authority for organ­izing, arming, and equipping the militia, but once in ser­vice, ­there was l­ ittle to ensure that they met federal standards. Any successful mobilization was ultimately more a product of popu­lar ­will and local effort than it was the success of a federally mandated mobilization program.33 As a consequence of t­hese shortcomings, President Madison revisited this prob­lem of military mobilization, calling for a ­wholesale revision of the military establishment to correct the defects encountered throughout the war. Offering a multipart proposal that included a compulsory federal draft, the classification of the militia into three age groups (18 to 25, 25 to 32, and 32 to 45) that could be called forth by the president for two years’ ser­vice, and a militia exemption plan, he also offered an alternative, which simply maintained the current yet faulty system of voluntary enlistments, though he increased the land bounties offered to volunteers. Brought before Congress, the legislature chose to maintain the current enlistment system, although it agreed upon it concurrent with the end of the war. With all the challenges hindering effective military mobilization, the federal government increasingly came to realize the necessity of maintain a small standing army, which they would agree upon in March 1815.34

TRAINING The greatest challenge facing American troops during the War of 1812 was one of discipline. For an army to effectively employ smoothbore, muzzle-­loading muskets, training was an absolute necessity. Despite congressional authority for training the U.S. Army, the volunteers, and the militia, individual officers ­were left to develop their own training regimen. With the minimal impact of West Point, a wide variety of skill and ability could be found across the vari­ous units, both regular and militia, a consequence of both the ability of the respective officer and the variety of training manuals available to them. In 1779, the U.S. Army formally ­adopted Baron Von Steuben’s American Revolution–­era drill manual. Based upon its familiarity among American Revolution veterans, the “Blue Book,” so named for its cover, remained popu­lar following passage of the Militia Act of 1792. Even with this legislation, however, ­there was no single standard extending across all the states and territories, as the law failed to provide for federal supervision or enforcement to ensure a uniform standard. Consequently, as war began, the 18 states, four territories, and the District of Columbia effectively embraced 23 dif­fer­ent standards to govern operation of their respective volunteers, with vari­ous degrees of effectiveness across the U.S. Army. Tactical innovations that accompanied the Napoleonic Wars led some American officers to adopt the French Reglement Concernant L’Exercise et les



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Manoeuvres de L’Infanterie as a training manual for the U.S. Army in early 1812, as it contained methods to efficiently move large bodies of troops. At the same time, a number of American “theorists” offered their own versions of the recently published French standard. Alexander Smyth, who served as inspector general before the war, adapted the French manual (copying some of it ­wholesale) before offering it to American officers. In competition with Smyth, William Duane, editor of the Jeffersonian newspaper Aurora, offered his own Handbook for Infantry, likewise sending it to Congress for consideration. Thus, American commanders found themselves with four military manuals upon which to base their training: Von Steuben, the original French manual, Smyth, or Duane.35 Regardless of the author, most manuals outlined a similar training program. Von Steuben’s Blue Book, the manual selected for use by most American militia and volunteer units, specified that upon receipt of his commission, an officer should be “perfectly acquainted with the manual exercise, marchings and firings” so that they could instruct their soldiers. To ­these ends, an officer must be familiar with the “dress, discipline, and police of the troops, and with ­every ­thing that relates to the ser­vice.” First, individual soldiers mastered the position of a soldier without arms. A ju­nior officer, sergeant, or corporal, selected for the “patience and temper not met with in ­every officer,” taught new recruits how to stand at attention and at rest; how to dress (align himself to the left and right); how to face to the left and the right; and how to march by com­pany, by file, and by the oblique. Once proficient, soldiers received muskets and began learning the manual of arms. Again, officers trained them in how to shoulder their weapons; how to fix, unfix, and charge bayonets; and how to pre­sent and carry arms, as well the 15 individual motions required for the loading and firing of muskets. Once proficient, 12 recruits ­were placed in a single rank and ­were taught how to dress (align themselves in line) and wheel to the right and the left. ­After mastering the “school of the soldier,” the recruit joined a com­pany, the basic unit for movement on the battlefield. ­There, he learned how to open ranks for inspection, how to fire (by com­pany, section, and file), how to march by com­pany (forward, left and right wheel, and obliquely to the left or right), and how to break off by section, with the com­pany maneuvering by smaller platoons. Exercise of the battalion (formed of multiple companies) followed, which included continued practice of the manual of exercise and firing by battalion, as well as marching in line of b­ attle or in column, movement from line into column and back from column into line, the changing of the battalion front (the direction it faced while in line of ­battle), and how to maneuver by battalion to pass obstacles. Transforming raw recruits into effective soldiers was no ­simple task, though when conducted diligently and by capable officers, effective military training could yield ­great dividends. The degree to which each state prepared its militia differed greatly. While the Militia Act of 1792 specified that militia companies should muster four times annually to practice the evolutions and maneuvers, the vast majority of militia took a lackadaisical approach to mandatory ser­vice, particularly in ­those areas lacking an external threat. For many militiamen, muster day assumed a holiday flair, with men drilling enough to demonstrate minimal proficiency, with officers quickly dismissing their men to frequent the local tavern or dine upon fare provided by the community. In the absence of any real foe, the degree of martial

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proficiency among many militiamen was lackluster, to say the least, as Henry Leavitt Ellsworth encountered on military day in Goshen, New York, in June 1811. Encountering 30 privates, he was struck first by their total lack of uniformity in dress, as “8 privates wore surtouts and all of them dif­fer­ent colors; 4 wore short strip’d linen jackets; 3 long black coats; 4 short blue ditto; 5 coats long and short, of a mud color . . . ​the remaining w ­ ere without coats at all and would form one uniform platoon if three of the number had emitted their two cloth underdress and substituted checked linen.” He did, however, discover “exact uniformity in their fire arms,” as “a thick crust of oxide of iron gives them wonderful similarity.” Their attention to the finer points of drill was even less profound, for as the orderly sergeant commanded the soldiers to order arms, “one part got them on to the ground disregarding the right side, however—­another part presented them—­and a greater half (if pos­si­ble) turned round and conversed upon the strangers that ­were passing.”36 Inexperienced regulars w ­ ere not much better. Brigadier General George McClure attempted to obviate t­ hese shortcomings, placing First Lieutenant David Riddle in charge of the first known recruit training camp in Batavia, New York, in December 1813, though ­these efforts ­were too ­limited to affect real change.37 A much more dedicated training program produced significant results in the summer of 1814, when Secretary of War John Armstrong Jr. ordered Major General Jacob Brown to form the Left Division of the Army of the North, hoping to defeat British forces in Canada before reinforcements could arrive from Eu­rope following the defeat and exile of Napoleon. In preparation for an offensive directed at Kingston and across the Niagara River, Armstrong called for the establishment of two “Camps of Instruction,” one at Plattsburgh, New York, and the other at Buffalo, to improve the combat effectiveness of regular troops recently raised in the area. Tasked with ­r unning the camp at Buffalo, Brigadier General Winfield Scott, recognizing that the keys to martial success of any unit was drill, discipline, and motivation, soon transformed other­wise raw recruits into an effective fighting force.38 Arriving in Buffalo in April 1814, Scott assumed control of all troops on the Niagara Frontier. ­After securing uniforms, ordering weekly inspections, and equipping his brigade, he set about instilling discipline in his other­wise untrained troops. Adopting the French manual as the standard (although it is suspected that copies of Smyth’s manual ­were pre­sent among the officers of Scott’s brigade), the stern disciplinarian set about transforming raw recruits into capable soldiers. Establishing a strict training regimen, he trained a cadre that quickly took the lead in com­pany drill, with each com­pany spending the morning reviewing the loadings, firings, and com­pany movement. In the after­noon, companies came together as regiments for commanders to practice their evolutions, with Scott himself participating on occasion. The taskmaster followed this with brigade evolutions, affording him the ability to not only gauge the pro­gress of individual units but also to ensure that the entire army could move and function as a seamless collection of wholly interchangeable parts.39 By early May, Scott had completely transformed the force ­under his command. The awkward fumbling of amateurs dis­appeared, replaced by trained soldiers who, while inexperienced in combat, could nonetheless execute military commands with



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alacrity, reacting to the succinct ­orders of their commander without thinking about what came next. ­These tenets, believed Scott (as he would specify ­after the war), coupled with standards of conduct common across an entire army, ­were critical to martial success.40 While this level of training was perhaps unique to the U.S. Army throughout the War of 1812, it nonetheless established a standard that would characterize the postwar peacetime establishment, as the young republic gradually came to recognize that amateur citizens alone, regardless of individual talent, ­were insufficient to defend the republic.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE Popu­lar lit­er­a­t ure holds that Americans who mobilized for war between 1756 and 1815 generally did so out of the most patriotic motives, leaving homes, shops, and farms, and shouldering arms in defense of the republic. This was the dream of virtuous ser­vice to the republic that legislation like the Militia Act of 1792 hoped to perpetuate in requiring all ­free, able-­bodied, white male citizens to join the militia. In times of ­actual conflict, however, ­these forces alone proved incapable of securing victory, all claims of patriotism notwithstanding. Consequently, in the War of 1812, as in the American Revolution, the nation reluctantly came to realize the need for a standing regular force. Scholarly lit­er­a­t ure exploring the composition of American armies both before and during the American Revolution suggests that such forces tended to be a haven for the young, the poor, and t­hose considered to be on the fringes of society, particularly recent immigrants and blacks. A comparison of enlistment rec­ords of ­those who joined the U.S. regular army before and during the War of 1812 yields significant differences between ­those who enlisted in times of peace versus times of war. Generally speaking, men who enlisted in the regular army between 1802 and 1811 tended to be poorer and more socially marginal than t­ hose who enlisted ­after hostilities with ­Great Britain commenced. In the de­cade before the conflict, peacetime enlistees tended to be older men (mean age of 27.2 and median of 26.1), who identified as artisans, laborers, or tradesman, with approximately four-­fifths being native born, with the remainder being immigrants. In contrast, during the War of 1812, new enlistees to the U.S. regular ser­vice tended to be a bit younger (mean age of 26.8 and median age of 24.7) and from a more rural background, with a lower percentage of foreign-­born enlistees (approximately 13.1 ­percent). Although the absence of census rec­ords and other more precise data prevent definitive clarification as to what “poor” or “marginal” truly mean, ­there was a clear difference between t­ hose who enlisted in the regular army before the war and t­ hose who joined ­after June 1812. ­Those who enlisted in the regular army during the war ­were neither “poor” nor “destitute,” but instead could be characterized as “men of largely respectable social status who w ­ ere, nonetheless, in varying ways, close to the mar41 gins of respectability.”  During the War of 1812, the U.S. Army officer corps began experiencing a significant transition. As the war began, many of the se­nior generals ­were old and incompetent, products of a promotion and appointment system based upon personal

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military experience (often de­cades old), patronage, and po­liti­cal connections, with Bunker Hill veteran Henry Dearborn’s appointment as commanding general of the northern theater serving as a good example. Many officers believed in the inherent martial ability of ­free Americans and did not necessarily connect martial success with scholarly study of the art and science of warfare. As the army increased in size, new officers reflected Amer­i­ca’s social and po­liti­cal leadership, and although they often faced martial challenges, ­these w ­ ere a product of the inexperience, the poor planning by the War Department both before and during the conflict, and the challenges of conducting warfare in the early years of the republic. While many younger officers, including ­those recently educated at West Point, held promise, it would take time for them to gain significant rank in the U.S. Army and affect real change. Over time, young officers, following the lead of emerging professionals like Winfield Scott, took real intellectual interest in preparing for warfare, establishing the princi­ple that in times of peace, the nation must prepare for war. The conclusion of the conflict resulted not only in the maintenance of a significant peacetime military establishment but also a restructuring of the postwar administrative and educational structure to better prepare ­f uture generations of U.S. Army officers.42 The situation for militia officers was not much better. Appointed by state officials or elected by local peers, most held rank as a product of wealth or connection and not necessarily as a product of their understanding of military discipline, parlaying experience and war­time success into promotion that did not necessarily reflect the development of American military professionalism. Militia officers who performed well tended to have the trust and re­spect of the men who they commanded, punished them fairly, led them bravely, and attempted to conduct themselves as the military experts they aspired to be.43 Although the nation gradually came to rely upon a regular army, the vast majority of men who served during the War of 1812 ­were militia or volunteers. The Militia Act of 1792 stated that only ­free white men could enroll in the militia. With re­spect to the regular army, subsequent War Department directives further outlined that while “Natives, of good character, are always preferred for soldiers,” army leadership nonetheless recognized that “Foreigners of good reputation for sobriety and honesty, may be enlisted.” The regulations did, however, clearly establish that the enlistment of “Negroes, Mulatoes, or Indians” into the regular ser­vice was prohibited.44 ­These regulations notwithstanding, t­here was considerable variation in the ethnic composition of many units raised during the War of 1812, as each state was responsible for raising and maintaining individual militia units, thereby making each individual militia unit reflective of the region from which it was raised. Of all the ­battles of the War of 1812, no ­battle witnessed a more diverse assembly of troops than t­ hose u­ nder the command of Major General Andrew Jackson at the B ­ attle of New Orleans. ­T here, war­time exigencies brought men of dif­fer­ent social backgrounds, colors, and languages. In addition to the Seventh Regiment, U.S. Infantry, a regular army regiment or­ga­nized following the Chesapeake-­ Leopard affair and subsequently reinforced by enlistees from Tennessee and Kentucky, Jackson commanded troops of the Forty-­Fourth Regiment, U.S. Infantry, a regiment raised in Louisiana ­after legislation passed on March 3, 1813. Jackson also directed uniformed volunteers, Major Jean Baptiste Plauche’s Batallion des



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Voluntaires d’Orleans. Assisted by a French-­speaking U.S. Marine, Major Daniel Carmick, the battalion, a product of the territory’s Franco-­Spanish militia system, contained five dif­fer­ent units: Captain Pierre Roche’s Carabiniers d’Orleans, Captain Henri St. Geme’s Dragons a Pied, Captain Hean Hudrey’s Francs, Captain August Guibert’s Chausseurs, and Captain Maunsel White’s Louisiana Blues.45 In addition to ­these uniformed white Louisianans, Jackson had two companies of troops of African descent ­u nder his command, ­earlier specifications of the War Department regarding the enlistment of black troops notwithstanding. Jackson had two companies of ­free men of color ­under his command, one commanded by Major Pierre Lacoste and federalized in 1814, as well as a ­sister battalion, commanded by Major Louis D’Aquin recruited in mid-­December  1814 and composed of recent immigrants from Santo Domingo.46 ­Under the overall command of the multilingual Col­o­nel George T. Ross of the Forty-­Fourth Infantry, the regulars, Louisiana volunteers, and f­ ree men of color came together to form the right wing of Jackson’s army. Jackson also commanded a wide array of citizen-­soldiers beyond ­those units raised in New Orleans proper. The left wing was made up of Major William Carroll’s Division of West Tennessee Militia. It was composed of three volunteer units: Brigadier General John Coffee’s 550-­man Brigade of Tennessee Mounted Gunmen, Carroll’s own 800-­man regiment of Tennessee “Riflemen,” and Brigadier General John Adair’s 680 Kentucky “Riflemen.” In addition to the volunteers from Tennessee and Kentucky, Jackson was aided by a troop of Mississippi dragoons ­under the command of Major Thomas Hinds, many of whom had fought with Jackson in the Creek War.47 A number of “soldiers” with Eu­ro­pean roots could also be found among the ranks of Jackson’s artillerymen. Baratarian Captains Dominique You and Renato Beluche directed a crew of 20 veteran French mari­ners “practiced in the management of cannon and inured to warfare,” loading naval cannon alongside naval gunners of the U.S. sloop Carolina.48 of Jackson’s batteries was commanded by Brigadier General Garrigues de Flaujeac, “a French veteran who had served u­ nder Napoleon in Italy and Egypt, at the Pyramids and Marengo,” but had fled to Louisiana in 1802 or 1803.49 Throughout the Creek War and on into the New Orleans campaign, General Jackson enlisted the aid of Indian tribesmen friendly to the United States. ­After the attack on Fort Mims, Jackson accepted several hundred Cherokee into the ser­ vice of the United States. Initially led by Captain Sekeekee, they served u­ nder the overall command of Col­o­nel Gideon Morgan and included The Ridge (­later known as Major Ridge) and ­f uture Cherokee chief John Ross in its ranks. ­After the Treaty of Fort Jackson and appointment as a regular army general, Jackson continued to welcome Indian allies on his subsequent campaigns. In the weeks before the ­Battle of New Orleans, Jackson ordered a detachment of Choctaw Indians led by Major Pierre Jugeat, the half-­breed son of a Creole trader and a half-­breed Choctaw ­woman who was also half French, to guard the Chef Menteur road, and they w ­ ere ­under 50 Jackson’s command ­until the British departed the Gulf Coast. During the course of the New Orleans campaign, Jackson also came to rely upon Jean Lafitte and his “hellish banditti,” the Baratarian pirates who agreed to serve in defense of New Orleans. Of French origins, Jean Lafitte and his ­brother Pierre

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had arrived on the Gulf Coast by 1804 and by 1812 had established a lucrative privateering business, preying upon U.S., British, Spanish, and neutral merchantmen operating throughout the Gulf of Mexico and the Ca­rib­bean. At one point, they had between 3,000 and 4,000 individuals in their employ, a mélange of French, Spanish, En­glish, and African creoles who made up the diverse racial mix that was the city of New Orleans. In September 1814, the British offered Lafitte cash, a ­pardon for past offenses, and an opportunity to serve with the British as they prepared their New Orleans campaign. Lafitte, professing his loyalty to the United States, subsequently informed Louisiana Governor William Clairborne of British intentions, proclaiming his desire to support the American cause. Despite an attack on his Baratarian headquarters by U.S. naval forces, Lafitte sought out General Jackson in the weeks before the attack, capitalizing upon the Louisiana legislature’s offer of amnesty to ­those who assisted in the defense of New Orleans and offered his ser­vices to help defend the city. Although the exact number of Baratarians who served in the final stages of the New Orleans campaign are unknown, not only did Lafitte serve as a volunteer advisor on Jackson’s staff, but a number of Lafitte’s “pirates” manned artillery on Line Jackson on January 8, 1815. In the aftermath of the b­ attle, all received p­ ardons from the U.S. government.51 In addition to male combatants, military legislation recognized female retainers in ser­vice of the U.S. Army. The “Act fixing the Military peace Establishment of the United States” passed in March 1802 specified that rations ­were to be issued “to the ­women who may be allowed to any par­tic­u­lar corps not exceeding the proportion of four to a com­pany” and to nurses and matrons employed in military hospitals. ­Under that legislation, females served with the U.S. Army and functioned as laundresses, seamstresses, and companions, performing a variety of domestic tasks for the soldiers, be they in the field or in garrison.52 The existence of ­women who accompanied their enlisted husbands can be verified through a careful search of army rec­ords, and t­here are instances where they are mentioned by other individuals who spent time with the army. Lydia Bacon followed her husband, Lieutenant Josiah Bacon, who served as a quartermaster in the Fourth Infantry regiment in 1811 and 1812. In a letter home dated August 2, 1811, she mentioned the ­women who accompanied the com­pany (herself included) while traveling through Ohio, noting that their “tents are pitched on the side of the river, fires are made for the Soldiers to prepare their suppers, plenty of business ­going on—­Mrs. A is making up her Husbands bed, reprimanding Mrs. G who being a ­little offended ­will not do the same for hers.” Her letters suggest that the wives of both officers and enlisted men often accompanied their spouses in the field. While bypassing rapids by boat near Jeffersonville, Ohio, she wrote, “Lieut. G’s boat has gone safe with his Wife, and Mr and Mrs. A. We could go by land, as Josiah has charge of all the Bagage, but we had a desire to go the same way as the rest, of the Officers and their wives.” 53 ­Women who accompanied the Army on campaign faced significant challenges simply living their lives. Otherwise-­mundane tasks ­were made all the more difficult as a consequence of exposure and the need to face the ele­ments, a fact noted by Mrs. Bacon when she wrote that “Mrs. Weir, one of the Soldiers wives, had a ­daughter last night, it was born in a tent, on the Banks of the Wabash.” Aside from



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t­ hese difficult conditions, females ­were also dependent upon the Army for protection. When soldiers w ­ ere actively campaigning, all camp followers, regardless of social standing, ­were in constant danger, a point emphasized by Mrs.  Bacon when her husband was off fighting Indians on the frontier when she wrote in her own quaint style, “our situation was very exposed while the Troops w ­ ere absent, for every­thing went that could carry a musket and left us ­women and ­children without even a guard Mrs. W and myself had loaded Pistols at our bedside but I some doubt if we should have been able to use them had we found it necessary, had the Indians known our situation a few of them could have Massacred the Inhabitants & burnt the Village, but was not permitted, a kind providence prevented.” 54 DAILY LIFE Throughout the War of 1812, soldiers not other­wise engaged on an active campaign against Canadian fencibles (militia), British regulars, or Native Americans formed part of a garrison detailed to forts defending the coast or the frontier. In response to the initial outbreak of war in Eu­rope, Congress in 1794 authorized the construction of coastal fortifications to protect the nation’s maritime frontier. One of the first of ­these fortifications was Fort McHenry, built to protect the approach to Baltimore via the Patapsco River. A masonry construction built beginning in 1798 in the style pop­u­lar­ized a ­century e­ arlier by French engineer Sebastien Vauban, the five-­sided, star-­shaped fortification eventually contained 20 guns with additional guns emplaced in a smaller triangular-­shaped work facing the river and in naval batteries along the sea wall. When British troops attacked the fort in September 1814, the garrison contained a mixed force composed of more than 1,000 regular infantry, artillery, and Mary­land volunteers. Many of the defenders resided in four single-­story barracks buildings that lined the fort’s interior parade ground. ­These barracks consisted of large, open rooms equipped with wood-­burning fireplaces and rows of two-­tiered bunks shared by as many as four men, which represented typical accommodations for U.S. troops in garrison duty. Garrisons like Fort McHenry represented luxurious accommodations compared to frontier forts. Most frontier forts w ­ ere constructed of native timber and consisted of a series of wooden block­houses with log palisades filling the open spaces in between, surrounding a parade ground and other buildings constructed of log, brick, or stone. General William Henry Harrison ordered the construction of Fort Meigs, overlooking the Maumee Rapids on the Ohio River, in early 1813 in response to British attacks on the Northwest Territory the previous year. It had seven block­ houses and a palisade wall that surrounded a 10-­acre parade ground, at the time making it the largest wooden-­walled fortification in Amer­i­ca. Besieged by the British in 1813, the defenders, composed of militia and U.S. regular artillery, held out ­until relieved by the arrival of militia from Kentucky.55 Fort Osage on the Missouri River was much smaller. Built in 1808 as one of the first outposts in the new Louisiana Territory, it served as the home to a federal trade factory, manned by a detachment of the First U.S. Infantry commanded by Captain Eli Clemson. Its four block­houses and palisaded walls surrounded a parade field not much more than one

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acre in size, although ­there was a second palisaded area outside the fort that contained the trading post.56 Other frontier constructions shared the “fort” name but lacked direct connection with the Army. Fort Mims, erected on the shores of the Tensaw Lake in Alabama about 35 miles north of Mobile, was not built as a military garrison, but was a result of efforts by well-­to-do part-­Creek merchant Samuel Mims to protect his home and associated outbuildings against the Red Stick Creeks. The rough log stockade, pierced by more than 500 portholes cut at musket height, surrounded approximately an acre of ground and opened by way of two heavy gates. By 1813, it served as a This painting depicts the Battalion of ­Free Men of temporary refuge for nearly 500 Color and a unit of Choctaw Indian Volunteers. American settlers, U.S.-­ allied On January 8, 1815, Major General Andrew Creek Indians, and African slaves. Jackson commanded a mixed force of regulars, Although garrison accommomilitia, and volunteer units that repelled a British dations ­were not luxurious, they attack upon New Orleans. News of the victory ­were much better than condireached most American population centers at tions a soldier might encounter the same time as word of the Treaty of Ghent, on campaign. Supply prob­lems leading many to believe that the b­ attle, which throughout the war yielded was fought ­after the formal end of the war, caused the British to negotiate for peace. many situations where soldiers (Center for Military History) had ­little more than a blanket to protect themselves from the ele­ ments. Other­wise, regular and volunteer soldiers lived in wedge-­shaped “common” tents. Made of cotton or linen duck canvas, such tents ­housed at least two soldiers and ­were seven feet high and seven feet long, with triangular, flat faced ends, one of which featured a door. Com­pany and regimental officers had slightly better accommodations, ­housed in larger “wall” tents, typically fifteen feet long and nine feet wide, with approximately three-­foot high walls. When on campaign, a military camp would be well regimented (laid out) in an or­ga­nized fashion, with rows of common tents arranged along a com­pany “street.” Officers’ tents would be placed in the rear, with com­pany kitchens and baggage wagons (if any) placed even farther ­behind. Supplying the U.S. military during the War of 1812 corresponded with the nation’s ability to raise a military. In the absence of units assembled together in



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more than com­pany strength, the small size and relative isolation of the regular army obviated the need for any formalized support system. Since the conclusion of the American Revolution, supply of the Army with re­spect to food, uniforms, and supplies was the purview of civilian military agents, who executed contracts ­under the direction of the Secretary of War, who had centralized all operations out of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.57 With the 1808 increase in the U.S. Army, the War Department soon realized the established system’s inadequacy and proposed a Quartermaster’s Department in 1810. It was March 1812 before Congress approved such an organ­ization. Overseeing all supply operations, the quartermaster general, acting u­ nder the auspices of the secretary of war, eventually divided the country into eight quartermaster districts corresponding to the eight military districts of the United States, with a deputy quartermaster directing the operations of each. Congress passed legislation to better or­ga­nize the staff of the army in March 1813, providing for eight quartermasters general, eight deputies, and 23 assistant deputies.58 The Quartermaster Department was responsible for clothing, equipping, and feeding troops raised by the government and performed with varying degrees of success during the war. The U.S. Army faced significant supply shortages throughout the war, particularly with re­spect to uniforms. In February 1812, uniform regulations specified that an army private’s uniform would consist of a single-­breasted, short-­tailed, dark blue wool coatee, with red collar and cuffs, with 10 white or gold buttons laced across the front with white worsted tape for infantry and yellow

Regular U.S. Army uniforms worn during the War of 1812. The effort to emulate Eu­ro­pean military norms is evident, including headgear directly copied from French Army uniforms. (Kean Collection/Getty Images)

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for artillery, respectively. The coatee was worn in conjunction with dark blue wool or linen (for summer) gaitered trousers that buttoned at the ankle with a cloth covering over the shoe tops. This uniform was worn in conjunction with a cylindrical felt shako trimmed with (when pos­si­ble) a tinned regimental plate, leather cockade with pewter ea­gle, feather cockade, and worsted wool band and tassels.59 Army expansion challenged the War Department’s ability to procure uniforms ­ under existing regulations. Consequently, new units received coatees made of drab black, brown, or gray cloth during the winter of 1812–1813. ­T hese ­were made in the same pattern as the regulation coatee with red cuffs and collar, and in most cases with the white lace, though at the end of 1812, the Twenty-­ Second Infantry received overalls made of blue and white speckled wool and drab wool coats with green collars and cuffs, with buttonholes laced with black tape in the place of the standard white. Other units ­were not so fortunate. In the case of the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Infantry Regiments, extensive operations along the Miami River in December and January 1812–1813 had reduced an other­wise “fine body of regular troops,” with General William Henry Harrison reporting that t­ hese units had been “destroyed by the want of clothing.” 60 Uniform regulations experienced further revisions in early 1813. ­After initially eliminating the lace trim across the chest, the red trim on the collar and cuffs followed in an effort to significantly reduce production time. Eliminating ­those features, the uniform devolved into a single-­breasted, dark blue, wool tailcoat with a 10-­button closure, with lace binding on the collar only in ­either white or yellow. The regulations also introduced a new leather shako copied directly from the type worn by the British infantry, retaining the tinned cap plate but replacing the white feathered plume with white or yellow wool or cotton worsted pompons and band and tassel, again corresponding to branch color.61 Even with ­these changes, it remained difficult to keep troops in regulation uniforms. When Brigadier General Winfield Scott took command of his recently or­ga­ nized force on the Niagara frontier in the summer of 1814, few military stores ­were available. Relying upon readily available materials, troops received short gray jackets and unbleached linen trousers typically reserved for the militia. When they marched on the field the morning of July 5, 1814, the British general who opposed them, Major General Phineas Riall, mistook them for New York militia. But when he saw them wheel smartly into line, oblivious of the shot and shell that tore into their ranks, he purportedly exclaimed to his adjutant, “­T hose are regulars, by God!” 62 Militia and volunteers serving during the War of 1812 ­either received uniforms issued by the individual states, procured uniforms based upon a local decision, or ­were mustered into ser­vice with their own personal clothing and wore that on campaign. As a result, ­there was considerable variety in the uniforms of militia and volunteers during the War of 1812. Officers typically wore some form of a blue coatee, with cuffs of buff, white, or red, cut in a style not unlike ­those of regular officers. Greater variety could be found in the uniforms of common soldiers. A trooper in William Garrard’s Com­pany of Volunteer Light Dragoons from Bourbon County, Kentucky, a unit affectionately referred to as the “Bourbon County



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Blues,” recalled that his uniform was “of the finest blue broadcloth, trimmed with white lace and red scarlet vest with a jacked, leather cap, black cockade, [and] black plume tipped with red.” Mary­land had one of the better militia organ­izations in the United States, and when they took the field in defense of the Chesapeake, they presented a distinctly military appearance. Corporal Thomas Ruckle, a member of the Fifth Regiment of the Mary­land Militia, left a visual rec­ord of his unit’s appearance in paintings he prepared a­ fter the war. In “The B ­ attle of North Point,” and “The Defense of Baltimore,” Ruckle painted Mary­land volunteer soldiers in dark blue jackets with red collars and cuffs, with additional variations between dif­fer­ ent units.63 In less developed regions, militia and volunteers wore civilian clothing, often topped with a hunting frock or overshirt. Cheap and easy to make, the hunting frock, made of linen or linsey-­woolsey, with or without a cape and some manner of fringe, was ubiquitous among citizen-­soldiers during the War of 1812. One veteran in an Ohio com­pany recalled wearing “unbleached, tow-­linen hunting shirts, and trowsers [sic] of the same material, with low-­crown hats, on the left side of which w ­ ere worn black cockades about two inches in dia­meter, on the center of which ­were displayed small silver ea­gles about the size of a quarter-­dollar.” Col­o­nel Richard M. Johnson’s regiment of Kentucky Mounted Volunteers, whose charge at the ­Battle of the Thames decimated the British 41st Infantry and their Indian allies, wore black round hats and fringed hunting frocks. At the ­Battle of New Orleans, the British derisively referred to General William Carroll’s division as “Dirty Shirts” on account of their “woolen hunting-­shirts, of a dark or dingy color, and copperas-­ dyed pantaloons.” 64 Similarly, when the Orleans ­Rifle Com­pany, commanded by Thomas Beale, Register of Deeds for the city of New Orleans, took the field to oppose the British when they attacked the city in late 1814, the 60 businessmen and civic leaders turned soldiers wore black round hats and hunting frocks made of blue checked linen, as that was the only material available in sufficient quantity in New Orleans to outfit the entire com­pany.65 Joining the Mary­land militia in September 1814, John Pendleton Kennedy wrote in his journal, “­There I was, eigh­teen years of age, knapsacked, with blanket, canteen and haversack (generally a cold fowl, biscuit, fried tongue and a ­bottle of wine in it), and detailed for a week’s duty at the fort. Talk about luxuries!” 66 The task of supplying an army on campaign was never easy. The U.S. Army typically paid civilian contractors to purchase and provide raw foodstuffs to military units and garrisons. Such contractors ­were often of questionable dependability, as their interests ­were, as General Winfield Scott argued in 1814 in a letter to Secretary of War James Monroe, “in precise opposition to ­those of the troops,” for the only way to resolve differences between the Army and a citizen contractor was through civil action, as they ­were not subject to court-­martial.67 As specified by military regulation, daily rations for a soldier consisted of 1.25 pounds of beef or 0.75 pounds of pork; 18 ounces of bread or flour; and one gill (approximately four fluid ounces) of rum, whiskey, or brandy. The Army also issued 100 candles, two pounds of soap, two quarts of vinegar, and one quart of salt for e­ very 100 rations. The soldiers had the option of engaging in “extra duty” to augment their rations and income, though cooking duties for a military unit, be they regular or volunteer, typically rotated

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among all the enlisted men of the com­pany. Due to the vagaries of the contract system, short rations w ­ ere a common occurrence throughout the war, which represented a significant challenge to even the most well-­trained troops. To overcome ­these challenges in the Niagara campaign, General Scott established bakeries to transform flour into tens of thousands of rations of hard bread, understanding that a soldier could “carry in his haversack five or six days’ bread (without meat) and thus march one hundred miles in­de­pen­dent of ovens, wagons or contractors.” 68

RELIGION In extending religious freedom throughout the United States, the Constitution ensured that from a spiritual perspective, American religious practices would evolve into something that resembled a patchwork quilt. Throughout the early evolution of the republic, recurring incidents of spiritual upheaval, considerable social and ethnic diversity, and repeated waves of conversion and mass participation guaranteed that American religion would take on a heterogeneous character. Thus, when Congress delivered its declaration of war, President Madison asked for a Day of Prayer to be held on July 9, 1812, taking ­great pains to carefully distance himself from any single religion, believing that the government should not ­favor a specific faith. To t­ hese ends, his resolution designated that day for “the devout purposes of rendering the Sovereign of the Universe and the Benefactor of Mankind the public homage due to His holy attributes; of acknowledging the transgressions which might justly provoke the manifestations of His divine dis­plea­sure; of seeking His merciful forgiveness and His assistance in the g­ reat duties of repentance and amendment, and especially of offering fervent supplications that in the pre­sent season of calamity and war.” 69 Although Madison’s constitutional scruples ­were not without criticism, he recognized that the country still pursued an objective policy regarding the role of religious leaders in a multidenominational republic. While Americans of all faiths might look upon the destruction of Washington as evidence of God’s wrath being directed upon the wicked of the nation and, alternatively, regard victory at New Orleans as proof of the divine ­favor shining down upon the United States, it was not within the power of the president to designate which faith was right.70 As the nation strug­gled (unsuccessfully) to reach some sense of consensus over issues of church doctrine, liturgy, governance, morals, and personnel, both between and within the vari­ous faiths that existed in the United States, Army leadership looked to provide similar spiritual guidance and a moral foundation for ­those who followed the American flag into ­battle. Military chaplains ­were ever pre­sent among soldiers in the early republic. During the American Revolution, more than 174 Continental Army and 93 militia chaplains served alongside troops in the field. Legislation passed on July  16, 1798, formally authorized chaplains for the U.S. Army, specifying that ­there would be four chaplains for the Army, to receive the pay and privileges of majors.71 Despite their presence, chaplains ­were not a high priority for the Army, for ­there is no mention of them in military legislation ­until 1813, when one was assigned to each military district headquarters. With ­little in the way of a formal orga­nizational structure



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within the War Department, it was therefore difficult, if not impossible, for the existing army chaplains to fulfill their spiritual obligations to the rank and file of the army. By the end of the War of 1812, 13 men held the rank of United States Army chaplain, though no list of Army chaplains who survived the war contains the same list of names. Of t­ hose chaplains who did serve, 12 served directly with the army, e­ ither operating with units in the field or at military headquarters, with Rev. Adam Empie, originally of Schenectady, New York, but ­later of Wilmington, North Carolina, serving as the first chaplain of the United States Military Acad­emy. Denominationally, the 13 ministers ­were Protestant, although they came from varied faith backgrounds, including Baptist, Dutch Reformed, Presbyterian, Protestant Episcopal, and Congregational. Considering the incomplete nature of official lists, many regular units appeared to operate, at least initially, without the benefit of chaplains embedded in their operational units, but once in the field, the lion’s share of the spiritual duties among the fighting men of the United States fell to the chaplains associated with the state militias, for their numbers ­were much greater.72 In contrast to the small number of regular army chaplains, more than 200 individuals served as militia chaplains, though a lack of comprehensive state returns makes it difficult to ascertain the absolute accuracy of this figure. Some states list chaplains who served for only a few days or weeks, o­ thers rec­ord t­ hose who served briefly among local units, while ­others simply name ­those who served on campaign alongside troops raised for the duration of the war and fought many miles from home. Therefore, it is pos­si­ble to conclude that like their regular Army counter­ parts, militia chaplains came from a wide variety of backgrounds. Some ­were ­little more than frontier preachers of ­limited education who volunteered to look ­after their flock when they went on campaign and could be as accomplished woodsmen as the men they marched beside. O ­ thers considered themselves to be more learned intellectuals much more accustomed to the challenges of the pulpit than the privations of the battlefield. Some, like Reverend Learner Blackman of Tennessee, left a rec­ord of their ser­vice in the form of lengthy journals chronicling their war­time experiences; ­others, like Reverend Ira Hart of Stonington, Connecticut, are remembered for actions undertaken during the course of a par­tic­u­lar campaign or action, while ­others are unknown to history, as the state in which they served failed to list them by name.73 Prior to the war, Reverend Learner Blackman was perhaps the most prominent Methodist cir­cuit rider of ­Middle Tennessee. In a region lacking permanent congregations, the New Jersey native spent the de­cade preceding the war as a missionary in Kentucky and Tennessee before taking over as superintendent of the Old Natchez District in the new Mississippi Territory. ­After four years in Mississippi, Bishop William McKendree named Blackman the Presiding Elder of the Holston District in East Tennessee. Although not a learned man, Blackman kept a rec­ord of his ser­vice with the Tennessee militia a­ fter being named to serve as chaplain on their voyage to Natchez in 1812 and 1813. Agreeing to serve ­because he “concluded he could be of some use to the Army especially that part of them that are Methodist,” Blackman was attached to General Andrew Jackson’s staff, though he ­personally doubted Jackson’s utility, as the general was “a good general but a very

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incorrect Divine.” In his capacity as chaplain, Blackman prayed, counseled, and consoled the troops, encouraging them with readings, sermons, and prayers throughout his time in the field.74 The desire to offer personal comfort through the word of God was a trait shared by all chaplains, and they frequently offered comfort to soldiers of any uniform. In July 1814, an American privateer disguised as a merchant vessel appeared in Long Island Sound near Stonington, Connecticut, home of Ira Hart, pastor of the First Congregational Church. As local pastor, he was attached to the Thirtieth Regiment, Connecticut Militia, composed of men of military age who lived in southeastern Connecticut. When British Royal Marines w ­ ere dispatched from the British Long Island squadron to capture the privateer, Reverend Hart soon found himself in a place to offer succor to the ­enemy. When Midshipman Thomas Powers led the Royal Marines aboard the privateer to capture it as a prize, the ambitious young officer received a fatal head wound from sailors defending the ship. When the fallen officer’s body was returned to Stonington, Reverend Hart presided over the funeral. Despite Powers being an ­enemy combatant, the local pastor’s eulogy was given “with deep feeling, drawing tears from many an eye unused to weep.”75 Despite the wide range of faiths that had come to be practiced in the United States by the beginning of the War of 1812, the efforts of army chaplains ­were generally well received by the rank and file. Many Americans drew upon political-­religious millennialism preached by New E ­ ngland ministers, and despite the fact that many New En­glanders opposed the war, blended religion with American nationalism in their advocacy for the war. Although the Second ­Great Awakening was still a de­cade into the ­f uture, popu­lar religion was well on its way to emerging as a key component of patriotic zeal.

POPU­L AR CULTURE Throughout the War of 1812, American soldiers and the nation came to enjoy popu­lar reflections that became foundational ele­ments of American culture. In addition to old standards like “Yankee Doodle,” “The Girl I Left ­Behind Me,” “Hail, Columbia,” and “Jefferson and Liberty,” a host of new songs emerged lauding American exploits at war, particularly t­hose on the high seas, with “Constitution and the Guerriere,” “The ­Battle of the Peacock and the Hornet,” and “The Shannon and the Chesapeake” gaining quick popularity among soldier, sailor, and civilian.76 One of the most well-­k nown songs to emerge from the war came forth before the smoke had even cleared the battlefield. While spending the night aboard British Admiral Sir Cochrane’s flagship the HMS Tonnant, seeking the release of Americans captured by the British during the march on Washington, American l­awyer Francis Scott Key witnessed the stalwart defense of Fort McHenry. Throughout the night of September 13, Key listened to the intense bombardment, knowing that if British guns continued firing, the Americans still held the fort. The next morning, Key saw the flag still waving over the fort’s walls. Moved by the experience, he quickly put pen to paper to honor the defenders of the fort, eventually settling upon a 32-­line poem, arranged into four stanzas of eight lines each. Phrased as one



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long question, Key eventually set his verse to the words of a popu­lar En­glish drinking song, “To Anachreon in Heaven,” calling his own song, “The Defense of Fort McHenry.” When published in Baltimore at the encouragement of his brother-­in-­ law, Key’s song was an instant hit. Picked up by the Baltimore Patriot, who published it a week ­later, it continued to grow in popularity, so much so that it was eventually a­ dopted u­ nder its new name, “The Star Spangled Banner,” as the national anthem of the United States 116 years l­ater.77 Few American figures are as readily recognizable as “­Uncle Sam.” Although the popu­lar imagery of U ­ ncle Sam on the recruiting poster was a creation of James Montgomery Flagg during World War I, and Thomas Nast invoked the name “­Uncle Sam” as early as 1869, the sobriquet was actually a product of the War of 1812. Early in the war, Elbert Anderson contracted to supply provisions to the U.S. Army. Employing inspectors to ensure that the beef, pork, and other food supplies ­were up to federal standards, individual contractors ­were responsible for marking inspected products before they ­were sent to the government. In Anderson’s case, he branded the letters “E.A.—­U.S.” on the casks of commodities he provided as proof of their quality. When Samuel Wilson, one of Elbert Anderson’s employees, was asked by a fellow workman what the letters on the bottom of each barrel stood for, Wilson replied he did not know, ­unless it meant “Elbert Anderson and ­Uncle Sam.” The answer resonated among the other workmen employed by Anderson, and “­Uncle Sam” Wilson perpetuated the other­wise self-­serving story. As the war continued, a number of Anderson’s employees joined the local militia, and their tale of ­Uncle Sam continued to spread, as they further pop­u­lar­ized the tale when they encountered barrels provided by Anderson in the field. On September 7, 1813, the words “­Uncle Sam” first appeared in print in the Troy Post, accompanied by the observation that “The Letters U.S., on the government wagons & c, are supposed to have given rise to it.”78 From ­there, it was only a ­matter of time before the phrase “­Uncle Sam” enjoyed widespread use as testament of the presence of the U.S. government. Other cultural icons commemorated the events of the war in the years that followed. In 1822 American poet Samuel Woodworth penned “The Hunters of Kentucky,” hoping that a reminder of General Andrew Jackson’s 1815 defeat of the British at New Orleans would lead to an electoral victory for Old Hickory in the presidential election of 1824. Set to the tune of a popu­lar sea chantey, Woodworth described how the rifle-­toting “Kentucky Boys” joined Jackson in protecting the “booty” and “beauty” of New Orleans from British General Edward Pakenham and his army of veteran British troops. Hiding ­behind a “bank raised to hide their breasts,” the intrepid Kentucky frontiersmen defending the Crescent City emulated their colonial forebears, waiting ­until the British “winked,” before opening fire with telling effect. The song concluded with the promise that if the United States faced another threat, just “send for us Kentucky Boys, and w ­ e’ll protect ye ladies.”79 Other songs have more modern roots. In 1936, Arkansas school principal Jimmy Driftwood wrote the lyr­ics to a song he called “The ­Battle of New Orleans,” using an old fiddle tune entitled “The Eighth of January” as a foundation for his version of the ­battle. Recalling the exploits of ­those who “took a ­little trip” in 1814 and “opened up our squirrel guns” against the British with telling effect, Driftwood’s

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song was recorded by Johnny Horton in 1959. Horton’s version became the number-­ one hit for 1959, and when Billboard magazine released the top songs of the first 50 years of the Billboard Hot 100 Chart, “The ­Battle of New Orleans,” was ranked 28th.80 In addition to Driftwood’s “The ­Battle of New Orleans,” other depictions of the War of 1812 credit frontier riflemen for the American victory at the ­Battle of New Orleans. In the 1958 Paramount Pictures film, The Buccaneer, directed by Anthony Quinn and produced by Cecil B. DeMille, the January 8, 1815, ­Battle of New Orleans begins with General Andrew Jackson (played by Charlton Heston) peering into a dense fog pierced only by the distant sound of bagpipes played by kilt-­ clad Scottish highlanders of the British army. With the battlefield obscured by the swampy haze, “Old Hawk Face” lamented that his rifle-­toting volunteers could not see the ­enemy well enough to take effective aim, for if they could, the irascible Ezra Peavey (Henry Hull) and his fellow buckskin-­clad riflemen could open fire with sharp enough aim to “shoot out the eye of a chipmunk at three hundred yards.” Undeterred, the bold Jean Lafitte (played by Yul Brynner) told the general that he could give the signal for Jackson’s sharpshooters to open fire. Hopping over the cotton bale–­studded line, the fearless Lafitte crept onto the misty battlefield, eventually launching a flaming arrow into the air signaling that the British ­were in range. Seeing Lafitte’s flaring shot, Jackson’s riflemen opened fire and in short order, a defeated British army limped from the field, never to threaten New Orleans again.81

PAY AND COMPENSATION In the young United States, individuals who would willingly volunteer for military ser­vice ­were few and far between, particularly in times of peace. With myriad opportunities available for enterprising Americans, military ser­vice, aside from local demands required in mobilizing the militia, was something that few Americans would readily embrace. Since 1799, Army privates had received $5 per month, with noncommissioned officers receiving between $7 and $9, and officers receiving between $20 and $200 based upon rank.82 In late 1812, Congress raised the pay of privates and noncommissioned officers by $3, hoping to encourage enlistments, though this still meant that at only $8, privates still earned less than day laborers in the United States, who could be expected to earn between $10 and $12, although increasing military bounties increased the attractiveness of martial ser­vice.83 As Congress sought to increase the size of the Army in 1812, its only recourse to entice new recruits was to offer bonuses and other incentives to encourage men to enlist. Although Jeffersonian frugality greatly reduced federal coffers, the $12 bounty offered for a new enlistment ­after 1808 was soon raised to $31. This was offered in conjunction with a bonus of 160 acres of land a soldier would receive upon conclusion of his enlistment. Excluding the bounty land, compensation was a pittance, considering a common laborer could earn in excess of $10 per month. As the original inducements did not garner sufficient response, the government raised the bonuses in 1814, eventually offering $124 cash and 320 acres of land for



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new Army recruits. This represented a significant increase, as a common laborer might earn that amount in a single year, and considered in conjunction with property costs that often neared $1.00 an acre, the inducements represented a significant enticement. While t­hese inducements did much to encourage enlistments, it did not immediately improve the quality of U.S. troops. While recruits would help fill ranks, only discipline and experience could transform raw enlistees into effective soldiers.84 The situation was not much better with the militia. When called into federal ser­ vice, federal appropriations ensured that citizen-­soldiers who signed on to defend the nation would be compensated. During the course of the war, however, many states incurred expenses associated with calling out the militia in times not authorized by federal law, as was the case with New ­England, circumstances that gave rise to the convention that met at Hartford, Connecticut, beginning in December 1814. In other circumstances, some states, in efforts to encourage militia ser­ vice, extended additional emoluments to t­ hose who agreed to serve. Beginning in October 1814, the New York legislature authorized an additional $5 per month for volunteers, although the lack of funds in state coffers made this prompt remuneration an impossibility, producing claims that clogged state courts and legislatures for many years.85 In the absence of steady federal revenue, the government faced a constant challenge in paying soldiers promptly. Although law prevented the government from being more than two months in arrears in paying soldiers, bud­get shortcomings at both the state and federal level made prompt compensation for soldiers an impossibility. As early as October 1812, some state militiamen mutinied for lack of pay. As the war progressed, continued poor military per­for­mance only exacerbated the prob­lem. By 1814, the nation had reached a financial crisis. The War Department could not afford to keep the Springfield Armory producing muskets, and recruiting efforts in some military districts ground to a halt on account of a lack of funds. By the fall of 1814, soldiers’ pay in some cases was six to twelve months ­behind, recruits did not receive their bounties, and it was impossible to pursue deserters on account of a lack of funds. Continued financial challenges led Congress to consider extreme mea­sures that included raising the land bounty, recruiting minors, accepting state troops into federal ser­vice, and financial mea­sures such as the issuing of short-­term Trea­sury notes and additional loans and taxes. However, the current financial challenges did not reach full fruition ­because news of peace obviated the need.86

WEAPONRY Throughout the War of 1812, the standard U.S. military long arm was the muzzle-­ loading, flintlock musket. During the American Revolution, the United States had imported thousands of 0.69-­caliber, French 1763 “Charleville” muskets, and many of ­these remained in state and federal arsenals. Additionally, beginning in 1795, the Springfield Arsenal, in Springfield, Mas­sa­chu­setts, began copying the ­earlier French design, with the arsenal at Harpers Ferry, ­Virginia, following suit

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beginning in 1800. During the war, more than 155,000 muskets w ­ ere produced, with thousands of additional muskets being produced by private contractors located throughout the United States. Effective employment of the weapon in combat meant one t­hing: loading and firing as quickly as pos­si­ble. Emphasizing firepower as the critical determinant in winning a ­battle, it was incumbent upon soldiers to use the most efficient weapon to achieve this aim most effectively. Soldiers trained in accordance with Von Steuben’s “Blue Book” received instruction to load and fire in 15 motions, though other manuals sought to simplify a pro­cess that involved tearing open a paper cartridge, priming, loading, ramming, and firing.87 Regardless of the manual, a well-­trained soldier could be expected to fire three rounds a minute, though the high rate of fire came with a cost, as the ease with which the ball slid down the barrel made accurate, aimed fire all but impossible. But the musket had other advantages, for if it fouled or failed to discharge, it could be fitted with a bayonet, transforming it into an effective thrusting weapon. Although the legend of American riflemen was a flawed legacy of the ­Battle of New Orleans, some U.S. troops used ­rifles during the War of 1812. The U.S. ­Rifle Regiment, initially fielded in 1808, carried the 0.54-­caliber 1803 Harpers Ferry ­rifle, named a­ fter its initial date and point of manufacture, while civilian r­ ifles w ­ ere often employed by volunteers and militiamen on the frontier. Similar in design and construction to a musket, a ­rifle enjoyed greater effective range (in excess of 200 yards over the musket’s extreme range of 100 yards). Greater range came with a reduced rate of fire, as a ­rifle ball had to be wrapped in a greased patch and forced down the lands and grooves that spiraled down the weapon’s bore. While ­these grooves imparted a spin on the lead ball when fired that greatly increased its range and accuracy, it took increased effort to ram the ball home, thereby significantly decreasing the rate of fire to only a round or two per minute. The ­rifle also lacked the capacity to be fitted with a bayonet, making it an effective sniper’s weapon but mostly useless when closing with the e­ nemy.88 In addition to infantry, the United States intermittently fielded a number of cavalry units such as the two regiments of U.S. Light Dragoons, as well as a number of mounted volunteer or “ranger” companies. Mounted units w ­ ere armed with a variety of single-­shot, flintlock, muzzle-­loading pistols, as well as short-­barreled musketoons, carbines, or ­rifles, loading and firing ­these weapons ­either mounted or dismounting to fight on foot. Mounted troops, be they regular or volunteer, also carried heavy, curved sabers, though at the ­Battle of the Thames, many of Col­o­nel Richard Johnson’s Kentucky volunteers carried tomahawks as sidearms.89 Americans also employed cannon throughout the War of 1812, generally making use of two dif­fer­ent types of artillery: field cannon and naval or garrison guns. Field pieces, mounted on open-­wheel carriages, could be further divided into two general classes: cannon, longer barreled weapons fired at a relatively flat trajectory directly at the ­enemy, and howitzers, which used smaller amounts of powder to propel rounds at a high trajectory. Heavier guns, in the form of e­ ither long cannon or short-­barreled car­ron­ades, ­were the mainstay of naval and garrison armament. Mounted on truck carriages, crews muscled ­these guns into position through use of handspikes or block and tackle. Both ­were direct-­fire weapons and could



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only be fired at targets that could be seen and consequently ­were ­limited in range, circumstances further exacerbated by a smoky battlefield.90 In 1810, Major Amos Stoddard of the First Regiment of Artillery simplified Tadeusz Kosciuszko’s American Revolution–­era artillery manual.91 Stoddard’s manual, the standard for American artillerymen during the War of 1812, contained instructions for cannon on both field and garrison carriages. It dictated that a minimum of nine men ­were required to man a fieldpiece: a noncommissioned officer who directed the piece, two gunners, and six matrosses (artillerymen who ranked below gunners) who used drag ropes, or bricoles, to move the weapons into position. When serving their guns, three matrosses and one gunner served on each side of the piece, with the noncommissioned officer commanding from the rear. To fire the weapon, the first matross on the left side of the cannon used a “worm” (a screw mounted on a length of pole) to search the cannon, ensuring that no foreign objects remained from a previous firing. Once complete, he used a sponge (usually a sheepskin sponge mounted on a long ­handle) to clear the barrel and ensure that no glowing embers remained in the barrel. While he did this, the right gunner covered the cannon’s vent with his thumb, protected by a thumbstall, a leather sleeve that fit over his thumb. With the bore clear, the second matross on the right side of the gun inserted a prepared charge into the barrel, and the first matross rammed the charge snugly into the barrel. The right-­side gunner inserted a priming wire through the vent and punctured the cartridge and then primed the weapon by filling the vent with powder from a powder horn. With the weapon fully primed, the right gunner withdrew, and at the noncommissioned officer’s command, the left gunner applied a lit linstock to the priming charge, thereby igniting the piece. Once the cannon fired, the remaining matrosses returned the piece to the original firing position, and all repeated the pro­cess. Such practices generally resulted in a rate of fire of approximately one round per minute, though in extenuating circumstances, the rate of fire could be higher, with diminished accuracy and increased ­hazard to ­those crewing the guns.92

COMBAT The French Revolution transformed linear tactics that had dominated the battlefields of the eigh­teenth ­century, though the tens of thousands of casualties common on Eu­ro­pean battlefields often outnumbered the total number of combatants on American battlefields during the War of 1812. Nonetheless, tactics developed to employ massed troops in line (l’ordre monce) or column (l’ordre profund) found their way across the Atlantic and not only became the standard for units engaged during the conflict but also served as a harbinger of ­f uture displays of American military professionalism. Adherence to t­hese new tactical standards was best demonstrated by General Winfield Scott at the B ­ attles of Chippewa and Lundy’s Lane, where American troops demonstrated their ability to master the intricacies of linear tactics and perform on a level equal to, if not better, than British regulars. Having spent the summer of 1814 at Buffalo mastering the French Reglement of 1791, Scott marched his 1,300-­man brigade out for yet another after­noon of drill

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on July 5, 1814, when General Jacob Brown confronted Scott and ordered him to defend the American camp against the approaching British. Marching ­toward Chippewa, Scott’s force soon encountered more than 2,000 British troops led by veteran British commander Major General Phinias Riall. Believing that the gray-­ clad Americans ­were New York militia, Riall deployed his troops, expecting, as had other British generals, to drive the Americans from the field. Observing the American “militia” advancing ­toward him, Riall optimistically remarked that the militia would soon be defeated, though his tune changed quickly when Scott’s troops, with shot and shell ripping gaps in their ranks, wheeled smartly into the line of ­battle. Exclaiming that “­Those are regulars, by God,” Riall soon faced the product of per­ sis­ tent American discipline. Maneuvering to his advantage, Scott directed his men into a V-­shaped formation, with the Twenty-­Fifth and Eleventh Infantry Regiments on one side of the apex and the Ninth and Twenty-­Second Regiments on the other, placing the British One-­Hundredth Foot and Royal Scots Regiments into a crossfire. Employing buck and ball (three rounds of buckshot in addition to a single roundball loaded into a musket), American troops wrought havoc on the British infantry, eventually driving them from the field in what historian Henry Adams would label the “only occasion during the war when equal bodies of regular troops met face to face, in extended lines on an open plain in broad daylight.”93 Precise linear movements conducted by well-­trained regulars served as the exception, rather than the rule, during the War of 1812. ­Battles in North Amer­i­ca tended to be smaller in scale and w ­ ere products of the unique features of warfare in North Amer­i­ca. Such was the case during the Creek War, a product of the Red Stick attack on Fort Mims in August 1813. In the aftermath of what many Americans in the Southwest labeled a “massacre,” Tennessee militia Major General Andrew Jackson led an army of militia and U.S. regulars deep into the Creek Nation, winning victories at Tallusatchee on November 3 and Talladega on November 9, 1813. Having killed or captured nearly 500 ­enemy soldiers, Jackson and his men wintered at Fort Strother on the Coosa River, awaiting reinforcements. His army was down to only 150 men by early January 1814, but reinforcements soon swelled the ranks. Buoyed by the arrival of a brigade of Tennessee mounted militia commanded by General John Coffee, volunteers from Georgia, Cherokee, and Creeks allied with the United States; and the 600-­strong 39th U.S. Infantry regiment, Jackson prepared for a spring campaign to crush what remained of the Red Sticks.94 Anticipating the arrival of Jackson’s army, the Red Sticks had built Tohopeka, a stronghold town on a horseshoe-­shaped bend of the Tallapoosa River (near present-­ day Dadev­ille, Alabama). Protected by the curve of the river, the Red Sticks believed that the river’s swift current and deep ­water would deter a river crossing, leaving only a landward approach. To protect from an attack by land, they constructed a 400-­foot wall of dirt and pine logs across the width of the entire ­horse­shoe peninsula, complete with firing steps and loopholes. The position was so impressive, General Jackson wrote, “it is impossible to conceive a situation more eligible for defence than the one they had chosen and the skill which they manifested was ­really astonishing. It extended across the point in such a direction that a force approaching would be exposed to a double fire, while they lay entirely safe ­behind



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it. It would have been impossible to have raked it with cannon to any advantage even if we had possession of one extremity.”95 In late March 1814, Jackson’s army reached Tohopeka. He ordered General Coffee’s volunteers to take up positions along the river opposite the Red Stick village to cut off any pos­si­ble escape from the town, further limiting the possibility for escape by sending his Indian allies to swim the Tallapoosa River and steal Red Stick canoes that lined the riverbank. ­After offering the Red Sticks the opportunity to evacuate their ­women and ­children, Jackson’s guns opened fire on the Red Stick breastworks in the late morning of March 27. ­After General Coffee’s Indian allies set Tohopeka ablaze with flaming arrows, Jackson ordered the Thirty-­Ninth Infantry, commanded by Col­o­nel John Williams, to lead a bayonet charge against the log wall. For a few moments, both sides fired at each other, muzzle to muzzle, through the loopholes, such that “many of the ­enemy’s balls ­were welded to the bayonets” affixed to the regular’s muskets.96 Although Major Lemuel P. Montgomery was reported to be the first to reach the wall, he fell at its base, fatally shot through the head. Ensign Sam Houston, a recent transfer to the Thirty-­Ninth from the Seventh Infantry, was the first to reach the top of the parapet, though a Red Stick arrow pierced his thigh as he rallied his com­pany. Flush with adrenaline, Houston jumped down to the other side, joining the carnage that followed the troops as they swept into Tohopeka. Although the Red Sticks had hoped to protect their village by their fortifications at Horse­shoe Bend, they ­were overwhelmed by U.S. troops, who killed more than 900 Indians in the course of a major engagement that led to the signing of the Treaty of Fort Jackson and the end of Red Stick re­sis­tance in the Southwest.97 While American volunteers ­were effective against native opposition, when they faced seasoned British troops, the outcome was often less favorable, as was the case at Bladensburg in September 1814. Such debacles, however, ­were largely forgotten ­after the American victory at New Orleans, though the accomplishments of General Jackson’s “dirty shirts” ignored both the role played by regular infantry and artillery employed on the fields of Chalmette plantation, as well as the failings of Kentucky volunteers on the opposite side of the river. In resisting the British drive ­toward New Orleans, General Andrew Jackson ordered the preparation of several defensive lines on both sides of the Mississippi River: Jackson, Dupre, and Montreuil on the east bank of the river, and Bois Gervais and Jourdain, as well as positions eventually occupied by General David Morgan’s troops on the night of January 8, on the west side. When Jackson’s men began establishing a position at Chalmette on December 24, they took advantage of a series of “ancient mill-­races, so common in Louisiana, extending from the bank of the river to the Cypress swamp,” to anchor their positions. Once chosen, troops began digging in, using “all the pales of the fences in the vicinity . . . ​to line the parapet, and prevent the earth from falling into the canal.” By January 8, the mile-­long ramparts ­were, in some places, “as much as twenty feet thick at the top, though hardly five feet high, whilst in other places the ­enemy’s balls went through it at the base.” In addition to the rampart, Jackson’s chief engineer, Arsene Lacarrier Latour, also ordered the construction of a redoubt at the right of the American line and spaced no fewer than eight artillery positions mounting at least 12 cannon between the river and the swamp.

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British and American forces fight at point-­blank range during the ­Battle of New Orleans in January 1815. ­After efforts to flank the American position failed, the British launched a frontal assault upon the prepared American positions, leading to a chaotic melee that ended in a decisive American victory. (National Museum of the United States Army)

Conspicuously absent from Latour’s recollections, however, is any discussion regarding the use of cotton bales as part of the American fortifications, popu­lar culture and the sobriquet of the modern Seventh Regiment, U.S. Infantry Regiment, “The Cottonbalers,” to the contrary.98 Jackson commanded between 3,000 and 4,000 men in his defense of New Orleans, with U.S. regulars and uniformed volunteers occupying the critical portion of “Line Jackson” that anchored his defensive works to the Mississippi River. The rest of the line was held by seasoned Tennessee and Kentucky volunteers whose commanders had ­shaped them into an effective fighting force ­after months in the field. Far from being the freedom loving, free-­spirited hunters depicted in song, the troops commanded by Generals William Carroll and John Coffee w ­ ere “disciplined without having passed through the formal training of reviews and garrison maneuvers” and possessed combat experience gained ­under the difficult conditions of the 1813–1814 Creek War, making them more than ready to hold their own against any “equivalent” force who opposed them.99 The same could not be said for the soldiers of “Old Kentucky,” on the opposite side of the river, where General David Morgan strug­gled to mount a defense initially composed of only 300 Louisiana militiamen. Although Jackson augmented Morgan’s force with 400 Kentuckians commanded by Col­o­nel John Davis on January 4, ­these troops ­were a far cry from the intrepid “hunters of Kentucky,” ­later memorialized in song. Arriving at New Orleans only a few days ­earlier, ­these



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Kentucky volunteers ­were, in engineer Latour’s eyes, in “deplorable condition.” Not only did they lack appropriate clothing for an extended cold weather campaign, but their weapons ­were ­either “unfit for use” or missing altogether.100 Although Jackson secured clothing and muskets for them, their military per­for­mance on January 8 left much to be desired. Commodore Daniel T. Patterson, who commanded U.S. naval batteries supporting Line Jackson from across the river, watched with “extreme mortification and chagrin” as the Kentucky militia, when challenged by a concerted British onslaught, “abandon[ed] their breastwork . . . ​in the most shameful and dastardly manner, almost without a shot.” Their collapse nearly threatened Jackson’s victory on the opposite side of the river, leading General Jackson to report to Secretary of War James Monroe that “the Kentucky reinforcements, in whom so much reliance had been placed, ingloriously fled, drawing ­after them, by their example, the remainder of the forces; and thus yielding to the ­enemy that most formidable position.”101 Although the victory at New Orleans ended the war on a positive note, American combat per­for­mance tended to produce negative results. Inadequate training, in­effec­tive leadership, and lackluster per­for­mance resulted in far many more military losses than signal victories. The mixed rec­ord would prompt reform, and by the end of the next conflict, U.S. forces, both regular and volunteer, would perform much more effectively as a postwar drive for military professionalism transformed the War Department.

ELITE TROOPS In the months preceding the War of 1812, Congress passed legislation authorizing the formation of as many as six companies of rangers “for the protection of the frontiers.” ­These ranger companies ­were to be commanded by a captain, first lieutenant and second lieutenant, and one ensign, and would have 4 sergeants, 4 corporals, and 60 privates. Raised exclusively for frontier ser­vice, they ­were to arm and equip themselves and provide their own ­horses (if necessary).102 Despite their status as mounted or dismounted militia, ­these units drew upon a rich heritage of military ranging that stretched back to before the American Revolution. As early as the 1720s, “ranging” companies had emerged as a part of the American military tradition. Throughout early military conflicts in North Amer­i­ca, rangers had been or­ga­nized to conduct what some historians have labeled an “extirpative war” against the native inhabitants, which resulted in razing ­whole towns and killing all noncombatants. This “ranging” tradition continued ­until the War of 1812, though by that point, the tradition of ranging companies had evolved into small units skilled in frontier fighting, capable of small unit operations, cooperating with Indian scouts, maneuvering over difficult terrain, creating and avoiding wilderness ambushes, and hand-­to-­hand combat.103 By the War of 1812, rangers had come to depend upon their ­horses and used them extensively as they moved westward from the Piedmont highlands into Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri. Led by men such as Nathan Boone and his ­brother Daniel Morgan Boone, both of whom commanded ranger companies during the

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War of 1812 and ­later, rangers ­were highly sought ­after for frontier ser­vice. Possessing experience in wilderness fighting, they ­were often far more effective than regular army units unaccustomed to the more unconventional tactics used by Native Americans. Throughout the campaigns in the Old Northwest that started with Tippecanoe and culminated in the ­Battle of the Thames, many western commanders, General William Henry Harrison for one, actively recruited ranger companies and capitalized upon their expertise for military success.104 In addition to ranger companies, the U.S. Regiment of ­Rifles, or First Regiment of ­R ifles, could also be considered “elite” by the standards of the War of 1812. Raised in 1808 as part of President Jefferson’s response to the Chesapeake-­Leopard affair, the ­Rifle Regiment was formed to perform many of the same tasks as rangers, though would do so as a part of the regular U.S. Army. Influenced by British ­rifle units, they wore green uniforms cut in a similar style to regular coatees, though on campaigns they wore green hunting frocks trimmed with yellow fringe. They ­were armed with the Harpers Ferry model 1803 ­rifle, a short-­barreled weapon that was extremely accurate.105 ­After an initial baptism by fire in the ­Battle of Tippecanoe, the Regiment of ­Rifles served primarily upon the northern frontier, seeing combat at York, Fort George, Stoney Creek, Fort Erie, and Plattsburgh, as well as a number of smaller engagements. Based upon the successes of the first regiment, three additional r­ ifle regiments ­were raised in 1814, though of the three, only ele­ments of the Fourth Regiment, commanded by Col­o­nel James Gibson, saw combat. On September 17, 1814, Col­o­nel Gibson was slain during the defense of Fort Erie, becoming the highest ranking American regular officer to be killed during the Niagara campaign.106 When the war ended, all four ­rifle regiments ­were consolidated into the Regiment of Riflemen retained as part of the 1815 peace establishment. Sent to St. Louis in the Missouri Territory, the regiment established a number of frontier forts in Illinois, Wisconsin, and Arkansas territories and served as part of the 1819 Yellowstone Expedition ­u nder the command of Col­o­nel Henry Atkinson. The regiment was inactivated on June 1, 1821.107

HEALTH AND MEDICINE Neither medical science nor army medicine had advanced significantly in the de­cades between the end of the American Revolution and the beginning of the War of 1812, despite the fact that in March 1809 President James Madison nominated William Eustis, who had served as a surgeon during the American Revolution and had practiced medicine before transitioning to politics, to serve as secretary of war. Eustis’s experience notwithstanding, ­little was done to improve medical practices within the army. The relatively small size of the standing force obviated the need for a large medical staff, as it was believed that individual regiments would serve as in­de­pen­dent units. By the time General John Armstrong replaced Eustis as secretary following the latter’s resignation in late 1812, the increase in the size of the army made securing the surgeon and two surgeon’s mates for each regiment as required by law a challenge.



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Following the failed campaigns of 1812, Congress reor­ga­nized the General Staff, and with ­those changes came the first significant attempts to reform the army’s medical ser­vice. ­Under the March 1813 legislation, Congress added two new civilian posts, physician and surgeon general, and apothecary general to the General Staff. Two months ­later, President Madison defined the duties of the physician and surgeon general, granting them power to prescribe rules for the government of army hospitals; to appoint stewards and nurses; to call for and receive returns of medicines, surgical instruments, and hospital stores; to maintain regimental medical chests; and to make medical estimates for the army, with the apothecary general assisting in ­these duties. On June 11, 1813, Doctor James Tilton, a hospital surgeon during the American Revolution, was asked to serve as the first physician and surgeon general. At age 67, he was reluctant to accept the post, but did so when he discovered his duties ­were to be more executive in nature. In 1781, Tilton had published Eco­nom­ical Observations on Military Hospitals, and the Prevention and Cure of Diseases Incident to the Army. Upon assuming the position as physician and surgeon general, he undertook an inspection tour of army hospitals and camps on the northern frontier to evaluate military medical practices. Much to his surprise, he discovered that many sanitation lessons learned in the last war ­were being ignored. Taking immediate action, he relocated hospitals and eliminated incompetent or negligent personnel, and instructed t­hose who remained to pay greater attention to cleanliness, maintain stricter discipline, and reduce hospital overcrowding. The Army Medical Department made ­great strides improving conditions throughout the ser­ vice, with the duties of medical officers and other sanitary personnel being formally outlined in the Regulations for the Medical Department, issued in the General ­Orders of December 1814. Concurrent with Tilton’s appointment, the War Department named Francis Le­Barron to serve as apothecary general. LeBarron, a naval surgeon’s mate during the Quasi-­War, had designed a medical chest capable of addressing the needs of a 900-­man regiment for a year. The size and weight of the chest made it unwieldy in field conditions, and he was forced to downsize, replacing the larger chest with a 160-­pound field version, to be accompanied by storage chests weighing between 120 and 200 pounds. During the War of 1812, two dif­fer­ent types of hospitals provided comfort for sick, infirm, and wounded soldiers. A series of relatively permanent general hospitals had been established throughout the United States ­behind the lines but near significant troop concentrations. ­These ­were located along the New York frontier at Brownville, Buffalo, Greenbush, Lewiston, Malone, Plattsburg, Sacketts Harbor, and Williamsville, and at Burlington, Vermont. Additional in­de­pen­dent facilities ­were established at Detroit, Michigan, and New Orleans, Louisiana, while hospitals at Greenleaf’s Point (now Fort McNair), on Capitol Hill, and at Norfolk, ­Virginia, had been created for troops defending the national capital. In addition to the permanent facilities, Tilton, based upon his experiences in the American Revolution, created mobile field hospitals that he called “flying hospitals.” The flying hospitals accompanied troops on campaign and served as a first-­response fa­cil­i­ty before funneling more serious casualties to permanent facilities in the rear.

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Dr. James Mann of New York distinguished himself as perhaps the most impor­ tant army surgeon of the war. Not only did he serve as medical director of the Northern Army, he also managed hospitals at Greenbush, Malone, and Plattsburg, in addition to a temporary hospital at Fort Niagara. His memoir, published ­after the war in an effort to remedy what he regarded as a lack of knowledge regarding the medical sciences from the previous war, offers a unique insight into the duties and challenges of military medicine. When he arrived with the Northern Army, he discovered sanitary conditions to be extremely bad, due to the inexperience of the officers of the army and the attendant general lack of discipline. Soldiers in the camps frequently fell victim to respiratory diseases, including highly fatal pneumonias, and ­were also susceptible to diarrheas and dysentery, illnesses that he believed could be linked with the poor sanitation habits and general ignorance with re­spect to cleanliness on the part of both officers and enlisted men. A constant critic of ­these conditions and of their ­causes, Mann’s tireless efforts led to considerable improvement in some commands, while o­ thers persisted in their disregard of sanitation to the end of the war.108 Although Amer­i­ca’s fledgling military bureaucracy did not keep accurate rec­ ords, it is estimated that nearly 20,000 soldiers, sailors, privateers, and civilians died during the course of the war. Of ­these, only 2,260 ­were combat casualties. Based upon t­ hese circumstances, Mann was correct in his assessment that “armies are wasted by diseases, generated by them and their own filth,” as illness and disease ­were greater killers than British bullets.109 Mann’s suggestions notwithstanding, the short duration of the war ­limited its potential for offering greater contributions to medical knowledge, due largely to the fleeting opportunities to observe and rec­ord medical findings. That, coupled with the transient nature of the U.S. Army Medical Department, greatly l­imited its utility. Despite the efforts of Tilton, Mann, and o­ thers, Congress abolished the position of physician and surgeon general of the Army in March 1815. Although anecdotal medical knowledge was preserved in Mann’s memoirs, it was not u­ ntil 1818 that a U.S. Army Medical Department was established to both collect data and ensure that American soldiers had access to adequate medical care while serving in uniform.

PRISONERS OF WAR Following defeats at Queenston Heights, Detroit, Fort Mackinac, and elsewhere, as well as a consequence of naval engagements on the high seas, British and Canadian forces captured Americans and held them prisoners of war (POWs). Holding ­these prisoners for the long term represented significant challenges for the British and the Americans. The United States could not afford to maintain large prisons, and although the British did so in Eu­rope, ­these ­were filled to capacity with prisoners from the wars with France, and they, too, could not afford to establish additional facilities in North Amer­i­ca. In a conflict that occupied half a continent, prisoners of war represented a significant logistical challenge, as individuals captured in ­battle w ­ ere often a considerable distance from any location suitable for imprisonment, particularly as far as the British ­were concerned. Consequently,



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the British often paroled captured U.S. militiamen and Army officers, demanding that prisoners simply sign a document pledging that they would return home and abstain from rejoining the fight. In lieu of parole, U.S. regular soldiers and militia officers ­were often sent to Halifax and imprisoned in filthy, vermin-­ridden barracks, with inadequate food and ­limited, if any, medical care. British prisoners ­were typically sent deep into the United States, where the prospect of escape and rejoining their forces was slim. While imprisoned, both sides attempted to use prisoners as bargaining chips in hopes of exchanging them for other prisoners. A quick release, however, was not always the case. At the ­Battle of Queenston Heights, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Winfield Scott and more than 900 Americans ­were captured when the bulk of militia forces refused to cross the Niagara River in support of the U.S. regulars who had established an initial foothold on Canadian territory. The capture of the Americans at Queenston Heights soon gave rise to greater issues, particularly the right of expatriation, for the United States and ­Great Britain held two distinctly dif­fer­ent views on the subject. The United States considered national allegiance a transient property and believed it was pos­si­ble for an individual to transfer citizenship to a new nation through a pro­cess of naturalization, should they so choose. For ­Great Britain, a citizen born in ­England remained a citizen of ­England in perpetuity and when reclaimed, e­ ither when serving on foreign vessels or in the army of another country, would be subject to all penalties associated with committing treason. Such ­were the circumstances that prompted the British policies of impressment, and similar circumstances also faced “American” prisoners captured by the British during the war. For t­ hose prisoners captured at the B ­ attle of Queenston Heights, they w ­ ere initially sent to Quebec and then to Boston, at which point Col­o­nel Scott secured an exchange. While making the pro­ cess of the exchange on board a British transport ship, Scott discovered British officers isolating 23 “American prisoners” who, by virtue of confession or accent, the British identified as Irishmen. Placing them in irons, the British intended to return them to ­England and try them for treason. Upon his exchange, Scott regaled President Madison with the tale, calling upon politicians in Washington for legislation allowing the United States to take retaliatory action. In March 1813, Congress granted the retaliatory power, and shortly thereafter President Madison issued instructions for U.S. troops to place 23 British officers in close confinement and hold them as hostages contingent upon the release of the imprisoned Americans. The British retaliated by placing 46 Americans in close confinement, also ­under the implied threat of punishment if anything untoward happened to the British POWs. The United States responded in kind, confining another 46 Britons, and the situation continued to escalate, ­until the British Admiralty Court in Halifax returned the Irish American prisoners to regular confinement. From this point forward, when other American soldiers born of British dominions ­were captured and made prisoner, not another was isolated and tried for treason during the remainder of the war. In response, American forces simply held a comparable number of prisoners to ensure the continued safe treatment of American citizens held by the British.110 While American troops taken on land faced the prospect of speedy exchange and return to American soil, Americans captured as part of warship or privateer crews often found themselves imprisoned overseas. By the end of the war, more

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than 5,000 Americans (including nearly 500 of African descent) ­were held in Dartmoor Prison, a dank, granite fortress constructed in southwest ­England in 1806 to ­house prisoners taken in the war with France. British guards saw their ser­vice at the prison as personal punishment, so they allowed the prisoners considerable autonomy, and the interned Americans created their own society, establishing their own government, ­legal system, market, entertainment, and religious ser­vices. When ­these prisoners received news of the signing of the Treaty of Ghent, they anticipated release and repatriation back to the United States, but the British government refused to take action prior to American ratification of the treaty. In March, British officials fi­nally informed Americans of the month-­old treaty, but in the interim, had done l­ ittle to facilitate the return of the Americans to the United States. An unwise decision on the part of the prison’s commandant, Captain T. G. Shortland, to limit rations to hard biscuits instead of the bread the prisoners demanded, only added to the growing animosity between the British and the American prisoners, already angered by apparent unwillingness of the British to grant them their freedom. On April 6, 1815, a group of prisoners strayed beyond the limits of their designated courtyard, and when pressed to return by their captors, began taunting them. As the commandant called out more guards, the crowd of prisoners grew and began yelling and throwing stones at the growing number of soldiers. Fi­nally, the jittery soldiers opened fire, killing 7 and wounding 31 more before the remainder could be forced back into their cell blocks. Criticized as an act of “butchery, barbarity and inveteracy,” British authorities launched a full investigation into the incident, eventually exonerating the guards on grounds that it was justifiable hom­i­cide. British foreign Secretary Castlereagh regretted the “unfortunate incident,” eventually offering compensation to the families of the deceased prisoners on behalf of the British government.111 Before the war had ended, a new system was developed to facilitate prisoner exchange between the United States and ­Great Britain. The Cartel of May 12, 1813, negotiated by British and American diplomats, was an offshoot of the ­earlier Halifax agreement that governed the exchange of naval personnel. The Cartel not only ensured the humane treatment of prisoners but also established a prisoner exchange system based upon rank-­for-­rank or its equivalent. Although not without its challenges, particularly with re­spect to bureaucratic functionality and effective rec­ord keeping, the equivalency system developed during the War of 1812 persisted well past the conflict’s conclusion and provided the foundation for ­future American prisoner exchanges well into the American Civil War.112

HOME FRONT Most of the War of 1812 was fought on American soil, and from the outset, the conflict had considerable effect on the American home front. When war was declared, ­favor or opposition to the conflict came down along both partisan and sectional lines. Republicans favored the prospect of war, expecting the country to close ranks and put partisanship aside while prosecuting the war to its greatest extent. Much to their surprise, Federalists throughout the country opposed the war



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and came together in a voice of opposition. At the same time, Southerners and Westerners who had sent the War Hawks to Congress anticipated territorial aggrandizement, while New En­glanders lamented further economic stagnancy and a renewal of the attacks on shipping they had faced as a product of previous trade embargoes. When news of the declaration of war reached Baltimore, recently emerged as the third-­largest city in the country, the results ­were the most profound. Although the city generally demonstrated Republican leanings, prominent Federalist mouthpieces ­were pre­sent in the city, most notably the Baltimore Federalist Republican, a newspaper published by Alexander Contee Hanson and Jacob Wagner. An opponent of Republican policies since its founding in 1808, Hanson and Wagner quickly incurred the wrath of Baltimore Republicans once war was declared. Two days a­ fter the war’s declaration, the pair attacked the conflict, labelling it “unnecessary and inexpedient.” When their opinions went public, t­ here was an immediate response. The next day, a crowd, a large portion of which comprised recently arrived Irish and German immigrants with no love for the British, attacked and destroyed the offices of the paper. As anti-­Federalist vio­lence continued throughout the week, city officials, War Hawks all, expressed dissatisfaction with ­those perpetrating acts of vio­lence, but took no action to stop it. Undeterred, Hanson rented an imposing brick building on Charles Street in Baltimore and printed another issue of the Federalist Republican, castigating ­those who had attacked him. When the paper appeared a week ­later, a second riot ensued, and the editors barricaded themselves in their offices. Negotiating with city officials for protection, Hanson and his supporters ­were relocated to the city jail, but the mob was undeterred. Ransacking the city jail, they attacked Hanson and his Federalist supporters, killing American Revolution veteran James Lingan and severely wounding 11 o­ thers, including Henry “Light Horse Harry” Lee.113 While the perpetrators of the Baltimore vio­lence went unpunished, the riots brought attention to the deep divisions over the war that wracked the country throughout the course of the conflict. Opposition on the home front continued to grow, particularly when towns along the New ­England coast faced the wrath of British raiding parties. In April 1814, 220 British soldiers made their way up the Connecticut River t­oward Essex, where, despite the presence of Connecticut militia, British troops destroyed 28 American ships at anchor off Pettipaug Point.114 Four months ­later, another British force targeted Stonington, though stalwart militiamen manning the town’s cannon managed to hold them off for four days, eventually forcing the four British warships to withdraw.115 The desire to protect the region against further attacks, coupled with a need to address constitutional concerns and ensure moderate control, prompted New E ­ ngland Federalists to come together at Hartford in the winter of 1814 in perhaps the most profound demonstration against the war. In December 1814, 26 New ­England delegates came together in Hartford, Connecticut, initially seeking federal aid to offset defense costs, which ­were, in anticipation of further British raids, rapidly spiraling out of control. Although rising costs had prompted the meeting of delegates from Mas­sa­chu­setts, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Vermont, by the time the group actually convened,

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prospects of peace had reduced the severity of their concerns, such that when envoys from Connecticut and Mas­sa­chu­setts brought their concerns to Washington, they arrived in conjunction with news of the Treaty of Ghent, rendering their concerns moot. As a constitutional convention, party caucus, and defense conference, it served its purpose, albeit one that became irrelevant once peace was declared.116 The final challenge to the American home front came ­after the conflict’s apparent conclusion. On December 16, 1814, General Andrew Jackson declared martial law in New Orleans, ruling the city with his iron hand to ensure its successful defense. Jackson maintained his draconian policies well ­after the January 8 victory over the British. When the general received notice of the ratification of the Treaty of Ghent on March 13, 1815, he restored civil authority, pardoning and releasing any and all persons confined for their war­time transgressions. That, however, did not restore favorable relations between Jackson and the citizens of New Orleans. While the city had been ­under military rule, Jackson had arrested Louis Louallier and subjected him to a court-­martial. A member of the Louisiana legislature, Louallier was accused of “inciting mutiny and disaffection in the army” by publicly denouncing Jackson’s policies and calling for the reinstatement of civil courts. When Federal District Judge Dominick Augustin Hall sought a writ of habeas corpus for the imprisoned legislator, Jackson had Hall arrested. Seeking to restore the primacy of civil authority over the military, Judge Hall eventually charged Jackson with contempt for refusing to obey the ­orders of the court. Although Jackson appeared in civilian attire at the trial, Hall ultimately held the general accountable for repressing constitutional rights in war­time, fining him $1,000 for his transgressions. Jackson willingly paid the fine, though he never truly considered the greater implications of his actions, justifying them on the grounds that he saved the nation. Jackson’s victory, coupled with the sense that the Treaty of Ghent marked a successful conclusion to the war, forced the question of military suppression of civil authority into the shadows for nearly 30 years, fueling Jackson’s own flawed belief that the nation’s elected leadership approved his actions.117

VETERANS’ ISSUES When the War of 1812 began, more than 1.1 million white males between the ages of 18 and 45 considered themselves eligible for military ser­vice, with more than 700,000 already enrolled in the militia of the vari­ous states. Of ­those, it is estimated that more than 450,000 served for some significant capacity in the militia, with another 63,000 serving in the regular army. When all had initially enlisted, only a small number had been promised any sort of long-­term compensation for their ser­vice. Laws authorizing regular army enlistment passed in 1812 and again in 1813 had authorized land bounties of 160 acres for ­those who joined the regular army for the war’s duration, with that bounty increased to 320 acres ­later in the war when recruiting became difficult. For ­those who served in the militia and volunteers, they w ­ ere promised l­ ittle and received much less. Only t­ hose with disabilities caused by military ser­vice received anything, receiving a paltry $5 monthly



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pension afforded officers, with ­those pensions being extended to their ­widows and surviving dependents upon the occasion of the veteran’s death.118 Veterans of the War of 1812 ­were largely forgotten ­until nearly 40 years ­later, when aged veterans began seeking relief, largely in light of new land grants recently extended to the generation of veterans recently returned from the Mexican War. Prompted by news of what recent veterans from Mexico had received from the government for their ser­vice, the veterans of the War of 1812, by now in their fifties and sixties, began to demand comparable land warrants, essentially the only long-­ term compensation offered for war­time ser­vice. As originally outlined by statute, veterans had to serve a minimum of five years or had to die in uniform to receive a land warrant or have it granted to their survivors. Of the approximately 63,000 regulars who served for the duration of the war, nearly half of them took advantage of ­these new land claims, filing titles to land in Illinois, Michigan, Arkansas, and ­later, Missouri. Left out of ­these opportunities, however, ­were countless thousands of short-­service militiamen who did not make a long-­term military commitment. In 1826, a group of officers in New York came together, calling themselves the Military Society of the War of 1812. Seeking to remember their ser­vice and memorialize their fellow comrades in arms, their organ­ization quickly assumed a po­liti­ cal function, petitioning Congress for additional bounty lands and ser­vice pensions. Even before the War with Mexico, Baltimore had established itself as a center for ­battle commemoration. Not only had Baltimoreans erected a monument commemorating the 1814 ­battle in September 1815, but less than 30 years ­later, veterans came together to charter the Association of Defenders of Baltimore. When they paraded alongside veterans from Pennsylvania, ­Virginia, and the District of Columbia in 1842, they did so not only to memorialize their ser­vice but also to raise interests and funds to offset funeral costs for veterans unable to pay for their own funeral expenses. By the late 1840s, veterans of the War of 1812 began mobilizing the recently perfected tools of popu­lar politics to achieve additional veterans’ benefits. Holding petition drives, local meetings, national conventions, and marches on Washington, they sought additional entitlements for ­those who had sacrificed in time of war, in the pro­cess shaping a new type of po­liti­cal organ­ization that would be employed to represent the next generation of veterans’ interests in the twentieth ­century. In 1849–1850 alone, War of 1812 veterans secured the signatures of more than 5,000 veterans in petitioning the federal government for land grants. T ­ hese petitions w ­ ere altogether new, as t­ hese aged veterans believed that the government should give land away not as an incentive to encourage young men to new military ser­vice, but as a reward for old men who had proudly served in the wars of their youth. As the veterans of the War of 1812 continued to work the cause, they initially won over individual states, with Mississippi, Arkansas, Indiana, and Pennsylvania eventually passing resolutions favoring land grants for aged veterans. Eventually, 11 states passed resolutions in ­favor of extending pensions to veterans of the War of 1812. Local organ­izations in several states circulated petitions between 1853 and

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1855, with more than 90 ­percent of them originating in Pennsylvania and New York. Their efforts culminated in the passage of the Bounty Land Act of 1850, which offered prorated land grants for short-­service veterans of the War of 1812. Militiamen who served as many as four months received 40 acres, ­those who served nine months received 80 acres, and ­those who served more than nine months received a full pension of 160 acres. ­Under the terms of the 1850 legislation, nearly 150,000 veterans benefited, but only a small fraction (less than 20 ­percent) received the full land grant. Subsequent legislation allowed veterans to sell ­these initial warrants for cash. Emboldened by their success, veterans or­ga­nized in pursuit of even greater benefits. In addition to conventions in Poughkeepsie and Syracuse, New York, a “national” convention of Soldiers of the War of 1812 was held in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in January 1854, with 873 delegates from 12 states and the District of Columbia. In addition to sharing war stories, they called for 160-­acre land grants to all veterans, regardless of time served. They soon or­ga­nized a “Committee of Fifty” to lobby Congress, naming Pennsylvania veteran Joel Sutherland as their president. Sutherland epitomized the emerging veteran activist. A gradu­ate of the University of Pennsylvania Medical School in 1812, he had served as assistant surgeon in the “Ju­nior Artillerists” of Philadelphia before transferring to the Pennsylvania state militia, serving as a lieutenant col­o­nel of ­rifles, concurrent with winning an election to the state ­house of representatives in 1813. ­After serving as physician to the Marquis de Lafayette on one of his visits to Philadelphia, he went on to found the Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia, and a­ fter a term in the state senate, he abandoned medicine to practice law. Elected as a Jacksonian Demo­crat to the Twentieth Congress and four succeeding Congresses (serving from 1827 to 1837), he crossed over and unsuccessfully ran as a Whig in both the 1836 and 1838 elections. Sutherland’s mix of military ser­vice (albeit ­limited) and po­liti­cal acumen as a former congressman effectively prepared him to lead the newly formed United Brethren of the War of 1812. Holding their first (and, as it turned out, only) convention in Washington, D.C., in January 1855, the United Brethren planned their convention to be held in conjunction with the 40th anniversary of the ­Battle of New Orleans, establishing convention headquarters at Washington’s Presbyterian Church. With 598 delegates meeting, ­those in attendance included five senators, ten members of Congress, seven ex-­congressmen, and three governors, including such luminaries as Sam Houston and Lewis Cass. With the tone of the meeting set by James M. Porter, who had risen from private to col­o­nel in the war, and New York Militia General James Nye, the veterans, in addition to seeking a memorial for their contributions, continued to press for land warrants. Two months ­after the final gavel fell at the United Brethren convention, Congress passed the Old Soldiers Act of 1855. The act granted ­every veteran of the War of 1812 who served more than 14 days’ ser­vice 160 acres of land. ­Under terms of this legislation, more than 66,800 veterans received land warrants, with provisions eventually extended to chaplains, teamsters, flotillamen, Marines, sailors, and members of the Quartermaster Corps. While more than 39 million acres ­were distributed, the vast majority of the veterans exchanged their warrants for cash, no



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doubt a consequence of their advanced age. Although the success of the United Brethren of the War of 1812 in securing land grants doomed them as a po­liti­cal organ­ization over the long term, that did not prevent at least some of their members from pressing for additional pensions. Joel Sutherland spent the remaining years of his life seeking a ser­vice pension, though at the time of his death in 1861, he was unsuccessful. It would take another de­cade and the experience of the American Civil War for the U.S. government to pass, in 1871, a Pension Act, which provided for all ex-­soldiers and sailors who served at least 60 days, authorizing them a lifetime pension of $8 per month, regardless of ­whether or not they suffered from “reduced circumstances.” Further provisions levied in 1878 extended ­these benefits to ­widows and ­children of veterans. Hiram Cronk, a member of the New York State Volunteer Militia who served three and a half months in uniform in 1814, was the last surviving pensioned veteran of the War of 1812 when he died in 1905 at the age of 105.119

MILITARY DISCIPLINE When the Constitution was ratified in 1789, Article I, Section 8 designated Congress with the power to regulate the U.S. Army. Although Articles of War had been in place to govern the Continental Army during the American Revolution, it was not u­ ntil April 10, 1806, that Congress enacted a new Articles of War to govern discipline in the U.S. Army. To ensure that all soldiers, old and new, understood the Articles of War and the punishment for violating them, all new enlistees ­were required to swear, within six days of their enlistment, before a civil magistrate that they would “bear true faith and allegiance to the United States of Amer­ i­ca, that they ­will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies or opposers whatsoever; and observe and obey the o­ rders of the President of the United States, and the ­orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the Rules and Articles for the government of the Armies of the United States.” This oath, which persisted in some form or another into the twenty-­first ­century, continues to provide a foundation for ser­vice in the U.S. military. During the first year of the war, officers maintained discipline by encouraging compliance with the Articles of War. On March 3, 1813, Congress passed additional legislation requiring the secretary of war to prepare general regulations for the Army. The ensuing “Military Laws and Rules and Regulations for the Armies of the United States,” was approved by the president on May 1, 1813. It contained the 1806 Articles of War, in addition to the statutes and regulations relating to the military establishment, and provided a foundation for discipline in the U.S. Army while conducting operations on U.S. soil. T ­ hese regulations remained in place, with minor modification, ­until superseded by the Uniform Code of Military Justice in 1951. Although the Articles of War provided a means to ­settle disputes, officers sometimes resorted to extralegal means to resolve their own differences. Duels w ­ ere not uncommon among officers during the War of 1812. Andrew Jackson was no stranger to such vio­lence, as he not only tried to mediate between two Tennessee

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militia officers but also participated in a second duel just prior to taking command of the Tennessee volunteers in the Creek War, which stemmed from his efforts to intervene in the first. As a result of what became a ­r unning gun ­battle between Jackson and Thomas Hart Benton and his ­brother Jesse throughout the streets of Nashville, not only did Jackson commence the Creek campaign with his arm in a sling but also suffered from bone fragments in his arm for the remainder of his life.120 While outrageous by ­today’s standards, such events ­were merely uncommon in the early Army Officer Corps. Following the failed 1812 campaign against Fort Erie, Peter B. Porter condemned the martial failings of General Alexander Smyth, which led to Smyth challenging Porter to an illegal duel. At a mutually agreed upon time, the pair made their way to an isolated location, loaded pistols, and exchanged fire from 12 paces distances. When no one was hurt, the two officers reconciled their differences, though Smyth shortly thereafter left the army in disgrace and was dropped from the rolls.121 Among the rank and file of the Army common disciplinary prob­lems stemmed from drunkenness, disobedience of ­orders, stealing, and acts of vio­lence directed ­toward noncommissioned officers. In the prewar army, officers used physical force to enforce discipline, though on May 16, 1812, Congress outlawed the “infliction of corporeal punishment by stripes or lashes,” forcing officers to find other means to discipline their men. When accused of a violation of the Articles of War, a court-­ martial ensued, and soldiers faced trial for their transgressions. If convicted, ­there might be the continued application of corporal punishment, such as beating a soldier with a piece of rope with a knotted end. Soldiers might face confinement in the post guard­house, forfeiture of pay or their daily whiskey ration, or additional duties such as hard ­labor ­until they had met terms agreed upon during the course of the trial by the officers who presided over them. Other punishments could be considered public humiliation, as soldiers ­were sentenced to stand on a stump for one hour a day or w ­ ere confined to a hole.122 Of all the transgressions perpetrated by the common soldier, desertion was the most serious. Desertion was such a prob­lem at the beginning of the war that four months in, President Madison issued a ­pardon to all who surrendered themselves and returned to duty. In the interim, the Army sought other means to enforce discipline, including pay stoppage, suspension of the whiskey ration, and public humiliation, including paddling. During the winter of 1813, militia General Andrew Jackson faced the challenge of continuing a campaign when his troops had been neither paid nor fed. When his soldiers (and their officers) petitioned to return home, Jackson not only rejected their proposal but also formed up his Tennessee volunteers in front of the militia, preventing them from returning home. The next day, he used his militia in a similar fashion, obstructing the path of departure for the volunteers. A few days l­ ater when the situation failed to improve, his troops engaged in an outright mutiny, with a ­whole brigade attempting to desert. Grabbing a musket, he aimed it ­toward the men and threatened to shoot them. While that broke the rebellion, Jackson faced a similar challenge the next month, when the same body of men formed up to march home. At the core of the dispute was a difference in opinion. Having agreed to serve for one year, the volunteers believed that their period of ser­vice, which they counted from the moment they had been called upon



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by the government, was over. Jackson, their commander, disagreed, believing that one year constituted 365 days on campaign. Anticipating their departure, the irascible general formed his artillery detachment, who trained their cannon on the volunteers as they prepared to march home. Jackson pleaded with them, and they did nothing, whereupon the general ordered his artillerymen to light their matches and prepare to fire. At that point, the rebellion crumbled.123 Another desertion-­related episode followed Jackson for the remainder of his ­career, largely as a product of a less-­than-­favorable outcome. John Woods, who had enlisted in the Tennessee militia at age 18, was standing guard one cold February morning, and upon obtaining permission from another officer to get a blanket, left his post. Distracted by fellow soldiers eating breakfast, Woods was accosted by another officer and refused to return to his post, and the pair got into a dispute that resulted in Woods’s arrest. When Woods refused to return to his post, rumors of a “mutiny” raced through camp. Hearing about the alleged mutiny, Jackson sought to make an example of the poor private. Upon convening a court-­martial, the court found against him and sentenced him to death. At most, Woods was guilty of insubordination, but Jackson’s desire to make him an example and demonstrate the need for discipline doomed the young soldier to death, and he was executed on March 14, 1814, in front of the entire army, an act for which Jackson would face considerable criticism ­later in his po­liti­cal ­career.124 Though sharply criticized, Jackson was not the only officer to take advantage of punishment of a few soldiers to make a larger demonstration for an entire army. For General Winfield Scott, desertion became such a prob­lem in the camp at Buffalo that he tried to solve the prob­lem by making an example of six men who deserted between April and May 1814. Convening a court-­martial presided over by Major Thomas Sidney Jesup, the court sentenced one to have his head shaved, ears cropped (maimed), be branded, and drummed out of ser­vice. The remaining five deserters ­were sentenced to death by firing squad. The five convicted men ­were marched in front of their brigade and ordered to stand in front of five prepared coffins. An officer gave the order to fire, and five shots rang out. While all five men fell initially, one l­ ater ­rose, as Scott had de­cided to p­ ardon one of the convicted on account of his youth. The act had profound effect, and disciplinary issues among the Buffalo brigade dropped precipitously.125 The efforts by Jackson and Scott failed to stop the desertion prob­lem, however, which persisted throughout the remainder of the war. The president’s continued offers of ­pardons for ­those who returned to ser­vice notwithstanding, men continued to desert, and the Army continued to mete out punishments to prevent further departures. By the end of 1814, 146 soldiers had been executed for desertion.

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE WAR OF 1812 As the first war that the United States fought as an in­de­pen­dent nation, what is remarkable about the War of 1812 is the degree to which the conflict lacked focus, direction, and cohesion, but at the same time had impor­tant favorable consequences to the nation as a w ­ hole. Once war was declared, t­here was very l­ittle direction

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from e­ ither the president as commander in chief or the U.S. military leadership to ensure that military operations would lead to a favorable resolution of the war. The result was dire consequences for the nation, with few victories won, a national capital destroyed, and a treaty whose status quo antebellum terms settled precious ­little. Nonetheless, in the years that followed, the nation, bolstered by a newfound sense of nationalism generated from the war itself, grew and prospered and took significant steps to reform its military establishment to ensure that it would never again face such calamities. With the pos­si­ble exception of the global war on terror, t­ here are few American conflicts that lacked a clearly articulated objective as much as did the War of 1812. In his war message, President James Madison clearly outlined the ­causes of the war, citing violations of the American flag at sea in the limitation of ­free trade, the impressment of American sailors, Eu­ro­pean blockades to injure American agricultural and marine interests, and attacks by Indians on the frontiers. But once fighting began, the war’s campaigns had minimal impact upon ­these ­causes. The U.S. Navy lacked the offensive power to challenge the Royal Navy, American military offensives against Canada stalled on ­every front, and Indian attacks on the frontier continued. And as the war progressed, the situation only worsened, especially ­after Napoleon was exiled. In the absence of a French threat, G ­ reat Britain was able to operate against the United States with near impunity, threatening the American coasts, leaving the national capital a smoking ruin, and very nearly capturing New Orleans, poised to emerge as a ­great port in the de­cades that followed. Andrew Jackson’s victory over the British at New Orleans provided the sense that the United States “won” the war. The terms of the Treaty of Ghent notwithstanding, the victory gave many Americans the sense that ­earlier losses had not been in vain. This successful ending also ensured that in the de­cades that followed, the United States would grow and prosper. Forced to develop domestic manufacturing and become more self-­sufficient in the temporary loss of access to Eu­ro­pean markets, the end of the conflict unleashed American economic development, and in the de­cades that followed, a market revolution transformed the nation. From a military perspective, the war’s martial shortcomings sparked reform and reor­ga­ni­za­tion of the War Department. In the de­cades that followed, a restructuring of the secretary of war’s portfolio at the capable direction of John C. Calhoun would result in much more efficient army bureaucracy and clear divisions between what would become a much more effective U.S. Army staff and line. West Point would be transformed into an effective center of American military education for ­f uture officers, teaching not only the art and science of war but also emerging as the premier sole source of engineering education in the United States. Recognizing that t­ here was l­ ittle difference between a civilian road and a military road, and that a canal and a moat differed only in function, the nation came to realize the utility of having a scientifically trained Corps of Engineers at its disposal. At the same time, the development of standardized military regulations and a tactical manual, largely through the efforts of Major General Winfield Scott, would ensure that the U.S. Army of the ­f uture would overcome many of the doctrinal and administrative challenges that the U.S. Army had faced in the past. Of tremendous import for the f­ uture successes of the U.S. military, many, if not all, of ­these reforms ­were



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only pos­si­ble as a result of the martial foibles, shortcomings, and failures brought about by the War of 1812. When Congress received word of General Andrew Jackson’s victory of January 8, 1815, it quickly took steps to commend General Jackson and his troops for the successful defense of what was perhaps the most impor­tant point of territory on American soil. Congressional efforts, however, floundered on ­whether to thank the regular army or the militia for the victory. Over the course of the next two weeks, proposals and counterproposals passed between House and Senate, with each side arguing over who most deserved principal thanks for Jackson’s victory. When the victory resolution fi­nally passed on February 22, each body phrased the victory distinctively differently: The House of Representatives, the “house” of the p­ eople, heaped praise “principally to the militia volunteer.” In contrast, the upper h­ ouse, the Senate, lauded the regulars, “in language admitting the inference . . . ​that our force was principally a regular force.”126 Reaching consensus through conference took nearly a week. As finalized by Congress, the resolution congratulating General Andrew Jackson for his victory at New Orleans extended praise to the “officers and soldiers of the regular army, of the militia, and of the volunteers u­ nder his command,” specifically mentioning that “militia and volunteers, suddenly collected together,” represented the “greater proportion” of the troops assembled on that epic day. Although the resolution marked an end of the discussion over who deserved the greatest praise for the New Orleans victory, the debate over regulars or militia continued to echo as the United States began considering the role and status of the U.S. Army in the aftermath of the War of 1812.127 The War of 1812 prompted a new way of thinking about national defense in the United States. The ­Battle of New Orleans notwithstanding, many prewar militia champions emerged from the conflict changed men, with the failed campaigns on the frontier and destruction of the nation’s capital prompting them to reconsider the decision to maintain a peacetime military establishment. Although Thomas Jefferson had taken steps to blend Republican po­liti­cal philosophy with a regular establishment ­after the election of 1800, James Madison failed to see the utility of ­these reforms in the years and months before the War of 1812. Opposition to a standing army, coupled with a lack of martial vision, made the U.S. Army at the outset of “Mr. Madison’s War” a far cry from the force envisioned by President Jefferson.128 During the course of the war, debacles such as ­those experienced in 1812, the embarrassment at Bladensburg and elsewhere, challenged the belief that citizen-­ soldiers could effectively defend the republic. In the vast majority of circumstances, talented amateur commanders like Dearborn, Hull, and Smyth ­were simply incapable of executing effective command and inspired leadership. While volunteer officers like Andrew Jackson eventually rode their war­time popularity to national office, their understanding of military affairs and military professionalism was rudimentary at best, and it was only a ­matter of time before talented amateurs would be forgotten as a new generation of American military professionals emerged. Although most Americans quickly forgot the martial demonstration afforded by the well-­trained and capably led regular army that fought in the B ­ attle of Chippewa, such lessons ­were not lost on the U.S. Army. With the conclusion of the war,

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General Winfield Scott soon emerged as the prime architect of a new U.S. Army. As one of a handful of general officers retained in a new postwar peace establishment created in March 1815, he not only played a major role in determining the composition of the new army’s officer corps but also built a solid foundation for ­f uture American military professionalism. While ­f uture conflicts would always necessitate the raising of new armies, ­future mobilizations would feed into an existing defense framework, created out of the belief that in times of peace, the nation should prepare for war. In addition to the impor­tant work done by Winfield Scott, a restructuring of the War Department’s administrative and command structure and reforms and revitalization of the United States Military Acad­emy had a transformational effect on the U.S. Army. By the time of the nation’s next ­great military conflict, few Americans doubted the utility of a regular force. During the previous 30 years, discovering answers to questions of force, structure, and command, as well as recognizing a place for the U.S. Army in American society, produced an institution capable of providing for the common defense. This realization was all a product of the per­for­mance of U.S. soldiers during the War of 1812. TIMELINE February 1, 1793 France declares war on ­Great Britain. August 20, 1794 General Anthony Wayne defeats a Native American confederation at the B ­ attle of Fallen Timbers. April 30, 1804 The Louisiana Purchase is finalized, adding more than 800,000 square miles to the western frontier of the United States. December 4, 1804 Napoleon is crowned Emperor of France. April 18, 1804 Non-­Importation Act passed. November 21, 1804 Napoleon issues the Berlin Decrees. November 11, 1807 ­Great Britain passes the 1807 ­Orders in Council, restricting international trade with France. June 22, 1807 HMS Leopard fires on the USS Chesapeake, killing 4, wounding 17, and seizing 4 U.S. sailors on charges of desertion from the Royal Navy. December 22, 1807 Embargo Act Passed.



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March 4, 1809 James Madison is sworn in as the fourth president of the United States. May 16, 1811 The American frigate USS President fires on the British sloop HMS ­Little ­Belt. October 9, 1811 Major General Isaac Brock is appointed Administrator of Upper Canada. November 4, 1811 “War Hawks” Henry Clay, Richard  M. Johnson, John  C. Calhoun, William Lowndes, Langdon Cheves, Felix Grundy, and Peter B. Porter win in midterm congressional elections. November 11, 1811 General William Henry Harrison leads 1,000 men to victory over the Shawnee led by Tecumseh at the B ­ attle of Tippecanoe. April 1812 Native American raids break out across the frontier. June 18, 1812 The United States declares war on ­Great Britain. June 22, 1812 A Baltimore mob destroys the printing offices of the Federalist Republican. July 12, 1812 General William Hull and an army of 2,200 men invade Canada from Detroit. July 17, 1812 Fort Michilimackinac surrenders to British Canadian forces. August 5, 1812 Skirmish near Brownstown, Michigan. August 8, 1812 General Hull returns to Detroit. August 9, 1812 ­Battle of Monguagon. August 15, 1812 Fort Dearborn massacre. August 16, 1812 General Hull surrenders Detroit. August 19, 1812 The USS Constitution defeats the HMS Guerriere. August 20, 1812 General William Henry Harrison appointed major general of Kentucky militia.

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October 13, 1812 British Canadians win the ­Battle of Queenston Heights, Ontario. November 19–23, 1812 General Henry Dearborn fails in efforts to take Montreal when New York militia refuses to cross border into Canada. November 27, 1812 Skirmish at Fort Erie. December 28, 1812 William Henry Harrison resigns as governor of Indiana Territory. December 29, 1812 USS Constitution defeats the HMS Java. January 9, 1813 ­Great Britain declares war on the United States. January 13, 1813 John Armstrong replaces William Eustis as secretary of war. January 18, 1813 Skirmish at Frenchtown, Michigan Territory. January 22, 1813 The B ­ attle of Frenchtown. January 23, 1813 Between 30 and 60 American soldiers are killed in “The River Raisin Massacre” by Native Americans allied with the British. February 20, 1813 British raid on Ogdensburg, New York. April 15, 1813 United States takes Mobile, Mississippi Territory. April 27, 1813 American attack on York; General Zebulon Pike is killed. April 28, 1813 Siege of Fort Meigs begins. April 29, 1813 British flotilla commanded by Admiral George Cockburn raids Frenchtown, Mary­land. March 4, 1813 James Madison inaugurated for second term as president. March 27, 1813 Oliver ­Hazard Perry takes command of the flotilla at Lake Erie.



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May 1, 1813 American forces evacuate York. May 3, 1813 Royal Marines land and burn Havre de Grace, Mary­land. May 27, 1813 Engagement at Fort George. May 29, 1813 ­Battle of Sacketts Harbor. June 1, 1813 USS Chesapeake captured by the British frigate HMS Shannon; Captain James Lawrence dies days ­later. June 6, 1813 ­Battle of Stoney Creek. June 22, 1813 ­Battle of Craney Island. June 24, 1813 U.S. surrender at Beaver Dams. June 25, 1813 British burn Hampton, ­Virginia. July 11, 1813 British raid on Black Rock, New York. July 27, 1813 ­Battle of Burnt Corn Creek. August 10, 1813 ­Battle of St. Michaels. August 30, 1813 Attack on Fort Mims, Alabama. September 10, 1813 ­Battle of Lake Erie. October 5, 1813 ­Battle of the Thames; Tecumseh is killed. October 7, 1813 Andrew Jackson establishes camp at Fayetteville, Tennessee, to recruit American forces to combat the Red Stick Creeks in Alabama. October 26, 1813 ­Battle of Chateauguay. November 1, 1813 ­Battle of French Creek.

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November 3, 1813 ­Battle of Tallushatchee. November 9, 1813 ­Battle of Talladega. November 11, 1813 ­Battle of Crysler’s Farm. November 18, 1813 Hillabee Massacre. November 29, 1813 ­Battle of Autossee. December 10, 1813 U.S. burning of Newark. December 18, 1813 British destruction of Lewiston, New York. December 18, 1813 Fort Niagara falls to the British. December 23, 1813 ­Battle of Econochaca. December 30, 1813 British burning of Black Rock and Buffalo, New York. January 22, 1814 ­Battle of Emuckfau Creek. January 24, 1814 ­Battle of Enitochopco. January 27, 1814 ­Battle of Calabee Creek. March 19, 1814 Winfield Scott is promoted to brigadier general at the age of 26. March 27, 1814 ­Battle of Horse­shoe Bend. March 30, 1814 ­Battle of La Colle Mill. April 4, 1814 Napoleon abdicates and is exiled to Elba off the coast of Tuscany; G ­ reat Britain begins planning major offensives against the United States. May 6, 1814 ­Battle of Oswego.



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May 15, 1814 U.S. burning of Port Dover. July 3, 1814 American troops u­ nder Major General Jacob Brown cross the Niagara River and capture Fort Erie. July 5, 1814 ­Battle of Chippawa. July 19, 1814 U.S. surrender of Prairie du Chien. July 22, 1814 Treaty of Greenville. July 25, 1814 ­Battle of Lundy’s Lane. August 3, 1814 ­Battle of Conjocta Creek. British seize Hampden. August 8, 1814 Peace negotiations begin between U.S. and British del­e­ga­tions in Ghent, Belgium. August 9, 1814 Treaty of Fort Jackson. August 9–11, 1814 British raid Stonington, Connecticut. August 14, 1814 A 4,500-­man British invasion force, commanded by General Robert Ross, arrives at Chesapeake Bay. August 15, 1814 British attempt to retake Fort Erie. August 19, 1814 British troops land at Benedict, Mary­land. August 24, 1814 ­Battle of Bladensburg, Mary­land. British occupy Washington, D.C., and destroy government buildings. August 27, 1814 Abandonment of Fort Warburton. August 28, 1814 Alexandria Raid. August 30, 1814 ­Battle of Caulk’s Field.

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September 5, 1814 ­Battle of Beakmantown. September 6, 1814 ­Battle of Plattsburgh. September 11, 1814 ­Battle of Lake Champlain. September 12, 1814 ­Battle of North Point; General Ross is killed. September 13, 1814 Bombardment of Fort McHenry. September 14, 1814 Francis Scott Key writes the first lines of the poem that would become “The Star Spangled Banner.” September 15, 1814 British attempt to take Fort Bowyer. October 19, 1814 ­Battle of Cook’s Mills. November 7, 1814 United States takes Pensacola. December 1, 1814 Peace delegates reconvene at Ghent. December 15, 1814 Delegates to the Hartford Convention meet in Hartford, Connecticut. ­Battle of Lake Borgne. December 23, 1814 ­Battle of Villere Plantation. December 24, 1814 The Treaty of Ghent is signed. December 28, 1814 The Treaty of Ghent is ratified by the British. January 5, 1815 The Hartford Convention concludes. January 8, 1815 The B ­ attle of New Orleans; death of Edward Packenham. February 11, 1815 British capture Fort Bowyer. February 16, 1815 The U.S. Senate ratifies the Treaty of Ghent, ending the war.



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February 20, 1815 USS Constitution engages the HMS Cyane and HMS Levant, not knowing the war had ended. April 6, 1815 Seven American prisoners are killed and 31 wounded in the “Dartmoor Massacre” at Dartmoor Prison in Devon, ­England.

Documents of the War of 1812: Personal Accounts 1  John P. Kennedy: A Mary­land Volunteer in Defense of Washington The volunteer discusses issues related to the citizen-­soldier and hints at the professionalism (or lack thereof) in the U.S. Army during the War of 1812. IV. Being now emancipated from the schools, and very flimsily armed for the encounter of life, my next thoughts ran upon the question, “Well, what now?” I can scarcely call it choice which ­shaped my ­career from this point. It was fixed fate. I came along to the verge of the bar as a cork upon a stream bobs along ­towards the eddy which catches it on its way, and bears it upon its own perpetual circle. I looked to the law, I suppose, ­because my classics and my debating society floated me to the eddy upon which I was destined to swim. ­There w ­ ere, however, two forces now acting upon me, not necessarily altogether opposite, and yet not altogether in harmony. I fi­nally made a compromise with both in the difficulty of surrendering only to one. We had the war, now just beginning to become a real­ity. It was declared in June, 1812. I graduated in September of the same year. So ­here was Law and the Camp both putting forth their attractions for a boy whose imagination was most susceptible to each—­laus marte quam mercurio. My ­father had not encouraged my army scheme, and so I considered that hopeless, and I forthwith placed myself ­under the guidance of my ­uncle, Edmund Pendleton, who had lately married Miss Parnell, in Baltimore, and was now in the practice of the law. He had an office at the corner of St. Paul’s and Fayette street, then called Chatham, and in a ­house that is now (1855) and for two or three years past has been displaced by a part of Barnum’s ­hotel. My ­uncle’s library consisted, in ­great part, of the books that once belonged to the celebrated Judge Samuel Chase of revolutionary memory, and I found some additional stimulant to the ambition of my profession in getting my first lessons in it out of volumes which bore the autograph of the distinguished judge. Many of ­these books ­were, in ­after years, given to me by my u­ ncle, by me at a l­ater period given to my nephew Andrew. Among ­these I read Rutherforth, Blackstone and Justinian, and worked with a vigor of application and perseverance which, if it had been seconded by any t­hing [sic] like a proportionate capacity to understand, would have made me the won­der of the street. This law—­what an intricate, inscrutable, dreary mystification it is to the young

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student in his first endeavors to get into and out of the fog—­the dense fog—­that fills its ­whole atmosphere! While I worked at this like a novice who conscientiously acts up to the maxim that we should do our duty, ­whether pleasant or not, I had another calling where all was true sunlight and captivating glitter. I straightway—­I mean in a few months ­after my coming upon what I regarded as the world, entered the military ser­vice as a volunteer private of Captain Warfield’s com­pany, the United Volunteers of the Fifth Regiment Mary­land Militia, u­ nder the command of Col­o­ nel Joseph Sterrett, and belonging to the Third Brigade. I think I did this in the winter of 1812–13, when the ­whole country was mea­sur­ing its paces to a universal rub-­a-­dub, and marking time to the order of the drill-­sergeant. It was a time of ­great stir, excitement, anxiety, effort and hope. We have had nothing like it since. It is the glory of my life, its vivid point, that I lived in the day that was filled with the exultation of the first naval victories of our government. When the Constitution brought in the Guerriere—­what a day was that! The ­enemy took possession of Chesapeake Bay and occupied it during both summers of 1813 and 1814. ­There was a squadron ­under the command of Admiral Sir John Borlasse Warren, assisted by Admiral Sir George Cockburn and Sir Peter Parker, who as an army officer. ­These names became very familiar to us in Baltimore during this period. The squadron consisted of several men-­of-­war, and one or other was always in sight at the mouth of the Patapsco—­sometimes the whole—­ with any quantity of small craft captured in the bay. To me it was a delightful stimulus to live in the midst of so many excitements. T ­ here was, first, the constantly coming news of the war and its disasters, especially in 1813, for ­things ­were shockingly managed in that year. Then the naval victories which ­were coming in thick— as often as an American ship met a British—­and which brought such a phrensy [sic] of exultation; then an alarm of the ­enemy landing somewhere near us, and this followed up by such a stir on our side! No one can adequately imagine the vividness and the plea­sure of t­hese excitements who has not experienced them. Baltimore, as in fact the ­whole country, became a camp. We had some five thousand volunteers and militia always on foot, and as the regular resources of the Federal Government ­were sadly deficient, the militia was called into ser­vice, or at least the volunteers offered themselves and ­were received to do garrison and other duties in the forts around us. This arrangement brought certain portions of the Fifth Regiment into periodical ser­vice for a week at a time at Fort McHenry. What a glorification this afforded to me! ­Here I was, just out of college, in a very dashy uniform of blue and red, with a jacket and leather helmet, crested with a huge black feather, and surmounted by a particularly limber and, as I thought, graceful red one, with my white cross-­belts, pure as pipe-­clay could make them, my cartridge-­box and bayonet, and a Harper’s Ferry musket of fourteen pounds, white drill pantaloons (blue in winter), with black gaiters. ­There I was, eigh­teen years of age, knapsacked, with blanket, canteen and haversack (generally a cold fowl, biscuit, fried tongue and ­bottle of wine in it), and detailed for a week’s duty at the fort. Talk about luxuries! I have had a good share of what goes by that name in my lifetime, but I have never had since any ­thing [sic] in that way that might be compared with the nights in the guard-­room, and the routine of the sentinel’s duty in weather wet or dry, and in moonlit and moonless midnights, to which I have



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been detailed at Fort McHenry. To sleep between guard-­hours on a bench, to eat and drink in the intervals, and to tell stories and laugh as healthy and light-­hearted boys only can laugh in such scenes, w ­ ere to me enjoyments that never waned in interest and never lost their zest in repetition. Our military ser­vice was thus but a pastime, recurring sometimes ­every day for weeks, and then intermitted for a week at a time, when the occasion was not pressing. I had abundance of time on my hands, therefore, for study, and being conscientious on that point, I worked very diligently. I had my law course prescribed, and with it I associated a considerable amount of miscellaneous reading; too miscellaneous, I must say now, when I reflect on the dissipation of mind which it produced. In the diary of my studies, which I regret having destroyed some years ago, I can remember what a variety of minutes I had to make of a rambling course of reading which embraced almost ­every recognized department of lit­er­a­t ure. I know that I toiled wearily through many ungenial subjects, and ran to o­ thers of more attraction with an avidity I found it hard to satisfy. And, like a ­great foundation, labor-­ponderous, unsatisfactory and terrible, ­there was always before me, predominant and exacting above the rest, the Law—­the crabbed, unamiable and indigestible Law. I had an excellent memory, which I rather think was an impediment to me. I once wrote off on a bravado in which my veracity was called in question, a page from the eighth edition of “Conise’s Digest,” the page being chosen for me, and the volume taken away ­after I had been permitted to read it—­I think—­five minutes,—­some very short study. I could do this more readily with subjects to which I had a fancy,—­and particularly in poetical works. My admiration of good speaking enabled me to report speeches very well from memory. I have written out a considerable part of a sermon heard but once, and, on one occasion, I made an almost verbal transcript of a speech of Mr. Pinkney’s, in a case in court that attracted my attention by its felicity of expression, and which was recognized for the unusual accuracy of the report, by all who had an opportunity to compare it with their own recollections. In the summer of 1813 the mouth of the Patapsco was kept ­under an almost constant blockade by Admiral Warren’s squadron. The ­enemy occasionally landed on the Chesapeake Bay, making short incursions into the country. Our troops ­were therefore kept in active ser­vice. We had a parade ­every morning at six—­two or three hours’ drill;—­were dismissed during the ­middle of the day and allowed to pursue our ordinary avocations, and re-­assembled for a second drill ­towards eve­ ning. In addition to this we ­were regularly, in turn, detailed for garrison duty. We ­were, in fact, growing to be excellent soldiers. In my intervals of release from duty, I sometimes wrote what I thought spirited appeals to the country to stimulate our ­people. T ­ hese ­were published in the newspaper. I was very shy of my authorship, and anxious to know how my exhortations took with the public. I, of course, believed every­-­body read them with delight and wondered who could write them. As our regiment was one day returning from drill on Londenslager’s Hill, where our parade-­ground was, I ventured to say to a comrade marching next to me, that ­there was an address to “The Volunteers of Baltimore” in the paper of that morning. Yes, he had seen it. “Who do you suppose writes ­these ­things.” He ­didn’t know. From his manner, it was evident it did not much interest him to know. I was set all aback.

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It ­hadn’t created the enthusiasm I expected. No one ever said what I ­imagined I would hear many saying: “Who can be writing ­those stirring papers?” I have learned since that fine writing falls on the business world like ­water on a duck’s back. At this period I was eigh­teen years old. Eigh­teen has always a susceptible heart. The war was the nurse of romance and kindled the conceit [?] that drives youth into chivalric ideas of love. The young girls of Baltimore ­were very beautiful, and I was a passionate admirer with some violent preferences. Nothing is more natu­ral than this association of youth, military ardor and susceptibility to the charms of female society. My own life at this period found a delightful engrossment in the varying influences produced by the public exigencies and ­these attractions of society. For the first time I began to conceit I had some poetical faculty, and I accordingly wrote verses,—­poor enough they ­were, but to my imagination or vanity they presented seeds of promise—­seeds that never afterwards come to fruit. Meantime the war rolled on. The papers w ­ ere full of stirring events. We suffered no ennui. ­Every day had its excitements. T ­ here was a wonderful amount of personal activity developed in all classes. The fears and hopes of war are full of delights. We had, in the winter of 1813–14, a ­little affair on the Eastern Shore which went by the name of “The ­Battle of the Ice Mound.” A small schooner of ours taken by the British and manned by a few men ­under the command of a lieutenant and a midshipman, got frozen up in the ice near Kent Island. Within two hundred yards of her position was a mound of ice, heaped up by the flow of the tide. A number of the country militia got out to this mound, and using it as a point of attack, protected from the ­enemy’s fire, made a brisk assault from it upon the schooner, which was soon obliged to strike her colors. The lieutenant and midshipman, with their party, ­were made prisoners, and ­were sent to Baltimore, where the two officers spent the winter,—­quite distinguished objects in society,—­and, I doubt not, much gratified at the exchange of their wintry guard on the bay for the comforts of a pleasant captivity. In the Spring, the war began to assume a new aspect. The year 1813 was one of defeats on land. This year, 1814, our armies had more success. Our soldiers ­were growing more confident. A ­little skirmish occurred on the Eastern Shore nearly opposite to the mouth of the Patapsco. Sir Peter Parker had been ravaging that neighborhood in small forays, and was at last encountered by some of our militia ­under Col­o­nel Philip Reid, and was killed. ­There was also a ­little affair on West River, where our militia cavalry defeated a party of British. The war was coming near to our own doors, and events e­ very day grew more exciting. Our military ardor was on the rise. I was in a state of constant exhilaration. Our drills and occasional detached ser­vice became more frequent and severe. In fact, Baltimore assumed more and more the character of an extensive garrison. Still, in the intervals of duty I pursued my studies, and I am conscious of a ­little tendency at that time, to the swagger and insouciance which boys are apt to consider as one of the elegancies of military character. I visited a ­great deal among the younger belles of the city, and rather piqued myself upon the importance of belonging to the army which was entrusted with the defense of the state. Very natu­ral, this egotism, at such a time, when every­-­body looked upon our regiment as an élite corps!



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We began to long now for more active ser­vice. Several victories on the Canada border had raised the national ardor. Some of my companions had taken commissions and gone off to “the lines” in that quarter. Strother, Hunter and Mackay had gone from V ­ irginia the year before—­friends of mine. Hunter,—­David Hunter,—­a half ­brother of my ­uncle Stephen Dandridge, was killed at Williamsburg in Canada. Strother and Mackay served through the war. Strother is yet (1860) alive, living at Berkeley Springs, the ­father of the artist, David Strother. He married Elizabeth Hunter, my first cousin. I ­don’t know what became of Mackay. This departure of associates of my own age for the field of war in the regular ser­vice, fired me with a fresh zeal for the same enterprise, but my ­father’s advice was against it, and so I remained with the Fifth Regiment on duty at home, which, very much to my content, was now beginning to give promise of more busy work. In the month of June we had rumors from ­England of a large expedition being fitted out for an attack on the States. The war was to be transferred from Canada to the Atlantic coast. This army of six or eight thousand men was said to be composed of the regiments which had just returned from Spain, where they had distinguished themselves ­under the Duke of Wellington. They ­were to be commanded by Lord Hill. We ­were left in ­great uncertainty as to the point at which they ­were first to strike. It was generally believed, however, that they ­were to come ­either to the Chesapeake or the Delaware, to attack Philadelphia, Baltimore or Washington, or perhaps, all three. What a splendid commotion this intelligence made! We w ­ ere all entirely convinced that, at whatsoever of ­these points the attack might be made, our brigade would certainly be pre­sent. We volunteered our ser­vices to march to any point where we might be required. All kinds of preparation ­were set on foot, forts strengthened, discipline increased and supplies accumulated. Troops in ­Virginia and Pennsylvania ­were ordered to be in readiness to march at the first summons. General officers ­were appointed by the government to command ­these districts. ­There was e­ very sign of imminent war. Commodore Dale had a few ships at Philadelphia which ­were kept ready to defend the Delaware Bay. T ­ here w ­ ere also small vessels for the ser­vice of the Chesapeake. Commodore Barney was entrusted with a flotilla of ­these, which was kept afloat in the bay to watch and report the pro­gress of the ­enemy. ­There was a joke of Dale’s current at that day. Some one [sic] said to him, “Well, commodore, t­ here is news that Hill ­will soon be in the Delaware.” “I s­ hall be glad to see him,” said the commodore, “and the moment I hear that he is coming up, we ­shall have a brisk time—up Hill and down Dale.” At length the ­enemy showed himself in force in the Chesaspeake [sic]. Barney’s flotilla was in the Patuxent, and in the month of August the British fleet, ­u nder Admiral Warren, appeared at the mouth of that river. Their smaller vessels pursued Barney up the river, and compelled him to burn his flotilla. Immediately afterwards we had information that a land force had disembarked on the shores of the Patuxent, and that the fleet had sailed up the Potomac. It was evident that an attack upon Washington was the object of ­these movements.

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This, of course, increased the stir of busy life. As we expected, our regiment, with a brigade of drafted militia ­under General Stansbury, ­were ordered to march ­towards the capital. This order came on the nineteenth of August. Stansbury was instantly in motion. We marched on Sunday, the twenty-­first—­our regiment, the Fifth, accompanied by a battalion of riflemen, commanded by William Pinkney, then recently returned from ­England, where he had been our minister for several years, and now, at the date of this campaign, Attorney-­General of the U. S. We had also with us a com­pany of artillery, commanded by Richard Magruder, another member of the bar, and a small corps of cavalry from the Baltimore Light Dragoons—­Harry Thompson’s com­pany—­the detachment being ­under the command of Lieutenant Jacob Hollings­worth. A portion of Sterrett Ridgeley’s Hussars ­were also in the detachment. ­These ­were all volunteers of the city. My ­father was a member of Hollings­worth’s command, and, with John Brown, an old schoolmate of mine, and three or four other privates of the corps, served as videttes to our brigade. It was a day of glorious anticipation, that Sunday morning; when, with all the glitter of a dress parade, we set forth on our march. As we moved through the streets, the pavements ­were crowded with anxious spectators; the win­dows ­were filled with ­women; friends ­were rushing to the ranks to bid us goodbye—­many exhorting us to be of good cheer and do our duty; handkerchiefs ­were waving from the fair hands at the win­dows—­some few of the softer sex weeping as they waived adieux to husbands and ­brothers; the populace ­were cheering and huzzaing at ­every corner, as we hurried along in brisk step to familiar ­music, with banners fluttering in the wind and bayonets flashing in the sun. What a scene it was, and what a proud actor I was in it! I was in the ecstasy of a vision of glory, stuffed with any quantity of romance. This was a real army marching to real war. The ­enemy, we knew, was in full ­career, and we had the certainty of meeting him in a few days. Unlike our customary parades, our march now had all the equipments [sic] of a campaign. Our wagon-­train was on the road; our cartridge-­boxes ­were filled; we had our crowd of camp servants and followers. Officers rode backward and forward along the flanks of the column, with a peculiar air of urgent business, as if it required e­ very ­thing [sic] to be done in a gallop—­the invariable form in which military conceit shows itself in the first movements ­towards a campaign. The young officers wish to attract attention, and so seem to be always on the most impor­tant messages. As for me,—­ not yet nineteen,—­I was too full of the exultation of the time to think of myself;—­ all my fervor was spent in admiration of this glittering army. “It w ­ ere worth ten years of peaceful life One glance at their array.” I thought of ­these verses, and they spoke of my delight. It was not long before we w ­ ere outside of the town, in full ­career on the Washington road. It was after­ noon in warm August weather when we started. By sundown we reached Elk Ridge Landing, and ­there turned in upon the flat meadow ground that lies ­under the hills upon the further bank of the Patapsco, to pitch our tents for the night. Camp-­kettles ­were served out to us and our rations of pork and hard bread. We formed our messes



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that eve­ning, and mine, consisting of six members, who w ­ ere consigned to one tent, was made up of pleasant companions. This was all new to us, and very amusing. The com­pany consisted of gentlemen of good condition and accustomed to luxurious life, and the idea of a supper of fat pork and hard biscuit was a pleasant absurdity which we treated as a ­matter of laughter. We had our own stores in the wagon to rely upon when we could get at them, and a short, active negro [sic] man as a servant for the mess, whom we took into ser­vice that eve­ning from the crowd of stragglers who followed the column of march. The first care ­after getting our tent up was to hold a consultation about our domestic affairs, and it was then resolved that two of us should in turn serve as house-­keeper, successively from week to week. The choice ­today fell upon Ned Schroeder and myself. We ­were to attend at the giving out of the rations and then to cook them. The mess was not likely to grow fat ­under our administration. Upon repairing to the quartermaster for our supplies, we ­were given a piece of pork of five or six pounds, a new camp-­ kettle, and a quantity of hard biscuit. Ned and I had a consultation, upon the pro­ cess of the cooking, the result of which was that we determined to put our pork in a ­kettle, fill this with ­water to the brim, and then set it over a brisk fire for two hours; so we set about it. To make the fire we resolved to signalize our ser­vice by that soldierly act which is looked upon as a prescriptive right—­the robbing of the nearest fence of as many rails as suited our purpose—­which we did like veterans, satisfying our conscience with the reflection that sometime or other, perhaps, Congress would pay for the damage. We got up a magnificent flame, and by placing our ­kettle on a support of stones it [sic] the midst of it, we made sure that the cooking would soon become a happy success. This being done, we sauntered off to look at the eve­ning parade, from which our culinary ­labors gave us an exemption. In less than an hour we lounged back to take a view of the ­kettle. ­There it was, buried in a ­little mound of hot coals, the ­water all boiled out, and the iron red hot. In the bottom of this lurid pot we discovered a black mess which seemed to be reduced to a stratum of something resembling a compound of black soap in a semi-­liquid state, and on drawing the ­kettle out of the fire, and cooling it as quickly as we could, by setting it in ­water, we came to the perception that our supper, or at least so much of it as we had cooked, was a compost of charred bones, and a deposit of black fat, the ­whole plated over with the scales of iron which the heat had brought off in flakes from the ­kettle. Our comrades of the mess gathered around this ruin with amused interest, and we w ­ ere voted a diploma for our admirable experiment in the art of dressing pork. We had found our com­pany’s wagon by the time this experiment was so finely concluded, and, with the help of Elizah, or Lige,—as our servant was called,—­found a very good resource for supper without the aid of the pork. We had coffee and choco­late, good bread and ham in abundance. The night was chilly, and I had come away without a blanket, trusting to a ­great coat which I thought would be sufficient for a summer campaign. Luckily, my ­father came along by our quarters, and perceiving my condition, went out and supplied my need by a contribution from a friend in the neighborhood. At the regulation hour, the members of the mess who w ­ ere not detailed for guard duty—­ some four of us—­crept into our tent and arranging our blankets into a soft bed, laid down and fell into a hearty sleep, which was only broken by the reveille the

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next morning. This was my first night of a regular campaign. The next day we marched from the Landing to Vansville, about twenty miles,—­halting an hour or so at Waterloo, then McCoy’s tavern, where we got dinner—­I mean my comrades of the mess and myself, having no need and not and not very willing to try another experiment in cooking for ourselves. The day was hot, and portions of the road in deep sand. It was a g­ reat trial. We ­were in winter cloth uniform, with a most absurd helmet of thick jacked leather and covered with plumes. We carried, besides, a knapsack, in which—in my own case—­I had packed a ­great coat, my newly-­ acquired blanket, two or three shirts, stockings, ­etc., ­etc. Among ­these articles I had also put a pair of pumps, which I had provided with the idea, that, ­after we had beaten the British army and saved Washington, Mr. Madison would very likely invite us to a ball at the White House, and I wanted to be ready for it. The knapsacks must have weighted, I suppose, at least ten pounds. Then ­there was a Harper’s Ferry musket of fourteen pounds. Take our burden altogether, and we could not have been tramping over ­those sandy roads, ­under the broiling sun of August, with less than thirty pounds of weight upon us. But we bore it splendidly, toiling and sweating in a dense cloud of dust, drinking the muddy ­water of the ­little brooks which our passage over them disturbed, and taking all the discomforts of this rough experience with a cheerful heart and a stout resolve. We joked with our afflictions, laughed at each other, and sang in the worst of times. The United Volunteers was the finest com­pany in the regiment, about one hundred strong when in full array, but now counting eighty effective men. T ­ hese w ­ ere the élite of the city—­several of them gentlemen of large fortunes. William Gilmor was one of them—­a merchant of high standing; Meredith, who has so long been among the most distinguished at the bar, was another. It was what is called the crack com­ pany of the city, and composed of a class of men who are not generally supposed to be the best to endure fatigue, and yet t­here was no body of men in all the troops of Baltimore who w ­ ere more ready for all ser­vice, more per­sis­tent in meeting and accomplishing the severest duty. To me personally ­labor and fatigue w ­ ere nothing. I was inured to both by self-­discipline, and I had come to a philosophic conviction that both ­were essential to all enjoyments of life, and beside this bit of philosophy, I was lured by the romance of our enterprise into an oblivion of its hardships. The second day brought us to Vansville, by the way, a town consisting of one ­house, on the top of a hill, where stage-­passengers s­ topped for a change of h­ orses on the road to Washington; and at early dawn the next day—­Tuesday morning, the twenty-­second of August—we resumed the road, and reached Bladensburg about five in the after­noon, having marched very slowly, with many halts during the day, waiting for ­orders from the commander-­in-­chief. Reports ­were coming to us ­every moment of the movements of the e­ nemy. They had passed Marlborough, and w ­ ere marching on Washington, but ­whether they ­were on the direct road to the city, or ­were coming by Bladensburg, was uncertain. Our movements depended somewhat upon them. General Winder, who commanded the army immediately in front of the e­ nemy, and was retiring slowly before him, was advised of our march, and was sending frequent instructions to our commander. Of course we in the ranks knew nothing about ­these high ­matters. All that we could hear ­were the flying rumors of



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the hour, which ­were stirring enough. One of Winder’s videttes had come to us. He had a g­ reat story to tell. He was carry­ing ­orders to Stansbury, who was ahead of us, and fell in with a party of British dragoons, from whom he fled at speed for his life. The country in Prince George is full of gates; the highroads often lie through cultivated fields, without side fences to guard them, and ­every field is entered through a gate which is always old and rickety, and swings to ­after your ­horse with a rapid sweep and a bang that threatens to take off his tail. One vidette, a Mr. Floyd, known to us in Baltimore, told us he had been pursued several miles by four of ­these dragoons. He reported that the British army had a corps of cavalry with them, and that being splendidly mounted, as we saw he was, and having General Winder’s servant with him also mounted on a fleet ­horse, to open and hold open the gates for him, he had escaped and had got up to us. This was all true as he told it, except that he was mistaken, as we found out the next day when we joined Winder, in one impor­tant par­tic­u­lar, and that was, that his pursuers ­were not British dragoons, but four members of the Georgetown cavalry, who fell into the same ­mistake. They supposed him a British dragoon, straggling from his corps, and gave him chase, feeling very sure, from the direction they had pressed him to take, that they must soon drive him into our hands. It was only ­because they could not keep up with him that they failed to witness that happy denouement. This report of cavalry in the ­enemy’s army, of course, furnished us, as green soldiers, with much occasion for remark and reflection. We had a pleasant eve­ning in camp near Bladensburg. Our tents ­were pitched on the slope of the hill above the town on the eastern side of the river. Stansbury’s brigade of drafted militia ­were ­there, and Winder, with the rest of the army, which altogether perhaps counted nine thousand men, was not far off. He was falling back before the march of the ­enemy, who could not then have been more than ten or twelve miles off. The after­noon t­owards sunset was mild and pleasant, and we had leisure to refresh ourselves by a bath in the Eastern Branch. Our camp was supplied with ­every comfort, and we did not depend upon the United States for our supper, for Lige was sent out to forage, with money to purchase what we wanted. He returned about dark with a pair of chickens and a handful of tallow candles, which seemed to be an odd combination; and upon being interrogated by me what it meant, he said he found them ­under the flap of a tent in Stansbury’s brigade, and being perfectly sure that they w ­ ere stolen, he thought he would restore them to their proper ­owners. The stealing was probable enough, and we therefore had l­ittle scruple in consigning the fowls to Lige’s attentions in the kitchen, and finding ourselves with an extra supply of candles, we indulged the luxury of lighting some three or four, which, being fitted into the band of a bayonet with the point stuck into the ground, gave an unusual splendor to the interior of our tent. The keg in which we kept our biscuit—­Jamison’s best crackers—­made the support of our ­table—­a board picked from some neighboring ­house, and ­here we enjoyed our ease, and ham, chicken and coffee. My feet ­were swollen and sore from my day’s march in boots, such as none but a green soldier would ever have put on; so for my comfort, I had taken them off, and substituted my neat pair of pumps from the pocket of my knapsack, and in this easy enjoyment of rest and good fellowship, we smoked our cigars and talked about

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the b­ attle of to-­morrow u­ ntil the hour when the order of the camp obliged us to extinguish our lights and “turn in.” I was too much excited by the novelty and attraction of my position and by the talk of my comrades in the tent, to get asleep much before midnight. About an hour ­after this—­one ­o’clock—we ­were aroused by the scattered shots of our pickets, some four or five in succession, in the direction of the Marlborough road, and by the rapid beating of the long roll from ­every drum in the camp. ­Every one believed that the ­enemy was upon us, and ­there was consequently an im­mense bustle in getting ready to meet him. We struck a light to be able to find our coats, accoutrements, ­etc., but in a moment it was stolen away by some neighbor who came to borrow it only for a moment to light his own candle, and in the confusion forgot to return it. This gave rise to some ludicrous distresses. Some got the wrong boots, ­others a coat that ­didn’t fit, and some could not find their cross-­belts. ­There was no time allowed to rectify ­these ­mistakes. I, luckily, was all right, except that I sallied out in my pumps. We w ­ ere formed in line and marched off t­ owards the front, perhaps a mile, and when we came to a halt, we ­were soon ordered to march back again to camp. What was the cause of this sudden excursion and quick abandonment of it I never learned. But it was evident ­there was a false alarm. On our return march our attention was called to the sudden reddening of the sky in the direction of the lower bridge of the eastern branch, by which the river road from Marlborough crossed to Washington. The sky became more lurid ­every moment, and at last we could discern the flames. A dispatch which reached us when we got back to camp, and had just laid down again to sleep, brought us information that Winder had crossed the bridge and then burnt it to impede the march of the ­enemy, who, in consequence, was forced to direct his march upon the Bladensburg road. Winder himself was en route to join us, and we ­were ordered forthwith to break up our camp and march ­towards Washington. ­Here was new excitement—­every ­thing [sic] was gathered up in a few moments. All our baggage was tossed into our regimental wagon—­ knapsacks, provisions, blankets, ­every ­thing [sic] but our arms. Among them went my boots. The tents ­were struck and packed away with the speed of the shifting of a scene upon the stage, and in half an hour from the time of receiving the order we ­were in full column of march upon the road. Descending into the village we crossed the bridge and moved ­toward Washington; but ­after making about two miles at the very slow pace, we found ourselves brought to a halt, and a­ fter this we loitered, as slow as foot could fall, along the road, manifestly expecting some order that should turn us back ­towards the village we had left. What a march that was! I never was so sleepy in my life. We had been too much exhilarated in the early part of the night to feel the fatigue of our day’s march, but now that fatigue returned upon me with double force. It was but an hour or two before day—­that hour when the want of sleep presses most heavi­ly upon all animals that go abroad by day. Nothing could keep us awake. I slept as I walked. At ­every halt of a moment ­whole platoons laid down in the dusty road and slept till the officers gave the word to move on. How very weary I felt! The burning of the bridge lighted up the ­whole southern sky, but it had no power to attract our gaze. At length when we had reached a hill some



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three miles on our route, we ­were marched into a stubble field and told we might rest till daylight. H ­ ere we threw ourselves upon the ground without any covering, exposed to the heavy dew which moistened the earth and hung upon the stubble, and slept. Mine was the sleep of Endymion. When I awoke I was lying on my back with the hot sun of a summer morning beaming upon my face. Our o­ rders then ­were to march back to Bladensburg. Soon we had the famous “trial of souls”—­the ­battle of Bladensburg. The drafted militia ran away at the first fire, and the Fifth Regiment was driven off the field with the bayonet. We made a fine scamper of it. I lost my musket in the meleé while bearing off a comrade, James W. McCullouch, afterwards the cashier of the Branch Bank of the U. S. in Baltimore, whose leg was broken by a bullet. The day was very hot, and the weight of my wounded companion ­great, and not being able to carry both, I gave my musket to a friend who accompanied me, and he, afterwards being wounded himself, dropped his own weapon as well as mine. Source: Tuckerman, Henry T. The Life of John Pendleton Kennedy. New York: G. P. Putnam & Sons, 1871, 63–81.

2  James Mann: Recollections of an Army Surgeon Massachusetts-­born James Mann joined the Army as a surgeon when the War of 1812 began. ­Because of his prior experience in the American Revolution, he was appointed medical director of the Northern Army, which was being or­ga­nized at Greenbush, New York, across the river from Albany. During the first year of the war, Mann held the most responsible position in the Northern Army’s medical ser­ vice. During this period, sanitary conditions in the camps of the Northern Army ­were extremely bad, due to the inexperience of the officers of the army and the attendant general lack of discipline. Respiratory diseases, including highly fatal pneumonias, ­were rife, as ­were diarrheas and dysentery. Mann’s account describes this situation and the prevailing medical responses to disease. Rains fell in such abundance, during the month of August, that the earth, even on declivities, was soft and miry. This was the state of clay grounds at Greenbush, upon which the army encamped, although an elevated plain. To remedy the evils of a wet encampment, the floorings of the tents ­were raised four or five inches above the surface of the earth, and the encampment frequently changed to fresh ground. Many of the men, at this time, ­were nevertheless, attacked with dysentery and diarrhoea. Hospitals ­were not prepared to receive the sick; consequently, they ­were attended in tents. ­There ­were detachments of several regiments in August, at this cantonment, amounting to about 1500 men. From the first week in September, to the first of November, regiments and detachments, week ­after week, marched to and from this post; during which time, the number of men varied between 1500, and 3000: while surgeons of regiments had full employment in their duty; and the weekly reports of the general hospital counted between 100 and 130, ­until the first of November; at which time, the most of the troops had marched to the frontiers;

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when about 200 men, unable to accompany their regiments, on account of diseases and infirmities, remained in the hospital. The most prominent diseases, among the troops at Greenbush, during the months of July, August, and September, w ­ ere disorders of the bowels, u­ nder the forms of dysentery and diarrhoea. To ­these diseases, recruits when they take the field, are generally subjected; especially where their rations for diet are not prepared in the most suitable manner. ­These diseases may, in some mea­sure, be obviated by obliging the men to cook their food in the form of soups. This regulation should be ever enforced upon men in the field. To which, they ­will cheerfully submit, when experience has taught them the benefit resulting therefrom. The science of preserving health is too ­little known to new recruits; a knowledge of which, young officers unaccustomed to the police of a camp, do not impress upon them the importance of acquiring. An inattention to a proper dietetic management was among the c­ auses of diseases and mortality, incident to our troops; to which may be added, filthiness, and an intemperate use of ardent spirits. T ­ hese sources of disease we s­ hall have repeated occasion to notice; as frequent c­ auses of the failure of impor­tant expeditions, and ruin of armies; by which, the highest expectations of a nation are often disappointed. The dysentery of this campaign was not accompanied with uncommon symptoms. A detailed description of which is unimportant, as it supervened ­under forms most generally described by medical authors. It was observed, that this disease at its commencement during the campaign, was attended in most cases with a fever of the synochal type, accelerated action of the arteries, and heat increased considerably above the healthy standard. With ­these symptoms, blood-­letting was advantageously employed. One bleeding of sixteen ounces was, in most cases, necessary. This was followed by a full cathartic of calomel and jalap; which mitigated all the urgent symptoms of the disease. A repetition of a cathartic was sometimes requisite. Anodines became an appropriate medicine a­ fter the intestines w ­ ere well evacuated. In cases more obstinate, emetics of tartrite of antimony, or ipecacuanha ­were indicated; or an emetico-­cathartic composed of calomel and tartrite of antimony. T ­ here ­were cases, when calomel and opium, in small doses, at intervals of four or six hours, w ­ ere found beneficial. Dysentery assumed a typhoid form, in some instances, when the patient, at its first appearance was destitute of medical aid. Some of this description w ­ ere admitted into the general hospital, at Greenbush; having been attacked with the disease, during a long passage from Rhode-­Island to Albany, crowded in vessels, exposed during the heat of the day, and fogs of the night on deck, to avoid the suffocating state of air in the hold. Some of whom, when received into the hospital, ­were in a bad condition. For ­these patients ­were prescribed cathartics of sulphate of soda; super-­tartrite of potash and manna; many of whom required stimulants, diluted brandy, wine. To one ­were administered from one to two pints of wine daily, for two weeks; and by this stimulus only was supported, and apparently from a ­dying state, was eventually restored to health. In all cases of this disease, animal nutriment, even in the form of soups, was prohibited. Preparations of the forinacea and



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milk ­were experienced the most appropriate regimen. A milk diet was the most suitable during the state of convalescence, from this disease. ­There w ­ ere cases where relapses followed the employment of animal food, where the patients w ­ ere indulged, before the stomach and bowels had recovered their healthy tone. An opinion prevailed among the soldiers, that ardent spirits was a sovereign remedy for ­these complaints of the bowels. This persuasion, added to an habitual propensity for ­these liquors, induced many to have recourse to their intemperate use. It was not unfrequent to find a patient, on the first visit, highly excited, even to the point of intoxication, by ­these inebriating draughts. This fact may account for the more frequent necessity of employing the lancet among soldiers, than citizens; not only in this, but all forms of disease. Diseases of the bowels, among the troops, appeared most frequent ­under the form of diarrhoea. In which, cathartics w ­ ere also employed; calomel and rhubarb; sulphate of soda. When the disease was accompanied with nausea, and anorexia, emetics of ipecacuanha likewise ­were administered. Intermittent fevers of the tertian type, ­were sometimes connected with ­these complaints of the bowels. This form of disease was noticed at Greenbush hospital, only among the recruits from south of Hudson river; who, previous to leaving their first rendezvous, to join the army, had been seized with the disease, and had recovered; but relapsed, while on their long passage up the Hudson, in crowded vessels; where the sick ­were necessarily confined below deck. Their condition had become bad; the type of the fever, changing from an intermittent, to a continued form. Some of ­these men died, soon a­ fter admittance into the hospital. When the paroxisms of t­hese intermittents recurred, at regular periods, the cold stage of the fever was anticipated by an emetic; which seldom failed to interrupt the diseased associations, and thus counteracted the hot stage. ­After the first passages ­were evacuated by emetics, and cathartics, and during the intermissions, bark and wine w ­ ere directed. T ­ hese intermittents did not prove obstinate. They ­were readily subdued, when the above means ­were judiciously managed. The change of weather was ­great and sudden in the month of October. Frosts commenced ­earlier than usual this autumn. This transition introduced, among the soldiers in tents, additional forms of disease. Among ­these, w ­ ere acute and chronic rheumatism. ­Those who ­were subjected to their attacks ­were over forty years of age; who, previous to their enlistment, had been broken down by ­either hardships or intemperance, or both combined. Of this description of soldiers, many remained at Greenbush hospital, at the time their regiments received o­ rders to march to the frontiers; whose ser­vices in the army ­here terminated, and whose only tours of duty w ­ ere short marches, during the most pleasant season of the year, from their first rendezvous, to this cantonment. The bad policy of government was now most evident. Source: Mann, James. Medical Sketches of the Campaigns of 1812, 13, 14. Dedham, MA: H. Mann, 1816, 12–15.

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3  Adam Walker: Surrender of Detroit Adam Walker served in the 4th U.S. Infantry. In 1812, the regiment was part of General William Hull’s army that crossed the Detroit River and invaded Upper Canada. British countermea­sures caused Hull to order his forces, including the 4th  U.S. Infantry, back to Detroit. On August  16, 1812, British General Isaac Brock surrounded the American-­held fort at Detroit. Convinced that he was outnumbered and concerned over Brock’s threat that his Indian allies would slaughter the garrison and the ­women and ­children in Detroit, Hull surrendered. Walker’s account relates his regiment’s attitudes about this episode. The surrender of Detroit shocked the American public and caused even more Indians to rally to the British. Aug. 10.—­Boats from Detroit arrived to take up the wounded. On their return they ­were fired upon by the British brig Hunter, and even ­after the wounded ­were transferred from the boats to waggons, this vessel took several positions to harass them on their return to Detroit. Col. Miller had determined to push on to the river Raisin; for which purpose the troops ­were paraded in readiness to march; but the Col. was suddenly attacked by a fit of the fever and ague, with which he had been partially afflicted from the time of his severe illness at Fort Harrison in Indiana. We therefore continued on the ground this day, expecting provisions from Detroit, but none arrived. We observed the British to be busy in crossing over troops from Malden a few miles below us, and concluded they intended an attack upon our encampment the following night. About sunset an express arrived in Camp from the General at Detroit, with a peremptory order for the troops to return that eve­ning to the river De Coss. We ­were immediately formed and proceeded on our return. It having rained the ­whole of the day, and the night being extremely dark, it was with ­g reat difficulty we reached the river; being without tents we ­were wet to the skin; many lost their shoes in the mud and came on barefoot. About 2 ­o’clock the next morning we arrived at the river, and ­after partaking of some refreshment, which had been sent to this place, we spread our blankets, which ­were wet as well as the ground we lay upon; and notwithstanding our uncomfortable situation we slept soundly ­until day light. Aug. 11.—­Continued on our march, re-­crossed the river De Coss, and arrived at Detroit about 12 o­ ’clock. Aug. 12.—­The British had taken possession of the ground we had abandoned at Sandwich, and commenced throwing up their works; at which they continued without interruption ­until the 15th, working in open day. Our troops ­were also employed in erecting batteries on the bank of the river, opposite to ­those of the British. Aug. 14.—­A detachment of three hundred and fifty troops from M’Arthur’s and Cass’ regiments ­were ordered to the river Raisin to escort up the provisions which had so long remained ­there u­ nder the protection of Captain Brush. This was the third detachment which had been sent on that ser­vice.



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Aug. 15.—­The ­enemy had completed their batteries, and about 10 ­o’clock, P.M. Gen. Brock, the British commander, sent over a flag of truce from Sandwich, with a summons for the surrender of the town and fort; stating that he could no longer restrain the fury of the savages, and should at 3 ­o’clock, commence a cannonade upon the place ­unless the summons was complied with. A prompt and spirited refusal was returned. At 4 ­o’clock their batteries ­were opened upon the town, from two 18 pounders and a howitzer. Their fire was briskly returned from our two batteries of three 24 pounders, and continued without interruption ­until dark. In the eve­ning they commenced throwing shells, and did not cease ­until 9 ­o’clock. No person was hurt, or but ­little damage done, except to a few buildings in the town. Aug. 16.—­At day light the firing recommenced upon the fort, where was stationed the 4th regiment. Not a gun was fired from this place in return. Five men ­were killed and wounded in the fort, where the Gen. and some citizens from the town had repaired. At sunrise the Indians appeared in the woods back of the town, while the British w ­ ere seen landing from the Queen Charlotte at Spring Wells, three miles below us. About 8 ­o’clock they began to move ­towards us in close column. It was now that we ­every moment expected the o­ rders of the Gen. to march out and commence the ­battle which was to decide the fate of this army.—­The long wished for moment had now arrived; the eyes of the soldiers of the 4th regiment ­were turned ­towards their brave Commander, Col. Miller, and seemed to express the ardent wishes of the men for him to give the word and lead the way. The militia ­were posted outside of the fort, ­behind a line of pickets. Two 24 pounders loaded with grape shot ­were placed in a situation to sweep the advancing column of the ­enemy. The British troops advanced with a regular step, and in fine order. All was ­silent in the fort—­“Not a discontent broke upon the ear—­Not a look of cowardice met the eye.” We listened in e­ ager expectation, that each moment our ears would be saluted from the discharge of the 24 pounders. What was our surprise when we beheld the militia retreating t­owards the fort, and at the same time an American Officer on ­horse­back riding ­towards the British column bearing a white flag, while another was placed on the parapet of the fort. A soldier attempted to knock it down with his musquet—an officer stepped up and commanded him to desist—­“­There sir,” says the soldier, pointing to the American colors, then waving on the flag-­ staff—­“­There is the flag I choose to fight ­under!”—­Such was the spirit which animated the ­whole body of the troops. A British officer rode up to the fort, and in thirty minutes afterwards a capitulation was signed. The Adjutant soon ­after came in and informed the troops that we must consider ourselves prisoners of war to His Britannic Majesty’s forces ­under Gen. Brock. Such curses and imprecations as w ­ ere now uttered by the soldiers upon the head of our General, ­were perhaps never before made use in any army.—­“Treachery”—­ “We are sold”—­was the cry throughout. We ­were ordered to pack up our effects as soon as pos­si­ble. Some officers entered the loft of the store ­house, where they found a few articles of clothing, which was

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distributed among us. The militia had been crowded into the fort which now was nearly filled with troops, in ­great disorder. At 12 ­o’clock the British marched in and took possession of the fort. Source: Walker, Adam. Journal of Two Campaigns of the Fourth Regiment of U.S. Infantry. Keene, NH: Sentinel Press, 1816, 62–67.

NOTES   1. George Washington, Farewell Address, 17 September, 1796, in James D. Richardson, ed., A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the President, 1789–1902 8 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Bureau of National Lit­er­a­t ure and Art, 1904), 1: 222–224.   2. Richard Buel Jr., Amer­i­ca on the Brink: How the Po­liti­cal Strug­gle over the War of 1812 Almost Destroyed the Young Republic (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005), 14–34.   3. Spencer C. Tucker and Frank T. Reuter, Injured Honor: The Chesapeake-­Leopard Affair, June 22, 1807 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1996).   4. Norman K. Risjord, “1812: Conservatives, War Hawks and the Nation’s Honor,” William and Mary Quarterly 18 (April  1961), 196–210; Annals of Congress, 11th Congress, 2nd Session, 579–80; ibid., 12th Cong., 1st Sess., 1397.   5. Thomas Jefferson to William Duane, August 4, 1812, The Thomas Jefferson Papers, Series 1, General Correspondence, 1651–1827, referenced at http://­rs6​.­loc​.­gov​/­cgi​-­bin​ /­ampage​?­collId​= m ­ tj1&fileName​= m ­ tj1page046​.­db&recNum​=2­ 11&itemLink​=­%2Fammem %2Fcollections%2Fjefferson​_ ­papers%2Fmtjser1​.­html&linkText​= 6­ (accessed February 3, 2006).   6. Donald R. Hickey, The War of 1812: A Forgotten Conflict (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989), 72–99.   7. Ibid., 80–84.   8. C. Edward Skeen, Citizen-­Soldiers In the War of 1812 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), 80–83; Theodore Crackel, “The B ­ attle of Queenston Heights: 13 October 1812,” in Charles E. Heller and William A. Stofft, eds., Amer­i­ca’s First ­Battles, 1776– 1965 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas), 33–56. See also Skeen, Citizen-­Soldiers, 99–101.   9. Hickey, War of 1812, 88–90. 10. Patrick Wilder, The ­Battle of Sackett’s Harbor (Baltimore: Nautical and Aviation Book Com­pany, 1994). 11. David Heidler and Jeanne T. Heidler, Old Hickory’s War: Andrew Jackson and the Quest for Empire (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1996), 7–14. 12. Thomas Kanon, “A Slow Laborious Slaughter: The ­Battle of Horse­shoe Bend,” Tennessee Historical Quarterly 58 (Spring 1999), 2–15. 13. Ronald J. Drez, The War of 1812: Conflict and Deception (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2010), 175–78; Hickey, War of 1812, 194–97, 204–06. 14. Rene Chartrand, “The U.S. Army’s Uniform Supply ‘Crisis’ during the War of 1812,” Military Collector and Historian 40 (Summer 1988), 62–63. 15. Timothy D. Johnson, Winfield Scott: The Quest for Military Glory (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 46–52; Donald E. Graves, The ­Battle of Lundy’s Lane: On the Niagara in 1814 (Baltimore: Nautical and Aviation, 1993). 16. Kenneth J. Hagan, This P ­ eople’s Navy: The Making of American Sea Power (New York: The ­Free Press, 1991), 86–89. 17. Skeen, Citizen-­Soldiers, 136; Anthony S. Pitch, The Burning of Washington: The British Invasion of 1814 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1998), 65–66.



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18. Ibid., 197–99, 200–202; Joseph W. A. Whitehorne, The ­Battle for Baltimore, 1814 (Baltimore: Nautical and Aviation, 1997). 19. Hickey, The War of 1812, 281–99. 20. Alan Taylor, The Civil War of 1812: American Citizens, British Subjects, Irish Rebels, and Indian Allies (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010), 20–43, 55–56; Norman K. Risjord, Jefferson’s Amer­i­ca, 1760–1815 (Madison, WI: Madison House, 1991), 253–56; George Herring, From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations since 1776 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 103–06. 21. Robert V. Remini, The B ­ attle of New Orleans: Andrew Jackson and Amer­i­ca’s First Military Victory (New York: Viking Press, 1999). 22. Additional accounts of the B ­ attle of New Orleans include Winston Groom, Patriotic Fire: Andrew Jackson and Jean Lafitte at the ­Battle of New Orleans (New York: Alfred  A. Knopf, 2006); Benton Rain Patterson, The Generals: Andrew Jackson, Sir Edward Pakenham and the Road to the B ­ attle of New Orleans (New York: New York University Press, 2005); Frank L. Owsley Jr., Strug­gle for the Gulf Borderlands: The Creek War and the ­Battle of New Orleans, 1812–1815 (Gainesville: University Presses of Florida, 1981), 144–68; and Robin Reilly, The British at the Gates: The New Orleans Campaign in the War of 1812 (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1974), 263–99. 23. Robert P. Wettemann Jr., Privilege vs. Equality: Civil Military Relations in the Jacksonian Era, 1815–1845 (Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger Security International, 2009), 2–4. 24. Richard H. Kohn, The Ea­gle and Sword: The Beginnings of the Military Establishment in Amer­i­ca (New York: The F ­ ree Press, 1975), 73–88. 25. Ibid., 91–189. 26. See Theodore J. Crackel, Mr. Jefferson’s Army: Po­liti­cal and Social Reform of the Military Establishment, 1801–1809 (New York: New York University Press, 1987). 27. Winfield Scott, Memoirs of Lieutenant General Scott, in Two Volumes (New York: Sheldon, 1864), 1: 34–35. 28. “An Act for completing the existing military establishment,” December 24, 1811, in John F. Callan, Military Laws of the United States, Relating to the Army, Volunteers, Militia, and to Bounty Lands and Pensions, from the Foundation of the Government to the Year 1863 (Philadelphia: George W. Childs, 1863), 211; “An Act authorizing the President of the United States to raise certain companies of rangers for the protection of the United States,” January 2, 1812, ibid., 211; “An Act to raise an additional military force,” January 11, 1812, ibid., 212; “An Act in addition to the act entitled, ‘An Act to raise an additional military force,’ passed January the eleventh, one thousand eight hundred and twelve,” April 8, 1812, ibid., 220–21. Skeen, Citizen Soldiers, 20–24. Marvin A. Kreidberg and Merton G. Henry, History of Military Mobilization in the United States Army, 1775– 1945 (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1955), 43–44. 29. “An Act in addition to the Act entitled, ‘An Act to raise an additional military force,’ and for other purposes,” January 29, 1813; Callan, Military Laws of the United States, 238– 39; “An Act to raise ten additional companies of rangers,” February 25, 1813; ibid., 242. 30. George Washington Cullum, Campaigns of the War of 1812–15, Against ­Great Britain, Sketched and Criticised, with Brief Biographies of the American Engineers (New York: James Miller, 1789), 362–63. 31. American State Papers: Military Affairs, 7 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Gales and Seaton, 1932–1961), 1: 432–33 (hereafter ASP:MA). 32. John Bach McMaster, A History of the ­People of the United States, 1812–1821, 8 vols. (New York: D. Appleton, 1922), 4: 558; Report of the Select Committee on the Militia, U.S. Senate, 1814, ASP:MA, 1:523. 33. Skeen, Citizen-­Soldiers, 62–76.

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34. ASP:MA, 514–21. “An Act fixing the Military Peace Establishment of the United States,” March 3, 1815; Callan, Military Laws, 266. 35. Richard V. Barbuto, Niagara 1814: Amer­i­ca Invades Canada (Lawrence: University Press of Canada, 2000), 125–27. 36. Phillip R. Shriver, “Broken Locks and Rusty Barrels: A New York Militia Com­ pany on the Eve of the War of 1812” New York History 67 (July 1986), 354–56. T ­ hese w ­ ere not uncommon circumstances in the aftermath of the American Revolution, as throughout much of the United States, “the nation suffered for neglecting its militia,” in the months leading to the beginning of the War of 1812; see Harry S. Laver, Citizens More than Soldiers: The Kentucky Militia and Society in the Early Republic (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 11–13. 37. ASP:MA, 1: 487. 38. Barbuto, Niagara 1814, 115–25. 39. Ibid., 125–28. 40. Ibid., 128–31. 41. J.C.A. Stagg, “Enlisted Men in the United States Army, 1812–1815: A Preliminary Study,” William and Mary Quarterly 43 (October 1986), 615–45; J.C.A. Stagg, “Soldiers in Peace and War: Comparative Perspectives on the Recruitment of the United States Army, 1802–1815,” William and Mary Quarterly 57 (January 2000), 79–120. 42. William B. Skelton, “High Army Leadership in the Era of the War of 1812: The Making and Remaking of the Officer Corps,” William and Mary Quarterly 51 (April 1994), 253–74; Hickey, War of 1812, 76. 43. Skeen, Citizen Soldiers, 56–58. 44. Harold C. Syrett, ed., Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 26 vols. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 23: note, 438. 45. Edwin H. Simmons, “Maj Carmick at New Orleans,” Fortitudine: Newsletter of the Marine Corps Heritage Program 14 (Spring 1985), 3–8; Paul D. Gelpi Jr., “Mr. Jefferson’s Creoles: The Battalion D’Orleans and the Americanization of Creole Louisiana, 1803– 1815,” Louisiana History 48 (Summer 2007), 295–316. 46. Charles E. Kinzer, “The Band of M ­ usic of the First Battalion of F ­ ree Men of Color and the Siege of New Orleans, 1814–15,” American ­Music 10 (Autumn 1992), 348–69. 47. Arsene LaCarriere Latour, Historical Memoir of the War in West Florida and Louisiana, in 1814–15, with an Atlas, Gene Smith, ed. (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1999), 78–79. 48. Ibid., 89. 49. Augustus C. Buell, History of Andrew Jackson, 2 vols. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1904), 2: 12. 50. Latour, Historical Memoir, 54, 79. 51. Jane Lucas DeGrummond, The Baratarians and the ­Battle of New Orleans (Baton Rouge: Legacy, 1961); Edward Alexander Parsons, “Jean Lafitte in the War of 1812,” Journal of the American Antiquarian Society (October 1940), 205–24; Robert C. Vogel, “Jean Lafitte, the Baratarians, and the ­Battle of New Orleans: A Reappraisal,” Louisiana History: The Journal of the Louisiana Historical Association 41 (Summer 2000), 261–76. 52. “An Act Fixing the Military Peace Establishment of the United States,” March 16, 1802, in Callan, Military Laws, 141. 53. Dianne Graves, In the Midst of Alarms: The Untold Story of ­Women and the War of 1812 (Quebec: Robin Brass Studio, 2007), 131–78; Mary  M. Crawford, ed., “Mrs. Lydia B. Bacon’s Journal, 1811–1812,” Indiana Magazine of History 40 (December 1944), 374, 378. 54. Ibid., 379, 383. 55. Hickey, War of 1812, 135–36.



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56. Rueben Gold Thwaites, ed., Early Western Travels, 1748–1846, A Series of Annotated Reprints of some of the Best and Rarest Con­temporary Volumes of Travel, Descriptions of the Aborigines and Social and Economic Prob­lems in the ­Middle and Far West, 32 vols. (Cleveland: A. H. Clark, 1904–1907), 5: 60–61. 57. Erna Risch, Quartermaster Support of the Army: A History of the Corps, 1775–1939 (Washington, D. C.: Government Printing Office, 1962), 115–33. 58. Ibid., 134–52. 59. David Cole, Survey of U.S. Army Uniforms, Weapons and Accoutrements. https://­ history​.­army​.­mil​/­html​/­museums​/­uniforms​/­survey​.­html (accessed January 20, 2018), 5–6. 60. Charles Elihu Slocum, History of the Maumee River Basin from the Earliest Account to its Organ­ization into Counties (Indianapolis: Bowen and Slocum, 1905), 307. 61. ASP:MA, 1: 433–34. 62. Barbuto, Niagara 1814, 175. 63. G. Glenn Clift, “War of 1812 Diary of William B. Northcutt,” The Register of the Kentucky Historical Society 56 (April 1958), 167; Thomas Ruckle, “­Battle of North Point, near Baltimore, September 12, 1814,” Mary­land Historical Society, http://­w ww​.­mdhs​.­org​ /­digitalimage​/ ­battle​-­north​-­point​-­near​-­baltimore​-­september​-­12​-­1814 (accessed January 20, 2018). 64. Alexander Walker, Jackson and New Orleans: An Au­then­tic Narrative of the Memorable Achievements of the American Army (New York: J. C. Derby, 1856), 154. 65. William Charles Cole Clairborne to Jackson, December 20, 1814, Harold Moser et al., eds., The Papers of Andrew Jackson (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1980), 3: note, 212. 66. Henry T. Tuckerman, The Life of John Pendleton Kennedy (New York: G. P. Putnam and Sons, 1871), 65. 67. General Winfield Scott to Secretary of War James Monroe, in “Subsisting the Army,” ASP:MA, 1: 600. 68. Ibid. 69. James Madison, “Proclamation Recommending a National Day of Prayer” (July 9, 1812). http://­w ww​.­presidency​.­ucsb​.­edu​/­ws​/­i ndex​.­php​?­pid​= 6­ 5944 (accessed January 20, 2018). 70. William Gribben, The Churches Militant: The War of 1812 and American Religion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 1–39. 71. “An Act to Augment the Army of the United States, and for other Purposes,” Military Laws of the United States,” July 16, 1796; Callan, Military Laws, 127–28. 72. Kenneth E. Lawson, Reliable and Religious: U.S. Army Chaplains and the War of 1812 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2012), 1–13. 73. Ibid., 13–55. 74. Dawson A. Phelps, ed., “The Diary of a Chaplain in Andrew Jackson’s Army: The Journal of the Reverend Mr. Learner Blackman—­December 28, 1812-­April 4, 1813,” Tennessee Historical Quarterly 12 (September 1953), 264–81. 75. Richard Anson Wheeler, History of the Town of Stonington, County of New London, Connecticut, From its First Settlement in 1649 to 1900 (New London, CT: Press of the Day, 1900), 67, 70, 416. 76. For examples, see National Songster, or, A Collection of the most admired patriotic songs, on the brilliant victories, achieved by the naval and military heroes of the United States of Amer­i­ca, over equal and superior forces of the British (Hagerston, MD: John Gruber and Daniel May, 1814). http://­webapp1​.­dlib​.­i ndiana​.­edu​/­metsnav3​/­general​/­i ndex​ .­html#mets​=­http%3A%2F%2Fpurl​.­dlib​.­indiana​.­edu%2Fiudl%2Fgeneral%2Fmets%2FV AC2228&page​=­1 (accessed June 2, 2018); “Constitution and the Guerriere, Coast of Barbary, and Days of Absence” (Boston: L. Deming, n.d.), http://­w ww​.­americanantiquarian​ .­org​/­thomasballads​/­items​/­show​/­298 (accessed June 2, 2018).

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77. Pitch, The Burning of Washington, 191–92, 219–20. 78. John Frost, The Book of the Navy, Comprising a General History of the American Marine (New York: D. Appleton, 1843), 297–98; a more detailed study of the origins of “­Uncle Sam” is contained in the Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, New Series (Worcester, MA: Davis, 1909), 19: 21–65. 79. Irwin Silber, Songs Amer­i­ca Voted By (Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1971), 29–30. 80. Peter Stone, “Jimmy Driftwood,” from the Association for Cultural Equity. http://­ www​.­culturalequity​.­org​/­alanlomax​/­ce​_­alanlomax​_ ­profile​_­d riftwood​.­php (accessed July 15, 2014); “­Battle of New Orleans Lyr­ics.” http://­www​.­metrolyrics​.­com​/­the​-­battle​-­of​-­new​ -­orleans​-­lyrics​-­johnny​-­horton​.­html (accessed July 15, 2014). 81. The Buccaneer, VHS, Paramount Pictures, directed by Anthony Quinn (Paramount Pictures, 1996). 82. “An Act for the Better Organ­izing of the Troops of the United States, and for Other Purposes”; Callan, Military Laws, 134–35. 83. “An Act increasing the pay of non-­commissioned officers, musicians, privates, and ­others, of the army, and for other purposes,” December 12, 1812; Callan, Military Laws, 236–37. 84. “An Act making further provisions for filling the ranks of the regular army, encouraging enlistments, and authorizing the re-­enlistments, for longer periods, of men whose terms of ser­vice are about to expire,” January 27, 1814; Callan, Military Laws, 250–51. 85. Skeen, Citizen-­Soldiers, 27–28, 124–25, 147–48. 86. Hickey, War of 1812, 246–54. 87. This method had not changed considerably from Baron Von Steuben’s method of drill introduced at Valley Forge, and would be further codified by Col­o­nel Winfield Scott ­after the War of 1812. See Alexander Smyth, Regulations for the Field Exercise, Manoeuvres, and Conduct of the Infantry of the United States (Philadelphia: Anthony, 1812). 88. Carl P. Russell, Guns of the Early Frontiers (New York: Bonanza Books, 1957), 175–78. 89. Gregory J. W. Urwin, The United States Cavalry, and Illustrated Guide, 1776–1944 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1944), 49. 90. Donald E. Graves, “Field Artillery of the War of 1812: Equipment, Organ­ization, Tactics and Effectiveness,” The War of 1812 Magazine 12 (November 2009). http://­w ww​ .­napoleon​-­series​.­org​/­military​/ ­Warof1812​/­2009​/­Issue12​/­c​_­Artillery​.­html (accessed July 15, 2014). 91. Larry I. Nelson, “Amos Stoddard,” in David S. and Jeanne T. Heidler, eds., Encyclopedia of the War of 1812 (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-­CLIO, 1997), 491. 92. “Part V. Exercise of Field Artillery, 4 and 6 Pounders,” in Amos Stoddard, Exercise for Garrison and Field Ordinance Together with Maneuvers (New York: Pelsue and Gould, 1812). http://­w ww​.­k ismeta​.­com​/­diGrasse​/­1812​/­Stoddards​_­Manual​.­pdf (accessed July 15, 2014). 93. Jeffrey Kimball, “The ­Battle of Chippewa: Infantry Tactics in the War of 1812,” Military Affairs 31 (Winter 1967–68), 169–86; Henry Adams, quoted in Richard V. Barbuto, Niagara 1814: Amer­i­ca Invades Canada (Lawrence: University Press of Canada, 2000), 170–83, 178. 94. Steve Inskeep, Jacksonland: President Andrew Jackson, Cherokee Chief John Ross, and A G ­ reat American Land Grab (New York: Penguin Press, 2015), 26–28. 95. Andrew Jackson to General Pinckney, March 28, 1814, in John Spencer Bassett, ed., The Correspondence of Andrew Jackson, 6 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Car­ne­gie Institution, 1926–1933), 1: 488–89. 96. Ebenezar F. Baker, An Authentick History of the Late War between the United States and ­Great Britain, with a full account of ­every ­battle by sea and land; the massacre at the



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River Raisin; the destruction of the City of Washington; the Treaty of Peace in 1815. To which ­will be added, the war with Algiers . . . ​the treaties of peace with the vari­ous tribes of North American Indians, and the United States Army Register, and Peace Establishment (New York: Craighead and Allen, 1836), 251–52.   97. Thomas Kanon, “ ‘A Slow, Laborious Slaughter’: The ­Battle of Horse­shoe Bend,” Tennessee Historical Quarterly 58 (Spring 1999), 2–15.   98. Latour, Historical Memoir, 102–105.   99. A detailed description of Jackson’s order of ­battle on January 8 may be found in John Buchanan, Jackson’s Way: Andrew Jackson and the ­People of the Western ­Waters (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2001), 354–55. For the assessment of Carroll and Coffee’s Tennesseans, see Latour, Historical Memoir, 80. 100. Ibid., 100–01. 101. Commodore Daniel T. Patterson to the Secretary of Navy, January 3. 1815, ibid., 245; Jackson to Monroe, January 9, 1815, ibid., 238. 102. Callan, Military Laws, 211–12. 103. John Grenier, The First War of War: American War Making on the Frontier (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 19, 33–36. 104. ASP:MA, 1: 421; Grenier, The First Way of War, 33–36, 211–13. 105. John C. Frederiksen, The United States Army in the War of 1812 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2009), 280–87. 106. Ibid., 288–90. 107. Francis Paul Prucha, The Sword of the Republic: The United States Army on the Frontier, 1783–1846 (New York: MacMillan, 1969), 128, 139, 141–43. 108. James Mann, Medical Sketches of the Campaigns of 1812, 13, 14, to which are added Surgical Cases, Observations on Military Hospitals; Flying Hospitals Attached to a Moving Army (Dedham, MA: H. Mann, 1816). 109. Donald R. Hickey, 187 ­Things You Should Know about the War of 1812 (Baltimore: Mary­land Historical Society, 2012), 136; Mann, Medical Sketches, 235. 110. Timothy D. Johnson, Winfield Scott: The Quest for Military Glory (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 27–28; Edward Deering Mansfield, The Life of Winfield Scott (New York: A. S. Barnes, 1846), 50–76; Paul J. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 48–50. 111. Charles Andrews, The Prisoners’ Memoirs, or, Dartmoor Prison (New York: Self Published, 1815); Reginald Horsman, “The Paradox of Dartmoor Prison,” American Heritage 26 (February 1975), 13–17. 112. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives, 50–52. 113. Hickey, War of 1812, 52–71; Paul A. Gilje, “The Baltimore Riots of 1812 and the Breakdown of the Anglo-­American Mob Tradition,” Journal of Social History 13 (Summer 1980), 547–64; “An Exact and Au­then­tic Narrative of the 2nd Baltimore Riot.” http://­ publicdomainreview​.­o rg ​ /­c ollections​ /­a n​ -­e xact​ -­a nd​ -­a uthentic​ -­n arrative​ -­of​ -­t he​ -­2 nd​ -­baltimore​-­riot​-­1812/ (accessed February 5, 2018). 114. Jerry Roberts, The British Raid on Essex: The Forgotten ­Battle of the War of 1812 (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2014). 115. James Tertius DeKay, The ­Battle of Stonington: Torpedoes, Submarines, and Rockets in the War of 1812 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1990). 116. Donald R. Hickey, “New E ­ ngland’s Defense Prob­lem and the Genesis of the Hartford Convention,” The New ­England Quarterly 50 (December 1977), 587–604. 117. Robert V. Remini, The B ­ attle of New Orleans, 58, 194; Robert V. Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Empire, 1767–1821 (New York: Harper and Row, 1977), 298–320; Matthew Warshauer, Andrew Jackson and the Politics of Martial Law: Nationalism, Civil Liberties and Partisanship (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2006).

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118. “Report of the Select Committee on the Militia, U.S. Senate, 1814,” ASP:MA, 1: 523; J.C.A. Stagg, “Enlisted Men in the United States Army, 1812–1815: A Preliminary Study,” William and Mary Quarterly 43 (October 1986): 621. 119. James W. Oberly, “Gray-­Haired Lobbyists: War of 1812 Veterans and the Politics of Bounty Land Grants,” Journal of the Early Republic 5 (Spring 1985), 35–58. 120. Robert V. Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Empire, 181–86. 121. Benson J. Lossing, The Pictorial Field-­book of the War of 1812 (New York: Harper and ­Brothers, 1896), 431–32; Hickey, War of 1812, 88. 122. John S. Hare, “Military Punishments in the War of 1812,” Journal of the American Military Institute 4 (Winter 1940), 227–229; Barbuto, Niagara 1814, 131. 123. Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Empire, 197–201; Tom Kanon, Tennesseans at War, 1812–1815: Andrew Jackson, The Creek War, and the ­Battle of New Orleans (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2014), 83–86. 124. Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Empire, 211–12. 125. Hickey, The War of 1812, 76; Barbuto, Niagara, 1814, 132–33. 126. The House debate over “Resolutions, expressive of the thanks of Congress to Major General Jackson, and the troops ­under his command, for their gallantry and good conduct in the defence of New Orleans,” may be followed in Annals of Congress, 13th Cong., 3rd Sess., 1155–61, 1165–67, 1174, 1183–85, 1191, 1194. The Senate debate is located in Annals of Congress, 13th Cong., 3rd Sess., 250. 252–53, 258–59, 272–74. 127. “Resolutions, Expressive of the thanks of Congress to Major General Jackson, and the troops ­under his command, for their gallantry and good conduct in the defence of New Orleans,” Appendix to the Annals of Congress, 13th Cong., 3rd Sess., 1966–1967. 128. Theodore J. Crackel, Mr. Jefferson’s Army, 180–83; Lawrence Delbert Cress, Citizens in Arms, 168–71; Madison’s desire to rely principally upon the nation’s militia is best expressed in his “Second Annual Message,” December 10, 1810, in James D. Richardson, ed., A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the Presidents, 20 vols. (New York: Bureau of National Lit­er­a­t ure and Art, 1897), 1: 471–72.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Altoff, Gerard T. Amongst My Best Men: African Americans and the War of 1812. Put in Bay, OH: The Perry Group, 1996. Barbuto, Richard V. Niagara 1814: Amer­i­ca Invades Canada. Lawrence: University Press of Canada, 2000. Cress, Lawrence D. Citizens in Arms: The Army and Militia in American Society to the War of 1812. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982. DeKay, James Tertius. The ­Battle for Stonington: Torpedoes, Submarines and Rockets in the War of 1812. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1990. Drez, Ronald J. The War of 1812: Conflict and Deception. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2010. Graves, Dianne. In the Midst of Alarms: The Untold Story of ­Women and the War of 1812. Cap-­Saint-­Ignace, Quebec: Robin Brass Studios, 2007. Hickey, Donald R. The War of 1812: A Forgotten Conflict. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989. Johnson, Timothy D. Winfield Scott: The Quest for Military Glory. Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1998. Kanon, Tom. Tennesseans at War, 1812–1815: Andrew Jackson, The Creek War, and the ­Battle of New Orleans. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2014. Laver, Harry S. Citizens More than Soldiers: The Kentucky Militia and Society in the Early Republic. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007.



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Pitch, Anthony S. The Burning of Washington: The British Invasion of 1814. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1998. Quimby, Robert S. The US Army in the War of 1812: An Operational and Command Study. Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1997. Remini, Robert V. The B ­ attle of New Orleans: Andrew Jackson and Amer­i­ca’s First Military Victory. New York: Viking Press, 1999. Roberts, Jerry. The British Raid on Essex: The Forgotten ­Battle of the War of 1812. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2014. Skeen, C. Edward. Citizen-­Soldiers in the War of 1812. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999. Skelton, William. “High Army Leadership in the Era of the War of 1812: The Making and Remaking of the Officer Corps,” William and Mary Quarterly 51 (1994), 253–74. Stagg, J.C.A. “Soldiers in Peace and War: Comparative Perspectives on the Recruitment of the United States Army, 1802–1815,” William and Mary Quarterly 57 (2000), 79–120 Stagg, J.C.A. “United States Army Officers in the War of 1812: A Statistical and Behavioral Portrait,” Journal of Military History 76 (October 2012), 1001–34. Stagg, J.C.A. The War of 1812: Conflict for a Continent. Cambridge Essential Histories, 2012. Taylor, Alan. The Civil War of 1812: American Citizens, British Subjects, Irish Rebels, and Indian Allies. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010.

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3 Mexican War Robert Wettemann Jr.

OVERVIEW On December 22, 1847, Illinois Whig Congressman Abraham Lincoln introduced his “Spot Resolution,” calling upon Demo­cratic President James K. Polk to prove to Congress and the American ­people that the spot upon which the initial b­ attle of the Mexican War was fought was in fact the property of the United States. Less than two weeks ­later, the U.S. House of Representatives passed an amendment claiming the Mexican War had begun “unnecessarily and unconstitutionally.” The vote for the subsequent mea­sure came down along party lines, highlighting the divisions between Whig and Demo­crat that had been pre­sent since before the war began and typifying the partisan discord that would come to characterize the Mexican War.1 The war had roots in the expansionist spirit that emerged in the United States in the three de­cades that followed the War of 1812. With the Adams-­Onis Treaty and annexation of Florida ending territorial conflict in the old Southwest, Americans turned their eyes westward as the spirit of Manifest Destiny gripped the country. Capitalizing upon the recent in­de­pen­dence of Mexico from Spain, many followed empresarios such as Stephen F. Austin into Mexican Texas, becoming Mexican citizens, converting to the Catholic faith, and surrendering their slaves as the United States’ southern neighbor sought a buffer zone between Mexico and both nomadic northern tribes and the United States. Promised po­liti­cal input as Mexico flirted with a decentralized Federalist po­liti­cal system, demo­cratically minded Americans soon opposed the concentration of power by President Antonio de Lopez de Santa Anna and the Mexican Centralists.2 Daring the Mexican Army to “come and take it,” at Gonzales, minor skirmishes between Texians and Mexicans soon gave way to b­ attles. A ­ fter independence-­ minded Texians led by Benjamin Milam and James Bowie drove Mexican forces commanded by General Martin Perfecto de Cos from San Antonio, General (and President) Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, the self-­styled “Napoleon of the West,”

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returned to crush re­sis­tance in the rebelling province. While Texian politicians declared in­de­pen­dence and set about creating a government, Santa Anna led his army against Texian garrisons at the Alamo and Goliad, putting all captured defenders to the sword. Emboldened by t­hese victories, Santa Anna sought to engage General Sam Houston and the recently created Army of Texas. Pursued in the “Runaway Scrape,” Houston eventually turned on Santa Anna, leading his cobbled-­ together force into ­battle on the plains of San Jacinto on April 21, 1836. ­There, he defeated the Mexican army and captured Santa Anna in a ­battle that only lasted 18 minutes.3 Texas spent the next nine years as an in­de­pen­dent republic, though fighting ranged back and forth across the southern border. Texians looked to the Rio Grande as the rightful boundary, while Mexico, rejecting the Treaty of Velasco signed by Santa Anna at the end of the Texas Revolution, regarded the Nueces River as the boundary of the breakaway republic. President John Tyler, seeking some semblance of po­liti­cal support, attempted to make annexation an issue in the waning months of his presidency, though as he prepared for the 1844 election, Demo­ cratic dark ­horse James  K. Polk made the “Reannexation of Texas” one of his campaign platform planks. Despite Polk’s efforts, Tyler ultimately secured Texas annexation, accepting Texas as a state through joint congressional resolution in February 1845.4 James K. Polk won the presidency in 1844 in the midst of an unpre­ce­dented period of po­liti­cal participation on the part of the American electorate. Since the Panic of 1819, two parties had emerged to dominate the American po­liti­cal landscape: Whigs and Demo­crats. Demo­crats, who had their roots in the Anti-­Federalist, Old Republican wing of the Jeffersonian Republicans, supported Andrew Jackson and embraced a brand of popu­lar politics that rejected centralized authority, po­liti­ cal elitism, and government-­sponsored favoritism typified by the “American System” advanced by Henry Clay and o­ thers in the aftermath of the War of 1812. By 1844, Demo­crats saw national expansion as a means to extend opportunity to both native-­born and immigrant ­labor, bringing the old Northwest and the South together in a po­liti­cal co­ali­tion that hoped to spread liberty, democracy, and Protestantism throughout the continent. In contrast, the Whig Party embraced the rhe­toric of personal restraint, looking to qualitative economic improvement over quantitative expansion. Initially coalescing in opposition to “King Andrew I,” the Whigs, like the Demo­crats, believed in Amer­i­ca’s postmillennial mission, but saw it as taking place through moral and demo­cratic example rather than through plunder and conquest.5 The prospect of national expansion brought both parties into conflict. The annexation of Texas had sparked a diplomatic crisis between Mexico and the United States. Embracing the Rio Grande as the boundary of the new state, President Polk heightened tensions between the two nations, issuing secret naval ­orders to Commodore John D. Sloat of the Pacific Squadron to seize Monterey and Yerba Buena (San Francisco) if war broke out between the countries. Unsuccessfully offering Mexico $35 million for both California and New Mexico, Polk applied further pressure to Mexico, ordering some 4,000 U.S. regulars ­under General Zachary Taylor to assem­ble on the beaches of Corpus Christi in April 1845 as part of what soon



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became known as the “Corps of Observation.” Taylor and his troops trained on the beaches for seven months, before his renamed “Army of Occupation,” marched southward to new positions along the Rio Grande, hoping that their presence would spark a reaction by Mexico. Moving inland from their base at Port Isabel on the coast, Taylor’s troops began construction of Fort Texas, overlooking a strategic river crossing on the Rio Grande opposite the city of Matamoras.6 On April 24, 1846, General Zachary Taylor received word that Mexican General Mariano Arista had moved troops across the Rio Grande to threaten the American supply line. In response, Taylor ordered Captain Seth B. Thornton and two companies of dragoons to gather intelligence on Mexican movements. On April 25, while sheltering from the rain in a small hacienda 20 miles upriver from Fort Texas, 1,600 Mexican cavalry and light infantry, commanded by General Anastasio Torrejón, surprised Thornton’s 68 dragoons. The Mexican troops forced Thornton’s heavi­ly outnumbered dragoons back to the Rio Grande. During the desperate effort to escape, Thornton was thrown from his ­horse and killed. Captain William J. Hardee, who assumed command a­ fter Thornton fell, and the remaining men had no choice but to surrender.7 General Taylor quickly forwarded Hardee’s report of the incident to President Polk. Addressing a Joint Session of Congress on May 11, 1846, President Polk boldly proclaimed that “Mexico has passed the boundary of the United States . . . ​and shed American blood on American soil.” Citing this Mexican provocation, he immediately called for a declaration of war against Mexico, which Congress provided on May 13.8 The United States was not prepared for a war in 1846, but it was, however, much better prepared militarily than it had been in 1812. ­After the War of 1812, the United States had not only retained a peacetime army, but the War Department had taken significant steps to reform army organ­ization, bureaucracy, and education, providing fertile ground for the nascent seeds of military professionalism. Although critics ­were quick to note the small size of the U.S. Army (fewer than 5,500 troops despite an authorized strength of 8,613 officers and men), aged and infirmed officers in command (many had served since the 1815 restructuring of the peace establishment), and understrength companies in 1845, effective military education, ample training, and engineering expertise gave the U.S. Army a significant qualitative advantage throughout the conflict. The mandatory militia system had remained a statutory real­ity, but prohibitions against both extended ser­vice and calling the militia to serve outside the nation’s borders had given rise to a new class of citizen-­soldiers—­volunteers. Patriotic Americans founded volunteer companies in many locales, with the units electing officers, determining regulations, and assuming characteristics common to men’s social clubs. ­These quasi-­military units provided an ample outlet for the American martial spirit, but nonetheless cultivated some sense of military discipline. Many units had at least one officer educated at West Point ­either in ­whole or in part, as civilian opportunity, coupled with the prospect of ser­vice in the Second Seminole War, had prompted many ju­nior officers to resign from the U.S. Army in the 1830s. Their decision to leave the military gave credence to Thomas Jefferson’s ­earlier desire that West Point would provide valuable training for ­f uture militia officers, though not in the exact circumstances he had anticipated.9

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Two days ­after the congressional declaration of war, President Polk learned of General Taylor’s victories at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. On May 2, Taylor had left the Seventh Infantry regiment to garrison Fort Texas, marching to the coast with the remainder of the army to break through, reinforce itself, and reestablish the lines of communication between Fort Texas and Port Isabel. Discovering the American intentions, General Mariano Arista, commanding the Northern Division of the Mexican Army, attempted to cut Taylor’s supply line and further isolate Fort Texas. Ten miles from this destination, Mexican troops took positions in an effort to halt Taylor’s relief, and a ­battle ensued on May 8 on the prairies of Palo Alto. In what began as an artillery ­battle, American 18-­pound siege guns, 12-­pound howitzers, and several 6-­pound howitzers, mounted as part of Major Samuel Ringgold’s “flying artillery,” caught the Mexican forces in a deadly cannonade. ­After failed attempts to turn the American lines, the ­battle concluded at dusk, and both armies spent the night on the battlefield. With Fort Texas still u­ nder siege, the two armies reengaged the next day at Resaca de la Palma, an abandoned bed of the Rio Grande that formed a natu­ral obstacle on the road between Palo Alto and Fort Texas. Hoping to minimize the effectiveness of the American artillery, General Arista deployed his troops along the resaca, using the rough terrain to his advantage. Undeterred, General Taylor ordered infantry and dragoons against the Mexican positions. Command and control soon broke down as rough terrain and vegetation reduced the linear tactics into a host of smaller engagements. Facing such challenges, American ju­nior leadership shone through as U.S. forces carried the field, with young dragoon captain Charles May becoming one of the first heroes of the war, earning a brevet in leading a charge against Mexican guns. ­After ­these first two ­battles, General Arista’s army ceased to function as an effective military unit, suffering more than 1,600 casualties while killing or wounding fewer than 200 American troops.10 As General Taylor celebrated his initial victories, President Polk developed plans to achieve the territorial objectives that had served as the foundation of his 1844

Lithograph depicting U.S. troops commanded by Major General Zachary Taylor at the ­Battle of Resaca de la Palma on May 9, 1846. American forces attacked and drove off the Mexican troops commanded by General Mariano Arista, forcing them to retreat south of the Rio Grande and abandon hope of reconquering Texas. (Library of Congress)



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presidential campaign. Having set his sights on Texas, California, and every­thing in between for the United States, President Polk’s plan to secure this territory had three princi­ple ele­ments: First, recently promoted Brigadier General Stephen Watts Kearny, in command of the “Army of the West,” would march westward from Fort Leavenworth across the Santa Fe Trail. Anticipating weak re­sis­t ance in semi-­ autonomous Nuevo Mexico, Kearny planned to capture the seat of Mexican government in Santa Fe and establish control. Dividing his army, Kearny would leave an occupation force in the territorial capital of Santa Fe, with other Missourians marching south. Kearny would take the remainder of his command westward, where they hoped to repeat the pro­cess in the Mexican territory of Alta California. With Kearny securing control over the American Southwest, the second American army, commanded by General Zachary Taylor, would move southward from Matamoras and capture Monterrey and Saltillo, the capitals of Nuevo Leon and Coahuila. Fi­nally, General John E. Wool, commanding the “Army of the Center,” would march westward from San Antonio and turn southward, linking up with the detachment of the Army of the West that had marched southward from Santa Fe. Polk hoped that gaining control over northern Mexico, coupled with the American occupation of several state and territorial capitals, would compel the Mexican government to sue for peace.11 To make President Polk’s goals a real­ity, it was necessary to ensure that the U.S. Army had requisite manpower. Immediately ­after the b­ attles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, Congress doubled the size of the regular army, raising the authorized strength of each com­pany from 48 to 100 men without the addition of a single officer. Congress called upon the states to provide 50,000 volunteers to serve for the duration of the war.12 With enthusiastic volunteers flocking to the colors, it was only a ­matter of weeks before military expeditions began operations to meet the war’s stated aims. On June 5, Col­o­nel (and ­later Brigadier General) Stephen Watts Kearny left Fort Leavenworth, Kansas Territory commanding the 1,600-­man-­strong “Army of the West,” a mixed force of U.S. Dragoons and Missouri Volunteer infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Stopping briefly at Bent’s Fort on the Arkansas River, they proceeded to Santa Fe. With the Mexican governor unable to rally any re­sis­tance, Kearny entered Santa Fe unopposed on August 18, 1846. Aided by Missouri ­lawyer turned volunteer Col­o­nel Alexander W. Doniphan, he drafted the Kearny Code to govern the new territory before taking the dragoons and marching westward. Upon the arrival of Missouri volunteer Col­o­nel Sterling Price and reinforcements to hold Santa Fe, Doniphan took his battalion of Missouri volunteers southward ­toward El Paso del Norte (present-­day Juarez, Mexico).13 Challenged at the Rio Grande by General Antonio Ponce de Léon and more than 1,100 Mexican soldiers, Doniphan’s force fought the ­Battle of El Brazito (outside modern-­day El Paso, Texas) on Christmas Day, 1846, inflicting nearly 200 casualties while suffering only seven wounded. Moving into northern Mexico, Doniphan’s Missourians did so in the absence of General Wool’s forces, whose ­orders had been changed to occupy Parras and join General Zachary Taylor’s Army of the North. Marching on alone, the Missourians won the ­Battle of the Sacramento on February 28, 1847, before capturing the city of Chihuahua. In the latter ­battle,

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Mexican troops outnumbered Doniphan’s force by more than four to one in infantry, and nearly two to one in artillery, but the Missourians fought on, losing only one killed and eleven wounded to the Mexican loss of 320 dead, 560 wounded, and 72 prisoners. Capturing Chihuahua, Doniphan’s men boarded on ships and returned to Missouri via New Orleans, where they received a hero’s welcome. Their campaign took them on a march of nearly 5,500 miles, considered the longest military campaign since the times of Alexander the G ­ reat, and served as a shining example of what capably led volunteers could accomplish.14 Kearny anticipated fighting to seize California from Mexico, but upon his arrival in early December 1846, he discovered that Anglo settlers inhabiting California had done much of his work for him. Rejecting Mexican rule, the Californios had, with the assistance of U.S. Army engineer officer John C. Fremont and Commodore Richard Stockton, declared their own in­de­pen­dent “Bear Flag Republic.” Although Kearny’s reduced command of 160 men suffered a military defeat at the hands of Major Andres Pico and his Californios and Presidial Lancers at the ­Battle of San Pasqual, and Mexicans challenged Bear Flaggers and Marines at Santa Clara and Rio San Gabriel, by mid-­January 1847, the United States controlled California.15 With the Army of the West effectively achieving President Polk’s territorial ambitions in the Southwest, it was up to General Taylor to secure the border. Marching southward, Taylor’s army captured Monterrey on September  24, 1846, ­after a bloody, three-­day-­long street ­battle. Consolidating their control over the province of Nuevo Leon before proceeding south once again, Taylor’s army captured Saltillo, the last urban area in northern Mexico, occupying the capital of Coahuila on November 16. When General Wool, commanding the Army of the Center, discovered that it would be impossible to move wheeled vehicles into Chihuahua, he requested from General Taylor that he be allowed to move southward and occupy Parras, which he did. With three capitals—­Monterrey, Saltillo, and Chihuahua—­and much of the territory north of the Rio Grande that the United States sought to annex clearly in American possession, President Polk hoped that Mexico could be brought to the bargaining t­ able and the war brought to a successful conclusion.16 To achieve peace, President Polk entered into secret negotiations with exiled Mexican President Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, who had been living in Cuba since the end of the Texas Revolution. Promising a suspension of hostilities, Polk offered Santa Anna a return to Mexico, anticipating that Santa Anna would take control, negotiate with the United States to cede California, and s­ ettle the Texas-­ Mexico border issue. Boarding a British steamer, Santa Anna cleared the American naval blockade and returned to Veracruz. Arriving to a hero’s welcome, all thoughts of negotiations ­were quickly forgotten as he quickly pledged to “devote myself u­ ntil death, to the defense of liberty and in­de­pen­dence of the republic.”17 In short order, Santa Anna assembled 2,000 men in Mexico City, marching them northwards to join an additional 3,000 troops encamped near San Luis Potosi. Reclaiming his title as “Napoleon of the West,” he sought out General Taylor and what remained of his army, with the vast majority of his regulars having been reallocated to General Scott in preparation for the Veracruz landings. Left in command of a mixed force of largely untested volunteers, U.S. Dragoons and artillery,



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Taylor encountered Santa Anna’s army, further strengthened by the addition of another 10,000 men, in rough terrain south of Saltillo, near Hacienda Buena Vista in the Angostura Pass on February 22, 1847. Rejecting an offer to surrender to Santa Anna, Taylor’s troops slept ­under arms that night before engaging the ­enemy the next morning. With both armies shifting back and forth across rough ground, Taylor’s troops achieved victory, forcing Santa Anna’s army from the field, having suffered between 1,500 and 2,000 casualties, with more than 500 left on the battlefield.18 Taylor’s victory raised a significant po­liti­cal challenge for President Polk. Having already announced that he would not run for reelection in 1848, a number of Taylor Clubs had already sprung up since “Old Rough and Ready’s” successes in northern Mexico, and now the president faced the prospect of continuing to allow a popu­lar and folksy general who notionally identified as a Whig the opportunity for continued martial success. President Polk generally disliked Taylor, Scott, and what he regarded as the Whiggish generals in the regular army, of which ­there ­were many. Not only had many of what he regarded as privileged officers opposed Indian removal and the war in Florida, but Polk regarded older officers as slow and unimaginative. To ­counter them, Polk took advantage of legislation passed on June 26, 1846, allowing him to appoint generals to command volunteers raised for ser­vice in Mexico. To ­these ends, Polk clung to the oft-­used phrase, “To the victors go the spoils,” embracing Jacksonian faith in the common man. Recognizing war as an extension of politics by other means, Polk reinforced the position of his party by appointing prominent Demo­crats to the army, eventually naming 13 to the rank of general of volunteers.19 Polk then began scheming to split the Whig vote. Although he disliked Lieutenant General Winfield Scott more than he disliked General Taylor, President Polk, acting upon a plan Scott had proposed in October, ordered the distinguished general to land an invasion force at the Mexican port city of Veracruz, then lead it on an overland campaign to capture Mexico City and end the war. Landing south of Veracruz on March 9, Scott’s army dug in below the city before opening fire, capturing it ­after a 20-­day bombardment. Securing his base of operations, Scott, perhaps the only American officer capable of conducting such a campaign, began an overland campaign ­toward the Mexican capital. In efforts to halt the American advance, Santa Anna, having recovered from the defeat at Buena Vista, had assembled a 10,000-­man army at Cerro Gordo, preparing defensive positions along the national road where the route began to climb into the mountains. Conscious of the need to husband his military manpower, Scott capitalized upon the expertise of young West Point–­educated officers who discovered a route around the prepared positions. This allowed Scott to turn the flank and gain the position with minimal casualties in the ensuing ­Battle of Cerro Gordo.20 ­After gaining a path to the interior of Mexico, Scott soon faced new challenges. Thousands of his volunteers, having agreed to serve ­either 12 months or the duration of the war, exercised their option to return home, with another 2,000 reporting sick. Hoping to leave the coastal plains before the sickly summer season, Scott waited for reinforcements ­until August, then resumed his march on Mexico City. Conducting a carefully orchestrated war of maneuver, Scott repeatedly avoided a

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pitched ­battle, carefully conducting reconnaissance and exercising considerable military science and martial skill to gain an advantage in the ­Battles of Contreras, Churubusco, Molino Del Rey, and Chapultepec. The result was a masterful application of the art of war, a tutorial for more than 200 West Point–­educated officers who would ­later hold the rank of general in the American Civil War. ­After a brilliant campaign around the south side of Mexico City, Scott’s troops marched into the capital victorious on September  14, 1847, compelling Santa Anna to remark in the aftermath that “if we ­were to plant our batteries in Hell the damned Yankees would take them from us.” 21 With the Americans in Mexico City, it was only a ­matter of time before Mexico offered terms, and on February 2, 1848, both sides agreed to the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that resulted in the cession of 1.2 million square miles of land to the United States, with the understanding that the United States would assume claims of American citizens against the Mexican government and pay more than $15 million in damages to Mexico.22

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS The War of 1812 convinced the United States of the utility of a standing army. Legislation passed ­after the war ended provided for a military peacetime establishment of 10,000 men. The acquisition of Florida and peaceful settlement of the nation’s boundary with Spain, however, coupled with the nation’s first ­great economic depression, soon prompted military retrenchment. On March 2, 1821, Congress reduced the U.S. Army to a force of 6,126 officers and men containing seven regiments of infantry and four regiments of artillery. In reducing the army, at least some ele­ments of Secretary of War John C. Calhoun’s expansible army concept applied, allowing the influx of enlisted men into individual companies without adding officers, precluding the formation of new units. With continued national expansion, additional mounted units ­were deemed necessary, and ­after a one-­year experiment with mounted rangers, Congress authorized the First Regiment, U.S. Dragoons in 1833, with a second regiment of dragoons raised in 1837 so that by the time the War with Mexico began, the U.S. Army was at an authorized strength of 8,613 officers and men.23 Throughout much of the nineteenth c­ entury, the U.S. Army enlisted “­free white male persons, above the age of 18, and ­under the age of 35 years, being at least 5 feet 5 inches high, who are ‘effective, able bodied citizens of the United States,’ native or naturalized, sober, ­free from disease, and who speak and understand the En­glish Language.” The recruiting officers working as part of the General Recruiting Ser­vice, which worked in conjunction with regimental recruiters to maintain unit strength, w ­ ere instructed to enlist, “None but men of good character, sound in body and mind, of good appearance, and well formed, and fit, in ­every par­tic­u­lar, to perform the duties of a soldier.” Once enlisted, ­these men served for a period of five years and, barring illness, injury, or court-­martial, ­were given the option of being discharged or reenlisting at the conclusion of their term of ser­vice. Since the



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military reduction at the conclusion of the Second Seminole War, the General Recruiting Ser­vice had been suspended, allowing the army to reduce back to its peacetime standard. As a result of American prejudices against the regular army, it was not long before the army as a w ­ hole was even lower than standard so that even with the reactivation of the General Recruiting Ser­vice in 1844, ­there ­were fewer than 5,500 men in uniform by May 1846.24 With the relatively small size of the regular army, the militia still played a significant role in national defense. During the Second Seminole War, more than 4,000 volunteers from Florida, Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, New York, Missouri, and the District of Columbia augmented regular troops serving in Florida. Over time, voluntary militia companies gradually supplanted the compulsory system as many states abolished universal militia ser­vice. Raised and or­ga­nized in the finest demo­cratic tradition, ­these egalitarian-­minded units ordered uniforms, elected their own officers, and sought state charters to lend legitimacy to their voluntary pursuits. Frequently more social club than effective combat unit, ­these quasi-­military companies functioned as agents of popu­lar w ­ ill, subject to local, rather than national, authority. Wearing ostentatious uniforms while attempting to perform the intricacies of military drill, most of ­these volunteers w ­ ere more familiar with a whiskey glass than with a musket. Despite the faults and shortcomings of both the U.S. Army and the citizen-­soldier tradition, it was this dual legacy of regulars and militia that President Polk had to mobilize as the United States readied for war with Mexico in the summer of 1845.25 The prospect of war with Mexico and the possibilities of military ser­vice excited many demo­cratically minded Americans, and as a result, preparation for armed conflict with the Republic of Mexico began well before the commencement of hostilities in April 1846. In July and August 1845, General Edmund P. Gaines issued ­orders for the assembly of four regiments of Louisiana militia and two companies of artillery to join the Army of Observation encamped at Corpus Christi. Although the artillery companies assembled and joined the Army of Observation for a short period, Gaines’s other proposals met with disfavor in Washington, as only Secretary of War William L. Marcy could authorize such requests, and then only with the president’s approval. Although no substantial American volunteer organ­izations ­were formed for ser­vice in Mexico by the end of 1845, enlistment in the regular army continued. On May 13, 1846, Congress, reacting to news of the Mexican attack on Thornton’s dragoons, declared war against Mexico. While the ­battles of Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, and the siege of Fort Brown raged on the border, Congress considered increasing the size of the army, eventually putting ele­ments of the expansible army concept into action. Since the conclusion of the Second Seminole War, the War Department had established a full-­strength infantry regiment composed of 10 companies, with each com­pany containing four sergeants, four corporals, two musicians, and 42 privates in addition to the commissioned officers (one captain, two first lieutenants, and one second lieutenant). By increasing the number of privates in each regiment to 100, the act increased the size of each regular regiment to 1,104 men, significantly increasing the size of the U.S. Army without the need to add

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new officers, allowing other­wise raw recruits to benefit from the experience already pre­sent in the existing regiments. To increase the strength of the regular regiments, the enlisted men of four companies w ­ ere divided to bring the remaining six to full strength. Officers of the four companies stripped of manpower ­were ordered back to the United States to recruit new companies, counting upon t­hose promises of pay and bounties to encourage enlistees to join.26 In addition to increasing the size of the regular regiments, a second act authorized President Polk to enlist 50,000 volunteers to serve for 12 months.27 Fueled by the decisive victories at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, a rage militaire swept through the country, with speeches, bonfires, torchlight parades, and war rallies all serving to encourage local volunteer enlistment. Bolstered by this fervor, volunteers flocked to the colors, and in a few short months, 15 states raised one or more volunteer regiments. According to the terms of the act of May 13, volunteers ­were given the option of serving “for twelve months . . . ​or to the end of the war,” ­unless sooner discharged, a choice that eventually caused serious prob­lems for the commander of American forces in Mexico. Ultimately, more than 73,000 citizen-­soldiers enlisted for the war with ­Mexico—55,000 of which ­were infantry, 17,000 mounted, and 1,100 artillery. Most volunteer organ­izations came from the Demo­cratically leaning southern and western states, with Kentucky sending the most with 7,392, Louisiana next with 7,011, and Missouri sending another 6,000. That did not prevent northern states from sending volunteers as well, with Mas­sa­chu­setts and New York each contributing at least one regiment of volunteers. All told, volunteer organ­izations from 24 states and the District of Columbia mustered into federal ser­vice and served during the war with Mexico.28 Many of the volunteers selected to end their enlistment in the summer of 1847, ­after 12 months of ser­vice. ­After taking Veracruz, General Scott soon faced the prospect of advancing in ­enemy territory against a numerically superior force, as on May 4, 1847, seven of General Scott’s eleven volunteer regiments (about 4,000 men) ­were discharged. Fortunately, Congress had considered the loss of the volunteers by passing additional legislation designed to encourage enlistments in the regular army. The act gave ­f uture enlistees a choice of ser­vice: e­ ither for the length of the war or for five years, with the ultimate choice left to the volunteer. The following month, Congress passed the “Ten Regiment Bill,” raising nine additional regiments of infantry and one of dragoons to serve for the war’s duration, with officers appointed by the president. Thousands of men opted to serve “for the duration of the war,” in one of the 10 companies raised as part of the “new establishment.”29 In addition to the more than 73,000 volunteers who served in the Mexican War, 31,024 U.S. regulars served: 19,290 in the old establishment (­those regiments that existed prior to the war) and 11,186 in the new establishment, the 10 new regular regiments raised during the war. Despite this manpower, at no time did e­ ither General Taylor or General Scott have more than 13,500 total soldiers, regulars or volunteers, ­under their command, and when Scott’s victorious army entered Mexico City, he had fewer than 6,000 men ­under his overall command, with their success certainly a testament to their training and discipline.30



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TRAINING By the start of the Mexican War, an emerging sense of military professionalism had taken grip in the U.S. Army, greatly influencing army discipline, both with re­spect to the conduct of troops on the battlefield and its daily regulation in field and garrison. Before the War of 1812 was over, Secretary of War James Monroe and Congress had formed a board of officers to draft a new tactical system, naming Brigadier General Winfield Scott to serve as its presiding officer. Meeting in early 1815, the board ­adopted a translation of the 1791 French Reglement as the new U.S. drill manual. While the text was not exclusively American, the ultimate result was the same, and upon publication, Infantry-­Tactics, or Rules for the Exercise and Maneuvers of the United States’ Infantry, by Major General Winfield Scott, became the standard that came to govern all tactical evolutions of American military units, both regular and volunteer, from the time of its publication in 1835 ­until the beginning of the American Civil War.31 Scott’s Tactics, as it came to be referred, simplified the French manual, instructing soldiers in the most efficient way of employing inherently inaccurate smoothbore flintlock muskets in combat: in two ranks using close order drill. Between 1835 and 1848, a number of authors published multiple versions of the manual, with additional versions appearing in the years preceding the Civil War. The adoption of a single tactical manual served to standardize drill and discipline, for ­after its adoption, any military unit trained using Scott’s Tactics could serve in combat alongside any other, as the U.S. Army not only had an accepted method for loadings and firings, but by adopting a single manual, consistent voice commands ­were exercised from unit to unit, something that was not always the case during the War of 1812.32 Upon the U.S. Army’s departure from Florida in 1842, the regular army resumed its duties as a frontier constabulary, assuming duty in company-­sized garrisons at fortifications and outposts along the borders of the United States. Such positioning led to the development of responsible and independent-­thinking ju­nior officers, as captains and lieutenants w ­ ere solely responsible for the soldiers u­ nder their control. Such isolation did not, however, contribute to the discipline of large bodies of troops. Consequently, once the U.S. Army began assembling the 4,500-­man-­strong Army of Observation at Corpus Christi in the fall of 1845, one of the primary tasks facing General Zachary Taylor was the familiarization of the army with battalion size and larger maneuvers. When Second Lieutenant Napoleon Jackson Tecumseh Dana made his way to Corpus Christi to join the other companies of his regiment, it was the first time since June 1832 that all companies of his regiment, the Seventh Infantry, had been brigaded together at one location. Comparing his regiment to the o­ thers assembled, Dana wrote to his wife on September 23 that “[w]e are decidedly the best regiment ­here, and have the finest and most military-­looking camp. As for the crack regiments, self-­styled, the Third and Fourth, I do not think they can compare with us with much credit to themselves.” Assembly of companies into their parent organ­ izations in the six months preceding combat operations provided the units with the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the mechanics of battalion and

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regimental formations, though some officers ­were simply not up to the task. Col­o­ nel  J.  B. Vose of the Fourth Infantry, took the opportunity to “brush up on ­tactics . . . [and] took command of the regiment at a battalion drill.” ­After completing “only two or three evolutions” in command of the battalion, he “dismissed the battalion, and, turning to go to his own quarters, dropped dead,” an apparent victim of heart disease.33 Despite such tragic events, Captain Ulysses S. Grant, an 1843 gradu­ate of the United States Military Acad­emy, ­later remarked of the troops at Corpus Christi, “A more efficient army for its number and armament, I do not believe ever fought a ­battle than the one commanded by General Taylor in his first two engagements on Mexican or Texan soil.”34 Martial preparations ­were not ­limited to the Army of Observation. While regular units drilled at Corpus Christi in advance of their first taste of combat in 1846, once volunteer units mustered into federal ser­vice ­after President Polk’s declaration of war, they, too, had to prepare for combat. Among the first to take the field ­were the First Missouri Volunteers. Upon mustering in at Fort Leavenworth, the volunteer members of the “Army of the West,” be they infantry, mounted, or artillery, all participated in an accelerated training program administered by the U.S. Dragoons that would accompany them into northern Mexico. Most undertook at least two weeks of drill ­under the careful tutelage of frontier veterans. Understanding the need for unit cohesion and discipline, Brigadier General Kearny hoped that time spent in drill would increase military discipline, a source of consternation to volunteers who w ­ ere already familiar with ­horse­manship and firearms, and in the case of many, ­were veterans of prewar ser­vice in Missouri militia organ­izations.35 Many volunteer units came to the war with some military experience, as many local militia units ­were accepted en masse into federal ser­vice to fight in the war. In Georgia, the first 10 militia companies able to meet the War Department standards w ­ ere the Canton Volunteers, Richmond Blues, Macon Guards, Crawford Guards, Columbus Guards, Georgia Light Infantry, Fannin Avengers, Kennesaw Invincibles, Irish Jasper Greens, and the Sumter Volunteers, existing local units accepted into federal ser­vice.36 Their previous military experience notwithstanding, most volunteers required additional training before they could be considered combat effective. Benjamin Franklin Scribner, who mustered into the Second Regiment, Indiana Volunteers, in the summer of 1846, recalled a typical day once joining the American army at Camp Belknap, a swampy destination “fit only for snakes, tarantulas, centipedes, fleas, scorpions, and ants” at the mouth of the Rio Grande not far from Point Isabel.37 His “daily order of exercises” included reveille at daylight, followed by “com­pany or squad drill for two hours,” guard mount, and then “com­pany drill again at four ­o’clock, and regimental [drill] at five.”38 Com­ pany and battalion evolutions became part of the daily routine for most soldiers in the Mexican War, and as per the General Regulations of the Army, formal inspections ­were held frequently, providing the commanding officer with the opportunity to not only inspect his men but also to ensure that ­those officers ­under him had effectively instructed their companies in the basic evolutions and had the ability to move their units with alacrity and dispatch.39 The training that had the greatest impact on the lives of U.S. soldiers in the Mexican War, however, took place neither in Corpus Christi nor at fetid Camp Belknap.



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Instead, it took place more than 2,000 miles away, at the United States Military Acad­emy at West Point. ­After his appointment as superintendent of the institution in 1817, Brevet Major Sylvanus Thayer, recently returned from the study of Eu­ro­ pean military institutions, earned the title “­Father of West Point” by reor­ga­niz­ing the school and transforming it into one of the premier learning institutions in the antebellum United States. Upon assuming his position, one he would hold u­ ntil his resignation to work with the Corps of Engineers in 1833, Thayer’s mission was “to create, to construct, to build up from the foundation ­under difficulties coming more from within than without.” Over the course of his superintendency, the “Thayer System” transformed education at West Point, providing a common experience for t­ hose officers who would command both regulars and volunteers in the Mexican War.40 Thayer provided an environment where gradu­ates like Dennis Hart Mahan could shape the next generation of U.S. Army officers into scientifically minded professionals capable of wielding their expertise on the battlefield. The top gradu­ate in the class of 1824, Mahan taught math at West Point and studied Eu­ro­pean military education, artillery, and engineering in France before returning to West Point in 1830. As an instructor, Mahan brought much of what he learned back to the institution, teaching a capstone course that blended tactics, strategy, and the military arts into a single course. This emphasis on practical topographical engineering fostered the development of an officer corps with requisite technical expertise necessary for modern warfare, ­doing so in an environment that equipped them with skills required to be successful military leaders. In addition to technical training, West Point’s regimen emphasized martial virtue, individual accountability, and adherence to discipline, preparing gradu­ates for ser­vice in a self-­regulated military establishment. A product of this shared experience, West Pointers soon dominated the Army officer corps, with more than 500 gradu­ates commanding troops in the field and an additional 36 alumni commanding volunteer units. Consequently, a West Point mentality, stressing military duty, honor and accountability to elected civilian leadership in an impartial and impersonal command structure, in addition to practical engineering expertise and knowledge of the military art, provided the training foundation for the U.S. Army during the war with Mexico.41

SOCIAL STRUCTURE While the United States had fielded a peacetime military establishment since the end of the War of 1812, this did not remove the social stigma many Americans had when it came to serving in the regular army. In 1833, Charles Latrobe characterized recruits in the U.S. Army as “the scum of the population of the older states, or the worthless German, En­glish, and Irish immigrants.” Upon accepting recent additions to his regiment, Captain George McCall of the Fourth Infantry referred to his new recruits as the “unsophisticated, untutored, and intractable sons of Erin.” Private George Ballentine, a veteran of the British ser­vice who enlisted in the regular army and was ordered to join the First Artillery, recalled that while on board ship bound for his first garrison, a passenger observed that the soldiers ­were “a fine set of candidates for the States’ prison.” 42

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Despite ­these characterizations, foreign recruits comprised approximately 50 ­percent of the enlisted ranks in the regular army during the Mexican War. Most foreign-­born recruits w ­ ere from Ireland, followed by Germany, E ­ ngland, and the British Isles, with additional recruits from Canada, Western Eu­rope, and Scandinavia. American-­born men generally eschewed ser­vice in the ranked and ordered regular army, preferring the more egalitarian-­minded volunteers. In explaining this predisposition against regular ser­vice, En­glishman George Ruxton observed, “[T]he American can never be made a soldier; his constitution w ­ ill not bear the restraint of discipline, neither ­will his very mistaken notions about liberty allow him to subject himself to its necessary control.” Instead, Americans had a greater disposition ­toward joining the volunteers, as “discipline exists but in name, and they have privileges and rights, such as electing their own officers . . . ​which they consider to be more consonant to their ideas of liberty and equality.” Although Ruxton perhaps overstated the case, ­there was more truth to what he said than fiction, as Americans had a greater tendency to join the volunteers than they did the regular army for many of the exact reasons that Ruxton outlined.43 When the war began, men throughout the southern and western United States rushed to enlist. In Kentucky, “the question is not who must go, but who cannot stay,” with communities fearing for their local reputation if they ­were not able to provide companies to fill the state levies, with the state quota being filled in only 11 days. In Tennessee, 3,000 state volunteers ­were authorized, with more than 30,000 responding to go to war. North Carolina offered more than three times the state quota, with Georgia not far b­ ehind. When Georgia Governor George W. Crawford called for troops, existing companies rushed to the ranks and filled the requirement for the state regiment by June 20. Such enthusiasm crossed class lines and was absent of much in the way of recruitment restrictions. North Carolina permitted the enlistment of nearly anyone, provided they ­were not “over 45 or ­under 18, and who is not in physical strength or vigor.” 44 Favoring the volunteers over the regular ser­vice, many Americans even regarded U.S. Army officers as suspect. When Ulysses S. Grant showed up in Cincinnati wearing his uniform for the first time, a young boy on the street called out, “Soldier! ­Will you work? No, sir-­ee; I’ll sell my shirt first,” a comment that gave him a distaste for the military uniform from which he never recovered. In his first presidential message, Polk derided officers in the regular army, castigated their privileged status as gradu­ates of the United States Military Acad­emy, educated at public expense and now commanding an army of foreign hirelings and the “scum of society.” Recognizing standing armies as “contrary to the genius of our ­free institutions,” he lauded the contribution of citizen-­soldiers as the bulwark of the nation’s liberties, heaping praise on both officers and enlisted men, with the appointment of officers into the ranks of the volunteers as a way to bypass military hierarchy and break the mono­poly that West Point had come to exercise over the Army officer corps.45 Although Army regulations prohibited the enlistment of individuals of color in ­either the regulars or the volunteers, a handful of African Americans served as soldiers, attempting to benefit from fair skin to pass as a white soldier. When discovered, as was the case with John Taylor of the Voltigeurs, they w ­ ere drummed out



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of ser­vice with a dishonorable discharge. ­Others entered combat almost out of happenstance, as they w ­ ere tasked tending h­ orses when other men went into b­ attle.46 Servants accompanied many army officers, particularly ­those from southern states. Historian Robert E. May regarded ­these as “invisible men” of the Mexican War, noting that “[b]lacks, therefore, must have been a part of ­every contingent of American troops bound for the war, from its early stages prior to Congress’ declaration of war throughout its conclusion.” Much of this was a product of American army officers’ and soldiers’ desire to have servants continue to serve them, much in the same way that they had become accustomed to being served in the United States. If ­there ­were not soldiers to perform ­these tasks, many went out of their way to hire African American servants to do such work for them or brought bonded servants with them into Mexico.47 William S. Henry, an officer in the Third Regiment of Infantry, recognized the arrival of such servants from the beginning. Arriving at San Patricio near Corpus Christi, during the course of a severe thunderstorm, he noted that “Lieutenant Bragg had one of his negro boys killed instantly, and another badly injured, by lightning.” Similarly, on September 12, when the steamer Dayton, carry­ing a number of officers off the coast of Matamoras, burst her boilers, he mentioned that among t­ hose injured in the accident, one “negro [was] not only scalded, but his flesh burned to a crisp.” 48 At least one African American became a discipline prob­lem for the Army. In April 1847, Isaac Kirk, a ­free man of color employed by the Army as a teamster, was arrested and charged with the rape of Maria Antonias Gallegas, a Mexican ­woman who lived in Veracruz. Seeking to not only make an example but also ensure that this ­free man was treated fairly, General Scott looked to Lieutenant George Turnbull Moore Davis, a young officer on Brigadier General James Shield’s staff, to have him monitor the case. Davis went out of his way to see that Kirk received a capable defense and that all evidence to support his case appeared before the court. Although Kirk was found guilty and sentenced to hang, General Scott was impressed by Davis’s effort in making sure that this member of a “degraded and friendless race” received a fair trial. In par­tic­u­lar, Davis’s inclusion of the phrase, “And may God have mercy on your soul” so impressed Scott that he ordered ­those words to be included in all subsequent capital cases where the accused was found guilty.49 In the General Regulations of 1841, U.S. Army leadership provided that “four ­women ­will be attached to the companies as washerwomen” and would receive “one ration per day each.” ­These regulations further provided that “the price of washing soldiers’ clothing, by the month, or by the piece, ­will be determined by the Council of Administration” (a group of officers who oversaw the administration of each individual regiment). Reckoning for the laundresses would be “paid or collected in the same way as is prescribed for t­hose due the Sutler, with the Laundress having the preference.” In consequence, rates for laundry w ­ ere determined by regimental officers, with payment taken from the soldiers’ monthly wage.50 Laundresses accompanied troops as part of General Zachary Taylor’s “Army of Observation,” landing at Corpus Christi and assuming positions along the disputed “Nueces Strip.” Upon arrival on the coast in July 1845, First Lieutenant William Henry of the Third Infantry wrote that “[s]eventy-­five yards distant from the shore

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the man had to jump overboard into the roaring surf. . . . ​Some old veteran camp-­ women took to the ele­ment as if they ­were born in it; while ­others, more delicately nerved, preferred a man’s back, and rode on shore.”51 ­Those ­women who served with the U.S. Army on campaign endured ­great privation. ­After the war, Dr. John Potter recalled a w ­ oman and her twin c­ hildren he treated while at Corpus Christi. The c­ hildren suffered from cholera infantum, while the ­mother faced chronic dysentery. Despite their ailments, all escaped with their lives, and in 1849, the doctor reported all alive and hearty.52 Despite General ­Orders issued in May 1846 that all baggage and laundresses w ­ ere to remain in Matamoras, some ­woman remained with the U.S. Army in the field.53 Captain Robert Anderson of the Third Artillery recognized ­these challenges, writing that “[w]omen are, as I anticipated, a ­great pain to their captains in the field. So ­little transportation is allowed, that if they are permitted to accompany their troops, they must purchase or steal some poor ­horse or ass to carry their baggage,” g­ oing on to note that if c­ hildren w ­ ere pre­sent, “travel 54 was often impossible.” ­Women ­were not adverse to defending their place with the army, as reported by Lieutenant Henry Judah of the Fourth Infantry, who related an episode with a certain Mrs. Clancy. When General Scott ordered the elimination of all extra baggage (­women included) in preparation for the march on Mexico City, Mrs. Clancy disobeyed the ­orders of Major Graham and “deposited her wardrobe and h­ ouse­hold furniture” in a com­pany wagon. When the major spied her, he ordered her back to Veracruz, detailing three soldiers to assist her. According to Judah, when “one of them impudently laid his hand on her,” she responded, and “in an instant her huge fist sent him sprawling on the ground, with a very red eye.”55 Few U.S. Army laundresses enjoyed as g­ reat a reputation as did Sarah Borginnis. Born in e­ ither Tennessee or Missouri, she spent most of her life in the com­ pany of soldiers and married several of them during the course of her life. As the Mexican War began, “The ­Great Western,” as she was known, was married to a soldier of the Seventh Infantry. ­After serving the men sheltering in Fort Texas, she followed the army south and tended to the wounded a­ fter the B ­ attle of Buena Vista. Eventually marrying a soldier from the Fifth Infantry, she opened a h­ otel in Saltillo which did a fair amount of business by the end of the war, before making her way to California, where she lived u­ ntil 1866. At least a few w ­ omen disguised their sex and attempted to accompany the army on campaign. When Major William Gilpin assumed command of a battalion of Missouri volunteers, raised to protect commerce along the Santa Fe Trail, First Lieutenant Amandus Schnabel of Com­pany D managed to enlist a young w ­ oman named Elizabeth C. Newcome. Conspiring with the rest of the com­pany to keep her identity secret, Private “Bill” Newcome, as she came to be known, accompanied the com­pany on the march from St. Louis to winter quarters at Fort Mann, in the western reaches of the Kansas Territory. When Private “Bill” Newcome became pregnant, Lieutenant Schnabel could no longer keep up the charade, and he was court-­martialed for “tenting, sleeping, and cohabitating with the said female, thereby defrauding the United States of the ser­vice of a good and competent soldier.” Found guilty, Schnabel was discharged, but in 1854, Newcome petitioned the U.S. government for pay and a land bounty, receiving 160 acres of land for her ser­vice.56



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DAILY LIFE The Mexican War provided the first opportunity for American soldiers to “see the elephant,” a popu­lar mid–nineteenth-­century phrase that came to describe per­sonally facing the hard, gritty realities of warfare rather than embracing the romantic image of marching off to conquer a foreign land. For most soldiers, the martial experience was not unlike other wars, composed of long periods of boredom punctuated by brief periods of excitement and horror. Such was particularly true in the army camps, ­whether they be on the border with General Taylor, in the assembly camps where volunteers massed for Mexico, in the northern or western campaigns, or with General Scott on the campaign to Mexico City.57 Throughout the campaigns of the Mexican War, soldiers rarely enjoyed luxurious accommodations. Soldiers seldom had roofs over their heads, and considered themselves lucky to be quartered in common tents inhabited by as many as six soldiers. Lieutenant N.J.T. Dana described riding along an entire mile and a half of beach at Corpus Christi, “the ­whole space white with tents.”58 But when the weather turned, Dana was anything but happy, for when it rained hard at the back of his tent, he was forced to “roll up half my bed and sleep on the other half, and when the storm comes on at the front, vice versa.”59 George Gibson, a private soldier with the Army of the West, faced similar hardships, writing, “[O]ur tents, being single and without flies and not very good, every­thing was wet except the articles in our trunks, the ­water ­r unning through out tents in a perfect stream.”60 For Jacob Oswandel, “Camp Misery” located outside Japala, proved to be his undoing. ­After the ­Battle of Cerro Gordo, he faced a cold, rainy, drizzly morning without tents, where he and his comrades ­were “exposed to all kinds of weather.” If that was not bad

Major General Zachary Taylor’s Army of Occupation, encamped near Corpus Christi, Texas. The orderly camp demonstrated the discipline and professionalism that had begun to appear in the U.S. Army prior to the Mexican-­American War. (Library of Congress)

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enough, at noon, he received ­orders to brighten ­belts and musket and clean his uniform, but he and his comrades ­were quick to complain, exclaiming, “What is the use of cleaning our clothes as long as we are compelled to lay out in the rain and mud. We want our tents, oh, Israel.”61 In addition to miserable accommodations, soldiers spent considerable time complaining about their food. As with the other administrative departments of the Army, significant improvements had been made in the aftermath of the War of 1812, although this did not prevent at least some challenges. ­Under the direction of Col­o­nel George Gibson, the Commissary General of the Army, the Subsistence Department was responsible for ensuring that the Army had adequate amounts of beef, pork, flour, hard bread, dried beans, and coffee to meet the daily military ration, specified by regulation as “three-­fourths of a pound of pork or bacon, or one and one-­fourth pounds of fresh or salt beef; eigh­teen ounces of bread or flour, or twelve ounces of hard bread, or one and one-­fourth pounds cornmeal,” with soap, candles, salt, vinegar, peas, beans or rice, coffee, and sugar provided to each individual com­pany. Soldiers ­were also admonished to have their bread and soup “well prepared,” with bread “thoroughly baked,” and soup, “boiled at least five hours, and the vegetables always cooked sufficiently to be perfectly soft and digestible.”62 With private soldiers tasked with cooking, what came from the com­pany cookpots often left something to be desired, ­either in quality or quantity. Even before their arrival in Santa Fe, General Kearny was forced to put the Army of the West on what amounted to half-­rations due to shortage, as Frank Edwards recalled being ­limited to “3/8ths of a pound of pork per day each man,” supplemented by a ­simple mix of flour and ­water mixed into a dough and fried in grease that the men called “slapjacks.” Preparing for the march on Monterey, Scribner loaded his haversack with bread, boiled pickled pork, coffee, and salt, though he lamented “the march of the twenty-­second would have been much better if we had not lacked bread. Just think, half a baker’s loaf at breakfast for eleven men, and no more u­ ntil we s­ topped at night.”63 Although the Missouri volunteers endured their privations, other officers and men took advantage of other sources to augment their meager rations, frequently purchasing from Mexican farmers or from the sutlers who followed the army. In ­either case, vendors sought to exploit the military, raising prices to maximize profits. Lieutenant Dana, for example, complained to his wife of potatoes priced at five dollars a barrel and onions at six dollars. From a uniform perspective, the appearance of the army in the field provided a study in contrasts. Period prints like the 1847 Currier and Ives print “­Battle of Buena Vista” depicted U.S. soldiers fighting in dark-­blue dress uniforms and shakos. Since 1833, U.S. soldiers wore a much more spartan short field jacket and trousers made of sky-­blue woolen kersey, with collar braid and buttons differentiating branch of service—­white worsted tape and pewter button for infantry, and yellow tape with brass buttons for artillery. Dragoons wore dark-­blue wool jackets trimmed with yellow tape and brass buttons over regulation sky-­blue trousers. Officers wore a dark-­ blue wool single-­or double-­breasted frock coat, with buttons corresponding with the enlisted ranks to distinguish branch. Shoulder boards identified rank, with the embroidery corresponding to the color of the button. Officers ­were also



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distinguished by a stripe of corps color that ran down the outside of each trouser leg—­white for infantry, red for artillery, and yellow for dragoons—in addition to a wine, yellow, or buff crimson sash tied around their waist. All ranks wore a rakish round forage cap of dark-­blue wool, with a flat crown 10½ inches in dia­meter, a 2-­inch-­wide headband, glazed patent leather visor, and sliding leather chinstrap.64 Although soldiers in garrison ­were expected to wear their uniforms in accordance with regulations, it was not uncommon for soldiers to adapt their uniforms to conditions in the field. In his Mexican War painting entitled “­Battle of Contreras,” En­glish artist James Walker showed both officers and enlisted men having replaced their forage caps with broad-­brimmed slouch hats, a trend that reappears in his work entitled the “South Side of the ­Castle of Chapultepec.” Walker, who lived in Mexico City and was trapped t­ here when the war began, was recruited into ser­vice as an interpreter for Winfield Scott and ­later witnessed the ­battles outside Mexico City. In addition to depicting American soldiers and officers in slouch hats, many wear red flannel shirts, while ­others wear serapes and other bits of local costume that was ­adopted for comfort while the army was on campaign. Unlike the regulars, volunteer units raised during conflict procured their own uniforms, with $42 per man authorized by the government as a uniform allowance. The result was often a bold exhibit of Jacksonian individualism, with considerable variation from state to state and even com­pany to com­pany as to what a regiment or com­pany might wear. The five regiments of Indiana volunteers wore uniforms similar to ­those of the U.S. regulars, with minor variations, primarily the addition of tape across the chest or dif­fer­ent placement of jacket buttons. The First Regiment of Mississippi Volunteers, commanded by Jefferson Davis, ­were readily identifiable in their red flannel overshirts and white cotton duck trousers. Frank Edwards, who served in Weightman’s Battery of Artillery with the First Missouri Regiment of Mounted Volunteers, described that as his com­pany was being or­ga­ nized at Fort Leavenworth in the summer of 1846, “[e]ach soldier was to furnish himself with a good h­ orse, s­ addle, clothing—in short, every­thing except arms. Although we w ­ ere not absolutely required to uniform ourselves, it was recommended that a suitable uniform would be desirable, so we provided a neat dress, somewhat similar to the fatigue dress of the regulars.”65 Uniformed smartly at the beginning of the campaign, Edwards subsequently commented on the ­later state of the clothing worn by the men of his command. ­After six months’ campaigning, Doniphan’s command reached the city of El Paso del Norte, at which point he observed, “So far as our dress was concerned, Falstaff, at this time, would have been ashamed of us. . . . ​The best clad ­were ­those who had been lucky enough to procure buckskin dresses among the Indians. A parade was now a ludicrous sight.” Commenting upon the tremendous variety with re­spect to trousers, shirts, and the luxury of shoes and the absence of hats, he noted, “If our habilements ­were this, at this time, what ­were they further south?” noting that if General Taylor could embrace the moniker “Rough and Ready,” the Missourians should have the three R’s, “Rough, Ready, and Ragged.”66 The Mormon Battalion eschewed uniforms altogether. Instead, they used their uniform allowance to finance missionary work or support their families. Consequently, their appearance on campaign was perhaps even rougher than the Missouri volunteers, as they w ­ ere often described as shabby

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looking or appearing as ragamuffins. Some made trousers and clothing from old wagon covers, and once their shoes had worn out, ­either wrapped their feet in strips of leather and cloth or wore rude moccasins fabricated from the hocks of an ox.67 When not marching or in ­battle, soldiers looked for amusements to occupy their time. In addition to books, poetry, and songs, the Mexican War was distinguished by an early appearance of what would eventually become the national pastime. Although Albert G. Spalding attributed the creation of baseball to Mexican War veteran and ­f uture Civil War general Abner Doubleday, no mention of the sport appears in Doubleday’s war­time journals. Some soldiers did, however, mention some form of ball game played during the war. Adolph Englemann, who served in the Second Regiment Illinois Volunteers, wrote on January  30, 1847, while encamped at Saltillo, “During the past week we had much ­horse racing and the drill ground was fairly often in use for ball games.” J. Jacob Oswandel, who served in a Tennessee regiment, described playing townball in a letter to a friend, although he recognized that the balls with which a soldier plays are “dangerous, and when they strike they leave more painful marks than the ones you used to pitch or throw at me when r­ unning to base.”68 Soldiers ­were also subject to vice, ­either in the form of wine, ­women, or gambling, and in some cases all three. Despite American commanders prohibiting the sale of alcohol in army camps, soldiers proved remarkably capable at finding a variety of liquors, if not whiskey, brandy, or wine, then locally produced pulque, mescal, or aguardiente, produced from distilling pulque into an even stronger drink. Grogshops always seemed to spring up around army camps, and throughout the war, soldiers took advantage of such opportunities, often to the detriment of their health and discipline. Alcohol also seemed to limit their inhibitions, and when attending fandangos, ­there was never a shortage of exotic, dark-­haired, and dark-­ eyed senoritas who would join them dancing to the guitars and violins that seemed to be a part of nearly ­every musical event. ­These dances occurred frequently and provided an outlet to both officers and men, although some officers ­were quick to note that the American males pre­sent at such events often outnumbered the Mexican ­women by as many as two to one. And while some men drank and ­others danced, ­others ­were undoubtedly drawn to the games of chance that often accompanied such social events. Popu­lar games included monte, faro, or a host of other games of chance that occupied the time—­and money—of the American soldiers.69 Officers often took advantage of more dignified pursuits. If not staging theatrical productions or organ­izing fraternal socie­ties, some took advantage of the local landmarks, in the pro­cess becoming pioneer alpinists. While occupying Mexico City, a number of officers took time to climb the prominent peaks in central Mexico, such as Citlalpetl, Popocatepetl, and Iztaccihuatl. ­After having formed the Aztec Club in the fall of 1847, a number of officers, meeting as part of that organ­ization, proposed climbing Popocatepetl, and ­later, Citlalpetl, determined to test their abilities as climbers. Eventually, 13 veterans of the Mexico City campaign engaged in such activities, including such notables as Ulysses S. Grant, Simon Bolivar Buckner, and Henry Hopkins Sibley.70



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RELIGION Religion was at the center of how both sides, the United States and Mexico, saw themselves during the Mexican War. Mexico had been dominated by the Catholic Church since the first Spanish missionaries had landed on the continent, and the Church continued to play a large role in society. The Catholic Church had held a virtual mono­poly over religious life in Mexico, with the Church and clergy enjoying special l­ egal and economic privileges that included tax exemptions and the right of churchmen accused of crimes to be tried in clerical, rather than civil, courts. In contrast, the First Amendment of the United States Constitution ensured religious freedom, with the result being considerable religious diversity, albeit with strong Protestant overtones. The United States also demonstrated a growing divide between the military and the spiritual, which had its influence on the conflict as well. From the first settlement of British North Amer­i­ca, Protestantism had played a large role in American religious spirituality, buoyed by Puritan notions of the “city upon a hill.” Such ideas brought Protestantism, classical republicanism, and Anglo-­ Saxon civilization together as part of a uniquely American trinity that the Second ­Great Awakening only strengthened. By the 1840s, nativism and anti-­Catholicism had been added to this blend, as increasing numbers of Catholic Irish and German immigrants flocked to the United States, earning them the ire of Protestant clergy, Jacksonian Demo­crats, Whig moralists, and descendants of original En­glish settlers who saw no place for popery in Amer­i­ca. As the United States prepared for war with Catholic Mexico, it did so mobilizing two dif­fer­ent types of soldiers: U.S. Army regulars, many of whom ­were Catholic, though commanded by American (and predominantly Protestant) officers, and freedom-­loving, and primarily Protestant, American volunteers. Protestant officers in the regular officer corps looked down upon their Catholic enlisted men, subjecting them to scorn and prejudice, partly out of their status as poor and destitute enough to voluntarily become a regular soldier, and partly out of their faith, as it was commonly believed among American Protestants that all Catholics took instructions from the Pope, a notion that was antithetical to American democracy. The fact that the United States was waging war on Catholic Mexico only exacerbated ­these tensions. As far as the volunteers ­were concerned, they looked to the prospect of war with Mexico as a ­g reat opportunity, fueled by tales of Catholic churches garishly decorated with gold and silver chalices, candlesticks, and other implements of the Mass and, consequently, available for the taking by an invading army.71 President Polk took ­great steps to mitigate ­these anti-­Catholic prejudices on a number of fronts. Although all Army chaplains appointed prior to the war ­were Protestant, Polk named two Jesuits, ­Fathers John McElroy and Anthony Rey, to serve with the Army, both to seek peaceful relations with the clergy and ­people of Mexico and to bolster the morale of Catholic soldiers in the U.S. ranks. Mexican priests made open appeals to comfort U.S. soldiers, ­going so far as to make offers of land and bounties to desert and fight against the Anglo-­Saxon Protestants that ­were oppressing their Catholic neighbors to the south. While a few immigrants did desert and join the Mexican army early in the war, as time went on, most of ­these

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pleas fell upon deaf ears, and the vast majority of Catholic troops remained loyal as the war progressed, no doubt due to the efforts of the U.S. military to mitigate anti-­Catholic prejudice on the part of the U.S. Army.72 The Mexican War was also the first time that members of a single faith came to form a military unit for the ser­vice of the United States. Having faced prejudice and attacks from Protestants in Missouri and Illinois, the Church of Latter-­day Saints or­ga­nized a volunteer battalion for ser­vice in the Mexican War, hoping to trade their ser­vice for favorable treatment on the part of the U.S. government. In July 1846, approximately 500 mostly Mormon men or­ga­nized into five companies and w ­ ere mustered into ser­vice in Council Bluffs, Iowa, to serve as follow-on reinforcements for the “Army of the West.” A ­ fter initial training u­ nder Captain James Allen of the U.S. Army, West Point Class of 1829, they marched from Iowa to Fort Leavenworth. Receiving muskets and a few ­rifles from the government, but accepting their uniform allowance of $42 per man in a lump sum that they donated to the church, they marched in civilian clothes to Santa Fe. Upon the death of Captain Allen (who had ordered the battalion on to Santa Fe prior to his demise), General Kearny named Captain Philip St. George Cooke, West Point Class of 1827, to lead the battalion on to California. Upon their arrival in California, they continued military training but saw no major action, instead serving as a stabilizing force to ­counter the ambitious John C. Fremont in California. Upon completion of their term of ser­vice in the summer of 1847, some reenlisted, some remained in California, and some sought fortunes elsewhere, but all did so having gained a reputation worthy of “honored remembrance.”73

POPU­L AR CULTURE American Romanticism was in full bloom during the Mexican War, with the popu­lar culture of the era emphasizing the imagination and emotions that characterized the age. ­W hether it was lit­er­a­t ure, drama, ­music, or art, most depictions of the war reflected a fascination with heroism and chivalry that gripped American society. In this arena, soldiers marched off nobly to fight a war in a foreign country that was shrouded in both mystery and beauty. Their acts of daring and bravery transformed them into dashing heroes on the battlefield, and they returned home as g­ reat victors, lauded in both verse and song. Concurrent with this romantic streak, print technology had advanced tremendously by the mid-1840s. When coupled with the popu­lar drive for public education, the availability of the printed word soon made the United States one of the world’s most literate nations. This democ­ratization of the printed word meant that all Americans, not just aristocrats or intellectuals, could readily consume the tales of romance, adventure, and heroism that ­were products of the conflict with Mexico.74 Even before troops assembled on the border, idealized tales of Spanish conquest and the Texas-­Mexican borderlands ­were being consumed by American readers. Aside from being carried in the personal baggage of a handful of officers, few of ­these tomes would have been carried by U.S. troops in the field, be they regulars



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or volunteers, as soldiers ­were unlikely to carry books with them, as paper volumes would not survive for long while on campaign. Timothy Flint’s Francis Berrian, or The Mexican Patriot had been published in 1826, with En­glish traveler Frederick Marryat publishing his novel, Narrative of the Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet in California, Sonora and Western Texas, in 1843. Once the war began, a host of paperbound adventure stories flew from the presses, with the prolific Gleason Publishing Hall and Jones Publishing Office transforming Boston into the center of Mexican War fiction. The war­time novelettes, as they came to be called, ­were anything but sophisticated reading, but helped start the ­careers of ­future literary “­greats” such as Edward Zane Carroll Judson, who first used the pseudonym Ned Buntline while writing The Volunteer; or, The Maid of Monterey, and Magdalena, the Beautiful Mexican Maid: A Story of Buena Vista, both of which appeared in 1847.75 Considering the speed with which the popu­lar novelettes w ­ ere produced, it is safe to say that they ­were not works of ­great lit­er­a­t ure, though ­later efforts ­were worthy perhaps of greater praise, if nothing ­else for the ­later accomplishments of both author and subject. In 1852, Nathaniel Hawthorne edited and embellished the war­time journal of his friend Franklin Pierce, hoping to boost the popularity of the former brigadier general of volunteers as he ran for president in 1852. The resulting Life of Franklin Pierce tried to cast the subject in a heroic role, but considering the military rec­ord of Pierce’s po­liti­cal opponent, General Winfield Scott, it is questionable as to how valuable it was in swaying public opinion.76 The war also found popu­lar expression in poetry and verse in what one con­ temporary New York newspaper characterized as a “poetical mania.” War­time poems extolled the virtues of patriotism, chivalry, and honor, lauding the heroes and celebrating the noble sacrifices of the fallen. One poet who attempted to distinguish himself not only in b­ attle but also with the written word was William C. Falkner, great-­grandfather of eminent Southern novelist William Faulkner. Unsuccessful in his bid to join the First Regiment Mississippi Volunteers (Jefferson Davis’s own Mississippi ­Rifles), he joined the Second Mississippi Volunteers. Arriving too late to find glory on the battlefield, he spent the remainder of the war on occupation duty in Monterrey. Twice acquitted in his hometown for murder, he relocated to Cincinnati, and in 1851, wrote The Siege of Monterrey, an epic of heroism, gore, and love. Albert Pike, a captain in the Alabama cavalry, displayed similar literary flair, with his Buena Vista celebrating similar themes.77 With the same sweeping popularity of war­time novelettes, marches and quicksteps with war­time themes appeared almost as soon as the Army of Occupation reached the Rio Grande. General Taylor’s Encampment, the Matamoras ­Grand March, and The Mexican Volunteer’s Quickstep soon gained popularity in an era defined by military balls and assorted finery. Songs ­were on the lips of many soldiers throughout the campaigns in Mexico, with fewer being more popu­lar than “The Girl I Left B ­ ehind Me,” the product of Irish poet and songwriter Samuel Lover, who toured the country and pop­u­lar­ized a song that would be played by martial bands and sung by countless soldiers as they left wives and sweethearts ­behind and marched off to war.78 In addition to new war­time tunes like “Mustang Gray” and “Green Grow the Lilacs,” with the popularity of the latter earning Americans the

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label of “gringos” by the Mexican population, Americans ­were quick to take popu­ lar melodies and add new words to them, in the pro­cess making them new songs of the Mexican War. Many of ­these “new” songs reinforced Demo­cratic beliefs that the war was a holy crusade to spread freedom, echoing the doctrine of Manifest Destiny. A new version of the popu­lar “The Rose of Alabama” appeared as “Strike for Your Rights, Avenge Your Wrongs,” reminding ­those who enjoyed the song to not only remember the fallen but to “Strike by noble Taylor’s side, ‘till freedom’s stars in triumph wide.” A new version of “Yankee Doodle” was even bolder, reminding Americans that “­We’re the boys for Mexico” and that “gold and silver images ­were plentiful and handy.”79

PAY AND COMPENSATION The Paymaster Department was one of the staff departments created in the aftermath of the War of 1812 in an effort to streamline the administrative functions of the Army. During the Mexican War, General Nathanial Towson supervised the department. A former artillery officer, he fought in the War of 1812 before his appointment as paymaster general and held the post ­until his death in 1854. During the Mexican War, he supervised the operations of 18 paymasters who circulated throughout the army. Each held the rank of major, although they lacked the power to exercise command over troops in the field. In accordance with army regulations, the paymaster had authority over all sutlers, civilian shop­keep­ers, and laundresses employed by the individual regiments, as t­hose individuals w ­ ere authorized a seat at the paymaster’s ­t able when soldiers ­were paid ­every two months, although the exigencies of frontier or campaign ser­vice often hindered a consistent payday. When it was impossible for the pay shipments to get through, soldiers often had to make do. At one point, Missouri volunteers in Santa Fe resorted to using buttons, n­ eedles, and tobacco in lieu of currency when it was not pos­si­ble for the paymaster to meet payroll.80 Since 1838, the pay for a private of infantry and artillery had been $7 per month, a rate that continued throughout the war. Infantry and artillery corporals received $9, sergeants $13, first sergeants $16, and officers’ pay ranged from $25 for a newly minted second lieutenant to $75 for a col­o­nel. Pay was slightly higher among the dragoons, topographical engineers, engineers, and ordnance corps, with dragoon privates earning $8, corporals $10, sergeants $13, first sergeants $16, and officers receiving between $33.33 and $90. Beginning in 1838, $1 per month was retained from an enlisted soldier’s wage, with the collected amount to be returned to the soldier at the conclusion of his enlistment. Such legislation also applied throughout the course of the war with Mexico.81 In addition to their monthly pay, soldiers received war­time incentives designed to encourage enlistments. With the call for new enlistments in the regular army, a $12 bounty was offered to all new recruits in the regular army. Congress added a proviso to the bill, stipulating that “each noncommissioned officer, musician, or private enlisted in the regular army who served a period of not less than 12 months during the war with Mexico . . . ​­shall be entitled to receive a warrant from the War



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Department for the quantity of 160 acres of land or 100 dollars in scrip,” while t­ hose serving for less than 12 months would receive 40 acres or $25.82 The land warrants offered during the Mexican War represented a significant incentive for ser­vice and offered an opportunity for soldiers returning from the conflict to start life anew. Unlike land warrants from ­earlier conflicts, land warrants offered during the Mexican War could be used anywhere in the public domain, providing veterans with considerable options with re­spect to relocation. At the same time, the value of the land (averaging $1.25/acre) meant that a land warrant for 160 acres of land had an ­actual value of $200. Based upon a sample of land warrants conducted by James W. Oberly, more than 90 ­percent of Mexican War veterans sold their land warrants on the open market instead of taking the land offered by the government.83 In addition to cash bounties or land warrants, the government offered other cash options to volunteers who enlisted during the Mexican War. The government authorized each volunteer a $42 uniform allowance to outfit themselves prior to embarking on federal ser­vice. Some volunteer units eschewed the offer of U.S. military uniforms at the war’s outset, instead using the cash clothing allowance of $42 for other purposes. Some units of the Missouri volunteers chose not to accept federal uniforms out of a sense of “non-­conforming, f­ ree spirited individuals,” instead pocketing the money for personal use. When the 500 members of the Mormon Battalion entered federal ser­vice, they sought to put that compensation to a higher cause. Accepting the $21,000 in cash on behalf of the battalion, Brigham Young sent a portion of the money to several apostles of the church to help fund a proselytizing mission to ­England, with the remainder ­either being retained by the soldiers or sent back to ­family in Iowa.84

WEAPONRY The infantry weapons used by the U.S. Army during the Mexican War had not changed appreciably since the end of the War of 1812. The primary military shoulder weapon used by soldiers in the ser­vice of the United States, be they regular or volunteer, continued to be a version of the .69-­caliber flintlock muzzle-­loading musket. Of the musket, Captain Ulysses S. Grant commented, that when charged with powder, shot, and ball, “at the distance of a few hundred yards a man might fire at you all day without you finding out.”85 Despite its shortcomings with re­spect to reliability and accuracy, when massed, the smoothbore flintlock musket continued to be the most effective military weapon of the day. Although the Ordnance Board recommended minor improvements to the m1795 Springfield in 1808, 1812, 1816, 1822, and fi­nally in 1835, the m1835, the last flintlock musket fielded by the U.S. Army, shared the same per­for­mance characteristics of ­earlier designs. Regardless of specific designation, the musket was a smoothbore muzzle-­loader that fired a one-­ounce lead ball when loaded from a prepared paper cartridge containing 120 grains of powder. Unreliable in anything but dry weather, the muskets ­were also equipped with a socket bayonet that averaged 15 inches in length, which allowed it to be used as a thrusting weapon. In the course of 40 years, the greatest improvements to the musket came with re­spect to

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workmanship and uniformity, as Eli Whitney’s system of “interchangeable parts” had truly reached fruition, allowing one bayonet to fit any musket and the lock plate or barrel of any single pattern to be exchanged with the same component from any other musket of the same pattern.86 Although the percussion cap, utilizing fulminate of mercury that sparked when struck firmly, had been in­ven­ted in 1816, it did not become practicable for military use ­until the mid-1830s. In 1842, the Ordnance Department ordered the construction of a new model musket incorporating the new ignition system, and production of the m1842 percussion musket began at the Springfield Armory in 1844 and at Harpers Ferry, ­Virginia, the next year. While such weapons ­were available during the Mexican War, most U.S. soldiers, both regular and volunteer, continued to carry the older flintlock pattern. Not only had more than 30,000 of the older pattern been produced between 1839 and 1844, but General Winfield Scott, not to mention many soldiers, preferred the older, more established system, arguing against use of the percussion cap largely due to logistical considerations, as it was commonly believed that it would be more difficult to ensure that soldiers had adequate supplies of percussion caps and that flints could be readily procured in the field.87 A handful of volunteers used weapons that made use of the newer ignition system, though ­these ­were the exception, rather than the rule. To arm the First Regiment, Mississippi Volunteers, Col­o­nel Jefferson Davis (who also happened to be Zachary Taylor’s son-­in-­law) purchased 1,000 m1841 percussion ­rifles in .54 caliber, produced by Eli Whitney, to arm his regiment when it was or­ga­nized in New Orleans in 1846. The Mississippi Volunteers went on to serve with distinction as part of Zachary Taylor’s army, and as a consequence of their ser­vice, the m1841 ­rifle earned the nickname of the “Mississippi ­Rifle.”88 Mounted regiments, first or­ga­nized for the U.S. Army in 1833, took advantage of newer technology from the outset, as their smaller numbers made supplying percussion caps in sufficient quantities much easier. When or­ga­nized in 1833, the First Regiment, U.S. Dragoons received the m1833 Halls carbine, a shorter-­barreled (26 inches) weapon that not only loaded from the breech but also utilized the newer percussion ignition system. Specifically designed for the First Dragoon Regiment, the Halls carbine featured a moveable receiver, which allowed the user to charge the weapon by inserting the powder from ­either a flask or paper cartridge and then placing a round lead ball atop that before pushing the receiver down into alignment with the barrel and priming the piece with a percussion cap. Although prohibited by regulation, removing the pivot screw that held the lock and breechblock in place allowed a soldier to remove it from the weapon and carry it as a handgun. Dragoon Samuel Chamberlain went out “armed with a Bowie knife and the chamber of my Hall’s carbine, [and] visited the Fandangoes and gambling rooms, danced, gambled, drank wine and Muscla, made love to the Se­nioritas [sic] [and . . . ​ staggered into camp at reveille.”89 In addition to their Halls carbines, dragoons carried some version of a single-­ shot, muzzle-­loading pistol. When initially raised in 1833, the First Dragoons received the North m1819 pistol, a .54-­caliber pistol ­later replaced by the Johnson m1836 pistol, a comparable weapon in the same caliber. Beginning in 1845, dragoons began receiving a new pistol, the m1842 Aston pistol that utilized the new



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percussion cap ignition system, with some dragoon companies receiving the new weapon before making their way to the Mexican border. Regardless of type, all three pistols featured a swivel ramrod attached to the weapon, which prevented the ramrod from being dropped while loading on ­horse­back. Beginning in 1847, the Whitneyville-­Walker Colt revolver began making its appearance in the ­saddle holsters of both U.S. Dragoons and Texas Rangers. A product of a cooperative design effort by Captain Samuel Hamilton Walker of the Texas Rangers and firearms inventor Samuel Colt, the “Walker,” as it came to be called, represented a significant improvement over the relatively light Colt Paterson, a five-­round, .36-­caliber revolver designed by Colt in 1836. The Walker integrated the repeating fire of the more delicate Paterson with the stopping power of the single-­shot Aston, as the Walker weighed in at 4½ pounds, had a 9-­inch barrel, and was capable of firing a .44-­caliber lead bullet.90 In addition to Hall carbines and pistols, dragoons carried sabers, a heavy sword with a ­gently curved blade designed for the slashing and stabbing attack employed by mounted troops. U.S. Dragoons carried one of two models of saber: the older 1833 pattern developed for the unit upon their initial organ­ization or the newer (and heavier) 1840 dragoon saber, nicknamed “The Wristbreaker.” Initially imported from Prus­sia, by 1845 it was produced domestically and featured a slightly curved, 36-­inch blade and a brass half-­basket guard and pommel.91 Enlisted dragoons ­were the exception in carry­ing blades as weapons. Noncommissioned officers of infantry and artillery regiments also carried swords, though ­these w ­ ere primarily used as signs of their rank, with infantry and artillery officers also carry­ing blades to denote their status, as per army regulation. Artillery accompanied U.S. infantry, dragoons, and volunteers as they made their way into Mexico. Like the infantry, artillery weapons had not changed considerably from ­those employed during the War of 1812, as cannon continued to be heavy muzzle-­loading brass, bronze, or iron tubes that utilized round shot, canister, shell, and ­spherical case or shrapnel. Although Congress authorized the formation of light artillery by statute in 1821, ­little had been done to translate this law into real­ity, and for the next 17 years, most U.S. artillerymen served as “red-­legged infantry,” as part of the garrison at coastal and frontier forts, earning that sobriquet as a result of the red stripe that ran down their uniform trouser leg. Beginning in 1838, Secretary of War Joel Robert Poinsett took steps to revitalize U.S. artillery, capitalizing on the existing statute in the creation of “flying batteries.” At his direction, one com­pany in each of the four artillery regiments was mounted and served a light or field battery, generally composed of two long-­barreled, six-­pound guns that fired projectiles at high velocity in a relatively flat trajectory, and two 12-­pound howitzers, short-­barreled weapons that lobbed a heavier projectile for a moderate distance. Both ­were mounted on a two-­wheeled carriage with a box trail and enjoyed excellent maneuverability and rate of fire.92 Although the “flying batteries” could rightly claim the title of light artillery, even smaller cannon ­were employed by both regulars and volunteers in the field. In addition to the larger bronze howitzers that weighed 785 pounds and ­were nearly six feet long, beginning in the 1830s, the U.S. Army began using the m1835 12-­pound mountain howitzer, developed in response to a need for a lighter-­weight gun that

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could be employed on frontier campaigns from the swamps of Florida to the mountains of the west. Developed at the request of Secretary of War Lewis Cass, the light gun, modeled on a similar French design, weighed 515 pounds, complete with carriage, and could ­either be towed or carried by two mules or ­horses. Mountain howitzers fired shell, case, and canister and became one of the most impor­tant artillery pieces of the Mexican War. During the final attack on Mexico City, Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant employed a mountain howitzer to ­great effect, cooperating with an officer of voltigeurs and a few enlisted men to haul the cannon into the belfry of a church to command the ground ­behind the San Cosme gate.93

COMBAT Although the U.S. Army was not well prepared for the war with Mexico, a lack of preparedness did not seem to affect their martial ardor and ability of American soldiers on the battlefield. The dominant infantry weapons system on the battlefield continued to be the smoothbore flintlock musket, with the relative inaccuracy of the individual weapons resulting in the employment of linear tactics and massed volley fire. What truly set U.S. soldiers in the war with Mexico apart from ­those of ­earlier conflicts ­were the training, ability, and expertise of both ju­nior and se­nior leadership and their ability to effectively employ troops to success at all levels of warfare—­tactical, operational, and strategic. Much of this martial prowess can be directly attributed to the course of study that many war­time officers had while cadets at West Point. The four-­year curriculum, with its emphasis on science, engineering, and the art of warfare, produced officers prepared to direct construction of field fortifications and siege trenches, establish military communications (bridges and roads), conduct topographical and military reconnaissance, conduct surveys and prepare maps, emplace artillery in field and siege conditions, support and maintain troops in the field, and develop ­grand strategy. At the same time, innovations with re­spect to artillery, particularly the introduction of “flying artillery,” horse-­ drawn batteries of light 6-­pounder bronze fieldpieces, provided the United States with a clear qualitative advantage. As a result of this preparation, the U.S. Army, both regular and volunteer, was well trained, commanded capably, employed effectively, and as a result, frequently exacted a toll over the e­ nemy well in excess of their own casualties.94 Although often overshadowed by the ­battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, the first major engagement of the war, the siege of Fort Brown, showcased the engineering expertise of the West Point–­educated officers in the U.S. Army. When the Army of Occupation arrived opposite Matamoras on March 28, 1846, one of its first acts was to raise the American flag. The second task was to begin the construction of an earthen fort to protect the principal crossing into Mexico. Built ­under the supervision of Captain Joseph Mansfield of the Corps of Engineers, who graduated second in his 1822 West Point class, Fort Texas, a six-­pointed, star-­shaped bastion with nine-­foot-­high walls fifteen feet thick at the base, soon sprang up on the banks of the Rio Grande. Designed by Mansfield, the construction was the product of the toil of soldiers of the Seventh Regiment of Infantry, who, u­ nder the



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command of Major Jacob Brown, served as its garrison. Lieutenant N.J.T. Dana had ­great confidence in the position occupied by his regiment, writing to his wife, “We ­will be very secure in our fort and ­will be able to whip as many as they can bring and knock down their town in the bargain. The fort is a very strong one and contains four guns a third larger than t­hose which w ­ ere at New Orleans Barracks, and four six pounders. It is more than twice as large as Fort Pike inside, with a ditch twelve feet deep and a drawbridge and plenty of musket cartridges, and stout men inside. If the ­enemy w ­ ere to come, they would not want to make more than one assault.”95 Beginning on the morning of May 3, Mexican troops began firing on Fort Texas from positions directly across the river in Matamoras. Over the course of the next six days, the Mexicans fired hundreds of rounds at the American fortification, but as a consequence of the construction directed by Captain Mansfield, only two men ­were killed: Major Jacob Brown was struck in the leg by a shell on May 6 and ­later died from complications from its amputation, and a sergeant of the regiment was fatally wounded when struck in the head by a piece of grapeshot. Another dozen defenders received minor wounds, with perhaps the greatest damage being done to the regimental band, as a Mexican cannon ball destroyed their instruments. On the after­noon of May 8, the besieged garrison heard the thunder of cannon in the distance, and as they continued to hold out, hoped for good news. The next day, distant artillery fire continued and then suddenly ended as the Mexican army came into view. A far cry from the bold soldiers who had previously set out in pursuit of General Taylor’s army, the Mexican troops came back “in a perfect rout. Horse and foot had thrown away their arms and fled like the wind, trying to strike the river at the nearest points, where they would plunge in to swim over.” The Seventh Infantry was soon relieved, and the men took pride in having survived being surrounded by a numerically superior, better-­supplied force. Despite the loss of their commander, Major Jacob Brown, whose name was subsequently given both to the fort he died defending and the town that sprang up around it (modern-­day Brownsville, Texas), ­those who stepped in to take his place did the regiment, and their fallen commander, a ­great ser­vice, typifying the capability of most regular regiments during the Mexican War.96 The ­Battle of Palo Alto showcased the expertise of the American flying artillery, while the ­battle of Resaca de la Palma demonstrated the quick thinking and in­de­pen­dence of U.S. Army ju­nior officers. With the first hours of Palo Alto being consumed by an artillery exchange, the repeated unlimbering, employment, remounting, and movement of Captain Samuel Ringgold’s Com­pany C, Third Artillery, overwhelmed Mexican attempts at counter-­battery fire. Corporal  C.  M. Reeves, a soldier in Com­pany B, Fourth Infantry, provided a most vivid image of Ringgold’s artillery in action, writing: The gunners went into it more like butchers than military men; each man stripped off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and tied his suspenders around his waist; they all wore red flannel shirts, and, therefore, ­were in uniform. To see them limbering and unlimbering, firing a few shots, then dashing through the smoke, and then to fire again with lightning-­like rapidity, partly hid from view by dense clouds of dust and smoke, with their dark-­red shirts and naked arms, yelling at ­every shot they made, reminded me of a band of demons rather than of men.97

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Artillery was involved in the fighting the next day at Resaca de la Palma, but the success in the second b­ attle of the war was as much a product of American small-­ unit effectiveness as it was heavier firepower. The second ­battle of the war was fought in dense chaparral that had grown up in former courses of the Rio Grande that once dried up, broke up the ground and hindered the employment of mounted guns throughout a large portion of the battlefield. As American troops charged the Mexican guns that blocked the road to Fort Texas, the rough terrain and thick underbrush broke the linear formations into clumps of men, with individual officers rallying whomever was around them and directing them t­ oward the e­ nemy. In the absence of clear direction, the combat experience that many of the young captains and lieutenants had acquired in the Second Seminole War, coupled with what amounted to a de­cade of relative in­de­pen­dence in command of small posts and garrisons on the nation’s borders, resulted in initiative and combat capability that directly contributed to American victory.98 As the war progressed, combat could perhaps be best described as a study in contrast, largely a product of the stark differences between the commanders of the U.S. Army, Generals Zachary Taylor and Winfield Scott.99 Taylor, known by the nickname “Old Rough and Ready,” had left the army ­after the War of 1812, only to be reinstated with the rank of major in 1816. In the years that followed, he climbed the command ladder, leading troops in Florida before President Polk named him to command along the border. In his military experience, he came to discount schooling and training as requirements for effective military leadership, instead regarding time in uniform as the greatest determinant of military success.100 Notorious for his casual dress and s­ imple habits, Taylor nonetheless had the utmost confidence in his troops, as he expressed in his General ­Orders of May 7, 1846: “If his ­orders and instructions are carried out, he has no doubt of the result, let the e­ nemy meet him in what numbers he may. He wishes to enjoin upon the battalions of infantry that their main dependence must be the bayonet.”101 At Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, Taylor did not so much lead his men in ­battle as he led them to it. The result in both cases was a largely ungeneralled affair in which Taylor merely reacted to the appearance of the ­enemy with l­ittle consideration of the larger consequences, other­wise relying upon spirit and élan to carry the day. Taylor continued to demonstrate such tendencies in directing the efforts to take Monterrey. The American assault on the town took place with minimal reconnaissance, as Taylor provided Captains J.K.F. Mansfield and William Williams with only the briefest opportunity to review ­enemy fortifications on the high ground southwest and east of the city before the main American assault began. General William Jenkins Worth, named to lead the attack, lacked adequate intelligence with re­spect to the size and disposition of Mexican fortifications on In­de­pen­dence and Federation Hills, as well as the Bishop’s Palace, all positions that threatened access into the city via the Saltillo Road. Taylor’s inexperience with re­spect to attacking a town or designing a siege ­were readily apparent, as he neither brought forth adequate artillery to conduct siege operations nor did he know that many streets in the town had been barricaded and that the nature of local construction allowed virtually ­every structure to be used as a fortification, as the flat roofs and parapets surrounding the structures made superb defensive positions.102



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­These f­actors notwithstanding, American troops fought on to victory, though even in negotiating terms of surrender with General Pedro de Ampudia, Taylor’s results ­were less than satisfying. He not only agreed to an eight-­week-­long cessation of hostilities but allowed the Mexican army to withdraw. Such actions cost Taylor the confidence of President Polk, who believed that Taylor’s moves ­were “a ­great ­mistake,” as an armistice would “enable the Mexican Army to reor­ga­nize and recruit so as to make another stand.”103 Similar circumstances manifested themselves in Taylor’s command in the ­Battle of Buena Vista. When most of his regulars and some volunteers ­were withdrawn from Taylor’s command to bolster General Scott’s landings at Veracruz, Taylor was left with fewer than 5,000 volunteers, dragoons, and U.S. artillery. Challenged by recently returned General Antonio de Lopez de Santa Anna, Taylor was drawn into ­battle in rough country south of Saltillo on February 22, initially rejecting a request from Santa Anna for an American surrender. The next day, Mexican troops commanded by Ampudia attacked the Second Indiana from Brigadier General Joseph Lane’s Indiana Brigade, which anchored the U.S. left flank. Supported by a battery of artillery, the Indiana volunteers ­were driven back, along with ele­ments of the Second Illinois sent in as reinforcements. Ordered to hold by Brigadier General John E. Wool, Brigadier General Joseph Lane and the Illinois volunteers gradually fell back ­under the pressure of the Mexican attack, threatening the entire American line. General Taylor, escorted by Col­o­nel Jefferson Davis and the First Mississippi volunteers, arrived on the field in late morning and made his presence known to

Brigadier General John E. Wool rides with his staff in Saltillo, Mexico, in December 1846. A veteran of the War of 1812, Wool remained on active duty in the U.S. Army ­until 1863, when he retired at the age of 79. (Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University)

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his men. Davis’s Mississippians hit the flank of Ampudia’s attacking column, with Davis being wounded in the foot during the attack. Their attack allowed Wool to rally the broken regiments around the hacienda at Buena Vista, a defensive position supported by a battery ­under Thomas W. Sherman and two regiments of dragoons. The Third Indiana soon joined the fray, forming an inverted “V” with the Mississippi ­Rifles, in the pro­cess shattering a Mexican lancer attack. A young Mexican lieutenant attempted a cease-­fire, claiming that Santa Anna wished to meet with the U.S. commander. Taylor and Wool saw through the ploy, but it did buy some trapped Mexican troops time to withdraw.104 Santa Anna gathered his troops for one final assault, directing General Francisco Pérez with artillery support ­toward the main U.S. line. Captain Braxton Bragg sprang into action, determined to hold the position at all costs. Riding to the guns, Taylor discovered that Bragg was using single shot, to which he ordered, “double-­ shot your guns and give them hell.” Taylor’s order, often misquoted as “a ­little more grape Captain Bragg,” would ­later become Taylor’s campaign slogan in the 1848 presidential campaign. On the battlefield, Pérez’s attack crumbled as rain began to fall. Despite Santa Anna’s declaration of victory, U.S. troops held the field, even having suffered nearly 750 casualties, including 267 killed. Mexican casualties are unknown, but they left over 500 dead soldiers on the battlefield, with many more wounded.105 Although victorious, the ­battle marked Taylor’s last major contribution of the war. As a commander, Winfield Scott’s conduct in combat could not be more dif­fer­ ent. When President Polk asked him to command the Mexico City campaign, Scott already had a distinguished military rec­ord as a combat commander in the War of 1812 and as a reformer of U.S. Army discipline and regulation, having in 1841 become commanding general of the U.S. Army.106 While not a soldier-­scholar in the modern sense, he was certainly a military intellectual, in that he sought to gain ­every advantage on the battlefield he could and minimize casualties. In October 1846, both President Polk and Secretary of War William Marcy consulted with Scott as to how victory might be achieved. In response, Scott produced a five-­page document entitled “Veracruz and Its ­Castle.” In it, Scott recognized that the fortress of San Juan de Ulua was the key to controlling the port of Veracruz. To capture it, he recommended attacking from the landward side and employing siege tactics to reduce the garrison. Scott concluded that this would prob­ably not force Mexico to the peace ­table, recommending instead that Mexico City would have to be taken, outlining proposed troop requirements in excess of 20,000 men to accomplish the task. Although he did not conceive of it as such, Scott was already thinking in terms of the operational art.107 In proposing the landing at Veracruz and outlining the campaign that followed, Scott estimated that with its strategic considerations in the north and elsewhere, Mexico would have 30,000 troops available to defend the capital. Recognizing that in the best case, he would have between 10,000 and 12,000 men ­under his command, Scott recognized three vital ­factors: he would have to move his army out of the coastal plain before the sickly season; it would be necessary to treat the Mexican population with dignity and re­spect to minimize the possibility of a guerilla campaign against his army by a populous foe; and he would have to work to



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minimize casualties by conducting a careful campaign of maneuver, utilizing the engineering and reconnaissance skills of his ju­nior officers to avoid pitched ­battles and maximize military effectiveness of the troops ­under his command. The amphibious assault upon Veracruz represented the first phase of Scott’s plan. On March 9, 1847, General William J. Worth led the first U.S. troops ashore in an unopposed landing south of the city. Carefully coordinating between the Army and Navy, Scott ordered additional troops landed over the course of the next two weeks. Eschewing what would prob­ably be a costly frontal assault against the more than 3,000 Mexican troops defending the port, Scott chose instead to allow his engineer officers to practice their craft, preparing gun positions and siege trenches that would allow U.S forces to subject Veracruz to withering artillery fire. With army batteries opening up on March 21, heavy naval guns brought ashore from the U.S. fleet added to the bombardment beginning three days ­later. ­After requesting a cease-­ fire on March  25, Mexican troops marched out ­under a white flag and stacked arms three days ­later, allowing Scott and his forces to take control of the city with fewer than 100 American casualties.108 Moving to the interior, Cerro Gordo represented the American army’s next obstacle. Recognizing that Santa Anna had constructed fortifications to impede the American approach, Scott again chose to avoid the frontal assault. In advance of  the engagement, he spent a full five days preparing his army, taking ­every opportunity to maximize his advantages through careful exploration and reconnaissance. He employed the talents and expertise of his engineer officers with telling effect, particularly Captain Robert E. Lee and Lieutenant Pierre G. T. Beauregard. Spending a day in reconnaissance on the Mexican left, the pair discovered a route that could be widened, allowing the movement of infantry and artillery to the rear of the e­ nemy positions on El Telegrafo, a hill that dominated the road to Cerro Gordo. With his division marching at dawn the morning of April 17, General David E. Twiggs moved his men along the route Lee had discovered, allowing them to slip ­behind the first of the Mexican positions and clear El Atalaya, the first piece of high ground overlooking the Jalapa Road. Pausing for the night, the Americans pressed the next morning, driving up and over El Telegrafo and through the Mexican camp, forcing Santa Anna to flee so quickly he abandoned his personal carriage, leaving ­behind his wooden leg, which was captured by ele­ments of the Fourth Illinois. The Mexican army suffered more than 1,000 Mexican troops killed and 3,000 more captured, at a cost of only 63 Americans killed and 353 wounded. Again, preparation, introspection, and effective command and control had contributed to an American victory with minimal casualties.109 With the road open to Mexico City, Scott and the American army could advance safely, but in continuing the march through e­ nemy territory, faced two options. He could ­either weaken his attacking force by maintaining fortified garrisons to protect his lines of communications, or cut his supply lines, keep his army strong, and keep his army on a tight disciplinary leash. Scott chose the latter. The ensuing pacification campaign, careful conduct of the army through enforcement of General Order No. 20, and purchase of supplies from local farmers and merchants along the route of march allowed him to pass largely unmolested. Although smaller bands

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of U.S. troops still faced guerilla attacks, Scott’s army continued on the march ­toward Mexico City, much to the chagrin of Santa Anna and ­those preparing to defend the capital.110 In his Memoirs, Grant commented that “both the strategy and tactics displayed by General Scott in . . . [the ­battles of Contreras and Churubusco] w ­ ere faultless as I look upon them now, ­after the lapse of so many years.”111 Fought within hours of each other, the two engagements opened the way to Mexico City and again showcased Scott’s deliberate employment of engineering to exploit position, turn the ­enemy’s flank, and win at minimal cost to the attacking army. With 10,000 men ­under his command, Scott faced the prospect of attacking positions defended by more than 36,000 Mexican troops. With the main ave­nues of approach heavi­ly fortified, Scott recognized that a frontal assault would be extremely costly. Capitalizing upon his topographical abilities, Captain Robert  E. Lee of the engineers managed to find a route through the Pedrègal, an old lava bed southwest of Mexico City that Santa Anna believed was impenetrable. Based on Lee’s reconnaissance, a portion of Scott’s army, Major General Gideon Pillow’s Division, followed by a second division commanded by Brigadier General David E. Twiggs, made their way through the Pedrègal, bypassing a heavi­ly fortified hacienda that controlled the main ave­nue of approach to Mexico City. With a small force u­ nder Brigadier General William Jenkins Worth fighting a holding action, Scott’s main attack again turned the Mexican flank, opening the road to the final ­battles of Mexico City.112 Although fighting remained in the final ­battles to capture Mexico City, the most difficult work was ­behind the American army. Through careful reconnaissance, exercise of military discipline, and judicious action, the methodical military mind of General Winfield Scott led the U.S. Army to a brilliant victory. When he departed Veracruz, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, believed that “Scott was lost. . . . ​He ­can’t take [Mexico City] and he ­can’t fall back upon his base.” Throughout the course of the campaign, the American general proceeded to defy the odds, leading his 10,000-­man army to victory over ­enemy forces that numbered close to 30,000 men. Upon hearing of Scott’s successful capture of Mexico City, Wellington changed his tune, singing the praises of the American combat leader, writing, “His campaign was unsurpassed in military annals. He is the greatest living soldier.”113 While Scott was rightfully lauded for his accomplishments, the Mexico City campaign had profound influence on the next generation of American military leaders. On the march to Mexico City, ­there ­were more than 100 American ju­nior officers in Mexico who went on to serve as generals in the nation’s civil war. Although in that war many would be fighting against each other, their conduct in the next conflict was greatly influenced by combat ­under General Winfield Scott. With the ­limited range of smoothbore muskets, combat remained a fiercely personal affair. Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder with their comrades in arms, trading volleys of fire with the ­enemy, before charging with the bayonet and ­either forcing the ­enemy to flee or engaging in hand-­to-­hand combat. This Mexican War experience of “seeing the elephant” would have a pervasive influence on ­future officers, as they would re-­employ the tactics they used with g­ reat success in Mexico



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in ­future conflicts. However, by the outbreak of the American Civil War, new technology would render the linear formations employed in Mexico all but obsolete, a lesson subsequently learned at ­great h­ uman cost.

ELITE TROOPS Characterizing a unit as “elite” during the Mexican War is a challenge, for in the nineteenth ­century such a definition was not a product of any specialized training or designation, as none existed in the U.S. Army. Consequently, any “elite” designation must be a product of a unit’s experience and reputation. Throughout the course of the conflict, both Generals Taylor and Scott had a wide variety of U.S. regulars and volunteers at their disposal, although when pressed, both usually came to rely upon soldiers of the U.S. regular army for critical missions. The education and experience of West Point–­trained officers, coupled with the reliability of long-­serving soldiers in the rank and file, as well as effective training, would certainly earn the soldiers of the “Old Establishment” who fought in the first ­battles of the war consideration as “elite.” Most volunteer units, as well as the regulars of the “New Establishment” (essentially volunteer troops in regular uniforms), ­were generally of lower quality and possessed significant challenges with re­spect to discipline, training, and combat effectiveness that rendered them inferior to the regular units of the “Old Establishment” in ser­vice prior to the war’s outset. ­These caveats notwithstanding, some units that fought during the Mexican War w ­ ere certainly worthy of elite consideration, although such a designation would be open to debate. At the time, no criteria existed for such a label, forcing consideration of overall combat effectiveness and military accomplishments in the field as perhaps the primary criteria. Among the units of the regular army, few can claim a rec­ord as singularly distinguished as the Seventh Regiment, United States Infantry. In constant ser­vice since the military reor­ga­ni­za­tion of 1815, by 1845 the regiment had amassed an illustrious rec­ord of frontier ser­vice in Indian Territory (modern Oklahoma), as well as in the Second Seminole War, before its companies, scattered among a number of garrisons, w ­ ere ordered to assem­ble at Corpus Christi as part of the Army of Observation. ­After training on the beaches of Corpus Christi, General Taylor selected the regiment to garrison Fort Brown opposite Matamoras, no doubt a testimony to the regiment’s martial effectiveness and the capable command of Major Jacob Brown. ­After Matamoras, the regiment further distinguished itself in the taking of Monterey, playing a key role in the capture of El Soldado, a key Mexican fortification. ­After a six-­month recovery, the regiment returned to action, making an amphibious landing at Veracruz and manning siege works ­until the Mexican army capitulated. At Cerro Gordo, the Seventh distinguished themselves capturing Mexican positions on Atalaya and El Telegrafo, clearing the high ground that commanded the road to Mexico City and turning an other­wise hard-­fought b­ attle into a rout of the Mexican army. In the final ­battles for Mexico City, the regiment again fought with distinction at Contreras, and again at Chapultepec, where com­ pany officers Captain Gabriel Paul and Lieutenant Levi Gannt joined 50 other men of the regiment as part of the “forlorn hope” tasked with the assault on

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Chapultepec ­castle. Although Gannt was killed in the assault, the soldiers of the regiment helped hoist the American flag over Mexico City, then served as occupation forces ­until the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed in February 1848. During the course of the war, they had fought in e­ very major ­battle and had played a significant part in ­every one of the war’s ­great victories, accomplishments certainly worthy of the designation of an “elite” unit.114 Reviewing the rec­ord of volunteer units raised for ser­vice in Mexico, the legacy of combat and diplomacy amassed by Col­o­nel Alexander Doniphan and his First Missouri Volunteers is without parallel among the nation’s citizen-­soldiers. While other volunteer officers such as General John Quitman and Col­o­nel Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, Col­o­nel Ben McCulloch of Texas, and Brigadier General James Shields of Illinois emerged from the war with a national reputation, their reputation was built upon singular events or engagements. In contrast, Doniphan’s Missourians can base their claim to elite status based upon a number of accomplishments that w ­ ere products of an entire campaign. Departing from Fort Leavenworth, Missouri, they conducted a 5,000-­mile march over the course of their year in federal ser­vice, the longest military march since the campaigns of Alexander the G ­ reat. They won stunning military victories at El Brazito and at the Sacramento River, the latter of which made the capture of Chihuahua pos­si­ble. And the regiment played a key role in implementing the Kearny Code, a document originally drafted by Doniphan that formed the foundation for the civil government of the New Mexico Territory. With contemporaries quick to compare Doniphan to the venerated Greek commander Xenophon, ­there w ­ ere few volunteer units whose overall rec­ord could compare to the First Regiment Missouri Volunteers, much less warrant an extension of an “elite” label.115

HEALTH AND MEDICINE Simply considering casualties as a percentage of troops involved, the Mexican War was Amer­i­ca’s deadliest war. Of the roughly 100,000 soldiers who served in the conflict, more than 12,000 died, 1,548 as a result of combat and 10,790 as a consequence of illness, disease, or exposure. This represented a mortality rate of 11 ­percent annually in the conflict, as opposed to an annual casualty rate in the Civil War of 6.5 ­percent, with 1.6 ­percent in World War I and even fewer in World War II. Much of this was a result of the circumstances encountered by army surgeons in Mexico and the challenges they faced in ­doing their duties, despite the fact that significant reforms within the Medical Department had taken place since the end of the War of 1812. Like the administration of the other staff departments, Surgeon General Col­o­ nel Thomas Lawson’s Medical Department had grown in professionalism since the War of 1812. Since his appointment as surgeon general in 1836, Lawson had directed the operations of the department, tasked with establishing and managing army hospitals, prescribing medicine to the sick and wounded, and providing input with regard to the establishment of army posts and camps to ensure that they ­were in healthful locations whenever pos­si­ble. In accordance with army regulations, the



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surgeon general was also responsible for overseeing the inspection of all prospective army recruits, requiring the naming and supervision of one surgeon and two assistant surgeons for each regiment.116 With the onset of the Mexican War, Lawson’s duties expanded dramatically as the army increased in size exponentially and ­under difficult conditions. New laws passed in February 1848 raised the number of army medical officers assigned to the regular army to 115, although half of ­those positions ­were never filled. Similarly, many of the 135 surgeon positions allocated to the volunteer regiments remained vacant. New surgeons found themselves employed in both camps and hospitals, the latter being more a consequence of name than formal function, as any structure could, if the need arose, be designated a hospital. In such hospitals, it was expected that surgeons would have an assistant, as well as a steward and wardmaster, one nurse to ­every 10 patients, one matron to ­every 20 patients, and one cook for ­every 30 patients.117 For soldiers wounded in combat, even a minor injury could result in death. Germ theory remained in its infancy, and ­there ­were few efforts undertaken to ensure that wounds ­were cleaned and maintained in a manner recognizable as sanitary by modern medical standards. Dr. Nathan S. Jarvis, who treated the wounded in the aftermath of the ­Battle of Monterey, wrote of the conditions he encountered, noting that “the moment a limb was amputated, numerous flies would alight on the stump, and must have deposited their eggs, for when it became necessary to dress the stump myriads of maggots ­were found buried in it.” If this ­were not bad enough, other surgeons treated wounds in a wholly unhealthy manner, with Surgeon John Porter describing the treatment of gunshot wounds with “a ­little lint, adhesive plaster, and a few turns of a roller, and afterwards a cold ­water dressing, or lead lotion, both excellent.” Despite treatments such as this, t­here w ­ ere situations where soldiers recovered from wounds that might other­wise appear fatal. At Cerro Gordo, a piece of grapeshot passed through the right lung of Brigadier General James Shields of the Illinois volunteers and exited his back. Believed mortally wounded, American surgeons allowed a foreign doctor in the Mexican ser­vice to operate, for the surgeon claimed that if allowed to treat him in his own way, the officer could be saved. The caring surgeon tied a silk handkerchief to the end of a ramrod and drew it through the wound, removing what­ever blood and particulates lingered in the wound. Not only did General Shields recover, he returned to duty, fighting l­ater in the B ­ attles of Contreras and Churubusco l­ater in the campaign.118 This was most certainly an exceptional case, as for in most cases, “the slightest wound or scratch became in ­every case a tedious ulcer,” though Surgeon Porter did note that “not a single case of hospital gangrene, tetanus, or secondary hemorrhage was seen by the writer during the war with Mexico.” With minimal casualties resulting from combat, the frequent poor health of soldiers began in their camps. Although regular soldiers w ­ ere accustomed to the discipline and care required to maintain ordered, sanitary camps, volunteers ­were not. Unaccustomed to living in close proximity to large numbers of ­people and largely untutored in the necessity for sanitary cooking and cleaning, they ­were responsible, through negligence, for the unhealthy conditions of their camps. Soldiers ­were not adverse to drinking contaminated, brackish, salty, or muddy ­water, and ­there

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­ ere few efforts to ensure that ­either the food or drink they consumed was healthy. w The First South Carolina Infantry claimed the dubious distinction of being the most unhealthy of the volunteer regiments, suffering 56 killed in ­battle and 349 ­dying as a result of disease and other ­causes. Though if the Missouri volunteers’ camps ­were any indication, unsanitary conditions ­were the rule, rather than the exception.119 George Ruxton, an En­glish traveler, described the camp of Doniphan’s Missourians on the Rio Grande opposite Valverde, writing, “­There w ­ ere no regulations in force with regards to cleanliness. The camp was strewn with the bones and offal of ­cattle slaughtered for its supply, and not the slightest attention was paid to keeping it clear from other accumulations of filth.”120

PRISONERS OF WAR Prior to the war with Mexico, ­there was l­ ittle love lost between Texas and Mexico, and ­those attitudes ­were reflected in dealing with prisoners taken by each side during the de­cade that Texas was an in­de­pen­dent republic, with no significant agreements determining how ­either side dealt with prisoners taken during combat. The fate of the prisoners of the Mier Expedition epitomize this lack of formal agreement. In November 1842, Texian customs officer Alexander Somervell left San Antonio with a force of 700 to punish the Mexican army for raids in Texas. Liberating the town of Laredo from Mexican control, they continued on to Guerrero, which they captured in early December. Ending the excursion, Somvervell ordered his men home, but five of his captains and their men continued, targeting the nearby town of Ciudad Mier. Reinforced by additional arrivals from Texas, they marched into the town, totally unaware that 3,000 Mexican troops commanded by Generals Francisco Mexia and Pedro de Ampudia w ­ ere nearby. In the ensuing B ­ attle of Mier, the Texians killed more than 650 Mexican troops and wounded another 200, but ­were ultimately surrounded and forced to surrender on December 26, 1842. Mexican forces captured 243 Texians, marching them through Matamoros, Tamaulipas, and Monterrey, Nuevo León, en route to Mexico City to be held as prisoners of war. In February, 181 of them attempted to escape, but lacking food and ­water in the Mexican high desert, they ­were recaptured and ordered to be executed by an enraged Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. Diplomatic negotiations between the Republic of Texas and Mexican officials led to an agreement by which Mexico agreed to execute one out of ­every ten Texian prisoners of war. To determine who would be sentenced to death, Col­o­nel Domingo Huerta, commander of the prison in which the Texians ­were held, prepared a pot containing 159 white beans and 17 black beans. ­Those unfortunate Texians who drew black beans ­were executed. The remainder ­were imprisoned in Perote Prison in Veracruz. While some escaped and ­others died in captivity, t­ hose still alive ­were released in September 1844.121 Prisoner relations during the war with Mexico perpetuated this e­ arlier trend, in that individual commanders on each side ­were left to determine how they wished to address prisoner-­of-­war issues. For Generals Taylor and Scott, the exigencies of conducting military operations on foreign soil prompted each to exercise considerable latitude with prisoners of war, with Taylor’s decision to parole the more than



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4,000 Mexican troops captured at Monterrey being a representative example. By the same token, Scott faced considerable challenges in holding Mexican troops captured in the Central Mexico campaign, electing to parole more than 3,000 captured at Cerro Gordo ­after only a day in captivity, a practice he continued ­after the ­Battles of Contreras and Churubusco. ­These practices changed at the direction of President Polk, who in May 1847 ordered Scott to suspend the practice of paroling Mexicans captured while fighting against the United States. ­After the ­Battle of Molino del Rey, the Second Pennsylvania Volunteers ­were withdrawn from Scott’s order of b­ attle on account of their duty to guard 2,000 Mexican prisoners, with an additional 1,500 captured by the time the armies met at Chapultepec. The final victory in Mexico City resulted in the capture of an additional 1,000 troops, who ­were held ­until the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ended the war.122 One group of men captured during the war by the United States faced considerable public attention. From the time U.S. troops arrived on the border with Mexico, desertion emerged as a significant prob­lem, particularly among Irish enlistees who faced anti-­Catholic discrimination and mistreatment in the ranks. More than 5,000 U.S. regulars went “over the hill” during the Mexican War, with many of them eventually ending up in the ser­vice of the Mexican army. On April 12, 1846, John Riley, an Irishman who had enlisted in the Fifth Infantry in September 1845, secured a pass to attend a Catholic Mass in a small village opposite Matamoras.

The ­B attle of Churubusco, August 20, 1847, was a pivotal ­battle in the effort to capture Mexico City. At the b­ attle, approximately 50 Irish-­American deserters from the San Patricio Battalion ­were captured while fighting for Mexico. They ­were l­ater court-­martialed and executed for treason in the largest mass execution in U.S history. (Kendall, George Wilkins and Carl Nebel. The War between the United States and Mexico Illustrated, Embracing Pictorial Drawings of all the Principal Conflicts, 1851)

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­ fter attending divine ser­vices, he chose not to return to the U.S. Army. GatherA ing together a group of Catholic Irish immigrants, he or­ga­nized first one, then a second, com­pany that included Germans, Canadians, En­glish, French, Italians, Polish, Scottish, Spanish, Swiss, and Mexican soldiers, as well as a handful of African Americans who escaped from slavery by fleeing into Mexico. Mexican authorities named him to command the Battalion de San Patricio, or St. Patrick’s Battalion, an artillery unit that fought in the B ­ attles of Monterey, Buena Vista, and Cerro Gordo, then reor­ga­nized into the Foreign Legion of Patricios, commanded by Col­o­nel Francisco R. Madero, with Riley in command of one com­pany and Santiago O’Leary commanding the second. The battalion fought at Contreras and Churubusco, where 85 members of the battalion w ­ ere captured, including Riley. Upon capture, the U.S. Army regarded the San Patricios as traitors, with 72 being charged with desertion. ­After two court-­martial ­trials, one at Tacubaya and another at San Angel, two had their cases dismissed on lack of evidence, sixty-­eight ­were sentenced to death by hanging [punishment for having deserted a­ fter the war started and taking up arms against the United States], and two ­were to be executed by firing squad. Upon careful review of all cases, General Scott pardoned five, and reduced the sentences of fifteen ­others, as they had deserted the U.S. Army before the war had officially begun. They received 50 lashes, ­were branded with the letter “D,” and w ­ ere e­ ither imprisoned or w ­ ere forced to wear an iron collar around their neck for the remainder of the war. ­Those executed ­were hanged in two groups, with the first group executed when the American flag went up on the Mexican ­castle, Chapultepec.123 Although unpopularly viewed in the United States, the San Patricios are still regarded as heroes in Mexico.

HOME FRONT The Mexican War marked the first time that the home front meant something distinct to American soldiers. As Amer­i­ca’s first foreign war, the conflict with Mexico represented the first time that American soldiers campaigned in a foreign land and encountered a foreign ­people, language, and culture. With that, a soldier’s thoughts ­were often with home as they slogged across the dusty plains of Mexico on their way “to the Halls of Montezuma.” While a soldier thought of home, ­those he left ­behind knew more about army campaigns, ­trials, and tribulations than ever before. The war marked the emergence of popu­lar news reporting, with the “penny press” providing a means to rapidly disseminate the news. Capitalizing on new communications technology, it became pos­si­ble to transmit news of the war faster than ever before, with news transmissions and U.S. mail sometimes beating official military correspondence. Such was the case with news of the ­Battle of Buena Vista, which President Polk discovered via a tele­gram from the Baltimore Sun, not directly from his generals in the field.124 Of all the news correspondents who covered the war, historians generally regard George Kendall as one of the first ­great news correspondents. Kendall, co-­editor for the New Orleans Picayune, provided some of the first articles of the war, and once a pattern of dissemination was established, his columns ­were reprinted



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throughout the country. Having joined an expedition to Santa Fe in 1841, he was captured by Mexican troops and imprisoned for more than six months. His 900-­ page Narrative of the Texan Santa Fe Expedition became a best-­seller for its time, rocketing him to popularity in the years preceding the Mexican War and establishing his reputation as a correspondent throughout much of the United States.125 As the war began, Kendall followed the army, providing reports of the ­Battles of Monterrey, Chapultepec, and Mexico City, offering commentary on the decisions of commanders and their actions in the field. Working in conjunction with a number of other field correspondents, Kendall pioneered a complex system of riders, steamships, railroads, and the recently in­ven­ted telegraph to get the news back to the United States as quickly as pos­si­ble. By the end of the war, one of Kendall’s competitors, James L. Freaner, also known as the “Mustang,” brought news of the peace treaty from Mexico City to Washington, D.C., in only 17 days, greatly advancing news transmission in the United States from this point forward.126 Considering the partisan nature in the way President Polk both visualized and conducted the conflict, it was not surprising that ­there ­were clear divisions on the American home front over its prosecution, even before Abraham Lincoln’s December 1847 “Spot Resolution.” When the initial war bill was brought to Congress in May 1846, not only did New ­England Whigs and their compatriots reject the bill, but Boston and New York newspapers condemned the vote as a product of Demo­ cratic lies. Regardless, the initial war votes passed by a wide margin, 174–14 in the House and 40–2 in the Senate. ­After the initial debates, positions crystallized on both sides, with Whigs, both North and South, criticizing the president and his conduct, and Demo­crats favoring the course of the war. Whig opposition gradually split along largely sectional lines, with Northern radicals like John Quincy Adams and Charles Sumner regarding the war as an attempt on the part of the administration to expand the institution of slavery, while more conservative, and predominantly Southern Whigs, such as Henry Clay, opposed the war out of princi­ple rather than out of any disdain for slavery. Similar divisions emerged among the Demo­crats, with expansionists and champions of Manifest Destiny Lewis Cass, George Bancroft, and Caleb Cushing favoring the war but refusing to address the issue of slavery, preferring to put it off to another day. A small minority of antislavery Demo­crats also emerged, with David Wilmot and Albert Gallatin opposing the war.127 As the war continued, the divisions became more pronounced. As the armies of both Taylor and Scott enjoyed success in northern and central Mexico, calls for “All Mexico” worked to erode the ­unionist sentiment that held both parties together. Over time, new divisions came to be drawn along sectional lines as the Second Party System began to collapse. David Wilmot’s famous proviso of August 1846, declaring that none of the territory acquired from Mexico should ever be opened to slavery or involuntary servitude, further exacerbated ­these new divisions, and its appearance (and defeat) on all war-­related bills from that point forward contributed to further division.128 Traditional scholarship examining the Mexican War suggests that the war enjoyed widespread popu­lar enthusiasm, and perhaps with the exception of New ­England, most Americans ­were united in support for the cause. However, a careful look at the American home front results in a much more nuanced perspective, in which

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many more Americans opposed the war. The conflict included Amer­i­ca’s first nationwide antiwar movement, one that appeared to unite politicians, soldiers, journalists, and average Americans across the country who followed the war from afar. Following the death of his son in the B ­ attle of Buena Vista, Henry Clay became a more out­spoken opponent of the war. In a speech he gave in Lexington, Kentucky’s Market House, he challenged a war of “offensive aggression,” challenging President Polk and rejecting the “wild spirit of adventure” that had brought American armies into Mexico. Received favorably in Lexington, its publication resulted in antiwar rallies from Indiana to New Jersey and from Kentucky to Maine, though it is difficult to ascertain the degree to which ­these truly ­shaped public opinion with re­spect to the conflict. Nonetheless, by the end of the conflict, the nation was set on a path that would lead to stark sectional divisions, with ­f uture conflict seeming to loom over the horizon.129

VETERANS’ ISSUES The first ostensibly “veterans” organ­ization of the Mexican War was or­ga­nized before the conflict had even come to a successful conclusion. In October 1847, while diplomats strug­gled to arrive at amicable peace terms, a group of U.S. officers on occupation duty in Mexico City came together and formed a social club to help them pass the time. The Aztec Club of 1847, as it came to be called, was inspired by the Society of the Cincinnati, formed by officers at the conclusion of the American Revolution. With its initial headquarters in Mexico City, its membership was initially restricted to some 160 officers who had served in the campaign to capture Mexico City. Over time, it has evolved into a hereditary organ­ization composed of individuals who are lineal descendants of t­ hose who w ­ ere original members of the organ­ization.130 Such organ­izations like the Aztec Club, however, ­were the exclusionary purview of officers who had served in the war. It was not ­until the ­Grand Army of the Republic demonstrated the viability of a more inclusionary veterans organ­ization did the old soldiers of Mexico begin to come together in an organ­ization of their own. In 1866, Alexander Kenaday, a California printer who had enlisted twice during the Mexican War, began meeting with a group of Mexican War veterans in San Francisco. Politicking among the veterans in California, they sent him to Washington in 1868 to lobby for the establishment of a soldiers’ home on the West Coast. Although he was unable to achieve his goal, he remained in the nation’s capital, and in 1874 presided over a meeting of Mexican War veterans from 33 states who chartered the National Association of Mexican War Veterans, or­ga­nized “for the promotion of social intercourse, good-­fellowship, and all proper assistance.” Although primarily social, the organ­ization did, as an ulterior motive, share a goal with other veterans’ organ­izations in that it sought a pension for its members. Despite Kenaday’s prominent role in founding the organ­ization, he was named secretary of the new organ­ization, with the presidency held by General James  W. Denver. Denver was a well-­k nown Demo­cratic politician who had served in the administration of President James Buchanan as Commissioner of Indian Affairs,



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and was the namesake for the capital of Colorado. He remained president of the organ­ization ­until his death in 1892.131 By the end of the 1870s, Mexican War veterans had chartered state chapters in Mas­sa­chu­setts, New Jersey, Mary­land, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, Louisiana, Nevada, and California. At the National Association of Mexican War Veterans’ annual convention in 1881, the delegates voted that ­there should be a chapter in ­every state or territory. Although Kenaday constantly pushed for a Mexican War veterans’ pension, despite such ambitious goals, ­there ­were never more than 5,500 registered members. With 17,000 veterans on the pension rolls in 1893, total membership represented less than a third of ­those eligible to join the organ­ization. Throughout the remainder of its existence, the organ­ization strug­gled to win a federal pension for the war’s remaining veterans, building upon the 1871 success of veterans of the War of 1812 receiving a similar federal benefit. The demand for an $8 monthly pension for Mexican War veterans, a request first raised at the organ­ization’s inaugural convention in 1874, became an annual congressional request. Kenaday used the society’s newsletter, the Vedette, to plead his case, though he strug­gled to consistently publish it due to lack of subscriptions. While continuing to press for a pension, the National Association of Mexican War Veterans became more subsumed with national politics, particularly in the 1880 presidential campaign. Whereas the ­Grand Army of the Republic, the organ­ization of Union Civil War veterans upon which the Mexican War organ­ization drew its inspiration, tended to support Republican candidates, many Mexican War veterans made public their decision to reject James A. Garfield and support Demo­crat Winfield Scott Hancock.132 In 1887, a Demo­cratically controlled Congress fi­nally passed a pension for Mexican War veterans, overcoming e­ arlier reticence to grant a pension on grounds that payments might have been sent to ex-­Confederates. ­After 1887, Kenaday continued to work the veterans’ cause, eventually winning an increase in the monthly stipend to $12. In ­later years, the organ­ization worked ­toward sectional reunion in bringing Mexican War veterans from northern and southern states together at one meeting. While the organ­ization’s major publication, the Vedette continued to be a forum for veterans to recall their ser­vice in Mexico, it also increasingly became an outlet for Alexander Kenaday’s radical po­liti­cal tendencies, as it advocated ­labor strikes, ­unions, and socie­ties, challenging the traditional po­liti­cal conservatism that typified most American veterans’ organ­izations.133

MILITARY DISCIPLINE Having codified the American manual of arms in the aftermath of the War of 1812, Brigadier General Winfield Scott contributed to the emergence of American military professionalism, writing Secretary of War John C. Calhoun about the possibility of drafting regulations to standardize the daily operations of the U.S. Army. Having collected numerous examples of Eu­ro­pean regulations and discipline, he set about on his own proj­ect to develop a suitable equivalent for the American ser­vice. ­After two years’ work, he informed Secretary Calhoun of

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“considerable pro­gress” on the proj­ect, hoping to complete his regulations for “[s]ervice, police, discipline and instruction” by the end of 1819.134 General Winfield Scott’s General Regulations of the Army, published in 1821, represented a significant development in American civil military relations. For a nation harboring concerns regarding a standing army, codified army regulations gave stability to an institution heretofore plagued by frequent reor­ga­n i­za­t ion, repeated reductions, constant turnover, and lack of clear purpose. The new guidelines authored by Scott governed e­very aspect of daily military life, thereby allowing the officer corps, and more particularly the U.S. Army, to begin policing itself. Through this pro­cess of self-­regulation, army officers began nurturing the nascent seeds of professionalism, developing a shared corporate identity beneficial to the entire nation.135 By the onset of the Mexican War, the regulations originally authored by Scott had gone through several iterations, with the most comprehensive version appearing in 1841. The General Regulations for the Army of the United States, which included the Articles of War in an appendix, regulated all aspects of martial life, with the commanding officers of all regiments, stations, and depots tasked by the War Department with maintaining good discipline and order. With re­spect to the discipline of troops in par­tic­u­lar, considerable attention was paid to the manner in which military courts w ­ ere conducted and justice administered, with “the duties of officers appointed to sit as members of courts-­martial” being of grave and impor­tant character. Consequently, all officers ­were admonished to make themselves “acquainted with the laws of the land having reference to this subject, with all ­orders and regulations, and with the practice of military courts.”136 To ensure that soldiers understood what was expected of them while in ser­vice, the Regulations noted that as recruits, the Rules and Articles of War ­were to be read on a weekly basis so that they could become acquainted with what was expected of them as soldiers in the Army of the United States.137 General Taylor’s “Army of Occupation” was not known for its strict discipline, and with “Old Rough and Ready” in command, it was not surprising that while on the beaches of Corpus Christi alone, more than 255 soldiers ­were tried by courts-­ martial. The most common offenses related to the excessive consumption of alcohol (72 cases or 28 ­percent) or desertion (78 cases or 30 ­percent). Of the 255 ­t rials, 23 (about 10 ­percent) resulted in acquittals, with General Taylor exercising clemency in the case of 36 more. For ­those convicted of their crimes, they ­were subject to punishments that included branding, flogging, face blacking, head shaving, bucking and gagging, carry­ing weights, or being forced to wear a ball and chain while on duty.138 As Taylor’s army moved into northern Mexico, his troops, particularly some of the volunteer units ­under his command, earned a reputation for acts of vio­lence and cruelty directed t­ oward the Mexican civilian population. Embracing racist, religious, or nationalistic rationales thinly cloaked in the language of Manifest Destiny, the “Boys for Mexico” had ­little expectation of punishment, particularly when outside the confines of the United States, as the Articles of War only governed troops serving on U.S. soil. Their conduct, like that of the Texas Rangers, which many Mexicans regarded as “Los Diablos Tejanos” (The Texan Dev­ils), represented



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significant challenges to military order and discipline, particularly when Mexicans sought retribution in response to the depredations of the American troops.139 With the landing of U.S. troops at Veracruz and Scott’s proposed march ­toward Mexico City, “Old Fuss and Feathers,” a stickler for martial discipline, knew that extreme mea­sures must be taken if he was ­going to march successfully on Mexico City. As the author of many of the Army’s current regulations, Scott recognized that the current Articles of War did not include provisions for punishing crimes soldiers committed outside the territorial confines of the United States that ­were subject to civil law. To both maintain order and pacify a potentially hostile population, Scott declared martial law in territory ­under U.S. control. The result was General Order No. 20, issued in Tampico on February 19, 1847, which in addition to martial law, placed acts of murder, premeditated murder, injuries or mutilation, rape, assaults, and malicious beatings; robbery, larceny, desecration of churches, cemeteries, ­houses, or religious buildings; and the destruction of public or private property ­under the jurisdiction of Army courts ­under the Articles of War.140 Of all the challenges to military discipline throughout the war with Mexico, desertion was the most prevalent. Once the regular army reached the border, many enlisted soldiers, chafing ­under the discipline imposed by American officers with ­little regard for foreign soldiers in the ranks, seized the opportunity to flee from American ser­vice. Throughout the war, more than 2,000 soldiers of the old regiments in ser­vice before the war elected to go “over the hill,” resulting in a desertion rate of more than 11 ­percent. Captain William S. Henry recalled frequent attempts at desertion by American soldiers while the Army was opposite Matamoras, mentioning specifically efforts by American picket guards to shoot them while they attempted to flee.141 Many of ­those who deserted early in the war went on to join the infamous San Patricio Battalion, though as U.S. forces moved farther into Mexico, the rate of desertion declined.

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE MEXICAN WAR The conduct of American regulars in the Mexican War vindicated t­hose who believed in the need for a standing army in the United States. In the three de­cades prior to the conflict, changes to U.S. Army bureaucracy, administration, and education had given rise to an emergent sense of military professionalism among U.S. Army officers, which was certainly demonstrated throughout the course of the war. On repeated occasions, careful planning, military discipline, and employment of both the art and science of war contributed to American victory. Throughout the conflict, President Polk’s decision to name prominent Demo­crats, many of whom possessed ­little in the way of military experience or expertise, to regimental and divisional command perpetuated the citizen-­soldier mind-­set pervasive in American society since Andrew Jackson’s victory at New Orleans three de­cades before. Comparable attitudes also proved problematic in dealing with rank-­and-­file volunteers, who not only paid l­ittle regard to the Mexican population but also enlisted for l­ imited periods of ser­vice, slowing the pace of the eventual campaign into central Mexico as General Winfield Scott had to wait for reinforcements before

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marching on Mexico City.142 Forced to wield a two-­sided sword of the republic, with citizen-­soldiers on one side and U.S. regulars on the other, capable leadership helped maximize the strengths while mitigating the weaknesses, and despite challenges to discipline, health, and supply, the U.S. Army prevailed against its southern neighbor. In his memoirs, Ulysses S. Grant commented on the character of the U.S. Army during the Mexican War. He wrote that the enlisted soldiers of the regular army ­were “prob­ably inferior, as material out of which to make an army, to the volunteers that participated in all the ­later ­battles of the war,” but that “drill and discipline brought out all ­there was in them.” In contrast, American citizen-­soldiers ­were “of better material” initially, though “­were without drill or discipline at the start,” as General Taylor discovered during the opening campaigns of the war. Through association with “so many disciplined men and professionally educated officers,” despite the relative military unpreparedness of the United States, “when they went into engagements it was with a confidence they would not have felt other­wise. They became soldiers themselves almost at once.”143 Although many historians have regarded the war with Mexico as a proving ground for the American Civil War, such perspective posits that both sides knew that another war was just over the horizon. Recognizing the inability to see into the ­f uture, it is incumbent to look at the Mexican War in its own context, with its own set of ­trials, tribulations, and successes as Americans marched “to the Halls of Montezuma.” The seemingly successful end of the war with Mexico opened new fissures in the nation’s po­liti­cal fabric. Before the next generation reached maturity, the United States would be at war again, this time with itself, as issues of slavery and states’ rights tore the nation asunder. In this next conflict, the two armies would come from the same nation, drawing upon a shared heritage in defending their notions of liberty and freedom. When ­those armies ­were formed, however, many of the officers and men could recall the first time that they “saw the elephant,” while campaigning with Taylor and Scott in Mexico. TIMELINE 1821 Mexico revolts against Spanish rule. 1822 Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna becomes president of Mexico. 1823 Mexican General Colonization Law opens way for American “empresarios,” including Stephen F. Austin, to encourage Americans to ­settle in Mexican states of Texas and Coahuila. 1824 Mexican government adopts federal constitution. 1827 Mexico rejects U.S. President John Quincy Adams’s offer to purchase Texas for $1 million.



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1829 Mexico rejects U.S. President Andrew Jackson’s offer to purchase Mexico for $5 million. 1830 Mexican government prohibits immigration of additional Americans into Texas, taxes U.S. imports into Texas, and prohibits slaves from entering Texas. 1832 Texians, including Stephen F. Austin, meet in San Felipe de Austin and call for separation of Texas from Coahuila and exemptions from tariffs and certain Mexican laws. 1833 Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna elected president of Mexico. January 1834 Stephen F. Austin brings Texian demands to Mexico City. Is arrested in Saltillo and is imprisoned ­until 1835. President Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna suspends 1824 Mexican constitution and consolidates power. October 2, 1835 Texians, holding cannon provided by Mexico for protection, encourage Mexican troops to “come and take it.” B ­ attle of Gonzales ensues. October 3, 1835 Santa Anna abolishes state legislatures throughout Mexico. November 3–7, 1835 Provisional government formed in San Felipe de Austin and declares right to in­de­pen­dence. November 28, 1835 Santa Anna leads 6,000-­man army northward to crush rebellion in Texas. December 10, 1835 Texians capture San Antonio. General Cos and 1,000 troops paroled ­under promise not to fight in Texas. February 23, 1836 Santa Anna and Mexican army arrive in San Antonio and lay siege to Texian troops holding the Alamo. March 2, 1836 Texas Declaration of In­de­pen­dence is ­adopted at Washington on the Brazos. March 6, 1836 Thirteen-­day siege of the Alamo ends. All defenders are killed. March 27, 1836 Mexican army executes 350 Texas prisoners at Goliad commanded by James Fannin. April 21, 1836 Santa Anna’s army defeated at B ­ attle of San Jacinto. Santa Anna captured.

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May 14, 1836 Treaty of Velasco signed, ending Texas Revolution. Texas becomes in­de­pen­dent republic. In ensuing years, treaty is ­violated by both sides. 1837 Republic of Texas recognized by United States. France, ­England, the Netherlands, and Belgium eventually recognize Texas. June 1841 Texian expedition departs central Texas for Santa Fe to solidify trade claims in New Mexico Territory. Expedition members are captured by Mexican troops and imprisoned in Mexico City. Survivors are released in 1842. March 1842 Seven hundred Mexican soldiers ­under General Rafael Vasquez invade Texas. ­After taking San Antonio on March 7, they abandon it when pursued by Texian forces. December 1842 Texians ­under General Alexander Somervell march t­ oward Mexico in response to ­earlier Vasquez expedition. When Somervell suspends invasion, troops mutiny and continue on. Remaining Texians are captured in Mier on December 25, marched to Saltillo, and imprisoned. One in 10 prisoners are determined to be executed, with ­those being executed drawing a black bean from a bowl of mixed beans. Seventeen Texians are executed. March 1843 U.S. Senate proposes commerce treaty with Texas, but Texas Congress rejects final version of treaty as amended by U.S. Senate. April 1844 Annexation treaty signed between U.S. and Texian diplomats. President John Tyler ­orders Brevet Brigadier General Zachary Taylor to assem­ble and command “Corps of Observation,” composed of Second Dragoons and Third and Fourth Infantry Regiments at Fort Jesup, Louisiana. June 1844 U.S. Senate rejects annexation treaty, 35–16. January 1845 U.S. House of Representatives passes Joint Resolution to annex Texas. February 27, 1845 U.S. Senate passes amended Joint Resolution to annex Texas. House approves amended resolution the next day. March 1, 1845 President John Tyler signs annexation resolution as approved by Congress. April 27, 1845 General Zachary Taylor ordered to move “Corps of Observation” to the Texas frontier. Taylor moves by sea to Corpus Christi in July and the force, strengthened by



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the arrival of the Fifth, Seventh, and Eighth Infantry and batteries from the Second and Third Artillery, is renamed the “Army of Occupation.” October 1845 Texas’s voters overwhelmingly approve annexation ordinance. December 29, 1845 President James K. Polk signs the “Joint Resolution for the Admission of the State of Texas,” making Texas the 28th state. January 1, 1846 President Polk ­orders General Zachary Taylor to march “Army of Occupation” from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande to protect Texas from invasion. Upon arrival on the Rio Grande, Taylor’s army assumes a position opposite Matamoros. February 19, 1846 Formal transfer of government takes place between the Republic of Texas and the United States. April 25–26, 1846 Captain Seth Thornton, commanding two squadrons of U.S. Dragoons, is attacked by Mexican troops in the Rio Grande valley. Sixteen U.S. troops are killed or wounded, including Captain Thornton. Remaining U.S. troops are captured. May 1, 1846 General Taylor and Army of Occupation withdraw from Matamoros to protect supply line from Point Isabel. May 3–9, 1846 Mexican troops besiege Fort Texas. May 6, 1846 Major Jacob Brown of the Seventh Infantry is killed in the defense of Fort Texas. Post (and subsequent city of Brownsville, Texas) is subsequently renamed in his honor. May 8, 1846 General Taylor defeats General Mariano Arista at the B ­ attle of Palo Alto. May 9, 1846 General Taylor defeats General Mariano Arista at the b­ attle of Resaca de la Palma. May 13, 1846 Upon receipt of news of the death of Captain Thornton and his dragoons, U.S. Congress declares war against Mexico. General Winfield Scott appointed by President James K. Polk to assume command of U.S. Army of Occupation from General Zachary Taylor. May 18, 1846 U.S. Army crosses Rio Grande and occupies Matamoros, Mexico.

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May-­June 1846 “Army of the West,” composed of First Regiment Missouri Mounted Volunteers, Battalion of Missouri Light Artillery, Battalion of Missouri Infantry, Laclede Rangers, and companies of the First Dragoons, is or­ga­nized at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, ­u nder the command of Col­o­nel Stephen W. Kearny (promoted to brigadier general on June 30, 1846). June 10, 1846 Disgruntled American frontiersmen and settlers in California proclaim “Bear Flag Republic.” July 4, 1846 Captain John C. Fremont unites topographical engineers ­under his command with Bear Flaggers, declares formation of “California Battalion,” and announces in­de­ pen­dence of California. July 7, 1846 Naval Commodore John D. Sloat, commanding the frigate USS Savannah and the sloops USS Cyane and Levant, captures Monterey, California. July 9, 1846 Commodore Sloat seizes Yerba Buena, California (San Francisco), replacing Bear Flag with U.S. colors. July 14, 1846 U.S. forces occupy Camargo, Tamaulipas, Mexico. July 15, 1846 Commodore Robert F. Stockton arrives in Monterey Bay aboard the frigate USS Congress and assumes command from ailing Commodore Sloat. July 16, 1846 Mormon Battalion enlisted for ser­vice as component of “Army of the West” at Council Bluffs, Iowa. Mormon Battalion begins march over Santa Fe Trail. Late July 1846 “Army of the West” assem­bles at Bent’s Fort (in present-­day Colorado) and prepares for invasion of northern Mexico. August 12, 1846 Col­o­nel Sterling Price organizes Second Regiment, Missouri Mounted Volunteers, for ser­vice as a component of the “Army of the West.” August 13, 1846 U.S. Marines commanded by Commodore Stockton capture Los Angeles, California. August 14, 1846 General Stephen Watts Kearny encounters troops u­ nder Manuel Armijo at Canoncito, 10 miles northwest of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Mexican forces abandon positions and the Army of the West occupies the city without a fight on August 18.



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August 17, 1846 Commodore Robert F. Stockton joins command with Col­o­nel John C. Fremont’s “California Battalion” and proclaims California a U.S. territory. September 22, 1846 The Kearny Code, drafted in large part by Missouri lawyer-­t urned commander Alexander Doniphan, announced as new government of New Mexico territory. General Kearny names Charles Bent to serve as territorial governor. Four days ­later, Kearny, commanding ele­ments of the First Dragoons, departs New Mexico for California. September 21–23, 1846 General Zachary Taylor forces Pedro de Ampudia to surrender Monterey, Mexico. September 22–30, 1846 Led by General José María Flores, Californios and Mexicans retake Los Angeles. October 27, 1846 General Winfield Scott delivers plan for capture of Veracruz to War Department. November 14, 1846 Tampico, Tamaulipas, Mexico, occupied by the U.S. Navy. November 16, 1846 U.S. Army occupies Saltillo, Coahuila, Mexico. November 19, 1846 President Polk offers General Winfield Scott command of U.S. Army being raised to invade Mexico. December 6, 1846 General Kearny and dragoons defeated by Californios and Presidial Lancers led by Major Andres Pico at the ­Battle of San Pasqual. December 14, 1846 Col­o­nel Alexander Doniphan and First Missouri Mounted Volunteers depart Santa Fe for northern Mexico, leaving Col­o­nel Sterling Price and Second Missouri Mounted Volunteers as New Mexico garrison. December 16, 1846 Mormon Battalion captures Tucson, Sonora. December 25, 1846 Col­o­nel Alexander William Doniphan and Missouri Volunteers defeat Mexican forces at ­Battle of El Brazito. January 2, 1847 The B ­ attle of Santa Clara fought in California, resulting in a U.S. victory. January 8, 1847 The B ­ attle of Rio San Gabriel is fought as part of a series of b­ attles for control of Los Angeles, California. The skirmish results in an American victory.

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January 9, 1847 The B ­ attle of La Mesa, the last conflict before U.S. forces enter Los Angeles, California, results in a U.S. victory. January 19, 1847 The Taos Revolt begins with the killing of Governor Charles Bent. Following the death of Bent, 500 native New Mexicans attack Simeon Turley’s mill on the Arroyo Hondo. January 24, 1847 General Sterling Price, commanding 353 Missourians, defeats New Mexican insurgents in the ­Battle of Cañada. January 24, 1847 Despite losses at Cañada, insurrectionists in Taos are emboldened by defeat of Americans commanded by Captain Israel Hendley in the First ­Battle of Mora. January 29, 1847 ­After The B ­ attle of Embudo Pass, Col­o­nel Sterling Price pursues New Mexican insurrectionists ­toward Pueblo de Taos. February 1, 1847 The second ­Battle of Mora results in American victory, with artillery fire leading to a total reduction of the town. February 3–4, 1847 Remaining New Mexican insurgents sheltering in Pueblo de Taos surrender to U.S. forces commanded by Col­o­nel Sterling Price. February 19, 1847 General Winfield Scott issues General Order No. 20, at Tampico, Mexico, holding all U.S. soldiers accountable to military courts for offenses committed outside the United States. February 23–24, 1847 General Zachary Taylor engages Antonio López de Santa Anna at the ­Battle of Buena Vista, south of Saltillo, Mexico, in one of the largest ­battles of the war. Though heavi­ly outnumbered, General Taylor’s 4,700 soldiers fend off the attack of Santa Anna’s 20,000 Mexicans. February 28, 1847 Col­o­nel Alexander Doniphan, commanding approximately 1,000 Missouri Volunteers, defeats 3,000 Mexican troops commanded by General Jose A. Heredia in a three-­hour-­long engagement 15 miles north of Chihuahua, Mexico. The Mexican defeat at Sacramento opens the way for the capture of Chihuahua City on March 2. March 9, 1847 First U.S. forces land south of Veracruz at Collado Beach, Mexico, to begin investment of the city. Over course of next three days, approximately 8600 U.S. troops land and assume positions overlooking the most impor­tant Mexican port.



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March 22, 1847 U.S. Army batteries and U.S. Navy guns on ships offshore begin shelling Veracruz. March 28, 1847 Mexican troops surrender Veracruz and abandon the city to General Winfield Scott and invading Americans. April 8, 1847 Lead ele­ments of General David E. Twiggs’s division begin overland march into central Mexico. April 18, 1847 ­After careful reconnaissance by Captain Robert E. Lee, Lieutenant Pierre G. T. Beauregard and ­others, 8,500 U.S. soldiers commanded by General Winfield Scott attack 12,000 Mexican troops commanded by General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. ­Because of careful reconnaissance, U.S. forces are able to outflank strong Mexican positions on El Telegrafo (a hill overlooking the National Road) and force the Mexican troops to surrender their positions with minimal casualties. April 18, 1847 Commodore Matthew  C. Perry seizes the port city of Tuxpan, Mexico, on the Gulf Coast. Over the course of the next two months, a series of small skirmishes ­will be fought with U.S. forces ­under Perry, ultimately maintaining possession of the city. April 22, 1847 Men of General William J. Worth’s division capture Perote ­Castle, on the summit of the eastern Cordilleras, 50 miles from Jalapa, Mexico. Although the position could have significantly delayed the further American advance, U.S. troops capture 54 guns and mortars, more than 500 muskets, and 25,000 rounds of solid shot without a fight as they arrive to find the fortress largely abandoned. Aside from Veracruz, Perote was considered the strongest fortress in Mexico. June 16, 1847 Commodore Perry captures Villahermosa, the last port city on the Mexican Gulf Coast in the Second ­Battle of Tabasco. This completed the U.S. blockade of the Mexican Gulf ports. July 9, 1847 ­After a series of minor skirmishes in norther New Mexico between native insurgents and U.S. volunteers, the Taos Revolt is fi­nally brought to a conclusion in the ­Battle of Cienega Creek, about 18 miles outside Taos, New Mexico. August 19, 1847 The B ­ attle of Contreras, also known as the B ­ attle of Padierna occurs, in which Santa Anna fails to support the Mexican line at a critical moment, resulting in a U.S. victory August 20, 1847 ­After successfully finding a path through the El Pedregal lava beds southwest of Mexico City, 10,000 U.S. troops commanded by General Winfield Scott defeat 36,000 Mexican soldiers commanded by General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna

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at the ­Battles of Contreras and Churubusco. During the course of the ­battles, Mexican troops and the Saint Patrick’s (San Patricio) Battalion commanded by General Manuel Rincón are unsuccessful in holding a fortified monastery defending the main approaches to Mexico City, resulting in the death of just over half of the San Patricios, with the rest retreating with the remainder of the Mexican troops involved in the b­ attle. The San Patricios, many of whom ­were deserters from the U.S. Army, are court-­martialed and punished a­ fter the b­ attle. September 8, 1847 In one of the bloodiest engagements of the war, General William J. Worth’s 3,600-­ man division loses nearly 800 men in a successful attempt to capture Molino del Rey, a suspected Mexican cannon foundry located two miles southwest of the gates of Mexico City. September 13, 1847 At Chapultepec, Mexican forces make their last concerted effort to defend Mexico City, forcing Scott’s army to climb the hill that was home to the Mexican military acad­emy. In the ­battle, Scott’s more than 7,000 men best Santa Anna’s army of 15,000, commanded by General Nicolas Bravo. When the American flag went up over Chapultepec ­Castle, some 30 members of the Saint Patrick’s (San Patricio) Battalion sentenced to death for desertion are executed. September 13–14, 1847 Despite the fall of Chapultepec, sporadic fighting takes place in Mexico City. September 14, 1847 In an effort to cut the U.S. supply line that stretches from Mexico City back to the coast, General Joaquian Rea commands troops who lay siege to Puebla, Mexico. September 15, 1847 U.S. forces begin occupation of Mexico City. Santa Anna takes remnants of his army eastward to impede U.S. efforts to hold the capital. October 2, 1847 U.S. Marines and sailors defeat the Mexican militia at Mulege, Baja California Sur. The American attack is in response to Mexican reticence to accept the capture of California by the United States. October 9, 1847 Troops ­under Santa Anna make their way to Huamantla, but are prevented from successfully taking the city by quick-­thinking action from General Joseph Lane. Leading a relief column from Veracruz, Lane’s troops, including a com­pany of U.S. mounted ­r ifles commanded by Captain Samuel H. Walker, are able to occupy the city and thwart Santa Anna’s plans. Unfortunately, Walker is killed in the pro­cess. October 12, 1847 The Siege of Puebla is lifted by the relief force commanded by General Joseph Lane, who was able to fight its way into the city.



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October 31, 1847 The U.S. Navy schooner USS Libertad (a former Mexican schooner captured by U.S. Naval Commodore Samuel Francis DuPont on October 1, 1846) silences Mexican shore batteries at Punta Sombrero in the Sea of Cortez. November 16–17, 1847 Mexican re­sis­tance forces at La Paz are unsuccessful in attacking a small American garrison. November 20–21, 1847 Bajacalifornio insurgents commanded by Jose Antonio Mijares are defeated in their efforts to capture San Jose del Cabo, Mexico. November 27–­December 8, 1847 U.S. troops defeat Mexican insurgents in the second ­Battle of La Paz. January 22–­February 14, 1848 Bajacalifornios are unsuccessful in besieging San Jose del Cabo. A relief force is led by Captain Seymour G. Steele aboard the USS Cyane. Following the Bajacalifornios’ defeat, U.S. forces march against the remaining Bajacalifornio insurgents and defeat them at Todos Santos on March 31. January–­August  1848 Mexican partisans continued to challenge the U.S. Army of Occupation. Formal fighting, however, had ceased by the end of January. January 2, 1848 The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo is signed, officially ending the Mexican War. The treaty provided for the Mexican cession of 525,000 square miles to the United States in exchange for $15 million. March 9–16, 1848 ­Battle of Santa Cruz de Rosales—­General Sterling Price advances into Chihuahua a­ fter the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was already signed. On March 9, Price demanded the unconditional surrender of the town. When General Trias refused to comply, Price laid siege and waited for the arrival of reinforcements. ­Little happened ­u ntil March  16, when Price de­cided to carry the town by assault.

Documents of the Mexican War: Personal Accounts 1  General Zachary Taylor: ­Battle of Buena Vista On February 22–23, 1847, the American Army of Occupation engaged a Mexican army ­under General Antonio López de Santa Anna near the village of Buena Vista. The ­battle resulted in a Mexican retreat. General Zachary Taylor, the American army’s commander, describes the engagement to the secretary of war in the following letter.

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Headquarters, Army of Occupation, Agua Nueva, March 6th, 1847. TO THE HON. SECRETARY OF WAR: Sir:—­I have the honor to submit a detailed report of the operations of the forces ­under my command, which resulted in the engagement of Buena Vista, the repulse of the Mexican army, and the reoccupation of this position. The information which reached me of the advance and concentration of a heavy Mexican force in my front, had assumed such a probable form as to induce a special examination far beyond the reach of our pickets to ascertain its correctness. A small party of Texian spies, ­under Major McCullough, despatched to the hacienda of Encarnacion, thirty miles from this, on the route to San Luis Potosi, had reported a cavalry force of unknown strength at that place. On the 20th of February, a strong reconnoissance, ­under Lieutenant-­colonel May, was despatched to the hacienda of Hecliondo, while Major McCullough made another examination of Encarnacion. The result of ­these expeditions left no doubt that the ­enemy was in large force at Encarnacion, ­under the ­orders of General Santa Anna, and that he meditated a forward movement and attack upon our position. As the camp of Agua Nueva could be turned on ­either flank, and as the ­enemy’s force was greatly superior to our own, particularly in the arm of cavalry, I determined, ­after much consideration, to take up a position about eleven miles in rear, and ­there await the attack. The army broke up its camp and marched at noon on the 21st, encamping at the new position a l­ittle in front of the hacienda of Buena Vista. With a small force I proceeded to Saltillo, to make some necessary arrangements for the defence of the town, leaving Brigadier-­General Wool in the immediate command of the troops. Before t­hese arrangements ­were completed, on the morning of the 22d, I was advised that the e­ nemy was sight, advancing. Upon reaching the ground it was found that his cavalry advance was in our front, having marched from Encarnacion, as we have since learned, at eleven ­o’clock the day previous, and driving in a mounted force left at Agua Nueva to cover the removal of public stores. Our troops ­were in position, occupying a line of remarkable strength. The road at this point becomes a narrow defile, the valley on its right being rendered quite impracticable for artillery by a succession of deep and impassable gullies, while on the left a succession of rugged ridges and precipitous ravines extends far back ­towards the mountain which bounds the valley. The features of the ground ­were such as nearly to paralyze the artillery and cavalry of the ­enemy, while his infantry could not derive all the advantage of its numerical superiority. In this position we prepared to receive him. Captain Washington’s battery (Fourth artillery) was posted to command the road, while the First and Second Illinois regiments, u­ nder Col­o­nels Hardin and Bissell, each eight companies, (to the latter of which was attached Captain Conner’s com­pany of Texas volunteers,) and the Second Kentucky, ­under Col­o­nel McKee, occupied the crests of the ridges on the left and in rear. The Arkansas and Kentucky regiments of cavalry, commanded by Col­o­nels Yell and H. Marshall, occupied the extreme left near the base of the mountain, while the Indiana brigade, ­u nder Brigadier-­General Lane, (composed of the Second and Third regiments,



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u­ nder Col­o­nels Bowles and Lane,) the Mississippi riflemen, ­under Col­o­nel Davis, the squadrons of the First and Second dragoons, ­u nder Captain Steene and Lieutenant-­colonel May, and the light batteries of Captains Sherman and Bragg, Third artillery, ­were held in reserve. At eleven o­ ’clock I received from General Santa Anna a summons to surrender at discretion, which, with a copy of my reply, I have already transmitted. The e­ nemy still forbore his attack, evidently waiting for the arrival of his rear columns, which could be distinctly seen by our look-­outs as they approached the field. A demonstration made on his left caused me to detach the Second Kentucky regiment and a section of artillery to our right, in which position they bivouacked for the night. In the mean time the Mexican light troops had engaged ours on the extreme left (composed of parts of the Kentucky and Arkansas cavalry dismounted, and a ­rifle battalion from the Indiana brigade u­ nder Major Gorman, the w ­ hole commanded by Col­o­nel Marshall,) and kept up a sharp fire, climbing the mountain side, and apparently endeavoring to gain our flank. Three pieces of Captain Washington’s battery had been detached to the left, and ­were supported by the Second Indiana regiment. An occasional shell was thrown by the ­enemy into this part of our line, but without effect. The skirmishing of the light troops was kept up with trifling loss on our part ­until dark, when I became convinced that no serious attack would be made before the morning, and returned, with the Mississippi regiment and squadron of Second dragoons, to Saltillo. The troops bivouacked without fires, and laid upon their arms. A body of cavalry, some fifteen hundred strong, had been vis­i­ble all day in rear of the town, having entered the valley through a narrow pass, east of the city. This cavalry, commanded by General Minon, had evidently been thrown in our rear to break up and harass our retreat, and perhaps make some attempt against the town, if practicable. The city was occupied by four excellent companies of Illinois volunteers, ­under Major Warren, of the First regiment. A field-­work, which commanded most of the approaches, was garrisoned by Captain Webster’s com­pany, First artillery, and armed with two twenty-­four pound howitzers, while the train and head-­quarter camp was guarded by two companies of Mississippi riflemen, ­under Captain Rogers, and a field-­piece, commanded by Captain Shover, Third artillery. Having made t­ hese dispositions for the protection of the rear, I proceeded on the morning of the 23d to Buena Vista, ordering forward all the other available troops. The action had commenced before my arrival on the field. During the eve­ning and night of the 22d, the ­enemy had thrown a body of light troops on the mountain side, with the purpose of outflanking our left; and it was ­here that the action of the 23d commenced at an early hour. Our riflemen, ­under Col­o­nel Marshall, who had been reinforced by three companies ­under Major Trail, Second Illinois volunteers, maintained their ground handsomely against a greatly superior force, holding themselves ­under cover, and using their weapons with deadly effect. About eight ­o’clock, a strong demonstration was made against the centre of our position, a heavy column moving along the road. This forces was soon dispersed by a few rapid and well-­directed shots from Captain Washington’s battery. In the mean time the ­enemy was concentrating a large force of infantry and cavalry ­under cover of the ridges, with the obvious intention of forcing our left, which

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was posted on an extensive plateau. The Second Indiana and Second Illinois regiments formed this part of our line, the former covering three pieces of light artillery, ­under the ­orders of Captain O’Brien—­Brigadier-­General Lane being in the immediate command. In order to bring his men within effective range, General Lane ordered the artillery and Second Indiana regiment forward. The artillery advanced within musket-­range of it with ­great effect, but without being able to check its advance. The infantry ordered to its support had fallen back in disorder, being exposed, as well as the battery, not only to a severe fire of small-­arms from the front, but also to a murderous cross-­fire of grape and canister, from a Mexican battery on the left. Captain O’Brien found it impossible to retain his position without support, but was only able to withdraw tow of his pieces, all the h­ orses and cannoneers of the third piece being killed or disabled. The Second Indiana regiment, which had fallen back as stated, could not be rallied, and took no farther part in the action, except a handful of men, who, u­ nder its gallant col­o­nel, Bowles, joined the Mississippi regiment, and did good ser­vice, and ­those fugitives who, at a ­later period in the day, assisted in defending the train and depot at Buena Vista. This portion of our line having given way, and the ­enemy appearing in overwhelming force against our left flank, the light troops which had rendered such good ser­vice on the mountain w ­ ere compelled to withdraw, which they did, for the most part, in good order. Many, however, w ­ ere not rallied ­until they reached the depot at Buena Vista, to the defence of which they afterwards contributed. Col. Bissell’s regiment, (Second Illinois,) which had been joined by a section of Captain Sherman’s battery, had become completely outflanked, and was compelled to fall back, being entirely unsupported. The ­enemy was now pouring masses of infantry and cavalry along the base of the mountain on our left, and was gaining our rear in ­great force. At this moment I arrived upon the field. The Mississippi regiment had been directed to the left before reaching the position, and immediately came into action against the Mexican infantry which had turned our flank. The Second Kentucky regiment, and section of artillery ­under Captain Bragg, had previously been ordered from the right to reinforce our left, and arrived at a most opportune moment. That regiment, and a portion of the First Illinois, u­ nder Col­o­ nel Hardin, gallantly drove the e­ nemy, and recovered a portion of the ground we had lost. The batteries of Captains Sherman and Bragg ­were in position on the plateau, and did much execution, not only in front, but particularly upon the masses which had gained our rear. Discovering that the ­enemy was heavi­ly pressing upon the Mississippi regiment, the Third Indiana regiment, ­under Col­o­nel Lane, was despatched to strengthen that part of our line which formed a crochet perpendicular to the first line of ­battle. At the same time Lieutenant Kilburn, with a piece of Captain Bragg’s battery, was directed to support the infantry ­there engaged. The action was for a long time warmly sustained at that point—­the e­ nemy making several efforts both with infantry and cavalry against our line, and being always repulsed with heavy loss. I had place all the regular cavalry and Captain Pike’s squadron of Arkansas ­horse ­under the ­orders of Brevet Lieutenant-­colonel May, with directions to hold in check the ­enemy’s column, still advancing to the rear along the base of the mountain, which was done in conjunction with the Kentucky and Arkansas cavalry, u­ nder Col­o­nels Marshall and Yell.



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In the mean time our left, which was still strongly threatened by a superior force, was farther strengthened by the detachment of Captain Bragg’s and a portion of Captain Sherman’s batteries to that quarter. The concentration of artillery-­fire upon the masses of the e­ nemy along the base of the mountain, and the determined re­sis­ tance offered by the two regiments opposed to them, had created confusion in their ranks, and some of the corps attempted to effect a retreat upon their main line of ­battle. The squadron of the First dragoons, ­u nder Lieutenant Rucker, was now ordered up the deep ravine which t­ hese retreating corps w ­ ere endeavoring to cross, in order to charge and disperse them. The squadron proceeded to the point indicated, but could not accomplish the object, being exposed to a heavy fire from a battery established to cover the retreat of t­hose corps. While the squadron was detached on this ser­vice, a large body of the ­enemy was observed to concentrate on our extreme left, apparently with the view of making a descent upon the hacienda of Buena Vista, where our train and baggage ­were deposited. Lieutenant-­ colonel May was ordered to the support of that point, with two pieces of Captain Sherman’s battery ­under Lieutenant Reynolds. In the mean time, the scattered forces near the hacienda, composed in part of Majors Trail and Gorman’s commands, had been to some extent or­ga­nized ­under the advice of Major Munroe, chief of artillery, with the assistance of Major Morrison, volunteer staff, and ­were posted to defend the position. Before our cavalry had reached the hacienda, that of the ­enemy had made its attack; having been handsomely met by the Kentucky and Arkansas cavalry ­u nder Col­o­nels Marshall and Yell. The Mexican column immediately divided, one portion sweeping by the depot, where it received a destructive fire from the force which had collected t­ here, and then gaining the mountain opposite, u­ nder a fire from Lieutenant Reynold’s section, the remaining portion regaining the base of the mountain on our left. In the charge at Buena Vista, Col­o­nel Yell fell gallantly at the head of his regiment; we also lost Adjutant Vaughan, of the Kentucky cavalry—­a young officer of much promise. Lieutenant-­colonel May, who had been rejoined by the squadron of the First dragoons and by portions of the Arkansas and Indiana troops, u­ nder Lieutenant-­colonel Roane and Major Gorman, now approached the base of the mountain, holding in check the right flank of the ­enemy, upon whose masses, crowded in the narrow gorges and ravines, our artillery was d­ oing fearful execution. The position of that portion of the Mexican army which had gained our rear was now very critical, and it seemed doubtful ­whether it could regain the main body. At this moment I received from General Santa Anna a message by a staff officer, desiring to know what I wanted. I immediately despatched Brigadier-­general Wool to the Mexican general-­in-­chief, and sent ­orders to cease firing. Upon reaching the Mexican lines, General Wool could not cause the ­enemy to cease their fire, and accordingly returned without having an interview. The extreme right of the ­enemy continued its retreat along the base of the mountain, and fi­nally, in spite of all our efforts, effected a junction with the remainder of the army. During the day, the cavalry of General Minon had ascended the elevated plain above Saltillo, and occupied the road from the city to the field of ­battle, where they intercepted several of our men. Approaching the town, they ­were fired upon by Captain Webster, from the redoubt occupied by his com­pany, and then moved off

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t­ owards Buena Vista. At this time, Captain Shover moved rapidly forward with his piece, supported by a miscellaneous command of mounted volunteers, and fired several shots at the cavalry with ­great effect. They w ­ ere driven into the ravines which lead to the lower valley, closely pursued by Captain Shover, who was farther supported by a piece of Captain Webster’s battery, ­under Lieutenant Donaldson, which had advanced from the redoubt, supported by Captain Wheeler’s com­pany of Illinois volunteers. The ­enemy made one or two efforts to charge the artillery, but was fi­nally driven back in a confused mass, and did not again appear upon the plain. In the mean time, the firing had partially ceased upon the principal field. The ­enemy seemed to confine his efforts his efforts to the protection of his artillery, and I had left the plateau for a moment, when I was recalled thither by a very heavy musketry fire. On regaining that position, I discovered that our infantry (Illinois and Second Kentucky) had engaged a greatly superior force of the ­enemy—­evidently his reserve—­and that they had been overwhelmed by numbers. The moment was most critical. Captain O’Brien, with two pieces, had sustained this heavy charge to the last and was fi­nally obliged to leave his guns on the field—­his infantry support being entirely routed. Captain Bragg, who had just arrived from the left, was ordered at once into battery. Without any infantry to support him, and at the imminent risk of losing his guns, this officer came rapidly into action, the Mexican line being but a few yards from the muzzle of his pieces. The first discharge of canister caused the ­enemy to hesitate; the second and third drove him back in disorder and saved the day. The Second Kentucky regiment, which had advanced beyond supporting distance in this affair, was driven back and closely pressed by the ­enemy’s cavalry. Taking a ravine which led in the direction of Captain Washington’s battery, their pursuers became exposed to his fire, which soon checked and drove them back with loss. In the mean time the rest of our artillery had taken position on the plateau, covered by the Mississippi and Third Indiana regiments, the former of which had reached the ground in time to pour a fire into the right flank of the ­enemy, and thus contribute to his repulse. In this last conflict we had the misfortune to sustain a very heavy loss. Col­o­nel Hardin, First Illinois, and Col­o­nel McKee and Lieutenant-­colonel Clay, Second Kentucky regiment, fell at this time, while gallantly leading their commands. No farther attempt was made by the ­enemy to force our position, and the approach of night gave an opportunity to pay proper attention to the wounded, and also to refresh the soldiers, who had been exhausted by incessant watchfulness and combat. Though the night was severely cold, the troops ­were compelled for the most to bivouac without fires, expecting that morning would renew the conflict. During the night the wounded w ­ ere removed to Saltillo, and e­ very preparation made to receive the ­enemy, should he again attack our position. Seven fresh companies ­were drawn from the town, and Brigadier-­general Marshall, with a reinforcement of Kentucky cavalry and four heavy guns, ­under Captain Prentiss, First artillery, was near at hand, when it was discovered that the e­ nemy had abandoned his position during the night. Our scouts soon ascertained that he had fallen back upon Agua Nueva. The ­great disparity of numbers, and the exhaustion of our troops, rendered it inexpedient and hazardous to attempt pursuit. A staff officer was despatched to



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General Santa Anna, to negotiate an exchange of prisoners, which was satisfactorily completed on the following day. Our own dead ­were collected and buried and the Mexican wounded, of which a large number had been left upon the field, ­were removed to Saltillo, and rendered as comfortable as circumstances would permit. On the eve­ning of the 26th, a close reconnoissance was made of the ­enemy’s position, which was found to be occupied only by a small body of cavalry, the infantry and artillery having retreated in the direction of San Luis Potosi. On the 27th, our troops resumed their former camp at Agua Nueva, the ­enemy’s rear-­guard evacuating the place as we approached, leaving a considerable number of wounded. It was my purpose to beat up his quarters at Encarnacion early the next morning, but upon examination, the weak condition of the cavalry ­horses rendered it inadvisable to attempt so long a march without ­water. A command was fi­nally despatched to Encarnacion, on the 1st of March, ­under Captain Belknap. Some two hundred wounded, and about sixty Mexican soldiers w ­ ere found t­here, the army having passed on in the direction of Matehuala, with greatly reduced numbers, and suffering much from hunger. The dead and ­dying w ­ ere strewed upon the road and crowded the buildings of the hacienda. The American force engaged in the action of Buena Vista is shown, by the accompanying field report, to have been three hundred and thirty-­four officers, and four thousand four hundred and twenty-­five men, exclusive of the small command left in and near Saltillo. Of this number, two squadrons of cavalry and three batteries of light artillery, making not more than four hundred and fifty-­three men, composed the only force of regular troops. The strength of the Mexican army is stated by General Santa Anna, in his summons, to be twenty thousand; and that estimate is confirmed by all the information since obtained. Our loss is two hundred and sixty-­seven killed, four hundred and fifty-­six wounded, and twenty-­three missing. Of the numerous wounded, many did not require removal to the hospital, and it is hoped that a comparatively small number ­will be permanently disabled. The Mexican loss in killed and wounded may be fairly estimated at one thousand and five hundred, and ­will prob­ably reach two thousand. At least five hundred of their killed ­were left upon the field of ­battle. We have no means of ascertaining the number of deserters and dispersed men from their ranks, but it is known to be very ­great. Our loss has been especially severe in officers, twenty-­eight having been killed upon the field. We have to lament the death of Captain George Lincoln, assistant adjutant-­general, serving in the staff of General Wool—­a young officer of high bearing and approved gallantry, who fell early in the action. No loss falls more heavi­ly upon the army in the field than that of Col­o­nels Hardin and McKee, and Lieutenant-­colonel Clay. Possessing in a remarkable degree the confidence of their commands, and the last two having enjoyed the advantage of a military education, I had looked particularly to them for support in case we met the ­enemy. I need not say that their zeal in engaging the ­enemy, and the cool and steadfast courage with which they maintained their positions during the day, fully realized my hopes, and caused me to feel yet more sensibly their untimely loss. I perform a grateful duty in bringing to the notice of the government the general good conduct of the troops. Exposed for successive nights, without fires, to

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the severity of the weather, they w ­ ere very prompt and cheerful in the discharge of ­every duty; and fi­nally displayed con­spic­u­ous steadiness and gallantry in repulsing, at g­ reat odds, a disciplined foe. While the brilliant success achieved by their arms releases me from the painful necessity of specifying many cases of bad conduct before the e­ nemy, I feel an increased obligation to mention par­tic­u­lar corps and officers, whose skill, coolness, and gallantry in trying situations, and ­u nder a continued and heavy fire, seem to merit par­tic­u­lar notice. To Brigadier-­general Wool my obligations are especially due. The high state of discipline and instruction of several of the volunteer regiments was attained u­ nder his command, and to his vigilance and arduous ser­vice before the action, and his gallantry and activity on the field, a large share of our success may justly be attributed. During most of the engagement he was in immediate command of the troops thrown back on our left flank. I beg leave to recommend him to the favorable notice of the government. Brigadier-­general Lane (slightly wounded) was active and zealous throughout the day, and displayed g­ reat coolness and gallantry before the ­enemy. The ser­vices of the light artillery, always con­spic­u­ous, ­were more than usually distinguished. Moving rapidly over the roughest ground, it was always in action at the right place and the right time, and its well-­directed fire dealt destruction in the masses of the e­ nemy. While I recommend to par­tic­u­lar ­favor the gallant conduct and valuable ser­vices of Major Munroe, chief of artillery, and Captains Washington, Fourth artillery, and Sherman and Bragg, Third artillery, commanding batteries, I deem it no more than just to mention all the subaltern officers. They ­were nearly all detached at dif­fer­ent times, and in e­ very situation exhibited con­spic­u­ous skill and gallantry. Captain O’Brien, Lieutenants Brent, Whiting, and Couch, Fourth artillery, and Bryan, topographical engineers, (slightly wounded,) ­were attached to Captain Washington’s battery. Lieutenants Thomas, Reynolds, and French, Third artillery, (severely wounded,) to that of Captain Sherman; and Captain Shover and Lieutenant Donaldson, First artillery, rendered gallant and impor­t ant ser­vice in repulsing the cavalry of General Minon. The regular cavalry, ­under Lieutenant-­ colonel May, with which was associated Captain Pike’s squadron of Arkansas ­horse, rendered useful ser­vice in holding the ­enemy in check and in covering the batteries at several points. Captain Steene, First Dragoons, was severely wounded early in the day, while gallantly endeavoring, with my authority, to rally the troops which ­were falling to the rear. The Mississippi riflemen, ­under Col­o­nel Davis, ­were highly con­spic­u­ous for their gallantry and steadiness, and sustained throughout the engagement the reputation of veteran troops. Brought into action against an im­mensely superior force, they maintained themselves for a long time unsupported and with heavy loss, and held an impor­t ant part of the field ­u ntil reinforced. Col­o­nel Davis, though severely wounded, remained in the ­saddle ­until the close of the action. His distinguished coolness and gallantry at the head of his regiment on this day, entitle him to the par­tic­u­lar notice of the government. The Third Indiana regiment, u­ nder Col­o­nel Lane, and a fragment of the Second, ­under Col­o­nel Bowles, ­were associated with the Mississippi regiment during the greater portion of the day, and acquitted themselves creditably in repulsing the attempts of the ­enemy to break that portion of



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our line. The Kentucky cavalry, ­under Col­o­nel Marshall, rendered good ser­vice dismounted, acting as light troops on our left, and afterwards, with a portion of the Arkansas regiment, in meeting and dispersing the column of cavalry at Buena Vista. The First and Second Illinois, and the Kentucky regiments, served immediately ­under my eye, and I bear a willing testimony to their excellent conduct throughout the day. The spirit and gallantry with which the First Illinois and Second Kentucky engaged the ­enemy in the morning, restored confidence to that part of the field, while the list of casualties ­will show how much ­these three regiments suffered in sustaining the heavy charge of the e­ nemy in the after­noon. Captain Conner’s com­pany of Texas volunteers, attached to the Second Illinois regiment, fought bravely, its captain being wounded and two subalterns killed. Col­o­nel Bissell, the only surviving col­o­nel of t­ hese regiments, merits notice for his coolness and bravery on this occasion. ­After the fall of the field-­officers of the First Illinois and Second Kentucky regiments, the command of the former devolved upon Lieutenant-­colonel Weatherford; that of the latter upon Major Fry. Regimental commanders and other who have rendered reports, speak in general terms of the good conduct of their officers and men, and specified many names, but the limits of this report forbid a recapitulation of them h­ ere. I may, however, mention Lieutenants Rucker and Campbell of the dragoons, and Captain Pike, Arkansas cavalry, commanding squadrons; Lieutenant-­colonel Field, Kentucky cavalry; Lieutenant-­colonel Roane, Arkansas cavalry, upon whom the command devolved ­after the fall of Col­o­nel Yell; Major Bradford, Captain Sharpe, (severely wounded,) and Adjutant Griffith, Mississippi regiment; Lieutenant-­colonel Hadden, Second Indiana regiment and Lieutenant Robinson, aid-­de-­camp to General Lane; Lieutenant-­colonel Weatherford, First Illinois regiment; Lieutenant-­colonel Morrison, Major Trail, and Adjutant Whiteside, (severely wounded,) Second Illinois regiment; and Major Fry, Second Kentucky regiment, as being favorably noticed for gallantry and good conduct. Major McCulloch, quartermaster in the volunteer ser­vice, rendered ser­vices before the engagement, in the command of a spy com­pany, and during the affair was associated with the regular cavalry. To Major Warren, First Illinois volunteers, I feel much indebted for his firm and judicious course, while exercising command in the city of Saltillo. The medical staff, ­under the able direction of Assistant-­surgeon Hitchcock, ­were assiduous in attention to the wounded on the field, and in their careful removal to the rear. Both in ­these re­spects, and in the subsequent organ­ization and ser­vice of the hospitals, the administration of this department was ­every ­thing that could be wished. Brigadier-­general Wool speaks in high terms of the officers of his staff, and I take plea­sure in mentioning them ­here, having witnessed their activity and zeal upon the field. Lieutenant and Aid-­de-­camp McDowell, Col­o­nel Churchill, inspector-­general, Captain Chapman, assistant-­quartermaster, Lieutenant Sitgreaves, topographical engineers, and Captains Howard and Davis, volunteer ser­ vice, are conspicuously noticed by the General for their gallantry and good conduct. Messrs. March, Addicks, Potts, Harrison, Burgess, and Dusenbery, attached in vari­ous capacities to General Wool’s headquarters, are likewise mentioned for their intelligent alacrity in conveying ­orders to all parts of the field.

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In conclusion, I beg leave to speak of my own staff, to whose exertions in rallying troops and communicating o­ rders I feel greatly indebted. Major Bliss, assistant-­ adjutant-­general, Captain J. H. Eaton, and Lieutenant R. S. Garnett, aids-­de-­camp, served near my person, and ­were prompt and zealous in the discharge of ­every duty. Major Munroe, besides rendering valuable ser­vice as chief of artillery, was active and instrumental, as ­were also Col­o­nels Churchill and Belknap, inspectors-­general, in rallying troops and disposing them for the defence of the train and baggage. Col­o­nel Whiting, quartermaster-­general, and Captain Eaton, chief of the subsistence department, ­were engaged with the duties of their departments, and also served in my immediate staff on the field. Captain Sibley, assistant-­quartermaster, was necessarily left with the headquarter camp near town, where his ser­vices ­were highly useful. Major Mansfield and Lieutenant Benham, engineers, and Captain Linnard and Lieutenants Pope and Franklin, topographical engineers, ­were employed before and during the engagement in making reconnoissances, and on the field ­were very active in bringing information and in conveying my ­orders to distant points. Lieutenant Kingsbury, in addition to his proper duties as ordnance officer, Captain Chilton, assistant-­quartermaster, and Majors Dix and Coffee, served also as extra aids-­de-­camp, and ­were actively employed in the transmission of ­orders. Mr. Thomas L. Crittenden, of Kentucky, though not in ser­vice, volunteered as my aid-­de-­camp on this occasion, and served with credit in that capacity. Major Craig, chief of ordnance, and Surgeon Craig, medical director, had been detached on duty from headquarters, and did not reach the ground ­until the morning of the 24th—­too late to participate in the action, but in time to render useful ser­vices in their respective departments of the staff. I respectfully enclose the returns of the troops engaged, and of casualties incident to the ­battle. I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant, Z. TAYLOR, Major General U.S.A. Comm’g. Source: Message from the President of the United States to the Two Houses of Congress at the Commencement of the First Session of the 30th Congress. Washington, D.C.: Wendell and Van Benthuysen, 1847, 132–41.

2  John Blout Robertsen: With the “Bloody-­First” at Cerro Gordo Tennessee-­born John Blout Robertsen served in the First Tennessee Volunteers. The regiment participated in General Winfield Scott’s advance from Vera Cruz to Mexico City. Robertsen was pre­sent at the ­Battle of Cerro Gordo on April 17–18, 1847. The main American effort featured an enveloping attack against the Mexican left flank. Meanwhile, General Gideon Pillow’s brigade with two Pennsylvania and two Tennessee regiments of volunteers conducted an ill-­ considered frontal assault into the teeth of the Mexican position. Robertsen describes this attack.



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Gen. Pillow, with the two Tennessee and the two Pennsylvania regiments, was to advance upon the ­enemy’s front line of works and to obtain a position from whence he could assault the works as soon as the firing commenced upon the left of the ­enemy’s line. In order to second this move by Gen. Pillow an eight inch siege howitzer had been lifted along the opposite side of the ravine, and planted on a height opposite the works of the ­enemy, so as to fire across the ravine upon the e­ nemy’s line. Gen. Worth, following the route opened by Gen. Twiggs, easily obtained his position. Gen. Pillow, with his brigade, numbering two thousand men, having followed the National road some two miles beyond our encampment, struck into a narrow path to the left, at right ­angles to the road, a mile and a half in front of the ­enemy’s works. ­These works of the ­enemy, it had been impossible to thoroughly reconnoitre, owing to the vigilance of the Mexican outposts; but from the imperfect observations that had been made, a very erroneous estimate had been placed upon the strength of the fortifications. The ­enemy ­were ­here posted along the summit of a broad ridge which was intersected by two parallel ravines which formed the hill into three smaller heights. Upon each of t­ hese smaller heights was a strong fort—­ each supporting and supported by the ­others; while another, in rear of the centre work, commanded all the o­ thers. ­ hese works ­were manned by four thousand choice troops ­under Gens. La Vega T and Jerrero, and mounted nineteen pieces of artillery, all within point-­blank range of an assaulting force. The ground in front of ­these works descended by a very slight yet rough declivity for more than two hundred yards, and then fell off abruptly into a wooded hollow; all the intermediate space from the edge of this hollow to the forts had been cleared up and the brush had been scattered over the ground so as to impede a charge and mask the batteries; and it was on this latter account that we had been unable to discover the real strength of the batteries. In Gen. Pillow’s order of attack, the 2nd Tennessee regiment, supported by the 1st Pennsylvania regiment, was to move in advance and charge the centre battery of the e­ nemy, while the 2nd Pennsylvania regiment, supported by the 1st Tennessee, was to follow and assault the ­enemy’s extreme right, or the battery which overhung the river. Having made the preliminary formations for attack, General Pillow proceeded cautiously through the dense chaparral by a pathway so narrow that we w ­ ere forced to advance by a flank movement, and frequently by single file. Owing to this and the other difficulties of the ground, we had proceeded but ­little way into the chaparral before the signal gun was fired and the action commenced on our right. Moving forward with as much rapidity as the nature of the ground would admit, Gen. Pillow succeeded in gaining the hollow in front of the ­enemy’s line, and rapidly formed Col. Haskell’s regiment, and having ordered Col. Wynkoop to support it with his regiment, gave the order to charge, while he himself dashed to the left to place Col. Roberts’ regiment in position, and lead it to the charge. The ­enemy had now discovered us and opened a tremendous fire upon our columns, which swept through the chaparral like a terrific hail storm. The column of Haskell,

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now in motion, emerged from the chaparral, and with a shout of fierce defiance dashed gallantly forward to the charge; instantly the converging fires of the ­enemy poured upon them with resistless fury; the batteries from right to left enfiladed their ranks with devastating showers of balls, while from the fort in front a perfect cataract of canister, grape and bullets poured down the front with annihilating force. It was in vain the gallant regiment bore up against the iron storm and dashed up to the very walls of the fort, over the impeding rocks and brush, unsupported by the Pennsylvania regiment, which had been thrown into confusion, their numerical force, already stripped of ­every field officer save the Col­o­nel, and nearly one-­third of the men could poorly countervail the hurricane of balls and the bristling bayonets of two thousand men. Seeing the utter hopelessness of the task, the few officers left reluctantly ordered the men to fall back and wait for support. The gallant Pillow had been shot down by a disabling wound at almost the first discharge, while he was about to form Col. Roberts’ column for the charge; but, though wounded, he ordered, through his aid. Col. Roberts to form and charge; but from some misconstruction of the order, Col. Roberts’ regiment was unfortunately thrown into confusion. The 1st Tennessee, though placed in the rear of all, as soon as the firing commenced pressed hurriedly forward, but owing to the confusion of the other regiments, could not reach the field ­until Haskell’s men, bleeding and broken, ­were falling back into the ravine. Stung with disappointment and mortification at the unpropitious turn of affairs, our old regiment, seeing the disorder that prevailed, moved forward with unbroken line and assumed the front, while the trees above ­were yet trembling and crashing with the pattering balls; cheering up the other troops, and receiving in turn the compliments of our wounded General as they passed, our men called loudly to their officers to lead them to the charge. Col. Campbell, finding Gen. Pillow disabled, assumed the command of the brigade, while the noble Anderson, whose chivalric soul would not allow him to hear brave men beg in vain for ­battle, led on, and bade us follow; catching the welcome sound, the men dashed forward ­after their brave leader with a desperate zeal. The gallant Campbell, proud of the conduct of his regiment, yet loth to see them march alone into the jaws of death, strove vigorously, but vainly, to form the disordered troops and bring them up to our support. It was a noble sight thus to see two hundred and seventy men rushing consciously upon their fate, ready to assail, uncovered and alone, the protected thousands of the e­ nemy. I never s­ hall forget the stern f­ aces of ­these men; ­every muscle was rigid, ­every feature was firm set as marble, and ­every eye glared with fierce desperation. Knowing that our regiment, unsupported, would only be sacrificed, Gen. Pillow assumed command, and ordered us to fall back and await the formation of the other regiments. Another moment and it would have been too late—­a few steps more would have brought the “Bloody First” upon the open area and ­under the concentrated fire of all the forts. Obeying the order our regiment fell back, and Gen. Pillow soon formed his brigade again, and was moving into position to renew the assault, when the ­enemy run up the white flag and surrendered, as the division of Gen. Twiggs had fairly turned the ­enemy’s left, carried their works, and completely routed all their forces in that direction, and had cut off all retreat to t­ hose in front.



Mexican War 237 Source: Robertson, John Blout. Reminiscences of a Campaign in Mexico. Nashville, TN: J. York, 1849, 244–48.

3  George C. Furber: The Siege of Vera Cruz George C. Furber was a practicing l­awyer in Tennessee when the state governor called for three regiments of volunteers to participate in the war against Mexico. Furber volunteered to serve in the First Tennessee Cavalry. The regiment was pre­ sent at the 20-­day siege of the key Mexican seaport of Vera Cruz, which lasted from March 9 to March 27, 1847. Like most of the volunteer units, the First Tennessee was principally involved with building, maintaining, and supplying the siege works and the artillery that occupied t­hese works. ­ fter dark we had an alarm of an attack in the rear, as we had had the night before; A and as we knew that t­ here w ­ ere some two thousand lancers near by, t­ here was much bustle and preparation made to receive them; but the alarm proved false. About nine ­o’clock, our shells set fire to some of the buildings within the walls, and they burned with a lively flame, fanned by the stormy wind, and gave out a bright light, that glared on all the buildings, domes, and spires above, bringing them into strong relief against the dark sky beyond, and, with the lurid flashes of the artillery below, ­presented a scene of terrific grandeur. Then the fire burned down, and only black smoke arose from it, and all was gloomy and dark, save the flashes of the guns. We turned away from the strong blasts, in which we had been standing, gazing at the ­grand appearance, and, chilled through, sought our tents, where, thickly stowed to one another, and wrapped in blankets, we became comfortable, and lay quietly listening to the rushing wind and the ceaseless roar of the cannon, and dozed quietly off to sleep, when suddenly came an order from Gen. Pillow, for four companies of the regiment to march to the beach, and drag up one of the sixty-­eight pounders, for the naval battery. We passed down, and by the long rope attached to the heavy timber wheels, u­ nder which hung the weighty piece of artillery, we tugged and pulled, and, in our endeavors, sweat and blowed with it, as we passed over the sand hills up to the camp, and then on to the battery, which, by the roundabout way we had to go, was nearly three and a half miles. It was the toughest sort of work; and, as we approached the place of the battery, had to be done in the stillest manner pos­si­ble, to avoid discovery; the bushes concealed the place from the view of ­those in the city. By hard l­abor we got it t­here late in the night, and it was soon hoisted upon its carriage, and stood with its four companions, with their long black muzzles projecting through the embrasures in the embankment, which was thickly laid tip of bags filled with sand; the sides of the embrasures ­were covered with raw hides. One more gun was lacking, which had been brought, by another detachment, as far as the camp at Malibran, but as the morning approached, it was ­stopped for the pre­sent; its carriage and plank platform, like the ­others, ­were ready for it, and we regretted that it could not be brought on; for by Gen. Scott’s ­orders, not a shot was to be fired from the ­whole battery, or the least indication of its existence given to the Mexicans, ­until e­ very gun was in position; for this battery, when known to them, from its elevated position would draw upon itself a heavy fire. It

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was to be manned entirely by seamen from the navy, which had furnished the guns, though detachments from the brigades of generals Pillow, Shields and Quitman, had erected the battery. The naval officers and seamen ­were impatient for the other gun; for, without it, the battery would have to remain ­silent during the next day; and they had already brought the shot and ammunition. So busy and hard at work had we been during the night, that we had scarcely noticed the firing, which from our side had almost ceased, and from the ­enemy had greatly slackened; nor had we perceived, till our task was accomplished, that the norther had spent its strength, and was now ­dying away. Leaving the battery, with its five guns in position, in charge of the seamen, we ­were dismissed an hour before day, and finding our way back in the darkness to Malibran, we quickly stretched ourselves in our tents, and ­were soundly asleep. Wednesday, March 24th. The fire, which had been slackened off before daylight, as mentioned, was renewed by the ­enemy with vigor, and all his batteries ­were served with ­great rapidity, and shot and shell fell in showers over our lines. Our own, though keeping up the fire, did so slowly, for want of shells; but ­every one of ­these fell within the city, and did fearful execution, as we learned from some deserters who escaped from ­there last night. The naval battery being much needed, and the ammunition for it, as said before, being ready t­here, while that of the mortars was scarce, and the only remaining gun to be mounted in it being at Malibran, in, front of the quarters of Gen. Patterson, Gen. Pillow, ­after examining the road, determined to run the risk, and take the gun to the battery in open day; being urged to it, by the slackening fires of the mortars, and the vigorous cannonading of the ­enemy. This was a hazardous undertaking; for, ­after proceeding over the hills about three-­fourths of a mile, the way lay for several hundred yards, up along the side of the level railroad, in view of, and directly in front of one of the forts of the ­enemy, on the walls, the guns of which could bear directly down the road, and rake it for a mile. Gen. Patterson, seeing the risk on one side, and the advantage, if successful, on the other, simply repeated to Gen. Pillow the order of Scott, that the guns should be carried during the night, and remarked to him, that if he undertook it, that it would be on his own responsibility. Pillow, a­ fter noticing that the battery to which he would be exposed was almost constantly enveloped in smoke, from its rapid firing, and as the wind had ceased, judging that such a movement as he contemplated, would not be thought of, or watched for by the ­enemy, determined to carry it into execution; and, ordering out a heavy detachment, the gun was taken over the hill to the railroad. Now came the trying time; the road was level; steep hills of chapparal ­were on one side of it, and the railroad on the other, and immediately in front, in the city wall, was the dreaded battery. The detachment, with the gun, rapidly advanced up the road; the battery continued discharging its cannon at the trenches on the right, and still the clouds of smoke settled over it; once or twice this smoke blew away, so that it was clear for a moment; but the ­enemy ­there not dreaming of so bold a move as an advance uncovered, up the railroad, paid no attention to the view of it. Again the battery was enveloped, as the gun advanced; it reached the road to the right, up the hill; turned into it; was concealed by the chapparal; was undiscovered, safe, and soon at the battery, to the ­great joy



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of the brave naval officers and the seamen, who had given up all hope of opening the fire of the work ­until the morrow. It was soon placed in position; the chapparal in front, on the brow of the hill, was quietly cut down, and, to the astonishment of the Mexicans, so elated at the slackening fire of the mortar batteries, this opened its six pieces, with a terrific and well-­directed discharge of its heavy shot; which, especially the sixty-­eights, made the stones and mortar fly from the building and walls—­they crashed through blocks at a time, and a dif­fer­ent aspect was placed upon the day. All the Mexican batteries, that could bear, immediately turned their fire upon the new and destructive work; which, now ­under the command of Capt. Aulick, second officer of the naval force, sent the heavy shot with such effect among them. This it kept up for the remainder of the day; in the after­noon, ­under the command of Capt. Mayo. In a short time ­after it opened, four sailors within it ­were killed, two badly wounded, and Lieut. Baldwin slightly. The dead ­were taken off, down to Malibran. The battery was much torn to pieces by the shot of the ­enemy. The storm having now subsided, the landing of shot, shell and mortars was resumed with spirit; and all the after­noon the beach presented the busy scene before described, and the utmost efforts ­were made to supply the mortar batteries, Nos. 1, 2 and 3, ­under the direction of Col. Bankhead, called Worth’s batteries, with shells, so much needed by them. At eleven ­o’clock, A. M., our shells set fire to some buildings in the city, and dense volumes of black smoke arose on the air, contrasting with the white volumes from the artillery below, along the walls, and increasing the grandeur of the scene. The Mexicans fought with ­great gallantry and bravery; their artillery was served in such a way as to excite the admiration of our officers, who universally remarked that it could not possibly have been better done; and the only reason that their power­ ful fire was not more destructive among us, was the most excellent arrangement of Scott, for the defence of the men. They tore the heavy embrasures of the naval battery, at which only they could get a chance, completely to pieces. The fire from that battery had been directed much against a fort opposite to it, called St. Barbara—by our men called the “red fort,” from the color of the buildings b­ ehind it. The Mexican flag above this fort was cut down by a ball. Our troops in the battery and trenches ­stopped firing for a moment, and raised three cheers all along, the sound of which ­rose above the bombardment. The Mexican officers and soldiers jumped down on the outside of their fort, seized their flag, and, amid the heavy balls that again flew among them, held it to its place ­until it was lashed. This gallant act excited the astonishment of our men. Source: Furber, George C. The Twelve Months Volunteer. Cincinnati: J. A. & U. P. James, 1849, 523–27.

4  Luther Giddings: The B ­ attle of Monterrey Ohio-­born Luther Giddings served as a major in the First Ohio Volunteers. His regiment participated in the September  21–24, 1846, ­Battle of Monterrey. On

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September 21, General Zachary Taylor mistakenly allowed a diversionary attack to expand into a full-­scale assault. When General David Twigg’s division of regulars met obstinate re­sis­tance, Taylor added General William Butler’s volunteer division. Giddings vividly describes that fight for the key La Teneria fortification and the subsequent combat in the narrow streets of Monterrey. Unable to hold the position, the Americans withdrew for the night. We now return to our own regiment, which, though then numbering less than four hundred, rank and file, was ordered, as the reader ­will remember, to attack the center of the northern front of the city. Its line of march was over the open plain, within grape range of the citadel, on our right flank; but the guns of that fortress, which had hitherto been trained upon more distant columns, w ­ ere not soon brought to bear upon ours. The air above us was turbulent with whizzing and bursting shells, and more than once we distinguished a sharp cracking, as of balls driven violently in contact. The regiment advanced in excellent order, but not without loss from the heavy flank lire. Near the edge of the town we passed Bragg’s battery, already in very bad plight, apparently indeed, a perfect wreck. A few of his artillerymen, and more than a dozen of his ­horses, ­were down in the same spot, making the ground about the guns slippery with their gasped foam and blood. The intrepid Captain and his men, though exposed the while to a galling fire, ­were deliberately engaged in re-­fitting the teams and in stripping the harness from the dead and disabled animals, determined that not a buckle or strap should be lost upon the field. For the safety of this battery, the advance of our regiment was most opportune, as we immediately attracted the fire to which it had previously been exposed. On entering the suburbs, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Watson, commander of the Baltimore Battalion, with two or three of his officers joined our column. That high-­spirited and worthy gentleman was killed soon afterward, while bravely fighting in our midst. We moved rapidly through a labyrinth of lanes and gardens, without knowing or seeing upon what point of the ­enemy’s line we ­were about to strike. At ­every step the discharges from the batteries in front became more deadly, while we had no opportunity for burning a cartridge. Nothing discouraged, the regiment went boldly forward, ­until it had reached a point in the suburbs north-­west of the “Puente Purisima,” and nearly on a line between it and the citadel. ­There we met Major Mansfield, who had conducted the first assault upon the Teneria, and who had since been closely examining the defenses in front. He informed General Butler of the failure of that attack, and advised the withdrawal of the Ohio regiment, “as ­there could no longer be any object in advancing further, warning him at the same time, that if he advanced he must meet a fire that would sweep all before it.” The command was thereupon halted in a broad street, parallel with, and not more than two hundred yards from the ­enemy’s works, at the stream heretofore described. Though screened from view by a dense hedge of pomegranate, the Mexicans seemed well informed of our position, and, during the few minutes we stood quietly yet impatiently ­there, sent some terrific rounds of canister into our ranks. Among ­those then killed was Lieutant Hett, commanding Com­pany H, whose captain had been left sick at



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Cerralvo. To stand still and be thus tamely and unresistingly slaughtered, was a severe trial for volunteers. Had the order been given they would willingly have cleared the hedge, and have stormed the barricades in front with indomitable fury. We had been but a short time in that position when General Butler, who, on receiving Major Mansfield’s communication, had galloped back to consult the general-­ in-­chief, returned and gave the order to retrograde, and the movement was accordingly commenced in no very good humor. General Taylor, however, who was near at hand, animating, directing, and watching ­every shock and charge in the fight, “presenting himself even in the aim and very flash of danger,” learning almost immediately afterward that Quitman’s brigade had carried Fort Teneria, countermanded the order. At once and again the direction of the column was changed, and we re-­entered the streets further to the east, striking at a point in the e­ nemy’s line between the tete-­de-­pont of the Purisima and Fort Diabolo. Upon the withdrawal of the regiment from the point to which it had first penetrated, the Mexicans had been encouraged to throw out parties of light troops, who, being familiar with the ground, followed us with a close and annoying fire. The order to countermarch, therefore, was obeyed with alacrity by our men, who hoped to encounter ­these skirmishers outside their walls. But the skulking sharp-­shooters knew not only how “to fall on pell mell,” but, as we perceived, how “to fall back and retreat as well.” They retired in haste before our men, whose impetuosity the officers ­were directed to restrain, in order that the companies might be kept well in hand for the deadly strug­gle just before us. Passing now near that quarter of the suburbs which had already been fought over by Twiggs’ division, we occasionally heard, amid the roar of combat, the deep groans of the d­ ying, and the cries of the wounded for ­water. But in consequence of the oppressive heat of the day, and the quenchless thirst which seizes all in the fever of b­ attle, e­ very canteen was dry, and we w ­ ere painfully compelled to witness, without the means of relieving, The panting thirst, which scorches in the breath Of t­ hose that die the soldier’s fiery death, In vain impels the burning mouth to crave One drop—­the last—to cool it for the grave. Among mangled bodies, and ­these melancholy sounds, the regiment marched quickly on, with shouts that ­were heard above the din of the fight. Thus for ten or fifteen minutes we groped our way through the streets, turning many corners, and crossing the northern suburbs diagonally ­toward Fort Diabolo. At length a large open lot was reached within full view of that battery, which at the time was engaged in a spirited contest with Fort Teneria, then in the possession of our troops. The artillery captured in the last named work was being skillfully served by Captain Ridgely, and as t­ hese now opposing batteries ­were not more than two hundred yards apart, the cannonade just in that vicinity was deafening. This lot or square was separated from the broad area around El Diabolo by a wall

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and a ditch. Between ­these two obstacles was a lane, leading, (as we too late discovered,) from an ­angle of the tete-­de-­pont on the right. As the regiment entered this open place, we observed a number of the ­enemy’s skirmishers hurriedly taking position ­behind the wall. The next moment a line of flame flashed above it, and almost at the same instant the diabolical battery in its rear saluted us with a terrible discharge of grape. A few men of the leading companies ­were killed or disabled, and our colors riddled and cut down by this first discharge. We ­were now evidently “in for it.” T ­ here, within sixty yards of us, w ­ ere some of the olive-­colored gentlemen with whom an interview had been so long and earnestly sought. The appearance of the regiment in the square was followed by startling explosions from ­every ­house and battery in that part of the town. ­There, and then, by that bloody baptism, did the 1st Ohio regiment obtain a name to which no pen has yet done justice. Never w ­ ill the writer forget the gallant bearing of t­hose courageous and obedient young troops at that place and period of the ­battle. ­There was no hesitating or wavering, no turning, or even looking to the right or left. A few of the foremost files discharged their pieces at the ­enemy, and then the ­whole corps made a dash at the wall, determined to dislodge the foe with the bayonet. No ­orders ­were heard in that indescribable din and uproar. The officers, first among whom ­were Generals Butler and Hamer, led, and the soldiers followed, as American volunteers I trust ­will never fail to do. One had but to look at their countenances, their set teeth and expanded nostrils, to be assured that ­those men so recently taken from the gentle pursuits of peace, w ­ ere now ready for the wildest work of war. The ­enemy’s fire was, in my inexperienced judgment, particularly heavy. The guns of Fort Diabolo belched forth an unintermitting sheet of flame and smoke as we advanced, but owing to the short distance, overloading, or the excited haste of the cannoneers, they overshot us at times so widely, as to cut off the highest branches of some lofty trees growing thereabout. A thick smoke rolled over our men as they crossed the square, and to the mounted officers, their serried bayonets alone ­were vis­i­ble, moving resistlessly on through the flickering canopy like an aerial stream. Before reaching the wall our pro­gress was unexpectedly, though but for a moment, arrested by a wide ditch which was full of w ­ ater. Into this the men, notwithstanding their ignorance of its depth, did not hesitate to plunge. The ­water was waist-­ deep, and flooded the cartridge boxes of some who unfortunately had neglected to raise them while crossing. By this misfortune a part of the corps was rendered temporarily unser­viceable at a critical juncture. A few soldiers, who halted in the w ­ ater to slake their thirst, ­were ­there shot. Adjutant Armstrong was severely wounded as he reached its edge, a grape shot passing through his leg, and entering the side of his ­horse. The e­ nemy retreated from the wall before we succeeded in clambering np to it, and commenced a race for life, which some of them lost. The greater number, however, succeeded in sheltering themselves b­ ehind the adjacent batteries. “We w ­ ere now in the street which unites the bridge Purisima with the Fort Teneria, and which is inclosed at the point where we entered it, by a ditch on the one hand, and a wall on the other. Spreading rapidly to the right and left, the regiment opened a general fire upon Fort Diabolo, and the ­houses within musket range in front. The



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more numerous defenders of ­these poured such a storm of balls upon us that we could not have held our position five minutes, had it not been protected by the wall. Against it, the Diabolo and his imps kept up a knocking that would have put our modern spirit rappers to shame, if not to flight. Some of the Mexicans at first exhibited a daring courage, often leaping upon their barricades to deliver their fire. But the quick and true aim of our better marksmen soon extinguished that vaunting spirit. Of course, in such a fight, most of the wounds given and received ­were about the head and shoulders, many of them fatal. One of our men, Myers, a soldier of the ­R ifle com­pany was shot in the mouth, which was fortunately closed at the moment, so that the ball ­after summarily extracting divers molars and incisors, lodged in the upper part of the throat, whence it was easily removed. The gallant Rifleman, spitting out the teeth and blood, and coolly remarking, (in a voice singularly changed,) that the pill had salivated him, continued with his com­pany for some time a­ fter receiving the wound. Aided by the lively and effective fire still maintained by our friends in the Teneria, we ­were beginning to hope that we might ere long silence the guns of Fort El Diabolo, when, suddenly as the lightning’s flash, and loud as the thunder’s peal, a battery was opened close upon our right, and swept the regiment with grape shot from flank to flank. It took all by surprise, and taught some young soldiers a lesson they ­will not soon forget. It sufficiently explained, too, “why the Mexican engineers had suffered that garden wall in front of the Diabolo to remain for our protection.” A question which I had asked myself more than once. So dense had been the smoke, and so intent had we been on engaging the ­enemy before us, that we had not observed on entering the street that it was enfiladed by the tete-­de-­pont of the Purisima on the right. The same c­ auses, with the uninterrupted cannonade, had prob­ably prevented the garrison of that formidable work from sooner discovering our exposed position. At the Purisima, General Mejia, who was charged with the northern defenses of the city, commanded in person, and his artillerists having us “in a string,” kept the street so full of balls that the escape of the regiment from utter destruction seems now, in a calm retrospect of the affair, almost miraculous. But our men displayed much coolness and dexterity in the emergency, and dividing into small parties availed themselves promptly and prudently of such shelter from this new and angry cross-­fire, as happened to be near. It was evident from the moment the battery of the tete-­de-­pont opened upon us that our position was untenable. The Mexicans, with artillery and infantry strongly posted in front and flank, could and did fire from ­behind their walls, deliberately and without much exposure, while but few of our troops w ­ ere sheltered from the storm. Yet it was gratifying to behold the obstinate courage with which ­these volunteers continued the fight, each one demeaning himself as if the issue of the conflict depended upon his individual efforts. The smoke was so thick that the small arms w ­ ere discharged pretty much at random, and most of our balls must have fallen harmless from ­those solid stone walls. But the guns of the Purisima continued to sweep the streets furiously, while his Satanic Majesty, El Diabolo, blazed like a volcano. Yet our silken standard, the staff of which had been spliced since the

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commencement of the action, by the color-­guard, still streamed like a rainbow ­o’er the cloud. The “noise and confusion” w ­ ere indescribable, and the inhabitants of Monterey might well have supposed that all the embattled legions of Pandemonium ­were raging at their gates. Our position was just the one, it appears to me, in which any anxious candidate for popu­lar ­favor, who cared less for the reports of fire-­arms than of the newspapers, less for the balls of the Devil than for the disciples of Dr. Faustus, might have ventured to express his opinions boldly and candidly on the subject of “River and Harbor Improvements,” or upon any of the so-­called delicate questions of the day. The loudest voice was lost in the wild uproar, and officers ­were often compelled to communicate ­orders pantomimically, even to ­those who ­were standing beside them. About noon the storm of b­ attle was at its height, and the scene, as described by the reserve corps at the mortar battery, was intensely exciting and ­g rand. The devoted city seemed to blaze at ­every portal. General Worth’s division was just then storming the Federacion and Soldada on the right; the troops of Twiggs and Quitman in the Teneria, reinforced by the howitzer battery of Captain Webster, was thundering on the left, and dashing their blows indiscriminately upon the Diabolo and the cathedral, while our ­little regiment combated with the more central defenses of the town. Volumes of sulphurous smoke settled darkly and heavi­ly over the streets, in which blazed flashes of musketry, and the ruddy flames of deep-­toned artillery. The swift and deafening peals In countless echoes through the mountains ring; Now swells the intermingling din, the jar. Frequent and fearful, of the bursting bomb, The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage! General Butler and Col­o­nel Mitchell having been borne wounded from the street, and the regiment being more than decimated, General Hamer de­cided to withdraw it to a less exposed position. Indeed ­there was no prudent alternative, as nothing could be gained by prolonging a contest with such odds. And since the capture of Fort Teneria, the ground was of no value to us, certainly it was not worth the lives it would have cost to maintain it. Source: Giddings, Luther. Sketches of the Campaign in Northern Mexico in Eigh­ teen Hundred Forty-­Six and Seven, by an Officer of the First Regiment of Ohio Volunteers. New York: George P. Putnam, 1853, 168–78.

NOTES   1. Congressional Globe, 30th Congress, 1st Session 64 (1847).   2. Richard Bruce Winders, Crisis in the Southwest: The United States, Mexico, and the Strug­gle over Texas (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002), 1–18.



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  3. Ibid., 18–29; Stephen L. Hardin, Texian Iliad: A Military History of the Texas Revolution (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996).   4. Winders, Crisis in the Southwest, 71–89.   5. Daniel Walker Howe, What Hath God Wrought: The Transformation of Amer­i­ca, 1815–1848 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 701–11.   6. Winders, Crisis in the Southwest, 92–94; Darwin Payne, “Camp Life in the Army of Occupation: Corpus Christi, July 1845 to March 1846,” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 73 (January 1970), 326–42.   7. Captain William J. Hardee to Brigadier-­General Zachary Taylor, April 26, 1846, in Steven R. Butler, ed. A Documentary History of the Mexican War (Richardson, TX: Descendants of Mexican War Veterans, 1995), 53.   8. James  K. Polk, “Joint Message,” May  11, 1846, in James  D. Richardson, ed., A Compilation of Messages and Papers of the Presidents, 11 vols. (New York: Bureau of National Lit­er­a­t ure, 1897), 6: 2292.   9. Robert P. Wettemann Jr. “A Part or Apart: The Alleged Isolation of Antebellum U.S. Army Officers,” American Nineteenth C ­ entury History 7 (June 2006), 193–217. 10. Charles M. Haecker and Jeffrey G. Mauck, On The Prairies of Palo Alto: Historical Archaeology of the U.S.—­Mexican War Battlefield (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1997), 11–58. K. Jack Bauer, “The ­Battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma,” in Charles Heller and William Stofft, ed., Amer­i­ca’s First ­Battles, 1776–1965 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986), 57–80. 11. Ibid. 12. “An Act to increase the rank and file of the army of the United States,” May 13, 1846, in John F. Callan, Military Laws of the United States (Philadelphia: Gorge F. Childs, 1863), 369; “An Act providing for the prosecution of the existing war between the United States and the Republic of Mexico,” May 13, 1846, ibid., 367–78. 13. Joseph G. Dawson III, Doniphan’s Epic March: The First Missouri Volunteers in the Mexican War (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999). 14. Ibid. 15. Winston Groom, Kearny’s March: The Epic Creation of the American West, 1846– 1847 (Alfred A. Knopf, New York: 2011), 185–226; Hunt Janin and Ursula Carson, The California Campaigns of the Mexican War, 1846–1848 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2015), 145–48. 16. Felice Flannery Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory: Zachary Taylor’s Mexican War Campaign and His Emerging Civil War Leaders (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2010), 112–94. 17. Joseph Whelan, Invading Mexico: Amer­i­ca’s Continental Dream and the Mexican War, 1846–1848 (New York: Carroll and Grad, 2007), 150–53. 18. Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory, 195–212. 19. Richard Bruce Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army: The American Military Experience in the Mexican War (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1997), 32–49, 75–76. 20. K. Jack Bauer, “The Veracruz Expedition of 1847,” Military Affairs 20 (Autumn 1956), 162–69. 21. K. Jack Bauer, The Mexican War (New York: MacMillan, 1974), 318. 22. Richard Griswold del Castillo, The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo: A Legacy of Conflict (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990). 23. “An Act to fix and reduce the Military Establishment of the United States,” March 2, 1821, in Callan, Military Laws, 306–09; Roger J. Spiller, “Calhoun’s Expansible Army: The History of a Military Idea,” South Atlantic Quarterly 79 (Spring 1980), 203, contends that Calhoun’s proposal arrived “stillborn.” Michael S. Fitzgerald noted that the plan was “mostly rejected,” in “Rejecting Calhoun’s Expansible Army Plan: The Army Reduction Act of 1821,” War in History (April  1996), 161–85. William Skelton contends that the

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Senate version of the bill (the version ultimately accepted by Congress) represented a “diluted version” of the expansible army plan, William B. Skelton, American Profession of Arms: The Army Officer Corps, 1784–1861 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992), 128. During the Second Seminole War and again at the beginning of the Mexican War, Congress temporarily raised the authorized strength of the individual infantry regiments, only to reduce them once the respective conflicts w ­ ere over. 24. U.S. Government, General Regulations for the Army of the United States, 1841 (Washington, DC: J. and G. S. Gideon, 1841), 119–21. 25. Major General Alexander Macomb to Secretary of War Joel Poinsett, November 1837, American State Papers: Military Affairs, 7: 589. Although numerous scholars have devoted attention to the place of both the militia and volunteers in the early republic, as well as in American history in general, a comprehensive analy­sis incorporating ­these institutions into the larger themes recently identified in Jacksonian Amer­i­ca remains to be written. See Marcus Cunliffe, Soldiers and Citizens: The Martial Spirit in Amer­i­ca 1775– 1865 (New York: MacMillan, 1968); Richard G. Stone, A Brittle Sword: The Kentucky Militia, 1776–1912 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1977); Cress, Citizens in Arms; John K. Mahon, History of the Militia and the National Guard (New York: MacMillan, 1983); C. Edward Skeen, Citizen Soldiers in the War of 1812 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999); Jerry Cooper, The Rise of the National Guard: The Evolution of the American Militia, 1865–1920 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997); Mary Ellen Rowe, Bulwark of the Republic: The American Militia in the Antebellum West (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 2003); Harry S. Laver, Citizens More than Soldiers: The Kentucky Militia and Society in the Early Republic (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007). 26. “An Act respecting the organ­ization of the Army, and for other purposes,” August 23, 1842, in Callan, Military Laws, 358; “An Act to authorize an increase of the rank and file of the Army of the United States,” May 13, 1846, ibid., 369. 27. “An Act providing for the prosecution of the existing War between the United States and the Republic of Mexico,” May 13, 1846, in Callan, Military Laws, 367–68. 28. Emory Upton, The Military Policy of the United States during the Mexican War (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1914), 216; Walter B. Stevens, Missouri the Center State, 4 vols. (Chicago-­St. Louis: The S. J. Clarke Publishing, 1915), 2: 519; William H. Robarts, Mexican War Veterans: A Complete Roster of the Regular and Volunteer Troops in the War between the United States and Mexico, from 1846 to 1848 (Washington, D.C.: Brentano’s, A. S. Witherbee, 1887). 29. “An Act to raise for a ­limited time, an additional military force, and for other purposes,” February 11, 1847, in Callan, Military Laws, 379–82. 30. Upton, Military Policy, 215–16. 31. Timothy D. Johnson, Winfield Scott: The Quest for Martial Glory (Lawrence: University of Press of Kansas, 1998), 81–85, stresses Scott’s contributions to the emergence of professionalism, arguing that the tactical manual and codified regulations for the army yielded g­ reat dividends ­toward the professionalization of the U.S. Army officer corps. 32. Grady McWhiney and Perry D. Jamieson, Attack and Die: Civil War Tactics and the Southern Heritage (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1982), 27–40. 33. Ulysses S. Grant, Memoirs and Selected Letters (New York: Library of Amer­i­ca, 1990), 34–35, 45. 34. Grant, Memoirs, 50. 35. Dawson, Doniphan’s Epic March, 39. 36. Wilbur J. Kurtz Jr., “The First Regiment of Georgia Volunteers in the Mexican War,” The Georgia Historical Quarterly 27 (December 1943), 306–08. 37. Justin H. Smith, War with Mexico, 2 vols. (New York: Macmillan, 1919), 1: 206. 38. Benjamin Franklin Scribner, Camp Life of a Volunteer (Philadelphia: Grigg, Elliot, 1847), 25–26.



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39. 1841 General Regulations, 106-115. 40. Peter Michael Molloy, Technical Education and the Young Republic: West Point as Amer­i­ca’s Ecole Polytechnique, 1802–1833 (PhD Dissertation, Brown University, 1975), 356–59, 362–64; Sylvanus Thayer to George Cullum, March 1865, quoted in George S. Pappas, To The Point: The United States Military Acad­emy, 1802–1902 (Westport, CN: Praeger, 1993), 99. For an assessment of Thayer’s overall influence on the acad­emy, see James L. Morrison, The Best School: West Point, 1833–1866 (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 1998). 41. Russell Weigley, The American Way of War: A History of United States Military and Strategic Policy (New York: Macmillan, 1973) 82–84, although Ian C. Hope, A Scientific Way of War: Antebellum Military Science, West Point, and the Origins of American Military Thought (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 161–82, makes a much more compelling case for this pro­cess to have begun well before the War with Mexico. 42. George Ballentine, Autobiography of an En­glish Soldier in the United States Army (New York: Stringer and Townsend, 1853), 31. 43. George Ruxton, Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains (New York: Harper and ­Brothers, 1848), 178–79. 44. Damon E. Eubank, “A Time of Enthusiasm: The Response of Kentucky to the Call for Troops in the Mexican War,” The Register of the Kentucky Historical Society 90 (Autumn 1992), 324; Wilbur G. Kurtz Jr. “The First Regiment of Georgia Volunteers in the Mexican War” The Georgia Historical Quarterly 27 (December 1943), 301–07; Lee A. Wallace Jr., “Raising a Volunteer Regiment for Mexico, 1846–1847,” The North Carolina Historical Review 35 (January 1958): 20–21. 45. Grant, Memoirs, 34–35. 46. Robert E. May, “Invisible Men: Blacks and the U.S. Army in the Mexican War,” The Historian 49 (August 1987), 467–68. 47. Ibid., 466. 48. William S. Henry, Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico (New York: Harper, 1847; reprint ed., New York: 1973), 32, 36. 49. Winfield Scott, “General Order No. 101, 9 April 1847.” https://­w ww​.­gilderlehrman​ .­org​/­content​/­general​-­orders​-­no​-­101​-­regarding​-­t rial​-­f ree​-­african​-­american​-­man; Johnson, Winfield Scott, 179; Timothy Johnson, A Gallant ­Little Army: The Mexico City Campaign (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2007), 56; George T. M. Davis, Autobiography of the Late Col­o­nel George T. M. Davis, Captain and Aide-­De-­Camp, Scott’s Army of Invasion (Mexico) (New York: Jenkins and McCowan, 1891), 135–37. 50. 1841 General Regulations, 37. 51. Henry, Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico, 14–15. 52. John B. Porter, “Medical and Surgical Notes of Campaigns in the War with Mexico, during the Years 1845, 1846, 1847, and 1848,” American Journal of the Medical Sciences 23 (January 1852): 17–18. 53. Order No. 63, Headquarters, Army of Occupation, Matamoros, May 21, 1846, synopsis printed in Mexican War Correspondence: Messages of the President of the United States and the Correspondence Therewith Communicated, between the Secretary of War and Other Officers of the Government upon the Subject of the Mexican War. House Exec. Doc. 60, 30th Congress, 1st Session 1848, 516. 54. Robert Anderson, An Artillery Officer in the Mexican War (New York, 1911), 129. 55. George Winston Smith and Charles Judah, Chronicles of the Gringos: The U.S. Army in the Mexican War, 1846–1848 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1968), 304. 56. Thomas L. Karnes, “Gilpin’s Volunteers on the Santa Fe Trail,” The Kansas Historical Quarterly 30 (Spring 1964), 5–6; “The Committee on Military Affairs, to whom

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was referred the petition of Mrs. Elizabeth C. Smith, asking for payment for her military ser­vices in the Mexican War,” Reports of Committees, Senate Committee Report No. 80, 33rd Congress, 1st Session., 3 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Beverley Tucker, 1854), 1: 80. 57. Robert Johanssen, To the Halls of the Montezumas: The Mexican War in the American Imagination (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 87–90. 58. Robert H. Ferrell, Monterrey Is Ours!: The Mexican War Letters of Lieutenant Dana, 1945–1847 (Louisville: University Press of Kentucky, 1991), 20. 59. Ibid., 27. 60. George Gibson, Journal of a Soldier ­under Kearny and Doniphan, 1846–1847 (Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clarke, 1935), 141. 61. J. Jacob Oswandel, quoted in Smith and Judah, Chronicles of the Gringos, 297–98. 62. 1841 General Regulations, 17–18, 261. 63. Frank S. Edwards, A Campaign in New Mexico with Col­o­nel Doniphan (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996), 17; Scribner, Camp Life of a Volunteer, 47–49. 64. 1841 General Regulations, 365–95. 65. Edwards, A Campaign in New Mexico, 6. 66. Ibid., 65. 67. Eric I. Manders and Wayne Colwell, “Mormon Battalion, New Mexico, 1846,” Military Collector and Historian XLVII (Fall 1995), 128–29. 68. Joseph E. Chance, ed., My Life in the Old Army: The Reminiscences of Abner Doubleday (Fort Word: Texas Christian University Press, 1998), 9–11. In editing Doubleday’s journal, Chance posited that perhaps the connection between Doubleday and baseball was contained in Chapter  1 of Doubleday’s manuscript, which has yet to be located; Otto B. Engelmann, “The Second Illinois in the Mexican War: Mexican War Letters of Adolph Engelmann, 1846–1846,” Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society, 26, (January 1934), 435; J. Jacob Oswandel, Notes of the Mexican War, 1846-1847-1848 (Philadelphia, 1885), 408. 69. Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army, 135–38. 70. Jerry Thompson, “Winfield Scott’s Army of Occupation as Pioneer Alpinists: Epic Ascents of Popocatepetl and Citlaltepetal,” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 105 (April 2002), 549–81. 71. Peter Guardino, “ ‘In the Name of Civilization and with a Bible in Their Hands’: Religion and the 1846–48 Mexican-­A merican War,” Mexican Studies 30 (Summer 2014), 342–65; John Pinhiero, Manifest Ambition: James K. Polk and Civil-­Military Relations during the Mexican War (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International, 2007), 89–91. 72. Robert Ryal Miller, Shamrock and Sword: The Saint Patrick’s Battalion in the U.S.-­ Mexican War (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1989), 156–59. 73. Sherman L. Fleek, History May Be Searched in Vain: A Military History of the Mormon Battalion (Spokane, WA: The Arthur H. Clark Com­pany, 2008). 74. Johannsen, To the Halls of the Montezumas, 175–79. 75. Ibid., 179–91. 76. Johannsen, To the Halls of the Montezumas, 191–96; Nathaniel Hawthorne, Life of Franklin Pierce (Boston: Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1852). 77. Johannsen, To the Halls of the Montezumas, 197–204, 222. 78. Samuel Lover, “The Girl I Left ­Behind Me,” in The Poetical Works of Samuel Lover, rev. ed. (New York, 1884), 175–76. Johannsen, To the Halls of the Montezumas, 239–40. 79. Andrew Tinnemeyer, “Embodying the West: Lyr­ics from the U.S.-­Mexican War,” American Studies 46 (Spring 2005), 67–86. 80. 1841 General Regulations, 35–38, 340–62; Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army, 19–20. 81. “An Act to increase the pre­sent military establishment of the United States, and for other purposes,” July 5, 1838, in Callan, Military Laws, 341–49; 1841 General Regulations, 346–47.



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  82. “An Act to Encourage Enlistments in the Regular Army,” January 12, 1847, in Callan, Military Laws, 378.   83. James W. Oberly, “Military Bounty Land Warrants of the Mexican War,” Prologue: Journal of the National Archives 14 (Spring 1982), 25–34.   84. Fleek, History May Be Searched in Vain, 155–56.   85. Grant, Memoirs, 66.   86. Stephen J. Allie, All He Could Carry: U.S. Army Infantry Equipment, 1839–1910 (Leavenworth, KS: Frontier Army Museum, n.d.), 4.   87. Ibid.; Smith and Judah, Chronicles of the Gringos, 382–86.   88. Sam Olden, “Mississippi and the U.S.-­Mexican War, 1846–1848,” Mississippi History Now. http://­mshistorynow​.­mdah​.­state​.­ms​.­us​/­articles​/­202​/­mississippi​-­and​-­the​-­us​ -­mexican​-­war​-­1846–1848 (accessed March  15, 2018); Richard  B. Winders, Panting for Glory: The Mississippi ­Rifles in the Mexican War (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2016).   89. Samuel E. Chamberlain, My Confession (New York: Harper, 1956), 58.   90. Randy Steffen, The Horse Soldier 4 vols. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1: 120–35.   91. Ibid.   92. Charles M. Hacker and Jeffrey G. Mauck, On the Prairies of Palo Alto (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1997), 14–15, 21, 83–84.   93. William  E. Birkhimer, Historical Sketch of the Organ­ization, Administration, Material, and Tactics of the Artillery, United States Army (James J. Chapman, Washington, D.C., 1884), 282, 295; Grant, Memoirs, 106–09.   94. Skelton, American Profession of Arms, 167–72; Ian C. Hope, A Scientific Way of War, 161, 182.   95. Ferrell, Monterrey Is Ours, 57.   96. Mc­Manus, American Courage, American Carnage, 66–77.   97. C. M. Reeves, “Five Years in the U.S. Army,” in Henry Howe, Adventures and Achievements of Americans (New York: George F. Tuttle, 1859), 444.   98. Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory, 82–84.   99. Grant, Memoirs, 94–95. 100. Francis B. Heitman, Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army, 2 vol. (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1965), 1: 949 101. Army of Occupation, ­Orders No. 58, May , 1846, U.S. Congress, House, Mexican War Correspondence, 30th Cong., 1st Sess., House Exec. Document No. 60, 487. 102. Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory, 127–58. 103. Milo Quaife, ed., Diary of James K. Polk, during His Presidency, 1845–1849 4 vols. (Chicago: A. C. McClurg, 1910), 2: 184–85. 104. Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory, 201–08. 105. Ibid., 208–12. 106. John S. D. Eisenhower, Agent of Destiny: The Life and Times of General Winfield Scott (New York: F ­ ree Press, 1997), 105–08; Johnson, Winfield Scott, 68–73. 107. Johnson, A Gallant L ­ ittle Army, 15. 108. Ibid., 9–51. 109. Ibid., 66–101. 110. Ibid., 137–50. 111. Grant, Memoirs, 99. 112. Ibid., 171–93. 113. Bauer, The Mexican War, 322. 114. John C. Mc­Manus, American Courage, American Carnage: The Seventh Infantry Chronicles (New York: Tom Doherty Associates Book, 2009), 61–117. 115. Dawson, Doniphan’s Epic March, 184–202.

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116. 1841 General Regulations, 287–339. 117. Ibid., Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army, 152–53; 1841 General Regulations, 307–09. 118. William Henry Condon, Life of Major General James Shields: Hero of Three Wars and Senator from Three States (Chicago: Blakely Printing, 1900), 69. 119. Thomas R. Irey, “Soldiering, Suffering and ­Dying in the Mexican War,” Journal of the West, 11 (April 1972), 285. 120. Ruxton, Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains, 177–78. 121. J. Milton Nance, Dare Dev­ils All: The Texan Mier Expedition, 1842–1844 (Austin: Eakin Press, 1997). 122. Paul Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POW’s from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 73–77. 123. Miller, Shamrock and Sword, 92–112. 124. Tom Reilly and Manley Witten, eds. War with Mexico! Amer­i­ca’s Reporters cover the Battlefield (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 97–99. 125. Ibid., 35–37. 126. Ibid., 224–25. 127. Frederick Merk, “Dissent in the Mexican War,” Proceedings of the Mas­sa­chu­setts Historical Society, 81 (1969): 120–128. 128. Ibid., 129–36. 129. Amy Greenberg, A Wicked War: Polk, Clay, Lincoln, and the 1846 U.S. Invasion of Mexico (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2012), xvi–­xvii, 229–40. 130. “History and Founding.” www​.­a ztecclub​.­com​/ ­leadPg​.­htm (accessed March 15, 2015). 131. Origin and Pro­gress of the National Association of Veterans of the Mexican War: Including a Brief Biographical Sketch of Its Found­er (Washington, D.C.: privately printed, 1887). 132. Ibid.; Wallace E. Davies, “The Mexican War Veterans as an Or­ga­nized Group,” Mississippi Valley Historical Review 35 (September 1948), 221–38. 133. Ibid. 134. Scott to Calhoun, July 8, 1819, in Robert L. Meriwether et al., eds., The Papers of John C. Calhoun, 26 vols. (Columbia, SC: 1959–1998), 4: 139–40 (hereafter referred to as JCP); Scott to Calhoun, November 13, 1819, Meriwether et al., eds., JCP, 4: 405–07; Calhoun to Monroe, September 5, 1818 and Monroe to Calhoun, September 17, 1818, ibid., 3: 104, 137. 135. Johnson, Scott, 76–78. 136. 1841 General Regulations, 41. 137. Ibid., 129. 138. Charles N. Pede, “Discipline Rather than Justice: Courts Martial and the Army of Occupation at Corpus Christi, 1845–1846,” Army History 101 (Fall 2016), 34–50. 139. Paul Foos, A Short, Offhand, Killing Affair: Soldiers and Social Conflict during the Mexican American War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002), 113– 17, 119–32. 140. Johnson, A Gallant L ­ ittle Army, 16–19; Winfield Scott, “General Headquarters of the Army, General Order No. 20, February 19, 1847.” https://­scholarship​.­rice​.­edu​/­jsp​/­xml​ /­1911​/­27562​/­3​/­aa00208tr​.­tei​.­html (accessed March 15, 2018). 141. The desertion rate among soldiers of the new establishment increased in 1847, though the volunteers w ­ ere effectively half that rate, with desertions slightly in excess of 5 ­percent, suggesting the similarity in composition of both the new regulars and the volunteers. See Upton, Military Policy, 217–18; William S. Henry, Campaign Sketches, 72. 142. Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army, 32–49, 66–87, especially 37–38, 75–76, established that all of the volunteer generals commissioned in the Mexican War possessed demonstrable ties to the Demo­cratic Party. Joseph G. Dawson, “Leaders for Manifest Destiny:



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American Volunteer Col­o­nels Serving in the U.S.-­Mexican War,” American Nineteenth ­Century History 7 (June 2006), 253–80, challenges ­these close partisan connections in an examination of the 63 col­o­nels commissioned for the conflict. Dawson notes that while most ­were Demo­crats, 14 belonged to the Whig Party. Possessing a varied prewar background, their war­time per­for­mance rec­ord was similarly varied. Collectively, ­these volunteers “appeared to vindicate relying upon the concept of citizen-­soldiery,” Dawson, “Leaders for Manifest Destiny,” 270. 143. Ulysses S. Grant, Memoirs, 114–15.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Anderson, Robert. An Artillery Officer in the Mexican War. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1911. Ballentine, George. Autobiography of an En­glish Soldier in the United States Army. New York: Stringer and Townsend, 1853. Bauer, K. Jack. “The ­Battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma,” in Charles Heller and William Stofft, eds., Amer­i­ca’s First ­Battles, 1776–1965. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986. Bauer, K. Jack. The Mexican War. New York: MacMillan, 1974. Bauer, K. Jack. “The Veracruz Expedition of 1847,” Military Affairs 20 (Autumn 1956), 162–169. Callan, John F. Military Laws of the United States. Philadelphia: George F. Childs, 1863. Chamberlain, Samuel E. My Confession. New York: Harper, 1956. Chance, Joseph E. ed., My Life in the Old Army: The Reminiscences of Abner Doubleday. Fort Word: Texas Christian University Press, 1998. Condon, William Henry. Life of Major General James Shields: Hero of Three Wars and Senator from Three States. Chicago: Blakely Printing, 1900. Davies, Wallace  E. “The Mexican War Veterans as an Or­ga­nized Group,” Mississippi Valley Historical Review 35 (September 1948), 221–238. Dawson, Joseph G., III. Doniphan’s Epic March: The First Missouri Volunteers in the Mexican War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999. Edwards, Frank  S. A Campaign in New Mexico with Col­o­nel Doniphan. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996. Eisenhower, John S. D. Agent of Destiny: The Life and Times of General Winfield Scott. New York: ­Free Press, 1997. Eubank, Damon E. “A Time of Enthusiasm: The Response of Kentucky to the Call for Troops in the Mexican War,” The Register of the Kentucky Historical Society 90 (Autumn 1992), 323–344. Ferrell, Robert H. Monterrey Is Ours!: The Mexican War Letters of Lieutenant Dana, 1945–1847. Louisville: University Press of Kentucky, 1991. Fleek, Sherman L. History May Be Searched in Vain: A Military History of the Mormon Battalion. Spokane, WA: Arthur H. Clark Com­pany, 2008. Foos, Paul. A Short, Offhand, Killing Affair: Soldiers and Social Conflict during the Mexican American War. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002. Gibson, George. Journal of a Soldier ­under Kearny and Doniphan, 1846–1847. Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clarke, 1935. Grant, Ulysses S. Memoirs and Selected Letters. New York: Library of Amer­i­ca, 1990. Greenberg, Amy. A Wicked War: Polk, Clay, Lincoln, and the 1846 U.S. Invasion of Mexico. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2012. Griswold del Castillo, Richard. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo: A Legacy of Conflict. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990.

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Groom, Winston. Kearny’s March: The Epic Creation of the American West, 1846–1847. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011. Haecker, Charles  M. and Jeffrey  G. Mauck. On The Prairies of Palo Alto: Historical Archaeology of the U.S.—­Mexican War Battlefield. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1997. Hardin, Stephen L. Texian Iliad: A Military History of the Texas Revolution. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996. Heitman, Francis B. Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army. 2 vol. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1965. Henry, William S. Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico. New York: Harper, 1847; reprint ed., New York: 1973. Hope, Ian C. A Scientific Way of War: Antebellum Military Science, West Point, and the Origins of American Military Thought. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2015. Howe, Daniel Walker. What Hath God Wrought: The Transformation of Amer­i­ca, 1815– 1848. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Irey, Thomas R. “Soldiering, Suffering and ­Dying in the Mexican War,” Journal of the West 11 (April 1972), 285–298. Janin, Hunt and Ursula Carson. The California Campaigns of the Mexican War, 1846– 1848. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2015. Johanssen, Robert. To the Halls of the Montezumas: The Mexican War in the American Imagination. New York: Oxford University Press, 1985. Johnson, Timothy. A Gallant ­Little Army: The Mexico City Campaign. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2007. Johnson, Timothy. Winfield Scott: The Quest for Martial Glory. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998. Kurtz, Wilbur J., Jr., “The First Regiment of Georgia Volunteers in the Mexican War,” The Georgia Historical Quarterly 27 (December 1943), 301–323. Lewis, Felice Flannery. Trailing Clouds of Glory: Zachary Taylor’s Mexican War Campaign and His Emerging Civil War Leaders. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2010. Mc­Manus, John C. American Courage, American Carnage: The Seventh Infantry Chronicles. New York: Tom Doherty Associates Book, 2009. Miller, Robert Ryal. Shamrock and Sword: The Saint Patrick’s Battalion in the U.S.-­ Mexican War. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1989. Nance, J. Milton. Dare Dev­ils All: The Texan Mier Expedition, 1842–1844. Austin: Eakin Press, 1997. Oberly, James W. “Military Bounty Land Warrants of the Mexican War,” Prologue: Journal of the National Archives 14 (Spring 1982), 28–35. Origin and Pro­gress of the National Association of Veterans of the Mexican War: Including a Brief Biographical Sketch of its Found­er. Washington, D.C.: privately printed, 1887. Payne, Darwin. “Camp Life in the Army of Occupation: Corpus Christi, July  1845 to March 1846,” Southwestern Historical Quarterly 73 (January 1970), 326–42. Pede, Charles N. “Discipline Rather than Justice: Courts Martial and the Army of Occupation at Corpus Christi, 1845–1846,” Army History 101 (Fall 2016), 34–50. Pinhiero, John. Manifest Ambition: James K. Polk and Civil-­Military Relations during the Mexican War. Westport, CT: Praeger Security International, 2007. Porter, John B. “Medical and Surgical Notes of Campaigns in the War with Mexico, during the Years 1845, 1846, 1847, and 1848,” American Journal of the Medical Sciences 23 (January 1852), 13–37.



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Reilly, Tom and Manley Witten, ed. War with Mexico! Amer­i­ca’s Reporters Cover the Battlefield. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010. Robarts, William H. Mexican War Veterans: A Complete Roster of the Regular and Volunteer Troops in the War between the United States and Mexico, from 1846 to 1848. Washington, D.C.: Brentano’s, A. S. Witherbee, 1887. Ruxton, George. Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains. New York: Harper and ­Brothers, 1848. Scribner, Benjamin Franklin. Camp Life of a Volunteer. Philadelphia: Grigg, Elliot, 1847. Skelton, William B. American Profession of Arms: The Army Officer Corps, 1784–1861. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992. Smith, George Winston and Charles Judah. Chronicles of the Gringos: The U.S. Army in the Mexican War, 1846–1848. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1968. Smith, Justin H. War with Mexico. 2 vols. New York: Macmillan, 1919. Springer, Paul J. Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010. Upton, Emory. The Military Policy of the United States during the Mexican War. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1914. Whelan, Joseph. Invading Mexico: Amer­i­ca’s Continental Dream and the Mexican War, 1846–1848. New York: Carroll and Grad Publishers, 2007. Winders, Richard Bruce. Crisis in the Southwest: The United States, Mexico, and the Strug­gle over Texas. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002. Winders, Richard Bruce. Mr. Polk’s Army: The American Military Experience in the Mexican War. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1997. Winders, Richard Bruce. Panting for Glory: The Mississippi ­Rifles in the Mexican War. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2016.

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4 The Civil War Christopher R. Mortenson

OVERVIEW The early American economy blossomed with the coming of the Market Revolution, roughly 1815–1860, which was characterized by small factories; the decline of the artisan; the building of canals and railroads; and national markets in goods, capital, and ­labor. While this revolutionary period affected Americans in positive and negative ways, it also appeared to benefit the North more than the South. Whereas northerners came to embrace f­ ree l­ abor, w ­ hether on the farm or in factories, as the ideal, many southerners came to see the economic rise of the North and free-­labor ideology as a threat. For a section whose economy continued to rely on the agricultural production of raw materials—­whether cotton, tobacco, hemp, indigo, sugar, or corn—­with a slave l­ abor force, growing northern concerns about the immorality of the race-­based l­abor system seemed threatening. As a result, while the po­liti­cal campaigns of the early to m ­ iddle 1800s often concerned themselves with other results of the changing times, it was race and the peculiar institution of slavery that increasingly dominated po­liti­cal discussions in local, state, and federal elections. Over time, disagreements over Nat Turner’s slave revolt, the annexation of Texas into the Union, the f­ uture of slavery in territory seized from Mexico, the Kansas-­Nebraska Act, “Bleeding” Kansas, John Brown’s raid of 1859, the presidential election of 1860, and the slow and steady rise of antislavery feeling in the North eventually led slave states to secede from the Union in 1860–1861. Of course, while the major cause of this conflict was the disputes related to slavery, other issues ­were of concern to white southerners. Many felt that the nation’s system of tariffs benefitted northern manufacturing and hurt southern agriculturalists. More importantly, the traditional Jeffersonian and Jacksonian cry for less federal power and more state power led slave ­owners to argue that a pos­si­ble end to slavery would result from the federal government infringing on states’ right to preserve the peculiar institution. As a result, the Civil War was one of ideas, which

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also led to mass volunteer armies and a conflict almost unlimited in scope. The war, unbeknownst to many early participants, lasted much longer than expected. Victory required one side to totally sap the resources and w ­ ill of the other to continue the fight. The emerging Amer­i­ca would be one or two countries, without or with slavery. A compromise falling somewhere in between would be too difficult to forge. Such a war led to a death toll unlike any other war in U.S. history. The secession of seven states—­South Carolina, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas—­put President-­elect Abraham Lincoln in an awkward position. James Buchanan was still president ­until March, and he was figuratively para­lyzed over the departure of the seven states. Lincoln, not currently in office, could only plead that he would not harm slavery in the Old South. In the meantime, men across the South, especially military acad­emy gradu­ates, had to decide w ­ hether they would support the Union or the new Confederate States of Amer­i­ca. The decisions of southerners like Robert E. Lee, George H. Thomas, and ­others affected the course of the war. During the winter of 1860–1861, southerners took control of federal installations across ­Dixie. Fort Sumter was one of the few that remained in Union control. Confederate artillery massed on the mainland to threaten the fort in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina. By April, Lincoln de­cided to try to resupply the troops u­ nder Major Robert Anderson, and the approach of the supply vessel led artillerymen to fire on the fort. As a result, the Union’s president could argue that gray-­clad rebels started an insurrection, and he called for 75,000 volunteers (all for a term of three months) to put down the rebellion. Unfortunately for the Union, four more slave states saw the call for volunteers as a threat, so ­Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina seceded to join the Confederacy. Soon, the Confederate government, and President Jefferson Davis, moved the capital from Montgomery, Alabama, to Richmond, ­Virginia. Davis also called for volunteers to defend the South. The Civil War’s first major engagement did not occur ­until the ­Battle of Bull Run on July 21, 1861. ­Until that time, most Americans, North and South, expected the war to be a short contest—­one side would win a significant victory, forcing the other to come to terms. However, while the Confederates won a decisive victory on that summer day, with bluecoats ­r unning all the way back to Washington, D.C., the war was far from finished. In April 1862, another ­great ­battle of the conflict, at Shiloh Church near Savannah, Tennessee, proved that the war would be very costly. A Confederate attack on an unsuspecting Union army led to over 19,000 killed or wounded and almost 4,000 missing or captured in a two-­day affair.1 The Union secured the battlefield and came away with a strategic victory, but the loss of life astonished citizens on both sides. The Civil War occurred in three phases. The first, including Bull Run and Shiloh, unfolded differently in the Eastern and Western Theaters. In the east, stretching from the eastern coast to the crest of the Appalachian Mountains, Confederate victories in the Shenandoah Valley, the Seven Days Battles, and Second Bull Run led to the emergence of Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern ­Virginia as the most respected fighting force of the war. In the west, victories at Forts Henry and Donelson; Shiloh; and the capture of New Orleans, Memphis, and Corinth, Mississippi, by Union armies and navies threatened to split the Confederacy in two.



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Lithograph depicting the ­Battle of Shiloh, April 6–7, 1862. Union forces ­under Brigadier General Ulysses S. Grant defeated Confederate troops led by generals Albert Sidney Johnston and Pierre G. T. Beauregard. It was the bloodiest ­battle in American history to date and remained the seventh bloodiest ­battle at the end of the Civil War. (Library of Congress)

The phase ended when Robert E. Lee attempted an invasion of the North to sap its po­liti­cal ­will to keep fighting. However, the lucky discovery of one of Lee’s ­orders, and uncharacteristic speed on the part of Major General George McClellan’s Army of the Potomac, led to a ­great ­battle at Antietam Creek in Mary­land. Both armies took a beating, leading to the bloodiest single day of the war on September 17, 1862, but it was the Confederates who limped away from the battlefield to return to ­Virginia. Lee’s invasion had failed, and President Lincoln seized the imperfect opportunity to announce his Emancipation Proclamation, which changed the character of the war. The proclamation declared that the Union Army would f­ ree slaves in all areas still in rebellion (not occupied by Union armies) as of January 1, 1863. As a result, the end of slavery actually became a professed war aim; some Unionists became quite angry over this turn of events. The second phase was a stalemate of sorts ­until July 1863. Union generals, and the president, ­were increasingly frustrated with failed efforts to occupy Vicksburg, Mississippi, which would allow the Union to take all practical control of the Mississippi River. Generals William T. Sherman, John McClernand, and Ulysses S. Grant spent a year wrestling with the dilemma, when not wrestling with each other. In the east, the Union’s Army of the Potomac attacked the Confederate Army of Northern ­Virginia on two occasions, at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, ­Virginia, and both resulted in miserable failures for the bluecoats. In

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fact, the latter victory convinced Lee to attempt another invasion of the North. In this case, he and his army made it as far as the small town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where the Army of the Potomac caught up. This encounter resulted in a three-­day ­battle, including a number of bloody attempts to turn the Union flanks. On the third day, Lee attempted a ­grand assault across open ground on the center of the Union line, which held an advantageous position on a ridge. ­Because of technological innovations since the Mexican War, the tactical defense held a major advantage, and the charge was a complete failure. Similar frontal assaults throughout the war met such a fate. As a result, the Confederates lost the ­battle and, once again, retreated into ­Virginia. One day ­later, on July 4, 1863, Grant secured the surrender of Vicksburg. During the third phase, the Confederacy found itself increasingly low on resources, including manpower, and Abraham Lincoln fi­nally found a set of generals who ­were willing to fight a hard war. This kind of total war would take the conflict to the citizenry of the South and force the Confederacy to “totally” mobilize for the conflict. Armies burned crops, destroyed infrastructure, and demoralized noncombatant citizens in the pro­cess. Grant became the commander of all Union forces, and he practically took control of the Army of the Potomac, even though George G. ­Meade officially continued to be its commander. The 1864 ­battles between the armies of Grant and Lee in ­Virginia led to cries that the Union commander was a butcher; but in his defense, the constant pressure eventually forced the Army of Northern ­Virginia into trenches around the towns of Richmond and Petersburg. In the meantime, Sherman marched across Georgia and South Carolina without a supply chain in a successful effort to punish southerners for starting the war and eliminate their support for the Confederacy. Once Sherman turned north into North Carolina in 1865, the pressure forced Lee to leave the confines of the trenches for a final effort to avoid defeat. However, his surrender at Appomattox Court­house, as well as a few other surrenders across the South, brought the war to an end. If not for Abraham Lincoln’s assassination shortly ­after Lee’s surrender, April would have been a perfectly joyous month for northerners. Instead, the postwar years ­were dominated by the ­trials and tribulations of Reconstruction, as well as the imperfect recoveries of traumatized soldiers and their families.

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS ­After the fall of Fort Sumter on April 13, 1861, Abraham Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers, though he did not force this call on the border states in order to keep them in the Union. ­There was a very justifiable fear that Missouri, Kentucky, and Mary­land might secede. This war’s armies included a few thousand regulars, roughly 15,000 each, but the rest ­were volunteers. Initially, the Confederate Congress authorized a force of 100,000 volunteers; both presidents quickly discovered that many more would be needed. Of course, the vari­ous states had their old militia systems, holdovers from the colonial era. During the American Revolution and the War of 1812, the militia ­were often in­effec­tive, if they could even be counted upon to reach the battlefield. The



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army that fought the Mexican War relied upon a mass volunteer force raised solely for that conflict. The United States of Amer­i­ca and the Confederate States of Amer­ i­ca turned to a hybrid force relying upon both professionals and volunteers. Many militia units from the states flocked to recruiting offices early in the conflict, but they ­were subsequently or­ga­nized as companies in state volunteer regiments. The urge to prove one’s manliness, the desire to defend one’s country, and the love of adventure led many young men to volunteer in 1861. Quotas for states filled quickly, and many governors asked if they could or­ga­nize more units than mandated. In a sense, this was a local effort, and men set up their own recruiting offices in the hopes that they could recruit a com­pany and become an officer. Elisha Hunt Rhodes described his experience enlisting; he said that in April 1861, “Governor Sprague issued an order stating that the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteers would be immediately enlisted for three years ser­vice and called upon the citizens to enlist.” Rhodes likely read the announcement in a local newspaper. When he mentioned this to his m ­ other, “she at once refused her consent . . . ​giving as reason that I was her only support.” ­After some tearful moments, she eventually gave consent, and her son soon left for Providence. On the way, Elisha “met my old school mate, Levi F. Carr, and finding that his ­father has consented we agreed to enlist together.” Upon arrival in the capital city, they took seats near the infantry armory. That morning, a man appeared who said “he had been appointed as a recruiting officer and was about to open the armory and receive recruits. We followed him into the armory and ­after he had properly headed a book for signature, Carr signed his name (he being my se­nior) and I followed.”2 But, the “rage militaire” could not last forever. This enthusiasm came before the horrible slaughters of 1862 at previously unheard-of places like Shiloh Church and Malvern Hill. Therefore, the mad rush to join the Union and Confederate armies waned as it became clear that the war would last. As a result, the nation with less manpower resorted to conscription first. In 1860, the states that stayed in the Union boasted a population of 22 million, while the Confederate States of Amer­i­ca included almost 12 million ­people. Furthermore, roughly 4 million southerners ­were slaves; the North had a 3–1 advantage in manpower and raised roughly 2.2 million soldiers over the course of the war. The South raised between 1 and 1.5 million with the help of the war’s first conscription act in 1862.3 The southern draft induced some to volunteer in order to not be branded as draftees, and it helped to prolong the war. However, many resented the Act of 1862 and subsequent revisions that allowed for exemptions, especially one for men who controlled more than 20 slaves. It was such mea­sures that led many to argue that this was “a rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight.” It appears that southerners from all demographic groups joined the Confederate Army, but the stigma of such exemptions hurt the war effort. Honest Abe and the U.S. Congress managed without a draft through 1862, but lost ­battles in the East certainly hindered recruiting. Furthermore, in order to save the Union, the South had to be invaded and conquered; the ­will to resist must be squashed. Thus, the number of bluecoated soldiers needed vastly surpassed that of the graycoats. In March 1863, Congress passed its first conscription act, and, as in the case of the Confederacy’s draft, it encouraged many to volunteer in order to

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not be stigmatized. In fact, the Conscription Act of 1863 netted few draftees, compared to the number of volunteers. This came about ­because “two controversial provisions particularly ­limited the effectiveness of the Enrollment Act. Draftees could gain exemption from ser­vice if they furnished a substitute, or if they paid a $300 commutation fee.” 4 The provisions on exemptions helped lead to draft riots, the most notable occurring in New York City, where whites hit the streets and terrorized blacks, whom they blamed for the need to resort to a draft. Many of the white ­people w ­ ere immigrants who channeled the bigotry they received in the direction of the blacks who competed with them for jobs. In the rioting, up to 70 blacks died and several buildings burned.5 Payments to induce northern men to volunteer had greater effect, but also led to controversies. If one had money, he could pay for a substitute, while the poor had to serve. On the other hand, vari­ous states began to offer sizable bounties to convince men to fill new quotas. While this was more effective than the draft, it led to abuses. Bounty jumpers, as they came to be called, took money from one state to enlist, spent time in the army ­until they could con­ve­niently desert, and then took a bounty in another state to again enlist, and so on. Americans often understood why some deserted the army, but the desertions of bounty jumpers infuriated homebodies and soldiers. Regardless, bounties and higher monthly wages helped the Union to greatly outnumber the Confederates.6

TRAINING When men of the vari­ous states de­cided to volunteer, they traveled to designated camps to be mustered in, or­ga­nized into regiments, and undergo some early training. ­These rendezvous camps ­were quite the sight, especially for young men from rural areas who had not traveled so far in all of their lives. ­Those in charge certainly hoped that ­these rendezvous camps would be places of discipline, but came away disappointed in most cases. Americans of the nineteenth ­century thought highly of their individual worth and rights; being ordered about seemed to infringe upon said rights, so they acted as citizens of the era. They ­were not regular troops, and many assumed that they should be given much more latitude. As a result, t­ hese early camps, often placed in the state capital or another city’s center (especially in the northern states), ­were too lively. Troops, if you could ­really call them that at this juncture, spent more time enjoying the entertainments of the largest city they had ever visited, partook of beer and spirits, flirted with the ladies, and came and went as they saw fit. Eventually, ­these men ­were marched or transported to camps closer to the front—­near Washington, Richmond, or in Kentucky and Missouri—­ where officers would ideally do even more to train the men into fighters. Still, even in the rendezvous camps, regimental and com­pany officers tried to prepare their men, with varying degrees of success. Unfortunately, most of the officers, even the col­o­nels, lacked most of the required knowledge. ­Those who had Mexican War experience or had attended a military acad­emy had better early success; some of them became instructors for other officers, training them to lead in ­battle, as well as schooling them in the art of training their own units. If col­o­nels,



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lieutenants, and sergeants had no one experienced enough to train them, they could rely on the manuals of the day, such as William Hardee’s ­Rifle and Infantry Tactics.7 One might drill his men six or eight hours during the day and then read through much of the night, often to stay one day ahead of the privates. O ­ thers, who showed less initiative or ability, might drill their troops very ­little or with ­great incompetence. Especially early in the war and in the South, the men elected their commanders. Such a situation might make it difficult to be demanding, ­whether it be long hours of drill or exactness in troops’ movements. Since the greater responsibility often fell on the col­o­nels, a good or bad regimental commander might spell good or bad fortune for a unit. In fact, a­ fter the failure at the First ­Battle of Bull Run, the Union Congress passed legislation to require examinations so that the army could more easily get rid of ­those officers who did not mea­sure up to standards.8 Again, regardless of the officer’s previous experience, convincing young Americans of the nineteenth ­century to embrace drill was difficult. They came to the war, in many cases, for adventure and the ideas most impor­tant to their love of country; few came to the camps with a burning desire to work harder than they did back home. They needed to be controlled in their marching, tactics, and use of their ­rifles, but the very notion of being disciplined ­violated their obsession with liberty. In fact, many used the language of the day to explain their distaste for drill or demanding officers. They complained of being slaves, machines, or mindless cogs, as though they ­were factory workers. In that era, as Edmund Morgan has pointed out, Americans defined their status as freedom-­loving citizens in relation to the most obvious example of the opposite condition: slavery.9 Of course, many southerners argued for secession in the often poorly articulated concern for becoming slaves to the North, or even to their current black slaves. Such red-­blooded souls could not easily stomach an institution that put them in a seemingly subservient position. Many had argued that regular soldiers before the war joined the army ­because they ­were lazy, half-­witted dregs of society who could not hold down a real job. As Ulysses S. Grant remembered, when coming home from West Point in uniform, very proud of his accomplishments, a “­little urchin” approached him and said, “Soldier! ­Will you work? No, sir—­ee; I’ll sell my shirt first!!”10 Some officers came to believe that certain men made for better soldiers. African American slaves ­were used to terrible treatment, so they more readily submitted to the demeaning treatment of hard superiors. Industrial workers and some mechanics supposedly submitted to regimentation more easily than farmers and business o­ wners. White-­collar workers might resist the status of the soldier but also the hard, physical ­labor that they had always hoped to avoid. As troops found themselves in forward camps, closer to the action, most showed signs of adapting to the army, even as volunteers. The degree or value of their training varied, but ­those lacking the necessaries would receive more help from the generals, and often came to appreciate the additional training. Wilbur Fisk, of the Second Vermont Volunteers, came to be proud of “regular old-­fashioned brigade drills,” saying that “the boys are beginning to think themselves veterans . . . ​ all the maneuvers ­were executed with g­ reat coolness, the weather being favorable for a display of that quality.”11 Major General George Brinton McClellan, for instance, may not have been a ­g reat battlefield commander, but he is often

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credited with creating the first superbly trained army of the war. It was eventually U. S. Grant who benefited from his efforts. So they taught men to march in formation and how to correctly engage in ­battle, but w ­ ere hindered by one lingering prob­lem: in order to satisfactorily learn marksmanship, it was helpful to be in possession of real muskets, powder, and ammunition. This was all in very short supply, especially farther from the front, and more often for Confederate recruits. Men practiced with sticks, rods, and brooms, which did not cause them to truly understand their most obvious means to kill ­others. Even when a camp had old muskets, they may not have had the projectiles, powder, and caps necessary to do anything more than they accomplished with sticks. For some, they did not receive all of the accessories ­until near the front.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE During the course of the war, 900,000 men served in the Confederate Army, and just over 2 million in that of the United States.12 Most ­were young men, born in Amer­i­ca. Their numbers generally represented the demographics of their county. Farmers and farm laborers, as well as skilled and unskilled laborers, dominated the ranks. Still, white-­collar workers, the wealthy, professionals, slaveowners and their sons, and politicians contributed in understandable numbers. At the same time, many poorer soldiers complained about ­those with greater means. The hiring of substitutes by eco­nom­ically advantaged Americans certainly irritated them. The ability of slaveowners to get exemptions for owning 20 or more slaves grated at the pride of yeomen farmers, whose wives and ­children suffered at home. In addition, the more prominent in respective locales easily became officers and seemed to relish their authority over farmers and laborers. A desire to mold t­hese men into images of themselves did not endear them to the masses ­either. The ages of soldiers varied greatly, with a few past normal retirement age, but the average age fell somewhere in the twenties. Oddly, at least to someone in the twenty-­first ­century, many ­children joined the army. In an era in which the government did not have the expansive power of ­today, it was easy for someone to claim the age of 18, even though they ­were 14, and still be allowed to join a regiment. Some desperately wanted to fight with their ­brother or ­father, ­others wanted to run from home, and many thought it would be fun. If one looked older than their ­actual age, he saw combat as easily as anyone e­ lse. If it was plainly obvious that he lied about age, then a regiment might make him a drummer boy or routinely give him assignments that kept him away from the fight. This happened on both sides, and it is difficult to estimate the percentage of each force that was ­under age. A scholar could logically assume, however, that the greater demand for manpower led the Confederacy to blindly muster in a few more ­children than the Union. In fact, while Confederate conscription initially made 18-­ through 35-­year-­olds eligible to be drafted, the range extended to include ­those men as old as 45 with a law passed in September 1863. In February 1864, another law extended the range from 17 to 50, “with the intent of using the youn­gest and the oldest draftees as reserves.”13



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The soldiers subjected to the most abuse and controversy ­were ­free blacks of the North and slaves (or ex-­slaves, depending on a person’s ideological beliefs) of the South. When the war began in 1861, neither government’s administration strongly considered the notion to arm African Americans to fight in or­ga­nized regiments. This might be a truism for t­ hose familiar with Confederate history, but the Union did not embrace the idea in 1861, ­either. Abraham Lincoln and most Republicans declared that this would be a war to save the Union; they knew that the inclusion of black soldiers would make abolition a war aim, and the northern population was not ready yet. Neither w ­ ere many of the white soldiers, although a majority would eventually come around. For instance, Vermont’s Fisk, in May 1862, mentioned that “the inevitable negro question would of course be the subject of the most animated conversation of anything we could bring up” on the march. The “inexhaustible subject claims preeminence in camp as well as court, and t­ here are almost as many opinions expressed in regard to it in a tent’s com­pany as ­there are in Congress.” He and his comrades in arms thought “it their duty to put down the rebellion and nothing more, and they view the abolition of slavery in the pre­sent time as saddling so much additional ­labor among them before the pre­sent ­great work is accomplished. . . . ​I verily believe if such a declaration was made to-­day a majority would be inclined to lay down their arms and quit the ser­vice in disgust.”14 While Radical Republicans, like Senator Charles Sumner of Mas­sa­chu­setts and Congressman Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania, would eventually convince the U.S. president to move in that direction, the pos­si­ble loss of border states to the Confederacy also prevented such action early in the war. At best, blacks ­were “allowed” to do some manual l­abor for the armies, North and South. While the Second Confiscation Act and the Militia Act of 1862 seemed to suggest the eventual enlistment of African American troops, it was the Emancipation Proclamation, announced on September 22, 1862, that made it clear to all that blacks would soon carry rifled muskets into the South.15 Blacks joined a few state units in 1862, such as the 1st Kansas Colored Infantry, but not with the official sanction of the federal government.16 In 1863, states began to seriously recruit freemen and slaves to desperately fill their quotas. Some recruiters even used trickery or lies to convince blacks to join regiments. False promises of big bounties or the generous use of alcohol led some to enlist. Many midwestern states provided more United States Colored Troops (USCT) than one would expect, as a number of escaped slaves made their way into states bordering slaveholding areas, such as Illinois and Ohio. Still, the majority of black American soldiers joined ­because of a profound desire to play a part in the end of the terrible institution of slavery. They ­were truly fighting for their freedom. ­Those men who traveled into the South with good intentions, in order to recruit ex-­slaves into the Union Army, certainly took a ­g reat risk. The recruiters and recruited could be ridiculed, intimidated, and attacked, so many worked in groups and at night to transport volunteers. Of course the ex-­slaves ­were taking the greater risk. They could be murdered, mutilated, or re-­enslaved before even making it to training camps.17 Once they became soldiers, the Confederacy made it clear that no quarter would be given to the supposedly subhuman soldiers. Occasional massacres, such as t­ hose

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at the ­Battles of the Crater (­Virginia), Fort Pillow (Tennessee), and Poison Spring (Arkansas) provided proof that the Confederacy meant to punish ex-­slaves and their white officers. When the 54th Mas­sa­chu­setts, the first of the officially sanctioned “colored” regiments, made a futile attack on Fort Wagner, North Carolina, in July 1863, no quarter was given to soldiers or officers, and all ­were then buried together in a poorly prepared mass grave. In that case, the men wanted to prove their mettle in a ­battle, very much helping to prove to the nation that African Americans ­were as courageous and capable as white soldiers.18 In the end, 179,000 to 186,000 blacks served in the Union Army during the war; at least 102,000 came from the seceded states and approximately 43,000 from border states.19 ­There seems to be a prevailing, if not growing, myth that a ­great number of blacks enthusiastically fought for the Confederacy and that the Confederate States of Amer­i­ca’s government had no prob­lem with including African Americans in the effort to preserve states’ rights. As with all myths and legends, a very small bit of truth has provided enough fuel to carry this view into the pre­sent. As it happened, the Confederacy only committed to recruiting black soldiers when it was painfully obvious that they would lose the war and slavery if they did not resort to drastic mea­sures. The graycoats of the war relied upon thousands of slaves to do the manual l­ abor that white soldiers wished to avoid: digging trenches and building structures of vari­ous sorts. Some slaveowners even brought their slaves along to serve them, just as they might on the plantation. Stories abound, though some could be part of the my­thol­ogy, of slaves hurrying onto the battlefield to collect their dead masters and haul them back home to be buried in the local cemetery. It is difficult to determine ­whether a significant percentage of such slaves used the opportunity of their masters’ deaths to escape to the Union Army, but at least a few must have seized the day. Arming ­these slaves shook the very foundations of the Confederacy. ­After all, if one looks to the speeches given to convince state conventions to vote in ­favor of secession, the dominant arguments revolved around race, with the occasional references to state versus federal power. The supposed potential of black freedom to lead to racial amalgamation, race wars, and white slavery was a core part of the southern ideology that helped poor and rich southerners to avoid serious class conflict during the antebellum years.20 Arming slaves greatly contradicted all of this and also would prove that white Confederates could not achieve freedom on their own.21 A few ­free blacks attempted to join the Confederate Army, allowing for the propagation of myth. New Orleans freemen, for example, volunteered for the state militia, and a number of other individuals sometimes successfully attempted similar feats. Also, desperate local units could sometimes force slaves into ser­vice. However, ­these ­were all exceptions that proved the rule; blacks wanted to fight for the Union, and the ­great majority of Confederates could not stomach the notion of black regiments in gray or butternut. Men from several Eu­ro­pean ethnicities who had immigrated to the United States, North and South, joined Civil War armies. They did this for reasons similar to any other volunteer. Many needed the money, as they had lost their job or had additional mouths to feed as the war approached. In addition, ­there was the desire to



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prove that one belonged to his new country, be it the Union or the Confederacy. But it was the U.S. government that strongly encouraged enlistment, as well as additional immigration. The Homestead Act of 1862, for example, passed in part to encourage immigration, and additional legislation offered citizenship for ­those who lived in the United States for one year and served in the Union Army. Rumors of good bounties also encouraged the move across the ocean to serve in the army.22 While a few ­were tricked into ser­vice or drafted, the large majority volunteered with enthusiasm. Maybe the most impor­tant exception was northern Irish opposition to the draft, and resulting riots in locales such as New York City. In much the same way that the Lincoln administration convinced men from vari­ous states to support the war and enlist by promoting well-­k nown men from ­those states to generalships, it also did so for ethnic groups.23 Franz Sigel became a general ­because of both his experience and his ethnicity, and certainly kept his office ­because of his po­liti­cal value; the possibility of fighting for a German American could add ­great numbers of German immigrants to the effort. Supposedly, on one occasion, Lincoln de­cided to promote a man named Shimmelfennig just ­because the name was marvelous and would convince many German men to join the Union ranks. The suggestion to promote merely based on the name astonished and frustrated Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, but Old Abe happily offered the commission.24 Eu­ro­pean immigrants eventually made up 25 ­percent of the Union Army, but only 9 ­percent of the Confederate force, reflecting the greater immigration to the northern states.25 Once they volunteered, however, some w ­ ere wary of serving with nativists in the army. Accordingly, recruiters often promised that Germans would serve in a regiment of Germans, Irish with their fellows, and so on. Just as immigrants often came to ­settle in ethnically defined city neighborhoods, many wanted to serve in similarly defined units. If one knew that their regiment would be led by someone from the homeland, enlistment was all the more likely. ­These patterns ­were quite evident in the North, and slightly less so in the South. It is impor­tant to note that two other often overlooked groups played their part in the Civil War. Native Americans fought on both sides with as many as 20,000 troops in total.26 Many fought for the same reasons as anyone ­else: economic woes and adventure. But they, too, sometimes fought against the side that they perceived to be a greater threat to their national or po­liti­cal well-­being. Po­liti­cal conflict within tribal nations might convince one group to support the Confederate States of Amer­ i­ca, and another the United States of Amer­i­ca.27 ­Women served valiantly as nurses, leading to g­ reat fame for some, such as Clara Barton. The job was not one to be scoffed at; a nurse endured the smells, filth, and general unhealthiness of field hospitals. She might help a surgeon as he used a saw to cut off a man’s arm or leg, often without the anesthetic necessary to calm the patient. And, beyond that, the nurse often supervised the ritual of death. A “good” death was the expectation of Americans of that era; for such, ­there needed to be closure. The ­family needed to know what happened to the body, the soldier’s last words, and w ­ hether he was right with God. At a hospital, a nurse would sometimes write a letter to the ­family or forward the deceased’s last letter and effects to home. In some cases, a young ­woman might pretend to be a young man’s wife, ­mother, or

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s­ ister as the delirious patient faded away.28 Doubtless, nurses must have also suffered from what we now call post-­traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Furthermore, at least a few hundred w ­ omen donned uniforms and fought as men. Most often, they joined units with husbands or other f­amily members, but some may have joined for adventure. While their numbers may seem insignificant, the fact that they had to hide their identity and risked insult or injury as reward speaks volumes about the time period and the expectations of nineteenth-­century Americans.29 In addition, ­women sometimes became spies for their cause, able to use flirtatious be­hav­ior and the disinclination of some men to search their persons in order to glean sensitive information for an army general.30

DAILY LIFE Daily life for soldiers was filled with boredom, so being comfortable was particularly impor­tant; one had too much time to think about the miseries of camp life. Soldiers showed g­ reat ingenuity in acquiring satisfactory shelter, food, and clothing. In the summertime, ­r unning into the preceding spring and coming fall, the canvas tents allowed for a fairly relaxing time outdoors, as soldiers played chess, cards, or wrestled. Rows upon rows of tents made for an impressive sight. And if officers persuaded or forced their men to manage waste properly, then the camp could be relatively healthy, although camps seldom approached perfection in this latter regard. Not surprisingly, dysentery, usually caused by the drinking of contaminated ­water, often dominated the medical rec­ords of regiments, North and South.31 One Confederate soldier in Mississippi lamented, “­Water, ah, ­Water what a priceless blessing thou art in this country.” Unfortunately, “it is a hard m ­ atter to get a plenty of ­water such as a man can use. I hope it ­will not be long before this war ­will close.”32 While summer days u­ nder or near the tent could be enjoyable, barring the sweltering occasions in July and August, winter provided greater trou­ble. This was the case even in the South. States of the Confederacy, even t­hose of the Deep South, still experienced bitterly cold temperatures. In the heavi­ly contested states of ­Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, West ­Virginia, Missouri, and Arkansas, weather could be particularly nasty in mountainous or more northern areas. The tents provided by the two governments ­were not satisfactory for such conditions. As a result, soldiers crafted housing material out of what­ever they could find. Of course, log housing was common when soldiers had the time, tools, and lumber to build them. Mud became a good source of building material to be combined with wood, canvas, and anything ­else to keep out the wind. One might dig drainage areas and then use the mud to build a chimney for a h­ ouse, or even a tent. Young men begged their families to send them materials for the winter in addition to blankets and clothing. Nails, hammers, saws, and axes ­were in demand. Of course, money might help one to purchase goods from local farmers or general stores. And soldiers could get fancy; they had the time. Camps could include some splendid looking shelters, as though soldiers ­were channeling their inner child to create the best play­houses and forts pos­si­ble. If a few men could erect a good roof,



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maybe the hardest ­thing to craft for a winter shelter, the winter and spring would be far more pleasant. For that m ­ atter, they might spend time crafting card ­tables, as well as other furniture or structures that could add flair to camp life. While shelter was impor­tant, especially in the winter, food was always on the minds of soldiers. If the quartermaster made a ­mistake or was low on supply, even the bluecoats could be in dire need of nourishment. Confederates suffered from such deficiencies more often, though the larger difference between the caloric intake of southerners and northerners developed ­later in the war, as the Confederacy began to run out of most necessary resources. So food came to be appreciated in a way that may be hard for most to understand. They thought about it constantly and wrote about it to families. The regular possibility that the next day would be a hungry one frustrated soldiers. When food was readily available, one learned to eat like a wild animal who might not find good prey for days. Hardtack, which looked like a large thick cracker, was often the provided ration, especially during the march, but it was not appealing. John D. Billings, of the Army of the Potomac, described the hardtack as a “plain flour-­and-­water biscuit . . . ​three and one-­eighth by two and seven-­eighths inches, and are nearly half an inch thick.” They ­were so unappetizing that “­there ­were usually enough for ­those who wanted more, as some men would not draw them” from the quartermaster. He claimed that “hardtack was nutritious, yet a hungry man could eat ten in a short time and still feel hungry.” On the other hand, it may be in poor condition ­because “they may

Officers of the 114th Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment play cards during the siege of Petersburg, V ­ irginia, August 1864. Other popu­lar means of passing time included reading newspapers, camp songs, and athletic contests. (Library of Congress)

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have been so hard that they could not be bitten; it then required a very strong blow of the fist to break them,” and “they could not be soaked soft, but a­ fter a time took on the elasticity of gutta-­percha.” In addition, the tack could be “mouldy [sic] or wet, as sometimes happened, and should not have been given to the soldiers.” In the worst cases, “they had become infested with maggots and weevils” but w ­ ere then still fed to the men u­ nless covered with “the webs which ­these creatures left, to insure condemnation.”33 For most, it became a ­great desire, if not duty, to find better food to physically continue the soldierly life. Many begged their correspondents for food, especially food that was well preserved in cans or jars. When the army rations w ­ ere meager, what­ever they might consist of that day, one could supplement by purchasing items from nearby farmers or the camp sutlers. The latter, in par­tic­u­lar, had a reputation for charging exorbitant prices to men who had l­ ittle choice but to buy from the local supplier. Still, spending some of one’s wages on foodstuffs helped to provide a few more, and tastier, calories. If one could resist buying alcohol from the sutler, instead of food, his health benefited greatly. If rations ­were not supplemented with satisfactory fruit and vegetable, then scurvy could be the result. Of course, the condition of uniforms played a part in the health and well-­being of the men in the ranks. Union uniforms ­were often made of wool, and southern versions made of cotton. Northerners ­were a ­little more likely to have a satisfactory coat, although nothing particularly good at ­handling freezing temperatures. Confederates had more trou­ble acquiring new clothing as garb wore thin, thus the many stories of barefoot Confederates marching to the next ­battle. Some of this may be exaggerated, but, again, the image of the tattered Confederate States of Amer­i­ca uniform resembled truth far more as the war entered 1864–1865. By then, the total war of Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and Phil Sheridan was taking a toll on the material well-­being of citizens and soldiers of the South. While l­ ater uniforms came to be “uniform” versions of blue and gray, one should note that was not the case early in the conflict. Some regiments, wanting to emulate the Arabic/French fighters, wore Zoauve uniforms, which might include red on the cap or some sort of fake turban. Colorful (and sometimes baggy) pants and chords might also be part of ­these outfits. While impressive, the customary red highlights also made one a good target for sharpshooters. Regiments donned a few dif­fer­ent colors early in the war—­blue, gray, green, butternut, and red—­regardless of the nation for which one fought. Keep in mind, for example, that cadet uniforms at the United States Military Acad­emy ­were gray, so this did not strike many early Union officers as the official color for Confederate clothing. As a result, men in early ­battles routinely shot at regiments from the same side, not knowing that the graycoats in front w ­ ere actually Union soldiers from Iowa or that the bluecoats w ­ ere from ­Virginia.34 As mentioned ­earlier, soldiers ­were bored, and that is one of the hardest t­hings to impress upon young students of warfare. The Civil War was no dif­fer­ent than ­others in this regard. Yes, men engaged in horrible, bloody, traumatizing conflict, but this often only amounted to a few days out of the entire year; that is enough, but it meant that the chores of the rest of the year could be agonizingly dull. Men drilled ­every day in some regiments, with some officers insisting on six or eight



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hours of such training, at least in the early months of a unit’s existence. ­Later on, as a regiment acquired a reputation for being a veteran unit, an officer might insist on less and less drill. Therefore, the rest of the day was open to mischief and scrounging for the necessities. In order to fill the time, men, sometimes encouraged by officers, found activities to occupy the rest of the day. If one was lucky enough to be camped near a city, then time in the streets and establishments of an urban area could be quite exciting, especially for kids from isolated rural areas who had not traveled far from home before the war. If soldiers found time, with or without permission, they had a lot of fun in the city. The young ladies might be willing to dance, flirt, and other­wise have a good time. In fact, the occasional soldier fell madly in love with a local lady, even if they supported opposite sides of the war. Marriages happened in a few cases, though many remained short-­term relationships. On another end of the spectrum, ­these “relationships” might be with prostitutes from the nearby town, or t­ hose who sometimes followed armies from camp to camp.35 Soldiers certainly took advantage of the opportunity to spend time with “Hooker’s Girls” in the Army of the Potomac. The end result for many was gonorrhea or syphilis, and medical rec­ords document this fact almost as well as the occurrences of dysentery, scurvy, and camp injuries.36 Cities, along with the maligned sutlers, also provided opportunities to get drunk. Boredom and trauma bred alcoholism and binge drinking, so men often spent money on whiskey, rum, and beer. Unfortunately, this pastime could also lead to altercations, as inebriated individuals fought ­others to avenge insults, prove their manliness, or just ­because they did not like each other. Still, in a better scenario, soldiers liked to wrestle and fight as pure recreation, and many might even ­gamble on the results. As with the overuse of alcohol, most officers seriously frowned on such disruptive activities, but they ­were hard to contain, making discipline a forlorn hope for officers. In addition, t­ here w ­ ere plenty of activities that officers ­were more likely to sanction. Some men spent hours writing to f­amily and friends, dishing army gossip, and asking for such from home. They ­were often desperate to hear back from ­family. Isaac Alexander, of the 10th South Carolina Volunteers, complained to his m ­ other and ­sisters that “­after receiving five letters from you I have received no more.” In fact, “day ­after day I look for a letter but no letter do I see.”37 Relatedly, men arguably risked their lives so that one of their local mates would not tell ­people back home that they ­were a coward. The same sort of information might make its way to a local newspaper. More likely, young men provided the local papers with details of the latest skirmish or ­battle, as well as stories about the part of the South currently occupied by the regiment in question.

RELIGION Both northerners and southerners believed that God was on their side, and thus they would win the war. Letters might state, for example, that the Confederates “are further from subjugation than ever. The Yankee government ­will burst, I think before long and then the Crisis. I say God defend the right.”38 The implications of

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such a belief ­were huge. If your side lost, then that must mean that your cause was wrong in the eyes of the Lord. Thus, Americans on both sides wished for their young men to be godly soldiers, true Christians, to provide plenty of reasons for the Almighty to support the correct side. As a result, multiple organ­izations worked to distribute Bibles and other Christian lit­er­a­ture to men in the camps. Many, but certainly not all, gladly accepted ­these gifts, as they also hoped that God would support the country’s cause and their own desire to come home safe. When the war was over, t­ hese antebellum beliefs caused a major psychological crisis for earnest Confederates. They had lost, so God must not have been on their side. They had to find a way to convince themselves and the rest of the country that their cause was just, despite evidence to the contrary. The end of slavery certainly suggested that the Union cause was more righ­teous. In the end, the “lost cause” myth filled this gaping hole. Postwar soldiers and officers argued that slavery had nothing to do with the war and that slaves had been treated well. Men like Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson, who w ­ ere presumed to be awesome and godly men, supported the lost cause, so it must have been a righ­teous fight for liberty, country, and states’ rights. All parts contained very thin threads of truth, always enough to convince ­people of the legends or myths that they desperately wanted to believe. Beyond allowing southern soldiers to cope with a lost war, the my­thol­ogy eventually expanded to support the demise of Reconstruction and the era of Jim Crow segregation. Such thoughts are still passed on from parents, and sometimes teachers, to ­children in the current ­century. Regimental chaplains also influenced the soldiers, but one must remember that this was not a de­cade of “­great awakening.” Elisha Hunt Rhodes, on his 20th birthday,

Photo­graph of a U.S. Army chaplain leading mass for a unit largely comprised of Irish-­ American volunteers at Camp Cass, ­Virginia, in 1861. Religious faith played a major role in maintaining morale in both the Union and Confederate armies. (Library of Congress)



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thanked “God for all his mercies to me. I trust my life in the ­future may be spent in his ser­vice.” He was inclined to “thank God that he has kept me within his fold while so many have gone astray.”39 But many young men, some who had “gone astray,” wanted nothing to do with chaplains. So when the pastors preached legalistic and fiery sermons that men ­were sometimes required to attend, many reacted negatively. They resented the intrusions and refused any further efforts of such chaplains. ­Others might appreciate the chaplains but still not care for their message. It may be that black preachers had better luck, with a brand of preaching that tugged at one’s emotions and expressed a less critical tone; some white soldiers even commented on such.40 ­These men of the cloth may have been more effective as counselors, helping traumatized soldiers to make sense of the destructiveness all around them, as well as their impending death at the hands of the ­enemy. In the end, some misbehaved more away from home, and ­others kept or found religion. For most it was likely a strug­gle beyond the usual. Religious men and ­women doubt and become angry with their God at some point in their lives. Not surprisingly, a war was just the theater to conjure such doubts and anger, ­whether or not someone openly voiced the sentiments. Young men found themselves risking life in order to take the lives of other young men; such actions ­were not always easy to justify. A farmer, laborer, or clerk had now become a killer—­was he perhaps a murderer? Therefore, chaplains, along with doctors and nurses, maintained critical roles in helping to prepare men for life and death. The former worked hard to convince young men, even if it had to be minutes before their passing, to repent. This provided for the good death, in which the chaplain, a nurse, a ­brother, or a friend could tell one’s parents or wife that he was in good standing with the Lord when death came. This sort of counseling became most impor­t ant for the Christian families at home who could not be pre­ sent to assure that a loved one had accepted the proper teachings and repented of his sins. Another aspect of the “good death” was the knowledge that your loved one was leading a straight and narrow life when he died. Unfortunately, some compatriots would have to fib a bit to give such an impression. It appears that a wide variety of pornographic images and writings made their way to soldiers; the market was good, so entrepreneurs supplied the product. Brothels, of course, took the business a step further and remained a constant irritation to officers, chaplains, and doctors. Alcohol use, gambling, and generally crude be­hav­ior also frustrated officers, who expected better be­hav­ior. In fact, swearing appeared to be a bigger concern than one in the twenty-­first c­ entury might assume. As one author has suggested, many of the more pious officers came to see it as their mission to civilize and Christianize the wayward men of their regiments. ­These middle-­to upper-­class leaders ­were gentlemen who prescribed to a less martial, more restricted view of proper manliness. West Point gradu­ates even learned related codes in the course of their studies at the acad­emy. This view of manhood included a religious component. A true man was a religious man, concerned for the spiritual welfare of his wife and ­children. Such a person would also be a more effective worker and soldier, able to be disciplined in the face of death presented by the ­great and terrible b­ attles of the time.

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­These soldiers of God, however, had to contend with a competing conception of manhood. The “roughs” embraced a more martial version of manliness. They fought, used crude language, conquered ­women and other men, and usually shunned more outward displays of religious devotion, if they ­were religious at all. They w ­ ere quick to see slights to their honor and avenged them accordingly, even if that meant endangering the life of the offender. Many privates, though certainly not all, seemed to fall in this category. As a result, efforts to evangelize could meet with some very nasty responses. Officers often used the disciplinary mea­sures available to them in order to curb the ungodly be­hav­ior of t­ hese crude individuals.

POPU­L AR CULTURE While some argue that ­these soldiers fought only to prove courage and support their comrades, ­others have more recently suggested that ideology played its part. The literacy rates of Civil War soldiers w ­ ere particularly high in the North and not bad in the South. Some read every­thing they could get in their hands, including newspapers, letters, pamphlets, books, and magazines. They debated the topics discussed in such materials, often in very formal arrangements. Of course, this included politics and the ­great issues of the war. Soldiers argued about the platforms of the Republicans and Demo­crats, the candidates for offices back home, the value of the Union, the merits of slavery, the abolition of slavery as a war aim, the arming of blacks, the country’s president, the generals in charge of their units, and the likelihood of victory in the military contest. It is evident that many, though not all, embraced strong ideological reasons for fighting in the war: liberty for whites and/or blacks, states’ rights, the ­f uture of the republic, the sacrifices of the founding ­fathers, and the preservation of a slave-­based society.41 On the other hand, l­ ater in 1864, it appears that Republican administrators and some military officers in the Union Army regularly worked to discourage ballots in ­favor of Demo­cratic candidates, meaning that ­free speech and debate in the camps may have tapered off by fall of that presidential election year.42 Bluecoated and graycoated men had plenty relaxing fun as well. They fished, hunted, and put on plays on hastily crafted stages. All sorts of card and board games ­were part of the daily routines. This meant that gambling was common, which could then also lead to many of the fights so likely in the ranks. For that ­matter, some men, at least in the Confederate Army, gambled on fights of another sort. Sam Watkins, then with General John Bell Hood’s army in Georgia, remembered that “outside of the range of Thomas’ thirty-­pound parrot guns, with which he was trying to burn up Atlanta, the boys had fixed up a cock pit.” In such cases, “the money was soon made up, and the stakes placed in the proper hands. The gaffs [long steel pieces] ­were fitted [to the feet], the roosters ­were placed in the pit and held ­until both ­were sufficiently mad to fight, when they ­were turned loose, and each struck at the same time,” fighting to the death.43 More sporting, and less bloody, affairs ­were also or­ga­nized. This is the war that cemented baseball as the national pastime. Men played this sport often, and the rules varied from game to game and location to location. Companies might



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challenge other companies for supremacy, with nothing better to do on an other­ wise dull day. Of course, this was the early years of a sport that had much in common with other pastimes around the globe, so college and league teams did not yet exist, but support for the sport grew quickly ­after the war. When you combine all of this with the regular occurrences of teasing and pranking that made life more colorful in the ranks, one can see that soldiers found ways to adapt to boring lives disrupted occasionally by traumatic events. Not all of t­ hese ventures w ­ ere healthy, but they served as coping mechanisms during a long and sad conflict.

PAY AND COMPENSATION Economic conditions convinced many soldiers to volunteer for the Union or Confederate armies. Privates in the army did not make as much (accounting for inflation) as ­today’s American soldiers, but it was pretty good pay for the 1860s. Both made $11 per month at the beginning of the war, but Union enlisted men soon received $13. Of course, this depended on the ability of the paymaster to find or transport the money to a regiment, something the Confederacy found to be a bigger prob­lem. Inflation, especially in the South, made delayed payments even more frustrating. Bonuses for enlisting, what they called bounties, became more common as the war continued into 1862 and 1863, the enthusiasm for war had waned, and enlistments declined. As a result, one might attain several hundred dollars in bounties for joining the Union Army. The Confederacy, strapped for cash, generally did not have the funds to offer bonuses. In addition, come 1864, the wage for bluecoats grew to $16 and graycoats $18. In the South, a wage increase meant less, as the cost of a pair of shoes might inflate to $125. However, enlisted personnel received shelter, food, and uniforms from the respective government—­assuming that supplies ­were adequate—so wages could be spent on other concerns.44 The arrival of the paymaster to a camp tended to excite the men; their clothing might be in tatters, food could be terrible, and boredom worse. Money solved t­ hese prob­lems to a degree. But, again, the paymaster did not always appear on a regular schedule. A regiment in ­either ser­vice might go months or even years without their wages. In fact, the Union owed a Mas­sa­chu­setts cavalry unit more than $200,000 in back pay in 1863. At least the North developed a system that allowed soldiers to have their pay sent directly home. John Billings explained this system to avoid the risk of money being stolen or lost in the mail as such: a “plan was ­adopted by means of which when the troops visited the paymaster, on signing a roll prepared for that purpose, so much of their pay as they wished was allotted or assigned by the soldiers to whomsoever they designated at the North.” For example, “John Smith had four months’ pay due him at the rate of $13 a month. He de­cided to allot $10 per month of this to his wife at Plymouth, Mass.” In a four-­month installment, “the paymaster pays him $12, and the remaining $40 is paid to his wife by check in Plymouth, without any further action on the part of John.” 45 Given inflation, the ­family and soldier might not ultimately receive anything more than paper scrip, which was lessening in value as the war continued, but at least the paper money was con­ve­nient. The South, on the other hand, failed to do something similar, and

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desertions increased as suffering at home led men to leave their units to take care of their families.46 Of course, one’s pay could be wasted on pursuits that had nothing to do with feeding f­ amily and upgrading clothing. Plenty of enlisted men gambled away e­ very cent of their pay. A ­ fter all, they w ­ ere fed, clothed, and sheltered at the expense of the government, albeit insufficient at times. The same thoughts led men to spend their cash on alcohol, prostitutes, or any number of vices that made chaplains and officers cringe. Receiving months of back pay might induce a single man to be all the more frivolous with the earnings, while a married ­father more likely resisted such urges.47 Most likely sent money back home, sometimes getting help from officers, chaplains, or nurses to do so; such ability helped one to feel like he was at least ­doing something to support the ­family. This duty was so impor­tant that the end of the war brought anxiety to Union men who feared that they would not receive the last bit of back pay from ­Uncle Sam, in part due to similar past failures.48 Of course, Confederates ­were out of luck in such a case. Furthermore, as the remaining government considered pensions, former rebels expected l­ ittle during the years immediately a­ fter the conflict as a government and northern ­people w ­ ere not interested in easing the t­ rials and pains of traitors.

WEAPONRY Civil War soldiers fought a war that was characterized by desperate attempts to adjust to changing technology. During Amer­i­ca’s previous conflicts, soldiers relied on smoothbore muskets. Such a firearm included a long barrel, smooth on the inside. The soldier, in order to load a flintlock musket, ripped open a cartridge to dump some powder down the barrel and then put some more in the pan, which was then closed. The hammer of the weapon was equipped with flint, which would ignite the powder in the pan when the soldier pulled the trigger. In the meantime, the marksman dropped a lead ball into the barrel and then tamped it down with a rod that usually rested below the barrel. Such a weapon could hit a par­tic­u­lar ­enemy 50 to 100 yards away; at a farther distance, luck was necessary. Hitting at least someone on the long line of soldiers to the front was not much easier. This, however, was the main firearm of privates back into the colonial wars, and the tactics suited the weapon. An aggressive commander could become a g­ reat leader, since the muskets might only have one or two chances to hit an ­enemy before the attacker fixed bayonets (also attached to the musket) and charged. A ner­vous defenseman may hit nobody, since firing the musket did not make sense ­until the offensive force was one football field’s length away. Full frontal charges, with cavalry, could win the day, and officers came to value the bayonet and the ­horse soldier more than anything ­else. ­Things changed ­after the Mexican War, however. In the early-­to-­middle 1800s inventors began to find ways to produce goods more quickly, instead of the slow pace of the artisan. Eli Whitney, more famous for the cotton gin, attained additional notoriety for applying the concept of “interchangeable parts” to muskets. With the help of specially standardized molds and procedures, workers in a small



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factory could produce ­every part of a musket in less time, and ­every barrel produced was interchangeable. While such methods helped to produce the muskets for the Mexican War, they ­were not applied to ­rifles, or rifled-­muskets as some soldiers called them, ­until the Civil War. Rifled-­muskets had existed for de­cades. They had rifling, or grooves, inside the barrel; they fired a ball that was almost too big to be rammed down the barrel. When the weapon fired, the grooves imparted a spin to the ball, which caused it to move with greater accuracy. In a smoothbore musket, the ball bounced through the barrel and might hit the target. The ­rifle was an upgrade, but not mass produced as early as the smoothbores. At any rate, armies did not want to change weapons when the ­rifle was so difficult to load, the ball needing to be large enough to catch the rifling. In other words, while the rifled-­musket was more accurate with greater range, one could load and fire the smoothbore musket more quickly. The Minié ball, developed by a French officer, Claude Minié, changed the situation dramatically. This thumb-­sized, semi-­conical, .58-­caliber bullet (soldiers often called it a ball) sported grooves around a hollowed base. It was smaller than the usual lead ball, small enough to easily be tamped down the barrel. In order to load the gun, the soldier ripped open a paper cartridge, dumped all of the powder down the barrel, and then ramrodded the Minié ball as far as pos­si­ble. To make ­these weapons even more effective, they used a percussion cap, which the soldier placed on the spot in which the gun’s hammer would strike. The cap contained just enough fulminate of mercury to spark when the hammer fell, igniting the loose powder in the barrel. The expanding air from the explosion caused the hollow base of the bullet to expand so that its grooves caught ­those of the barrel. It exited the ­rifle with such accuracy and velocity that an average marksman could hit someone in the long gray or blue line at 500 yards, though likely not a par­tic­u­lar target. A ­great marksman could theoretically hit a target at 1,000 yards, but privates w ­ ere hardly ever trained that well.49 An attacker, especially cavalry, ceased to have the advantage enjoyed in the Mexican War. The long line of defenders would have a number of shots, especially across open terrain, before the attacker reached the defenses.50 At least one prominent historian argues that lack of training and inclination to take advantage of the advanced ­rifles meant that they made less difference on the battlefield than previously thought, but most Civil War scholars still stress that this technological change was the primary reason why the tactical defensive fared well in Civil War ­battles.51 By the Civil War, manufacturers in ­Great Britain and the Springfield Armory in the United States could mass produce ­these ­rifles, and most soldiers carried them by 1863. Confederate soldiers eventually carried Enfield ­r ifles from Britain or Springfields that they took from routed or dead bluecoats. But this was not the only reason why attacking soldiers dreaded the move forward. Artillery batteries, supported by tens of h­ orses or mules to pull them and their ammunition, became deadlier as well. Cannons could always use large, heavy lead balls, but by 1861, artillerymen had a range of pos­si­ble projectiles. ­There was the large sphere with a fuse, which ignited when the cannon fired the ball; it would hopefully explode at the same time the projectile reached the ­enemy soldiers. A piece might also fire canister shot, which imitated the effect and design of a shotgun shell, only it

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contained much larger lead balls to do spectacular damage. Grapeshot consisted of the same heavy ball shot, but was contained with a large metal spring or some other casing, closed by some sort of metal on the ends. As the cannons that fired ­these shells and balls grew in size, they sometimes contained their own rifling in order to send ­those projectiles much farther. Much larger artillery pieces, difficult to transport, might be placed in forts, on rail cars, or on ships, and mortars, designed to lob shells into ­enemy fortifications, might be brought up to support siege operations. While both combatants experimented with breech-­loading cannon, they did not use them regularly, and the muzzle-­loading artillery remained the norm. Facing ­these vari­ous weapons, especially over flat and open ground, via a traditional frontal charge was often understood to be a sure death sentence. If a unit could successfully maneuver its artillery, it might also strike fear into the defending line in preparation for the attack, but combined with well-­entrenched defenders, ­these firearms made for an awesome defense. Wilbur Fisk described some trenches, more elaborate ones built ­later in the war as Ulysses S. Grant’s Army of the Potomac faced Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern ­Virginia during the Wilderness Campaign, as “not more than 200 yards from the ­enemy’s lines. . . . ​Our line is just outside the edge of a woods, and theirs is partly in an open field” so that “the field is open between us, but it is a small strip of land across which no man dare to pass. An attacking party would be mown down like grass.” In addition, the Union works ­were “built zigzag like a common rail fence, which gives us a chance to protect ourselves from a cross fire.”52 Simpler earthen works could also have the desired effect when coupled with rifled muskets and artillery. ­These w ­ ere the weapons most often used by the privates in Civil War armies. The U.S. government did eventually consider arming infantry with Gatling (machine) guns or breach loading carbines, but this progressed too late. Such weapons would find greater use in ­later wars, excepting the use of carbines, along with pistols, by cavalrymen during the War of the Rebellion. Still, the effects of ­these muzzle loading ­rifles and cannon had ­great impact, maybe even more so on cavalry. Officers deemed ­horse soldiers essential in ­earlier wars, and they assumed the same for the Civil War. However, the improved ­rifles meant that ­horses merely became large targets over more yards. Effecting a ­grand charge over ­horse­back, though still happening in a very few special situations, was a t­ hing of the past. Officers learned the hard way and soon “deployed them as raiders, used them as mounted infantry and counterguerrilla forces, had them work as a shield to hide their armies’ movements, and assigned them to guard supply lines.”53 One might also use them for reconnaissance, maybe flank attacks, and to pursue a routed ­enemy. The mounted infantry, sometimes called dragoons, ­were usually given the first and rare upgrades in carbines. Repeating ­rifles and breech-­loaders ­were issued to such regiments on a unit-­by-­unit basis. COMBAT The technology of the day and well-­dug trenches gave an advantage to the defense. Still, if attackers ­were able to advance to the defenders’ line, the ensuing engagement would likely involve close-­quarters combat. The result, even if



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close-­quarters combat did not occur, was usually much confusion in the ranks as instinct took over. Months of training helped to a degree, but keeping good order as ­enemy fire flashed all around was almost impossible. Terrain could make it all even more confusing. At the ­Battle of the Wilderness in May 1864, for example, dense woods and underbrush made it difficult for soldiers to see friend and foe; the burning undergrowth made ­matters even worse as smoke filled the air. The chaos of ­battle could be so bad that troops fired into their fellows, ­whether it be a regiment straying into the line of fire or merely a ­brother from the same regiment.54 Besides the hissing and zinging of shots passing one’s head, other sounds made combat thoroughly traumatic. The shouts of the ­enemy, such as the famed rebel ­battle cry, could be intimidating. And such cries combined with t­ hose of one’s compatriots. The screams and cries of the wounded may have had an even greater effect. Bloodied men littered the field of major ­battles, and survivors routinely recounted how they stared at ­those who seemed like they should already be dead. Men grabbed at their own intestines, felt the insides of their heads, and performed a disturbing crawl to areas that might bring them clear of the fighting. Sam Watkins, of the First Tennessee Infantry, recalled of Chickamauga, “The earth jarred and trembled like an earthquake. Deadly missiles ­were flying in ­every direction. It was the very incarnation of death itself. I could almost hear the shriek of the death angel passing over the scene.” A friend, who had predicted his own death, seemed to be okay when “at that very moment a solid shot from the Federal guns struck him between the waist and the hip, tearing off one leg and scattering his bowels all over the ground. . . . ​His spirit had flown before his body struck the ground.”55 What struck some survivors the most was the constant cries for ­water from mortally wounded soldiers. The calls for help continued through the next night, only lessening with the passing of lives or truces that allowed the two sides to take their wounded to field hospitals. Wounded men who happened to survive often recounted the odd thirst that plagued them, but also the long wait for help and the thoughts that beleaguered them during what seemed an eternity. But the thoughts could also be positive, as some began to won­der w ­ hether the wound would cause them to be sent home.56 The sight of friends’ wounded or dead bodies contributed to the horror. Some could continue past such sights to concentrate on the task at hand. ­Others became physically sick and lost their nerve, collapsing to the ground or hiding ­behind or in anything available, ­whether it be a tree or an empty ­rifle pit. It is often assumed—­ and maybe reinforced by beautiful paintings of brave soldiers at ­battles such as Shiloh, Gettysburg, and Spotsylvania—­that Civil War soldiers did not falter ­unless wounded. That was true for many, but not all. Men could easily run from b­ attle, only to return to units in the eve­ning. In fact, on the first day of the ­Battle of Shiloh, thousands of Union troops fled far to the rear, and General Grant spent much of his time trying to convince the routed to re-­form into reserve units in order to relieve t­ hose who labored intensely at the front. ­Those who continued forward eventually found themselves face to face with the ­enemy, and the results ­were grotesque and the stuff of nightmares for years to come. Men killed each other with anything available: shovels, knives, bayonets, the stocks

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of ­rifles, pistols, rocks, and their own bare hands. It is difficult to imagine enduring such brutal conflict, and soldiers ­later did their best to explain something they failed to fully understand. For many, the start of a ­battle triggered a ­great frenzy in their being; they became mad or crazy. A lust for blood consumed them as they thought only of destroying the evil e­ nemy before them. A fear of death when the ­battle first began faded into a blind rage to avenge the deaths of friends and take as many of the ­enemy as pos­si­ble before one’s own death. ­Battle affected some in such a way as to cause them to joke about the nastiness about them, to laugh at ­things that most would find sickening. Maybe such be­hav­ior was the only way to cope with the trauma, or maybe it was a sign of failing to cope with the suffering. Many who managed to survive an engagement thanked God profusely for their fortune, but felt deeply for the injured around them. O ­ thers developed a g­ reat indifference to the pain and suffering around them, while remaining greatly ecstatic about their own good fortune.57 Often the growing indifference was the result of becoming veteran soldiers, tried by ­battle over and over. Some became accustomed to danger, no longer ner­vous in the hours or minutes before ­battle. It is pos­si­ble that a fatalistic view took hold of such men; they had managed to live through horrible events thus far. If they w ­ ere meant to live through the rest, God would see them through. Yet ­others may have become profoundly depressed, resigned to, or hoping for death in order to end the suffering. Their own death would end the job of killing and of watching ­brothers in arms die at the hands of the foe. Still even more became calmly cautious in ­battle. No longer concerned about appearing brave, ­these soldiers fired ­behind trees, fences, and hills whenever pos­si­ble; they continued to kill enemies but refused to take the unnecessary risk of staying in proper formation.58 Combat for African Americans included all of t­hese horrors and reactions but also some added dangers. The Confederacy’s official policy was to return black soldiers back into slavery. For a ­free black from the North or an ex-­slave from the South, this possibility made surrender very unappealing. Worse yet, in ­actual practice, Confederate soldiers ­were more likely to murder surrendering African Americans; their very presence as soldiers went against every­thing for which southern culture stood. The resulting massacres at places like the Crater near Petersburg encouraged a no-­quarter strug­gle between black and white regiments. If one was certain to die if attempting to surrender, the alternative was to fight to the death. Such engagements encouraged nastier affairs, with both sides determined to destroy ­every last one of the ­enemy. Blacks became just as likely to refuse quarter, and white Confederates less likely to offer surrender.59

ELITE TROOPS While the American Civil War did not include special forces in the twenty-­first-­ century sense, it included its own sorts of elite troops. For one, expert marksmen served as sharpshooters and easily intimidated and frustrated the ­enemy in a manner that led many to think of ­these marksmen as immoral and illegal scoundrels, hiding in a comfortable place while murdering unsuspecting foes. Fisk compared



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the sharpshooter’s fire to the usual fire, asserting that the bullet would “whistle on a much higher key, and snap against a tree with as much force as if the tree has been struck by a heavy sledge hammer. Some strike in the dirt with a peculiar ‘thud,’ ­others fly high in the air and make a noise similar to a huge bumble bee.” The assassin’s bullet did “not tarry long by the way. What they do is done quickly, and woe to the man that stands in their way.”60 However, guerrillas ­were more impor­tant to the prosecution of the war. Such soldiers might include the likes of ­those ­under Col­o­nel John Singleton Mosby and the 43rd Battalion ­Virginia Cavalry, but they more often consisted of irregular groups with no such government designation. Guerrillas w ­ ere often Confederate soldiers or sympathizers in territory occupied by the Union Army. ­These bands attacked supply lines, ambushed unsuspecting bluecoats, and generally terrorized Union soldiers in an attempt to force withdrawal. In retaliation, guerrilla bands of Unionists materialized to confront the pro-­Confederate bands in nasty irregular warfare that often consumed a region, especially in the hinterlands, for an extended time.61 Mounted infantry, or dragoons, could also be considered elite troops. As commanders came to understand that cavalry would not be effective in frontal charges against infantry armed with rifled-­muskets, they looked for other ways to employ them. Many de­cided to use them as highly mobile infantry—­the soldiers would travel by ­horse but fight on the ground as infantry. Such troops ­were also used to pursue a routed ­enemy, thwart an ­enemy flanking movement, or perform any other such duty that required a unit to be somewhere in a hurry.62

HEALTH AND MEDICINE The state of medicine in 1861 was not sufficient to care for the wounded and sick in a war of such scale. Doctors ­were often referred to as “quacks,” as they knew very l­ ittle about the fragile h­ uman form when compared to the physicians of ­today. In their defense, very few medics truly understood even one or two of the horrible issues a doctor might face. As one historian has noted, “[L]ittle or nothing was known of germs; temperature was thought to be of so ­little importance to a man’s condition that only twenty thermometers ­were used in all of the Union armies. Such ­things as X-­rays, antibiotics, most vaccines, all vitamins, plus areas that comprise ninety ­percent of ­today’s surgery, all ­were non­ex­is­tent in the 1860s.” Beyond such, “most physicians ­were unfamiliar with the use of the scalpel and far less familiar with its life-­saving potentialities.” As a result, the “practice of medicine for most physicians devolved into administering drugs and potions of all known types and in heavy quantities.”63 A severely injured soldier did not stand much of a chance at the beginning of the war—­but trial and error served to improve medical treatment, such that the chances of survival ­were much higher in 1865 than in 1861 for a soldier suffering from the same wound or illness. In a war in which roughly 250,000 bluecoats and 194,000 graycoats died from sickness, physicians strug­gled to care for the ill. On the other hand, ­those numbers could have been worse, considering the total cases of illness and injuries in the

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armies. In fact, “Union statistics show 6,454,834 recorded cases of wounds and disease, and that figure only begins to highlight the suffering pre­sent in the conflict of the 1860s.”64 The modern military puts recruits through physical exams before accepting their ser­vice in any branch. However, during the Civil War, states took volunteers without care for their current health. As a result, ­those in poor condition, w ­ hether or not anyone e­ lse could initially tell, w ­ ere weeded out of the ser­ vice by hard physical exertion and disease. For example, one Confederate soldier complained in May 1863 that “we are not to our journeys [sic] end yet,” and “we expect to go on soon some four or five miles farther where I hope we ­will get to rest a ­little” b­ ecause “the men are all worn out by hard marching. I fel [sic] out ranks yesterday eve­ning for the first time since Ive [sic] in the ser­vice. I am worn out, my health not very good eny [sic] now of late.”65 Furthermore, when a soldier fought, the likelihood of serious injury was quite high. The injury, in turn, often led to terrible infections from the wound, or even from the amputation meant to save one’s life. If a soldier was able to avoid severe injuries in the field, they still lived “­under conditions that w ­ ere apt to make him sick.”66 Rations could be old, moldy, or infested with maggots. The camp might not satisfactorily manage the soldiers’ waste, including the general garbage; remains of slaughtered animals, other leftovers from the kitchens, and random junk contaminated the atmosphere, which “led in turn to hordes of flies, mosquitos, lice, and fleas.”67 In some cases, men would drink from ­water sources also used by o­ thers as a toilet or bathtub. The failure to clean latrines could lead to contaminated w ­ ater supplies but also to the spread of mosquitos and malaria. The ingestion of bad ­water caused hundreds of thousands to get typhoid fever, dysentery, and the horrible diarrhea that led many to die from dehydration. Lack of fruits and vegetables caused ­others to suffer from scurvy ­because doctors did not fully understand the need for the vitamin C provided by such foods. In addition, ­those who frequented the prostitutes who followed armies ­were likely to suffer from gonorrhea or syphilis.68 Of course, lack of sufficient clothing led to overexposure to the ele­ments as many soldiers, North and especially South, suffered colds, bronchitis, and pneumonia. A reported 11,000 Union surgeons and 2,600 Confederate physicians failed to come close to providing the necessary care for men almost guaranteed to be injured or sick at some juncture.69 Armies tried to aid injured and ­dying soldiers in the field hospitals that became a common part of major ­battles. Twenty to thirty men from a regiment might serve as stretcher ­bearers during or ­after a ­battle, and/or a wagon (without springs) would take the injured to the field hospital.70 Some of ­these camps consisted of numerous tents, but ­others cropped up across a wide area as surgeons used local ­houses, businesses, and churches to serve as shelters for the wounded. During ­great and terrible b­ attles, ­there was seldom, if ever, enough shelter in the immediate aftermath of a ­battle. The grass outside a building and the walls inside could be stained red before the next morning. Since t­here w ­ ere never enough caregivers for such situations, gangrene was a per­sis­tent prob­lem, and all complained of the inevitable stench that characterized ­these areas. As injuries mounted, doctors and nurses attended to ­those soldiers whom they could hope to save, often merely removing the severely injured to a decent place to die.



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Field hospital established at Savage Station, ­Virginia, during the Seven Days B ­ attles in June 1862. The enormous number of wounded soldiers overwhelmed the surgeons available in the Union Army, leaving many men to suffer for days before receiving any medical care. (Library of Congress)

Surgeries ­were horrible experiences for all involved. As one historian has stated, “[U]nder the best of circumstances, surgeons used alcohol to ‘stimulate’ patients and had on hand ether and chloroform to anesthetize soldiers about to experience the bone saw.” Doctors often relied on opiates, “such as laudanum and morphine, painkillers much appreciated by surgeon and soldier alike.” If a severely wounded soldier survived the initial treatment at the field hospital, he was transported by wagon, railroad, and/or boat to a military hospital in a “nearby” city. It was difficult for doctors to acquire housing, beds, and supplies for such installations, especially as pressure mounted to get sufficient materials to healthy soldiers fighting in the field, but northerners and southerners managed to build well-­planned facilities in cities like Washington, D.C., and Richmond.71 Patients reported a wide variety of experiences at ­these regional hospitals. One might receive a lot of rest, a good doctor, and clean care, as well as the kind words and comfort of chaplains, locals, and pretty nurses. In fact, some structures became very good hospitals for the time, and the organ­ization of such helped to foster “the beginning of hospitals as big business and helped shape medical reformers’ ideas as to what constituted a good fa­cil­i­ty.”72 In such places, a soldier who was progressing well might become an unofficial nurse to ease the suffering of brothers-­in-­ arms; some northerners became part of an Invalid Corps that performed lighter duties, such as guarding the prison camps holding captive enemies. For example, E. Anne Butler of Indianapolis commented to her son that the regular Sunday

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“school picnic in the woods . . . ​was hardly well attended as usual but the lack of citizens was made up in numbers by the soldiers of the Invalid Corps from Camp Burnside” and the “woods ­were fairly blue with them. They behaved well and ­were invited to participate in the games of sport engaged in and seemed to enjoy themselves very much.”73 ­Others suffered from the “care” of quacks who poked and prodded to such a degree that it made their condition worse. Some ­were horrified by the screaming from patients whose arms or limbs ­were being sawed off while the hospital could not obtain enough anesthetic and opiates to ease the pain. In that case, the nurse or surgeon urged the soldier to bite on a bullet or piece of wood as they sawed through bone, the main concern being that the injured man might bite off his tongue. If one survived, a one-­year stay in the hospital was not uncommon. Many remembered the grotesque piles of arms, legs, and vari­ous tissues that might be piled in plain sight. It is no won­der that, when combined with the brutal combat of the war, t­ hese experiences led many veterans to suffer from what Americans now call PTSD.74

PRISONERS OF WAR The treatment of captured prisoners continues to be one of the many subjects debated by professional and amateur Civil War historians. Of course, life in a prison camp was miserable at best, and the troops in confinement ­were not treated as well as the ­enemy’s soldiers in the field. During the conflict, the “Union and Confederacy engaged in an unpre­ce­dented imprisonment of combatants. Of the approximately 410,000 soldiers held prisoner in the Civil War, 56,000 died in confinement. That figure accounted for nearly one-­tenth of the 620,000 men who perished in the conflict.”75 Americans on both sides of the Mason-­Dixon line argued that the other treated prisoners in a reprehensible manner with an intent to torture and kill as many as pos­si­ble. Some argued that this was policy on the part of the opposing government, possibly all the way up to Jefferson Davis or Abraham Lincoln. Real­ity was far dif­fer­ent. Early in the war, the two governments handled the exchange of ­enemy prisoners through a cartel. Prisoners ­were held in camps but then released as soon as the same number of prisoners could be released by the other side.76 The system came to even grade troopers based on rank, with each officer rank being worth a certain number of privates. However, as the war dragged on into 1863, “both sides grew dissatisfied with the exchange cartel.” For example, “the Union and Confederacy strug­gled with the assimilation of paroled troops into their armies. Many soldiers resisted a return to the line of fire, insisting that their paroles exempted them from ser­vice ­until their side became official.” Often, paroled soldiers ­were sent to camps run by their own country to await official parole. ­These “camps not only occupied valuable space that could have been used for housing ­actual prisoners, but they also further strained the resources of the Union and Confederacy. Paroled soldiers required an extensive investment in food and supplies while they awaited official exchange and a return to active duty.”77 One Union officer, Major General Lew Wallace, described the confinement of paroled northerners near Columbus, Ohio, at Camp Chase. He noted, for instance,



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that “the accommodations grew scantier and scantier, ­until at length thousands ­were thrust in to occupy what had been intended for hundreds.” He recounted the disease, lack of clothing, and the poor housing that one might expect from the abuses of the ­enemy. In Wallace’s mind, a few de­cades ­later, the parole camp for northern soldiers was almost as bad as Andersonville, which “was a Confederate hell for the confinement of enemies taken in arms, while Camp Chase was a hell operated by the old government for friends and sworn supporters—­its own ­children.”78 If a country failed to support its own soldiers in such camps, organ­izing to support prisons for the e­ nemy must have been a forlorn hope. Such reasons and the refusal of the Confederacy to treat African American troops as legitimate prisoners of war—­they preferred to send black soldiers back into slavery or execute them and their white officers for fomenting slave rebellions—­led to the end of the exchanges. Prisons multiplied and grew well past their intended capacity. As a result, POWs experienced horrible conditions. But while “the reasons for the disaster varied on each side, in both cases the appalling mortality resulted in part from the in­effec­tive organ­ization of the respective prison systems,” not ­because of deliberate efforts to destroy the lives of the opposition’s soldiers.79 Secretary of War Edwin Stanton “approved a series of reductions in the rations given to Confederate prisoners held in the North in order to match ­those issued to Union prisoners in the South. The ruthless nature of Stanton’s reprisal offers further evidence of the destructive scale of the Civil War.”80 This move was part of a policy of reciprocity, not merely an attempt to kill Confederate soldiers, but it was part of the emotions (on each side) that often made it more difficult to effect better conditions when resources ­were already ­limited and organ­ization lacking. More specifically, poor medical knowledge, unhealthy incoming prisoners, small bud­gets, logistical issues, bad planning, and incompetence often led to sickness and death in the camps, at least according to one historian of the northern camps. Soldiers suffered from poor diets, but more often ­because of the lack of fruit (vitamin C) or protein in their diets. Doctors could not always convince the prison bureaucracy to meet t­hese needs while usually providing enough calories. Furthermore, lazy officers who failed in the field of combat often came to manage the prisons. Such incompetence might lead to poor sanitation and distribution of resources. Thus, northern camps ­housed a high number of sick soldiers. But still, when presented with prob­lems, Union officials worked to provide solutions through periodic inspections, so conditions tended to improve.81 A Confederate officer imprisoned at Point Lookout and Fort Delaware was in fair enough condition to compare the two in letters sent home. He mentioned that the former had “cooler ­water if bad,” a “more reasonable sutler,” fewer men packed together, “more punctuality in sending letters,” an “accommodating asst. provost,” the ability to bathe in the sea, and the opportunity to get “Southern news in Baltimore Gazette.” The latter prison, on the other hand, had “fair ­water & the chance of improving it by ice,” an ­actual “ice cream stand” nearby, “barracks instead of tents,” “more punctuality in delivery of letters money & Express packages,” a “decent commander,” far “less dust,” and “2 meals a day.” This also hints at the disadvantages of each prison, but the rebel also mentioned that the former prison had African Americans “to guard us,” a “very strict patrol at night,” and “very

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poor soup.” The latter prison had “no opportunity to hire extra cooking done,” “no good place to bathe,” and “smaller rations.”82 Privates w ­ ere lucky to suffer conditions like ­those described e­ arlier. The situation was similar in the South, only the Confederacy suffered from a greater lack of resources, leading them to funnel supplies and food to armies rather than feed the e­ nemy prisoners. While most prisons w ­ ere overcrowded slices of hell, Andersonville, in Georgia, came to be demonized in this re­spect—­and justifiably so. Abuses, deliberate and other­wise, led to numerous horrific accounts that came to be a part of the northern narrative of the war’s history and resulted in the trial and execution of Major (often misreported as Captain) Henry Wirz, the commandant of the prison. During “the course of only nine months of operation, Andersonville ­housed 45,000 prisoners. A total of 12,912 did not survive to leave the prison, and thousands more died in transit to other camps or immediately a­ fter their release.”83 ­Whether a more or less notorious prison, the aforementioned reasons for abuses and poor conditions failed to satisfy ­those who starved, became sick, lived among their own filth, froze in the winter, or ­were shot for attempting to escape overcrowded camps.

HOME FRONT Photography in the mid-1800s had blossomed as a way to show many the world beyond their homesteads and small towns. In the case of the Civil War, it let Americans know that this was a war of ­great destruction in terms of lost lives and infrastructure. As the technology was still unable to clearly capture moving objects on film, photos of the war included famous generals, tent camps, artillery pieces, hospitals, trenches, and the gruesome images of dead bodies ­after a major ­battle—­anything stationary. In addition, photog­raphers produced many images of a devastated South. Still, not all parts of the Confederacy ­were materially destroyed by war. Citizens of Arkadelphia, Arkansas, for example, did not feel the greater effects of a hard war even as troops marched through town. As Union soldiers entered this town of some strategic importance, they w ­ ere also impressed by its condition. Andrew Sperry, a soldier in the 33rd Iowa Infantry Regiment, ­later described the “fine village of Arkadelphia—­a place which seemed to us much like a northern town. Situated on the Washita River, and built mostly of good, white frame h­ ouses, it presented a very dif­fer­ent appearance from many of the dilapidated ‘huddles’ to which we had been more accustomed.” The town’s structures also included a fine ­hotel owned by Solomon Spence; it was a popu­lar ­hotel logically located on Main Street, a two-­story brick Greek Revival-­style building erected in the mid-1850s to replace an older establishment. The owner was on his own as he had already sent his two sons off to war, each then fighting somewhere east of the Mississippi River. Both sons died in their twenties far away from home and ­were buried in soldiers’ graves. According to the Iowan, the men then scattered throughout the town to see the sights and look for food. He claimed that they did ­little foraging and stealing,



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further recalling that “we paid for nearly all we got; and the ­women of the place frequently told us, ‘Yur mean treat us better than our own men do.’ ” The same soldier did admit, however, that some of Steele’s men, having discovered a seminary for young ladies in a nice building, “ransacked the building from end to end, tore up the maps and papers, destroyed the benches, and smashed the piano into utter ruin. The ­whole seminary was left a perfect wreck. The guilty parties ­were not discovered.” The large majority of the town, on the other hand, seemed to escape such destruction.84 Still, towns or cities like Richmond and Atlanta suffered from the destruction of businesses and sometimes homes. Homesteads along Sherman’s March to the Sea, for example, often endured the theft of foodstuffs and other supplies, although soldiers did not tend to burn their homes or kill citizens, ­unless someone threatened the bluecoats or remained unresponsive to ­orders. Some soldiers like James Congleton believed that southern citizens understood the situation, saying that “every­thing is quiet and in splendid order” in Savannah, Georgia. “­Every body [sic] is protected and I believe the ­people like the yanks pretty well ­after they become re[ac]quainted with them.”85 But even if the worst did not happen, the destruction of one’s crop, or maybe the destruction of a barn that contained foodstuffs or forage for animals, could render a ­family destitute. Many of ­these families fled to cities in the hope of getting aid from the occupiers. Such material destruction was seldom endured by the North.86 This likely cost the South several millions of dollars in property, but loss went beyond the usual produce and buildings.87 As Union armies marched into regions, the heads of ­house­holds, often the wives of departed soldiers, strug­gled to keep their l­abor force intact. Over the course of de­cades, southerners argued that the institution of slavery was a benevolent, paternalistic one in which the laborers w ­ ere treated very well as they strug­gled to become civilized ­peoples. All the ­owners asked for was their obedience and a lifetime of work. Many whites convinced themselves that they ­were truly good to their chattel and that the slaves loved them and the opportunity to work for them. While ­these African American laborers sometimes came to love one or two p­ eople in the f­ amily that held their title, almost no slaves ­were content to spend the rest of their lives without experiencing real freedom. As bluecoats came near, slaves left in droves or demanded pay for their l­ abor. Plantation mistresses ­were overwhelmed and not able to understand how “thankless” ­these ­people seemed to be.88 The ex-­slaves often followed armies, hoping to receive some aid and ­labor as they hoped to eke out a living in the occupied South. The trou­bles with the southern ­labor force could arguably be attributed to the loss of managerial power in the form of men. ­Women, of course, ­were biologically capable of ­handling the duties of r­ unning a farm or business in the North or South, but they had not spent their early years in training for such tasks. Boys, and then men, spent years as apprentices or farm laborers (usually for their parents, at least in the latter case), and thus ­were very capable of ­r unning their own farm or store when the time came. The absence of approximately 4 million such workers could be devastating for their families. Younger sons, wives, and ­daughters persevered despite the lack of training, but not without the ­mistakes required by the learning pro­cess. And the lack of working bodies made the attempts to save farms even more

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difficult. So even while northerners seldom worried about the pos­si­ble destruction of a business, they still may have trou­ble earning a living, and the death of a ­family member could affect all sorts of p­ eople, North or South. It is impor­tant to remember that a large majority of a locale’s men could be in the army, especially in the Confederacy, so the managerial crisis and the loss of life affected many families.89 In addition to ­these hardships, inflation made the purchase of necessary items difficult for struggling families. This was particularly true in the Confederacy, where the price of wheat increased by 1,700 ­percent. The cost of a pair of shoes was $600 in Confederate money near the end of the war. And families that lost ­mothers in addition to ­fathers resulted in a rise in the number of orphan c­ hildren throughout the United States of American and Confederate States of Amer­i­ca. In the North orphanages filled as 20,000 to 30,000 ­children lost parents. Even if one did not lose his or her parents, real­ity might include quitting school and working to supplement the f­ amily income.90 Guerrillas also affected the lives of ­those on the home front, especially in the South. Guerrillas ­were often Confederate soldiers or sympathizers in territory occupied by the Union Army. T ­ hese bands w ­ ere often concerned about the Unionists who welcomed federal soldiers into their region and hoped to be part of new local and state governments. As a result, Confederate guerrillas terrorized ­these Unionists and their families, stealing, assaulting, and killing to keep order and preserve white supremacy. The latter also involved recovering escaped slaves and returning them to masters, as well as stealing goods for t­hose interested in the Confederate cause. In retaliation, guerrilla bands of Unionists materialized to confront the pro-­ Confederate bands in nasty irregular warfare that often consumed a region for an extended time. Arkansas and Missouri especially suffered from ­these clashes between ­unionists and secessionists. Making ­matters even worse, groups of bandits, merely arising to steal from all who could not defend themselves, made securing border-­state regions even more difficult for Union and Confederate soldiers alike.91 This represented a disturbing disruption of the old social order in areas of the South. The Confederate states’ socie­ties ­were quite hierarchical, with planters at the top, then yeoman farmers with a few slaves, then landowners without slaves, then ­those whites who owned no land, then a few ­free blacks, and fi­nally slaves; ­women’s status, of course, depended largely on that of their husbands, yet was always in a sense lesser than their male spouses’ position in society. The war disrupted this socioeconomic structure that was supported often by the ­will and ability of wealthy planters to protect and sometimes financially support their poorer neighbors. Union occupation meant that the planters could no longer sustain t­ hese conditions, often fleeing areas to avoid capture, leaving ­women, the white poor, and slaves to meet the invaders. In a sense, the rise of guerrilla warfare was an attempt to reassert the power and wealth of t­ hose at the top of the societal ladder.92 VETERANS’ ISSUES Poorly provided health care, as well as the aforementioned combat situations, mangled not only soldiers’ bodies but also their minds. While the acronym PTSD came to be commonly understood among Americans during the Vietnam War,



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doctors and nurses during the Civil War knew relatively ­little about the ­mental strain experienced by troops—­even as some of them suffered from similar symptoms as they failed to save the lives of the nation’s ­brothers, sons, husbands, and ­fathers. Trying to understand the meaning, if any, in the deaths of more than 600,000 ­people was tough for most Americans, but more so for veterans. Unfortunately, ­there was not a good system to care for t­ hose affected in this way. The asylums of the time w ­ ere cruel places, notorious for “cures” that amounted more to torture than assistance, and they certainly ­were not regulated. On the other hand, the federal government tried its best to financially assist veterans who ­were severely injured in the conflict or physically suffered over time. The pension system for Union veterans began in 1862 and was no insignificant ­matter. The notion of a pension for veterans seems like an obvious step ­today, but the Civil War ended well before the regulations and progressive policies of the early 1900s. The Progressive Era was characterized by the notion that government might do more to ensure honesty, efficiency, morality, and safety in the United States; however, that was not the case in the 1860s. The strong voting power of hundreds of thousands of veterans and their families helped to push the government in such a direction. The early result was a system that paid veterans and the families of ­those who died in the conflict. ­Later on, the federal system would come to pass on pensions to the dependents of veterans who died well a­ fter the war; the formation of the ­Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the most notable veterans’ organ­ization during that time, continued to lobby for such adjustments. For such an effort, one that required a bureaucracy that the national government had never before sustained in peacetime, federal workers spent years counting and creating the compiled military ser­vice rec­ords. The nation needed to know who was eligible, thus a system of keeping track of certain Americans, again something not undertaken to this level before, had to be maintained and accurate.93 Notably, this structure did not include veterans of the Confederate armies. While this issue was debated during national elections for a few de­cades, the federal government declined to assist the soldiers of a rebellion in this way. As a result, each state of the former Confederate States of Amer­i­ca developed their own system of Civil War pensions, which usually looked a lot like the federal version. While the Union pensions ­were paid for with the large help of tariffs on foreign goods coming into the country, states could not levy tariffs and had to pay for the plans in a variety of manners. Taxes on other goods and ser­vices became the norm, and the effort certainly put much strain on economies that suffered greatly during Reconstruction and beyond, as the national government also declined to spend money on eco­nom­ically rebuilding parts of the South ­until the ­Great Depression of the 1930s. ­These pensions ­were paid to the survivors of veterans even into the twenty-­first ­century. The GAR, the premier organ­ization for northern Civil War veterans, became a strong supporter of the Republican Party. As the party of Lincoln was seen as the organ­ization that successfully prosecuted the war while a few northern Demo­cratic politicians w ­ ere outright opponents of waging the war, the GAR raised a lot of money and votes for the former. Accordingly, Republican candidates for office often “waved the bloody shirt” in general elections in order to discredit Demo­cratic

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opponents. A pointed sentence or more, or even the a­ ctual waving of a stained shirt, reminded voters of t­hose Demo­crats who failed in supporting the war to bring the South back into the Union. The same GAR supported rights for black soldiers, advocated for the building of monuments to veteran officers and enlisted men, and pushed for Memorial Day to be a national holiday. Of course, northern and southern soldiers, as well as their descendants, would fight a longer ­battle over the memory of the war, its ­causes, and the virtues or vices of each side. Much of this came in the speeches delivered at the aforementioned memorial days or the southern version known as Decoration Day. The erection of monuments, on the battlefields and elsewhere, came to be an unofficial competition during the de­cades to come. When the Robert E. Lee Memorial was dedicated in Lexington, ­Virginia, in 1883, John W. Daniel gave a speech that attempted to paint Lee as a hero and his cause as just. The former Confederate argued that Lee loved the Union and hated slavery but had to assist his beloved state and the South in repelling the invasion of the aggressive foe. ­These men, in butternut and gray, fought for a good cause against the overwhelmingly power­f ul North, “rich in all that handi­work can fashion or that gold can buy. It is thickly populated. Its regular army, and its myriad volunteers, rush to do its bidding. . . . ​Its trea­sury teems with the sinews of war, and its arsenals with weapons.”94 How could even the greatest of generals and the best of mankind defeat such a power? Such declarations came to be part of a “lost cause” ideology that helped southerners to feel that they fought for something other than a socioeconomic system tied to slavery. While states’ rights and other thoughts compelled southern men to fight, ­there seemed to be a postwar obsession with arguing that slavery had absolutely nothing to do with the secession of the South and the cries for war. MILITARY DISCIPLINE According to Steven J. Ramold, ­there are two definitions of “discipline” when applied to Civil War soldiers. The first concerns the willingness of a soldier to fight in a ­battle, risking his life while killing the ­enemy. Soldiers in this ­great nineteenth-­ century conflict ­were largely willing to exhibit this sort of discipline, though not always. The second definition, on the other hand, “represented the willingness to obey ­orders, subordinate oneself to military practice and custom, and accommodate the needs of the group over the wishes of the individual.” Civil War armies, on both sides, lacked this latter form of discipline.95 The ­great mass of volunteers made it difficult for army commanders to treat all soldiers as though they ­were the regulars of the prewar period. As a result, the system of military justice was forced to be more flexible in order to avoid being overwhelmed by the large number of men who saw themselves as freedom-­loving civilians before obedient soldiers.96 Most young men in the armies grew up with the belief that the dregs of society joined the regular army as privates. Such immigrants and lazy beggars ­were not fit to be real Americans, so they easily submitted to the rigidity of army life. In addition, “the Union army was an extension of social behavioral norms, with the freedoms associated with bachelor manhood challenging the rigid expectations



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of Victorian morality. Mid–­nineteenth-­century Amer­i­ca was a nation in transition. The rugged, rural Amer­i­ca symbolized by the frontier was giving away to a growing urban industrialism marked by a dif­fer­ent brand of social expectation.”97 In other words, as Lorien Foote has stated, the Union Army (and likely the Confederate forces as well) included soldiers who exhibited a more gentlemanly form of manhood in opposition to ­those who believed that a real man had to be rough, tough, and drink to excess. ­These “gentlemen” and “roughs” clashed in the army camps. Officers ­were more likely to fall in the former category, and they desperately wanted the many enlisted “roughs” to conform to their idea of what it meant to be a well-­disciplined gentleman.98 One who v­ iolated the rules was punished informally by a commander, through a regimental court-­martial, or via a general court-­martial. While most soldiers saw courts-­martial as terribly un-­A merican in their procedures, especially as ­there was no jury of their peers (enlisted privates), the “judges seated to hear courts-­martial undoubtedly had . . . ​room for l­egal interpretation, clemency, and a system of review and appeal that ensured that courts-­martial w ­ ere anything but rigid and unmerciful.”99 More minor offenses could be handled informally or through a regimental court-­martial, but more serious offenses w ­ ere restricted to the general courts-­martial. For example, the regimental courts might ­handle cases of “insubordination, drunkenness on duty, straggling, minor theft, or a catchall offense,” Article 99 of the Articles of War, “known as ‘conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline.’ ” The latter “theoretically made any action performed by a soldier a criminal offense if his superior officer deemed it as detrimental to unit discipline.” ­T hose offenses left to general courts-­ martial included “disobeying ­orders, desertion, bounty-­jumping, mutiny, pillaging of property, sleeping while on duty, revealing passwords to the ­enemy, or espionage.”100 Any court-­martial began when an officer filed charges against a soldier. The officer would have to specify which of the Articles of War had been v­ iolated, as well as all other particulars of the incident. An officer then called on a se­lection of officers to serve as the judges and jury for the trial. While the rules thereafter varied from that of civil courts, both adhered to similar basics. “For all the ste­reo­types of inflexible military law, the real­ity of Civil War military justice is one of flexibility, leniency, and individuality. Far from the rigid and stern administrators of harsh justice, the Union officers who sat on Civil War courts-­martial took circumstances into account, listened to both sides of the issue, and operated a system that administered proper justice in the vast majority of cases,” and even included a “­limited appeals mechanism.”101 One of the more problematic crimes was that of mutiny, largely ­because citizen-­ soldiers felt that it was their right to protest unfair actions by their superiors. British Americans of the colonial era believed that they could confront acts of Parliament and the king’s officials through mob action or riots, and ­later citizens of the new republic embraced such a tradition. They wanted their voices to be heard, so they might march right out of camp to find a superior official who would hear their complaints. They might also ignore ­orders or confront their superior as a group in order to intimidate him.102

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Of course, desertions taxed both armies more than historians initially believed. Efforts to craft a more objective history of the war have always been plagued by myths and legends that have clouded our understanding. Many, historians and laypersons alike, want to believe that Civil War soldiers always fought bravely and never deserted. In real­ity, the Union Army alone “suffered . . . ​260,339 enlisted deserters and 161,286 absent draftees,” and approximately “one in ­every eleven Union soldiers deserted at some point during the war.” Officials usually failed to arrest the culprits, as maybe one in six deserters was apprehended.103 A few reasons for desertion seem to stand out. Husbands and ­fathers often felt the very real need to go home to support the ­family. Soldiers u­ nder inexperienced or poor noncommissioned officers (NCOs) ­were more likely to leave camp, as ­were ­those who had not received pay for some time. War weariness, especially for Confederate soldiers in 1864–1865, also encouraged desertions. In the end, “the only way to contain the deserters was to use the same tactics to limit straggling: extra guards and vigilant officers.”104 If a commander was less than sympathetic to a captured deserter’s reasoning for flight, a court-­martial could lead to execution. Sam Watkins remembered an instance in which, while men w ­ ere having a snowball fight, “a file of soldiers marched by me with a poor fellow on his way to be shot. He was blindfolded and set upon a stump, and the detail formed.” The first volley from the firing squad failed to kill the man, so “it was the sergeant’s duty to give the coup d’état, should not the prisoner be slain.” The officer “ran up and placed the muzzle of his gun at the head of the poor, pleading, and entreating wretch, his gun was discharged, and the wretched man only powder-­burned, the gun being one that had been loaded with powder only. The ­whole affair had to be gone over again.” The second squad succeeded, and the deserter “had no sooner been taken up and carried off to be buried, than the soldiers ­were throwing snow balls as hard as ever, as if nothing had happened.”105 While many Americans sympathized with deserters, understanding that they may have had good reasons to go home to their families, coupled with the g­ reat desire to assert their in­de­pen­dence as citizen-­soldiers, ­those on the home front could not tolerate the lesser class of ­human being known as the bounty jumper. In such a case, a young man would accept a bonus for enlisting in the army, only to desert when presented with a good opportunity to escape. Then the same person proceeded to a dif­fer­ent location, often a dif­fer­ent state, and accept another bonus (or bounty) to enlist ­under a dif­fer­ent name. One could play this game over and over in an era in which the government had less sure means of verifying the identities of its citizens. This unlawful activity was difficult to control and greatly disturbed ­those who worried for the nation’s ­f uture. “Northerners disposed to fear the decline of northern manhood, patriotism, republican citizenship, and community homogeneity and order all found much to alarm them in the hated bounty jumpers.” Such concerns “came together in an unsavory but potent blend that resulted in murderous public outrage against ­these miscreants.” By 1864, the Union government received so much venomous condemnation for the existence of t­ hese un-­American louses that it was “willing enough to use stern mea­sures to satisfy this demand for their eradication.”106 As a result, while deserters ­were often allowed punishment short of execution, bounty jumpers w ­ ere sure to be shot if caught in the act.



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UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE CIVIL WAR The War between the States, as some came to call this civil war, was unique for that reason. A war between two regions of one country also meant that f­ amily members and friends found themselves fighting each other on the field of ­battle. Yet despite the very impor­tant exception of irregular warfare on the part of guerrillas and bandits, most of the main conflict remained conventional in nature. And, of course, the war led to more American deaths (620,000 to 630,000, according to most estimates) than any other U.S. war. This war was followed by another conflict of a less conventional nature. While the United States had taken part in a few wars that involved occupying foreign countries ­after the main conflict and attempting to rebuild them in our image, the Civil War was followed by the only concerted attempt to force another part of our own country to submit to the socioeconomic and demo­cratic norms of the rest of the nation. The U.S. Army maintained an unordinary presence in southern states ­u ntil 1877 in an attempt to support the rights of African Americans and Republicans who wished to extinguish the vestiges of slavery and Confederate nationhood. Some of the same soldiers who fought ­grand ­battles during the conventional war did their best to protect the lives of blacks and Republicans. The passage of the Fifteenth Amendment made this an even greater issue as African Americans ­were now supposed to be able to vote and run for office; they attempted to do so in droves. Such significant change, however, meant that ex-­Confederates founded terrorist organ­izations with a design of striking fear into all who wished to subvert white supremacy in the South, all with the hope of convincing blacks and southern Republicans to stay out of politics and to convince the federal government to change its policies on Reconstruction. The sporadic conflicts between such southern organ­izations, like the Ku Klux Klan, and the Union Army took on a very dif­fer­ent character than the majority of fighting in the ­earlier war. Troops, often cavalry, wrestled with trying to protect citizens from daytime and nighttime ambushes or attacks of vari­ous sorts by disguised whites. ­These groups burned the churches and homes of blacks, lynched or other­wise assaulted uncooperative African Americans, and further intimidated white Republicans, though not always to the same degree. This difficult assignment necessitated a significant number of troops in each state, but po­liti­cal realities made that next to impossible.107 In the end, while the North won the conventional war, white southerners managed to force the end of Reconstruction by preventing Republican voters from successfully voting, allowing conservative Demo­crats to ignore the latest amendments to the Constitution, and control the social structure of the South into the 1960s.

TIMELINE February 1861 Seven seceded states form the Confederate States of Amer­i­ca. Jefferson Davis becomes president of the Confederate States of Amer­i­ca.

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March 4, 1861 Abraham Lincoln takes office as president of the United States. April 12, 1861 Confederates bombard Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina. April 14, 1861 Lincoln calls for 75,000 volunteers to put down the rebellion. July 21, 1861 Confederates win the first ­Battle of Bull Run, resulting in approximately 4,900 casualties. February 6 and 16, 1862 Union forces capture Forts Henry and Donelson, resulting in approximately 4,300 casualties, not including captured soldiers. April 6 and 7, 1862 Union forces recover to win the B ­ attle of Shiloh, resulting in 23,700 casualties. April 16, 1862 The Confederate Congress passes a Conscription Act, making all white males between ages 18 and 35 eligible for the draft. April 24, 1862 Union naval forces capture New Orleans. June 25 to July 1, 1862 Union forces fall back from Richmond during the Seven Days ­Battles, resulting in roughly 36,000 casualties. August 29 and 30, 1862 Confederates win the Second ­Battle of Bull Run, resulting in almost 25,300 casualties. September 17, 1862 Union forces corner Confederate forces at the ­Battle of Antietam, resulting in 23,000 casualties. October 11, 1862 The Confederate Congress passes a bill that allows the o­ wners of more than 20 slaves to decline ser­vice in the army. December 13, 1862 Confederates win the ­Battle of Fredericksburg, resulting in roughly 17,900 casualties. December 31 to January 3, 1863 The B ­ attle of Murfreesboro results in approximately 23,500 casualties. January 1, 1863 Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation takes effect.



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March 3, 1862 The U.S. Congress passes the Conscription Act, which required all men between ages 20 and 45 to register for the draft. March 10, 1863 President Lincoln offers amnesty for all Union deserters who w ­ ill return to duty. April 30 to May 6, 1863 The Union Army loses the ­Battle of Chancellorsville, ­Virginia, resulting in just over 30,000 casualties. July 1 to 3, 1863 The Union Army wins the B ­ attle of Gettysburg, resulting in 51,000 casualties. July 4, 1863 The Siege of Vicksburg ends, resulting in 50,000 casualties and the capture of 29,000 Confederate soldiers. July 13, 1863 Roughly 50,000 ­people, many Irish immigrants, riot in New York City against the Conscription Act, resulting in the beatings of a number of black Americans. August 1, 1863 Jefferson Davis offers amnesty to all Confederate deserters who ­will return to duty. September 19 to 20, 1863 The B ­ attle of Chickamauga results in over 34,000 casualties. November 23 to 25, 1863 The Union Army wins the B ­ attle of Chattanooga, resulting in almost 12,500 casualties. April 12, 1864 Troops ­under Nathan B. Forrest massacre black Union soldiers at Fort Pillow, resulting in roughly 430 casualties. May 5 to 19, 1864 The Wilderness Campaign, including ­battles at the Wilderness and Spotsylvania Court House, result in 54,000 casualties. June 3, 1864 The B ­ attle of Cold Harbor results in 13,500 casualties. July 18 to September 3, 1864 ­Battles for Atlanta lead to 20,000 casualties. November 8, 1864 Abraham Lincoln is reelected for a second term as president of the United States. December 16, 1864 The Union Army wins the B ­ attle of Nashville, resulting in almost 4,500 casualties. December 21, 1864 Union forces capture Savannah, Georgia.

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March 3, 1865 The U.S. Congress passes a bill to create the Freedman’s Bureau. April 2, 1865 The B ­ attle of Petersburg ­causes Confederacy forces to evacuate Richmond. April 9, 1865 Robert E. Lee surrenders the Army of Northern V ­ irginia. April 14, 1865 Abraham Lincoln assassinated at Ford’s Theater, Washington, D.C. April 26, 1865 Joseph E. Johnston formally surrenders his army to William T. Sherman. May 10, 1865 Jefferson Davis captured in Georgia. June 19, 1865 Slaves in Galveston, Texas, learn for the first time about emancipation. The day continues to be commemorated by many as “Juneteenth.” November 10, 1865 Commandant Henry Wirz of the Andersonville, Georgia, prison camp executed for cruel treatment of U.S. prisoners. December 6, 1865 The Thirteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is ratified, ending slavery throughout the United States. July 9, 1868 The ­Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is ratified, stating in Section 1 that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State ­shall make or enforce any law which ­shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor ­shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due pro­cess of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” February 3, 1870 The Fifteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is ratified, stating that the central and state governments cannot deny the vote to citizens based on “race, color, or previous condition of servitude.”

Documents of the Civil War: Personal Accounts 1  Thomas R. Duncan: A Confederate Account of the Fort Pillow Massacre On April 12, 1864, Confederate general Nathan Bedford Forrest led an attack against Fort Pillow, Tennessee. In the ensuing combat, more than 300 African American soldiers ­were killed. The Fort Pillow Massacre became one of the most



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controversial events of the war. Thomas R. Duncan served with Forrest’s cavalry and provides a Confederate viewpoint. In­de­pen­dent of and c­ ounter to Duncan’s assertions, on numerous battlefields Confederate soldiers killed black soldiers rather than allowing them to surrender. Our army approached Fort Pillow about the 12th of April and drove in the outpost guards, and, ­after a sharp fight with the outside defenders, we forced the ­enemy ­behind the fortifications. The Union Army had a transport boat and one or more gunboats in the river, and could fear no attack from that side of the fort. Our commander, knowing the danger of a direct assault and the heavy loss of life that would be sure to follow, sent in a flag of truce demanding capitulation, making it plain that he had come to capture the fort and assuring the defenders that the terms to be granted would be honorable. He warned them, however, that if his men had to scale the walls of the fort he could not guarantee full protection to the negro soldiers in view of the Southern white man’s strong prejudice against the colored man as a soldier at that period of the war. ­ here have been many wild stories concocted about this fight; but aside from the T outcropping of natu­ral race prejudice, which is dangerous enough ­under normal, peaceful conditions of life and which had been blown to its fiercest flame by the breath of war, t­ here was nothing brutal or savage. Just before our flag of truce went forward, one of our regiments slipped into a ravine just above the fort, where they ­were safe from the ­enemy’s fire and from which position they could enfilade the fort and boat landing. Soon ­after the fight the report was current that this regiment had been moved into position while the flag of truce was being respected. Another story that gained circulation, and that has believers to this day, was to the effect that our command murdered all the occupants of the fort; and that fight in which our army took all the ­hazards of a difficult and dangerous attack was widely called the “massacre of Fort Pillow.” ­ fter the war, a committee composed of Northern men investigated ­these charges A against General Forrest and his command, and, upon all information gathered, the accused w ­ ere, by the decision of the committee, cleared of the charge. In ­every army ­there are bad men, and of such we may expect fiendish conduct when the business of the best of men is to kill. When we fought it out at Fort Pillow and w ­ ere forced to scale the walls and found the negro troops defending the place with death-­dealing weapons in their hands, I am sure that, in the flame of prejudice and passion, ­there ­were some unnecessary killings; but they ­were the exceptions and formed no part of any plan of the Confederate commander. Neither did they reflect the ­will and spirit of the mass of his soldiers. A ­great many of the panic-­stricken negroes ran ­toward the river, and some ­were drowned by jumping into the ­water in an effort to reach the transport, which in alarm was pulling away from the shore. In the stampede ­there w ­ ere many who paid

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no attention when they w ­ ere called upon to halt, and this gave our men the right ­under the rules of war to shoot. Source: Duncan, Thomas D. Recollections of Thomas D. Duncan, A Confederate Soldier. Nashville, TN: McQuiddy Printing Com­pany, 1922, 133–135.

2  Harry Gilmor: Guerrilla Combat in V ­ irginia Small bands of Confederate cavalry, operating as partisan raiders or guerrillas, tied down large numbers of federal troops. With their local knowledge and support from the regional population, the raiders enjoyed frequent small successes. However, as the war progressed, operations on both sides became more brutal. Harry Gilmor was one of the best of the Confederate partisan leaders. Gilmor describes a raid against a Union wagon train that was supporting General David Hunter’s invasion of the Shenandoah Valley in May 1864. At length my scouts informed me that a train was about to leave Martinsburg, consisting of twenty-­two medical wagons of ­great value, guarded by one hundred and seventy-­five cavalry and eighty infantry. I sent word to Moseby that, if he would unite with me, I had no doubt we could capture the train, guard and all, and bring it out to the mountains. I received no answer, and was informed by my scouts that he had moved over to the pine hills near Middletown. I then determined to “try it alone” at all h­ azards. Accordingly, I took position in a thick wood near Bartonsville, and next day, about 2 P.M., my scouts informed me the train was at Winchester, five miles off; they had exchanged shots with their advance, and the train had halted while their cavalry ­were making a reconnaissance [sic]. I kept a sharp look-­out, but they did not come as far as my camp, and very soon the train came in sight, with cavalry in front and rear. ­There was no infantry in sight, but I felt sure they ­were in the wagons, ready to give us a broadside. This somewhat changed my plan of attack, and I concluded to let them pass by and enter Newtown, where I would charge them in the rear, stampede the wagons, and render the infantry useless in the coming fight. When they came abreast of me I moved along parallel with the train, keeping out of sight in the wood ­until the rear guard entered the town, built on each side of the road, a mile long. As soon as the last of the rear guard had entered, I broke cover at a gallop, in column of fours, with my fifty-­three men well closed up, but divided into two squads. I led the foremost, and Captain Burke the other, with ­orders to follow me steadily when I charged, and to act as a reserve in case I should be at first repulsed. I had my “best bower” Kemp with me. For a while they did not see us; not a word was spoken ­until they discovered us coming down at a charge. Then ­every man of us yelled as loud as pos­si­ble, and kept on yelling, for it was the way to stampede the train, which by this time had got to the lower end of the town. The officer in charge of their rear guard behaved coolly, but with no judgment, for he wheeled about, faced us, and formed in sections of eights, and, what is fatal to



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any body of cavalry, received us at a halt. They ­were all carbineers, and stood their ground manfully; but, though our numbers w ­ ere smaller, in the street our front was as wide as theirs, and when we did get among them with our sabres, they gave way on ­every side, retreating across a deep muddy branch, and ­going to the rear of a large h­ ouse of Dr. McLeod, at the extreme end of the town. Two wagons had upset across the bridge, and the rest of them ­were ­going at full speed ­toward Middletown. My ­horse had more devil in him that day than I had ever known, for he got beyond my control, carried me through the wreck of the two wagons, and dashed on a­ fter the rest of the train. With sabre in hand, I could not even turn his head to the right or left. As I passed Dr. McLeod’s, I perceived the rest of the cavalry drawn up, evidently expecting my column to charge by, when they would take us in flank. Twenty shots ­were fired at me, but they ­were so close and so high that they all missed. When they saw that I was alone, they ordered me to surrender, and, thinking I should soon be rescued, I saluted them with my sabre, dropped the point, and told them I would surrender. They ­stopped firing on me, but I did not stop; in fact, I could not. I shouted to them that my h­ orse was r­ unning away. He plunged by them all, and I got two or three sabre-­cuts as I passed on. I called out again that my ­horse was ­r unning away with me, and, as ­these sabre-­cuts did not look much like an ac­cep­tance of my surrender, I passed the ­whole party and got among the wagons, still g­ oing at full speed. ­ ere I made several narrow escapes from being crushed, but pushed on t­ oward the H head of the train. When about half way, a wagon-­master put himself in the track and shot at me; the next instant I cut his ear and half his cheek off, and left him in a fence corner. My ­horse was making for a space between two wagons fast closing together. Having returned my sabre, with a power­f ul effort I turned him just in time to avoid the collision. ­ fter I had thus in some mea­sure checked the speed of my ­horse, I saw a sergeant A jump from a wagon and make for the fence. I drew my revolver, and, being near, had no difficulty in bringing him down. I shot him through the neck, and I am glad to say the ball missed all the arteries, making an ugly but not dangerous wound. I thought his face familiar, and he proved to be a sergeant in Captain Charles Bowen’s com­pany, 18th Connecticut Volunteers, who had often been on guard over me at Fort McHenry, and was always polite and kind. I was sorry for the old man, but it was “no time then to swap jack-­k nives,” and I could not stop to inquire ­after him. I gave him a crippled h­ orse that would travel slowly, and, a­ fter having his wound dressed, sent him back to Martinsburg. He could not sufficiently express his gratitude. All this, of course, occurred afterward. I did not stop at all, but, drawing my sabre, dashed for the head of the train. It was g­ oing at a furious rate, when I ranged up alongside the near leader, and, rising in the stirrups, gave him a hard blow on the crest, just ­behind the head-­strap. This brought him down, and tied up the ­whole team in a knot across the road, with all the rest piled up ­behind them. This done, I plunged in the spurs, cleared the fence on my left into a large open field, and

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hastened back ­toward Newtown to see what the boys ­were ­doing. From a knoll I could see them all—­that the advance party had been driven back, but that Burke was coming in with the reserve. The men all thought me killed or captured; some even saw me fall! I had scarcely reached the knoll when they recognized the gray, and my hat with a long black plume in it, which I waved to beckon them on; but it was unnecessary, for they had already started with a yell, and though the ­enemy stood firm for a time, they ­were forced to yield to the impetuosity of the assault. We had it all our own way. But few of the cavalry ­were caught, their ­horses being so much fresher than ours. We took forty prisoners, including six officers ­going to their commands, and seventy ­horses. The wagons ­were loaded with medicines and commissary stores, and, in fact, ­every ­thing necessary for the establishment of a large field hospital. I burned ­every one of them, and sent the prisoners ­toward the Shenandoah, while I went to Newtown to look a­ fter the wounded. Three Federals ­were killed and seven wounded; among the former, Captain Brett, of the 1st New York Veteran Cavalry. He was shot in the body and thigh, and when I reached him he was still alive, but d­ ying. I asked if I could do any t­ hing for him, but he had already given his last words to Dr. McLeod, to whom I consigned his watch and money, directing him to give them to the first field-­officer who should come along, and take a receipt for them. The receipt is in my possession. He died before I mounted my ­horse, and I left his body in charge of the citizens, who sent it next day to Martinsburg. Willie Gilmor’s ­horse threw him in the fight and got away, but he succeeded in capturing another. General Hunter had issued a circular to the citizens, telling them that if any more trains ­were attacked or pickets captured, he would burn ­every ­house within reach of his cavalry. This seems almost incredible for the nineteenth ­century, but it is nevertheless true, and the printed circular is still in possession of the citizens. He had already burned the parsonage, and Mr.  White’s, and two other ­houses in Newtown. When I rode into town, the p­ eople, although overjoyed at my success, ­were alarmed at the consequences to themselves, and with pallid countenances said, “We s­ hall be h­ ouse­less before to-­morrow night.” This was more than I could bear; so, seizing a pen, I wrote a communication to General Hunter, telling him that I held thirty-­five men and six officers as prisoners; that I would take them to a secure place in the Blue Ridge, and upon receiving intelligence that he had carried out his threat, I would hang ­every one of them, and send their bodies to him in the Valley. And Hunter knew that I would do it. Source: Gilmor, Harry. Four Years in the ­Saddle. New York: Harper & ­Brothers, 1866, 162–167.

3  Charles B. Kimbell: Trench Warfare during the Atlanta Campaign The eldest of three Kimbell ­brothers who served in Battery “A,” 1st Illinois Light Artillery Volunteers, Charles B. Kimbell was 21 years old when he enlisted in 1861.



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By 1864, Kimbell was a veteran accustomed to combat. His battery participated in General William T. Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign. During this campaign, both sides dug trenches for protection. However, ­these breastworks still left soldiers vulnerable to long-­range sniper fire, as the following anecdote relates. On the 30th day of May, 1864, while our Battery was in breastworks ­here, Generals Sherman, McPherson, Logan, Barry and Col. Taylor came to our breastwork to reconnoitre [sic] the ­enemy’s works in our front. Sherman went over by squad one’s gun by himself. McPherson came up and stood at the muzzle of No. 4 gun and raised his field glass, and Logan stood ­behind him, resting his left hand on the cascabel of the gun. Col. Taylor stood directly ­behind Logan’s arm. A sharpshooter fired a bullet ­under McPherson’s arm; it cut a gash in the top of Logan’s arm, and hit Col. Taylor fairly in the left breast. Enoch Colby was one of the first to help carry the Col­o­nel off; McPherson loosened his clothes, and the wound looked very serious. Gen. Sherman, then coming back to where we had laid the Col­o­nel down, asked McPherson if the wound was mortal. McPherson replied that he could not say yet. We afterward learned that the bullet had glanced a rib and went around instead of through. It was ­here that comrade Stiger, of the Battery, was severely wounded by a sharpshooter, while lying on his blanket, which bullet would have prob­ably hit Colby, but for his having changed his position around b­ ehind a large tree about one minute before, for he had been lying not two feet from Stiger and between him and the rebel sharpshooter. Source: Kimbell, Charles B. History of Battery “A”: First Illinois Light Artillery ­Volunteers. Chicago: Cushing Printing Com­pany, 1899, 83–84.

4  Samuel McNeil: An Ohio Veteran at Chickamauga Samuel McNeil served in the 31st Ohio Regiment. His veteran regiment fought at the ­Battle of Chickamauga (September 19–20, 1863). McNeil’s account describes the combat on September 19, 1863. Before we got fires started to make coffee, the brigade moved east of the Lafayette road, some distance and we concluded that Col­o­nel Connell our brigade commander was uncertain about where he should move his command. We heard fireing east or southeast in our front. The 31st Ohio was taken from the brigade and we moved in the direction of the fireing; we piled our knapsacks by companies, leaving one man of each com­pany to guard them. We moved forward some distance and formed on the left of the 10th Kentucky, which was the left regiment of Croxton’s brigade, which had ­really opened the ­battle an hour previous, and had retired a short distance for a fresh supply of ammunition. The woods in our front was full of rebel troops and they ­were driving Starkweathers brigade back t­ oward our line.

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On they came with a howling mob of Confederates at their heels. The ­horses belonging to the Fourth Indiana battery and Loomis’ battery, dashed wildly through the woods. The guns of ­these two batteries had fallen into the hands of the Confederates who had fiercely attacked Starkweather before his lines ­were properly formed. About this time I noticed that the ­faces of the comrades on my right and left ­were somewhat paler than usual; doubtless if I could have had one glance in a mirror just then, the absence of youthful bloom on my own face would have surprised me. An Officer came ­r unning back, he was thoroughly demoralized. A comrade near me brought his gun down and threatened to punch him if he did not halt and try to reform his men who ­were r­ unning over us. The officer pushed aside the gun and went over us like a jack rabbit ­r unning from a greyhound. We had been in active ser­vice about two years and had been ­under fire many times, but it was a most trying experience to lay flat in the woods, southeast of the Kelly field, while a disor­ga­nized mass of our own soldiers went pell-­mell over us, with an irregular line of Confederates shoot and yelling at their heels. The men in gray halted at a respectful distance in our front. The last bunch of our men had passed over to the rear, when at a signal our line raised up and poured a volley into the line of Confederates, which scattered ­those “Johnnies” and sent them back in the direction of Jay’s Mill, with our line close at their heels. We pushed them southeast past the 4th Indiana Battery which they had taken from Starkweather within the hour previous to the time we got into the fight. A detail of men u­ nder Capt. Bill F ­ ree hauled the guns and cassions [sic] back in the direction of Kelly’s field; not a sound ­horse of the entire battery was within sight. The 31st reformed its line of ­battle, moved to the right and joined again the left of the 10th Ky. who greeted us with, “bully for the “31st” Ohio.” ­Here we checked another charge of the ­enemy and followed them to a point within gunshot of Jays Mill.—­That position is marked by a marble tablet which stands north of Jays Mill and Brotherton road— While at that advanced position a heavy force of the Confederates came up in our front and reached beyond our left. The Johnnies began to shoot down our line from left to right and we ­were ordered to retire slowly; while the ­enemy followed with their boasted rebel yell. It was ­here that the men of the rank and file displayed the splended qualities of the American Soldier. In our efforts to delay the advancing lines of grey, I recall the fact that ­every boy in that retreating line of blue was a hero. Four or five hours of close work had fanned the timid fellows out of the line, and they ­were drifting somewhere in the rear. We loaded our Springfields as we walked back, then turning about fired into the ­faces of our foes, I venture to say that most of our shots knocked the dust out of some part of a grey uniform. In spite of their longer line which overlaped [sic] our left, we made that retreat of ours an expensive advance for Braggs men. While loading for another shot at the Johnnies



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we almost bumped up against a line of our troops who had been sent in to take charge of the fellows who w ­ ere crowding us back to the north west. ­ hose fresh troops that relieved our depleted line ­were the finest appearing solT diers I had ever met. Perhaps the knowledge that we had “bit off more than we could chew” and the rapid decrease of weight of our cartridge boxes added to the appearances of the line of fresh troops, who gave the johnnies a rattling volley of minie ball, then drove them back in the direction of Jays Mill. Only ­those who have been ­there can fully realize my condition when the regiment, (what was left of it) marched back ­toward the Lafayette road, replenished our cartridge boxes and stretched out on the ground for a brief rest. To use the slang of to day, “I was all in.” Source: McNeil, S. A. Personal Recollections of Ser­vice in the Army of the Cumberland and Sherman’s Army. N.p.: The Author, 1910, 8–12.

5  James M. Stone: A Mas­sa­chu­setts Soldier at the ­Battle of Antietam Massachusetts-­born James M. Stone served in the 21st Mas­sa­chu­setts Regiment. Stone’s regiment participated in the 1862 Mary­land Campaign and was involved in the September 14, 1862, ­Battle of South Mountain and the pivotal September 17 ­Battle of Antietam. Stone’s account ends with a mention of the war’s most famous female nurse, Clara Barton. As we marched along that after­noon we saw two Johnnies hanging from the branch of a tree in a pasture a few rods from the road. They had been executed for foraging by Stonewall Jackson’s ­orders. ­Toward night we went into camp near Middletown. September 14. We remained in camp ­until after­noon. Artillery firing was heard off on the mountain late in the forenoon. About two ­o’clock we started for the front. As we approached the active part of the field we had an opportunity to see what a field hospital was like during an engagement. We ­were almost up to the firing line ­going in, when we came to a ­little elevation. ­Behind that hill a field hospital had been established. The wounded ­were lying t­ here in large numbers and ­others ­were being constantly brought in. The surgeons ­were at work taking care of the wounded, examining, binding up, operating, ­etc. Near the ­tables I saw a pile of arms, hands, legs, feet, ­etc., which had been amputated. The bullets ­were coming over ­there pretty thick but they ­were nothing compared to the sights and sounds seen and heard in that field hospital. It was the first field hospital I had ever seen; I never saw one afterwards, and I thank God for that. We ­were halted ­there beside it for a minute or two, other­wise we should not have had so good a view of it. When the order came to go forward, I for one, was glad, and I think ­every man in the com­pany was glad. ­Every man in the com­pany I think, preferred to face bullets at the front and at short range, rather than stay back ­there, partially covered, ­under ­those

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conditions. During the one or two minutes we halted ­there, a l­ ittle Michigan drummer boy was brought in. He was a manly l­ittle fellow, a l­ittle chap not more than fourteen or fifteen years old. One of his legs had been badly wounded. One of the boys asked him how it was ­going out at the front. He raised himself up on one elbow and said: “Well, the 17th is behaving very well.” The 17th (17th Michigan) made its reputation that day as a fighting regiment. When we got up to the fighting line the Johnnies ­were falling back and we simply followed them up clear to the top of the range, and by six ­o’clock they had apparently withdrawn from our front. The fight in our part of the field was then over and our brigade was resting in a field at the top of the range in Foxes’ Gap. The road we ­were following over the range passed along on the right side of the field in which the brigade was resting. At the lower right corner the road made a right a­ ngle, turning to the left, passed along ­behind an old stone wall directly in front of us, at the lower edge of the field for a few rods, then turned to the right and went off down the west side of the mountain. We had been resting ­there only a few minutes when we ­were opened fire on by some Johnnies from b­ ehind the wall in front of us. They w ­ ere evidently a com­ pany of sharp-­shooters, who in their retreat had turned back, determined to look for an opportunity to get a crack at us. They had evidently come up that road ­until they reached the turn, t­here they formed themselves along b­ ehind the wall at the lower edge of the field, and opened fire. General Reno, his staff, and two or three ­others officers ­were sitting on their ­horses just to the rear of the brigade, which was massed ­there by regiment. General Reno was hit at that time and in that way, and died about eleven ­o’clock that night. ­There ­were not more than thirty or forty shots fired. A regiment back to the rear in a place where it could be handled better than we could in our massed state, moved around on to the Johnnies’ right flank and opened fire on them, killing and wounding a number, and the rest retreated. . . . About noon we ­were ordered in to take the Stone Bridge. Other troops had been hammering away at it for some hours but without success. We ­were moved down ­toward the river and opened fire on the Johnnies across a narrow valley on the other side. As we moved forward we came in sight of the bridge and the stream just below us. We stayed t­ here in the open on the side hill sloping down t­ oward the river quite a while, firing away. A ­ fter a while we saw the fire of the Johnnies was slackening. Then we heard some troops down to our left cheering. From their position they could see the Johnnies ­were retreating better than we could. But as soon as we saw they ­were starting, we started too, and being much nearer we ­were easily the first to reach it. We crossed the bridge, turned to the right and marched up a l­ittle way and halted to wait for ammunition, we having only a few rounds left. For a while troops came across the bridge and poured past us by the thousand. ­After a while we moved up on to the high ground opposite the bridge. A dead Johnny, a sergeant was lying ­there on the ground. Harry Aldrich turned him over and got his portemonnaie out of his pocket. He opened it and found done up in a ­little piece of paper a number of five dollar gold pieces. A ­little ­later I came upon a man lying dead



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holding in his hand a photo­graph of a group of c­ hildren. He had evidently found himself mortally wounded, had thought of his ­family at home and had taken that picture from his pocket to take a last look at the likeness of ­those he loved so dearly and had died with the picture in his hand. T ­ oward night we advanced t­ oward Sharpsburg and took a position on the brow of a ridge facing the high hill where Lee had his reserve artillery massed, and t­here we stayed u­ ntil well into the eve­ning. We soon fired away all but one of our cartridges, retaining that one against an emergency. The Confederate infantry was ­behind a stone wall part way down the hill from the artillery. One of the Johnnies killed ­behind that wall had my knapsack on his back. He had found it in the ­little grove beside the road near the Henry House Hill on the Bull Run battlefield, and carried it into Mary­land. The knapsack was found and identified by the man who painted the initials of my name, com­pany, regiment and state on the side of it. He was a Com­pany K man who was detailed in the hospital department. He found it in ­going over the field gathering up the wounded and burying the dead a­ fter the b­ attle. It was t­here on that ridge that Lieutenant Holbrook was killed. He was knocked all to pieces by a cannon ball fired from one of the guns on the top of the hill. He lay about eight or ten feet to my right at the time. A regiment came up during the after­noon and took up a position on our left and stayed ­there ­until they had fired away all their ammunition and then, without regard to us or to holding the line, retired. We had been ordered to hold that position ­until dark, ammunition or no ammunition, and we stayed ­there ­until well into the eve­ ning. We lost forty-­five of the one hundred and fifty men of the regiment in that fight. ­After nightfall we withdrew, went down to the vicinity of the bridge, had coffee, and ­were supplied with ammunition. During the eve­ning an incident occurred, the effect of which was to last a long time. It was ­after we had drank our coffee and had received our ammunition late in the eve­ning. An army nurse asked some of the boys to go with her and assist in getting some wounded men who ­were near some ­houses outside our picket line up along the Sharpsburg Road. The boys went, brought in the wounded men and took them to a hospital nearby, no one getting hit, although they did draw the Rebel fire. The work being finished and having been done in so fine a spirit, the nurse wished to know who the men ­were, and where they came from. Learning they ­were Mas­sa­ chu­setts men and from her own Worcester County, she was quite affected and revealed her own identity—­Clara Barton of Oxford. Source: Stone, James M. Personal Recollections of the Civil War. Boston: The Author, 1918, 85–88, 90–93.

6  Sam R. Watkins: The ­Battle of Kennesaw Mountain When the war began, Tennessee-­born Sam R. Watkins enlisted in a Tennessee regiment in the Confederate Army. Watkins fought in most of the war’s g­ reat western

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b­ attles. The ­Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, June 27, 1864, which Watkins recalls as the “Dead ­Angle,” remained forever seared in his memory. The First and Twenty-­seventh Tennessee Regiments ­will ever remember the b­ attle of “Dead A ­ ngle,” which was fought June 27th, on the Kennesaw line, near Marietta, Georgia. It was one of the hottest and longest days of the year, and one of the most desperate and determinedly resisted b­ attles fought during the w ­ hole war. Our regiment was stationed on an ­angle, a ­little spur of the mountain, or rather promontory of a range of hills, extending far out beyond the main line of b­ attle, and was subject to the enfilading fire of forty pieces of artillery of the Federal batteries. It seemed fun for the guns of the ­whole Yankee army to play upon this point. We would work hard ­every night to strengthen our breastworks, and the very next day they would be torn down smooth with the ground by solid shots and shells from the guns of the ­enemy. Even the ­little trees and bushes which had been left for shade, ­were cut down as so much stubble. For more than a week this constant firing had been kept up against this salient point. In the meantime, the skirmishing in the valley below resembled the sounds made by ten thousand wood-­choppers. Well, on the fatal morning of June 27th, the sun r­ ose clear and cloudless, the heavens seemed made of brass, and the earth of iron, and as the sun began to mount ­toward the zenith, every­thing became quiet, and no sound was heard save a pecker-­ wood on a neighboring tree, tapping on its old trunk, trying to find a worm for his dinner. We all knew it was but the dead calm that precedes the storm. On the distant hills we could plainly see officers dashing about hither and thither, and the Stars and Stripes moving to and fro, and we knew the Federals ­were making preparations for the mighty contest. We could hear but the rumbling sound of heavy guns, and the distant tread of a marching army, as a faint roar of the coming storm, which was soon to break the ominous silence with the sound of conflict, such as was scarcely ever before heard on this earth. It seemed that the arch-­angel of Death stood and looked on with outstretched wings, while all the earth was ­silent, when all at once a hundred guns from the Federal line opened upon us, and for more than an hour they poured their solid and chain shot grape and shrapnel right upon this salient point, defended by our regiment alone, when, all of a sudden, our pickets jumped into our works and reported the Yankees advancing, and almost at the same time a solid line of blue coats came up the hill. I discharged my gun, and happening to look up, ­there was the beautiful flag of the Stars and Stripes flaunting right in my face, and I heard John Branch, of the Rock City Guards, commanded by Captain W. D. Kelly, who ­were next Com­pany H, say, “Look at that Yankee flag; shoot that fellow; snatch that flag out of his hand!” My pen is unable to describe the scene of carnage and death that ensued in the next two hours. Column ­after column of Federal soldiers w ­ ere crowded upon that line, and by referring to the history of the war you ­will find they ­were massed in column forty columns deep; in fact, the ­whole force of the Yankee army was hurled against this point, but, no sooner would a regiment mount our works than they ­were shot down or surrendered, and soon we had ­every “gopher hole” full of Yankee prisoners. Yet still the Yankees came. It seemed impossible to check the onslaught, but ­every man was



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true to his trust, and seemed to think that at that moment the ­whole responsibility of the Confederate government was rested upon his shoulders. Talk about other ­battles, victories, shouts, cheers, and triumphs, but in comparison with this day’s fight, all ­others dwarf into insignificance. The sun beaming down on our uncovered heads, the thermometer being one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, and a solid line of blazing fire right from the muzzles of the Yankee guns being poured right into our very ­faces, singeing our hair and clothes, the hot blood of our dead and wounded spurting on us, the blinding smoke and stifling atmosphere filling our eyes and mouths, and the awful concussion causing the blood to gush out of our noses and ears, and above all, the roar of b­ attle, made it a perfect pandemonium. Afterward I heard a soldier express himself by saying that he thought “Hell had broke loose in Georgia, sure enough.” I have heard men say that if they ever killed a Yankee during the war they ­were not aware of it. I am satisfied that on this memorable day, ­every man in our regiment killed from one score to four score, yea, five score men. I mean from twenty to one hundred each. All that was necessary was to load and shoot. In fact, I ­will ever think that the reason they did not capture our works was the impossibility of their living men passing over the bodies of their dead. The ground was piled up with one solid mass of dead and wounded Yankees. I learned afterwards from the burying squad that in some places they ­were piled up like cord wood, twelve deep. ­ fter they ­were time and time again beaten back, they at last ­were enabled to forA tify a line ­under the crest of the hill, only thirty yards from us, and they immediately commenced to excavate the earth with the purpose of blowing up our line. We remained ­here three days ­after the ­battle. In the meantime the woods had taken fire, and during the nights and days of all that time continued to burn, and at all times, ­every hour of day and night, you could hear the shrieks and screams of the poor fellows who ­were left on the field, and a stench, so sickening as to nauseate the ­whole of both armies, arose from the decaying bodies of the dead left lying on the field. On the third morning the Yankees raised a white flag, asking an armistice to bury their dead, not for any re­spect ­either army had for the dead, but to get rid of the sickening stench. I get sick now when I happen to think about it. Long and deep trenches ­were dug, and hooks made from bayonets crooked for the purpose, and all the dead ­were dragged and thrown pell mell into t­hese trenches. Nothing was allowed to be taken off the dead, and finely dressed officers, with gold watch chains dangling over their vests, w ­ ere thrown into the ditches. During the w ­ hole day both armies ­were hard at work, burying the Federal dead. ­ very member of the First and Twenty-­seventh Tennessee Regiments deserves a E wreath of imperishable fame, and a warm place in the hearts of their countrymen, for their gallant and heroic valor at the ­battle of Dead ­Angle. No man distinguished himself above another. All did their duty, and the glory of one is but the glory and just tribute of the ­others. Source: Watkins, Sam. Co. Aytch. Chattanooga, TN: Times Printing Co., 1900, 135–138.

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7  William A. Fletcher: A Rebel Private at the Seven Days ­Battles Louisiana-­born William A. Fletcher was a private in the 5th Texas Infantry, one of the regiments that composed General John Bell Hood’s famous Texas Brigade. The brigade achieved renown during the Seven Days’ Campaign (June 25–­July 1, 1862), which was fought outside of Richmond, ­Virginia. The next morning we w ­ ere in line by the time one could see, and moving to the front. I soon saw that we ­were the reserve, which is a dreaded position when kept up for you ­will hear the roar of the battling front; see the wounded ­going and being carried to the rear; and if advancing, as we w ­ ere in this instance, passing the dead and ­dying, and being exposed to shell, or grape, or cannister shot; moving, standing or lying down, it is all the same—­one may be shot down and not so much as raise a hand in self defense; and as one has ample time for reflection, they can well feel the seriousness of the surroundings with all its horrors and to see the ­little regard for h­ uman life and property so victory and the lauding of a few can be attained. As a man becomes more aged and has bettered his reasoning, the clearer insight he has to the ­great danger of unreasoned public agitation. Along in the turn of the eve­ning the ­battle was raging and from the roar to our right, it seemed to be a general engagement. The reserve, as far as I could see, was keeping close up to the ­battle front. As our column was moving to the right ­there w ­ ere two men in front of me of Com­pany “F” who had become terror stricken and ­were retarding the quick time close-up move that we ­were making. They could not stand erect or move with a courageous bearing, but ­were dodging and stooping, which often caused an unnecessary gap. This caused me several times to speak harshly to them. I well remember my last words to them, which ­were: “Boys, straighten up; you are giving them damned Yankees two chances by stooping, as a shell that would pass in front without injury would cut your heads off, bent as you are.” The words had not been uttered many seconds when a cannon ball had struck each near the shoulder and tore the bodies badly. Com­pany “F” near this point was detached from the column and moved to the left as flankers. The reserve was soon thrown into action, relieving ­those who had been battling for some time at a hard contested point. When Hood’s Brigade went into action, they raised the Texas yell, and the “F” boys full well knew its meaning was “charge.” Captain O’Brien kept Com­pany “F” to the left a few hundred yards and advanced, as sound indicated, so as to retard or report flank movement if attempted by the ­enemy. Our pro­gress at times was slow as we ­were in a piece of woodland that had suffered greatly from cannonading, and t­here w ­ ere places we had to surround on account of fallen brush which showed it had been a point of note for field artillery. In this timber I suppose was the ­enemy’s right, as our forces in ­going in, cut off a regiment. This regiment had a curious position or alignment to me that I did not understand at the time, nor since—­why a line of ­battle should be formed with a detached regiment at right ­angles and apparently giving no heed to the giving to the rear of their b­ attle line. While Com­pany “F” was moving rapidly in quite



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a depression, the bullets ­were coming thick and fast, but no ­enemy in sight. The com­pany was ordered to lay down and I was ordered to investigate. From the firing where the com­pany was situated, I was satisfied the e­ nemy was firing at right oblique. I went forward so as to flank them, and looking to my right I saw two of our soldiers ­going quick time to the front of ­enemy’s lines. The idea that flashed through my mind was, that they w ­ ere poor in woodcraft or they would not have so exposed themselves. My idea of the ­enemy’s position proved correct, for when I reached the top of the elevation, to my right, I saw their line, and as I saw nothing to prevent and the conditions favorable for a close inspection, I cautiously but quickly made the move so I was a ­little to the rear and about one hundred yards from their right flank. Taking in the situation quickly, I started to raise my gun to shoot the col­o­nel, as he was on the right of the column; but as shooting only in self-­defense would have been advised on a reporting mission, I turned, ­r unning, and had well struck down grade before I was observed. Being on down grade I felt reasonably safe while I kept up my speed, for I well knew that in favorable conditions a large percentage of the bullets would pass over. I came near falling twice on my plunge downward, as I was nearly tripped up by fallen limbs; and it seemed that the ­whole line was obliquely firing in my direction. When I reached the point where I had left the com­pany I saw that they w ­ ere gone, or I had headed wrong; so I jumped ­behind a tree for protection and scanned the surroundings for the com­ pany, and not seeing them, was satisfied that they had moved; so I moved on at quick time in the supposed direction of the com­pany’s travel. This I was correct in, for ­after I had gone some distance double-­quicking, I ran onto our orderly sergeant. I asked where the com­pany was and he said they ­were mostly ahead, but badly scattered. We ­were then passing near a tented commissary department, which, from appearances, was well stocked with food. Just then to the right and two or three hundred yards ahead, I saw our line forming and directly to my right about seventy-­five yards I saw a tall “Yankee” well bent in a long trot, and passing through the tented ground, in an effort, I suppose, to escape. I said, as I raised my gun, “Look, sergeant,” and the words ­were not more than said when I fired—­the man dropped his gun, staggered to the right and fell. The sergeant said, “You got him,” and I remarked that he had quit his gun, at least. At this time firing had about ceased on the extreme left of Lee and right of McClellan. The density of the smoke a few feet above the earth was so g­ reat that it obscured the sun. When I reached the forming line I saw what the Texas Brigade had done, for only a short distance to the front was what was once one of the ­enemy’s batteries, and if memory serves me right, t­here w ­ ere six pieces. Just as I reached my forming com­pany, the regiment that I have mentioned came ­r unning in without order and shooting some; and a man by the name of “Wood” of “F,” fell mortally wounded, being shot in the back. The boys about faced and some of them fired. This caused the ­enemy to well understand their condition and they surrendered. The col­o­nel of the ­enemy’s regiment and the 5th Regiment, lieutenant, Col­o­nel Upton, I learned, ­were schoolmates. The Yankee col­o­nel felt abused for the rude and unmilitary way he had to surrender, as a private soldier disarmed him, and he felt humiliated. I was told that when he and Upton met he complained of his abuses of not being allowed to turn his arms over to an officer. Upton replied: “You did the right ­thing,” for his men understood war

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to be kill or capture, and understood capture was not complete ­until the ­enemy was disarmed; and they recognized no difference between private or officer. Source: Fletcher, William A. Rebel Private: Front and Rear. Beaumont, TX: Press of the Greer Print, 1908, 27–30.

8  William A. Fletcher: The Texas Brigade at Chickamauga Louisiana-­born William A. Fletcher was a private in the 5th Texas Infantry, one of the regiments that composed General John Bell Hood’s famous Texas Brigade. By the time he entered the ­Battle of Chickamauga (September 19–20, 1863), Fletcher was a hardened combat veteran. From this point I ­will take the reader to Chickamauga. It was reported that Longstreet’s corps was reinforcing Johnson. When we left the train we ­were marched a few miles and thrown in line of b­ attle and forward no g­ reat distance u­ ntil we w ­ ere near the ­enemy and ­were ordered to lie down. While lying ­here, to our right the ­battle was raging and a few bullets being sent from our front that w ­ ere coming uncomfortably close, u­ nder the ner­vous strain. I fell asleep as I had often done before, ­under like conditions, and ­there was, from what I could learn, a small percentage who would take the same. Sleep always has a quieting effect, if only for a few minutes, and I have often remarked that if a fellow wanted a fight out of me, I would advise him not to wake me up to get it, for I would be cocked and primed for the fray. I was shaken and ordered to rise, for just then the ­enemy raised a yell and charged, throwing a hail of bullets our way. We ­were ordered to charge, so we plunged forward with a yell, firing as we went. When near, the ­enemy broke and with but ­little effort at returning fire, so ­things ­were ­going fast our way. A short distance to the ­enemy’s rear where they started the charge, was a high well-­built worm rail fence, and as I suppose it was the least of their thoughts of having to return that way, or they would have had it torn down to clear their rear. At this point we ­were crowding them so close that they had no time to push down the fence or to climb it. My position in line put the corner of the fence about fifty yards to the left in passing to the front and about sixty yards from the corner stood a ­house about ten feet from the fence; and on the opposite end of the ­house was a dirt chimney This I would pass near, ­going to the front. The e­ nemy who ­were to my front and right ­were ­r unning over a hundred yards off. A ­great number of the ­enemy who ­were ­r unning down the fence and turning the corner attracted my attention from my immediate front. Between the ­house and fence ­there was a block that extended nearly back to the corner of the fence—­a ­great majority of them w ­ ere in a pushing motion and jammed and at close range. I got two shots and thought— oh, for a shotgun loaded with buck shot! I saw I could not get loaded in time to get a third shot before the jamb would be broken, so I struck a long trot and was loading to get a shot just as I would clear the far corner of the ­house. I was passing the end of the ­house about twenty feet to my left when something struck my left foot as I had it up and thrown forward. As I came down on it I fell forward, striking the



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edge of the hole that was made in removing dirt for the chimney; so in rolling into the hole I landed on my back, stretched full length. Instantly I saw I was well protected, and from sounds, I supposed a piece of flying shell had hit hard enough to trip me. ­There had been no pain up to this time, so the idea struck me that I was not wounded and had a coward’s position, and I was liable to be seen in it. I raised my head to get up, and as I cast my eyes to my feet, I saw the leather on the left shoe torn near center on inside. I turned my foot and saw rent on the outside near the heel, I quickly removed the shoe and found I had a bad foot wound made by a bullet. The hole, when lying down, was all one could wish to protect; but fear of capture put me at once hopping. As I was passing back about seventy-­five yards, I was near an oak tree about twenty inches in dia­meter; ­there was a wounded Yank sitting down, leaning against it. This gave him protection from the bullets of his own men. Pain ­here struck me and I felt faint, so with a hop or two I was at the Yank’s side, and as ­there was not room enough for two, I gave him a shove, saying: “The day is ours.” He fell over in a doubled position on his side, made no attempt to move, but was groaning. I was not more than well seated with back resting against the tree, when the sound of volley firing rang out and bullets flying thick, and the Texas yell raised. I knew our boys ­were charging reserve. I instantly threw myself far enough around the tree to see the front. T ­ here w ­ ere our boys charging in scattered ­battle line and the ­enemy firing from solid column. I knew the ­enemy ­were ­doing but ­little harm as their bullets ­were flying high, but I thought discretion was the better part of valor and that I would hop on; so I started and would become blind and fall about ­every hundred feet, but had no more than hit the ground full length before I was scrambling up and off. This falling continued for some distance, but all the time I had an eye for a dead Yankee to prowl; so I soon was near one and ­stopped, kneeling and went through him, as it was called. He was a poor corpse and it was a poor haul—­his knapsack was good but was light and as I did not have time to make an honorable exchange, I had it off and on my shoulders, over mine, in quick time. I picked up a gun and tried to use as a crutch, but soon dropped it, as I found I could make faster time hopping and speed was what I was ­after. I struck a “hide-­out” and he offered help. I told him he should be at the front; that I was making good time. He said he was ­going no further; and I said: “You can help me then, and in that way be ­doing something for your country.” He was quickly by my side and I was resting my hand on his shoulder but saw it retarded my speed. I became blinded and fell. He helped me up, asking if I was shot again. I replied: “No, and ­will not need your ser­vices.” Our reserve was standing just in front. He pushed on through, a few yards ahead of me; was asked how the front was, and replied that they ­were killing lots of our men. As I came up, they opened ranks and let me through, asking me how the front was. I replied: “We are giving them hell, boys.” ­There was a chorus of voices: “He has been ­there, you bet,” and such like. A few hundred yards to the rear of the reserve I found an ambulance. This was my second wound and I never got aid from litter b­ earers and only saw the two mentioned at Manassas, so I guess I always got out early in the game. At an opportune time I examined my knapsack, found several well written sweet letters and from the wording, that fellow sure had some sweet girl stuck on him for she was anticipating a happy meeting and fulfillment of vows, when the “Rebs”

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­ ere whipped and the cruel war was over. Letters did not arouse any sympathy in w me, nor have I felt one pang of regret for being a party to breaking up that match. She wanted me whipped—­she got that; I wanted dead Yankees—­I got that. So both at least got part of their wants satisfied. Source: Fletcher, William A. Rebel Private: Front and Rear. Beaumont, TX: Press of the Greer Print, 1908, 89–92.

NOTES   1. Louis P. Masur, The Civil War: A Concise History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 33.   2. Robert Hunt Rhodes, ed., All for the Union: The Civil War Diary and Letters of Elisha Hunt Rhodes (New York: Vintage Books, 1985), 3–4.   3. Dorothy Denneen Volo and James M. Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca. 2nd ed. (Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood Press, 2009), 121.   4. Michael Thomas Smith, “The Most Desperate Scoundrels Unhung: Bounty Jumpers and Recruitment Fraud in the Civil War North,” American Nineteenth ­Century History 6, no. 2 (June 2005): 151.   5. Volo and Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca, 83.   6. For more on how and why men joined the army, see Stephen E. Woodworth, ed., The Loyal, True, and Brave: Amer­i­ca’s Civil War Soldiers (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002), 1–23.   7. William Joseph Hardee, Hardee’s ­Rifle and Light Infantry Tactics (Memphis: E. C. Kirk & Co., 1861).   8. Paul A. Cimbala, The Civil War, Daily Life Through History Series on American Soldiers’ Lives (Westport, CN: Greenwood Press, 2008), 83.   9. Edmund S. Morgan, American Slavery, American Freedom: The Ordeal of Colonial ­Virginia (New York: W. W. Norton, 1975), 293–387. 10. Ulysses S. Grant, Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant (New York: Penguin Books, 1999; originally published in two volumes in 1885 and 1886), 20. 11. Emil Rosenblatt and Ruth Rosenblatt, eds., Hard Marching E ­ very Day: The Civil War Letters of Private Wilbur Fisk, 1861–1865 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1983), 57. 12. Cimbala, The Civil War, 59. 13. Cimbala, The Civil War, 46. 14. Rosenblatt and Rosenblatt, Hard Marching E ­ very Day, 29. 15. Cimbala, The Civil War, 67. 16. See Ian Michael Spurgeon, Soldiers in the Army of Freedom: The 1st Kansas Colored, The Civil War’s First African American Combat Unit (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2014). 17. For example, see Mark K. Christ, “ ‘They ­Will Be Armed’: Lorenzo Thomas Recruits Black Troops in Helena, April  6, 1863,” Arkansas Historical Quarterly 72 (2013): 366–83. 18. For more on Fort Wagner, see Dudley Taylor Cornish, The Sable Arm: Negro Troops in the Union Army, 1861–1865 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 132–56, 187–91, 240–61. 19. Cimbala, The Civil War, 68. 20. Charles B. Dew, Apostles of Disunion: Southern Secession Commissioners and the ­Causes of the Civil War (Charlottesville: University of V ­ irginia Press, 2001), 4–21, 74–81. 21. Cimbala, The Civil War, 70.



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22. Cimbala, The Civil War, 63. 23. For an example of someone commissioned in order to convince men from his state to support the war effort, see Christopher R. Mortenson, Politician in Uniform: General Lew Wallace and the Civil War (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2019), 3–8. 24. James M. McPherson, Abraham Lincoln and the Second American Revolution (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 70–71. 25. Cimbala, The Civil War, 65. 26. Cimbala, The Civil War, 66. 27. For example, see Tom DeBlack, “The War within the War: The Cherokees and the Civil War in Arkansas,” Pope County Historical Quarterly 46 (2012): 6–14. 28. Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War (New York: Vintage Books, 2008), 12–13. 29. Elizabeth D. Leonard, All the Daring of the Soldier: W ­ omen of the Civil War Armies (New York: Penguin Books, 1999), 165–225. Also see DeAnne Blanton and Lauren M. Cook, They Fought Like Demons: ­Women Soldiers in the American Civil War (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2002), 1–7, 205–10. 30. Leonard, All the Daring of the Soldier, 21–97. 31. For examples see the Carded Medical Rec­ords—­Volunteers—­Nebraska, Entry 534, Boxes 1728 and 1729, Rec­ord Group 94, National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, Washington, D.C. 32. Isaac Alexander to ­Mother & ­Sisters, near Tupelo, Mississippi, June 27, 1862, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. 33. John D. Billings, Hardtack & Coffee: The Unwritten Story of Army Life (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1993; reprint of the original 1887 edition), 113–15. 34. For example, see James M. McPherson, ­Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 342–44. 35. Reid Mitchell, The Vacant Chair: The Northern Soldier Leaves Home (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 90–91. 36. For examples see the Carded Medical Rec­ords—­Volunteers—­Nebraska, Entry 534, Boxes 1728 and 1729, Rec­ord Group 94, National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, Washington, D.C. 37. Isaac Alexander to ­Mother & ­Sisters, near Tupelo, Mississippi, June 27, 1862, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. 38. Isaac Alexander to ­Mother & ­Sisters, near Tupelo, Mississippi, June 27, 1862, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Steven E. Woodworth discusses the views of southern soldiers during the early war in While God Is Marching On: The Religious World of Civil War Soldiers (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001), 117–44. 39. Rhodes, All for the Union, 52. 40. Cimbala, The Civil War, 110. 41. James M. McPherson, For Cause & Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 90–178. 42. Jonathan W. White, Emancipation, the Union Army, and the Reelection of Abraham Lincoln (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2014), 6, 112, 115–16, 120, 153. 43. Sam R. Watkins, “Co. Aytch”: A Confederate Soldier’s Memoirs, with a new introduction by Roy P. Basler (New York: Collier Books, 1962), 195. 44. James I. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988), 10, 78–79. 45. Billings, Hardtack & Coffee, 97–98. 46. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 78–79. 47. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 94–95, 98.

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48. Cimbala, The Civil War, 118, 207. 49. Paddy Griffith, ­Battle Tactics of the Civil War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989), 73–74. 50. Russell F. Weigley, A ­Great Civil War: A Military and Po­liti­cal History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000), 33. 51. For the well-­argued minority view, see Earl Hess, Civil War Infantry Tactics: Training, Combat, and Small-­Unit Effectiveness (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2015), xi–­xxii, 239–42. Also see Hess’ The R ­ ifle Musket in Civil War Combat: Real­ ity and Myth (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008), 1–8. 52. Rosenblatt and Rosenblatt, Hard Marching E ­ very Day, 225–26. 53. Cimbala, The Civil War, 145. 54. Cimbala, The Civil War, 153–54. 55. Watkins, “Co. Aytch,” 105–06. 56. Cimbala, The Civil War, 159–60. 57. Cimbala, The Civil War, 158–59. 58. Cimbala, The Civil War, 161–64. 59. Cimbala, The Civil War, 160–61. 60. Rosenblatt and Rosenblatt, Hard Marching E ­ very Day, 226. 61. For more, see Daniel E. Sutherland, A Savage Conflict: The Decisive Role of Guerrillas in the American Civil War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), ix–­xiii. 62. Mark M. Boatner III, The Civil War Dictionary: Revised Edition (New York: David McKay, 1988), 246. 63. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 156. 64. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 147; emphasis in the original. 65. Diary of James E. Green, May 24, 1863, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. 66. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 148. 67. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 153. 68. Again, see the Carded Medical Rec­ords—­Volunteers—­Nebraska, Entry 534, Boxes 1728 and 1729, Rec­ord Group 94, National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, Washington, D.C. 69. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 155. 70. Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 160. 71. Cimbala, The Civil War, 176–81. Also see Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 162–64. 72. Ira Rutkow, Bleeding Blue and Gray: Civil War Surgery and the Evolution of American Medicine (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2005), 118. 73. E. Anne Butler to son Scot Butler, June 12, 1864, in Affectionately Yours: The Civil War Home-­Front Letters of the Ovid Butler ­Family, ed. Barbara Butler Davis (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Society Press, 2004), 86. 74. Cimbala, The Civil War, 176–81. Also see Robertson Jr., Soldiers Blue and Gray, 162–64; and Michael W. Schaefer, “ ‘­Really, Though, I’m Fine’: Civil War Veterans and the Psychological Aftereffects of Killing,” in The Civil War in Popu­lar Culture: Memory and Meaning, ed. Lawrence A. Kreisler Jr. and Randal Allred (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2014), 11–23. 75. Benjamin G. Cloyd, Haunted by Atrocity: Civil War Prisons in American Memory (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2010), 1. 76. Paul J. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 85. 77. Cloyd, Haunted by Atrocity, 7. 78. Lew Wallace, An Autobiography (New York: Harper & ­Brothers, 1906), 629–30.



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  79. Cloyd, Haunted by Atrocity, 11.   80. Cloyd, Haunted by Atrocity, 27.   81. James M. Gillispie, Andersonvilles of the North: The Myths and Realities of Northern Treatment of Civil War Confederate Prisoners (Denton: University of North Texas Press, 2008), 1–5, 244–46.   82. Diary of Francis A. Boyle, June 28, 1864, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.   83. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives, 96.   84. Andrew F. Sperry, History of the 33d Iowa Infantry Volunteer Regiment (Des Moines: Mills, 1866), 64–66.   85. Diary of James A. Congleton, January 10, 1865, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.   86. Stephen Ash, When the Yankees Came: Conflict and Chaos in the Occupied South, 1861–1865 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 38–75. Also see Volo and Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca, 346.   87. Volo and Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca, 347.   88. Sally G. McMillen, Southern ­Women: Black and White in the Old South. 3rd ed. (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Blackwell, 2018), 235–37.   89. Volo and Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca, 348.   90. Volo and Volo, Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca, 351–55.   91. For more, see Sutherland, A Savage Conflict, ix–­xiii.   92. Ash, When the Yankees Came, 1–7, 170–94.   93. Faust, This Republic of Suffering, 255–56.   94. Thomas J. Brown, The Public Art of Civil War Commemoration: A Brief History with Documents (Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2004), 94.   95. Steven J. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand: Discipline in the Union Army (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2010), 3.   96. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 4.   97. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 5.   98. Lorien Foote, The Gentlemen and the Roughs: Vio­lence, Honor, and Manhood in the Union Army (New York: New York University Press, 2010), 4–5, 8, 15–16, 178.   99. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 302. 100. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 316. 101. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 317, 321, 342. 102. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 200. 103. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 220–21. 104. Ramold, Baring the Iron Hand, 221–34. For more on desertion, also see Reid Mitchell, Civil War Soldiers (New York: Penguin Books, 1988), 168–91. 105. Watkins, “Co. Aytch,” 130–31. 106. Smith, “The Most Desperate Scoundrels Unhung,” 168. 107. For example, see Joseph G. Dawson III, Army Generals and Reconstruction: Louisiana, 1862–1877 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press), 1–4.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Archival Sources Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Washington, D.C. Diary of James A. Congleton. National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, Washington, D.C. Carded Medical Rec­ords—­Volunteers—­Nebraska, Entry 534, Rec­ord Group 94.

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Wilson Library, Southern Historical Collection, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Isaac Alexander Papers. Diary of Francis A. Boyle. Diary of James E. Green.

Published Sources Ash, Stephen. When the Yankees Came: Conflict and Chaos in the Occupied South, 1861– 1865. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995. Billings, John D. Hardtack & Coffee: The Unwritten Story of Army Life. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1993; reprint of the original 1887 edition. Blanton, DeAnne and Lauren M. Cook. They Fought Like Demons: W ­ omen Soldiers in the American Civil War. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2002. Boatner, Mark  M., III. The Civil War Dictionary: Revised Edition. New York: David McKay, 1988. Brown, Thomas J. The Public Art of Civil War Commemoration: A Brief History with Documents. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2004. Christ, Mark K. “ ‘They ­Will Be Armed’: Lorenzo Thomas Recruits Black Troops in Helena, April 6, 1863.” Arkansas Historical Quarterly 72 (2013): 366–383. Cimbala, Paul A. The Civil War, Daily Life Through History Series on American Soldiers’ Lives. Westport, CN: Greenwood Press, 2008. Cloyd, Benjamin G. Haunted by Atrocity: Civil War Prisons in American Memory. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2010. Cornish, Dudley Taylor. The Sable Arm: Negro Troops in the Union Army, 1861–1865. New York: W. W. Norton, 1966. Davis, Barbara Butler, Ed. Affectionately Yours: The Civil War Home-­Front Letters of the Ovid Butler ­Family. Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Society Press, 2004. Dawson, Joseph G. III. Army Generals and Reconstruction: Louisiana, 1862–­1877. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press. DeBlack, Tom. “The War within the War: The Cherokees and the Civil War in Arkansas.” Pope County Historical Quarterly 46 (2012): 6–14. Dew, Charles B. Apostles of Disunion: Southern Secession Commissioners and the ­Causes of the Civil War (Charlottesville: University of V ­ irginia Press, 2001. Faust, Drew Gilpin. This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War. New York: Vintage Books, 2008. Foote, Lorien. The Gentlemen and the Roughs: Vio­lence, Honor, and Manhood in the Union Army. New York: New York University Press, 2010. Gillispie, James M. Andersonvilles of the North: The Myths and Realities of Northern Treatment of Civil War Confederate Prisoners. Denton: University of North Texas Press, 2008. Grant, Ulysses S. Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant. New York: Penguin Books, 1999; originally published in two volumes in 1885 and 1886. Griffith, Paddy. ­Battle Tactics of the Civil War. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989. Hardee, William Joseph. Hardee’s R ­ ifle and Light Infantry Tactics. Memphis: E. C. Kirk & Co., 1861. Hess, Earl. Civil War Infantry Tactics: Training, Combat, and Small-­unit Effectiveness. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2015. Hess, Earl. The ­Rifle Musket in Civil War Combat: Real­ity and Myth. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008.



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Kreisler, Lawrence A. and Randal Allred, Eds. The Civil War in Popu­lar Culture: Memory and Meaning. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2014. Leonard, Elizabeth D. All the Daring of the Soldier: W ­ omen of the Civil War Armies. New York: Penguin Books, 1999. Masur, Louis P. The Civil War: A Concise History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. McMillen, Sally G. Southern ­Women: Black and White in the Old South. 3rd ed. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley Blackwell, 2018. McPherson, James M. Abraham Lincoln and the Second American Revolution. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991. McPherson, James M. ­Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. McPherson, James M. For Cause & Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Mitchell, Reid. Civil War Soldiers. New York: Penguin Books, 1988. Mitchell, Reid. The Vacant Chair: The Northern Soldier Leaves Home. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Morgan, Edmund S. American Slavery, American Freedom: The Ordeal of Colonial ­Virginia. New York: W. W. Norton, 1975. Mortenson, Christopher R. Politician in Uniform: General Lew Wallace and the Civil War. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2019. Ramold, Steven J. Baring the Iron Hand: Discipline in the Union Army. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2010. Rhodes, Robert Hunt, Ed., All for the Union: The Civil War Diary and Letters of Elisha Hunt Rhodes. New York: Vintage Books, 1985. Robertson, James I. Jr. Soldiers Blue and Gray. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988. Rosenblatt, Emil and Ruth Rosenblatt, Eds. Hard Marching ­Every Day: The Civil War Letters of Private Wilbur Fisk, 1861–1865. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1983. Rutkow, Ira. Bleeding Blue and Gray: Civil War Surgery and the Evolution of American Medicine. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2005. Smith, Michael Thomas. “The Most Desperate Scoundrels Unhung: Bounty Jumpers and Recruitment Fraud in the Civil War North.” American Nineteenth ­Century History 6, no. 2 (June 2005): 149–172. Sperry, Andrew F. History of the 33d Iowa Infantry Volunteer Regiment. Des Moines: Mills and Com­pany, 1866. Springer, Paul J. Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010. Spurgeon, Ian Michael. Soldiers in the Army of Freedom: The 1st Kansas Colored, The Civil War’s First African American Combat Unit. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2014. Sutherland, Daniel E. A Savage Conflict: The Decisive Role of Guerrillas in the American Civil War. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009. Volo, Dorothy Denneen and James M. Volo. Daily Life in Civil War Amer­i­ca. 2nd ed. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood Press, 2009. Wallace, Lew. An Autobiography. New York: Harper & ­Brothers, 1906. Watkins, Sam R. “Co. Aytch”: A Confederate Soldier’s Memoirs, with a new introduction by Roy P. Basler. New York: Collier Books, 1962. Weigley, Russell F. A ­Great Civil War: A Military and Po­liti­cal History. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000.

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White, Jonathan W. Emancipation, the Union Army, and the Reelection of Abraham Lincoln. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2014. Woodworth, Stephen E., Ed. The Loyal, True, and Brave: Amer­i­ca’s Civil War Soldiers. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002. Woodworth, Stephen E. While God Is Marching On: The Religious World of Civil War Soldiers. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001.

5 The Indian Wars Paul J. Springer

OVERVIEW The American Civil War raged from 1861 to 1865 and resulted in the deaths of more than 600,000 troops, the end of chattel slavery in the United States, and a reassertion of the power of the federal government over the individual states. In the aftermath of the war, American attention turned ­toward the West and the settlement of the vast interior of the continent. ­T hese distant regions promised enormous resources, including arable land, minerals and timber, and the development of new industries. However, they w ­ ere not an uninhabited region—­there w ­ ere hundreds of thousands of Native Americans living in the West in 1865 in a wide variety of social structures and traditions. As American settlers moved westward across the ­Great Plains and into the Rocky Mountains, the Southwest, and the Northwest, they came into conflict with hundreds of distinct Native American tribes. Fighting over resources, territory, and social differences almost always followed. Although the Native American warriors typically had more familiarity with the terrain and landmarks of their homelands, they faced an insurmountable number of invaders, backed by a massive logistics tail capable of supplying all of the modern implements of warfare. The Indian troops, for their part, almost never had sufficient supplies of firearms, powder, and ammunition to successfully ­counter any major campaigns. They had to rely upon ambushes, mobile warfare, and hit-­ and-­r un tactics to inflict losses upon the U.S. Army, and even with ­those approaches, they faced significant threats of annihilation if they chose to engage in vio­lence against the United States and its citizenry.1 Despite the fact that native troops ­were typically far more mobile than their American foes, they could not move their entire populations so easily—­which meant that American forces could usually march upon the settlements of Native Americans and force their warriors into lopsided ­battles, where superior discipline and firepower could be brought to bear.

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Conflict with Native American populations was not a new concept for American citizens. Wars had been fought with virtually ­every native tribe that En­glish colonists and their descendants had encountered, dating back to the foundation of the Jamestown colony in 1607.2 At times, ­these wars threatened to destroy the fragile Eu­ro­pean colonies—­but over time, the arrival of enormous numbers of immigrants, bringing significant advantages in the technological implements of warfare, overwhelmed the disjointed native re­sis­tance. Colonists tended to enlist the assistance of rival native tribes whenever they engaged in conflict with a power­f ul regional foe and then often turned upon their erstwhile allies, opening a new conflict. Over time, this divide-­and-­conquer approach served to essentially clear the East Coast of native populations. Native Americans often became involved in conventional wars between Eu­ro­pean powers when the fighting reached the North American continent. Thus, they w ­ ere key to the series of colonial wars in the seventeenth and eigh­teenth centuries, culminating in the French and Indian War (1756–1763). During the American Revolution, many Indian warriors fought on behalf of the British Crown, on the assumption that the colonists would have ­little interest in harmony if they won their bid for in­de­pen­dence. ­After the war, the British refused to evacuate some of their fortifications in the ­Great Lakes region, a decision that emboldened native tribes in the region to engage in attacks upon American citizens bent upon settling the region. This culminated with the formation of the Shawnee Confederation, a loosely or­ga­nized co­ali­tion of local tribes determined to curtail the expansion of whites into tribal lands. During the War of 1812, Major General Andrew Jackson fought a massive campaign against the Red Stick Creeks and only turned his forces against the British ­after securing a treaty with his native ­enemy. When Jackson ­later became president, he enacted a series of policies to force Native Americans out of the American Southeast and onto reservation lands west of the Mississippi River. When some of the tribes resisted, Jackson sent in the U.S. Army to enforce his ­orders, with disastrous results for the tribes. Only the Seminoles of Florida managed a significant degree of re­sis­tance, and even they ­were eventually compelled to give up their territory and move to the West ­after the U.S. Army waged a decades-­long attrition campaign. The Mexican War, which resulted in a massive cession of territory in the American Southwest, opened up yet another frontier to American expansion—­ and triggered a series of violent engagements as a result. Throughout the 1850s, small Army units engaged in pacification campaigns, continually pushing the frontier of white settlement farther west. As they drove native tribes before them, they created conflicts between rival Indian tribes—­which grew into major feuds that could ­later be exploited by the encroaching whites. Even during the Civil War, the gradual campaign against the Native American tribes pressed onward, with a series of military engagements against the Navajo, the Sioux, the Cheyenne, and the Arapaho. Federal authority over the territorial lands in the West technically resided with the Department of the Interior. Although the Bureau of Indian Affairs was created in 1824 ­under the auspices of the War Department, in 1849, Congress transferred the Bureau to the Department of the Interior. This move significantly curtailed what U.S. Army units could do in the West, assuming they ­were not directly attacked



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and thus allowed to engage in self-­defense. In 1948, Stanley Vestal described the relationship by arguing, “In ­handling the Indians, our government created the Indian Bureau to be ‘soft’ and ­mother them, and laid upon the War Department the duty to ‘get tough’ in the manner of a careful ­father.”3 The army was expected to protect all citizens moving into the frontier region, by what­ever means necessary, while at the same time restraining itself from attacking local tribes—­all on a shoestring bud­get. In many ways, the military history of the West is a series of continual engagements with Native American tribes, one ­after another—­and each conflict can be mapped as an example of the inexorable march of “civilization” into the frontier regions. The locations held by the army tended to be entirely dependent upon the whims of settlers moving into the West. As a result, the U.S. military followed no comprehensive strategy, but rather a series of campaigns, often inconclusive, that relied upon the judgment of small unit commanders on the scene.4 Even without a common strategy, a clear understanding of effective tactics, or even a unified sense of purpose, the wars had a common outcome. In no case was a Native American tribe able to completely resist the ­will of the U.S. Army; once the federal government had directed a campaign to pacify or destroy a certain group, that outcome was simply a ­matter of time and investment. When the Civil War ended in the spring of 1865, the Union Army stood at 800,000 troops, with approximately 650,000 effectives available for ser­vice. By the end of the year, it had discharged 75 ­percent of its soldiers, and the cuts continued into the following year. As Reconstruction wound down, the army gradually decreased its numbers, moving from 54,000 troops in 1866 to 28,000 in 1877, and fi­nally falling to barely 22,000 in 1890.5 In 1866, Congress set the size of the postwar army at 10 cavalry regiments, 45 infantry regiments, and 5 artillery regiments, making a total of just over 54,000 troops for both western ser­vice and protecting the coastal cities of the United States. The cuts ­after 1866 came almost entirely from the infantry, which dropped from 45 to 25 regiments in the same period.6 The army was or­ga­nized into three divisions, with the Atlantic and Pacific Divisions consisting of only a skeletal force to garrison coastal fortifications. The Department of the Missouri held the bulk of army personnel and absorbed the vast majority of expenditures—­and had responsibility for nearly every­thing between the coasts. As the number of hostile tribes declined, so did the size of the army. By 1879, its commander, General Philip Sheridan, was expected to oversee 250,000 Native Americans with barely 15,000 troops, who w ­ ere placed into 19 infantry regiments, 8 cavalry regiments, and 4 artillery companies. They occupied 71 forts sprinkled over approximately 1.6 million square miles of territory, making for a substantial variety of topography, weather, and specific local prob­lems.7 As regions became settled, the army tended to simply abandon most of its outposts, although it maintained a handful of larger settlements, and some of the original military outposts remained active due to a large civilian population. For example, Fort Klamath, established near the western end of the Oregon Trail in 1863, remained in operation ­until 1890, when the final garrison was removed to Vancouver Barracks. It had served its purpose as a base of operations against the Klamath, Modoc, and Paiute tribes, but maintaining it became a waste of very scant

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resources.8 Other locations, such as Forts Reno, Phil Kearny, and C. F. Smith, w ­ ere evacuated as part of treaties with tribes—­those three forts ­were eliminated thanks to the Fort Laramie Treaty with the Sioux, and as soon as the army had moved its forces away, all three ­were looted and destroyed by the Native Americans in the region.9 Before the end of the Civil War, western territories had already become the battlegrounds for renewed conflict with Native American tribes. From 1860 to 1864, small army units, led by Col­o­nel Christopher “Kit” Carson, fought a series of skirmishes with Navajo warriors. When the Navajo fi­nally capitulated, they ­were forced upon the “Long Walk” from Fort Defiance in eastern Arizona Territory to Bosque Redondo, 300 miles east in New Mexico Territory. Along the 18-­day walk, at least 200 Navajos died due to exhaustion, exposure, and disease. ­After three years at Bosque Redondo, they ­were allowed to return to their ancestral lands—­one of the few tribes given such an opportunity. In 1862, members of the Dakota Sioux took advantage of the ongoing Civil War, and the reduced frontier garrisons, to engage in a series of attacks upon settlements in Minnesota. The tribe’s unrest arose from the failure of the federal government to deliver food that had been promised via treaty. ­After Col­o­nel Henry Sibley led a force to quell the uprising, more than 300 Sioux ­were convicted of murder and sentenced to hang. President Lincoln chose to commute all but 39 of the sentences, and ­those individuals w ­ ere hanged in the largest mass execution ever carried out on American soil. The Sioux ­were permanently exiled from Minnesota a­ fter the clashes, increasing the pressure of scarce resources upon the tribe. In Colorado, territorial officials deliberately provoked a war with the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes, whom they perceived as blocking the territory’s application for statehood. Locally raised cavalry attempted to fight the war with ­little assistance from the federal government. In a notorious event, Col­o­nel John Chivington, leading the Colorado 3rd Cavalry Regiment, attacked a Cheyenne camp full of noncombatants on November 29, 1864. His forces killed 148 Cheyenne, most of them ­women and ­children, in the Sand Creek Massacre. The conflict continued ­until 1867, at which time the Cheyenne and Arapaho agreed to relocate to Indian Territory. In the immediate aftermath of the Civil War, t­ here was l­ ittle change in the be­hav­ ior of the warring factions in the West. In 1866, the army redirected resources back to the region, sending Col­o­nel Henry B. Carrington to build a series of frontier fortifications along the Bozeman Trail. His site se­lections angered the Oglala Sioux, whose chief Red Cloud chose vio­lence to oppose the encroachment, triggering the two-­year “Red Cloud’s War.” The Oglala Sioux did not have the manpower or heavy weaponry to directly attack Carrington’s forts, so they contented themselves with a guerrilla campaign to render the surrounding countryside too dangerous for small patrols. On December 21, 1866, a wood-­cutting party was attacked by Lakota and Oglala Sioux warriors, including Crazy Horse. A relief party was dispatched from Fort Phil Kearny, led by headstrong Captain William Fetterman, who ignored o­ rders to remain within supporting distance of the fort. Fetterman rushed his party directly into a massive ambush conducted by up to 1,000 Sioux warriors—­and his entire command was killed in a few intense minutes of



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An oil painting depicts the Sand Creek Massacre of November 29, 1864. U.S. Army col­o­nel John Chivington led his cavalry force in an attack on an Arapaho and Cheyenne encampment in southeast Colorado. Although Chivington reported it as a major ­battle, ­later investigations demonstrated that it was an unprovoked attack upon a village filled with noncombatants, and that most of the victims ­were w ­ omen and ­children. (DeAgostini/Getty Images)

fighting. Afterwards, the bodies ­were stripped and dismembered, with scalps removed and genitals severed.10 In July 1867, another of the Bozeman Trail forts was reinforced by 350 infantry bearing new Springfield Model 1866 ­rifles. ­These breach-­loaders had a much higher rate of fire and enabled the users to reload while lying prone. One month ­later, 700 Sioux attacked a hay-­cutting party of 30, who took cover ­behind logs and in ­rifle pits. ­After several hours of fighting, the soldiers had lost 3 of their number, the Sioux had lost approximately 20, and the defenders remained capable of an effective defense. The next day, a wood-­cutting party of 32 held off as many as 1,500 Sioux by taking cover ­behind wagon boxes and using their repeating ­rifles to good effect. The two fights convinced the Sioux to give up attempts at large-­scale attacks, and they resumed their guerrilla activities for several months before agreeing to the Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868. The treaty called for a new Sioux reservation in South Dakota, the elimination of the Bozeman Trail forts, and a promise by the Sioux not to attack settlers or railroad construction crews. In late 1870, President Ulysses S. Grant announced a new Peace Policy, which called for the appointment of Christian missionaries to serve as Indian agents u­ nder the Bureau of Indian Affairs. In theory, this was a design to eliminate corruption within the bureau, but it provoked a massive po­liti­cal backlash from the beneficiaries of the corruption and did l­ ittle to reduce the amount of vio­lence between Native Americans and white settlers. Less than four months ­later, a band of 146 civilians,

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including 92 Tohono O’odham Indians, surrounded a peaceful Apache settlement near Camp Grant and opened fire upon the inhabitants, killing 144. President Grant threatened to place Arizona ­under martial law if the perpetrators ­were not brought to justice. ­After a trial of 100 of the assailants, the jury required less than 20 minutes to provide a verdict of not guilty.11 This incident all but guaranteed a long strug­ gle between the Apaches and the United States. From late 1872 ­until the spring of 1873, settlers in California and Oregon engaged in conflict with the Modocs, who had previously resided at the Klamath Reservation. The Modocs numbered only a few dozen warriors, but made effective use of lava beds and other difficult terrain to engage in guerrilla attacks and raiding. On April 11, 1873, Brigadier General Edward Canby attempted to resolve the situation through negotiations. However, during his talks with the Modoc chief Captain Jack, Canby was shot and killed by Modocs, who attempted to slaughter the rest of the peace commission. This perfidy provoked a reinforcement of the troops sent against the Modocs, raising their number above 1,000 soldiers, along with two mountain howitzers for heavier firepower. This larger force soon proved sufficient to overwhelm Modoc re­sis­tance and force the tribe onto a reservation in Indian Territory as prisoners of war. Captain Jack and the rest of the men who had attacked Canby ­were sentenced to death for murder and executed on October 3, 1873.12 When gold deposits ­were discovered in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory, it was quickly evident that the federal government would do ­little to prohibit white settlers from moving into the region and seeking to profit, even though the federal government had technically barred such movements.13 The fact that most of the discoveries had been made on land held by the Sioux did l­ittle to encourage the government to protect the region from white encroachment—­often, it made the War Department more determined to confine the Sioux to reservation lands ­under military control. ­Those members of the Sioux who wished to sell their land to whites ­were encouraged to do so; if anything, the military served to prohibit interference with such sales by groups led by Sitting Bull and ­others who opposed parting with Sioux land.14 Although Commanding General Philip Sheridan sought to follow the age-­old pattern of waiting for winter and then attacking the Sioux at their most sedentary point in the year, the harsh ­Great Plains winter prevented such a move—­ large columns of cavalry simply could not operate during periods of heavy snowfall, and hence most of the campaign was delayed ­until late May. Only a single column of cavalry managed to make a significant movement in March, and despite surprising a Sioux encampment at the Powder River, it made ­little headway in the campaign to pacify the Sioux.15 The fight against the Sioux included larger engagements than the norm for most of the Indian Wars, as well as the largest post–­Civil War defeat for an army unit fighting against Native Americans. Brigadier General George Crook was determined to move large formations of cavalry over the open terrain of the Northern ­Great Plains, using converging columns to surround and defeat Sioux war bands. On June 17, 1876, the two sides met in a ­r unning engagement at the Rosebud River, where Lakota chief Crazy Horse held off the smaller U.S. Army detachment. Eight days ­later, Lieutenant Col­o­nel George Armstrong Custer split his command and charged into the heart of a Sioux encampment—­and discovered much too late that



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he was outnumbered and outmaneuvered, with the result that his entire command was annihilated in a single day. The defeat, while costly, did not significantly alter the strategic situation—­the Sioux simply could not match the numbers that the U.S. Army could bring to the fight and could not defend all of their encampments against Crook’s overarching strategy. Gradually, bands of the Sioux agreed to surrender and ­were sent to reservations in the Indian Territory, opening the Dakotas to further settlement. T ­ hose who refused to accept reservation life occasionally moved across the border into Canada, where they faced far less direct competition but harsher environmental conditions. Almost exactly one year ­after Custer’s defeat, Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce commenced a war against forces commanded by Brigadier General Oliver O. Howard and Col­o­nel Nelson A. Miles. The Nez Perce never had more than 250 warriors at any time and typically fought with far fewer—­yet they managed to conduct a fighting retreat of nearly 1,200 miles before attrition and exhaustion forced their surrender. As was the case with many other tribes, the negotiators made promises of fair treatment that they could not uphold—­orders from the War Department blocked the agreement to send Chief Joseph and his remaining tribe back to their Idaho reservation, and they ­were instead transported to Kansas to remain ­under the watchful eye of the federal government for the next eight years. In 1885, the Nez Perce ­were allowed to relocate to the Pacific Northwest, but not to return to Idaho where local residents protested such a return. In 1882, Apache leaders Juh and Geronimo chose to leave the San Carlos Reservation, along with several hundred Chiricahua warriors. They repeatedly crossed the U.S.-­Mexico border, raiding on one side and then seeking sanctuary through international bound­aries, but found hostile troops on each side of the border that soon reacted to any incursions. Brigadier General George Crook pursued Geronimo’s band into Mexico, where he captured the bulk of the Apache renegades and forced them back to San Carlos, but Geronimo and a handful of die-­hard followers continued to raid throughout the Southwest. For nearly three years, the army chased Geronimo with ­little success, but fi­nally Crook managed to negotiate his surrender on March 25, 1886. The War Department reneged on the agreement Crook negotiated, causing Geronimo to flee and Crook to resign his commission. Brigadier General Nelson A. Miles, backed by 5,000 U.S. Army troops and hundreds of Indian scouts, hunted Geronimo for most of 1886, before fi­nally forcing his surrender on September 4. Geronimo and his followers ­were first shipped to Fort Pickens, Florida, but soon ­were transferred to Mount Vernon, Alabama, where they lived for six years. In 1894, the War Department transferred Geronimo to Fort Sill, where he remained ­until his death in 1909. Each year of his confinement, the War Department provided a full report upon the status of the Apache prisoners of war to the U.S. Congress, a sure sign that they w ­ ere still perceived as a threat. In 1890, the Indian Wars came to an ignominious end. On December 15, 1890, Lakota Sioux chief Sitting Bull was killed at the Standing Rock Agency while resisting arrest. Other Sioux warriors moving through the ­Great Plains w ­ ere intercepted during their annual trek to receive the rations and supplies promised by the U.S. government. The army demanded the warriors surrender their weapons, which provoked an argument. A Sioux spiritual leader commenced performing the Ghost

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Dance, which terrified army troops that ­were already on alert. An accidental discharge of a ­rifle triggered a massive retaliation, as the surrounding troops massacred as many as 300 Sioux at Wounded Knee Creek, the final major act of vio­lence of the Indian Wars. The army, having spent 25 years relearning how to fight irregular wars against mobile enemies skilled in guerrilla tactics, gradually turned its attention back to the conventional wars of Eu­rope and began a significant modernization pro­cess that quickly forgot the lessons of the Indian Wars. When the army considered the issue of Native Americans in that post-1890 era, it did so largely as a population to be policed and, if necessary, punished for its transgressions.16 The responsibility for fighting “small wars” largely fell to the U.S. Marine Corps, which had not participated in the Indian Wars and did ­little to learn from the army’s experiences. As a result, the lessons learned in the frontier conflicts ­were quickly forgotten and had to be relearned when the army faced insurgencies and guerrilla warfare in l­ater conflicts. Throughout the twentieth ­century, an increasing number of American citizens began to recognize the rights of Native American tribes to maintain their homelands and ways of life. This movement gathered enormous momentum during the Civil Rights Movement and has remained vibrant into the twenty-­fi rst ­century.

On December 29, 1890, ele­ments of the 7th Cavalry Regiment entered a Lakota Sioux encampment at Wounded Knee Creek, South Dakota, and attempted to disarm the warriors in the camp. When a ­rifle mistakenly discharged, the cavalry opened fire, massacring approximately 300 men, ­women, and c­ hildren. In an effort to cover the ­mistake, the Army referred to the incident as the ­Battle of Wounded Knee, and issued more than 20 medals of honor to the soldiers involved. (Library of Congress)



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Tribes have gradually regained a fraction of the territory their ancestors once held and have reestablished cultural practices that maintain a degree of separation from the rest of American society, without completely dissolving the relationship between American Indians and the federal government. Federal reparations have been made to some tribes, and lands taken in violation of treaties have at times been returned to tribal descendants. CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Although none of the Indian Wars r­ ose to the level of an engagement requiring the mass conscription of American men to serve in uniform, and as such, all of the soldiers serving in them w ­ ere volunteers, the continual conflicts with vari­ous tribes ensured that t­ here would be an ongoing need for new personnel in uniform throughout the post–­Civil War nineteenth c­ entury. In general, the military was not perceived as a particularly attractive lifestyle for most Americans of the nineteenth ­century. With the exception of the officers, the army was often accused of containing the “dregs of society,” men who could not find a more suitable or respectable position.17 The army sometimes drew in individuals who could not fit into American society—­those yearning for adventure or a new life—­but for the most part, it was forced to accept whoever was willing to serve, including men with a criminal past. When a conflict grew into a prob­lem too large to be handled by the miniscule regular troops, the army had to rely upon the assistance of short-­term augmentees. ­These might come in the form of federalized militia forces pressed into ser­vice, or the government might agree to pay a bounty in exchange for ser­vice.18 Post–­Civil War recruits signed a three-­ or five-­year ser­vice contract and then reported to their recruitment depots.19 For some, army ser­vice was the last option available, which meant that they had l­ ittle desire to be in the army but saw no other choices for survival. For ­others, the army represented an opportunity to live up to the glory of their forebears who had served in the Civil War, but they soon discovered that postwar ser­vice had l­ ittle in common with the stories they had heard. Some men joined the army fully intending to desert once they had reached a post in the West, particularly if they managed to reach a location near any of the gold-­r ush towns that sprang up with ­little warning. To many, the West was the land of opportunity, and the army was the logical means of getting ­there. The army was heavi­ly dependent upon immigrants to fill the ranks, who comprised more than half of the enlistments.20 As Charles Robinson described the situation, The United States Army of that period very closely resembled the French Foreign Legion. It was a largely mercenary force, whose recruiters asked no questions when someone sought to enlist. Almost half the soldiers ­were foreign born, and had already fought in nationalist uprisings in Eu­rope, or imperialist expansion elsewhere. ­Others ­were former Confederates—­often former officers—­forbidden by law from holding a U.S. Army commission, but willing to serve in the ranks in order to follow the only profession they knew. A substantial number of soldiers ­were Germans, and the Irish constituted such a high percentage that army anecdotes and songs of the era are often in brogue.21

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For some men, enlistment offered an opportunity to flee from a bad situation in civilian life. In par­tic­u­lar, economic downturns tended to provide significant assistance in the recruiting mission. Daniel Sharfstein described the situation during a campaign against the Nez Perce: For most of Perry and Trimble’s men, riding slowly through the dark on a treacherous road was an apt meta­phor for their lives in the army. While their officers had de­cades of military experience—­one sergeant had fought in the Mexican War thirty years before—­almost all of the privates ­were in their first enlistment. Only about twenty of the hundred or so men had experienced b­ attle. An equal number had been in the cavalry less than a year. Mostly in their twenties and mostly born overseas—­ Ireland, ­England, and Scotland, Germany, Austria, France, and Denmark—­they could well remember their attempts to succeed in civilian life. In the towns and cities of the eastern United States, they had plastered walls and painted them, cobbled shoes and shoed ­horses, built boats, laid bricks, made jewelry, cut hair, butchered meat, and worked in factories. But in the years following the Panic of 1873, it was hard enough to prosper. All many could hope for was mere survival, and it was separated from starvation by the thinnest of lines.22

Of course, with such a small force to fill, when the economy had a downward turn, the army could be slightly more discerning in who it accepted for ser­vice. Thus, ­after the Panic of 1873, for example, only 20 ­percent of the men who applied for a place in the ranks ­were actually accepted into ser­vice.23 Native Americans ­were often utilized as auxiliaries and might even be given army ranks as an honorific, assuming they brought sufficient forces along to justify such a recognition. Native American warriors proved particularly useful in scouting positions, as they ­were more likely to understand the terrain of a region, as well as the be­hav­ior of the ­enemy at hand. Indian scouts often offered their ser­vices for use against a rival tribe, rather than on behalf of the army in general. Thus, it was not ser­vice to the United States that was the motivating f­ actor, although monetary rewards might have also provided significant incentives; it was more likely that they served as a means of harming a hated ­enemy. In the wars of the Southwest and the G ­ reat Plains, scouts from Native American allies w ­ ere of im­mense utility and ­were highly desired by almost ­every command.24 However, they ­were treated as a separate entity and almost never accorded the same considerations as U.S. soldiers, despite their obvious value. Commanding General William T. Sherman believed that the incorporation of Indian scouts served a dual purpose, noting, “If we can convert the wild Indians into a species of or­ga­nized cavalry, it accomplishes a double purpose, in taking them out of temptation of stealing and murdering, and w ­ ill accustom them to regular habits and discipline, from which they ­will not likely depart when discharged.”25 Mark Van de Logt argues that Native Americans chose to join for a wide variety of reasons, stating, “Economic destitution, revenge, and escaping boredom and disease ­were the most impor­ tant incentives,” although the prospect of military glory undoubtedly influenced at least a few.26 In 1802, the U.S. Army opened the United States Military Acad­emy at West Point. ­After some initial difficulties in establishing the physical buildings, faculty, and curriculum, the acad­emy grew into a significant source of ju­nior officers. By



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the 1820s, approximately 50 lieutenants ­were commissioned out of the acad­emy each spring. They had a major effect upon the professionalization of the officer corps—­and their connections to one another made it far easier to establish functional command structures in very distant locations throughout the United States. Even before the development of telegraph communications, West Point alumni created an informal network of officers who remained in constant contact, sharing information about effective techniques for conflict with Native Americans. During the Civil War, the importance of West Point was starkly evident, as most of the top commanders of both the Union and the Confederacy ­were alumni of the acad­ emy. This trend continued ­after the war, and in general, troops preferred to serve ­under West Point gradu­ates, who ­were typically perceived as strict but fair, than to serve ­u nder directly commissioned officers, who often had ­little idea of how to effectively manage their commands. ­After the Civil War, it was somewhat easier to maintain the military forces necessary to engage in conflicts with Native American tribes. In part, this was due to the number of Civil War veterans, particularly in the officer corps, who wished to remain in ser­vice. As the army drawdown commenced, officers ­were allowed to stay in ser­vice as long as ­there was an available position, but they often had to give up brevet ranks earned in the war to remain in uniform. For example, George Armstrong Custer, who had graduated last in his class of 34 at West Point in 1861, ­rose to the brevet rank of major general of volunteers on April 15, 1865. However, to remain in ser­vice ­after the war, he had to accept a reduction in rank to lieutenant col­o­nel (three grades lower), and he was lucky to hold such an elevated rank at that. Only his excellent war­time reputation allowed him to retain such a position—­most of his classmates dropped far lower on the se­niority list if they chose to remain in uniform.27 For the enlisted ranks, Civil War ser­vice also contributed to the ability to maintain the peacetime military establishment. Some of the soldiers from the Civil War found that military life appealed to them and de­cided to remain in uniform for an entire c­ areer rather than a tour of duty. As such, the postwar army had a much greater depth of experience among its officers, making it far more capable of reacting effectively to unexpected situations.

TRAINING Training of military personnel varied a ­great deal by the era and conflict in which they ­were engaged. If they w ­ ere inducted into military ser­vice during the Civil War, as was the case for many of the veterans serving through the 1870s, they had likely been sent at first to a formal training camp. ­T hese camps ­were established and placed ­under the command of experienced officers, with noncommissioned officer veterans instructing the new recruits in the military necessities of drill, discipline, and how to maintain hygiene while on a military campaign. However, ­those men who enlisted ­after 1865 ­were sent to a recruit depot and received ­little formal instruction. Instead, most ­were detailed to fatigue parties to provide ­labor at the recruit camp and await the arrival of a sufficient number of new soldiers to justify organ­izing travel to their new outposts in the West.28 As such, when most new

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recruits reported to their first field units, their training was considered rudimentary, at best. T ­ hese men w ­ ere expected to learn on the job, hopefully before they faced any form of hostile action. When they fi­nally reached their line companies, they still participated in daily fatigue duties, but they ­were given training in drill and other aspects of military per­for­mance as an additional duty in the after­ noons. Unfortunately, the army was so obsessed with saving money that it all but refused to allow the expenditure of ammunition in training situations—­meaning that many troops had no practical experience in the use of their weapons.29 They might have drilled in the proper steps for preparing and loading their weapons, but with no experience firing, they ­were unprepared for the sounds and surprises of combat. They also had ­little conception of how to aim over significant distances, meaning that when combat did occur, U.S. troops w ­ ere frightfully inaccurate in their fire.30 ­After 1884, troops ­were issued a copy of The Soldier’s Handbook, a pocket-­ sized book containing a mix of necessary information and practical advice. It included the most impor­tant regulations pertaining to all troops, such as the Articles of War. It also had sections devoted to mounting guard details, the expectations of military discipline, how to maintain one’s physical fitness, and the care of one’s weapons and other equipment. The small volume also had sections set aside to rec­ord charges and credits upon his pay account, including the cost of clothing items, and a ­t able for marksmanship scores in rare live-­fi re drills. Of course, given that half of the army’s recruits w ­ ere functionally illiterate, the utility of the Handbook was prob­ably somewhat ­limited for many of the enlisted personnel.31 The training of officers revolved primarily around the creation and expansion of the United States Military Acad­emy. However, cadets at West Point tended to learn ­little about the ­actual per­for­mance of their duties in the field—as most of their time was spent learning a wide variety of academic subjects, including math, French, drawing, and engineering.32 Very ­little of the cadets’ instruction concerned the basics of officership, as it was assumed that they would learn what they needed to know when they reached their units. Thus, much of their training was conducted on the job and varied widely by the interests and knowledge of their se­nior officers, some of whom put ­little effort into mentoring their subordinates. Also, with the very small size and wide geo­graph­i­cal responsibilities of the U.S. Army, it was quite common for very ju­nior personnel to be given enormous responsibilities within an in­de­pen­dent command. At times, this led to disastrous results, as demonstrated by the events of August 19, 1854, near Fort Laramie, Nebraska Territory. On that day, Lieutenant John Grattan, a member of the West Point class of 1853 who was raised in Vermont, de­cided to lead his detachment of 30 men into a major Sioux encampment that included more than 1,000 warriors. His objective was to arrest High Forehead, a man accused of stealing and butchering a cow, despite the fact that the ­matter should have been handled by the local Indian agent, not the military. When the negotiations for High Forehead’s surrender went poorly, hundreds of Sioux began to surround Grattan’s men. A ner­vous soldier discharged his musket, wounding a Sioux and triggering the massacre of Grattan’s entire command.33



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SOCIAL STRUCTURE American society had l­ ittle interest in, or re­spect for, the U.S. Army of the nineteenth ­century, except when it was engaged in major conflicts. As a result, given the lack of prestige associated with joining the army, the military became somewhat of a melting pot of dif­fer­ent classes due to the need to accept whoever was willing to serve. That said, the army maintained a strict segregation of personnel according to their class. Soldiers ­were divided into three main groups, with ­little interaction between them. Officers, who ­were more likely to be drawn from middle-­ class families and who usually possessed at least some formal education, scrupulously maintained the privileges of their rank.34 This normally translated into higher pay, better living conditions, and much greater re­spect from the citizenry. Within the officer class, ­those who had attended West Point tended to have the most prestige within the army, although ­there ­were exceptions to that rule. Naturally, ­those holding higher ranks, particularly general officers, received the greatest re­spect and rewards for their ser­vice. Promotions within the officer ranks ­were entirely dependent upon se­niority in the nineteenth c­ entury—in order to move up in rank, ­there needed to be an opening. When an officer retired, resigned, or died, it created a ­ripple effect through the ranks, particularly if he was of high rank. An officer might be able to obtain rank outside of the se­niority system by ­either resigning his regular commission and assuming command of a unit of volunteers in war­time (and then returning to the regulars while retaining a higher rank) or developing a reputation for excellent ser­vice and shifting units to fill an opening in a dif­fer­ent unit.35 Thus, a lieutenant in the Sixth Infantry Regiment might pursue a captaincy in the Eighth Infantry Regiment, knowing that remaining in the Sixth Infantry would limit his opportunities. By shifting out of command positions and into specialized staff positions such as engineering, supply, or personnel roles, an officer might speed his promotions—­but he would also likely be denied access to the highest ranks and would no longer be eligible to command troops. In the post–­Civil War army, African American troops w ­ ere allowed to serve in uniform, primarily ­under the control of white officers. The 9th and 10th U.S. Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments ­were all-­black units.36 ­These four units ­were collectively referred to as “Buffalo Soldiers,” a name almost certainly bestowed by Native American enemies fighting against t­ hese units. Based in dozens of locations throughout the G ­ reat Plains and the Southwest, the Buffalo Soldiers developed a reputation as fierce fighters who ­were immune to many of the social pressures that often came with frontier ser­vice. They ­were almost invariably led by white officers and noncommissioned officers, in large part due to the exceedingly low literacy rates among the African American population. When a com­pany of black troops had a literate member, that individual was normally appointed the quartermaster sergeant, as he would be able to account for com­pany property and complete the necessary paperwork.37 They ­were well regarded as fighting units but w ­ ere still subjected to much of the typical nineteenth-­century treatment of African Americans, and ­were attacked in a series of social unrest events throughout the Southwest in the 1870s and 1880s.38 This often triggered a transfer

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of black units away from population centers, forcing them to serve on the most distant posts as a means of avoiding conflict with white settlers.39 ­Women ­were explic­itly barred from military ser­vice during the entire period encompassed by the Indian Wars and, as such, did not see ser­vice in uniform. However, w ­ omen still accompanied virtually ­every military unit along the frontiers. Officers’ wives often chose to accompany their husbands, particularly if their husbands ­were stationed with a unit at a fixed location, rather than remaining on an extended patrol. This might include garrison ser­vice at one of the dozens of frontier fortifications erected as part of the continual pacification campaigns of the ­century. ­Women also followed any large excursion as part of the standard camp followers—­citizens choosing to remain with a military expedition to provide needed ser­vices in exchange for pay. W ­ omen might serve as sutlers, nurses, laundresses, cooks, or prostitutes, depending upon their own skills, preferences, and proclivities. Although prostitutes ­were a relatively common sight near most army posts, few troops could actually afford their ser­vices, meaning they ­were more likely to cater to officers or civilians in the area.40 On at least a few occasions, ­women served in key roles as translators, although this was a fairly rare phenomenon.

DAILY LIFE Daily life for American soldiers engaged in the vari­ous Indian Wars largely depended upon their location—­some locales w ­ ere relatively comfortable and stable, and ­others ­were downright terrible due to environmental conditions, logistical prob­lems, and poor strategic decisions. For the most part, the soldier’s life was one of privation and boredom, with occasional bouts of absolute terror. Daily life tended ­toward routine drudgery, with soldiers often responsible for ­every aspect of their own upkeep, including raising food, building shelters, and making themselves the tools necessary for their profession. With the exception of uniforms and weapons, the federal government could not be counted upon to supply the necessities of daily life, and often, it was not particularly reliable even with the former items. Soldiers often had to learn ways of improvising to meet their own needs or to make due without desirable resources. Living quarters for troops engaged in the Indian Wars ranged from established settlements and fortifications to field tents and primitive conditions. For much of the gradual expansion westward from the Atlantic coast, the army was expected to establish small forts that could provide a certain degree of protection and oversight to local inhabitants. ­Those fortifications tended to consist of a palisade wall of rough-­hewn logs, with a firing platform a few feet below the top of the wall, allowing defenders to remain protected while reloading their weapons. Block­houses ­were situated along the palisade, creating fighting positions for the defense of the fort. The palisade and block­houses ­were inevitably constructed of local timber, ­unless the region designated for the settlement had no such flora available. In ­those rare cases, the supplies had to be brought in by wagon, making the cost of such a position ruinously expensive for the ever-­frugal War Department.



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Within the stockade, troops erected crude barracks that largely consisted of two-­ story buildings with bunkbeds, dining ­tables, and a few chairs. Ventilation came from a few win­dows, but in the interests of defensibility, the win­dows tended to be small and difficult to reach. Heat was supplied by e­ ither a stone fireplace or cooking stoves, or both, burning firewood or coal, depending upon what was available in the area. The War Department expected troops in the West to provide their own fuel by harvesting their local region and to procure the hay needed for their ­horses in the same fashion.41 Troops that wanted to avoid ­these kinds of details volunteered for field ser­vice, which entailed guarding supply convoys and mail wagons on the long journeys across the open prairie, a ser­vice that in peacetime was more entertaining than unskilled ­labor. Of course, given that conflict could erupt without warning, t­ here w ­ ere plenty of escorts who regretted their willingness to volunteer when they became the targets of an attack.42 The forts usually had a few small artillery pieces on firing platforms near the corners of the palisade, a small garden to supply fresh fruits and vegetables, and a cook­house with a bread oven.43 Larger fortifications might also h­ ouse a blacksmith shop, stables for h­ orses, and possibly enough emergency housing to protect the local inhabitants in the case of an attack. Neither the buildings nor the furniture inside them tended to be well built or comfortable—­these w ­ ere structures erected for the sake of function and efficiency, nothing more. Very few major forts ­were erected, in large part ­because the frontier moved forward at such a rate as to make permanent construction both unnecessary and expensive. A few major posts ­were erected to serve as central headquarters for large army formations, some of which expanded and became population centers. A few of the frontier posts remain u­ nder military control, typically t­ hose that contained the largest formations. For example, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, first erected in 1827, remains an army post in the twenty-­ first ­century and ­houses the U.S. Army Training and Doctrine Command. It is the oldest continually operated army post west of Washington, D.C., and was the first permanent settlement for whites in Kansas. Initially established to protect the Santa Fe Trail, it also became an endpoint of the Oregon Trail, meaning that thousands of settlers per year passed through it on their way westward in the nineteenth ­century. Some of the largest posts ­were constructed of much more permanent materials. Isaac Taylor Coates described his first visit to Fort Riley, Kansas, thus: Fort Riley is one of the finest military posts west of the Mississippi. It stands on an elevation at the confluence of the Republican and Solomon Rivers which form the Kansas, commanding a splendid view of the country for miles in e­ very direction. It was built in 1853 at a cost of half a million dollars. The magnesian limestone, a peculiar feature in the geology of this state, of whose peculiarities we ­shall speak hereafter, was used in constructing the buildings which are very capacious and comfortable. The Post stands 926 feet above the Gulf of Mexico and the elevation increases westward at the rate of about three feet to the mile; Fort Hays, 150 miles west, being nearly 1,500 feet above the Gulf of Mexico, and the same relative elevation continues on to the Rocky Mountains.44

Of course, not all of the facilities remained in good order. When the buildings began to decay, it was up to the garrison troops to make the necessary repairs, relying

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entirely upon locally sourced materials. Some units chose to accept decrepit conditions rather than the additional duty that would be required to make improvements. D. G. Caldwell described Fort Laramie’s condition in a formal report on October 9, 1885: The sanitary condition of the post is about as good as the character of the buildings ­will admit. The enlisted men’s barracks except ­those occupied by ‘C’ and ‘D’ Companies are old, the roofs leaky and the walls full of crevices which are particularly bad at the win­dows and doors. ­There is no sewage system and the pit system in use  for enlisted men sinks is wholly unsatisfactory and does not meet sanitary requirements.45

Such facilities made for a very uncomfortable living situation when the weather turned cold—­Fort Laramie was located in eastern Wyoming and experienced several feet of snow in an average winter. Less than five years ­after Caldwell’s report, the fort was abandoned—it had become unnecessary to protect wagon convoys, thanks to the completion of rail lines through the area. Most smaller forts w ­ ere constructed on a more rudimentary basis and a much smaller scale. One exception was Fort Phil Kearny, built on the banks of Piney Creek in northeastern Wyoming. Col­o­nel Henry B. Carrington, who oversaw construction of the fort, seemed determined to create a major outpost out of nothing, regardless of its purpose or his ­orders.46 He detailed all of the troops of his command to fatigue parties, cutting wood and hauling it to the construction site throughout the summer of 1866. Within a few months, he had designed and erected a 600-­by-800-­foot palisade, even though it only ­housed a garrison of 300 men. Such a large structure created its own prob­lems of defense—in the event of a major attack, manning the walls with enough firepower to hold off an assault might have been difficult.47 For a soldier assigned to a garrison, the day started with a bugle call, “Reveille,” calling sleeping soldiers from their bunks. As the call ended, the flag was raised over the post, the morning gun was fired, and the men ­were expected to assem­ble for morning roll call within a few minutes. Depending upon the season, this might occur at 5:00 a.m.—it was almost always prior to sunrise. Cavalry troops reported to the stables to care for their ­horses and mules before receiving any form of breakfast. ­After feeding, watering, and grooming their mounts, they joined the rest of the post for breakfast, which usually consisted of bread, bacon, and hot coffee. Once the breakfast was complete, the troops reported to their working parties to perform their daily duties, which might include repairing or expanding buildings of the fort, cutting firewood, gathering crops, gardening, or hauling ­water.48 Smaller units within the post performed drill, which also served as a mechanism to improve the per­for­mance of new recruits. ­After several hours of morning duty, the troops reported to the mess hall for dinner, the largest meal of the day at most posts. It usually included beef, ­either in a stew or roasted, with vegetables, bread, and coffee. ­After dinner, the troops returned to their assigned tasks ­until recalled to the post for the eve­ning meal, which might include leftovers from dinner or simply bread and coffee. At 20 minutes before sunset, the soldiers assembled for “Retreat,” during which the flag was lowered and the post prepared for the eve­ning. At



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approximately 9:00 p.m., a bugler sounded “Tattoo,” signifying that soldiers should secure the post and then prepare for bed. The final bugle call of the day, “Taps,” called for the soldiers to extinguish all lights and cease any disruptions that might prevent sleep. A ­ fter a few precious hours of rest, the entire cycle continued the following morning. Although the U.S. Army Quartermasters Corps maintained responsibility for supplying U.S. troops, this was often done by hiring civilian contractors to purchase and transport raw materials to troops in garrisons or in the field. Not surprisingly, many of t­ hese contractors w ­ ere less than diligent in their duties, attempting to provide the lowest-­quality foodstuffs that they could reasonably supply as a means of increasing their own profits.49 According to military regulations, each soldier was entitled to approximately one pound of meat (beef or pork) and one pound of bread per day in addition to other requirements. Often, the troops ­were expected to procure local supplies of fresh vegetables and fruit, if available. Quartermasters and civilian contractors tended to supply raw materials whenever pos­si­ble, leaving it to the troops to find ways to cook their rations. Com­pany cook­houses might h­ andle the duty in garrison situations, but in the field, troops had to improvise their own methods. This often consisted of pooling rations into a squad’s supply and then rotating the duty for turning them into tolerable meals. When nutritional deficiencies emerged, they often manifested in the form of chronic ailments. In par­tic­u­lar, scurvy outbreaks often signaled a lack of fruit and vegetables and ­were very common near the end of the long winters that blanketed many western forts in heavy snow. Soldiers who ­were on campaigns or punitive expeditions, rather than remaining in a garrison, had far worse rations and accommodations. Food was typically l­ imited to items that ­were easily portable and would not immediately spoil. Most often, this meant ­either bacon or heavi­ly salted beef plus a form of biscuit—­hardtack—­ that was so dense it needed to be soaked in ­water or slowly gnawed—­a soldier attempting to take a bite of hardtack was likely to break a tooth in the pro­cess. The federal government issued tents to troops made of cotton or canvas and designed to be quickly erected in spartan conditions. However, the tents ­were neither large nor well made, so they tended to be both crowded and leaky in poor weather. Officers’ tents ­were larger and taller, offering a bit more room for the comfort of ­those with rank, but they ­were still the product of a government bidding system that placed a higher premium upon cost savings than upon production quality. Sometimes, troops attempting to move quickly did not take any baggage—­including shelters—­ which could lead to unpleasant conditions if the excursion lasted longer than expected. Private William Wilkinson described one such trip: Having finished the hardtack, bacon and coffee, and ­there being nothing more to do, we started our return to the post. We camped at Oak Creek that night, and as we had no tents or blankets, except ­saddle blankets, ­there was nothing to do but sit around the fire on the snow. It was not safe to lie down, as we very likely would have frozen. It happened to be the writer’s turn for guard duty, and as I had drawn third relief, my turn was from 11:00 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. About midnight, I heard the tramp tramp of a large body of men, and immediately challenged; receiving the reply of ‘an armed body,’ I called the corporal of the guard. The body proved to be Col­o­nel Drum with two companies of the 12th U.S. Infantry.

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He was both pleased and surprised to find that we ­were all right. He had brought blankets with him, and they ­were mighty welcome. The men could now roll up in a blanket and lie down to sleep, and they required no rocking to put them to sleep.50

Military uniforms in the late nineteenth ­century ­were neither utilitarian nor comfortable. In the summer, troops wore linen trousers and wool coats, both of which tended to soil easily and do ­little to protect from the ele­ments. Winter uniforms included wool trousers and heavy overcoats, which might provide sufficient warmth, so long as the wearer could remain dry, but when wet, the uniforms tended to become extremely heavy and to shrink as they dried.51 In the northernmost outposts, soldiers often purchased their own overcoats made of bison hides, in the native fashion, as an emergency mea­sure to keep warm. Many of the civilian scouts operating with the army chose to dress in a less con­spic­u­ous fashion, often adopting clothing similar to that of the local Native American tribes. This might include buckskin leggings and shirts, buffalo hide overcoats in winter, and leather moccasins in place of shoes or boots. The wearers did not pre­sent a particularly military appearance, but they reported much better utility from their attire. Even the top commanders of U.S. Army forces might fall into this habit—­General George Crook became famous for appearing indistinguishable from both his troops and the local settlers—he occasionally wore a uniform overcoat in poor weather, but other­wise dressed entirely in civilian attire.52 Recreation opportunities for troops ­were relatively scarce. Playing cards might help to pass the time, but gambling was frowned upon by most officers, and at times was banned entirely as a means to maintain order in the camps. In garrisons, recreational opportunities occasionally included sporting contests or games, but many commanders found it useful to keep their troops working throughout ­every day as a means of maintaining discipline. Physical contests, such as foot races or wrestling, and field events ­were popu­lar, as was the burgeoning sport of baseball.53 When in the field, entertainment typically consisted of swapping tales and songs around campfires. As Isaac Taylor Coates noted in his journal: The command had now marched 35 miles, halting only to ­water. The General sent the Delawares five or six miles in advance but they ­were unable to keep the trail. Accordingly, we went into camp for the night. The day had been a most exciting one. Although most of the men in the command had been in the late war, but very few had been on the war path. Every­thing was new and strange and wonderful. By the warmth and blaze of our log fires that night, a thousand Indian stories ­were told and exploits of Indian warriors related from the days of King Philip, or Powhatan, to the very chiefs of the tribes we w ­ ere in pursuit of.54

Military bands offered a boost to morale in many instances—­they often played martial m ­ usic designed to inspire the men in the moments before a b­ attle. On other occasions, they played popu­lar tunes to keep spirits high. When George Custer led his column out of Fort Lincoln, heading ­toward his final engagement with the Sioux, the regimental band played “The Girl I Left ­Behind Me.” Custer enjoyed having the band play his favorite song, “Garry Owen,” whenever he thought an engagement loomed, including the morning of his final encounter at the ­Little Big Horn.55



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RELIGION Although many U.S. soldiers professed an affinity for the Christian faith, their be­hav­ior often belied their inability to maintain the tenets of the religion. Most troops had ­little access to clergy or religious organ­izations, and while the U.S. Army had employed chaplains from the beginning of its organ­ization, ­those personnel ­were scarce and almost never pre­sent at the small frontier posts that characterized much of the ser­vice during the Indian Wars. Soldiers expressed disdain for their Native American enemies (and allies) on religious grounds, considering Indians to be “godless heathens” in most cases, even if ­those same Indians had expressed an interest in converting to the Christian faith. Early colonial military forces often used religious differences as a justification for their attacks upon Indian settlements on the grounds that the Indians practiced pagan religions that should be eradicated as a means of garnering God’s ­favor. The Third ­Great Awakening (c. 1855–1900) included a sweeping sense of religious revivalism throughout the United States. While it gave rise to a series of humanizing movements designed to improve society, including the temperance and ­women’s rights movements, it also encouraged proselytization, including by the use of force. By increasing the religious component of most social institutions, the Third ­Great Awakening provided a justification for some of the worst abuses of the Indian Wars, at least in the minds of many of the soldiers involved in the fighting. Most large posts had a chaplain or could rely upon a civilian member of the clergy to provide worship ser­vices. The smaller outposts did not merit such consideration, and thus any religious instruction tended to be supplied by the officers. According to many scholars of the era, the average enlisted man prob­ably had ­little interest in religious ceremonies, which tended to target the officer class. However, attending worship ser­vices did have the benefit of excusing a soldier from fatigue duties and drill on Sunday mornings, and hence participation was prob­ably higher than might other­wise be expected. Very few soldiers made religious observance a regular part of their daily routine.56 Native American religious movements also had significant ramifications, in part by serving as a unifying ­factor in the creation of confederations designed to resist white encroachment. Thus, when Tenskwatawa of the Shawnee began having visions in 1805 in which he claimed a ­f uture cataclysm would destroy the white population and lead to a renewed Native American control of North Amer­i­ca, he drew thousands of hopeful followers into the Shawnee Confederation and its decade-­ long fight with the U.S. Army. In the post–­Civil War era, a new form of religion swept through portions of the Native American population. Several prominent Native Americans claimed to have visions of an impending apocalypse that would lead to Native American dominance of the continent. The religious beliefs of some Native American tribes also led to the torture and mutilation of whites whenever they fell into captivity. It also led to the practices of scalping and desecrating corpses—to many tribes, ­these w ­ ere mechanisms to ensure that an ­enemy remained defeated in the afterlife. Of course, to whites, finding ­these victims (or their mutilated remains) served as evidence that the Indians they faced ­were merciless barbarians who represented all that was savage.57 When George

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Custer’s detachment of the Seventh Cavalry was ambushed and annihilated by Sioux warriors in 1876, most of the cavalry troopers’ bodies ­were maimed by the Sioux during or ­after the b­ attle. According to some eyewitnesses, most of the desecrations ­were committed by w ­ omen from the Sioux camp, rather than the warriors themselves.58 ­Those who believed their dead ancestors would arise to join them in the new world w ­ ere often lumped together as prac­ti­tion­ers of the “Ghost Dance,” a belief that frightened and horrified white settlers, who often reacted with vio­lence when they witnessed the new religious movement.59 The idea was first propagated by a Paiute, Wovoka, who fell into a trance on January 1, 1889, during a solar eclipse and received a vision of harmony with whites, as well as instructions of how to perform the Ghost Dance. As the religious concept spread, it was soon expanded to suggest that performing the dance would renew the earth and eliminate all evil from the land, to include the whites living ­there.60 This perversion of Wovoka’s original teachings caused most whites to see the Ghost Dance as a new religious fervor leading ­toward a renewal of conflict in the West.

POPU­L AR CULTURE Tales of the frontier ­were extremely popu­lar in American culture throughout the nineteenth ­century. One of the most well-­k nown authors of the era, James Fenimore Cooper, released five books from 1823 to 1841. Collectively called the Leatherstocking Tales, they purported to describe life on the frontier in gritty detail. All five sold exceedingly well and revolved around the character Natty Bumppo, a frontiersman with a firm sense of honor and justice, and his companion, Chingachgook, a Mohegan chief. Readers swooned at the descriptions of noble savages and the brave frontiersmen who confronted them. Beginning in the 1850s, the Western genre emerged as a distinct branch of American lit­er­a­ture. Mass-­produced novels printed on cheap paper became a common item available for sale throughout the United States. Often called “dime novels” or “penny dreadfuls,” ­these works tended to have very ste­reo­typed characters, predictable plots, and terrible dialogue—­but they proved exceedingly popu­lar due to their focus on action and events, often with a romantic subplot threaded throughout the narrative. ­These works became especially popu­lar in Eu­rope in the 1880s, particularly when Eu­ro­pean writers such as Karl May began writing them as full-­ length novels. By the time the frontier warfare had ceased, Western novels w ­ ere a hugely popu­ lar form of lit­er­a­t ure in the United States. Throughout the twentieth ­century, new forms of popu­lar culture recycled many of the standard tropes from Western fiction, starting with novels such as Owen Wister’s The Virginian (1902) and Zane Grey’s Riders of the Purple Sage (1912). As movie-­making technology became more prevalent, Western themes w ­ ere translated to the silver screen, and they soon proved popu­lar as tele­vi­sion programs. The image of the frontier hero, standing up on behalf of civilization against the savage influence of Native Americans, titillated audiences and presented a terribly misguided picture of frontier life. In the 1950s,



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Westerns dominated much of the tele­vi­sion lineup, with mainstays such as Gunsmoke, The Lone Ranger, Wagon Train, Maverick, Rawhide, Bonanza, and Have Gun—­Will Travel making their debut. Gunsmoke holds the distinction of being the longest-­r unning scripted tele­vi­sion program of the twentieth ­century, having broadcast 635 episodes over 20 years from 1955 to 1975. One common theme in most Western lit­er­a­t ure, films, and tele­vi­sion is to treat the U.S. Army as almost a part of the environment. Occasionally, the army is utilized as a deus ex machina, swooping in to end a conflict, but rarely do Westerns focus upon the army or pre­sent it in a particularly positive light. Soldiers are often utilized as the villains, relying upon their power as agents of the federal government to oppose the lone gunman hero of a book, movie, or program. Occasionally the army might be shown as a source of protection for civilians living along the frontier—­but far more often, it is the army that fails to perform its duty, requiring the frontiersman hero to step in and save the day. Although this made for a popu­ lar form of entertainment, it did ­little to reflect the ­actual situation along the frontier, where lone actors w ­ ere typically preyed upon by the larger forces in the area and certainly did not emerge to save the damsels in distress.

PAY AND COMPENSATION Army life was never a direct path to financial success, although it provided sufficient resources for survival. The army supplied enlisted personnel with every­ thing they needed for the basics of survival—­and very ­little more. This included a clothing allowance, shelter, and rations, although all of t­hese categories left much to be desired. The basic pay for a private was $13 per month, a rate that had not changed since the Civil War. Soldiers who achieved higher ranks within the enlisted troops (who had usually served at least one full tour and reenlisted for additional time in uniform) received higher wages, as did soldiers with specific skills required by the army. A sergeant major or a quartermaster sergeant could earn $23 per month, a mere $1 more than a first sergeant or a saddler sergeant. Reaching the rank of sergeant brought one’s pay to $17; corporals received $15, as did blacksmiths, farriers, and saddlers. Only a few specializations received significant bonuses. For example, hospital stewards first class earned $30 per month, and ordnance sergeants earned $33, putting them at the top of the enlisted ranks. If a soldier agreed to reenlist within one month of the end of his ser­vice, he qualified for a bonus of $2 per month and an additional $1 for each five years of previous ser­vice beyond the first five. Thus, the army was willing to pay to retain veteran troops, but not too much—­ those who chose to serve for a lifetime did so out of a desire to remain in the same profession, not due to any fiscal rewards.61 Army personnel certainly did not earn much when compared to their civilian counter­parts—­a fact reflected in the army’s allowance of additional daily wages for troops working on additional duty assignments.62 At some locations, soldiers managed to earn additional money by hiring out as local laborers, a practice that was explic­itly forbidden by War Department regulations but still occurred.63

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Although officers received substantially higher rates of pay when compared to enlisted personnel, they ­were also expected to provide for their own subsistence and uniforms. While most simply drew rations along with the men and ate in communal messes, obtaining uniforms, particularly with the decorative requirements expected of an officer, could be a costly burden.64 Army officers could often draw rail passes to facilitate their own travel, as well as that of their families. This perk demonstrated the vital role that rail lines saw for the army, as it served to protect their interests at no direct cost. Not surprisingly, many officers made extensive use of such passes, taking long furloughs in the East that ­were not an option for enlisted personnel.65 Enlisted troops ­were also allowed to travel on rail passes, but normally only as part of large groups ­under the command of an officer, and they typically only did so on the way to their initial posts in the West.66 Pay was usually handed out once each two months, when the army paymaster visited a post or camp to distribute the payroll in cash. Troops w ­ ere paid in U.S. greenbacks, which had substantial depreciation in the West, where gold and silver ­were the preferred currency. For many troops, payday was merely an opportunity to square the debts they had amassed in the preceding two months. In par­tic­u­lar, many soldiers had borrowed money from camp sutlers at usurious rates, occasionally approaching 100 ­percent interest. Almost e­ very post had a number of individuals perfectly willing to advance cash or goods against ­future pay; often the loan sharks ­were fellow soldiers who had managed to amass a stake of cash over time and learned that loans offered a better return than most other means of supplementing the meager pay. Another means of increasing one’s pay was to engage in games of chance—­and professional gamblers tended to visit posts and camps almost immediately ­after the paymasters, hoping to take away as much of the payroll as pos­si­ble.67 The clothing allowance was provided on a yearly basis and was barely sufficient for the needs of most soldiers. As soldiers drew uniform items from the quartermaster, their permanent rec­ord was noted. For more than a de­cade ­after the Civil War, surplus clothing items from that war w ­ ere issued, even though they w ­ ere not sufficient for the rigors of western ser­vice. Soldiers who did not expend their full clothing allowance could receive the balance at the end of their period of enlistment. This created an incentive not to destroy uniforms and to maintain them as long as pos­si­ble. It also meant that savvy veterans soon learned to buy used uniforms from discharged troops at extremely low prices as a means of keeping their clothing account balance as high as pos­si­ble.68 Shelter and rations ­were both provided by the army, which reduced the amount of monthly expenses faced by most soldiers. This allowed the more frugal members of a unit to send money home or to have some of their pay held back by the paymaster in a special account. Although this form of savings reduced the temptation to spend pay as soon as it was received, money placed in such an account could not be touched ­until the date of a soldier’s discharge—­and thus ­there was no guarantee that it would be of any benefit to the soldier at any point. Of course, even though the government officially provided enough food to survive, the rations ­were sometimes so meager that soldiers chose to purchase additional foodstuffs from sutlers. Given the difficulty of transporting goods to remote outposts, it is unsurprising that the sutlers imposed very high costs upon their customers.



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WEAPONRY The American Civil War enabled a number of technological enhancements to soldiers’ weaponry, and ­those gains ­were extremely impor­tant to the success of the U.S. Army in the wars that followed. Soldiers of the Civil War era ­were typically armed with rifled muskets firing a .58-­caliber Minié ball. The weapon required users to tear open a paper cartridge holding both the projectile and enough powder to charge their weapon, pour the powder down the muzzle of their firearm, followed by the bullet, ram both into place, and then charge the weapon by cocking the hammer and placing a percussion cap onto the nipple of the weapon. When the trigger was pulled, the hammer slammed onto the nipple, setting off the percussion cap, which ignited the main charge. Most well-­trained soldiers averaged three aimed shots per minute in ­battle and could fire at an ­enemy formation up to a half-­mile distant, although their accuracy was severely curtailed beyond 400 yards. By the end of the war, enterprising inventors in the Union had developed a wide variety of improvements. For example, the Spencer repeating ­rifle and shorter Spencer carbine both required the use of more modern ammunition in the form of a copper rim-­fired cartridge. Soldiers could load up to seven rounds through the butt of the weapon, and each time they jacked its lever, they extracted an expended cartridge and pushed a new one into place. Using this new design, soldiers could fire up to 20 rounds per minute, with a greater level of accuracy than t­ hose using the e­ arlier rifled musket design ­because they did not have to take their eyes off the target between shots. In addition, unlike its pre­de­ces­sor, the Spencer model could be reloaded from a prone position b­ ecause it loaded from the rear, allowing the user to remain u­ nder cover while remaining combat effective. Other models of repeater ­rifles had dif­fer­ent mechanisms for loading ammunition but with the same general princi­ple of allowing multiple cartridges to be loaded at once. T ­ hese cartridges had the additional advantage of being more durable in foul weather than the paper cartridges of the Civil War, a vital consideration in the distant outposts of the Indian Wars, where resupply might not arrive for months. Despite the existence of more advanced technology, the War Department had a terrible habit of issuing Civil War–­era equipment to Western forces in the name of pecuniary savings. This certainly reduced the expenditure of ammunition by U.S. troops, but it also made them far less capable in the field. Some troops chose to purchase better firearms on the civilian market; ­others made do with what they ­were issued. At times, troops deliberately fouled their weapons, hoping that it would provoke the War Department to issue newer gear. In 1866, the Springfield Armory developed a new ­rifle utilizing a trapdoor mechanism that allowed it to be loaded from the rear. This enabled troops to utilize the ­rifle while lying in a prone position. Springfield armorers continued to refine the weapon and, in 1873, released one of the most well-­known and successful weapons of the Indian Wars. The Springfield Model 1873 fired a .45-­caliber bullet propelled by 70 grains of black powder, giving it a high muzzle velocity and correspondingly better accuracy. It was also available in a carbine model, which shortened the firearm’s barrel from 32 to 22 inches and reduced the powder of the cartridges down to 55 grains. A favorite practical joke of soldiers in the era was to sneak full ­rifle loads into the ammunition

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being used by a carbine-­wielder during target practice. The carbine could fire the heavier cartridge, but ­doing so would create an enormous kickback, almost always startling the user to the ­great amusement of his comrades. Although the Springfield Model 1873 was a single-­shot weapon, a trained soldier could still fire approximately 15 rounds per minute, making it only slightly slower than the repeater ­rifle options. Regardless of which firearm the members of a unit possessed, troops normally carried only 40 rounds of ammunition as part of their standard combat load—­ meaning they could exhaust all of their supplies in a m ­ atter of only a few minutes if resupplies could not be obtained.69 Many soldiers augmented their government-­issued firearms by purchasing their own sidearms and knives.70 Popu­lar models of pistols included both single-­shot cap-­ and-­ball guns and more advanced revolvers, which also required metal cartridges instead of loose powder.71 Cavalry troopers ­were issued sabers, but many soldiers chose to discard them or left them ­behind in camp when ­going out on excursions, in part ­because they w ­ ere unwieldy, but primarily b­ ecause they w ­ ere almost useless in a fight against Native American warriors. By the time a cavalry soldier could close with the ­enemy sufficiently to attack with a melee weapon, he would almost certainly have been shot from the ­saddle by concentrated ­enemy gunfire and arrows. Thus, ­there was ­little incentive to keep and maintain such a useless piece of gear, with the pos­si­ble exception of when maneuvering on a parade ground. The Civil War also led to the development of crew-­served weapons firing metal cartridges. The most well known, the Gatling Gun, used a system of rotating barrels to sustain a high rate of ­rifle fire. Soldiers cranked a lever on the side of the weapon to rotate the barrels, and as each moved into position, a hammer set off the cartridge that was automatically loaded into the barrel. The cartridges could be contained in a box magazine or fed from a hopper-­style funnel. When it functioned correctly, the earliest models of the Gatling Gun could fire up to 200 rounds per minute. ­Later developments, including reducing the size of the barrels, increased the firing rate to as many as 900 rounds per minute. Obviously, this weapon could have a devastating effect if it could be emplaced and fired at a large formation of ­enemy troops in the open—­but such an event was exceedingly rare, and the weapon’s heavy weight, requirement for a large carriage, and the vulnerability of its crews made it an unattractive option for many field commanders. Likewise, its enormous rate of fire made it a very costly weapon to operate, and in an era of stingy leaders within the War Department, an officer who chose to employ such a weapon would likely be forced to explain his reasoning for expending such a large volume of ammunition. Throughout the course of the Civil War, artillery in general, and field pieces in par­tic­u­lar, became lighter, more mobile, and easier to use. Although the 12-­pounder Napoleon cannon was the ubiquitous field artillery of the Civil War, it was too heavy and unwieldy to be of much use in the West, except in garrison posts at the largest fortifications in the region. Instead, troops tended to rely upon three-­pounder cannons and howitzers, which could provide a substantial amount of firepower without greatly hindering the movement of mounted troops. This firepower often served to offset numerical disadvantages of the U.S. Army, which tended to disperse its troops to a staggering number of locations, making it vulnerable to a



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concentration of Native American attackers. Most outposts had at least a battery of small field pieces that could be mounted in a palisade wall or placed on a field carriage and pulled by a single ­horse. Soldiers could reposition the fieldpiece by hand once it was brought into action on the field and could maintain a sustained rate of fire of three rounds per minute. ­These small artillery pieces could fire solid shot, canister rounds, or shells with explosives and a timed fuse designed to detonate the round as it reached the target. Although early models ­were still muzzle-­loaded, by the 1870s, small breech-­ loading artillery became the norm, increasing the speed of reloading the guns and hence making them more effective on the battlefield. The most ubiquitous example was the Hotchkiss 1.65-­inch gun, which made its combat debut in the Nez Perce War of 1877. It was lightweight and mobile and could be broken down into component parts to be carried by two mules into almost any territory and then reassembled in minutes.

COMBAT Combat in the Indian Wars bore ­little resemblance to the linear tactics of the Civil War. Native Americans had neither the training nor the desire to engage in such a form of combat, which produced high numbers of casualties and required a substantial amount of discipline. Instead, they preferred to utilize ambushes, hit-­ and-­r un tactics, and cavalry charges when they engaged with U.S. Army units. In part, this reflected a cultural difference in the nature and character of war as perceived by most Native American tribes. This also reflected a lack of equal technology—­very rarely did Native American forces have a substantial number of modern firearms plus a substantive amount of ammunition to utilize them. Near the end of the Sioux War, leaders Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull ­were forced to abandon their quest for in­de­pen­dence in large part due to the inability to scrounge up sufficient ammunition for even a small skirmish.72 Even in the largest ­battles, including t­ hose won by Native American forces, a substantial number of the Indian warriors ­were armed with bows and melee weapons. Of course, ­because most engagements involved only a few troops, ­there tended to be ­little, if any, immediate medical aid available for wounded soldiers—­a fact that drove up the mortality rates of even small fights.73 The U.S. Army also showed ­little interest in utilizing linear tactics against their Native American enemies, although this was prob­ably more due to an inability to come to grips with the ­enemy and less to do with an ­actual preference for skirmishing and irregular formations. The dispersal of army troops throughout the entire frontier region ensured that most soldiers never saw a unit of more than battalion strength in their years of ser­vice. The most common unit size was the com­ pany, although a handful of companies might be stationed together at the larger posts sprinkled throughout the West. Even when multiple companies ­were ­housed at the same outpost, it was rare to see them patrolling together, in part due to the need to maintain a standing garrison at the post itself, where the military supplies ­were h­ oused. In fact, it was far more common for squadrons of cavalry with only

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a few dozen members to patrol the areas around outposts, with larger formations created only on the rare occasions when they w ­ ere needed for an expedition into hostile territory with a specific objective. Combat during the Indian Wars tended to be at the skirmishing level—­a few dozen soldiers might face an equal number of Native Americans in an accidental engagement. Casualties tended to be low in any engagement, although the aggregate total could become substantial. The ­Battle of the Rosebud, fought on June 17, 1876, between the U.S. Army and a combined force of Sioux and Cheyenne, involved approximately 1,000 troops on each side, but resulted in the deaths of 10 soldiers and 13 Indians—­a figure that proved unacceptably high to the Sioux and Cheyenne.74 ­After 12 years of fighting with the vari­ous Apache tribes, the U.S. Army had killed nearly 1,800 Apaches and captured over 800 more, while losing just ­under 500 soldiers and civilians combined. This represented losses of only a few dozen per year for the white settlers and their military protectors, making it far from catastrophic, while it devastated the Apache tribes that had maintained a small but stable population size for de­cades.75 One of the most difficult aspects of conducting combat in ­these types of wars was the need to control troops that might be spread out over an enormous area. In general, army signals relied upon e­ ither visual cues or bugle calls, both of which could be impeded by the rough terrain that characterized many of the battlefields. The Indian warriors soon came to recognize many of the bugle calls utilized by the army—­which meant that the order to charge, or to retreat, or to re-­form did not surprise the ­enemy in the slightest. B ­ ecause each unit had a distinct series of notes played to gather its attention, the use of bugles also made it easier for the ­enemy to know the size and composition of the forces possessed by the army. And fi­nally, most units had only one or two members who could accurately play the bugle, making them an obvious target for Indian sharpshooters. When a unit’s commander lost the ability to communicate with his troops, the results ­were often disastrous.76 A major ­battle in the Indian Wars might involve participation from fewer than 1,000 soldiers—­even the campaign that included the ­Battle of the ­Little Bighorn, which resulted in the largest number of U.S. Army deaths of any b­ attle of the entire period, included only 700 soldiers, and barely one-­third ­were with Lieutenant Col­ o­nel Custer when his command was ambushed. The 268 killed ­were sufficient to make 1876 the deadliest year on rec­ord for the army since the end of the Civil War—­ and it remained so u­ ntil 1898, when the Spanish-­American War occurred.77 It was far more common for a war to consist of a continual strug­gle of attrition between the Native Americans, the army, and any white settlers in an area—­who might decide to use vio­lence as a means of claiming territory originally reserved for a Native American tribe.78 Marvin Woods described one such standoff that commenced in 1866: When Chief Sitting Bull, the notorious Sioux, discovered that the military was building a fort on the Missouri River three miles below the Yellowstone River, he warned them to immediately leave what he perceived to be his country. The military remained despite the threat. However, the majority of the time the Sioux held the occupants of the fort in a state of semi-­siege. They seldom attacked the fort but they took the scalps of careless soldiers and massacred wood-­seeking parties as well. They would sneak



The Indian Wars 343 into the area to run off the c­ attle and steal ­horses and mules. When discovered they would sit on their ­horses at a safe distance making insulting gestures.79

Even when on a punitive expedition, the army often strug­gled to bring its superior forces to bear against the ­enemy. The pursuit of Geronimo and his band of Apache warriors required movements through very inhospitable terrain, and the Apaches had the skills and willingness to set ambushes at almost any point. As Geronimo described one such encounter: We went on t­oward Old Mexico, but on the second day a­ fter this United States soldiers overtook us about three ­o’clock in the after­noon and we fought ­until dark. The ground where we attacked was very rough, which was to our advantage, for the troops ­were compelled to dismount in order to fight us. I do not know how many soldiers we killed, but we lost only one warrior and three ­children. We had plenty of guns and ammunition at this time. Many of the guns and much ammunition we had accumulated while living in the reservation, and the remainder we had obtained from the White Mountain Apaches when we left the reservation.80

Over the course of two months, Geronimo’s band of a few dozen warriors killed 48 men (soldiers and civilians), stole 250 ­horses, and lost only a single warrior—­ but as Alexander Adams noted, “Even this ratio was too heavy for the Apaches. The Americans could always find a hundred white men ready to take the place of ­those who had died; the Apaches had no substitutes for the single warrior.”81 When the Indian warriors could concentrate larger forces, they might feel emboldened to attack isolated garrisons or working parties outside of the walls of

This newspaper illustration depicts the final ­battle of the Nez Perce War, which lasted from June u­ ntil October 1877. The Nez Perce managed a fighting retreat of more than 1,000 miles, but eventually surrendered just short of the Canadian border and ­were forced into captivity at Fort Leavenworth before being relocated to a small reservation in Oklahoma. (Library of Congress)

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an outpost; but even when they felt they had a significant advantage, they often chose to use a bait-­and-­switch technique to improve their odds. A small decoy party of mounted warriors rode within sight of the U.S. forces and then appeared to panic and flee the area. Their objective was to lure the U.S. troops into pursuit, which they led into the snare of a well-­placed ambush. Time and again, the tactic succeeded in bringing soldiers into a disadvantageous position, making them vulnerable to concentrated fire.82 Only the maintenance of discipline and the careful positioning of troops allowed much hope of evading or surviving an ambush. Over time, the U.S. Army began to adjust its tactics to avoid such ambushes, or at least limit the damage of them. Helen Addison Howard describes a cavalry troop formation moving through a dangerous region during the Nez Perce War of 1877: The troops ­were now following a defile flanked by two ridges, and at a lower elevation rounded knolls appeared on their left. White Bird Creek lay over the more distant butte and emptied into the Salmon beyond the mouth of the canyon. A high ridge paralleled the trail on the right, lifting a sheer barrier. Still farther down, the canyon swung around to the east and opened into a valley four or five hundred yards wide between high bluffs. As the cavalry in column of fours, with carbines ready, approached the buttes that concealed the Indian camp, Lieutenant Theller and eight men rode a hundred yards in advance of the main force. They had been ordered by Perry to act as advance guard. Next came Captain Perry and his Troop F with the citizen volunteers. Trimble’s com­ pany brought up the rear, the ranks being separated by an interval of forty or fifty yards. Theller had been instructed to deploy and halt as soon as he saw the Indians, and to relay the information to his commanding officer. Perry, having discovered the stir at the Indian camp, thought the Nez Perces ­were hurrying to cross the Salmon. Lieutenant Theller, on the farther ridge to the left in the direction of White Bird Creek, perhaps still a hundred yards ahead of the other troops, halted and deployed his advance guard as r­ ifle bullets began whizzing about him. Rushing word back to Perry, ‘The Indians are in sight!’ he opened fire.83

Some of the bloodiest “­battles” of the Indian Wars are more properly termed massacres—­the mass slaughter of a large population, often including substantial numbers of noncombatants. Such events might be carried out by any of the groups involved in the conflicts, but the results tended to be the same, in that U.S. citizens expressed horror and outrage and then immediately laid the blame at the feet of the Native Americans. At the Wounded Knee massacre of December 29, 1890, before which the Lakota Sioux tribal warriors had been disarmed, a single ­rifle shot served as the trigger for U.S. Army troops to open fire upon the remaining tribal members. Hundreds of Lakota ­were killed in a few minutes of furious gunfire, which included dozens of rounds from the small artillery pieces pre­sent. Afterwards, official army reports blamed the tragedy upon the Lakota, who had voluntarily reported to the area and surrendered their weapons.84 ELITE TROOPS Although nothing quite so elite as special forces units existed in the U.S. Army during the nineteenth c­ entury, ­there w ­ ere a number of military units that earned a



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reputation for carry­ing out difficult missions ­under trying circumstances. Often, ­these units w ­ ere equipped in a better fashion than their peers, giving them a greater likelihood of success in their endeavors. During the Civil War, Union cavalry units ­were often prioritized over infantry for the issuance of new firearms, in par­tic­u­lar, breechloaders and repeater ­rifles. This trend continued a­ fter the war, as cavalry units became the most capable Indian-­ fighting organ­izations on the frontier. While infantry units ­were often equipped with single-­shot, muzzle-­loading rifled muskets, even ­after better equipment became available, cavalry ­were typically given the most advanced firearms. This in turn increased the firepower of cavalry units, as each trooper could fire as many as 30 rounds per minute (as compared to the infantry’s 3 rounds in the same time period). When given adequate supplies of ammunition, cavalry troops equipped with repeater ­rifles proved absolutely deadly when pitted against Native American tribes. On August 2, 1867, a party of 26 soldiers and 6 civilians, commanded by Captain James Powell, w ­ ere on a woodcutting detail near Fort Phil Kearny in Wyoming when they ­were attacked by several hundred Lakota Sioux led by Crazy Horse. The men ­were armed with breechloaders, the Springfield Model 1866, and Henry lever-­ action ­rifles. Although the Springfields ­were single-­shot, they fired heavy .50-­caliber cartridges, allowing a much higher rate of very accurate fire. The Henry ­rifles could be loaded with up to 16 rounds in the tubular magazine—so long as the ammunition held out, a soldier armed with a Henry could fire as many as 60 rounds in a minute. When the Sioux attacked, they had overwhelming numbers but very few firearms, and thus had to approach well within r­ ifle shot to use their bows, making them obvious targets for the defenders. Although neither side managed to inflict heavy losses, the mere fact that less than three dozen men held off a force more than 20 times larger was an indicator of the technological disparity increasingly common in the frontier fights.85 The notion of mounted infantry, troops who used ­horses or mules to travel quickly but fought dismounted to offer a much smaller target to the ­enemy, had been common since the beginning of the nineteenth c­ entury. Prior to the Civil War, such units w ­ ere called “dragoons,” and they w ­ ere integral to efforts at mapping the Louisiana Purchase. During the Indian Wars, this became the norm for most units—­ without mounts, they simply could not keep up with their foes, but fighting from ­horse­back was both impractical and extremely dangerous.86 In the second half of the nineteenth c­ entury, formal military ser­vice was no longer ­limited to white citizens, although some men might have lied about their heritage to obtain an opportunity to serve with more prestigious units. U.S. troops often employed Native American scouts to help avoid e­ nemy ambushes and to chase down ­enemy forces. ­These scouts often came from rival tribes and accepted their employment as a means to fight against their lifelong enemies, rather than from any desire to serve the United States.87 Some civilian scouts also took ser­vice with the U.S. Army in much the same capacity. One of the most famous, William Frederick Cody, better known as Buffalo Bill, won the Medal of Honor in 1872 for his ser­vices in the Indian Wars. Four other civilian scouts won the same honor, although all of the medals ­were rescinded by the War Department in 1917 and w ­ ere not posthumously returned u­ ntil 1989.

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Apache scouts serving with the U.S. Army pose for a photo­graph at Fort Wingate, New Mexico. Indian tribes often allied themselves with the U.S. Army in exchange for both economic gain and military assistance against traditional ­enemy tribes. (National Archives)

HEALTH AND MEDICINE Nineteenth-­century medicine was not particularly advanced, even in the post–­ Civil War era. ­There was no clear understanding of germs, bacteria, or viruses, meaning ­there was l­ ittle understanding of the need to clean and disinfect wounds. Although the army dispatched surgeons with its large units, most of the common formations of one or two companies did not merit the assignment of a trained medical officer. The larger, semi-­permanent forts ­were likely to have a post surgeon and at least rudimentary medical supplies, but even ­these individuals had ­little capacity to treat all but the most basic ailments; at times, their cures ­were worse than the original prob­lem experienced by the soldiers ­under their care. Medical personnel in the recruiting centers provided a fairly thorough examination of applicants for military ser­vice, which hopefully served to eliminate ­those who could not stand up to the rigors of army life. When a recruit fi­nally reached his ser­vice post, he underwent a second medical examination—­one that often resulted in rejection from ser­vice, proving that the recruiting surgeons w ­ ere not always thorough in their examinations.88 The posts tended to be hit hard by recurrent waves of communicable diseases, particularly diphtheria, typhoid fever, and influenza. During the period of the Indian Wars, more troops ­were lost to cholera than to combat wounds, a fact that army surgeons lamented but could not prevent.89 ­After all of the trauma of the Civil War, military surgeons had a much greater understanding of how to treat gunshot wounds, borne of long experience in the conflict that contained more U.S. Army battlefield casualties than any other war. They knew that in the case of a head wound, for example, once the bleeding was ­under control, it was usually safer to leave the bullet in place rather than attempt to retrieve



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it. They also had better techniques for treating wounds to the extremities, meaning the number of amputations performed was gradually reduced. Nevertheless, a soldier shot in the Indian Wars tended to face a grueling recovery period and was unlikely to return to military ser­vice ­after a significant wound. Instead, he was considered lucky to have survived the experience at all. Disabled soldiers ­were not automatically mustered out of service—­often, they served in noncombatant roles in garrison details, essentially allowing the army to continue to provide food and shelter in exchange for their loss. The most common ­causes for medical care during the Indian Wars ­were gunshot and arrow wounds, each of which presented its own complications. In the second half of the ­century, a gunshot wound was created by ­either a musket ball, which might be as large as .75 caliber, or a bullet, which might be as large as .50 caliber. Such a round created a gaping wound, prob­ably accompanied by a shattered bone wherever the bullet struck. For wounds to the extremities, the first priority was stopping the bleeding and assessing the damage. Assuming the soldier survived the shot, he was entirely likely to lose the struck limb through a fairly crude amputation pro­cess. If he was lucky, the surgeon would have a supply of ether or laudanum to help dull the pain, but he faced a long recovery pro­cess that was extremely susceptible to the onset of gangrene. If the wound was to the head or torso, the surgeon used a probe inserted into the wound to attempt to track the penetration of the ball and then tried to retrieve it with a long set of pliers, hopefully not ­doing further damage in the pro­cess. ­Because such wounds often penetrated through clothing and took pieces of soiled cloth into the wound, they ­were especially likely to result in an infection, even if the wound itself was not fatal. To preclude such an event, many surgeons elected to cauterize the wound using an iron poker heated to white-­hot in a forge or fire. This might stop the bleeding and the spread of infection but could prove fatal to the patient or prevent the wound from completely closing. It was also almost impossible to perform in the field—­which meant that the fastest form of care was to clean the wound as well as pos­si­ble and then apply a field dressing, typically “two layers of lint saturated in cold ­water, topped with a piece of oiled silk, all held in place by a rag.”90 Arrow wounds ­were in some ways easier to treat—­the shaft of the arrow typically projected out of the wound, making it much easier to identify the portions of the body that had been struck. Sometimes, it was pos­si­ble to remove the arrow by simply pulling it back along the path of entry, although barbing on the arrowheads sometimes made such a move considerably more damaging than the initial wound. ­After 1865, most native arrowheads ­were made from metal, usually sal­ vaged from other implements. The arrows tended to be very sharp and very flat, causing them to penetrate deeply but then bend when they struck a bone. This made the removal substantially more difficult, particularly if the sinews holding the arrowhead to the shaft became loose, which could cause the arrowhead to remain lodged in the body. Some native tribes coated their arrowheads in toxic substances, including animal and ­human feces, which significantly increased the likelihood that a wounded man would encounter septic shock from the resultant infection. In 1862, Doctor J. H. Bill, a surgeon serving with the U.S. Army, designed a device to extract arrows from soldiers’ flesh. It consisted of a wire

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loop on a probe that could be inserted into the wound site, following the shaft of the arrow, and looped over the tip of the arrowhead, allowing it to be extracted in one piece. While extremely painful for the wounded soldier, it provided a much better chance of withdrawing the entire projectile, and hence quickly became a part of ­every surgeon’s standard field kit.91 Medical personnel ­were often given substantial influence over the health and hygiene of a garrison location, and some of them made major strides to improve the conditions faced by soldiers. In par­tic­u­lar, this involved working to enhance the access to clean ­water and making certain that camps properly disposed of waste (rather than simply depositing it into the local ­water supply). Although doctors did not understand the underpinning c­ auses of disease, the extensive documentation from Civil War camps’ medical personnel allowed them to see the connections between cleanliness and reduced disease transmission rates.92 Of course, the location of camps had a significant influence over the rate of diseases in the area, and at the insistence of surgeons, some of the locations w ­ ere abandoned. Fort Goodwin, Arizona, for example, was subjected to malarial outbreaks ­every summer due to the high mosquito population in the region. When it was fi­nally closed in 1871, the Bureau of Indian Affairs started using it as a reservation site for Apaches.93

PRISONERS OF WAR Prisoners of war w ­ ere a particularly thorny issue during the Indian Wars, and the decision to take them and how to treat them tended to vary substantially according to the ­enemy being fought. ­There was no set War Department policy on the need to take prisoners, although ­there ­were some general assumptions about the expectation to offer quarter to an ­enemy wishing to surrender. Unfortunately, ­those assumptions tended to apply only against enemies that the federal government of the United States considered civilized and trustworthy. Thus, in the American Revolution, both American and British troops accepted surrenders and treated their captives relatively well, in the expectation that they would be exchanged at some point in the war, or at least at its cessation. The same was true in the War of 1812—­ with l­imited exceptions, prisoners ­were well treated and could expect to survive the length of the conflict if they remained in captivity. In the Mexican War, American troops tended to practice a form of catch and release, paroling large masses of troops when it became incon­ve­nient to manage, guard, and supply them. Even when the same prisoners v­ iolated their paroles and w ­ ere captured on subsequent battlefields, they ­were still afforded the same treatment. The U.S. Army requested Catholic priests administer the oaths of parole, on the assumption that Mexican troops would consider such a promise more binding, but even when this proved inaccurate, the policy hardly changed before the end of the war. In the Civil War, more soldiers ­were captured on each side than ­were killed in the fighting. The treatment of prisoners in that conflict proved less than optimal, but it was still significantly better than what was seen in the Indian Wars. In the nineteenth ­century, the most impor­tant ­factor in determining how prisoners would be treated, and even if they would be taken, was the overarching



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objective of the campaign at hand. When the objective of a war with a Native American group was the forcible removal of that group to a dif­fer­ent territory, such as pushing a tribe back onto a reservation, the army typically ­limited itself to attacks upon adult males and spared ­women and ­children, who ­were instead rounded up and transported back to their homes. Alternatively, if the army or its po­liti­cal masters de­cided that a tribe simply could not remain in place (or would not do so of its own accord), territory was often apportioned for the tribe in Indian Territory and the survivors of the conflict transported to it. At the end of the Modoc War of 1873, for example, the surviving members of the Modocs ­were sent to a small reservation of only 180 acres, where they grew wheat and corn.94 Often, the decision to surrender fell to a single leader and was placed u­ nder the auspices of a peace treaty. When General Nelson A. Miles negotiated the surrender of Geronimo and his Apache war band, his objective was to end Apache re­sis­tance to U.S. expansion in the Southwest. As part of this aim, he intended to move Geronimo’s entire group to a reservation in Oklahoma, at Fort Sill. Geronimo described the negotiations in his memoirs: Then he [Miles] talked with me for a long time and told me what he would do for me in the f­uture if I would agree to the treaty. I did not greatly believe General Miles, but ­because the President of the United States had sent me word I agreed to make the treaty, and to keep it. Then General Miles said to me: ‘I ­will take you ­under Government protection; I w ­ ill build you a h­ ouse; I w ­ ill fence you much land; I ­will give you ­cattle, ­horses, and mules, and farming implements. You ­will be furnished with men to work the farm, for you yourself w ­ ill not have to work. In the fall I ­will send you blankets and clothing so that you ­will not suffer from cold in the winter time. ­There is plenty of timber, w ­ ater, and grass in the land to which I w ­ ill send you. You ­will live with your tribe and with your ­family. If you agree to this treaty you ­shall see your ­family within five days.’ I said to General Miles: ‘All of the officers that have been in charge of the Indians have talked that way, and it sounds like a story to me; I hardly believe you.’ He said: ‘This time it is the truth.’ I said: ‘General Miles, I do not know the laws of the white man, nor of this new country where you are to send me, and I might break their laws.’ He said: ‘While I live you w ­ ill not be arrested.’ Then I agreed to make the treaty. (Since I have been a prisoner of war I have been arrested and placed in the guard­house twice for drinking whiskey.) We stood between his troopers and my warriors. We placed a large stone on the blanket before us. Our treaty was made by this stone, and it was to last ­until the stone should crumble to dust; so we made the treaty, and bound each other with an oath. I do not believe that I have ever v­ iolated that treaty; but General Miles never fulfilled his promises.95

Geronimo’s Chiricahua Apaches spent de­cades in captivity ­under the watchful eye of army personnel. In 1888, they arrived at Mount Vernon, Alabama, with 389 members of the tribe guarded by a com­pany of troops, demonstrating almost immediately that Miles had not kept his promise.96 Most of the ­children of the tribe ­were sent away to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where a special boarding school was established to teach them the ways of white society; half of them died of communicable

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diseases within the first year. The remaining members of the tribe lived in Alabama for six years, during which time the army attempted to “civilize” them by teaching farming techniques and encouraging a sedentary lifestyle. In 1894, with only 305 remaining, the Chiricahuas ­were moved to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where they remained u­ nder army control u­ ntil the eve of World War I, when they w ­ ere allowed to return to the Southwest by joining the Mescalero Apache Reservation in New Mexico.97 When the war’s aim was the annihilation of a tribe or was simply a punitive expedition to coerce a tribe into promising not to engage in conflict against the United States and its citizens, the decision to take prisoners was far less common, regardless of army assumptions about offering quarter.98 Such fights tended to be highly mobile affairs, which meant that taking and transporting prisoners proved much more difficult. When an army unit was in the field, it typically did not have the capacity to guard large numbers of prisoners, meaning that only prominent leaders ­were likely to be seized. If an army unit was operating from a fortified position, it was more likely to accept surrenders and hold them within the local fortification, usually in a windowless block­house designed for the purpose of securing prisoners. However, this placed a significant logistical strain upon the army’s Quartermaster Corps, and mounting a guard over the prisoners was often challenging as well. On a large number of occasions, the prisoners being held in this fashion managed to escape their captivity. American troops captured by Indians also faced a wide variety of outcomes. In some cases, they w ­ ere used as the victims for ritual tortures, which could range from dismemberment to burning alive.99 On other occasions, ­there was an attempt to assimilate them into the tribe, which occasionally resulted in white tribal members fighting against other whites in ­later conflicts. In most cases, the same pressures that applied to the U.S. Army applied to their Native American opponents, including the prob­lems of supply and guarding captives, and the result was similar—it was quite common for attempted surrenders to be refused. Of course, given the soldiers’ fears of the worst pos­si­ble outcomes, ­there ­were a number of occasions in which the last troops remaining from a unit on the verge of annihilation chose to commit suicide rather than await capture.

HOME FRONT For most Americans, the Indian Wars ­were a source of sensationalism and lurid stories propagated through newspapers, pamphlets, and published books—­ but they ­were not a significant aspect of daily life. The vast majority of U.S. citizens did not live on or near the western frontier—­and given how quickly the frontier line changed, even ­those who lived at the frontier line did not remain in the danger zone for more than a few years. Occasionally, Eastern newspapers would trumpet the results of a ­battle in the West, but they often did so with ­little regard for the facts of the issue. Rarely ­were such results considered significant for the nation as a whole—­particularly when most Indian conflicts ­were fought west of the Mississippi River.



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Families who had soldiers serving in the Indian Wars ­were more likely to take note of the news as it filtered its way back east—­but such news often came in the form of intermittent letters from the soldiers themselves, which might require months to reach their destination. For t­ hose who chose a soldierly life, the decision largely served to sever most ties to their families in the East. Officers ­were sometimes an exception to this rule, in part ­because they ­were more likely to be accompanied by their families, but even they ­were often out of communication for months or longer. Not u­ ntil a­ fter the establishment of telegraph lines into the frontier region could communications be relatively quick, and even with this new technology in place, sending tele­grams was relatively expensive, making them useful in emergencies, but not for daily communication. Also, given the Native American warriors’ habit of cutting telegraph wires whenever pos­si­ble, when a conflict erupted with a tribe, reliance upon the telegraph usually fell. By the time families knew that a conflict had started, the resolution had prob­ably occurred. Soldiers definitely benefited from their connections to friends and ­family in their hometowns. The arrival of a mail wagon was a major event in most forts and camps, and soldiers trea­sured the communications they received, but this was in large part due to the lack of other options for intellectual activity. At times, the vagaries of the home front created prob­lems that triggered conflict along the frontier. For example, in the 1860s and 1870s, buffalo coats, made from the hides of bison, became a major fashion craze in the United States and Eu­rope. This created an economic incentive for the mass slaughter of bison populations, which led to the near extinction of the North American bison but also created massive pressure upon Native American populations, particularly the Sioux, who relied heavi­ly upon bison herds for their survival. A fash­ion­able buffalo coat wearer in the East prob­ably had no idea of the effect their clothing choices had in the aggregate upon the state of relations in the G ­ reat Plains, but ­there is ­little doubt that the ability of famous hunters like Buffalo Bill Cody to kill dozens of bison per day, and to leave their skinned carcasses littering the plains, had an enormous influence over the creation of conflict between native populations and whites. As bison herds failed to recover from being hunted for profit rather than survival, the tribes that depended upon them suffered—­and this could lead to conflict or cooperation, depending upon the preferences of the tribal leaders and the be­hav­ior of U.S. Army forces in the immediate vicinity.100 Historian Stanley Vestal believed ­there was a deliberate plan by the federal government to exterminate the bison as a means of forcing Native American tribes to become dependent upon the federal government, and hence remain on reservations; ­others have argued that the ­free market forces of capitalism did not require government direction to create the tragedy.101

VETERANS’ ISSUES The vast majority of enlisted personnel in the U.S. Army chose to accept a discharge at the end of their first term of ser­vice and did not return to the armed forces at any subsequent point in their lives. Most had slaked their thirst for adventure and had no desire to continue on in a low-­paying profession that consisted of

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drudgery and danger, with ­little personal satisfaction or comfort. Many reported a desire to get married, have ­children, and pursue a civilian profession. Some planned to further their education by attending college. A substantial percentage remained in the West, lured away by the prospects of frontier life without the discipline imposed by army ser­vice. According to the Secretary of War Stephen Elkins, less than 1 ­percent of enlisted troops remained in ser­vice long enough to qualify for an army pension, which was awarded at 30 years of ser­vice. If a soldier had served during the Civil War or the Mexican War, he was eligible for pensions from ­those wars ­after a much shorter period of service—­a fact that represents both the po­liti­cal power of veterans of t­ hose wars and the low regard in which the nation held the Indian Wars and t­ hose who fought in them.102 Veterans of the Indian Wars or­ga­nized into a number of commemorative organ­ izations, which possessed significant po­liti­cal power in many of the western states. Although they never achieved the prominence of the ­Grand Army of the Republic, ­these groups did manage to work together to secure pensions for combat veterans of the Indian Wars. The pensions specifically applied to individuals over the age of 62 who had served in a series of specified campaigns between 1866 and 1891. All of the major Indian Wars of that era ­were included in the list, but anything prior to 1866 did not qualify. Ser­vice pensions for the Indian Wars amounted to $20 per month, and ­widows of veterans qualified for $12 pensions.103 Pensions for Civil War veterans ­were considerably higher—­a fact that reflected both the greater number of veterans from that conflict and the far greater po­liti­cal power of their organ­ izations. In 1937, the federal government added $5 per month to the Indian Wars pensions, a sum that did ­little to offset the effects of inflation over the preceding de­cades.104 The soldiers who w ­ ere disabled by their ser­vice ­were compensated according to the level of their disability. T ­ hose who had lost a limb could expect a monthly cash payment, although it was too low to provide anything but the most basic ele­ments of survival. The chronically ill soldiers of ­these wars and ­those too disabled to function in society ­were allowed to enter the Soldiers’ Home in Washington, D.C., where they could live with a modicum of medical care available.105 Michael Tate has found that veterans of the Indians Wars tended to become productive citizens of the West once they had left their uniforms ­behind. Many used their existing connections to open new businesses in the vicinity of military posts. ­Others offered ser­vices to settlers coming to the region from the East or became po­liti­cal leaders within the newly occupied lands. A substantial number joined law enforcement agencies, allowing them to operate with a certain degree of in­de­pen­ dence while still maintaining order in the West. Of course, some simply remained at the forts and garrisons to provide ser­vices to soldiers—­allowing them to leave ­behind the drill and fatigue aspects of ser­vice while remaining in the immediate area. So long as he waited u­ ntil the expiration of his enlistment to set up shop, a veteran was usually a welcome addition to the fort’s community—he might be pressed into militia ser­vice in an emergency, and would likely acquit himself well, and he provided something useful for the community. T ­ hese dynamics w ­ ere particularly evident among black veterans, who found that the Western communities tended to be far more accepting of successful blacks than the East.106



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MILITARY DISCIPLINE The soldier’s life during the Indian Wars consisted of a spartan existence with l­ ittle in the way of amusement or excitement on most days. Not surprisingly, many soldiers relied upon cheap and readily available alcohol as a means of passing the time and forgetting about their trou­bles. In almost e­ very army fort, t­here was at least one sutler capable of supplying whiskey and other liquors, even though ­doing so on reservation territory v­ iolated federal law. In addition, plenty of the soldiers ­were capable of building their own apparatus to distill alcohol from available precursors. Thus, for most soldiers, access to alcohol was not a prob­lem; rather, limiting one’s intake often proved more problematic. The consumption of alcohol tended to make soldiers more belligerent, and on countless occasions it contributed to disputes with local Native American tribes.107 Likewise, traders who supplied alcohol to the Native American tribes did so knowing that it might provoke violent be­hav­ior—­but the profit margins associated with providing whiskey ­were simply too high to be ignored. Some historians have estimated that as many as half of the soldiers on frontier posts should be classified as alcoholics, and another 25 ­percent as frequent drinkers. Not surprisingly, this level of alcohol consumption contributed to a ­great amount of the general disorder at army posts, and alcohol was typically linked to nonbattle deaths within army units, especially self-­inflicted gunshot wounds that comprised the largest share of an exceptionally high suicide rate.108 Drug use beyond alcohol was not common, but it was not unheard of, particularly in the post–­Civil War period, when opium became far more available in the United States. Sold as a variety of phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal products, opium was considered an effective treatment for a number of ailments, including fatigue and headaches. Of course, some soldiers chose to obtain supplies of pure opium undisguised as a medical treatment, and their reliance upon the drug was often well known to their fellow soldiers and the post surgeons. Opium is capable of inducing hallucinations, which can lead to violent outbursts, but it typically provides a feeling of tranquility, acting as a sedative for most users. Unsurprisingly, given the types of men who w ­ ere recruited into the U.S. Army during the Indian Wars, the military experienced a high crime rate during the nineteenth ­century. However, the types of crimes that ­were most often perpetrated ­were not prosecuted via courts-­martial; administrative punishment was far more common. If the victim of a crime was a Native American, it was entirely likely that the soldier would not be punished at all, making the victimization of Native Americans all the more common as a result. Property crimes ­were almost continual—­and as long as the unspoken rule of not stealing from fellow soldiers was upheld, this be­hav­ior was mostly tolerated.109 Officers had few illusions about the morals of their enlisted personnel, but they focused primarily upon the larger issues associated with survival and completion of their missions on the frontiers. Desertion was a major prob­lem within the nineteenth-­century army, although the more remote posts had somewhat lower desertion rates than the ones located closer to the eastern population centers. To desert from a truly remote post, a soldier might have to traverse hundreds of miles of wilderness, possibly through territory inhabited by hostile Native Americans. For their part, the tribes local to

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almost all posts understood that a soldier moving alone through their territory was almost certainly a deserter. They might choose to take him into their society, but it was far more likely that they would attack and kill him. His body might be ­later found by his comrades, but a significant portion of the deserters from frontier posts ­were never seen again, including by their families. Of course, many soldiers took ser­vice with the U.S. Army as a means of obtaining transportation to the West, where they hoped to seek their fortune. Given the much higher pay of occupations other than military ser­vice, many men found the allure of desertion far more attractive than waiting for the opportunity to muster out of ser­vice. This was particularly true if they served ­under difficult or disciplinarian officers, or if they ­were in a role that allowed them to abscond with a substantial amount of government property. Ironically, deserters had an intrinsic value for anyone who captured them, as the U.S. Army was willing to pay a bounty on any captured deserters. It is entirely likely that unscrupulous civilians at times encouraged desertion from the ranks, only to turn around and seize the deserter, who could then be returned to his post for a cash reward.110 Deserters often left in small groups whenever morale dipped low—­such as when the enlisted troops believed they ­were in significant danger from attack or when much-­needed supplies failed to arrive at garrison locations.111 Mutiny was an almost unheard-of event for U.S. Army units on the frontier, although a certain degree of insubordination was common, and at times even tolerated by commanders. For soldiers to actually attempt to mutiny would require them to form a conspiracy (a difficult t­ hing to achieve in the small units commonly operating together on the frontier) and then attempt to seize control of the post or the unit. Had such a mutiny succeeded, the men would still be located hundreds of miles from the safety of the most heavi­ly populated regions. Thus, a mutiny would likely be a self-­defeating event; the original circumstances leading to it, ­unless they ­were contained within the be­hav­ior of a single commander, remained even a­ fter the mutiny. Most soldiers who hated their commanding officers and circumstances so much chose instead to desert their unit or to request a transfer to another organ­ ization. A rare exception happened on December 1, 1867, when members of the Thirty-­Eighth Infantry revolted at Fort Cummings, New Mexico, ­after a series of poorly advised decisions by the white officers commanding the black regiment. Eventually, the mutiny was curtailed, and 13 men ­were charged for their roles in the incident. Astoundingly, only one was convicted of mutiny, and he was merely imprisoned for his actions rather than hanged for leading the revolt.112

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE INDIAN WARS The Indian Wars ­were the first true engagements in American history when U.S. forces had a decisive edge in the technological implements of war—­better firearms, the only artillery, and a supply system capable of producing almost unlimited amounts of ammunition for both. Although this advantage was not constant—­there ­were incidents in which the Indians had ­either more advanced firearms or a better supply of projectiles—it was the norm for any campaign that involved b­ attles larger than a skirmish or that lasted more than a few engagements. This technological



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edge, when utilized effectively, allowed for very lopsided results from engagements between the U.S. Army and its foes. When the army could come to grips with its enemies, it could inflict horrific amounts of casualties in a very short period. It also ensured that on the occasions when Indians managed to surprise army ele­ments or had overwhelming numerical advantages, they ­were likely to take revenge for the reverses suffered in previous engagements. As such, the casualty ratios for troops involved in small fights tended to be very high, while ­those for larger engagements, with few exceptions, ­were exceedingly low. Throughout the vari­ous Indian Wars, the rank-­and-­file of the army tended to both fear and despise the ­enemy. They feared Native Americans in part due to the realities of frontier warfare—­the lack of quarter, the probability of atrocities on both sides, and the very real possibility of being tortured or mutilated all served to rattle the nerves of American soldiers. Even soldiers who did not profess any religious adherence hated the idea of their bodies being desecrated if they fell. And the knowledge that many tribes looked at prisoners as a means of entertainment by engaging in public torture rituals absolutely terrified the troops that ­were sent out to fight them. Undoubtedly, this significant amount of fear contributed to the willingness of many soldiers to engage in massacre activities. At the same time, white society tended to look upon Native American tribes as gatherings of savages who refused to accept the ways of the modern world. They practiced dif­fer­ent religions, spoke dif­fer­ent languages, and pursued a lifestyle completely alien to the experience of most U.S. citizens. For many, ­those differences ­were simply insurmountable—­they could not accept that the Native Americans might be perfectly content in their ways, nor could they agree that white encroachment upon native lands should be curtailed in any way. This latter issue became especially impor­tant whenever a key resource was discovered on lands previously guaranteed to Native American groups. In par­tic­u­lar, the discovery of gold deposits on native lands triggered a rush of citizens hoping to strike it rich, and neither the federal government nor the inhabitants of t­ hose lands could stop them. Ultimately, the army was the tool of the government policies. While some politicians might recognize the moral imperative to re­spect alternative ways of life, they simply did not have the power to sway enough of their fellows to hold the federal government to its promises. Whenever citizens de­cided to move into lands guaranteed by treaty to be retained by native tribes, the federal government sided almost inevitably with ­those citizens. On the rare occasions the government attempted to stop or slow the tide of settlers, it was simply overwhelmed by their numbers. When Native Americans reacted with vio­lence to the encroachment upon their territory, it provoked a significant reaction from the federal government, often in the form of a punitive army campaign. Thus, it became entirely clear that while the government might profess an intention to retain lands for the Native American tribes living in North Amer­i­ca, it would do nothing to restrain its citizens from violating the terms of the land treaties, while still expecting the Indians to uphold their side of the bargains. This demonstrated the utterly subservient position of the Native Americans—­they simply had neither the numbers nor the military power to offset the expanding tide of American citizens determined to ­settle the entire landmass of North Amer­i­ca. While some in the army supported the initiatives to

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push Native Americans off their lands, many more recognized the futility of trying to stop the movement t­oward the frontier. As a result, the U.S. Army became the most prominent public institution of frontier expansion and the conflict it triggered, despite having no inherent desire to engage in any of the fights that such expansion provoked. For its part, the army did ­little to create lasting policies, a coherent strategy, or any doctrine for conducting wars against Native American tribes.113 As Joseph Manzione summarized the situation: The U.S. Army never developed a cogent sense of mission in the West. Primarily an offensive instrument of ­limited use in circumstances calling for occupation and policing, it could do l­ittle but respond to crisis with blunt force. The very presence of soldiers, whose purpose the Indians clearly understood, often exacerbated disorder. As a result, American officials found their options severely ­limited by the inability to effectively use federal authority to solve prob­lems on the frontier.114

In most American conflicts, the military has maintained a relatively ­free hand in determining how to fight an opponent once the war commenced. In the Indian Wars, this was often not the case—­given that the wars did not represent a threat to national survival and they occurred on U.S. soil, federal agencies, state authorities, and territorial groups all felt entitled to take a hand in military activities. At times, this caused substantial frustration to boil over from leaders on all sides. As the commander of the Department of the Missouri, General Philip Sheridan saw affairs in 1870 as thus: “If a white man commits a murder or robs, we hang him or send him to the penitentiary; if an Indian does the same, we have been in the habit of giving him more blankets.”115 Given the desire of the Bureau of Indian Affairs to maintain the peace with native tribes, the army was often not allowed to respond to direct provocations, such as being the victim of livestock raids.116 Many military leaders, most notably General Nelson A. Miles, feuded almost constantly with the bureau, with few positive results.117 In 1893, at a meeting of the American Historical Association in Chicago, Illinois, historian Frederick Jackson Turner proclaimed the American frontier had closed in 1890. By his definition, the frontier was the geographic line across the map of the United States where the population density of white citizens dropped below one per square mile. With the exception of Alaska, which did not reach statehood for almost seven more de­cades, American possessions had crossed the required population density everywhere that was surveyed by the 1890 census. To Turner, this signified that the primary d­ rivers b­ ehind the formation of a unique American identity had now dis­appeared, and thus the character of the United States had solidified. While Turner’s Frontier Thesis has been debated for the succeeding 125 years, the end of a defined frontier has not—­and with the end of the frontier concept, so also ended almost all open conflict with Native American tribes. For the most part, ­t hose that refused to e­ ither assimilate or agree to remain confined to small areas of land had been ­either completely annihilated or absorbed into more malleable tribes. While conflict with Native American tribes was not completely over in 1890, the supremacy of the U.S. Army, and



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the willingness of the federal government to use that supremacy as a response to almost any provocation, real or ­imagined, had been firmly established, meaning the era of the Indian Wars had ended. TIMELINE 1860–1864 Despite a treaty signed in 1846, sporadic fighting between the United States and the Navajos erupts with an attack on Fort Defiance in 1860. A ­ fter a series of skirmishes, Col­o­nel Christopher Houston “Kit” Carson destroys Navajo food stores. The Navajos capitulate in January 1864 at Canyon de Chelly, beginning Carson’s infamous “Long Walk,” in which 9,022 Navajos are interned in Fort Sumner and thousands more die along the way. May 20, 1862 Congress passes the Homestead Act, providing ­free land for settlers in the west. The resulting flood of settlers leads to de­cades of warfare as the Indians fight to retain control of their land. August 17–­September 23, 1862 Sioux Uprising. The Dakota Sioux conduct surprise attacks against scores of settlements ­after not receiving their treaty-­g uaranteed food. Col­o­nel Henry Sibley quells the uprising and soundly defeats the Sioux at the ­Battle of Wood Lake. Three hundred and three natives are convicted and sentenced to hang, but President Abraham Lincoln commutes all but 39; the Sioux tribes are expelled from Minnesota. April 1864–­October 1867 The Cheyenne-­Arapaho War. Hoping to acquire statehood, Colorado officials provoke a war and create the 3rd Colorado Cavalry; the war ends with the Medicine Lodge Creek Treaty in 1867, wherein many Cheyennes and Arapahos agree to permanent relocation in Indian Territory. July 28, 1864 In the ­Battle of Killdeer Mountain (or Tahkahokuty Mountain) the U.S. 1st Brigade u­ nder Brigadier General Alfred Sully scatters a large number of Sioux warriors but is unable to keep them from continuing to raid American settlements. November 29–­December 1, 1864 The Cheyenne-­Arapaho War’s most notorious event, dubbed the “Sand Creek Massacre,” wherein the 3rd Colorado Cavalry ­under Col­o­nel John Chivington, a Methodist minister, attacks a peaceful Cheyenne camp; 148 Cheyennes die, only 60 of whom are men. October 14–18, 1865 The ­Little Arkansas Treaties are signed between the United States and the Comanche, Kiowa, Plains Apache, Southern Arapaho, and Southern Cheyenne at the ­Little Arkansas River in Kansas. The promised reservations ­were never created, and the treaty remained in force for less than two years.

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1866–1868 Col­o­nel Henry B. Carrington commences an effort to build a series of forts along the Bozeman Trail. Oglala Sioux chief Red Cloud resists this encroachment, leading to “Red Cloud’s War.” December 21, 1866 Captain William Fetterman, in an effort to relieve a wood train ­under attack and ignoring o­ rders, leads his men into an ambush. All 81 are killed. April-­October 1867 General Winfield Scott Hancock, commanding the Department of the Missouri, leads an expedition against the Southern Cheyenne in Kansas. August 2, 1867 In the Wagon Box Fight, 26 American soldiers ­under Captain James Powell are able to hold off 1,500 Sioux led by Red Cloud due to the new Springfield Model 1866 “Trapdoor” .50-­caliber breech-­loading ­rifle. October 21–28, 1867 Three treaties, collectively called the Medicine Lodge Treaty, are signed between the U.S. government and Arapaho, Cheyenne, Comanche, Kiowa, and Plains Apache tribes, promising to create reservations in Indian Territory in exchange for their lands in Kansas. April 29, 1868 In the second Treaty of Fort Laramie, the Sioux agree not to attack settlers or interfere with railroad construction in exchange for a large reservation in South Dakota, the right to hunt buffalo outside the reservation, and vari­ous forms of financial assistance. A temporary victory for the Sioux, the treaty also closes the Bozeman Trail to fort construction. Mid-­August  1868 Cheyenne, Sioux, and Arapaho war bands u­ nder Cheyenne Roman Nose raid Kansas, killing more than 100 settlers. Major George Forsyth tracks the bands, and Roman Nose is mortally wounded, although the Indians still threaten ­u ntil the arrival of the 10th Cavalry Regiment. November 27, 1868 In the ­Battle of the Washita, Lieutenant Col­o­nel George Armstrong Custer’s 7th Cavalry Regiment attacks Black ­Kettle’s Cheyenne village; Black ­Kettle is killed and the village torched before the Indians regroup. December 5, 1870 President Ulysses S. Grant announces the Peace Policy, designed by his commissioner of Indian Affairs, Seneca Indian Ely Parker, to alleviate the endemic corruption in Indian agencies by appointing Christian missionaries as agents. Parker is driven from office by po­liti­cal enemies who profit from the existing corrupt system that diverts aid intended for Indians into their own pockets.



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April 30, 1871 U.S. Army troops engage in the Camp Grant massacre, killing approximately 150 Apaches who had surrendered and entered the camp ­under a truce. November 27, 1872–­June 3, 1873 Clashes between California-­Oregon border settlers and the Modocs. December 1872 Major Joseph Brown runs down and massacres a band of Tonto Apaches at Salt River Ridge. Another victory shortly thereafter secures the surrender of the majority of the remaining Tontos. April 11, 1873 During peace negotiations, Modoc Captain Jack produces a revolver from his jacket and kills Brigadier General Edward Canby. May 17, 1873 Col­o­nel Ranald Slidell Mackenzie leads a cavalry column into Mexico on an illegal incursion to curb Kickapoo, Lipan, and Apache raiders. The Indians are completely surprised and quickly defeated. June 27, 1874–­June 2, 1875 Native Americans of the South Plains clash with the United States in the Red River War; the army is called to end the uprising, and within five years, the Southern Plains tribes are pacified. September 28, 1874 Mackenzie wins a climactic engagement at Palo Duro Canyon against Cheyenne warriors, capturing 1,500 h­ orses and greatly hampering native movement. December 1875 The Bureau of Indian Affairs announces that all “wild” Indian tribes in the G ­ reat Plains must report to their designated Indian agencies by January 31, 1876, or be considered hostile. Failure to comply provides a con­ve­nient excuse for the U.S. Army to commence operations against the Sioux. 1876–1877 Discovery of gold in the Black Hills pits Americans against the Northern Plains tribes in the ­Great Sioux War, despite the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, which guarantees owner­ship of the sacred land to natives; the U.S. Army has major successes starting at the end of the 1876. March 1876 Brigadier General George Crook marches a column out of Fort Fetterman to stop Sioux and northern Cheyenne raiding parties led by Hunkpapa Sioux chief Sitting Bull. Although initially successful, the Indian warriors counterattack and maul the 3rd Cavalry Regiment u­ nder Col­o­nel J. J. Reynolds. June 17, 1876 Crook launches another expeditionary force that collides with 1,000 warriors ­under Chief Crazy Horse along the Rosebud River. Crook again withdraws to await reinforcements.

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June 25, 1876 Custer foolishly disobeys ­orders in an effort to annihilate Cheyenne Sitting Bull’s encampment along the ­Little Big Horn River. Custer’s contingent is quickly overtaken by warriors ­under Hunkpapa chief Gall and Oglala Sioux chief Crazy Horse, and his entire battalion of five companies is annihilated. November 25, 1876 Mackenzie’s 4th Cavalry Regiment overruns the northern Cheyenne village of Dull Knife by the Powder River. June 1877–­October 5, 1877 The Nez Perce War is fought between nontreaty Nez Perce ­under Chief Joseph and the U.S. Army ­u nder Brigadier General Oliver O. Howard and Col­o­nel Nelson Miles, resulting in a chase that covers over 1,600 miles before Joseph surrenders. August 9–10, 1877 The ­Battle of Big Hole. Believing themselves to be temporarily safe from attack, Nez Perce chief Looking Glass insists they stop to rest, against the judgment of Chief Joseph, and is surprised by a second army column u­ nder Col­o­nel John Gibbon, but slips away ­after 36 hours. September 1877 About 300 Apaches ­under Victorio and Loco flee the San Carlos Reservation but surrender at Fort Wingate 11 days ­later and are taken to the Warm Springs Reservation. September 30–­October 5, 1877 Nez Perce chief Looking Glass again insists that they rest from their pursuit, only to be attacked by several companies u­ nder Miles. A dispirited Chief Joseph surrenders. Mid-­October  1878 When they learn that they w ­ ill be repatriated back to the San Carlos Reservation, Victorio and 80 followers flee Warm Springs. January 1879 Dull Knife and his Cheyenne followers are cornered, surrender, and are sent to the Pine Ridge and Rosebud Reservations. February 1879 Victorio surrenders at Mescalero. July 1879 Victorio flees to Mexico. September 1879 Some White River Utes in Colorado ambush a U.S. contingent, killing Major Thomas Thornburgh and several troopers before the uprising is put down by Mackenzie. October 15, 1880 Victorio and most of his Apache warriors are killed in a ­battle with Mexican troops.



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July 19, 1881 Sitting Bull surrenders at Fort Buford, North Dakota. April 1882 Apache leaders Geronimo and Juh slip out of the San Carlos Reservation along with several hundred of Loco’s Chiricahua followers. Chased by Col­o­nel George Forsyth, they manage to reach Mexico only to be ambushed by Mexican troops. September 1882 Crook resumes command of the Department of Arizona and then crosses the Mexican border to chase Geronimo. March 1883 Geronimo’s Apaches launch lightning raids throughout northern Mexico, southeastern Arizona, and New Mexico. May 1, 1883 Crook pursues Geronimo into the central Mexico highlands, and with loyal Apache scouts manages to track the Apache base camp while the warriors are away raiding. The garrison surrenders, and eventually Crook escorts several hundred Apaches back to the San Carlos Reservation. May 17, 1883 Geronimo again escapes San Carlos, along with Chihuahua, Naiché, Nana, and Mangas. Despite the cavalry Crook had stationed along the Mexican border, Geronimo succeeds in escaping into the Sierra Madres. January 1886 Captain Emmett Crawford’s scouts capture Geronimo’s ­horses and provisions in Mexico, but shortly ­after opening negotiations with Geronimo, Crawford is killed by Mexican scalp-­hunters. March 25, 1886 Geronimo agrees to surrender to Crook and serve two years’ imprisonment in the east. However, the War Department reneges on this promise and instead ships 77 Chiricahuas to Fort Marion in Oklahoma. Crook resigns in disgust at the bad faith, and Geronimo again flees to Mexico. Crook is replaced by Brigadier General Miles. September 4, 1886 Five thousand U.S. regulars and hundreds of Apache scouts hunt Geronimo, who fi­nally surrenders to Miles along with 33 followers. Geronimo is dispatched to Fort Pickens in Florida along with 389 of his followers. In 1894, they are transferred to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and given plots of land to farm. February 8, 1887 Congress passes the Dawes Act, which attempts to encourage Indians to take up agriculture and assimilate into white society. The act provides for individual land owner­ship by Indians and extension of U.S. government jurisdiction over reservations. In practice, the Indians w ­ ere given the most inferior land so that few could make a living as farmers.

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December 15, 1890 Sitting Bull is killed at the Standing Rock Agency when he resists an order for his arrest. December 29, 1890 White authorities ­under Forsyth intercept Miniconjou Sioux chief Big Foot’s band as they travel to collect reservation rations. A ­ fter the Indians begin a ghost dance, fearful U.S. troops massacre most of the band at Wounded Knee Creek, killing as many as 300. February 17, 1909 Geronimo dies while still a prisoner of war at Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

Documents of the Indian Wars: Personal Accounts 1  Isaac Naylor: A ­Virginia Volunteer at the B ­ attle of Tippecanoe Virginia-­born Isaac Naylor was a 21-­year-­old volunteer rifleman who served in General William Henry Harrison’s army. As territorial governor of Indiana, Harrison assembled his forces to march against the Indians. Naylor was pre­sent at the November 7, 1811, B ­ attle of Tippecanoe. I became a volunteer member of a com­pany of riflemen, and on the 12th of September, 1811, we commenced our march ­toward Vincennes, and arrived ­there in about six days, marching about 120 miles. We remained ­there about a week and took up the march to a point on the Wabash river sixty miles above, on the east bank of the river, where we erected a stockade fort, which we named Fort Harrison. This was three miles below where the city of Terre Haute now stands. Col­o­nel Joseph H. Davies, who commanded the dragoons, named the fort. The glorious defense of this fort nine months ­after by Captain Zachary Taylor was the first step in his brilliant ­career that afterwards made him President of the United States. A few days ­later we took up the march again for the seat of Indian warfare, where we arrived on the eve­ning of November 6, 1811. When the army arrived in view of the Prophet’s town, an Indian was seen coming ­toward General Harrison with a white flag suspended on a pole., ­Here the army halted, and a parley was had between General Harrison and an Indian del­e­ga­tion, who assured the General that they desired peace, and solemnly promised to meet him next day in council, to s­ ettle the terms of peace and friendship between them and the United States. General Marston G. Clark, who was then brigade major, and Waller Taylor, one of the judges of the General Court of the Territory of Indiana, and afterwards a Senator of the United States from Indiana (one of the General’s aides), ­were ordered to select a place for the encampment, which they did. The army then marched to the ground selected about sunset. A strong guard was placed around the encampment,



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commanded by Captain James Bigger and three lieutenants. The troops w ­ ere ordered to sleep on their arms. The night being cold, large fires ­were made along the lines of encampment and each soldier retired to rest, sleeping on his arms. Having seen a number of squaws and c­ hildren at the town, I thought the Indians ­were not disposed to fight. About ten ­o’clock at night Joseph Warnock and myself retired to rest, he taking one side of the fire and I the other, the other members of our com­pany being all asleep. My friend Warnock had dreamed, the night before, a bad dream which foreboded something fatal to him or to some of his f­ amily, as he told me. Having myself no confidence in dreams, I thought but ­little about the ­matter, although I observed that he never smiled afterwards. I awoke about four ­o’clock the next morning, ­after a sound and refreshing sleep, having heard in a dream the firing of guns and the whistling of bullets just before I awoke from my slumber. A drizzling rain was falling and all ­things ­were still and quiet throughout the camp. I was engaged in making a calculation when I should arrive at home. In a few moments I heard the crack of a r­ ifle in the direction of the point where now stands the ­Battle Ground ­house, which is occupied by Captain DuTiel as a tavern. I had just time to think that some sentinel was alarmed and had fired his ­r ifle without a real cause, when I heard the crack of another ­r ifle, followed by an awful Indian yell all around the encampment. In less than a minute I saw the Indians charging our line most furiously and shooting a ­g reat many ­r ifle balls into our camp fires, throwing the live coals into the air three or four feet high. At this moment my friend Warnock was shot by a ­rifle ball through his body. He ran a few yards and fell dead on the ground. Our lines ­were broken and a few Indians ­were found on the inside of the encampment. In a few moments they ­were all killed. Our lines closed up and our men in their proper places. One Indian was killed in the back part of Captain Geiger’s tent, while he was attempting to tomahawk the Captain. The sentinels, closely pursued by the Indians, came to the lines of the encampment in haste and confusion. My ­brother, William Naylor, was on guard. He was pursued so rapidly and furiously that he ran to the nearest point on the left flank, where he remained with a com­pany of regular soldiers u­ ntil the b­ attle was near its termination. A young man, whose name was Daniel Pettit, was pursued so closely and furiously by an Indian as he was ­r unning from the guard fire to our lines, that to save his life he cocked his ­rifle as he ran and turning suddenly round, placed the muzzle of his gun against the body of the Indian and shot an ounce ball through him. The Indian fired his gun at the same instant, but it being longer than Pettit’s the muzzle passed by him and set fire to a handkerchief which he had tied round his head. The Indians made four or five most fierce charges on our lines, yelling and screaming as they advanced, shooting balls and arrows into our ranks. At each charge they ­were driven back in confusion, carry­ing off their dead and wounded as they retreated.

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Col­o­nel Owen, of Shelby County, Kentucky, one of General Harrison’s volunteer aides, fell early in action by the side of the General. He was a member of the legislature at the time of his death. Col­o­nel Davies was mortally wounded early in the ­battle, gallantly charging the Indians on foot with his sword and pistols, according to his own request. He made this request three times of General Harrison, before he permitted him to make the charge. This charge was made by himself and eight dragoons on foot near the ­angle formed by the left flank and front line of the encampment. Col­o­nel Davies lived about thirty six hours a­ fter he was wounded, manifesting his ruling passions in life—­ambition, patriotism and an ardent love of military glory. During the last hours of his life he said to his friends around him that he had but one t­hing to regret—­that he had military talents; that he was about to be cut down in the meridian of life without having an opportunity of displaying them for his own honor, and the good of his country. He was buried alone with the honors of war near the right flank of the army, inside of the lines of the encampment, between two trees. On one of ­these trees the letter ‘D’ is now vis­i­ble. Nothing but the stump of the other remains. His grave was made h­ ere, to conceal it from the Indians. It was filled up to the top with earth and then covered with oak leaves. I presume the Indians never found it. This precautionary act was performed as a mark of peculiar re­spect for a distinguished hero and patriot of Kentucky. Captain Spencer’s com­pany of mounted riflemen composed the right flank of the army. Captain Spencer and both his lieutenants ­were killed. John Tipton was elected and commissioned as captain of this com­pany in one hour ­after the b­ attle, as a reward for his cool and deliberate heroism displayed during the action. He died at Logansport in 1839, having been twice elected Senator of the United States from the State of Indiana. The clear, calm voice of General Harrison was heard in words of heroism in ­every part of the encampment during the action. Col­o­nel Boyd behaved very bravely ­after repeating ­these words: ‘Huzza! My sons of gold, a few more fires and victory ­will be ours!’ Just ­after daylight the Indians retreated across the prairie ­toward their town, carry­ ing off their wounded. This retreat was from the right flank of the encampment, commanded by Captains Spencer and Robb, having retreated from the other portions of the encampment a few minutes before. As their retreat became vis­i­ble, an almost deafening and universal shout was raised by our men. ‘Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!’ This shout was almost equal to that of the savages at the commencement of the ­battle; ours was the shout of victory, theirs was the shout of ferocious but disappointed hope. The morning light disclosed the fact that the killed and wounded of our army, numbering between eight and nine hundred men, amounted to one hundred and eight. Thirty-­six Indians ­were found near our lines. Many of their dead ­were carried off during the ­battle. This fact was proved by the discovery of many Indian graves recently made near their town. Ours was a bloody victory, theirs a bloody defeat.



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Soon ­after breakfast an Indian chief was discovered on the prairie, about eighty yards from our front line, wrapped in a piece of white cloth. He was found by a soldier by the name of Miller, a resident of Jeffersonville, Indiana. The Indian was wounded in one of his legs, the ball having penetrated his knee and passed down his leg, breaking the bone as it passed. Miller put his foot against him and he raised up his head and said: ‘­Don’t kill me, ­don’t kill me.’ At the same time five or six regular soldiers tried to shoot him, but their muskets snapped and missed fire. Major Davis Floyd came riding ­toward him with dragoon sword and pistols and said he ‘would show them how to kill Indians,’ when a messenger came from General Harrison commanding that he should be taken prisoner. He was taken into camp, where the surgeons dressed his wounds. ­Here he refused to speak a word of En­glish or tell a word of truth. Through the medium of an interpreter he said that he was a friend to the white ­people and that the Indians shot him, while he was coming to the camp to tell General Harrison that they ­were about to attack the army. He refused to have his leg amputated, though he was told that amputation was the only means of saving his life. One dogma of Indian superstition is that all good and brave Indians, when they die, go to a delightful region, abounding with deer and other game, and to be a successful hunter, he should have all his limbs, his gun and his dog. He therefore preferred death with all his limbs to life without them. In accordance with his request he was left to die, in com­pany with an old squaw, who was found in the Indian town the next day a­ fter he was taken prisoner. They w ­ ere left in one of our tents. At the time this Indian was taken prisoner, another Indian, who was wounded in the body, ­rose to his feet in the ­middle of the prairie, and began to walk ­towards the woods on the opposite side. A number of regular soldiers shot at him but missed him. A man who was a member of the same com­pany with me, Henry Huckleberry, ran a few steps into the prairie and shot an ounce ball through his body and he fell dead near the margin of the woods. Some Kentucky volunteers went across the prairie immediately and scalped him, dividing his scalp into four pieces, each one cutting a hole in each piece, putting his ramrod through the hole, and placing his part of the scalp just ­behind the first thimble of his gun, near its muzzle. Such was the fate of nearly all of the Indians found dead on the battle-­ground, and such was the disposition of their scalps. The death of Owen, and the fact that Davies was mortally wounded, with the remembrance also that a large portion of Kentucky’s best blood had been shed by the Indians, must be their apology for this barbarous conduct. Such conduct w ­ ill be excused by all who witnessed the treachery of the Indians, and saw the bloody scenes of this b­ attle. Tecumseh being absent at the time of ­battle, a chief called White Loon was the chief commander of the Indians. He was seen in the morning a­ fter the b­ attle, riding a large white h­ orse in the woods across the prairie, where he was shot at by a volunteer named Montgomery, who is now living in the southwest part of this State. At the crack of his ­rifle the ­horse jumped as if the ball had hit him. The Indian rode off ­toward the town and we saw him no more. During the ­battle the prophet

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was safely located on a hill, beyond the reach of our balls, praying to the ­Great Spirit to give the victory to the Indians, having previously assured them that the ­Great Spirit would change our powder into ashes and sand. We had about forty head of beef c­ attle when we came to the ­battle. They all ran off the night of the b­ attle, or they w ­ ere driven off by the Indians, so that they w ­ ere all lost. We received rations for two days on the morning a­ fter the action. We received no more rations ­until the next Tuesday eve­ning, being six days afterwards. The Indians having retreated to their town, we performed the solemn duty of consigning to their graves our dead soldiers, without shrouds or coffins. They ­were placed in graves about two feet deep, from five to ten in each grave. General Harrison having learned that Tecumseh was expected to return from the south with a number of Indians whom he had enlisted in his cause, called a council of his officers, who advised him to remain on the battlefield and fortify his camp by a breastwork of logs around, about four feet high. This work was completed during the day and all the troops w ­ ere placed immediately b­ ehind each line of the work when they ­were ordered to pass the watchword from right to left ­every five minutes, so that no man was permitted to sleep during the night. The watchword on the night before the ­battle was ‘Wide awake,’ ‘Wide awake.’ To me it was a long, cold, cheerless night. On the next day the dragoons went to Prophet’s town, which they found deserted by all the Indians, except an old squaw, whom they brought into the camp and left her with the wounded chief before mentioned. The dragoons set fire to the town and it was all consumed, casting up a brilliant light amid the darkness of the ensuing night. I arrived at the town when it was about half on fire. I found large quantities of corn, beans and peas. I filled my knapsack with ­these articles and carried them to the camp and divided them with the members of our mess, consisting of six men. Having ­these articles of food, we declined eating horse-­flesh, which was eaten by a large portion of our men. Source: Naylor, Isaac. “The ­Battle of Tippecanoe.” Indiana Magazine of History 2, no. 4 (December 1906): 163–169.

2  Ransom Clarke: The Dade Ambush On December 28, 1835, Seminole Indians ambushed a column of U.S. Regulars commanded by Major Francis  L. Dade. The Seminole victory escalated the intensity of the Second Seminole War (1835–1842). Private Ransom Clarke was one of a small handful who survived the ambush. Niles’ National Register published Clarke’s account on August 20, 1836. About 8 A.M. of December 28th, major Dade rode in front of the column of march, and told his men to “have a good heart; that their difficulties and dangers ­were now over; and as soon as they arrived at Fort King; they should have three days rest, and keep Christmas gaily.” The words ­were scarcely out of his mouth, when a discharge took place, and the major and his ­horse both fell. This sudden attack



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naturally disconcerted the troops, but in three minutes they w ­ ere all as steady as veterans, and the fighting commenced in earnest. It continued with varied success, ­until the six pounder came up, on the discharge of which the Indians retreated, advantage was taken of this, and a hastily constructed breastwork was thrown up, in expectation of another attack, which took place in about an hour, when the ­enemy came on like dev­ils, yelling and whooping in such manner, that the reports of the ­rifles ­were scarcely perceptible. The action lasted from 8 A.M. to 4 in the after­noon—­the United States troops amounted to 117, and the Indians are supposed to have been 800 strong with 100 negroes, who ­were more savage than the Seminoles. The ­enemy fired principally from a distance, and only made one charge with tomahawks and clubs but ­were repulsed. So long as a man stood, the re­sis­ tance continued; and the six pounder was fired quickly and nearly as long as men remained to load it. At the end of the action, the inclosure [sic] within the breastwork was a foot deep in blood. With re­spect to the officers, as long as life remained they cheered and encouraged their men, and fell sword in hand. Captain Fraser, second in command, and lieut. Mudge fell at the first fire, when the major was killed. Clarke was at the extreme right flank, and when he heard the crack of the ­rifles he looked at the major for the word of command, but a volley from 800 r­ ifles swept the advance guard entirely, and not a man remained standing. Lieut. Henderson had his left arm shattered, and lieut. Keys had both arms broken. The latter got one of the men to tie both arms with a handkerchief, and was placed against a tree, where he was tomahawked by the negroes. The troops then took each other to his tree, and an irregular firing commenced, till the arrival of the six pounder and the temporary retreat of the Indians as above mentioned. At the second attack nothing could equal the coolness and deliberation of the troops; and as Clark observes, “they ­were as cool as if they ­were in the woods shooting game.” The weather was very warm, and about 1 ­o’clock the action began to slacken, upwards of 60 or 70 having fallen, and two officers only then surviving, capt. Gardiner and lieut. Bassinger. While a man could load a musket, the firing was continued. Capt. Gardiner received 5 or 6 shots before he fell; the mortal wound was in the breast. When he fell, Bassinger said, “now, my boys, let us do the best we can—­I am the only officer left;” and the firing recommenced. About half past 2, he was brought down by a ­rifle shot in the thighs, and he was afterwards cruelly massacred by a negro. Clarke received his first wound in the thigh, about 1 ­o’clock, outside the breast work, which brought him to the ground. He soon recovered himself, and crawled and limped in. He placed himself along it and commenced firing in that position, but in the act of elevating the musket, received a wound between the elbow and right shoulder. He still continued to fire and load, but again received two wounds, one in the head from buck shot, and a small ­rifle ball in the back. He still kept on till about 4 ­o’clock, when he received a ball on the right scapula from a negro; who, when he fired, cried out, “­There damn you.” This disabled him, and he fell on his face, and continued motionless. The ­enemy immediately rushed into the breast work, and took possession of the arms and ammunition, provisions and baggage, which they carried out of the fortification. About 50 or 60 negroes then came up on ­horse­back, and began stripping the dead, and cutting and mutilating

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all who showed any signs of life. They seemed to be in a hurry, and ­after finishing their work of slaughter, they hurried off. All this time Clarke was lying by the side of Bassinger, and they stripped his jacket off, one observing, that “he had a wound in the head, and was not dead.” Another said “let him lie; he w ­ ill suffer more than if he ­were killed outright.” One of them remarked, that “he had a good pair of boots on, and they would fit him[”]—­whereupon he pulled them off, and they departed precipitately. This was about four ­o’clock, and Clark remained as the negroes left him, till about nine, when he got up, and looking around in the moonlight, he crawled over the bodies, and feeling one warm, found that it was a private, named De Courcy, who was wounded in the side and left arm, but slightly. Clarke told him that he was thinking of trying to get back to Fort Brook, on Tampa Bay, about sixty-­five miles distant. He agreed to accompany him, and Clarke crawled along on his left hand and knees part of the way, and part of the way he was led by ­De Courcy. Next day, about noon, they came upon an Indian on ­horse­back, who was loading his ­rifle. They agreed to separate, in the hope of easier escaping him, and Clarke darted into a hammock of palmettos and brush. The Indian pursued De Courcy, and fired, but missed. He then crossed a road, and ran over a hill, which was the last Clarke saw of his hapless comrade. ­After hearing the report, Clarke, from his retreat, saw the Indian return on ­horse­back, and rode about the hammock, searching all around. At one time he came within ten feet of him, but at length gave up the pursuit and rode away. Clarke then resumed his painful journey, and on the fourth day ­after the massacre got into Fort Brooke, where he found private Thomas, one of the detachment who had also escaped; and next morning, another, named Sprague, came in, but they are since dead, and Clarke is the only survivor of this gallant and devoted band. Source: Niles’ National Register, August 20, 1836.

3  Debenneville Randolph Keim: The Campaign against Black K ­ ettle The former Union Civil War hero, General Philip Sheridan, became a renowned postwar Indian fighter. Faced with hit-­and-­run raids by highly mobile Plains Indians, Sheridan planned a winter campaign against the hostile Indians of the ­Great Plains. One such mission fell to George Armstrong Custer. Custer’s cavalry made a surprise attack on a Cheyenne village on November 29, 1868. The troopers killed as many warriors as they could, including would-be peacemaker Black ­Kettle, who was shot in the back while fleeing with his wife. War reporter De Benneville Randolph Keim accompanied the raid and related what occurred. Each savage resolved to sell his life as dearly as pos­si­ble. Each officer and trooper knew, with him, it was victory or torture and certain death. During the excitement of the fight the continued absence of Elliot and his party was not observed. Firing was heard in the direction he had taken, but supposed to be Indians signaling. When the conflict with Black ­Kettle’s warriors lulled, the



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question ran along the line, “where is Elliot? where is Elliot?” No one answered. He had last been seen disappearing over the “divide.” The alarm carried by the fugitives, whom Elliott and his men ­were pursuing, aroused the warriors of the villages which ­were situated on the same stream lower down. The fight with Black ­Kettle’s warriors had not ended when a large party of Kiowas and Arrapahoes, ­under Satanta and ­Little Raven, came to the assistance of the Cheyennes, This display of force from so unexpected a quarter was a surprise to the troopers and solved at once the fate of Elliott. T ­ here was now no doubt that he and his party had struck the approaching Kiowas and Arrapahoes, coming to the rescue of the Cheyennes, and had been cut off by them. T ­ here is no question that each man of this ill fated band parted with his life as dearly as pos­si­ ble, and died at his post. For ­these unfortunate men, t­here was no possibility of escape. Their alternative was death by some friendly bullet, or death by the horrible torture which the hellish ingenuity of the savage alone can invent. The reinforcements from the other villages opened their attack with considerable vigor. In order to keep them at bay, while the troopers ­were still engaged with Black ­Kettle, Weir was detached to oppose them. The savages fought with unexampled bravery, in hopes of succoring t­ hose of their allies still surviving the fight, but without success. They could not withstand the discipline and bravery of the troopers. ­Under the supreme impulse of self-­preservation, the hostile reinforcements fled, to save themselves, their families, and their possessions from the inevitable doom of the Cheyeunes [sic]. The detachment of cavalry pursued the retreating Kiowas and Arrapahoes as far as prudence, and the necessity of co-­operating with the rest of the troops, would admit. The victory was complete. One band of the most power­f ul and relentless of the hostile tribes had been destroyed. The captures ­were im­mense. Two white c­ hildren ­were released from a fearful bondage. A white w ­ oman and a boy, ten years of age, held captive, ­were killed by the savages when the fight commenced. In the midst of the conflict, the bullets falling around in a perfect shower, a squaw, with demoniac fury, knife in hand, as if looking for an object upon which to revenge the loss of the day, fell upon an innocent captive child, and, with one terrible gash, completely disemboweled it—­the warm, smoking entrails falling upon the snow. Three days had now elapsed since leaving the train. The display of strength made by the Indians, caused a natu­ral anxiety in regard to the safety of the supplies and the inadequate force left to protect them. ­These considerations fixed the resolution of Custer to hasten back to his wagons. While all that was left of Black ­Kettle’s village was being destroyed, seven hundred ponies, belonging to the late chief and his warriors, w ­ ere shot. Two hundred ­were taken for the captive squaws and ­children, or brought in as trophies of the victory. On the return march, no Indians w ­ ere seen. They w ­ ere, evidently, in g­ reat alarm at the just and terrible punishment meted out to the Cheyennes. Night and morning

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the captives set up their mourning songs, but received no response from lurking warriors. At the first camp on the return, according to custom, the Osages hung their scalps outside their tents and fired several volleys over them. All the savages have a superstition that such demonstrations of hostility drive away the spirits of ­those from whom the scalps ­were taken, and that, in the event of the neglect of so impor­tant a precaution, ­these spirits would come and rob them of the hard-­earned and ghastly evidences of their prowess. So decisive an achievement as the b­ attle of the Washita, was not without its sacrifices. Like all other deeds in the rec­ords of war, victory and defeat alike close up with a melancholy list of dead and suffering. Of the killed, ­were Elliott and Hamilton, and nineteen enlisted men. Of the wounded, ­were Barnitz, seriously but not mortally, and thirteen enlisted men. The loss sustained by the savages, was one hundred and three warriors left on the ground. In property, eight hundred and seventy-­five ­horses, ponies, and mules; two hundred and forty one ­saddles, some of very fine and costly workmanship; five hundred and seventy-­three buffalo robes; three hundred and ninety buffalo skins for lodges; one hundred and sixty untanned robes; thirty-­five revolvers; forty-­seven ­rifles; thirty-­five pounds of powder; one thousand and fifty pounds of lead; four thousand arrows and arrow-­heads; seventy-­five spears; three hundred pounds of bullets; four hundred and seventy blankets; seven hundred pounds of tobacco; besides axes, bullet-­moulds, lariats, saddle-­bags, &c. Having no means of transportation, the bulk of ­these captures ­were destroyed in the village before leaving. Among the warriors killed, w ­ ere sixteen chiefs, including Black ­Kettle and ­Little Rock, two of the most influential warriors among the Cheyennes. Three squaws and three ­children, one boy and two girls, ­were wounded. The banks of the Washita ­were ­silent. The charred remains of the village, and the stark corpses of the warriors, ­were the only vestiges of Black ­Kettle’s band. The wolf, prowling in the midst of the blackened ruins of the Indian lodge, now alone disturbed the solitary haunts of the once proud and fierce warrior. Source: Keim, De B. Randolph. Sheridan’s Troopers on the Borders: A Winter Campaign on the Plains (Philadelphia: David McKay, 1885), 118–120.

4  Frederick Frances Girard: The ­Battle of L ­ ittle Bighorn On June 25, 1876, General George Armstrong Custer and his 7th Cavalry discovered the major Sioux encampment on ­Little Bighorn Creek. Custer ordered Major Marcus Reno and his detachment to charge. As the outnumbered Reno was fought to a standstill, Custer’s force charged from another direction. Custer and all of his more than 200 men died in the ensuing combat. Reno’s command survived. Army interpreter Frederick Frances Girard was pre­sent with Reno’s troops and provided an account of what he saw.



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F. F. GERARD’S STORY OF THE CUSTER FIGHT On June  22d, Custer’s command left the mouth of the Rosebud looking for Indians. On June 24th, we broke camp and marched all day and in eve­ning went into camp. The men had supper and grazed their ­horses and then marched all night till 4 A. M., when a halt was called. The ­horses remained saddled but the soldiers slept on the ground as best they could. Two Arikara scouts arrived from Lieutenant Varnum, who had been sent out to reconnoitre [sic] and locate Indian camps. They brought word of a very large camp down in ­Little Big Horn Valley, but the Indians had discovered us and ­were on the run. Custer ordered me to go with him and the two Arikara scouts who had come in from Varnum and two of our scouts, to where Lieutenant Varnum was. About daybreak we reached Varnum and could see the large black mass moving in front and down the ­Little Big Horn and a dense cloud of dust over all and ­behind. The camp we had found was the smaller camp (the larger camp was downstream farther), and was on the way to the larger camp and this led us all to believe that the Indians ­were stampeded. Custer and his party with Varnum and his scouts started back to rejoin the command at a sharp gait. Before reaching his troops, about half way back, Tom Custer met us at the head of the troops and Custer addressed him saying: “Tom, who in the devil moved ­these troops forward? My ­orders and intentions ­were to remain in camp all day and make a night attack on the Indians but they have discovered us and are on the run.” ­After joining the troops, Custer with his officers held a consultation and de­cided it would be better to follow the Indians so he divided his command into three battalions, one ­under his own command, Benteen in command of the second, and Reno of the third. Benteen he sent to the left of the command to overlook the ridges as we marched down the valley. He then ordered Reno to take his command and try to overtake the Indians and bring them to b­ attle while he himself would support him. Custer said: “Take the scouts with you.” Reno started on the double quick down the valley u­ ntil he came to the L ­ ittle Big Horn. Up to that time we w ­ ere all still u­ nder the impression that the Indians w ­ ere r­ unning away. Upon reaching the ford of the L ­ ittle Big Horn, I discovered that the Indians ­were coming back to give us ­battle and called Reno’s attention to this change in their movements. Reno halted for a few seconds and ordered the men forward. Thinking that Custer should know of this change of front on the part of the Indians, I rode back at once to tell Custer the news. At an abrupt turn I met Cook, Custer’s adjutant, ahead of his command, who said: “Gerard, what’s up?” On hearing the news he ordered me back to Reno’s command and rode to inform Custer of the change in the front on the part of the Indians. I rejoined Reno’s command just as he was drawing up his men on the skirmish line. The men w ­ ere almost six feet apart along the brow of a hill below which was a ­belt of timber. As the Indians came charging back the men used the timber for cover and the Indians rode by on the left and around to the higher ground at the rear and left. Not more than four rounds had been fired before they saw Custer’s command dashing along the hills one mile to their rear. Reno then gave the order: “The Indians are taking us in the rear, mount and charge.” This was then about 1:30 P.m. I was surprised at this change of position as we had excellent cover and could hold off the Indians in­def­initely, but the ­orders ­were to mount and charge. Charley Reynolds was killed as he rode up the slope at the left and Isaiah a ­little

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farther out. Reno led his men in Indian file back to the ford above which he had seen Custer’s command pass. The Indians picked off the troops at ­will; it was a rout not a charge. All the men ­were shot in the back, some men fell before high ground was reached. As soon as the hill was gained, Benteen and his command came up and the demoralization of Reno’s men affected his own men and no attempt was made to go to Custer’s aid. They remained where they ­were though it was about 2 P.m. and no Indians attacked them for more than an hour. ­ fter Reno’s command left, I found in the timber Lieutenant de Rudio, Sergeant A O’Neill and Wm. Jackson, a half-­breed Blackfoot scout, who ­were also cut off from the command. All the after­noon we could hear the troop volleys, but the scattering fire of the Indians gradually predominated till we ­were sure that the Indians had won. The fight where Reno’s men ­were began shortly ­after 4 and kept up till dark. We remained where we ­were till dark and then struck out west thinking Reno’s command had returned. We missed the morning ford and tried the ford Reno used to retreat by but the dead bodies made the ­horses snort and the ­water looked too deep so they returned and found a new ford. As we mounted the bank we saw a match lit and called out: “­There are the troops, Hello!” and then the match was put out. As we neared the old crossing we saw the Indian lances against the sky and the Indians hearing us turn off suddenly, called out, “Are you afraid, we are not white troops.” De Rudio and O’Neill lay down and hid in the brush at this point while Jackson and I rode down and across the stream straight against a cut bank. Both ­horses threw their riders, our guns ­were lost, but fi­nally a ford was found and just at dawn we rode out on the prairie. At the left we could hear more Indians coming across the ­Little Big Horn, coming down to attack Reno. Then we galloped hard to the bunch of willows at the right and reached it before the Indians came out of the ­water. ­Here we remained till dark. About 11 A. M. we saw them attack Reno’s camp. About one hour before sunset a ­great talking and confusion arose, the Indians evidently saw Terry coming and began to fall back. Some left for their village to gather their families while o­ thers rode away up the L ­ ittle Big Horn. The retreating warriors passed by hundreds close to where we lay hid in the willows. Source: Libby, O. G., ed. The Arikara Narrative of the Campaign against the Hostile Dakotas. Cedar Rapids, IA: The Torch Press, 1920, 171–175.

5  F. A. Culbertson: The Reno Court of Inquiry ­ fter Custer’s disaster at the B A ­ attle of L ­ ittle Bighorn the U.S. Army convened a court of inquiry in January 1879 into the conduct of Major Marcus A. Reno. The court rec­ord contains the only official document with the sworn testimony of officers and enlisted men who ­were pre­sent at the b­ attle. Reno’s unit operated in­de­ pen­dently from Custer. Thereafter, the question became ­whether Reno had supported Custer adequately. Sergeant F. A. Culbertson served in Com­pany A, 7th Cavalry. His com­pany was part of Reno’s command. Culbertson provided this account while ­under direct examination at the court of inquiry.



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QUESTIONS BY THE RECORDER Q. State your name, rank, com­pany and regiment and where serving. A. F. A. Culbertson, Sergeant Co. “A”, 7th Cavalry, serving at Ft. Lincoln, D.T. Q. Where ­were you serving on the 25 and 26 of June, 1876. ­Under whose command? A. I was serving in “A” comp. 7th Cav. Capt. Moylan: serving ­under Major Reno’s command. Q. State if you accompanied Maj. Reno’s column when it went ahead on the morning of the 25th. If so, where was it that it marched ahead and how far from ­there did the command cross the ­Little Big Horn River? A. I was with Maj. Reno’s command. It left Genl. Custer’s command at a tepee about 3/4 of a mile from the river. Q. At what gait did the command move down? A. At a fast trot. Q. How long w ­ ere you crossing over? A. ­There was a short delay of perhaps 5 to 8 minutes in closing up the column. Q. Had you seen the Indians in the valley before crossing? A. No sir; I had seen some dust. Q. Describe the movement of that column ­after it had crossed, up to the time it halted and deployed as skirmishers. State all you saw during that movement? A. ­After the companies formed, the command was given “Forward”. We moved down the valley, and ­after ­going about half way, ­there w ­ ere Indians come in on our left and front. Most of them would circle off to our left. ­There w ­ ere a few shots fired some of which struck in front of “A” com­pany. Q. How far was that from where the line halted? A. About half a mile. Q. Was that regular firing or a few scattered shots? A. Scattering. Q. In moving down, ­were you opposed at any time in front by Indians meeting you? A. They ­were circling in our front. They ­were 5 or 600 yards in our front just before we halted. Q. Could you tell about how many Indians you saw, up to the time the command halted? A. ­There ­were then in our front 200 to 250 riding back and forth, and some crossed over to the bluff on our left. Q. How far ­were the hostile Indians from the command when they halted, and what ­were they d­ oing? A. They ­were firing on us as we w ­ ere about 500 yards from them. Q. ­Were the Indians still moving to the left? A. They ­were circling in front more than anything ­else, firing and riding back and forth. Q. When did the command commence firing? A. I heard no firing from the command ­until ­after we halted and deployed in skirmish line.

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Q. Where was the right of the skirmish line? A. I believe the right rested near the woods; I was on the left. Q. ­Were you near the extreme left? A. Yes sir. Q. About how far did the skirmish line extend? A. The intervals ­were not kept up well. I judge we ­were deployed about 200 or 250 yards; perhaps more. Q. State all that occurred on the skirmish line as it was in the open, how long it remained t­ here, what it did and where it went? A. We remained on the skirmish line firing; some of the men ­were firing very fast. Many w ­ ere new men: a ­great many men of my own com­pany ­were new men and ­were firing fast. We remained ­there some time when I heard the command given, I ­don’t know by whom, to move by the right flank. The skirmish line was moved by the right flank, ­every man moving off ­towards the timber. I ­stopped on arriving at the timber with 3 other men at the edge of the timber on the brow of the hill. The balance of the command went into the woods: I ­don’t know for what purpose. I did not hear the command. Q. Had ­there been any casualties in the command out ­there? A. One man was wounded on the skirmish line that I saw. I saw ­others in the woods ­after I got in; we w ­ ere on the skirmish line about 35 minutes. Q. You remained out ­there firing at the Indians ­after the command got into the woods? A. We ­stopped on the brow of the hill and fired 3 or 4 shots apiece, and some person called out at that time to go and get our ­horses. Then the man of my com­ pany was wounded that was with us. We left him and went and got our ­horses. Q. When you went and got your ­horses where did the command go? Where did you go and with whom? A. When we got our ­horses I went with Lt. Wallace. I could not find my own com­ pany, and I thought I would go with him. They said they ­were g­ oing to charge, and Sergt. McDermott and myself rode out. When we got on the hill, we saw but a very few men in front of us; but t­here was a heavy body of Indians all around us. As soon as we got on the edge of the timber, Lt. Wallace rode forward, and we rode forward with him in the direction of the river. The command was all ahead then and I saw none at all but one or two straggling men. Q. ­Were ­there any Indians between you and the command? A. Yes sir; both on our right and left, and some in front of us. Q. Can you tell why the skirmish line was taken from the open into the timber? Was it driven in by the Indians? A. No heavy body of Indians charged on us u­ ntil just as the last man got off the line. Then about 800 about 8 or 10 deep, came round to our left. Q. Do you know in what order the command arrived at the ford? A. I know nothing about that. Q. Do you know how fast they moved? A. I judge at a very fast trot; perhaps faster; I ­don’t know. We ­were moving at a fast trot ourselves. Lieut. Wallace was loping; I was trotting. Q. Could you see what the Indians w ­ ere d­ oing with reference to the command?



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A. They ­were riding alongside and firing from the pommels of their ­saddles, and some fired pistols as we came along. Q. Did you hear any command given t­ here to charge or to retreat, or anything indicating what the movement from the woods was to be? A. No sir. Q. Did you have any idea what the movement was to be from the woods? A. No sir; I did not hear the order, and ­don’t know anything more than that someone said they w ­ ere g­ oing to charge. I d­ on’t know where the order came from. Q. Did you hear any calls sounded? A. No sir. Q. Would you have heard the calls if they had been sounded? A. I think I should. Q. ­After the command halted and deployed as skirmishers, state if you know where Maj. Reno was? What did he do or say, up to the time the command left the woods? A. I did not see Maj. Reno, only for a second as the skirmish line was being formed. I saw him then riding ­towards the woods. ­After that I did not see him ­until the time I arrived on the top of the hill. Q. Did you see him go into the woods? A. No sir; I saw him g­ oing in that direction. Q. Upon arriving at the ford in ­going back, state what you saw and did ­there? A. As I came to the ford, ­there was quite a body of Indians firing at all parties who ­were dismounted, killing ­horses and men as they could. When I came to the ford my h­ orse jumped into the river. I passed Lt. Hodgson who was in the river. I could not stop my h­ orse to assist him. Lt. Wallace s­ topped on the other side to give what assistance he could. As soon as I got out of the river, I saw Capt. French (and) Sergt. Lloyd; and the Sergt. Said we had better stop and protect the wounded in coming across. I told him to speak to Capt. French about it and he did so. Capt. French said “I’ll try, I’ll try”, and with that rode up the hill. Q. Was ­there any body of men formed on the other bank of the river protecting the men in getting over? A. No sir. Q. Was the fire of the Indians returned by the troops to drive them from their position firing into the men? A. No sir; I heard none. Q. Did you see any other officer t­ here? A. Not any officer right ­there. I met Lt. Varnum about 25 yards above that, with a wounded man; the man who was taking care of his h­ orse. He asked me to dismount and assist the man on his h­ orse. I dismounted and caught a loose h­ orse of “G” Co. and put the man on him and started on up the hill again. Q. Do you know where Maj. Reno was at that time? A. I ­can’t say. Q. Where did you next see him? A. On top of the hill. Q. Did you go on up the hill?

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A. Yes sir; slowly. Q. ­Were the men coming up from the river? A. Yes sir; most of them dismounted. Q. Did you cross at the same place the other men crossed? A. On ­going into the river I went in at the same place; but I chose a place above that to go out. Q. Did you observe any other wounded man besides that one in the woods? A. The 1st Sgt. of my com­pany was wounded in the knee, and I ­stopped and got him a h­ orse. Q. Who assisted you? A. Sgt. McDermott. Q. Did you get him up? A. Yes sir. Q. ­Were you ­under an Indian fire at the time? A. Yes sir; they w ­ ere firing from a high point on us. Q. Did you see any other officer g­ oing up the hill, if so who? A. No sir, no other. Q. When you got on top of the hill, what officer did you see and what was he ­doing? A. The first officer 1 saw was Capt. Moylan, and I heard him say he would not sell his h­ orse for something; I d­ on’t know what. Q. What was Maj. Reno d­ oing when you got on the hill? A. He was riding down to where his position was afterwards. In a few minutes ­after, I heard them say General Custer’s column was coming. Q. Who did it turn out to be? A. Capt. Benteen. Q. How long a­ fter you got on the hill before Capt. Benteen’s column arrived? A. About 5 or 10 minutes. Q. Did you hear Maj. Reno give any order on the hill, if so what? A. l heard him give an order to Lt. Varnum, but could not tell what it was. Q. Could you hear what it was about? A. No sir. Q. Could you hear if it was about any person? A. No sir; Lt. Varnum made answer that his ­horse was worn out, but that if he could get a new ­horse he would go. (An error on Culbertson’s part. It was Hare, not Varnum, to whom he heard Reno give the order. W.A.G.) Q. What did you do a­ fter that? A. As soon as I arrived on the hill I went to where the most of the men of my com­ pany ­were, and as the wounded men came up, we took care of them. Q. Did the wounded men mostly come by themselves? A. ­There w ­ ere only two other men came up at that time; I mean men of my own com­pany. Q. ­Were they being assisted? A. No sir. One man wounded in the timber; we told him to hold on to his h­ orse and he did so and rode up. Q. How about the other one? A. He came on h­ orse­back.



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Q. When riding across the bottom could you see w ­ hether t­ here w ­ ere men wounded on the ground or falling from their ­horses? A. I ­didn’t notice any of the men, I believe, except one lying close to the brush. I ­don’t know ­whether he was wounded or not. Q. You saw Maj. Reno riding ­towards the position you afterwards occupied for defense. When and where did you see Maj. Reno next and what ­orders did he give? A. I was called by Capt. Moylan and asked what men ­were wounded and how many ­were missing. I told him, and then Lieut. Varnum asked me if I had any ­water. While speaking to him and giving him a drink of w ­ ater, he asked me if I had seen anything of Lieut. Hodgson. I said I had, and gave him a description of where I had seen him last. He e­ ither called Maj. Reno or he came up about that time, and I told him I had seen Lieut. Hodgson in the river. Maj. Reno asked me if I thought I could find him. I said I thought I could. He said he was g­ oing for some w ­ ater, and I should go along with him. 10 or 12 men and myself then went with Maj. Reno to the river. We went down to the river and I found the body of a man lying at the edge of the river. I at first thought it was Lieut. Hodgson and called Maj. Reno’s attention to it; but it proved to be a man of my own com­pany. We filled our canteens above where the man was lying in the river, and came up on a ­little bench again advancing up the hill, and a man of my Co. came across the body of Lieut. Hodgson and called Maj. Reno’s attention to it, and he came up to the body. We found that his watch and chain had been taken off except the ­little gold bar inside of his vest; and a plain gold ring, Maj. Reno took that off and said it was his class ring. We went up on the hill and found a man of “G” com­pany in the brush and took him out. He had lost his ­horse and had hid in ­there u­ ntil he got an opportunity to get out. We then went on to the top of the hill. Q. When you went down to the river w ­ ere t­here any Indians in that immediate vicinity? A. Not in the front, but on our right t­ here w ­ ere Indians on the hill. Q. Was ­there any special or g­ reat danger or only a liability of being hit? A. ­There was a chance of being hit; they had killed several men right along t­ here. The firing was not heavy, but we stood a chance of being killed. Q. When you went back to the top of the hill, what movement of troops was then made, in what direction, how far and how soon a­ fter you got back? A. I think in about 20 minutes, Capt. Weir’s Co. moved out; the pack train was just coming up; a man of my com­pany who came up with the pack train was ­there. “A” Co. had 4 wounded men and we had to take the ­saddle blankets to put them in. I believe that was done by Maj. Reno’s order, but Capt. Moylan superintended it. It took six men to each wounded man, and the rest to take care of and lead the ­horses. We moved forward for a half or three quarters of a mile, where ­orders came back to halt and return to our old position. We ­were moving down the river following Captain Weir’s Co. which was in advance. Q. How near did you approach the advance position of Capt. Weir’s Co? A. I ­don’t know; they w ­ ere being driven back. Q. How far was it ahead when you noticed it was being driven back?

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A. About 600 yards. Q. How much time was occupied from the time you got on the hill in making that movement ­going down and returning? A. From the time we left the hill ­going down, returning and getting into position, about an hour and a half. We travelled slow: moved only a few feet at a time. Q. Do you know who ordered the column to move down stream? A. No sir. Q. Do you know who ordered Capt. Weir’s Co. to move out? A. No sir. Q. ­After the return of the command, what ­orders did you receive about the packs, if any, and from whom? A. While on the skirmish line Lt. Mathey came to me and said I should bring four men from the line and take off the packs and build breastworks for the wounded. While we ­were taking off the packs, one man was instantly killed; then an order came, I ­don’t know from whom, but I think from one of the packers, not to take off the packs., Just then Maj. Reno came along and Capt. Mathey asked him about it and he said, “yes, take the packs off”, and we took the packs off and built breast works for the wounded. Q. Go back to the timber when the skirmish line was thrown out ­there, and state how long the command stayed in the timber or bottom till it left t­ here? A. We ­were on the line about 35 minutes and it took them from 5 to 10 minutes to get out of the woods; that would be about 45 minutes. Q. State if you can, from the time Maj. Reno left the command of General Custer at the tepee, how long it was ­until Maj. Reno and Capt. Benteen united their forces on the hill. A. It was about an hour and a half. Source: Graham, W. A. The Official Rec­ord of a Court of Inquiry Convened at Chicago, Illinois, January  13, 1879, by the President of the United States upon the Request of Major Marcus A. Reno, 7th U.S. Cavalry, to Investigate His Conduct at the ­Battle of the ­Little Big Horn, June 25–26, 1876. Pacific Palisades, CA: Author, 1951, 320–326.

NOTES   1. Robert Utley, “The Frontier and the American Military Tradition,” in Paul Andrew Hutton, ed., Soldiers West: Biographies from the Military Frontier (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987), 4–5.   2. Bob Drury and Tom Clavin, The Heart of Every­thing That Is: The Untold Story of Red Cloud, An American Legend (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013), 6.   3. Stanley Vestal, Warpath and Council Fire: The Plains Indians’ Strug­gle for Survival in War and Diplomacy (New York: Random House, 1948), 80.   4. Joseph Manzione, “I Am Looking to the North for My Life”: Sitting Bull, 1876–1881 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1991), 5.   5. Elliott West, The Last Indian War: The Nez Perce Story (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 146.   6. Robert Wooster, The American Military Frontiers: The United States Army in the West, 1783–1900 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2009), 188–89.



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  7. Marshall Sprague, Massacre: The Tragedy at White River (Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1957), 190.   8. Arthur Quinn, Hell with the Fire Out: A History of the Modoc War (Boston: Faber and Faber, 1997), 195.   9. Charles M. Robinson, III, General Crook and the Western Frontier (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2001), 166. 10. Dee Brown, The Fetterman Massacre (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1962), 174–89. 11. For a thorough description of the massacre and its aftermath, see Chip Colwell-­ Chanthaphonh, Massacre at Camp Grant: Forgetting and Remembering Apache History (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007). 12. The best single-­volume history of the Modoc War is Quinn, Hell with the Fire Out. 13. Thomas Powers, The Killing of Crazy Horse (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010), 121. 14. Robert M. Utley, The Lance and the Shield: The Life and Times of Sitting Bull (New York: Henry Holt, 1993), 127. 15. Robert W. Larson, Gall: Lakota War Chief (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2007), 102–05. 16. Jerome A. Greene, American Carnage: Wounded Knee, 1890 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2014), 129–30. 17. Don Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day on Beans and Hay: The Enlisted Soldier Fighting the Indian Wars (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1963), 17. 18. Utley, “Frontier and the American Military Tradition,” 3. 19. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 21. 20. Wooster, American Military Frontiers, 189; West, Last Indian War, 146–47. 21. Charles M. Robinson, III, A Good Year to Die: The Story of the ­Great Sioux War (New York: Random House, 1995), xxv–­xxvi. 22. Daniel J. Sharfstein, Thunder in the Mountains: Chief Joseph, Oliver Otis Howard, and the Nez Perce War (New York: W. W. Norton, 2017), 233–34. 23. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 29. 24. Peter Aleshire, The Fox and the Whirlwind: General George Crook and Geronimo (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2000), 127. 25. “Report of General William T. Sherman,” October 1, 1867, Annual Report of the Secretary of War, House Exec. Doc. 1, 40th Congress, 2nd Session (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1867), 37–38. 26. Mark Van de Logt, War Party in Blue: Pawnee Scouts in the U.S. Army (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2010), 191. 27. Edward M. Coffman, The Old Army: A Portrait of the American Army in Peacetime, 1784–1898 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 230–33. 28. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 41–42. 29. Coffman, Old Army, 336. 30. Kingsley M. Bray, Crazy Horse: A Lakota Life (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2006), 238–39. 31. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 38. 32. Coffman, Old Army, 271. 33. R. Eli Paul, Blue ­Water Creek and the First Sioux War, 1854–1856 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2004), 18–26. 34. Coffman, Old Army, 328–39. 35. Ibid., 283–85. 36. Douglas C. McChristian, “Dress on the Colors, Boys!” in Bruce A. Glasrud and Michael N. Searles, eds., Buffalo Soldiers in the West: A Black Soldiers Anthology (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2007), 85.

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37. McChristian, “Dress on the Colors, Boys!” 87. 38. For examples, see Glasrud and Searles, Buffalo Soldiers in the West: A Black Soldiers Anthology, 153–225. 39. Wooster, American Military Frontiers, 191–92. 40. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 169. 41. Monroe Lee Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 1866–1900 (Niwot: University Press of Colorado, 1991), 29. 42. Drury and Clavin, Heart of Every­thing, 107. 43. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 97–98. 44. W.J.D. Kennedy, On the Plains with Custer and Hancock: The Journal of Isaac Coates, Army Surgeon (Boulder, CO: Johnson Books, 1997), 48. 45. Jack Stokes Ballard, Commander and Builder of Western Forts: The Life and Times of Major General Henry C. Merriam, 1862–1901 (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2012), 114. 46. Drury and Clavin, Heart of Every­thing, 7. 47. Jerry Keenan, The Terrible Indian Wars of the West: A History from the Whitman Massacre to Wounded Knee, 1846–1890 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2016), 288–89. 48. Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 25–26. 49. Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 30–31. 50. John M. Carroll, The Arrest and Killing of Sitting Bull: A Documentary (New York: Arthur H. Clark, 1986), 65. 51. West, Last Indian War, 148. 52. Aleshire, Fox and Whirlwind, 197. 53. West, Last Indian War, 150. 54. Kennedy, On the Plains with Custer and Hancock, 76–77. 55. Debra Buchholtz, The ­Battle of the Greasy Grass/Little Bighorn: Custer’s Last Stand in Memory, History, and Popu­lar Culture (New York: Routledge, 2012), 40. 56. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 193. 57. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 271–74. 58. Keenan, Terrible Indian Wars of the West, 224. 59. Brian C. Pohanka, ed., Nelson A. Miles: A Documentary Biography of His Military ­Career, 1861–1903 (Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clark, 1985), 185–86. 60. Ernie LaPointe, Sitting Bull: His Life and Legacy (Layton, UT: Gibbs Smith, 2009), 91–92. 61. Nathaniel Hershler, The Soldier’s Handbook for Use in the Army of the United States (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1884), 21–23. 62. Wooster, American Military Frontiers, 189. 63. Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 30. 64. Drury and Clavin, Heart of Every­thing, 308. 65. Ballard, Commander and Builder of Western Forts, 128. 66. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 45. 67. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 127–28. 68. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 125–26. 69. Helen Addison Howard, Saga of Chief Joseph (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1978), 172. 70. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 219. 71. Drury and Clavin, Heart of Every­thing, 144–46. 72. Joseph M. Marshall, The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lakota History (New York: Viking, 2004), 242–43. 73. Michael L. Tate, The Frontier Army in the Settlement of the West (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), 186. 74. Robinson, General Crook, 184.



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  75. Colwell-­Chanthaphonh, Massacre at Camp Grant, 53.   76. Sharfstein, Thunder in the Mountains, 242.   77. Robinson, Good Year to Die, xxiii.   78. Terry Mort, The Wrath of Cochise: The Bascom Affair and the Origins of the Apache Wars (New York: Pegasus Books, 2013), 292.   79. Marvin Woods, Custer’s Arikara Indian Interpreter (New York: Vantage Press, 2009), 56.   80. Geronimo, Geronimo’s Story of His Life, ed. S. M. Barrett (Williamstown, MA: Corner House, 1980), 134–35.   81. Alexander B. Adams, Geronimo: A Biography (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1971), 275.   82. Robert M. Utley, The Indian Frontier of the American West 1846–1890 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1984), 105.   83. Howard, Saga of Chief Joseph, 166.   84. Richard E. Jensen, R. Eli Paul, and John E. Car­ter, Eyewitness at Wounded Knee (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991), 18–19.   85. Keenan, Terrible Indian Wars of the West, 264–67.   86. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 224–25.   87. Charles B. Gatewood, Lt. Charles Gatewood & His Apache Wars Memoir, ed. Louis Kraft (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009), 24.   88. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 31.   89. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 132.   90. Ernest Lisle Reedstrom, Bugles, Banners, & Warbonnets (New York: Bonanza, 1986), 193.   91. Joan Nabseth Stevenson, Deliverance from the L ­ ittle Big Horn: Doctor Henry Porter and Custer’s Seventh Cavalry (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2012), 68.   92. Tate, Frontier Army in the Settlement of the West, 183–84.   93. Edwin R. Sweeney, From Cochise to Geronimo: The Chiricahua Apaches, 1874– 1886 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2010), 66.   94. Quinn, Hell with the Fire Out, 195.   95. Geronimo, Geronimo’s Story, 145–47.   96. Angie Debo, Geronimo: The Man, His Time, His Place (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1976), 295.   97. Robert M. Utley, Geronimo (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 248–70.   98. Benjamin Madley, An American Genocide: The United States and the California Indian Catastrophe (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016), 139.   99. Drury and Clavin, Heart of Every­thing, 8. 100. Robert W. Larson, Red Cloud: Warrior-­Statesman of the Lakota Sioux (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 142–43. 101. Vestal, Warpath and Council Fire, 195. 102. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 341–42; Francis B. Heitman, Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army, 1789–1903, Vol. 1 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1903), 451. 103. Jerome A. Greene, Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life and Campaigns in the West, 1864–1898 (New York: Savas Beatie, 2007), xxiii–­xxvi. 104. Ibid., xxxv. 105. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 330–31. 106. Tate, Frontier Army in the Settlement of the West, 300–03. 107. Greene, American Carnage, 129–37. 108. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 165. 109. Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 36. 110. Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day, 153.

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111. Robinson, Good Year to Die, 117. 112. Billington, New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 38–42. 113. Utley, Indian Frontier of the American West, 166. 114. Manzione, Sitting Bull, 6. 115. P. H. Sheridan to E. D. Townsend, November 1, 1869, Annual Report of the Secretary of War, House Exec. Doc. 1, 41st Congress, 2nd Session (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1869), 2: 38. 116. Pekka Hämäläinen, The Comanche Empire (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 328. 117. Pohanka, Nelson A. Miles, 189.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adams, Alexander B. Geronimo: A Biography. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1971. Aleshire, Peter. The Fox and the Whirlwind: General George Crook and Geronimo. New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2000. Ballard, Jack Stokes. Commander and Builder of Western Forts: The Life and Times of Major General Henry C. Merriam, 1862–1901. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2012. Billington, Monroe Lee. New Mexico’s Buffalo Soldiers, 1866–1900. Niwot: University Press of Colorado, 1991. Bray, Kingsley M. Crazy Horse: A Lakota Life. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2006. Brown, Dee. The Fetterman Massacre. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1962. Buchholtz, Debra. The B ­ attle of the Greasy Grass/Little Bighorn: Custer’s Last Stand in Memory, History, and Popu­lar Culture. New York: Routledge, 2012. Carroll, John M. The Arrest and Killing of Sitting Bull: A Documentary. New York: Arthur H. Clark, 1986. Coffman, Edward M. The Old Army: A Portrait of the American Army in Peacetime, 1784–1898. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986. Colwell-­Chanthaphonh, Chip. Massacre at Camp Grant: Forgetting and Remembering Apache History. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007. Debo, Angie. Geronimo: The Man, His Time, His Place. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1976. Drury, Bob and Tom Clavin. The Heart of Every­thing That Is: The Untold Story of Red Cloud, An American Legend. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013. Gatewood, Charles B. Lt. Charles Gatewood & His Apache Wars Memoir. Ed. Louis Kraft. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009. Geronimo. Geronimo’s Story of His Life. Ed. S. M. Barrett. Williamstown, MA: Corner House, 1980. Glasrud, Bruce A. and Michael N. Searles, eds. Buffalo Soldiers in the West: A Black Soldiers Anthology. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2007. Greene, Jerome A. American Carnage: Wounded Knee, 1890. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2014. Greene, Jerome A. Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life and Campaigns in the West, 1864–1898. New York: Savas Beatie, 2007. Hämäläinen, Pekka. The Comanche Empire. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008. Heitman, Francis H. Historical Register and Dictionary of the United States Army, 1789– 1903. Vol. 1. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1903. Hershler, Nathaniel. The Soldier’s Handbook for Use in the Army of the United States. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1884.



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Howard, Helen Addison. Saga of Chief Joseph. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1978. Hutton, Paul Andrew. Soldiers West: Biographies from the Military Frontier. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987. Jensen, Richard E., R. Eli Paul, and John E. Car­ter. Eyewitness at Wounded Knee. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991. Keenan, Jerry. The Terrible Indian Wars of the West: A History from the Whitman Massacre to Wounded Knee, 1846–1890. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2016. Kennedy, W.J.D. On the Plains with Custer and Hancock: The Journal of Isaac Coates, Army Surgeon. Boulder, CO: Johnson Books, 1997. LaPointe, Ernie. Sitting Bull: His Life and Legacy. Layton, UT: Gibbs Smith, 2009. Larson, Robert W. Gall: Lakota War Chief. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2007. Larson, Robert W. Red Cloud: Warrior-­Statesman of the Lakota Sioux. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997. Madley, Benjamin. An American Genocide: The United States and the California Indian Catastrophe. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016. Manzione, Joseph. “I Am Looking to the North for My Life”: Sitting Bull, 1876–1881. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1991. Marshall, Joseph M. The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lakota History. New York: Viking, 2004. Mort, Terry. The Wrath of Cochise: The Bascom Affair and the Origins of the Apache Wars. New York: Pegasus Books, 2013. Paul, R. Eli. Blue ­Water Creek and the First Sioux War, 1854–1856. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2004. Pohanka, Brian  C., ed. Nelson A. Miles: A Documentary Biography of His Military ­Career, 1861–1903. Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clark, 1985. Powers, Thomas. The Killing of Crazy Horse. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010. Quinn, Arthur. Hell with the Fire Out: A History of the Modoc War. Boston: Faber and Faber, 1997. Reedstrom, Ernest Lisle. Bugles, Banners, & Warbonnets. New York: Bonanza, 1986. Rickey, Don Jr. Forty Miles a Day on Beans and Hay: The Enlisted Soldier Fighting the Indian Wars. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1963. Robinson, Charles M., III. General Crook and the Western Frontier. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2001. Robinson, Charles M., III. A Good Year to Die: The Story of the ­Great Sioux War. New York: Random House, 1995. Sharfstein, Daniel J. Thunder in the Mountains: Chief Joseph, Oliver Otis Howard, and the Nez Perce War. New York: W. W. Norton, 2017. Sprague, Marshall. Massacre: The Tragedy at White River. Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1957. Stevenson, Joan Nabseth. Deliverance from the ­Little Big Horn: Doctor Henry Porter and Custer’s Seventh Cavalry. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2012. Sweeney, Edwin R. From Cochise to Geronimo: The Chiricahua Apaches, 1874–1886. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2010. Tate, Michael L. The Frontier Army in the Settlement of the West. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999. Utley, Robert M. Geronimo. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012. Utley, Robert M. The Indian Frontier of the American West 1846–1890. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1984. Utley, Robert M. The Lance and the Shield: The Life and Times of Sitting Bull. New York: Henry Holt and Com­pany, 1993. Van de Logt, Mark. War Party in Blue: Pawnee Scouts in the U.S. Army. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2010.

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Vestal, Stanley. Warpath and Council Fire: The Plains Indians’ Strug­gle for Survival in War and Diplomacy. New York: Random House, 1948. West, Elliott. The Last Indian War: The Nez Perce Story. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Woods, Marvin. Custer’s Arikara Indian Interpreter. New York: Vantage Press, 2009. Wooster, Robert. The American Military Frontiers: The United States Army in the West, 1783–1900. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2009.

6 Spanish-­American War Jordan R. Hayworth

OVERVIEW The “splendid ­little war” was how American Secretary of State John Hay described the conflict more formally titled the Spanish-­American War, which extended into the American Philippine War ­after 1899. Hay’s splendid ­little war was aimed in part at resolving a number of challenges confronting the American Republic, including economic woes and domestic divisions along ethnic lines. It was also a war that enjoyed im­mense popularity; indeed, some historians have argued that the administration of President William McKinley was forced into the conflict by a war-­crazed public. Although not true, such an interpretation reflects the real­ity of widespread support for war among the American public in 1898, a ­factor which no doubt contributed to the large numbers of volunteers who agreed to serve in Cuba and elsewhere. Even as the extended conflict in the Philippines turned into a protracted antiguerilla campaign, the American public’s support persisted, at least enough to secure reelection for President McKinley in 1900. Compared to the American Civil War that preceded it and World War I that followed, the Spanish-­American War does merit Hay’s description as “­little.” Yet as an examination of the daily life of American soldiers in the conflict reveals, what politicians and the public might have regarded as a “splendid l­ ittle war” proved an incredibly trying experience for the men and w ­ omen who participated in it, ­whether as soldiers, sailors, or nurses. Since the end of the Civil War and Reconstruction, the U.S. Army had been focused on finalizing the conquest of the West and intervening in ­labor strikes. The sudden engagement in a conflict against a Eu­ro­pean power that spread from the Ca­rib­bean across the Pacific to Asia proved a serious undertaking. The War Department’s lack of preparedness for such an enterprise became readily apparent, both to the regular and volunteer soldiers ­doing the fighting and to the American journalists covering the events as war correspondents. In many ways, the prob­lems exposed during the Spanish-­American War led to postwar reforms that helped the United States better prepare for World War I and other

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conflicts of the twentieth ­century. Yet it is also worth noting that this was not the only overseas war that the United States commenced without adequate foresight or preparation for the likely challenges to come.1 When the United States declared war on Spain in April 1898, it did so with an overall goal of destroying the last vestige of Spanish colonial power in the Western Hemi­sphere in Cuba. A result of the war was a dramatic expansion of American power and influence in the Ca­rib­bean, the Pacific, and Asia. Although not a primary determinant of American policy, the idea of increasing Amer­i­ca’s global presence had roots in American foreign policy, certainly at least as far back as the end of the Civil War and the ideas of American secretaries of state such as William Henry Seward and Hamilton Fish. Cuba had for the entire nineteenth ­century served as a reminder that the Eu­ro­pean powers maintained colonial interests in the Western Hemi­sphere, which American statesmen had sought to curb through statements like the Monroe Doctrine. Increasingly, Americans pursued more aggressive policies designed not just to contain the Eu­ro­pean colonial presence in the Western Hemi­sphere but also to reduce it, to be replaced by an American sphere of influence.2 Four centuries of Spanish rule over Cuba had seen long periods of stability broken by short flare-­ups of unrest ­until the mid-­nineteenth ­century, when a series of anticolonial in­de­pen­dence movements in the Ca­rib­bean and Latin Amer­i­ca contributed to a rising Cuban nationalism. The continued existence of slavery in Cuba and the per­sis­tence of unfair tax policies constantly plagued Spanish efforts to maintain a pacified population. In 1868, a major insurrection commenced that lasted for nearly a de­cade. Spanish authorities ­adopted a carrot-­and-­stick approach, consenting to some reforms and even to abolishing slavery but backing this up with more coercive mea­sures and a modest increase in the Spanish garrison on the island. Most Cuban nationalists saw ­these steps as unsatisfactory, though by 1878 the insurrection was over. Many Cuban insurgents sought refuge in the United States, which had nearly intervened in ­favor of the Cuban rebels in 1873 during the presidency of Ulysses  S. Grant ­after an American-­flagged smuggler was seized by the Spanish and the captain and crew ­were murdered by an angry, pro-­ Spanish mob in Cuba. Yet the United States, still recovering from the Civil War and focused on Reconstruction and the Indian Wars, de­cided to refrain from entering a war with Spain, even ­after it became known that the bodies of the murdered sailors had been mutilated and put on public display by Spanish troops. In the end, far from declaring war in revenge, the Grant administration relented ­because the ship had been in violation of a neutrality agreement, and the Spanish agreed to pay reparations to the families of the Americans who had been killed.3 Many of the Spanish refugees in Amer­i­ca remained committed to the cause of a ­free Cuba in the 1880s and 1890s. Yet the removal of American tariffs on Cuban sugar in 1890 led to an economic boom in Spanish Cuba that undermined any potential rebel activity. Rather than working to undermine Spain’s regime in Cuba, thousands of Americans invested large sums of money in it, hoping to benefit from the enormous wealth generated by the sugar trade. But the economic relations between Cuba and the United States worked both ways. ­After the Panic of 1893 led to economic depression in the United States, the economic boom in



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Cuba turned into a bust and led to widespread unrest, commencing another round of insurrection in ­favor of a ­free Cuba. Rallying around the exiled revolutionary and poet José Julián Martí, hundreds of Cubans returned home ­after 1895 to participate in a nationalist rebellion against Spain. The death of Martí provided the revolution with a heroic martyr and radicalized the rebels. By 1896, a full-­scale guerilla war confronted the Spanish, who de­cided to reinforce their army and fight to retain Cuba. Learning lessons from previous revolts, including slave uprisings, the Cubans de­cided to make it eco­nom­ically unprofitable for Spain to remain by literally burning the sugar fields and urban areas. Such tactics backfired, as the Spanish used them to justify incredibly repressive mea­sures, including the use of concentration camps in what was known as the reconcentrado policy. Thousands of Cubans died in the squalid and disease-­ridden camps, while the Spanish army treated anyone discovered beyond the reconcentrado zone as an insurgent subject to arrest or execution. Although the Spanish did achieve some success in reducing guerilla activity, their tactics helped fuel a “black legend” that depicted the Spanish as an especially brutal colonial overlord. This idea gained par­tic­u­lar traction in the nearby United States, where Cuban refugees and American newspapers ­were constantly informing the American public about Spanish atrocities, real and ­imagined. The Cuban rebellion was perceived by the American public as a movement not unlike the American Revolution against ­Great Britain. Spain was depicted, with some reason, as the evil tyrant repressing a ­people seeking nothing but freedom. The American press generally refrained from reporting stories that recounted the numerous atrocities committed by the Cuban insurgents against Spanish troops and officials. Spanish Governor General Valeriano Weyler was represented as the “Butcher” in American newspapers such as the New York Journal and New York World, which competed with one another in describing the graphic details of the Cuban rebellion, largely to gain greater portions of the American readership. The American public demanded action from the U.S. government, especially during the presidential election of 1896. Yet neither the sitting president, Grover Cleveland, nor the contenders, Demo­crat William Jennings Bryan and Republican William McKinley, championed an American military intervention in Cuba. Though the newly inaugurated McKinley did urge the Spanish to pass reforms in Cuba in 1897, he hoped that the rebellion would simply die down and that the United States would not get dragged into an unnecessary conflict.4 In 1897, it seemed that conflict had been averted by an agreement between Spain and Cuba in which the Cubans would receive greater autonomy within the Spanish Empire. However, the years of fighting had made some of the Cubans unwilling to give up their crusade for national in­de­pen­dence. The Spanish army also resented the prospect of a humiliating compromise and refused to limit the repression during the negotiations. The continuation of vio­lence led the United States to send the USS Maine to Havana Harbor to ensure American ability to safeguard the public’s commercial interests in Cuba. It was also intended for the ship’s arrival to demonstrate American resolve for a peaceful resolution of the conflict. Two critical events ensured that peaceful resolution would not occur. In February  1898, the New York Journal published a devastating document written by

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Enrique Dupuy de Lôme, the Spanish ambassador to the United States, in which he admitted to trying to stall the negotiations to prevent an American intervention and in which he described the American president as a weak “bidder for the admiration of the crowd” and a “would-be politician who tries to leave a door open b­ ehind himself while keeping on good terms with the jingoes of his party.” Even though it did not infuriate McKinley to the extent that he firmly de­cided on war, the letter provoked popu­lar rage against the Spanish, especially in the increasingly bellicose Republican Party. More impor­tant, it set the context for the next critical event: the explosion of the Maine in Havana Harbor on February 15, 1898. The explosion took the lives of 260 sailors while humiliating the American navy. Although modern investigations have demonstrated that the disaster was caused by a technical flaw in the ship’s design, the common belief at the time was that it resulted from a Spanish mine or torpedo. This was certainly the view taken by the American press and the hysterical crowd.5 “Remember the Maine! To Hell with Spain!” became the slogan that led the United States into what was widely perceived as a war of revenge. Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roo­se­velt accused the Spanish of a “dirty treachery,” expressing a widespread public sentiment. President McKinley had long sought to avert conflict, but he now saw no option but war ­unless the Spanish consented to an American ultimatum to grant Cuba complete in­de­pen­dence and withdraw from the Western Hemi­sphere. Spain, facing a riotous population at home ­eager to punish the Cubans and defy the Americans, agreed to a cease-­fire but made clear that it would not willingly surrender Cuba. McKinley saw no option but war and requested a congressional authorization to use force. Nearly every­one in Congress agreed with the necessity of war, yet division existed over the ultimate goals of American policy. A strong current of opinion favored American expansion, while a minority warned of American pursuit of imperialism in imitation of the Old World Eu­ro­pean powers. To ensure that debate over war aims did not delay a declaration of war, the president supported the Teller Amendment, which declared that the United States supported Cuba’s in­de­pen­dence from Spain and that it did not desire to annex Cuba. The postwar government of Puerto Rico and the Philippines was not determined by the Teller Amendment. With considerable public support, McKinley received congressional authorization to use force on April 25, and the United States was formally at war with Spain.6 The Spanish-­American War commenced with a major American victory in the Philippines. Three years before the sinking of the USS Maine, the navy had started preparing for a pos­si­ble Spanish attack against the West Coast of the United States by increasing Amer­i­ca’s naval presence in the Pacific. Admiral George Dewey received command of the Asiatic Squadron, the primary striking force in the Pacific, in the event of war with Spain. Departing from Hong Kong a­ fter receiving news of the declaration of war via tele­g ram, Dewey’s squadron reached Manila Bay on May 1, surprising the Spanish fleet. Dewey gained an overwhelming victory that destroyed the Spanish fleet as a fighting force. Unable to launch a full-­scale invasion of the Philippines, Dewey remained stationed at Manila Bay while reinforcements crossed the Pacific from San Francisco. The victory at Manila Bay provided a tremendous boost for the American war effort, which depended on



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large numbers of patriotic volunteers joining the army and navy. It marked the successful accomplishment of a decades-­long pro­cess of professionalism and reform of the U.S. Navy. For Spain, it was the first of many setbacks in what would be a rather one-­sided war.7 However, the ­Battle of Manila provided the Americans with an inaccurate picture of what the rest of the war would look like. As soon as Washington received news of Dewey’s triumph from the Philippines, it learned of an altogether dif­fer­ ent situation in the Ca­rib­bean. The Spanish Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete was able to squeeze a Spanish fleet through the American naval blockade of Cuba to reinforce Spanish forces at Santiago. It was soon discovered that the navy had simply neglected to ensure that the southern coast of Cuba had been effectively blockaded. This provided early indication that American military forces ­were hardly prepared for the complex operations that awaited them in this multihemispheric war. The first months of the war ­were concentrated on mobilizing and deploying American military forces. Volunteer regiments ­were formed to expand Amer­i­ca’s numerical strength. Yet the rapid expansion of American manpower outpaced the War Department’s ability to supply and equip the new forces. The American expeditionary force was assembled at Tampa, Florida, ­because of its proximity to Cuba, although volunteer training camps ­were formed throughout the country. The experience of Tampa proved very frustrating for the American regulars and volunteers, yet not as frustrating as what they would face upon departure for Cuba. The expedition set sail on June 14. The experience of the transport from Florida to Cuba was not a pleasant cruise through the Ca­rib­bean. The first action in the Cuban campaign occurred at Guantanamo, which was taken ­after an assault by 600 U.S. Marines. The army landed farther west and advanced t­oward Santiago. Although it had come ashore without meeting any re­sis­tance, the army was seriously delayed by the Spanish at El Caney and Las Guasimas. On July 1, the volunteers and regulars achieved ­great victories at ­Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill, just east of Santiago. Col­o­nel Theodore Roo­se­velt’s “Rough Riders” regiment earned fame from their dramatic charge on this day. The victories allowed the Americans ­under General William Shafter to surround Santiago, which was formally besieged. The Spanish fleet in the harbor attempted to escape but was soon overtaken and destroyed piecemeal. Although the Americans had gained considerable ground, the army was suffering from poor logistics and outbreaks of disease. General Shafter commenced negotiations for the Spanish surrender on July 17, hoping to achieve a quick victory while concealing the weakness of his own force.8 While Shafter’s forces ­were struggling with tropical diseases and the difficulties of operating in the jungles of Cuba, General Nelson Miles led the American invasion of Puerto Rico. The invasion of Puerto Rico was designed to reduce Spain’s naval power in the Ca­rib­bean, as it had served as an impor­tant base for the Spanish navy. It was also coveted by the United States ­because of its proximity to the approaches to Panama. Preparations for the invasion occurred in May and June but received secondary consideration compared to t­ hose for Cuba. Spain had approximately 17,000 troops in Puerto Rico, while the force ­under Miles numbered some 34,000 men, including both regulars and volunteers. Miles arrived in Puerto Rico

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Col­o­nel Theodore Roo­se­velt (seated, third from right) and other officers from his Rough Riders regiment, ­after their ser­vice in Cuba. Roo­se­velt parlayed his war­time experience into a po­liti­cal c­ areer that culminated in his election to the vice presidency in 1900. He succeeded the assassinated William McKinley to the presidency in 1901, and was reelected to the office in 1904. (Theodore Roo­se­velt Collection/Harvard College Library)

on July 25 with only 3,300 troops constituting the first wave. The expedition was rushed ­because of the fall of Santiago. McKinley wanted to capture Puerto Rico before commencing peace negotiations. A ­ fter Miles landed at Guanica, the Spanish offered light re­sis­tance. The Americans received reinforcements and continued their advance ­toward Ponce, a key port. Once it fell, the Spanish withdrew to San Juan. The Puerto Ricans cheered the departure of the Spanish and welcomed the Americans enthusiastically. By the beginning of August, Miles’s force had grown to 17,000. He conducted a pincer attack to drive the Spanish away from a defensive position barring his road to San Juan. The final offensive started on August 9, with four small columns conducting a well-­planned and executed maneuver campaign that avoided significant loss of life. On August 13, Miles received word that an armistice had been signed. Fighting ceased immediately and the Spanish withdrew without harassment to San Juan. Despite their presence, the United States was in control of Puerto Rico. By the end of August, General Miles and his men ­were en route to the United States. ­Because the campaign saw ­little combat or loss of life, it received less attention in the American press and has since been the topic of ­little analy­sis. Miles never received the credit he deserved for leading the successful campaign.9



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With the fall of Santiago and the conquest of Puerto Rico, Spanish resolve was broken, and they called for a cease-­fire. The situation in the Philippines was also a grave concern for Madrid, which saw an increasing American naval presence ­after the disaster at Manila Bay and the American occupation of Guam. American volunteers began arriving in the Philippines in July, initially numbering around 15,000. Forces ­under General Wesley Merrit approached south of Manila and arranged for the transfer of power from Spanish to American hands on August 13. Yet while the Americans and Spanish refrained from combat, the Filipino nationalist forces ­under Emilio Aguinaldo put up serious re­sis­tance to the American occupation, forcing Merrit’s troops to engage in small-­scale urban skirmishes throughout Manila. ­These events corresponded with Miles’s campaign in Puerto Rico and the cease-­ fire negotiations. ­After 14 weeks of conflict, the American war with Spain was largely over. However, while few men had died from combat, thousands had died from disease in a war that involved a ­great amount of ­human suffering. In addition, as the skirmishes in the Philippines suggested, the United States had defeated Spain but still had to win the peace throughout its new empire. Peace talks commenced in Paris in October 1898, with Spain allowing French diplomats to conduct negotiations on behalf of Spain. Spain readily consented to its loss of Guam, Puerto Rico, and Cuba, yet did not immediately agree to a surrender of the Philippines. American forces w ­ ere only pre­sent at Manila and continued to face unrest from the native population. Spain hoped that the United States would decide that the islands w ­ ere ungovernable and abandon them, allowing Spain to return to full power. Yet imperialist concerns weighed heavy on McKinley’s mind, especially the prospect that another Eu­ro­pean power or the Japa­nese might decide to take over the islands as a strategic point in the Asia-­Pacific. The fate of the Philippines became the subject of a major public debate, with many Americans condemning imperialism as a corrupt Eu­ro­pean practice, while a dif­fer­ent large body of the public believed in an American civilizing mission throughout the world. As American commercial interests in China grew in the 1890s, the State Department saw the Philippines as an impor­tant base from which to enforce what would become the Open Door Policy. President McKinley was also preparing for a reelection campaign, and he believed that a majority of the public would not ­favor an American retreat from the Philippines, especially a­ fter such a successful war. Thus, he de­cided to force the Spanish to accept American control of the Philippines in return for financial compensation. The December 10, 1898, Treaty of Paris achieved American war aims, including the occupation of the Philippines, Guam, and Puerto Rico and the in­de­pen­dence of Cuba, in accordance with the Teller Amendment. Spain received all of its prisoners of war back, repatriated at American expense, and a $20 million payment. All in all, it seemed a nearly perfect end to John Hay’s “splendid ­little war.”10 Two ­factors darkened the outlook for the end of the war. First, McKinley’s decision to annex the Philippines provoked a much stronger public backlash in the United States than he anticipated. The formation of the Anti-­Imperialist League, with support from individuals like Andrew Car­ne­gie and Mark Twain, led to a diminution of the home front’s support for the administration’s war aims. While the previous year had seen numerous pro-­war rallies in response to the horrors of

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Spanish colonialism in Cuba, the public was now increasingly on the streets marching against American imperialism. This anticolonial sentiment swayed the opinion of many American politicians, including senators who had to approve the treaty. Yet on February 6, 1899, the Senate provided its support in a very narrow vote. Second, the Filipino public largely rejected Amer­i­ca’s occupation, not just through demonstrations and protests but also with increasing acts of vio­lence. In fact, the end of the Spanish-­American War led directly to a linked yet distinct conflict called the Philippine War, one that proved much more challenging for the United States than the previous campaigns in Cuba and Puerto Rico. Although the American experience against the Spanish garrison in the Philippines had proceeded without substantial stress, this was b­ ecause the Spanish had offered no serious re­sis­tance ­after the disaster at Manila Bay. Yet a navy could not guarantee Amer­i­ca’s ability to secure a just peace over the sprawling Philippine Islands. That required a combination of military land forces and a broader po­liti­ cal and economic strategy. By February 1899, the American failure to devise and implement an effective postwar policy became clear as a nationalist insurgency led by Aguinaldo arose. McKinley responded by calling for new volunteers, which produced a staggering number of 100,000 additional troops to supplement the regulars already pre­sent.11 While American forces assembled in the Philippines, Aguinaldo put together a nationalist army of approximately 80,000. ­After the ­Battle of Manila, the war had revolved around Amer­i­ca’s effort to prepare the islands for a postwar settlement in which Amer­i­ca would play a central role. The United States did not allow the Filipino nationalists ­under Aguinaldo any influence over ­these decisions. Thus, Aguinaldo, having formed an army, proclaimed a Philippine Republic based around the idea of a nationalist revolution to eject the Americans. Skirmishes took place in late 1898 and early 1899 as both sides waited on events. A Filipino patrol attacked an American unit on guard duty outside Manila, leading General Elwell S. Otis to employ the Eighth Corps in offensive operations to destroy Aguinaldo’s revolutionary army, which included 40,000 men surrounding Manila. Yet the war was ­shaped as much by Aguinaldo’s strategy as it was by American reactions to insurgent attacks. From the beginning, Aguinaldo hoped to gain American and international recognition as a legitimate government over the Philippines. He also hoped to bring local provincial rulers u­ nder the power of his central government. For this reason, although he did use some insurgents, he initially focused on building the conventional forces of a developed state to confront the United States. He withdrew his army from Manila to compel the Americans to leave their base and seek a ­battle on terrain of his choosing. With the Americans seeking to expand their reach from Manila to the city of Malolos, Aguinaldo and his primary field commander, General Antonio Luna, erected a series of trenches and field fortifications to bar the American advance. Yet ­these efforts clearly demonstrated the superiority of American firepower, as a force of 11,000 Americans ­were able to break through ­these lines and reach Malolos by November 1899 ­after inflicting severe casualties on Aguinaldo’s forces. ­After the Malolos campaign, Aguinaldo was forced to shift his strategy. Rethinking his focus on conventional warfare, he withdrew north to the mountainous



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province of Luzon and de­cided to wage a revolutionary guerilla war against the American occupiers. He hoped to maintain central control by breaking apart his conventional army into smaller units around which the local insurgencies could emerge. The strategic shift proved problematic for the United States, which was still attempting to or­ga­nize its forces and failed to understand the need for a similar shift in strategy. Instead, Otis persisted in attempting to defeat Filipino forces in b­ attle. What ended up occurring was a fairly typical pattern in t­hese types of wars. American forces moved into an area to pursue a guerilla force, often facing ambushes and skirmishes along the way. The guerilla forces usually refrained from engaging in conventional ­battles and instead withdrew, allowing the Americans to hold certain terrain. Once the Americans left that territory to pursue other guerillas, the land was reoccupied by the nationalist insurgents. Thus, the American tactics w ­ ere very similar to the “search and destroy” operations of the Vietnam War, and similarly failed to produce decisive results. In fact, Otis’s campaign increased frustration with the war effort in Washington, D.C., and saw the United States overly rely on vio­lence as a solution to a po­liti­cal prob­lem. In early 1900, McKinley replaced Otis with General Arthur MacArthur and enforced a new military strategy that was based on a larger policy of “benevolent pacification.” This was as much a civilian as a military effort. Indeed, it was spearheaded not by the army but instead by a new civilian administration ­under the direction of a ­future American president, William Howard Taft. Taft’s mission was to engage in what modern operations call nation-­building. Rather than enforce American governance by defeating Aguinaldo’s forces in decisive ­battles or by hunting guerrillas in mountainous jungles, the new policy aimed to break the psychological link between the insurgency and the civilian population. In addition, Taft was to oversee the investment of resources into a wide array of government institutions to bind the Filipino public to the Americans as benevolent imperial overlords. In military terms, the new policy was implemented through a reor­ga­ni­za­tion of the army into territorial occupation units, along with a division of the Philippines into four new administrative departments. MacArthur provided an amnesty for insurgents who came over to the American side and worked with Taft’s commission in nation-­building operations, mainly through building roads and schools. The Americans rewarded Filipinos who collaborated, while continuing to use aggressive force against ­those who remained hostile. As Filipino nationalists and insurgents retaliated by employing terrorism against Filipino collaborators and as the insurgency continued, American willingness to commit acts of horrendous vio­ lence against them increased. By 1900, the United States was winning the counter-­ revolutionary war against Aguinaldo through a skillfully executed “carrot-­and-­stick” approach. However, the war was generating much controversy in the United States and involved American troops in several highly regrettable atrocities. The war turned again in 1901 as a result of a shift in American strategy from counterinsurgency through benevolent pacification to a focus on capturing Aguinaldo and disrupting his network. In March 1901, Col­o­nel Frederick Funston fi­nally succeeded in forcing the surrender of the insurgent leader. ­After his capture, Aguinaldo called upon the Filipino insurgents to lay down their arms and accommodate themselves to the American regime. This led to the collapse of Aguinaldo’s

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centralized re­sis­tance movement. Local guerilla forces proved incapable of stemming American pacification efforts from this point on. Vio­lence certainly continued throughout 1901, yet not to a level that threatened the American occupation. The army proved ­adept at developing a more flexible counterinsurgency policy better suited to local conditions. On the other hand, a series of highly publicized atrocities in late 1901 and early 1902 nearly undermined American success in the war, especially the September 1901 Balangiga massacre. The American public became increasingly weary of the Philippine War, even as Aguinaldo’s insurgency was destroyed. By July 1902, the new president, Theodore Roo­se­velt, declared that the war was over and the American annexation of the Philippines had been achieved, bringing an end to the conflicts that began with the American war against Spain in 1898.12

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Mobilization for the Spanish-­A merican War was given impetus by several f­ actors. First, recruitment took place amid the backdrop of the American public’s long-­standing disdain for the regular occurrence of Spanish atrocities in Cuba. For several de­cades, the “black legend” of a violent and tyrannical Spain brutalizing freedom-­loving Cubans had dominated American perceptions of the situation. In 1898, ­these humanitarian concerns certainly facilitated recruitment campaigns for what was widely regarded as a “just war.” In addition, recruitment and popu­lar support for the war ­were not without significant financial and economic motivations. ­Those with fiscal interests in Cuba had long viewed a collapse of Spain’s power ­there as an opportunity to further their investments. The war occurred in the age of Social Darwinism and the “White Man’s Burden.” Many Americans saw Cuba as part of Amer­i­ca’s sphere of world influence and a key focus of American expansionism. Thus, a number of f­ actors—­including the idea of world power—­played a role in popularizing the war and facilitating recruitment. The rush to war by thousands of American volunteer soldiers in 1898 demonstrates the fallacy of viewing the American public in this period of American history as isolationist.13 Recruitment took place during a period of continued economic depression. For many recruits, military ser­vice clearly offered an escape from civilian poverty. This was linked in some ways to the public’s attitude to war, which can be described in part as escaping from the economic doldrums to pursue an international adventure. The popu­lar attitude stood in contrast to that of American po­liti­cal leadership. Focused on domestic reform and initially reluctant to get involved in a war with Spain, President McKinley took no definitive steps in early 1898 to prepare for a large-­scale intervention in Cuba. He certainly had no idea of calling for volunteers for a war that would take them not only to Cuba and Puerto Rico but also to the Philippines. What is clear is that all of ­these c­ auses of the war facilitated a popu­lar response to McKinley’s recruitment efforts. As one volunteer, Charles Johnson Post, ­later wrote: “­There was vast enthusiasm. In fact, one had only to go into any one of the three or four saloons at each street intersection and start a conversation with almost any casual stranger and, first ­thing you knew, the bartender



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would invite you to have one on the h­ ouse and recommend a regiment for you to join or transfer to.” Having read newspaper stories about the situation in Cuba, Post attested that “we commoner folk began to boil and seethe with ardor to kill a Spaniard. So it was that vacant stores on ­every ave­nue suddenly blossomed into recruiting stations, with pictures of the Maine before and a­ fter the sinking, and with pullers-in at their doors straight from the Social Register or the nearest ward leader.”14 This enthusiasm was sorely needed b­ ecause the American military was not yet in condition for war, even against a third-­rate Eu­ro­pean power like Spain. For the 30 years since the end of the Civil War, the U.S. Army had been involved in the efforts of Reconstruction, crushing militant l­abor strikes, and conquering the Indian frontier. By Eu­ro­pean standards, it was not an army, but rather a constabulary force. In 1897 it stood at 28,000 officers and men. In contrast, the American navy merited consideration with leading Eu­ro­pean navies, although it did not yet approach parity with the likes of G ­ reat Britain. Still, it already contained in 1898 six battleships with five more ­under construction, along with two heavy cruisers and over a dozen light cruisers. In response to the American public’s anger at the sinking of the Maine, McKinley asked for a congressional authorization to intervene on April 11. Congress approved the president’s request, demanding that the Spanish withdraw from Cuba or face American military might. Spain was not coerced. It had an army in Cuba that numbered over 150,000 regulars. It also counted 8,000 troops in Puerto Rico and 20,000 in the Philippines. Although Spain was confident, it underestimated Amer­i­ca’s potential power through recruitment and mobilization. Spain in theory had 150,000 extra troops it could send from home, yet its unprofessional navy would be placed in ­great peril if tasked with making this transport. In contrast, Amer­i­ca’s navy was well suited for global power projection once the recruitment and mobilization ­were completed.15 Initially, mobilization and preparations concentrated on the navy. The most impor­t ant ­factor influencing Amer­i­ca’s preparations for the war was the idea—­ based largely on the theories of Alfred Thayer Mahan—­that it would be dominated by a contest between Amer­i­ca and Spain for control of the seas. ­There was even widespread belief that no land forces would be needed to accomplish Amer­ i­ca’s strategic goals: an end to Spanish atrocities in Cuba and Spain’s withdrawal from the Western Hemi­sphere. Other than recognizing the need for a small force to assist the Cubans, McKinley did not initially intend to involve the U.S. Army in a major expedition to conquer Spanish colonies. Thus, the army’s role would be severely l­imited, he thought. Defending coastal fortifications had priority over preparations for an overseas mission. As a consequence of t­hese assumptions, when the Congress appropriated $50,000,000 for pos­si­ble military operations against Spain, nearly 70 ­percent was to fund naval preparations. The army was left unprepared for the war it ultimately faced. In contrast, the navy was well prepared for a war it had been training to fight for over a de­cade. With the bulk of congressional appropriations, it faced far fewer personnel prob­lems than the army. Sailors whose terms of enlistments ­were nearing their end ­were retained by their commanders, most without complaint. This was the war ­these men had been seeking; the idea of avenging the Maine was never

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far from their minds. Also, unlike the army, the navy was well supplied with fuel and ammunition on the eve of the war, which meant that the sailors faced fewer stresses. With preparations ­r unning smoothly, the navy was quickly divided into separate squadrons that individually covered the main theaters of war. On the northeast coast was the Northern Patrol Squadron. The North Atlantic Squadron ­under Admiral Sampson held Key West. George Dewey directed the Asiatic Squadron at Hong Kong, ready for ­orders to attack the Spanish fleet off the Philippine Islands. ­Because ­there ­were no significant manning issues, each of ­these forces was ready for hostilities. The navy even mobilized an Auxiliary Naval Force manned by 4,000 officers and men of the naval militia to guard American ports.16 The army’s story could not provide a greater contrast to that of the navy. The army of 1898 simply was not designed for overseas missions. It was small, with a ­limited number of regulars who had no experience fighting conventional ­battles against Eu­ro­pean troops. In the event of a major expedition, the army would have to rely on substantial numbers of volunteers, who would have to be recruited, or­ga­ nized, trained, and equipped in a ­matter of months. Facing war, neither the War Department nor the army administration was prepared for the task that lay ahead. Money was not widely available given the navy’s priority, and what cash the army had at hand was used for coastal defenses rather than recruitment and preparations for an expeditionary force. The army leadership did not recognize the crisis ­until late in the mobilization phase, believing that 100,000 men would suffice for any contingency in the war. Believing in the overarching strategy, it thought that it might put 50,000 regulars and volunteers into Cuba ­after the navy gained control of the seas—­but only if the Spanish did not recognize the certainty of their defeat and quickly sue for peace. To its credit, in March the army did convince Representative John Hull to sponsor a bill that would have created a war­time regular army of 104,000 men by increasing the enlisted strength to prescribed doctrinal standards. Although it would have greatly assisted in expanding the army’s manpower and mobilization efficiency, the so-­called “Hull Bill” was defeated by a combination of southern Demo­crats and Populists who did not look kindly upon a large standing federal army. More by default than design, the army’s recruitment and mobilization became centered on the volunteer concept. With McKinley’s support, Congress passed a volunteer bill on April 22 that called for National Guard volunteers with quotas to be met by each state. Catering to local interests, governors could appoint some of the volunteer officers, but the president gained the authority to appoint general and staff officers for the volunteer units. On April 25, the president called for 125,000 volunteers. The federal government feared that state officials would exploit ­these mea­sures as a way of extending f­ avors, so it prohibited the formation of second-­ wave volunteer units ­until the first call had been fully met. In addition to calling for volunteers, the army was able to gain congressional approval for a 65,700-­man Regular Army, more than doubling its prewar size. Rather than pursue a reor­ga­ni­ za­tion, newly recruited regulars would join existing units. The terms of ser­vice for volunteers and recruits was through the end of the war, which most expected to be short. Although the number of volunteers exceeded expectations, the Regular Army did not reach full strength. To supplement this Regular Army and state volunteer



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Men of the 32nd and 33rd Michigan Volunteer regiments land near Siboney, Cuba, on June 25, 1898. The beach landings ­were almost entirely unopposed, allowing the poorly ­planned operation to be conducted with minimal losses. (Photographic History of the Spanish- ­American War, 1898)

force, the army gained approval for a federal volunteer force that created three federal volunteer cavalry regiments of 3,000 men, 10 regiments of volunteer infantry, and a signal corps. The First United States Volunteer Cavalry was commanded by Col­o­nel Leonard Wood and became known as the Rough Riders. It was immortalized by the best-­selling book of that name written by its lieutenant col­o­nel: former Assistant Secretary of the Navy and ­f uture president of the United States, Theodore Roo­se­velt. All told, the army’s recruitment and mobilization for the 1898 war w ­ ere hardly without prob­lems. However, it should be noted that despite friction, the 28,000-­ man army of 1898 stood at approximately 11,000 officers and 264,000 men by the end of the Spanish-­American War. The regulars and volunteers responded to the popu­lar war with enthusiasm and remained committed throughout, despite myriad challenges. Given the fact that the war’s conduct dramatically differed from prewar expectations, the gaps in the mobilization’s efficiency ­were understandable. McKinley’s call for volunteers placed ­great burdens on army administration. Nonetheless, it remains a remarkable fact that within six weeks, 125,000 volunteers had responded to the president’s call.17 Unlike the Spanish-­American War of 1898, the extended conflict in the Philippines did not capture the American public’s broad support. And if the expedition to Cuba had stretched the capacity of the prewar army for a ­limited expeditionary force, the prospect of an all-­out pacification campaign and war of conquest in the Philippines was nearly unimaginable. Although the army had experience

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controlling Indian populations, it did so with the logistical support of the American continent. The Philippines ­were on the far side of the Pacific and brought unpre­ ce­dented challenges. From the very beginning of American occupation in 1898, the Filipino population proved hostile. So, too, did much of the American public for a war many considered antithetical to Amer­i­ca’s anticolonial tradition. Thus, although a result of the same general conflict, recruitment for the Philippines War took place u­ nder very dif­fer­ent dynamics than the war of 1898. The American Army Eighth Corps initially had few forces with which to destroy Aguinaldo’s revolution and bring the stability to the Philippines necessary for gaining the population’s support. It was a large task made more challenging by the commander’s hubris. General Otis believed he was on the verge of victory in the summer of 1899, proving so incredibly optimistic that he did not urge McKinley to send essential reinforcements. In fact, he maintained that he could achieve his objectives with a mere 30,000 regulars. Moreover, the volunteers and regulars who had joined in 1898 ­were technically discharged ­after the Treaty of Paris had been signed, ending the Spanish-­American War. For po­liti­cal reasons, McKinley wanted them returned to their homes. The continuation and escalation of conflict led to a new Regular Army and Volunteer Bill in 1899. The president demanded a 100,000-­ man Regular Army be maintained. Congress balked, limiting the regular army to 65,000. Instead, it supplemented this meager body of professionals with as many as 35,000 volunteers. Volunteer enlistments ­were set to expire on July 1, 1901. The regular army would then revert to its prewar strength. Even more than in Cuba, the mobilization of army forces for the Philippines proved chaotic. As one group of soldiers departed upon the end of their enlistments, another group arrived, many without any military experience. American commanders never possessed sufficient forces for the Philippine War, although troop strength did increase. A ­ fter offensive actions w ­ ere expanded, the size of American forces grew to 70,000  in 1901. In February  1901, Congress increased the Regular Army to approximately 100,000 men, fi­nally recognizing the need for a large amount of professional manpower. Yet this corresponded to the end of the enlistment term for the volunteers of 1899, who departed the Philippines while a new batch of troops arrived. ­W hether this affected the war effort in a negative way remains uncertain. As troops w ­ ere withdrawn in 1902, the army maintained some police functions. But the civil government created a constabulary force of Filipinos with American officers, which numbered around 3,000 men. ­These troops allowed the remaining army soldiers to complete the pacification.18

TRAINING The Spanish-­American War occurred during the beginning of the Progressive Era. Progressivism had military dimensions. Indeed, it is noteworthy that military reform movements in the 1870s and 1880s spearheaded by progressive officers in the army and navy in some ways catalyzed a broader cultural and social movement that took root in the 1890s. This movement affected every­thing from industry to education to bureaucracy. For militaries, t­ hese progressive reforms involved



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an intense focus on improving training. The belief that technological advancements connected to the Industrial Revolution had potentially transformed the battlefield necessitated a renewed focus on preparing men to operate in t­hese conditions. American perceptions of the new battlefield, one dominated by defensive firepower and on which offensive tactics would be incredibly difficult, ­were largely informed by the Eu­ro­pean experience, especially the wars of German unification. No one stressed the need for a reform of training methods more than General Emory Upton, a visionary thinker whose ideas proved vitally impor­tant for professionalizing the American military for the major wars of the twentieth ­century. Unfortunately, Upton’s ideas clashed with aspects of American culture, such as the fear of professional standing armies. Ultimately, they proved ahead of their time and made l­ ittle impact on the army before the Spanish-­American War.19 In consequence, though training camps ­were established for the volunteers and regulars in 1898, the army was not sufficiently trained for operations. A June 5, 1898, letter from the secretary of war illustrates an understanding that the volunteers suffered from a lack of training as they embarked for operations in Cuba: “This expedition has been delayed through no fault of anyone connected with it. It contains the principal part of the Army, which for intelligence and efficiency is not exceeded by any body of troops on earth. It contains fourteen of the best conditioned regiments of volunteers, the last of which arrived this morning. Yet ­these have never been ­under fire. Between 30 and 40 per cent are undrilled, and in one regiment over 300 have never fired a gun.”20 As ­these comments reveal, training was a basic prob­lem in the Spanish-­American War. Although much attention was provided to the issue by the military command, the efforts ­were not fully successful. It was essentially by chance that the United States confronted in Spain an adversary whose military capability was not on par with a major Eu­ro­pean power and which had been drained by several years of revolt in Cuba. Against a better adversary, the army’s lack of training would have been more concerning. Part of the prob­lem in the effectiveness of training arose from the diverse types of troops employed in the war. While the regulars w ­ ere clearly the best trained, their expertise only influenced the volunteers through the experience of campaigns and combat ­because ­there was ­little time to train them side by side. A par­tic­u­lar area of concern was the National Guard troops, who lacked basic military skills and needed advanced training in drill and marksmanship. Although state officials proclaimed that all National Guard units would receive proper training and equipment, this was never achieved in practice. It has been estimated that nearly one-­ half of all the National Guard units ­were unfit for military duty, with many failing physical examinations or simply refusing to serve. As they participated in combat, the volunteers required even more training. General Miles recognized the need for the volunteers to receive substantial training before entering combat and thus recommended that they spend a considerable amount of time in stateside training camps. Yet the pace of the war demanded their mobilization and commitment to combat areas. In addition, the scarcity of regular troops to oversee the training meant that it was never as effective as it needed to be. It was also a concern that spending too much time stateside would lead to a deterioration of what­ever initial motivation the volunteers had to participate in the war.

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What occurred in practice was essentially a division of the regular and volunteer army. The regular army was based at two main locations: Chickamauga Park, Tennessee, and Tampa, Florida. Missing an opportunity to train alongside the regulars, the volunteers w ­ ere placed in camps dispersed all around the country: San Francisco, New Orleans, Mobile, and Washington. ­There w ­ ere even volunteer units in Key West. Although some volunteer units did appear in Tampa and Chickamauga to benefit from the professionalism of the regulars, it was not enough to overcome the lack of preparation for the majority of raw volunteers. Amid this training pro­cess, the army and War Department ­were preoccupied with organ­izing the force for combat, a complicated pro­cess that saw the creation of a new command structure and corps system.21 SOCIAL STRUCTURE The African American experience during the war was part of an evolution of black troops in the American military ­going back to the Civil War, when “colored” regiments had been segregated from white units in the Union Army. In the Civil War, black troops had been used in a variety of roles, ranging from ­labor forces, to garrison troops, to combat units. Notable examples of their combat proficiency occurred at Charleston, Port Hudson, and Petersburg. The 1869 organ­ization left the army with four black regiments: Twenty-­Fourth and Twenty-­Fifth Infantry Regiments and the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry Regiments. Each of t­ hese “colored” units performed well in the Indian Wars, especially the famed “Buffalo Soldiers” of the Tenth Cavalry—­some of whom won Medals of Honor. Having earned an excellent reputation, the black soldiers ­were on hand for operations in Cuba. Although admired by the War Department, black troops faced racist attitudes and assumptions from the beginning of the war. One reason that all four of the Regular Army colored regiments ­were sent to Cuba was the War Department’s belief that the blacks would fare better in a tropical climate—­a belief that proved inaccurate. The Twenty-­Fourth Regiment had assembled at Chickamauga and was directed solely by white officers, as the army still regarded blacks as unfit for command. ­Because it was considered a “technical arm” for which only whites ­were fit, ­there was no black artillery ser­vice. On arrival in Tampa, the black units faced racial discrimination, receiving the least preferred quarters and the most worn-­out uniforms. Many black soldiers refused to submit to this discrimination and protested. The night of June 6, 1898, saw widespread rioting, leaving nearly 30 black soldiers wounded. In addition to black regular troops, the war brought into ser­vice a number of black volunteers. Blacks ­were even pre­sent in several integrated volunteer regiments. That ­these regiments included whites and blacks marked a clear step forward in race relations for the U.S. military. However, the volunteer experience was equally conditioned by prevailing racial sentiments—an unavoidable fact considering the ubiquity of racial prejudice in late nineteenth-­century Amer­i­ca. Believing that blacks ­were naturally resistant to tropical diseases, the army formed 10 “immune” regiments of infantry that counted 10,000 total soldiers. Blacks served as both enlisted and as com­pany officers in ­these “immune” regiments. In this



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African American troops newly r­ eturned from ser­vice in Cuba pose for a photo at Camp Wikoff, New York. A ­ fter the Civil War, the Army maintained four infantry and two cavalry regiments of African American enlisted personnel, with white officers. Members of the so-­called “Buffalo Soldiers” participated in the assaults at San Juan and ­Kettle Hills near Santiago, Cuba. (National Archives)

re­spect, though founded on racist ideas, the “immunes” did increase the role of blacks in command positions in the military. For example, the Ninth Ohio was commanded by West Point gradu­ate First Lieutenant Charles Young. The Republican president, McKinley, owed his po­liti­cal success in part to the black vote in the north and saw support for black volunteers and regulars as a way of returning the ­favor. A total of 6,000 blacks served in state militias during the war. The Twenty-­Third Kansas and Eighth Illinois actually served in garrison duty in Cuba, while the Sixth Mas­sa­chu­setts saw combat. The ­others remained stateside, many in the South. Poorly treated by the white populace, many of t­hese soldiers left this experience demoralized by the nation’s racial tensions and discriminations—­even though they also had pride in their ser­vice and some cause for hope in racial pro­gress by the role they had played. For the black regiments of the Regular Army, the Santiago campaign provided most opportunities for combat, which many desired as the ultimate means of ­displaying the martial abilities of blacks to a white establishment. At Las Guasimas, the Tenth Cavalry played a key role. The Tenth was also prominent in the big victories at El Caney and San Juan Hill. According to George Kennan, serving as a war correspondent in Cuba: “It is the testimony of all who saw them ­under fire that they fought with the utmost courage.” Col­o­nel Theodore Roo­se­velt of the Rough Riders was said to have remarked that “he never expected to have, and could not ask to have, better men beside him in a hard fight.” Ser­vice in the Santiago campaign earned 26 Certificates of Merit for black soldiers in addition to 4 Medals of

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Honor. The Tenth served alongside the Cuban army, while the Twenty-­Fourth volunteered for duty at the Siboney hospital, where yellow fever was rampant. The Sixth Mas­sa­chu­setts volunteer regiment saw action in the Puerto Rico campaign. With the American annexation of the Philippines in 1899 came a new phase of black soldier experience in the war; thus far relegated to Cuba and stateside ser­ vice, blacks would see action in the Philippines, where they w ­ ere involved in a war against a nonwhite insurgency fighting for national in­de­pen­dence from a predominately white empire. Regulars from the Twenty-­Fourth and Twenty-­Fifth Regiments transferred from Cuba to the Philippines in July 1899. By summer 1900, ele­ments of the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry had also been deployed. In addition, the War Department’s second call for volunteers introduced the Forty-­Eighth and Forty-­Ninth Black Infantry Regiments. Of the 70,000 men stationed in the Philippines in 1900, 6,000 ­were blacks. The black troops in the Philippines had varied experiences, very much like the whites. Regulars of the Twenty-­Fourth and Twenty-­Fifth w ­ ere stationed around Manila, where they helped to defend critical railroad lines and roads. For the most part, they only saw action in skirmishes—­though they had participated in the Northern Luzon campaign. The campaign saw black soldiers engaged in extremely difficult marches through dense jungle fo­liage and harsh terrain, sharing in the rigors of the predominately white army. As the war shifted more ­toward an insurgency, the black units also saw action typical of guerrilla warfare: skirmishing, raiding, convoy escort, and garrison duty. It seems that blacks ­were trusted by the white military establishment with all of ­these roles, in addition to the nonmilitary efforts like building infrastructure to support the Filipino population. In this sense, blacks enjoyed far greater influence in local government in the Philippines than they did in the American South at the time. In 1901, the campaign to pacify regions like Batangas and Samar gave the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry opportunity to participate. By 1902, the ser­vice of American black troops in the Philippines as part of the war came to an end. What was the legacy? Although at the time almost universally noted for exemplary ser­vice in both Cuba and the Philippines, the per­for­mance of black soldiers in the Spanish-­American War has not been ­free of controversy, largely generated by a postwar wave of racial bias against blacks in the military. This was partly a backlash to increasing black activism for greater rights and responsibilities in the military, which their ser­vice in Cuba and the Philippines seemed to vindicate. In par­tic­u­lar, black leaders insisted on their right to become commissioned officers in the postwar military. The rec­ord of blacks in the field was certainly in ­favor of increasing the black military presence and integration. Blacks had deserted in noticeably lower numbers in both Cuba and the Philippines. It has been theorized that the goal of achieving black equality in the military motivated black soldiers to strive for exemplary be­hav­ior and ser­vice. It is also noteworthy that no black unit was ever charged for atrocities or war crimes in the Philippines. Black units performed exceptionally well in missions aimed at supporting the Filipino populace. Many white soldiers, in fact, saw no difference between Filipinos and American blacks, referring to Filipinos with the same racial slurs reserved for blacks stateside. Blacks defied ­these racist attitudes and gained experience in war and nation-­building in the Philippines,



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leading road construction, building schools and hospitals, and even overseeing elections. Despite this success, many black leaders in the United States condemned the black units for the perception that they ­were fighting a “white man’s war” to oppress a “colored” population. Filipino insurgents played on such rhe­toric themselves, attempting to encourage the blacks to desert and take their proper side in a racial war. Only 12 black soldiers are known to have deserted. The overwhelming majority remained remarkably committed and did their patriotic duty in ser­vice of the country. They fought and served in the belief that a grateful nation would reward them through the granting of full civil rights and true equality in the military establishment. Their government let them down. A backlash against black soldiers seemed to grip the nation in the aftermath of the Spanish-­American War. What accounts for it is somewhat unclear. Although he had praised the black troops at San Juan Hill, Theodore Roo­se­velt subsequently described them as cowardly in a Scribner’s Magazine article. He did recant t­hese charges during the election of 1900, but the tide was overwhelming against the black veterans. Though the four black regiments ­were expanded by the army, ­there was no effort at true integration, and few blacks ­rose to become commissioned officers. In 1902, the formation of the Spanish-­ American War Veterans Association saw attempts to deny black veterans recognition as members. It was not ­until ­after World War II that the role of blacks in the military would fundamentally change.22 Another impor­tant group to consider ­were Amer­i­ca’s Cuban and Filipino allies. Before the Spanish-­American War, many Americans sympathized with the travails of the Cubans at the hands of the Spanish. Most Americans, however, thought of Cubans in terms of white Cubans. When the Americans arrived in Cuba, they discovered a Cuban army that was mostly composed of black Cuban troops. Thus, racial prejudice greatly affected American relations with Cuban allies during the campaign. A common trope was that the Cubans w ­ ere “dirty” and undisciplined, more a “horde of beggars and ragamuffins” than an army. Of course, such views overlooked the fact that the Cubans had been fighting against the Spanish without foreign support and ­were understandably undersupplied. It also overlooked the real­ ity that Shafter’s own forces ­were so weak that without Cuban support, his campaign for Santiago most likely would have failed. At nearly ­every stage of the campaign the Cubans had played a vital role, beginning with covering the landing zones and occupying the Spanish forces around Guantanamo. Cubans also assisted in American logistics, medicine, reconnaissance, and engineering efforts—­ending the war as absolutely essential allies. Nonetheless, when General Shafter or­ga­nized the surrender of Santiago and ceremonies to mark the conclusion of hostilities, he refused to allow the Cubans to participate. For Filipino troops on the other side of the world, the situation was strikingly similar. American racial prejudices negated against the development of a truly equal partnership, with Filipino troops commonly labelled “niggers” and “gugus” by the Americans. As the war went on, fights between American and Filipino troops became more and more common. In contrast, the Puerto Rico campaign saw the United States work well with Puerto Rican troops. Around 10,000 Puerto Rican volunteers had initially fought alongside the Spanish to defend the island from invasion. Yet the American success

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quickly eroded Puerto Rican loyalty to Spain. Along with large crowds of the population who enthusiastically welcomed the Americans, the Puerto Rican troops deserted the Spanish en masse, and many attempted to fight alongside General Miles’s force. Many Puerto Rican civilians worked for General Miles as a ­labor force and provided logistical support. Nonetheless, American racial bias did appear in the writings of certain soldiers, one of whom described the Puerto Ricans as “ignorant, filthy, untruthful, lazy, treacherous, murderous, brutal, and black.”23 In addition to racial issues, the soldier experience of the Spanish-­American War reflected the socioeconomic issues pertaining to class in late nineteenth-­century Amer­i­ca. As Theodore Roo­se­velt’s involvement suggests, the war involved ­every strata of American society. Yet class clearly proved significant in shaping the experiences of individual soldiers. Officers came from the better-­educated and wealthier American elite, while the common soldiers ­were generally from the ­middle and lower classes. Many officers ­were affluent po­liti­cal appointees, such as Joseph Wheeler and Fitzhugh Lee, promoted despite their former Confederate allegiances ­because of McKinley’s desire to build broad support in the American south. The volunteers ­were generally in their early twenties, with an average age between 19 and 25. Most ­were blue-­collar men from the working class, holding civilian occupations like machinists, industrial workers, and electricians. ­There ­were also more white-­collar volunteers who had previously pursued ­careers as clerks, salesmen, and ­lawyers. Many of the volunteers ­were students who postponed the completion of their college degrees to participate in McKinley’s war. Outside of cities and more urbanized states, the volunteers ­were overwhelmingly agrarian in background, having grown up on and worked the farms across the American heartland. It seems that native-­born Americans served in far greater numbers and proportions than immigrants, though t­ hese groups should not be ignored. Despite the socioeconomic diversity, class and economics did not divide the American soldiers in this war. The majority of soldiers, officers and rank and file alike, remained patriotic and enthusiastic throughout the war, especially in the Cuban campaign.24

DAILY LIFE Patterns of daily life in the Spanish-­A merican War ­were a product of many ­factors, not the least of which involved the challenges of the initial logistical mobilization. As seen with re­spect to manpower, the United States was not fully prepared for war but enjoyed a large amount of untapped material potential. This took time to gather and distribute. In addition to being undertrained, the volunteers faced scarcity of nearly all manner of supplies and comforts of life. Crucial necessities such as tents and mess kits ­were initially lacking, while much of the distributed equipment needed repair; the available uniforms w ­ ere often quite old and worn and more proper for winter than summer. Prepared to supply a small peacetime force, the supply agencies ­were simply overwhelmed and lacked any understanding of the vastness of the mobilization requirements. Time was required to solve ­these prob­lems, as American industry could not be put on a war footing overnight. An additional prob­lem affecting daily life was that staff officers ­were not in sufficient



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number and lacked appropriate training, exacerbating inevitable prob­lems with camp organ­ization. Bureaucratic procedures that had been developed in peacetime ­were tested in war­time, and many proved in need of reform to ensure greater efficiency. Although railroads and steamships had dramatically enhanced Amer­i­ca’s transportation infrastructure, gaps remained in distribution facilities. Trains could not fulfill transport in the face of heavy rail traffic. Yet as the army had disbanded mule wagons, it was left solely reliant upon a backed-up railroad system. Although the War Department’s efforts did not receive the praise of the American press, it should be noted that the logistical mobilization did dramatically improve within a ­matter of three months ­after the declaration of war. Constant work on the part of bureaucrats ensured that federal arsenals and private industries ­were producing needed weapons, munitions, and supplies. Prob­lems with staff officers and transportation w ­ ere never fully resolved, but the challenges did not impede the forces from entering the war. The gaps in the material condition of the troops resulted as much from the McKinley administration’s rapid rush to war, which put volunteer and regular forces in camp and in theater before logistical mobilization had been fully completed. This made inadequate supply and equipment an almost inevitable fact of life for soldiers in the early months of the war.25 Army Fifth Corps headquarters ­were established at Tampa, Florida, in April 1898. The se­lection of Tampa fit logically with the strategy to conduct operations in Cuba, ­either a full-­scale expedition or a reconnaissance and arms-­supply mission. Tampa became the site of General Shafter’s preparations for the expedition. On May 26, it was de­cided that the Fifth Corps would be sent to Santiago. As soon as this was de­cided, all the regulars at Tampa ­were readied for the operation. The men made fun of their commander, Shafter, whose obesity earned him the nickname “floating tent.” It was not an affectionate label. Shafter’s inexperience with large operations caused avoidable delays. But the majority of delays resulted from inadequate transport. Whereas the navy possessed an abundance of vessels, the army lacked sufficient cruisers for naval transport. For the expedition, the troops faced a lengthy period lodged in small steamships. In addition, backed-up rail traffic into Tampa—­ which had only two rail lines—­contributed greatly to delays. Congestion proved so heavy that the rail traffic was clogged all the way to Charleston, South Carolina. As Fifth Corps staff officers strug­gled to overcome all of ­these challenges and prepare Shafter’s force, the rank and file sat by rather aimlessly, plagued by the intense Florida humidity. The men spent their days in training and activities meant to distract them from boredom, like cards, baseball, and even playing with snakes.26 Frustrated by continued delays, McKinley ordered Shafter to immediately embark on June 7, giving the troops a long-­awaited break from the monotony of camp life in Tampa. Getting onto the steamers proved a chaotic pro­cess, with some units getting on the wrong boats. As the boats began to pull away, a message arrived from the War Department that ordered a cancellation. It was feared that two Spanish ships had just arrived off the coast of Cuba. For the men on the ships, this pause proved frustrating but nowhere near as devastating as what came next. Rather than return to shore, the ships remained floating just off the coast for over a week. One soldier described the tight quarters on the ships as “unpleasantly suggestive of the Black Hole of Calcutta.” It was not ­until June 14 that the ships actually departed

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for Cuba. Seventeen thousand men—­mostly regulars—­had experienced this horrible week onboard ship, and they w ­ ere the leading force for Shafter’s expedition. ­Whether the volunteers could have withstood this experience with their enthusiasm intact remains questionable.27 The Americans fi­nally got off the ships at Daiquiri and Siboney on June 23: ­after spending a full 16 days onboard the miserable vessels. The blue wool uniforms—­ many of which ­were left over from the Civil War era—­caused terrible discomfort in the hot, sweaty conditions. The War Department did not start sending over large numbers of khaki tropical uniforms ­until late July and early August, by which time the Cuban campaign was essentially over. Available food can only be described as disgusting. The meat rations provided have become infamous, consisting of a packaged meat product—­including salmon—­which the men found revolting. Frozen beef carcasses that had been transported on ice to Tampa had to be shipped to Cuba. By the time of arrival, they had often spoiled. Although serious disease had yet to set in—­that would come once the men hit the shore—­seasickness was widespread, and the men ­were exhausted and dispirited as they waded ashore. It was fortunate that ­there was not serious combat in the landings, as the navy’s bombardment drove away any Spanish defenders. Once ashore, the daily living conditions of the troops improved only in the sense that they ­were no longer aboard the cramped boats. Other­wise, the logistical situation proved utterly horrible. One of the reasons for Shafter’s aggressive assault on Santiago and the San Juan Heights was that he feared that his logistics system would simply collapse, leaving his men reliant upon themselves for foraging. If not for this real­ity, he might have besieged the Spanish forces and waited them out. But the Fifth Corps lived on a supply line that extended from the beaches back to the naval transports. Despite its unappetizing quality, the food rations ­were in high demand. Men w ­ ere warned not to eat the abundant tropical fruit, which the Medical Department feared would cause disease. On average, Fifth Corps only had supplies for one day. The supply lines could not h­ andle all necessary supplies. Medical items, for example, never left the ships in sufficient quantity. Once supplies reached the beaches, they had to somehow be moved to the front lines along a trail through the hilly jungle region. Regular tropical rains left the roads muddy and streams unpassable. Wagons could only move in certain areas with broad enough passages, meaning hired porters and the men themselves often had to haul their supplies and equipment. Even as late as August 3, Shafter complained about the lack of ­water and food: “­There is no excuse for lack of food, as ­there has at all times been plenty of that.”28 Of course, the prob­lem with the food was not one of quantity but quality. The expedition’s experience in Cuba was far from enjoyable, even though the men appreciated being on land rather than mired at sea. Victories at Santiago and San Juan Heights raised morale but did not see a substantial improvement in the conditions of daily life. General Shafter was becoming so concerned about the state of Fifth Corps that he considered withdrawing from Santiago so that he could benefit from railroad supply. This proposal earned intense censure from McKinley, who feared that it would embolden the Spaniards. The administration encouraged Shafter to hold tight and promised increased manpower and material support. Perhaps the only ­factor saving Fifth Corps from defeat was the even worse situation



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facing the Spanish army, which had been involved in significant combat in Cuba for over three years and was now completely cut off from its line of supply.29 The American invasion of Puerto Rico on July 25, 1898, led to an American campaign against San Juan. Although transported via smaller vessels, this campaign was very dif­fer­ent from that of Cuba. The maritime transport took 4 days instead of 16. ­After Miles’s force landed at Guanica, the campaign to take San Juan proved relatively easy, with no significant re­sis­tance. Most impor­tant for the daily lives of the men involved, the campaign enjoyed ­great logistical support, and the Puerto Rican population proved receptive to American liberators. For the Philippines, General Merrit’s volunteers and regulars had received the Eighth Corps designation and w ­ ere assembled at San Francisco. In contrast to the Cuban campaign, the assembly of Eighth Corps was relatively straightforward. The navy did an excellent job in the deployment of this force to Manila, which was also greatly helped by Merrit’s skill as an administrator. Most impor­tant, the situation was not as demanding, as the Spanish forces w ­ ere not offering the same re­sis­tance in the Philippines as in Cuba. The victory at Manila Bay had seemed to determine the outcome already. The Eighth Corps left San Francisco on May 25 and reached Cavite on June 30, ­after a brief campaign to take Guam. By the end of July, the entire Eighth Corps had assembled in the Philippines. By the time it had arrived and assembled, the war was essentially over. Negotiations commenced while the troops stood by on occupation duty, ready to return home upon the signing of peace. For ­those volunteers who came in the first wave, this was a relatively uneventful deployment. Most of them did return home ­after April 1899, although a new war was brewing. ­After a brutal campaign to suppress the Filipino forces, the daily life of army soldiers became dominated by the priorities of occupation and counterinsurgency. McKinley believed that the Filipinos must be won over to the benefits of American liberty and thus sought for the army to “prove to them that the mission of the United States is one of benevolent assimilation, substituting the mild sway of justice and right for arbitrary rule.”30 Army civic action programs ­were designed to facilitate broad pacification, starting in Manila then progressing throughout the rest of the country. Soldiers ­were occupied by a plethora of reforms and building programs, including roads, bridges, hospitals, and schools. They even introduced new railroads to facilitate greater transportation in addition to communication means such as telegraph and telephone lines. Thus, a kind of imperialistic nation-­building that brought the soldiers into intimate contact with Filipino civilian collaborators became a basic f­actor of daily life, even as the war drifted into a vicious insurgency that seemed to have no end in sight.

RELIGION Religion was an impor­tant ­factor in the Spanish-­American War, as it pitted a majority-­Protestant Amer­i­ca against Catholic Spain. In addition, it involved the American conquest and occupation of foreign territory inhabited by large numbers of non-­Christian ­peoples. American churches and missionaries played impor­tant

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roles in shaping public attitudes t­oward the war and supporting the efforts of the government and military, a role they had played in most of Amer­i­ca’s preceding conflicts. American Protestantism at the time was undergoing several impor­tant changes as it adapted to the Gilded Age and the Progressive Era. It was, in general, firmly supportive of American expansion and imperialism, although some ministers, especially in the black community, condemned American actions as sinful and participated in anti-­imperial demonstrations. The Protestant imperialist mentality was especially strong in the United Methodist Church, the largest denomination at the time. Methodists and most other Protestants saw imperialism as a way of spreading God’s civilization abroad and instituting impor­t ant moral reforms. Protestants ­were leading ele­ments in pro-­war rallies before 1898 as they saw atrocities suffered by Cubans through a religious lens, believing that Spanish actions conformed to popu­lar perceptions of Catholics as barbarically repressive. Urging American intervention even before 1898, many religious groups ­were instrumental in encouraging the government’s recruitment efforts once war was declared.31 The religious attitude of American soldiers and the public during the Spanish-­ American War was clearly linked to the broader religious culture of the United States in the late nineteenth ­century. No idea was more significant than that of the Social Gospel, which became an influential religious movement before the Spanish-­ American War and remained impor­tant during the Progressive Era. Rooted in American Protestantism and as much a social reform movement as a religious faith, the Social Gospel called for progressive reforms to improve the lives of God’s ­children on earth. Most critically, it was based on a belief in extraterritoriality, that Americans had a duty to spread ­those blessings beyond their own borders. For soldiers and civilians at the time of the Spanish-­American War, understanding of the Social Gospel was mainly derived from the pen of Josiah Strong, a popu­lar minister whose bestselling books spread the word of a reinvigorated Protestantism with a social and economic message. During the war, Strong was a firm supporter of American expansion and imperialism, which he proposed as the international edge of the Social Gospel. This par­tic­u­lar strand of Chris­tian­ity resonated with a majority of regulars and volunteers who saw themselves fighting a holy war against a Catholic adversary to convert heathen Cubans and Filipinos to Protestantism in religion and democracy in politics.32 It is clear that a religiously informed sense of Manifest Destiny played some role in shaping the attitudes of the American public and American soldiers during the Spanish-­American War. The idea that God had entitled the American Republic to certain territorial holdings had contributed to American expansion throughout the nineteenth ­century and helped guide decisions during the American quest for empire in the 1890s. This belief was a reflection of religiosity, as it was predicated on the idea of divine Providence’s blessing. It was closely linked with the idea of American exceptionalism, which posited that the United States was a special nation endowed with a unique mission from the Creator, extending to the “city upon a hill” concept of John Winthrop. Although the concept of Manifest Destiny had somewhat diminished during the Civil War and Reconstruction, the Indian Wars restored it to prominence on the eve of the Spanish-­American War. The ideological under­pinnings of Manifest Destiny w ­ ere used to motivate volunteers and to



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justify a war for territorial expansion against Catholic Spain. In addition, the fact that the war involved American expansion in the Philippines, where Chris­tian­ity was a foreign faith, lent credence to the idea that expansion was about fulfilling God’s plan for the world through evangelism. However, the extent to which the ideas of the Social Gospel and Manifest Destiny mattered to American soldiers remains unclear. For many, faith remained a personal ­matter that helped to sustain them and give their sufferings a larger purpose. It is also worth recognizing that some had no religious faith at all. ­Little is known about the experience of religious minorities in the Spanish-­American War such as Jews, Muslims, and Catholics. One of the more distasteful episodes in the Philippine phase of the Spanish-­ American was the Moros campaign, which commenced in 1899. Originally a semi-­autonomous Muslim population in the southern Philippines, the Moros saw Amer­i­ca’s toppling of the Spanish as a sign that their days of practical in­de­pen­ dence from a Christian power ­were over. Indeed, American policy sought to better integrate the Moros into a Philippine nation in line with McKinley’s civilizing mission. What actually happened was a rebellion against the American and Philippine authorities, which developed a religious dimension. Although many American atrocities ­were the result of frustration or the per­sis­tence of practices that army officers had developed in the Indian Wars, it is clear that the religious difference between mainly white Christian American soldiers and the Muslim Moros accounted for at least some of the brutality. Although recent statements by President Donald J. Trump have propagated the idea that General John Pershing ordered his soldiers to soak their bullets in pig’s blood before shooting captured Moros, scholars of the events have found no firm evidence that this actually occurred or was ordered. Pershing’s official policy was actually far more lenient in conception, aiming to fulfill Amer­i­ca’s civilizing mission through benevolent imperialism. Yet one of Pershing’s soldiers, J. R. McKey, informed Time magazine in 1941 that Pershing had ordered that all the Muslim insurgents they killed would be buried with pigs, while several captured Moros ­were sprinkled with pig’s blood before being released so that they could warn o­ thers what awaited them in American captivity. Pershing once purportedly brought a pig’s head with him to negotiate a cease-­fire with one of the Moro commanders.33

POPU­L AR CULTURE The late nineteenth c­ entury was a period of enormous growth in popu­lar culture centered primarily on media such as newspapers, books, m ­ usic, and even the early film industry. The American public was the primary consumer of ­these items, but the soldiers ­were also receptive to broader cultural trends. The war itself had an impact on American culture, with songs, films, and lit­er­a­t ure attempting to address the war’s deeper cultural meanings. Overwhelmingly, the most impor­tant item of popu­lar culture that soldiers engaged with w ­ ere newspapers. The newspaper industry had taken off with the continued expansion of literacy and urbanization in the nineteenth ­century. Newspapers played impor­tant roles in the origins of the Spanish-­A merican War. In par­tic­u­lar, the New York Herald and New York

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Journal ­were widely consumed by the public and w ­ ere available at times for the soldiers, especially while they w ­ ere in stateside camps. This was the main way for soldiers in Cuba and the Philippines to stay informed with what was happening at home but also in the war itself. B ­ ecause the newspapers depicted the war in moral terms, as a b­ attle between a righ­teous Amer­i­ca and an evil Spain, they served to enhance and maintain soldier motivation. The newspapers employed hundreds of war correspondents who provided first-­hand accounts of the war and built relations with the army and navy. Reporting of American atrocities during the Philippine War somewhat distanced the press and the military, with many soldiers resenting the accusations made against them. This was the age of yellow journalism—­named ­after the popu­lar “Yellow Kid” cartoon strip of the era—in which newspaper tycoons like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer exploited any sort of news from the front lines to sell their papers to an American public hungry for the latest events.34 Newspapers also commonly printed po­liti­cal cartoons, which provided visual repre­sen­ta­tions of common po­liti­cal themes and tropes. One famous example shows President McKinley dressing an inflated ­Uncle Sam who is being offered medicine from barrels labelled “Anti-­Expansion Policy” that ­will help him deflate. His response: “No, Sonny! I never did take any of that stuff, and I’m too old to begin!” The garments with which McKinley is clothing ­Uncle Sam are labelled “Rational Expansion” and “Enlightened Foreign Policy.” Other cartoons and images addressed military themes, including racist depictions of Cubans and Filipinos that justified American imperialism and the “White Man’s Burden,” based on a famous poem by Rudyard Kipling. It was also common for artists and illustrators to depict the destruction of the Maine as a rational justification for the war. Two areas of popu­lar culture that ­were in a transformation period during the Spanish-­American War ­were film and ­music. The early film industry had started developing a­ fter the Civil War. Films w ­ ere usually very short, some just a minute or so in length, and did not have sound. Audiences w ­ ere informed what the subject ­matter was up front, and the films usually dealt with well-­known topics. The events of the Spanish-­A merican War became easily the most popu­lar subject for films between 1898 and World War I. Film companies ­were attached to the army and navy to capture live images of the war. Yet most of the films used reenactment. Popu­lar examples ­were The Skirmish of the Rough Riders and Tearing Down the Spanish Flag. Unsurprisingly, the events of the Cuban campaign attracted the most attention, with patriotic audiences less interested in the more controversial war in the Philippines. Few films have been made about the Spanish-­American War since that era, with 1997’s Rough Riders being the main exception. Although soldiers ­were clearly aware of the films produced during the period, the war itself did not provide opportunity for them to watch film while on campaign, unlike in subsequent periods.35 For m ­ usic, the war produced a large volume of songs that addressed nearly e­ very aspect of the conflict. Soldiers ­were the primary consumers and singers of many of ­these songs, which w ­ ere often enormously popu­lar. ­Music was a leading American pastime in this period. Singing while on the march provided ­great relief from boredom and helped maintain morale. The most popu­lar musical performer of the



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time was John Philip Sousa, whose songs w ­ ere often sung by the soldiers, especially his 1896 song, “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The men ­were fans of military-­ themed songs and also the biggest hits of the era, such as “Hot Time in the Old Town To­night.” Sousa’s “El Capitan March” was perhaps the most popu­lar. It was played by the navy ­after the ­Battle of Manila. The events of the war also provided material for popu­lar ­music. “Brave Dewey and His Men” and “The Charge of the Rough Riders” are the best examples. Not all songs dealt with purely patriotic themes. “The Belle of Manila” did not attack the American effort in the Philippines, but it did honestly portray the suffering involved in the war.36

PAY AND COMPENSATION Pay was administered by the Pay Department, one of 10 bureaus in the War Department that ­were in charge of supply and administration. Like each of the bureaus, the Pay Department was a professionalizing organ­ization headed by a brigadier general. It was headquartered in Washington, D.C., and was staffed by lower-­ranking officers and contracted civilians. Although the Pay Department was not as large or well staffed as the Quartermaster’s Department or the Subsistence Department, it was a primary concern of the men.37 As in other areas, the War Department entered the war too quickly to have made sure that all m ­ atters pertaining to pay ­were effectively arranged. It became clear as soon as the troops ­were mobilized that the army would not be able to pay the troops according to prewar pay schedules. On May 25, Brigadier General Theodore Schwan informed Shafter that the “Paymaster-­General represents that it is impossible for [the] Pay Department with its pre­sent strength to pay [the] Army oftener than ­every two months. A paymaster has been ordered to Tampa to pay officers and discharged men. Additional paymasters have not qualified, but prob­ ably ­will not be ready for duty prior to June 30 payment.”38 Thus, the prob­lems in pay resulted not from a lack of money but instead insufficient personnel in the Pay Department, reflecting a broader deficiency confronting the War Department. Unfortunately, the lack of paymasters meant that troops in Cuba and the Philippines often went long periods of time without receiving pay. On July 12, Major-­ General Wilson complained to the War Department that “soldiers in Cuba are largely without money. ­There is practically none ­there, and this makes it very difficult for officers or men to get on.”39 Lack of pay was a regular prob­lem for the army in the Ca­rib­bean and the Philippines. On July 18, General Shafter reported that a corps of paymasters would arrive soon in Cuba to pay the men ­there and in Puerto Rico, but the next day he reported that payment would need to be postponed due to a lack of rolls. Four days ­later, he indicated that paymasters would soon arrive with checks to pay the officers, while the rolls would still need to be prepared in order to pay the rank and file “to enable them to send money to their families.” Although details are scarce, the men seem to have been paid in late July or early August, right as the campaign was ending. In the Philippines, it was established through the Secretary of the Trea­sury and the Secretary of War that the paymaster would pay officers and enlisted men “from

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the paymaster checks in exchange for money.” Army regulations authorized paymasters to “issue enlisted men checks for [the] amount of pay due them on the pay roll,” which could then be mailed to f­amily.40 Pay was a significant issue for the troops, as their families often relied on the income. Indeed, along with patriotism and a desire to avenge the Maine, the need for pay during a period of economic recession was an impor­tant motivational f­actor for American troops. The Pay Department was lucky that the war’s popularity kept the men motivated, or the failure to provide regular pay might have led to major morale prob­lems. In 1899, the standard army pay scale had not changed substantially from the Civil War. Private pay began at the standard rate of $13 a month. Given deflation in the 1890s, this gave them greater purchasing power than previous American soldiers. Still, even when paid regularly, the average soldier was never flush with cash. In ­today’s currency, this pay would be equivalent to $360.

WEAPONRY The Spanish-­American War sits between the American Civil War and World War I in terms of the development of weapons technology, in a period contemporaneous with the Boer War and the Russo-­Japanese War. Impor­tant changes in all manner of weapons and armament had impor­tant implications for the way that ground and naval forces fought in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. It was an age dominated by advancements in firepower from ­r ifles, artillery, and naval guns, which tremendously increased the power of the tactical defensive and forced militaries to consider innovative ways of ensuring offensive capability on the battlefield.41 As the war kicked off with a dramatic naval victory for the United States at Manila Bay, it is worth considering developments in naval technology in the 1890s that played a role in the Spanish-­American War. Most impor­tant, this war was the first for the United States during the age of steel warships. Steel armor meant better defenses that demanded greater and greater levels of firepower. It was common for battleships to have 6-­inch to 13-­inch rifled guns in their batteries. Although American naval gunnery did not prove as efficient at hitting ­enemy ships as desired, the victories at Manila and Santiago demonstrated Amer­i­ca’s clear naval superiority over Spain. Torpedoes and mines ­were used in the conflict, though without ­great effect. In 1886, the U.S. Navy introduced an experimental dynamite gun based on a version patented by D. M. Mefford in 1882 and another patented by G. H. Reynolds two years ­later. Using compressed air and nitrocellulose, a version of dynamite designed for projectiles, the idea was to create the most explosive shell available at the time to devastate the ­enemy’s ships and ports. Although dangerous to the navy’s own ships ­because of their unstable condition, the dynamite shells could fire up to 2,000 yards and created both physical and psychological effects when used. Santiago harbor was bombarded by dynamite guns on board the Vesuvius in July 1898, which contributed to the Spanish readiness to surrender to General Shafter.42



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Ground forces ­were fundamentally affected by the arrival of smokeless powder in the Spanish-­American War. No longer ­were defensive positions given away by the dense smoke cloud of infantry ­rifles or artillery as soon as the firing started. In addition, black powder had for centuries created a considerable prob­lem of clogging the bores of muskets and ­rifles and reducing accuracy, which smokeless powder eliminated. Smokeless powder allowed infantrymen on the defensive to commence firing ­earlier in the adversary’s attack and from concealed positions possibly dispersed on the battlefield to better achieve enfilading fire. For the U.S. Army, the new .30-­caliber breech-­loading Krag-­Jörgensen ­rifle was the weapon of choice for the regular infantry, capable of firing 15 to 20 rounds per minute at a maximum range of 3,000 feet. First used in 1892, it was relied upon throughout the Spanish-­American War from Cuba to the Philippines. While an excellent ­rifle for its time, it could not be produced in sufficient numbers to equip the massive influx of volunteers, who ­were left with the 1873 Springfield ­rifle of Indian War fame. In contrast, the Spanish equipped their infantry with a Turkish Mauser that relied on smokeless powder and had a faster load time than the Krag, giving the Spanish a tactical advantage over the U.S. Army volunteers and regulars.43 In the Philippine War, the U.S. Army confronted an adversary that used stolen or captured weapons from e­ ither the Spanish or the Americans. This usually amounted to a variety of hunting ­rifles and shotguns. The Filipinos ­were famous for their use of the machete, while the Moros employed the bolo (a short machete-­ like knife native to the Philippines) and kris (a wavy-­blade dagger used in close-­ quarter combat). Some army soldiers in Cuba and the Philippines carried pistols, such as the Browning .32 caliber. The inability of this pistol to kill Filipino and Moro insurgents on the first shot led Browning to design the famous Browning-­ Colt .45 ­after the war in 1911, just in time for the American intervention in Mexico and World War I. In addition, the army made ­great use of field artillery and heavy machine guns throughout the war, despite the fact that the United States was not on par with the Eu­ro­pean ­great powers with re­spect to its artillery. Conflicts such as the Franco-­ Prussian War and the Russo-­Turkish War had demonstrated the real­ity of the artillery’s position as the queen of the modern battlefield. The American artillery had not kept up with its Eu­ro­pean counter­parts in terms of developments in scientific and technological gunner techniques and capabilities. The main reason for this failure to modernize was the army’s strategic focus on the Indian Wars. It did not expect to face a major Eu­ro­pean power on a modern battlefield. Luckily, Spain was one of the Eu­ro­pean powers that had not done much in terms of artillery advancement ­either. The Gatling gun remained in use, and an improved version was employed by 1898, directed by Brigadier General John Henry Parker, known as “Gatling Gun Parker.” A standard version of this gun weighed 594 pounds and used 10 barrels formed in a rotating cylinder to proj­ect over 1,000 rounds per minute into the firing zone. Advanced versions in 1898 could potentially fire as many as 700 rounds per minute, though it was usually closer to 200. Theodore Roo­se­velt provided an account of the use of Gatling guns in combat:

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If a troop of my regiment was sent off to guard some road or some break in the lines, we w ­ ere almost certain to get Parker to send a Gatling along, and, w ­ hether the change was made by day or by night, the Gatling went. Sometimes we took the initiative and started to quell the fire of the Spanish trenches; sometimes they opened upon us; but, at what­ever hour of the twenty-­four the fighting began, the drumming of the Gatlings was soon heard through the cracking of our own carbines. I have had too ­little experience to make my judgment final; but certainly, if I ­were to command ­either a regiment or a brigade, w ­ hether of cavalry or infantry, I would try to get a Gatling battery–­u nder a good man–­with me. I feel sure that the greatest pos­si­ble assistance would be rendered, u­ nder almost all circumstances, by such a Gatling battery, if well handled; for I believe that it could be pushed fairly to the front of the firing-­line. At any rate, this is the way that Lieut. Parker used his battery when he went into action at San Juan, and when he kept it in the trenches beside the Rough Riders before Santiago.44

In terms of artillery, the army used rifled breech-­loaders, howitzers, and mortars. T ­ hese proved effective during the siege of Santiago, while the Spanish had smaller field artillery pieces. The Rough Riders ­were also famous for using a version of the dynamite gun, which had been developed by the navy. The army enjoyed an asymmetric advantage over the Filipino nationalists in terms of artillery, as Aguinaldo’s forces had ­little artillery available. Altogether, ­there ­were few major innovations in field artillery at this time. The army’s most effective artillery pieces ­were produced by foreign powers, mainly France’s artillery manufacturer Hotchkiss, which provided the 1.5-­inch and 3-­inch Hotchkiss Mountain Gun. Indirect fire remained a gap in the army’s capabilities, one that would only be solved during World War I. In addition, the army artillery had not yet abandoned black powder, leaving its artillery positions exposed ­after their first discharge. Nonetheless, the 12 field pieces and four Gatling guns at San Juan Hill attest to the valuable contribution of American artillery and rapid-­fire guns during the Spanish-­American War, even if the f­ uture would require much greater innovation and adaptation.45

COMBAT Much of the initial combat in the Spanish-­American War involved naval combat. A naval blockade of Cuba commenced on April 23, carried out by Admiral William  T. Sampson’s North Atlantic Squadron. On the other side of the world, Admiral Dewey’s Asiatic Squadron attacked the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay, earning a major victory that allowed for the landing of soldiers in the Philippines. American naval success was predicated not just on the skill of officers but also superior firepower, culminating over a de­cade of naval reform.46 American Marines also gained considerable combat experience in the war. The blockade of Santiago harbor allowed the marines to land at Guantanamo Bay. The combat lasted over four hours. It was not heavy, certainly not compared to what lay ahead for Marines in World War I at places like Belleau Wood. Nonetheless, it gained valuable experience for them, especially working alongside Cuban insurgent allies. Despite its small-­scale nature, the combat at Guantanamo marked the first American combat in Cuba.47



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For the Fifth Corps, desperate to get off the transport vessels, June 23 could not come soon enough. ­T here was no significant combat to disembark and take the coast. The navy had provided sufficient gunfire, and the Cuban rebels drove away any remaining Spanish forces from Daiquiri and Siboney. The Spanish commander, General Arsenio Linares, was prevented from reinforcing the landing zone ­because the Cubans besieged numerous Spanish garrisons throughout the country. For Fifth Corps, significant combat came on June 24. Around 1,500 Spanish troops held Las Guasimas, a key position on the Santiago Road a few miles from Siboney. American cavalry ­under Major General Wheeler led 1,000 troopers in an attack that triggered the Spanish withdrawal. Linares did not desire to risk his men to hold Las Guasimas, and so withdrew to a more consolidated position. Incorrectly believing the Spanish had suffered a rout, the Americans enthusiastically occupied Las Guasimas and Sevilla. Although their first combat, Las Guasimas did not give the Fifth Corps real insight into Spanish ­will and combat effectiveness.48 In the aftermath of Las Guasimas, it was learned that the Spanish ­were reinforcing their position at Santiago. Shafter de­cided to act quickly. He hoped to prevent a strengthening of Santiago’s garrison and to escape his logistical quandary. But the attack was rushed. On July 1, Shafter’s troops assaulted El Caney and the San Juan Heights, the most famous and controversial act of the Spanish-­American War. North of the Santiago road was a position called ­Kettle Hill. San Juan Hill was to the south. Both positions ­were occupied by Spanish troops who benefitted from layered defenses. Shafter failed to coordinate naval fire support, despite the fact that the San Juan Heights w ­ ere well within range of the heavy guns. Exhausted from the days of jungle marches and ravaged by sickness, the troops proved slow in deploying for the attack. ­Either from Spanish firepower or lack of energy, around 5,000 American troops strug­gled to take El Caney from only 500 Spanish defenders. The ­battle lasted for nearly eight hours. This left the attack on the more power­ ful heights unsupported. Commencing ­later than planned, it met stout re­sis­tance. Deploying in the jungle and getting intermixed, two of Shafter’s units ­were hit by devastating artillery fire before commencing the attack. Although ­later mythologized into some kind of romantic assault, the attack was met by lethal and heavy smokeless Mauser fire that devastated ­human flesh. The Americans led the way with skirmishers who ­were followed by two additional lines. ­After they widened the front to turn the Spanish flanks, they ­were able to take the heights from the Spanish, who ­were substantially outnumbered. The ­battle of San Juan Heights should have taught the Americans an impor­tant lesson about not underestimating the ­enemy and the power of the tactical defensive in the new age of smokeless powder. W ­ hether it did remains doubtful. Held off for most of the day by outnumbered troops, the Americans lost nearly 1,400 dead and wounded. Santiago was attacked on July 3 and formally surrendered on the July 17.49 American combat in Puerto Rico does not merit in-­depth discussion. The landing at Guanica on July 25 was not contested. In August, Miles divided his force into four columns for the advance to San Juan. A ­ fter the Spanish defeats in Cuba, ­there was l­ittle motivation for contesting Puerto Rico. The militia faced severe prob­lems from desertion in the face of the enthusiastic American advance, which subsequently received the support of the local population. Altogether,

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Miles fought in six engagements—­none of which amounted to heavy combat—­ and enjoyed complete success. The Americans lost only 41 killed in the brief campaign.50 The heaviest fighting that Americans faced in the war occurred in the Philippines. General Merrit’s 20,000-­man Eighth Corps made quick work of the Spanish re­sis­tance ­after it landed at Manila. Less certain was what to do about the Filipino revolutionary army that had also been fighting the Spanish. The Filipino nationalist leader Emilio Aquinaldo had returned from exile with the support of American officials, gaining control over most of the islands. It turned out that Aguinaldo’s forces and the Americans occupied Manila, with no clear guidance from McKinley about how the troops should act in relation to the Filipinos. The Spanish General Fermín Jaudenese surrendered Manila to the Americans a­ fter a “­battle” that was clearly staged. Jaudenese did not want to be dishonored by surrendering without a fight, and the Americans did not want a true fight for the city; therefore, playacting ensued. The Spaniards put up a display of re­sis­tance for the peripheral trenches but did not use heavy fire. American naval batteries did not fire ­either. Americans entered the city with almost no re­sis­tance, but their Filipino insurgent “allies” wanted revenge against the Spanish and rushed into the city to get into the fray. ­There w ­ ere some scenes of combat between Americans and Filipino insurgents in the “­Battle of Manila,” which was not complete ­until August 16—­four days ­after hostilities had technically ended.51 In the subsequent Philippine War, Americans received experience fighting against Filipino insurgents. The “joint” occupation of Manila had enflamed anti-­ American sentiment among many of the Filipinos, who did not want to exchange one colonial master for another. True combat occurred in February 1899, when the Filipinos launched coordinated attacks against the Americans in Manila. On February 5, the navy responded with a bombardment to support an army counterattack, which pushed the Filipinos from most of the city’s defenses. Like in the combat at Manila, the Americans enjoyed superiority against the Filipino insurgent bands. General Otis conducted a highly successful counterinsurgent campaign in March and April that defeated Filipino insurgents in the northern and eastern environs of Manila. The Filipinos ­were divided over ­whether to fight an insurgency or attempt to compete with the Americans in conventional-­style operations. Lacking artillery, the Filipinos could not offer the same re­sis­tance on the battlefield as the Spanish had in Cuba. Thus, whenever the Americans met the Filipinos on the field of ­battle, they triumphed. Otis demonstrated ­great command and the volunteers and regulars displayed motivation, discipline, and tactical skill in several combats in the spring campaign. However, Aguinaldo soon realized that an insurgency offered a better means of re­sis­t ance, nullifying the army’s initial gains and protracting the war.52 May brought heavy seasonal rains, which led to a pause in operations through much of the summer. Also, the exchange of one group of American volunteers for the new batch meant that the American forces ­were not ready for large-­scale counterinsurgent operations ­until the fall. By November 1899, Otis commenced his campaign against Aguinaldo around the plain of Luzon. Otis forced Aguinaldo into the open with his volunteers and drove him into the northern mountains. Another



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group of Americans went to Cavite and Laguna Bay to pursue other Filipino insurgents. ­These operations broke up the largest of Aguinaldo’s forces, reducing the Filipino re­sis­t ance to a level of brigandage. Combat experience centered on small-­scale skirmishes and raids more than ­battles. Many Americans believed the war was over by the end of 1899. However, Aguinaldo had de­cided to reor­ga­nize his force for a bottom-up local revolt against the Americans using guerilla tactics. Merging with traditional Filipino banditry, Aguinaldo’s revolution was poorly understood by American officers and leaders ­until it erupted into full-­scale insurgency in early 1900. Avoiding large engagements, the insurgents ambushed American patrols and supply convoys. When attacked, they fled and blended into the civilian population, which increasingly opposed American nation-­building. American troops ­were commonly threatened by snipers and saboteurs. Atrocities on both sides drove an escalation of vio­lence, leading some American soldiers to engage in torture and to massacre surrendering troops.53 ­After a year of frustrating stalemate, the American combat efforts became dominated by campaigns against the leaders of the insurgency. The major success in this endeavor came in March 1901, when General Frederick Funston carried out a raid that captured Aguinaldo. This achievement set the stage for a final pacification campaign, which centered on Samar and the Batangas. The Filipinos had brutally massacred a com­pany of American infantry in Samar in September 1901, fostering a desire for vengeance. This led to a period of brutal reprisals that cannot be described as combat. The Americans simply invaded insurgent territory with guns blazing, massacring nearly every­one in sight and intentionally abandoning any humanitarian policy. Jacob H. Smith—­known as “Hell Roarin Jake”—­received command of pacification forces on Samar, while General Bell attempted to pacify Batangas. The troops ­were routinely involved in combats with insurgents but also mea­sures designed to take the war to the population, including the burning of crops. Around 300,000 Filipino civilians ­were confined to “concentration zones.”54

HEALTH AND MEDICINE The rapid mobilization and growth in size of the U.S. Army had a predictable impact on the quality of health and medical ser­vices in the Spanish-­American War. As in many other areas, the army was poorly prepared for the mission, but in this case, the results ­were especially tragic. Part of the prob­lem resulted from a lack of effective coordination between doctors and officers, who regarded their medical counter­parts as too scientific and humane-­minded in the face of the brutal realities of war. One consequence was that doctors who understood the need for better standards of hygiene in camps and hospitals ­were largely ignored by the officers. Doctors often lacked the necessary authority to enact needed reforms to medical practices. Another real prob­lem resulted from the continuing ignorance of many doctors regarding what are now considered basic points of medical science, including the ­causes of many tropical diseases. Not ­until World War I revolutionized the field of medical science did standards of military medicine greatly improve. It is likely that as many soldiers in Cuba and the Philippines died from medical

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ignorance as from administrative neglect. Medical science did not attribute yellow fever and malaria to mosquitos ­until 1904. Both ­were terrifying concerns throughout the Spanish-­American War.55 The war began with the destruction of the Maine, in which 266 out of 354 sailors who w ­ ere on board died from drowning or from injuries. Careful study of Spanish troops in Cuba could have prepared the Americans for what awaited them in the Santiago campaign, as tropical diseases had already taken a significant toll on the Spanish army: some 13,009 died from disease during their war in Cuba. It is clear that part of the reason for the terrible rate of sickness in American troops resulted from their already poor health and sanitation upon disembarking from the ghastly transport ships—­a 16-­day journey in miserable squalor. Throughout the campaign, the medical needs consistently undermined other logistical requirements, as the rate of sickness r­ ose above all expectations. Medical controversy became one of the major themes of the war in 1898. The experience of the Fifth Corps in Cuba caused considerable stress for the War Department and the Medical Department. American volunteers ­were seen as falling casualty not to Spanish troops, but to medical dereliction. A striking statistic demonstrates the complete inadequacy of American military medicine on the eve of its rise to world power status: only 379 of the 5,462 deaths suffered by the United States in 1898 came from combat fatalities. Several ­factors can explain the poor quality of medical ser­vice. For one, the Medical Department was working with too few resources for the task at hand. As with food and equipment, ­there was simply a deficit of medical supplies for such a large, global campaign. In addition, it was impossible with the Medical Department’s lack of infrastructure to actually get ­these supplies to the camps and front lines. Food and weaponry took pride of place to medicine and ban­dages. The troops and doctors in the field had to make do with what they had, which was often practically nothing. Qualified surgeons and doctors typically disdained military ser­vice and preferred the civilian sector, which left the Medical Department with a critical personnel shortage. The doctors who did meet the call for contract duty w ­ ere often ones with questionable 56 qualifications. Another major prob­lem was the leadership of the Medical Department. Surgeon General George Sternberg has received a deservedly negative review from historians of the conflict. At the start of the war, one might have predicted positive ­things from Sternberg’s department, at least based upon his previous ­career. His own research in bacteriology eventually helped the medical profession understand many of the tropical diseases American soldiers would suffer from in the Spanish-­ American War. However, this only came ­after the war. Studying with the Yellow Fever Commission in Cuba had earned him the reputation as a world authority on the disease. As surgeon general, he had overseen the establishment of the Army Medical School and the Army Nurse Corps. One of his protégés was a man named Walter Reed. Although clearly a competent doctor and an impor­tant figure in the history of American military medicine, Sternberg was tragically unprepared and poorly suited for the administrative job that he possessed in actually leading the Medical Department during the war. Before the rise of managerial science in the twentieth c­ entury, it was quite common for t­hose at the top of complex



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bureaucracies to lack ­these types of administrative skills. For all of his path-­ breaking medical knowledge, Sternberg had no idea how to get the Medical Department ready for a global war.57 Testament to this assertion is the fact that epidemics of typhoid and typhus commenced even before the troops left the United States. The first weeks of the war saw outbreaks of disease in Tampa and San Diego. Overcrowded and poorly prepared camps ­were perfect environments for the spread of disease. Fleas and lice carried typhus, while contaminated ­water supplies ­were responsible for typhoid. Yet the truly tragic period of disease was in Cuba, where American troops ­were unfortunate enough to arrive at the peak of mosquito season. Some medical accounts stress the role of yellow fever—­popularly referred to as “yellow jack”—­while ­others deny its outbreak during the Cuban campaign. All agree that malaria was widespread, along with typhus and other diseases like the measles and the mumps. It has been estimated that over 21,000 cases of typhoid occurred, with nearly 2,500 deaths. The overwhelming majority of American noncombat deaths occurred in General Shafter’s Fifth Corps. In part, this was the product of unchangeable conditions in the theater of war and the nature of the campaign. Siege operations in the jungle required the men to sleep in squalid and mud-­filled tents, which exposed them to the climate and the mosquitos. The high humidity was an incubator for all kinds of illnesses. It did not help that the men ­were trying to survive on terrible rations. Shafter warned that no facilities existed for sterilizing clothing and that he needed coffins to be shipped to Cuba as soon as con­ve­nient.58 At burials for the deceased, Shafter eventually de­cided to suspend the ritual ­rifle volleys and bugle calls ­because he saw the negative impact t­ hese w ­ ere having on morale. By July, a real crisis was at hand with around 25 ­percent of the Fifth Corps unfit for duty. The general warned that his “army of convalescents” could not go on in t­ hese conditions—­a statement that caused a firestorm of criticism in the American press. Shafter’s comments, however, proved a godsend for the veterans of the Santiago campaign, as they w ­ ere transferred from Cuba in August 1898 and replaced by volunteers.59 Nonetheless, the experience of the Spanish-­American War did provide the Medical Department with valuable learning opportunities, many of which ­ were heeded. The department’s Hospital Corps had been inadequate at the start of the war, with only 700 field aides to work as medics. ­These ­were well-­trained professionals who excelled at their duties, which included carry­ing stretchers, driving ambulances, and tending to the sick. The prob­lem was that they ­were too few in number in 1898. By the end of the conflict, however, the Hospital Corps had been expanded to 6,000. It was also the beginning of the army’s use of enlisted females as nurses, which became a common practice in field hospitals in the twentieth ­century. In the Philippines, troops also faced severe risk of illness, yet the army was developing better hospital systems that improved the life of soldiers as well as civilians. Indeed, the conception of public health campaigns was a key part of American strategy in the Philippines, designed to gain popu­lar support. Though American troops still received inadequate medical treatment, the medical efforts did reduce the rates of smallpox and plague.60 Yet it is hard to escape the conclusion that based on the developments of military medicine during the Civil War, the Spanish-­American War represents e­ ither a

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Nurses of the U.S. Army VII Corps, mobilized in Savannah, Georgia. The Spanish-­ American War included a much larger number of female medical personnel than had previously served with American troops. (National Library of Medicine)

step back or a stagnation in American military medicine. Inadequate bureaucratic development in the small wars of the late nineteenth c­ entury had left the Medical Department unprepared; this was a lesson learned for World War I. It was for good reason that Sternberg de­cided to title his study of the conflict, Sanitary Lessons of the War, which fit in with the rise of Progressivism in American culture in the early twentieth ­century.61 Unfortunately, ­those lessons learned could not save the soldiers already lost to disease. War­time reforms, like ensuring more sanitary locations for camps and hospitals and improving medical facilities, came too ­little, too late for far too many.

PRISONERS OF WAR The POW story in this period involves few examples of American prisoners in Spanish captivity, although the Filipino experience was quite dif­fer­ent in many re­spects. Spanish treatment of Cuban revolutionaries brought about one of history’s worst innovations in the form of the concentration camp, which the British had developed in parallel in South Africa. This suggested that Americans might expect harsh treatment at the hands of the Spanish. ­After all, the brutality of the Spanish ­toward Cuban civilians and prisoners had been one of the main sources of the “Black Legend” that fueled the Cuba Libre movement. Yet the Cuban campaign actually



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saw few Americans taken prisoner, as the nature of the fighting favored the Americans, and the Spanish usually retreated. When the Spanish could not escape, Shafter’s Fifth Corps took many prisoners. The main event was the fall of Santiago on July 17. The Spanish commander, General José Toral, had initially insisted that his troops be allowed to leave Santiago with their arms and to enter Holguin. Although Shafter—­with his force wrecked by disease—­wanted to accept Toral’s terms, the president would only accept unconditional surrender. A ­ fter a few small combats, Toral saw that all hope was lost and surrendered. Some estimates suggest that as many as 26,000 Spaniards fell into American captivity during the campaign. Rumors spread that the Cubans ­were murdering Spanish prisoners held by the Americans, which American officials denied. Spanish prisoners ­were routinely exchanged for Americans, as on July 7, 1898, when Lieutenant Richmond Hobson “and all his men” ­were “received safely in exchange for Spanish officer and prisoners. . . . ​All are in good health except two seamen, convalescent from remittent fever.” 62 Having fallen into Spanish captivity ­after a failed attempt to ensnare the Spanish fleet in Santiago harbor, Hobson and his men became famous upon their return to the States. Most of the Spanish prisoners ­were eventually sent to the United States during the peace negotiations. They returned to Spain only ­after April 1899. In this re­spect, the Spanish-­American War was an almost perfectly civilized conflict. The Philippine War was a dif­fer­ent story altogether. The deteriorating context of the Philippine War drove a harsher American posture ­toward prisoners of war. It is true that the conflict saw American soldiers engaged in indiscriminate killing of Filipinos, many of whom ­were guerillas but certainly several of whom w ­ ere innocent. The number of American troops involved in the torture of prisoners became a dark stain on American military history. It is impor­tant to note that American policy in the Philippines never endorsed atrocities or war crimes. In fact, numerous policy statements made clear the government’s distaste for such mea­sures, which conflicted with the larger counterinsurgency strategy. Nonetheless, in most cases, po­liti­cal and military leaders turned a blind eye to atrocities, which a long tradition of military thought saw as an inevitable aspect of “­people’s wars.” The American government recognized only 57 atrocities committed by American troops in the conflict, though many more actually took place only to go undocumented. Nonetheless, some American soldiers saw the atrocities as counterproductive to the overall war effort and called for better treatment for prisoners of war. For many, however, “civilize ’em with a Krag” (a reference to the .30-­caliber ­rifle they carried) became a popu­lar motto.63 In contrast to Amer­i­ca’s refusal to endorse atrocities as policy, the Filipino insurgents did condone ­these actions, as they hoped they would exhaust American resolve. Insurgent policy explic­itly rejected taking prisoners. Instead, they would often ambush or trap American soldiers only to kill them and mutilate their corpses. A similar policy was a­ dopted ­toward Filipino civilians who collaborated with the Americans. Unwilling to take prisoners, the Filipinos instead chose to make use of their ­enemy’s dead bodies in a campaign of terror and intimidation against both the American military and the Filipino public. This is an essential point in understanding American responses, especially in intelligence collecting. One popu­lar mea­sure ­adopted by the United States was the

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“­water cure,” a more vicious forerunner of the more modern “water-­boarding” practice. Using a bamboo shoot, the Americans would pour ­water into a prisoner’s throat in order to gain information. The Filipino forces apparently provided the Americans with the inspiration for this interrogation technique, which had been used in the region for centuries. One American witness provided the following description of this terrifying practice: “The victim is laid flat on his back and held down by his tormentors. Then a bamboo tube is thrust into his mouth and some dirty ­water, the filthier the better, is poured down his unwilling throat.” 64 The prevalence of this practice is clear, yet the use of the term “­water cure” in the Philippine War could also refer to ducking the captive’s head in ­water. As the Philippine War continued, American POW policy became especially stiff. Breaking from McKinley’s ­earlier policy of benevolent assimilation, the army ­adopted a full-­scale pacification campaign in 1900. Seeking to separate the insurgents from the peaceful civilians, Governor General Arthur MacArthur—­the ­father of Douglas MacArthur—­had ordered guerilla leaders to be deported and imprisoned, and in some cases executed, which was also meant to demonstrate the severity of Amer­i­ca’s new policy. The pacification campaign brought about near-­daily attacks by army units against the insurgents, which led to many captures. In some cases, surrendering insurgents ­were simply executed rather than being taken prisoner. September 28, 1901, saw one of the most significant examples of American atrocities during the Philippine War. The Ninth Infantry had been attacked by local guerilla forces ­after a long period of harsh treatment. Caught by surprise, the American infantry ­were slow to repulse the 400 or so insurgents who attacked with knives and bolos. Forty-­eight American casualties ­were the cost, with only 36 soldiers of C Com­pany surviving. A retributive expedition was immediately ordered by General Jacob Smith, which the marines u­ nder Major Littleton Waller w ­ ere ordered to carry out. Waller received straightforward ­orders: take no prisoners. It remains unknown if an order was indeed given to execute every­one over the age of 10, yet the outcome certainly makes pos­si­ble that such a brutal policy was decreed. An 11-­day campaign saw the marines engage in a killing spree around Balangiga, leaving at least 39 Filipinos dead. As so often happened in this war, atrocity beget atrocity. Smith had ordered his men to make Samar a “howling wilderness”—­the men did their job.65

HOME FRONT The 1890s was a transformative period in American history. Several de­cades a­ fter the Civil War and with a new c­ entury approaching, Americans generally looked forward optimistically to what many expected to be an American ­century. The 1893 Columbian Exposition had celebrated Amer­i­ca’s position as a rising global power. Yet the same year brought an economic depression that suddenly made Americans question the certainty of historical pro­gress. The anx­i­eties and uncertainties unleashed by the Panic of 1893, which led to an unemployment rate of



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17 ­percent, had impor­t ant influences on American foreign policy. It was also a period of continued foreign migration to the United States. Large numbers of Italians, Poles, and Greeks ­were arriving on American shores, increasing diversity but also fueling ethnic tensions and xenophobia. The rising prominence of corporations and business tycoons such as Andrew Car­ne­gie and John D. Rocke­fel­ler led to concerns about corruption in what Mark Twain called the “Gilded Age.” Some worried that business interests and lobbying threatened American democracy.66 The origins of the Spanish-­American War are generally understood as, in part, a determination to escape from domestic prob­lems through a patriotic national war. War hysteria was driven by the American press, which was characterized in the 1890s by “yellow journalism.” Newspaper tycoons like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer competed with one another for mass readership. The Cuban Rebellion and the Spanish-­A merican War became key topics of interest for the American public. Along with yellow journalism, attitudes t­ oward war and imperialism ­were ­shaped by “jingoism.” The American public widely embraced a fiery patriotism and nationalism that saw military vitality as a symbol of individual and national health. Social Darwinism postulated that nations ­were locked in an eternal strug­gle for resources and power and that only the fittest would survive. American elites ­were receptive to ­these new scientific and philosophical notions, while the masses w ­ ere easily persuaded to see war in positive terms. The impact of events like the De Lôme letter and the explosion of the Maine clearly show that t­ hese ideas filtered down to the American ­people, spurring the volunteer enthusiasm that made Amer­i­ca’s campaigns in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines pos­si­ble. Throughout 1898, the public remained overwhelmingly supportive of the war and celebrated its successful outcome.67 When the United States annexed the Philippines, popu­lar perceptions of the war in Amer­i­ca fundamentally changed. What started as a war against Spanish imperialism became a war for an American empire, which struck many Americans as antithetical to Amer­i­ca’s anticolonial tradition. The formation of the Anti-­Imperialist League led to widespread protest against annexation and empire-­building. Opinion throughout the country was greatly divided, even among the so-­called Anti-­ Imperialists. While many genuinely disdained wars of expansion, several Anti-­ Imperialists believed that the Philippines ­were beyond Amer­i­ca’s natu­ral sphere of influence, which they considered the Western Hemi­sphere. Thus, while the pos­ si­ble annexation of Cuba generated enthusiasm, the Philippines was considered a step too far. Within ­these arguments arose predictable comments about the racial inferiority of the Filipinos, tropes about their supposed lack of governability, and chauvinistic attitudes that smack of Orientalism. Other arguments put forward by the Anti-­Imperialists included the idea that it undermined the American concept of spheres of influence upon which the Monroe Doctrine was established. By engaging in imperialism beyond the Western Hemi­sphere, the United States would be inserting itself into Eu­ro­pean and Asian spheres of influence, thereby undermining its claim that the United States had a special prerogative to guard the Western Hemi­sphere from further Eu­ro­pean encroachment. Other arguments of the Anti-­Imperialists ­were that the Philippines would exhaust rather than enrich

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the United States, that they ­were not defendable, and that it would require a massive permanent military presence. Many Americans feared that this enterprise would threaten to undermine the republic with militarism, a common theme in American po­liti­cal discourse at the turn of the twentieth ­century.68 It is impor­tant to note that the American home front was an impor­tant ­factor in the military strategy developed by Amer­i­ca’s adversaries in the Philippine War. Spain had hoped that the American public would restrain its government’s efforts in the distant islands. While this did not occur, it reflected widespread belief that the public would not eagerly support the Philippine effort. Guerilla leaders like Aguinaldo believed that a protracted guerilla war would not only upset American military efforts to control the islands and develop positive relations with the Filipino public but that it would si­mul­ta­neously erode the American public’s support for American nation-­building in the Philippines. In par­tic­u­lar, the insurgents paid close attention to American politics, aware that the presidential election of 1900 could bring to power an anti-­war Demo­crat, which they believed would assure them of victory against the Americans. It was common for Filipino propaganda to describe the American home front as uncommitted and seriously divided. “­Every disloyal sentiment uttered by a man of prominence in the United States is repeatedly broadcast through the islands and greatly magnified,” remarked one officer.69 The insurgents also believed that they might possibly gain the sympathy of some American citizens, including racial minorities. However, the brutality of their insurgency—­which employed terrorist tactics—­nullified this potentiality. To maintain support on the home front and to improve the situation in the Philippines, the McKinley administration took substantial action to institute effective civil government. Led by William Howard Taft, the Taft Commission was given enormous powers in September 1900 to oversee American nation-­building in the Philippines. McKinley based his arguments to the American public to maintain support for the war on Taft’s efforts while diminishing in public discourse the rampedup military campaigns being conducted by MacArthur. Yet even MacArthur saw the need for Filipino support for pacification, and he worked with Taft to create local Filipino collaborationist cadres, centralized in the Filipino Federal Party (FFP). Existing as a ­counter to the insurgency of Aguinaldo, the FFP promoted a concept of Filipino-­A merican brotherhood to guide the islands to in­de­pen­dence and to defend them from any foreign encroachment from Eu­ro­pean or Asian powers. The Taft Commission worked alongside the FFP to bring ­these ideas to villa­gers and to attempt to bind the Filipino home front to the United States. In addition, t­ hese efforts became a key part of McKinley’s reelection campaign, as the essential selling point ­behind the idea of a uniquely American concept of “benevolent imperialism.”70 The presidential election of 1900 was, in many ways, dominated by debates over the Philippine War. McKinley was accused by the anti-­imperialists of acting outside constitutional bounds by waging war without a congressional declaration. In addition, he was attacked by his opponent, William Jennings Bryan, for waging a war of conquest instead of a war of liberation. Nonetheless, American nationalism and patriotism gave many Americans pride in what the United States was d­ oing to  spread civilization on the world stage. For all the rancor and disagreement



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generated by the Philippine War, McKinley defeated Bryan and received a mandate to continue with American nation-­building. The outcome demonstrated the American public’s overall commitment to the war, which greatly undermined the Anti-­ Imperialist League. It also demonstrated the failure of Aguinaldo’s efforts to undermine the home front’s support for the war through a protracted insurgency.71 Perhaps no event better demonstrated the American public’s stubborn refusal to abandon the Philippine War than congressional hearings led by the Committee on the Philippines between January and June 1902. As the newspapers continued to report stories on American atrocities against Filipinos, anti-­war sentiment persisted and continued to fuel the Anti-­Imperialist League, even ­after McKinley’s reelection. Senator George F. Hoar called for a special committee to investigate reported incidents of atrocities. Although Hoar made this proposal to give impetus to the anti-­war movement, the pro-­war Senator Henry Cabot Lodge took over the chairmanship of the Senate’s standing committee on the Philippines and dominated the investigation. Lodge made sure that the committee did not become a witch hunt of the American military and that it did not turn the war into a public scandal. Between June 1901 and January 1902, the committee interrogated witnesses about accusations of atrocities. Lodge ensured that only pro-­war witnesses received extensive attention. Critics of American policy ­were largely silenced or intimidated. The public was not allowed into the hearings, and the committee refrained from issuing a conclusive report to outline its findings. ­There was also an effort to limit access to anti-­war journalists. In general, the public was satisfied with the committee’s investigation, with anti-­war sentiment dwindling, especially a­ fter President Theodore Roo­se­velt announced American victory in the Philippine War on July 4, 1902.72

VETERANS’ ISSUES One American’s exuberant assessment of John Hay’s splendid ­little war was that “no war in history has accomplished so much in so short a time with so ­little loss.”73 While the Spanish-­American War facilitated the creation of an American empire at the cost of relatively few soldiers’ lives, it must be remembered that this war was not without severe stress for t­hose who participated. This became apparent when Shafter’s troops returned to the United States from Cuba. Most of the public had read reports of the heroism of San Juan Hill and Santiago. They ­were aware of the prob­lems in medical care thanks to the reporting of journalists, but nothing could prepare them for the sight of the returning soldiers who arrived as “mere shadows of their former selves” with “pale ­faces, sunken eyes, staggering gaits, and emaciated forms, many of them candidates for premature graves.” Worse still, the War Department had taken few steps to deal with the postwar care ­these men needed ­after they “wobbled ashore into a welter of confusion.”74 The lack of adequate facilities for returning veterans, many of them severely wounded or sick, became another major concern of the public’s scrutiny of the government’s management of the war. The idea that the government was failing to take care of the heroes of San Juan Hill became a common theme in public discussions of the war.

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It was a war with substantial costs for the United States despite the territorial gains. The war cost around $400 million and involved the ser­vice of over 125,000 troops. In the Spanish-­American War, around 1,000 died from combat while over 3,000 died from diseases. This was the last war in American history in which the number of deaths from disease surpassed ­those from combat. Two thousand and nine hundred men returned home with wounds. The extended war in the Philippines was more costly, with approximately 4,300 American dead and over 3,000 wounded. The estimation for civilian deaths in the Philippines is between 250,000 and 1 million. Compared to the U.S. Civil War, ­these military losses ­were minor, but for the generation of 1898, it was an unexpected result from what had been an unplanned war. Based on the casualty rates of subsequent conflicts, it is not surprising that the Spanish-­American War does not hold a prominent place in American memory. L ­ ittle thought seems to have been given at the time to the psychological impact of the war on the men who fought it. ­There is ­little evidence that the condition that we ­today call post-­traumatic stress syndrome was widely discussed at the time, though this should not be taken as indication that it did not exist. Absent much support from the government or military, the veterans of the war took it upon themselves to ensure that their needs ­were met, as well as ­those of veterans of subsequent wars. In 1899, they formed the Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States, an association that was created to promote the interests of veterans at the national level. This organ­ization remains in existence as a valuable ally for American veterans. The Spanish-­American and Philippine wars saw Americans committed to military action overseas, providing this generation of soldiers a unique experience. The organ­ization began in Columbus, Ohio, while another group, the National Society of the Army of the Philippines, also formed in 1899. The two organ­izations merged in 1914 as the world embarked upon World War I.75

MILITARY DISCIPLINE Of all the prob­lems that confronted the army in the war, discipline was not a major concern. Especially in the Cuba and Puerto Rico campaigns, the enthusiasm for the war and the short duration tended to eliminate any significant prob­ lems. Indeed, the official correspondence of the war does not include specific references to disciplinary issues during the Cuban or Puerto Rican campaigns. Yet disciplinary prob­lems w ­ ere worse in the Philippines, where a combination of the environment and the nature of the war effort tended to undermine men’s morale more than in Cuba and Puerto Rico. Desertion occurred in both regular and volunteer units. In December 1898, a report from the Twenty-­Second Infantry Regiment reported a “large number of men belonging to this regiment that are absent, whereabouts unknown.”76 Drunkenness and prostitution ­were also concerns, but General MacArthur reported that t­ hese prob­lems ­were not worse in the Philippines than elsewhere. By 1900, the Philippine insurgency had become so brutal that the troops ­were often embittered to the point of refusing to take prisoners even if ordered to do so by their officers. This became a key prob­lem in the “benevolent pacification” period.



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The military tended to ­favor a harsher policy than the civil administration ­because of its primary focus on security. General MacArthur reissued General ­Orders No. 100, which had first been issued during the Civil War in 1863. This was an ethical code for the conduct of war by professional military forces. It stated that war would only be recognized as a conflict fought between conventional armies, which had to follow certain humanitarian rules. Guerilla forces ­were considered outside the rules of war and thus would not receive the same treatment. MacArthur sought to regulate his soldiers’ interactions with guerilla forces yet he recognized that vio­lence could not be fully restrained. Therefore, General ­Orders No. 100 made the execution of guerillas part of military policy rather than a disciplinary infraction. It also condoned vio­lence against civilians for “retaliation” or “military necessity.” ­These policies w ­ ere controversial in the United States but ­were generally seen through the lens of military policy, rather than as evidence that the professionalism and discipline of American military forces was wearing down ­under the strains of the Philippine War. One of MacArthur’s reports stated: “Army in splendid discipline, high state efficiency, ­doing hardest kind ser­vice, most faithful inspiring manner.”77 While the disciplinary failures of American soldiers received l­ ittle attention, the War Department received much criticism for failing to oversee the management of the war. By 1899, the demobilization of the Fifth Corps allowed for the creation of a commission to investigate the army’s administration to ensure that lessons ­were learned for postwar reforms. The commission was led by Grenville M. Dodge. It conducted interviews with personnel from the War Department, including Secretary of War Russell A. Alger, and army officers to determine the extent to which mismanagement undermined efficiency. The commission also looked into a variety of other issues, including a scandal over the poor quality of the meat rations, prob­lems in the field hospitals, and the Medical Department. Ultimately, the War Department was largely exonerated from charges of culpability for the bulk of the prob­lems. Bureaucrats received praise for their work ethic and diligence in attempting to surmount considerable challenges that arose mainly from a lack of preparedness. Nonetheless, it did indict Alger by stating that ­there “was lacking in the general administration of the War Department . . . ​that complete grasp of the situation which was essential to the highest efficiency and discipline of the Army.”78

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE SPANISH-­AMERICAN WAR Clearly, the Spanish-­American War was not an entirely “splendid” experience for the men who served. Yet other than the deserters in the Philippines, the most striking and unique aspect of the soldier experience in the war is how resilient the men proved and how doggedly they engaged in the patriotic effort. When one considers the terrible sufferings faced by Shafter’s troops ­after the Santiago campaign or the brutality of the Philippine War, this fact is remarkable, especially in light of the war’s imperialistic motivation. Although the Medical Department’s failures to

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prevent the epidemic did stir national controversy, it did not translate into a broad lack of support for the war among the American public or soldiers. It seems clear that the war was popu­lar ­because it was presented as a moral fight between Amer­i­ca and Spain, highlighting disparities between the ideals and values of the New World and the Old. It also allowed the United States to display its unique approach to empire during the Age of Imperialism. Americans saw themselves as benevolent imperialists contrasted with the more brutal Eu­ro­pean imperial powers. Although this was clearly an ideal more than a real­ity, it played an impor­tant part in maintaining support for a war that built an American empire in the Ca­rib­bean and the Pacific. No other American war has been as explic­itly rooted in imperialism. No other group of American soldiers has embraced the idea of fighting for overseas empire more than t­ hose of the Spanish-­American War. Unlike the anti–­Vietnam War protests of the 1960s, the anti-­imperialist movement never grew into a popu­lar social movement. Opposition to the Spanish-­ American War actually has more in common with the opponents of the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Although President George W. Bush’s decision to overthrow Saddam Hussein inspired an anti-­war movement and raised concerns about American empire, the opposition was never as deeply established as that of the 1960s. Like McKinley in 1900, Bush was re-­elected to a second term in 2004 even ­after the Iraq War had lost much of its broad public support. Similarly, as in the War on Terror, hostility to the war did not translate into loathing of the soldiers who served. Even a­ fter the press reported accounts of American atrocities in the Philippines, most Americans continued to support the troops. The secretary of war’s General ­Orders No. 66 is worth quoting at length, as it captures the prevailing attitude ­toward American soldiers in 1902 as they returned from their campaign to establish an American imperial outpost in the Philippines: The President thanks the officers and enlisted men of the Army in the Philippines, both regulars and volunteers, for their courage and fortitude, the indomitable spirit and loyal devotion with which they have put down and ended the g­ reat insurrection which has raged throughout the archipelago against the lawful sovereignty and just authority of the United States. The task was peculiarly difficult and trying. They ­were required at first to overcome or­ga­nized re­sis­tance of superior numbers, well equipped with modern arms of precision, entrenched in an unknown country of mountain defiles, jungles, and swamps, apparently capable of interminable defense. When this re­sis­tance had been overcome they w ­ ere required to crush out a general system of guerilla warfare conducted among a ­people speaking unknown tongues, from whom it was almost impossible to obtain the information necessary for successful pursuit or to guard against surprise and ambush. The enemies by whom they ­were surrounded w ­ ere regardless of all obligations of good faith and of all the limitations which humanity has imposed upon civilized warfare. Bound themselves by the laws of war, our soldiers w ­ ere called upon to meet ­every devise of unscrupulous treachery and to contemplate without reprisal the infliction of barbarous cruelties upon their comrades and friendly natives. They w ­ ere instructed, while punishing armed re­sis­tance, to conciliate the friendship of the peaceful, yet had to do with a population among whom it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe, and who in countless instances used a false appearance of friendship for ambush and assassination. They ­were obliged to deal with prob­lems of communication and transportation in a country without roads and frequently made



Spanish-­American War 429 impassable by torrential rains. They w ­ ere weakened by tropical heat and tropical disease. Widely scattered over a ­great archipelago, extending a thousand miles from north to south, the gravest responsibilities, involving the life or death of their commands, frequently devolved upon young and inexperienced officers beyond the reach of specific ­orders or advice. ­Under all ­these circumstances the Army of the Philippines has accomplished its task rapidly and completely. In more than two thousand combats, ­great and small, within three years, it has exhibited unvarying courage and resolution. Utilizing the lessons of the Indian Wars, it has relentlessly followed the guerrilla bands to their fastnesses in mountain and jungle and crushed them. It has put an end to the vast system of intimidation and secret assassination by which the peaceful natives ­were prevented from taking a genuine part in government ­under American insurrection. It has submitted to no discouragement and halted at no obstacle. Its officers have shown high qualities of command, and its men have shown devotion, patience, and magnanimity. With surprisingly few individual exceptions its course has been characterized by humanity and kindness to the prisoner and the noncombatant. With admirable good temper, sympathy, and loyalty to American ideals its commanding generals have joined with the civilian agents of the Government in healing the wounds of war and assuring to the ­people of the Philippines the blessings of peace and prosperity. Individual liberty, protection of personal rights, civil order, public instruction, and religious freedom have followed its footsteps. It has added honor to the flag which it defended, and has justified increased confidence in the ­f uture of the American ­people, who soldiers do not shrink from ­labor or death, yet love liberty and peace.79

This was Amer­i­ca’s first global war, which occurred at the dawn of the American ­century. It put Amer­i­ca on the path to world power. Though overshadowed in American memory by World Wars I and II and the conflicts in ­Korea and Vietnam, the Spanish-­America War foreshadowed Amer­i­ca’s pursuit of world power and the military experience of the soldiers tasked with achieving American interests around the globe. TIMELINE January 5, 1892 José Marti forms the Cuban Revolutionary Party in New York City. April 10, 1895 Marti returns to Cuba for the War of In­de­pen­dence. June 12, 1895 President Grover Cleveland declares American neutrality in the Cuban Rebellion. February 16, 1896 Spain introduces the reconcentrado policy in Cuba. August 26, 1896 The Philippine Revolution begins. March 4, 1897 Inauguration of President William McKinley.

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January 1, 1898 Spain agrees to grant ­limited autonomy to Cuba. February 9, 1898 De Lôme letter c­ auses controversy when published by the New York Journal. February 15, 1898 USS Maine explodes in Havana Harbor. March 29, 1898 American ultimatum to Spain is issued. April 11, 1898 President McKinley seeks authorization for U.S. intervention in Cuba. April 13, 1898 Congress authorizes McKinley to intervene in Cuba. April 19, 1898 Congress approves Joint Resolution for War with Spain, including the Teller Amendment prohibiting the annexation of Cuba. April 20, 1898 McKinley signs the Joint Resolution. April 21, 1898 Spain declares that a state of war exists between it and the United States. McKinley o­ rders a blockade of Cuba. April 23, 1898 McKinley calls for 125,000 volunteers. April 25, 1898 Formal declaration of war between Spain and the United States. May 1, 1898 Admiral George Dewey defeats the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay. May 2, 1898 Congress passes a $35 million emergency war funding bill. May 19, 1898 Filipino nationalist leader Emilio Aguinaldo returns to the Philippines ­after exile in Hong Kong. May 24, 1898 Aguinaldo creates a dictatorship as a basis for an in­de­pen­dent Philippines. May 25, 1898 American land forces depart San Francisco heading to the Philippines. May 27, 1898 Santiago de Cuba is blockaded by the U.S. Navy.



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May 28, 1898 General Shafter is ordered to mobilize his forces in Tampa, Florida. June 9, 1898 Admiral Sampson sails to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. June 10, 1898 Marines land at Guantanamo, Cuba. June 12, 1898 Philippine Republic declared by Aguinaldo. June 14, 1898 President McKinley decides that Spain w ­ ill not recover the Philippines at the end of the war. June 15, 1898 The Anti-­Imperialist League is formed. Spanish Admiral Libermoore is ordered to relieve the Spanish garrisons in the Philippines with his squadron, which includes the battleship Pelayo. June 18, 1898 The Eastern Squadron is created u­ nder Commodore William T. Sampson. June 20, 1898 Spain forces in Guam surrender to Captain Henry Glass. U.S. forces arrive off the coast of Santiago de Cuba in 42 ships. Admiral Sampson and General Shafter meet with Cuban General Garcia at El Aserradero to coordinate operations for the Santiago campaign. June 22, 1898 General Shafter’s troops land at Daiquiri, Cuba. July 1, 1898 El Viso Fort falls to American and Cuban armies. The Americans and Cubans also occupy El Caney and the San Juan Heights. The Rough Riders take San Juan Hill ­after the B ­ attle of K ­ ettle Hill. General Duffield takes Fort Aquadores at Santiago. July 2, 1898 The Spanish fleet attempts to escape Santiago Bay. July 3, 1898 Admiral Schley’s squadron destroys the Spanish destroyer Furor in Santiago Bay in addition to a torpedo boat and four armored cruisers. Spanish casualties included 350 dead and 160 wounded. July 15, 1898 General Toral’s Spanish forces at Santiago capitulate to the Americans. July 17, 1898 Santiago falls to American besiegers.

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July 18, 1898 Spain proposes a cease-­fire to President McKinley. General Leonard Wood named military governor of Santiago. Clara Barton arrives at Santiago to treat wounded soldiers. July 25, 1898 General Wesley Merritt arrives in the Philippines. July 26, 1898 Spain contracts France to conduct negotiations for a cease-­fi re with the United States. July 28, 1898 Fearing a yellow fever outbreak, General Shafter is ordered to remove American troops from Cuba. July 30, 1898 President McKinley responds to Spain’s cease-­fire request with a counterproposal. August 2, 1898 Spain accepts American peace proposals, while McKinley insists on preliminary terms before ending hostilities with Spain. August 12, 1898 Protocols of peace ending fighting in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines signed in Washington, D.C. August 14, 1898 Spain signs the capitulation at Manila, leading to the establishment of an American military government ­there u­ nder General Merritt as governor-­general. August 15, 1898 General MacArthur is appointed commandant of Manila. September 12, 1898 American and Spanish officials meet in Havana for negotiations pertaining to the removal of Spanish troops from Cuba. September 13, 1898 Protocol of Peace is ratified by the Spanish government. September 15, 1898 The Malolos Congress of the Republic of the Philippines meets for its inaugural session to draft a new constitution. September 16, 1898 The Spanish and American commissioners are selected for the drafting of the treaty of peace. Commissioners included Secretary of State William R. Day and Spanish General Rafael Cerero y Saenz. September 22, 1898 General Leonard Wood recognizes the support of General Calixto Garcia’s Cuban army in the Santiago campaign.



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September 26, 1898 General Grenville Dodge forms a commission to investigate the War Department’s mismanagement of the war. October 1, 1898 Spanish and American diplomats meet in Paris to draft a final peace treaty. October 25, 1898 McKinley makes clear to American diplomats that he ­favors American annexation of the Philippine Islands. November 10, 1898 United States refuses to recognize the legitimacy of an Assembly of Representatives of the Revolution in Cuba, which sought to establish an in­de­pen­dent Cuban government. November 28, 1898 American treaty terms are accepted by the Spanish Commission for Peace. November 29, 1898 Philippine Congress approves new constitution for an in­de­pen­dent Republic of the Philippines. December 10, 1898 American and Spanish diplomats sign the Treaty of Paris in which Spain gave up Cuba and ceded Puerto Rico and Guam to the United States. It sold the Philippines to the United States for $20,000,000. December 21, 1898 Benevolent Assimilation Proclamation is issued by President McKinley. The United States takes owner­ship of the Philippines, and the army is tasked with establishing Amer­i­ca as the sovereign authority. January 1, 1899 Emilio Aguinaldo named president of the Republic of the Philippines. January 21, 1899 Emilio Aguinaldo and followers approved the Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines. January 26, 1899 Beginning of the Samar campaign. February 4, 1899 Insurrection breaks out in the Philippines. Declaration of war against the United States by the Republic of the Philippines. February 6, 1899 U.S. Senate ratifies the Treaty of Paris. March 16, 1899 The Treaty of Paris is officially signed by Spain.

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April 11, 1899 The Treaty of Paris goes into effect. June 16, 1899 Municipal elections held in Cuba. September 13, 1899 American forces defeated by Filipino forces in the B ­ attle of Mabitac. March 23, 1901 American forces u­ nder General Funston capture Emilio Aguinaldo. April 1, 1901 Aguinaldo declares his allegiance to the United States, which brought an end to his in­de­pen­dent republic and established American sovereignty over the Philippines. September 28, 1901 Balangiga Massacre results in the death of 54 American soldiers and a brutal reprisal that saw around 30 Filipino civilians butchered, constituting one of the worst and most controversial atrocities of the war. April 16, 1902 One of the last Filipino insurgent leaders, Miguel Malvar, surrenders to American forces. May 2, 1902 Beginning of the Moro campaigns following a rebellion that lasted ­until 1913. The rebellion required approximately 25,000 American troops to suppress and led to heavy casualties among the Muslim Moro. July 1, 1902 Congress passes the Philippine Organic Act, which had been authored by Representative Henry A. Cooper. It established the basic law and constitution of the Philippine Insular Government, including the creation of a Philippine Assembly, ­after two years of peace and recognition of American sovereignty and ­after the insurgency was concluded and a census was taken. July 4, 1902 President Roo­se­velt formally ends the Philippine War.

Documents of the Spanish-­American War: Personal Accounts 1  John Bigelow, Jr.: Black Troops Storm San Juan Heights The July 1, 1898, ­Battle of Santiago was the pivotal land ­battle of the Spanish-­ American War in Cuba. The Americans had to storm the San Juan Heights, a well-­defended barrier protecting Santiago. Among the regiments participating in



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the charge ­were two regular regiments of dismounted black cavalry, the 9th and 10th U.S. Cavalry. Only white men served as officers in the black regiments. One such officer was John Bigelow, whose account of the charge against San Juan Heights provides a detailed depiction of the difficulty moving through barbed wire obstacles in the face of lethal, long-­range ­rifle fire. Pushing on a short distance, we came upon a road lined with our infantry. It was on the far edge of the woods, and beyond it stretched a plain about six hundred yards wide, overgrown with tall grass like that through which we had lately passed. At the farther edge of the plain was a hill about one hundred and fifty feet high, the side ­towards us sloping at an ­angle of about forty degrees. On the top of the hill was a block-­house and a structure that looked liked a shed. ­Here and ­there a puff of light smoke indicated that it was manned by infantry who ­were firing at us. I was at last where I had been trying to get—at the front. The hill was the position now so well known as the San Juan Hill. About one hundred yards in front of our main line, which I joined with my men, was a thin line of infantry firing at the ­enemy on the hill from b­ ehind a gentle swell in the ground. Along the side of the road in which we ­were lying ran a barbed-­wire fence. I was soon cogitating as to how we should get through that fence when the time should come for us to advance. ­There was not a pair of wire-­nippers in my troop. I understand, on good authority, that ­there ­were two hundred pairs on board our transport, the Leona. I wriggled myself up to one of the fence-­posts and dug at the foot of it with both hands, but soon concluded that I could not accomplish anything in that way. I then stood up, and pulled and pushed at the post, but made no appreciable impression upon it. So I lay down again and left the fence alone. It looked to me, while lying in this road, as if the advanced line to which I have referred fell back, but I am told that it did not. I asked the officer who was walking up and down in the road if it was not time for us to advance to its support. He replied that he supposed it would be pretty soon, or something to that effect, and went on walking as before. One man, who had no doubt been in the advance-­line, fell back and halted directly in front of me in the tall grass on the opposite side of the fence. The silhouette of his manly young face and figure as he nestled up to the fence, his gun clutched in both hands, and his eyes riveted on the hill, are indelibly impressed upon my memory. I remarked to him that he had better come through the fence. Some one added, with true soldierly bluntness, “A man was shot ­there not long ago.” He took a glance our way out of the corners of his eyes, and then replaced them upon the hill, seeming to close his fin­gers a ­little tighter, and so remained, as if hypnotized. Suddenly my attention was attracted by a cry of pain, followed by moaning and groaning on my right. Turning my head, I saw a man sitting up holding his hand on his side. “Somebody take my gun,” he said, “and blow my brains out. ­Won’t somebody finish me? O, God! O, God!” He and Sergeant Elliot had been shooting at the hill. With the aid of Sergeant Elliot I examined his wound, as I thought. All that I found was an abrasion of two ribs. I told him that he was but slightly hurt.

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He said, “Oh, Captain, I ­can’t breathe.” I replied, “Yes, you can breathe, or you ­couldn’t make so much noise. Now be quiet.” He was quiet ­after that. I have since heard from Sergeant Elliot that this man was shot through the bowels, and have reproached myself for my impatience with him. He must have been wounded at least twice. Before long I was to know more than I did then about the sensations produced by Mauser bullets, and to have wounds of my own overlooked. While gazing through the wire fence, I suddenly observed near the edge of the open field a swarm of men breaking forward from the direction of the road on my left. I jumped to my feet and, ­under the inspiration of the moment, took hold of the nearest fence-­ post, and put one foot on the; lowest wire close to the post. Stepping from wire to wire as on the rounds of a ladder, I climbed to the top of the fence, and jumped from it down into the field, calling out as I struck the ground, “Come along, men!” ­After a momentary pause to see my men start through or over the fence, I struck out as fast as the tall grass would permit me ­towards the common objective of the mass of men which I now saw surging forward on my right and left. It was San Juan Hill, which Hawkins’s brigade had undertaken to carry by assault. The cavalry division started forward, I believe, at the same time. In an account of the attack on San Juan Hill, by Richard Harding Davis, published in Scribners Magazine, the writer does me the honor to mention me by name as one of the ju­nior officers of the Tenth Cavalry who followed Col­o­nel Roo­se­velt, as he, with his Rough Riders, broke cover and started across the plain. It is due to myself to say that what­ever I did to contribute to the success of our arms was done without the inspiration of Col­o­nel Roo­se­velt’s example. It was never my good fortune to see that distinguished soldier in Cuba. I had misgivings as to the result of our attempt. I thought of the Prus­sian Guards at St.-­Privat, and almost expected that we would be brought to a halt and have to await reinforcements or supports before we reached the base of the hill. But we never s­ topped u­ ntil we got to the top of it, excepting individual men who halted to fire over the heads of men and officers in front of them, and the unlucky ones, of whom I was one, who w ­ ere arrested by Spanish bullets. We had advanced without any command that I know of, and the men commenced firing of their own accord. I tried to stop the firing, as I thought it would dangerously retard the advance, and other officers near me tried also to stop it. I even pointed my pistol at the men. But it was no use. A constant stream of bullets went over the heads of the officers and of most of the men ­towards the hill. The men covered about fifty yards of ground from front to rear. ­There was hardly a semblance of a line—­simply a broad swarm. The men cheered and yelled; the officers, well out in front, where they belonged, waved their swords and showed them the way. Some of the officers put their hats on the points of their swords. I, not having any sword or sabre, brandished my pistol. The men kept up a double-­time, except when they halted to fire, which they did standing. I moved at a run, but about e­ very hundred yards threw myself down in the grass to rest and allow the men to close up on me. On my right, out in front of every­body ­else, a stripling of a Cuban, in the soiled white jacket and trousers common both to Cubans and Spaniards, bounded forward, waving his straw hat and occasionally looking back at the troops. Our firing, though wild, was not



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altogether in­effec­tive, and retarded our advance less than I at first thought it would. I could see the side of the hill dotted with ­little clouds of dust thrown up by our bullets. We peppered it pretty hotly from top to bottom, and I have learned since that many dead and wounded Spaniards ­were found in the trenches on the top of the hill. T ­ hese casualties, however, ­were caused in part—­perhaps mostly—by the fire of our small advance-­line before the assault. The men in this line ­were, I believe, classified marksmen and sharp-­shooters. As we approached the hill I asked an officer near me ­whether he did not think we should try to halt the men, and open a regular fire upon the top of the hill. He replied to the effect that we could not halt them, and that they might as well keep a-­going. So on we went. Just then, bang! whiz! went a cannon-­shot over our heads. Our artillery had started shelling the top of the hill. I wondered w ­ hether the artillery would see us, and stop firing. A moment afterwards it did stop, but, in the mean time, Captain McFarland, of the Sixteenth Infantry, among the foremost on the hill, was struck in the back of the head and disabled by a piece of shell. When I was about half-­way to the top my wind completely gave out, and I threw myself down for a moment’s rest. On getting up, I stood looking at the scene below me. About half a mile across the bright green field, dotted ­here and ­there with stately trees in which lurked the reckless and murderous Spanish sharp-­shooters, stretched the on-­coming shouting and shooting mass of men in blue. A single banner of stars and stripes, out-­stretched by its cleaving of the motionless air, fluttered proudly and inspiringly over them, its shining spear seeming to point the way forward and upward. I felt as if that h­ uman billow would sweep away the ­enemy, hill and all, and was never so proud of being an American as at that moment. Source: Bigelow, John, Jr. Reminiscences of the Santiago Campaign. New York: Harper & B ­ rothers, 1899, 116, 121–127.

2  Mark L. Hersey: Search and Destroy Operations on Samar In order to suppress guerilla activities on Samar, U.S. forces conducted brutal search-­and-­destroy operations. Captain Mark  L. Hersey, 9th  U.S. Infantry, described patrolling on Samar in his official report summarizing several months of operations at the end of 1901 and the beginning of 1902. Lieutenant Brown was sent ahead to clear the trail of spears and spear traps which abounded. He encountered over a thousand of them. The difficulties of the trail can be judged by the fact that it took him three days to march over a trail that I followed with the main command in six hours ­after it had been cleared out. On this march, by reason of rains and high ­water, we ­were forced to camp in the mud and rain waiting for the w ­ aters to subside for three days, living mainly on the emergency rations at that time. More than twenty-­five per cent of the command became sick and ­were left ­behind at the head ­waters of the Oras River in a camp, while the rest of the command went over the divide to unite with Major Williams. The only

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result of this expedition was the clearing out of a large tract of new Country of the insurrectos. Destroyed their rice and other property as usual. Lieutenant Brown did not return with me to Oras but kept on to Laguan, and ­later returned by sea. Lieutenant Goodrich met me on my return with a fresh detachment at Hippapod, near the head w ­ aters of the Oras River, and from t­ here crossed over the mountains to the coast near La Penig, penetrating the country by entirely new trails, killing four bolomen in a skirmish and bringing in a dozen, or thereabouts, prisoners. During my absence Lieutenant Mills, Ninth Infantry, had completed a telephone line between Oras and Dolores, 10 miles. December 20th, my command was further increased by the arrival of Companies G and D of the Ninth Infantry, Lieutenants Drouillard and Collins commanding. Lieutenant Hartshorne, with Com­pany M, Seventh Infantry, was ordered to Borongan and station at Hinolasan abandoned. From December 20th to the end of the month, all the troops available w ­ ere brought into Oras for Christmas sports. Early in January arrangements ­were made with the commanding officer at Borongan, Captain Wallace, Seventh Infantry, to construct a telegraph line from Dolores to Borongan, simultaneous work from Dolores and Borongan. The Dolores end of it was ­under the charge of Lieutenant Mills of the Ninth, who completed his line to about three miles beyond Sulat, a l­ ittle more than half of the distance. Captain Wallace found that it would be useless to construct a telephone line from his end to any ­great distance without clearing out the country of insurrectos between us, as they cut down his line about as fast as he could put it up. We arranged for a combined movement against the e­ nemy. Captain Wallace furnished one hundred men and three officers, with himself in command; I sent 60 men ­under Lieutenant Drouillard, assisted by Lieutenants Collins, Loeb, and Mills, to operate with them. They penetrated the interior of the country from ten to fifteen miles from the coast, and thoroughly cleared it of insurrectos and their property, from the Ulut River to San Julian Bay. The work on the telephone line was then continued, but Captain Wallace reported the difficulty at his end so ­great that it was impractical to put it through at that time; and, up to the time I left, it was not in working order beyond Tubig, some twenty miles from Oras. In the latter part of January I captured a messenger with a letter from Akales to Lukban; Akales was Lukban’s military commander in northeast Samar. This man promised to take me to Lukban’s haunts, to Lukban himself. I asked Captain Wallace to send me an officer and 25 men to assist me in an expedition ­after the insurrecto leader in Samar. He sent Lieutenant Wallace M. Craigie, Seventh Infantry, with 27 men. I took 65 men with Lieutenants Brown, Collins, and Loeb from my command at Oras and went about 80 miles into the interior, around the head ­waters of the Dolores River. The guide proved false, and ­after he had taken us to the vicinity of where he had claimed that Lukban was, then announced that the distance was eight days further. I knew him to be lying, but started Lieutenant Brown with a detachment of 25 men, with this native guide, in the direction he indicated. A ­ fter



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traveling two or three hours he declared then that he knew nothing about the country. The principal men of Dolores and Oras ­were with this detachment, but neither their persuasions nor the threats of my officers would induce him to guide us as he had promised to do before starting. We destroyed some insurrecto barracks, some sixty miles up the Dolores River, on this trip, together with stores of rice. We met rifle-­fire a few times, effected all the damage pos­si­ble, both ­going and coming, and returned to the coast ­after ten days’ absence. ­There was now a district of about five thousand square miles in extent (one hundred miles along the coast by fifty miles inland), with Oras for a center on the coast, freed from active insurrectos. I next proceeded to build up the towns of San Remon and Tubig. Lieutenant Drouillard, with his Com­pany, G, of the Ninth, took charge at San Remon, 25 miles north of Oras; and Lieutenant Collins, with D Com­pany, at Tubig, about the same distance south. Lieutenant Brown had charge of Dolores with Com­pany K. All companies kept their Headquarters at Oras. Instructions ­were given ­these officers to invite the natives in and promise them protection of life and property and to order them to cultivate their rice and bring in their hemp and copra and store it u­ ntil such time as the ports should be opened. During the months of January and February I sent several detachments into the country between San Remon and Gamay River, the latter river being about fifty miles north of Oras. The more impor­tant of ­these detachments w ­ ere ­under Sergeant Fred H. Gould, Com­pany H, Ninth Infantry, who went into this section in command of three dif­fer­ent expeditions. On one expedition alone he captured and brought in 190 prisoners, and, in all, over 300. His work was characterized by daring and good judgment—an excellent example of the best kind of American Soldiers. For all that he hit them so hard, he seemed to have the infinite re­spect and even the kind regards of the ­people in this section of the Country. He captured several herds of carabao and brought them in, and such property as could not be brought to Oras and made use of was destroyed. For his most arduous work, which included hard marching and hard fighting, and the excellent results that he accomplished during the months of January and February, 1902, I recommend that Sergeant Fred H. Gould, Com­pany H, Ninth Infantry, be given a certificate of merit. Source: Brown, Fred. History of the Ninth U.S. Infantry, 1799–1909. Chicago: R. R. Donnelley & Sons Co., 1909, 571–573.

3  George Kennan: The Red Cross and the ­Battle of Santiago The July 1, 1898, ­Battle of Santiago was the pivotal land ­battle of the Spanish-­ American War in Cuba. George Kennan was a journalist assigned to report on the work of the Red Cross and Miss Clara Barton. Kennan describes the scene at the field hospital following the ­battle. ­ fter all the other surgeons had gone to their tents, he wandered about the camp, A looking ­after the wounded who lay shivering ­here and ­there on the bare, wet ground,

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and giving them, with medicines, stomach-­tube, and catheter, such relief as he could. Soon ­after sunrise I awoke, and ­after a hasty breakfast began carry­ing around food and ­water. I ­shall not attempt to describe fully the terrible and heartrending experience of that morning; but two or three of the scenes that I was compelled to witness seem, even now, to be e­ tched on my memory in lines of blood. About nine ­o’clock, for example, I went into a small wall-­tent which sheltered a dozen or more dangerously wounded Spaniards and Cuban insurgents. Every­thing that I saw ­there was shocking. On the right-­hand side of the tent, face downward and partly buried in the water-­soaked, oozy ground, lay a half-­naked Cuban boy, nineteen or twenty years of age, who had died in the night. He had been wounded in the head and at some time during the long hours of darkness between sunset and dawn the ban­ dage had partly slipped off, and hemorrhage had begun. The blood had run down on his neck and shoulders, coagulating and stiffening as it flowed, ­u ntil it had formed a large, red, spongy mass around his neck and on his naked back between the shoulder-­blades. This, with the coal-­black hair, the chalky face partly buried in mud, and the distorted, agonized attitude of the half-­nude body, made one of the most ghastly pictures I had ever seen. ­There was already a stench of decomposition in the hot air of the tent, and the coagulated blood on the half-­naked corpse, as well as the bloody ban­dage around its head, was swarming with noisy flies. Just beyond this terrible object, and looking directly at it, was another young Cuban who had been shot through the body, and who was half crouching, half kneeling, on the ground, with his hands pressed to his loins. He was deadly pale, had evidently been in torment all night, and was crying, over and over again, in a low, agonized tone, “Oh, my ­mother, my ­mother, my ­mother!” as he looked with distracted eyes at the bloody, half-­naked body of his dead comrade and saw in it his own impending fate. The stench, the buzzing flies, the half-­dried blood, the groans, and the cries of “O, mi madre!” “O Jesu!” from the half-­naked wretches lying in two rows on the bare, muddy ground, came as near making an inferno as anything one is ever likely to see. In another tent, a short distance away, I found a smooth-­faced American soldier about thirty years of age, who had been shot in the head, and also wounded by a fragment of a shell in the body. He was naked to the waist, and his ­whole right side, from the armpit to the hip, had turned a purplish-­blue color from the bruising blow of the shell. Blood had run down from ­under the ban­dage around his head, and had then dried, completely covering his swollen face and closed eyelids with a dull-­red mask. On this had settled a swarm of flies, which he was too weak to brush away, or in too much pain to notice. I thought, at first, that he was dead; but when I spoke to him and offered him ­water, he opened his bloodshot, fly-­encircled eyes, looked at me for a moment in a dull, agonized way, and then closed them and faintly shook his head. ­W hether he lived or died, I do not know. When I next visited the tent he was gone. As soon as pos­si­ble a­ fter my arrival at the hospital I had obtained an order from Lieutenant-­Colonel Pope, chief surgeon of the Fifth Army-­Corps, for wagons, and on Saturday after­noon I telephoned Miss Barton from General Shafter’s headquarters to send us blankets, clothing, malted milk, beef extract, tents, tent-­flies, and



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such other ­things as ­were most urgently needed. Sunday after­noon, less than twenty-­ four hours a­ fter my message reached her, she rode into the hospital camp in an army wagon, with Mrs. Gardner, Dr. Gardner, Dr. Hubbell, and Mr. McDowell. They brought with them a wagon-­load of supplies, including every­thing necessary for a small Red Cross emergency station, and in less than two hours they w ­ ere refreshing all the wounded men in the camp with corn-­meal gruel, hot malted milk, beef extract, coffee, and a beverage known as “Red Cross cider,” made by stewing dried apples or prunes in a large quantity of w ­ ater, and then pouring off the w ­ ater, adding to it the juice of half a dozen lemons or limes, and setting it into the brook in closed vessels to cool. ­After that time no sick or wounded man in the camp, I think, ever suffered for want of suitable food and drink. On Monday Miss Barton and Dr. Hubbell went back to the steamer at Siboney for additional supplies, and in twenty-­four hours more we had blankets, pillows, and hospital delicacies enough to meet all demands. We should have had them ­there before the b­ attle began, if we could have obtained transportation for them from the sea-­coast. As fast as pos­si­ble the wounded ­were taken in army wagons from the field-­hospital to Siboney, where they ­were put on board the transports, and at eight ­o’clock on Tuesday eve­ning Major Johnson was able to report to Major Wood that e­ very wounded man left in the hospital was in a tent, with a rubber poncho or tarpaulin ­under him and a blanket over him. In spite of unfavorable conditions, the percentage of recoveries among the wounded treated in this hospital was much greater than in any other war in which the United States has ever been engaged. This was due partly to improved antiseptic methods of treatment, and partly to the nature of the wound made by the Mauser bullet. In most cases this wound was a small, clean perforation, with very l­ittle shattering or mangling, and required only antiseptic bandaging and care. All abdominal operations that ­were attempted in the field resulted in death, and none ­were performed ­after the first day, as the ­great heat and dampness, together with the difficulty of giving the patients proper nursing and care, made recovery next to impossible. Source: Kennan, George. Campaigning in Cuba. New York: The ­Century Co., 1899, 146–149.

4  Paul B. Malone: The 13th Infantry in the Santiago Campaign During the ­Battle of Santiago, American troops had to storm the San Juan Heights, a well-­defended barrier protecting the city. The attack took place across difficult terrain u­ nder tropical heat and was poorly coordinated. Lieutenant Paul B. Malone of the 13th U.S. Infantry Regiment participated in the ­battle. Malone mentions the intervention of John Parker’s Gatling guns. Lieutenant John Henry Parker, 13th, mounted on a mule and in command of his Gatling Gun Detachment, moved to the front about 10:00 A. M., as we reached El Pozo Hill, from which our Artillery opened fire; one shot ­every five minutes! Shades

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of the Argonne seek cover! By 10:15, shots began singing through the brush and shells began bursting to the right and left, but only a few casualties ­were inflicted and the column continued its advance. Tremendous confusion prevailed in front. We reached General Kent’s Headquarters, where a trail led off to the left. Col­o­nel Wikoff was ordered by General Kent to advance along the trail and form on the left of the first Brigade (General Hawkins). We came head on in column to San Juan Creek. On the far side of the creek was a light barbed wire fence; beyond it a flat plain about 500 yards wide, covered with knee-­high growth and ending abruptly in San Juan Hill, along the crest of which lay the deep-­cut Spanish trenches. Fording the stream, the men and officers of the 13th battered down the barbed wire fence, and ­under the heaviest ­r ifle fire I have ever encountered, moved with the precision of a parade ground formation out into the open. Never have I witnessed more splendid discipline. Contact was gained with the First Brigade through the left Com­pany, Capt. Drum, who was killed a few moments ­later. ­Orders ­were given at the crossing for the formation of the ­battle line, the 13th on the right, one battalion of the 9th in the center, the 24th on the left, and one battalion of the 9th, in reserve. Major Ellis, 13th Infantry, and many ­others had already been wounded. Major Auman, 13th Infantry, among the first to cross, formed on or near the right, about 200 yards from the stream, ­under a withering fire, which took its heavy toll at the ford. As he crossed, Lieutenant Sater fell, pierced through the heart, and died in the arms of Lieutenant Harris, as he poured some restoratives between the d­ ying officer’s lips. Just beyond the crossing, Captain Guthrie was hit in the leg. His wound was dressed by Lieutenant Harry Ferguson, and the aged Captain then stumbled on ­behind his com­pany till he sank exhausted. Crossing the creek with Col­o­nel Wikoff, we watched the companies gallantly form with losses that had already approached ten per cent, and conferred with Major Auman on the pro­g ress of the terrific fight, which was rapidly consuming our ammunition. A Spanish officer, in broad brimmed hat, and almost white uniform, walked placidly up and down the trenches for several minutes in contemptuous disregard of the singing bullets, and then sank into the trenches, I hope not the victim of his heroic effort to sustain the courage of his men. As we turned away, Captain Albert B. Scott, Commanding Com­pany “C,” 13th Infantry, advanced into the open. Scott halted his com­pany and I thought he was delivering a slow lecture on discipline. Instinctively, I moved ­toward him to urge immediate deployment. He was standing in front of his com­pany, his back ­toward the ­enemy, when a ­rifle bullet struck him in the back of the neck, barely missing the spinal cord as it entered and the jugular vein as it emerged beneath his chin. He crumpled like a leaf and Lieutenant Harvey W. Miller, in the file closers, came around the flank of the com­pany at a run and in an instant deployed the com­ pany and moved it forward. I turned to call the attention of the Brigade Commander to the splendid h­ andling of the com­pany by Lieutenant Miller, and saw Col­o­nel Wikoff lying upon his back, apparently seriously wounded. Some one had already reached him and together we carried him back to the edge of the creek. From his side the blood trickled and on the opposite side a large blue mark showed



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apparently where the bullet had lodged as it had all but pierced his body; he was mortally wounded. Col­o­nel Worth was next in rank and automatically assumed command. I reported to him. Major Auman took command of the 13th. The Spanish ­were pulling up a game ­battle—­producing one casualty for ­every soldier in the front line trenches. Captain H. G. Cavenaugh had been shot through the hips. Captain Fornance had been hit in the leg. Binding the wound, he resumed the advance, when a bullet pierced him through the body. One of the finest soldiers who ever served his country had gallantly fulfilled his rendezvous with death. Our losses had been heavy; Col­o­nel Worth thought that we must ­either withdraw to the edge of the creek or go forward immediately to the attack. No ­orders for the attack, but merely ­orders to form on the left of General Hawkins’ Brigade, had come from the Division Commander. Col­o­nel Worth directed me to go to the Division Commander, report the situation and get o­ rders. I left at a run. It was just about this time that Lieutenant John Henry Parker, with his Gatling Guns, opened fire on the e­ nemy trenches. Never did happier sounds roll over a battlefield; the effect was tremendously stimulating. Soldiers have the habit of solving battlefield situations for themselves . . . I found the Division Commander had left his C. P. to go to the front lines, leaving Lieutenant W. P. Jackson as his representative. We could not find the Division Commander, but the Division Commander desired the Hill captured. Returning at a run, I beheld the thin blue line on the crest of San Juan, the valley dotted with the killed and wounded. A victory had been won, which would carry with it consequences greater than any event since Appomattox. It had cost the 13th Infantry twenty-­nine p­ ercent of its officers and twenty-­four ­percent of its enlisted men, but before its ­rifles and its bayonet points, an Empire was vanis­hing on the American Continent and the surrender of Santiago and of Cuba to American arms was an assured result. Source: Society of the Army of Santiago de Cuba. The Santiago Campaign: Reminiscences. Richmond, VA: Williams Printing Co., 1927, 96–100.

5  G. E. Meyer: The Balangiga Massacre G. E. Meyer served as a musician in Com­pany C, 9th U.S. Infantry. Com­pany C provided the garrison for Balangiga, a small port on the island of Samar. A surprise attack by Filipino guerrillas on September 28, 1901, nearly annihilated the garrison, an event thereafter known in the United States as “The Balangiga Massacre.” On the morning of September 28th, I was musician of the guard, and sounded the mess call for our men, who prepared for breakfast. We ­were compelled to carry our guns loaded at all times, except at mess ­table. If ten of us went out bathing, five remained on shore to guard. The mess ­table for barracks Nos. 5 and 3 was next to the kitchen, two rods from the main barracks, and ours was ­under our shack.

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We never doubted that however strong the attack we would have time to reach our ­rifles. About midnight Private Gamlin reported to the Sergeant of the Guard that he thought the ­women and c­ hildren ­were leaving town. Many prayers w ­ ere heard during the night by the same guard, but he thought they w ­ ere preparing for another earthquake and gave it no further attention. At six-­thirty the natives ­were gathering for the day’s work. Many ­were lounging around the plaza, bolo in hand. The prisoners ­were grouped near the tents within a few feet of a pile of bolos, picks and shovels. Nearly all of our men ­were in the mess tent, eating breakfast. I, with Corporal Burke and about twelve messmates, had just sat down in front of Post No. 3 and ­were about to eat. Locking around, I noticed the Chief of Police accompanied by some of his followers walk from Post No. 2 to Post No. 3 where a sentinel was stationed. As the sentinel passed him, the Chief of Police suddenly snatched the ­rifle out of his hands, knocked him senseless with the butt and yelled, firing at the same time into our group and wounding one of the men. The natives who ­were hidden in the church rush in and killed the officers and guard; the prisoners rushed out, grabbing their working bolos, and guarded the doors of the main barracks, slashing down ­every man who ventured along. T ­ here was a succession of shouts, the tower bells rang out a deafening appeal, and the crowd of natives headed by the Chief of Police rushed ­toward us with the evident intention of cutting us off from our weapons in the barracks. They ­were brandishing bolos and clubs and yelling like dev­ils. For a moment we w ­ ere too dazed to move. Someone shouted, “They are in on us—­ get your ­rifles, boys!” Instinctively we all dashed for the front of our shack, the Filipinos close ­behind, slashing and stabbing. We bounded up the ladder into the main room, the natives right a­ fter us. A fearful hand-­to-­hand strug­gle ensued, with soldiers and natives in death grips for the possession of ­rifles and bolos. Blood was flowing in streams through the bamboo floor of the hut. I reached the place where my revolver was, and raised my right hand to grasp it when I received a terrible blow on the wrist from a club, in the hands of a big native policeman, which numbed my forearm. I raised the other arm and was stabbed in the hand with a bolo. Right ­after I received a cut in the ribs and was slashed on the back of the head. Unable to reach my revolver and believing my last hour had come, I grasped a big native around the ­middle, pinning his arms to his sides, and together we rolled over on the floor. I was using ­every ounce of my strength to prevent him from stabbing me. Near me lay the Chief of Police and Corporal Burke, straining ­every muscle, both ­giants in stature and strength and pretty evenly matched. I could feel my strength leaving me through loss of blood, and the big policeman was slowly but surely freeing his arm to give me a finishing thrust. As I lay ­there I thought of a letter my ­mother had sent me while in China, in which she stated she never expected to see me again. I was giving up hope when suddenly a shot rang out close beside me. I turned my head and saw the Chief of Police lying dead on the floor, Burke standing over him with a smoking revolver. Another second and my opponent’s brains ­were blown out by Burke. While he and the Chief of Police ­were struggling, they



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bumped up against a hospital cot. Burke put out his hand and to his surprise felt a revolver ­under the coverlet. He succeeded in getting possession of it and saved my life. I jumped to my feet, seized my revolver, and together we started pumping lead into the “googoos.” Just a few more of our men succeeded in getting their ­rifles, and the natives ran out on the plaza. In a few minutes seven of us ­were firing on the ­enemy. The scene in the blood-­soaked shack was awful, with dead and ­dying all around. I particularly remember one man bleeding from a gaping wound in his forehead, sitting bolt upright on the ladder in front of our shack, ­dying. Another soldier, Private Armani, was slashed across the abdomen and was suffering intense agony. Private J. J. Driscoll was crawling on his hands and feet like a stabbed pig, his brains falling out through a wound he had received. We left the shack and started for the main barracks, shooting as fast as our ­rifles could work. The natives commenced ­r unning in all directions. Some played “ ‘possum,” pretending to have been killed, and started up again to run, only to be brought down by a bullet, o­ thers a­ fter being shot would run a few feet, throw up their hands and tumble in a heap. While on our way, we ­were joined by vari­ous men, who had escaped the first rush of the savages. They ­were armed with clubs, baseball bats, pots, bolos—­anything they could lay hold of. We heard shots from the direction of Sergeant Markley’s shack and ­were l­ater joined by him with a few of the survivors. I saw Private Degraffenreid, a ­great big fellow, standing on a pile of rocks, which he was hurling at the natives, bowling them over like nine pins. Markley gave him a ­r ifle, and all three joined our party. Hearing a cry for help, we ran in the convent. All the officers had been killed, but we found Corporal Hickman, Private Bertholf, and a native boy, Captain Connell’s servant, standing off the ­enemy, with but one r­ ifle between them. Returning to the main barracks, we encountered more natives, who started jumping out of the barrack win­dows. As fast as they appeared we shot them, many being dead before striking the ground. Sergeant Markley and his men also drove a number of the ­enemy into the river, and rescued Private Class, who had taken refuge in the bay. Covington and one other soldier who had taken to the ­water had been stabbed and had drowned. The most fearful strug­gle of all occurred at the main barracks, where most of our men rushed for their ­rifles. The natives had anticipated this and posted a strong force to guard it ­after they had surprised and killed the sentinels ­there. As fast as our unarmed men tried to gain entrance, they had been cut down. About a dozen succeeded in forcing their way up a broad ladder in the rear of the Tribunal, and would prob­ably have reached their ­rifles had not the ladder given way, precipitating them to the ground, where they ­were dispatched by bolos. When the ladder broke down, about five of our men ­were left at the top. ­These ­were cut to pieces by the natives in the Tribunal, and their bodies flung on the ground below. The few survivors of this slaughter joined our squad when we reached the plaza. Among

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t­hose who fought individually and escaped was John D. Closson, a tall, power­f ul man, who was a match for several natives. He had a few minutes of desperate strug­ gle alone, but soon united with three or four ­others, who, working together, saved themselves. Source: Taylor, James O. The Massacre of Balangiga. Joplin, MO: McCarn Printing Co., 1931, 5–7.

6  George J. Newgarden: Caring for the Wounded during the Santiago Campaign During the ­Battle of Santiago, George J. Newgarden served as the regimental surgeon with the 3rd U.S. Cavalry Regiment. He describes caring for the wounded during the b­ attle. The road was beginning to get pretty hot for us, and when the forward movement came, it was hailed with s­ ilent relief; for it is certainly discouraging, and not conducive to good health and a happy frame of mind, to be pounded by an unseen ­enemy, without any opportunity to retaliate. The men ­were all ­eager to go ahead and get a chance at them. With grim determination they adjusted their packs, shouldered their pieces, and trudged along through the mud ­toward Santiago. Eventually we reached the San Juan creek—­a pretty ­little stream of clear ­water, hardly knee-­deep where the road crosses it. On the farther side several strands of barbed wire obstructed pro­gress, but it was only the work of a few moments to cut ­these and pull them aside. It was soon evident that the expected ­battle was about to begin at this point. The cavalry division crossed the stream, mounted the bank, and formed for fight. Men took their places quietly and silently, and ­there was a stillness about it all that was ominous, like the lull before the storm, and which boded ill for the Spanish in the trenches beyond on the hills of San Juan. It is at this stage that my tale begins. The thought now came to me that I had better be looking up a place for a dressing-­ station without delay, and this point of the creek seemed naturally created for the purpose. ­There was a cut bank, varying from a few inches to about three feet high, serving as partial protection for a man lying down b­ ehind it, and in some places for one even sitting. From this bank a shelf of gravel and sand about twenty feet long and perhaps eight or ten feet wide extended out into the shallow ­waters of the creek. ­After a rapid taking in of the situation, I determined to open a dressing-­ station right ­here, and together with Dr. Menocal, on duty with the Sixth United States Cavalry, set about making it comfortable as a joint station for our two regiments. The staff and field officers had left their ­horses on this gravel shelf, and proceeded from that point on foot. ­After having ­these ­horses moved down the creek about fifty feet, men ­were put at work with shovels to extend the shelf and increase its area. Other men at the same time gathered boughs and soft leaves, spreading them over the ground to make as comfortable a resting-­place as pos­si­ble for the unfortunates about to come in. T ­ hese details w ­ ere completed none too soon, for hardly was the place in readiness before the silence was broken suddenly by the



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sharp incessant rattle of ­rifle fire, and a hail of bullets came whizzing right into the station and all around us. All day long this continued, with occasional short lulls, and at times the din was terrific, particularly when shrapnel would go cutting its way over us as well. It is a marvel that ­every living t­ hing thereabouts was not e­ ither killed or wounded. Even the black dog with H Troop, Third Cavalry, the mascot of the troop, seemed to realize that it was an unhealthy locality about that time, for he crouched below the bank and shivered miserably, with occasional low whines, as though he understood it all, poor fellow. The fight was on, and hardly had one time to collect his thoughts before the wounded came pouring in from over the bank in a steady stream, some limping, some hopping, ­others holding their arms to their sides or abdomen, many using the ­rifle as a crutch or support, and a number carried in by their comrades—­one, two, or four, as the case happened to be—­themselves in a condition of utter exhaustion from fatigue and heat, but cheerful to be of use to their poor suffering companions. The capacity of the dressing-­station was very soon strained to its utmost. The first ­thing that impressed me was the curious expression of the ­faces of the wounded. None w ­ ere without it, except t­ hose mortally hurt. As nearly as I can interpret it into words, the look was one of “dazed anxious surprise.” The men carried as part of their equipment an emergency or first-­aid packet. This consisted of two gauze compresses, a roller ban­dage, a handkerchief sling, and two safety-­pins—­ all enclosed in a mackintosh or rubber sheeting, and the ­whole packet so prepared as to be absolutely ­free from germs of any kind. Before the ­battle opened, many of ­these had been thrown away by the thoughtless as being so much unnecessary encumbrance; but l­ater, so high did they rise in the estimation of the men, that I several times overheard them trying to buy of one another, but without success. They evidently realized the value of the packet then. It was very gratifying to note the disappearance of the set expression, the dazed look mentioned before, from the ­faces of the injured ­after the dressing was applied by means of this packet; and with the completion of the dressing, one of intense relief, and one might almost say content, takes its place. No ­matter how ­great the suffering then or even ­after, it was the case with all. Small and almost insignificant as this first-­aid packet appeared before the fight, it was r­ eally one of the most impor­tant parts of the equipment next to the a­ ctual munitions of war and commissary supplies. We owe to it directly and its prompt use the low mortality from wounds and the small number of amputations necessary. All hail to the first-­aid packet, say I, in time of war. Many injuries which are not disturbed for some days ­after the first dressing was applied ­were found completely healed, and required no more care when the dressing was removed, presumably to put on a fresh one. The freaks of some of the bullets ­were strange, to say the least. Several par­tic­ u­lar wounds made by them I remember very distinctly on account of their peculiar nature. One young cavalry officer was shot through the mouth, the bullet entering on the right side of the face, sadly battered a beautiful set of teeth, splintering eleven of them, was deflected and turned downward by one of the molars on the left side, and lodged in the muscles on the left side of the neck, where it now is and can easily be felt. I have since met this officer, again, in excellent health. He is now in the toils of a dentist getting the damage repaired. The only mark he bears is a pretty

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l­ ittle dimple at the right corner of the mouth, simply intensifying his former pleasant expression. Another was shot through both thighs, and I found the bullet in his trousers pocket. When told of the fact he simply remarked: “That’s a mighty smart bullet, to stop in my pocket ­after plugging me. I ­wouldn’t lose it for a farm.” Another lad—he was merely a boy, in fact—­was carried in by two comrades, and evidently did not know how badly he was hurt. While dressing his wounds—­there ­were three of them, any one of which would render him helpless for some time to come—he said to me: “Fix me quick, doctor. I want to go up and have another crack at them.” Of course that was out of the question, but it goes to demonstrate the spirit of the men, the kind of material they ­were made of. One poor lad, mortally wounded, was lying on the sand, staining it with his life-­blood, and struggling so hard with death that it made me heart-­sick to feel my utter helplessness when face to face with the inevitable. He wanted so much to live, and his look of mute appeal, and the oft-­repeated question, “­Will I pull through, Doctor?” ­will haunt me for a long time to come. I am comforted by the knowledge that his death was quiet and painless, just like falling into a deep sleep. Most of the injuries to bone caused by ­these bullets ­were clean perforations only, instead of the terrible splintering fractures of previous wars, produced by soft bullets of larger calibre [sic] and less velocity. Source: Society of the Army of Santiago de Cuba. The Santiago Campaign: Reminiscences. Richmond, VA: Williams Printing Co., 1927, 227–232.

NOTES   1. For the Spanish-­American War’s place in the broader context of American military history, see Allan R. Millet, Peter Maslowski, and William B. Feis, For the Common Defense: A Military History of the United States from 1607 to 2012, 3rd ed. (New York: ­Free Press, 2012), 252–81.   2. George C. Herring, From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations since 1776 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 299–336; Ernest May, Imperial Democracy: The Emergence of Amer­i­ca as a ­Great Power (New York: Harper & Row, 1961).   3. Richard H. Bradford, The Virginius Affair (Boulder: Colorado Associate University Press, 1980); Louis A. Pérez, Cuba between Empires, 1878–1902 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburg Press, 1983), 61–62.   4. John Lawrence Tone, War and Genocide in Cuba, 1895–1898 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 31–35, 83–84, 210, 235; Philip S. Foner, The Spanish-­ Cuban-­American War and the Birth of American Imperialism, 1895–1902 (New York: Monthly Review, 1972).   5. On the Maine controversy, see John Edward Weems, The Fate of the Maine (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1992); Peggy Samuels and Harold Samuels, Remembering the Maine (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995).   6. David  F. Trask, The War with Spain in 1898 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1981), 52–58.   7. See Jim Leeke, Manila and Santiago: The New Steel Navy in the Spanish-­American War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2013); Trask, War with Spain, 95–107.   8. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 262–64.   9. Trask, War with Spain, 336–68. 10. Stuart Creighton Miller, “Benevolent Assimilation”: The American Conquest of the Philippines, 1899–1903 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1982), 52–54; Trask, War with Spain, 445–72.



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11. Brian McAllister Linn, The Philippine War, 1899–1902 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2000) 3–12, 17–23; Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 273–74. 12. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 274–81. 13. H. W. Brands, The Reckless De­cade: Amer­i­ca in the 1890s (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 315–17. 14. Charles Johnson Post, The L ­ ittle War of Private Post (Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1960), 4–5; see also, Spencer Tucker, ed., Encyclopedia of the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­ American Wars, 3 vol. (Santa Monica, CA: ABC-­CLIO, 2009), vol. 3, 824. 15. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 254–55. 16. Trask, War with Spain, 72–94. 17. Trask, War with Spain, 145–58; Graham A. Cosmas, An Army for Empire: The United States Army in the Spanish-­American War (Shippensburg, PA: White Mane, Second Printing, 1994), 103–08. 18. Linn, The Philippine War, 11–15, 32, 88–90, 125–36, 325–26; Millet et al. For the Common Defense, 273–75. 19. On Upton, see David J. Fitzpatrick, Emory Upton: Misunderstood Reformer (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2017), 175, 256. For Progressivism in the army, see Ronald J. Barr, The Progressive Army: US Army Command and Administration, 1870–1914 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998). 20. Encyclopedia of the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American Wars, 3, 823. 21. Cosmas, Army for Empire, 35–37; Trask, War with Spain, 184. 22. See Jerome Tuccille, The Roughest Riders: The Untold Story of the Black Soldiers in the Spanish American War (Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2015); Trask, War with Spain, 158, 184–85, 241–42. 23. Trask, War with Spain, 360, 364–66; Cosmas, Army for Empire, 233–36. 24. Trask, War with Spain, 157–58. 25. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 259, 262; Trask, War with Spain, 167–68. 26. Cosmas, Army for Empire, 223–24. 27. Trask, War with Spain, 185–91. 28. Shafter to Adjutant-­General, Santiago de Cuba, August 3, 1898, in U.S. War Department, Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 2 vol. (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1993), 198. 29. Trask, War with Spain, 203–12, 226–27, 248–56. 30. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 307. 31. Clifford Putney, Muscular Chris­tian­ity: Manhood and Sports in Protestant Amer­ i­ca, 1880–1920 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 184–87. 32. Susan Curtis, A Consuming Faith: The Social Gospel and Modern American Culture (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2001), 73, 82; Dorothea Muller, “Josiah Strong and American Nationalism,” Journal of American History 53, no.  3 (December 1966): 487–90. 33. Tessa Berenson, “The Real Story ­Behind Donald Trump’s Pig’s Blood Slander,” Time, February  24, 2016. http://­time​.­com​/­4235405​/­donald​-­trump​-­pig​-­blood​-­muslims​-­story; Linn, Philippine War, 222–31. 34. David Ralph Spencer, The Yellow Journalism: The Press and Amer­i­ca’s Emergence as a World Power (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2007), 123–52. 35. André Gaudreault, American Cinema, 1890–1909: Themes and Variations (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2009), 80–85. 36. Bonnie M. Miller, From Liberation to Conquest: The Visual and Popu­lar Cultures of the Spanish-­American War of 1898 (Amherst: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts Press, 2011), 111–13. 37. Cosmas, Army for Empire, 12–13. 38. Schwan to Shafter, Washington, D.C., May 25, 1898, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 16.

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39. Wilson to Corbin, Charleston, July 12, 1898, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 133. 40. Stanton to Paymaster General’s Office, Washington, June 8, 1898, Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 693. 41. Geoffrey Wawro, Warfare and Society in Eu­rope, 1792–1914 (New York: Routledge, 2002), 195–96. 42. Leeke, Manila and Santiago, 46–47. 43. A con­temporary news report highlighted the advantages of the Spanish Mauser, see Stans Samhope, “The Krag-­Jöregensen Gun: It Is Inferior in Many Re­spects to the Mauser Used by the Spaniards,” The New York Times, August 1, 1898. 44. John Henry Parker, History of the Gatling Gun Detachment: Fifth Army Corps at Santiago (New York: Hudson-­Kimberly, 1898), 2–4. 45. John P. Langellier, Redlegs: The U.S. Artillery from the Civil War to the Spanish-­ American War, 1861–1898 (Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 1998); Encyclopedia of the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American War, 1: 25–26. 46. Kenneth  E. Hendrickson, The Spanish-­American War (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2003), 12–15, 41–45; Leeke, Manila and Santiago, 62–75. 47. Allan R. Millet, Semper Fidelis: The History of the United States Marine Corps (New York: ­Free Press, 1991), 131–34. 48. Trask, War with Spain, 217–24. 49. Trask, War with Spain, 235–48. 50. Trask, War with Spain, 353–68. 51. Trask, War with Spain, 411–22. 52. Linn, The Philippine War, 88–109. 53. Linn, The Philippine War, 139–59. 54. Linn, The Philippine War, 280–89, 301–07. 55. Cosmas, Army for Empire, 12–13, 299–300. 56. Cosmas, Army for Empire, 140, 182, 245; Trask, War with Spain, 149. 57. Vincent J. Cirillo, Bullets and Bacilli: The Spanish-­American War and American Military Medicine (Rutgers, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 25–28. 58. Shafter to Adjutant General, Santiago, August 10, 1898, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 216. 59. Trask, War with Spain, 324–32. 60. Cirillo, Bullets and Bacilli, 112. 61. George Miller Sternberg, Sanitary Lessons of the War and Other Papers (New York: Arno Press, 1977). 62. Shafter to Adjutant-­General, Playa del Este, July 7, 1898, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 101. 63. Paul J. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 124–33. 64. Linn, Philippine War, 223. 65. Linn, Philippine War, 306, 313–15, 319, 322. 66. H. W. Brands, American Colossus: The Triumph of Capitalism, 1865–1900 (New York: Anchor Books, 2011), 412, 513–15. 67. Spencer, Yellow Journalism, 125–30. 68. Robert L. Beisner, Twelve against Empire: The Anti-­Imperialists, 1898–1900 (New York: McGraw-­Hill, 1971), 221–37. 69. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 308. 70. The Taft Commission can best be examined by consulting the Reports of the Taft Philippine Commission (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1901). See also, Linn, Philippine War, 216–19, 297. 71. Robert W. Merry, President McKinley: Architect of the American C ­ entury (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2017), 385–93.



Spanish-­American War 451 72. Documents from the committee can be found in Henry Franklin Graff, American Imperialism and the Philippine Insurrection: Testimony Taken from Hearings on Affairs in the Philippine Islands Before the Senate Committee on the Philippines, 1902 (New York: ­Little, Brown, 1969). 73. Herring, From Colony to Superpower, 316. 74. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 269. 75. Tucker, Encyclopedia of the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American War, 1: 677–78. 76. Miles to Alger, Washington, December 1, 1898, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 841. 77. MacArthur to Adjutant-­General, Manila, January 17, 1901, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 1247. 78. Millet et al., For the Common Defense, 271. 79. General ­Orders No. 66, July 4, 1902, in Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain, 1352–53.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Barr, Ronald J. The Progressive Army: US Army Command and Administration, 1870– 1914. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998. Beisner, Robert. Twelve against Empire: The Anti-­Imperialists, 1898–1900. New York: McGraw-­Hill, 1971. Berenson, Tessa. “The Real Story ­Behind Donald Trump’s Pig’s Blood Slander.” Time, February 24, 2016. http://­time​.­com​/­4235405​/­donald​-­trump​-­pig​-­blood​-­muslims​-­story Bradford, Richard H. The Virginius Affair. Boulder: Colorado Associate University Press, 1980. Brands, H.W. American Colossus: The Triumph of Capitalism, 1865–1900. New York: Anchor Books, 2011. Brands, H. W. Bound to Empire: The United States and the Philippines. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Brands, H. W. The Reckless De­cade: Amer­i­ca in the 1890s. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995. Cirillo, Vincent J. Bullets and Bacilli: The Spanish-­American War and American Military Medicine. Rutgers, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004. Correspondence Relating to the War with Spain. 2 vols. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1993. Cosmas, Graham A. An Army for Empire: The United States Army in the Spanish-­ American War. 2nd ed. Shippensburg, PA: White Mane Publishing, 1994. Curtis, Susan. A Consuming Faith: The Social Gospel and Modern American Culture. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2001. Fitzpatrick, David  J. Emory Upton: Misunderstood Reformer. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2017. Foner, Philip S. The Spanish-­Cuban-­American War and the Birth of American Imperialism, 1895–1902. New York: Monthly Review, 1972. Gates, John M. Schoolbooks and Krags: The United States Army in the Philippines, 1899– 1903. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1973. Gaudreault, André. American Cinema, 1890–1909: Themes and Variations. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2009. Gould, Lewis. The Presidency of William McKinley. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1982. Graff, Henry Franklin. American Imperialism and the Philippine Insurrection: Testimony Taken from Hearings on Affairs in the Philippine Islands Before the Senate Committee on the Philippines, 1902. New York: ­Little, Brown, 1969.

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Hendrickson, Kenneth E. The Spanish-­American War. New York: Greenwood, 2003. Herring, George C. From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations since 1776. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Hoganson, Kristin. Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American Wars. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000. Kramer, Paul. The Blood of Government: Race, Empire, the United States and the Philippines. Chapel Hill, : University of North Carolina Press, 2006. Langellier, John P. Redlegs: The U.S. Artillery from the Civil War to the Spanish-­American War, 1861–1898. Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 1998. Leeke, Jim. Manila and Santiago: The New Steel Navy in the Spanish-­American War. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2013. Linderman, Gerald F. The Mirror of War: American Society and the Spanish-­American War. Ann Arbor, : University of Michigan Press, 1974. Linn, Brian McAllister, The Philippine War, 1899–1902. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2000. May, Ernest R. Imperial Democracy: The Emergence of Amer­i­ca as a ­Great Power. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1961. May, Glenn Anthony. ­Battle for Batangas: A Philippine Province at War. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1991. Merry, Robert W. President McKinley: Architect of the American C ­ entury. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2017. Miller, Bonnie M. From Liberation to Conquest: The Visual and Popu­lar Cultures of the Spanish-­American War of 1898. Amherst: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts Press, 2011. Miller, Stuart Creighton, “Benevolent Assimilation”: The American Conquest of the Philippines, 1899–1903. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1982. Millet, Allan R. Semper Fidelis: The History of the United States Marine Corps. New York: ­Free Press, 1991. Millet, Allan R., Peter Maslowski, and William B. Feis. For the Common Defense: A Military History of the United States from 1607 to 2012. 3rd ed. New York: ­Free Press, 2012. Muller, Dorothea. “Josiah Strong and American Nationalism.” Journal of American History 53, no. 3 (December 1966): 487–503. Offner, John L. An Unwanted War: The Diplomacy of the United States and Spain over Cuba, 1895–1898. Chapel Hill, : University of North Carolina Press, 1992. Parker, John Henry Parker. History of the Gatling Gun Detachment: Fifth Army Corps at Santiago. New York: Hudson-­Kimberly, 1898. Pérez, Louis A. Cuba between Empires, 1878–1902: Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1983. Post, Charles Johnson. The ­Little War of Private Post. Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1960. Pratt, Julius W. Expansionists of 1898: The Acquisition of Hawaii and the Spanish Islands. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1936. Putney, Clifford. Muscular Chris­tian­ity: Manhood and Sports in Protestant Amer­i­ca, 1880–1920. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Samuels, Peggy, and Harold Samuels. Remembering the Maine. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995. Schoonover, Thomas. ­Uncle Sam’s War of 1898 and the Origins of Globalization. Lexington, : University Press of Kentucky, 2003. Spencer, David Ralph. The Yellow Journalism: The Press and Amer­i­ca’s Emergence as a World Power. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2007.



Spanish-­American War 453 Springer, Paul J. Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010. Sternberg, George Miller. Sanitary Lessons of the War and Other Papers. New York: Arno Press, 1977. Trask, David F. The War with Spain in 1898. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1996. Tuccille, Jerome. The Roughest Riders: The Untold Story of the Black Soldiers in the Spanish American War. Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2015. Tucker, Spencer C. Encyclopedia of the Spanish-­American and Philippine-­American Wars: A Po­liti­cal, Social, and Military History. 3 vols. Santa Monica, CA: ABC-­CLIO, 2009. Wawro, Geoffrey. Warfare and Society in Eu­rope, 1792–1914. New York: Routledge, 2002. Weems, John Edward. The Fate of the Maine. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1992. Welch, Richard E. Response to Imperialism: The United States and the Philippine-­ American War, 1898–1902. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1978.

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7 World War I Richard S. Faulkner

OVERVIEW When the United States entered World War I on April 6, 1917, the conflict had been raging for 33 months and had already consumed millions of lives. The United States had sought to remain neutral in the conflict, but German actions in occupied Eu­rope, its use of unrestricted submarine warfare, Amer­i­ca’s economic ties to the Allies, and the provocations of the Zimmerman Tele­gram had all combined to turn American opinion decisively against Germany. Soon ­after entering the war, President Woodrow Wilson determined that to win the conflict and to give the United States a major role in the peace pro­cess, the nation would raise and deploy a large army to France to fight as an in­de­pen­dent force with the Allies. By the time that the Americans joined the Allies, the conflict itself had already fundamentally changed warfare. The ability of modern states to raise, arm, and sustain armies of millions of men, the ideological fervor of nationalism, military technological ingenuity, and the productive capability of the second Industrial Revolution had all combined to make the ­Great War a conflict of unpre­ce­dented scope, scale, and lethality. The need to break the war’s stalemate further encouraged its combatants to develop a host of new doctrinal concepts and deadly new weapons. The  U.S. Army found itself woefully unprepared for this kind of war. In April 1917, the combined strength of the Regular Army and National Guard was less than that of the Rumanian army, and the U.S. military was technologically, doctrinally, or­gan­i­za­tion­ally, and intellectually ­behind the times. Throughout the war the army strug­gled to master modern war while si­mul­ta­neously undergoing a massive expansion. Due to the challenges that the nation faced in mass mobilization, the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) lacked the manpower to play a major combat role in France u­ ntil the summer and fall of 1918. What­ever the shortcoming of the United States’ mobilization, the knowledge that large numbers of Americans would land in Eu­rope in 1918 encouraged the Germans to try to end the war before the AEF grew too strong. Beginning in March 1918,

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the Germans launched a series of offensives intended to break through the Allied lines, shatter the alliance, and break the ­will of France and Britain to continue the war. Although all of ­these offensives ran out of steam, they still disrupted General John J. Pershing’s elaborate plans for preparing the AEF to fight as a trained and ready in­de­pen­dent army. Despite the systemic prob­lems with mobilization and training, the AEF still accomplished its war­time mission. During the crisis caused by the German offensives, the Allies w ­ ere able to use the fresh American divisions to occupy quiet sectors of the front to ­free up French units to fight on more active sectors, to stop the German drives around Chateau Thierry, and to fight in the Allied counterattacks that reclaimed the areas captured by the Germans. In August 1918, the AEF was given its own sector of the Allied lines and fought the St. Mihiel and Meuse Argonne offensives as an in­de­pen­dent army. At a critical point of the conflict, the Americans gave the Allies the weight of fresh troops that it needed to win the war. Although the AEF seldom fought skillfully, its numbers, youth, and enthusiasm slowly ground down German re­sis­tance. Furthermore, the knowledge that the Americans ­were set to deploy as many as 4 million men to Eu­rope bolstered Allied morale while also undercutting that of the Germans.

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS World War I was the first American conflict where the majority of the soldiers involved ­were conscripts. In fact, over 74 ­percent of the doughboys who served in the ­Great War ­were draftees. The Wilson administration’s decision to build the war­ time army using a draft stemmed from two major ­factors. For over 40 years prior to the ­G reat War, regular army officers had agitated for the nation’s citizens to undergo universal military training to create a ready reserve force and to establish systems that would allow the nation to avoid the haphazard and ad hoc methods of raising troops that had marred the republic’s previous war­time mobilizations. In February 1917 the Army War College had concluded that to play any impor­tant role in the war, the Regular Army and National Guard would have to expand from 8,990 officers and 209,000 enlisted men to a force of 200,000 officers and 4 million enlisted men. The only way to reach ­these numbers, the war college maintained, was to use conscription. The fact that large numbers of guardsmen had failed to report for duty during the mobilization of the National Guard for the Mexican border crisis of 1916 only served to reinforce the Regular Army’s stance that the nation could not rely upon volunteers to fill the ranks for any major expansion of the army. Although the Marine Corps was not part of the army’s mobilization planning, the Marines realized that their paltry force of 13,000 men would be insufficient for anything other than a very ­limited role in the war and that they too would have to expand.1 The second ­factor pushing the administration ­toward conscription was the experiences of the British. Like the Americans, the British entered the war with a small professional army. When it became clear by the end of 1914 that the war would be prolonged and that they would have to field a much larger army, the British ­were



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faced with a serious dilemma. Britain now had to balance the manpower demands of home-­front industrial, agricultural, and administrative needs with t­ hose of manning a large fleet and a growing land force. A ­ fter having watched the British flailing against this prob­lem during the first two years of the conflict, within weeks of the United States joining the G ­ reat War, the Wilson administration determined that the best course for the nation was to create a selective ser­vice system that could reconcile all of the competing personnel demands of a mass total war. The Selective Ser­vice Act of May 1917 established the framework for the administration of the draft, as well as the minimum physical, m ­ ental, and moral requirements for ­those to be inducted. The act specified that draftees ­were to be drawn from men age 21 to 31. In September 1918, the government expanded the age requirements to include men age 18 to 45. The army’s minimum age of enlistment in 1917 was 18, but it would accept boys as young as 17 with their parents’ permission. In a few cases, boys as young as 14 or 15 wormed their way into the ser­vice by forging their parent’s signature or other­wise deceiving their recruiting sergeants. The average age of the doughboy was 24.89 years old, and 57 ­percent of the soldiers in the army w ­ ere men aged 20 to 25.2 One of the wisest moves made by the government in implementing the act was to use local draft boards to categorize the enrollees from their regions into five classifications based upon the individual’s importance to the overall war effort and to determine who would be liable for military ser­vice. In theory, citizens drawn from the community knew the needs of their areas and the backgrounds of the ­people who they ­were inducting, and they, not a distant and impersonal federal government, could make the best and fairest call on who would serve. The vast majority of the men drafted during the war came from Class I, t­ hose whose “military duty would least disturb the domestic and economic life of the nation.” The local boards ­were also empowered to grant deferments and exemptions to t­ hose unable to serve due to compassionate grounds, such as being the sole ­family provider. During the war the boards granted over 76 ­percent of the deferment requests that they received.3 However, the draft was not without its prob­lems. Although 24 million men registered for the draft, another 2.4 to 3.6 million men avoided ser­vice by simply failing to register at all. The government classified another 363,022 men as deserters ­because they failed to report before the draft board, did not report for induction, or absconded while in route to their training camps. The decentralization of the administration of the selective ser­vice presented its own challenges. The g­ reat latitude granted to the boards in determining who they would send to the ser­vice meant that local prejudices sometimes colored their actions. Some boards ­were more willing to grant waivers to married men than o­ thers, and in some regions, African Americans, immigrants, and other minorities ­were conscripted at rates greater than the native whites and ­were much less likely to be granted compassionate deferments. Despite ­these failings, the draft was still the fairest in American history. As both the larger society and the conscripts themselves generally believed that the nation’s cause was just, the draft proceeded without the upheavals and protests that marred the conscription efforts of the Civil War or the nation’s ­later conflicts. In the end, the majority of boards tried to be as fair as pos­si­ble and, most

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importantly, succeeded in maintaining the delicate balance between the manpower needs of the home and war fronts. Although the Wilson administration was wedded to the selective ser­vice system, it was reluctant to close off all paths to voluntary enlistments. ­Under the Selective Ser­vice Act of 1917, any man could still voluntarily enlist in existing Regular Army or National Guard units if he so chose. A ­ fter Congress amended the act on December 15, 1917, only men who had not yet been called to register for the draft could volunteer for the army, but even t­ hose already registered could still enlist in the U.S. Navy or Marines. On August 8, 1918, all voluntary enlistments ceased ­until the end of the war. During the war, the U.S. Army and National Guard accepted 877,458 men as volunteers. Nearly half of all ­these men (437,136) entered the ser­ vice between April and August 1917 during the rush of excitement at the start of the war. Enlistments again spiked in December 1917 when 141,931 voluntarily joined the ranks. With new restrictions on enlistments ­going into effect, the December 1917 volunteers wanted to be f­ ree of the lingering stigma of being a draftee and to have some control over the arm and branch of ser­vice they would enter. Although the men who volunteered for ser­vice in 1917 w ­ ere often ­those who most sought adventure or w ­ ere the most ardent for the war, the draftees who fought beside them generally proved to be as dedicated to the cause and as willing to undergo sacrifice as ­were the volunteers.

TRAINING World War I ushered in one of the greatest periods of military change in history. The 49 years between the end of the Civil War and the beginning of the ­Great War witnessed an unpre­ce­dented degree of weapons innovation. The development of smokeless powder; the Maxim gun; bolt-­action magazine ­rifles; and rapid-­fire, breach-­loading, recoil-­controlled artillery guns made the battlefield a much more expansive and lethal place. T ­ hese weapons, and their ability to shift the advantage to the defender, contributed to the trench stalemate that bedev­iled the combatants of the Western Front. To give the attacker some hope of rousting the defenders from their trenches, the war also encouraged the development of a host of new weapons and tactical techniques to include light automatic ­rifles, mortars, modern hand and ­rifle grenades, poison gas, tanks, and decentralized and dispersed small-­unit tactics. However, the fielding of each of ­these new weapons and concepts increased the complexity of combat and added ever greater demands on the training of soldiers and officers. With its equipment, organ­ization, doctrine, and mind-­set, in April 1917 the U.S. Army was woefully unprepared to meet the challenges of this kind of mass attritional war. While the U.S. Army had spent the previous three years chasing Mexican bandits and in other constabulary duties, the Eu­ro­pe­ans had essentially created modern high-­tech combined-­arms warfare. As the guardsmen, volunteers, and draftees began to fill newly formed divisions in training camps spread across the nation in the summer and fall of 1917, the army faced a host of systemic prob­lems that would stymie the training and effectiveness of the force throughout the war. One of the army’s first challenges was finding and



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training a cadre of officers and noncommissioned officers (NCOs) to instruct and lead the force. G ­ oing into the war, the army had no plan for a rapid expansion of the officer corps. Faced with no other ­viable option, the army hastily established 16 Officer Training Camps (OTCs) to provide officer candidates three months of training before they w ­ ere commissioned and sent to command platoons, companies, and battalions in the rapidly expanding force. Officer training throughout the war suffered from shortages of experienced instructors, equipment, and a realistic focus on the knowledge and skills the officers would require to fight on an exceptionally unforgiving battlefield. A gradu­ate of one of the first OTCs decried his training as being ­little more than “three months spent . . . ​learning wig-­wag and semaphore signaling and reenacting Civil War combat prob­lems through the mosquita filled swamps of Arkansas.” 4 Although the army sought to fix prob­lems with officer training in 1918 by adding an extra month to the training camps, the Ludendorff Offensives, and unexpectedly high American officer casualties in the summer and fall of 1918 prevented this plan from being implemented. In fact, in September 1918 officers ­were being sent to France with only two months of training. As the army expected its newly commissioned OTC officers to serve as the primary trainers of units from the squad to the battalion level, any flaw in their training quickly became evident in the preparation and combat per­for­mance of their units. It is l­ ittle won­der that the doughboys often derided their new officers as “90-­day won­ders” due to their leaders’ lack of training and experience. The training of NCOs was slighted to even a greater extent. The prewar army lacked any established system for the se­lection and training of NCOs. Long-­service com­pany commanders simply “tried out” their most talented soldiers as corporals, promoted t­hose who did well to sergeants, and expected them to learn the roles and responsibilities of an NCO during an extended apprenticeship. Although this ad hoc system worked well in a small professional army, ­these techniques ­were ill suited for a mass mobilization. Faced with no other option, all too often inexperienced officers simply made the draftees who showed up on Monday the NCOs for the draftees who showed up on Tuesday and then units sorted out who remained sergeants as best that they could over time. Without a trained and experienced corps of NCOs to aid them in the training of their units, officers tended to take on instructional and disciplinary roles that had previously been the purview of enlisted leaders. French and British officers frequently noted the lack of distinction and privilege granted to the American NCOs and the propensity of American officers to micromanage their sergeants. This often meant that when units suffered heavy officer casualties, their NCOs generally lacked the confidence and know-­how to assume combat leadership roles.5 The War Department understood the challenges that the army faced in leadership and experience and sought to solve ­these prob­lems by instituting a standardized training plan for all levels of command within a division. The War Department’s directive, Infantry Training, issued on August 27, 1917, mandated the establishment of 13 divisional schools for specialists and provided a detailed and progressive weekly training plan for the instruction of infantry and machine gun companies. The total course of instruction was to take 16 weeks, and its intent was to make it

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pos­si­ble for the division’s units “to take their places on the line” with a “minimum of training in France.” To appease John J. Pershing, in December 1917, the War Department extended the training plan to 18 weeks to add more emphasis on “open warfare.” 6 The original 16-­week training plan was to consist of 640 total hours of instruction. Of this time, the soldiers ­were to spend 41 hours in bayonet training, 56 hours in close order drill, 57 hours in extended order and trench warfare drills, and 27 hours in trench construction. In weapons training, the soldiers ­were to spend 40 hours in musketry and the fundamentals of the ­rifle, followed by 80 hours of individual, squad, and platoon firing. All soldiers ­were to spend 31 hours in hand grenade training and 6 hours of familiarization training on machine guns, automatic ­r ifles, and the other weapons of trench warfare. Weapons specialists (automatic riflemen and machine gunners) ­were scheduled an additional 80 hours in range firing, while other members of the com­pany spent that time in additional trench warfare training. Gas warfare and defense accounted for only 14 hours of the training plan. Once the basic training of the companies was complete, the divisions ­were to receive an additional month of training to focus on regimental, brigade, and division operations. Unfortunately, a host of ­factors prevented the War Department’s standardized training plan from being fully implemented by the divisions. Severe shortages of weapons and equipment undercut instruction, especially in the training of artillerymen, machine gunners, signalers, and other specialist troops. In fact, most artillerymen and machine gunners did not even see the weapons that they would use in combat u­ ntil they reached France. Stateside training was also hindered by inclement weather in the winter of 1917–1918 and the influenza epidemic that swept the country in the summer and fall of 1918. All in all, the training of the American divisions that arrived in France was often ill focused, uneven, and incomplete. No one was more aware of this than Pershing. To “secure a certain uniformity in standards” of the AEF and “give the troops the advantage of the latest tactical and technical developments and make up for the defects of training at home,” Pershing ordered that all arriving divisions undergo a uniform three-­month training period upon their arrival in France. The first month of training was conducted ­under the tutelage of the Allies and would focus on learning the new weapons and tactics of warfare at the com­pany level and below. The second month focused on trench warfare and culminated with American units occupying quiet sectors of the Allied trenches to undergo a degree of seasoning to combat. The final month of training taught the Americans how to maneuver, fight, and supply regiments and brigades in “open warfare.” ­After completing the initial three-­month training program, an additional month of training was dedicated to division operations.7 Unfortunately, Pershing’s well-­laid plans went astray when the Ludendorff Offensives in the spring and summer of 1918 forced him to shorten the doughboys’ training and rush them to occupy quiet sectors of the front to f­ ree up Allied manpower to meet the German attacks. Only the first four divisions that arrived in France completed Pershing’s training program. The ­later divisions went into ­battle with two or fewer months of additional training. Drawing equipment and moving to and from training sites and the front further cut deeply into the training that ­these



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late-­arriving divisions received. Captain Charles Minick, a com­pany commander in the 91st Division’s 361st Infantry, recorded in his diary that of the 68 days between his unit’s landing in France and being thrown into ­battle in the Meuse Argonne on September 26, only 20 ­were spent in combat training.8 Heavy American losses in the summer and spring of 1918 forced the army to further rush the stateside training of its soldiers to fill the AEF’s growing demand for replacements. The incomplete state of the replacements’ training quickly became apparent to the receiving officers and inspectors of the AEF’s 2nd Depot Division. Their reports between August and October 1918 noted that the replacements had under­gone ­little gas defense training and often had only a few days of marksmanship instruction before they sailed for France. Unfortunately, the AEF’s incessant demand for replacements meant that few of them received much additional training before being packed off to their combat units. In October 1918, the commander of the 307th Infantry reported that 90 ­percent of the 850 to 900 replacements that his unit received before they entered the fighting in the Argonne had never fired a ­rifle or thrown a grenade. The result of throwing such green men into ­battle was predictable. The AEF’s inspector general lamented, “Men who do not know the rudiments of soldiering soon become ­either ‘cannon fodder’ or skulkers.”9 Despite the overall poor training of the doughboys and their officers, ­those who survived their first shocks of ­battle often learned the painful lessons of fighting a modern war. Most importantly, while ­these green soldiers w ­ ere undergoing this rough education, they generally retained the discipline and ­will required to keep fighting against their better-­trained foe.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE National demographic trends and conscription ensured that the U.S. Army of the G ­ reat War was the most racially and ethnically diverse force that the republic had fielded up to that time. In terms of numbers, from 1885 to 1914, the nation witnessed the largest arrival of immigrants in its history. The flood of the “new immigrants” from southern and eastern Eu­rope dramatically changed the ethnic and religious demographics of Amer­i­ca. In addition to ­these ethnic minorities, unpre­ ce­dented numbers of ­women and racial minorities filled the army’s ranks. To a greater or lesser degree, all of t­ hese groups faced challenges in integrating into an institution dominated by white, native Protestant males, but all of t­ hese minorities also believed that their military ser­vice would strengthen their demands for full and equal inclusion into American society. Foreign-­born soldiers composed nearly 18 ­percent of the nation’s men in uniform. The army’s war­time assignment and transfer policies resulted in significant numbers of immigrants being assigned to nearly all of the AEF’s divisions. The randomness of the assignment pro­cess meant that, for the first time, immigrants and the native white populations ­were thrown together on a more or less equal basis. The army generally followed an enlightened approach to integrating foreign-­born men into its ranks. It established a Foreign-­Speaking Soldier Subsection within the Morale Branch to address the special concerns and needs of the immigrant

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doughboys. Unit commanders ­were also often willing to make special arrangements to accommodate their ethnic soldiers’ religious and cultural practices. In September 1918, the commander of Camp Upton arranged to transport 3,000 of his Jewish soldiers to New York City so they could attend Yom Kippur ser­vices, and in the same month, the 37th Division’s Protestant se­nior chaplain reported that his office had facilitated the cele­bration of the High Holy Days in France. This is not to say that the ethnic doughboys did not face the common prejudices and hysterical “100% Americanism” that marred war­time American society. Some immigrants reported that their native-­born officers and NCOs subjected to them to a constant stream of ethnic slurs and physical abuse. A morale officer at Camp Devens complained that “patriotic and loyal” immigrant soldiers w ­ ere being dispirited by being frequently called “ ‘Guineas,’ ‘wops,’ ‘squareheads,’ ­etc.” by their leaders. Despite ­these prob­lems, the ethnic doughboys still often viewed military ser­vice as a means of shouldering their way into the same American society that denigrated them.10 The greatest practical prob­lem that the army faced with immigrant soldiers was the fact that approximately a quarter of them lacked the basic English-­language skills required to function in the military. In September 1918, the commander of Camp Dodge, Iowa, reported that his post alone held soldiers speaking 35 dif­fer­ent languages or dialects, with many men lacking “a sufficient knowledge of En­glish to readily comprehend commands and read instructions in En­glish.” To address the language prob­lem, commanders across the United States established schools and printed foreign language–­to–­English dictionaries of military terms and commands to provide basic levels of En­glish comprehension to their soldiers. The most successful of ­these programs was established at Camp Gordon, Georgia. ­Under the “Camp Gordon Plan,” immigrant recruits arriving in camp ­were immediately assigned to a development battalion where their military and En­glish instruction was conducted by officers and NCOs who spoke the new soldier’s language. The recruit was only assigned to his combat unit ­after he had learned enough En­glish in the development battalion to properly function as a soldier. This instruction also fitted the immigrant soldier to better integrate into American society at the end of his ser­vice.11 With nearly 370,000 black soldiers serving in the ranks, African Americans composed the largest single minority group in the army during the war. The endemic racism within American society heaped extra and onerous privations and humiliations on ­these soldiers. Although the Regular Army’s 9th and 10th Cavalry and 24th and 25th Infantry regiments had served with distinction for over half a ­century prior to the war, the opposition of many white southern politicians to giving black soldiers military training severely curtailed the number of African American combat units during the ­Great War. The Wilson administration only reluctantly agreed to mobilize four black infantry regiments amalgamated from a number of African American National Guard units and to raise the 92nd Division composed of black draftees. This institutional racism meant that the vast majority of black soldiers served in noncombatant units during the war. Over 80 ­percent of the 200,000 African Americans who served in France ­were assigned to the stevedore units, l­abor battalions, and pioneer infantry regiments that did much of the AEF’s hardest and most unpleasant manual ­labor. Nearly all of the black soldiers who remained in the States w ­ ere relegated to performing stevedore or other “nonmilitary” l­abor.12



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African American troops practice using their bayonets in basic infantry training. Two African American units, the 92nd and 93rd Divisions, saw ser­vice on the Western Front. (Duncan-­Clark, S. J and W. R. Plewman. Pictorial History of the G ­ reat War, 1919)

The four black infantry regiments raised from National Guard units, namely the 369th, 370th, 371st, and 372nd Infantry, ­were initially intended to form the core of the 93rd Division. However, once ­these regiments arrived in France the U.S. Army’s antipathy for black combat units and Pershing’s desire to somewhat appease Allied demands for American manpower resulted in the 93rd Division being broken up before it was ever truly formed and its individual regiments assigned to fight with the French army for the duration of the war. Although the majority of the officers in ­these regiments ­were white, they generally wanted to see their units succeed. Furthermore, being brigaded with the French allowed the regiments to reach their combat potential without the burden of the institutional racism that was pervasive in the AEF. In the end, the regiments served with distinction while fighting with the French, but this valor came with a price. The regiments suffered a combined loss of 3,167 men during their time in France. The soldiers serving in the 92nd Division faced their own challenges. Unlike other divisions, the units of the 92nd ­were never gathered together at a single training camp during their time in the United States. This prevented the division from jelling as an organ­ization prior to reaching France. The division’s ju­nior officers came mostly from the 639 men who graduated from the army’s single Officer Training Camp held for black candidates at Camp Des Moines, Iowa, in 1917. All of the

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unit’s field-­grade and general officers ­were white, and many of ­these ­were southerners with ­little faith in the fighting abilities of their African American soldiers or officers. Due to ­these prob­lems, the 92nd Division’s per­for­mance in ­battle fell far short of the black regiments fighting with the French. Although all African American soldiers serving in the ­Great War had to deal with the racism of Jim Crow Amer­i­ca, the ones who suffered most from t­ hese indignities ­were t­ hose assigned to noncombatant duties in the United States and France. ­These men performed the army’s most menial tasks while being denied the “glory” of participating in the honorable aspects of military ser­vice. As one white officer admitted, “[T]he men have received so ­little drill and discipline that in only the most technical sense can they be called ‘soldiers.’ In real­ity they are simply low grade laborers in uniform, living u­ nder quasi-­military conditions.”13 Soldiers assigned to stevedore and ­labor battalions often received poor food and housing, had l­ittle access to entertainment and morale ser­vices, and ­were sometimes even denied the basic honor of wearing the ser­vice uniform. Part of ­these prob­lems stemmed from the fact that the white leaders in ­these units had ­little sympathy for their soldiers and ­were often drawn from the bottom of the officer corps. As one black doughboy complained, They treat us as though we are dogs. We are cursed and dogged around just as though we are not ­human at all. ­Every time we are given a command from one of the Cracker officers he has to curse us out. They take us out in the morning a­ fter mess, keep us standing in ranks in rain and snow and any kind of bad weather and ­won’t allow us to wear our overcoats. They walk around in the mess hall with a six shooter hanging on his hips and tell you what he ­will do with it.14

Despite all the humiliations heaped upon them, ­these soldiers still performed their duty. Without the work of ­these African American doughboys, the AEF would never have made it overseas, nor would the army have been able to function once it was established in France. As with the immigrant doughboys, black soldiers viewed their military ser­vice as a means of showing white native Amer­i­ca that they had a right to the benefits of full citizenship. ­Those serving in France had the further opportunity to live in a society largely ­free of the endemic racism of the United States. As Captain William Braddan noted of his fellow African American comrades, “[F]or the first time in their life they had been treated like men and the gentlemen that they ­were. They enjoyed liberty and ­were judged not by the color of their skin or texture of their hair, but by their real worth.”15 ­These soldiers returned from the war and continued the slow and difficult fight for equality. Unlike African Americans, Native and Hispanic Americans ­were fully integrated into white units. However, throughout the war t­hese soldiers still fought against racism and ste­reo­types to obtain equal treatment and status in American society. Despite the deep enmity that often existed between white Texans and Tejanos, being thrown together in the same units in combat tended to break down some of the barriers and provincialism that separated the groups. War ser­vice also furthered the assimilation of Hispanic Americans into the larger American society. Some soldiers, such as José de la Luz Sáenz, used their military ser­vice as a vehicle to



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demand social and po­liti­cal rights. He argued that he served in the “hope for a better ­f uture for our ­people who have been unjustly treated and scorned for so long.”16 Approximately 10,000 to 13,000 Native Americans also served during the war. Although Native Americans w ­ ere exempt from the draft ­unless they met the qualifications for U.S. citizenship ­under the Dawes Severalty Act of 1887 or the Burke Act of 1906, large numbers of them chose to volunteer. While the quest for equality encouraged some of ­these men to serve, ­others ­were drawn into the ranks by the high regard that warriors w ­ ere held within their socie­ties. Military ser­vice gave ­these men the right to claim positions of honor and leadership within their tribes when they left the military. It is in­ter­est­ing to note that their white comrades also believed that Native Americans w ­ ere natu­ral warriors possessing instinctive shooting and scouting skills. As such, ­these men ­were often held in high esteem by their comrades and ­were selected to serve as snipers, scouts, and messengers. Unfortunately, ­these high-­risk jobs frequently led to Native Americans suffering disproportionately high casualties during the war.17 Approximately 34,000 w ­ omen served in uniform in the armed ser­vices during the ­Great War. The majority of ­women in uniform, some 21,400, ­were in the nursing profession. At least 10,600 of the army’s ­women ­were assigned to the AEF. Of ­these, 10,000 ­were members of the Army Nurse Corps, 273 ­were the “Hello Girls” telephone operators at the AEF’s general headquarters, and the remaining ­women served as clerks, physical therapists, bacteriologists, or laboratory technicians. In addition several thousand more American ­women served in France in the Red Cross or other organ­izations that provided health care and morale ser­vices to the soldiers. The doughboys w ­ ere effusive in their praise of the ­women they encountered and singled out the army’s nurses for their skills, kindness, and dedication to the ser­vice.

DAILY LIFE Throughout history the overriding concerns of soldiers have been the Maslovian realities of food, clothing, and shelter. The expansion of the American army during the ­Great War vastly surpassed all previous efforts in the nation’s history in its scope and scale. The army was ill prepared for this massive growth and scrambled throughout the war to provide t­ hese basic necessities to its legions. In the spring and summer of 1917 the army’s first concern was building cantonments to h­ ouse and train its swelling ranks. In very short order it had to construct 32 mid-­sized towns from scratch, complete with ­water, power, sanitation, transportation, and logistics infrastructures. In the summer of 1917, the War Department was spending more money each month to build t­ hese camps than it had spent in a year on building the Panama Canal at the peak period of its construction. Most of the National Guard units arriving at their mobilization and training camps in the first months of the war ­were ­housed in massive tent cities while the army rushed to construct wooden barracks for the wave of draftees it expected to arrive in the camps in August and September. As the War Department originally anticipated that the National Guard units would only stay in camps for a short period

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before moving on to France, it initially took few mea­sures to improve the support and recreation infrastructures of the guard cantonments. Guardsmen often grumbled that their first weeks in camp ­were devoted to felling trees and clearing fields for use as training grounds and constructing the rudimentary administrative and sanitation architecture of their “boom towns.” When it became apparent that most guard units would not deploy as early as the army anticipated, the War Department scrambled to build more substantial bath h­ ouses, mess halls, theaters, and other amenities for the guard camps. Still, ­these improvements ­were slow in coming. Floyd Sosey complained that his unit did not have hot ­water installed in its bath ­houses ­u ntil December 1917. Another soldier wrote from Camp Hancock, Georgia, that he and his eight comrades ­were still living in an 18-­foot-­square tent in late September and ­were hurriedly putting in wood flooring and electric lights in anticipation of the coming winter.18 Life was somewhat less spartan for ­those soldiers living in wooden barracks. In the spring of 1917, army architects drafted standard sets of blueprints for barracks, hospitals, and other impor­tant buildings for its cantonments. The standard 120-­foot-­by-40-­foot wood framed two-­story barracks building was designed to ­house 150 men. Each barracks building had integral spaces for the unit’s mess hall, supply room, and com­pany administrative offices. The soldiers slept on individual iron cots or wooden two-­story bunk beds arranged in open squad bays that ­were heated by wood or coal-­burning stoves and illuminated by electric lights. Each com­ pany also maintained a detached bath h­ ouse where the men bathed and did their laundry. Officers and se­nior NCOs lived in single-­room apartments in standardized 150-­foot-­by-25-­foot single-­story buildings that ­were segregated from the troop barracks.19 The lodging that the doughboys occupied in France was of a much greater variety and quality than ­those in the United States. Soldiers training with the British and French often lived in tent cities or in the prefabricated metal Nissen huts and Adrian barracks that resembled the famous Quonset huts of World War II. Doughboys living in the camps that dotted the vast expanse of the Ser­vices of Supply (SOS), the AEF’s logistics command, generally lived in barracks constructed using the same plans as t­hose used in the States or in existing French army stone barracks. Soldiers in units moving to or from the front slept in two-­man shelter-­half tents or ­were quartered on the French citizenry. ­Under the provisions of the État de Siége acts, French towns and citizens ­were required to provide billets, w ­ ater, stabling, heating fuel, and other necessities to French and Allied soldiers. Generally, only officers and se­nior NCOs ­were quartered in French homes, while their soldiers slept in the town’s barns, outbuildings, ware­houses, and schools. ­Under French law and AEF regulations, a French homeowner was paid 1 franc per night for lodging an officer, 20 centimes per night if they provided a bed to an NCO or soldier, and 5 centimes per soldier, per night if they allowed the troops to sleep in their barns or other nonresidential structures.20 Food and ­water have always been the soldier’s most pressing need. When training in the United States or in garrison duties in France, the doughboys w ­ ere fed a balanced, if somewhat bland and monotonous, diet that provided each man approximately 4,200 calories per day. The Manual for Army Cooks provided com­pany



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mess sergeants with a sample daily menu that consisted of corn flakes, baked sweet potatoes, cantaloupe, bread, egg omelets, coffee, and milk for breakfast; Spanish-­ style fish, mashed potatoes, creamed peas, sliced tomatoes and onions, bread and butter, and tapioca pudding for dinner; and El Rancho stew, steamed rice, assorted rolls, stewed tomatoes, apple pie, and iced tea for supper. Despite the army’s efforts to train com­pany cooks and mess sergeants to prepare hearty, appetizing, and sanitary food, the quality of the meals that the soldiers received varied greatly depending on the skills and diligence of the mess hall personnel. As the mess sergeants ­were given a bud­get of 26 to 32 cents per soldier a day to “purchase” their ingredients from a central commissary ware­house, they sometimes skimped on ingredients to “stay in the black” on their balance sheets. Despite ­these prob­lems, on the ­whole the garrison ration proved hearty and plentiful enough to meet the caloric demands of soldiers undergoing training and hard manual ­labor. In fact, Private Milton Sweningsen claimed that in his first eight months in uniform he bulked up from 134 pounds to 162 pounds.21 The greatest prob­lem that the army faced in feeding the doughboys came when the soldiers ­were on the march or ­were in ­battle. ­Every infantry com­pany was issued a rolling field kitchen capable of providing hot meals to the soldiers at the end of a march or while fighting. The configuration of the cookers and the ingredients readily at hand led most cooks to use the kitchens to prepare a meat and vegetable stew commonly termed “slum” by the doughboys. “Slum” was so ubiquitous in the AEF that most soldiers would have echoed Private Albert Ettinger’s complaint that “We ­were stewed to death.” The army intended that soldiers at the front would also be issued fresh bread whenever pos­si­ble. By the time of the Armistice, the army’s 69 bakery companies ­were producing over 1.8 million pounds of bread per day. The prob­lem came in the distribution system. The bread was hand loaded into unsanitary railcars before being transloaded into equally unsanitary trucks for issue at divisional rations dumps. In transit or while awaiting issue, the bread was frequently exposed to dirt, weather, gas, or other f­actors that made it inedible. The soldiers who most benefited from fresh meat and bread rations ­were ­those men far removed from the front.22 The real challenge in feeding the doughboys came when they entered combat. AEF General ­Orders 18 mandated that the army’s field ration would consist of 12 ounces of bacon or 16 ounces of canned meat, 16 ounces of hard bread, 4 ounces of beans, 8 ounces of potatoes, 1.28 ounces of dried fruit or jam, 1.12 ounces of coffee, 3.2 ounces of sugar, half an ounce of milk, and a small amount of salt and pepper per soldier per day. Whenever pos­si­ble, cooks w ­ ere to consolidate the men’s rations and cook them using the rolling kitchens to provide hot meals to the troops in the line. Unfortunately, ­these ­orders seldom matched real­ity. Due to blocked roads, garbled ­orders, and the need to shelter field kitchens from artillery fire, the mess wagons often became separated from their companies or ­were too far removed from the fighting to quickly and easily bring the rations forward. As such, when and if the rations did reach the front, they w ­ ere often cold upon arrival.23 By and large the doughboys survived in ­battle on an unappetizing and ill-­balanced diet of cold canned meat or salmon (termed “Corned Willy,” “monkey meat,” and “goldfish” by the soldiers), hard bread, pork and beans, canned vegetables,

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and soluble coffee. The hard bread was a two-­inch-­by-­two-­inch cracker made from flour, salt, and ­water that came packed in eight-­ounce cardboard or tin containers. It was the direct descendant of the Civil War era’s hardtack, and like its pre­de­ces­sor, was noted for its teeth-­wearing rigidity. Each combat doughboy was also issued an emergency ration: a tin container small enough to fit in the tunic pocket that consisted of three 3-­ounce cakes of a compressed beef, cooked wheat, and three 1-­ounce bars of choco­late. The soldiers w ­ ere only to eat the emergency ration when ordered to do so by an officer. The AEF’s inevitable recourse to feeding the doughboys canned rations and hard bread as its primary combat rations presented two intractable prob­lems. First, the rations themselves ­were heavy and bulky, making it difficult for rations parties to move food forward to the troops in ­battle. Between October 12 and 16, while engaged in continuous fighting in the Argonne, a com­pany commander in the 126th Infantry admitted that due to the near impossibility of bringing up hot rations his soldiers subsisted on the small quantity of hard bread and canned corned beef that his stretcher ­bearers could bring back to the front ­after evacuating the unit’s wounded. When coupled with the exertions of ­battle, days of short rations had sapped the stamina of his troops. The soldiers in this com­pany w ­ ere far from being alone in this dilemma. In early October 1918, Paul Andrews wrote to his ­mother that all he had to eat for three days at the front was a “can of corn beef, a can of salmon, and a small can of hard tac.” The second prob­lem with the ration of canned food was that even when available in sufficient quantities, it lacked the balanced nutrition needed to maintain the soldier’s energy and endurance in combat. Division medical officers often complained that a steady diet of ­these rations quickly eroded the heath and combat effectiveness of the doughboys. Unfortunately, given the intractable prob­ lems of combat and logistics that dominated the ­Great War’s battlefield, the AEF had no better alternative to t­ hese rations.24 The other key ingredient of the doughboys’ rations was fresh ­water. As with canned rations, ­water was heavy and bulky and was thus equally difficult for commanders at the front to supply to their troops. The army intended that the doughboy’s one-­quart canteen was to carry enough ­water for one day’s needs. Unfortunately, given the saltiness of the combat rations and the hard ­labor of ­battle, even when doughboys acquired extra canteens to double their ­water capacity, few soldiers ­were able to carry enough w ­ ater to meet their needs. Each com­pany had a ­water wagon as part of its kitchen, but the only way to bring ­water to the front was by sending back empty canteens and having rations parties send back full ones. As each full canteen weighed just u­ nder three pounds, the ponderous load required to quench the thirst of 250 men in an infantry com­pany often ground the resupply of ­water to a halt. When the supply chain broke down, the soldiers at the front drank from streams, muddy ditches, shell holes, and other unwholesome sources of ­water. Predictably, this led to an epidemic of dysentery and other stomach ailments in the AEF that further eroded its combat effectiveness in the Meuse Argonne. The last g­ reat Maslovian requirement of the doughboys was clothing. The army had two major combat uniforms during the war: the M1910 cotton uniform and the M1912/M1917 wool uniform (the M1917 was a simplified war­time version of



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the M1912). Due to the climate of France and his desire to conserve as much precious shipping space as pos­si­ble, Pershing mandated that only wool uniforms would be used in the AEF. As such, we w ­ ill focus on that uniform. The M1917 uniform worn in the AEF consisted of an olive drab four-­pocket tunic with a choker collar, jodhpur-­style breeches that ­were wide at the hip and tapered at the ankles, a pair of woolen spiral puttees, and a pair of heavy marching boots. The tight fit at the calf of the breeches, the choker collar, and the clothing’s coarse wool made the M1917 the most uncomfortable combat uniform worn by the American soldier in the past 100 years. A veteran of the 2nd Division complained that his uniform was as “rough as a coyote’s coat,” and ­others decried the uniform’s poor fit and propensity for allowing lice to propagate.25 The soldiers’ greatest criticism of their uniforms was often directed at their spiral puttees and boots. The spiral puttees w ­ ere a length of woolen cloth roughly three inches wide and nine feet long that ­were wrapped around the ankle from the tops of the boots and over the breeches to a position just ­under the knees. The puttees ­were intended to keep mud and other debris from entering the boots and to support the soldier’s ankles. It took time and skill to properly wrap the puttees, for if they w ­ ere too loose they would unwind and trip up the soldier; if wrapped too tight, they would cut off the flow of blood to the feet. The M1917 trench boot and the heavier and more durable M1918 “Pershing” boot ­were the doughboys’ standard footwear in France. The boots ­were ankle-­length, and their leather ­soles ­were studded with hobnails. They ­were dubbed “­little tanks” by the footsore doughboys due to their weight and bulk. The doughboys’ primary means for keeping out the cold was a heavy wool double-­breasted greatcoat. Although the greatcoats w ­ ere warm, they shed w ­ ater poorly, and their long skirts often became caked in mud while the soldiers ­were marching or fighting. This, coupled with the garment’s natu­ral bulk, hindered the soldiers’ ease of movement and made the greatcoat ill suited for modern combat. Officer uniforms ­were of the same basic cut and style as ­those of the enlisted men’s but ­were privately purchased and made of a higher-­quality cloth. The features of the uniform that distinguished the officer from the soldiers ­were narrow braids sewn round both cuffs, rank insignia pinned on each shoulder strap, and the insignia on the collar. In the AEF, officers ­were also easily identified outside the front lines by their wearing of the Sam Brown b­ elt, a waist b­ elt with a shoulder strap that passed diagonally across the torso.

RELIGION The doughboys’ religious beliefs ­were as varied as ­those of the nation that they served. Although Protestants, taken as a ­whole, comprised the largest religious group in the United States, the flow of immigrants into the nation in the 60 years prior to the G ­ reat War had dramatically changed the religious diversity of the republic. The army reflected ­these changes. A survey of the religions of 25,607 soldiers training at Camp Devens, Mas­sa­chu­setts, in August 1918 revealed that 11,783 of the soldiers ­were Catholics, 11,045 ­were from vari­ous Protestant denominations,

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931 ­were Jewish, 676 ­were Greek Orthodox, 261 ­were Christian Scientist, and 30 ­were Muslims. Another 133 simply claimed to be “Christians,” while 594 stated that they had no religious preference, and 7 more avowed that they w ­ ere atheist or “­f ree thinkers.” Of the 10,034 soldiers polled in the 36th  Division, 86 ­percent ­were Protestants, 13 ­percent ­were Catholics, and the unit contained only 190 Jewish soldiers. In October 1918, the African American 92nd Division contained only 520 Catholics, and the vast majority of its remaining soldiers ­were Protestants, mostly from the Baptist and African Methodist Episcopalian denominations.26 Although the diversity of faith and army policies that encouraged religious toleration generally discouraged secular tensions in the ranks, the military took a dim view of conscientious objection on religious or moral grounds. War­time draft laws and policies did not allow for exemptions based on religion or personal objections to war, but did allow local draft boards to consider ­these f­ actors in their conscription decisions. When the boards w ­ ere uncertain of the sincerity of the draftee or followed the letter of the law, they simply sent the objector on to a training camp to have the camp commander adjudicate the case. The only concession that the commanders generally granted religious or moral objectors was the ability of t­hese men to serve in noncombatant roles. The personal views of the camp commander on conscientious objection often drove how ­these men ­were treated. The commander of Camp Funston, Major General Leonard Wood, gained a reputation for being particularly unsympathetic to ­these men and encouraged his officers and soldiers to take official and often brutal unsanctioned actions to bring them into line. ­Whether by gentle persuasion or by less subtle methods, most objectors ultimately agreed to serve in uniform, and the most famous of them, Alvin York, went on to win the Medal of Honor. However, the army still convicted 371 conscientious objectors for refusing to wear the uniform, to obey ­orders, or to serve in any military capacity and sentenced most of them to long prison sentences. All in all, however, the army should be commended for its overall progressive outlook in ­matters of religion. The religious diversity of the ranks, for example, was also reflected in the makeup of the army’s war­time chaplain corps. Prior to the ­Great War, most of the Regular Army’s chaplains had been drawn from the largest Protestant denominations. The decision to build the army around conscription was met by the public’s demand that the military also meet the religious needs of a much greater array of beliefs. For the first time in the nation’s history, the army commissioned large numbers of Catholic chaplains and a small number of chaplains from the Jewish, Mormon, and African faiths, as well as a host of small evangelical denominations. The army even commissioned a few preachers from the Salvation Army and Church of Christian Science. Despite the variety of the denominational backgrounds of ­these “Sky Pi­lots,” the army expected that they would minister equally to all of the men of their units, regardless of the soldier’s faith. The majority of the chaplains seemed to have embraced this ecumenical spirit, and it was far from unusual for them to learn the vari­ous rites of other denominations in order to better comfort the soldiers that they served. The army’s goal was to have one chaplain for ­every 1,200 men. However, foot dragging by Congress in passing legislation to authorize this increase in numbers and the army’s own failure to envision a need for expanding the chaplain corps



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prior to the war caused the military to scramble to find this many clerics. Fortunately, the War Department was able to turn to the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in Amer­i­ca and the National Catholic War Council for establishing a system to select, vet, and train its would-be chaplains. Despite the efforts of t­hese groups, the army was never able to commission enough chaplains to meet the spiritual need of its soldiers. A month prior to the Armistice, the AEF only had 789 chaplains on duty in France, which left Pershing short by approximately 420 clergymen. The doughboys set high standards of be­hav­ior for their “Sky Pi­lots.” To win the doughboys’ affection chaplains had to be religious, but not preachy, and to be moral, but willing to overlook the soldiers’ swearing and minor ethical lapses. Most importantly, the soldiers expected their chaplains to “act as a man among men” by exhibiting personal courage in ­battle and sharing the men’s hardships in and out of the line. ­T hose who met ­these exacting values, like ­Father Francis Duffy, ­were rewarded with the soldiers’ re­spect and love, while ­those who fell short quickly found themselves shunned as useless appendages to the military machine. It is difficult to make anything but an informed guess about the degree to which the soldiers’ military ser­vice influenced their religious views. The closeness and randomness of death on the World War I battlefield certainly encouraged some men to lose their faith, while ­others, such as Alvin York, had their religious views strengthened by their ordeals. War does tend to bring young soldiers to a shocking realization of their own mortality, and many during the war did turn to religion to help to cope with this fact. Beginning in the summer of 1918, the AEF chief of chaplains required all of the army’s chaplains to submit monthly reports detailing the religious and pastoral ser­vices that they conducted each month. For example, in the last month of the war, chaplains in the 81st Division held 95 ser­vices attended by 14,175 soldiers, and the chaplains of the 92nd Division performed 176 ser­vices for 25,344 soldiers. As a division contained 28,000 men, religion seemed to have played a major role in the life of the soldiers in t­ hese units. Reports from other divisions usually mirror ­those of the 81st and 92nd and indicate that many, and perhaps most, soldiers in combat units sought some degree of religious comfort during their time in France.27

POPU­L AR CULTURE Prior to the G ­ reat War, the Regular Army was often viewed by the American p­ eople as an organ­ization that tolerated sin and dissipation due to the fact that its ranks ­were filled by immigrants and other men who simply could not make a go of any honest employment. Reports that the Regular Army and National Guard camps on the southern border during the Mexican crisis of 1916 ­were overrun with booze, gambling dives, and prostitutes only reinforced to the ­mothers, ­fathers, and wives of Amer­i­ca that military ser­vice was dangerous to the health and morals of the soldiers. ­These groups pressured the government to ensure that their boys would not be exposed to such temptations when they volunteered or w ­ ere drafted into the ser­ vice. Clauses in the Selective Ser­vice Act of 1917 made camp commanders and

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local community leaders responsible for prohibiting the selling of alcohol to soldiers on and around the training camps, for closing city red-­light districts and cracking down on prostitution, and for suppressing gambling dens and dance halls in their areas. For the first time, the army also established a Morale Branch as part of the general staff to ensure that the doughboys’ social and moral well-­being, as well as their po­liti­cal loyalty, was being maintained. As the army had few resources and even less time to provide its soldiers with the ­wholesome diversions and entertainment that the American ­people demanded, it essentially “subcontracted” this work to civilian social and religious organ­izations: most importantly, the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), American Red Cross (ARC), Salvation Army (SA), Knights of Columbus (K of C), and the Jewish Welfare Board (JWB). The work of ­these organ­izations was coordinated through the Commission on Training Camp Activities (CTCA), overseen by the noted social reformer Raymond Fosdick. ­Under the CTCA’s directions the vari­ous groups or­ga­ nized sports and entertainment events and built and manned recreation huts, theaters, and other structures for maintaining the morals and morale of the troops both in the United States and in Eu­rope. In the stateside training camps the doughboys ­were particularly pleased to have recreation huts so as to escape the dreariness of military life. ­These organ­izations also established “hostess ­houses” in the major stateside camps where families and unescorted ­women could meet their soldiers in an inexpensive, comfortable, and chaperoned environment.

U.S. soldiers play baseball at a YMCA fa­cil­i­t y in France during World War I. During lulls in the fighting, troops played a wide variety of sports, reflecting popu­lar culture in the United States. (Library of Congress)



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Although soldiers stationed in the United States enjoyed an abundance of entertainment opportunities, the same could not be said for ­those serving in Eu­rope. The pace of the AEF’s training and operations, and the difficulty in finding shipping space to bring over the materials and personnel to establish a robust entertainment infrastructure in France, generally meant that recreational outlets for the AEF’s doughboys ­were very ­limited prior to the Armistice. Due to its size and capabilities, Pershing allowed the YMCA to spearhead much of the AEF’s morale efforts. Unfortunately, the extent of the organ­ization’s reach also led the AEF’s quartermaster to make the YMCA the army’s commissary agent for ­r unning canteens and operating stores that would sell cigarettes, refreshments, and sundries to the doughboys. The YMCA’s inherent conflict between raising money at home to provide for the comfort of the troops and si­mul­ta­neously selling comfort items in France ultimately caused the organ­ization no end of trou­ble with the doughboys. The soldiers ­were angered that many of the male YMCA workers ­were of military age, ­were never seen close to the front, and often pushed the organ­ization’s religious agenda in a “holier than thou” manner. The doughboys also accused the “Damn Y,” as the agency was nearly universally known to the men, of overcharging them on commissary items and frequently selling them items that ­were donated by ­people from the States for f­ ree issue to the troops. Although the doughboys had ­little good to say about the YMCA, they ­were nearly unan­i­mous in their praise of the ARC, K of C, SA, and JWB. As ­these organ­izations had fewer personnel than the YMCA, they established fewer huts and other set locations. This allowed them to travel more freely with the flow of the troops and often meant that their personnel w ­ ere found much closer to the front than t­hose of the YMCA. They also provided nearly all of the items that they gave the soldiers for ­free. One angry officer informed an army investigator ­after the Armistice, “despite the fact that the YMCA had more funds than any other Welfare organ­ization over ­here, they gave less than any. What the Red Cross, Salvation Army and K of C had, they gave freely at all times and gave it gratis. The YMCA did not.”28 The soldiers particularly praised the work of the “doughnut lassies” of the Salvation Army. ­These w ­ omen could always be found close to the front cheerfully ladling out coffee and frying doughnuts for the troops marching to and from b­ attle. Despite the challenges that the AEF faced in providing recreation to its nomadic population, it was still able to bring some entertainment to the troops. The AEF was greatly assisted in ­these efforts by the wave of patriotism that swept the nation and the willingness of many in the nation to give their time and money to support the troops. While a co­ali­tion of acting guilds and patriotic performers such as George M. Cohan and Irving Berlin brought acts to camps across the United States, another group of entertainers formed the Over T ­ here Theater League to bring per­ for­mances and lectures to France. The most popu­lar of ­these was Elsie Janis, who won the nickname “the Sweetheart of the AEF” for her unflagging efforts to entertain the troops in France throughout the war. Unfortunately, acts by the theater league ­were few and far between, and the doughboys sometimes staged their own amateur theatrics to kill some of the boredom that is part and parcel of army life. The demographics of the conscript army often provided units with enough

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soldiers with musical or other talents to provide at least some basis for t­ hese exhibitions. In fact, one officer claimed, “The entertainment which seems to have caused the army the greatest amount of enjoyment has been the soldier show.”29 The doughboys also had the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of the nation’s growing motion picture industry. Theaters in camps in the States had access to a wide range of cartoons, shorts, news clips, and full-­length movies. Soldiers serving in France, however, had a much narrower range of options. Only 372 movies arrived in France from August 1917 to April 1918, but many more arrived once shipping space became available ­after the Armistice. In April 1919 alone, the YMCA reported that it held 4,392 film showings. One of the most popu­lar recreational outlets for the doughboys was reading. Their desire to cope with the crushing boredom of military life and to improve themselves during their time in the ser­vice encouraged soldiers to be voracious readers. Most of the doughboys’ need for reading material was provided by the 5 million books given to the troops by the American Library Association (ALA) and by a variety of soldier newspapers. A soldier in the AEF noted that the soldiers trea­sured the books they came across and passed them around their units ­until they ­were “literally worn out by ­handling.”30 The doughboys also had an unquenchable thirst for news. In the United States soldiers obtained their news from national and local newspapers and from a host of post and unit papers such as the 26th Division’s Wadsworth Gas Attack, Camp Lewis’ The Bugle, and the Trench and Camp, a paper published in vari­ous cantonments by the YMCA. Although some units continued to print their own newssheets while in France, the most impor­tant newspaper in the AEF was Stars and Stripes. It ran from February 8, 1918, to June 13, 1919, and contained news from the states and the AEF, notification of army policy changes, cartoons, sports, and a venue for soldiers to air their annoyances with army life. When Stars and Stripes shut down its operations, its replacement, The AMROC News, served as the newspaper for troops serving in the occupation of Germany. While it was not classified as recreation, the doughboys did view the AEF’s educational opportunities as a diversion from the routine of soldiering. The U.S. Army of the ­Great War reflected the Progressive Era’s faith that the nation’s prob­ lems could be solved with education. Many officers viewed education as a means for “Americanizing” the immigrants; bridging the class divide; and turning the soldier into a more patriotic, industrious, and productive citizen. To further ­these goals and to keep idle hands busy as the soldiers waited to return home, following the Armistice, Pershing ordered regiments and divisions to establish unit schools to teach basic subjects such as American history and civics. In February 1919, he went even further, directing the establishment of the AEF University in Beaune, France. The university offered both academic and vocational courses and even ran a 250-­acre farm where students learned agricultural science and modern farming techniques. Nearly 10,000 other soldier-­scholars attended classes at civilian universities in France and Britain. ­These classes boosted the morale of the students by giving them a sense that they ­were ­doing something productive with their time in the army.



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One of the most popu­lar forms of recreation for soldiers in Eu­rope was ­simple tourism. Relatively small numbers of native-­born Americans had ventured outside of the United States prior to the ­Great War. Even most immigrant doughboys seemed to have had l­ ittle opportunity to enjoy the cultural trea­sures of Eu­rope before moving to the United States. Although the pace of operations that followed the Ludendorff Offensives curtailed the chance that the AEF’s combat doughboys had to “see the sights” prior to the Armistice, their letters, diaries, and memoirs ­were still filled with references to the museums, cathedrals, and other historical sites they visited. Although many of the young Americans believed that French society was generally quaint and backward in comparison to that of the United States, they ­were often impressed by the history and culture that surrounded them. The one place that the doughboys near universally sought to visit was Paris. Some ­were drawn to the cultural aspects of the city, while o­ thers wanted to experience the more hedonistic offerings of the “City of Lights.” As Clarence L. Mahan recalled, Many of us ­were from the country or small towns and had always heard of Paris as such an unusual city with museums, beautiful ­women, excellent wine and the Eiffel Tower. When the 16th  Infantry blew in we found Paris all we had heard about it and more so. The ­women ­were nice-­looking but no more so than the girls back home, but ­those girls ­were ­there and the girls in Paris ­were ­here. The girls out in the French countryside acted afraid of the American soldiers but not the girls in Paris. The 16th  Infantry was not looking for museums. We did see the Eiffel Tower but we ­were more interested in the girls and French wine. We also had heard of the wonderful French food. We did not change Paris but the 16th Infantry was prob­ably never the same. If for no other reason the memories of our visit to Paris ­were ­things to hold on to.31

The coming of the Armistice opened even more possibilities for the doughboy-­ tourists. In the first two and a half months of 1919, over 118,920 doughboys partook in YMCA sightseeing excursions in Paris. However, Paris was not the only doughboy destination. The army contracted with the YMCA to run 19 leave areas in the French Alps, Côte d’Or, and the Riviera. Soldiers enjoyed ­free food, lodging, and entertainments in some of Eu­rope’s premier ­hotels and resorts. The best part of ­these leaves, one soldier claimed, was the ability to “live like civilians for a ­little more than a week.”32 In both the United States and in the AEF, sports ­were the most common form of recreation for the soldiers. The army used sports and physical training as a means of increasing the soldier’s stamina and for building teamwork and aggressiveness. On average, soldiers training in the United States spent an hour or more each day on exercise and sports. The most popu­lar athletic competitions ­were baseball, football, basketball, and boxing. In a single week in October 1918, soldiers at Camp Jackson played 1,650 games of baseball, 667 of football, and 662 of basketball. As the numbers, and soldier accounts, indicate, baseball was the “­great American pastime” for the doughboys. “Baseball,” one soldier noted, “is, of course, the game. It ­doesn’t take long to get one started when the men are off duty. Back of the barracks ­there is a game ­going on most of the time.” Building upon the soldiers’ passion for sports, many units fielded teams that competed

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with other military and civilian sporting organ­izations. For example, in November 1917, the 35th Division’s football team took on the squad of the University of Oklahoma.33 Sports w ­ ere also popu­lar in the AEF but w ­ ere somewhat hindered by the realities of the war and the April 1918 sinking of the SS Oronsa, the ship carry­ing much of the athletic equipment intended for Pershing’s soldiers. Sporting competitions skyrocketed ­after the Armistice as soldiers and AEF officials sought means to cope with restlessness and monotony. The highpoint of the AEF’s athletic endeavors was the Inter-­Allied Games, held from June 22 to July 6, 1919. Teams from 28 Allied nations participated in the games, and the American team was composed of soldiers from across the AEF who had competed for coveted slots on the squad. The Americans did well at the games, taking first place in half of the events.

PAY AND COMPENSATION The one area where the Americans easily won competitions with their Allied comrades was pay and compensation. Although they ­were much better remunerated than the soldiers of other nations, the doughboys themselves certainly did not feel that they ­were well paid. A private was paid $30 monthly, or roughly a dollar a day, and a sergeant without technical skills received $38. As a point of comparison, in 1918 the average factory worker was earning approximately $4.24 to $6.36 per day. Enlisted men with technical skills received specialist pay that dramatically increased their salaries. A master aviation mechanic NCO, for example, was paid $121.50 per month. Officers, of course, received more pay than their soldiers. A second lieutenant earned $141.67 a month, a captain $200, a col­o­nel $333.33, and a lieutenant general $916.67. Although the American private’s yearly pay of $360 was often below that of his civilian counterpart, he was still much better paid than the British and French soldiers. A Tommy (British) received the equivalent of $89 a year, while a Poilu (French) pocketed only $20 a year. The doughboys’ other compensations also surpassed t­ hose of their Allies, but the government expected the American soldiers to make contributions to receive their benefits package. The government offered the doughboys war risk insurance, a subsidized policy that paid out $10,000 if the soldier was killed or permanently disabled while in the ser­vice. To get this full coverage, the soldier had to allot $6.60 of his monthly pay. The government also sought to care for the doughboy’s ­family, but only if the man himself contributed to the maintenance of his dependents. If the soldier agreed to send at least half of his pay home, the government would provide a matching or greater amount of money to his ­family. The government’s allotment to the ­family was based upon size. A ­family consisting of a wife and one child received $25 per month from the government plus the private soldier’s $15; one consisting of a wife with two ­children received $32.50 a month from the government, and larger families received an additional $5 a month for each additional child. The government also provided allotments to the soldier’s parents or siblings if the soldier was their sole financial supporter.34



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WEAPONRY The 50 years leading up to the ­Great War was one of the most revolutionary periods of military technical change in h­ uman history. The advent of smokeless powder, machine guns, modern rapid-­fire artillery, and magazine ­rifles made the World War I battlefield exceptionally deadly. To add to this lethal stew, the pressing need to break the trench deadlock further encouraged the conflict’s combatants to field new weapons such as the tank, poison gas, flamethrowers, and light automatic weapons. For the sake of brevity, this section ­will focus only on ­those weapons found in an American infantry regiment. In his first directive laying out the plan for training in the AEF, Pershing made it clear that “[t]he ­rifle and the bayonet are the principal weapons of the infantry soldier.”35 Like many Regular Army officers, he believed that Americans had a special talent for marksmanship and that this skill would give the doughboys a marked advantage on the battlefields of France. Although few doughboys achieved the level of shooting proficiency that Pershing expected, the fault was certainly not with the ­rifles that they carried. The two standard ­rifles used during the war ­were the M1903 Springfield and the M1917. Both ­were 30.06-­caliber bolt-­action ­rifles with five round internal box magazines. Soldiers reloaded both weapons using five-­round stripper clips and ­were able to fire 15 to 25 shots a minute using ­either ­rifle. The M1903 was the standard U.S. r­ ifle when the United States entered the war and was one of the most accurate, elegant, and handy ­rifles ever carried by American infantrymen. Its greatest drawback was that it could not be manufactured in sufficient numbers to arm the growing number of draftees that ­were swelling the army’s ranks in 1917. Most of the Springfield Arsenal’s ­limited production of M1903 ­rifles during the war went to Regular Army, National Guard, and Marine units. Fortunately for the Americans, when the United States declared war on Germany, Remington and Winchester ­were producing the Pattern 14 ­rifle ­under contract for the British army. When it became clear that it would be unable to manufacture enough M1903 ­r ifles to meet its needs, the U.S. Army Ordnance Department requested that Remington and Winchester rechamber the Pattern 14 to caliber 30.06 and mass-­produce the redesigned weapons for the Americans. The resulting ­rifle, the M1917, was ultimately carried by 75 ­percent of the doughboys in the war. Both the M1903 and the M1917 ­were reliable and accurate ­rifles, but ­because the M1917 was nearly three inches longer and a pound heavier than the M1903, most doughboys preferred the Springfield. The bayonet was the second component of the infantryman’s armament. Pershing viewed the weapon as the embodiment of his army’s “aggressive spirit” and demanded that the doughboy be trained with it to the point where he “feels himself, as a bayonet fighter; invincible in ­battle.” The M1903 ­rifle’s 16-­inch bayonet and the M1917 ­rifle’s 17-­inch bayonet ­were certainly fearsome-­looking weapons, but despite Pershing’s expectations, the nature of ­battle in the ­Great War gave ­little opportunity for the use of ­these blades. Although doughboys often attacked with their bayonets fixed, few Germans ­were skewered by ­these weapons. In fact, over the course of the war, only 235 Americans ­were themselves treated for bayonet wounds.36

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A much more lethal weapon than ­either the ­rifle or the bayonet was the machine gun. The four main machine guns used in the AEF w ­ ere the French M1914 Hotchkiss, the British Vickers gun, the M1915 U.S. Vickers gun, and the M1917 U.S. Browning gun. As with most t­ hings, the Americans found themselves woefully short of machine guns when it entered the war. The Americans filled their needs for machine guns mostly by turning to the Allies. The French M1914 Hotchkiss gun was the most common machine gun used in the AEF. This weapon was chambered for the 8-mm Lebel cartridge and was loaded by inserting flimsy metal 24-­round clips into the weapon’s receiver. The M1914 was an air-­cooled tripod-­mounted gun that weighed over 110 pounds. When moving the M1914 the crew could break the weapon down into its component parts, but the weight of the gun and its ammunition still made repositioning the weapon a laborious, slow, and deadly pro­cess. The British and U.S. Vickers guns and the M1917 Browning gun w ­ ere all belt-­ fed water-­cooled machine guns. The use of cloth ­belts and ­water cooling gave ­these weapons a greater rate of sustained fire and dependability than the M1914. They ­were all capable of firing between 500 and 600 rounds a minute, although the ­actual rate of fire in combat was one 250-­round ­belt of ammunition per minute. Like the Hotchkiss, ­these guns ­were ponderous, with the Vickers weighing in at 98 pounds with a full ­water jacket. The M1917 was perhaps the best machine gun of the war. John Browning managed to craft an exceptionally reliable mechanism for the gun and to reduce the weight of the weapon to 84.5 pounds, making it one of the lightest machine guns of the war. Unfortunately, prob­lems with mass production meant that the AEF was only able to issue 1,168 to its units before the end of the war. The g­ reat weight of the war’s machine guns made them best suited for a defensive role. The war highlighted the need for troops on the offense to have some form of light and mobile automatic weapon to suppress the defenders while the attacker maneuvered in the assault. All of the combatants on the Western Front scrambled to field ­these light guns between 1915 and 1918. The three main automatic ­rifles used in the AEF ­were the M1915 Chauchat gun, the Lewis gun, and the M1918 Browning Automatic ­Rifle (BAR). As with the machine guns, most of the Americans’ automatic r­ ifles ­were provided by the Allies. The much-­maligned M1915 Chauchat gun was the most common automatic r­ ifle used in the AEF. It weighed 20 pounds, was fed using detachable 20-­round magazines, and had a combat rate of fire of 100 to 150 rounds a minute. The doughboys generally had a poor opinion of the “Sho Sho” due to the weapon’s tendency to jam and overheat, with one officer damning it as “a villainous piece of unreliable makeshift.”37 Much of the weapon’s prob­lems stemmed from its poorly designed magazine, which tended to allow jam-­inducing mud and debris into the weapon. The Americans themselves caused even more prob­lems when they attempted to convert the weapon from the underpowered 8-mm Lebel cartridge to the American 30.06 cartridge. Improper engineering and the power­f ul American cartridge made the new design even more unreliable. Despite its flaws, when used by a soldier who understood its operation and was fastidious in keeping it clean, the Chauchat was still an impor­tant weapon in the infantry’s arsenal.



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The American soldiers of the II Corps fighting with the British army ­were armed with the Lewis gun. Although the U.S. military had bought a small number of the American-­designed Lewis prior to the war, it was the British army that embraced and perfected the weapon. The Lewis was fed using 47-­round detachable magazines and when fully loaded weighed 28 pounds. Although heavier than the Chauchat and BAR, its reliability and high rate of fire made it one of the most effective weapons of its type during the war. The M1918 BAR was perhaps the best automatic ­rifle of the ­Great War ­because it struck the right balance between portability, reliability, and rate of fire. It weighed just ­under 18 pounds with a full 20-­round magazine, and its rate of fire was almost double that of the Chauchat. As with the U.S. M1917 machine gun, delays in production prevented the AEF from completing a mass issue of the BARs prior to the Armistice. The soundness of the BAR’s design was reflected by the fact that it remained the U.S. military’s standard squad automatic weapon through the 1950s. The American infantryman could also draw upon an arsenal of pistols, grenades, trench knives, and other handheld weapons. The standard pistols issued during the war ­were the M1911 automatic and the M1917 revolvers made by Colt and Smith & Wesson. Both of ­these weapons fired the .45 Automatic Colt Pistol cartridge and ­were carried by officers, se­nior NCOs, and heavy weapons crews. The doughboys also carried an array of American, French, and British hand grenades. Although grenades had been around for centuries, World War I made them an essential component of the infantryman’s armament. Hand grenades ­were ideal for aiding the war’s soldiers in clearing out ­enemy trenches and pillboxes. The Americans, however, did have to be trained to not throw grenades as they would a baseball, but to rather lob them in an arc so the grenade would land squarely in the ­enemy defenses. Each infantry platoon was also issued six ­rifle grenade dischargers for firing the French Viven-­Bessiere (VB) grenade. The VB grenade was launched from a cylindrical cup mounted to the M1903 or M1917 ­rifle and had a range of up to 200 meters. The close-­quarters fighting that sometimes resulted from trench combats and raids encouraged the combatants on the Western Front to field an array of issued and improvised knives and clubs. The American army developed two trench knives during the war: one with a nine-­inch triangular blade and a steel knuckle-­ duster hand guard, and the other with a 6¾-­inch knife blade and a brass knuckle ­handle. Despite their fearsome appearance, few ­were actually used in b­ attle. Some soldiers ­were also issued the M1910/M1917 bolo knife. ­These had heavy leaf-­shaped blades and ­were intended to be used to cut through vegetation to clear the field of fire or for other woodcraft. In a pinch, the bolo could also be used as a weapon. Henry Johnson, an African American in the 369th Infantry, used his bolo knife to seriously wound two Germans who attacked his outpost on the night of May 15, 1918. One uniquely American weapon issued to the doughboys was the M1897 Winchester 12-­gauge pump shotgun. The army converted the standard 1897 Winchester into a “trench gun” by providing it with a ventilated metal hand guard and by adding a bayonet attachment for mounting the M1917 bayonet. Although the M1897 was exceptionally lethal in the close ranges of a trench, it was of l­imited utility

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when the AEF fought in open warfare. As such, few of the shotguns saw much use in the AEF’s ­battles in the summer and fall of 1918. Lastly, the American infantry regiment also contained two heavy support weapons: Stokes mortars and 37-mm guns. The regiment’s six British-­made Stokes mortars gave the infantry their own “artillery” for attacking ­enemy fortifications or for breaking up German attacks out to a range of 800 meters. Unfortunately, as each mortar weighed 108 pounds, the Americans found that they ­were difficult to move forward to support attacks. The 37-mm gun was a small cannon designed to destroy e­ nemy machine guns and pillboxes out to a range of 1,000 meters. It was a potent weapon, but since it weighed over 170 pounds, crews found it very hard to maneuver the gun u­ nder conditions of open warfare. Although the United States faced grave challenges in arming its soldiers during the ­Great War and frequently had to turn to the British and French to supply its modern weapons, the doughboys w ­ ere generally well armed and equipped for the challenges that they faced in France. The lackluster per­for­mance of American industry in providing domestically produced weapons in a timely manner ultimately led the U.S. military to study the prob­lem of war­time industrial mobilization during the interwar period. The lessons of the ­Great War helped the United States to become the “Arsenal of Democracy” in World War II.

COMBAT Combat in World War I had an objective nature and a subjective character. The objective nature of the conflict was tied to ­those ­factors that have been part and parcel of warfare since time immemorial. ­These ­factors included the soldier’s innate fear of being killed or wounded; the influence of privation on life in ­battle; the importance of leadership and unit cohesion in motivating the troops; and the interplay of terrain, weather, and blind luck in the daily existence of the combatant. Thus, ­there ­were aspects of the doughboy’s experience in combat that would have been readily understandable by a Roman legionnaire in 1 CE or to an American soldier in Iraq in 2006. The subjective character of a war is ­shaped by ­those realities that are rooted in the specific time and place of the conflict itself. ­These include the weapons and technology of the period, the ­enemy that the soldier is fighting, and the social and po­liti­cal milieu in which the war itself takes place. ­There ­were aspects of combat in World War I that would have befuddled and horrified a soldier serving only a de­cade prior to the G ­ reat War, but would seem hopelessly dated to a GI in World War II. Like all soldiers who proceeded and followed him, the doughboy had to cope with fear, privation, and exertion. H ­ umans are hardwired to avoid death and serious injury, and the major point of military training is to give men the skills and discipline to overcome this innate fear and to more or less willingly kill ­others to achieve the unit’s mission. Due to the weapons employed and the ­enemy that the doughboys faced, the ­Great War battlefield was a particularly frightening place. The Germans ­were a well-­armed and trained foe whose hard-­won knowledge of ­battle had taught them how to skillfully use the terrain and their weapons to their



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best advantage. Due to their lack of training and experience, when the Americans ­were committed to ­battle in the summer of 1918, they ­were the equivalent of a bush league farm team playing against a major league franchise. Pershing sought to slowly season his ill-­trained force to war by having his units serve time in the Allied trenches in a quiet sector of the front. The effectiveness of this introduction to combat varied greatly from unit to unit. ­Those units who arrived in France in 1917 and early 1918 generally served in the trenches for longer periods, and their experiences at the front tended to be more intense than for units that arrived ­later. While in the trenches, some doughboys endured artillery barrages, trench raids, and other forms of combat, while ­others complained that their trench sectors w ­ ere far too quiet to provide much exposure to the war. T ­ here was much merit to ­these complaints. The Americans generally served time in sectors of the front that ­were of ­little military value and offered no possibility of breakthrough for ­either side. In ­these quiet sectors the French and Germans had established a tacit “live and let live” system where both sides could send combat-­scarred units for rest and refit. Richard McBride recalled that his time at the front was “a dull period as men sat for days in the trenches gazing intently at the ­enemy lines but seeing nothing to shoot at.”38 In t­ hese situations, the doughboys often irritated their French hosts by bellicose actions against the Germans that threatened to make quiet sectors active. Although the Americans’ time in the trenches generally did not provide the combat seasoning that Pershing desired, their first time at the front was still a sobering experience for the troops. An infantryman confessed that he learned that “war was a ­thing to be treated with re­spect, and not taken lightly” and that he “felt rather queer and empty at the stomach when we actually realized for the first time that t­ here was a need to kill or be killed.”39 Most doughboys had their real exposure to war when they ­were thrown into action in the summer and fall of 1918. With the exception of the defensive ­battles around Château Thierry, for the majority of the time, the Americans ­were on the attack in open warfare. The Germans had long mastered the intricacies of the defense and by this stage of the war made the novice doughboys pay heavi­ly for the ground the AEF took. As was true in the ­Great War as a ­whole, the Americans’ greatest challenge was moving forward against German artillery and machine guns. Artillery was the biggest killer in the war, and the Germans skillfully employed it against the Americans to break up the doughboys’ attacks and to allow the German infantry to counterattack if the Americans captured a position. The doughboys feared artillery more than any other weapon. Shell fire obliterated terrain and bodies, arrived with deadly suddenness, and, most importantly, offered the American infantry no means of defense or retaliation. Expressing this powerlessness, a marine fighting at Belleau Wood noted, A thousand machine guns could not give one that helpless feeling brought on by the approach of the overawing, merciless shells. They carry him instantly to oblivion by covering him in his hole or with their terrible force blow him to atoms . . . ​It would have seemed a thousand times better to face an army of machine guns with my bayoneted ­rifle in hand and a chance, though a shadow of a chance, to act, to do something, to be opposed by an ­enemy where ­there was a chance to fight back . . . ​ merciless shellfire tears the nerves to pieces.40

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­ nder shellfire the doughboys could do ­little more than huddle in what­ever shelter U the ground provided and wait for the iron storm to cease. The Americans also feared the German machine guns. As the manpower of their army waned, the Germans tried to compensate by increasing the number of machine guns in their divisions. In the Champagne-­Marne, Aisne-­Marne, and Meuse Argonne campaigns the doughboys had to fight their way through a warren of machine gun nests that the e­ nemy had established as part of their intricate defense-­ in-­depth doctrine. ­These nests ­were generally positioned so that their sector of fire interlocked with adjacent machine guns, so as the doughboys maneuvered to destroy one gun, they ­were being fired on by multiple other guns. In such situations the success of the doughboys’ attacks often hinged upon the effectiveness of the American artillery in keeping the ­enemy’s heads down or in the ability of the attacker to endure heavy casualties in the pro­cess of capturing the machine gun. It was always difficult to synchronize artillery with the movement of the infantry in the ­Great War. The Americans’ lack of experience and “know-­how” with infantry-­ artillery coordination only exacerbated this prob­lem. When the hoped-­for artillery support failed to materialize, the doughboys still went forward and did the best that they could using the weapons at hand to destroy the German machine guns. As Lieutenant Wendell Westover observed, this was a costly pro­cess. In October  1918 he watched as an infantry platoon attacked a machine gun nest using short bounds forward in an attempt to flank the ­enemy gun. As the assault progressed, Already five men lay still on the ground over which they had come. The right squad sprang up and forward. One, two, four men dropped; staggering, slumping forward to the ground. The rest threw themselves into shellholes and paused. They ­were close now, but where t­here had been thirty men a few moments before, only nine w ­ ere still able to move. Of ­these, two more fell in the final assault. ­There was a pause at the gun and they spread out and continued to advance-­carrying on the attack u­ nder a newly appointed leader.41

Pershing had bulked up his divisions to give them staying power in the face of such casualties. An American division consisted of 28,000 men, which was twice the size of ­those of the other combatants. The AEF’s infantry companies contained over 250 doughboys. Despite Pershing’s hopes, poor American tactics and tenacious German defenders combined to erode the resilience of the American formations. In the first three weeks of fighting in the Meuse Argonne, the AEF had lost 14,214 dead and several thousand more wounded. On October 8, 1918, alone, the 36th Division’s 71st  Infantry Brigade lost 33 ­percent of its officers and 23 ­percent of its enlisted men.42 In addition to artillery and machine guns, the G ­ reat War brought the terror of poison gas. The Germans had first effectively used gas at Ypres on April 22, 1915 in an attempt to break the trench stalemate. Poison gas was a terrifying weapon due to its physiological and psychological effects. The two major gases that the Americans faced ­were phosgene and mustard gas. Phosgene is a pulmonary irritant that kills and injures by causing such inflammation in the respiratory system that the body produces an excess of fluid to protect the tissue and wash the agent from the body. With a heavy exposure to the gas, fluid floods an exposed soldier’s lungs to



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American troops model the wide variety of gas masks designed during World War I. This photo, taken in 1919, shows the difficulty of creating a facemask capable of filtering deadly chemical weapons while still allowing soldiers to remain effective on the battlefield. (Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

the point that he drowns. Mustard gas is a blister agent that ­causes large and painful eruptions to form on the surfaces of an exposed soldier’s body. The pain caused by the blisters incapacitated soldiers and, depending on the concentration, caused temporary or permanent blindness. When Earl Seaton and his buddies ­were hit with mustard gas, he recalled, Our eyes ­were watering and we could feel burning where we sweat. . . . ​W hen we got the bath we had ban­dages on our eyes and they r­ eally hurt. . . . ​Most of the bad burns ­were around the testicles, underarms and wherever ­there was moisture. They used a clear substance like Vaseline on the burns. The eyes healed first. Grease had to be kept on the penis to keep the channel open. . . . ​Two new artillery men came in badly burned. Their ­faces and eyes ­were okay but they had worked all night at a battery and sweat a lot. Their private parts ­were like beefsteak.43

While Seaton’s experience was horrible, he was still better off than ­those soldiers who breathed in the gas. In t­hose cases the blisters could form in their lungs and destroy the lining of the mucous membrane and the bronchioles. Like phosgene, mustard gas killed by filling the lungs with fluid. In the end, poison gas killed 1,221 doughboys and sent another 70,552 to the hospital. ­T hese losses accounted for 31 ­percent of the army’s total combat casualties; of ­these, 76.1 ­percent ­were exposed to mustard gas and 18.7 ­percent ­were poisoned by phosgene.44

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The psychological effect of poison gas was far greater than the ­actual effectiveness of the weapon itself. An infantry officer observed, “That intangible substance, that one could not fight, but only ward against when wakened in time, wrecked the nerves of the men through fear and as a constant threat accomplished more in breaking the morale than in actually disabling the soldier.” 45 The gas masks the soldiers wore for protection further added to the misery of the doughboys’ lives. The doughboys wore Corrected En­glish Model (CEM) mask. The mask had a rubberized cloth facemask, two round eyepieces, a spring clip to close shut the wearer’s nose, and straps to secure the mask to the head. The soldier breathed through a tube and mouthpiece, much like that of a snorkel, which was connected by a long hose to the mask’s filter. The filter was ­housed in a canvas bag that was strapped around the wearer’s neck and rested on his chest when in use. The CEM was uncomfortable to wear, and its small eyepieces severely restricted the soldier’s vision in ­battle. The only t­ hing worse than wearing the mask, of course, was the alternative. The fear and stress of ­battle, when combined with the physical exertion of moving across rugged terrain with full equipment, and the privation caused by poor food and ­water, lack of sleep, and living outside in the ele­ments slowly eroded the doughboys’ stamina and morale in b­ attle. When fully outfitted for b­ attle, the doughboy’s M1910 equipment set, ­rifle, extra bandoliers of ammunition, and extra grenades and magazines for the Chauchat gun weighed around 65 pounds. To lessen this ponderous load, some units or individuals went through a prebattle pro­cess of discarding all but the essentials that they would need for fighting. A veteran of the 26th Infantry confessed that before ­going into ­battle at Soissons, “As was my usual custom, I had discarded my pack, retaining only my cartridge ­belt, gas mask and pistol, knowing that I could always find an entrenching tool carried by some unfortunate comrade who would have no further use for it.” 46 He was far from being alone in this pro­cess, and one could easily follow the pro­gress of American units ­going into b­ attle by the trail of discarded equipment that they left in their wake. Unfortunately, as many doughboys tended to shed their greatcoats, raincoats, and shelter halves before ­battle, their short-­term gratification often had long-­term consequences. The weather during the Meuse Argonne campaign was cold and wet, and even t­hose doughboys who retained their overcoats complained of suffering chills and discomfort. Shelling and the traffic of thousands of soldiers, trucks, and ­horses when combined with rain created a thick mud that clogged weapons and clung to boots and uniforms. A lack of extra uniforms and shortages of ­water at the front made it nearly impossible for the doughboys to stay clean in ­battle. Adding to this misery, ­after only a short time in combat most soldiers ­were infested with lice. The only remedy for ­these nasty pests was to send units through a detailed laundry, bath, and delousing pro­cess once they had been pulled from the line. All of the ­factors described ­here had a cumulative effect on the soldier’s health. The inability to keep soldiers well fed, clean, and dry led to outbreaks of disease and to trench foot, one of the conflict’s signature ailments. ­T hese ­factors also depleted the AEF’s fighting power. On October 15, 1918, a battalion commander in the 82nd Division reported, “The men ­were cold and hungry, not having had anything to eat but a small amount of hard-­tack and corned beef since Oct. 9. . . . ​ They ­were all suffering from diarrhea. The only ­water obtainable was from a ditch.”



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By the end the month, the division was sending an average of 700 men a day to the hospital for diarrhea, influenza, and exhaustion.47 In the face of all ­these challenges, what kept the doughboys fighting? For one, the American soldiers tended to have a strong faith in the cause that they ­were fighting for and generally subscribed to an overarching belief in American exceptionalism. But patriotism can only go so far in the face of shellfire and short rations. In combat itself, the t­ hings that encouraged the doughboys to persevere in the face of death and adversity ­were the t­hings that have historically determined endurance in b­ attle: comradeship and the desire to be seen as a valued part of the unit. One of the major goals of military training is to build group identity and small-­unit cohesion. When the climate within a unit fosters this individual acculturalization, the shared hardships of ­battle tend to strengthen ­these bonds and make the unit better able to endure the shocks of ­dying and killing. During the ­Great War, the doughboys subscribed to traditional views about courage and manliness. To the World War I generation, “true manhood” was exhibited by ­those who kept ­doing their duty despite their fears and never let their comrades down in b­ attle. This was seen in the experiences of Private Thurmond Baccus. He was proud to be seen as “a man among men” by the members of his squad a­ fter proving his ability to pull his weight within the unit. This ac­cep­tance allowed Baccus and other doughboys to cope with fear and to perform in combat. As Baccus noted, when he went into action, “On my right and left lay my buddies who would do anything to protect me. ­There is no place you rely so much on your buddies as on the field of ­battle.” 48 Most of the preceding discussion covering the soldier’s life in ­battle was focused on the experiences of the AEF’s infantrymen. It should be kept in mind that while soldiers serving in the other branches or arms of the AEF shared many of the same hardships as t­hose of the infantry, the nature of their mission and equipment did pre­sent combat realities that differed from the infantrymen. Artillerymen ­were the second-­largest group of combat soldiers in the AEF. The ­Great War had fundamentally changed the nature of field artillery and now required gunners able to master the new methods of indirect fire and observation. At the same time, despite the advent of mechanization in warfare, most of the AEF’s artillery was still moved and supplied on the battlefield using ­horses. This mix of the modern with the ancient caused no end of trou­ble for the artillerymen. Just as in the Napoleonic and American Civil Wars, it took a six-­horse team to move a 75-mm gun and a similar team to move its caisson. Horses often had difficulty moving their heavy loads through the mud of the front, and it took much effort from both man and ­horse to get the guns transported through the mire. As with its other supplies, the AEF found it difficult to keep the army supplied with grain and fodder for the ­horses while on campaign. This meant that artillery ­horses started to weaken soon ­after they entered the fighting. This, combined with sickness and casualties, often reduced the number of ­horses a battery had to move its guns and caissons. When that occurred, the artillerymen themselves had to push the guns forward. With the rise of artillery as the biggest killer on the battlefield came the resultant quest by all sides to try to find and destroy the ­enemy’s guns. The greatest fear of artillerymen was to be caught out in the open by the ­enemy’s counterbattery fire. Artillery pieces, their caissons, and ­horse teams ­were large targets that

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­ ere difficult to conceal from the ­enemy. To prevent the ­enemy from locating their w guns, American cannoneers tried to only move and resupply their batteries at night. This constant nocturnal activity followed by constant daytime firing often left the gunners even more sleep-­deprived than their infantry comrades. The 75-mm and 155-mm guns used in the American divisions brought their own ­hazards. It was easy for an inattentive artilleryman to be mangled by the recoil of the gun’s heavy barrel. Worn barrels and recoil mechanisms or faulty shells could cause the guns to burst and have the same devastation as an ­enemy explosive. The gunners fired without any form of ear protection, other than stuffing paper or cloth into their ears. As such, scores of artillerymen suffered loss of hearing or deafness due to their ser­vice. While the ­Great War heralded a new age for artillery, it also signaled the end of the h­ orse cavalry. Bowing to this real­ity, the army converted all of the war­time National Guard cavalry units to artillery and only sent four of its Regular Army cavalry regiments to France. ­These units spent most of their time serving as MPs (military police) or as liaison units. The cavalry’s role as a force of shock and mobility was assumed by the tank. The Americans went into b­ attle in heavy eight-­man-­crew British MK V or the light two-­man-­crew French FT-17 tanks. Life in a World War I tank was far from pleasant. Temperatures inside the vehicles could top over 90 degrees. In combat the crew’s vision was reduced to what­ever they could see while peering through narrow vision slots, and the tanks ­were so noisy that the crew could only communicate through hand signals or taps with the commander’s feet to the back of the driver’s head. The tanks themselves ­were unreliable and required the crews to perform heavy ­labor to keep them r­ unning. Although the tank offered the crew some protection from ­enemy small arms, by 1918 the Germans had provided their infantry antitank ­rifles and given some of their artillery units the training and ammunition to destroy Allied armor. This led to heavy casualties among the AEF’s tankers. In just two days of fighting, the 301st Tank Battalion had nearly half of its tanks destroyed by ­enemy action and suffered the loss of a third of its men. ­Enemy fire frequently ignited the tank’s gasoline supply and incinerated the crew. It is impor­tant to note that the changing realities of modern war also dramatically altered the composition of the armies of the ­Great War. The steep rise in the size of the war’s armies and their ravenous consumption of men and material required all militaries to devote an unpre­ce­dented amount of manpower just to feed, supply, arm, and move the troops at the front. At the time of the Armistice the AEF general headquarters (GHQ) reported that 546,596 soldiers ­were assigned to the SOS, the army’s vast logistics and support command, while another 173,008 troops ­were working in noncombatant jobs in the army’s large combat formations. This meant that some 37 ­percent of the 2 million doughboys in Eu­rope w ­ ere not combat troops. Historian John McGrath has argued more recently that the ­actual ratio of rear area troops was closer to 47 ­percent.49 What­ever the a­ ctual percentage, the vast number of soldiers now dedicated to the “tail” to keep the “tooth” fighting was a radical departure from previous American military practices.



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Soldiers in the SOS ­were also working in a vast array of occupations and specialties, ranging from orderlies toiling away in evacuation hospitals only miles from the front to soldier-­farmers working for the Quartermaster Corps Garden Ser­vice at Versailles. For some of ­these soldiers, like clerks working in Paris or Chaumont, life was relatively cushy by army standards. For ­others, especially ­those working as stevedores at the ports or assigned to duty in the SOS’s Advance Sector close to the front, life was endless toil punctuated by bouts of danger. For example, soldiers assigned to a divisional supply or ammunition train ­were continually at work ­whether or not their unit was in combat. When the division entered the line, however, the ­hazards of their duties and the duration and exertion of their ­labors multiplied. Clarence Mahan had served as an infantryman before being reassigned to drive a supply truck in the 1st  Division. ­After his reassignment, he confessed, “I thought that this would be a safe place. ­Little did I know for I was actually ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’. . . . ​Our rest periods ­were few and far between as ­there w ­ ere always troops to be moved and rations to deliver.”50 Close to the front, the Germans generally knew the routes that the Americans had to take to bring forward supply and ammunition and did every­thing in their power to interdict this traffic. To protect the convoys whenever pos­si­ble, the Americans usually tried to bring supplies up at night. This move added some safeguards but never completely removed the inherent danger of moving within the range of ­enemy action. A driver bringing up artillery shells in the Meuse Argonne reported, Hauling ammunition at night had some ­hazards. In the first place, you could have no lights of any kind, as they would likely draw ­enemy fire. One time we had to pass a crossroad on which the “Heinies” w ­ ere dropping a shell e­ very so many minutes. The “game” was to wait, back aways, ­until a shell hit and then guess how many rigs could gallop across before the next hit.51

Although the combat doughboys often justly derided their rear area comrades for their soft lives, the fighting men could not have done their jobs without the work of the AEF’s logisticians, and many of ­these sustainers, such as the ­d rivers noted ­earlier, often braved dangers to accomplish their tasks. HEALTH AND MEDICINE The six de­cades prior to the ­Great War witnessed not only the world’s most revolutionary period of military technological developments but also the world’s most revolutionary period of medical innovation. During ­those years doctors and scientists introduced anesthesia, bacteriology, antisepsis, asepsis, immunology, x-­rays, blood transfusions, psy­chol­ogy, and a host of other advances that essentially created modern medicine. The massive casualties and other medical challenges of the war itself further encouraged doctors to innovate to keep pace with the destructive tendencies of the conflict. American medical personnel ­were in the fortunate position of being able to profit from the experience of the Allies in how to establish a medical system to meet the demands of modern war. From the French and British the Americans learned the art of triage and how to establish a system of casualty

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evacuation and hospitals that balanced the needs of the patient with the need to return casualties as rapidly as pos­si­ble to the fighting. American medical personnel needed all of the help they could get. During the war 224,089 doughboys ­were treated for battlefield wounds or gas exposure, while another 299,069 ­were seen for nonbattle injuries. Disease rather than combat wounds was the greatest threat to the doughboys’ health. Although 1 out of ­every 10 soldiers received nonfatal combat wounds (a total of 210,398 men), ­there w ­ ere a staggering 3.5 million admissions to the hospital for disease in the ­Great War. The most commonly treated diseases in the army ­were influenza (791,907 cases), venereal disease (357,969), mumps (230,356), measles (98,225), and tuberculosis (38,607). The influenza pandemic of 1918 caused the greatest spike in admissions for disease. The virulence and rapid spread of the influenza outbreak, and the difficulty in tracing its pathology, shocked military doctors. One lamented, “Such barriers that we tried to throw in the way of the spread ­were swept away as chaff before a mighty tempest. This frightful epidemic seemed to know no bounds, and before its advance we stood helpless.” Before the disease burnt itself out, roughly one in four soldiers was sickened by influenza and as many as 44,000 doughboys died of the disease or the pneumonia that accompanied it. As a point of comparison, 36,694 American soldiers ­were killed in action, another 13,691 ­later died of their wounds, and 5,591 succumbed to nonbattle injuries. A total of 58,119 doughboys died of disease during the war.52 Being wounded in ­battle was a harrowing experience. In an instant the fighting man was reduced to a helpless and dependent being. If the wounded man was fortunate, comrades or nearby medical personnel quickly dressed his wounds and hurried him to the rear for further treatment. If the confusion and flow of the ­battle passed the man by, then the casualty faced a grim fate. Infantryman Charles P. Darby was wounded during an attack in the Argonne. As he described to his ­mother, “The first bullet that struck me went in between my two shoulder blades and came out my right side about the ninth rib. Well this knocked me about five yards . . . ​I rolled over on my right side and just at that moment I was hit in the right knee.” As the fighting rolled on, Darby was left alone. He dragged himself to a shell hole and “prayed for an ambulance to come ­there and take me to a hospital and also made up my mind t­here that if I lived thru that I would be a better man in the f­ uture.” ­After lying helpless for several hours, a group of German prisoners of war found him, ban­daged his wounds, and carried him to an aid station.53 Upon reaching the aid station Darby entered the AEF’s vast tiered network of medical care. Copying the French system, the central princi­ple of the American approach to military medicine was to treat the wounded as close to the fighting as pos­si­ble so as to return the lightly wounded to ­battle as quickly as they ­were able and to continually evacuate the more severely wounded through the army’s vari­ ous layers of hospitals ­until the man arrived at the proper fa­cil­i­ty to receive the care he needed. The wounded man’s care started as soon as he was injured. Each soldier was issued an individual ban­dage to stop his own or his buddy’s bleeding ­until he could be moved to the aid station. Each infantry com­pany usually had two medics assigned to them. ­These men w ­ ere ­little more than stretcher b­ earers whose medical skills ­were ­limited to applying ban­dages and improvising splints. The



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medics carried the wounded man to the battalion aid station where he was seen by one of the unit’s two medical officers. ­These doctors ­were only equipped to administer anti-­tetanus serum and morphine shots, dress wounds, and apply splints to prepare their patients for further evacuation to the rear. The wounded man was then moved by stretcher to one of the dressing stations operated by the four divisional ambulance companies. The ambulance companies ­were not only responsible for transporting the wounded to the rear but also served as treatment facilities where the severely wounded could receive emergency surgery to keep them healthy enough to endure their trip to the field hospital. In one of the ­great innovations in combat medicine, the dressing stations also took mea­ sures to treat the wounded for shock. By warming, feeding, and giving the man fluids to replace blood loss, ­these remedies for shock greatly increased the wounded doughboy’s chance of survival over all the generations that preceded him. One of the greatest medical challenges that the AEF faced was simply moving the wounded from the dressing stations to the field hospitals. Despite the fact that the AEF built the largest medical infrastructure in the nation’s military history, the vast number of casualties it suffered often overtaxed its medical resources. Furthermore, the road networks in the Aisne Marne and Meuse Argonne regions ­were very underdeveloped and ­were quickly over­burdened by the number of men and the supply and artillery transports moving to and from the front. Due to the snarled traffic at the start of the Meuse Argonne campaign, the inspector general for the 79th Division reported that it was taking his ambulances 15 hours to make the five-­kilometer trip to his unit’s field hospitals and that this delay had caused “hundreds” of ­needless deaths. The AEF inspector general ­later reported that, on average, it took 5 to 6 hours for the wounded to reach the field hospitals and another 10 to 16 hours for them to arrive at the evacuation hospitals. If the doughboy survived his journey to one of the division’s four field hospitals, his chances of survival greatly improved. T ­ hese hospitals would have been completely alien to a field surgeon of the Civil or Spanish-­American Wars. With their own x-­ray facilities, steam sterilizers, electric lights, and 216-­bed capacity, ­these fully mobile facilities provided nonspecialist surgical care that nearly rivaled that of an American city hospital. Their primary function was to provide basic care to lightly wounded men who could be returned to duty within a few days and to provide lifesaving surgery and temporary care (usually five to eight days) to “nontransportable” patients: ­those men who ­were at risk of death if they ­were evacuated to another hospital before receiving extensive medical care. As with the ambulance companies, a large influx of wounded could quickly overload the field hospital’s capacities. Divisions often kept one of its field hospitals in reserve to give the division surgeon the flexibility to deal with ­these unforeseen circumstances by rapidly moving it to critical points in the sector to take the pressure off his other facilities. During ­battle, the hospitals maintained a grueling pace. On average, the 2nd Division’s field hospitals treated 120 wounded men per hour and performed 50 operations per day.54 From the field hospital the wounded moved on to one of the AEF’s 37 evacuation hospitals. As the name implies, the evacuation hospitals w ­ ere designed to treat severely wounded doughboys ­until they ­were fit to be evacuated to a base hospital.

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

The evacuation hospitals could hold up to 1,000 men at a time for the 10 to 14 days that ­were required to stabilize their conditions prior to moving them farther to the rear. The last stop on the doughboy’s road to recovery was one of the AEF’s 83 base hospitals or one of five convalescence camps. The base hospitals provided the wounded man with his long-­term medical and convalescent care. ­These hospitals also contained specialists in orthopedic; maxillofacial; urological; neurological; psychiatric; and ear, nose, and throat treatment. The army further manned some of the base hospitals with enough specialists that they became centers for the care of doughboys who needed extensive expert treatment. One of t­ hese, Base Hospital 117, requires special note for it specialized in treating the AEF’s severe “shell shock” cases. The term “shell shock” was derived by medical officers early in the conflict in the mistaken belief that the men whom they ­were treating for ­mental trauma had been physically concussed by exploding shells. Fortunately, military doctors quickly realized that the cause of ­these soldiers’ illness was psychological rather than physiological. Although descriptions of soldiers suffering from what is now called post-­ traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), combat fatigue, or ­mental trauma go back to the ancient Greeks, the inherent strains of modern war and the unique conditions of the ­Great War combined to make “shell shock” one of the signature maladies of the conflict. Due to the way that the army subdivided “neuropsychiatric diseases,” it is impossible to provide the exact number of doughboys who suffered from what was ultimately termed “war neurosis.” However, army psychiatrist John Rhein, who made one of the most extensive studies of the malady during the war, estimated that as many as 10 ­percent of the AEF’s casualties ­were due to combat-­related psychological ­causes.55 One of ­these casualties was Duncan Kemerer. ­After enduring intense shelling that killed a number of his comrades, he lost consciousness. He remembered, “[W]hen I came to I was lying on the dirt floor of the cellar, and when a shell burst overhead, I would yell and try to dig a hole in the ground with my fin­gers for protection.” While undergoing treatment Kemerer confessed, “It was tough for a while as ­every time someone dropped something on the floor, like for instance a spoon, or an unusually loud noise, I would holler and ­either try to hide ­under the sheets or get u­ nder the bed.”56 For its time, the AEF’s treatment of its neuropsychiatric patients was sophisticated and sympathetic. Most of ­these casualties suffered from what ­later would be termed “combat exhaustion” brought about by a combination of lack of sleep, physical overexertion, and ner­vous strain. The army tried to treat ­these men as close to the front as pos­si­ble, and a­ fter a few days of sleep, a bath, warm lodgings, and hot food at a division field hospital, large numbers of ­these men quickly returned to the fighting. In more extreme cases of ­mental injury, such as that experienced by Kemerer, the soldier was evacuated to a base hospital for specialist care. Kemerer, for example, spent three weeks in a base hospital where he underwent psychiatric care while also restoring his physical condition. The most severe cases w ­ ere sent to Base Hospital 117 where the army had assembled a team of specialists in the new science of psychiatry.



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Although the hospital treated nearly 3,000 soldiers for neuropsychiatric illnesses during the war, it was unable to keep pace with the AEF’s unexpectedly high number of war neurosis cases. To cope with this influx of casualties, in the fall of 1918 the AEF was forced to open three other hospitals specializing in psychiatric care. Unfortunately, far too much of the focus of the army’s psychiatrist was on returning soldiers to the front rather than on addressing the men’s long-­term ­mental health issues. As such, nearly 38 ­percent of all hospitalized American veterans in 1919 ­were being treated for psychological c­ auses.57 Taken altogether, the army did an admirable job treating its sick and wounded given the conditions that it faced. The effort of the army’s medical personnel to overcome the scandalous per­for­mance of the medical system of the Spanish-­ American War and to embrace cutting-­edge developments of modern medical science made the ­G reat War one of the watershed events in American military medicine. PRISONERS OF WAR The United States’ late entry into the war and the AEF’s relatively short time in the fighting meant that only 4,460 Americans ­were taken prisoner during the war. The majority of doughboy POWs also served less than four to six months in captivity. While a few Americans suffered some physical abuse while being held, for the most part, the doughboys ­were relatively well treated by their captors. The American Red Cross commissioner who was responsible for the care of American POWs, Carl Dennett, reported, The American Prisoners in Germany w ­ ere not subject to any systematic or authorized physical abuse. Their clothing and personal effects w ­ ere stolen and it is doubtless true that they would have starved and suffered for proper clothing, had it not been for the relief packages . . . ​but they ­were not physically abused, except in rare instances.58

Despite the general lack of abuse, being a POW was far from a pleasant experience. Shortages of food, heating fuel, transportation, medical supplies, and clothing within Germany sometimes meant that the doughboys suffered privations while moving from the front to the camps and while living in the camps themselves. American POWs ­were fortunate that the American Red Cross was able to coordinate with the Swiss to provide the doughboys with vital food, clothing, and hygiene necessities. Each week the POW received a care package that generally consisted of four pounds of hard bread, two pounds of corned beef hash; a pound each of canned corned beef, salt pork, and salmon; and five to six cans of vegetables. The packages also contained a ration of butter and sugar, a bar of soap, and 80 cigarettes. Each month the POW also received a pound of choco­late or candy. With this ration the American POWs ate much better than the average German civilian suffering u­ nder the weight of the British blockade. The majority of American enlisted POWs w ­ ere held at a prisoner camp in Rastatt, Germany, while most of the American officers ­were spread across officer camps

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in Villingen, Karlsruhe, and Landshut, Germany. The captive officers enjoyed many more privileges than their men. The Germans assigned American enlisted POWs to serve as the captive American officers’ orderlies, and at times officers ­were allowed to visit local towns if they signed a pledge not to escape. Despite receiving athletic equipment, musical instruments, and other recreational items from the American Red Cross, the greatest complaint of the American POWs was boredom. They ­were fortunate that one of the major provisions of the Armistice agreement was the immediate release of all Allied POWs. Most American POWs w ­ ere returned to the AEF, only somewhat worse for wear, by the end of December 1918. The Americans’ treatment of their German and Austrian POWs was generally in accordance with the provisions of the 1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions on the “Laws and Customs of War on Land.” The Hague protocols required that POWs “must be humanely treated;” declared that the prisoners would receive “food, quarters, and clothing, on the same footing as the troops of the Government which has captured them;” and stipulated the rights of the POWs and the conditions u­ nder which they could be used as l­ abor. American army regulations, the Lieber Code of 1863, and long-­standing military customs also dictated that doughboys treat their prisoners in a correct and humane manner.59 The Hague Conventions and other official regulations noted that once a soldier sought to surrender, they instantly became a noncombatant, and the doughboys had to accept the ­enemy’s new status, safeguard their prisoners, and move them out of danger. Despite ­these restrictions, the greatest peril that Germans wishing to surrender to the Americans faced was at the point of their capitulation and the minutes that followed as their would-be captors de­cided ­whether or not to accept them as prisoners. For all of the soldiers of all of the ­Great War, combat was the realm of the high passions of fear and hatred and the realities of vio­lence and uncertainty. ­Under ­these conditions, some American soldiers chose not to take prisoners. Gilbert Max, a private in the 77th Division’s 307th Infantry, recorded in his diary on September 30, 1918, “­After a 2 hour barrage we made an attempt to break thru. We did & got 16 prisoners. We saw one of our sergeants get killed and we de­cided to kill the 16 prisoners.” Although Max and his comrades perhaps committed a “crime of passion” in the heat of the moment, other doughboys refused to take prisoners ­because of widely accepted and unauthorized princi­ples. The doughboys saw e­ nemy snipers and machine gunners as two of the major banes of their existence. The Americans’ hatred and fear of ­these ­enemy soldiers often led the doughboys to exclude ­these Germans from the grace and mercy of surrender. This was especially true of e­ nemy machine gunners, who fought to the last pos­si­ble minute before attempting to surrender. As for the German sharpshooters, one American infantryman simply stated, “A sniper never was taken prisoner.” 60 Despite ­these lapses in the laws of war, the doughboys still captured over 48,000 prisoners, and the AEF’s inspector general officers generally found that the Americans treated their POWs in an honorable and humane manner. Although they noted that the doughboys ­were quick to strip their prisoners of watches, valuables, and other souvenirs (actions that w ­ ere common in all of the war’s armies), the inspectors recorded very few incidents of Americans mistreating POWs during the war. The 82nd  Division inspector general stated that he “was impressed with the



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consideration shown the captured ­enemy,” despite the heavy casualties that his unit had suffered during their first week of fighting in the Meuse Argonne.61 The German POWs generally agreed with the Americans’ assessment. The Germans believed that the Americans did not share the deep hatred of Germany held by many French and British soldiers and thus felt themselves fortunate to be in the hands of the AEF. As Paul Lucus wrote a friend in February 1919, “By all means I am glad that I am in American captivity, for I would not have been able to stand it with the French or En­glish. I would have preferred death. The American on the other hand, treats us honorably, and re­spects in us, the old soldier who has done his duty.” Other prisoners ­were impressed by the Americans’ efforts to make the POWs’ lives as comfortable as pos­si­ble. Sergeant Richard Obersigner wrote his wife, That we are prisoners we have as yet not felt, so to speak, for the Americans treat us just like they do their own men. We might almost say this is also the case with regard to our food. We have thoroughly recuperated from the strains of war. Some of us have already developed quite a l­ ittle belly. It is a pity only that one cannot get beer, but in place of that we get pure bean coffee and real marmalade. At noon to-­day we had goulash and soup. For supper we had hamburger steak and soup. At each meal we have coffee and white bread-­like cake. For breakfast coffee, white bread and bacon. . . . ​If I ­were not married I would not return to Germany, but go right away to Amer­i­ca.62

A few German POWs w ­ ere less enthralled by the Americans and complained that they ­were forced to work in atrocious weather and dangerous conditions. ­These complaints had some merit. In one case, 25 POWs and an American guard ­were killed in a massive explosion while they w ­ ere disposing of crates of gun cotton and cordite ­after the Armistice. However, the most telling testament to the doughboys’ treatment of their captives was the fact that the rates of sickness, death, and escapes in the American POW camps ­were the lowest of any of the major combatants in the war.63 HOME FRONT The Wilson administration’s decision to raise the army using conscription and the localized execution of the selective ser­vice system ensured that ­there ­were very close associations between the home and war fronts throughout the conflict. The local draft boards ran on the premise that the community itself was selecting the men who would represent them in the ranks. The tie between National Guard units and the home front was even more pronounced. Guardsmen had strong roots in the community, but ­these ties had both positive and negative aspects. The communal roots of the guardsmen often encouraged them to do well in the ser­vice so as to not embarrass themselves, their families, or their home towns by their actions. However, the localism of the National Guard also put a par­tic­u­lar strain on guard officers. They often led the sons of p­ eople that they knew back home. [Guard officers] ­were looked upon by the thousands of good men and ­women whose boys w ­ ere with the troops as the guardians and friends of t­ hose lads as well as their

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leaders in b­ attle. In e­ very case they w ­ ere daily subjected to a very heavy and continual pressure, in the form of direct personal appeals, from their own intimate friends, from men of high position and influence, as well as from pathetic hundreds of anxious, proud ­fathers and ­mothers, “to look out for my boy,” “to bring Joe home safe,” “to see that he behaves himself,” “to give Bill a chance,” and so on.64

If a guardsman proved a poor soldier or leader, it was a sure bet that word of his misdeeds would reach ­those at home. The doughboys w ­ ere buoyed by the fact that the home front was solidly b­ ehind them and supportive during the war. By the time that the United States entered the war, the majority of Americans had come to see Germany as a threat to world order and the interests of the United States. The upsurge in patriotism that accompanied the war and the efforts of the Committee on Public Information and local organ­izations to maintain this fevered pitch of support ensured that the home front continued to “back the fighter” throughout the war. Guardsmen and draftees alike ­were treated to elaborate and enthusiastic departure ceremonies as they departed for their training camps. Many communities also raised money to provide their men with small gifts to show their appreciation for the recruit’s ser­ vice. As Irvin Crump fondly recalled, “[T]he local Board did t­hings up mighty well. I find myself possessed of a razor, razor strap, wrist watch, two pocket knives, unbreakable mirror, drinking cup and lots of other ­things that I never expected to own or need.” 65 As the trains carry­ing soldiers crossed the nation, the doughboys frequently commented on the war reception that they received at the stops along the way. Even over a year a­ fter the United States entered the war, one recruit informed his ­mother, The old farmers would drive in to town from miles around just to see us go by, and if we ­stopped they would crowd around and shake our hands and give us fruit cakes ­etc. We had to put guards around the train ­after we got in the eastern states to keep the crowds away. At ­every station ­there would be automobiles full of girls giving away Candy, Cakes, Ice Cream, Nuts, Post Cards, Stamps, Cigars ­etc, and also their addresses which the fellows would fight over.66

Such outpouring of public support underpinned the doughboys’ morale by showing them that the home front appreciated their ser­vice and sacrifice. One of the impor­tant influences on the soldier’s morale and his most enduring link to the home front was letters from home. Soldiers craved news of their families and the goings-on of their communities. Letters allowed the doughboys to feel connected to the ­people and places that they had left, and correspondence from home reassured them that the folks still thought of them. As one lonely soldier wrote to a relative, “It did me a lot of good to think that ­every body had not forgotten me.” 67 The army also understood the importance of keeping its soldiers connected to the home front and did every­thing pos­si­ble to ease the flow of mail to and from France. Between August and November 1918 alone, the Military Postal Express ser­vice delivered 103 million letters from the United States to doughboys serving in France and another 56 million letters from the soldiers in the AEF to ­people in the States. The Military Postal Express attempted to have letters from home delivered to soldiers in France within 16 to 20 days of the mail reaching its overseas



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Soldiers queue up to send letters home to the United States from the Western Front in France. The American Red Cross created postal centers throughout the regions occupied by U.S. troops in a coordinated effort to maintain high levels of morale. (Library of Congress)

shipping center at the New York central post office. Despite the mail ser­vice’s best intentions, however, limitations on shipping space and the difficulty in getting the mail to AEF units that ­were constantly moving generally prevented it from achieving its delivery goals. Doughboys consistently complained about not hearing from home. Peter Scheck did not receive a letter sent by his ­sister in October 1918 ­until March 1919. To make ­matters worse, that letter was the first mail that he had received from home in six months.68 Although mail helped to sustain the soldier’s morale, bad news or even the lack of news from home could quickly torpedo the man’s spirits. ­After ­going weeks without a letter from home Private E. F. Satterwhite wrote his s­ ister, “It is hard for me to write for I think that no one cares for me anymore as I get no letters and I write all the time but you all ­don’t seem to ans[wer].” 69 Despite being themselves in harm’s way, news of economic prob­lems, death, and sickness at home occupied the minds of many soldiers. ­After hearing of deaths in the States caused by the influenza epidemic, one soldier told his ­mother, “[S]uch ­things that make all of us ­here anxious. Hope nothing of that kind has happened [at home].”70 Soldiers ­were also worried about the fidelity and the continued love of their wives and sweethearts. One distraught doughboy asked his ­sister, “Do you think Elizabeth has some one ­else. . . . ​ If she has then i wont look for her when i come home . . . ​I ­don’t know if she cares for me or not. To Hell with her if i thought she was untrue.”71

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All in all, news from home, however late in its arrival, generally tended to lift rather than undermine the doughboy’s spirits. Mail not only continued the man’s bond to the home front but also held the promise of a brighter f­ uture at the end of the war. Many soldiers would have agreed with the sentiments of one 91st Division soldier who informed his girlfriend in August 1918, “I get a lot of peace thinking about you. I like to think of the good times we used to have and dream of the good times to come when I get home again.”72 ­These thoughts and the knowledge that the folks back home supported him and believed in his cause sustained this doughboy, and many more like him, throughout the war.

VETERANS’ ISSUES Although the Allied powers had been pleasantly surprised by their military success against the Germans in the fall of 1918, the coming of the Armistice on November 11, 1918, still caught them unprepared for what came next. Pershing had long believed that the AEF would not play its major role in the conflict ­until 1919, and the collapse of the Germans caught the Americans at the floodtide of their buildup. Neither the army, nor the Republic as a ­whole, had given much thought to what would happen following the peace. Immediately following the Armistice both the folks at home and the doughboys themselves began clamoring for a rapid return and demobilization of the troops. The most pressing concern of the returning troops was finding a job. In response to a Morale Branch survey of the expectations of the returning troops, an officer at Camp Funston, Kansas, replied in March 1919 that the majority of the men he interviewed “believe they should be provided with work.”73 Likewise, as he impatiently waited to sail for the States, Cornelius Freely complained in a letter home, “Why when we get home the ­people ­will have become tired of seeing soldiers, and I suppose all the good jobs ­will be taken.”74 Freely and the Camp Funston doughboys had good reason to be concerned. Over 2 million men w ­ ere training in the States when the war ended and would be demobilized before most of the troops overseas returned. Furthermore, the government’s decision to immediately terminate most war contracts meant that large numbers of civilian workers would lose their jobs in the wake of the Armistice. Thus, all American soldiers would be returning to a postwar world with a diminished job market and an economy that was in recession. In the 1970s and 1980s, the U.S. Army Military History Institute surveyed a vast array of World War I veterans on their experiences in the conflict. One of the recurring themes that came out of the surveys was the anger that many of the veterans felt over the lack of assistance that the government provided in easing their transition back into civilian life. They ­were particularly angered that veterans of ­later conflicts received the lavish opportunities and protections of the GI Bill of Rights, while they tended to be demobilized with l­ ittle more than the thanks of a grateful nation. Over a half-­century a­ fter the war one of the surveyed veterans still bitterly complained, “Compared to veterans in recent wars, I think World War I veterans have been greatly short-­changed in benefits.”75



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The ­Great War’s veterans had good cause for their complaints. The federal government wanted to avoid the massive outlay of pensions that it had provided to Civil War veterans and their families. Thus, the official governmental response to the doughboy veterans was to give them a ­limited hand up, but not a hand out. The government’s goal for the war­time War Risk Insurance program was to have it replace most of its previous veterans’ pension system and to use it to help defray the cost of the conflict by having the soldiers themselves contribute ­toward the death gratuity and the long-­term care of their injured comrades. The government still recognized its obligation to veterans injured in the line of duty even if the man had not taken out a War Risk Insurance policy. Disabled veterans ­were entitled to compensation that was scaled to the severity of the injury. Thus, a soldier who was permanently blind or bedridden would receive a pension of $100 per month. If the veteran had also taken out a War Risk Insurance policy for $10,000, he would receive an additional $57.50 per month in compensation. The government further provided disabled veterans ­free artificial limbs and vocational training opportunities. If a disabled veteran was enrolled in a Federal Board of Vocational Training program, he was eligible for a stipend of $65 a month if he was single and $75 a month if he was married.76 Upon discharge from the ser­vice, the government offered uninjured veterans ­little more than the uniforms on their backs, a $60 bonus, and a payment of five cents per mile to cover the cost of the train ticket home. ­Those who wished could also retain their War Risk Insurance policy if they continued to pay the government subsidized premiums. At the demobilization centers, the doughboys ­were also offered some ­limited help from agencies such as the United States Employment Ser­vice and the Federal Board of Vocational Training in finding jobs or obtaining skills that would make them more marketable in the crowded workplace. Few veterans seemed to have benefited from ­these ser­vices, and one ­later complained, “The government just kicked us out with no job in sight & no way to make a living.”77 Unlike the returning GIs of World War II, the doughboy veterans received no material assistance from the government in buying a h­ ouse, getting an education, or reintegrating into society. Qualified doughboys ­were given preference in obtaining federal civil ser­vice jobs, and a quarter of all ­those hired by the federal government in the 1920s and 1930s ­were veterans.78 Some ser­vice members w ­ ere given breathing room from adverse ­legal actions, such as foreclosures, by the Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act of 1917. Furthermore, the Department of the Interior’s Reclamation Ser­vice enlisted veterans in its scheme to restore the government’s marginal plots of land. The ser­vice paid veterans to prevent erosion and refurbish overlogged areas. The veterans could then use ­these wages to purchase a cheap homestead on the land that they had reclaimed. Despite its best hopes and intentions, the Reclamation Ser­vices’ vision of a vast army of veteran-­colonists never came to fruition. Contrary to the myth of the “Lost Generation,” the veterans of the G ­ reat War did not become disillusioned by the war, nor ­were they emotionally shattered by the conflict. In fact, the vast majority of doughboys reintegrated into society with ­little or no trou­ble and went on to lead normal lives while proudly looking back on their military ser­vice. This is not to say that coming back was easy. To some degree

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t­here was always a period of adjustment and alienation as the veterans returned from the nation’s wars. When Earl Seaton was asked to tell his ­family about his war experiences, he reflected, “You cannot tell ­people who have not been ­there how it was and I ­don’t think I tried. I should have told what was ­going on. Maybe I could have told a few t­ hings.”79 This sense of alienation was instrumental in the phenomenal growth of the American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and other veterans’ organ­izations. ­These organ­izations tended to combine the goals of promoting patriotism, “100 ­percent Americanism,” and the suppression of subversion with promoting legislation that provided job opportunities, compensation, and assistance to veterans. The American Legion, for example, was influential in encouraging Congress to establish the U.S. Veterans Bureau in 1923 (this agency became the Veterans Administration in 1930). Perhaps the greatest role that ­these organ­ izations played for veterans was to give them a place to congregate together with ­those who had shared their war­time experiences. One of the American Legion’s legislative accomplishments was to get Congress to pass the World War Adjusted Compensation Act of 1924 over the veto of President Calvin Coo­lidge. The act issued all veterans of the ­Great War compensation certificates, which would be redeemable in 1945. The value was based on giving the veteran a dollar a day for ­every day he served in the military, with an additional 25 cents for ­every day he spent overseas. The maximum allowable award was $650 for a veteran who had served overseas. Unfortunately, the coming of the ­Great Depression in 1929 threw large numbers of veterans out of work, and many ­were now living in destitution. To relieve their suffering, many veterans pushed the government to immediately award them their Adjusted Compensation Act payments. In the face of what they saw as the government’s heartless intransigence in passing any form of relief, approximately 17,000 veterans and a large number of their ­family members descended on Washington, D.C., to press their case. The “Bonus Marchers” established their main camp on the Anacostia Flats, and its leaders insisted that campers follow a near-­military level of discipline, order, and sanitation. The vast majority of the march’s protests ­were peaceful, and their organizers did their best to remove all communists and other troublemakers from their ranks. Despite t­ hese efforts, the Hoover administration and Army Chief of Staff Douglas MacArthur feared the presence of this large body of discontented men with military training in the capital and believed that radicals ­were inciting the veterans to po­liti­cal mischief. On July 29, 1932, the army used tanks, cavalry, tear gas, and bayonets to roust the marchers. In what was one of the most shameful episodes in the history of Amer­i­ca’s treatment of its veterans, two marchers ­were killed and several hundred more w ­ ere injured.

MILITARY DISCIPLINE An army is composed mostly of impressionable young men with the tools and training to kill and “break ­things.” As such, the U.S. Army went to ­great lengths to ensure that t­hese youngsters w ­ ere as disciplined and controlled as pos­si­ble. However, when patriotism, duty, and training failed to keep ­these men within the



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acceptable bounds of good order and discipline, the military justice system was ­there to dispense justice and to make examples out of the reprobates to encourage the good be­hav­ior of their comrades. Despite its explosive war­time growth, it is impor­tant to note crime in the American army actually decreased during the ­Great War. Between 1909 and 1916 an average of 5.4 ­percent of soldiers in the Regular Army ­were tried by general courts martial, while only 0.73 ­percent of doughboys appeared before general courts between April 6, 1917, and June 30, 1919. This decrease was also seen in the crimes themselves. In the seven years prior to the ­Great War the Regular Army averaged 3,692 ­trials for desertions per year in a force of around 200,000 men. Between 1917 and 1919 the army convicted only 3,607 men of desertion in a force of over 4 million men. This is not to say that the war­time courts ­were not busy. During the war, 36,248 soldiers ­were tried by general courts-­martial, 39,285 soldiers ­were tried by special courts, and 438,361 men ­were tried by summary courts-­martial.80 The army also experienced relatively few cases of violent crime during the war. Between April 6, 1917, and June 30, 1919, 142 soldiers ­were convicted of manslaughter, 90 for murder, 67 for rape, and another 130 of assault with intent to commit rape. Another 1,741 doughboys ­were convicted of assault. The army sentenced 145 men to death for ­these capital crimes or for military offenses such as desertion or sleeping on duty. Woodrow Wilson and Newton Baker ­were hesitant to execute soldiers convicted only of military offenses and commuted all of t­hose sentences to lesser punishments. During the war, only 35 soldiers ­were executed, all for capital crimes. Of ­these, 11 w ­ ere put to death in the AEF, all for murder, rape, or attempted rape. It should be noted that a disproportionate number of t­hose executed by the military during the war ­were African Americans. In the AEF, all but three of ­those put to death w ­ ere black soldiers.81 In the majority of cases minor infractions of a criminal or military nature ­were handled by battalion or com­pany commanders using nonjudicial punishments. ­Under army regulations and the 1917 edition of the Manual for Courts-­Martial, commanders could sentence soldiers to confinement in the guard­house for up to a month to work on disagreeable details such as kitchen police or wood chopping duty, or to the loss of up to one month’s pay, instead of sending the man before a special court. In an effort to preserve the manpower in the AEF, General Order 56 encouraged commanders to use nonjudicial punishments rather than resort to courts-­martial that might result in the soldier being returned to the United States for confinement. To make an object lesson of the offender, nonjudicial punishments ­were meant to be as humiliating and onerous as pos­si­ble. Warren Jackson recalled that men who committed minor infractions in his unit w ­ ere forced to run around a track for hours at time with sandbags strapped to their backs, all the while being berated by a vicious sergeant.82 Although the official crime rate in the AEF was very low, war­time conditions and tensions between the doughboys and French civilians did encourage a degree of petty criminality and hooliganism in the ranks. While the Americans generally liked the French, they ­were annoyed by the tendency of café ­owners and shop­ keep­ers to charge the doughboys higher prices than they did for civilians and the

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soldiers of other Allied nations. As soldiers who saw themselves as the saviors of France, such actions smacked of ingratitude, and thus they felt justified in stealing ­things such as firewood or other items that would make themselves more comfortable to “even the score.” Without a hint of contrition a captain confessed in the pages of Stars and Stripes that his men “stole honey and rabbits, smashed win­dows, tore down doors for firewood, shot wild boars with ser­vice ­rifles, with wonderful disregard to the safety of the French civique.”83 Some Americans took their criminal activities more seriously. Before the AEF’s provost marshal broke up a criminal gang in Paris that was composed of nine deserters in January 1919, the ring had perpetrated at least 32 major crimes, including assault and battery, robbery, and attempted rape. At the same time, it should be kept in mind that the Americans balanced this destructive impulse of youth by raising money for French orphans, by helping to bring in harvests, and by repairing churches and other civil buildings. Much of the doughboys’ bad be­hav­ior was fueled by their ready access to alcohol. Although the provisions of the Selective Ser­vice Act allowed commanders and communities to greatly decrease the flow of alcohol to soldiers training in the United States, similar efforts to curtail drinking by the doughboys in France floundered in a French society that was awash in cheap wine and spirits. Young footloose men ­under the influence of drink have always caused disciplinary prob­ lems in armies throughout history. While most of the men who committed crimes while drunk ­were dealt with using nonjudicial punishments, between April 6, 1917, and July 1, 1919, the army tried 577 officers and 2,862 soldiers for offenses related to alcohol, and another 99 soldiers ­were court-­martialed for possession or use of narcotics. During the same period, medical officials reported that they hospitalized 4,374 soldiers for alcoholism and 2,507 for drug addiction.84 One of the other intractable discipline prob­lems in the AEF was the number of men who became infected with venereal disease (VD). To Pershing, a man who contracted VD had let down his nation and comrades by making himself unfit for duty in a selfish pursuit of plea­sure. During the war 357,969 soldiers ­were treated for VD. The army considered VD to be such a threat that it launched the first mass sex education initiative in American history to inform its doughboys about the danger of illicit sex. In the AEF, Pershing used a mixture of education, punishments, and a commonsense medical approach to attempt to stem the tide of the diseases. In the major cities and camps frequented by the doughboys, the AEF established prophylactic stations and required soldiers to seek treatment ­there ­after having sex. However, if the soldiers failed to protect themselves and contracted VD, they ­were to be court-­martialed and sent to a hospital where they performed unpleasant ­labor while undergoing treatment. One sergeant recalled that in most cases the sentence of the court-­martial “was three months confinement at hard ­labor [and] loss of two-­thirds of pay for this period.”85 Despite t­ hese punitive mea­ sures, the AEF was unsuccessful in reigning in the doughboys’ sex drive. Although his estimate was perhaps too high, the AEF’s foremost expert on VD, the Medical Corps’ Lieutenant Colonel George Walker, maintained that approximately 71 ­percent of doughboys had sex while serving in France. Even if Walker’s estimates



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­ ere correct, the impor­tant fact was that in the end the rate of VD infection in the w AEF was still only 34 men out of ­every 1,000.86 The greatest indication of a military’s discipline is how well it stands up ­under the strains of combat. In this regard, the rec­ord of the AEF was very much a mixed bag. Although the army achieved most of its military objectives during the war, it did suffer a rash of self-­inflicted wound (SIW) cases and a wave of stragglers and deserters from combat. The commander of the 1st Army, Major General Hunter Liggett, estimated that over 100,000 doughboys straggled from the lines during the first month of the Meuse Argonne offensive. Although many of ­these men ­were separated from their units a­ fter getting lost in the tangled terrain of the region or left the ranks to help wounded comrades or to find food and ­water when the supply system broke down, large numbers of soldiers deliberately absented themselves from their units to avoid fighting. In fact, on October 8, 1918, patrols around the town of Raucourt captured over 600 stragglers from the 1st Division. During the same period, a party from the 32nd Division apprehended 90 soldiers hiding out in a large German dugout located far ­behind the fighting lines. To staunch this steady hemorrhage of troops from the front, corps and division commanders formed “hobo barrages” made of uncommitted troops, cavalry squadrons, and military policemen to scour the rear area to find stragglers and return them to their units. Some unit commanders forced stragglers to wear placards around their necks stating “I Straggled from the Lines” or “Deserter” and returned the men to the most dangerous points of their units in the lines. ­These mea­sures served to only slightly decrease the number of stragglers, and the absence of ­these men, along with heavy casualties, left many American combat units short of soldiers to the end of the war.87 Despite the challenge posed by straggling, the AEF never suffered anything that could be characterized as a mutiny. However, in a few cases, small units did refuse to return to ­battle when its members believed that they had lived up to their obligations in the fighting, ­were too exhausted to resume an attack, or when they believed that the attack held no possibility of success. In ­these cases, most of the men returned willingly to combat once they had rested. ­After the unit’s leaders, the men most responsible for ensuring good order and discipline in the AEF ­were the military police (MPs). Unfortunately, the army had no standing MP corps prior to the war nor any doctrine for the training and operation of MP units. This meant that the AEF’s MP battalions ­were ad hoc organ­izations created from “casual” personnel or by converting combat units into MPs. In general ­these units ­were woefully unprepared for the myriad of law enforcement, traffic control, and other missions that fell to their lot. The MPs also suffered from some of the same indiscipline that they ­were themselves responsible for curbing. For example, military policemen had the highest rates of VD of any soldiers in the AEF. Furthermore, the MPs w ­ ere roundly hated by the combat soldiers of the AEF for their overbearing be­hav­ior, strict enforcement of petty rules, and being far removed from the dangers of the battlefield. The doughboys had a par­tic­u­lar enmity for the MPs assigned to patrol Paris. Much of the Pa­ri­sian MPs’ ill repute stemmed from their success in preventing AWOL (absent without leave) doughboys from enjoying the City of Lights and from the reputation of Lieutenant Frank “Hard Boiled” Smith, the commandant of Prison Farm Number 2.

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Many of the soldiers captured in Paris served their time in Smith’s camp. Smith and his guards routinely robbed and beat their prisoners, deprived the men of adequate food and clothing, and subjected them to brutal punishments. When word of Smith’s actions fi­nally leaked out, he was convicted of larceny and abuse of prisoners and was sentenced to three years hard ­labor.

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN WORLD WAR I In the most impor­tant aspects of their military ser­vice, the doughboys had much more in common with the combat soldiers who came before and a­ fter them than they had major differences with the troops of other ages. As long as war is waged in an environment dominated by terrain, weather, physics, innate ­human limitations, and an e­ nemy bent on killing you before you kill him, the soldier’s life w ­ ill always be governed by fear, hardship, violent passions, and exertion. That being said, the American soldiers of the ­Great War did experience a number of ­factors that made their military experience unique. They served in one of the most revolutionary periods of technological, doctrinal, and orga­nizational change in military history. In fact, many of the weapons and tactics that the doughboys employed in 1918 had not even existed prior to 1914. It is not too much of a stretch to argue that World War I gave birth to many of the concepts and approaches to ground warfare that are still being used by modern armies. While their Allied and German counter­parts had the dubious honor of slowly learning the realities of modern war through painful evolution between 1914 and 1917, the Americans did not have the luxury of this style of tactical learning. In 19 hectic months, the American army grew to over 4 million men; transported half of t­ hese soldiers to France; created an im­mense infrastructure in a foreign land to supply, transport, and administer the AEF; and fought the largest and deadliest campaigns in American history. In a very short amount of time, the American army and its soldiers had to shed obsolete notions of nineteenth-­century constabulary warfare and learn how to fight on a radically new battlefield dominated by mass, firepower, and technology. To their credit, the doughboys learned to wage modern war, but due to ­these monumental changes in warfare and the nation’s utter lack of prudent military preparation prior to the war, the American soldier paid a dear price for gaining this battlefield wisdom. The greatest beneficiaries of the doughboys’ hard-­won knowledge ­were the generations of American soldiers who followed them. Although the Americans who served in the wars a­ fter “the war to end all wars” would face their own challenges, never again would an American soldier go into ­battle not knowing how to load their ­rifle or not benefitting from the technological and industrial advantages of the United States. TIMELINE April 2, 1917 ­After Germany’s resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare and the sinking of American ships, as well as the provocations of the Zimmerman Tele­gram and other



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hostile German acts, President Woodrow Wilson asks Congress for a declaration of war upon Germany. April 6, 1917 The United States declares war upon Germany. May 18, 1917 Wilson designates Major General John J. Pershing to command the American Expeditionary Forces. Congress enacts the Selective Ser­vice Act. June 5, 1917 First war­time draft registration. June 13, 1917 Pershing and the nucleus of the AEF general headquarters (GHQ) staff arrive in France. June 26, 1917 First contingent of the 1st Division and the 5th Marine Regiment arrives in France. July 14, 1917 First Lieutenant Louis Genelba becomes first U.S. soldier to be wounded in the war. September 4, 1917 Four U.S. soldiers killed when Germans bomb a hospital at Dannes Carniers. ­These ­were the first doughboys to die due to ­enemy action during the war. October 21–­November 20, 1917 First American units begin training and tours of duty in the French trenches in Lorraine. October 23, 1917 5th and 6th Marines form Marine Brigade of the newly formed 2nd Division. November 3, 1917 Thomas Enright, James Gresham, and Merle Hay of the 16th Infantry ­were killed in a German trench raid at Bathelemont. They ­were the first doughboys killed in direct combat with the e­ nemy. November 20–­December 5, 1917 U.S. 11th Engineers and the 12th and 14th Railroad Engineers participate in the ­Battle of Cambrai with the British army. January 26, 1918 U.S. Tank Corps established. March 21, 1918 Germans launch first of the Ludendorff Offenses against the British army on the Somme. From March 21 to April 6 the American 6th Engineers; 12th and 14th Railroad Engineers; and the 17th, 22nd, and 148th Aero Squadrons take part in the Somme Defensive Operation.

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March 28, 1918 Pershing promises the new Allied supreme commander, Ferdinand Foch, the full use of American forces in France to help stem the German advances. April 9–27, 1918 Germans launch new offensive at Lys. U.S. 16th Engineers, 1st Gas Regiment, and 28th Aero Squadrons participate in the British defense. April 20, 1918 U.S. 26th Division fights ­Battle of Seicheprey. May 27–­June 5, 1918 American forces participate in the Aisne Campaign to blunt the German drive between the Aisne and Marne Rivers. May 28–31, 1918 The 28th Infantry of the 1st Division captures Cantigny. This was the first U.S. offensive operation of the war. May 31–­June 1, 1918 U.S. 3rd Division successfully defends the Marne River line against a major German attack at Chateau Thierry. June 5, 1918 Second war­time draft registration. June 6, 1918 U.S. 2nd Division launches counterattack against the Germans north of Chateau Thierry at Vaux and Belleau Wood. June 6–26, 1918 Marine Brigade of the 2nd Division fights to clear Germans from Belleau Wood. June 9–13, 1918 1st Division participates in French Montdidier-­Noyon Campaign. July 4, 1918 U.S. 33rd Division fights with the ANZAC Corps at the B ­ attle of Hamel. July 15–18, 1918 U.S. 3rd, 26th, 28th, and 42nd Divisions and the African American 369th Infantry fight in the Champagne-­Marne campaign, the successful French defense operation to stop the German drive on Rheims. July 18–­August 6, 1918 Eight U.S. divisions participate in the French Aisne-­Marne Offensive to recapture Soissons and remove the Germans from the Marne Salient. July 22, 1918 Foch agrees to give the AEF its own in­de­pen­dent sector of the front. August 8–­November 11, 1918 American II Corps participates in the British “100 Days” Somme and Ypres-­Lys Offensives.



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August 18–­September 16, 1918 U.S. III Corps and 32nd Division participate in the French Oise-­Aisne Offensive. September 12, 1918 Last war­time draft registration. September 12–16, 1918 AEF fights its first in­de­pen­dent action during the St. Mihiel Offensive. September 26–­November 11, 1918 AEF First Army fights the Meuse-­A rgonne Offensive, the largest campaign in American history. October 10, 1918 To better coordinate the AEF’s operations, Pershing places Major General Hunter Ligget in command of the First Army and establishes the Second Army u­ nder the command of Major General Robert Bullard. November 7, 1918 The AEF establishes the Third Army u­ nder Major General Joseph Dickman. November 11, 1918 Armistice ends the fighting of the war. December 1, 1918 The Third Army crosses the Rhine River to occupy the American sector in Germany.

Documents of World War I: Personal Accounts 1  Major Manton Eddy: Machine Gun Com­pany in WWI Major Manton Eddy commanded a machine gun com­pany and ­later a machine gun battalion in the 4th Division. The following passage is from a paper that he wrote while attending the Infantry Advance Course at Fort Benning, Georgia, in 1929. It details his personal experience training a machine gun com­pany just before it experienced its first combat in the Aisne-­Marne Offensive in July 1918. Eddy remained in the army ­after the war and went on to command the 9th Infantry Division and the XII Corps in World War II. [T]he Machine Gun Com­pany, 39th U.S. Infantry was or­ga­nized in Syracuse, New York in June 1917. Not ­until January 1918 could it be considered anything but a small cadre of men, its strength up to that time never exceeding eleven enlisted men. In January 1918 in Camp Greene, North Carolina, where it had moved two months before with the regiment, its enlisted strength had grown to between twenty and thirty and it had just received a full quota of officers consisting of one captain and four lieutenants, none of whom had ever seen a machine gun.

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The captain [Eddy] was an officer with a ­little more than one year’s ser­vice, nine months of which had been spent ­behind a desk. All of the lieutenants had just completed ninety days’ training at the Second Officers’ Training Camp. Seven months ­later when the com­pany saw its first active ser­vice in France, the special training in machine guns which had been completed by ­these officers was as follows, The captain-­two weeks’ course at a division school ­under a British officer. . . . ​ For this instruction one British Vickers was available. One Lieutenant-­thirty days’ training at the School of Fire at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Two lieutenants-­thirty days’ training at Langres, France. The machine gun equipment of the com­pany at this time consisted of several thousand rounds of ammunition and no machine guns. Com­pany training during the months of January and February consisted of special instruction for the twenty or thirty men belonging to the com­pany, with the view of developing them into noncommissioned officers in order to facilitate the training of the com­pany whenever it might receive its full war strength in enlisted personnel. The months of March and April began the com­pany’s first real training for the active ser­vice its members w ­ ere to see only a ­little more than four months ­later. With four [obsolete] Colt machine guns which had been issued to the com­pany, elementary and advanced gun drill, and 1,000-­inch target practice, consisted of the princi­ple machine gun training over this period. It was a noticeable fact throughout this early period of training that the com­pany commander was never interfered with in the training of his organ­ization. It seemed to be mutually understood that having received a two-­weeks’ course in machine guns, he was fully competent to assume this responsibility and the job was therefore his alone. Neither time nor facilities permitted the higher commanders of the division to take any kind of course in machine guns. Training in France With the training of the division far from being completed, it left Camp Greene, North Carolina, on April 26th for Camp Mills, New York, preparatory to embarking for France. The ­rifle companies of the 39th Infantry had not been able to have target practice, and its machine gun com­pany had learned ­little more than what a machine gun looked like and how it was fired. What ­little training they had been able to complete had been with a type of gun that was considered obsolete, and [thus] left b­ ehind. The com­pany sailed on May 10th and had the good fortune to have on board the same ship Lieutenant Val Browning, a son of the inventor of the Browning machine gun [John Moses Browning], who was taking the first of ­these guns (four in number) to France for demonstration purposes. And so, the trip across was devoted to the com­pany becoming familiar in the mechanical functioning and firing of a second type of machine gun. ­After arriving in France, the division was assigned to a training area in the British sector and was attached to the 16th British Infantry Division for training and supply. In this area all regimental machine gun companies ­were billeted in the same



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town and ­were or­ga­nized into a provisional machine gun battalion. ­Here machine guns of the British Vickers type and equipment, together with transport and animals, ­were drawn from the British. Assisted by an officer and two noncommissioned officers of a machine gun com­pany of the 16th British Division, training of the com­pany with a third type of machine gun, immediately started only to be interrupted nine days ­later. Due to the success of the Germans in their attack on May 27th against French positions on the Chemin des Dames which ended in the forming of [the] Chateau Thierry salient, the Fourth Division was rushed to a new training area north of Meaux where it could be used as a reserve division. Before departing from the British training area, all British equipment except the transport and animals, ­were turned back to the British, and again the machine gun organ­izations found themselves without machine guns. At [the new training area at] Acy-­en-­Multien the 39th Infantry as part of the 7th Brigade was attached to the Fourth French Division for training and defense. Again the training of the regiment was undertaken. The men of the ­rifle companies ­were given their first opportunity to fire their ­rifles. No ranges being available, at first, a long line of tin cans tied to stakes ­were used as targets. Not u­ ntil several days ­after the arrival of the com­pany at Acy-­en-­Multien was it able to secure its Hotchkiss machine guns and other equipment from the French. ­After having learned the mechanisms of three other types of machine guns, the com­pany was at last issued the type of machine gun with which it was to go into ­battle less than four weeks ­later. The Fourth French Division to which the regiment had been attached for defense and training evidently considered the defense ele­ment much more impor­tant than the training ele­ment, as the only French instruction personnel the machine gun com­pany saw, was a lone French enlisted man from whom ­little was learned. The arrival of the two officers who had been sent to Langres for a course in machine guns facilitated the training of the com­pany considerably. Fortunately their training at Langres had been with the Hotchkiss gun. Training ­here, however, was not to be without its interruptions, for on several occasions the regiment was required to march at night to its reserve position just west of Le Ferte Milon, some twelve kilo­meters from Acy-­en-­Multien, returning the following night. The first time this occurred the machine gun com­pany was still without machine guns or pistols. It was a most peculiar feeling to be in command of a machine gun organ­ization without arms, marching on a dark night ­toward the front line which was within both sight and hearing, without the least idea of when the march was ­going to end. The training of the com­pany at Acy was almost entirely on technique. A method of extended order drill or how a machine gun squad should advance in an attack seems not to have been thought of; and the only consolation that the com­pany commander could find in hunting an excuse for his apparent stupidity is that no one ­else seemed to think of it ­either. At dusk on the night of July 15th, ­after a hard day of training the regiment was again ordered to move up to its reserve position. [On 17 July 1918, Manton’s com­ pany occupied defensive positions the frontline and the next day his regiment launched an attack as part as part of the Aisne-­Marne Offensive].

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Source: “Machine Gun Com­pany, 39th Division (4th Division) in the Aisne-­Marne Offensive (July 18–­August 5, 1918),” manuscript collection of the Donovan Research Library, Fort Benning, Georgia.

2  Fighting in the B ­ attle of Mont Blanc The following two accounts of soldiers from the 141st Infantry, 36th Division ­were written in November 1918. They recount their experiences fighting in the ­Battle of Mont Blanc from October 6 to October 29, 1918. The accounts are transcribed as the soldiers wrote them with minimal editing. Sergeant Harvey Adams, C Com­pany, 141st Infantry On Sunday morning Oct 6, 1918 at 5 A.M. we got ­orders to strike tents and move . . . ​we hiked that day ­until 3P.M. where we ­stopped for rest and supper. We stayed ­there ­until about 10 P.M. when we started on our march for the front. We ­were shelled quite a bit on our march for the front. And I had to stop several times on account of shells. We reached the front about 2 A.M. Oct 4, 1918 and taken over our sector which the 23 Inf[antry] was holding. . . . ​So our platoon commander told us now you are on the front line and the Huns are right ahead just a short ways and told us to dig in. I went to work and dug a small hole and I throwed all of the dirt up between me and the ­enemy for protection [against] ­rifle bullets diden think of the danger of the shells. So the next morning at day break I was on sharp look out for the ­enemy was expecting to see the hun at day break but not a one could I see. But I could see plenty of dead soldiers in front of me that was killed by the Huns. . . . ​We ­were shelled very heavy by Fritz on the 7th and the following night. On the morning of Oct 8, 1918, our artillery began to throw over a barrage and a very few minutes ­later we rec[ieved] ­orders to go over the top. So over the top we went. By that time Fritz had over a very heavy barrage and the Shrapnel was flying very thick. But we diden pay much attention to them. We advanced quite a ­little distance when the machine guns begin to open up on us very heavy. So I hit the ground in a shell hole where I stayed for a few minutes and tried to locate the machine gun. But I could not locate any from where I w ­ ere. So I got up and started to advance [and] the Huns opened fire on me again. But I advanced some distance of 30 or 40 yards when they begin to cut cloist to me and I crawled into a Hole, and by then I had located a machine gun on my right so I tried my best to get a shot at the gunner but diden have much luck for ever time that I would move he would open fire on the Hole in which I was in. I lay very still for quite a few minutes and I raised up and he diden fire on me so I advanced some distance of 50 yards or more where I got into another hole where ­there w ­ ere too other soldiers. They ­were . . . ​Marines. A sniper began to fire at us and made us keep our heads down for fifteen or twenty minutes. ­After we had advanced quite a distance a machine gun begin to fire on us and we had to hunt another hole. But diden have to stay ­there long. When we got up and went to out right and flanked the machine gun on his left where we advanced



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30 or 40 yards at a time ­until we had got where we could see the gunner and then we opened fire on him and shot several shots a piece but diden seem to [hit] the gunner. When I said to my Comrades lets rush up on him and capture him so we did we rushed up on the gun. But the Hun woulden give up. He was almost dead from wounds from our ­rifle balls where we had shot him. One of the boys ran up some distance of ten paces from the gunner and shot him in the head. ­There ­wasn’t know give up to that devil. So we continued our advance and taken several prisoners and know tellen how many that we did put out of business. The l­ ittle Marines was old hands and was on the job for they had been over the top several times and when they give the word go I was always on the job and raring to go. We stayed right in the fight together ­until that after­noon when one of the Marines got bumped off and we fi­nally got mixed up and got over with the 142 reg[iment] on the left. The shells was falling very heavy. I got up out of my Hole and started for another Hole, some distance ahead of me when Fritz sent over a shell and it hit some short distance ahead of me and a shrapnel hit my canteen and cut it half in to. I reached the Hole before I knew that I had got my canteen shot. When I lay down the ­water began to run out on me. ­Later I had to rush for another hole some distance ahead of me and a shrapnel hit my ­rifle and busted the stock. So I dropped my ­rifle and picked up another one from a dead soldier that lay near by. Late that after­noon we reached out objective where we dug in and stayed u­ ntil Oct. 10. When late on the after­noon on Oct 10 we got ­orders to go over the top . . . ​ and over the top we went and advance something like a mile. When we reached our objective . . . ​the 143 and 144 [infantry regiments] relieved us.” Corporal T. M. Branyon, H Com­pany, 141st Infantry “I do not believe I would be exaggerating to say that war is Hell. I believe that I have witnessed most every­thing any other soldier has on the front. Artillery fire with shells of all sizes, gas & high explosives in ­great number, it is an awful feeling to lay in a hole about 2½ feet deep ­under heavy shell fire and think all the time the next shell is the one that w ­ ill put you out of existence. My first time over the top was a very sad affair to me. I saw my best friends and comrades shot down by artillery fire and machine gun fire on my right & left, but of course we had to continue our drive on the ­enemy ­until we reached our objective, which we held very easy ­after reaching it. Our second time over we ­were welcomed with a gas attack by the ­enemy. It came on in a cloud which we mastered with our gas masks with ease, and continued on in pursuit of the e­ nemy, which we captured a number of in ­every drive we have made on them. I am proud to know that we have had good Officers over us, in ­every attempt we have made I believe ­every man would have followed them ­until death if that had been required. Our third trip over the top was the easiest of all . . . ​our com­pany captured nineteen prisoners. I believe in earnest the way our artillery cooperated with the infantry in the third attack made it so much easier for us, which we are thankful for. We can not accomplish much without the artillery and ariel [aerial] ser­vice. We also

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appreciated our own machine gun barrage over our heads while advancing over the third and last time. I ­will now mention ­r unning the barrages. First I ­will say it is a dangerous occupation to follow. But as you are ­there and can not defend yourself. You ­will find it hard work ­r unning from one shell hole to another & then when you get ­there you ­haven’t made any change in the affair to amount to any ­thing. Source: National Archives, Rec­ords Group 120, Rec­ords of the American Expeditionary Forces; Rec­ords of the Combat Divisions 1917–1918: 36th Division; Personal War Experiences 141st Infantry, Entry NM-91 1241.

3  Paul Andrews: A Private in the “Lost Battalion” Private Andrews was a draftee from Brookline, Mas­sa­chu­setts, who served in Com­ pany G, 308th Infantry of the 77th Division. His unit was part of the “Lost Battalion,” a collection of American units that had pushed deep into the Argonne Forest and ­were surrounded and besieged by the Germans from October 2 to October 8, 1918. Andrews was killed by a German shell in the midst of the siege on October 5, 1918. What follows are excerpts of letters that he sent home between March and October 1918. “I have gotten [sic] into the swing of ­things and am beginning to like it. It was pretty hard at first but we are getting hardened to the work and it seems easier than it was at first. . . . ​On the ­whole it is a good life plenty of fresh air, and up at a quarter of six and into bed at nine, and I feel ­great. The best that I have felt in a long time.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his aunt, dated March 13, 1918, posted just before leaving the United States. “Have had quite a few rather funny experiences with some of the places and farm ­houses trying to buy ­things and make them understand what we wanted. Usually two or three of us ­will be together each with a french book in our hands and ­will manage to get a sentence or two out. Take it from me it is a good ­thing for us that most of them know a ­little en­glish or we would never get by.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his aunt, dated May 5, 1918, from France. “­There is no question, this is some life we have over ­here, every­thing is crude and rough, but it agrees with me and I feel fine. It is funny to think back on city life and compare it with what I am now ­doing. Yesterday ­after drill [I] went out back of out billets onto a field and took a sponge bath out of a basin of cold ­water, and was delighted to be able to accomplish the feat. This morning [I] did my own washing and am writing this while waiting for it to dry. The best part of it is that it all seems like camping out to me, and I ­don’t mind it a bit, am perfectly happy and contented. It is surprising what a fellow can do without when he ­can’t get it. This life sure does put you in ­great condition tho, I can hike eight or nine miles, anytime now, with full equipment on my back, which weighs around sixty or seventy pounds” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his aunt, dated June 2, 1918, from France.



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“Since writing to you last, I have had one trick in the trenches and am now back of the lines having a rest for a while, before ­going back for another trick. I might add that rest in the army is more work than in the front line, as we are on the go most of the time, drilling or d­ oing other fatigue duty. Such as the job I was on the other day, cleaning the streets of this town, or like this morning when they woke is up at half past four to fall out with full equipment and practice open formation work with airplanes directing us, ­etc. This is sure a ­great life, one t­ hing about it, you get variety, as you never know what or when the next order ­will be.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his ­uncle, dated July 18, 1918, from France. “­Haven’t had my clothes off for seven days, but can sleep anywhere or any time clothes on or off, and ­under any conditions. . . . ​We are ­under very heavy shell fire and words ­can’t describe it. Had to stop a minute ago and flop, as a shell just landed fifty feet away and the shrapnel was flying all over the place, dropping on the roof and hitting the wall. That’s the hell of the ­thing, no action, just staying in one spot all the time, waiting for the shells to drop, day and night, it seems as if it would never stop. Our own guns booming all the time right in our ears and take it from me we are u­ nder some strain. . . . ​All I want now is to just get in sight of the e­ nemy, and have a chance to fight face to face with a few of them, that’s all.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his u­ ncle dated August 18, 1918, from France. “[I] was glad to hear that Norman is getting along so well and you can tell him for me, an officers life is much better than to be a private in infantry. He ­won’t have any of the dirty work that we have to do and go thru. But this is an army of trained men, and outside of a private t­ here d­ on’t seem to be much opportunity for a salesman, just my luck, but someone has to do the dirty work and it might just as well be me as the next fellow. . . . ​You asked me if I had ever seen the pretty French girls that you hear about in the states. So far I ­haven’t seen enough that I would look at a second time, to be counted on one hand. ­There is to be sure plenty in Paris, or several of the large cities but except for my short time in Paris I have yet to see them, let alone talk to them. This part of the army, so far, has spent its time in tiny l­ ittle country villages miles away from anywhere or anything. A good part of the time we have been at deserted towns where you see nothing but soldiers.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his aunt, dated August 25, 1918, from France “I ­don’t mind being ­under shell fire, or in the front line, but ­these damn cooties are driving me nutty. I itch and scratch from head to foot, and ­every day I ‘police’ my shirt and kill them by the hundreds but they still bite. I had to throw my undershirt away it was so bad, but they ­were right back again on my other shirt and if I ­don’t get rid of them soon your youn­gest is ­going to lose his good nature and get real mad. This is a hell of a life we are living anyway at its best, but with t­hose pests added to it, gee whiz but they are fierce. . . . ​They wake you up in the night and keep you busy all day, it is just scratch, scratch, scratch ­until you wish you could jump out of your skin. The way I feel now I ­don’t ever think I ­will get or feel clean again, but what the hell is the use. . . . ​For three days all I had to eat was a can of corn beef, a can of salmon, and a small can of hard tac. I had coffee and sugar but no chance to make a fire. The only ­water we had to drink was what we got out of

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a dirty river and it was filled with gas but we had to drink it. The third day they got rations up to us and we have had plenty ever since as by then our kitchens caught up with us. . . . ​We went over with just an overcoat and toilet articles, nothing e­ lse. I sure do miss my ­things ­these last few nights. It has been cold as the devil [at] night and to save my life I ­can’t make a knee-­length overcoat cover me up from head to toe. . . . ​That’s the way, we lug stuff for months and when we most need them we ­haven’t got them.” Letter from Private Paul F. Andrews to his ­mother, dated October 1918 from France. ­ fter Andrews was killed his com­pany commander, Captain Charles Greenwood, A wrote his m ­ other, “he defended his position fearlessly, volunteered for and conducted dangerous patrols which brought back valuable information and through his coolness and cheerfulness u­ nder the most distressing circumstances helped steady the men in his platoon and keep them nerved to fight. He was killed on October 5th, 1918 by a high explosive shell and was buried with the other men who paid the ­great sacrifice in the heroic fight . . . ​it was a privilege to serve with a man of his character. The men of the com­pany feel his death very keenly as he was among the most popu­lar in the com­pany. He was known as ‘smiling Andrews.” Letter from Captain Charles Greenwood to Mrs. Henry Andrews, dated January 21, 1919, from France. Source: National World War I Museum and Memorial Archives in Kansas City, Missouri.

4  Charles P. Darby: Wounded in France Darby was a steel worker before being drafted. While serving as an infantryman in the 81st Division’s 321st Infantry, he was severely wounded in the Meuse-­Argonne campaign. The following passage is an excerpt from a letter he wrote his m ­ other on April 3, 1919, while recovering from his wounds at Camp Merritt, New Jersey. I contracted pneumonia from lying on the wet ground for so long ­after I was wounded and a lot of bad blood and corruption formed around my lungs. Well this had to be taken out right away and so I was operated on and part of one of my ribs is gone. The gunshot wound on the knee was painful but luckily the kneecap ­wasn’t fractured. It hit me and then bounced out. ­There is a big scar now. I cannot run now though in time it ­will get stronger. The firing position of a soldier in ­battle is lying flat on his stomach keeping as low as pos­si­ble. The first bullet that struck me went in between my two shoulder blades and came out my right side about the ninth rib. Well this knocked me about five yards and my cartridge ­belt flew off. I rolled over on my right side and just at that moment I was hit in the right knee . . . [I crawled into a shellhole and] prayed for an ambulance to come ­there and take me to a hospital and also made up my mind t­ here that if I lived thru that I would be a better man in the ­f uture. I lay ­there in that wet field ­until seven ­o’clock [at night] and then the Germans quit firing and we thought they ­were ­going to rush us, as we could hear them talking to themselves. Well I sure did give myself up for lost when I heard that and wondered what they would do to me if they found me. I could not



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run or make a fight and I heard they ­were very cruel to their prisoners. . . . [The Germans he heard surrendered and a­ fter his wounds w ­ ere dressed by a German prisoner]. . . . ​From ­there we ­were put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital. The roads ­were in bad condition from the recent shelling by the German artillery and it was a rough r­ ide, and one poor fellow who had been shot in the head, groaned and screamed all the way to the hospital and kept crying for w ­ ater. But they could not give him ­water in the condition he was in. It is the first ­thing that a man wants ­after he has been shot. Source: National World War I Museum and Memorial Archives in Kansas City, Missouri.

5  Instructions Pertaining to the Training of an Infantry Division in Trench Warfare, and the Establishment of Divisional Schools The War Department understood the challenges that the army faced in leadership and experience and sought to solve t­hese prob­lems by instituting a standardized training plan for all levels of command within a division. The War Department’s directive, Infantry Training, issued on August 27, 1917, mandated the establishment of 13 divisional schools for specialists and provided a detailed and progressive weekly training plan for the instruction of infantry and machine gun companies. The total course of instruction was to take 16 weeks, and its intent was to make it pos­si­ble for the division’s units “to take their places on the line,” with a “minimum of training in France.” To appease John J. Pershing, in December 1917, the War Department extended the training plan to 18 weeks to add more emphasis on “open warfare.” The following represents most of the document, excepting the last five and a half pages of the original. INFANTRY TRAINING I. INSTRUCTIONS PERTAINING TO THE TRAINING OF AN INFANTRY DIVISION IN TRENCH WARFARE, AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF DIVISIONAL SCHOOLS. 1. In all the military training of a division, u­ nder existing conditions, training for trench warfare is of paramount importance. Without neglect of the fundamentals of individual recruit instruction, ­every effort should be devoted to making all units from the squad and platoon upwards proficient in this kind of training. It is believed that in an intensive course of 16 weeks troops can be brought to a reasonable degree of efficiency through the squad, platoon, and com­pany, making it pos­si­ble with a minimum of training in France for them to take their places on the line. The responsibility for the instruction in trench warfare of field officers, staff officers, and higher commanders rests with special force upon the division commander.

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2. Instruction in trench warfare can not [sic] be properly developed without a trench system. It ­will be one of the first duties of a division commander, accompanied by his chief of staff and engineer officer, to make a careful tactical reconnaissance of the terrain with his camp area and locate this trench system. The location of the system should be based upon sound tactical princi­ples, and for this reason the reconnaissance should extend beyond the confines of the camp area, so that in larger prob­lems the trenches actually constructed with form a consistent part of the scheme. The trenches should be so located that proper artillery positions can be occupied, and when practicable it would be desirable if fire for effect by artillery with ser­vice ammunition could be delivered upon them. The location of the trenches may also be constructed. Soil and drainage should be carefully considered. When the location has been determined upon, the division commander ­will cause the engineer officer to have the complete trench system staked out and taped. An engineer officer ­will be detailed in charge of the system from the beginning, and it ­will be his duty to apportion the tasks to each organ­ization which reports for trench construction. By this means not a spade full of earth ­will be upturned which does not apply to the development of the system. On account of the high cost of material for obstacles, revetment, ­etc., it would not be well to plan in the beginning for the construction of a trench area of more than 600 yards front and 800 yards depth. This ­will receive a garrison of a battalion, and from the time it nears completion and continuously thereafter it should be occupied successively by the several battalions in the division. In the shortest practicable time the division commander ­will require of the engineer officer the preparation of a maneuver map of the camp area and so much of the surrounding country as he deems necessary for prob­lems. This map should be drawn with the coordinate system used by the British and French. Its scale should be 1/5000, with reductions to 1/10000 for con­ve­nient use and 1/40000 for use of artillery. 3. The tactical instruction of brigade commanders, staff officers, and regimental field officers should be ­under the direct personal supervision of the division commander. Staff officers are included in this instruction, as most of them now have very impor­tant functions to perform in the preparation of operation o­ rders. The course ­will be taken up during the first 16 weeks of intensive training of the troops and continued u­ ntil the arrival of the division in France. The course w ­ ill embrace the study of regulations, manuals, and recent publications by the War College Division on trench warfare, combined from the beginning with the employment of the applicatory method, including map prob­lems, terrain exercises, tactical rides and walks, and map maneuvers, culminating in practical







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maneuvers with troops in trench warfare. Operation ­orders in trench warfare proceed from higher commanders through the several subordinate commanders, each having to issue an order, but differing greatly in form from our field ­orders. Operation ­orders not enter into the minutest details of preparation, organ­ization, distribution, methods of advance, supply, liaison, ­etc. Therefore constant training and exercise in the framing of ­orders based upon carefully prepared tactical prob­lems are absolutely essential. Courses of like nature ­will be conducted for regimental officers in each regiment by the col­o­nel u­ nder the supervision of the brigade commander. Time must be found for ­these courses during the eve­nings and Wednesday and Saturday after­noons. 4. In addition to the tactical courses described above, a system of divisional schools ­will be established as listed below: (a) Infantry school of arms: 1. Small-­arms department— First section. Grenades (hand and r­ ifle) Second section. Bayonet. Third section. ­Rifle and pistol. Fourth section. Automatic arms (automatic ­rifle and light machine gun). 2. Machine-­gun department— First section. Heavy (rifle-­caliber) machine gun. Second section. One-­pounder gun. 3. Engineer department— First section. Sappers, bombers, pioneers. Second section. Field fortifications for line troops. 4. Gas-­defense department— Use, care, repair of gas masks, ­etc. (b) Artillery school. (c) School for stable sergeants and farriers. (d) School for mess sergeants, bakers, and cooks. (e) School for ­horse­shoers [sic]. (f) School for com­pany mechanics. (g) School for equitation. (h) School for supply officers and supply sergeants. (i) School for clerks. (j) School for saddlers and cobblers. (k) Signal school. (l) School for bandsmen and buglers. (m) School for hygiene and sanitation. And such other schools as the division commander may deem necessary. For the specialties in this list of schools, specialist instructors ­will be supplied as rapidly as pos­si­ble from the central schools now

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in operation, but their early organ­ization should not be delayed. Instructors, student officers, and student enlisted men should be excused from all other duty while detailed to the schools. II. INTRODUCTION. 1. With the sudden expansion of the Regular Army and the National Guard and the creation in its entirety of the new National Army, the subject of military training assumes the greatest importance, and concerning this training it is essential that certain well-­ recognized princi­ples should be constantly borne in mind. 2. The responsibility for the training of a division rests solely upon the division commander. ­Under his direction, responsibility for the training of troops devolves upon all commanders from ­those of platoons upward. Therefore the following pages ­will be considered only as suggestive and advisory in character, to be applied and adapted in the discretion of the division commander and made mandatory by his direction alone. Results in efficiency are demanded of him—­the system and methods, subject to the princi­ples laid down in the training manuals and Regulations, are his own. 3. To be effective in time of war, military training must be uniform throughout the ser­vice and must conform to certain basic princi­ ples possessing varying degrees of importance. A due sense of proportion of t­hese princi­ples and a full appreciation of the relative merits of t­ hose qualities constituting the standard to which the Army must attain are expected of all commanding officers. 4. Patriotism is of the first importance. An absolute and unqualified devotion to the welfare and success of our country is an indispensable prerequisite that has always constituted the soul of our Army. 5. Discipline distinguishes thoroughly trained and instructed troops from an irresponsible, unwieldy, and disorderly aggregation of men. Its essential characteristics are re­spect for and implicit obedience to superior authority. Its vital importance must be thoroughly impressed upon all in the military ser­vice. Cheerful, earnest, and loyal obedience should be promptly paid by all subordinates to lawful o­ rders of superiors. 6. Physical development of the soldier should be such that it ­will render him capable of the greatest endurance on the march and on the field of ­battle. The most endurance is attained through a progressive course of training that improves the voluntary muscles and vital organs. To this end, marches of increasing length, with increasing weights of packs, and daily setting-up exercises are necessary for the physical development of infantry. Other physical training calculated to develop the physique along the special lines required in modern warfare ­will be prescribed from time to time.



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7. Self-­respect, self-­reliance, and resourcefulness are qualities in a large mea­sure inherent in our soldiers and should be cultivated to the fullest extent in their training. 8. Professional knowledge lends to the greatest efficiency when intelligently applied in ­actual practice. 9. To render the most perfect ser­vice on the field of ­battle is the final object for which our Army is created and maintained. 10. Fundamental princi­ples and general directions governing the training of infantry: (a) Instruction, inspection, responsibility and authority, or command are inseparable. (b) The officer must know the duties of the men ­under his command in addition to his own specific duties. (c) Officers and noncommissioned officers of each grade should be competent to take up the duties of the next higher grade. Military efficiency can only be attained through competent and instructed officers and noncommissioned officers. (d) The efficiency of the squad, including its leadership is the basis of efficiency, and this efficiency in turn depends on the thoroughness of the training of individual member of this unit. (e) The efficiency of ­every command depends on the efficiency of the units or teams composing it. As each team in a large command must be ­under the direct control of its immediate chief, it is evident that such chief should have all pos­si­ble charge of the instruction of his team.* Authority and responsibility should exist in equal degree. From such a system ­there should result not only suitable instruction of the team but also comradeship among the individual members, pride in the team as a unit, and that confidence and habit of command on the part of the leader so necessary to efficient leadership. (f) The best instruction is that which is practical and which is taught through personal contact between instructor and ­those ­under instruction. Any other kind is justified only when practical instruction can not [sic] be given. (g) The paramount object of instruction is not only to impart knowledge as knowledge but also so to train the soldier that he ­shall be better qualified each day in meeting the situations that may face him in the field. It is believed that this desired

*  Officers must, however, ­because of the inexperience of the ­g reat majority of the noncommissioned officers, give personal attention to individual instruction and to that of the squad and platoon, in order that the training may proceed along right lines and due pro­g ress be made.

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development can be hastened by accustoming the soldier to investigate for himself. (h) The applicatory method of instruction should be used as far as pos­si­ble. This method finds its principal application in theoretical instruction, but its advantages should not be overlooked in practical work. Example: A com­pany commander signaling to platoon commanders without com­pany being pre­sent. (i) The ultimate object of all instruction being field ser­vice efficiency, field maneuvers and field firing should be considered as the culmination of previous training and the test of its thoroughness. (j) ­There must be a definite and progressive plan and schedule of instruction. E ­ very course of instruction should embrace certain definitely prescribed subjects and be for a definite period in order to unify instruction, prevent unnecessary repetition, and use the available time to the best advantage. On the completion of the prescribed course of theoretical instruction all study should not cease, but sufficient post-­graduate work should follow to broaden the student’s professional horizon and keep him in touch with new methods and ideas. (k) Drill movements are of two general classes—­first, drills of precision, and second, maneuver and combat exercises. The precise movements of the manual of arms and close-­ order drill are not for the purpose of teaching men how to get about on the ­battle field. They ­will hardly be used ­there at all. One of the principal objects is to train the soldiers’ minds and bodies to habits of precise, unhesitating obedience to the ­will of the leader, so that in the stress of ­battle they ­will obey without conscious effort, mechanically, automatically, as the easiest and most natu­ral line of action. Maneuver and combat exercises are intended for instruction in the proper ­handling of troops in campaign and on the ­battle field. ­There should be rigid adherence to ­orders and instructions. It is hardly pos­si­ble properly to conduct a drill or exercise without special forethought and preparation for that par­tic­u­ lar drill or exercise. ­After each drill or exercise the specific work for the next one should be announced, so that leaders may have time to prepare themselves. The drill or exercise should be made in­ter­est­ing, not only by variety, which is necessary in order not to exhaust the soldier’s attention by straining it too long on one subject, but also by comments on the part of leaders, continued throughout the drill and directed t­oward ­those ele­ments whose per­ for­mance is unusually good or bad.



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(l) Time is impor­t ant, but proficiency is the most impor­tant ­factor in infantry training. (m) Lectures are valuable aids in military training. ­T hose to enlisted men should be about one-­half hour long; to officers they may be longer. The number of lectures on any par­tic­u­ lar subject w ­ ill depend upon its nature. They should be delivered by ­those specially qualified on the par­tic­u­lar subjects. The lecture meetings should be as informal as is consistent with discipline; questions and discussions should be arranged. The appropriate use of maps, diagrams, and illustrations, including moving pictures, is advantageous. A list of general subjects for lectures is given hereafter. 11. Duties of the regimental, battalion, and com­pany commanders.—­ The division commander w ­ ill prepare and issue programs of training, and ­will cause detailed schedules covering prescribed periods of time to be prepared by proper commanders. The duty of seeing that the prescribed instruction is carried on lies with the regimental commander and his field officers, and with this end in view they should personally observe the instruction which is being given to the companies. They should, however, carefully refrain from interfering with any legitimate method which is producing results, remembering that no two men ­will proceed along exactly the same lines. By interference superiors not only destroy initiative, but also weaken the authority of the subordinate commander over his men. Interference is justified only when such a commander fails to follow the course of instruction prescribed, displays ignorance, or shows such a lack of judgement in his methods as to render it certain that the results desired w ­ ill not be accomplished. This does not mean that a suggestion from a superior officer should not be made or followed, but such suggestion should be carefully considered and only made when it is certain better results ­will follow its adoption. 12. Having received a schedule of instruction, the com­pany commander should lay his plans covering all details of the subject not prescribed by higher authority. Recruits and other ill-­instructed men should be grouped together and assigned for instruction to a specially qualified officer or noncommissioned officer. With this exception, each unit leader should, if pos­si­ble, be the instructor of his own unit. Each drill should be governed by a schedule showing the subjects assigned to each group and the corresponding allowance of time. The captain should supervise the instruction of the vari­ous groups, making corrections and suggestions only when he sees the satisfactory results are not forthcoming, and then not in the hearing of the men.

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13. Normally four hours ­will be devoted to military training and instruction at each morning and after­noon assembly. The after­ noon periods on Wednesdays and Saturdays may be devoted to giving additional training to backward men, and ­those who have made adequate pro­g ress in their training may be excused from routine work during such periods or, in case of need, required to care for Government property or assist in the instruction and training of ­others. Care ­will be taken during all periods to vary the training and not to devote too much time to any one subject. 14. It is desirable that provision be made for a sand ­table, a map for map prob­lems, and some device to serve as a target in instruction in fire direction. A rough sketch on paper or on a blackboard on a scale of about 12 inches to the mile ­will serve for map prob­lems, but a relief map is the best device for practical instruction. A board arranged so that it can be raised or lowered and having painted on it a line of prone silhouettes makes a good target. ­Every headquarters, machine-­gun, and supply com­pany should have one or more wooden h­ orses so constructed as to permit of saddling, bridling, and harnessing. 15. Basics of Infantry training.—­The training of Infantry is based on the subjects covered in Infantry Drill Regulations (I. D. R.), Field Ser­vice Regulations (F. S. R.), Manual for Noncommissioned Officers and Privates (M.  N.  C.  O.), Small-­Arms Firing Manual (S. A. F. M.), and Manual Physical Training (M. P. T.), and upon the experience of other nations in the pre­sent war. Training in special subjects, such as the use of gases in war, grenades, bayonet fighting, ­etc., are being covered in pamphlets issued from time to time by the War Department, in accordance with developments in the art of war. III. TRAINING PLAN. ALL COMPANIES 1. Recruit instruction: (a) Articles of War. (b) Military discipline and courtesy. (c) Arms, uniforms, and equipment. (d) Personal hygiene and care of feet. (e) School of the soldier. (f) School of the squad. (g) Setting-up exercises, recruit instruction. (h) ­Orders for sentinels. ­R IFLE COM­PANY 2. Squad instruction: (a) Test of recruits by squad leader in subjects (1) (b) to (h), inclusive.







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(b) (c) (d) (e) (f) (g)

Setting-up exercises, “Trained soldiers” instruction. School of the squad. Tent pitching. Bayonet exercises and bayonet combat. Whistle and arm signals. Color sentinels, countersigns and paroles, compliment from guards, guarding prisoners and flags. (h) Sighting drills. (i) Position and aiming drills. (j) Making triangles. (k) Target practice. (l) Musketry duties of the squad and squad leader, involving target designation, distribution of fire on target, fire discipline, fire direction, and fire control. (m) First aid to the wounded. (n) (1) Methods of employing gases in modern warfare; (i) gas clouds; (ii) gas shells. (2) Effect of gas. (3) Use of gas mask, (i) care of mask; (ii) method of application; (iii) mask drill. 3. Platoon instruction: (a) Test of squads by platoon leader on subjects (2) (c), (d), (e), (f), (l), (m), and (n); (3) (paragraph above). (b) Drill, close order. (c) Drill, in trench and open warfare. (d) Musketry duties of platoon and platoon leader, involving: Target designation. Finding range. Distribution of fire. Fire discipline. Fire direction. Fire control. Communications. (e) ­Rifle trenches. (f) Individual cooking. (g) (1) Marching, ­r unning, bayonet fighting, rapid loading and aiming, e­ tc., while wearing gas masks. (2) Prevention of damage by gas to ­rifles, ­etc., sentry duties in connection with gas. (3) Use of sprayers and fans for clearing out gases. 4. Com­pany instruction: (a) Test of squads in subjects (2) (c), (d), (e), (f), (l), (m), and (n); (3) (paragraph above). (b) Test of platoons in subjects (3) (b), (c), (d), (e), (f), and (g); (3) (paragraph above). (c) School of the com­pany, close order.

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(d) (e) (f) (g) (h) (i)

Com­pany training in trench warfare. Com­pany inspection. Commander, sergeant, and corporal of the guard. Guard mounting. Physical training and swimming. Musketry duties of the com­pany involving: Target designation. Finding the range. Distribution of fire. Fire discipline. Fire direction. Fire control. Communication. (j) Field Ser­vice. (k) Marching and camping. (l) Range practice, known distance, small-­arms firing courses. At least one-­fourth of the enlisted personnel, less the cooks and buglers, ­will be trained as hostile trench patrols (called “moppers up” by the British and “trench cleaners” by the French). At least 4 noncommissioned officers and 36 privates selected for their superior intelligence, education, skill in musketry, and steadiness ­will be trained as sharpshooters or “snipers.” This training ­will include the care and use of field glasses, telescopic sights, devices for and methods of escaping hostile observation, loophole construction, snap shooting at rapidly disappearing targets, map reading, and the making of sketches and of clear and concise reports. This training ­will be given ­after the com­pany training has made reasonable pro­gress. About one-­half of the com­pany ­will be trained in the duties of scouts, messengers, and liaison patrols. Instruction in t­ hese subjects w ­ ill begin in the platoon and continue during all subsequent training. Instruction in all of the above specialties w ­ ill be in accordance with information on t­hese subjects issued from time to time by the War Department, and the changes indicated in such information with regard to methods and practices ­will be strictly observed. Coordination in t­ hese several specialties ­will be effected by means of schools in each division or separate command in which unit instructors w ­ ill receive training u­ nder specially trained officers and o­ thers. 5. Tests as indicated w ­ ill be made at proper times in the pro­gress of training of individuals, squads, platoons, and companies. A careful rec­ord ­will be kept in each com­pany of work actually performed from day to day in the pro­gress of training.

















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HEADQUARTERS COM­PANY. It may become necessary, in order to enable headquarters companies to perform the duties which devolve upon similar organ­izations in the British and French armies in trench-­to-­trench fighting, to materially increase the personnel of headquarters companies, and to or­ga­nize platoons trained, respectively, as (a) signalmen, (b) sappers and bombers, (c) sappers and pioneers, and (d) in the ser­vice and operation of 1-­pounder ­rifle cannon. Pending further instructions a headquarters com­ pany ­ will be instructed in the following subjects: (a) Members of the band in litter drill, ­music, school of the soldier, marching, first aid to the wounded (theoretical and practical), the nomenclature, care, and preservation of band instruments. (b) Mounted orderlies (theoretical and practical) in riding, bridling, saddling, and care of h­orses; signaling, carry­ ing verbal messages. (c) Sergeants major and color sergeants in their duties at ceremonies and drills as prescribed in the Infantry Drill Regulations; in the preparation of returns and reports, correspondence and the using of morning reports, sick reports, duty rosters, ration returns, individual rec­ords of enlisted men, small-­arms reports; in studies of Army Regulations, Field Ser­vice Regulations, and other books and papers pertaining strictly to their duties as clerks at regimental or separate battalion headquarters. They ­will also be instructed in semaphore signaling. (d) First sergeant in the preparation of correspondence, returns, muster and pay rolls, and in the use of morning reports, sick reports, duty rosters, ration returns, individual rec­ords of enlisted men, small-­arms reports, and in their duties at ceremonies and drills as prescribed in the Infantry Drill Regulations. They w ­ ill also be instructed in semaphore signaling. (e) Mess sergeants and cooks in the study of Army Cooks’ Manual, Army Bakers’ Manual, the components of the ration, the nomenclature, care, and preservation of field ranges, march kit, and cooking utensils; sanitation of kitchen and mess hall, including the disposal of garbage. (f) Supply sergeants in the study of the Infantry Equipment, the issue, care, and preservation of leather, equipment, clothing and arms; the ­handling and accounting (practical and theoretical) of all property. (g) Stable sergeants in the study of Manual for Farriers, Horse­ shoers [sic], Saddlers, and Wagoners or Teamsters; the care and treatment of animals and the care and preservation of harness, ­saddles, and bridles. (h) Sergeant bugler as prescribed for buglers in a r­ ifle com­pany.

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(i) The ­horse­shoer in the study of the manual named in paragraph (g) above. (j) All members in making the pack, antigas mea­sures, camp sanitation, personal hygiene, and the use of the first-­aid packet; the nomenclature, care and preservation of the ­rifle or pistol, depending upon the weapon with which they are armed. (k) All members armed with the ­r ifle in sighting, position, and aiming drills, and target practice. (l) All noncommissioned officers ­will be instructed in signaling. (m) Sappers’ and bombers’ detachment ­will be instructed in its specialty. (n) Sappers’ and pioneers’ detachment ­will be instructed in its specialty. (o) One-­pounder gun detachment ­will be instructed in its specialty. SUPPLY COM­PANY. A supply com­pany ­will be instructed in the following subjects: (a) Regimental supply sergeants in the preparation of property returns, correspondence, rations returns; in studies of Army Regulations, Field Ser­vice Regulations, Infantry equipment, price list of clothing and equipment (annual general order of War Department), Quartermaster Manual, and other books and papers, also blank forms pertaining strictly to their duties as supply sergeants. (b) First sergeants, mess sergeants, stable sergeants, cooks, saddlers, as prescribed respectively for the same positions for a headquarters com­pany. (c) Corporals as prescribed for stable sergeants. (d) Saddlers as prescribed for ­horse­shoers in a headquarters com­pany. (e) Wagoners in the study of Manual for Farriers, Horse­shoers, Saddlers, and Wagoners or Teamsters; the care and treatment of animals and the nomenclature, care, and preservation of harness and wagons. (f) All noncommissioned officers ­will be instructed in signaling. (g) All members in making pack, in antigas mea­sures, camp sanitation, personal hygiene, and the use of the first-­aid packet; the nomenclature, care, and preservation of the ­r ifle or pistol, depending upon the weapon with which they are armed. (h) All member armed with the ­rifle in sighting, position and aiming drills and target practice. MACHINE-­GUN COM­PANY A machine-­gun com­pany w ­ ill be instructed in the courses and subjects set forth in the Machine Gun Firing Manual.



IV.

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GENERAL SUBJECTS FOR LECTURES. (Suitable for all arms.) 1. Discipline. 2. Conduct in ser­vice. 3. Morale. 4. Leadership. 5. Customs and courtesies of the ser­vice; Saluting. 6. Physical training. 7. Obligations and rights of the soldier. 8. Duties and responsibilities of N. C. O. 9. The commissioned officer. 10. Personal hygiene. 11. Venereal diseases. 12. Alcoholism; Drugs. 13. Personal cleanliness. 14. Insects and vermin. 15. Vaccination and prophylaxis; Communicable diseases. 16. Care of the feet. 17. First aid and elementary bandaging. 18. Sanitation and its maintenance. 19. Articles of War. 20. Army Regulations and ­orders. 21. Purposes and methods of drill. 22. Why we are at war. 23. History; Eu­ro­pean war; United States wars. 24. Pay and allowances. 25. Care and adjustments of clothing and equipment. 26. Military offenses and punishments. 27. Property responsibility. 28. Interior guard duty. 29. Security in the field. 30. Rations. 31. Reconnaissance. 32. Use of cover. 33. Study of terrain on the ground. 34. Maps and map reading. 35. Messages and reports. 36. Lines of information. 37. ­Orders. 38. Horses and stable management. 39. Organ­ization, arms, and characteristics of— (a) United States troops. (b) Allies. (c) ­Enemy. (d) ­Others. 40. Entrenchments. 41. Tactical use of machine guns.

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42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48.

Gas warfare. Grenade and bomb warfare. Powers and limitations of vari­ous arms. Transportation of troops by rail, trucks, ships. Attack and defense of positions. Rules of land warfare. Trench ­orders.

V. WEEKLY TRAINING PROGRAMS. 1. The following weekly programs are published as guides in order to secure uniformity of instruction and pro­gress throughout the several divisions and to be an aid to division commanders in preparing similar programs. They are in no sense mandatory, as it is realized that conditions ­will differ in each division. Results, however, are required and departures from ­these programs should be in the direction of improvement. 2. The programs cover a period of 16 weeks of intensive training and are restricted (except for short periods of battalion training in the fifteenth and sixteenth weeks) to individual, squad, platoon, and com­pany training. Progressive training, with troops, of the higher units ­will be taken up at the conclusion of the 16 weeks’ course. 3. The time devoted to training each week is 40 hours, leaving Wednesday and Saturday after­noons ­f ree for recreation and for additional drill for backward men. 4. Tests are required as indicated. ­These tests may be held from time to time as the proficiency of the individual or unit is demonstrated, but all should be completed at time provided in programs. Additional training ­will be given to individuals and units found not proficient on Wednesday and Saturday after­noons followed by further tests. 5. Target practice is continued to include the sixteenth week. ­Great care should be exercised in the preparation of com­pany schedules to cover the training of platoons and groups not firing during the time allotted to target practice. 6. Night work is of the utmost importance, and should include all phases of training, scouting, patrolling, marches, security, occupation of trenches, night relief of troops in trenches, trench raids, construction of trenches and obstacles, combat, ­etc. 7. The specialities [sic] are given only the time which is considered absolutely necessary to secure proficiency. They should be vigorously taught. 8. Ceremonies ­will be included in the time allotted for inspections. 9. Refresher courses should be conducted e­ very eve­ning in each com­pany for the officers and noncommissioned officers. ­T hese courses should include a review of the day’s work and a careful preparation for the work of the next day.





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10. Due to time which may be consumed in physical examinations, vaccination, typhoid prophylaxis, pos­si­ble quarantine, ­etc., it may be necessary to continue the training set forth for the first week over a period of two or even three weeks. . . . Source: U.S. Department of War, Infantry Training (Washington D. C.: Government Printing Office, August 27, 1917); prepared at the Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, PA.

NOTES   1. U.S. Department of War, War Department Annual Report (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1916), 242; U.S. Department of War, The War With Germany: A Statistical Summary (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), 16–21.   2. U.S. Department of War, The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War, Vol. XV, Pt 1, Anthropology (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1921), 64–65.   3. Provost Marshal General, Second Report of the Provost Marshal General to the Secretary of the Army on the Operations of the Selective Ser­vice System to December 20, 1918 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1919), 226–28.   4. “Replies to Officers’ Questionnaires” from Morale Branch of the War College and War Plans Division to the Chief of Staff, dated November 5, 1919, in NARA, RG165, NM84, Entry 378, Box 6, 52.   5. Richard S. Faulkner, The School of Hard Knocks: Combat Leadership in the American Expeditionary Forces (College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2012), 114–19.   6. U.S. Department of War, Infantry Training (Washington D. C.: Government Printing Office, August 27, 1917), 5–7, 11–12, 20–29.   7. U.S. Army Center of Military History, The U.S. Army in the World War, vol. 3, Training and Use of American Units with the British and French (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1988), 36, 59–64; AEF GHQ, “Program of Training for the 1st Division, A.E.F.,” October 6, 1917, World War Rec­ords, First Division, vol. 20, Training First Division (Washington, D.C.: Army War College, 1930), n.p.   8. Diary of Captain Clarence Minick, National World War I Museum archives, Kansas City, Missouri. Hereafter NWWIM.   9. Reports from field agents to 83rd Division for the following dates: August 12, 1918; September 7, 1918; September 16, 1918; October 3, 1918; October 29, 1918; and November 1, 1918, NARA, RG 120, Entry 195 (one box); Testimony of Lt. Col. Eugene H. Houghton in Report of Capt. Albert Rich, Asst. Inspector General, 1st Army to Inspector General, 1st Army, Subject: “77th Division Cutting Off of Seven Companies and One Machine Gun Com­pany, October 3rd, 1918,” dated October 8, 1918, in NARA, RG 120, Entry 590, Box 1; “Notes Made by the Inspector General A.E.F., during the Active Operations from 12th September 1918 to 11th November 1918,” in NARA, RG 120, Entry 588, Box 116. 10. David M. Kennedy, Over H ­ ere: The First World War and American Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), 24, 157; Nancy Gentile Ford, Americans All: Foreign Born Soldiers in World War I (College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2001), 3–15, 67–68, 118–19; Report of 37th Div. Chaplain, October 6, 1918, NARA, RG 120, Entry 597, Box 3821; Report from Intelligence Officer, Camp Devens, MA, to Chief, Military Morale Section, Subject: “Questions Regarding Morale,” dated July 20, 1918, and September 9, 1918, NARA, RG 165, Entry 377, Box 3.

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11. “Foreign Speaking American Soldiers and Foreign Speaking American Officers,” Commander, Camp Dodge to Director of Military Intelligence, dated September 11, 1918, NARA, RG 165, Entry 377, Box 4; Edward G. Buxton, ed., Official History of the 82nd Division (Indianapolis: Bobbs-­Merrill, 1919), 2. 12. Chad Williams, Torchbearers of Democracy: African American Soldiers in the World War I Era (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 108–11. 13. “Report of Negro Morale in and about Newport News,” from Major C. B. Perkins to Chief Morale Branch, dated December  31, 1918, NARA RG 165, Entry 377, Box 12. 14. Emmett J. Scott to General E. L. Munson, Chief, Military Morale Branch, dated December 13, 1918, NARA RG 165, Entry 377, Box 3. 15. William S. Braddan, ­Under Fire with the 370th Infantry (Chicago: self-­published, n.d.), 107. 16. José de la Luz Sáenz, The World War I Diary of José de la Luz Sáenz, ed. and trans. Emilo Zamora (College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2014), 60, 82; José A. Ramírez, To the Line of Fire: Mexican Texans and the World War (College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2009), 75, 80–81, 90. 17. Thomas A. Britten, American Indians in World War I: At War and at Home (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1997), 51–58, 64–65, 176–81; Susan Krouse, North American Indians in the ­Great War (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 22–29, 33, 64–67, 118–20. 18. Letter from Floyd Sosey to Mrs. J. C. Sosey (­mother), dated December 11, 1917; Letter from Dewitt McIntyre to Mrs. G. W. McIntyre, dated September 10, 1917, both from author’s collection. 19. Fred A. Sass’e, Rookie Days of a Soldier (St. Paul: W. G. Greene, 1924), 205–09. 20. AEF General O ­ rders 18, dated January 31, 1918. 21. U.S. Department of War, Manual for Army Cooks (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1916), 40; Letters from Private Milton Sweningsen, 138th In., 35th Div., to his ­mother, dated August 2 and November 3, 1918, U.S. Army Military History Institute World War I Veterans Survey (hereafter MHIWWIS). 22. Albert M. Ettinger, A Doughboy in the Fighting 69th (Shippensburg: White Mane Publishing, 1992), 28; U.S. Army Center of Military History, The United States Army in the World War, Vol. 15, Report of the Commander, SOS (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1988), 95. 23. AEF General O ­ rders 18, July 28, 1918. 24. John D. McDaniels, 126th In., 32nd Div., “A Tanglefoot’s Diary” Entries for October 11–16, 1918, MHIWWIS; letter from Paul F. Andrews to his ­mother, dated October 1918, NWWIM. 25. Frank Merrill, 6th Marines, 2nd Div., MHIWWIS. 26. Reports of Se­nior Chaplains, 36th Div. and the 92nd Div. for October 1918, NARA, RG 120, Entry 597, Boxes 3821 and 3822. 27. Reports of the chaplains of the 81st and 92nd Div. for November 1918, NARA, RG 120, Entry 597, Box 2822. 28. “Investigation of the Y.M.C.A.,” NARA, RG 120, Entry 445, Box 3462, Vol. 3, 616, 711. 29. “Investigation of the Y.M.C.A.,” Vol. 1, 86–89. 30. L. V. Jacks, Ser­vice Rec­ord by an Artilleryman (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1928), 286–87. 31. Clarence L. Mahan, manuscript, “Hoosier Doughboy With the First Division,” MHIWWIS. 32. Letter from Harold Lane to Charles Lane, dated September  17, 1918, author’s collection.



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33. George Browne, An American Soldier in World War I, ed. David L. Snead (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006), 30; Intelligence Officer, Camp Jackson, South Carolina, “Weekly Information Report,” dated October 21, 1918, NARA, RG 165, Entry 377, Box 7. 34. U.S. Department of L ­ abor, Department of ­Labor Report 991: 100 Years of U.S. Consumer Spending (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2006), 9–13; Chicago Daily News, The Chicago Daily News War Book for American Soldiers, Sailors and Marines (Chicago: Chicago Daily News Com­pany, 1918), 133; U.S. Department of War, Special Regulations No. 72: Allotments, ­Family Allowances, Compensation, and Insurance (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1918), 26–28. 35. AEF GHQ, “Program of Training for the 1st Division, A.E.F.,” October 6, 1917, in World War Rec­ords, First Division, vol. 20, Training First Division (Washington, D.C.: Army War College, 1930), n.p. 36. U.S. Army Medical Department, The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War, vol. 15, Statistics, pt. 2, Medical and Casualty Statistics (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1925), 1,019. 37. Maj. C. A. Dravo, “Machine Guns: The Offensive in Open Warfare,” Infantry Journal 17, no. 4 (October 1920), 319. 38. Richard McBride, 325th In., 82nd Div., manuscript, MHIWWIS. 39. John H. Taber, The Story of the 168th Infantry, vol. 1 (Iowa City: State Historical Society of Iowa, 1925), 73. 40. Warren Jackson, His Time in Hell (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 2001), 104–06. 41. Wendell Westover, Suicide Battalions (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1929), 209. 42. Ernst Otto, The B ­ attle at Blanc Mont (Annapolis, MD: United States Naval Institute, 1930), 140–41, 146; Ben Chastaine, Story of the 36th (Oklahoma City, OK: Harlow, 1920), 94; Leonard Ayres, The War with Germany: A Statistical Analy­sis (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1919), 120. 43. Earl Seaton, 16th In., 1st Div., memoir, “I Joined the Regulars,” MHIWWIS. 44. U.S. Department of War, Medical Aspects of Gas Warfare, vol. 14, The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1926), 273–80; Col. H. L. Gilchrist, A Comparative Study of World War Casualties From Gas and Other Weapons (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1928), 16, 23–26. 45. John Stringfellow, Hell No! (Boston: Meador, 1936), 238–39. 46. Earle Poorbaugh, 26th In., 1st Div., MHIWWIS. 47. Sanitary Report for October 1918 for 82nd DIV, NARA, RG 120, Entry 2113, Box 5207; “Report on the Operations of the 1st Battalion, 325th Infantry, during the Meuse-­ Argonne Campaign from October  9th  to 30th  1918,” in Whitman Papers, 325th  In., MHIWWIS. 48. Thurmond Baccus, 307th Field Signal Bn, unpublished manuscript, MHIWWIS; Edward Gutiérrez, Doughboys on the ­Great War: How American Soldiers Viewed Their Military Experience (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2014), 15, 33–38, 55–60, 172–76. 49. William Haseltine, The Ser­ vices of Supply of the American Expeditionary Forces: A Statistical Summary (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1919), 27, 29, 55; John J. McGrath, The Other End of the Spear: The Tooth-­to-­Tail Ratio (T3R) in Modern Military Operations (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, 2007), 11–16. 50. Clarence Mahan, “Hoosier Doughboy With the First Division World War One,” 1st Div. Supply Tn., MHIWWIS. 51. Earl Tesca, 15th FA, 2nd Div., “Memoirs of My Experiences in World War I,” MHIWWIS.

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52. U.S. Army Medical Department, The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War, vol. 15, Statistics, pt. 2 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1925), 86, 1019, 1028, 1183; The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War, vol. 9, Communicable and Other Diseases, 67–69; Hereafter MDWW; George Clymer, Ralph P. Heard George A. Leland et al., The History of U.S. Army Base Hospital No.6 (Boston: Thomas Todd, 1924), 108; Carol R. Byerly, Fever of War: The Influenza Epidemic in the U.S. Army During World War I (New York: New York University Press, 2005), 14–25, 35–37. 53. Letter from Charles P. Darby to his ­mother, dated April 3, 1918 (1919), NWWIM. 54. MDWW, vol. 8, Field Operations, 143–47. 55. MDWW, vol. 10, Neuropsychiatry, 2–3, 153; Lt. Col. John Rhein, “History of Advanced Formations,” RG 120, Entry 2117, Box 1, 3. 56. Duncan Kemerer, 111th In., 28th Div., manuscript “My Memories as a Soldier in World War I,” MHIWWIS. 57. Ben Shephard, A War of Nerves: Soldiers and Psychiatrists in the Twentieth ­Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 122–32, 153–60. 58. Carl Dennett, Prisoners of the G ­ reat War (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1919), 48–53, 56, 228–29. 59. http://­avalon​.­law​.­yale​.­edu​/­19th​_­century​/ ­hague02​.­asp#art1. 60. Diary of Private Gilbert Max, 307th In., 77th Div., entry for September 30, 1918, NWWIM; William Brown, The Adventures of an American Doughboy (Tacoma: Smitth-­ Kinney, 1919), 28–30. 61. Inspector General, 5th Army Corps “Report of Operations Argonne-­Meuse, Sept. 26–­Nov. 11, Extracts of Reports of Div. Inspectors”; “Notes made by the Inspector General, AEF During the Active Operations from 12 September 1918 to 11 November 1918,” both in NARA RG 120, Entry 588, Box 116; Inspector General, 82nd Division, “Daily Report of Past 24 Hours,” dated October 15, 1918, NARA RG 120, Entry 796, Box 3. 62. Paul Lucas to Lydia Schepasky, February 23, 1919, and Richard Obersigner to “Dear Wife and ­Children” undated, both in RG 120, Entry 226, “Translations of German Prisoners of War Mail,” Box 6109. 63. Richard B. Speed III, Prisoners, Diplomats and the ­Great War (New York: Greenwood Press, 1990), 130–33. 64. Emerson G. Taylor, New ­England in France, 1917–1919: A History of the Twenty-­ Sixth Division (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1920), 23. 65. Irving Crump, Conscript 2989: Experiences of a Drafted Man (New York: Dodd, ­Meade, 1918), 6. 66. Letter from Floyd Sosey to Mrs.  J.  C. Sosey, dated June  20, 1918, author’s collection. 67. Letter from Dean  S. Martin to Lucy Sapoch, dated August  9, 1919, author’s collection. 68. Letter from Pete Scheck to “Dear S ­ ister,” dated March 5, 1919, author’s collection. 69. Letter from E. F. Satterwhite, to Mrs. R. A. Gerick (­sister), dated December 10, 1918, author’s collection. 70. Letter from George O’Brien, 121st Fa., 32nd Div., to his ­mother, dated January 9, 1918, MHIWWIS. 71. Letter from Fay Neff to Mrs.  A. Keichler, dated February  19, 1919, author’s collection. 72. Letter from Elmer Lewis to Goldie L ­ ittle, dated August 6, 1918, author’s collection. 73. “Questionnaire Regarding ­Mental Attitudes of Soldiers,” dated March 31, 1919, NARA, RG 165, Entry 377, Box 5, Camp Funston file. 74. Letter from Cornelius Freely to Mae Murphy, dated March  1, 1919, author’s collection.



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75. Edgar Hastings, 326th Field Hospital, MHIWWIS. 76. William Meloney, Where Do We Go From H ­ ere? (War Camp Community Ser­vice), 7–14, 43–45. 77. William Nemec, 139th In., 35nd Div., MHIWWIS. 78. Jennifer D. Keene, The Doughboys, the ­Great War and the Remaking of Amer­i­ca (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 2001), 177. 79. Earl Seaton, 16th In., 1st Div., manuscript, “I Joined the Regulars,” MHIWWIS; Gutiérrez, Doughboys on the ­Great War, 15, 55–60, 172–76. 80. U.S. Department of War, War Department Annual Reports, 1919, vol. 1, pt. 1 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1920), 692, 694–95, 704–05. 81. Ibid., 694–95, 699, 704–05, 774. 82. Jackson, His Time in Hell, 34–35. 83. Stars and Stripes, May 2, 1919, 4. 84. War Department Annual Report for 1918, 251, 259; War Department Annual Report for 1919, 694–95, 704–05; MDWW, vol. XV, Medical Statistics, Part II, Medical and Casualty Statistics, 576, 670–71. 85. Earle Poorbaugh, 26th In., 1st Div., MHIWWIS. 86. George Walker, Venereal Disease in the American Expeditionary Forces (Baltimore: Medical Standard Book Co., 1922), 101; MDWW, vol. 9, Communicable and Other Diseases, 263–71. 87. Richard  S. Faulkner, “Disappearing Doughboys: The American Expeditionary Forces Straggler Crisis in the Meuse Argonne.” Army History 83 (Spring 2012), 6–25.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ayers, Leonard. The War With Germany: A Statistical Summary. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1919. Barbeau, Arthur F. and Florette Henri, The Unknown Soldiers: Black American Troops in World War I. Philadelphia: T ­ emple University Press, 1974. Berry, Henry. Make the Kaiser Dance. New York: Doubleday, 1978. Canfield, Bruce. U.S. Infantry Weapons of the First World War. Lincoln, RI: Andrew Mowbray, 2000. Chambers, John W. To Raise an Army. New York: ­Free Press, 1987. Coffman, Edward M. The War to End All Wars. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1968. Dennett, Carl. Prisoners of the G ­ reat War. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1919. Faulkner, Richard  S. The School of Hard Knocks: Combat Leadership in the American Expeditionary Forces. College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2012. Faulkner, Richard S. Pershing’s Crusaders: The American Soldier in World War I. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2017. Ford, Nancy Gentile. Americans All: Foreign Born Soldiers in World War I. College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2001. Grotelueschen, Mark E. The AEF Way of War. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Gutièrrez, Edward A. Doughboys on the ­Great War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2014. Haseltine, William. The Ser­vices of Supply of the American Expeditionary Forces: A Statistical Summary. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1919. Keene, Jennifer D. Doughboys, the ­Great War, and the Remaking of Amer­i­ca. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001. Kennedy, David M. Over ­Here. New York: Oxford University Press, 1980.

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Krouse, Susan. North American Indians in the ­Great War. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007. Lengle, Edward G. To Conquer Hell. New York: Henry Holt, 2008. Meigs, Mark. Optimism at Armageddon: Voices of American Participants in the First World War. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 1997. Neiberg, Michael, The Path to War: How the First World War Created Modern Amer­ i­ca. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016. Ramíez, José. To the Line of Fire. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2009. Sammons, Jeffery T. and John H. Morrow Jr. Harlem’s Rattlers and the ­Great War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2014. Sass’e, Paul A. Rookie Days of a Soldier. St. Paul: W. G. Greene, 1924. Schneider, Dorothy and Carl J. Schneider. Into the Breach: American ­Women Overseas in World War I. New York: Viking, 1991. Schweitzer, Richard, The Cross and the Trench: Religious Faith and Doubt Among British and American ­Great War Soldiers. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003. Shephard, Ben. A War of Nerves: Soldiers and Psychiatrists in the Twentieth C ­ entury. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001. Slotkin, Richard. Lost Battalions. New York: Henry Holt, 2005. Stallings, Laurence. The Doughboys. New York: Harper & Row, 1963. Williams, Chad L. Torchbearers of Democracy. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010. Woodward, David. The American Army and the First World War. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Yockelson, Mitchell  A. Borrowed Soldiers: Americans ­Under British Command, 1918. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2008.

8 World War II in Eu­rope Jonathan A. Beall

OVERVIEW World War II was war on unheard-of levels and included ungodly brutality and savagery. Truly, it has proved a turning point in world history. Amer­i­ca’s war effort in World War II marked a historic turning point as well in society, politics, diplomacy, the economy, and its armed forces. It continued the transformation of the American government begun during the G ­ reat Depression while sowing the seeds for ­later social protest movements in the 1950s and 1960s. It fundamentally transformed the international system by creating the superpowers and their Cold War, and alongside the ascension of American diplomatic power came the ascension of the American dollar and American military power that affected the next several de­cades of global geopolitics. While a turning point in world and American history, nothing happened in a vacuum. The conduct of American po­liti­cal, diplomatic, and military leaders was heavi­ly influenced by decisions made during World War I and the interwar period. Amer­i­ca’s general unpreparedness in 1917, its strug­gle to mobilize quickly for total war, and the many difficulties experienced by American doughboys in France, as well as their costly errors in fighting veteran German soldiers, affected and influenced Amer­i­ca’s postwar po­liti­cal and military leaders. During the 1920s and 1930s, the U.S. armed forces digested, considered, debated, and disputed what happened in World War I; how that might affect the f­ uture of the war; and how they should adapt. Despite already-­limited bud­gets that w ­ ere halved during the G ­ reat Depression, the U.S. Army tested and developed new weapons, pondered new doctrine, and considered new organ­izations for its fighting units. The conduct of the United States in World War II, and the daily life of the American G.I. in World War II, si­mul­ta­neously marks a turning point in American history while also being heavi­ly influenced by the recent past. Amer­i­ca’s war effort began on December  8, 1941, when the United States declared war on Japan ­after its attack on Pearl Harbor the day before. On

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December 11, Germany declared war on the United States, thus transforming the nature of the conflicts in Eu­rope and Asia. But the United States had ­limited preparations for a pos­si­ble war against ­either country. By 1939, as the U.S. military was moving ­toward a “Germany-­first” strategic mind-­set, the fall of France in June 1940 reinforced this emerging mentality, and se­nior leaders embraced it by December 1941.1 In this mind-­set, the United States would go on the offensive as soon as pos­si­ble against Germany and remain on the defensive against Japan u­ ntil Germany had been sufficiently defeated. Similarly, in September 1940, the U.S. Congress permitted peacetime conscription, although on a ­limited basis, ­until December 1941. In March 1941, an isolationist Congress created “Lend-­Lease,” which allowed the United States to directly aid and assist G ­ reat Britain, at that time the only nation standing against Nazi Germany, but also the Soviet Union and China by war’s end. Additionally, army leaders pondered what it would take to fight the Germans and Japa­nese well, including how many men they could reasonably expect to use in World War II. A subsequent decision was how many divisions the army needed to create to defeat the Axis. An estimate in late 1941 said the United States would need over 200 divisions. By 1943, the army had de­cided that it only had to create and train 90 divisions for 7.6 million men. This decision is often referred to as the “90-­Division ­Gamble.”2 When the United States committed to war in December 1941, the British rushed to the United States to confirm Amer­i­ca’s Germany-­fi rst strategy, as well as to establish a common command arrangement. Se­nior leaders agreed that American and British field forces would fight together ­under unified theater command and that their se­nior military leadership would work together to guide the Allied war effort. ­Later conferences with the Soviet Union guided the ­Grand Alliance’s war effort against Germany. The decisions in December 1941 and January 1942 regarding strategy and command relationships helped to put the Anglo-­American war effort on a very solid footing. To be clear, many cultural differences remained, disagreements on military strategy, and strong enduring suspicions between the three nations, but the Anglo-­American alliance proved remarkably effective in its war against Germany in the west. Within ­these command arrangements, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill appealed to President Franklin Delano Roo­se­velt for American aid in North Africa in 1942. When Churchill asked for American help, the British ­were barely holding onto North Africa against Field Marshal Erwin Rommel’s Afrika Korps and before the British victory at El Alamein. Over his se­nior military leaders’ strong objections, especially Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall, Roo­se­velt elected to help the British in North Africa. The crux of the disagreement was an ongoing strategic dispute over military resources. The British preferred to nip at the periphery of the German Empire and rely upon its naval and air strengths to weaken the Germans before putting significant military forces in Eu­rope. The painful memories of Dunkirk and World War I, and skepticism about the abilities of their American ally, reinforced this point of view. Fighting in North Africa was consistent with that strategy, plus it defended the Suez Canal and the Mediterranean, which ­were vital links to Britain’s Indian colony. The Americans, Marshall among them, wanted to land significant military



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force upon the Eu­ro­pean continent as soon as pos­si­ble in order to end the war quickly and assist the Soviets who ­were, at that point, bearing the brunt of German power in 1942. For the Americans, fighting in North Africa would only waste personnel, resources, and time while accomplishing ­little. Roo­se­velt, however, chose to intervene in North Africa ­because, by mid-1942, he wanted to get the Americans in the war against Germany before domestic pressure forced him to focus on Japan. It was, in Roo­se­velt’s mind-­set, a legitimate deviation from the American direct-­drive strategy American forces landed in Morocco and Algeria on November 8, 1942. ­Little fighting occurred against French forces, and the Americans quickly suppressed it. With t­hose in Morocco remaining b­ ehind, the Americans sped east to engage the Germans in Tunisia. In the Tunisian campaign, the Americans learned how much they did not know about modern war against Rommel’s veteran Afrika Korps. At the end of January 1943, the Germans attacked the Americans at Kasserine Pass, and in the confused fighting, many Americans fled and abandoned their weapons and equipment. Although the Germans ­were ­stopped, it was an embarrassing failure that highlighted how much the Americans had to learn about war if they hoped to defeat the Germans. Despite the setbacks at Kasserine Pass and with new leadership aggressively driving the Americans on, the British and Americans defeated the Germans by April and secured North Africa by May. In January, American and British se­nior military and po­liti­cal leaders met in Casablanca, Morocco, to decide their armies’ next steps. At Casablanca, the Allies agreed to invade the island of Sicily in order to secure shipping through the Mediterranean, work to force an Italian surrender, and possibly wean German forces away from the Eastern Front. The Americans w ­ ere leery that a campaign in Sicily would lead to one in Italy, but agreed that Sicily had to be captured. ­After the North African campaign, the British and Americans moved to invade Sicily in July. Operation Husky included landing the 1st, 3rd, and 45th Infantry Divisions on Sicily’s shores, with the 82nd Airborne Division having landed ­behind the front lines the previous eve­ning. The fighting on Sicily did secure Allied shipping through the Mediterranean and did help to cause an Italian surrender but did not divert as many German resources away from the Eastern Front as hoped. The Sicilian campaign also exposed tension within the Anglo-­American alliance. By landing on the southeast and southern side of the island, the bulk of the fighting was to be done by Britain’s Eighth Army, commanded by Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery, who painfully fought up Sicily’s eastern mountainous coast. When the overall ground commander, Field Marshal Harold Alexander, allowed Montgomery’s forces to use a key road that had been reserved for the Americans, it became clear that the British had no intention to use the Americans except to hold Montgomery’s left flank. Alexander’s low view of the Americans was influenced by what he saw in the North African campaign. At this, American Seventh Army commander General George S. Patton authorized several divisions to execute a “reconnaissance in force,” and he swiftly moved northwest to seize Palermo on the island’s northern coast. Having secured Palermo, Patton turned the infantry ­toward Messina, on the island’s northeastern point and where the Germans and Italians w ­ ere evacuating through to Italy. Patton and Montgomery raced

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t­oward Messina, but the Allies neglected to use their air or naval assets to contest or attack the Axis evacuation through Messina to Italy. In six weeks of hard campaigning and fighting, the Allies secured Sicily, but at the price of allowing thousands of Germans to escape to Italy. Once Sicily was secured, the Anglo-­American strategic disagreement returned: the Americans ­were determined in mid-1943 to begin the buildup of personnel and resources to invade northern France, and the British w ­ ere equally determined to invade Italy and take Rome. The decision was to do both: the Americans and British began the months-­long pro­cess of preparing for the invasion of Eu­rope, while other American and British forces fought up the Italian boot in September ­toward Rome. Although the Italian government left the war in September, the Italian campaign in fall 1943 and winter 1943–1944 was a difficult campaign. The Anglo-­ American efforts ­were hampered by the difficult mountainous terrain defended by veteran German soldiers who made the Allies pay dearly for even the smallest pro­ gress. Despite the Germans’ fighting retreat, their ability to construct multiple lines of fortifications slowed the Allies’ advance to a crawl. The Americans painfully and slowly fought their way north in a wet, cold, and rainy autumn that led to thousands of men evacuated with vari­ous foot prob­lems due to the terrain and weather. Fi­nally, the Germans ­stopped the British and Americans at the Gustav Line by the winter, and Rome seemed to be an impossible objective. Pushing through strong American re­sis­tance, Prime Minister Winston Churchill forced an Allied amphibious landing at Anzio and Nettuno, south of Rome on the Tyrrhenian coast but ­behind the German Gustav Line. In January 1944, the combined Anglo-­American VI Corps landed at Anzio, and its commander, General John Lucas, made the fateful decision to wait a week to bring up enough resources, equipment, and men before advancing t­oward Rome. By deciding to wait, the Germans w ­ ere able to mount a strong counterattack, which blunted and ­stopped the Allies from advancing ­toward Rome. The attempt to break the Gustav Line and seize Rome with an end-­r un failed, and the soldiers on the Anzio beachhead remained ­stopped for five months. Although the beachhead held, the entire Allied position remained ­under heavy German artillery fire. It was a trying time for ­these Allied soldiers. Fi­nally, in May, the Allies mounted a breakout of Anzio and a break through the Gustav Line, which was successful. Having pierced the German defenses, Rome was taken intact by the Americans on June 4, 1944. Two days ­later, June 6, the Americans, British, and Canadians landed on Normandy, and the fighting in Italy quickly became a theater of secondary importance. In November 1943, the ­Grand Alliance—­the United States, the United Kingdom, and the Soviet Union—­met in Teheran, Iran, to discuss their combined war efforts. The strategic disagreement between the Americans and the British, namely, how soon to invade the continent of Eu­rope, had yet to be resolved. At the Teheran Conference, with the Soviets and Americans both applying pressure on the British, the nations agreed to land American and British forces on France by May 1944. By now, the Soviets’ situation was no longer as dire as it had been in 1941 and 1942. Indeed, by Teheran, the Soviets had turned the tide on the Eastern Front and w ­ ere



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U.S. infantry soldiers stand in a Higgins Boat, a specially ­designed landing craft designed to protect them during the final run to the beaches of Normandy. On June 6, 1944, six American divisions, accompanied by four British and Canadian divisions, stormed the heavily f­ortified German positions in the largest amphibious operation in history. (The Illustrated London News Picture Library)

poised to strike into Eastern Eu­rope. Nevertheless, the decision was made to create the “Second Front” by invading northern France in mid-1944. The Americans and British worked to build and train their invasion forces. On June 6, 1944, the American, Canadian, and British landed large numbers of forces onto Normandy’s beaches and established the Second Front. While June 6 has become an impor­tant day in the American memory of World War II, it was, in many ways, the beginnings of the American war effort as American soldiers now prepared themselves to fight Germany’s main forces in France and drive t­ oward Germany. Once ashore in Normandy, the Americans moved to consolidate and secure their possessions and push inland but found the ­going tough almost immediately. The hedgerows in that part of France, which operate as property markers between farm fields, include a thick berm with hedges, bushes, and trees growing on top, which effectively channeled American attacks down certain paths, prevented a widespread use of tanks, and w ­ ere expertly used by the Germans to slow the American advance to a crawl. Through June and July, the American infantry and armored divisions strug­gled in the hedgerow country while the British fought against larger German numbers in their attempt to seize Caen. In late July, a successful effort to break out of the hedgerows, in Operation Cobra, led to a pursuit of the retreating Germans

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by August. Also in August, American and ­Free French forces stormed ashore the beaches in southern France, in Operation Dragoon, to liberate southern France and eventually link up with General George S. Patton’s Third U.S. Army. The landings in southern France took advantage of the chaos in German lines in the north to quickly push north, and ele­ments of the 6th Army Group, moving up from the south and including the Seventh U.S. Army, linked up with ele­ments in Patton’s Third Army on August 11.3 Once the pursuit of the German forces began in August, a quickly growing prob­ lem was the Allies’ lack of a deep-­water port to sustain the operations in France. Although Cherbourg on the Contentin Peninsula was taken by July and Brest on the Brittany Peninsula taken in September, both ports’ facilities had been destroyed by the Germans, and the Allies had to rely upon a small manmade harbor, what was called a “mulberry,” in Normandy to get supplies onto the mainland. Further, as the Americans and British pushed the Germans east, they soon overstretched their supply lines. As the Allies strained against the supply situation in September and October, the Germans worked to rebuild and fortify their western border, calling the b­ elt of fortifications down the western boundary of Germany the West Wall and the Americans called it the Siegfried Line. Construction had begun in the 1930s but was largely neglected ­after 1940. In late 1944, the Germans used the halt in the Allied advance to rebuild and improve upon ­these fortifications. By the time the Americans attempted to punch through the system of interlocking strongpoints, fortifications, minefields, and tank traps, the Germans ­were able to keep the Americans at a bay. The Siegfried Line was integrated into cities like Saarlautern, where pillboxes and strongpoints ­were disguised as buildings. ­T hese remained busy months for the Americans. In September, British Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery launched Operation Market Garden, dropping American and British paratroopers in Holland so that they could seize and hold a number of key bridges over Dutch rivers to allow a British armored corps to secure the city of Arnhem in the north. The goal was to seize and hold territory in Holland so that Allies could cross the Rhine River, bypass the Siegfried Line, and invade Germany from the north.4 For a variety of reasons, the operation failed and the attempt to get around the Siegfried Line was unsuccessful. They would have to punch through it. In the latter months of 1944, the Americans fought a savage 10-­day urban ­battle for the city of Aachen, the first significant German city taken by the Americans. Several divisions ­were sent into and mangled by severe combat in the Hürtgen Forest. Patton’s Third Army strug­gled in Lorraine to take the city of Metz, which eventually fell in November. The Seventh U.S. Army fought a difficult campaign through the Vosges Mountains and successfully pushed the Germans across the Rhine and retook Strasbourg but contended against a strong German pocket around Colmar, France. Much of the fighting, especially in the Hürtgen and the Vosges, was complicated by a cold, wet autumn. As temperatures w ­ ere turning bitterly cold, the Germans launched their last attack against the Allies. The Germans planned a major counteroffensive to attack through the Ardennes Forest to split the Allied line, seize the city of Antwerp in Holland, and then defeat the British and Canadians, which could defeat the



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Anglo-­American co­ali­tion. Although the Ardennes Forest is difficult land for tanks to cross, the Germans reasoned that the Americans would not expect an attack through t­ here and the defenses would be lighter and would offer concealment from Allied observation planes during the buildup.5 On December 16, massive numbers of German soldiers and armored vehicles stormed through the Ardennes along a 50-­mile front, caught the Americans completely by surprise, and sent many of them flying to the rear. Large numbers of Americans ­were captured in the initial days while o­ thers fought against overwhelming odds. In many cases, t­ hese last-­ditch efforts slowed down the Germans to throw them off their timetable and, most significantly, allow the 101st Airborne Division to reach Bastogne, a strategic crossroads town that the Germans needed for their offensive. The ­Battle of the Bulge was Amer­i­ca’s largest ­battle in World War II in Eu­rope. Within a week of the counteroffensive beginning, the German advance had been blunted before they even reached the Meuse River. Patton also pulled several of his corps out of ­battle, faced them to the north, and attacked the southern shoulder of the German positions. Patton’s men relieved the 101st Airborne Division who, with other combat units, tenaciously and tenuously clung onto Bastogne. By Christmas, the Americans began the slow pro­cess of attacking into the Bulge, and by mid-­January 1945, the Bulge had been flattened. By mid-­January 1945, the Nazi regime was on its last legs as the Soviets pushed into eastern Germany and the Anglo-­American advance pushed into western Germany. The last major obstacle was the Rhine River. As the British planned to cross the Rhine in a major set-­piece b­ attle, including dropping airborne units ­behind the Rhine, the Americans raced to find a bridge that they could use over the Rhine. On March 7, ele­ments of the 9th Armored Division stumbled across the intact Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen across the Rhine. While the bridge was damaged, the Americans ­were able to capture and secure it before the Germans could destroy it. By the time the bridge collapsed, the Americans had already seized territory on the right side of the Rhine and constructed their own bridge across the river. About two weeks ­later, engineers in the Third Army bridged the Rhine and the Seventh Army crossed at Worms. ­After crossing the Rhine, the Anglo-­A merican forces poured into Germany. In March and April, the last major target was Berlin. ­Because of decisions made at the Yalta Conference in February, when the Americans, British, and Soviets agreed upon the occupation of Germany and de­cided that Berlin would fall in the Soviet zone, Eisenhower ordered the Anglo-­American forces to halt on the Elbe River and not to race the Soviets for Berlin. This order was controversial, especially as the Cold War developed, but Eisenhower had l­ittle intent to spill American blood for a city that would revert to Soviet control. W ­ hether he could have beat the Soviets to Berlin, who ­were closer, is questionable. ­There was also growing intelligence that the Germans ­were building a re­sis­tance in the mountains of southern Germany, and Eisenhower de­cided to focus on that threat. Ultimately, the intelligence was wrong and t­ here was no threat to the south. On April 25, American and Soviet soldiers met on the Elbe at Torgau, Germany. On April 30, as the Soviets raced for Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. On May 7 and 8, the Germans surrendered and the fighting in Eu­rope was declared over.

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CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS As was the case during World War I, the American G.I. of World War II was most likely a conscripted soldier rather than a Regular Army soldier or a volunteer. The conscription that the United States relied upon did not violate the nation’s tradition of the citizen-­soldier; indeed, the vast majority of American ser­vice members ­were citizen-­soldiers, but the United States did not rely upon their voluntary enlistment. Of a total 16.3 million uniformed men in World War II, approximately 10 million ­were draftees.6 All told, between October 1940 and March 1947, when the draft briefly ended, Selective Ser­vice registered 49 million men, selected 19 million, and inducted 10 million men.7 But like World War I, as well as Amer­i­ca’s ­later Cold War conflicts, conscription in the United States was selective ser­vice rather than universal ser­vice. Breaking a long tradition relying upon volunteer enlistments, even in war­time, the United States initiated peacetime conscription in September 1940. The 1940 law was quite l­ imited. For example, while the law increased the size of the U.S. Army to 900,000 men, it remained diminutive to ­those armies fighting in Eu­rope and Asia at this time. Male citizens and noncitizens between 21 and 36 years of age ­were to register for the draft. Selected conscripts would serve for 1 year and then pass into the Reserves for the next 10. Draftees also could not deploy outside the Western Hemi­sphere except in Amer­i­ca’s possessions such as the Philippines.8 The strong pervasive isolationist mentality helped to ensure that the program remained ­limited, but that Congress managed to implement a peacetime conscription program given that isolationist mind-­set was remarkable all the same. Although, to be clear, the war in Eu­rope, especially the fall of France in June 1940, influenced the act’s passage.9 While ­limited initially, this mid-1940 conscription program assured the necessary manpower when the United States eventually committed to war in late 1941. Selective ser­vice was a national system that relied heavi­ly upon local draft boards, so that it was a system of local communities selecting its own members of the community. This system created a tension: the army, which approved of the draft, wanted efficient induction of qualified men, but the organ­ization was designed to ensure public ac­cep­tance, which did not prove conducive for the most efficient system.10 On October 16, 1940, over 16 million men between ages 21 and 36 registered nationwide for the draft with l­ ittle re­sis­tance. The federal government established 6,400 local draft boards that ­later selected the ­actual draftees, and ­these boards ­were ­limited to a roll only of 8,500 registrants. Initially, the government used a lottery system for the first two calls. On October 29, 1940, a lottery randomly chose the order in which the 8,500 registrants at each local board would be selected. The lottery allowed the draft boards to begin examining and selecting men for, or deferring them from, military ser­vice. ­There was another nationwide registration and lottery in July 1941; ­after that, and especially during the war, 18-­year-­old men registered and local draft boards selected men between the ages of 19 and 26. How many men each state’s local draft boards needed to select was determined by the U.S. government on a monthly basis.11 Selective ser­vice was supposed to be an efficient system, in that industry and agricultural sectors ­were to



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continue supporting the nation unhindered by the military draft. Ultimately, however, the pro­cess of deciding who was draft-­worthy and who should be deferred was more complicated, and ­those decisions ­were made at the local level.12 Se­nior leaders in the U.S. armed forces worked to achieve a degree of preparedness for a war that most believed would include the nation. They w ­ ere most successful in terms of prewar strategic planning but less successful in ­actual mobilization and stockpiling war materiel. When the Japa­nese attacked Pearl Harbor and the nation entered the war, having a preexisting conscription system in place helped the United States. When the nation entered the war, Congress immediately changed the rules for selective ser­vice: draftees could deploy overseas, the minimum age of induction dropped from 21 to 20 (and dropped again to 18-­year-­olds in February 1942), and draftees served for the duration of the war plus six months.13 War­time created new demands upon conscription as the U.S. Army rapidly grew in size. By the end of 1942, the federal government ended voluntary enlistment, which had been allowed to remain heretofore. Despite ­these increased demands, farmers and industries continuously lobbied to have more of their l­abor forces remain exempted from the draft. The rise in casualties caused new demands upon conscription. Before the war, the army could profligately reject inductees who did not meet its relatively high physical standards, but ­those physical standards ­were lowered ­after December 8, 1941. Men with dental, vision, and other physical defects that ­were rejected before the war ­were now accepted, and the army did necessary work on ­those draftees. Even some with venereal diseases w ­ ere accepted.14 Furthermore, the Army had to compete with the Navy and Marine Corps for qualified personnel, and internally, the Army Ground Forces had to compete with the Army Air Forces (renamed from the Army Air Corps in June 1941) for the best recruits.. It seemed as though other branches got the pick of the litter and left the combat arms with the rejects.15 Given this competition for manpower and deferments offered to many of military age, the draft pool rarely appeared to be as large as draft officials preferred. By way of example, Flynn calculates that se­nior officials wanted 11 million men in the armed forces by the end of 1943. Between the ages of 18 and 37, the draft pool included 22 million men with 7 million already in the ser­vice. Of the remaining 15 million men available, 8 million ­were disqualified from ser­vice. Of the last 7 million pos­si­ble inductees, 3.2 million had job or farm deferments, leaving only 3.8 million to reach the goal of 11 million ser­vice members by the end of the year. Flynn argues that armed ser­vices’ high rejection rates and the deferments ­were to blame for what appeared to se­nior military and po­liti­cal officials a draft pool that was never large enough.16 Amer­i­ca’s prevailing issues with race also influenced the draft. While black groups convinced the government to include young black men in the call to register for the draft, far fewer black men ­were drafted during ­these years. Selective ser­vice was supposed to be racially blind; however, the local draft boards ­were not. This disparity was, in part, ­because ­there ­were no mixed-­race units in the army, and the few all-­black units did not require a massive inductee pool. The fewer opportunities in the army for African Americans meant a decreased demand for black draftees, while t­hose inducted had to wait u­ ntil the army constructed segregated

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training facilities as well. This situation also reflected the long-­standing view that blacks made poor soldiers and so ­were not called up in large numbers.17 But this situation did not escape notice. Vari­ous government committees, such as the War Department’s McCloy Committee and the War Manpower Commission, ­were highly critical of segregation and the way that racism influenced the pro­cess of drafting American men. They had some success: ultimately just over 1 million black soldiers fought for the United States and made up 10.9 ­percent of the fighting force while African Americans composed 11 ­percent of the entire American population. Furthermore, pushing more black men into the armed forces forced the armed forces to open more opportunities to blacks.18 ­These numbers had consequences on what the army could and could not do in the war. Maurice Matloff, in his essay on the relationship between American strategy and manpower, argued that a prewar estimate in 1941 asserted that the United States would need to create 213 divisions to defeat the Axis.19 Furthermore, the army assumed that of the 25 million men who could be pressed to serve in the armed forces, only 15 to 16 million could be spared for military ser­vice ­because the army did not want to imperil American industry, which se­nior military leaders knew would be a vital asset to the United States and its allies.20 Eventually, army planners de­cided that they would maintain an army of 7.7 million men that comprised 90 divisions. Se­nior army leaders made this decision based on the conditions of the war, the status of their allies, Amer­i­ca’s industrial needs, and the needs of the other ser­vices. The army worked to maintain that 7.7 million, but on March 31, 1945, reported a total of 8.1 million officers and enlisted men in the U.S. Army.21 Army planners spent many a sleepless night mulling over how to balance Amer­i­ca’s industrial and military needs, and they wondered long into the war ­whether they had made the right decisions.22 ­These decisions also reveal that se­nior military officials assumed that American manpower and personnel ­were finite resources; they never assumed a bottomless supply of manpower. Flynn’s study of American conscription, however, shows that manpower, as a national resource, was less finite than assumed, but vari­ous social and domestic po­liti­cal pressures l­ imited what the U.S. armed forces could use in the war against the Axis Powers. When pos­si­ble, the army tried to mix men’s civilian jobs with the army’s needs, although it proved quite imperfect. T ­ here w ­ ere many civilian jobs which had no military equivalent, and the combat arms had no civilian equivalent. The reception centers merely received the newly inducted soldiers. Once they had been received, clothed, examined, tested, and placed within the army, they shipped out for training.

TRAINING ­ fter their induction and reception into the U.S. Army, soldiers then began trainA ing. The United States faced the difficult prospect of wanting to raise an effective army as quickly as pos­si­ble but understood that such trained effectiveness took time. It was a dilemma that se­nior officials sought to resolve as early and as quickly as pos­si­ble. G.I. training had three parts: early-­war stateside training when the



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United States focused upon creating, training, and deploying new divisions; late-­ war stateside training, which focused upon individual replacements and better training facilities; and, fi­nally, in-­theater training for soldiers. Early training, from 1942 to 1943, included the creation and development of the 90 divisions that would do the bulk of the warfighting against the Axis nations. Once ­these new divisions ­were created, they would then deploy overseas for combat. The Mobilization Training Program embodied this pro­cess of creating and training new divisions before deployment overseas. In 1942, the army created and trained 38 new divisions (27 infantry, 9 armored, and 2 airborne) and another 17 in 1943 (11 infantry, 5 armored, and 1 airborne).23 Early in the war, therefore, draftees w ­ ere brought together and they trained as one unit within a specific division. But a new division did not start from scratch; each new division received a cadre of 172 officers and 1,190 enlisted men and noncommissioned officers (NCOs) from a preexisting division, or “parent” division, to help train the raw recruits.24 The 9th Infantry Division, for example, provided the cadre for the 82nd Airborne Division as it formed in March 1942, as well as the 88th  Infantry Division in July. The 82nd  Airborne Division then became the parent division of the 101st Airborne Division.25 Cadre and division leadership received additional training and, when the new division was activated, begin to receive green recruits fresh from the reception centers. A division spent approximately two weeks receiving new recruits and organ­izing new units. When it reached 15,000 men, it was at full strength.26 Soldiers in ­these new divisions spent their first 17 weeks in individual and advanced training. The next 13 weeks ­were unit training from com­pany to regimental levels. The next 14 weeks ­were large-­scale movements, maneuvers, and exercises. Each period of training was tested and assessed, and units ­were given time to remediate and improve areas where they ­were judged to be insufficient. ­There was less of an emphasis on combined-­arms coordination, integrating the dif­ fer­ent combat arms and support together, u­ ntil the large-­scale exercises. At the end of their training, a division—­and its constituent combat units—­were to have trained and worked together for nearly a year. Having trained together as a unit for nearly a year, t­ hese divisions ­were to proceed intact to a combat theater.27 Although the system was designed to build new divisions from the ground up where they would drill and train together, thus forming the teamwork skills necessary in combat, many distractions and deductions undermined that pro­cess. Equipment shortages often hampered training in the early part of the war, although this prob­lem resolved itself as industry mobilized more for the war effort over time. Frequently, officers and men ­were transferred out to attend vari­ous schools, which disrupted the training pro­cess. If they returned, t­hese men had missed out on the training conducted during their absence. Other officers and enlisted ­were chosen to become the cadre of another division, which meant replacements w ­ ere needed for ­those who transferred out. By supplying 2,600 officers and enlisted men to the 82nd Airborne and 88th Infantry Divisions, the 9th Division lost approximately 20 ­percent of its strength. Still other officers and men ­were plucked out of their divisions to become replacements for divisions embarking overseas or already fighting. This steady attrition could cause serious prob­lems: the 30th Infantry

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Division, a National Guard unit, fell from 12,400 to 3,000 men between June and August 1942. By the fall of 1942, the 29th Infantry Division’s division artillery, engineer battalion, and reconnaissance troop all reported being 50 ­percent below their authorized strengths. Through 1943, 24,000 soldiers ­were pulled from 14 divisions to serve as replacements overseas (equivalent to two infantry divisions), and between April and September 1944, 17 divisions lost 78,000 men (a total equivalent to more than five infantry divisions). This steady attrition required new officers and men to replace t­hose lost to a transfer or deployment. Oftentimes, t­hese new replacements lacked the training of their colleagues and had to be quickly brought up to speed. Divisions that had moved to their ports of embarkation overseas usually spent their last days at that port desperately trying to integrate and train newly arrived men, who might be only partially trained, or acquaint their soldiers with new equipment.28 The idea of creating, developing, and shipping out ­whole, trained divisions had merit, but it rarely worked smoothly. What also must be considered is the insufficient combined-­arms mind-­set especially of the army’s infantry divisions, or the extent to which infantry cooperated and coordinated with the other combat arms or combat support. As a result of World War I, the United States developed strong infantry-­artillery capabilities, in that infantry divisions paired each of their three infantry regiments with an artillery battalion and called that a “regimental combat team.” While the “regimental combat team” concept fostered strong infantry-­artillery cooperation, the army failed to similarly develop adequate infantry-­artillery armor capabilities.29 Furthermore, in­de­pen­dent tank battalions ­were pooled at the corps level and then doled out to the infantry divisions to be attached, rather than being an integral, organic part of the infantry division. ­Because they w ­ ere attached to but not organic to the division, in­de­pen­dent tank and tank destroyer battalions could be deployed to assist any number of divisions within a corps, which had the effect of retarding tank–­infantry teamwork as ­these battalions ­were sometimes moved from unit to unit to unit.30 This orga­nizational system failed to imbue a combined-­arms mind-­set into the American citizen-­soldier in his stateside training, which meant that American  G.I.s usually entered combat lacking adequate combined-­arms experience, consequently affecting their early combat per­for­mance.31 Combat forcibly taught American soldiers the importance of coordinating all weapons platforms together, but did so at a fearful price. The last divisions created ­were the 65th Infantry and the 13th Airborne Divisions. ­After mid-1943, the army’s stateside training emphasized individual men at a wide variety of training centers who would replace fighting units’ losses.32 By 1943, replacements’ training had improved as the army digested information from the battlefield. Training became more realistic and employed combat veterans to help the replacements learn their deadly trade. As it became more realistic, infantrymen crouched in foxholes as tanks rolled over them and tankers experienced what it was like to hear the sound of bullets hitting their tank. Replacements’ training incorporated more live-­fire training and drills, which meant a rise in training accidents. Drills also included ele­ments that ­were wholly unforeseen by the prewar army, such as urban combat. Before World War II, ­there was no urban combat doctrine or training, but as combat units attacked cities and towns, it became clear



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that training had to address that real­ity. New soldiers learned how to assault buildings within a mock village. This village fighting course had three purposes: to teach draftees the chaos, confusion, and mayhem of urban fighting; the proper tactics, techniques, and procedures of urban combat, such as assaulting and capturing buildings and ­houses, moving from roof to roof, as well as avoiding and setting booby traps; and, lastly, to do all of this as a team—­whether in a squad or a platoon. Draftees demonstrated their proficiency at cover, mutual fire support, and teamwork to clear streets, assault ­houses, and fire on surprise, moving targets ­under simulated fire and explosions. It remarkably included tank support at the end of, but not during, the exercise.33 Replacement training was generally insufficient, and combat veterans recognized this real­ity quickly. When replacements replenished the ranks of the 26th Infantry Regiment in the ­middle of the ­Battle of Aachen in September 1944, one veteran remembered feeling sorry for the green replacements b­ ecause “all the Inf[antry] training you could get would never have you ready when it came time to go into combat.”34 While the 2nd Infantry Regiment’s First Battalion fought a savage ­battle for the town of Amanvillers in September, B Com­pany received 35 infantry-­trained replacements, but only 2 remained alive a few days ­later. Several more days ­later, a replacement asked an officer how to use his M1 Garand ­rifle since he had only trained on the carbine.35 Similarly, one replacement asked his sergeant, in the ­middle of a firefight in the Italian campaign, how to reload his M1 Garand ­rifle.36 The 756th Tank Battalion complained about the general unpreparedness of replacements for tanks, arguing that a trained truck driver does not make one a tank driver and that replacements required too much training ­after they reached their unit.37 Incomplete as replacements’ stateside training could be, combat units learned quickly the importance of integrating green replacements into their unit, which usually occurred when the unit pulled off the front lines and conducted in-­ theater training. One type of in-­theater training was before a major operation, such as before the D-­Day landings in June 1944. Landing hundreds of thousands of men onto Normandy’s shores required massive planning, preparation, and buildup. For soldiers in the assault divisions, it meant creating and training on the tactics of amphibious assault at the Assault Training Center. Beginning in September 1943, British and American naval and ground forces worked out the complex pro­cess of launching an amphibious assault against fortified German beaches. The Woolcombe fa­cil­i­ty included reproduction German fortifications. Training also included hardening marches and physical training as well as large-­unit exercises. One assessment of a regimental exercise from the 29th Infantry Division in January 1944 judged that “had this been an ­actual operation, it is extremely doubtful if many men would have left the beach alive.”38 In March 1944, the 1st Infantry Division’s 16th U.S. Infantry Regiment participated in an amphibious exercise that also included two field artillery batteries, two engineer battalions, two chemical weapons companies, a tank battalion, an air support party, an antiaircraft battalion, and a bomb disposal squad.39 This regimental exercise shows how complex the training became and shows that officers knew it would require more than infantry to successfully seize the assault beaches. In April and May, naval and army ele­ments conducted “dress

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rehearsals” whereby the navies landed infantry and armored forces on En­glish shores. Peter Mansoor points out that ­these pre-­Normandy exercises often did not include close air support nor naval gunfire support, which ­limited the men’s training.40 Training transcended the regimental and division levels; even army corps found ways to pro­cess battlefield lessons. On December 13 and 14, 1944, the XIX Army Corps hosted a lecture and demonstration of how the 30th Infantry Division captured “a succession of small villages within mutually supporting distance of one another, the intervening terrain being generally open with excellent fields of fire.” 41 The division took visiting officers on an impromptu staff ­ride through towns it had taken the previous November to show how division units accomplished the towns’ capture. The intent was to train officers in the XIX Corps how to use planning, surprise, speed, and combined-­arms warfare to seize towns and cities from the Germans. It trained officers how to plan ­these small operations, how to use their vari­ous weapons, and how to move rapidly to seize German-­held towns. In many ways, the combat lessons that the 7th Infantry Regiment and XIX Corps ­were practicing on and developing in their in-­theater training ­were more sophisticated than army doctrine at that time. American soldiers’ stateside training worked diligently to prepare millions of newly inducted draftees for the rigors, hardships, and skills necessary to fight a modern war in the mid-1900s. While the average infantry division went overseas better prepared for war than most ­were in World War I—­thanks, in part, to the experience of World War I—­the training stateside was incomplete and failed to prepare men fully for the modern battlefield. ­There ­were many prob­lems and shortcomings in Americans’ stateside training, and combat veterans ­were all too aware of ­these shortcomings: replacements in World War II often died at a frightful rate. ­Because of t­ hese shortcomings and in order to retain their combat effectiveness and hone their capabilities, combat units continued to train in-­theater. This in-­theater training can be seen in the larger Assault Training Center for large-­scale exercises, as well as the 7th Infantry Regiment’s decision to convert a French town into an urban combat training fa­cil­i­ty in April 1945. For combat forces, se­nior officers understood that units had to come off the front lines in order to rest, regroup, and train for ­f uture fighting as a way to retain their fighting edge against the Germans. SOCIAL STRUCTURE Any army is an extension of its parent society and that society’s dominant cultural values. The American army is no exception. The American soldier in World War II was generally male and most often white. While racial minorities fought in the war, their experiences often mirrored what they experienced in American society, but at the same time, the experience of combat could be a catalyst for ­later, postwar change. W ­ omen also w ­ ere involved in the war in large numbers even if they did not have a combat role, which changed their involvement in the U.S. Army as well. Lastly, the army worked to discharge homosexuals but still some remained in ser­vice and saw combat. The U.S. Army was a product of American society, but the war also challenged many of t­ hose racial, gender, and sexual challenges.



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In 1944, while taking a train to Fort Huachuca in Arizona, Corporal Rupert Trimmingham, an African American soldier, had a layover in Louisiana, a state with strong Jim Crow laws segregating whites from blacks. As a result, Trimmingham had l­ imited dining choices, but he found food at the railroad station, albeit in the back kitchen. Trimmingham, however, observed two dozen German prisoners of war enter the lunchroom from the front with their two American guards, sit down, and be served lunch while he, a uniformed soldier in the U.S. Army, had to eat in the back. Trimmingham asked Yank magazine “What is the Negro fighting for? On whose team are we playing?” Further, he asked why German prisoners of war ­were “treated better than we are? Why are we pushed around like ­cattle?” 42 In a follow-on letter to Yank in July, Trimmingham recounted the positive response to his letter, including many southern white soldiers’ outrage at his experience. Importantly, Trimmingham wrote that “[a]ll that the Negro is asking for is to be given half a chance and he w ­ ill soon demonstrate his worth to his country.” He hoped that his experience would spur whites to understand that “the Negro is a man who is loyal—­one would gladly give his life for this our wonderful country.” 43 The United States could not help but create a Jim Crow army, replete with segregated all-­white and all-­black units—­with most blacks laboring in ser­vice units rather than fighting in combat units—to fight Axis tyranny in World War II, all with President Franklin Delano Roo­se­velt’s explicit consent and approval of the se­nior civilian and military leaders in the armed forces.44 However, t­ here w ­ ere t­ hose, like the dean of the law school at Howard University, Judge William Hastie, who fought as much as pos­si­ble for an integrated army. As Rupert Trimmingham’s experience reveals, race could not be removed from the equation, and it followed the U.S. Army into World War II. Contextually, ­there had been some gains for blacks in the U.S. armed forces, but change was slow. The Marine Corps and Army Air Forces did not accept black recruits at the beginning of the war, although policies changed as the conflict dragged on. In the Navy, they ­were ships’ stewards, who worked primarily in the galley. Opportunities existed for African Americans only in the army, but ­those remained l­ imited. The army had maintained several all-­black units since the Civil War, and a few black men had graduated from West Point, but opportunities in military ser­vice remained ­limited for ­these men. ­Those few black officers who survived West Point endured four years of ostracization from their white classmates. While black units ­were officered by the few black officers, they ­were largely commanded by white officers. No black officer, however, commanded over white soldiers.45 World War II was a catalyst for change afterwards, but it was not evident during war­time. To begin, a war fought against Axis racist oppression and tyranny—­both in Eu­rope and in Asia—­that encompassed the entire American nation fighting on behalf of freedom and liberty seemed disingenuous at best and hypocritical at worst to many black Americans, especially to ­those living in the South. To many blacks ­there was a disconnect between American values of fighting for freedom and liberty and the ­actual realities of being black in the United States in the 1930s and 1940s. Walter Hadley, a black citizen of Nashville, commented that the United States should “declare war on that nation in Dixieland to help us all have one

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common cause to fight for: liberty, equality, and justice for all.” 46 Drafted black soldiers wondered aloud why they should fight for a nation that treated them like second-­class citizens. Trimmingham’s experience in 1944 Louisiana as a uniformed soldier indicates that American blacks’ issues ­were not with Amer­i­ca’s professed values, but its ­actual practices. Other black soldiers also observed German prisoners of war receiving better treatment and enjoying better facilities than black soldiers.47 To bridge that gap, the Pittsburgh Courier, a black newspaper, capitalized on the idea of a disgruntled black draftee and announced the Double-­V Campaign to motivate African Americans to achieve victory over both the Axis Powers and Jim Crow segregation at home.48 As for black soldiers, enlistment in the army offered economic security and social advancement difficult to find in civilian jobs. In the summer of 1940, the War Department started a field artillery regiment, two coastal artillery regiments, and several quartermaster and chemical companies. When the Selective Ser­vice drafted black soldiers, the War Department began four new regiments for black draftees. However, the army made no attempt to change its segregated ways, which caused a fair share of headaches and new prob­lems: finding communities that would not object to all-­black training camps was not easy, for example. ­These social limitations and constraints helped to cause a backlog in black inductees as the army worked to make room for them.49 Black draftees who trained in the South endured the South’s Jim Crow laws, and northern blacks strug­gled to adjust to continued segregation on army posts as well. Segregation on army posts applied to black officers as well as black enlisted men. For their part, southern civilians had no prob­lem continuing to use vio­lence to maintain their social system throughout the war: in 1941, a black private was lynched at Fort Benning in Georgia, and ­there ­were incidents of vio­lence between black soldiers, military police, and local townspeople at South Carolina’s Fort Jackson as well as North Carolina’s Fort Bragg.50 Black soldiers’ training by white officers—­those who remained and did not apply for and receive a transfer elsewhere—­tended to emerge from a sort of paternalist racism that assumed blacks’ intellectual inferiority and white officers treating them like ­children. Southern blacks’ poor education only reinforced ­these racial assumptions. In the case of the 92nd Infantry Division, the all-­black division that fought in Eu­rope, it served to undermine its training. Although it was trained as a ­whole in general isolation at Fort Huachuca in Arizona, it took longer to prepare this division, many of the men having scored low on their Army General Classification Test (AGCT). At the same time, segregation remained within the division, which caused demoralization: ­there ­were dif­fer­ent officers’ clubs, the base barber would not cut black officers’ hair, and many white officers did what they could to be transferred elsewhere. The commanding general, Major General Edward Almond, was a white southerner who strug­gled to lead his black soldiers well but did his best to prepare the division for combat overseas.51 The 92nd Division saw combat in Italy, but the conditions of American society hampered the division’s stateside training and caused demoralization before even leaving the country. By 1944, the size of the U.S. Army had expanded so greatly that ­t here ­were increased demands to provide enough support and ser­vice units. The War



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Department de­cided that it would be best to convert black combat units to ser­vice units and, by the end of the war, was training individual black replacements for duty in ­these support and ser­vice units rather than combat units.52 Army historian Morris MacGregor makes a fair observation when he writes that the army argued that blacks should “bear a proportionate share of the casualties” but kept most of them in ser­vice and noncombat units and denied them that “equal risk.” Furthermore, by insisting that black soldiers be trained, ­housed, and grouped in segregated units, the War Department burdened itself with inefficiency and higher costs by having to provide segregated facilities for whites and blacks. Although blacks’ participation in the U.S. Army in World War II was equal to their proportion of the American population, “their employment was ­limited in opportunity and expensive for the ser­vice.”53 In terms of cultural practices, Americans celebrated how conscription made army units a conglomeration of ethnicities, although generally only ­those of Eu­ro­pean backgrounds, and celebrated that that diversity showed American vibrancy and strength, while, at the same time, segregating African Americans and Japa­nese Americans to their own units.54 ­After Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, Japa­nese nationals (also called Issei who ­were not permitted to become American citizens) and their Japa­nese American ­children (Nisei) faced a strong racial backlash. The attack on Hawaii inflamed a decades-­long racism by Americans against east Asians, the Japa­nese in par­tic­u­ lar.55 The general fear was that the Issei and Nisei would be a “fifth column” in support of a Japa­nese invasion of the West Coast. In the aftermath of Japan’s attack, American soldiers of Japa­nese descent already in the army ­were not immune to the backlash. Enlisted men ­were sometimes segregated and transferred to ser­vice and ­labor units, and t­ hose already on Hawaii w ­ ere disarmed and moved into a newly created Hawaiian Provisional Battalion, which soon a­ fter became the 100th Infantry Battalion.56 In February 1942, President Roo­se­velt signed Executive Order 9066 and ordered the evacuation of 120,000 Issei and their Nisei ­children from the West Coast to 10 internment camps in the mountain west replete with barbed-­wire fences and guard towers. While confined in ­these American concentration camps in January 1943, the military created the all–­Japanese American 442nd Regimental Combat Team (RCT), which paired the 442nd Infantry Regiment with the 522nd Field Artillery Battalion. The creation of this unit met with mixed reaction by the Japa­ nese American internees. For some, this was an opportunity to show their American patriotism, but for ­those embittered at the government’s unjust imprisonment of American citizens ­because of their race, the attempt to recruit them for the war was an insult. In forming the 442nd, most of the officers w ­ ere white, as in the African American units, but the cadre of the RCT ­were the Nisei already in the army, which had the benefit of putting all the Nisei in the U.S. Army together in one unit and helping to train the new Nisei recruits.57 Significantly, the 442nd RCT fought its war in Eu­rope. The 442nd entered the Italian campaign in June 1944 and helped in the fighting north of Rome, where it gained valuable combat experience. In September, the RCT transferred from Italy to the fighting in southern France, and it returned to Italy in March 1945 to help reinforce the 92nd Infantry Division. The 442nd ended the war as one of the most decorated units in the U.S. Army.58

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Latinos faced a dif­fer­ent racial environment than blacks or Nisei. Latinos ­were seen as “white” racially even if Caucasians often viewed Latino culture with racial condescension. They, too, felt the sting of Amer­i­ca’s racial politics and social realities in the mid-1900s. Between 250,000 and 300,000 Hispanics ­were drafted or volunteered for military ser­vice in World War II. B ­ ecause they w ­ ere deemed “white,” they served in all branches and in all theaters and w ­ ere never placed in segregated units but could oftentimes experience racism from other white soldiers. Insofar as they ­were not placed in separate units, historian Steven Rosales argues that Hispanic soldiers have used military ser­vice like other races have in American military history: as a way to achieve “first-­class citizenship,” as well as a way to improve their economic and social status in the nation.59 ­Women’s involvement in war through history is nothing new, although their roles have typically not included the fighting and ­dying that men have endured. ­Women’s war­time roles have often been relegated to support functions: nursing and care of wounded, cooking, and helping to maintain soldiers’ uniforms and clothing as well as, oftentimes, a sexual role as victim or participant. World War II was ­little dif­ fer­ent, although ­women’s roles differed by nation. The Soviet Union, for example, fought a savage war of survival, and more than 1 million Soviet w ­ omen fought in the Soviet armed forces or militia and partisan units. It was common for Soviet ­women to be combatants or to have a combat support role that directly placed them in harm’s way.60 ­Because the United States did not wage a war as total or absolute as the Soviet Union, American ­women ­were not used in that way. Female nurses, in what became the Army Nurse Corps, became a permanent fixture of the U.S. Army in 1901. The corps expanded with World War I and expanded even more dramatically with World War II. In 1920, trained army nurses received an officer’s rank and could achieve a rank as high as army major, although they did not enjoy all the rights and privileges of their male counter­parts. They ­were also expected to be educated, single, and young.61 The expansion of the army from conscription in mid-1940 and the construction of many new training camps caused a likewise expansion of the Army Nurse Corps. This expansion included black nurses, who ­were allowed to volunteer in February 1941, albeit in segregated wards. Despite the presence of male and black nurses, the corps strug­gled during this time to provide an adequate supply of nurses.62 By December 1945, ­there ­were 9,260 members of the Army Nurse Corps in Eu­rope, working in 152 vari­ous medical facilities in a variety of functions. Altogether, 201 nurses died in World War II, 16 from e­ nemy fire, and 1,600 received vari­ous medals for their ser­vice.63 Another contribution by ­women was the ­Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC), which was distinct from the Army Nurse Corps. The WAAC became the ­Women’s Army Corps (WAC) in June 1943 when it shed its unwieldy auxiliary status to become an official part of the army. With that change, the director of the WAAC, Oveta Culp Hobby, became a col­o­nel and the commanding officer of the ­Women’s Army Corps. The responsibilities for the WAC remained the same and aligned with Congresswoman Rogers’ ideal in 1941: ­doing support roles that could ­free male soldiers for combat. In the Army Air Forces, ­women worked as meteorologists, cryptographers, radio and telephone operators, metalworkers, parachute riggers, bombsight maintenance specialists, aerial reconnaissance analysts,



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U.S. Army nurses march to a ship carry­ing their personal belongings, ca. 1942. At the beginning of 1942, the U.S. Army had less than 1,000 nurses. By the end of the war, more than 50,000 ­women served as Army nurses, and 215 gave their lives in the ser­vice. (Library of Congress)

and in control towers. In the Army Ser­vice Forces, ­women worked in the Ordnance Department, Transportation Corps, Chemical Warfare Ser­vice, Quartermaster Corps, Signal Corps, and the Medical Department. In the Army Ground Forces, ­women performed routine clerical and administrative work at rear headquarters and training centers and managed the motor pool for dif­fer­ent units. ­Women often found better working conditions and more opportunities in the Army Air Forces and Ser­vice Forces.64 Ultimately, most ­women in the WAC, around half of them, received administrative and clerical duties, while the next category of work, technical and professional, was around 15 ­percent of ­women in the WAC.65 Black ­women also found opportunities in the WAC but ­were segregated and used to support black military units. As for most black soldiers, the lack of an education and Jim Crow constraints hampered what opportunities ­were available to black ­women in the WAAC and WAC.66 Only one black WAC unit, the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion and its 855 officers and enlisted ­women, served overseas in the Eu­ro­ pean theater of operations.67 It is worth noting that Chief of Staff George C. Marshall authorized an experiment with a mixed-­gender tactical unit. From December 1943 to April 1944, 395 WAAC officers and enlisted ­women trained with two antiaircraft batteries in the United States. More than half the batteries ­were composed of ­women, and they operated vari­ous instruments, ranged targets, and performed administrative and

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clerical duties. The initial reports of this highly confidential study ­were positive, demonstrating that the w ­ omen ­were successfully integrated into t­ hese batteries, had performed quite well, and could be integrated into antiaircraft batteries easily. While antiaircraft artillery requested more WAACs to integrate into its batteries, it was clear that the antiaircraft defense of the nation was not g­ oing to be high priority and would not be the best place to employ ­these w ­ omen, so no actions ­were 68 taken. The use of ­women was not without controversy. In her history of the WAC, Mattie Treadwell remarks that “the Army had its share of a conservative ele­ment that had scarcely recovered from the shock of the mechanized ­horse when confronted with the militarized ­woman.” 69 Many commanding officers of ports of embarkation and training centers came to recognize WAC’s discipline and contributions. However, a slander campaign began in 1943, fueled by the press, of WAC’s indiscipline, sexual excesses as well as rampant homo­sexuality, and general wastefulness in order to discredit the entire program or sully the reputation of WAC ser­vice ­women. Investigations by the War Department into ­these allegations typically came up empty.70 While the threat of homosexual WACs was overblown, homosexuals, namely gay men, did, in fact, serve in the U.S. armed forces in World War II, despite attempts to prevent their ser­vice. As indicated ­earlier, in the pro­cess of inducting conscripted men, psychiatrists tried to discover and remove men suspected of being homosexual. Allan Bérubé’s historical work, Coming Out, shows that homosexual men and w ­ omen ­were as patriotic as their straight counter­parts, and they enlisted or ­were drafted with the same eagerness and apprehension.71 Ultimately, Amer­i­ca’s massive mobilization, while not total, clearly affected dif­ fer­ent minorities by giving most new opportunities that they did not have before. Blacks and ­women ­were included in the military in far greater numbers than before. While strong social constraints l­ imited that inclusion and t­ hose opportunities, their involvement in World War II, in many ways, helped to lay a foundation for the l­ ater Civil Rights and ­Women’s Right Movements, including paving the way to racially integrating the U.S. armed forces, as well as bringing more ­women into more of the armed forces. While homo­sexuality remained a minority in American society, the war­time mobilization was so vast that thousands of gays and lesbians ­were involved in the war effort, they found other gay men and ­women like them, and they charted new directions for themselves ­after the war.

DAILY LIFE Once inducted into the army and beginning his military training in a newly formed division or as an individual replacement, a soldier’s living quarters often depended upon where he was. Places like Fort Benning or Fort Bragg ­were permanent installations that could more easily expand to fit the thousands of new soldiers streaming in from throughout the nation. Newly created installations, however, ­were begun as soon as Amer­i­ca ramped up its mobilization. For ­those soldiers who ­were sent to one of many new training camps that sprang up in



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isolated areas throughout the nation, living quarters could be rougher as men’s training began while ­those camps ­were being constructed. Building new camps occurred concurrent with the training of the waves of draftees. The construction of most camps and bases ­were of wood, oftentimes from local materials and supplies, and most often using the Quartermaster Corps’ 700 series of building plans from the 1930s. This meant that buildings often resembled one another and could lead to confused draftees trying to negotiate a maze of similar-­looking buildings. Most often, soldiers ­were ­housed in a two-­story building, containing approximately 63 persons, that included toilets, showers, and sinks for personal hygiene. During their time in training, draftees certainly understood where their barracks and the mess hall ­were.72 While not a glamorous existence, the living conditions could, in some ways, be an improvement for draftees, especially for ­those rural Americans who still did not enjoy indoor plumbing. And although not a top priority as they ­were constructed, bases began to include recreational facilities in the form of ­either a day lounge in a com­pany barracks or a recreation hall that included billiards, ping-­pong, or even a post theater to allow trainees to watch movies.73 Upon finishing training, American soldiers next moved to a port of debarkation to sail ­toward Eu­rope. The army made getting men on board a troopship as efficient as pos­si­ble but naturally experienced snags along the way. Each man had a number, and he loaded the boat as his name and number was called out, taking all his equipment, weapons, and gear with him up the gangplank. Soldiers then entered deep into the bowels of ­these large troop vessels and stowed their gear where the bunks ­were stacked together. ­Because the army’s goal was moving as many men as pos­si­ble (some ships carried over 4,000 men, and the passenger liners Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth could each carry over 15,000 men), comfort was a luxury that was quickly discarded.74 Berths included racks that could be as many as six feet high, with only two feet separating each one. Ventilation was insufficient in many cases, the galley was overworked, the toilets could be crowded, and the men ­were not always able to be topside to enjoy fresh air. In some cases, soldiers “double-­bunked,” with soldiers sleeping in shifts and thereby sharing a rack.75 Lee Kennett notes that boarding and being aboard one of the large troopships was exciting for many soldiers but that novelty quickly wore off. While passenger liners like the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth could offer some comfort, soldiers who transported across in Liberty ships enjoyed very few comforts. Liberty ships ­were rapidly constructed merchant ships—­built in a fraction of the time to build other merchant and supply ships—­intended to carry 350 men, but war­time demands pushed that to 500. Their use as a troopship was purely a temporary war­time need as the demand for personnel grew. The Army Transportation Corps’ history notes that Liberty ships lacked adequate ventilation, mess and galley facilities, sufficient food and fresh ­water storage, sufficient space for doctors to work, and enough space for recreation topside. Thankfully, by 1944, ­there ­were enough troopships with sufficient facilities that Liberty ships ­were no longer required.76 Soldiers who deployed to the United Kingdom for the invasion of Eu­rope ­were oftentimes h­ oused in small towns throughout the British Isles. Upon their early arrival, the Americans ­were a novelty to the British that quickly became stale, especially as upwards of 1.7 million American  G.I.s flooded the United Kingdom,

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crowding the small island-­nation’s buses, ­hotels, homes, roads, restaurants, and pubs.77 In the United Kingdom, as thousands of Americans invaded British shores in preparation for the assault into northern France, the Americans and British worked to coexist during ­these tense months. Living in such close proximity, oftentimes ­housed in ­people’s homes, the British grew tired of the American presence. The common complaint against the Americans w ­ ere that they w ­ ere “overfed, overpaid, over sexed, and over h­ ere.” Being flush with money meant that the Americans affected e­ very economy where they ­were pre­sent. American swagger that included American soldiers bragging about how U.S. forces had won World War I irritated the British, especially as t­ hese civilians sacrificed and endured privation throughout World War II and continued to sacrifice for several years ­after.78 Whereas most American soldiers respected how the British had so stubbornly resisted the Germans and endured the ­Battle of Britain, many G.I.s strug­gled to accept Britons’ more rigid class structure in both its military and society. They never fully grasped the concept of “after­noon tea,” especially how British soldiers could stop fighting to make their after­noon tea. American soldiers also interpreted as insulting any complaints from British aristocrats and elites that indicated that the American presence—­and Allied war effort—­was an incon­ve­nience.79 The two dif­fer­ent cultures living in such close proximity during the war, especially during the buildup to the invasion of France, certainly caused confusion and tension, but the American G.I.s and British civilians eventually adjusted to each other. Lee Kennett writes that approximately 80,000 British ­women married American ser­vice members, and Peter Schrijvers has recorded that a quarter of letters from G.I.s sent from France ­were to ­people in Britain.80 One ser­vice member concluded that American soldiers and British civilians got along “about as well as can be expected of any two ­peoples who are as much alike as they are unlike.”81 Once American soldiers engaged in active combat operations, living conditions became most diverse, uncertain, and varied. Soldiers w ­ ere issued half a shelter tent, pegs, and poles and could join them together with a comrade, but, more often than not, slept in a fox hole that was as covered and concealed as much as the environment allowed. Fighting through the Hürtgen Forest kept soldiers in a heavi­ly wooded area where they endured “treebursts” as German artillery exploded in the treetops that threw wooden splinters and shrapnel among the men. In urban locations, like Brest, Aachen, Metz, and Nuremberg, Americans fought through and lived in ­these destroyed cities during the ­battles. The living conditions of soldiers in-­theater changed dramatically as the war and their location changed. Life in North Africa for American soldiers was dif­fer­ent than life in Italy, Holland, or Luxembourg ­later in the war. It also differed within an area of operations: front-­line soldiers endured far more tenuous and spartan living conditions that could dramatically change from one day to the next and was often crude, while soldiers in rear areas often enjoyed far better conditions in homes or within cities. Furthermore, conditions in the summer of 1944 as the Allies pushed the Germans across France became an entirely dif­fer­ent war as the fall and then winter approached. Americans fighting up the Italian boot ­after landing in September 1943 suffered a cold, wet autumn that led to thousands of soldiers with foot diseases and prob­lems, to say nothing about the Germans’ abilities to defend the Apennine Mountains and make the Allies pay



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dearly in blood for ­every advance that they made. Soldiers’ living conditions in combat changed dramatically; it was often primitive, and it changed constantly. Historian Peter Schrijvers observes that American soldiers lived close to the ground in times of active combat operations. Living in a tent could be seen by the e­ nemy and it offered no protection from ­enemy fire. Therefore, Schrijvers notes, “GIs hurriedly dug holes, using shovels and picks, entrenching tools, helmets and bare hands. They excavated slit trenches to lie down in, foxholes to sit or stand in.” Any standing buildings ­were often used as command posts or field hospitals.82 Alongside sleeping on the ground most nights, soldiers’ hygiene and cleanliness ­were complicated by ­limited access to showers and laundry facilities. It was not rare to go weeks, if not months, in the same set of clothes with few, if any, opportunities to clean oneself.83 A soldier’s living conditions in times of active fighting and operations depended heavi­ly upon where he was, the time of year, and his responsibilities. Aspects like logistics and supplies do not garner as much attention as an army’s military operations and warfighting, but they are equally as crucial as strategic planning and good, valid tactical princi­ples. Food, for example, demonstrates the importance of logistics through military history; an army that cannot supply itself with food ­will quickly become in­effec­tive in the field. Developed in peacetime, the garrison ration featured 39 ele­ments, including meats, fruits and vegetables, dairy products, and beverages for soldiers’ consumption. It was also mostly a money credit that allowed vari­ous installations to rely upon local sources for perishable items and could allow them to save up money over time to improve and change the diet as necessary. This method worked quite well in the peacetime years before the war began. During their stateside training soldiers subsisted off the Quartermaster Corps’ “garrison ration,” which provided almost 4,300 calories per day and, combined with the men’s rigorous training regimen, helped most American draftees gain weight.84 In 1936, the Subsistence Research Laboratory within the Quartermaster Corps was established to conduct research on war­time foods, rations, and subsistence. In 1943, this laboratory was joined by the Washington Package Research and Development Laboratory. Each laboratory had its own functions, but they largely determined what American soldiers ate and how they ate it during World War II. During the war, universities and the Office of the Surgeon General also got involved in helping to develop long-­lasting, nutritious foods.85 Out of this research came a number of pro­cessed foods that American G.I.s ate during the war. The A and B rations ­were designed for consumption ­behind the front lines and, as such, required more fresh ingredients and, when pos­si­ble, refrigeration. ­These meals could feed soldiers as they came off the front lines or, when prepared, could be sent to the front lines. While the A ration relied more upon fresh ingredients, the B ration used more canned products: canned meats, canned vegetables and fruits, evaporated or dried milk, canned jelly, and hard bread. Both, however, required full field kitchens to prepare meals. The history of the Quartermaster Corps in World War II rec­ords the many challenges in turning the many American food items to field use at an industrial level, as transportation and storage issues w ­ ere the top obstacles.86 In filling out the A

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and B rations, the Quartermaster Corps discovered that boneless beef was the best fresh meat product to ship overseas but that smoked pork products ­were difficult to use ­because of a lack of refrigeration ­until ­later in the war. Canned and pro­cessed meats, however, remained unpop­u­lar ­until the Quartermaster Corps developed a more diverse variety of canned meats. The Quartermaster Corps relied upon canned fruits and vegetables but found that storage in extreme temperatures could cause spoilage. Fi­nally, the Quartermaster Corps also labored to develop dehydrated vegetables, eggs, and dairy products for use by field kitchens, to vari­ous degrees of success. The A and B rations also caused challenges in packaging ­these foods safely and efficiently to avoid spoilage and rotting.87 The A and B rations ­were challenging for the Quartermaster Corps to provide to soldiers, but most soldiers, in times of active campaigning, did not live on the A and B rations, except when field kitchens occasionally got food to the men in the front. Soldiers could help their com­pany mess sergeants and his cooks by “liberating” food from the countryside to give to the cooks in order to make their meals more diverse.88 In times of active campaigning and fighting, the American soldier lived on the C, K, D, or 10-­in-1 ration. The C ration had three pairs of 12-­ounce cans, each pair representing one meal. In a C ration pair of cans, one was a meat-­based meal that required heating up; the other can included crackers, coffee or tea, a drink mix, sugar, candy, toilet paper, and cigarettes. The Quartermaster Corps’ Subsistence Department never intended for the C ration to be a soldier’s staple diet, so it did not work to create a diverse variety of canned meats and meals. However, some soldiers lived up to 90 days on C rations, and they certainly complained about the monotony of the food. By mid-1944, the Subsistence Department created new meat-­based meals for soldiers. Altogether, a day’s worth of C rations gave a soldier approximately 3,300 calories.89 During times of active b­ attle, soldiers w ­ ere supposed to consume the K ration, which was also specifically designed to feed paratroopers by responding to ­those soldiers’ tight space needs. Packaging was essential, in this case, ­because space was at a premium for paratroopers. Each K ration included breakfast, dinner, and supper units within them and could supply over 3,000 calories. Each box, composed of the three meal-­units, included meat-­based main portions plus biscuits and crackers, gum, cigarettes, lemon juice powder, soluble coffee, a fruit bar, sugar tablets, and a two-­ounce D ration. Like the C ration, the Subsistence Department worked to diversify the meals provided as more soldiers lived longer on ­these rations and found the few number of meals monotonous. As soldiers tossed out unappealing portions, they ate fewer calories and upset the nutritional value within a day’s ration. Like the C ration, the K ration was developed over time and improved as the war lasted longer.90 In emergencies, soldiers might rely upon the D ration. This was a highly fortified choco­late bar that weighed four ounces and contained 600 calories. It was made of choco­late, sugar, oat flour, cocoa fat, skim milk powder, and artificial flavoring, and ­because it was designed to withstand temperatures up to 120 degrees, it was not easily eaten. Oftentimes, D rations w ­ ere consumed in order to supplement C or K rations. Although choco­late, soldiers often complained about its toughness



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and its general unpleasantness. However, in a pinch it did its job as a survival ration.91 Ideally, soldiers consumed K rations with D rations in their pockets for emergencies during periods of active ­battle. As ­battles paused, units regrouped, and positions w ­ ere consolidated, soldiers could be issued and would eat C rations. During active campaigning, soldiers might eat a variety of C and K rations ­until an active campaign was over. As a longer pause came, soldiers would be issued 10-­in-1 rations.92 The 10-­in-1 ration was meant to bridge the gap between food from field kitchens and a C ration; it was prepared when ­limited kitchen facilities w ­ ere available. The purpose of the 10-­in-1 ration was to feed 10 men for one day. But ­because it weighed over 45 pounds, the 10-­in-1 ration was generally eaten by crews: ­those that operated tanks, tank destroyers, self-­propelled artillery, or men in field artillery units that had the space for the larger 10-­in-1 ration. This ration came along ­later in the war, but indications are that it was generally superior to the C and K rations.93 Generally speaking, soldiers complained about their rations when they consumed the same ­thing repeatedly for days or weeks. However, ­after a few days without resupply and ­after periods of hunger, ­these prepackaged meals became delicacies in themselves. It is clear, however, that the Subsistence Department within the Quartermaster Corps expended time, effort, and resources to provide American soldiers with food that was nutritious, healthy, could be stored for long periods, could be shipped in bulk, and could be as appetizing as conditions allowed. Despite the long logistical tail that followed the American soldier through the war in Eu­rope, the American soldier still worked to supplement his diet as much as pos­si­ble, w ­ hether it was through foraging, looting, or thievery. Sometimes diversity came in the form of captured German rations. Other times, it meant butchering a recently killed cow (sometimes killed by the men themselves). At still other times, soldiers who knew how to milk a dairy cow could quickly implement ­those civilian skills. Whenever he could, the G.I. accepted invitations to dine with British, Italian, French, and Dutch families, oftentimes giving wives and ­mothers their own rations to cook in new and creative ways. Fighting through the rural countryside of Sicily, Italy, and France, as well as through the cities and towns of France, Holland, and Germany meant a degree of access to a variety of dif­fer­ent foods that the soldier in the southwest Pacific area rarely enjoyed.94 The uniform for the American G.I., like his food, improved over the course of the war. Most American soldiers did much of their fighting in an olive-­drab cotton twill shirt and trousers. In 1943, he received a field jacket that he wore over his shirt and trousers. In warmer weather, he might wear a herringbone twill uniform. For colder weather, G.I.s ­were supposed to wear additional clothes as layers: wool trousers ­under his cotton trousers and a short woolen jacket ­under his field jacket. To ­handle the extremely cold winter of 1944–1945, one soldier recorded that he wore “a set of cotton underclothes, a wool undershirt, a set of wool shirt and trousers, a wool knit sweater, a set of fatigue shirt and trousers, a field jacket, an overcoat, a wool cap ­under my helmet, gloves, at least two pairs of wool socks, boots, and galoshes.” He remembered that he could not move well but “I ­wouldn’t have parted with a single thread.”95

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Soldiers’ footwear early in the war was a failure ­because its leather sole wore out rapidly in harsh environments. Complaints about this shoe began before the United States even entered World War II and increased as the army conducted a variety of exercises and war games throughout the nation.96 ­Those complaints continued through the early part of the war. In addition to the prob­lems with footwear ­were the canvas leggings that soldiers wore to keep debris, rocks, and insects out of their shoes. However, the canvas leggings ­were difficult to put on and, when wet, dried very slowly. Soldiers fighting through the wet autumn of 1943 in Italy rarely had time to take off their leggings and shoes, and thousands developed foot prob­ lems akin to World War I’s trench foot. Replacing the combat shoe was the combat boot, which eliminated the need for the canvas leggings. However, the combat boot proved to be inadequate in cold weather, and the winter of 1944–1945 was extremely cold for the Americans fighting in Eu­rope. Thousands suffered from frostbite and trench foot as a result of inadequate footwear.97 It was in winter conditions that the American soldier most strug­gled with his uniform. Americans endured extremely difficult winters in 1943–1944 in Italy and again in 1944–1945 in Italy, as well as in western Eu­rope. In this sense, the environmental conditions of the war forced the Quartermaster Corps to come up with solutions for the soldiers. The woolen overcoat was not effective in combat and became useless if wet, but the combat jacket was not sufficient against the cold. The army’s gloves became wet too easily and ­were short-­wristed. ­Because of ­these combat conditions, the Quartermaster Corps developed a shoepac, to be worn with ski socks, that was designed to protect feet in wet and cold conditions, but most soldiers did not receive them ­until January 1945. Furthermore, the uniform did not help soldiers fighting in snowy, wintry conditions. Most made improvised winter uniforms by using white sheets, flour sacks, or cheese cloths to help give them some concealment in the snow.98 Aside from clothing prob­lems, the bitterly cold conditions of the winter of 1944–1945 caused many prob­lems and challenges for American soldiers. The G.I.’s helmet, however, was a successful item for American soldiers. The helmet had two parts: the steel outer shell and the inner liner. Shell and liner together, the G.I.’s helmet weighed about three pounds and was designed to deflect a .45-­caliber round at five feet. The liner was fitted with a headband, and the helmet simply sat on top of the liner. As such, the steel helmet itself had many uses aside from protecting the wearer’s head: it could be a stool or pillow, it could hold ­water for shaving or bathing, it could be used for digging or bailing out ­water in a flooded foxhole, and, if pinned down by ­enemy small-­arms or artillery fire, a soldier could relieve himself in it and fling the waste out of his foxhole.99 Lastly, American soldiers relied on a large amount of personal equipment, apart from their weapons, to do their jobs as soldiers and to function long term in the field. In mid-1944, se­nior leaders before D-­Day considered what the assault troops might need when landing and assaulting the Omaha and Utah beaches. Aside from weapons and ammunition, soldiers ­were to wear or have on their person a web ­belt, one pair of wool drawers, cotton gloves, two handkerchiefs, their steel helmet with liner, their field jacket, a pair of leggings, flannel shirt and undershirt, combat shoes, wool socks, and wool trousers. They ­were to carry a canvas field



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bag, an ammunition ­belt, a canteen and canteen cover, a haversack, a pack, first aid pouch, and two dog tags. In their haversack would be a can of meat, ­water tablets, two handkerchiefs, four heating units, a two-­ounce can of insecticide, a knife, a raincoat, four pairs of socks, a spoon, toiletries, and a towel. In his blanket roll, which would be carried on his unit’s vehicles ­were to be two blankets, a can of meat, a pair of cotton drawers, a fork, two handkerchiefs, a herringbone field jacket and uniform, a knife, five tent pegs, pole, a half a shelter tent, an extra pair of shoes, two pairs of socks, a towel, and an undershirt.100 Of the Americans’ equipment, much of it developed and improved over the course of the war. However, what equipment he did not think he needed at the time or that he did not like, he simply tossed aside, which contributed to American allies taking note that American soldiers could waste so many resources with such flippancy. The use of six dif­fer­ent types of field rations (A, B, C, D, K, and 10-­in-1) to feed millions of American soldiers—as well as allied forces, civilians, and displaced persons—­was ­because of a massive logistical tail that is impor­tant to recognize in World War II. For example, the 50,000 American soldiers who landed on D-­Day in June 1944 ­were backed by 500,000 soldiers serving in the Army Ser­vice Forces: 60,000 in the Quartermaster Corps, 80,000 in the Medical Corps, 45,000 in the Ordnance Corps, 16,000 in the Signal Corps, and 68,000 in the Transportation Corps.101 Unlike the chaos that raged ­behind the American trenches in World War I where some American doughboys nearly starved from ill-­managed supply and logistics, the American G.I. in World War II was well supplied, well fed, and well clothed.102 The massive logistical operation of the Army Ser­vice Forces helped lead to other countries’ perception of the United States as an extravagant, prodigiously supplied army.103 For example, by June 12, six days a­ fter the invasion of Normandy, more than half of the rations consumed w ­ ere 10-­in-1 rations. Fresh bread and fresh 104 coffee ­were issued by early July. Additionally, the A and B rations—­the field kitchens—­still provided over half the rations consumed from June 1944 ­until the end of the war.105 The food may have been monotonous at times, sometimes combat conditions temporarily cut the supply of food, and his uniform was far from perfect, but the American soldier was supplied better in World War II far more efficiently than he had been in any previous American war.

RELIGION Amer­i­ca has a complex and robust Christian heritage, dating back to the colonial period, the ­Great Awakenings of the eigh­teenth and nineteenth centuries and influencing American society and culture into the twentieth ­century. While never remaining constant, never achieving a long-­lasting consensus, and sometimes full of contradictions, religion has exerted a power­f ul influence upon American society. Early twentieth-­century progressivism, a pervasive consumer culture, the impact of World War I, the rise of ideologies promising a better explanation of the world and its prob­lems (such as Marxism-­Leninism and fascism), and the challenges caused by the ­Great Depression conspired to cut into Americans’ devotion and piety to Chris­tian­ity and an American Protestant culture.106 What refilled the pews and

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Chaplain major Edward J. W ­ aters conducts religious ser­vices on a pier in Weymouth, ­England, for troops about to embark on ships heading to D-­Day. For many soldiers, religious faith was a key means of maintaining morale through the most difficult circumstances of war. Army chaplains provide ser­vices and counseling to soldiers regardless of their specific faith. (National Archives)

reignited a faith in the hearts of many American Christians was the attack on Pearl Harbor and Amer­i­ca’s declaration of war on December 8, 1941.107 Churches then felt compelled not only to support the war effort but also to support Amer­i­ca’s male youth being drafted to fight the war. Just as in the Civil War and World War I, churches saw it as their moral imperative to help preserve the morality and morale of American soldiers. Religious organ­izations and churches provided religious tracts and Bibles to the army’s and navy’s chaplain organ­izations. Ministers worked with stateside army chaplains to help support the cause of religion in the training camps. This support included both religious instruction for the faithful and an opportunity for evangelism for the uncommitted. Vari­ous Protestant and Catholic organ­izations sprang up and actively provided religious instruction and guidance to newly inducted citizen-­soldiers.108 One of the staple features of military religious life was the army chaplain. Entering the war caused a dramatic rise in chaplains as the army eventually commissioned and trained 9,000 chaplains, including Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish chaplains, in World War II.109 Emphasizing and prioritizing t­ hese three traditions, the “tri-­faith” tradition, posed unique challenges for the army in World War II. For one, a demo­cratic society meant that other faiths, such as Christian Scientists, Buddhists, and Greek Orthodox, believed that they had a right to be in the military chaplaincy as well.110 On another level, when Congress reserved money to build



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chapels, construction and appearance became very impor­tant: building it one way or another could indicate f­ avor t­oward one faith tradition over o­ thers. Over the course of the war, the army built 1,300 chapels. They ­were constructed and designed so as to appeal to the three faiths while not favoring one, ­because all three faiths ­were expected to share the space and conduct their ser­vices, at dif­fer­ent times, in that building. The interior was generally empty so as not to offend any faith tradition. One officer remarked that “only in a ­free country could you find a church built to be used for worship by Catholic, Protestant, and Jew alike.” T ­ hese interfaith chapels suggest the effort that army chaplains put into emphasizing their national unity and downplaying their religious differences. It also forced some faiths to call on the army to accept dif­fer­ent accommodations: meatless Fridays for Catholics and kosher food for Jews.111 Not all accommodations w ­ ere pos­si­ble, but soldiers often took advantage of religious ser­vices, even though church attendance was voluntary.112 In essence, whereas religious groups could act competitively—­private Protestant groups warily eyed the advance of private Catholic groups onto stateside bases—­the army chaplains w ­ ere encouraged to be more unitary than sectarian.113 Lastly, to be clear, the army technically saw the tri-­faith ideal within four traditions: Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, and black, thanks to Amer­i­ca’s racial complexities and Jim Crow realities. Black chaplains ­were commissioned in the army, and they endured the same frustrations that soldiers such as Corporal Rupert Trimmingham experienced in his train ­ride through Louisiana.114 One of the duties of the army chaplain was to follow the soldiers into the field and be with them during times of combat and times when morale ran low. Oftentimes, chaplains held ser­vices before an attack. They ­were in high demand before the invasion of Normandy in June 1944. Soldiers generally respected and appreciated chaplains who visited the front often and offered solace and comfort before an attack. In the immediate aftermath, combat chaplains ministered to the wounded and gave comfort to the ­dying, all while unarmed. Afterwards, they ­were involved in burying the dead. They sponsored religious studies among the soldiers, promoted sexual morality (in part to keep venereal diseases in check), planned recreational activities, and counseled and encouraged shaky veterans. On base, they ­were allowed wide access to visit soldiers wherever they ­were, including guard­houses. ­Because of the army’s long logistical tail, most chaplains who served overseas served men who ­were not fighting but ­were serving the army in the rear in a support role.115 Chaplains, as such, served as far and wide as the global U.S. Army. In terms of the American soldier and his war­time faith, observers noted that American soldiers took religion and Christian rites much more seriously in areas of active combat. However, ­others noted that the ebb and flow of religious fervor among combat units often correlated with the level of danger they w ­ ere facing at that moment, which may lend some credibility to the cliché that “­there are no atheists in foxholes,” ­until, perhaps the shelling ­stopped.116 Combat units understood the fragility of life and ­were well motivated to think upon ­those ­matters more seriously than in peacetime or than their rear-­echelon counter­parts, but resorting to religion only in t­hose moments both­ered some. Some observers, soldiers and chaplains alike, saw soldiers becoming religious only in the dangerous moments as not embracing religion, but ­others saw experiences in moments of danger, stress,

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and fear as the opportunity for an omnipotent and omniscient God to reveal Himself.117 As such, it becomes difficult to parse who accepted a religious tradition ­because they accepted and embraced its tenets from t­ hose who accepted it b­ ecause of fear and the uncertainty of what happens ­after death, a very real threat to combat soldiers. What complicates this separation is the way the random nature of war could erode a soldier’s Judeo-­Christian belief in an omniscient, omnipotent, omnibenevolent God. It could seem to some combat soldiers that they lived in a world influenced by ­either God or by luck, but it was rarely clear who was in charge. A fatalism often settled in the minds of ­those who walked away from some Judeo-­ Christian tenets and embraced a cynical fatalism or drove ­others to find a “lucky token” and carry it with them religiously. On the other hand, combat drove other soldiers to cling ever more tightly to the Judeo-­Christian tradition of an all-­powerful, all-­k nowing, all-­good God.118 Prayer and religion was one way that American G.I.s coped with the stresses of combat and pushed through tough times, such as heavy artillery bombardments or a difficult attack against a German position.119 Religion was an impor­tant facet of the American soldier’s social and cultural upbringing, and it clearly affected some soldiers but by no means affected all. American soldiers fighting in Eu­rope could not but help to see the cultural effects of Chris­tian­ity upon Italy, France, Holland, and Germany. Moving through villages and towns meant passing by cathedrals in all of them, hearing their bells day ­after day. When pos­si­ble, front-­line chaplains tried to hold religious ser­vices in churches. Soldiers, even Protestants, who visited St. Peter’s Basilica ­after the capture of Rome sometimes recorded their own religious experience. Churches also offered safety: to civilians who might hide in basements to escape bombardments or a fight in their town’s streets but also to American soldiers. One American recorded that “the mere fact of being quartered in a church made me feel peaceful and happy.” The realities of combat, however, superseded the beauties of Eu­ro­pean churches as Americans oftentimes destroyed church steeples in order to deny an observation post or a machine gun strongpoint to the e­ nemy. To one American, the pervasive symbols of Chris­tian­ity amidst a Eu­rope thrown into the abyss of destruction begged the question: “with so g­ reat saturation of Christian symbolism is ­there so much that is war-­like in Eu­rope?”120

POPU­L AR CULTURE Just as American churches w ­ ere actively involved in supporting the war effort and soldiers’ well-­being, so Hollywood actively supported the war effort as well. The main difference was that the government worked with and guided Hollywood to help provide the right narrative that would encourage and guarantee Americans’ support for the war effort. To that end, the federal government created the Office of War Information (OWI) in 1942, and its subordinate Bureau of Motion Pictures (BMP) worked with Hollywood to provide the right message to the American ­people. ­These two organ­izations understood the prob­lems in World War I’s Creel Committee and w ­ ere not interested in being a propaganda mill. Whereas the OWI did not tolerate outright fabrications, it clearly pushed a certain interpretation and



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narrative of events. OWI’s focus, then, was on ideas and reminding the American ­people why they w ­ ere fighting this war and so it produced the “Government Information Manual for the Motion Picture Industry” in order to help guide the right message. A demo­cratic Amer­i­ca had been attacked by and was fighting totalitarian governments, waging a worldwide strug­gle between good and evil. Movies w ­ ere encouraged to explore why the United States was fighting, the allies with whom it was fighting this war, the enemies against whom it was fighting, and life on the home front. While Hollywood studios ­were encouraged to “tell the truth,” it was clear that “the truth” was malleable.121 This real­ity affected the movies that soldiers saw overseas, which the army, through its Special Ser­vices Division, provided the men. Watching movies was a popu­lar distraction for most soldiers. During their stateside training, soldiers ­were often allowed to venture into nearby towns to find entertainment. Oftentimes, local entertainment options ­were ­limited, but as training camps grew in size, new markets developed to satisfy draftees’ desires and demands. This could increase prostitution in nearby towns’ and cities’ red-­light districts and bars and drinking establishments. Religious groups worked to guide soldiers away from ­those options, but they proliferated nonetheless. In addition to its motion picture component, the Special Ser­vices Division included an athletics and recreation ser­vice and an education and information ser­vice. The division was up and ­r unning by 1942 and operated 500 movie theaters with a daily attendance of 260,000 soldiers paying 15 cents per visit to watch recently produced, first-­r un movies from Hollywood.122 Hollywood had made a deal with the Special Ser­vices Division to provide first-­r un movies especially for post theaters on the new training bases, which proved quite popu­lar for the trainees. Providing movies in ­England proved to be relatively ­simple and they retained their popularity, but a­ fter the invasion of France, it became more difficult to get movies to Eu­rope. Ultimately, it became easier to show movies in places like Rome and Paris, where G.I.s would commonly go when on a three-­day leave from the front, but the Army Signal Corps worked to get movies as close to the front as pos­si­ble in many cases. In one instance, in February 1945 in Schoneseiften, Germany, the 2nd Special Ser­vices Com­pany was showing a movie on the side of a barn for men of the 28th Infantry Division resting from combat when German artillery hit them. Two nights l­ater, the 2nd Special Ser­vices Com­pany tried to show that same movie and, again, the Germans shelled them. Although it turns out that German forward observers ­were a few hundred yards away, it shows how close to the front lines that Special Ser­vices movie projectionists could get during the war. That 2nd Special Ser­vices Com­pany, however, recorded that it had had a million showings to American soldiers in the 11 months between the assault upon Normandy and the surrender of Germany.123 Another access to American popu­lar culture was the USO, or the United Ser­ vice Organ­izations. The USO was the united effort of the YMCA, YWCA, Jewish Welfare Board, National Catholic Community Ser­vice, National Travelers Aid Association, and the Salvation Army. Like the entertainment and recreation provided by the Special Ser­vices Division, the USO was designed to provide soldiers with a healthier alternative to prostitution and bars while off post, thus minimizing soldiers’ risk of contracting a venereal disease or succumbing to alcoholism.

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By 1944, the USO was operating over 3,000 clubs and canteens that assisted over 1 million p­ eople ­every day.124 Stateside USO clubs ­were a way for young w ­ omen to offer men some female companionship that did not involve any sexuality. It was therefore a way for young American w ­ omen to contribute to the American war effort.125 The USO became most famous for its traveling shows entertaining American soldiers. Bob Hope famously entertained the soldiers, but USO shows also included such personalities as Carole Landis, Gene Tunney, Al Jolson, Marlene Dietrich, and Frances Langford. Most often, American soldiers most preferred to see American girls perform skits, dances, or songs with the more famous performers.126 The Special Ser­vices and the USO, however, was a conduit by which American soldiers remained connected to American popu­lar culture by giving them access to first-­r un movies and entertainment. ­Those movies that they saw ­were directly influenced by the OWI, which sought to push a certain point of view and a certain narrative of why Amer­i­ca—­and its soldiers—­were fighting the war. Furthermore, much of that entertainment was designed to keep soldiers away from vices that could lead to other, more serious prob­lems, such as venereal disease and drunkenness. The USO and Special Ser­vices Divisions also strived to approach as close to the front lines as pos­si­ble, but most combat soldiers rarely saw them ­there; still, it was not hard to find the Special Ser­vices and USO once one left the front lines. Nevertheless, they remained impor­tant connections for the citizen-­soldiers to their lives back home.

PAY AND COMPENSATION ­After entering the war, Congress raised a private’s pay from $21 a month to $50 a month and an additional $10 if they served overseas. Paratroopers received an additional $50 for hazardous duty. Enlisted men who flew regularly in the Army Air Forces also received an additional $25. During the war, infantrymen received another $10 pay bump, and glider troops ­were also given the additional $50 given to paratroopers. For officers, a second lieutenant received $216 a month—­more if he was married. That lieutenant received an additional 10 ­percent added if he served overseas, an additional 50 ­percent if he was a pi­lot, and an additional $100 if he was an officer in an airborne unit.127 When interrogated by the Germans, a corporal captured in Italy gave his annual salary in the U.S. Army. It was more than the average German Wehrmacht captain.128 ­There is, however, a ­little more complexity within ­those numbers. A 1944 article in Barron’s National Business and Financial Weekly recorded that an unmarried private’s net annual salary, ­after accounting for cost of living and income taxes, was $3,600. A sergeant’s annual pay, it showed, was $4,500, and an unmarried master sergeant could expect to make $6,000 annually.129 Fifty dollars a month translates to $600 a year, which Barron’s deducted to $420 ­after taxes and the cost of living. Ser­vice overseas, however, raised that amount to $540 annually. To be clear, Barron’s argued that the “felt,” or perceived, income ­after taxes, expenses, and a rising cost of living made the lowly army private’s



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purchasing power of his $540 rise beyond that of a civilian making $3,600 per annum, which, Barron’s argued, was more than 80 ­percent of Americans ­were making at the time. Barron’s argued that ­because civilians’ expenses, such as food, housing, medical care, transportation, supporting dependents, and energy, ­were provided by the government for the soldier, then ­those soldiers could live more comfortably than a civilian making $3,600 annually. The figure ­rose higher for specialists, such as paratroopers, pi­lots, and submariners, who ­were paid even more. To be clear, Barron’s acknowledged that a major difference between the soldier and the civilian was that the soldier, especially combat soldiers, faced the hardships of war as well as the possibility of death or a grievous wound. At the same time, one war­time assessment of soldier pay argued that soldiers’ annual income favorably compared to civilian workers when accounting for the cost of living and taxes.130 Compared to their allies, American soldiers w ­ ere paid well, which could cause prob­lems overseas. In Britain, British men, especially British soldiers, ­were concerned that their ­women would flock to the more wealthy American soldier. Several songs sung by British soldiers reflect this insecurity against the American dollar. Perhaps they had a reason to be concerned: the American soldier’s monthly disposable income in June 1942 was $14, but the disposable income of a British soldier was only $3.50. In contrast to the Barron’s war­time analy­sis of American G.I. pay, Peter Schrijvers writes that British soldiers’ pay was low in comparison to British civilian workers.131 With that increased pay came micro-­economic power; Lee Kennett writes that the wealthier American soldier, earning more than four times his British counterpart, meant that he had “first call on food, drink, and female companionship” in the British Isles. The presence of American soldiers had a definite impact upon local economies worldwide ­because Americans spent their money wherever they ­were. How Americans spent their money and how se­nior officers hired local ­labor had immediate social, po­liti­cal, and economic effects on that location.132 WEAPONRY The basic weapon of the U.S. Army infantry in World War II was the M1 Garand, issued in 1936. Unlike any other army in World War II, the United States was the only army to equip its men with a semiautomatic ­rifle (meaning that the ­rifle fires a bullet with each pull of the trigger ­until it is out of ammunition), rather than a bolt-­action ­rifle (meaning the shooter must manually rechamber a round ­after each shot). The Garand fired eight rounds from an en-­bloc clip that flung out of the ­rifle ­after the last round and made a distinctive sound that told the shooter that he needed to reload. This shift to a semiautomatic ­rifle, firing a large .30–06 bullet, and basing the ­rifle squad upon the rifleman rather than the machine gun, which the Germans did, reflected the continuing faith by se­nior military leaders in the power of the rifleman. The M1 Garand proved to be an extremely durable and reliable weapon for the American soldier in most environments, such as the bitterly cold winter of 1944–1945, especially when cared for and maintained. Troops could put an attachment on their Garand that allowed them to fire a rifle-­grenade.

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Not all soldiers w ­ ere issued the M1 Garand; o­ thers carried the M1 Carbine, which fired a smaller .30-­caliber bullet from a 15-­round magazine. Depending on a soldier’s occupational specialty, he might have to carry the smaller carbine. The M1 Carbine proved a reliable weapon but it lacked the stopping power of the Garand. Aside from the Garand and carbine, small units also enjoyed the power of the Browning Automatic ­Rifle, or BAR. The heavy BAR, a fully automatic ­rifle, fired a .30–06 round from a 20-­round detachable box magazine. Usually, a bigger soldier carried this heavier weapon, and they had to train to become accustomed to firing an automatic ­rifle but from a ­limited, 10-­round magazine. ­These three weapons, Garand, carbine, and BAR, ­were what most U.S. soldiers fired in combat. Other soldiers ­were issued a fully automatic submachine gun, ­either the Thompson submachine gun, also called the “Tommy gun,” or an M3 “grease gun.” Both models ­were submachine guns that fired a .45-­caliber pistol round, and both proved their worth at close-­range engagements, such as in the urban environment. The M3 “grease gun” was a cheaper, less elegant alternative to the Thompson, which was expensive and difficult to maintain. The M3, however, had mixed results as it could jam easily in some cases and it did not enjoy the same fanfare that the Thompson submachine gun has enjoyed since the war’s end.133 Each ­rifle com­pany had a weapons’ platoon, and each infantry battalion contained a heavy weapons com­pany. ­These units contained a variety of machine guns, mortars, and 2.36-­inch antitank rockets (known as bazookas). ­These units increased the firepower of the World War II infantry squad, platoon, and com­pany, especially as ­these weapons’ units could spread out to aid and assist the com­pany and battalion where necessary during a ­bitter firefight. The inclusion of ­these dif­fer­ent weapons was a result of painful experience on the World War I battlefield, when a prevailing view of ­battle was that the American rifleman with his ­rifle would be sufficient to defeat the veteran German army in France in 1917. The army maintained its conviction that riflemen ­were impor­tant on the battlefield but learned that firepower from machine guns, mortars, and antitank rockets greatly assisted the rifleman in the attack. American armored vehicles have not garnered the kind of attention and applause that German and even Soviet armor have received. American tankers strug­gled through the interwar period to find a coherent doctrine and use of armor.134 By January 1941, Amer­i­ca’s newly created armored divisions emphasized operations deep in the ­enemy’s rear areas, attacking lines of communication, and seizing impor­ tant objectives. As the war dragged on and in­de­pen­dent tank battalions ­were assigned to each infantry division, ­these tanks worked increasingly with infantry to support the infantry attack. However, the mind-­set of American tanks by December  1941 was to fulfill a variety of missions except the mission of destroying ­enemy tanks. This mind-­set is impor­tant ­because it affected tank design, leading to the prioritization of light and medium tanks in the American arsenal. Amer­i­ca’s light tanks, such as the M3 Stuart, and its ­later medium tank, the M4 Sherman, ­were not designed to go to toe-­to-­toe with increasingly larger German tanks. They ­were designed in armored divisions to break through ­enemy positions and wreak havoc in rear areas. In the in­de­pen­dent tank battalions attached to infantry divisions, they



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­ ere designed to support the infantry attack and fire upon ­enemy strongpoints and w machine gun positions. Amer­i­ca’s chief light tank, the M3 Stuart, entered production in 1941 and was a 30-­ton tank that mounted a 37-mm antitank gun and a 75-mm hull-­mounted gun, as well as three machine guns.135 The M3 quickly proved to be insufficient against German tanks when it deployed to North Africa in 1943. Amer­i­ca’s main tank of World War II was the M4 Sherman, a medium tank. It had a small role in the fighting in North Africa and gradually replaced the M3 as the main ­battle tank. The Sherman’s 75-mm main gun fired a variety of rounds, including armor-­piercing, high-­explosive, and smoke rounds. Comparatively speaking, it was easy to mass-­produce, easy to maintain, was a reliable machine, and had greater mobility and armor than the M3. The M4 was not as power­f ul as other German tanks, but it was not designed to defeat other German tanks. However, as German tanks, with their more power­f ul guns and heavier armor, consistently destroyed the M4 Sherman, it was slowly upgraded as the war continued. It also had a tendency to burn intensely when hit by ­enemy fire. War­time tests at Fort Knox revealed that German rounds exploded ­after penetrating the tank’s armor and exploded the tank’s ammunition, thus destroying the tank and killing the crew.136 The Sherman’s purpose was not the destruction of the e­ nemy’s armored forces, an aspect often overlooked by ­people evaluating tank per­for­mance in World War II. To this end, historian Christopher Gabel writes that the M4 Sherman in 1941 “was a world-­class tank, and it remained an excellent, reliable weapons system for most of the tasks it was called upon to perform.” By 1943, its antitank limitations ­were clear as it strug­gled to perform against the Mark IV Panzer and failed against the Mark V and VI German tanks.137 Fi­nally, close to the end of the war, the United States developed a heavy tank, the M26 Pershing. The Pershing was able to compete much better against German armor, but its appearance at the very end of the war l­ imited any influence it might have. The job of American tanks was to attack into the ­enemy rear or to support the infantry. The job of destroying tanks fell to the tank destroyer. Tank destroyers looked like tanks but had thinner armor, more mobility, an open turret, and a larger gun capable of destroying ­enemy tanks. The quickly designed M10 tank destroyer was, according to Gabel, “only marginally more effective against heavy German armor than the Sherman.” The M10 tank destroyer was ­little more than a 3-­inch high-­velocity gun mounted onto the chassis of an M4 Sherman.138 The purpose-­ built M18 tank destroyer, mounting a 76-mm high-­velocity gun, had the ability to attack and destroy most German armor, except the heavier Mark V and Mark VI panzers. In 1944, the M36, with its 90-mm gun, could fight against the heaviest German tanks on a more equal level.139 Often, infantry officers failed to understand how to correctly use tank destroyers in ­battle. ­These weapons systems ­were often repurposed to accomplish other missions during the war, such as functioning as self-­propelled artillery or as an assault gun in support of infantry attacks.140 The work­horse of a division’s artillery was the 105-mm howitzer artillery piece. The 105-mm gun, firing a 33-­pound high-­explosive round, had a maximum range of 37,000 feet and proved to be a durable and effective artillery piece. While many infantry divisions had three artillery battalions armed with the 105-mm howitzer,

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it also included a battalion of 155-mm guns. The 155-mm, also known as the “Long Tom,” joined the army’s arsenal in 1941. The “Long Tom” could fire a 94-­pound high explosive a maximum range of 48,000 feet.141 While the 105-mm and 155-mm guns ­were good in their own right, the “time on target” concept was a way that the Americans w ­ ere able to join multiple artillery batteries and battalions together to fire on one target. Artillery fire-­direction centers ­were able to coordinate multiple batteries, sometimes from several battalions, so that their shells landed at the same spot at the same time.142 “Time on target” fires could be devastating for anyone or anything being targeted, as a massive barrage arrived almost without warning. For instance, on February 15, 1944, the II Corps artillery fired a “time on target” volley of 266 shells on the summit of Monte Cassino in an effort to destroy the defenses ­there.143 Thanks to interwar doctrine, infantry–­artillery cooperation proved a power­f ul asset for the American soldier in World War II.

COMBAT World War I significantly influenced how the interwar army thought about war. Western armies spent much of the interwar period contemplating how the experiences of World War I and trench warfare affected the character of warfare. The American military debated the topic as well, but any consensus was hampered by low bud­gets and an isolationist Congress and American public. In terms of infantry doctrine, the U.S. Army emphasized the “holding attack,” also called “fire and maneuver.” The holding attack called for a smaller force to fix the ­enemy into position, hopefully forcing them to commit their reserves. In the meantime, the main attack would e­ ither envelop, or turn, the e­ nemy’s flank or assault their front. Doctrine preferred turning the ­enemy’s flank ­because it “enable[d] a superior force to bring into play all its means of action.”144 In the attack upon a fortified position, which is the closest the 1923 regulations come to discussing urban combat, doctrine extolled planning, thorough reconnaissance, and firepower from tanks and artillery. During the a­ ctual assault, “re­sis­tances are as far as practicable e­ ither outflanked or reduced by envelopment.”145 A 12-­man ­rifle squad was subdivided into the scout, fire, and maneuver sections and was trained to implement this tactic on the battlefield.146 When he took over the curriculum at the Infantry School at Fort Benning in the late 1920s, Col­o­nel George C. Marshall, the chief of staff of the army during World War II, emphasized the “holding attack.” According to historian Geoffrey Perret, the holding attack was consistent with Marshall’s belief in tactical simplicity and flexibility ­because it “could be taught in less than five minutes [and it] ­didn’t ­matter what the terrain was like, what the weather was like, or what size force was involved—it was always the same.”147 As biographer Forrest C. Pogue counts, as many as 150 World War II generals studied at Marshall’s Infantry School as ju­nior officers, while another 50 ­were instructors charged with teaching Marshall’s emphasis on the holding attack.148



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Pulling from their World War I experience, American officers disputed vari­ous aspects of military organ­ization. Influenced by the world war, American military leaders realized that they could not rely wholly upon the rifleman, a mind-­set that they took with them to Eu­rope in 1918. The army debated how to configure the right number of support weapons alongside the right number of riflemen at the com­ pany and battalion levels. Within the infantry regiment, leaders deliberated how to best integrate new weapons such as automatic ­rifles, machine guns, and mortars. Infantry units still revolved around the rifleman, but by 1941, the U.S. Army had integrated a variety of weapons—­machine guns, antitank weapons, mortars, and automatic ­rifles—at the small-­unit levels.149 To bolster regimental firepower, planners also paired an artillery battalion with an infantry regiment to enhance infantry–­artillery cooperation, which created a combined-­arms unit organic to the division: the regimental combat team (RCT).150 The regimental combat teams of three infantry regiments and three artillery battalions formed the heart of an infantry division. The United States had a long way to go in achieving effective combined-­arms fighting abilities, but its infantry–­artillery cooperation was superb by December 1941.151 Americans also debated the nature of armored units throughout the interwar period but never developed a doctrine as sophisticated or as advanced as that developed by the Germans and the Soviet Red Army. As France was falling to the German Wehrmacht by July 10, 1940, the U.S. Army created an Armored Force, which worked ­toward creating doctrine for armored divisions. The Armored Force saw its main mission “in attacks on ­enemy rear areas or open flanks.” Its purpose was to break through the front lines or attack open flanks and destroy what­ever it could in the ­enemy’s rear area. Airpower was supposed to assist in tanks’ movements, and motorized infantry and cavalry would consolidate any pro­gress made. Armor historian Robert Cameron writes that tanks’ goals ­were to “achiev[e] decisive results capable of influencing the outcome of a ­battle.”152 Armored doctrine and organ­ ization changed during the war, but when the Americans looked ­toward combat, armored division doctrine maintained its offensive mentality. However, even as artillery and infantry ­were added to the armored division, it was weak in combined-­ arms capabilities.153 The story of the American soldier in combat against Germany in World War II is one of ­limited capabilities that improved over time as the U.S. Army learned. At the outset of the war, the army’s infantry and armored divisions did not know how to work together in a combined-­arms capacity. Even when infantry divisions received tank and tank destroyer battalions to augment their firepower, infantry officers strug­gled to understand how to use ­these new weapons. It took time, and the cost of blood and trea­sure, before American soldiers in infantry and armored divisions understood that it was critical for them to learn how to integrate and combine the strengths of the combat arms (infantry, armor, artillery, and other supporting units) together to defeat the German Wehrmacht. Just as the environment directly affected soldiers’ living conditions in-­theater, it also directly affected how they fought. North Africa was hilly and mountainous in areas, making it a war oftentimes for draws and passes through hills. Sicily and

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Italy quickly became campaigns through difficult, mountainous terrain. Indeed, the 3rd Infantry Division loaded pack mules aboard their naval vessels before the invasion of Sicily ­because the commanding general, General Lucian Truscott, reasoned that ­there would be terrain that even jeeps could not traverse.154 Truscott was proven right, especially in the arduous fighting up Italy’s Apennine Mountains. The Norman hedgerows caught the U.S. forces by surprise, and they strug­gled to defeat the Germans who expertly turned each hedgerow and farm field into a well-­sited kill zone. The fighting in the densely wooded Hürtgen Forest in a wet, cold, cloudy autumn negated the Allies’ emerging combined-­arms capabilities. The pursuit across France included American forces constantly crossing rivers, especially ­after the Germans blew up bridges to hinder the Allied advance. Although not natu­ral terrain, American soldiers fought through the villages, towns, and cities of France, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Germany. They painfully learned the methods of urban combat as they fought through and destroyed numerous towns and cities. Just as the environment affected how soldiers lived, it also affected how they fought. The invasion of North Africa in November 1942 revealed many of the prob­lems and flaws within the American military system and its vari­ous fighting doctrines. Landing in Morocco, ele­ments of the 3rd Infantry Division took the city of Fedala, but infantry and tanks did not coordinate their movements or their attacks together even though the Americans captured the city.155 The American failures in early 1943 best demonstrate American soldiers’ strug­ gles in the early part of the American war effort against Germany. While one could detect in retrospect flaws in American fighting doctrine in the invasion of North Africa, it was still successful against French West African forces. However, Amer­i­ca’s first set-­piece ­battle against German units was far dif­fer­ent. At the ­Battle of Kasserine Pass in February 1943, the Americans fought against the first serious German attack, and it was a rude awakening for the American soldier. By late January 1943, the Americans in eastern Tunisia ­were spread thin along the wadis as well as the draws and the passes of hilly terrain. From February 14–23, the Germans attacked the American positions with the 10th and 21st Panzer Divisions, and it was an embarrassing loss for the Americans. The Germans suffered around 1,000 casualties and captured 4,000 American prisoners, while the Americans suffered over 6,000 killed and wounded plus nearly 200 tanks lost.156 It revealed how green the Americans ­were, how inadequate their light tanks ­were, how deficient their close air support was, and how they needed to improve if they w ­ ere g­ oing to defeat the Germans in Eu­rope. ­These failures and disappointments are impor­tant b­ ecause they pushed American forces to rethink, re-­evaluate, and learn. But it was a long pro­cess; while the 3rd Infantry Division did not coordinate between its infantry and attached tanks in Fedala in 1942, it still failed when the division fought in Italy in October 1943. In October 1943, ele­ments of the 3rd Division’s 15th Infantry Regiment fought the Germans for a week to control the town of Roccaromana, Italy, taking heavy losses in the pro­cess. During the fight for Roccaromana, the division’s attached tanks and tank destroyers ­were nowhere to be seen; it was a fight won by infantry and artillery, but at an unnecessarily high cost of life.157 However, in early 1944, when



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the division was trapped in the Anzio beachhead, the division’s tank and tank destroyer battalions clamored for the division to improve its infantry–­tank capabilities.158 When the division broke out of the Anzio beachhead to seize Rome and ele­ments of the division attacked the town of Cisterna di Littoria, the Americans had already conducted infantry–­tank urban combat training. Similarly, soon a­ fter the capture of Rome and the landings at Normandy, the American soldiers became bogged down in the Norman hedgerows. The hedgerows l­imited the American advance to only a few lanes, which the Germans had sited, and the American tanks could not pierce the hedgerows. The Germans also expertly defended the hedgerows, and the American advance slowed to a pitiful crawl as the Germans attrited the Americans for over a month, inflicting heavy losses in exchange for ­little territory gained. As the hedgerows kept the Americans at bay, the ­limited infantry–­tank cooperation made the Shermans easy targets. As the Americans strug­gled with the prob­lem of how to penetrate the hedgerows, they came to two solutions. One solution, seen in the 29th Infantry Division, was to create small combined-­arms task forces, including infantry, tanks, engineers, and mortars. Each team included a tank, engineers, infantry, a machine gun, and a mortar. Working together, they could suppress German fire, advance into the hedgerow, blow an opening for the tank, and capture the field. Division leadership tested the idea and trained the G.I.s to implement the new tactic by mid-­July. The 3rd Armored Division did likewise: it developed its own combined-­ arms tactics that combined infantry, tanks, artillery, and mortars.159 Another solution was to weld prongs from the Normandy beach defenses onto the decks of the Sherman to give them “teeth” that allowed the tank to plow through a hedgerow and maintain an advance. This modification proved quite effective in allowing tanks to penetrate through a hedgerow while also maintaining the ele­ment of surprise.160 The months of June, July, and August in France forced the American divisions to grasp the importance of combined-­arms warfare. In August the 1st Infantry Division was searching for ways to improve its infantry–­tank cooperation and argued that its armored ele­ments be made permanent members of the division, rather than simply attached.161 A staff sergeant in the 10th Infantry Regiment remembered that the summer months ­were when the infantry and tanks truly became teams. He recalled that by fighting and by sharing living space and rations together, it was no longer “ ‘I won­der if ­they’ll send us some tanks’; it was . . . ​‘­There’s DEPENDABLE II moving up on our right—­wait ‘till Maguire gets that 75 lowered on ­those.’ ”162 Unfortunately, the attached tank and tank destroyers ­were taken away from the 5th Infantry Division in December 1944. The commanding general, General Leroy Irwin, lamented that he would “comply but with a bleeding heart,” indicating how vital the division’s attached armor had become to the division since their partnership formed in July.163 In essence, combat against the Germans forced the regimental combat team concept to expand in order to integrate tanks, tank destroyers, and engineers into the infantry–­artillery team and dramatically improve their combined-­arms proficiencies. Infantry divisions did not have armor—­tanks or tank destroyers—as part of their organic organ­ization. Instead, armor was attached and could be, as happened to

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the 5th Division, detached. But armored divisions did include organic tank and infantry units. During the course of the war, armored divisions formed two or three “combat commands” that mixed infantry, tanks, and other vari­ous units together. The “combat command” was combined-­arms in nature, and it gave armored divisions flexibility to ­handle dif­fer­ent situations with the appropriate level of force and the right weapons.164 While t­here was a convergence in infantry and armored divisions that pushed them ­toward combined-­arms organ­ization, the war did not always cooperate. The environment was one f­ actor; the heavi­ly wooded Hürtgen Forest and Vosges Mountains ­were not conducive to armor, and fighting in ­these areas heavi­ly minimized assistance from armor. The Americans endured a long nightmarish fight in the Hürtgen Forest that seemed to consume divisions w ­ hole and ravage them, but the Americans did emerge victorious through the Vosges farther south and pushed the Germans over the Rhine River. It also took the Americans time to figure out how to use tanks in the urban environment, as the three-­dimensional nature of the city, as well as its confines, made killing tanks far easier to accomplish. But when the Americans took the city of Aachen in October 1944 with two battalions from the 26th  Infantry Regiment, the battalions planned to attack with a series of tank–­infantry teams backed by mortars, machine guns, and engineers. The soldiers developed vari­ous methods of tank–­infantry mutual support in the streets of Aachen to keep German antitank weapons at bay while also suppressing machine gun and small-­arms fire.165 This is not to suggest that the ­battle for Aachen was easy. Over 10 days, the two r­ ifle battalions lost the equivalent of two full r­ ifle companies, with 75 killed and 414 wounded.166 American soldiers benefitted from the industrial output coming out of American factories. However, superior industrial output alone did not win the war. In the first part of the war, American soldiers ­were green and inexperienced and strug­ gled intensely against the Germans in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy. But over time, most American infantry and armored divisions learned how to fight against and defeat their Axis enemies. A steady stream of resources and replacements from the United States certainly helped to improve the probability of an Allied victory, but ­actual victory came from American soldiers, alongside their Canadian, British, and Soviet allies, fighting and defeating their German ­enemy in open ­battle over the course of 1944 and 1945. That pro­cess of learning, however, was not even across all divisions and sometimes new lessons could not be applied to all situations, forcing the Americans to remain as flexible as pos­si­ble throughout the war. However, coupled with the ability to sustain and support the advance, the American soldier and his allies defeated the German Wehrmacht.

ELITE TROOPS The nature of the Second World War forced the U.S. Army to create new special units. The idea of “special operations” remained very new, but the U.S. Army moved ­toward creating, and then institutionalizing, units capable of engaging in unconventional tactics, performing special commando-­style missions above and



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beyond the capabilities of conventional forces. The army’s prewar indifference ­toward such units, historian David Hogan writes, reflected a mentality and a preference for conventional action and large campaigns by large armies against other large armies, which the army had done in the Civil War and World War I.167 In World War II, ­these new, specially capable units included the airborne divisions, Rangers, and the First Special Ser­vice Force. The airborne divisions and Rangers especially became quite well known and enjoy special places in the American memory of the war The U.S. Army had toyed with the idea of using parachutists in war since the 1930s, but the first proposal for an American airborne organ­ization came in May 1939 from the Office of the Chief of Infantry. ­These vari­ous provisional parachute units tested air–­ground joint planning and communications, as well as the techniques and procedures for dropping men from the sky and then using them in ­battle. The men trained aggressively, requiring five ­actual jumps out of an airplane before they could say ­there ­were “paratroopers.” They worked to develop a ­viable and effective organ­ization that could best balance firepower and mobility. By 1942 and 1943, the airborne’s mind-­set had moved away from seizing airfields for airlanding reinforcements to performing strategic missions ­behind ­enemy lines. The airborne was intended to be capable of in­de­pen­dent action for three days without support from conventional ground or naval forces. Se­nior leaders also came to emphasize the importance of massed airborne operations that could make use of an entire division, if not more.168 But this thinking would prevent the parceling out of smaller units, such as battalions or regiments, to land their smaller numbers to accomplish smaller goals. Another major issue was the question of equipment. ­Because they dropped from the sky, paratroopers ­were necessarily light infantry and lacked the firepower that conventional divisions carried organically. It was clear that firepower support was essential, but the question remained how to transport t­ hose heavier weapons. From this challenge came the glider: a light, unpowered aircraft towed by an airplane. When the connecting tow rope disconnected, the glider would glide to its landing zone and land. Gliders could carry light vehicles, light artillery, and men. Glider infantry would not take as long to train, and they could land in one spot rather than be scattered, like paratroops often landed. While a good concept, gliders had their limitations: Having no power, pi­lots could not make a second pass to land in the right spot. Gliders ­were light and had a tendency to break apart upon landing, which could injure the soldiers or destroy the equipment it was carry­ing.169 While not a perfect solution, glider regiments ­were added to the airborne divisions’ ­tables of organ­ization and equipment even as the numbers and ratios changed throughout the war.170 In 1942, the United States created the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, but the 82nd saw combat first. Despite the emphasis on massed airborne formations, ele­ments of the 82nd Airborne Division ­were used for Operation Torch and the invasion of North Africa in November 1942. The division’s first significant operation was the next year—­the invasion of Sicily in July 1943. To assist the amphibious operations, the American airborne was to seize two road junctions, disrupt ­enemy communications, cause chaos and confusion in the rear areas, block the roads to

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the assault beaches, and therefore assist the landing of the 1st and 45th Infantry Divisions.171 On the eve­ning of July 9, planes carry­ing 3,400 paratroopers took off for Sicily from Tunisia, but nighttime prob­lems, confusion, and changes affected the accuracy of the drop. The paratroopers dropped across the area of operations, which served to sow chaos and confusion among the Italian and German forces. Regrettably, in dropping the balance of the division two nights l­ater, t­here was a communication lapse whereby naval and field artillery units ­were not entirely made aware that ­there would be friendly planes flying above them and not to shoot at them. While many of ­these transports made it through on the eve­ning of July 11, someone opened fire at the planes above them and then every­one ­else followed suit. Over 200 paratroopers ­were killed, wounded, or missing from this friendly fire incident.172 Many American leaders ­were disappointed by the 82nd’s per­for­mance in the opening stages of the Sicily campaign, stemming from friendly fire incidents and ongoing challenges of managing nighttime airborne operations. General Dwight D. Eisenhower even questioned the efficacy of using airborne divisions at all. The main success of the airborne division was the confusion sown among the Germans, which certainly helped aid the amphibious landings.173 The other significant elite force in the U.S. Army in World War II ­were the Rangers. The first battalion of Rangers was led by Captain William O. Darby and was composed of more than 400 volunteers. Led by Darby and rigorously trained for three months by British commandos, ­these first Rangers learned vari­ous types and methods of combat, use of explosives, street fighting, nighttime operations, and the use of boats.174 Fifty American Rangers participated in the failed Dieppe Raid on the French coast in August 1942. The battalion landed with the 1st Infantry Division in northern Africa for Operation Torch and was used by the division leadership as line infantry.175 Thus began a question that the Rangers contended against during the war: What was the mission of the Rangers? By 1943, ­there ­were ­those who supported the Ranger concept, especially emphasizing the raiding mission. ­Others in the army opposed it ­because it seemed a diversion of valuable manpower and resources to train men aggressively and rigorously for raids that would have ­little to no strategic effect on the war effort. Darby, for his part, continued to recruit and train more men for this elite, hard-­hitting, raiding unit. Rangers fought through the Sicily campaign in July  1943, helping the 1st Infantry Division’s landings, helping to neutralize ­enemy units in western Sicily, and helping the 3rd Infantry Division’s difficult drive from Palermo to Messina along the northern coastal highway. Darby, however, strug­gled to gain ac­cep­tance by the U.S. Army and find a mission that his Rangers could perform that fulfilled a strategic need by the army.176 The 2nd and 5th Ranger Battalions participated in the Normandy landings. On D-­Day, ele­ments of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, led by Lieutenant Col­o­nel James Rudder, climbed the steep cliffs of Pointe-­du-­Hoc to destroy a battery of German guns on the top. While the Rangers successfully scaled the cliffs, they found no guns on the cliffs but suffered severe casualties along the way nonetheless. Rudder’s Rangers found the guns elsewhere in the region and retained control of Pointe-­du-­Hoc ­until relieved two days ­later. The 5th Rangers assisted the 29th Infantry Division’s



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assault on Omaha Beach and helped the infantry to move to the cliffs and through the all-­important exits from the beach.177 The last elite unit in the U.S. Army was the First Special Ser­vice Force. From the same mind-­set that influenced the birth of the Rangers, General Marshall allowed the United States to participate in a plan to construct specially built winter vehicles to raid German-­occupied coastlines in order to occupy and divert the attention and resources of the Germans. To that end, Studebaker built the Weasel, and Lieutenant Col­o­nel Robert Frederick was given command of a joint American–­ Canadian task force that would launch ­these raids. Frederick was the same charismatic leader that Darby was, and he developed the First Special Ser­vice Force composed of three 417-­man units (designated regiments) and a ser­vice and support unit. ­Because the missions would be in the winter and consist of dangerous raids, Frederick looked for tough, hardy outdoorsmen. The Canadians tried to meet ­those expectations, but the American units sent their malcontents and so the unit took on a thuggish mind-­set that most in the unit took pride in.178 The inexperienced recruits ­were rigorously trained through 1942 and 1943, but se­nior leaders scrapped the original idea of raiding the Norwegian coastline. Desperate for men in the Italian campaign, General Mark Clark secured the transfer of the First Special Ser­vice Force to the Mediterranean. ­There, the force showed its effectiveness when its assault on two mountaintop German positions successfully helped push the Germans back and the Allies forward. And then it fought as line infantry. Although the First Special Ser­vice Force was a tough unit, it suffered horrible casualties. Many of the Rangers disbanded ­after the defeat of Darby’s men in January 1944 filtered into the First Special Ser­vice Force, giving much-­needed trained reinforcements. The force participated in the breakout of the Anzio beachhead in May 1944. Like the Rangers, Frederick’s unit strug­gled to find its own mission. The First Special Ser­vice Force invaded southern France and was disbanded in September.179 Aside from the airborne divisions, which w ­ ere intended to be used en masse and had time before the war to work out their purpose and mission, units like the Rangers and the First Special Ser­vice Force ­were anomalies in the U.S. Army. Corps, army, and army group commanders did not know how to use them, and they eventually ­were disbanded despite the success that ­these enjoyed on the battlefield. In a way, what saved the airborne from being disbanded was that the United States created five divisions, thus giving them leverage from their size, and airborne commanders found a strategic mission that the U.S. Army could exploit. While the Rangers remained ­after the war, it would take conflicts ­after World War II to develop their mission and purpose. HEALTH AND MEDICINE Just as the environment affected how soldiers lived and how they fought, so the natu­ral environment affected soldiers’ health. In North Africa and especially in Sicily, the soldiers suffered ­under a broiling sun. Peter Schrijvers rec­ords that in an Italian and Sicilian summer, temperatures inside a tank could top 130 degrees

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Fahrenheit. Wool uniforms only made a difficult experience all the worse. Dry spells throughout the war dried unimproved roads, but then the heavi­ly motorized American army kicked up dust clouds. During the summer fighting in Sicily, medical units fought against diseases that they had not seen in North Africa. In the Sicilian campaign, the Americans ­were susceptible to smallpox, typhoid, typhus, tetanus, and malaria, with malaria being the most serious disease afflicting American soldiers that summer. For the two months from July 9 to September 10, the Seventh U.S. Army suffered 9,892 cases of malaria but only 8,375 ­battle casualties.180 Malaria continued to remain a prob­lem through the first several months of the Italian campaign, but medical units distributed quinine or atabrine as they ­were able. The autumn in 1943 and 1944 was very wet and cold, both posing their own health prob­lems. The inability to remain dry does not help morale and it can damage feet, especially when the footwear was not able to keep the ­water out and soldiers could not dry their feet, shoes, or socks. Trench foot in Italy reached 300 cases in November 1943 and ­rose to 1,323 cases in December. The first three months of 1944 had a total of 4,000 trench foot cases. One study blames the lack of socks to permit a daily change and the lack of combat personnel to allow a rotation of men off the front line to look ­after their feet.181 In the fall of 1944, t­ hose divisions fighting through the Hürtgen Forest through October, November, and December encountered a similarly wet fall that led to similar health prob­lems. Fighting in the Hürtgen meant fighting in a heavi­ly wooded area with a sparse road network, mined trails, hidden German artillery, and machine gun nests in a confusing terrain wherein the American soldiers regularly stumbled into prepared German kill zones. What made that experience worse was the weather; by November it was snowing in the Hürtgen Forest, but the soldiers also dealt with rain, which meant they could not get warm or dry. It also meant soldiers bailed out foxholes that filled with ­water from the rain and stood in half-­filled foxholes for hours at a time without the ability to tend to their feet. Such conditions brought on hypothermia and trench foot.182 The cold that began in the autumn continued with the winter. The winter of 1944–1945 in Eu­rope was one of the coldest on rec­ord. To compound the prob­lems of the cold—­and the trench foot, hypothermia, and frostbite that came with it—­ was the German counteroffensive in mid-­December 1944. The extremely wintry conditions complicated the fighting in December and January. Even soldiers from the northern United States strug­gled with this cold, in part ­because soldiers continued to live outside, regardless of the weather, but as the men did not have adequate winter clothing, their health and combat effectiveness declined significantly. While incon­ve­nient, if ­these foot prob­lems, w ­ hether trench foot or frostbite, went untreated, infection could set in and require an amputation. In the winter, trench foot and frostbite caused 10 ­percent of Americans’ casualties in Italy and 9.25 ­percent of casualties along the Siegfried Line along the German border.183 One perpetual preventive health prob­lem that afflicted the American soldier was venereal disease (VD). Draftees’ training always included sex education, mostly to warn them away from sexual contact with prostitutes and the higher probability of contracting a sexually transmitted disease through such liaisons. The issue was not a moral issue; a soldier in the hospital with a venereal disease was of ­little use



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to the war effort. Generally speaking, if a soldier wanted to have sex in the Eu­ro­ pean Theater of Operations (ETO), he could generally secure a prostitute, regardless of how much army leadership preferred that he choose other­wise. Eventually, the army simply issued condoms to men who wanted them. Prostitution was common throughout the areas where the Americans fought. One of the worst places was Naples, where many w ­ omen resorted to prostitution as a means of survival for themselves and their families. However, many w ­ ere also infected with venereal diseases, and such cases spiked in the months ­after the capture of Naples. A British study found that by April 1944, 42,000 ­women in Naples ­were prostitutes.184 One study recorded that upwards of 95 ­percent of Italian ­women in urban areas showed evidence of venereal disease. That study recorded the high number of VD cases in 1943 and 1944; the 1st Armored Division suffered 137 and then 192 cases for ­every 1,000 members in November and December  1943, respectively. The 82nd Airborne recorded 130 VD cases per 1,000 troops in November 1943. The 3rd Infantry Division recorded 118 cases per 1,000 soldiers in November as well. This continued into 1944 as the 34th Infantry Division recorded 173 cases per 1,000 members in January 1944.185 A study of the fighting in France and Germany found that VD cases spiked in 1945 especially; 9,190 cases of syphilis in 1944 increased to 25,520  in 1945, and 36,850 cases of gonorrhea increased to 162,785  in 1945.186 ­Because of ­these high numbers, it was common to separate ­these American soldiers from other b­ attle or nonbattle casualties and even stigmatize them with their own scarlet “VD” letters on their hospital clothes.187 The army thought quite low of soldiers who contracted a venereal disease, but ­these cases occurred nonetheless, especially the closer a soldier was to an urban area. Aside from health prob­lems caused by the natu­ral environment and from venereal disease, t­here w ­ ere the health prob­lems caused by active combat operations. Kennett rec­ords that of the 949,000 total American ­battle casualties, 175,000 U.S. troops ­were killed in action in the ETO. Certain jobs ­were deadlier than ­others. In the combat arms of the ground forces, the infantry suffered the worst amount of casualties, followed by armor, and then by field artillery units. In the war against Germany, the worst period was the 12 months from June 1944 to May 1945. Kennett rec­ords that between 12,000 and 18,000 G.I.s ­were killed in ­battle each month and 40,000 to 60,000 w ­ ere wounded each month.188 When a soldier was wounded, he had a first aid kit already issued to him that he could use on himself. This kit included a tourniquet, ban­dage, morphine, and sulfa powder that helped blood clot to prevent infection. Each ­rifle com­pany included a medic who could apply first aid, help to stop bleeding, and work to get wounded men off the battlefield. However, the pro­cess of getting wounded men off the battlefield was not always easy. One soldier who fought on the Anzio beachhead in Italy recorded that men wounded in the daytime lay where they fell ­until night, when they could be gathered and taken to the rear. On the front lines, ­there was simply no way to get wounded men to the rear.189 Medics ­were held in extremely high regard by their fellow soldiers b­ ecause they continually exposed themselves to fire and worked, oftentimes ­under fire and in stressful and difficult circumstances, to keep men alive and get them off the battlefield.190 From the battlefield, a wounded soldier proceeded to the battalion aid station where they could receive more

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dedicated care in a field hospital. If a wounded soldier required more advanced, serious care, he was evacuated farther ­behind the lines to the divisional clearing station, to an evacuation hospital, or to more permanent medical facilities in Eu­rope, Britain, or the United States.191 Much effort was expended in trying to heal t­ hese conscripted soldiers. Advances before the war and during it helped to save the lives of many soldiers. The combat in North Africa taught the medical units that soldiers who lost blood required more than simply blood plasma; they required whole-­blood transfusions. New antibiotics, such as sulfanilamide and sulfathiazole, which ­were ­later used in powder form and put in soldiers’ first aid kits, helped to prevent infection. With this connection, sulfa production went from 760,000 pounds in 1940 to 8.7 million pounds in 1943. ­After 1943, however, penicillin came into wider use and was found to be much more effective in actually killing infections, whereas sulfa simply cut the chances of infection. The pro­cess of care for the wounded and the sick became far more efficient than in Amer­i­ca’s previous wars. One study of military medical care observes that a new pro­cess of ensuring that wounds ­were fully clean and clear of any infection before sewing it up helped to cut down rates of infection for the wounded.192

PRISONERS OF WAR On the subject of taking prisoners, American soldiers typically had ­little prob­ lem taking German and Italian prisoners. Indeed, Rick Atkinson writes that the North African campaign taught the American soldiers that it was necessary to hate the ­enemy rather than see war as a sort of game.193 As the Hollywood movies indicate, Americans perceived Germans differently than the Japa­nese, and b­ ecause the Germans fought within the generally accepted rules of western warfare, the level of vio­lence and brutality rarely reached the levels found in the Pacific between the Americans and the Japa­nese. Gerald Linderman categorizes Amer­i­ca’s war with Germany as a “war of rules,” but calls the war between the United States and Japan as “war unrestrained.”194 This is to say that Americans took Germans prisoner and expected to offer fair treatment to them, and Americans taken captive by the Germans expected to enjoy fair treatment. Exceptions to this rule, such as the Malmedy Massacre in December 1944, when German SS soldiers murdered 84 American prisoners of war, stand out in American memory as a testimony to Nazi brutality ­because ­there are so few such instances to compete with it. While never official policy, ­there are instances where American G.I.s did not take prisoners or murdered them ­after their surrender. In the fighting on Sicily in 1943, Sergeant Horace T. West, of the 45th Infantry Division, was escorting a group of 45 prisoners when he de­cided to kill them. ­After opening fire with a comrade’s Thompson submachine gun, 37 ­were dead. A few hours ­later, a ­rifle com­pany lost several men in an attack on a bunker, ­after which 36 Italian soldiers surrendered. Enraged at the loss of his men, Captain John Travers Compton ordered a firing squad and, armed with automatic weapons, quickly murdered another 36 prisoners of war. The killings ­were discovered, but ­little was done. Sergeant West was convicted and sentenced to life in prison, but ultimately, he merely



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lost his sergeant’s stripes. Captain Compton was court-­martialed, acquitted, and killed in action l­ater in 1943. General Dwight D. Eisenhower had the ­matter classified “Top Secret” and it was never made public, lest the Axis powers learn about it and retaliate in kind.195 In his study of the 22nd Infantry Regiment in the Hürtgen Forest in the fall of 1944, Robert Rush demonstrates how some prisoners, American and German, simply failed to make it to the rear if the chaos of ­battle prevented the captors from safely moving ­there. In ­those instances of frenzied ­battle, one American simply noted that “a lot of [prisoners] never reached the rear that way.”196 Lastly, on April 10, 1945, the operations officer of the 26th Infantry Regiment radioed back to the operations officer of the 1st Infantry Division to report dif­fer­ent locations of vari­ous units and then asked, over the radio, “Where do PWs [prisoners of war] go? Or ­shall we shoot them? Casualties light.” No order to kill prisoners was given, but requesting clearance to simply murder prisoners over the radio is a telling indication of some of the Americans’ practices regarding prisoners.197 ­These instances do not reveal a pattern in American soldiers’ attitudes ­toward taking German prisoners. However, they do serve as a reminder that Americans did not always take prisoners, and if they could not escort them to the rear safely, killing them was an option. ­These instances reveal practices that American soldiers followed rather than a policy that was imposed upon them from above. Or, as one soldier put it, “Dead prisoners was not policy.”198 All told, the United States took between 3 and 5 million German prisoners of war and only around 50,000 Italian soldiers. Most of the Italian prisoners ­were seized during the North African campaign, and the bulk of the German prisoners ­were taken ­after the invasion of France in 1944. Of the millions of German captives, nearly 400,000 ­were sent to the United States. All told, the Axis prisoners sent to the United States enjoyed very a comfortable situation that included more-­than-­adequate food, clothing, housing, and medical care.199 Altogether, 93,941 American soldiers ­were taken prisoner by the Germans. Of that number, 1,121 died in captivity, a 1.2 ­percent death rate.200 Historian Paul Springer rec­ords that the death rate of American soldiers in German or Italian captivity was closer to 4 ­percent.201 When a captured American soldier managed to make it back to the rear, he could expect to lose most of his belongings to any enterprising Germans. If the war between the United States and Germany was a “war of rules,” surrendering Americans could never be sure that they would make it ­behind the lines. As they ­were taken by the Germans, American soldiers learned during the war that being captured with German items on their person could lead to vio­lence or a summary execution by the German soldiers.202 Being sent to the rear was the American captive’s first step in a long path to making his way to a prisoner-­of-­war camp. Germany, however, had announced that it would observe the 1929 Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War. Although it was clear that Germany did not always follow the convention, it had a better rec­ord than Japan. For Allied forces, Germany separated prisoners by branch of ser­vice and enlisted from officers. The Luftwaffe guarded downed airmen, and the Wehrmacht guarded soldiers from the ground forces. Officers ­were sent to an oflag and enlisted personnel sent to a stalag.

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Life for prisoners was not easy, if only ­because they ­were vulnerable in new ways. The goal of most American prisoners was to survive, but surviving on a prisoner’s diet in a ­dying nation was no easy task. A prisoner’s diet typically included a coarse bread, potatoes, occasionally sausage, and random vegetables. As prisoners of Germany, most American prisoners regularly received packages from the Red Cross. They ­were also able to send mail to f­ amily and loved ones. Still as the war dragged on, American prisoners enjoyed less food, and most prisoners lost up to 40 pounds of weight.203 In part ­because they ­were not able to, the Germans did not always provide prisoners the best conditions for survival. In this sense, the U.S. Army report repeatedly stated how the men’s livelihood and survival ­were ­because of the International Red Cross. Red Cross food and medical packages, as well as extra clothing, augmented the meager supplies from the Germans that decreased as the war dragged on longer. Aside from that, access to the mails and recreation, as well as access to clergy, ­were vital to prisoners’ welfare and morale. In terms of recreation, agencies like the YMCA ­were vital to American soldiers having access to the necessary items, such as athletic equipment. Lastly, despite the many challenges that faced Americans captured by a nation that disintegrated in the last months of the war, health and morale generally remained good. Captured chaplains had the opportunity to minister to men in unique and difficult circumstances. In Stalag Luft 3 in Silesia, Chaplain Eugene L. Daniel initiated a church program that included religious ser­vices, instruction, and singing. One postwar report credits chaplains with helping to keep men’s spirits and morale up.204 For most Americans in German prisoner-­of-­war camps, captivity was a life-­or-­death strug­gle that posed many existential challenges. Survival was not guaranteed, but it is also clear that other prisoners of war faced far worse conditions and far more brutal treatment elsewhere during the war.

HOME FRONT The American home front in World War II was dif­fer­ent from past wars in that t­ here ­were low levels of dissension ­because of Americans’ widespread and pervasive approval that the po­liti­cal objectives of the G ­ rand Alliance w ­ ere just and good. ­After being attacked by Japan at Pearl Harbor, the American nation quickly and angrily converted from a peacetime isolationist mind-­set to a war­time interventionist one. As such, politics followed suit; t­ here was not the same level of po­liti­cal discord that had plagued previous war­time commanders in chief. Insofar as American partisanship is part and parcel of American po­liti­cal culture, t­here was a degree of po­liti­cal bipartisanship in agreeing to this war that helps to make this conflict an outlier when examining other wars that ­were fought amidst incredible po­liti­cal polarization. In setting out to defeat the Axis alliance, ­there was a national mobilization that helped to make this war among the most total of any war in American history. It was total in the sense that the G ­ rand Alliance, including the United States, had the unlimited po­liti­cal objective of demanding the unconditional surrender of the Axis



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powers, and it was total in that this war forced the mobilization of the entire nation in ways that dwarfed e­ very other war in American history. If a person was not serving in uniform, then they ­were likely working in a defense-­related job. If not that, then they ­were experiencing rationing and shortages, conserving tin and rubber, and planting a Victory garden. This level of mobilization had two consequences: industrially, it helped to create Roo­se­velt’s “arsenal of democracy” and socially, it meant that the United States was the only nation that experienced a rising standard of living, whereas the other belligerent nations experienced a falling standard of living. Industrially, the U.S. government moved rapidly to ensure that U.S. forces had what they needed to prosecute and fight the war. In 1940, it began compelling men to serve in the armed forces when it began conscripting men into the army and then dramatically increased its demands throughout the war. In January 1942, the War Production Board (WPB) was created to oversee the conversion of peacetime industry to war­time manufacturing and ensure that crucial war-­related resources got to the industries that needed them. At its first meeting, for example, the WPB outlawed the manufacture of civilian market cars and trucks so that military production could take pre­ce­dence. “Czars” ­were also appointed to make sure that industries that required critical raw materials like rubber, tin, and petroleum could access them. ­Because WPB did not supervise the dif­fer­ent branches’ own procurement, it lacked total authority, and the Office of War Mobilization (OWM) was created to attain that centralized direction.205 This economic control was necessary b­ ecause it helped to ensure the massive industrial output that sustained the U.S. armed forces, as well as assisted the British, French, Soviets, and Chinese, all while conducting two dif­fer­ent wars on opposite sides of the planet. Over the course of the war, the United States produced nearly 300,000 airplanes, over 100,000 tanks, 872,000 pieces of artillery, nearly 2.5 million trucks, 20 million small arms, 5,000 cargo ships, and 44 billion rounds of ammunition.206 Industry found ways to work more efficiently. The Liberty ship became the main work­horse of the Allied merchant fleet, but it initially took nearly a year to build one. Henry Kaiser developed a way to build Liberty ships in 105 days, and by 1943, Liberty ships could be built in approximately 41 days.207 As a result, American construction of merchant vessels far exceeded the merchant vessels being sunk by German U-­boats in the north Atlantic. The second way that the national mobilization affected Americans was socially: a rising standard of living. The war ended the ­Great Depression, and the nation approached total employment. With jobs came paychecks and money in more Americans’ pockets. Much of that money could not be spent due to rationing and shortages, so Americans could save it or invest it in war bonds to finance the national effort. American society mobilized to a high degree in order to prosecute its nation’s war effort, but the nation itself remained physically removed from the war’s battlefields. This separation from the war’s destructiveness influenced the American home front and separated the United States from other nations that w ­ ere ravaged during the war. Even Britain, ­after the ­Battle of Britain ended, continued to face air raids, V-1 flying bombs, and V-2 rocket attacks. In contrast, life in the United States became better, consumer spending began to rise as much as pos­si­ble, and

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the G ­ reat Depression became a distant memory to many Americans.208 As such, one historian writes that the American p­ eople fought this war “on imagination alone” b­ ecause they w ­ ere so far removed and their lives took a fundamentally dif­ fer­ent turn than other nations.209 While ­there was incredible national unity and many Americans look back with pride and reverence upon the American nation during ­those war­time years, the nation still dealt with division, tension, and even internal vio­lence during the war that is often overlooked ­today. For example, southern blacks continued to face discrimination from Jim Crow laws, which made many blacks skeptical about the American war effort. The discrepancy between the oppressive nature of the Jim Crow South and American society and Amer­i­ca’s war against tyranny is what motivated many African Americans to support the “Double-­V Campaign”: opposing racial discrimination and Jim Crow oppression at home and opposing fascism and oppression overseas. At home, discrimination in the South remained in full force. But it was not confined to the South; as ­people flocked to cities to work in new defense factories, urban living space was at a premium, and cities experienced tension, which could become racially explosive. Tension over living space exploded into a race riot in June 1943 in Detroit, Michigan, which led to 34 deaths, including 24 blacks. The racial tension in ­these nonsouthern cities only revealed the national scope and scale of Amer­i­ca’s racial prob­lems. The U.S. government fi­nally stepped in when A. Philip Randolph, a black ­labor leader, threatened to march on Washington to protest blacks’ discrimination in war industries. To preempt Randolph, Roo­se­velt created the Fair Employment Practices Commission (FEPC), which investigated discrimination but had l­ ittle authority to stop it. Small steps w ­ ere made ­toward integration and in challenging segregation, if only ­because of the values that Amer­i­ca was fighting for. In many ways, the roots of the modern Civil Rights Movement lie in the 1940s.210 Frustration with American society and its racial assumption was not reserved to African Americans exclusively. Feeling forgotten and neglected by the wider white society and targeted by the Los Angeles police, many young Mexican Americans flaunted their rejection of white society by wearing “zoot suits.” The zoot suit, according to historian Edward Escobar, was “an exercise in excess.” It was large, baggy, and flamboyant, and many young Mexican Americans wore it to offend white sensibilities in an era of rationing and ­doing with less to support the war effort.211 Escobar argues that wider society in general, and the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) in par­tic­u­lar, viewed the zoot suit and the emerging antagonism among young Mexican American men as an expression of criminal be­hav­ior and ­were a menace to society. ­Those wearing the zoot suit ­were especially seen as a threat to good order.212 The “Zoot Suit Riots” comprised mobs of ser­ vicemen and civilians between June 3 and 10, 1943, attacking Mexican Americans for wearing this subversive symbol. Believing that they w ­ ere avenging ser­vicemen attacked by zoot suiters, sailors and soldiers targeted zoot suiters, ripped off their clothes, cut their hair, and beat them. Initially, the military police did nothing to stop this, and ser­vicemen became more aggressive, attacking any Mexican Americans by the end of the riots, ­until the military called Los Angeles off-­limits to military personnel.213



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­There remained many divisions within American society that, in some ways, the war only heightened. But in the case of African Americans, the war was an early catalyst to demand change, eventually becoming the Civil Rights Movement in the 1950s.

VETERANS’ ISSUES The war in Eu­rope ended on May 8, 1945, and the Japa­nese surrendered three months ­later, allowing the United States to return to peacetime. It did not take long for the American public to clamor for their husbands, f­athers, and sons to come home. Once the soldiers returned and w ­ ere mustered out of ser­vice, they re-­entered life as veterans, which brought its own rewards, hopes, opportunities, fears, and challenges. ­T here was some concern about veterans readjusting properly when the war ended. Experts pondered the “veteran prob­lem”: Could they cope with life outside the military? ­Were they mentally stable? Would they disrupt the po­liti­cal system by all voting as a bloc? From their perspective, many veterans ­were worried that it would be difficult to find work ­because they had been away for so long. One visceral way to see anxiety t­ oward returning veterans and their strug­gle to re­adjust is the 1946 film The Best Years of Our Lives. In that movie, a pi­lot, sailor, and soldier return home and each strug­gles in his own way. The soldier cannot adjust to the consumer culture that seems to have gripped the nation, and he strug­gles with his ­children who have grown and do not seem to need him anymore. The pi­lot is haunted by nightmares of his bombing raids over Germany and strug­gles with his return to a dead-­end, wage-­earning job as a soda jerk. The sailor lost both hands in the ser­ vice and, at one point, tried to commit suicide. Throughout the film, the three veterans wrestled with depression, despair, shame, and reliving the nightmarish experiences of the war. Significantly, the actor playing the maimed sailor was an army veteran who had lost both hands while in the ser­vice. The movie captured the challenges and strug­gles that returning veterans faced, as well as loved ones’ difficulties to understand and help in a meaningful way.214 What helped veterans to adjust was a robust social safety net in the Ser­viceman’s Readjustment Act, more commonly known as the G.I. Bill. The G.I. Bill made it far easier for veterans to return to college or begin college. It also made it easier for veterans to buy a home or start a new business. Many veterans took advantage of ­these benefits, and college attendance, as well as homeownership, skyrocketed in the years a­ fter World War II. In many ways, this changed American universities as the number of veterans ­going to college climbed over time so that by 1947, veterans ­were 49 ­percent of all college students. Colleges ­were bursting at the seams to hold increased influxes of students and had to learn how to engage with and teach a new type of student: the World War II veteran.215 For all the divisive issues that Amer­i­ca continued to face ­after World War II, historian Thomas Bruscino argues that World War II, namely the World War II veteran, served to bind the nation together. Culling together men from all over the nation to defeat fascist oppression brought the nation together in a way that would

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Military veterans, attending college on the GI Bill, pick up school supplies on January 28, 1945. As a means of easing the transition of millions of veterans back into the workforce, and to provide a tangible reward for military ser­vice, the Ser­vicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (the GI Bill) covered tuition, fees, books, and supplies up to $500 in an ordinary school year. The bill substantially increased the number of college gradu­ates in the American population and also led to a postwar boom in the size of American universities and colleges. (UPI/Bettmann/Getty Images)

not have been pos­si­ble other­wise. He argues that a­ fter World War I, ethnic and religious divisions continued, if not deepened and worsened, but that sort of re-­ entrenchment did not happen a­ fter World War II. He argues that ­because of veterans’ experiences and the nature of the war, that the nation ­after World War II became more tolerant and pluralistic. Clearly, the United States had issues and prob­lems, but Bruscino argues that the nation was more prepared to deal with ­those issues ­after World War II than before.216 MILITARY DISCIPLINE Comparatively speaking, the American soldier in Eu­rope was well behaved, at least in re­spect to his Axis enemies and his Soviet ally, who committed incredible atrocities and war crimes. However, in war­time the American G.I. had a more speckled rec­ord than American memory tends to acknowledge, even if



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the average American soldier’s rec­ord was not as bad as his German and Japa­ nese counter ­parts. One example of Americans’ lack of discipline was in ­handling Arab populations in North Africa. By and large, most white Americans had a very low regard for the vari­ous North African ­people; they strug­gled to understand their culture, saw them as pilfering thieves, and perceived their culture to be inferior to Amer­i­ca’s. Holding North Africans in such low esteem meant that some Americans had l­ ittle prob­lem abusing them or, in a few cases, murdering them outright.217 One artillery lieutenant remembered seeing American soldiers shoot Arabs “like ­you’re shooting gophers. I could hear them: ‘Wow, I got one!’ T ­ hose guys w ­ ere murderers.” Rick Atkinson writes that the Provost Marshal and Judge Advocate files reflect many examples of vio­lence done to Arabs, only some of which was punished by the U.S. Army. Atkinson has found rec­ords that describe American soldiers ransacking an Algerian village in April 1943, beating up Arab men and gang-­raping six Arab ­women. He was unable to see what justice was meted out against t­ hese soldiers.218 While the American soldier might have been well behaved, comparatively speaking, the U.S. Army still prosecuted 1.7 million courts-­martial during World War II. According to the history of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, most ­were for nonserious issues. And in the summer of 1945, a review of ­those soldiers still in confinement had their cases re-­examined, and 85 ­percent of ­these men ­were given reduced sentences.219 The most common example of American soldiers committing crimes was rape. The Judge Advocate General recorded 854 reported rapes by American soldiers in World War II with two-­thirds of them (552) occurring in Germany. In a controversial study, and assuming that that number is low ­because rapes so often go unreported, sociologist J. Robert Lilly argues that ­there ­were most likely at least 17,080 rapes in Germany, Britain, and France committed by American soldiers, with the most being in Germany at an estimated 11,040. The latter figures are an estimate, but Lilly argues that careful research has shown that the American soldiers in Eu­rope w ­ ere a far more unruly bunch than is oftentimes portrayed in modern memory and by most lay historians.220 While Lilly’s assertions are contentious, acts of military justice—­and who was punished—­are on the rec­ord. The rec­ord indicates that black soldiers ­were punished far out of proportion to their numbers in the U.S. Army. Black soldiers made up approximately 10 ­percent of the army and 10 ­percent of the American population. However, black soldiers ­were punished with 56 ­percent of the life sentences levied for rape, 56 ­percent of the executions in Britain for rape, and 86 ­percent of the executions for rape in France.221 ­There w ­ ere no executions for the rape of German ­women. On the racial nature of American military justice, in many cases, race was a ­factor. In one instance, two black G.I.s ­were convicted of raping a British teenager, and both w ­ ere sentenced to death. Local groups charged that the trial and conviction ­were motivated by race. In another instance, a black soldier was convicted of raping a British ­woman, but ­there was such strong evidence against the crime of rape that the British press forced a review of the case and the soldier was eventually let go. Other evidence indicates black soldiers receiving harsher

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sentences than white soldiers for similar crimes or being court-­martialed for protesting against discrimination.222 This bias in military justice against black soldiers, in many ways, carried over the fearful view among many white Americans that black man w ­ ere sexual predators who targeted white w ­ omen. While some American soldiers ­were guilty of sexual vio­lence, the numbers are unclear, and ­those punished ­were disproportionately black. In terms of other executions, the United States executed 141 men during the war for murder, rape, or rape-­murder. One other execution was Private Eddie Slovik for “desertion in the face of the e­ nemy.”223 Slovik’s situation was unique b­ ecause he, as a replacement soldier in mid-1944, told his commanding officer and his com­pany commander that he was too scared to fight and he would run if he had the chance. ­After he deserted his unit on October 7, 1944, he turned himself in the next day with a confession that he had deserted and he would do it again if he was made to fight. Slovik was arrested and appeared before his court-­martial on November 11 while his division was engaged in heavy combat in the Hürtgen Forest. Having admitted his guilt, the court-­martial unanimously sentenced him to death; his division commander approved the death sentence on November 27, and it fell to General Eisenhower to ­either honor Slovik’s plea for clemency or approve the sentence. The theater judge advocate recommended the death sentence as a warning to anyone ­else and as a method of keeping military discipline rather than as a punishment specifically against Private Slovik. Eisenhower approved of the sentence, as did a ­legal review of his case. Slovik was executed on December 31, 1944; he was the only American executed for desertion in the United States in World War II.224 While Lilly’s contention about rape is controversial, it is clear that many American soldiers, caught in the grip of combat and warfighting, ­were guilty of crimes and vio­lence against civilians over the course of the ETO.

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN WORLD WAR II IN EUROPE World War II is dif­fer­ent in two impor­t ant re­spects from previous American wars, which directly influenced the nature of the American soldier. One was the size and scale of the national mobilization. The United States mobilized more than 10 ­percent of its population to put, at its full height, 16 million men and ­women in uniform. Second was the level of support that the American public gave to this war effort. ­Every American war effort—­including the American Revolution and the Civil War—­experienced significant opposition: from Tories and Loyalists in the American Revolution, to the Copperhead Demo­crats during the Civil War, to the protests and opposition during the Vietnam War and the global War on Terror. World War II is dif­fer­ent, in that the American politicians and public achieved a consensus that the American war effort was just and that it was worth the national effort and expense in blood and trea­sure to achieve victory. As the racial riots in Detroit



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and Los Angeles show, as well as the internment of Japa­nese Americans, the total population was not in ­favor of the war effort, but Franklin Delano Roo­se­velt and the war effort enjoyed a degree of widespread ac­cep­tance such that the war years stand out almost as an anomaly in an American history that is replete with division and partisanship. This affected the American soldier in that it allowed such a massive mobilization that American society had not seen before or since. The American public willingly allowed for a general conscription of its young men and willingly sacrificed some of its personal liberties and personal consumption to help ensure American victory. This condition at home helped to build such a large army that fought alongside its allies to help defeat the Axis powers. The last major way that World War II was dif­fer­ent was the new challenges and prob­lems that waging a war of such immensity posed to Americans. Although the nation was not prepared for the war effort against two nations on opposite ends of the world and although it had to work within a co­ali­tion to defeat the Axis, ­there is a pattern of the United States improving and upgrading its systems, institutions, and equipment. Food, clothing, and weapons ­were continually upgraded and improved over time. Better meals and better winter clothing eventually made its way to the soldiers. In order to better reflect the realities of the World War II battlefield, training improved over time as well. Training became more realistic in order to better turn conscripted men into battle-­ready soldiers. In many cases, training continued in-­theater as vari­ous units worked to improve their combat effectiveness. In combat, American soldiers learned painful lessons that forced them to adapt, adjust, and move ­toward a combined-­arms way of fighting the German Wehrmacht. In many ways, the confusion in the American military that affected the American doughboy as the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) strug­gled to fight a modern war in World War I was eventually worked out on the battlefields in Eu­rope in the 1940s. The U.S. Army also accepted new forms of warfare in terms of developing airborne divisions, as well as creating small-­unit raiders like the Rangers and First Special Ser­vice Force, even if the army failed to fully identify ­those raiders’ main contribution to the wider war effort. Medical units rearranged themselves to better care for the wounded and the sick and initiated new policies and new medicines to help ensure the survival of wounded and sick American soldiers. Lastly, the war established a new geopo­liti­cal order that led to Amer­i­ca’s global leadership. Whereas the United States rejected the mantle of global leadership ­after World War I, it would not do the same in 1945. The United States and the Soviet Union w ­ ere the only two nations to emerge more power­ful diplomatically and militarily than they ­were in 1941. As the West, and the United States, perceived a power­f ul threat in the Soviet Union, the United States was seen as the only nation that could confront that threat. Domestically, that helped to translate into new social programs, such as the G.I. Bill of Rights. Out of this new postwar society came a level of concern t­oward veterans that had not been seen before in American society. The war­time G.I. Bill has had a long influence upon social policy regarding American veterans into the twenty-­first c­ entury.

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TIMELINE January 30, 1933 Adolf Hitler is appointed chancellor of Germany. June 30, 1934 The po­liti­cal purge known as the Night of the Long Knives begins and ­will continue u­ ntil July 2. August 2, 1934 Hitler merges the offices of chancellor and president, making himself absolute ruler of Germany. March 16, 1935 Hitler renounces the disarmament terms of the Treaty of Versailles. October 2, 1935 Benito Mussolini justifies Italy’s defiance of the League of Nations and invasion of Abyssinia (Ethiopia). March 12, 1938 German troops enter Austria unopposed. March 13, 1938 Germany annexes Austria, creating the Anschluss. September 30, 1938 Germany, France, Britain, and Italy sign the Munich Agreement, which permits German annexation of the Czech­o­slo­vak­ian Sudetenland. Britain’s Neville Chamberlain announces “peace in our time.” November 9–­10, 1938 Approximately 25,000 to 30,000 Jews are deported to concentration camps in an event that becomes known as Kristallnacht (“Night of Broken Glass”). March 16, 1939 All of Czecho­slo­va­kia falls ­under German control. September 1, 1939 Germany invades Poland. September 3, 1939 ­Great Britain and France declare war on Germany. September 17, 1939 The Soviet Union invades eastern Poland. November 30, 1939 The Soviet Union invades Finland. March 12, 1940 The Soviets and Finns sign a peace treaty, ending the Finnish-­Soviet War (Winter War).



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April 1940 The Katyn Forest Massacre takes place throughout April and into early May. April 9, 1940 Germany invades Norway and Denmark. May 10, 1940 Germany invades the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. Winston L. S. Churchill becomes British prime minister. May 15, 1940 The Netherlands army surrenders to Germany. May 26, 1940 Operation Dynamo, the evacuation of British and French forces at Dunkirk, commences. May 28, 1940 Belgium capitulates to Germany. June 10, 1940 Italy declares war on France and ­Great Britain. Norway officially surrenders to the Germans. June 11, 1940 Italian forces invade southeastern France. June 14, 1940 Paris falls to the Germans. June 16, 1940 Marshal Henri Philippe Petain becomes French premier. June 22, 1940 France signs an armistice with Germany. June 27, 1940 Soviet forces invade Romania. June 28, 1940 The British government recognizes Charles de Gaulle as leader of the ­Free French. July 1, 1940 German submarines attack merchant ships in the Atlantic Ocean. July 10, 1940 The B ­ attle of Britain commences. July 16, 1940 Hitler plans Operation Sea Lion, the invasion of G ­ reat Britain. September 3, 1940 The Destroyers for Bases deal between the United States and Britain is announced by U.S. president Franklin D. Roo­se­velt as an executive order. Britain receives

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50 World War I–­vintage U.S. destroyers in return for leases on base territory in North Amer­i­ca. September 16, 1940 Conscription is introduced in the United States with passage of the Selective Ser­ vice Act. September 27, 1940 The Axis Tripartite Pact is signed between Germany, Italy, and Japan. October 10, 1940 Operation Sea Lion is shelved. October 28, 1940 Italian forces invade Greece from Italian-­occupied Albania. October 31, 1940 The B ­ attle of Britain ends. The Germans switch to night bombings (the Blitz). November 5, 1940 Roo­se­velt wins election to his third four-­year term as U.S. president. November 20, 1940 Hungary joins the Axis alliance. November 23, 1940 Romania joins the Axis alliance. December 9, 1940 British forces begin to drive the Italians from Egypt. December 18, 1940 Hitler issues secret o­ rders to mount Operation Barbarossa, the German invasion of Rus­sia. February 8, 1941 British forces take Benghazi, Libya. Bulgaria and Germany sign a military pact. February 12, 1941 German general Erwin Rommel arrives in North Africa. March 11, 1941 Roo­se­velt signs the Lend-­Lease Act. March 24, 1941 Rommel commences the German offensive in Libya. April 6, 1941 Germany invades Greece and Yugo­slavia. April 11, 1941 The Axis siege of Tobruk commences. June 15, 1941 The British counteroffensive in Libya is defeated.



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June 22, 1941 Germany, Italy, and Romania declare war on the Soviet Union. Germany commences Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union. July 9, 1941 The Germans capture 300,000 Soviet troops near Minsk in the Soviet Union. July 12, 1941 The Anglo-­Soviet Treaty of Mutual Assistance is signed. July 31, 1941 German preparations commence for the so-­called Final Solution, a standardized method of annihilating the Eu­ro­pean Jews, which ultimately results in the Holocaust. Procedures for the Final Solution are set out in the January 20, 1942, Wannsee Protocol. August 12, 1941 The Atlantic Charter is drawn up by Churchill and Roo­se­velt. September 11, 1941 Roo­se­velt announces the “Shoot on Sight” policy in response to the Germans attack on the U.S. destroyer Greer. September 29, 1941 The German army murders nearly 34,000 Jews in Kiev. October 2, 1941 The Germans commence Operation Typhoon, the planned capture of Moscow. November 17, 1941 The Unites States repeals key portions of its several Neutrality Acts that had been in effect since 1936. December 5, 1941 German forces suspend their attack on Moscow. December 7, 1941 Japa­nese forces bomb Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. December 8, 1941 The United States, G ­ reat Britain, and other Allied powers declare war on Japan. December 11, 1941 Italy and Germany declare war on the United States. The United States declares war on Germany and Italy. December 16, 1941 Axis forces in North Africa retreat to El Agheila in Libya. December 19, 1941 Hitler assumes command of the German army. January 21, 1942 The Axis offensive against British forces in Libya commences.

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June 21, 1942 Axis forces in North Africa capture Tobruk. June 24, 1942 General Dwight D. Eisenhower is named to command U.S. forces in Eu­rope. August 9, 1942 German forces capture oil fields in the Caucasus. A civil disobedience campaign begins in India. August 12, 1942 Churchill and Averell Harriman accept Joseph Stalin’s invitation and meet with him in Moscow. August 13, 1942 General Bernard L. Montgomery becomes commander of the British Eighth Army in Egypt. August 23, 1942 The B ­ attle for Sta­lin­grad begins. August 31, 1942 The B ­ attle of Alam Halfa halts Axis advance in North Africa. October 23, 1942 The British Eighth Army attacks Axis forces at El Alamein. November 8, 1942 In Operation Torch, Allied forces land in Algeria and Morocco. November 19, 1942 The Soviet counteroffensive begins at Sta­lin­grad. January 14—­24, 1943 The Casablanca Conference, involving Churchill and Roo­se­velt, takes place. January 31, 1943 German Field Marshal Friedrich Paulus surrenders at Sta­lin­grad. March 5, 1943 Allied aircraft bomb industrial targets in Germany’s Ruhr Valley. April 22, 1943 The United States and ­Great Britain start the Allied offensive in North Africa. June 13, 1943 The Tunisia campaign ends in defeat for the Axis powers. July 5—­17, 1943 The B ­ attle of Kursk is waged. July 9, 1943 U.S. and British forces invade Sicily in Operation Husky.



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July 25, 1943 King Victor Emmanuel III of Italy dismisses Benito Mussolini; Pietro Badoglio succeeds Mussolini as the leader of Italy. August 14—­24, 1943 The Allied Quebec Conference is held. August 17, 1943 British and U.S. forces conclude the conquest of Sicily. The USAAF conducts daylight raids on Regensburg and Schweinfurt, Germany. August 23, 1943 Soviet forces retake Kharkov. September 8, 1943 The Italian government signs an armistice with the Allies. September 9, 1943 Allied forces land at Taranto and Salerno, Italy, during Operation Avalanche. September 24, 1943 German forces retreat from Smolensk in the Soviet Union. October 18, 1943 British, Soviet, and U.S. foreign ministers meet in Moscow. November 22—­26, 1943 The Allies hold the Cairo Conference. November 28, 1943 The Tehran Conference between Churchill, Roo­se­velt, and Stalin begins and ­will run ­until December 1. December 24, 1943 Eisenhower receives command of the Allied Eu­ro­pean invasion. January 16, 1944 Eisenhower is appointed supreme commander of Allied forces in western Eu­rope. January 22, 1944 The Allied beachhead is established at Anzio, Italy. January 27, 1944 Soviet forces break the 900-­day Siege of Leningrad. February 12, 1944 Eisenhower is formally ordered to mount Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of Eu­rope. February 20—­26, 1944 Allied forces coordinate the “Big Week” air strikes against German factories. May 12, 1944 German forces surrender in the Crimea.

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June 4–­5, 1944 Allied troops enter Rome. June 6, 1944 Allied troops land in Normandy, France (D-­Day). June 22, 1944 Soviet forces commence an offensive in Belorus­sia, Operation Bagration. June 27, 1944 Cherbourg, France, is liberated by the Allies. July 9, 1944 British and Canadian forces capture Caen, France. July 18, 1944 U.S. forces liberate Saint-­Lô. July 20, 1944 An assassination attempt on Hitler is unsuccessful, and the effort by the German Re­sis­tance to seize power fails. July 25, 1944 In Operation Cobra, Allied forces break out from Normandy. September 17–­26, 1944 Operation Market Garden, the effort of the western Allies to secure a crossing over the Rhine River at Arnhem, fails. September 25, 1944 Allied forces break through the Gothic Line in Italy. Hitler calls up all remaining 16-­to 60-­year-­old males for military ser­vice. October 23, 1944 Soviet forces enter East Prus­sia. November 24, 1944 French forces liberate Strasbourg, France. December 16, 1944 The B ­ attle of the Bulge (Ardennes Offensive) commences. February 4–11, 1945 The Yalta Conference, involving Churchill, Roo­se­velt, and Stalin, takes place in the Crimea. February 8, 1945 The Allied offensive to the Rhine River begins. February 13–14, 1945 The RAF and USAAF conduct the firebombing of Dresden, Germany. February 20, 1945 Soviet forces take Danzig in East Prus­sia (present-­day Gdansk, Poland).



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March 7, 1945 U.S. forces seize the Remagen Bridge over the Rhine River. April 12, 1945 Roo­se­velt dies in Warm Springs, Georgia. Vice President Harry S. Truman becomes U.S. president. April 18, 1945 The Germans in the Ruhr Valley surrender. April 23, 1945 Soviet forces reach Berlin. Allied forces reach the Po River in Italy. April 25, 1945 U.S. and Soviet forces meet at the Elbe River in Germany. The San Francisco Conference begins. April 30, 1945 Hitler commits suicide in Berlin. May 7, 1945 The B ­ attle of the Atlantic ends. The Germans surrender unconditionally at Rheims, France. May 8, 1945 Victory in Eu­rope Day (V-­E Day) is celebrated. The Netherlands are liberated. June 5, 1945 The Allied powers divide Germany into four occupation zones. June 28, 1945 The U.S. Senate approves the United Nations Charter in a vote of 89–2. July 17, 1945 The Potsdam Conference between Churchill, Truman, and Stalin opens, r­ unning ­until August 2. October 24, 1945 The UN Charter comes into force with an initial 29 members. November 20, 1945 The International Military Tribunal in Nuremberg commences.

Documents of World War II In Europe: Personal Accounts 1  William Hurle Collier: A Forward Artillery Observer William Hurle Collier served in the 106th Cavalry Regiment (Mechanized) in the Eu­ro­pean theater. The capability of the American artillery impressed the Germans.

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Collier was a forward observer for an M-8 assault gun unit and relates how his unit operated. Matthew K. Turner interviewed Collier on March 6, 2008. Collier: When I joined the regiment in ’42 I had a reconnaissance platoon. Then I had a tank platoon for a short while and then an assault gun platoon, but we ­didn’t actually have assault guns at all u­ ntil we got to Camp Hood and got the M-8 assault gun. I was with the assault gun unit in combat. As I say, most of the time we fired indirectly. I was a forward observer and the system we used g­ oing across France was that I’d ­ride about the fourth vehicle back from the head of column and if we hit a road block or anything, I would just radio back to my platoon sergeant and say “Fire mission.” He had two assault guns which comprised a platoon. One gun would pull to the right of the road as far as pos­si­ble and the other would come up just ­behind it and go as far to the left of the road as pos­si­ble. Then I would order a fire mission by referring to a map while my platoon sergeant back with the guns followed the route on the map. I would say something like “Straight down the road, 2,000 yards, smoke.” (We always traveled with a smoke round in the chamber of the lead assault gun.) The gunner would fire the round. We could be on the target in two or three rounds. We ­were very quick. In the meantime, the second gun would be following the commands and the two tanks would get in what was called “parallel” so when they fired the two rounds would be together. When I said “Fire,” ­they’d fire for effect. It ­really worked slick as a whistle. ­After we ran into it, it only took the Germans a minute or two before artillery fire would be falling on them. In the meantime, our lead scouts riding in jeeps or meeting Germans would immediately stop the jeep and bail out into roadside ditches. One bad ­mistake I think we made. We always sent light tanks right down the ­middle of the road and we lost about 150% of our tanks ­going across France. We ­didn’t lose many men, but the tanks w ­ ere frequently knocked out. Turner—­­These assault guns—­can you describe them to me? Collier—­They made the assault guns from 75mm howitzer, mounted in the turret of M-5 light tank chassis. It was just like an artillery piece but it was in a tank turret. The vehicle had a five-­man crew and crew chief, including a driver and assistant driver, as did the light tanks. In the turret was a loader, a gunner, and a crew chief. Additionally the platoon had two half-­tracks. One is where the platoon sergeant rode and then when ­there was a fire mission, he would get on the back of the guns—to supervise the firing. It worked very quickly and very efficiently. Source: William Hurle Collier Interview, Military Oral History Collection, ­Virginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

2  Marshall Webb: Attacking the Gustav Line Marshall Webb served as a com­pany commander in the 85th Infantry Division. His division participated in the Italian campaign, where it helped break the Gustav Line, a fortified German line north of Rome, in May 1944. Arthur L. Kelly interviewed Webb on January 16, 1986.



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KELLY: Let’s talk about this Gustav Line penetration that your unit it ­going to make, the 85th. And the l­ ittle town is called— WEBB: Tremensuoli. That’s where we ­were at for roughly—­dug in for roughly three months. Dug in as a—­you know, zigzag line. At eleven ­o’clock, the Fifth Army and the Eighth Army, the En­glish Eighth Army, stretched all the way across Italy at eleven ­o’clock. No—­not one minute before and one minute ­after. As I said in that poem, [slaps] hell broke lose. And that’s when we pushed off from Tremensuoli. We pushed off from Tremensuoli. And at that time I was a scout. KELLY: Now, is that poem—­you’ve got several poems. ­You’ve got a book of poems. WEBB: That poem was wrote the 10th of May. KELLY: The day before that action? WEBB: Umhmm. WEBB: And we pushed off on the 11th at eleven ­o’clock— KELLY: All right. WEBB:—in the night, now. Somewhere in Italy on the 11th of May We waited for our o­ rders one cool, cloudy day. As we waited patiently and darkness drew near We received our o­ rders to have no fear. As I looked at my watch, it was just even ten. At eleven was our H-­hour, then hell would begin. As we stood in the darkness, sweating out the time Waiting to attack that Gustav Line. The moon was like a searchlight as we reached no man’s land. I put my trust in God and he took me by the hand. He’s the one that gave me courage, faith that I w ­ ouldn’t mind. Gave me strength to push forward, burst through that Gustav Line. As we strug­gled to push forward, how the shells whistle and whine, Yet I had my trust in God that the next one w ­ asn’t mine. As the sweat stood on my forehead, t­ here was lots on my mind But now the American doughboys ­were crossing over the Gustav Line. As we reached our main objective, but just at the break of day Death and hell struck our com­pany, all around me my buddies lay. As I knelt down by my buddy, he knew it was time. Thank God we won our victory. We hold the Gustav Line. You can talk of all your b­ attles and history ­will tell But the one fought at Tremensuoli was sure a bloody hell. Source: Marshall Webb Interview, 1986OH078 WW 041, © University of Kentucky, all rights reserved, World War Two Oral History Proj­ect, Louie B. Nunn Center for Oral History, University of Kentucky Libraries, Lexington, KY.

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William Funk­houser: D-­Day

William Funk­houser served in the 1st Infantry Division and participated in the D-­Day landing on June 6, 1944. His refreshing candor depicts a common soldier’s range of emotion and experience. Jesse Burnette interviewed Funk­houser on October 1, 2006. Burnette: What was your job and unit and what role did you play in the outcome of the engagement? Funk­houser: I had a 60mm mortar and I’m afraid we’d have lost the war if it had been up to me that day. I can give you why if you want. Burnette: As much detail as y­ ou’re willing to lend. Funk­houser: We stepped from the landing barge and the ­water was not quite waist deep and I thought “Maybe I ­won’t get wet all over.” Of course we started ­going in and the w ­ ater got deeper. Do you mind how long I ramble h­ ere on this? Burnette: No. Funk­houser: O.K. We had t­ hese life preservers and they had air cylinders in them. You squeezed it and they would inflate, but before you inflated them you ­were supposed to unstrap them and give them room to expand. I forgot to unstrap it and I squeezed it and that ­thing was tight. It worked fine. It seemed like forever before we got through the deep channel and up the other side, and I got to the edge of the ­water . . . ​I was in ­water maybe from h­ ere down . . . ​and I was trying to get my life preserver off. It was so tight that I had all kinds of trou­ble and while I was laying ­here like this, a machine gun fired over my leg. I was so scared that if I never moved again from that place that would be alright. Anyway, I fi­nally got this ­thing off and I started crawling. You ­didn’t stand up. You had a lot of opportunity to get set. I crawled maybe twice the length of this room and to my left front was this white explosion. ­There ­wasn’t any concussion to it. Some of the men carried TNT to blow the pillboxes. A guy named Speckler . . . ​I ­shouldn’t use his name maybe . . . ​was carry­ing this TNT and what set it off no one ever knows. As far as ten feet ­were body parts. The biggest was as big as my fist and just white as snow. I was just fascinated as I looked at that. I thought “I ­can’t crawl through that.” I was ­going to jump up and run. I stood up and my legs ­wouldn’t hold me and down I went. If I never moved from ­there, that ­didn’t bother me, thinking I was hit in the legs. You ­can’t imagine how scared I was. Anyway, I chucked my 60mm mortar, shut my eyes and I crawled. I ended up at a kind of ­little high-­water mark. My com­pany commander and my first sergeant ­were on my right. I had a .45 on me so I ­wasn’t very effective. Burnette: Did you feel better when you saw your first sergeant and your com­pany commander on your left and right? Funk­houser: Well, yes, I was glad to see friends. My first sergeant died this past December.



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Burnette: I’m sorry to hear that. In retrospect, do you think your leadership handled your first combat experience . . . ​D-­Day in your case . . . ​well? What ­things could have been better? What ­things ­were done well? Did your unit seem to fight better as the war progressed, learning from the m ­ istakes? Funk­houser: You might not want to hear this but we lost e­ very officer on D-­Day. Burnette: Your com­pany commander ended up being killed? Funk­houser: No, my com­pany commander got wounded around noon that day. But we lost ­every officer, wounded or killed. My com­pany was just more or less eliminated as a fighting unit. ­There w ­ asn’t enough of us. Other than taking too much equipment in . . . ​and I think we should have been told. I had in my mind, when they saw us coming, ­they’d throw up their hands. They had told us that we ­were so much better trained, our equipment was so much better. I reckon they w ­ ere building up our confidence but then that shock—­hey, this ­wasn’t what I expected. As far as the officers, they ­can’t keep me off of KP now so I’ll tell you this. We never had a bad officer the ­whole time. We had two or three dif­fer­ent com­pany commanders, platoon leaders . . . ​we never had a bad officer. Burnette: What ­things ­were done well that day? Funk­houser: The Navy. In my opinion. Some of t­ hose ships came in and I thought I could have hit them with a rock. As far as the units that ­were still combat ready, how they functioned I ­don’t know. The first sergeant, jumped up and emptied his ­rifle one time and Captain Finkie told him to stay down, “­You’re not ­doing any good.” Anyway, ­later on he hollered “F Com­pany moving out. You pass it on.” We got up and started down the beach and ­there w ­ ere bodies laying three and four across rolling with the surf back and forth, just all the way down, and we got up over this hill. We ­were ­going up the edge of this draw and the boy in front of me got hit with something in his leg and I told him if I was him I’d stay right ­there. He said no, he thought he’d have a better chance getting on inland. Got to the top of the hill and we ­were just milling around up ­there and this officer saw me with my .45 and he suggested we make a trade. All the officers landed with M-1s. So we switched and I was a rifleman then. Captain Finkie said “F Com­pany moving out,” so we started down this road. I was right ­behind Captain Finkie. Paddie Feagan was on this side and we ­were ­every 10 feet apart. I ­don’t know how many ­were back of me and Captain Finkie took off down that road. He’d found out how far patrols had been out, I know, ­because he went out so far and he ­stopped. He sent Paddie Feagan and me down in this field. I started down through ­there and a machine gun opened up so I hit the ground. I ­couldn’t see anything. I started crawling forward. The hill kind of went down like this and I wanted to see down that corner so I started crawling and machine guns started firing in front of me, just coming ­towards me like that and I hit the ground. And I did the unforgivable. I rolled, but when I rolled I turned loose of my M-1 ­rifle. I ­don’t know how far I rolled and then I just laid ­there. By that time they started dropping mortars in, the heavy 81mm. They could have been the German mortars.

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We ­didn’t know. And ­there was a ditch around this field, at the bottom of the hedgerow. I had my choice of trying to make that ditch or ­going back ­after my r­ ifle and trying to make the ditch, so I took the ditch. I was in that ditch and mortar was falling all around. In the meantime Captain Finkie brought the rest of the com­pany down on that hedgerow for them to try to give us some fire support so we could get out. The mortars got too heavy and he got hit and then they pulled back so Paddie and I w ­ ere out ­there on our own. I had to get up over that hedgerow to get back where they ­were so I took my pack and every­thing off but my gasmask . . . ​I kept my gasmask . . . ​and up over ­there I went. Went up along the hedge and Paddie was out in the road by then. We started back ­towards the beach, went around the turn and I saw some of our guys. The first sergeant was interviewed for a book and he said it was 11 of us that night, but it was 13. He counted before Paddie and I got back. They ­were in this field, dug in. I ­didn’t have anything to dig in with and no weapon. I lay down in that ditch that night and slept. I woke up one time. ­There was an air raid back on the beach. All of the ships out in that channel ­were firing. It was a beautiful sight . . . ​all of ­those tracers. One time a 6×6 truck pulled up and I was laying ­there and the driver got out, laid out across the fender and was firing his ­rifle and I ­couldn’t figure out what he was ­doing . . . ​still ­don’t know. He might have been firing through evergreen trees to make sure ­there ­wasn’t a sniper. He came around back of the truck, made coffee, and I crawled up and he gave me some. During the night other men had gone through. I went over in the field where the rest of the men ­were and Sergeant Lumbarsky wanted to know where my ­rifle was. I told him. He said “Well, go get it.” I thought I was in deep trou­ble. I went and got my ­rifle and pack and every­ thing. That’s how effective I was D-­Day. You’d have been ­doing the goose-­step now if it had been up to me. Source: William Funk­houser Interview, Military Oral History Collection, ­Virginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

4  Guy C. Nicely: The ­Battle of Aachen Guy C. Nicely was drafted in February 1943. He served with the 1st Infantry Division in all its campaigns from Sicily to the end of the war. Although he landed with the division on Omaha Beach, Nicely recalled street fighting in Aachen, Germany, most vividly. The combat took place in October 1944. Jason Simulcik interviewed Nicely on October 6, 2006. Aachen, a city on the French/German border—­I know more about that than anything ­else. That’s what a lot of this write-up yonder against the stove is about. We ­couldn’t take that city on the streets, from house-­to-­house, door-­to-­door, ­because at the ends of the streets they had machine guns stuck out ­every win­dow and ­every person that moved on that street died. They just kept you pinned down. So what our group did—we fought through the basements—­one or two stories down. E ­ very ­house pretty much in Aachen had one wall that separated it from the next ­house



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and so they would blow a hole, just big enough to crawl through, and then we would move through. We’d take it street by street, blowing holes with TNT through the basement walls. I was platoon sergeant at that time, from ­there on out, and I was responsible for 43 men and I told my first scout to go through the wall once they blew it. He said “Sergeant, I ­can’t go through ­there. If I do I’m ­going to get killed” and I said “Well, ­we’ve got to go.” You always had ­orders coming up to move out. If you ­were at a stand-­still ­they’d say “move out.” I asked him again and he said “I ­can’t go through.” So I told him “Step out of the way” and I went through and when I went through every­thing was concrete, as well as I remember—­concrete blocks. A German shot at me and he hit so close to my head that the fragments off of that concrete or cinderblock got in my eyes. I fi­nally got them straightened out and ­there ­weren’t any Germans ­there and I said “Well, this is strange. I’m in the basement. Where did they go?” It was a huge room so I walked over, when I got my senses back a ­little bit and ­there was just a real narrow stairway, like a ladder, ­going down at the end of the room and ­there was another room ­under that ­thing. I said “That’s where he’s at.” So I reached down and pulled a pin out of my grenade, dropped it down ­there and 14 of them came out with their hands over their heads. I captured them and we ­were told to take all the loot—­watches, pistols, field glasses—so I got nine watches, one pair of field glasses and two pistols off the 14. We reached our objective at a cross-­road a l­ittle further that day. The cross-­road was a street coming up this way, this one went on through and another one coming ­here. It was just a big place where three or four ways met. This ­hotel that we w ­ ere in and w ­ ere g­ oing to bed down for the night had a sun porch out on this side. This was October the 18th and somebody found an old German Victrola. You, being a young man, had to wind it up . . . ​crank it up . . . ​and you put a rec­ord on it and it was playing and we ­were rejoicing that we’d reached our objective, and about that time a mortar shell hit that sun porch and it blew me through this room on back to that one. I could just feel myself but I ­couldn’t get hold of myself. The force just blew me back. Well, that’s all I knew for I ­don’t know how long ­until the medics had me on a stretcher and headed back through the park. I woke up and my field jacket was just completely saturated with blood . . . ​I mean red all over . . . ​and they said “­You’re rallying up?” and I said “Yeah.” He said, “You ­can’t walk can you?” and I said “Let me try it.” The mortar shells and artillery ­were falling on ­those trees and ­people ­were being killed everywhere you looked. I said “Let me see if I can walk” and I ­didn’t walk, I ran like a rabbit. I made it right to the door of the medics and I ­don’t remember another t­ hing. Pretty well all my blood was gone. The wound was at the base of the ear and ­stopped right ­behind my right eye. I made it through and they ­were so thankful that we made it. To make a long story short, they had a field surgeon set up out in the field but he c­ ouldn’t do anything for me so they sent me back to Paris. Source: Guy C. Nicely Interview, Military Oral History Collection, V ­ irginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

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5  Alan D. Evans: An Artillery Fire Direction Center Alan D. Evans served with the 76th Field Artillery Battalion in the Eu­ro­pean Theater in 1944–1945. As a staff sergeant, Evans was in charge of a fire direction center. James Booth interviewed Evans on March 10, 2010. Evans: That’s how we got on French soil. When we landed ­there, that same day or so, they formed the Third Army. You may not know that Patton had been disgraced ­because he had slapped a ­couple of soldiers around who ­were shell-­shocked, so he had been just on the sidelines. At that time, which was early August, Eisenhower de­cided to give him a reprieve and he formed the Third Army and put Patton in charge of it. We ­were moved, then, from the First Army into the Third Army and, as part of ­battle, a­ fter the hedgerows w ­ ere surmounted, we had the big B ­ attle of St. Lô and right a­ fter that is when we went into combat in what was called the Falaise-­Argentan Gap. The 19th Panzer Army was trapped ­there. Montgomery was supposed to move up from Caen and close that gap, but he never got around to that. ­There was a huge amount of p­ eople and equipment trapped t­here. The Germans abandoned their equipment and they walked out at night, mostly, so they saved most of the Army, as far as personnel goes, but they had to abandon their equipment. The Germans had a tremendous capacity to manufacture stuff, so they re-­equipped their troops and they went back into ­battle. I ­don’t know exactly when but prob­ ably in September or October. Booth—­­After you landed in France, where ­else in Eu­rope did you serve from ­there? Evans—­We went from Argenton to Paris. We waited at the outskirts of Paris ­until De Gaulle got his courage up to go in and be the conquering hero. We went through Paris and, at that time, gasoline was ­really starting to run short. Logistics ­were a nightmare. We went about 40 miles north of Paris, camped out, and dispatched all of our trucks into what was called a Red Ball Express. The Red Ball Express consisted of a road that was designated as g­ oing one way, and another road was designated to go the other way. The trucks ­were rolled down to the beaches and they loaded them up with gasoline and shells and food and they came back the other road. We did that for about 10 days. Montgomery had to have, he thought, lots of stuff ­because he was planning an operation in Holland. He fi­nally got enough that we could get our trucks back. Then we went to Belgium to Elsenborn, which turned out to be a tremendously impor­tant strongpoint during the B ­ attle of the Bulge. We w ­ ere in a ­little town called Kalterherberg in Germany, which was right at the edge of the Siegfried Line and that was in late September. At that point, we ­were supporting a cavalry outfit that ­didn’t have any field artillery. They ­were pretty thinly spread out and that’s the time I made what I think was the only ­mistake I made in fire direction. We had prepared a ­whole series of spots where we wanted to have our shells land and numbered them one through 50, or something like that. The guy would call on the phone or radio and say “I’ve got trou­ble at spot 50.” And we had the data all prepared. The only ­thing I did was I gave the data for Able



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Battery, to Charlie Battery and, of course, they ­weren’t ­really the same but it turned out that ­there was enough difference in altitude between the two batteries that the shells landed just where they ­were supposed to. I think that was the only ­mistake I ever made in that job. We fired 186,000 rounds. I ­don’t know how many fire missions that would have been but it was a lot. The guy said “That a perfect place to put the shells. Give me battalion three rounds.” So I added 25 yards to the range and sent that to the gun batteries, just in case. It was an in­ter­est­ing place to be, ­because you knew every­thing that was ­going on. You knew what you ­were shooting at and you had access to intelligence reports. The fact of the ­matter is, that ­because you are working with charts, you had to have light and you had to have protection from rain and snow, so if ­there was ever a building to be had, we got it. That was a real desirable t­ hing. Booth—­Sounds like you w ­ ere pretty lucky, sir. Evans—­Yes. A lot of the times I worked at night. We did a lot of our firing at night, most of it was interdictory fire. I’d get the weather information at vari­ous altitudes and calculate the effect of the wind direction, speed and temperature on the trajectory of the shell, correct on that, and then we’d fire one or two rounds at a crossroads at some interval. It ­wasn’t predictable, just to try and keep the ­enemy from sleeping too well. One of the ­things that you had as a question—­just what did you do? Most of the time I did what they called vertical control. In other words, I would look at a topological map, get the altitude of where the gun battery was and the altitude of the target and then correct for that to have the shell go just to the right point. Sometimes I did the horizontal control, which was setting the range and the direction. I worked a lot at night by myself and then, when we ­were moving, we would set up an advance command post. I would frequently go with the battalion exec and help set up the advance command post so we could be ready to fire as soon as we moved forward one battery. When they ­were in position to fire I could give them the commands and then, when they ­were firing, they would echelon the other battery up, sometimes to where the first battery went; sometimes beyond them. I moved around quite a l­ ittle bit that way. ­ ecause of our jobs, we w B ­ ere largely exempted from any guard duty or digging latrines or anything like that. We ­were regarded as kind of special, I guess. ­There ­were horizontal and vertical controllers. We had three guys who ­were called computers. In ­those days ­there ­weren’t any hand-­held calculators. You did it with a pencil and a slide rule. We had three of ­those. We had a driver and a section head, who was the staff sergeant. ­There would be seven in the section. Booth—­W hat was your unit’s morale like throughout the war? Evans—­We r­ eally had good morale. We ­were in a ­battle called Huertgen Forest, which was a terrible ­battle. We fired a lot t­ here and we wore out the barrels on our guns. T ­ hese w ­ ere 105mm dia­meter. We had to get some new ones, and besides that, ammunition had gotten scarce b­ ecause every­body thought the war was g­ oing

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to be over, and it ­wasn’t. We sent some ­people up to Antwerp and got 12 British guns, which w ­ ere called 25 pounders. They w ­ ere available, and so was ammunition for them. The American ammunition was marvelous. We never had any prob­lem with it, but the British ammunition was just atrocious. You know what a misfire is? Booth—­Yes sir. Evans—­One time, we had 26 consecutive misfires, and, as you know, ­every time you open the breech when you have a misfire, you ­don’t know ­whether that’s a hang fire and it may go off as you open the breech, or ­whether it’s a true misfire. We had both of ­those and then we had a situation where a shell would explode when it got out about 100 yards, particularly when ­you’re firing, far to the left or far to the right; about half of the gun crew would be killed ­because of the premature. Well, morale went down while we w ­ ere d­ oing that, but then we got American stuff again. We fired about 50,000 rounds of that lousy En­glish stuff, but it ­really improved our morale a lot when we got back to American ammunition. One ­thing that improved morale was that we had a very stupid lieutenant col­o­nel who was the commanding officer and he de­cided, when we ­were in the Huertgen Forest, that he would go up and get a new position. Infantry outposts warned him that the road had not been swept for mines and he ignored that. He went up a ­little further and went over a ­couple of Teller mines which killed him and severely injured the executive officer and killed the driver. That was one of the best ­things that happened to the outfit, morale-­wise and every­thing ­else, ­because we got rid of this stupid col­o­nel, and they promoted the S-3 and he was a splendid officer who ­really knew what he was d­ oing. That improved our morale a w ­ hole lot. Source: Alan D. Evans Interview, Military Oral History Collection, ­Virginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

NOTES 1. See Louis Morton, “Germany First: The Basic Concept of Allied Strategy in World War II,” in Kent Roberts Greenfield, ed., Command Decisions (1960; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987), 11–48. 2. See Maurice Matloff, “The 90-­Division ­Gamble,” in Kent Roberts Greenfield, ed., Command Decisions (1960; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987), 365–81. 3. Jeffrey J. Clarke and Robert Ross Smith, Riviera to the Rhine (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993), 223. 4. Charles B. MacDonald, The Siegfried Line Campaign (1963; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993), 120. 5. Hugh M. Cole, The Ardennes: The B ­ attle of the Bulge (1965; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993), 17, 19. 6. George Q. Flynn, Conscription and Democracy: The Draft in France, ­Great Britain, and the United States (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002), 60. 7. George Q. Flynn, The Draft, 1940–1973 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1993), 60. 8. Flynn, The Draft, 18.



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  9. J. Garry Clifford and Samuel R. Spencer Jr., The First Peacetime Draft (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986), 229. 10. Flynn, The Draft, 20. 11. Flynn, The Draft, 21–22; Clifford and Spencer, The First Peacetime Draft, 2–4; Flynn, Conscription and Democracy, 100, 102–03. 12. Lee Kennett, G.I.: The American Soldier in World War II (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1987), 18–19. 13. Flynn, The Draft, 55; Kennett, G.I., 20. 14. Kennett, G.I., 16–18. 15. Kennett, G.I., 19–21. 16. Flynn, The Draft, 63–64. 17. Flynn, The Draft, 43–44; Kennett, G.I., 11 18. William A. Taylor, Military Ser­v ice and American Democracy: From World War II to the Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan Wars (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2016), 14–20. 19. Matloff, “The 90-­Division ­Gamble,” 366. 20. Matloff, “The 90-­Division ­Gamble,” 367. 21. Robert R. Palmer, “Ground Forces in the Army, December 1941–­April 1945: A Statistical Study,” in Kent Roberts Greenfield, Robert R. Palmer, and Bell I. Wiley, eds., The Organ­ization of Ground Combat Troops (1947; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987), 164–65. 22. Matloff, “The 90-­Division ­Gamble,” 380–81. 23. Bell I. Wiley, “The Building and Training of Infantry Divisions,” in Robert R. Palmer, Bell I. Wiley, and William R. Keast, eds., Procurement and Training of Ground Combat Forces (1948; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991), 433–34. 24. Wiley, “The Building and Training of Infantry Divisions,” 435. 25. Peter R. Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope: The Triumph of American Infantry Divisions, 1941–1945 (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1999), 73. 26. During the war, the American infantry division fluctuated between 13,552 and 15,514 men. By war’s end, a standard infantry division was set at 14,037. Virgil Ney, Evolution of the U.S. Army Division, 1939–1968, CORG-­M-365 (Fort Belvoir: Combat Operations Research Group, 1969), 33. 27. Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope, 21–25; Wiley, “The Building and Training of Infantry Divisions,” 433–56. 28. Mansoor, The GI Offensive, 25–26, 29, 69; Wiley, “The Building and Training of Infantry Divisions,” 457, 472. 29. This infantry–­armor teamwork prob­lem was less of an issue for American armored divisions, especially as the armored divisions would generally create three “combat commands” that combined armor with infantry and artillery. Teamwork developed and was enhanced as t­ hese commands remained permanent. 30. For information on the pooling debate of in­de­pen­dent tank and tank destroyer battalions, see Robert R. Palmer, “Reor­ga­ni­za­tion of Ground Troops for Combat” in Organ­ ization of Ground Combat Troops, 293–97, 305–08. See also Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope, 37–40. 31. See Robert R. Palmer, “Organ­ization and Training of New Combat Ele­ments” in Organ­ization of Ground Combat Troops, 411–17, 433–34. 32. Kennett, G.I., 47–48; William R. Keast, “The Training of Enlisted Replacements,” in Procurement and Training, 372–74. 33. William R. Keast, “The Training of Enlisted Replacements,” 338; Wiley, “The Building and Training of Infantry Divisions,” 449. See also Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope, 110 and Kennett, G.I., 42–54.

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34. Leroy Stewart, “Hurry Up and Wait,” 1975, 60, WWII Veterans Collection, 1st Infantry Division, 26th IN Regiment, Box 2, U.S. Army Military History Institute, Carlisle, PA. 35. Tommy R. Gilliam, “A History of the First Battalion, Second United States Infantry Regiment, 21 August 1941 to 30 March 1945, ATO and ETO,” n.d., 66–68, Tommy R. Gilliam Papers, WWII Veterans Surveys, 5th Infantry Division, Box 1, U.S. Army Military History Institute, Carlisle, PA. 36. Kennett, G.I., 46. 37. Lt. Col. Glenn Rogers, “756 Tank Battalion Commander’s Narrative, September  1–30, 1944,” 5–6  in “3rd  Infantry Division Unit Reports of Operations, September 1944,” File 303-0.3, Box 5398, RG 407, Entry 427, NA. 38. 29th Infantry Division assessment quoted in Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope, 65. 39. “Report of Activities, G-3 Section, 1 March 1944 to 31 March 1944, inclusive,” April 4, 1944, 3, File 301-3, Box 5104, RG 407, Entry 427, NA. 40. Gordon Harrison, Cross-­Channel Attack (1951; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993), 164, 270; Adrian R. Lewis, Omaha Beach: A Flawed Victory (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001), 108, 200; Mansoor, The GI Offensive in Eu­rope, 65–67. 41. “Method of Attack Against Villages Used by the 30th Infantry Division in the Advance to the Inde River, November 16 to 28, 1944,” 1 in Headquarters, XIX Corps, XIX Corps Demonstration: 2nd Armored Division Tank-­Infantry Assault of Tactical Locality; 30th Infantry Division Infantry Assault of Fortified Village, December 10, 1944 (Combined Arms Research Library, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas). 42. Rupert Trimmingham, letter to the editor, Yank, April 28, 1944. 43. Rupert Trimmingham, letter to the editor, Yank, July 28, 1944. 44. Morris J. MacGregor Jr., Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1981), 18–19, 22–23. 45. Edward M. Coffman, The Regulars: The American Army, 1898–1941 (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of the Harvard University Press, 2044), 126–33, 294–98, 385–86. 46. Walter Hadley quoted in Kimberley Phillips, War! What Is It Good For?: Black Freedom Strug­gles and the U.S. Military from World War II to Iraq (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), 23. 47. Gerald Astor, The Right to Fight: A History of African Americans in the Military (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1998), 184, 201. 48. Phillips, War! What Is It Good For?, 24–25. 49. Coffman, The Regulars, 408–09; Astor, The Right to Fight, 165. 50. Astor, The Right to Fight, 175–82; Maggi M. More­house, Fighting in the Jim Crow Army: Black Men and ­Women Remember World War II (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 92–99. 51. Astor, The Right to Fight, 165, 197–207. 52. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 33. 53. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 34. 54. This observation is made in Jennifer Mittelstadt, “Military Demographics,” in David Kieran and Edwin A. Martini, eds., At War: The Military and American Culture in the Twentieth C ­ entury and Beyond (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2018), 91. 55. John Dower, “Race, Language, and War in Two Cultures: World War II in Asia,” in Lewis A. Erenberg and Susan E. Hirsch, eds., The War in American Culture: Society and Consciousness during World War II (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 180–82. 56. James M. McCaffrey, ­Going for Broke: Japa­nese Americans in the War Against Nazi Germany (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2013), 36–41. Although the 100th Infantry Battalion formed before the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and saw combat before the 442nd, it was ­later folded into the 442nd. McCaffrey, ­Going for Broke, 188.



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57. McCaffrey, ­Going for Broke, 70–71. 58. McCaffrey, ­Going for Broke, 346–48. 59. Christine Knauer, “Race And/In War in David Kieran and Edwin A. Martini, eds., At War: The Military and American Culture in the Twentieth ­Century and Beyond (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2018), 176–77; Steven Rosales, “The Right to Bear Arms: Enlisting Chicanos into the U.S. Military,” in Geoffrey W. Jensen, ed., The Routledge Handbook of the History of Race and the American Military (New York: Routledge, 2016), 231. 60. See Reina Pennington, “Offensive ­Women: ­Women in Combat in the Red Army in the Second World War,” Journal of Military History 74, no. 3 (July 2010): 775–820. 61. Barbara Brooks Tomblin, G.I. Nightingales: The Army Nurse Corps in World War II (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1996), 6–7. 62. Tomblin, G.I. Nightingales, 10–11. 63. Tomblin, G.I. Nightingales, 151, 204. The casualties and number of decorated include the fighting in both Eu­rope and the Pacific. 64. William Hammond, CMH 72–15: The W ­ omen’s Army Corps (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, n.d.), 11–14. 65. Mattie Treadwell, The ­Women’s Army Corps (1954; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991), 559. 66. Treadwell, The ­Women’s Army Corps, 589–95. 67. For the 6888th’s story, see Brenda L. Moore, To Serve My Country, To Serve My Race: The Story of the Only African American WACs Stationed Overseas during World War II (New York: New York University, 1996). 68. Treadwell, The ­Women’s Army Corps, 191, 301–02; See also D’Ann Campbell, “­Women in Combat: The World War II Experience in the United States, G ­ reat Britain, Germany, and the Soviet Union,” Journal of Military History 57, no. 2 (April 1993): 303–05. 69. Treadwell, The ­Women’s Army Corps, xii. 70. Treadwell, The ­Women’s Army Corps, 195–218. 71. Allan Bérubé, Coming Out U ­ nder Fire: A History of Gay Men and ­Women in World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 3–5. 72. Kennett, G.I., 45. 73. Kennett, G.I., 57. 74. Chester Wardlaw, The Transportation Corps: Movements, Training, and Supply (Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, United States Army, 1990), 145. 75. Kennett, G.I., 115 76. Wardlaw, The Transportation Corps, 145–48. 77. Peter Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin: American Combat Soldiers in Eu­rope During World War II (New York: New York University Press, 1998), 38, 113. 78. Kennett, G.I., 123; Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 37, 113. 79. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 34–35, 39–40, 114. 80. Kennett, G.I., 122; Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 110. 81. Morton Eustis quoted in Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 115. 82. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 4, 104. 83. Kennett, G.I., 131–32. 84. Kennett, G.I., 98; Erna Risch, The Quartermaster Corps: Organ­ization, Supply, and Ser ­vices, vol. 1 (1953; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1995), 174. 85. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 175–77. 86. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 192. 87. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 192–206. 88. John Roche of the 88th  Infantry Division describes this teamwork in John  C. Mc­Manus, The Deadly Brotherhood: The American Combat Soldier in World War II (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1998), 17.

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  89. Mc­Manus, Deadly Brotherhood, 18–19; Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 180– 84; William F. Ross and Charles F. Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps: Operations in the War Against Germany (1965; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991), 131.   90. Kennett, G.I., 100; Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 184–88; Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 131.   91. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 179–80; Mc­Manus, Deadly Brotherhood, 25.   92. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 186.   93. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 188–92; Mc­Manus, Deadly Brotherhood, 24–25; Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 158.   94. Mc­Manus, The Deadly Brotherhood, 27–30; Kennett, G.I., 101–02; Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 158–64; Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 487.   95. Kennett, G.I., 102–03. Quote included; Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 172, 175, 197.   96. Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 103.   97. Kennett, G.I., 103–04; Mc­Manus, Deadly Brotherhood, 30–31; Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 103, 106–08.   98. Schrijver, The Crash of Ruin, 20; Risch, The Quartermaster Corps, 1: 106–08; Mc­Manus, The Deadly Brotherhood, 33.   99. Kennett, G.I., 105; Mc­Manus, Deadly Brotherhood, 33–34. 100. ­Table 8 in Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 336. 101. Kennett, G.I., 95. 102. Edward G. Lengel, Thunder and Flames: Americans in the Crucible of Combat, 1917–1918 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2015), 366; Timothy K. Nenninger, “Tactical Dysfunction in the AEF, 1917–1918,” Military Affairs 51, no. 4 (October 1987), 180. 103. Kennett, G.I., 95–96, 99; Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 36. 104. Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 486–87. 105. ­Table 14 in Ross and Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps, 486–91. This ­table, however, does not break down who received what rations. That is, it is not clear if front-­line forces, rear areas, allied forces, civilians, and prisoners of war received more of one type of ration or another. 106. Michael Snape, God and ­Uncle Sam: Religion and Amer­i­ca’s Armed Forces in World War II (Rochester, NY: Boydell Press, 2015), 26–29. 107. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 32. 108. Gerald Sittser, A Cautious Patriotism: The American Churches and the Second World War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997), 147–54. 109. Ronit Stahl, Enlisting Faith: How the Military Chaplaincy S­ haped Religion and State in Modern Amer­i­ca (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017), 75. 110. Stahl, Enlisting Faith, 76. 111. Stahl, Enlisting Faith, 79–82. Quote on page 79. 112. Kennett, G.I., 138. 113. Sittser, A Cautious Patriotism, 154–55; Stahl, Enlisting Faith, 77. 114. Stahl, Enlisting Faith, 87–94. 115. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 92–103, 120–21; Sittser, A Cautious Patriotism, 157–58. 116. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 318–19. 117. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 326–27. 118. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 349–54. 119. Kennett, G.I., 138. 120. Schrijvers, Crash of Ruin, 240–42. Both quotes on page 242. 121. Clayton R. Koppes and Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Goes to War: How Politics, Profits, and Propaganda ­Shaped World War II Movies (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 58–72.



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122. James J. Cooke, American Girls, Beer, and Glenn Miller: GI Morale in World War II (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2014), 7–8, 35. 123. Cooke, American Girls, 41, 115, 124, 160–61. 124. Megan Winchell, Good Girls, Good Food, Good Fun: The Story of USO Hostesses During World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 2. 125. Winchell, Good Girls, 3–4. 126. Cooke, American Girls, 91, 107, 112. 127. Sean Dennis Cashman, Amer­i­ca, Roo­se­velt, and World War II (New York: New York University Press, 1989), 187. 128. Kennett, G.I., 95. 129. Malvern Hall Tillitt, “Army-­Navy Pay Tops Most Civilians’: Unmarried Private’s Income Equivalent to $3600 Salary,” Barron’s National Business and Financial Weekly, April 24, 1944. 130. Tillitt, “Army-­Navy Pay Tops Most Civilians’.” 131. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 36–37. 132. Kennett, G.I., 119–22. 133. Kennett, G.I., 106; Mc­Manus, 38–47. 134. For the development of armor doctrine in the 1920s and 1930s, see David Johnson, Fast Tanks and Heavy Bombers: Innovation in the U.S. Army, 1917–1945 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998); Timothy Nenninger, “Orga­nizational Milestones in the Development of American Armor, 1920–1940,” in George Hofmann and Donn Starry, eds., Camp Colt to Desert Storm: The History of U.S. Armored Forces (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), 37–66; and Robert Cameron, Mobility, Shock, and Firepower: The Emergence of the U.S. Army’s Armor Branch, 1917–1945 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 2008). 135. Cameron, Mobility, Shock, Firepower, 283. 136. Cameron, Mobility, Shock, Firepower, 391–92; Mc­Manus, The Deadly Brotherhood, 36–37. 137. Christopher Gabel, “World War II Armor Operations in Eu­rope,” in George F. Hofmann and Donn Starry, eds., Camp Colt to Desert Storm: The History of U.S. Armored Forces (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), 157. 138. Russell Weigley, Eisenhower’s Lieutenants: The Campaign of France and Germany, 1944–1945 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), 10. 139. Gabel, “World War II Armor Operations in Eu­rope,” 157–58. 140. Michael Doubler, Closing With the ­Enemy: How GIs Fought the War in Eu­rope, 1944–1945 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994), 18. 141. Alexander Lüdeke, Weapons of World War II (Bath, UK: Parragon, 2011), 171–72. 142. Weigley, Eisenhower’s Lieutenants, 28. 143. Doubler, Closing With the E ­ nemy, 19. 144. U.S. War Department, Field Ser­vice Regulations, United States Army, 1923 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1924), 88. 145. U.S. War Department, Field Ser­vice Regulations (1923), 94–96. 146. Weigley, Eisenhower’s Lieutenants, 25. 147. Geoffrey Perret, ­There’s a War to Be Won: The United States Army in World War II (New York: Random House, 1991), 14–15. 148. According to Pogue, ­f uture top generals such as Omar Bradley and Walter Bedell Smith, as well as division and corps commanders such as J. Lawton Collins, Terry de la Mesa Allen, Clarence Huebner, Matthew Ridgway, and Charles T. Lanham, all studied as ju­nior officers in Marshall’s Infantry School. Forrest C. Pogue, Education of a General, 1880–1939 (New York: Viking Press, 1963), 249. 149. Kenneth Finlayson, An Uncertain Trumpet: The Evolution of U.S. Army Infantry Doctrine, 1919–1941 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001), 78–79; Robert Sterling Rush, Hell in Hürtgen Forest (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001), 37–38.

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150. Finlayson, An Uncertain Trumpet, 127. 151. Allan R. Millett, “The United States Armed Forces in the Second World War,” in Allan R. Millett and Williamson Murray, eds., Military Effectiveness. vol. 3, The Second World War (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990), 69. 152. Cameron, Mobility, Shock, Firepower, 270–71. 153. Gabel, “World War II Armor Operations in Eu­rope,” 149. 154. Lucian K. Truscott, Jr., Command Missions: A Personal Story (New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., 1954, reprint, New York: Arno Press, 1979), 202–04. 155. J. Lee Mudd, “Honor, Fidelity, Courage: The History of the 756th Tank Battalion and the Development of the Tank-­Infantry Team” (M.A. Thesis, Southern Illinois University, 2001), 19–20. 156. Martin Blumenson, “Kasserine Pass, 20 January–22 February 1943,” in Charles E. Heller and William A. Stofft, eds., Amer­i­ca’s First ­Battles, 1776–1965 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986), 260–61. 157. History of the 15th Infantry Regiment in World War II (n.p., n.d. Copy at the Donovan Research Library, Fort Benning, Georgia), 140–53. 158. See Louis A. Hamack, “Report of Action Against the ­Enemy for the Month of February 1944,” March 7, 1944, in “Unit Monthly Reports of Operations for February 1944,” File 303-0.3, Box 5393, RG 407, Entry 427, National Archives, College Park, MD, as well as Louis A. Hamack, “Report of Action Against the ­Enemy for the Month of March 1944,” April 5, 1944, in “Unit Monthly Reports of Operations for March 1944,” File 303-0.3, Box 5394, RG 407, Entry 427, National Archives, College Park, MD. 159. Doubler, Closing With the E ­ nemy, 49–54. 160. Doubler, Closing With the E ­ nemy, 44–45. 161. Clarence E. Beck, “G-3 Report of Operations, 1 August to 31 August 1944, Inclusive,” September 10, 1944, 61–64, File 301–3, Box 5105, RG 407, Entry 427, National Archives, College Park, MD. 162. Staff sergeant, 10th Infantry quoted in Public Relations Section, Tenth Infantry Regiment, History of Tenth Infantry Regiment, United States Army (Birmingham, AL: Military Ser­vice Co., 1946), 25. 163. Entry at 1140, December 20, 1944 in “G-3 Journal and File, 19–22 December 1944,” File 305-3.2, Box 5941, RG 407, Entry 427, National Archives, College Park, MD. 164. Gabel, “World War II Armor Operations in Eu­rope,” 163–66; Cameron, Mobility, Shock, and Firepower, 444–51. 165. See Derrill Daniel, “The Capture of Aachen,” n.d., Folder 228.01, HRC Geog. M Germany, 370.2 -­Aachen, Center for Military History Archives, Fort McNair, Washington, D.C., as well as William R. Campbell, “Tanks with Infantry” (Fort Knox, KY: General Instruction Department, The Armored School, 1947). 166. Harry Yeide, The Longest ­Battle, September 1944 to February 1945: From Aachen to the Roer and Across (St. Paul, MN: Zenith Press, 2005), 96. 167. David W. Hogan Jr., U.S. Army Special Operations in World War II (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, Department of the Army, 1992), 6. 168. James A. Huston, Out of the Blue: U.S. Army Airborne Operations in World War II (Nashville: The Battery Press, 1981), 52–54, 56. 169. Clay Blair, Ridgway’s Paratroopers: The American Airborne in World War II (Garden City, NY: Dial Press, 1985), 28. 170. Huston, Out of the Blue, 73. 171. Robert K. Wright and John T. Greenwood, Airborne Forces at War: From Parachute Test Platoon to the 21st ­Century (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2007), 32. 172. Huston, Out of the Blue, 159–61. 173. Huston, Out of the Blue, 161–67.



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174. Hogan, U.S. Army Special Operations in World War II, David W. Hogan Jr., Raiders or Elite Infantry? The Changing Role of the U.S. Army Ranges from Dieppe to Grenada (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 2, 11–13. 175. Hogan, Raiders or Elite Infantry?, 24–28. 176. Hogan, Raiders or Elite Infantry?, 40–46. 177. Hogan, Raiders or Elite Infantry?, 68–71 178. Hogan, Raiders or Elite Infantry?, 21–22. 179. Hogan, U.S. Army Special Operations in World War II, 26–28, 33. 180. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 17; Charles M. Wiltse, Medical Ser­vice in the Mediterranean and Minor Theaters (1965; repr., Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987), 172–73. 181. Wiltse, Medical Ser­vice in the Mediterranean, 261–62. 182. Rush, Hell in Hürtgen Forest, 22–23. 183. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 22. 184. Kennett, G.I., 203. 185. Wiltse, Medical Ser­vice in the Mediterranean, 257–59. 186. Graham Cosmas and Albert E. Cowdrey, Medical Ser­vice in the Eu­ro­pean Theater of Operations (Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, United States Army, 1991), 539. 187. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 555. 188. Kennett, G.I., 173–75. 189. Donald G. Taggart, History of the Third Infantry Division in World War II (Washington, D.C.: Infantry Journal Press, 1947; reprint, Nashville, TN: Battery Press, 1997), 124. 190. Mc­Manus, The Deadly Brotherhood, 133–39. 191. Kennett, G.I., 178–79. 192. Bernard Rostker, Providing for the Casualties of War: The American Experience Through World War II (Santa Monica: RAND, 2013), 189–200. 193. Rick Atkinson, An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa, 1942–1943 (New York: Henry Holt, 2002), 461–62. 194. Gerald F. Linderman, The World Within War: Amer­i­ca’s Combat Experience in World War II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), 108–14. 195. Rick Atkinson, The Day of ­Battle: The War in Sicily and Italy, 1943–1944 (New York: Henry Holt, 2007), 117–20. 196. Morris L. Harvey quoted in Rush, Hell in Hürtgen Forest, 317. 197. S-3 to Danger-3, April 10, 1945, 46, “S-3 Unit Journal” in “Headquarters 26th Infantry, Report ­After Action, Month of April 1945,” File 301-­I NF(26)-0.3, Box 5270, RG 407, Entry 427, National Archives, College Park, Mary­land. 198. Unattributed soldier quoted in Linderman, The World Within War, 108. 199. Paul J. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs From the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010), 146–47, 151–52. 200. Tom Bird, American POWs of World War II: Forgotten Men Tell Their Stories (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992), 141. 201. Springer, Amer­i­ca’s Captives, 162. 202. Linderman, The World Within War, 109–10. 203. Kennett, G.I., 183–89. 204. Snape, God and U ­ ncle Sam, 333–35. 205. Allan Winkler, Home Front U.S.A.: Amer­i­ca During World War II (Wheeling, IL: Harlan Davidson, 2014), 11–13. 206. Cashman, Amer­i­ca, Roo­se­velt, and World War II, 199. 207. David M. Kennedy, Freedom from Fear: The American ­People in Depression and War, 1929–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 650. 208. Kennedy, Freedom from Fear, 644–47; Cashman, Amer­i­ca, Roo­se­velt, and World War II, 208–09.

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209. John Morton Blum, V Was for Victory: Politics and American Culture During World War II (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1976), 15–16. 210. Winkler, Home Front U.S.A., 75–76. 211. Edward J. Escobar, “Zoot-­Suiters and Cops: Chicano Youth and the Los Angeles Police Department During World War II,” in Lewis A. Erenberg and Susan E. Hirsch, eds., The War in American Culture: Society and Consciousness During World War II (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 290. 212. Escobar, “Zoot Suiters and Cops,” 288–302. 213. Blum, V Was for Victory, 205–06; Cashman, Amer­i­ca, Roo­se­velt, and World War II, 220; Escobar, “Zoot-­Suiters and Cops,” 284. 214. Michael Gambone, The Greatest Generation Comes Home: The Veteran in American Society (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2005), 152–54; Glen Jeansonne and David Luhrssen, War on the Silver Screen: Shaping Amer­i­ca’s Perception of History (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 48–51. 215. Gambone, The Greatest Generation Comes Home, 66–73. 216. Thomas A. Bruscino, A Nation Forged in War: How World War II Taught Americans to Get Along (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2010), 9. 217. Schrijvers, The Crash of Ruin, 116–20. 218. Atkinson, An Army at Dawn, 462–63. 219. United States Army, Judge Advocate General’s Corps, The Army ­Lawyer: A History of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, 1775–1975 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1975), 191–92, https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­75603794. 220. J. Robert Lilly, Taken by Force: Rape and American GIs in Eu­rope During World War II (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 12–13. See also James J. Weingartner, “Americans, Germans, and War Crimes: Converging Narratives from ‘the Good War,’ ” The Journal of American History 94, no. 4 (March 2008): 1164–83. 221. Lilly, Taken by Force, 154, 160. The U.S. Army did not execute anyone for raping German w ­ omen, although it did hand out jail time for ­those convicted. 222. Neil A. Wynn, The African American Experience During World War II (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2010), 52–53. 223. Judge Advocate General’s Corps, The Army L ­ awyer, 192. 224. Judge Advocate General’s Corps, The Army L ­ awyer, 192–94.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Astor, Gerald. The Right to Fight: A History of African Americans in the Military. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1998. Atkinson, Rick. An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa, 1942–1943. New York: Henry Holt, 2002. Atkinson, Rick. The Day of ­Battle: The War in Sicily and Italy, 1943–1944. New York: Henry Holt, 2007. Bérubé, Allan. Coming Out ­Under Fire: A History of Gay Men and ­Women in World War II. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008. Bird, Tom. American POWs of World War II: Forgotten Men Tell Their Stories. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992. Blum, John Morton. V Was for Victory: Politics and American Culture During World War II. New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1976. Bruscino, Thomas A. A Nation Forged in War: How World War II Taught Americans to Get Along. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2010. Cameron, Robert. Mobility, Shock, and Firepower: The Emergence of the U.S. Army’s Armor Branch, 1917–1945. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 2008.



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Campbell, D’Ann. “­Women in Combat: The World War II Experience in the United States, ­Great Britain, Germany, and the Soviet Union.” Journal of Military History 57, no. 2 (April 1993): 303–305. Campbell, William R. “Tanks with Infantry.” Fort Knox, KY: General Instruction Department, The Armored School, 1947. Cashman, Sean Dennis. Amer­i­ca, Roo­se­velt, and World War II. New York: New York University Press, 1989. Clarke, Jeffrey J. and Robert Ross Smith. Riviera to the Rhine. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993. Clifford, J. Garry and Samuel R. Spencer Jr. The First Peacetime Draft. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986. Coffman, Edward M. The Regulars: The American Army, 1898–1941. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of the Harvard University Press, 2004. Cole, Hugh M. The Ardennes: The ­Battle of the Bulge. 1965. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993. Cooke, James J. American Girls, Beer, and Glenn Miller: GI Morale in World War II. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2014. Cosmas, Graham and Albert E. Cowdrey, Medical Ser­vice in the Eu­ro­pean Theater of Operations. Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, United States Army, 1991. Daniel, Derrill M. “The Capture of Aachen,” n.d. Folder 228.01, HRC Geog. M Germany, 370.2—­Aachen. Doubler, Michael. Closing With the ­Enemy: How GIs Fought the War in Eu­rope, 1944– 1945. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994. Erenberg, Lewis A. and Susan E. Hirsch, eds. The War in American Culture: Society and Consciousness During World War II. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996 Finlayson, Kenneth. An Uncertain Trumpet: The Evolution of U.S. Army Infantry Doctrine, 1919–1941. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001. Flynn, George Q. The Draft, 1940–1973. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1993. Flynn, George Q. Conscription and Democracy: The Draft in France, ­Great Britain, and the United States. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002. Gambone, Michael. The Greatest Generation Comes Home: The Veteran in American Society. College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2005. Gilliam Papers. WWII Veterans Collection, 5th Infantry Division. United States Army Military Heritage Institute. Carlisle, PA. Greenfield, Kent Roberts, ed. Command Decisions. 1960. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987. Greenfield, Kent Roberts, Robert R. Palmer, and Bell I. Wiley, eds. The Organ­ization of Ground Combat Troops. 1947. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987. Hammond, William. CMH 72–15: The ­Women’s Army Corps. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, n.d. Harrison, Gordon. Cross-­Channel Attack. 1951. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993. Headquarters, XIX Corps. XIX Corps Demonstration: 2nd Armored Division Tank-­Infantry Assault of Tactical Locality; 30th Infantry Division Infantry Assault of Fortified Village, December  10, 1944. Combined Arms Research Library. Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Heller, Charles E. and William A. Stofft, eds. Amer­i­ca’s First ­Battles, 1776–1965. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1986. History of the 15th  Infantry Regiment in World War II. n.p., n.d. Copy at the Donovan Research Library, Fort Benning, Georgia. Hofmann, George and Donn Starry, eds. Camp Colt to Desert Storm: The History of U.S. Armored Forces. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999.

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Hogan Jr., David W. Raiders or Elite Infantry? The Changing Role of the U.S. Army Ranges from Dieppe to Grenada. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992. Hogan Jr., David W. U.S. Army Special Operations in World War II. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, Department of the Army, 1992. Jeansonne, Glen and David Luhrssen. War on the Silver Screen: Shaping Amer­i­ca’s Perception of History. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014. Jensen, Geoffrey W. The Routledge Handbook of the History of Race and the American Military. New York: Routledge, 2016. Johnson, David. Fast Tanks and Heavy Bombers: Innovation in the U.S. Army, 1917– 1945. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998. Kennedy, David M. Freedom From Fear: The American ­People in Depression and War, 1929–1945. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. Kennett, Lee. G.I.: The American Soldier in World War II. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1987. Kieran, David and Edwin A. Martini, eds. At War: The Military and American Culture in the Twentieth ­Century and Beyond. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2018. Koppes, Clayton R. and Gregory D. Black. Hollywood Goes to War: How Politics, Profits, and Propaganda ­Shaped World War II Movies. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Lengel, Edward. Thunder and Flames: Americans in the Crucible of Combat, 1917–1918. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2015. Lewis, Adrian R. Omaha Beach: A Flawed Victory. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001. Lilly, J. Robert. Taken by Force: Rape and American GIs in Eu­rope During World War II. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Linderman, Gerald F. The World Within War: Amer­i­ca’s Combat Experience in World War II. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Lüdeke, Alexander. Weapons of World War II. Bath, UK: Parragon, 2011. MacDonald, Charles B. The Siegfried Line Campaign. 1963. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1993. MacGregor Jr., Morris J. Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1981. Mansoor, Peter R. The GI Offensive in Eu­rope: The Triumph of American Infantry Divisions, 1941–1945. Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1999. McCaffrey, James M. ­Going for Broke: Japa­nese Americans in the War Against Nazi Germany. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2013. Mc­Manus, John C. The Deadly Brotherhood: The American Combat Soldier in World War II. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1998. Millett, Allan R. and Williamson Murray. Military Effectiveness. Vol. 3, The Second World War. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990. Moore, Brenda L. To Serve My Country, To Serve My Race: The Story of the Only African American WACs Stationed Overseas During World War II. New York: New York University, 1996. More­house, Maggi M. Fighting in the Jim Crow Army: Black Men and W ­ omen Remember World War II. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000. Mudd, J. Lee. “Honor, Fidelity, Courage: The History of the 756th Tank Battalion and the Development of the Tank-­Infantry Team.” M.A. Thesis, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 2001. Nenninger, Timothy K. “Tactical Dysfunction in the AEF, 1917–1918.” Military Affairs 51, no. 4 (October 1987), 177–181. Ney, Virgil. Evolution of the U.S. Army Division, 1939–1968. CORG-­M-365. Fort Belvoir: Combat Operations Research Group, 1969.



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Palmer, Robert R., Bell I. Wiley, and William R. Keast, eds. The Procurement and Training of Ground Combat Forces. 1948. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991. Pennington, Reina. “Offensive ­Women: W ­ omen in Combat in the Red Army in the Second World War.” Journal of Military History 74, no. 3 (July 2010): 775–820. Perret, Geoffrey. ­There’s a War to Be Won: The United States Army in World War II. New York: Random House, 1991. Phillips, Kimberley. War! What Is It Good For?: Black Freedom Strug­gles and the U.S. Military From World War II to Iraq. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012. Pogue, Forrest C. George C. Marshall. Vol. 1, Education of a General, 1880–1939. New York: Viking Press, 1963. Public Relations Section, Tenth Infantry Regiment. History of Tenth Infantry Regiment, United States Army. Birmingham, AL: Military Ser­vice Co., 1946. Risch, Erna. The Quartermaster Corps: Organ­ization, Supply, and Ser­vices, vol. 1. 1953. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1995. Ross, William F. and Charles F. Romanus, The Quartermaster Corps: Operations in the War Against Germany. 1965. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991. Rostker, Bernard. Providing for the Casualties of War: The American Experience Through World War II. Santa Monica: RAND Corporation, 2013. Rush, Robert Sterling. Hell in Hürtgen Forest. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001. Schrijvers, Peter. The Crash of Ruin: American Combat Soldiers in Eu­rope During World War II. New York: New York University Press, 1998. Sittser, Gerald. A Cautious Patriotism: The American Churches and the Second World War. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997. Snape, Michael. God and ­Uncle Sam: Religion and Amer­i­ca’s Armed Forces in World War II. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2015. Springer, Paul J. Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs From the Revolutionary War to the War on Terror. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2010. Stahl, Ronit. Enlisting Faith: How the Military Chaplaincy S­ haped Religion and State in Modern Amer­i­ca. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017. Stewart, Leroy. “Hurry Up and Wait,” 1975. WWII Veterans Collection, 1st Infantry Division. United States Army Military Heritage Institute. Carlisle, PA. Taggart, Donald G. History of the Third Infantry Division in World War II. 1947. Reprint, Nashville, TN: Battery Press, 1997. Taylor, William A. Military Ser­vice and American Democracy: From World War II to the Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan Wars. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2016. Tillitt, Malvern Hall. “Army-­Navy Pay Tops Most Civilians’: Unmarried Private’s Income Equivalent to $3600 Salary.” Barron’s National Business and Financial Weekly, April 24, 1944. Tomblin, Barbara Brooks. G.I. Nightingales: The Army Nurse Corps in World War II. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1996. Treadwell, Mattie. The W ­ omen’s Army Corps. 1954. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1991. Trimmingham, Rupert. Letters to the editor. Yank. April 28, 1944 and July 28, 1944. Truscott Jr., Lucian K. Command Missions: A Personal Story. 1954. Reprint, New York: Arno Press, 1979. United States Army, Judge Advocate General’s Corps. The Army L ­ awyer: A History of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, 1775–1975. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1975. https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­75603794. U.S. War Department. Field Ser­vice Regulations, United States Army, 1923. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1924.

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Wardlaw, Chester. The Transportation Corps: Movements, Training, and Supply. Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, United States Army, 1990. Weigley, Russell. Eisenhower’s Lieutenants: The Campaign of France and Germany, 1944–1945. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990. Weingartner, James J. “Americans, Germans, and War Crimes: Converging Narratives From ‘the Good War,’ ” The Journal of American History 94, no. 4 (March 2008): 1164–1183. Wiltse, Charles M. Medical Ser­vice in the Mediterranean and Minor Theaters. 1965. Reprint, Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, United States Army, 1987. Winchell, Megan. Good Girls, Good Food, Good Fun: The Story of USO Hostesses During World War II. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008. Winkler, Allan. Home Front U.S.A.: Amer­i­ca During World War II. Wheeling, IL: Harlan Davidson, 2014. Wright, Robert K. and John T. Greenwood. Airborne Forces at War: From Parachute Test Platoon to the 21st ­Century. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2007. Wynn, Neil A. The African American Experience During World War II. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2010. Yeide, Harry. The Longest ­Battle, September 1944 to February 1945: From Aachen to the Roer and Across. St. Paul, MN: Zenith Press, 2005.

9 World War II in the Pacific David J. Ulbrich

OVERVIEW The United States did not enter World War II in the Pacific theater of operations ­until the fighting on the Asian mainland was a de­cade old. The long run up to the attack on Pearl Harbor began back in 1931 when the Imperial Japa­nese Army invaded Manchuria. Bereft of any natu­ral resources other than manpower, Japan sought resources for its growing industry and space for its increasing population. Eventually, several million Japa­nese civilians moved to the mainland, first in Manchuria and then to areas along the coast of China ­after Japan invaded China in 1937. The latter date marked the beginning of the major combat operations that tied down some 2 million Japa­nese soldiers who fought the Chinese forces in the endless conflict known as the Second Sino-­Japanese War. The Japa­nese soldiers treated their Chinese adversaries with levels of brutality that equaled German atrocities on the Eastern Front. Meanwhile, during the 1930s, the ­people in the United States suffered through the ­Great Depression. The highest unemployment rates reached 25 ­percent in 1932 and 1933 and fluctuated thereafter between 14 and 20 ­percent for the rest of the de­cade.1 Americans did not care about the ominous dangers in Eu­rope, let alone in the Western Pacific and the Asian mainland, ­because they worried more about putting roofs over the heads and food on the ­tables of their families at home. Together with anti-­war feeling dating back to the early 1920s, most Americans ­adopted isolationist views in reaction to Japa­nese expansion. Why worry about distant threats some 7,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean when hunger, poverty, and fear plagued Americans in their everyday lives at home? While most Americans opposed military expansion, some leaders in the American government and military planned for pos­si­ble conflicts. President Franklin D. Roo­se­velt tried to move the United States closer to a war­time footing through economic and manpower mobilization. The biggest pushes occurred in September 1940 with the passage of the Selective Training and Ser­vice Act and

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in March 1941 with the “Lend-­Lease” Policy. The first helped the United States prepare for hostilities, while the second provided assistance to the United Kingdom and ­later China and the Soviet Union. All the speculation ended on the sunny Sunday morning of December 7, 1941. Nearly 400 Japa­nese aircraft surprised American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines stationed at Pearl Harbor and other bases on Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands. Two hours ­later, all eight American battleships moored in Pearl Harbor ­were damaged or sunk, some 200 American aircraft ­were destroyed or disabled, and some 4,500 American ser­vice men ­were killed or wounded. The next day, December 8, President Roo­se­velt called for a declaration of war against Japan that the U.S. Congress promptly passed with only one dissenting vote.2 This started Amer­i­ca’s exponential mobilization that eventually exceeded 16 million American men and ­women serving in uniform.3 Of ­these, 8 million joined the army. While touring bases during the conflict, the famous playwright and astute observer of ­human nature, Arthur Miller, remarked that The American soldier is a much more complicated character than he is ever given credit for. He cannot be written into the script as though he w ­ ere a civilian wearing a brown suit with button, nor can he be regarded as a “soldier,” a being whose reactions are totally divorced from civilian emotions.4

Nevertheless, army ser­vice did have something of a leveling effect on the men and ­women who volunteered or received conscription notices. Common experiences helped replace their civilian mind-­sets with military mind-­sets, which in turn w ­ ere further honed in their respective branches, units, specialties, and operations. ­After the Japa­nese attack in December 1941, the United States and its Allies found themselves in a desperate strategic situation in the Pacific. For the next few months, the Japa­nese rode a tide of victories over American and British forces on Guam, Wake, Singapore, and the Philippines. In May 1942, however, ele­ments of the U.S. Pacific Fleet turned back the Japa­nese threat to Australia and New Zealand at the ­Battle of the Coral Sea. Despite the fact that a victory had been made at the ­Battle of Midway in June 1942, American and Allied forces faced nearly insurmountable challenges due to severely l­imited resources, especially when Allied ­grand strategy emphasized the Eu­ro­pean theater of operations.5 Two American leaders, the army’s General Douglas MacArthur and the navy’s Admiral Chester Nimitz, ­were at the helm of planning and operations for the Allies in the Pacific War. They joined the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington to come up with a two-­pronged strategy, which they divided between their respective areas of authority. MacArthur commanded the Southwest Pacific theater and went on to also direct the southeastern prong of the Allied counteroffensive. His forces came from the United States, Australia, and New Zealand. As the Pacific War progressed from 1942 to 1944, MacArthur’s forces slogged their way through the Solomon Islands and across the northern coast of New Guinea. Admiral Nimitz commanded the Central Pacific and directed the northern prong of the Allied counteroffensive. Striking westward across the Pacific from the American naval base at Pearl Harbor ­toward the Japa­nese home islands, Nimitz deployed Marine Corps and ­later army units to capture Japanese-­held islands. However, ­little



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American offensive activity occurred ­until late 1943 when the U.S. Navy mustered enough aircraft carriers to ensure American air superiority. Advancing in ­either the Southwest Pacific or the Central Pacific required that the U.S. Pacific Fleet keep the Japa­nese Combined Fleet in check. Next, American air superiority had to be established and maintained in regard to land-­and carrier-­ based aircraft. American units had to carry out numerous large-­scale amphibious assaults. In order to roll back Japa­nese forces, it was imperative to carry out an in-­depth strategic defense in the Pacific. ­There, chains of islands offered the potential to be supporting operations. In order to achieve t­hese overlapping objectives, the Allies employed “island-­hopping” and “leapfrogging” strategies to maximize ­limited resources and minimize casualties. The American forces moved through the Solomons chain from late 1942 into 1943 and from base to base on New Guinea’s northern coast ­until mid-1944. Located near the southeastern tip of the Solomons, Guadalcanal represented the first American offensive in the Pacific. For six months, the fighting on the island raged on land, in the air, and at sea. The United States and Japan committed more and more resources to replace losses due to attrition ­until the Americans fi­nally drove the Japa­nese off Guadalcanal in February 1943. Meanwhile to the southwest, MacArthur’s

Ele­ments of the 7th Cavalry Division move forward on Leyte Island, October 20, 1944. Over the course of World War II, 22 Army and 6 Marine divisions participated in amphibious landings to support the drive across the Pacific. General of the Army Douglas MacArthur commanded the Southwest Pacific Area and had responsibility for overseeing the drive from Australia to Okinawa. (U.S. Army Center of Military History)

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army units advanced along the coast of New Guinea, capturing one Japa­nese base ­after another. As 1943 ended, the deployment of Essex-­class aircraft carriers tipped the scales of naval air power against the Japa­nese and enabled Admiral Nimitz’s Central Pacific offensive to pro­gress in earnest. On November 20, 1943, Marines of the 2nd Division conducted an amphibious assault on Tarawa. They encountered fanatical Japa­nese defenders during a four-­day ­battle. Taking this island provided many lessons for the complex combined-­arms operations of amphibious, air, and sea forces. Tarawa’s airfield also gave the Americans a safe base for ­future operations against the Marshalls, an island chain lying 600 miles to the northwest where, once secured, the islands of Eniwetok and Kwajalein turned into additional American naval and air bases. Rather than continue moving from the Marshalls to the Carolines to the Marianas island chains, the U.S. Navy attempted a three-­stage maneuver: destroy Japa­ nese air and naval assets in the Carolines, leapfrog the Carolines, and then seize the Marianas. Japa­nese forces at the large base at Truk in the Carolines posed a significant threat by potentially blocking advances in both the Central Pacific and the Southwest Pacific. Concentrated aerial bombardments of the Japa­nese forces at Truk neutralized their offensive capabilities in the first stage. Next, the second stage of the operation went forward as 535 U.S. Navy ships sailed 1,000 miles around the Carolines and carried more than 127,500 troops, two-­thirds of whom ­were marines, to the Marianas. The third stage saw ­those marines and soldiers make amphibious assaults on Saipan, Tinian, and Guam during the summer months of 1944. Once again, fanatical Japa­nese defenders did not yield the Marianas island chain without inflicting heavy casualties on American forces. Despite the cost in lives, leapfrogging the Carolines and securing the Marianas paid off handsome operational dividends. First, much time and many lives w ­ ere saved overall. Next, ­because they laid 1,300 miles from Japan proper, American occupation of the island chain also cracked the ­enemy’s inner defensive perimeter. Fi­nally, by late 1944, American B-29 “Superfortress” aircraft used the Marianas as bases to fly strategic bombing missions against t­ hose home islands. The island of Iwo Jima sits approximately half the distance between the Marianas and Japan. Mea­sur­ing 5.5 miles at the longest point by 2.5 miles at its widest, Iwo Jima was home to 21,000 Japa­nese soldiers dug into more than 20 miles of tunnels connecting gun emplacements. The iconic flag-­raising on Mount Suribachi occurred only four days into the ­battle. The island’s fortified defenses took three marine divisions and the army’s 147th Infantry Regiment five weeks from February 19 to March 26, 1945, to overcome. The victory took a severe toll on the attackers: 7,000 Americans killed in action and 20,000 Americans wounded in action. Only a few hundred Japa­nese surrendered, while the rest fought to the death. Iwo Jima marked the first time that Americans endured more casualties than they inflicted on the ­enemy. This grim real­ity did not bode well as Americans made plans for the next assaults.6 While the Central Pacific drive pressed forward, MacArthur’s forces advanced quickly along the northern coast of New Guinea ­until mid-1944, when American, Australian, and New Zealand forces controlled the island. As MacArthur prepared to invade the Philippines to the north of New Guinea, the island of Peleliu lay on



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the eastern flank of his planned approach to the island of Leyte in the Philippines. Although American plans assumed that Japa­nese forces on five square miles of Peleliu could be defeated in a ­matter of days, the fighting dragged on from September into November 1944 in some of the most horrific combat in the Pacific theater. The 1st Marine Division and the U.S. Army’s 81st Infantry Division suffered nearly 11,000 casualties combined in subduing the 11,000 Japa­nese defending the island. In late October, MacArthur fi­nally launched his invasion of the Philippines. Fighting with the Japa­nese lasted ­until the end of hostilities in August 1945. The urban combat in the capital city of Manila proved to be particularly brutal. The Philippines, in turn, served as a staging area for the U.S. Navy, Marine Corps, and Army to make the hop to assault Okinawa beginning April 1, 1945. ­After three months of combat operations, Okinawa fell to the Americans, but not without 39,000 casualties out of some 180,000 ground troops put ashore. The increasing losses once again made the potential invasion of the Japa­nese home islands seem still more ominous. By summer 1945, plans called for invasions of Japan’s southernmost home island in November 1945 and the main island near the capital city of Tokyo in March of the following year. Some 35 Allied divisions ­were slated to make the amphibious assaults. To put this in perspective, ele­ments of fewer than 10 Allied divisions made the D-­Day invasion at Normandy in June 1944. The potential Allied casualties would have been staggering, as evinced by 500,000 Purple Heart medals stockpiled by the U.S. military. Estimates of Japa­nese military and civilian casualties during the ground operations would doubtlessly have run into the many millions. However, President Harry S. Truman’s decision to drop an atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, and another three days ­later on Nagasaki compelled Japan’s Emperor Hirohito to surrender on August 15.

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS ­After it passed through Congress, President Roo­se­velt signed the Selective Training and Ser­vice Act into law on September 16, 1940. Also known as the “Burke-­ Wadsworth Act” a­fter its co-­sponsors in Congress, this legislation stood as Amer­i­ca’s first peacetime “draft.” The act required all American males between the ages of 21 and 35 to register with draft boards run by residents of local communities, where up to 900,000 men would be chosen by lottery to enter the U.S. military. The men received notices in the postal mail regarding their dates to report to local draft boards. Next, they w ­ ere transported to induction stations, where they received physical and psychiatric examinations. ­After more than a de­cade in the ­Great Depression, many new inductees ­were thankful to serve ­because the unemployment rate in the United States remained in double digits, so the military represented an opportunity for shelter, medical care, and three meals a day for ­those men.7 Then the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred on Sunday, December 7, 1941. In an instant, the feeling of isolationism withered away among Americans. President Roo­ se­velt’s famous “Day of Infamy” speech girded the nation for war. Even so, the

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entire U.S. military stood at 1.8 million men, most of whom w ­ ere ill equipped and undertrained relative to the battle-­hardened Japa­nese veterans in the Pacific. As 1942 began, the need for American manpower grew exponentially. Congress amended the Selective Ser­vice Act to include all men 18 to 35 years of age. In all, some 50 million American men registered for the draft. However, even when their numbers ­were picked by chance by the draft boards, this did not mean that men would be inducted into the military. Doctors examined them to ensure that they met minimum physical, psychological, intellectual, and moral standards. One-­third of the 50 million registrants—­more than 15 million men—­received a rejection called “4-­F classifications” ­because they had flat feet, poor vision, bad teeth, low weight, or other physical prob­lems that could hamper them from completing the rigorous training and dangerous combat situations. Many ailments pointed to the ­Great Depression’s low wages or unemployment that did not allow men to seek regular dental or medical treatment. In another phase of the examination, the men’s genitals w ­ ere examined to determine if they had contracted venereal diseases. Other ­factors disqualified men from military ser­vice, including ­mental prob­lems or be­hav­iors or attitudes judged to be overly effeminate or sexually deviant. Psychiatrists often asked a matter-­of-­fact question of the registrants: “Do you like girls?”8 The context for this question pointed to the fact that in the 1940s homo­ sexuality and lesbianism w ­ ere commonly considered to be a disease or crime. E ­ ither way, no gay men or ­women could serve in the U.S. military if their sexual proclivities appeared too suspicious or con­spic­u­ous. Some 1,846,000 men received rejections ­after being deemed unfit ­because of “neuropsychiatric” prob­lems or “sexual psychopathology.” Both terms implied diseases and crimes of body or mind. The prohibitions did not mean, however, that no homosexuals or lesbians slipped into the U.S. military and disguised their sexual preferences.9 Apart from ­those receiving draft notices, millions of Americans also flocked to the recruitment centers popping up all over the nation and volunteered for ser­vice, of whom 4 million entered the military.10 Many certainly felt it was their patriotic duty to fight to protect their nation and defeat the Axis ­enemy. Revenge, hatred, or anger motivated other young men to volunteer. Many also entered the military of their own f­ ree ­will so they could choose their branch of ser­vice and military specialty. They reasoned that they could choose the coveted places in the infantry, artillery, or aviation units, rather than wait to be drafted and placed in logistical or administrative units far from the front. The U.S. Army used an aptitude examination called the Army General Classification Test (AGCT) to determine the proper branch or specialty for recruits based on their intelligence and trainability. One training manual stated that the test offered “a quick and reasonably dependable mea­sure­ment of an enlisted man’s working level and ability to learn.”11 The results from the 40-­minute long test comprising 150 multiple-­choice, machine-­g raded questions assigned men into five groups: Class I with scores over 130, Class II with scores between 110 and 129, Class III with average scores between 90 and 109, Class IV with scores between 70 and 89, and Class V with scores of 69 or lower. A score of 110 meant the possibility of g­ oing to Officer Candidate School or serving in the U.S. Army Air Corps (­later called the Army Air Force). Nevertheless, the AGCT did not solely determine the branch



World War II in the Pacific 623

and specialty of incoming soldiers. A 15-­minute interview with an army classification specialist during the induction pro­cess gave them opportunities to explain their skills and experiences as civilians. This could, at least in theory, have determined ideal assignments; however, army manpower needs could likewise override common sense.12 The AGCT proved to be deeply flawed ­because the results did not necessarily reflect intelligence, or even necessarily aptitude, but rather the amount and quality of educations of the test-­t akers. Thus, young men from affluent neighborhoods would likely earn higher scores than ­those from urban or rural areas with fewer years of study in lower-­quality schools. Consequently, ­those men with affluent backgrounds could likely choose their branch, opting for the Army Air Force or perhaps for a noncombatant branch. This is not to say that high scorers did not decide on infantry, artillery, or armor as their preference. Nevertheless, the high scorers spending the war working as REMFs (“rear-­echelon m—­f—­ers”) aroused resentment among all t­hose relegated to the combat arms ­because of choice or policy.13 Literary scholar and army veteran officer Paul Fussell recalled de­cades ­later that, “I was bitterly angry at men my age who had managed to survive the war in comfort and cleanliness. I was especially furious at ­those given to bragging about their cleverness in avoiding the combat their social inferiors had to perform.”14 Sadly, the scores of African Americans in segregated systems often fell still lower. Indeed, the results of minority testing helped to reinforce racist institutional biases regarding skill, intelligence, and potential of ­those groups to serve in combat or other demanding specialties. Once in uniform, African Americans faced obstacles as soldiers in the army, to include longer time in rank and lack of confidence among white soldiers regarding their combat effectiveness. Blacks, however, encountered especially stubborn re­sis­t ance in the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps when they tried to enlist. Fi­nally, in 1942, Roo­se­velt signed the legislation authorizing the inclusion of African Americans in ­these two branches. Nevertheless, all African American units would be segregated and commanded by white marine officers.15

TRAINING ­After passing medical, psychological, and intelligence tests, registrants and the volunteers started several weeks of army basic training. The number of weeks varied from branch to branch and time to time during World War II. During 16-­hour days, the new trainees learned to march in formation and use small arms, as well as to follow military discipline and customs. Many added 25 pounds of muscle and grew at least one inch in height. Apart from the physical aspects, the drill sergeants stripped them of the individuality instilled in the civilian world and replaced it with loyalty to the group. Writing in 2003, military historian Peter Kindsvatter used the term “soldierization” to describe the transformative pro­cess from civilian to combatant.16 Some 14,000 recruits started basic training each day by the summer of 1942. They fell into one of three major categories: combat specializations in the Army

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Ground Forces, logistics in Army Ser­vice Forces, or aviation in the Army Air Forces. In the early months of the war, the recruits did not receive adequate or realistic training b­ ecause of shortages in experienced drill sergeants, weapons, equipment, housing, and classrooms. The trainees might have to throw rocks instead of grenades, or they might have to wait in line for artillery practice when only one gun was available for ­every five crews. But in early 1943, the realism increased as veteran soldiers returned from the front lines in New Guinea to training posts to become instructors. ­T hese rotation cycles helped ensure that the latest lessons learned could be integrated into the classroom activities and field exercises. The shortages of weapons and equipment did not get alleviated u­ ntil 1944.17 Increased realism can be seen in infantry training that included sending tanks rolling over the men sheltering in foxholes or firing live ammunition 30 inches over the heads of trainees crawling through infiltration courses. The army expended nearly 250,000 tons of ammunition and explosives in training from 1942 to 1944. ­These exercises ­were not without risks, however. An artillery shell or grenade might explode without warning, or a parachute might not open during practice jumps. Thousands of men w ­ ere injured, and hundreds w ­ ere killed.18 Apart from the combat exercises, the trainees learned about other facets of soldiering in the army. They practiced pitching tents, reading aerial reconnaissance photo­graphs, map reading, constructing field fortifications, and field stripping and cleaning their weapons. The trainees would go on miles-­long marches carry­ing all their combat gear. All t­ hese activities played calculated roles in preparing the f­ uture soldiers for the physical and practical challenges they would face when deployed overseas. Infantry training did not last as many weeks as it did for other branches in the army. For example, at two Engineer Replacement Training Centers (ERTC) at Fort Belvoir near Washington, D.C., and the newly constructed Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, the recruit’s first six weeks revisited basic skills common to all soldiers. Then the next six weeks turned to combat engineer–­specific subjects such as reconnaissance, bridge building, and obstacle breaching and placement. In June 1942 alone, the ERTC at Fort Belvoir graduated 4,500 trained engineers. Beginning ­later that fall, however, the ERTC’s mission shifted from training “fillers” to join newly organ­izing units to training “replacements” for ­those already deployed to Eu­rope and the Pacific theater where the units suffered attrition from casualties.19 The memoirs of an enlisted engineer named Roger O. Austin tells his story of ERTC at Fort Leonard Wood. He had received his draft notice in May 1943 while living in upstate New York. First, he received four weeks of basic training on Long Island and then made the railway trip to Leonard Wood, what he justifiably called “88,000 acres carved out of a remote section of the Ozark Mountains.”20 Once ­there, Austin described the pace and type of training he and the other engineers received: We had brutal obstacles courses. We learned how to cross rivers and ravines, how to repair roads, how to locate and disarm mines as well as how to lay them. We built roadblocks with trees, metal barriers, traps, and wrecked equipment. We used what­ ever worked. . . . ​We trained not only how to build, but how to fight; our group was to be instantly available to go in ahead of tanks and infantry if bridges or roads had to be prepared so the column could move ahead. Combat engineers ­were just that—in



World War II in the Pacific 625 combat, ­there would be no time to wait for the [larger engineering units]—we had to be prepared to work, and to work fast.21

­ fter completing ERTC in 1943, Austin joined a combat engineer unit attached to A an armor division that saw action in Eu­rope. However, he could have also just as easily deployed to the Central or South Pacific areas. Thousands like Austin served in engineer special brigades that supported MacArthur’s army units as they made amphibious assaults, constructed runways for American aircraft, or provided mobility and countermobility in engineer units organic to army divisions.22 Officers in the army fell into one of four categories: gradu­ates of the U.S. Military Acad­emy at West Point, gradu­ates of Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC) programs at colleges, promotions from the noncommissioned officer (NCO) ranks, and volunteers and draftees with some time spent attending colleges. The few hundred gradu­ates of the academies or few thousand officers commissioned through ROTC or promoted through the ranks could only satisfy a fraction of the tens of thousands of men needed to fill necessary officer openings caused by attrition from casualties. Not only ­were ­there many ju­nior officer slots to fill in both standing and newly or­ga­nized units, but the training programs also required competent officers to be instructors in the courses. Thus, ­because spending nine full months of training for a few hundred ju­nior officers could not be justified, the War Department directed the army’s combat arms—­infantry, cavalry, field artillery, and coast artillery—to establish their own Officer Candidate Schools (OCS). A semester or more of college education was sufficient to classify young men as officers, even if their age was the same as enlisted personnel. Their training lasted for three months, and then the newly graduated officers had their second lieutenant’s gold bar pinned on their uniforms. Their ­f uture subordinates gave them the derogatory nickname of “90-­day won­ders.” Despite best efforts by the instructors, such a short time could hardly prepare them for the stresses of unit command. The new officers would have to learn by trial and error, and ideally, but not often, they could benefit from advice from longer-­serving noncommissioned officers. ­Those officers coming out of the U.S. Military Acad­emy or ROTC programs enjoyed a better understanding of army protocols and received more leadership and tactical training. However, sometimes the best officers received promotion from the NCO ranks and then used their experiences as NCOs to improve their per­for­mances as officers.23 ­Every OCS curriculum included training in leadership, branch-­specific competencies, and soldering skills such as drill and marksmanship. The pro­cess of selecting men to attend OCS included filters for education, intellectual aptitude, morality, physical fitness, determination, self-­discipline, and the somewhat less tangible trait of leadership. Of t­ hese, leadership proved to be the primary consideration in assessing officer potential.24 The importance of leadership together with combat skills can be seen in the following excerpt from a memorandum from the War Department that offered guidance on officer training for all the army’s branches’ schools: Success in ­battle is the result of local success gained by small combat units. The success in small combat units is based on the full knowledge of combat techniques and

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tactics and the exercise of initiative and judgment by the individual. The first step is through instruction of technique and tactics. This training in the mechanics of combat must be followed by practical application of the doctrine and methods in tactical exercises ­under simulated b­ attle conditions. Emphasis must be placed on leadership by commander of each subordinate unit in order to systematically develop and foster sound judgment and initiative.25

Although this quote dates back to August 1941, its content applied to war­time training when the U.S. military expanded so rapidly. The combat arms ­were not the only branches suffering from low numbers of officers. The Ordnance Department, Signal Corps, and Corps of Engineers faced greater manpower challenges than the combat arms branches, ­because t­ hese technical branches required additional knowledge of science and mathe­matics. Among the branches, the Corps of Engineers pushed hard to recruit men with education or professional backgrounds in ­these areas. Such men stood a markedly better chance of passing examinations and earning officer commissions. The combined commissions from the Military Acad­emy and ROTC programs could not fill the gaps among engineer officers.26 SOCIAL STRUCTURE In many ways, World War II helped level class distinctions in the United States. The preceding de­cade of the ­Great Depression during the 1930s also broke down some differences between rich and poor and ­middle class and working class. The mobilization of some 16 million Americans demo­cratized the nation’s military. Even so, some distinctions existed in the U.S. Army during World War II, such as the differences in the army between officers (second lieutenant and above), noncommissioned officers (corporal and above), and enlisted men (private, private first class, and specialist). The officers enjoyed better pay, sometimes higher-­quality food, and sometimes more comfortable lodging. They could socialize with their peers and with civilians at officers’ clubs while stationed on American and Allied bases. The officer’s better treatment did not, however, occur when commanding combat units on the front lines. Indeed, the battlefields of World War II demo­cratized and equalized the men serving in the U.S. military. When ju­nior officers leading ­rifle companies found themselves lying in foxholes, landing with amphibious assault forces, and fighting in tropical jungles, their higher rank and status became less marked. Yes, the officers gave ­orders and expected them to be obeyed. They ­were, however, in as much danger as the men they commanded. NCOs also benefited from rank and status when away from the front lines. They established their own clubs where they could socialize with their peers. The NCOs did have living arrangements that allowed officers more con­ve­niences and more privacy than the enlisted personnel. For example, sergeants might be lodged with several NCOs in a room on bases, while the enlisted men lived with dozens of their peers in large single-­room barracks. As with the officers, however, the front lines offered fewer hierarchical differences. They shared the same muddy ground,



World War II in the Pacific 627

endured the same monsoons, and sweated in the same tropical humidity on the islands of the Southwest and Central Pacific theaters. Although the overwhelming numbers of American draftees and volunteers ­were white, racial and ethnic minorities also served in the U.S. military and especially the army. T ­ hese minorities amounted to at least 1 million ser­vicemen and ser­ vicewomen with the following breakdowns: 900,000 African Americans, 33,000 Japa­nese Americans, 20,000 Native Americans, 13,000 Chinese Americans, 11,500 Filipino Americans, 1,300 Hawaiians, and 51,438 Puerto Ricans. That last group was part of the larger Latino American community. The total number of Latinos serving in the U.S. military is not known ­because only the Puerto Ricans served in segregated units and thus could be counted with some accuracy. Based upon the census data from 1940, it seems reasonable to believe that more than 1 million Latinos wore the American uniform in World War II.27 The United States adhered to the ­legal tenets laid out in the Supreme Court ruling in the Plessy v. Ferguson case in 1896. This decision made so-­called “separate but equal” policies of race relations the norm. African Americans, for example, attended segregated schools, received dif­fer­ent health care, and utilized designated public facilities in the southern United States. Separate, however, did not lead to equality in quality or quantity of ser­vice.28 Throughout the South, as well as across the United States in the 1940s, the African American civilians and ser­vice personnel alike ­were called “colored” or “negro.” ­These two terms seemed relatively polite or innocuous when contrasted with the commonly used racist slurs like “nigger.”29 Despite suffering u­ nder institutional and personal racism, the African American community as a ­whole de­cided to support the nation’s war effort. They started a campaign called “Double V”—­victory against racism overseas and racism at home in the United States.30 For one black soldier, he and his comrades volunteered for ser­vice “­because we are all supposed to be Americans.” He further justified his decision: “Since we are citizens we should be granted the privilege [to fight] that the rest are getting ­because we are just as good as the next [white] man.”31 For ­these black soldiers, their military ser­vice became part of a broader campaign to secure full and equal civil rights. Other African Americans, however, did not see their time in the army in such positive ways. Instead, Samuel Stouffer’s postwar so­cio­log­i­cal study of the American soldier observed African Americans’ bitterness over the treatment Negros had received and ­were receiving at the hands of their ­counter both in and out of the Army, cynicism over expressions of war aims in view of traditional deviations from ­those professed princi­ples in American racial practice, and skepticism about ­whether Negroes would in fact receive recognition for the efforts they put forth.32

In some ways, this second group of pessimists understood their war­time realities as blacks more clearly than did the optimists and idealists. In ­every advance of African Americans into combat units or fighter squadrons, they still did not break through discriminatory policies on promotion ceilings and segregated units. Even so, the optimists took the longer view that willingness to fight, kill, and die for the United States gave African Americans a claim to full citizenship. Indeed, black

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veterans of World War II l­ater formed an impor­tant segment in the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s. Approximately 90 ­percent of the 900,000 African American ser­vicemen w ­ ere relegated to support roles in what ­were euphemistically called “­labor units.” They unpacked and moved supplies from beaches or wharves to waiting trucks or trains. They drove ­those trucks to depots where other blacks often unloaded the supplies. ­These ­were menial tasks prescribed for African Americans ­because of institutionalized racism that expected so ­little from them. However, although ­these ­were not front-­line combat roles, the contributions made by African Americans should not be discounted in retrospect. For e­ very soldier or marine assaulting the beach or slogging through jungles in combat, ­there w ­ ere nearly 20 other ser­vicemen and ser­ vicewomen ensuring that they had their ammunition, mail, food, ­water, clean socks, medicine, cigarettes, and other supplies on time. Without ­these timely supplies, the combat units on the front lines would have ground to a halt; worse still, diseases, malnourishment, and ­enemy attacks would have killed the men in the units or reduced their effectiveness.33 One of the most significant achievements of African American soldiers in World War II occurred in 1942 when black engineers helped to construct the Alaska Canadian (ALCAN) Highway ­r unning from Fairbanks, Alaska, some 1,500 miles to Dawson’s Creek in British Columbia. In all, seven engineer regiments, of which African Americans served in the 93rd, 95th, and 97th Engineer General Ser­vice Regiments (Colored), cut a path for the ALCAN Highway through rugged terrain of unmapped wilderness using every­thing from axes and saws to bulldozers. They endured winter weather, spring flooding, and summer heat. They crossed countless rivers and streams, first with pontoon bridges and then with wooden trestle bridges. Completed in only eight months, the ALCAN Highway became a major artery for transporting supplies to American units stationed in Alaska and from shipping across the Bering Sea through Siberia to the Soviet Union’s forces fighting in Eu­rope.34 Apart from racial and ethnic minorities, one other major segment of American society contributed to the American war effort by serving in the U.S. military. ­Because the United States needed to maximize its ­human resources during war­ time, Congress passed legislation in May 1942 that established the ­Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC). ­Later that year, other laws made ­women part of the reserve components in the U.S. Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard. In all, 370,000 ­women volunteered to serve as auxiliaries in the U.S. military. Most of the female officers left their successful civilian ­careers in business, education, and government that gave them more practical experience than their male counter­parts of the same ranks. As the war lasted longer, the WAAC was renamed the ­Women’s Army Corps (WAC) in 1943 and given commensurate military recognition of rank and pay. ­After segregated basic training, the female soldiers moved to stations throughout the continental United States working in hundreds of military occupational specialties (MOSs), many of which ­were previously masculine-­typed jobs. The WAC eventually grew to 150,000 ­women by conflict’s end, with 16,000 of them deploying overseas in North Africa, Eu­rope, and the Pacific. Very few American ­women came ­under ­enemy fire, and none served in combat-­arms units.35



World War II in the Pacific 629

­Women performed clerical tasks such as stenography or office management and worked in skilled and technical areas of logistics such as parachute rigging, engine maintenance, gunnery instruction, or radio operation. They replaced men who could then enter combat units, even though during peacetime the w ­ omen had occupied private, moral, and domestic spheres as ­mothers, wives, and nurturers. This problematic juxtaposition of “soldier” and “­woman” remained a central issue throughout the conflict. Many Americans, men and ­women alike, feared that making ­women into full-­fledged soldiers would deprive them of their femininity. The ser­vicewomen might acquire such masculine traits as aggressiveness and assertiveness that could negatively affect their sexual relations with men. Worse still, ­women working with one another might even succumb to deviant sexual urges and become lesbians. In response, ser­vicewomen purposefully constructed their identities as ­women first and as soldiers second, thereby separating ­these antithetical gender roles.36 African American ­women, however, faced still more ­because of race. Blacks ­were not accorded equal treatment in civilian society, and the military was no dif­ fer­ent. Approximately 4,000 highly qualified and patriotic “colored” or “negro” ­women found themselves in segregated WAC units often performing the most menial tasks such as ­house­keeping.37 Harassment emerged as the most difficult challenge for ­women: they could become objects of sexual advances and emotional abuse from male counter­parts or superiors. Smear campaigns also erupted during 1943 and thereafter that falsely portrayed ser­vicewomen as would-be lesbians and o­ thers as whores. The suspicions and fears, however, proved to be unwarranted b­ ecause the overwhelming majority of w ­ omen in the army maintained high moral standards of conduct. Lesbians hid their orientations for fear of punishment. Any accusations of deviant sexual be­hav­ ior ­were handled quickly and quietly within the given ser­vice.38 Harassment also became physical in the form of sexual assaults. Obtaining justice in rape cases proved almost impossible, ­unless charges ­were made against African American men, ­because sexual assault could be depicted as the victim’s fault or other­wise trivialized as normative intercourse. The military’s rules and the nation’s culture protected the accused, rather than the accuser. Most of the 971 rape convictions occurred ­after the conflict ended when American ser­vicemen ­were in occupation units in the Pacific or Eu­ro­pean theaters. This tiny number of convictions contrasted with what must have been thousands of sexual assaults that never reached courts-­martial. Lack of evidence, feelings of shame, and minimal chances of success kept ­those victims quiet.39 DAILY LIFE During basic training, most American soldiers lived in wooden structures called “Quonset” huts. T ­ hese ­simple frame buildings of one or two stories with uninsulated walls contained one big barracks room where most basic trainees slept and sometimes smaller rooms for NCOs or officers. When on field training exercises, the men slept on the ground or perhaps in small tents. From basic training, the soldiers moved on to advanced training in their MOSs and eventually assignments

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with their new units, where they formed small group bonds with ­those men who would be next to them in foxholes during combat.40 Daily life in the U.S. Army and the U.S. Marine Corps deployed to the Pacific theater of operations varied depending on time, place, and operation. Soldiers and marines found themselves on weeks-­long voyages feeling bored and sweaty in cramped transport vessels, conducting exercises in preparation for the next operations, fighting for days on end on tropical islands, or occasionally enjoying a few days of “R&R” (rest and recuperation) in Hawai’i or Australia. Other­wise, American soldiers and marines saw action in tropical or subtropical environments in New Guinea, the Philippines, and countless islands dotting the map of the Western Pacific Ocean. Tents, let alone sturdier shelters, ­were rare luxuries. Most slept on the ground, ­whether wet or dry in the heat. Sickness from diseases and wounds plagued both the Americans and the Japa­nese. During the six-­month-­long campaign for Guadalcanal, as many as 3,000 Americans (or 10 ­percent of the American force) went on sick call at the infirmary ­because of tropical ailments like yellow fever or jungle rot. Of the 165,000 Japa­nese soldiers who perished on the island of New Guinea between 1942 and 1944, 9 or 10 ­percent died from diseases or infections ­after being wounded in combat.41 When stationed on military bases or well b­ ehind the front lines, American soldiers could expect to go to the mess hall for cooked food. However, t­ hose in combat persisted on prefabricated sealed individual meals called “C rations” and ­later in the conflict the new “K rations.” The C rations included cans of meats and hash that Americans found particularly unappetizing. The first letter “K” came from their inventor, Dr. Ancel Keys. At the behest of the U.S. War Department, he worked in his scientific laboratory at the University of Minnesota to develop rations compact enough to be carried by infantrymen yet substantive enough to contain 3,000 calories each. K rations included canned meats, eggs, biscuit, dried sausage, instant coffee, and even choco­late or gum, depending upon the meal. The packages would spoil only at temperatures above 135 degrees Fahrenheit or 20 degrees below zero. American ser­vicemen appreciated the K rations for their small size and high caloric content. However, as one enlisted soldier at the front wrote to his ­mother, “I sure wish [I] was home so I could set down to the t­ able and have a good meal with lots of salad ­because it has been so long since I had one that I forgot just how it tastes.” 42 Despite some complaints, the K rations made the Americans the best-­fed military in World War II. The American Red Cross also distributed foodstuffs with higher-­ quality meals. T ­ here w ­ ere times in combat when the e­ nemy cut supply lines, leaving the Americans scrounging for food. On balance, however, Americans benefitted from far superior meals when contrasted with the meager meal of rice and fish that the Japa­nese consumed. The often deficient caloric intake left the ­enemy malnourished and thus more susceptible to sickness and less able to heal from wounds.43 The American soldiers and marines did not have proper uniforms for tropical climate such as the jungles of New Guinea or the volcanic terrain of Iwo Jima. They went into combat wearing olive drab shirts and pants made of cotton. In addition, the Americans strapped on bandoliers of ammunition, rucksacks, ­belts, canteens, pistols, and knives, among other items, all the while carry­ing ­rifles or other small arms. Early in the war, the U.S. military issued white underwear before changing



World War II in the Pacific 631

the color to khaki ­because the white version drew ­enemy gunfire when drying ­after being washed. The hot, humid, wet environment in the Pacific quickly ruined clothing and shoes alike, sometimes in a ­matter of days. To alleviate the prob­lems of deteriorating shoes, the U.S. Army Quartermaster Department developed a special jungle boot. The other item worn by ­every American combatant was the M1 helmet. Its three pounds of steel could stop a .45-­caliber pistol round. A liner made of weather-­resistant fabric fit inside the helmet, making it less uncomfortable and more practical for the wearer. Soldiers praised the M1 helmet for its protection and versatility.44 The Americans deployed to the Pacific theater had ­little time for recreation once they embarked on the crowded troop transport ships from Hawai’i, Australia, and advanced bases like New Caledonia. Nevertheless, the soldiers and marines onboard ships ner­vously awaiting their amphibious operations played cards or other board games. They told jokes and stories to their comrades. Then once onshore, ­those seeking some respites during inland operations also threw ­horse­shoes or played pick-up games of baseball, basketball, or football. Arguably, the biggest morale boost in the lives of the men came during mail call. ­Whether plodding away in basic training, sailing on a transport ship halfway around the globe, or awaiting the next Japa­nese artillery barrage, ­every soldier wanted to hear from families and friends on the home front. One enlisted soldier explained why “mail call was a very special event for the G.I. It allowed him a few minutes to withdraw in this private shell and close out the sordidness of the war around him. ­These few moments ­were a precious link to the sanity and stability of our civilian lives.” 45 Letters arriving on the front lines often offered news about everyday events like picking big red tomatoes in Victory gardens, celebrating good grades on siblings’ report cards, or describing the first communion of ­children. Although mundane or nostalgic topics at first glance, the letters’ contents represented much more to Americans fighting in faraway places. They could glimpse the peaceful existence that they wanted to protect and to return to a­ fter the war’s end. ­Family and friends often tried to avoid tense topics like sicknesses or financial prob­lems that might cause undue anxiety in the men at the front. The parents and wives worried about their loved ones, though they did not want to reveal their worries. On the w ­ hole, the correspondence from home provided a momentary escape from the frequently dreary military lives punctuated by ­great excitement in combat. Meanwhile, other news from home could cause ­great disappointment, such as learning of deaths among loved ones or receiving “Dear John” letters that marked the end of relationships, thereby leaving the readers feeling helpless or hopeless.46 “As long as the boys fought in the belief that their sacrifices and hardships meant at least enough to the ­woman they loved to hold her loyalty,” observed one American soldier, “they could usually endure the hell. . . . ​W hen cruel letters jackknifed their faith, their moral fibers crumpled and some fell apart.” 47 The soldiers and marines also wrote letters to their friends and families back on the home front. Military censors redacted any sensitive and gruesome details. The gist of the front-­line experience of combat, however, did show through in the correspondence. The most popu­lar topics included commentary on army life—­the chow, the coffee, the weather, the officers, the NCOs, and the like—­and

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reassurances to assuage the worries of loved ones. Homesickness might also occur as the soldiers and marines wished to be home but realized they might not return. Sometimes the men mentioned their feelings of fear or depression. ­These instances could be symptoms of combat fatigue or other prob­lems.48

RELIGION The religious beliefs of soldiers serving in the Pacific theater represented a cross-­ section of the entire U.S. military and their nation as a ­whole. During the 1940s, the overwhelming majority of Americans claimed Chris­tian­ity as their chosen religion, with Catholicism being the largest single denomination at between 25 and 35 ­percent of the personnel. An estimated 550,000 men and ­women of Jewish descent donned the American uniform. One need only look at the headstones in military cemeteries to see how many are marked with Christian crosses or Stars of David. Beyond ­these two groups, a very few ser­vice personnel followed Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Native American religions. Fi­nally, some atheists, agnostics, or skeptics took up arms for the United States.49 American civilian and military leaders alike embraced generic Judeo-­Christian beliefs. Indeed, the closing lines of President Roo­se­velt’s “Day of Infamy” speech on December 8, 1941, cloaked the American war effort in Judeo-­Christian symbolism near the end: “With confidence in our armed forces with the unbounding determination of our ­people we w ­ ill gain the inevitable triumph so help us God.”50 Ele­ments of faith and appeal to some higher spiritual power filtered down through the ranks to the front lines in all theaters. In an institutional sense, chaplains ministered to the troops in the field by providing counsel to ­those grieving for lost comrades, offering communion during worship ser­vices, and administering last rites for the ­dying, among ­others. If chaplains failed in their tasks, they could drive soldiers away from their faith.51 The chaos and randomness of who dies versus who lives could make soldiers question religious faith. How could the sovereign, caring God of the Bible be trusted during wars? In fact, ­these queries might reach the point of renouncing any good deity that could allow the many evils of warfare. Regardless of the answer, ­every American soldier needed coping mechanisms to maintain m ­ ental health and emo52 tional control. On the one hand, the skeptics, agnostics, and atheists did not believe in some higher being, so they did not need to ask questions of that being. Instead, they lived in the moment in the material and secular world while performing their duties as ordered. Given all the suffering, cynicism or fatalism could set while waiting for inevitable death. Using hatred for the Japa­nese could provide some meaning, albeit warped. Some among nonbelievers and believers alike used trinkets as talismans that reassured them they would survive through luck, if not providence. Superstition could thus become a pseudo-­faith system that helped the men create some level of hope.53 On the other hand, combat could drive men to religion to manage their fears. In what may have been embedded war correspondent Ernie Pyle’s words, an adage



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stated that “­There are no atheists in foxholes.” Many individuals also practice their religions in private ways, especially during the heaviest stress of combat when chaplains might not be available. Many American combatants reacted by praying, saying the Rosary, or reciting comforting scriptures. Among the most popu­lar was Psalm 23:3–4, which gave t­ hose in grave danger some solace: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I ­will fear no evil: for thou art with me; [God’s] rod and thy staff they comfort me. [God] preparest a ­table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over (KJV).54

Excerpts of Psalm 91 also gave the comfort of a prayer: I ­will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him w ­ ill I trust . . . ​ His truth ­shall be thy shield and buckler. [The reader] shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand ­shall fall at [the reader’s] side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it ­shall not come nigh thee . . . ​He ­shall call upon me, and I w ­ ill answer him: I w ­ ill be with him in trou­ble; I ­will deliver him, and honour him. With long life ­will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation (KJV).

In the final lines of Psalm 91, the pronouns “I” and “him” or “he” refer to Judeo-­ Christianity’s God and to the author of the passage, respectively. American combatants attended or­ga­nized church ser­vices and ­adopted personal expressions of religious faith. In fact, the intensity of their experiences also drove the survivors ­toward religion, ­whether or­ga­nized or personal.55 All t­ hese observations notwithstanding, religious fervor and divine sanction combined with racism and hatred to provide incendiary motivations for soldiers and marines fighting their Japa­ nese ­enemy. Army and navy chaplains looked to the spiritual welfare of the men in their units. Although ordained ministers sponsored their respective denominations, it did not ­matter during war which faith the chaplains believed. They needed to be versed in the major religious traditions so they could offer counsel and comfort to men of other faiths. Desperate situations might require a Baptist chaplain to say the last rites for a ­dying Catholic soldier. Religious ser­vices might occur on the front lines, using the hood of a jeep or empty ammunition boxes as altars.56 A darker effect of religion can be seen in the ways that mainstream American Chris­tian­ity portrayed the Japa­nese as evil. In the context and vernacular of the de­cades leading up to World War II, many Americans feared the “occult” power of the “oriental” religions. The Japa­nese and other Asian ­peoples believed in mystical Buddhism or in Shintoism with its veneration of the deified emperor and ­family ancestors. Nowhere did the Japa­nese religious beliefs manifest in ways more inconceivable to Americans than in their suicidal fanat­ i­ cism embodied in banzai charges and kamikaze attacks. Both meant almost certain death for the Japa­nese, yet they willingly sacrificed themselves.57 In 1943, the ­mother of a marine, Lila Armstrong of New York, wrote a letter to Marine Lieutenant General Alexander Vandegrift that portrayed the mixture of Christian crusading attitudes with the dehumanization of the Japa­nese ­enemy. Armstrong played no special role in the

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American war effort, other than worry about her sons and all the other sons in the U.S. Army, Marine Corps, and Navy fighting the Japa­nese. Excerpts from Armstrong’s letter read: I beg of you in the name of all m ­ others, f­ athers, and wives of our boys out ­there to use a few of ­those block blusters [bombs] that have been used to destroy innocent civilians in Germany, on ­those islands out in the South Pacific before sending any more of our battalions in to be slaughtered. Give our lads a chance and we parents ­will feel satisfied if our boys must fall. . . . ​If the jungle is too vast for the tanks to pave the way, then in the name of God use plenty of the most potent bombs you have at your disposal. . . . ​I now pray from the bottom of my heart that you may receive Divine inspiration in all strategy to be used and trying so very hard to know that thoughts given to you by God cannot help but win victory over this awful evil taking place in our beautiful world.58

This letter contained three examples of American attitudes, one of which was con­ spic­u­ous and the other two of which w ­ ere implications for the Japa­nese. First, Armstrong cast the Pacific War as a religious crusade in her repeated appeals to the Judeo-­Christian God. Second, she tacitly viewed the Japa­nese as a worse ­enemy even than German civilians. Third and likely more significant, Armstrong did not name the “Japa­nese” anywhere in her entire letter, but rather called them “awful evil” that tainted a “beautiful world” presumably created by God. POPU­L AR CULTURE Between 1939 and December 7, 1941, a significant portion of the American p­ eople opposed any involvement in the war in Eu­rope or East Asia. Many of ­these ­people joined groups like the Amer­i­ca First Committee, which in twenty-­ first-­century terms wielded power as a po­liti­cal action committee with celebrities like famous aviator Charles Lindbergh and wealthy newspaper publisher Robert R. McCormick as leaders. They took to the airwaves on radios, newsreels in movie theaters, and columns in print to oppose what they viewed as American brinksmanship in interactions with Germany and Japan. Instead, the Amer­i­ca First members favored isolationism in military and diplomatic affairs in Eu­rope and East Asia. Meanwhile, the U.S. military could maintain a defensive posture focused on protection of the Western Hemi­sphere, although General Douglas MacArthur did command a force composed of 30,000 American soldiers and 70,000 Filipino soldiers on the Bataan Peninsula and the island of Corregidor in Manila Bay. Once the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred, however, the Amer­i­ca First Committee and similar organ­izations disbanded immediately. All but the most stringent pacifists reversed their anti-­war stances and shifted to supporting the war effort. American popu­lar culture also began to change immediately. The former American Firster Robert R. McCormick turned his Chicago Tribune from a staunch anti-­ war, anti-­Roosevelt bias into a platform for patriotism and mobilization. At the behest of the U.S. Office of War Information and similar government agencies, all media outlets shifted w ­ holeheartedly to support the war effort.



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Several nonfiction books bolstering American patriotism, describing the front lines, or portraying deadly enemies spent a year or more on bestselling lists. The most well-­k nown of ­these authors was war correspondent Ernie Pyle, who started in the Eu­ro­pean theater and then moved to the Pacific in 1945. He wrote ­Here Is Your War (1943) and Brave Men (1944), both of which highlighted the everyday lives of the “dog face” infantrymen for the American public.59 Pyle’s syndicated articles also appeared in 300 newspapers across the United States. One of the ­later articles, titled “The Illogical Japs” in February 1945, described the reflections of Americans, as well as attitudes about the e­ nemy: Soldiers and marines have told me stories by the dozen about how tough the Japs are, yet how dumb they are; How illogical and yet how uncannily smart at times; how easy to route when disor­ga­nized, yet how brave. I’ve become more confused with each story. At the end of one eve­ning, I said, “I ­can’t make head nor tail out of what ­you’ve told me. I’m trying to learn about the Jap soldiers, but every­thing you say about them seems to be inconsistent.” “That’s the answer,” my friends said. “They are inconsistent. They do the damndest ­things. But they are dangerous fighters just the same.” They tell one story about a Jap officer and six men who ­were surrounded on a beach by a small bunch of marines. As the marines approached, they could see the Jap giving emphatic ­orders to his men, and then all six bent over and the officer went along the line and chopped off their heads with his sword. Then as the marines closed in, he stood knee-­deep in the surf and beat his bloody sword against the ­water in a fierce gesture of defiance, just before they shot him. What code led the officer to kill his own men rather than let them fight to the death is something only another Jap would know. . . . Some of our ­people over ­here think that, in the long run, the Japs ­won’t take the beating the Germans have. ­Others think they ­will, and even more. I’ve not been ­here long enough ­really to learn anything of the Jap psy­chol­ogy. But the Pacific war is gradually getting condensed, and consequently tougher and tougher. The closer we go to Japan itself, the harder it w ­ ill be. The Japs are dangerous ­people and they ­aren’t funny when ­they’ve got guns in their hands. It would be tragic for us to underestimate their power to do us damage, or their ­will to do it. To me it looks like soul-­t rying days for us in the years ahead.60

Pyle wrote this article while on Saipan in early 1945. He did not mince words, nor did he avoid using the racial epithet of “Jap” several times. Pyle had not yet seen the Japa­nese brutality with his own eyes. Just a few weeks ­later, he died during combat on April 18, 1945, on the island of Iejima near Okinawa.61 Magazines also ­adopted pro-­war, pro-­American stances. Time, Life, Collier’s, Saturday Eve­ning Post, and other magazines showcased American ser­vice personnel, war industry workers, or scenes from combat on almost ­every cover for the duration of the conflict. ­Every issue included stories about the men and ­women, the b­ attles and leaders, and the vehicles and weapons of war­time Amer­i­ca. In one example, artist Norman Rockwell used a 19-­year-­old w ­ oman named Mary Doyle Keefe as the model for his iconic painting of “Rosie the Riveter.” He added muscular forearms to give the 110-­pound Keefe sufficient brawn to operate a rivet gun sitting in her lap. Yet Rockwell did not hide all her feminine features. This

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painting of Rosie in the foreground with the American flag waving in the background can be seen on the cover of the Saturday Eve­ning Post for May 29, 1943.62 The U.S. military personnel in the Pacific theater read several magazines, including the Army-­r un Yank and the civilian-­owned Stars and Stripes. With the title of Yank, The Army Weekly, the magazine first saw print in June 1942 ­under the auspices of the Special Ser­vices Division. It eventually reached a circulation of more than 2.5 million Americans deployed overseas, as well as on the home front. It contained cartoons like “G.I. Joe” and “Sad Sack,” both of which highlighted everyday lives of soldiers. The last issue appeared in December 1945. Some columns relayed news stories about the home front or highlighted scantily clad ­women with wide smiles and seductive poses known as “pin-up girls.” One issue from March 1945 featured stories such as the “Bridge Busters,” who ­were Americans in the Army Air Force flying bombing missions to destroy ­enemy bridges; the “Hike to Manila,” which described ongoing operations in the Philippines; and short letters to the editors in the section “The Soldier Speaks.” In responding to a question, “Which was the greater menace to [the United States] and our values: Germany or Japan” one army private first class chose the Japa­nese ­because, he wrote, they “have lived like locusts for thousands of years and have built up a gigantic war machine. . . . ​ The Japs are capable of using almost anything to their own advantage though incapable of in­de­pen­dent thinking.” 63 The magazine Stars and Stripes represented another way that American ser­ vice personnel learned about war­time news. Stories about the ongoing military operations appeared in the pages, as did articles on politics and society on the American home front. The staff made ­every effort to stay current, as evinced by a photo­graph of the iconic marines’ flag-­raising on Iwo Jima on February 23, 1945, that appeared on the issue’s cover five days ­later. ­Later in May, a headline read “Yanks on Okinawa Stop Counterattack” during the seventh week of ­bitter combat on the island. Arguably the most popu­lar part of Stars and Stripes can be seen in the cartoons on two typical American soldiers, “Willie and Joe,” drawn by Bill Mauldin while serving in the army himself. Sometimes cynical, sometimes humorous, Mauldin captured the daily lives of soldiers in six cartoons published each week. Although informative and sometimes entertaining, the articles did get scrutinized by U.S. Army censors to ensure that any classified details did not reach the e­ nemy.64 Apart from published words, deployed soldiers and Marines occasionally enjoyed entertainment offered by the United Ser­vice Organ­izations (USO). This nonprofit organ­ization sent musicians, comedians, movie stars, and other celebrities to bases in the United States and overseas. Bob Hope performed one of the most well-­known and well-­loved USO shows during World War II. In the summer of 1944 alone, Hope travelled more than 30,000 miles to perform 150 shows for the troops.65 Indeed, the USO’s 1.5 million volunteers reached an estimated 160 million Americans in nearly 300,000 separate per­for­mances during that conflict. The organ­ization also opened clubs where ser­vice personnel could relax, enjoy meals, shoot pool, or play cards with their comrades, as well as dance halls where the men in uniform could socialize with ­women. Although the ­women of the USO ­were supposed to have the best morals, sometimes ­these brief meetings ended in sexual encounters



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and occasionally in more permanent relationships.66 Cartoons and comic books ­were also mobilized to encourage patriotism among American adults and adolescents. ­W hether Dr. Seuss criticized the Amer­i­ca First Committee’s naiveté by drawing an ostrich’s head in a hole during the prewar years or sketched a monument for Japan’s squint-­eyed Admiral Yamamoto exhorting Americans to learn from past ­mistakes at Pearl Harbor, the symbols came through clearly. The United States could not afford to remain isolationist or unprepared in the face of the Japa­nese. Comics such as Captain Amer­i­ca aimed at adolescents stressed the importance of young Americans collecting scrap metal Entertainer Bob Hope performs for troops and purchasing war stamps and during World War II. In the summer of 1944, bonds. ­ These seemingly tiny Hope provided more than 150 per­for­mances to military personnel stationed in the South Pacific. contributions by boys and girls He and other popu­lar entertainers supplied a across the nation could add up, but much-­needed boost to troop morale wherever more importantly, the activities they visited. (U.S. Air Force) galvanized ­those young ­people as partners in the war effort.67 American propagandists appropriated the Japa­nese ­enemy’s own words and ideas as fodder for their repre­sen­ta­tions. Beyond this, Japa­nese atrocities committed during the Bataan Death March in April 1942, for example, gave the ring of credibility to biased symbolism in such films as Wake Island and the Why We Fight series. ­These films fed already ingrained American ste­reo­types that the Japa­nese had poor eyesight, squinty eyes, heavy accents, and buck teeth. In another more humorous yet equally racist way, young Americans at movie theaters also watched short cartoons featuring Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck playing roles that kept the war effort in every­one’s attention. Even the titles, like the eight-­minute-­long “Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips,” displayed biased slants designed to taint American perspectives regarding the Japa­nese intellect, motivations, and habits. The Hollywood studios worked hand-­in-­hand with the Office of War Information to maintain the morale on the home front and front lines.68 Like so many ele­ments of popu­lar culture, ­music captured the anti-­Japanese mood in the United States as evinced by several lines in “­We’re gonna have to slap the Dirty ­Little Jap” written by Bob Miller and released in February 1942 by Carson Robinson:

638

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers ­ e’re gonna have to slap the dirty l­ ittle Jap W And U ­ ncle Sam’s the guy who can do it ­We’ll skin the streak of yellow from this sneaky ­little fellow And h­ e’ll think a cyclone hit him when he’s thru it ­We’ll take the double crosser to the old woodshed. . . . ­We’re gonna have to slap the dirty l­ ittle Jap And U ­ ncle Sam’s the guy who can do it The Japs and all their hooey ­will be changed into chop suey And the rising sun w ­ ill set when we get thru it Their alibi for fighting is to save their face For ancestors waiting in celestial space ­We’ll kick their precious face down to the other place We gotta slap the dirty l­ ittle Jap.69

­ hese combinations of media-­manipulated imagery and front-­line real­ity helped T arouse patriotism among Americans and fanned their hatred of the Japa­nese.

PAY AND COMPENSATION In 1944, the U.S. Army paid annual base salaries to privates first class of $648 in 1944, staff sergeants of $1,152, and second lieutenants of $1,800. ­These amounts seem low relative to an American man’s full-­time employment in manufacturing or coal mining in the civilian sector, which, respectively, averaged $2,395 and $2,666 in 1944.70 The amounts varied depending on the region and ­whether industrial skilled or unskilled work, male or female, Caucasian or non-­Caucasian, in ­labor ­unions or not. Certainly, during World War II, employment was readily available. Average ­house­hold expenses included food at 41 ­percent and rent at 17 ­percent of income. A ­ fter t­ hese two biggest costs and all other clothing, energy, and other common expenditures added up, the remaining 20 ­percent equated $479 for the manufacturing laborer and $533 for the coal miner. The figures translated to $8 to $10 per week for what the U.S. Bureau of ­Labor Statistics vaguely termed “miscellaneous” expenses in two typical single-­bread-­winner f­ amily bud­gets. Nevertheless, ­because so many food items like sugar and meat and transportation-­related products like automobiles and tires ­were rationed, Americans found relatively few goods to purchase with their extra income. Many of them saved that money, sometimes in banks, but also, if they mistrusted banks, u­ nder their mattresses at home.71 The lower salaries in the U.S. military, however, ­were misleading for several reasons. For example, ­because enlisted personnel and NCOs often lived on bases and posts or w ­ ere deployed overseas where they paid nothing for lodging, food, clothing, or transportation, they possessed more disposable income. Married NCOs or enlisted men also received extra financial allowances and health care for wives and dependents. Some men of ­these ranks sent the money home for safekeeping or to help their families; or sadly they sometimes spent it on gambling, drinking, whoring, or other undesirable activities. American ser­vicemen also paid a premium of $6.50 per month for a $10,000 policy through National Ser­vice Life Insurance.72 Officers received extra compensation beyond their yearly salaries. The second lieutenants enjoyed a rent allowance of $45 per month if unmarried or $60 if



World War II in the Pacific 639

married. Together with often higher-­quality quarters and better food, the second lieutenants easily equaled the pay of their civilian counter­parts. All ranks earned a 10 ­percent pay increase when serving outside the continental United States.73

WEAPONRY Personnel in the U.S. Army, as well as ­those serving in the U.S. Marine Corps, used a variety of weapons during the amphibious assault and inland operations in the Pacific Theater. Much of the fighting occurred in jungles or terrain where visibility and thus striking distances ­were often ­limited to less than 100 yards. The terrain frequently reduced the mobility of units of battalion size or larger and l­imited the maneuver space needed for larger armored forces. Likewise, the Japa­nese ­enemy frequently constructed reinforced emplacements for their small arms and artillery, or they utilized existing geo­graph­i­cal features like hills and caves as shelters and firing positions. Destroying the structures required heavy fire from artillery, aircraft, or naval vessels. Other­wise, the American soldiers braved Japa­nese gunfire and moved in close enough where they could use flamethrowers to incinerate the interiors of e­ nemy positions, or where they could drop explosives or grenades into firing slits or air vents. The American weapons can be divided into several categories of small arms, artillery, armor, and explosive devices employed by soldiers in combat units. In addition, the army’s engineers used infantry weapons and often handled explosives and mines as the engineers helped breach obstacles or emplaced them for force protection. For the most part, Americans enjoyed decisive tactical advantages ­because their weapons offered higher rates of fire, larger calibers with greater firepower, and better reliability in the field than did Japa­nese weapons.74 Most soldiers utilized “small arms,” a vague term that included a wide range of weapons carried and fired by hand, from shoulders, or with tripods. The  U.S. military designed ammunition for small arms by “caliber” or the dia­meter of the bullet or “round.” The .50-­caliber round mea­sured .5 inches in dia­meter. Following the end of World War II, the U.S. military ­adopted a metric designation, so the .50-­caliber became the 12.7-­millimeter round.75 Although American soldiers used several pistols, the M1911A1 was by far the most common at 1.85 million manufactured. This pistol became the standard issue before World War I. Known as the “.45” ­because of the .45-­inch dia­meter, the M1911A1 had a five-­inch barrel, held seven rounds in a detachable magazine, and weighed more than two pounds fully loaded. Americans loved this pistol b­ ecause it offered them maximum stopping power at moments when they desperately needed to kill an ­enemy with one bullet. The M1911A1, however, possessed two shortcomings: accuracy required practice, and the slow, heavy rounds reduced the effective range to 50 yards.76 Two ­rifles—­the M1903 and the M1 Garand—­served as the primary shoulder-­ fired weapons for American forces during World War II. The M1903 design dated back to World War I, and many of them returned to war in 1941 and 1942 ­until the Garands came online at the fronts. The M1903 fired the .30-­caliber round, held five

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rounds in a charger-­loaded box magazine, and weighed nine pounds. ­Because they offered superior accuracy even at 600 yards or longer ranges, snipers used M1903A4 ­rifles with telescopic sights. The only drawback occurred in the ­rifle’s bolt-­action firing and ejection mechanism. The riflemen needed to work the bolts to eject the spent shells and then chamber more live rounds. This took a second or more to do before the shooters reacquired their targets and fired their next rounds.77 Named for its inventor John Garand, the M1 ­rifles began production in 1937, but they did not appear in ­great numbers in the Pacific theater ­until 1943. The early versions required modifications to correct prob­lems. Eventually, however, the United States manufactured some 6.5 million M1s. ­Because of its 600-­yard effective range and a semiautomatic firing mechanism, allowing repeated firings as fast as one could pull its trigger and reload ­after eight rounds in the top-­loaded clip, the M1 offered greater firepower than Japa­nese standard-­issue bolt-­action ­r ifles. Its .30-­caliber rounds also gave Americans more potent stopping power than Japa­nese Model 99s. Although not deemed as accurate as the M1903 variants, the M1 Garand proved itself time and again on the islands of the Central Pacific and the jungles of New Guinea to be a rugged, easily maintained ­rifle that gave the American soldiers decisive advantages over the Japa­nese.78 Increasing the American infantrymen’s firepower at short ranges became a priority in the Pacific, where the Japa­nese employed ambush tactics at ranges of 20 yards or less. To offset t­ hese disadvantages, American soldiers needed small arms capable of putting large numbers of rounds on targets at short distances. Two submachine guns gave them the ample stopping power of .45-­caliber pistol rounds and high rates of automatic fire. The more well known was the M1928A1 Thompson submachine gun. ­Earlier versions of the so-­called “Tommy gun” gained fame during World War I and in news stories about vio­lence during the Prohibition Era in the 1920s. The M1928A1 weighed 11 pounds and used ­either a 20-­ or 30-­round detachable magazine. It boasted a rate of fire of 700 rounds per minute at ranges out to 300 yards. This high fire rate and potent rounds, however, gave the Thompson its main weakness by making it unwieldy and hard to keep on target.79 American soldiers and marines also carried the M3 submachine gun. It fired the same .45-­caliber round as the M1928A1, but ­there the similarities ended. The so-­ called “grease gun” had several advantages over the Thompson, including reduced cost for mass production, rugged design with minimal maintenance, and a slower rate of fire. The last advantage—­firing 400 rounds per minute—­allowed the M3 to be controlled more easily and depleted ammunition in its 30-­round detachable magazine more slowly.80 Apart from the ­rifles and submachine guns, the American infantry squads needed a weapon that used the .30-­caliber round like the Garand, as well as the added benefits of automatic fire and portable weight. The army and the marine corps filled this niche with the M1918A2 BAR (Browning Automatic ­R ifle). Weighing 20 pounds when loaded, the BAR could be fired from the shoulder or the hip. The best accuracy could be achieved, however, by resting the ­rifle’s bipod on stable surfaces. ­Because of the BAR’s 500 to 650 rounds per minute and effective range of more than 600 yards, it offered greater firepower than anything available from other handheld small arms. The Japa­nese army possessed no such similar weapon. The



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BAR did, however, have some weaknesses: it was too heavy for its operator to carry large amounts of ammunition in its 20-­round detachable magazines, its barrel overheated too quickly during sustained automatic fire, and the 20-­round magazines allowed about four short bursts before reloading.81 The U.S. military also fielded several machine guns capable of sustained automatic fire, including the air-­cooled .30-­caliber M1919A4, the water-­cooled .30-­caliber M1917A1, and the air-­cooled .50-­caliber HB-­M2. All three designs dated back to World War I yet remained ­viable during World War II. Of the two 30-­caliber machine guns, the M1919A4 proved to be more versatile ­because of its lighter weight at 30 pounds and the need for a two-­man crew for operation. The bulkier M1917A1 required a three-­man crew to carry the 80-­pound gun, tripod, ammunition, and ­water tank. Both weapons aided infantry in advancing against ­enemy positions or defending positions from ­enemy attacks. Both the M1917A1 and M1919A4 could also be used in antiaircraft roles. Regardless of how they ­were employed, ­these two machine guns ­were popu­lar with American troops.82 The vari­ous applications of the .50-­caliber HB-­M2 as an infantry weapon or mounted on vehicles, ships, and airplanes made it the most widely used and more widely recognized machine gun in the American arsenal. Developed by John M. Browning during World War I, the M2 saw only ­limited action in that conflict. Then during the 1920s and 1930s, the machine gun went through several design modifications before being issued to American ser­vice personnel in all branches and e­ very theater of operation during World War II. The M2 gained a legendary reputation for its formidable firepower and outstanding reliability. It operated at effective ranges up to 1,800 yards, had a rate of fire of between 450 and 600 rounds per minute like its smaller .30-­caliber cousins, and had a capability of penetrating light armor. The M2 could thus be employed in antipersonnel, antivehicle, or antiaircraft roles. It is also worth noting that the Japa­nese did not possess the heavy machine gun’s equal. The .50-­caliber round and the M2 weapon system proved to be so successful that variants have remained in ser­vice through the global War on Terror in the twenty-­first c­ entury.83 Americans fighting as infantry also needed projectile weapons that combined the firepower of light artillery with the compactness of small arms. The mortar possessed both strengths. The muzzle-­loaded weapon fired high-­explosive, white phosphorous smoke and illumination projectiles at a steep trajectory that rained down on enemies, not unlike a howitzer. Mortars could be quickly set up on the front lines in offensive or defensive roles. The army fielded two main versions during World War II: the M2 60-­millimeter mortar and the M1 81-­millimeter mortar. The M2 weighed 38 pounds and fired 18 rounds per minute at ranges out to 2,000 yards. The M1 weighed 136 pounds and also fired 18 rounds per minute. But its heavier projectile gave it an extended range of 3,300 yards. The mortars rarely fired at such long distances. More often, they provided artillery-­style fire support up to a few hundred yards.84 Among other portable weapons with this type of firepower was the M9A1 bazooka. Resting on one shoulder of a soldier or marine, this weapon launched rockets down a five-­foot tube. The rocket-­propelled warheads carried several pounds of high explosives that could disable ­enemy tanks or destroy fortified positions.

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Two-­man crews could fire four to five rockets per minute. The bazooka could be trusted to be accurate beyond 300 yards. The M9A1 proved to be effective against Japa­nese gun emplacements and light tanks.85 One of the most potent weapons in the American arsenal was the M2-2 flamethrower. A two-­man American crew could direct jets of flaming liquid against ­enemy targets at ranges up to 60 yards. One soldier carried three pressurized tanks weighing 70 pounds on his back, while the second man adjusted the valves on the tanks to achieve the right mixtures of the ingredients. As the jellied gasoline spewed out of the flamethrower’s handheld nozzle, it turned into streams of flaming liquid that stuck to almost any surface. The M2-2 literally threw flames, which, according to a U.S. Army Chemical Warfare Ser­vice Report, created additional effects: “­There was a sudden jump in temperature, lethal concentrations of carbon monoxide was built up in a bunker, and ­there was a dangerous lowering of oxygen content. . . . ​A ny one of ­these f­actors or any combination of them, therefore, meant certain death, quite aside from the effects of the direct contact with the flame.”86 Despite the ­limited range and dangerous malfunctions, the flamethrowers offered tactical capabilities that struck fear in the Japa­nese fighting in fortified emplacements. “With a whooooooosh the flame leaped at the opening. Some muffled screams, then all quiet,” recalled Pacific War veteran E. B. Sledge in his

A member of the 33rd Infantry Division fires an M2 flamethrower on the island of Luzon, Philippines, in early 1945. The flamethrower relied upon the ignition of jellied gasoline (napalm) and pressurized nitrogen. One of the most feared American weapons in the Pacific, it was ­limited to attacking positions less than 120-­feet distant, and thus its use required the operator to be exposed to hostile fire. (National Archives)



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memoir. “Even the stoic Japa­nese ­couldn’t suppress the agony of death by fire and suffocation.”87 The U.S. Army employed heavier guns in the form of artillery pieces that fell into several self-­explanatory categories. Tactical roles for artillery included providing direct fire to support American units maneuvering on the battlefield and counterbattery fire against ­enemy artillery positions. At first, antitank guns in the American arsenal could not keep pace with the increased armor protection ­earlier in World War II. However, beginning in 1944, the M18 Hellcat tank destroyer mounted the high-­velocity M1 76-­millimeter antitank gun on a specially designed chassis. Manned by a five-­man crew, the 76-­millimeter gun had a maximum range of 9,000 yards and could penetrate five inches of armor.88 ­After failing to develop a comparable antiaircraft gun, first the U.S. Navy and then the Army and Marine Corps purchased the 40-­millimeter gun designed by the Swedish com­pany A. B. Bofors. Together with the smaller 20-­millimeter version, the two Bofors guns became the most popu­lar antiaircraft guns among American ser­vice personnel. The 40-­millimeter version could fire 120 rounds per minute and reach an altitude of 11,000 feet or a horizontal range of 9,000 feet. In his memoir, one American artillery officer described the “tom-­tom rhythm of the 40s” during one Japa­nese aerial attack on Guadalcanal in 1943. “I caught sight of one formation from which the planes began to spin and plummet as AA bursts blanketed the sky around them. One ­after another they fell, ­until only a few remained,” explained the marine. “Our forces shot down more than a hundred Jap planes” during that ­enemy attack.89 The army’s anti-­aircraft artillery (AAA) battalions fielded four batteries, each with eight Bofors. The 75-­millimeter M1A1 pack howitzer offered easier mobility in the jungles of the Pacific. Popu­lar with American soldiers and marines, alike, this gun could be towed by jeeps or disassembled and carried by several pack mules, hence its name. The M1A1 could hurl 15-­pound projectiles up to 9,000 yards. However, the distances ­were rarely more than 1,500 yards ­because of the compact sizes of so many of the islands in the Pacific or the battlefield on New Guinea.90 Of the heavier guns, the 155-­millimeter M1 towed gun saw the most action. Its 125-­pound projectiles mea­sur­ing 6.1 inches in dia­meter could reach a range of 23,000 yards, or 13.6 miles. This distance more than doubled the pack howitzer’s range. A truck or half-­track towed the bulky gun with its 19-­foot barrel. Nicknamed “Long Tom,” this lengthier barrel gave the rounds flat trajectories and high velocities, which in turn added to accuracy and destructive kinetic energy. The 155-­millimeter round could penetrate reinforced e­ nemy emplacements, provide counterbattery fire, destroy vehicles, or wreak havoc on infantry units.91 The army fielded the M4 Sherman tanks throughout the Pacific theater. This medium tank weighed between 30 and 38 tons depending upon the version and armament. It could reach speeds of 30 miles per hour on smooth surfaces. A typical M4 Sherman carried a 75-­millimeter gun, but ­later in World War II, newer models mounted the higher-­velocity 76-­millimeter gun. For the hard fighting in areas with nested Japa­nese gun emplacement, some Shermans ­were fitted with large flamethrowers that proved to be deadly effective in support of American infantry. ­Either gun could easily disable or destroy any armored vehicle in the Japa­nese army.

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The Sherman’s chassis also supported many other platforms, including every­thing from a 155-­millimeter self-­propelled gun to an armored bulldozer. The M4 Shermans could be found in ­every American combat operation in the Pacific War. Their presence boosted the morale of infantrymen fighting in the area.92

COMBAT Of the 16 million Americans in uniform during World War II, approximately 15 ­percent or 2.5 million men experienced extended time in combat on land, in the air, or at sea. Although the remaining 13.5 million ser­vicemen and ser­ vicewomen may have been exposed to e­ nemy fire or attacks for brief times, they served ­behind the front lines or on the American home front where they performed administrative or logistical tasks. In fact, 27 ­percent of the noncombat ser­vice personnel never served overseas. Consequently, the war­time experiences would have varied widely between ­those seeing combat and ­those men in the noncombat branches.93 ­Whether attacking Japa­nese positions or defending against counterattacks in any ­battle in the Pacific, Americans soldiers came ­under fire from ­enemy small arms and machine guns. As they drew closer to the Japa­nese, they engaged in desperate hand-­to-­hand combat using their knives, shovels, bayonets, and ­rifle butts to kill the ­enemy before they ­were killed. As a sergeant in the U.S. Army’s 32nd Infantry Division fighting the ­Battle of Buna on New Guinea in 1942 and 1943, Ernst Gerber described the endless assaults on Japa­nese fortified positions: ­ here was one damned place that we attacked day ­after day, got shot and killed, and T just ­couldn’t get it. Then one morning we’d walk up to it and ­there ­wasn’t a [Japa­ nese] soul ­there. Once in a while that was it. More often, it was a slug it out. One by one. Take one, and try another, do this, get a few guys killed and wounded, get the next one. The combination of that and the Japa­nese just fi­nally getting tired was what made the operation successful.94

Gerber’s words could be applied to fighting in any size unit on any number of islands or operations. Victory in the four-­month b­ attle for Buna on the northeastern coast on New Guinea cost the 32nd dearly: 690 officers and men killed in action or died from wounds, 1,680 wounded, and 62 missing out of a maximum number of only 11,000 soldiers at any given time—­not the full 16,000-­man strength on paper.95 According to Major General Robert L. Eichelberger serving on Douglas MacArthur’s staff, “No one who fought ­there, however hard he tries, ­will ever forget it. I am a reasonably unimaginative man, but Buna is still to me, in retrospect, a nightmare.”96 Apart from combatants they could see and try to kill, American soldiers encountered perhaps the most unnerving experiences when coming ­u nder sniper fire or artillery barrages. Laying hidden in the fo­liage or perched among rubble, the Japa­ nese snipers used ­rifles with telescopic sights to fire single rounds at unsuspecting Americans at ranges of several hundred yards. Marines or soldiers would fall dead before they could react and take cover. ­Because retaliating against ­those snipers was sometimes impossible, the Americans remaining alive felt incredible



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frustration and anger. Thus, the debilitating effects of sniper fire on morale far exceeded the individual bullets or casualties.97 Japa­nese artillery barrages could be just as impersonal and indiscriminate as their snipers. Marine artillery officer Christopher Donner conveyed t­ hese sentiments about a “terrific artillery barrage” on Okinawa: All hell seemed to break loose, and I felt myself pounded up and down in [my foxhole]. The roar drowned my senses. Two big ones hit, one on e­ ither side, so that I was blown out to the side and covered with dirt and rocks. My heart was r­ eally chattering. And then the shelling moved forward and ceased. I was thankful to be alive, ­rose on rubbery knees, and began to look around for my team, who I was sure ­were dead. Deep craters ­were all about us. But one by one, the boys stood up.98

Although a marine’s perspective, Donner’s words could be applied to all American soldiers enduring ­these bombardments. Not only did the Japa­nese come u­ nder field artillery or mortar fire by American ground forces but they also felt the effects of bombardments by U.S. Navy warships ranging from 5-­inch guns on destroyers to 16-­inch guns on battleships. The 2,700-­pound explosive shells from the battleship guns could leave craters 20 feet deep and 50 feet wide. T ­ hose Japa­nese not killed by the high-­explosive shells proper instead suffered bleeding from their noses and ears ­because of the reverberations of the explosions’ concussions. During combat, or more appropriately ­because of combat, bonds developed among soldiers in units. Their loyalty lay more with one another over time than with their officers or their nation. Men would willingly die for their comrades, but they feared making ­mistakes that got their comrades killed. This concept of a “band of ­brothers”—­more formally labeled small unit cohesion—­represented a very real phenomenon occurring in World War II and in other conflicts.99 Apart from the rank-­and-­file soldiers, officers could affect the morale of their subordinates and the outcome of ­battles. The positive results depended on the innate and trained leadership of ­those officers. In his fictional novel The Thin Red Line, combat veteran James Jones describes the attributes of an effective officer: “If you ­were ­going to command a com­pany, you had to command it. . . . ​Only by commanding could you stimulate and cause to grow that intense and closely knit working relationship of true comradeship. . . . ​A ny other course led to fractionalization, not unit.”100 When in­effec­tive, leadership could also destroy cohesion. The often intense heat and extreme humidity caused the smell of rotting bodies to become unbearable. “The only way I could bear the monstrous horror of it all,” confided an American veteran in his diary, “was to look upward away from the earthly real­ity surrounding us all, watch the leaden gray clouds go scudding over us, and repeat over and over to myself that the situation was unreal—­just a nightmare.” The dead bodies drew thousands of flies that feasted on the dead American and Japa­nese and then spread amoebic dysentery among the nearby troops. Sledge concluded that he and his fellow marines lived and fought in “hell” in the “utter desolation” on Okinawa. His vivid descriptions capture the feelings of thousands of soldiers and marines like him.101 Stepping away from the combat experience proper, it is impor­tant to grasp that the Pacific War was a race war not only in practice but also in essence. In addition

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to the derisive “Japs” and “Nips,” such words as “yellow” or “slant-­eye” further racialized war­time rhe­toric and imagery among the American personnel. For their part, the Japa­nese soldiers and civilians alike believed in their inherent superiority over Americans, whom they saw as soft, effete, selfish, self-­absorbed, de­cadent, materialistic, and irresolute. Racism played a con­spic­u­ous role in ­these preconceptions. Unlike their own divine emperor and homogenous national character, no single bloodline ran pure throughout the United States. White Americans intermingled and intermarried with other racial groups, resulting in a mongrelized nation. Consequently, Americans became objects of Japa­nese scorn and brutality on battlefields.102 Drawing on his combat experiences as an American soldier fighting in the Pacific, novelist James Jones recounts how the Japa­nese mutilated a dead American: “He was found . . . ​with his hand tied ­behind his back and his head sitting on his chest. And as a gesture or defiance, or hatred, or something, the Japa­nese ­after beheading him had severed his genitals and stuffed them in the mouth of the severed head.”103 Although fictional words by Jones, similar Japa­nese cruelties w ­ ere all too frequent across the Pacific, and they ­were not alone in mutilating e­ nemy bodies.104 With the level of combat ferocity and racial hatred as contexts, the ultimate example of American destructive firepower directed against the Japa­nese occurred in the summer of 1945. By then, Japan’s navy and army ­were in shambles, having failed to stem the two-­pronged strategic advances of the Americans. Not even suicidal kamikaze attacks made a difference in the inevitable outcome. Only one more obstacle awaited the Americans and their Allies: Operation Downfall, the code name for the invasion of Japan’s home islands. Japa­nese soldiers did not represent the only threat; civilians also trained with bamboo spears and explosive devices in preparation to defend their nation. It seems plausible to estimate that the Americans and their Allies would suffer at least 500,000 casualties and the Japa­ nese casualties would have reached into the several millions had the Americans invaded the home islands.105 Having replaced the deceased Roo­se­velt as president of the United States in April, Harry Truman faced a momentous decision in summer 1945. Unbeknownst to then-­Vice President Truman, the United States had developed a weapon of incredible destructive power called the atomic bomb. He needed to consider w ­ hether to use this weapon of mass destruction (in twenty-­first-­century parlance) to end the Pacific War quickly, rather than risk the bloody invasion. It is also worth noting that ­because Truman had experienced some of history’s most brutal combat while serving as an artillery captain with the American Expeditionary Forces in World War I, he fervently wished to avoid more bloodbaths on Japa­nese soil. He doubtless saw the atomic bomb as a means of restraining the Soviet Union’s expansion in the postwar world. With all that was at stake, ­there was ­little room for a moral dictum against killing civilians in warfare.106 In addition to ­these ­factors, racism also played a role in Truman’s thinking. The Japa­nese, civilian and combatant alike, ­were not seen as worthy of humane treatment. The American fire-­bombing of Tokyo and some 70 cities had already killed hundreds of thousands of Japa­nese. So any prohibition against mass killing of



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civilians had already subsided in most American minds. President Truman believed that using the atomic bombs was necessary ­because, in his own words, the Japa­nese ­were “savages, ruthless, merciless, and fanatic.”107 The atrocities on both sides further exacerbated ­these ste­reo­types. Such attitudes reflected the commonly held American racist views of the Japa­nese. In the end, Truman de­cided to drop two atomic bombs on Hiroshima on August  6 and Nagasaki on August  9, 1945, ­because of strategic, diplomatic, utilitarian, and racist motivations.108

ELITE TROOPS During World War II, the U.S. Army’s elite soldiers served in several Ranger battalions. ­These light infantry units ­were modeled on the British Commandos originally requested by Prime Minister Winston Churchill and designated for raiding and assault operations. In American military history, the term “ranger” can be traced to British Army Major Robert Rogers’ “Rangers” that participated in the French and Indian War. ­These elite soldiers excelled in what is now known as asymmetric warfare against Native American enemies. ­After being or­ga­nized in June 1942, the U.S. Army’s 1st Ranger Battalion fought in Eu­rope over the next three years. In the Pacific theater, two more units—­the 6th Ranger Battalion and the 5307th Composite Unit (Provisional)—­saw action in 1944 and 1945. The 6th Rangers landed on nearby Japanese-­held islands and secured them during Douglas MacArthur’s invasion of Leyte Gulf in the Philippines in mid-­ October 1944. The Rangers also led the way for MacArthur’s forces during subsequent amphibious assaults. The 6th Ranger Battalion’s most famous operation occurred in January 1945, when the unit successfully rescued 511 Allied prisoners of war from their prison camp at Cabanatuan ­behind Japa­nese lines some 60 miles north of Manila on Luzon in the Philippines. Some of ­those POWs had been in captivity since their surrender at Bataan in early 1942. Filipino guerrilla fighters and the U.S. Army’s “Alamo Scouts” provided additional support to the Rangers during the rescue. The Alamo Scouts served in another elite unit—­the U.S. 6th Army Special Reconnaissance Unit—­designed to perform reconnaissance missions ­behind ­enemy lines.109 More well known than the 6th  Rangers ­were the three battalions of the 5307th Composite Unit, still more widely known as “Merrill Marauders” ­because Brigadier General Frank Merrill formed the U.S. Army unit. With Merrill as their commander, the Marauders deployed to Burma in February  1944. They then spent more than five months fighting five ­battles ­behind ­enemy lines and moving more than 750 miles through thick jungles. ­These exploits proved to be very costly. In addition to Merrill’s removal from command ­after a heart attack in March, the 3,000 soldiers originally in the 5307th dwindled to only 130 combat-­ ready men by August  1944. In the unit’s last engagement during the 10-­week siege of Myitkyina in Burma, the casualties numbered more than 2,100 men killed, wounded, or incapacitated by disease. The debilitated unit was disbanded shortly thereafter.110

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General of the Army Douglas MacArthur and his staff land at Leyte, Philippines, on October 20, 1944. The landings fulfilled a promise from MacArthur to return and liberate the islands from Japa­nese control. (National Archives)

HEALTH AND MEDICINE During the Pacific War, approximately 3.6 million Americans served in all branches of the U.S. military in the Pacific theater of operations between December 1941 and August 1945. Casualties totaled 111,000 killed or missing in action and another 250,000 wounded in action. Among ­these American casualties, ground combat units suffered most of the losses: 41,500 soldiers killed or missing and 145,000 wounded and 23,000 Marines dead or missing and 67,000 wounded. While large in absolute numbers, the American losses paled in comparison to the nearly 2 million Japa­nese military personnel killed, missing, wounded, or taken prisoner. Fewer than 5 ­percent of Japa­nese troops surrendered. Most chose to fight ­until they ­were killed, or they died ­because of a combination of their military’s poor medical care, infectious diseases, or malnutrition.111 During combat, such as in an amphibious assault or inland jungle operations, ­enemy sniper, machine gun, or artillery fire would hit American units. As men fell wounded, cries for “Medic! Medic!” rang out among soldiers. The medics rushed to men with lacerated, burned, or missing body parts. The courageous caregivers rushed to the men where they quickly assessed the severity of their wounds, de­cided ­whether the men could be saved, tried to stop bleeding with ban­ dages or tourniquets, and sometimes injected morphine to reduce pain. A corpsman recalled de­cades ­later his experiences on Iwo Jima in February 1945:



World War II in the Pacific 649 Moving over the top of the beach and farther inland, I came upon my first casualty . . . ​ who was shot in the right eye socket. His eyeball was hanging down from it I did my best to push it back in place and applied a large ­battle dressing over it. Following a shot of morphine, I marked a large, red M on his forehead . . . ​and told him, “Get back down ­there on the beach away from ­here and stay ­there. Someone ­will see that you get back to a ship.” I never learned ­whether he made it. The beach was such pandemonium. It was a horrible place to be.112

­ fter the initial triage, the medics or corpsmen dragged the wounded men or carA ried them on stretchers to battalion aid stations near the front lines, where the wounded received better medical treatment. If successfully kept alive, the wounded men w ­ ere evacuated by jeep or truck to field hospitals or by landing craft to navy hospital ships. Once at ­these facilities, the wounded stood a better than 90 ­percent chance of survival. They underwent surgery or other specialized care before being sent away for convalescence leave or sent home on medical leave.113 Despite the grim circumstances, the combat mortality per 1,000 American ser­ vicemen stood at 8.6 killed in action, 3 dead from other ­causes, and 17.7 men wounded in action. ­These percentages and raw figures need to be contextualized by adding several caveats. First, only 15 ­percent (or 2.5 million) of the 16 million Americans experienced extended periods of combat. ­These men served in infantry units, sailed on a warship, or flew combat missions in the Army Air Force. Although they may have been exposed to ­enemy fire or attacks for brief times, the remaining 13.5 million ser­vice personnel served ­behind the front lines or on the American home front where they performed administrative, logistical, or training tasks. Second, the American survivability rates ­were exponentially worse in Pacific combat units. One need only consider that some 2 million Japa­nese died out of the entire military numbering 8 million men. Apart from fighting, Americans encountered harsh environmental conditions that led to noncombat casualties and sometimes deaths. The damp climate of the Pacific theater required soldiers and marines to change from damp, dirty socks to fresh, clean socks as frequently as pos­si­ble. Other­wise, the men could develop tropical ulcers on their feet, more commonly called “jungle rot.” This condition could occur in as ­little as two days as feet turned red or blue, developed fungal infections, and gave off rotten odors. Treatments included penicillin or other antibiotics. The more advanced stages saw the onset of gangrene that could require amputation to save the person’s life.114 Apart from infected wounds, tropical diseases like malaria, dysentery, dengue fever, and typhus could spread among units very quickly ­under ­these environmental conditions. Sometimes passed by ­human contact, the ailments ­were more often carried by mosquitos, flies, or lice. The American medical profession had comparatively l­ittle experience with exotic diseases. So experiments helped to identify the best symptoms and treatments. Two medical innovations reduced time on sick call and noncombat fatalities during the Pacific War: the insecticide dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (abbreviated as DDT) killed disease-­spreading pests, and the won­der drug penicillin successfully treated infections and other sicknesses.115

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PRISONERS OF WAR The surprise attack on Pearl Harbor made the Japa­nese appear to be untrustworthy aggressors, and the systematic American propaganda that characterized the war further dehumanized them. From ­these military and cultural starting points, in the eyes of many Americans, the Japa­nese atrocities became self-­fulfilling prophecies: they committed untold atrocities b­ ecause they w ­ ere immoral and racially inferior, and they w ­ ere inferior ­because they committed atrocities. The Japa­nese did not differentiate between ­enemy civilians or combatants. Their vitriolic racism matched that of Americans, yet their actions far surpassed the brutality of the U.S. military. The Japa­nese blatantly ignored international laws of warfare when it came to conquering and controlling the p­ eoples on the Asian mainland. Rape and murder w ­ ere common war crimes directed against the Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos, and ­others.116 In combat, the Japa­nese soldiers themselves rarely surrendered, preferring to fight to their deaths, or feign injuries or a surrender, before attacking unsuspecting American soldiers and marines. According to Japa­nese cultural mores, surrender equated to weakness and dishonor. They likewise projected ­these assumptions onto any Americans who laid down their arms and capitulated. The cowardly acts made them unworthy of civilized treatment. With this dynamic in mind, the resulting Japa­nese treatment of American prisoners of war (POWs) corresponded to their war crimes committed against other ­peoples. Making ­matters worse was the fact the Empire of Japan never ratified the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War in 1929, which meant that they w ­ ere not obliged to follow its rules.117 The harsh realities of captivity in Japa­nese prison camps meant that Americans rarely surrendered to them and only reluctantly took them as prisoners of war. Quite the contrary, shooting or bayonetting Japa­nese soldiers several times to ensure their deaths proved to be the less risky solution. “It was not just that the boys ­were trigger-­happy. . . . ​It was not just brutality, not just vindictive remembrance of Pearl Harbor,” observed an American journalist on Guadalcanal in 1942. The Americans “stalked” the ­enemy, and the Japa­nese “stalked” the Americans.118 As animal instincts became behavioral norms, neither side asked nor gave quarter (surrender or mercy). For t­ hose 21,000 American ser­vicemen captured by the Japa­nese, their lives in captivity offered grim ­f utures. Whereas American POWs held by the Germans in Eu­rope experienced death rates of 3 ­percent, the deaths rates among American ser­ vicemen in Japa­nese prison camps exceeded 33 ­percent. The first few hundred came from the Americans defending Guam and Wake Island ­after the Japa­nese captured ­these small islands in December 1941. Another few hundred ­were American pi­lots or aircrews shot down b­ ehind ­enemy lines. Most of the remaining American POWs surrendered to the Japa­nese on the Bataan Peninsula in April 1942 or on Corregidor the following month.119 ­T hese 12,000 Americans, together with 68,000 Filipinos, had just suffered during a four-­ or five-­month siege by the Japa­nese, leaving the Americans and Filipinos starving and weak when they fi­nally surrendered. The Japa­nese commander, Lieutenant General Masaharu Homma, expected to take 25,000 prisoners at most, so he did



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not allot sufficient food or w ­ ater on hand for the larger number of prisoners. The Japa­nese de­cided to move the POWs to a camp more than 60 miles away into the interior of the Philippine island of Luzon. They forced the Americans and Filipinos to march this distance over five days in temperatures topping 100 degrees Fahrenheit with oppressive humidity. B ­ ecause POWs suffered from malnutrition, dehydration, wounds, and exhaustion, more than 600 Americans and 6,000 Filipinos collapsed on the road where the Japa­nese soldiers brutally bayonetted them. The atrocities during the infamous “Bataan Death March” solidified the hatred among Americans civilians and ser­vicemen alike for the Japa­nese. The survivors spent the next three or more years working as slave ­labor for their inhumane Japa­nese captors. The ­limited medical supplies and insufficient food caused thousands of POWs to endure long, agonizing deaths. ­After the war ended, many Japa­nese officers and guards faced prosecution during war crimes ­trials from 1946 to 1951. Among ­those convicted and punished was Lieutenant General Homma, who faced execution by an American firing squad in 1946.120

HOME FRONT World War II affected the American home front in many tangible and intangible ways. The most con­spic­u­ous change can be seen at the end of the G ­ reat Depression era’s high unemployment rates that dropped from more than 14 ­percent in 1941 to 1.2 ­percent in 1944. The incredible demand from American and ­later Allied militaries drew Americans to factories to increase production levels and replace ­those 16 million American men serving in uniform. The average workweek expanded from 32 hours during the worst years of the ­Great Depression to 45 hours during the war. Overtime was not questioned b­ ecause American factories continued ­r unning seven days each week and 24 hours per day. Some 5 million American ­women went to work outside their homes for the first time during the conflict. African Americans migrated en masse from their southern homes to northern cities where they hoped to find work in factories.121 The results of ­these hard, long hours ­were nothing short of herculean. American production surpassed not only the capacities of other Allied nations but also what the three Axis nations could manufacture in their combined war effort. A few examples revealed the incredible scale of output: 1,200 warships, 65,500 amphibious landing craft, 86,700 tanks, 299,300 aircraft, 6.5 million M1 Garand ­rifles, and 25 billion rounds of .30-­caliber ammunition. ­These figures amounted to 40 ­percent of the munitions manufactured by the Allied powers. Americans also made 128 million pairs of shoes and boots, as well as an ominous total of 14.4 million first-­ aid packets. Perhaps the most astounding, if not whimsical, indicator of the mighty American war effort can be seen in the 900 billion cigarettes produced during the conflict. Transporting ­these items required that Americans build 675,000 trucks capable of carry­ing 2.5 tons each and some 4,900 merchant ships with a total deadweight capacity of 51.4 million tons. Approximately 25 ­percent of all American-­ manufactured weapons, vehicles, and equipment went to the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union, China, and other Allied nations.122

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Managing Amer­i­ca’s expanding industry and agriculture required heretofore unimaginable levels of control. The U.S. government created many so-­called “superagencies” for each sector of the American economy, including the Office of Price Administration, the Office of War Mobilization, the War ­Labor Board, the War Food Administration, the Office of Economic Stabilization, and the War Manpower Commission. B ­ ecause they included government administrators, military personnel, and corporate leaders, the superagencies obscured the lines between public and private sectors. Arguably the most power­f ul of t­ hese was the War Production Board (WPB), which directed the manufacture of weapons and equipment worth $183 billion in 1940 dollars, or $3 trillion in 2018 dollars.123 Not only did the WPB dictate what, where, and by whom goods w ­ ere manufactured but it also ­limited the cost and consumption of products deemed essential to the war effort. The key items ranged from meat and sugar to rubber and gasoline, all of which came ­under nationwide price controls and rationing programs managed by local War Price and Rationing Boards that reported to the Office of Price Administration (OPA). Men, ­women, and ­children received ration books that kept track of their consumption of ­these items. Gasoline, for example, was ­limited to less than four gallons per week for most Americans. Governments set the speed limit at 35 miles per hour. This mea­sure helped conserve both gasoline and mitigate wear on existing tires on automobiles. By the end of 1943, the OPA added shoes, silk, nylon, leather, coffee, wood, fuel oil, cheese, and jellies to the ration lists. American civilians could not purchase new automobiles, motorcycles, or bicycles. Scrap iron and steel could only be used for proj­ects tied in some way to war­ time production or transportation.124 Americans found ­legal and illegal ways to cope with long-­term shortages on the home front. Millions of families supplemented their weekly food allotments by planting “Victory gardens” that provided them with fresh produce. The federal government’s Office of War Information (OWI) and the War Food Administration encouraged ­these activities, highlighting them in vari­ous media. Posters, for example, told Americans that “Food is a weapon, ­don’t waste it,” urged them “­Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” and asked, “Are you a victory canner?” Such rhe­toric and symbolism of the propaganda portrayed civilian sacrifices as patriotic duties and civic responsibilities.125 As one business journal article looked back from 1945, Experience indicates that the vast majority of ­people w ­ ill give fair compliance with a rationing program even in the absence of all-­out enforcement activity. . . . ​In practice, however, an honor system tends to break down if flagrant violators are not caught and penalized. When [the fictitious] Mr. Jones finds that his neighbor is able to purchase any rationed commodity in the black market and that he is not penalized for this, Mr. Jones soon decides that his neighbor is merely smarter than he is. Consequently, Mr. Jones enters the black market. Mr. Brown, Mr. Jones’s neighbor, is the next victim of the same set of circumstances, with the result that the black market continues to grow.126

The nature of individuals bartering with each other at the micro-­economic level helped minimize the negative effects of black marketeering or hoarding.



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Increasingly better enforcement and harsher punishments likewise reduced illegal activities. Frugality became the war­time norm on the American home front. With some 16 million men serving in uniform, ­women emerged as the primary supporters in rationing scarce resources. The OPA and the War Advertising Council recognized that traditional gender roles could be mobilized by appealing to cultural and po­liti­ cal meanings. ­W hether ­women worked in war-­related industries or not, they retained feminine, domestic responsibilities of feeding, clothing, and caring for their families. Thus, many ele­ments of American propaganda targeted wives and ­mothers. If, as one poster read, “Food is ammunition,” then ­women controlled the production and distribution of that ammunition. In this way, feminine traits and domestic roles ­were weaponized in national ser­vice. Although successful in the national drive to limit food consumption, the appeal entailed two seemingly conflicting objectives: ­women needed to provide nutritious meals for their families at home, as well as for the American men in uniform. For so many ­women with husbands absent, the dual goals heaped more pressure on them b­ ecause of the expectation of success in domesticity while d­ oing their patriotic duties.127 As the conflict lengthened, the OWI used more and more recruitment posters, radio spots, and films to maintain morale, attract recruits, and sell war bonds. One media historian labeled the OWI the “government’s primary war­time propaganda agency” that coordinated public and private organ­izations to create “the most systematic and far-­reaching efforts” in American history and “shape the visual experience of the citizenry.”128 The major studios in Hollywood worked closely with the OWI to craft patriotic symbols for the films and to denigrate the ­enemy, especially the Japa­nese, as evil. The U.S. government’s control of ideas on the American home front reached far beyond censoring civilian media. Just as had happened during the American Civil War and World War I, the government suspended many other liberties, including rights to due pro­cess of law and freedoms of speech and movement, enjoyed by American citizens during peace time. Multiple restrictions can be seen in two cases: Japa­nese American internments in the continental United States and martial law in the American territory of Hawai’i. Bowing to pressure from military authorities and civilian po­l iti­cal groups throughout the West Coast during the weeks ­after Pearl Harbor, President Franklin Roo­se­velt signed Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942. He mandated that Japa­nese immigrants to the United States and second-­generation Japa­ nese Americans be rounded up and moved to internment camps far away from the coastline. They received no benefits of due pro­cess of law such as ­t rials by juries of peers. Despite their professions of patriotism and often statuses as American citizens, some 110,000 had no choice but to leave their homes in California, Oregon, and Washington and be confined for the duration of the war in the California Rockies, Utah, the Arizona desert, and the woodlands of Arkansas. ­These Japa­nese Americans faced harsh conditions in the camps as they endured fuel and food shortages and lived in what amounted to temporary military barracks.129

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Japa­nese Americans appealed Roo­se­velt’s executive order to the Supreme Court in October 1944. They lost their appeal, however, ­because the justices believed that the president possessed the authority to secure domestic security in war­time by incarcerating ­enemy aliens. ­Because the Japa­nese Americans w ­ ere formally classified in the Alien Enemies Act of 1941 and subsequent presidential proclamations, the court held, no law was broken. On January 2, 1945, the internment ended for the Japa­nese Americans, and they returned to the West Coast and tried to resume their prewar lives. Sadly, many families started with nothing ­because they had been forced to sell their businesses and homes back in 1942.130 One third of the population of Hawai’i, totaling 170,000 ­people, claimed Japa­ nese descent. This large percentage and l­imited transportation resources made internments of Japa­nese and Japa­nese Americans in Hawai’i impractical. So, instead, the U.S. military instituted martial law in the territory u­ nder the auspices of the Hawai’i Defense Act and the Organic Act. One se­nior American officer served as military governor. He exercised authority to enforce curfews, fingerprint ­people, suspend jury ­t rials, control employment decisions, restrict travel, and investigate pos­si­ble espionage. Undertaking this last effort required constant oversight of Japa­nese and Japa­nese Americans. The military government confiscated all radios, firearms, cameras, and any other tools that could be used in spying on the American military units, ships, or planes stationed in Hawai’i.131 Most of the Japa­nese and Japa­nese Americans provided ­labor necessary to maintain the island chain as a major military base, through which millions of American ser­vice personnel passed on their way from the home front to the front lines in the Pacific. In the seedy world of brothels and prostitution, a few Japa­nese and Japa­ nese American ­women even joined t­hose of Filipino, Chinese, or indigenous Hawai’ian descent to provide sexual plea­sure to American patrons. The territory’s military government quietly regulated the brothels by attempting to limit the spread of venereal diseases from prostitutes to ser­vice personnel.132 Although their families remained interned or lived u­ nder martial law, Japa­nese Americans requested that they be allowed to leave the camps and serve in the U.S. military. This ser­vice, they believed, could vindicate their patriotism and validate their rights as citizens. They let their be­hav­ior demonstrate their loyalty. “We are good Americans. . . . ​We are good neighbors. We are useful and productive citizens. We love Amer­i­ca and are willing to die for her.”133 By the end of the war, some 33,000 Japa­nese Americans took up arms in the U.S. armed forces. Most of the Japa­nese American soldiers served in the U.S. Army’s 442nd Regimental Combat Team, where they earned an astounding 9,500 Purple Hearts and 21 Medals of Honor, making it the most decorated unit of its size in the U.S. military during World War II. ­These figures can be best appreciated in the context that although the unit numbered 4,000 troops on paper, 14,000 men served in it between 1943 and 1945. Among ­those seeing action in the 442nd was a young second-­ generation Japa­nese American officer named Daniel Inouye. He enlisted in the army in 1943, received his training, and went with the 442nd to Italy. While ­there, he exhibited ­g reat courage ­u nder fire, earning the Distinguished Ser­vice Cross (DSC). Inouye returned to Hawai’i ­after World War II ended. He went to serve many



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years as a senator from his home state. De­cades ­after the end of World War II, Inouye’s DSC was upgraded to the Medal of Honor in 2000.134

VETERANS’ ISSUES A ­little more than three months a­ fter World War II ended in Eu­rope, Japan surrendered. The official documents ­were signed two weeks ­later. The months thereafter saw the beginning of massive demobilization of the U.S. military. The U.S. Army stood at 8.25 million men and ­women before shrinking to 1.5 million in 1947. A few hundred thousand men remained overseas on occupation duty in Eu­rope and Japan to ensure smooth transitions from total war to a reconstructed peace.135 The remaining 6.75 million soldiers returned to the continental United States and separated from their ser­vices. To avoid prob­lems of unemployment and economic downturns ­after the end of World War II, the prescient President Roo­se­velt signed the Ser­vicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944. More commonly known as the “G.I. Bill of Rights,” this legislation constituted one of the greatest stimulants to the American economy in the history of the United States. Among benefits open to all veterans with at least 90 days of ser­vice w ­ ere unemployment payments for up to one full year a­ fter discharge; low-­interest loans for mortgages and businesses; and tuition and living expenses to complete high school, college, or vocational school. Over the de­cade following 1945, some 8 million veterans utilized the educational support ­under the G.I. Bill of Rights. They could then find employment in the public or private sectors. Many also took advantage of the loans to buy homes or start businesses. The circulating capital and credit in turn spurred the American economic prosperity through the mid-1960s.136 Meanwhile ­those veterans returning home married in rec­ord numbers. The postwar so-­called “nuclear ­family” included a husband/father who worked outside the home, a wife/mother who was a “homemaker,” and several ­children. Working-­class and middle-­class families could afford two automobiles. The easy credit and growing incomes empowered them to purchase new homes in areas between urban centers and rural farmland known as “suburbia” or literally suburban regions. The ­children born in t­ hese years took the nickname “The Baby Boom Generation.”137 This standard of living did not apply to all Americans, however. Many African Americans still lived as sharecroppers in the Jim Crow South, or they endured racial discrimination in northern cities. Not enough blacks could claim G.I. Bill benefits to measurably raise the entire community’s quality of life. In 1946 alone, only 20 ­percent of the 100,000 black veterans received the educational benefits when they applied for them. An even smaller percentage obtained low-­interest mortgage loans. The African Americans therefore still needed to win the second victory of the war­time “Double V” campaign—­victory over racism at home in the United States.138 When World War II ended, most ­women, like their male counter­parts in the military, returned to their civilian lives. Nevertheless, their experiences and accomplishments in World War II left lasting impressions on them that sowed the seeds

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for the ­Women’s Rights Movement in de­cades to come. Some found work in business or government; most resumed their domestic roles as m ­ others and wives. The small number of w ­ omen remaining on active duty received official recognition with passage of the ­Women’s Ser­vice Integration Act in 1948. Once recognized in this official way, ­women have since worked for more equity and equality within the armed ser­vice.139 The postwar lives of t­hose veterans dubbed the “Greatest Generation” did not always result in comfortable families living in suburbia. The horrors of combat left scars, both physical and emotional. More than 400,000 Americans suffered wounds during World War II. While some ­were minor and healed quickly, other injuries like amputations, paralysis, or blindness restricted veterans’ physical abilities to function fully. ­Because their conditions and expenses could drain f­ amily resources, disabled veterans depended on the U.S. government for ongoing treatment and financial assistance. Although occasionally plagued with corruption or negligence, the Veterans Administration took the lead in the public efforts to assist veterans with debilitating conditions. Nonprofit organ­izations such as Disabled American Veterans also attempted to maintain awareness of needs. Ultimately, the push to help veterans with disabilities helped to spur the disabilities rights movement as a ­whole in the United States.140 Beyond the physical and vis­i­ble wounds from World War II, an unknown number of American veterans ­were afflicted with psychological or psychiatric prob­ lems caused by their experiences during the conflict. Most recently termed post-­traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), combat veterans often have prob­lems with restful sleeping, emotional outbursts, negative reactions, and other worse conditions. They may have witnessed some particularly horrific events in combat such as watching other soldiers die without warning. The veterans may have committed acts of war that cause remorse for de­cades. In some cases, they may feel survivor’s guilt.141 However, the “Greatest Generation” tended to hold t­hese feelings inside, in part ­because of their childhoods spent during the G ­ reat Depression where they suffered yet subsisted. A conversation between a soldier on leave and his female companion illustrated the veteran’s stoicism. She explained to him one morning that he slept fitfully the night before: “Your legs ­were churning. You cried out—­ names, I think, German maybe—­I ­couldn’t make them quite out. . . . ​It’s not the first time, you know.” The veteran responded that he did not recall ­these actions and concluded that it was “prob­ably a dream.” He then reassured himself that “every­body has them” and left it at that.142 Repressed symptoms of PTSD manifest in other prob­lems such as behavioral disorders and ruined relationships. T ­ here are no accurate statistics on PTSD cases among World War II veterans.

MILITARY DISCIPLINE ­Those soldiers serving in the Pacific theater of operations could act in ways that v­ iolated their units’ policies, commanders’ o­ rders, or the laws of war as espoused in the Geneva Conventions of 1929. The infractions could range from petty theft to crimes such as deviant sexuality, murder, rape, desertion, absence without leave,



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or dereliction of duty. Many minor offenses would often be handled at the unit level by restricting movement or imposing monetary fines or extra duties such as cleaning latrines, known as “K.P.” for “Kitchen Police.” For the more serious criminal actions, the U.S. military’s Uniform Code of Military Conduct (UCMJ) provided the mandatory policies for proper be­hav­ior of American military personnel and for investigating, prosecuting, and punishing infractions. If charged with violating the UCMJ, soldiers could face a court-­martial. The accused ser­viceman or ser­vicewoman went to trial before a panel of military officers, who would offer a verdict ­after weighing facts about the case. The military provided attorneys for the prosecution and defense, both of whom followed special rules of evidence and testimony laid out in the UMCJ. A se­nior officer in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps served as military judge and de­cided questions of law. In the event of guilty verdicts, the subsequent sentences could result in loss of pay, demotion of rank, dishonorable discharge (expulsion from military ser­vice), incarceration in military prisons, or very rarely capital punishment.143 During World War II, the U.S. military held more than 1.7 million courts-­martial. This seems like a large number for a total military force of 16 million ser­vicemen and ser­vicewomen. However, ­those 1.7 million ­trials ended in only 80,000 convictions, or a 5 ­percent rate. The burden of proof in the other cases remained too high for the prosecutors to meet, or sometimes the panels may have been stacked with sympathetic officers. Of the more serious courts-­martial on rec­ord, only one soldier—­Private Eddie Slovik—­received the most severe sentence of death by firing squad ­because he was convicted of desertion in France in 1944. No soldier deserters received this punishment in the Pacific theater.144 Alcohol abuse doubtlessly occurred due in part to ser­vicemen’s predisposition ­toward alcoholism. Even so, many soldiers and marines consumed excessive amounts of alcoholic beverages during rest and recuperation leaves as they “blew off steam.” ­Others drank heavi­ly in attempts to cope with feelings of loneliness, sadness, or guilt or their horrific memories of combat.145 Intoxication undermined individuals’ senses of military discipline and sometimes gave way to physical or sexual vio­lence. Brawls among ser­vicemen or with local civilians could break out over the slightest perceived insult. Drunkenness could cause automobile accidents or impair abilities to perform duties. When other­wise unavailable, soldiers and marines sometimes built make-­shift distilleries that produced very potent, if not unsavory, alcohol. Even when violent and insubordinate, as one military psychiatrist observed, many soldiers and marines received reprieves or minor punishments “especially if they w ­ ere pleasant fellows or performed well when sober.”146

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN WORLD WAR II IN THE PACIFIC The experiences of American soldiers in the Pacific theater contrasted with the Eu­ro­pean theater in two distinct ways: the environment and combat. Unlike the temperate climate of Eu­rope, much of the Pacific theater lay within several hundred miles north or south of the equator and thus languished in tropical or

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subtropical weather. Temperatures reached well above 100 degrees Fahrenheit during daylight hours. Humidity would leave American personnel dripping with sweat and needing constant intake of ­water to remain hydrated. Monsoon seasons ran from roughly November to April in the South Pacific and April to December in the Central Pacific. Temperatures might drop by 50 degrees at night. During ­these months, Americans and Japa­nese alike endured days of heavy rain and high humidity with ­little relief from wet and muddy conditions. When combined with jungle rot of feet and diseases spread by insects, the climate could be as dangerous as Japa­ nese bullets or bombs.147 The ferocity of combat in the Pacific surpassed that of most fighting between Americans and Germans in Eu­rope. The dominant American view of Japa­nese as invincible supermen persisted for the first months of their victories during the Pacific War. Japa­nese defeats at the ­Battle of Midway in 1942 and on Guadalcanal between August 1942 and February 1943 steadily undermined this myth. ­After that on New Guinea, the Philippines, and across the Central Pacific, a newer, more disturbing ethos—­suicidal fanaticism—­replaced the older myth.148 Americans came to see the Japa­nese as vicious fighters who made formidable enemies, yet who also remained an inferior race no better than animals. The level of brutality in combat in the Pacific rivaled that of the Eastern Front between Germany and the Soviet Union.149 “Hate is an attitude,” according to a psychological study published in 1990. “It is a judgment about an object or person(s) which reflects a negative assessment or dislike. Likewise, hate usually involves emotion.” As such, this judgment can become irrational ­because, as the study shows, hatred “is conditioned on the character of an individual or group experiencing the emotion. ­There is a continuing readiness to hate. The group or individual ­will find targets to rationalize that hate.”150 The explanations can be legitimately applied to racial feelings that intensified combat during the Pacific War. Neither American nor Japa­ nese soldiers felt any compunction about killing ­enemy prisoners or brutalizing ­enemy corpses. The rules of war making in international law did not always dissuade t­ hese or other atrocities. TIMELINE 1931 Japa­nese invasion of Manchuria. 1937 Japa­nese invasion of China. September 1, 1939 Germany invades Poland, commencing World War II in Eu­rope. May 10, 1940 Germany invades Belgium and France. June 21, 1940 France surrenders to Germany.



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September 16, 1940 The Selective Ser­vice and Training Act signed into law. March 11, 1941 “Lend-­Lease” Policy is signed into law. June 22, 1941 Germany invades the Soviet Union. August 1, 1941 United States establishes embargoes on oil and gasoline exports to Japan. December 1, 1941 Japa­nese Emperor Hirohito approves war against the United States. December 7, 1941 Japa­nese bomb Pearl Harbor, Hawai’i; also attack American forces in Philippines, Wake Island, Guam, and Midway. December 8, 1941 United States declares war on Japan. December 10, 1941 Japa­nese invade the Philippines and seize Guam. March 11, 1942 By order of President Roo­se­velt, General MacArthur leaves Corregidor and is flown to Australia. General Jonathan Wainwright becomes the new U.S. commander. March 18, 1942 General MacArthur appointed commander of the Southwest Pacific Theater. March 18, 1942 War Relocation Authority established in the United States, ­will round up 120,000 Japa­nese Americans and transport them to barbed-­wired relocation centers. March 24, 1942 Admiral Chester Nimitz appointed as commander in chief of the U.S. Pacific Theater. April 9, 1942 U.S. forces on Bataan in the Philippines surrender unconditionally to the Japa­nese. April 10, 1942 Bataan Death March begins as 68,000 Allied POWs, including 12,000 Americans, are forced to walk 60 miles without sufficient food or ­water ­toward a new POW camp, resulting in more than 6,000 deaths. May 6, 1942 Japa­nese take Corregidor, and all U.S. and Filipino forces surrender in the Philippines.

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May 7–8, 1942 The Japa­nese navy suffers its first significant defeat of the war during the ­Battle of the Coral Sea off New Guinea. June 4–5, 1942 U.S. Navy wins a decisive victory against Japan at the ­Battle of Midway. August 7, 1942 The first U.S. amphibious landing of the Pacific War occurs as 1st Marine Division invades Tulagi and Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands. September 12–14, 1942 ­Battle of Bloody Ridge on Guadalcanal. November 8, 1942 Allied invasion of North Africa. January 2, 1943 Allies take Buna in New Guinea. February 9, 1943 Japa­nese re­sis­tance on Guadalcanal ends. June 21, 1943 Allies advance on New Georgia, Solomon Islands. July 10, 1943 Allied invasion of Sicily in Eu­rope. November 1, 1943 U.S. Marines invade Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. November 20, 1943 United States makes amphibious assaults on Makin and Tarawa in the Gilbert Islands. November 23, 1943 Japa­nese end re­sis­tance on Makin and Tarawa. January 22, 1944 American amphibious assault on Anzio in Italy. February 1–7, 1944 U.S. troops capture Kwajalein and Majura Atolls in the Marshall Islands. April 22, 1944 Allies attack Aitape and Hollandia in New Guinea. June 6, 1944 D-­Day, Allied forces conduct amphibious assault on Normandy coastline in France. June 15, 1944 U.S. Marines invade Saipan and the Mariana Islands.



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August 8, 1944 American troops complete the capture of the Mariana Islands. October 20, 1944 General Douglas MacArthur returns to the Philippines when his U.S. Sixth Army invades Leyte in the Philippines. October 23–26, 1944 ­Battle of Leyte Gulf results in a decisive U.S. Naval victory. October 25, 1944 The first suicide air (kamikaze) attacks occur against U.S. warships in Leyte Gulf. December 16, 1944 ­Battle of the Bulge begins in Eu­rope. February 16, 1945 U.S. Army recaptures Bataan in the Philippines. February 19, 1945 U.S. Marines invade Iwo Jima. March 3, 1945 U.S. and Filipino troops take Manila. March 9–10, 1945 Fifteen square miles of Tokyo destroyed ­after the city is fire bombed by 279 B-29s. April 1, 1945 The final amphibious landing of the war occurs as the United States invades Okinawa. April 12, 1945 President Roo­se­velt dies, succeeded by Vice President Harry S. Truman. May 8, 1945 Victory in Eu­rope Day. May 25, 1945 U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff approve Operation Olympic, the invasion of Japan, scheduled for November 1, 1945. June 22, 1945 Japa­nese re­sis­tance ends on Okinawa. July 5, 1945 Liberation of Philippines declared. July 16, 1945 First atomic bomb is successfully tested in the United States. August 6, 1945 Atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima from a B-29.

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August 9, 1945 Atomic bomb is dropped on Nagasaki from a B-29. August 14, 1945 Japa­nese accept unconditional surrender; General MacArthur is appointed to command the occupation forces in Japan. September 2, 1945 Formal Japa­nese surrender ceremony in Tokyo Bay.

Documents of World War II in the Pacific: Personal Accounts 1  Handbook on Japa­nese Military Forces, October 1, 1944 This U.S. War Department’s handbook attempts to explain the outlook of Japa­ nese soldiers for the American officer and enlisted man. The following excerpt comes from Chapter I, “RECRUITMENT AND TRAINING,” Section VI, “MORALE, DISCIPLINE, AND EFFICIENCY.” 1. MORALE. a. The individual Japa­nese soldier’s ­whole outlook and attitude to life are naturally influenced by his home life, his schooling, his par­tic­u­lar social environment with its innumerable repressing conventions, and his military training. b. In the Japa­nese social system, individualism has no place. C ­ hildren are taught that, as members of the ­family, they must obey their parents implicitly and, forgetting their own selfish desires, help each and ­every one of the ­family at all times. This system of obedience and loyalty is extended to the community and Japa­nese life as a w ­ hole; it permeates upward from the f­amily unit through neighborhood associations, schools, factories, and other larger organ­izations, till fi­nally the ­whole Japa­nese nation is imbued with the spirit of self-­sacrifice, obedience, and loyalty to the Emperor himself. c. Superimposed on this community structure is the indoctrination of ancestor worship and of the divine origin of the Emperor and the Japa­nese race. Since the restoration of the Imperial rule in 1868 the Japa­nese Government has laid much stress on the divine origin of the race and its titular head, and has amplified this teaching by describing Japan’s warlike ventures as “divine missions.” Famous examples of heroism and military feats in Japan’s history are extolled on stage and screen, in lit­er­a­ture, and on the radio; hero worship is encouraged. Regimentation of the Japa­ nese national life by government authorities, with their numerous and all-­ embracing regulations, has been a feature for many centuries. d. Throughout his military training the Japa­nese soldier is not allowed to forget all he has been taught in the home, school, or factory. It is drummed into him again and again while his military training proceeds by repeated lectures from unit



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commanders, given ­under the guise of “spiritual training” (Seishin Kyoiku). The object of all this concentrated spiritual training is to imbue the Japa­nese soldier with a spirit which can endure and even be spurred on to further endeavors when the hardships of warfare are encountered. But even though his officers appear to have an ardor which might be called fanat­i­cism, the private soldier is characterized more by blind and unquestioning subservience to authority. The determination of the Japa­nese soldier to fight to the last or commit suicide rather than be taken prisoner, displayed in the early stages of the war, may be prompted partly byfear of the treatment he may receive at the hands of his captors. More likely it is motivated by the disgrace which he realizes would be brought on his ­family should he fall into the e­ nemy’s hands. 2. DISCIPLINE. a. ­Because of his training and background the Japa­nese soldier is generally well disciplined and very amenable to law and order. With firm leadership, the discipline to which he has been accustomed in Japan can be, and usually is, maintained in the field and in territories ­under Japa­nese occupation. b. Elated with success in war and imbued with the idea of Japa­nese racial superiority, the Japa­nese soldier is apt to adopt a superior attitude ­towards conquered ­people and to forget the strict instructions given him during military training. Numerous instances of breaches of the military laws have occurred, and evidence shows that crimes of rape, plundering, drunkenness, and robbery have been committed. Cases of soldiers deserting their posts, or mutilating themselves in order to avoid taking part in combat, are not unknown, and a few cases of insubordination and desertion also have been reported. 3. EFFICIENCY. It already has been shown (par. 1) that the Japa­nese soldier in civilian life is a subservient unit in the Japa­nese f­ amily system, and that individualism is discouraged. In the army his position is similar. Army training and the Japa­nese social system place emphasis on teamwork rather than on individual enterprise. As a member of a squad (section), platoon, or com­pany, the Japa­nese soldier meticulously performs duties allotted to him; he is an efficient cog in the machine and ­will carry out instructions to the letter. Source: U.S. War Department, Handbook on Japa­nese Military Forces. TM E 30–480 (Washington: GPO, 1944), pp.8–9, https://­archive​.­org​/­details​/­TME30​- ­480.

2  Combat in the Pacific Theater The following article in Yank, The Army Weekly, by Private First Class Justin Gray, Yank staff correspondent, describes the combat and life of a soldier in the Pacific, especially in comparison to that of enlisted men in Eu­rope. The Marianas—­Most of us with ­little or no experience in the Pacific are apt to think of the war in this area solely in terms of fear-­and-­disease-­ridden jungles or small barren coral atolls. While it is true that thousands of our men are still garrisoned or fighting ­under such miserable conditions, generally speaking the Pacific war is moving out of the jungles and small islands ­towards the larger land bases.

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This is bringing about changes which occasionally surprise even the men who have been in this theater for many months. The marine coming up from the Solomons finds it hard to adjust himself to the open countryside of Okinawa. An infantryman who had just left the mud and wet of Leyte could hardly “believe his eyes when he first dug a foxhole more than a foot and a half deep on Okinawa and ­didn’t run into ­water. Remembering the days in the South Pacific, both marines and infantrymen landed on Okinawa with only a poncho. They found that a half-­blanket would have come in handy. ­There are differences in the rear areas, too. The GI stationed on hilly Saipan may not be too enthusiastic about the place, bat it is a far cry from flat, two-­by-­ four Kwajalein. The ATC man now working at the depot field on Guam has ­stopped taking atabrine, something he was always being reminded about on Guadalcanal. While a steam-­shovel operator on Ulithi works in the stubborn white coral, on Okinawa he digs in honest-­to-­God dirt and clay. The man from North Africa or Eu­rope might well find the climate in the Pacific better in many re­spects. ­There is l­ittle out h­ ere to compare with the b­ itter cold of Italian and German winters. The men of an Air Force ser­vice group from North Africa might not mind the heat in the Pacific any more than the weather ­they’ve sweated out inland from the Mediterranean. The man who caught malaria in Sicily and again in Italy might not be both­ered with recurring attacks on Okinawa. ­There are now many places one may be assigned in the Pacific where ­there are no jungle snakes, malaria, brackish ­water or coral. And ­there are places which can be accurately compared with areas in Eu­rope. We are just beginning to reach them. Prob­ably the first ­thing an ETO combat veteran would notice in the Pacific is the relatively short time that divisions fighting the Japs have remained in action. The First Marine and the Army Seventh Divisions are typical. They landed side by side on Okinawa. Previously the First Marine had fought at Guadalcanal, Cape Gloucester and Pelelieu; the Seventh at Attu, Kwajalein and Leyte. Prob­ably they have done as much fighting in this theater as any other combat outfits. They have had a rough time. But they have also had long noncombat periods between actions. This was never pos­si­ble in Eu­rope. The war was always pre­sent and the demands on the troops increased constantly. Outfits ­were relieved periodically and ­were given short rests but as soon as their few days ­were up they returned to the fighting. Combat was continuous and ­didn’t end ­until VE-­Day. Relief periods in the Pacific, though, have meant ­little more than being stuck on some Godforsaken island far from anything that resembles Western civilization, an island base serving as a “rest camp.” The men w ­ ere put in coconut groves, given tents and lumber and told to build their areas. Building might be still ­going on five months ­later when they left for their next campaign. Rest periods in the ETO may have been short but on occasion they gave a soldier a chance to get completely away from traditional Army life. No m ­ atter how wretched and dirty an Italian town happened to be at least it was a change. In the Pacific ­there are no civilian cities to visit or hot spots to gather in. Exciting entertainment may mean ­going to the nearest naval station for a good meal. The “resting” combat soldier ­isn’t the only one affected by this monotony. It characterizes the life of ­every man in the Pacific. In Eu­rope non-­combat units live in



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the comparative luxury of towns and cities ­behind the lines. T ­ here is ­little to arouse envy in Pacific behind-­the-­lines life. Boredom, of course, is the curse of GIs the world over. The set routine can drive a man nuts wherever he is. In France and Italy they call it “ETO happy”; out ­here, the expression is “rock happy.” ­There is ­little ­actual difference between the dullness of Army life in Italy or on Kwajalein or Canton Island except in the amount of it. In the Pacific ­there is no escape from places like Kwajalein. Eu­rope has diversions. Sealing the GI to his Pacific island “paradise” and making inevitable his boredom is a ­factor which was completely absent in Eu­rope. It is almost 2,500 miles from San Francisco to Honolulu, which is only the start. It is about the same distance again to Kwajalein—­a mere dot on the ocean. Another 1,700 miles and one reaches Saipan. From Saipan to Okinawa is a short hop of only 200 miles. ­There you can almost feel that you are in Tokyo’s backyard—­only 800 miles. ­There is another reason for this feeling of isolation. We unconsciously speak about the Pacific theater in the same way we do about the Eu­ro­pean. But actually they are two dif­ fer­ent ­things. The Eu­ro­pean theater is a land mass, one huge base where a man could hitchhike from one part to another. The Pacific theater is ­really a thousand busy bases scattered over a huge ocean mass on which ­there are no roads. It is not easy to thumb a ­ride across ­water. ­These distances and the lack of communications make it difficult to fully appreciate the work being accomplished by ­others in the same general area. The man on Tarawa has no feeling of contact with what is g­ oing on at Saipan. Even ­those on Saipan have ­little sense of relationship with the forward combat on Okinawa which they directly supply. Only the highest in command can actually visualize or understand the way in which the Pacific’s isolated bases tie themselves into a fighting machine. The veteran from Eu­rope ­won’t even have to go into action in the Pacific before he realizes another basic difference. When we ­were briefed the night before we made the assault landing on Okinawa, our officer said to us: “The town of Sobe, our first objective, must be taken before we can consider the beachhead won. I’m sorry we ­can’t give you any real information about this Sobe. All I can say is that ­there are possibly 1,770 ­people living t­ here. I might be wrong by 1,000 e­ ither way. We ­don’t know very much about the damned town—or this island for that ­matter.” That told the story of the Pacific area. We just ­don’t know very much about the land on which we must fight. We knew every­thing ­there was to know about Eu­rope. In North Africa or Sicily or Italy or France they knew as much about the locality they ­were invading as did the natives themselves. One of the most strategic points taken in the initial landings on North Africa was the small Mediterranean port of Arzew. The First Ranger Battalion was assigned the task of capturing this port. Before landing, the Rangers had at their disposal ­every bit of information needed for the accomplishment of their mission. They knew accurately how many ­people lived in Arzew. They knew where they lived. They knew the name of the mayor. They knew the location of the town’s whore­house. The Rangers w ­ ere familiar in e­ very detail with the terrain on which they w ­ ere to fight. And they had this information before they fought.

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The information available to the troops fighting in the Pacific is unbelievably sketchy. We knew ­there ­were approximately half a million civilians on Okinawa but we had no idea how they would react to our invasion. We knew the geo­graph­ i­cal size of the island but we landed with incomplete maps. We knew ­there must be geisha ­houses on the island but we d­ idn’t know their location. This lack of knowledge puts the combat soldier at a serious disadvantage. Information which was available in Eu­rope helped save many lives. Information which is not available in the Pacific is costing us lives. ­There is another point. ­These Pacific battlefields are of ­little interest to the average American. ­There seems to be a greater incentive to fight for Paris than to slug one’s way ­toward Garapan, the capital of Saipan. Rome seemed a more in­ter­est­ing prize than Kwajalein, the administrative center of the Marshall Islands defenses. Even fighting for the dirty North Africa towns had more personal meaning to the GI. ­There is yet to be a case in the Pacific equal to the first hours at Salerno where in the midst of flying shells a man ran up to the beachmaster and cried, “Where’s the pro station?” Our final decisive thrust against the Japa­nese must be accomplished through a large-­scale amphibious operation. H ­ ere again differences between the Eu­ro­pean war and its Pacific counterpart are evident. In North Africa, Sicily, Italy and France initial beachheads w ­ ere established at night. The ele­ment of surprise was considered essential. The Pacific landings on the other hand have usually been made in broad daylight a­ fter days of preliminary naval bombardment to soften defenses ­There are reasons for this difference. A surprise is impossible when slow, noisy amtracks must cross hundreds of yards of reefs surrounding such invasion objectives as Okinawa. ­Because of the reefs in the Pacific, landing craft must be employed differently than they ­were in Eu­rope. Prob­ ably the most significant reason for daylight landing in the Pacific is that often we have been invading small islands. In such cases the Japa­nese have been able to fortify literally ­every point they desired. Power has been our only answer to such elaborate defenses. We have sometimes had to forfeit the ele­ment of surprise, hoping to neutralize the e­ nemy’s position with preliminary bombardment. In Eu­rope the Nazis had to defend thousands of miles of coastline. It was impossible to fortify and man adequately ­every foot. Therefore beach defenses ­were light. Inland, however, the Germans massed mobile reserves which could be rushed to any point where an Allied strike was indicated. Consequently, surprise was vital to us. Preliminary bombardment would have tipped off our hand. As we near the extended coastlines of China and Japan the familiar power tactics of the Pacific may give way to landings following the pattern of surprise developed in Eu­rope. ­There is already some evidence that the Japs have de­cided to use the German method of beach defenses. On Okinawa we made the traditional Pacific daylight landing only to find no Japs. Once we landed it was obvious that the Japa­ nese had de­cided a long time before not to defend the beaches. The Navy bombarded the western slopes of Okinawa for six solid days before L-­Day but on landing we ­didn’t find a single Japa­nese gun destroyed or a single dead body—­civilian or military. We found none ­because the Japs had apparently evacuated the area days in advance.



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In retiring from the beaches to the mountains on Okinawa the Japa­nese are following the strategy of the Germans in Sicily, Italy and the rest of Eu­rope. The Japa­ nese recognize that they are fighting primarily a defensive war. Like the Germans they are attempting to make our victory so costly that we ­will be willing to ­settle on easy peace terms—­terms which ­will leave sufficient means to prepare for ­future wars. To accomplish this they must as far as pos­si­ble choose themselves where the decisive b­ attles w ­ ill be fought. Once we indicate where we intend to invade, the Japa­nese can choose the best defensive terrain and retire to it. In thus deciding on purely defensive tactics the Japs are admitting that the ­battle is lost, but as in Eu­rope we ­will now have to pay a high price in lives and toil for what­ever gains we make ­until victory is complete. In the past two years our advances both in Eu­rope and the Pacific have thrown the Axis back on its home territory. The Germans made our final drives into “fortress Eu­rope” costly ­because they knew intimately the country over which we had to advance. ­Today the Japa­nese are likewise fighting on terrain they know in ­every detail. Recently rumors spread through our hard-­hit infantry on Okinawa that German experts ­were directing the Jap artillery. It seemed impossible to Pacific veterans that Japa­nese artillery could be so accurate without outside help. Prob­ably the real reason was that the Japs knew ­every inch of terrain on which we are fighting and had prepared their artillery concentrations beforehand. The Japa­nese Army in comparison with the German looks like hell. Uniforms ­don’t fit, they still wear wrap-­around leggings, much of the artillery is mounted on wooden wheels, their ­r ifle is bolt action, their motorized equipment is inferior and generally speaking they look incredibly inefficient. But looks are deceiving. In the early Pacific campaigns we ­either fought the Japs in jungles or on barren coral atolls. In both cases the use of large-­scale artillery was l­imited. In certain areas our infantry even landed without their cannon companies. Generally speaking, mortars ­were the only supporting heavy weapons e­ ither side could use. At the time this small-­scale action was taking place our troops on North Africa ­were facing the efficient German 88s and other heavy pieces. As early as the Tunisian campaign heavy guns ­were a prerequisite for warfare in the ETO. The Pacific war had yet to see its first 155 Long Tom. Out of the Pacific’s early small-­scale action grew the belief that the Japs ­were poor artillerymen. I remember thinking when over in Eu­rope that I could take a bit of the jungle fighting if only it would mean my getting away from large-­scale barrages. Unfortunately for ­those of us who would like to get away from artillery, this is no longer the case in the Pacific, and with Luzon and Okinawa we have had our first chance to evaluate the Jap artillerymen correctly. In many re­spects the Japa­nese artillery is inferior to ours. They have nothing to compare with our self-­ propelled guns and their other pieces are in most cases awkward and difficult to move. Prob­ably the greatest weakness the Japa­nese have shown so far is their lack of concentrated battery fire. On Okinawa, it is true, we received plenty of two-­gun

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and sometimes four-­gun battery fire but in most instances the Japs fired their guns as separate units. ­There ­were cases on Okinawa where they had complete observation of our infantry positions. They shelled us and made our life more than just miserable. But they ­didn’t annihilate us or make us withdraw as the Germans would have done in a similar situation. As yet Jap artillery has not been as accurate or concentrated as the German but if the stuff thrown at us on Okinawa is any indication we must expect the artillery war in the Pacific from now on to duplicate in almost ­every sense the artillery war just finished in Eu­rope. In the ­matter of mortars the Japa­nese ­don’t have to take a back seat for anybody. They use t­ hese weapons with plenty of savvy. Prob­ably their most famous one, the “knee mortar”, i­sn’t a mortar at all but can be more accurately described as a grenade discharger. This weapon, so effective against us in the jungles, was equally efficient on the open terrain of Okinawa where it was used in direct support of the ­rifle platoons. While the German “screaming meemies’ ­were murderous weapons to fight against, the Japs may have gone the Jerries one better in developing their 320-­spigot mortar. Its shell is a good five feet long and weighs at least 700 pounds. Called the “flying boxcar” by our troops, this mortar has a terrific concussion effect and showers rocks and dirt with penetrating force for a hundred yards. It has its limitations. It cannot be used accurately as the Germans used their heavy mortars, and its range prob­ably ­doesn’t exceed 1,200 yards. Its flight is so slow that anyone can observe its descent in time to take cover or possibly move out of its impact area. So far, armored units have been used only on a small scale in the Pacific. This is fortunate for Japan. Of all the known types of Japa­nese tanks none have the power, the speed or the all-­around per­for­mance of German tanks we met in the ETO. As far back as the Tunisian campaign, when we ­were just experimenting with our mechanized equipment, the strength we put in the field could have competed easily with the Japa­nese armor. Like the Germans, the Japs use hand grenades extensively. One of their most reliable models, the stick grenade, is a direct copy of the famous German potato masher. They have yet to develop a fragmentation grenade comparable with ours. The Jap soldier’s ­rifle is in ­every re­spect inferior to our small arms or ­those used by the Germans. At the beginning of the war the caliber of their basic ­rifle, the Arisaka, was .256. ­These rounds ­didn’t always have sufficient power to put a man out of action and the Japs have now developed a new ­rifle (Type 99) which fires a round comparable to our .30. Still their ­rifle is a poor second to our M-1. It has no wind gauge and is bolt operated. The bolt ­handle is rather clumsy and makes rapid fire difficult. The Japs may have a ­r ifle that is inferior to ours but they have not made the ­mistake that the Germans did. At the beginning of the war the Germans ­were committed to the squirt-­gun theory of small fire—­throwing at the ­enemy all the metal you can as fast as you can. This proved wasteful and in­effec­tive against an ­enemy trained to use small arms accurately. The Germans had to make hurried changes to develop a long-­range weapon that would supplement their existing Schmeisser machine pistol. The Japs ­haven’t had to make this radical change during war­time



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and they have made good use of the ­rifle as a sniper’s weapon. Sniper tactics, rather than becoming outmoded, have become of greater significance on the modern battlefield than was at first expected. Although they are fighting primarily a defensive war, the Japs have failed almost completely to make adequate use of the best defensive tactic of all—­mines and de­mo­li­tions. The Germans made no such ­mistake. They had their famous Tellermines and S mines to start with, and once they realized they had lost the initiative they developed new kinds of mines in g­ reat quantities. The GI in Eu­rope ran up against mines made almost entirely of glass, Bakelite and compressed paper, which ­were quite impossible to discover with a standard detector. On Anzio the Jerries used extensively the ­little shoe mine. Anyone stepping on it could count on having one foot sheared off just above the ankle. The infantrymen of the rugged 36th Division failed to hold their first crossing of the Rapido River near Cassino in Italy as much b­ ecause of German mines as for any other reason. The defenses on Okinawa ­were strong but the infantrymen of the 96th Division advancing on ­these positions had ­little to worry about in regard to mines. The Japs do use mines and booby traps but in a quantity and with an efficiency which cannot compare with the German methods. From the methods in which the mines and traps ­were set on Okinawa it was evident that Japa­nese troops ­were using them more as a field expedient than as a previously planned tactic. It is the exception to the rule to find the Japs using standard mines, built originally for the job, as the Germans used them. In most cases the Japs obviously had to improvise, using dynamite and 75-mm shells in preparing and laying their explosives. As for de­mo­li­tions the Japs again ­can’t compare with German techniques. Anyone who fought through the Sicilian campaign ­will never forget the clean, efficient destruction of e­ very bridge or railroad trestle we reached. The Japs had plenty of time to prepare their defenses on Okinawa and they did destroy some of the bridges and create other obstacles to stop our pro­gress. Although we are modifying our methods against the Japa­nese to take advantage of lessons learned in the ETO, some practices of the early days of the war in the South Pacific still remain, Units in the Pacific have yet to make full use of the night attack. In jungle fighting it was impossible to move about except in daylight, so a defense was developed to afford maximum protection from both the Japs and the ele­ments during the night. Foxholes w ­ ere dug close together in a tight perimeter, movement was absolutely forbidden within our lines, patrols ­were called in, and then we shot anything that moved. This technique, although it allowed the Jap complete freedom of movement during the night, was useful ­under such conditions. But this is a completely sterile type of defense. Now that we are fighting on large land masses we must seize the initiative at night as well as in the day. In Eu­rope we kept the Jerries guessing plenty by hitting them ­after dark. Our troops in the Pacific began to think of the Jap as a ‘born’ jungle and night fighter. Neither is necessarily true. The Japa­nese are not a tropical ­people and are no more at home in the jungle than we are. At the beginning they ­were better jungle fighters merely ­because they had been better trained. But our victories in the Pacific have shown that we can learn too. Similarly, the

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myth that the Jap is the better night fighter can also be exploded once we begin wresting the initiative from him at night and keep moving forward as we do during the daylight hours. For the ground forces the air war against the Japa­nese w ­ ill seem to be a far cry from the air war against the Germans. In Eu­rope the front lines—­where the infantryman hangs out—­were usually between the air objectives and the rear bases where our airfields ­were located. The men fighting the Germans could see almost daily the huge air armadas flying directly overhead on their way to Germany, Austria and Northern Italy. This sight gave the combat man a sense of strength and showed him personally the significance of his fight to take the Foggia airfields in Italy or the airdromes outside of Paris. The fighting man in the Pacific rarely sees the B-29s on their way to Tokyo. The marine who helped take bloody Iwo can be told the meaning of his accomplishment but he ­will never see the base in action. The infantryman on Okinawa knows the B-29s and P-51s are hitting the main islands of Japan regularly, but he never actually sees them overhead. Strategic air power is ­here in the Pacific in strength but most of the combat troops are as far removed from this phase of the war as the civilian back at home. One of the greatest handicaps to our advance in the Pacific war is our adherence to the concept that we must kill ­every single Jap we encounter. This fallacy, born in the early days of the Guadalcanal campaign and matured through the long, hard months of combat which led up to Okinawa, has done more harm to our war effort in the Pacific than can be calculated. In the early days of the war the Japa­nese soldier displayed a w ­ ill to resist which was hard for the American to understand. ­Because we ­didn’t understand this tenacity of the ­enemy We dismissed his combat efficiency by calling him a “fanatic.” And since we thought of the Japs merely as fanatics it ­wasn’t long before we ourselves, without the help of the Japa­nese propaganda machine, developed the myth that the Jap soldier would never surrender. ­There ­were definite reasons why this myth became accepted as Gospel truth. In the early campaigns, before he was made to realize the strength of the American war machine, the Jap soldier was undoubtedly a tough one to force into surrender. It is hard to convince a victorious soldier” that he should give up and the Jap had many victories to his credit. Many of our men ­were ­either wounded or killed in attempting to capture Jap soldiers. On the other side of the world, however, the war in Eu­rope was being shortened by months and maybe even years by the almost daily capture of large numbers of Axis troops. The German surrendered b­ ecause we gave him plenty of opportunity to do so. And the German is pretty fanatical too. In fact every­thing points to the fact that the German is even more fanatical than his Japa­ nese counterpart. When we do capture a Jap soldier it takes almost no time at all to make him realize he did the wisest ­thing. This change of attitude is brought about with nothing more than a l­ ittle good food and clean clothing. The German, on the other hand, surrenders much more readily but he remains sullen and arrogant. The German is a dangerous prisoner to leave unguarded. The Jap. once we prove we are not g­ oing to kill him, is willing and cooperative.



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The German was a fanatical fighter with a ­will to resist equal to that of the Japa­ nese soldier. But we undermined his power to continue fighting by constantly offering him the opportunity of surrendering. The same must be done with the Jap or we s­ hall be fighting in the Pacific for years to come. The GI fighting in the Pacific must come to realize what the GI in Eu­rope never forgot. If it is militarily significant for a man to risk his life to neutralize a machine-­ gun nest, it is also militarily significant for him to risk his life to capture a Japa­ nese soldier. The capture of Japa­nese soldiers on a large scale would be a highly profitable military accomplishment and would seriously hurt the Japa­nese war potential. Germany ­wasn’t defeated ­because of the number of soldiers killed but rather ­because of the number of soldiers we isolated from her war machine in pockets ­behind the front. Most of ­these are u­ nder the heading of prisoners of war. Taking Jap prisoners ­will not be easy. ­There is no doubt the Jap at this point intends to resist being captured even if it means he must kill himself. The GI fighting in the Pacific ­will make no bones of the fact he ­will never surrender to the Japs. His reason is that he fears torture and death. This is exactly why the Japa­nese ­don’t surrender to us. The American who fought in Eu­rope was just as good a fighter as the American who continues to fight against the Japs. But the Americans surrendered on many occasions to the Germans. They surrendered ­because they felt they had some chance of Jiving out the status of being a prisoner of war. ­There w ­ ere prob­ably very few Allied soldiers who gave up ­after the experience at the bulge when the Germans openly slaughtered more than a hundred of our troops who had surrendered the day previous. The Germans may have considered the Allies soft ­because we took such good care of our prisoners, but ­there can be no doubt that our “softness” led many of Hitler’s legions to desert his ranks once the ­going got a bit rough. We should at least give the Japs as much of an opportunity. It might help bring this phase of the war to an end that much sooner. In spite of all the apparent variations in the techniques of fighting in Eu­rope and the Pacific, ­there is actually no real difference between the war which just ended against Germany and the war still continuing against Japan. We can judge and condemn the Japa­nese on the very same set of standards and values we judged and condemned the Germans. We can fight and defeat the Japa­nese with the very same weapons and ideas with which we fought and defeated the Germans. Unconditional surrender ­will be Japan’s just as it was Germany’s. Source: Justin Gray, “Pacific Combat,” Yank, The Army Weekly, June 15, 1945, pp. 2–5, https://­archive​.­org​/­details​/­1945​- ­06​-­15YankMagazine.

NOTES 1. Robert A. Margo, “Employment and Unemployment in the 1930s,” Journal of Economic Perspectives 7 (Spring 1993): 41–44. 2. Franklin D. Roo­se­velt, Declaration of War Speech, December 8, 1941, National Archives. https://­w ww​.­a rchives​.­gov​/­education ​/­lessons​/­d ay​-­of​-­i nfamy (accessed 1 June 2018).

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  3. See Robert A. Divine, Reluctant Belligerent: American Entry into World War II, 2nd ed. (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1979); Wayne S. Cole, Roo­se­velt and the Isolationists, 1932–1945 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983); David M. Kennedy, Freedom From Fear: The American ­People in Depression and War, 1929–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999).   4. Arthur Miller cited in Lee Kennett, G.I.: The American Soldier in World War II, rep. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 72.   5. For significant studies on World War II in the Pacific see Eric Bergerud, Touched by Fire: The Land War in the South Pacific (New York: Viking, 1996), 1–38; Ronald H. Spector, Ea­gle Against the Sun: The American War Against Japan (New York: F ­ ree Press, 1985), 59; D. Clayton James, “American and Japa­nese Strategies in the Pacific War,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Prince­ton: Prince­ton University Press, 1986); U. S. Army, The War in the Pacific, 11 vols., The United States Army in World War II (Washington: Center of Military History, 1948–1962).   6. Richard Wheeler, Iwo (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1980).   7. Kennett, G.I., 24–41.   8. Kennett, G.I., 29.   9. Allan Bérubé, Coming Out U ­ nder Fire: The History of Gay Men and ­Women in World War II (New York: ­Free Press, 1990), 149–54; Beth Bailey, Sex in the Heartland (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 56–61; and Kennett, G.I., 29. 10. National World War II Museum, Research Starters: US Military by the Numbers. https://­w ww​.­n ationalww2museum​.­org​/­s tudents​-­t eachers​/­s tudent​-­r esources​/­r esearch​ -­starters​/­research​-­starters​-­us​-­military​-­numbers (accessed May 11, 2018). 11. Cited in More­house, Fighting in the Jim Crow Army, 67–71. 12. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 258–59; Kennett, G.I., 35–37. 13. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 246–58. 14. Paul Fussell, ­Doing ­Battle: The Making of a Skeptic (Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1996), 213, cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 258. 15. More­house, Fighting in the Jim Crow Army. 67–71; John W. Davis, “The Negro in the United States Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard,” Journal of Negro Education 12 (Summer 1943): 345–49; McGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 65–67, 99–103; and Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 187–90, 199–200. 16. Peter S. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers: Ground Combat in the World Wars, ­Korea, and Vietnam (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2003), 17. 17. Kennett, G.I., 46–48. 18. Kennett, G.I., 51–53. 19. Paul W. Bass, The History of Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri (Sikeston, MO: Acclaim Press, 2016), 50–62; Larry D. Roberts, “The Engineer Replacement Training Center, Fort Leonard Wood,” unpublished manuscript, U.S. Army Engineer School History Archives, Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. 20. Roger O. Austin, One Man’s War: Through the Lens of a Combat Engineer (Rochester, NY: Austin Books, 2007), 12. 21. Ibid., 12–13. 22. See Engineers of the Southwest Pacific, 1941–1945, 8 vols. (Washington: GPO, 1947). 23. Milton McPherson, The Ninety-­Day Won­ders: OCS and the Modern American Army (Fort Benning, GA: U.S. Army Officer Candidate School Alumni Association, 2001), 115–18. 24. Ibid., 115–16. 25. War Department, memorandum to Chief of Staff, Commanding Generals, Commandants, the Superintendent, et al., Subject: War Department Training Director, 1941–1942, August 19, 1941, U.S. Army Engineer School History Office Archives.



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26. Coll, et al., The Corps of Engineers, 116–17. 27. National World War II Museum, “Research Starters: US Military by the Numbers;” Ronald Takaki, Double Victory: A Multicultural History of Amer­i­ca in World War II (Boston: L ­ ittle, Brown, 2000), 28. Aaron Belkin, Bring Me Men: Military Masculinity and the Façade of American Empire, 1898-2001 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 70–75. 29. Kimberly Phillips Boehm, War! What Is It Good For? Black Freedom Strug­gles and the U.S. Military from World War II to the Pre­sent (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), 20–63. 30. Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 141–42. 31. Stouffer, et al., Studies in Social Psy­chol­ogy in World War II, vol. 1, The American Soldier (Prince­ton: Prince­ton University Press, 1949), 533, cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 267. 32. Stouffer et al., The American Soldier, 507, cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 296, note 6. 33. Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 178–80, 199–203; More­house, Fighting in the Jim Crow Army, 5–6, 130; Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 270–75. 34. Heath Twitchell, Northwest Epic: The Building of the Alaskan Highway (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992); and Karl C. Dod, The Corps of Engineers: The War Against Japan. Washington: Center of Military History, 1966, 299–317. 35. See Mattie E. Treadwell, U.S. Army in World War II: Special Studies—­The W ­ omen’s Army Corps (Washington: Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, 1954); ­Women’s Memorial, History. https://­w ww​.­womensmemorial​.­org​/ ­history. 36. Jeanne Holm, ­Women in the Military: An Unfinished Revolution, rev. ed. (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1992), 94–98; Leisa D. Meyer, Creating G.I. Jane: Sexuality and Power in the ­Women’s Army Corps in World War II (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 9–10. 37. Holm, ­Women in the Military, 78. 38. Marilyn E. Hegarty, Victory Girls, Khaki-­Wakis, and Patriotutes: The Regulation of Female Sexuality During World War II (New York University Press, 2008), 4, 89; Meyer, Creating G.I. Jane, 149–78. 39. Meyer, Creating G.I. Jane, 140–48; Hegarty, Victory Girls, 85–98, 158–60. 40. Sledge, With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa (Novato, CA: Presidio, 1981), 9–13. 41. Peter Schrijvers, The GI War Against Japan: American Soldiers in Asia and the Pacific During World War II (New York: New York University Press, 2002,) 100–33; Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 89–103; Stephen R. Taaffe, MacArthur’s Jungle War: The 1944 New Guinea Campaign (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998). 42. Margaret E. Wagner, et al., “Mobilization: The ­Rifle, the Wrench, and the Rationing Book,” in David M. Kennedy, ed., The Library of Congress World War II Companion (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2007), 210–11, quote on 210. 43. Kennett, G.I., 99–102. 44. Kennett, G.I., 102–05. See also Mark R. Henry, The U.S. Army in World War II, Volume 1: The Pacific (Oxford, UK: Osprey, 2000). 45. Cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 109. 46. Kennett, G.I., 75–77. See also William M. Tuttle, “­Daddy’s Gone to War”: The Second World War in the Lives of Amer­i­ca’s ­Children (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). 47. Cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 110. 48. See Mark P. Parillo, ed., We W ­ ere in the Big One: Experiences of the World War II Generation (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002). 49. American History Catholic History Classroom, Catholic University of Amer­i­ca, Background: American Catholics and World War II. https://­cuomeka​.­wrlc​.­org​/­exhibits​

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/­show​/­a merican​- ­catholic​-­participatio​/­catholics​-­w wii; Deborah Dash Moore, G.I. Jews: How World War II Changed a Generation (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard, 2006). 50. Franklin D. Roo­se­velt, Speech (Transcript), December 8, 1941. https://­w ww​.­loc​.­gov​ /­resource​/­afc1986022​.­afc1986022​_­ms2201​/­​?­st​=­text. 51. Donald F. Crosby, Battlefield Chaplains: Catholic Priests in World War II (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994); Lyle W. Dorsett, Serving God and Country: United States Military Chaplains in World War II (New York: Berkley Caliber, 2012); Kindvatter, American Soldiers, 113–14. 52. Sledge, With the Old Breed, 285–86; Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 113–17. See Kindvatter’s end notes for ­these five pages for additional sources on religion and combat. 53. Brian Wansink and Craig Wansink, “Are ­T here Atheists in Foxholes: Combat Intensity and Religious Be­hav­ior,” Journal of Religion and Health 52 (September 2013): 768–79; Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 113–17. 54. See Sledge, With the Old Breed, 85, cited in Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 116. 55. Wansink and Wansink, “Are T ­ here Atheists in Foxholes,” 775–76. 56. U.S. Marine Corps, History of U.S. Marine Corps Operations in World War II, vol 5, Victory and Occupation (Washington: Historical Branch, Headquarters Marine Corps, 1968), 726–28. 57. Dower, War Without Mercy, 21, 162–63. 58. Lila Armstrong to Alexander A. Vandegrift, November 30, 1943, Alexander A. Vandegrift Papers, Box 2, Marine Corps University Archives, Quantico, V ­ irginia. No response from Vandegrift is available in the archives. 59. Ernie Pyle, ­Here Is Your War (New York: Henry Holt, 1943) and Brave Men (New York: Henry Holt, 1944). For a list of other books written during the war by veterans and embedded journalist, see University of California-­Berkeley, The Books of the ­Century: 1940–1949. https://­w ww​.­ocf​.­berkeley​.­edu​/­~immer​/ ­books1940s. 60. Ernie Pyle, “Illogical Japs,” Rocky Mountain News, February  26, 1945. http://­ mediaschool​.­indiana​.­edu​/­erniepyle​/­1945​/­02​/­26​/­the​-­illogical​-­japs​/­. 61. For a biography, see John Tobin, Ernie Pyle’s War: Amer­i­ca’s Eyewitness to World War II (New York: F ­ ree Press, 1997). 62. Marcy Kennedy Knight, “Rosie the Riveter,” Saturday Eve­ning Post (July/August 2013). http://­www​.­saturdayeveningpost​.­com​/­2013​/­07​/­01​/­art​-­entertainment​/­norman​-­rockwell​ -­art​-­entertainment​/­rosie​-­the​-­riveter​.­html. See also George H. Roeder Jr., The Censored War: American Visual Experience During World War Two (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). 63. Yank, The Army Weekly, 3, no. 38, March 9, 1945, quote on p. 11. https://­archive​.­org​ /­stream​/­1945​- ­03​- ­09YankMagazine​-­nsia​/­1945​- ­03​- ­09YankMagazine#page​/­n9​/­mode​/­2up. 64. Stars and Stripes (Eu­ro­pean Theater of Operations), February 28, 1945, and May 17, 1945; Bill Mauldin, Bill Mauldin’s Army: Bill Mauldin’s Greatest World War II Cartoons, rep. ed. (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1983). 65. Library of Congress, Bob Hope and American Variety: On the Road: USO Shows. https://­w ww​.­loc​.­gov​/­exhibits​/ ­bobhope​/­uso​.­html. 66. See Meghan K. Winchell, Good Girls, Good Food, Good Fun: The Story of USO Hostesses During World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008). 67. André Schiffrin, Dr. Seuss & Co. Go to War: The World War II Editorial Cartons of Amer­i­ca’s Leading Artists (New York: The New Press, 2009), 45, 125; David E. Wilt, “Beyond the Storylines: Even More Ways That Comic Books Helped Boys and Girls Help Win the War,” in Trischa Goodnow and James J. Kimble, eds., The 10 Cent War: Comic Books, Propaganda, and World War II (Oxford: University of Mississippi Press, 2016), 201–04.



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68. Dower, War Without Mercy, 98–99, 116–17, 181–200; Clayton R. Koppes and Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Goes to War: How Politics, Profits, and Propaganda ­Shaped World War II Movies (New York: The ­Free Press, 1987); Leon Schlesinger, Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips, dir. I. Freleng (1944; Los Angeles: Warner B ­ rothers). 69. Copies of lyr­ ics and sound recording. https://­w ww​.­historyonthenet​.­com​ /­authentichistory​/­1939​-­1945​/­3​-­music​/­04​-­PH​-­Reaction​/­19420218​_­Were​_­Gonna​_­Have​_­To​ _­Slap​_­The​_­Dirty​_­Little​_ ­Jap​-­Lucky​_­Millinder​.­html. 70. Malvern Hall Tillitt, “Army-­Navy Pay Tops Most Civilians: Unmarried Private’s Income Equivalent to $3,600 Salary,” Barron’s National Business and Financial Weekly. April 24, 1944. http://­www​.­usmm​.­org​/ ­barrons​.­html; Office of War Information, Rights and Privileges of American Ser­vicemen, Press Release 1889, May 30, 1943. http://­w ww​.­usmm​ .­org​/­wsa​/­rights​.­html. 71. U.S. Bureau of ­Labor Statistics, “War and Postwar Wages,” 3, 8. https://­f raser​ .­stlouisfed​.­org​/­content​/­​?­filepath​=​­/­files​/­docs​/­publications​/ ­bls​/ ­bls​_­0852​_­1946​.­pdf&title​_­id​ =­4318. 72. Office of War Information, “Rights and Privileges of American Ser­vicemen.” 73. U.S. Bureau of L ­ abor Statistics, “War and Postwar Wages,” 3, 8. 74. For an overview see Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 283–86. 75. Margaret E. Wagner, et al., “The Instruments of War,” in David M. Kennedy, ed., The Library of Congress World War II Companion (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2007). 76. Bruce N. Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 50–57. 77. Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 283–84; Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 68–71. 78. Kennett, G.I. 106; Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 284–86; Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 86–95. 79. Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 293–96; Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 133–43. 80. Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 143–48. 81. Ibid., 162–68. 82. Ibid., 175–86. 83. Ibid., 189–98. 84. Ibid., 239–52. 85. Ibid., 199–205. 86. U.S. Army Chemical Warfare Report, cited in Canfield, U.S. Infantry Weapons, 277. 87. Sledge, With the Old Breed, 128. 88. Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 306–36; J.B.A. Bailey, Field Artillery and Firepower (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2004), 350–54. 89. Christopher S. Donner, Pacific Time on Target: Memoirs of a Marine Artillery Officer, 1943–1945, ed. Jack M. McCall Jr. (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2012). 90. William G. Dennis, U.S. and German Field Artillery in World War II: A Comparison. https://­armyhistory​.­org​/­u​-­s​-­and​-­german​-­field​-­artillery​-­in​-­world​-­war​-­ii​-­a​-­comparison​/­. 91. Ibid. 92. Kenneth W. Estes, Marines ­Under Armor: The Marine Corps and Armored Fighting Vehicles, 1916–2000 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2000), 47–106; Steven Zaloga, Armored Thunderbolt: The U.S. Army Sherman in World War II (Mechanicsburg, PA: 2008), 33–60, 301–22; Kennett, G.I., 107. 93. National World War II Museum, “Research Starters: US Military by the Numbers.” 94. Ernest Gerber cited in Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 375. 95. H. W. Blakely, The 32nd Infantry Division in World War II ([no city] Wisconsin: Thirty-­Second Infantry Division History Commission, 1956), 125–26. 96. Robert L. Eichelberger, cited in Blakely, The 32nd Infantry Division, 53. 97. Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 355–59. 98. Donner, Pacific Time on Target, 86.

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  99. Jean Bethke Elshtain, ­Women and War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 207–08. William Shakespeare made the phrase “band of ­brothers” famous in the St. Crispin’s Day speech by King Henry V in the title role in Act 4, Scene 3. 100. James Jones, The Thin Red Line (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1962), 101. 101. Sledge, With the Old Breed, 273. 102. Theodore F. Cook and Haruko Taya Cook, Japan at War: An Oral History (New Press, 1992), 240–52; David C. Earhart, Certain Victory: Images of World War II in Japa­ nese Media (New York: Routledge, 2007), 258. 103. Jones, The Thin Red Line, 156. See also p. 240. 104. Ibid., 293, 446–47. 105. See D. M. Giangreco, Hell to Pay: Operation DOWNFALL and the Invasion of Japan, 1945–1947 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2011); George Fiefter, Tennozan: The B ­ attle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1992). 106. J. Samuel Walker, “The Decision to the Use the Bomb: A Historiography Update,” Diplomatic History 14 (Winter 1990): 97–114; Waldo Heinrichs and Marc Gallichio, Implacable Foes: War in the Pacific, 1944–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017). 107. Truman’s Potsdam diary, reprinted in Diplomatic History 4 (Summer 1980): 324, cited in Dower, War Without Mercy, 142. 108. For useful discussions of racism’s effect on strategic decisions like the one Truman made, see Stephen E. Ambrose and Brian Villa, “Racism, the Atomic Bomb, and the Transformation of Japanese-­American Relations,” in Günter Bischof and Robert L. Dupont, eds., The Pacific War Revisited (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1997), 179–98. 109. See Hampton Sides, Ghost Soldiers: The Forgotten Epic Story of World War II’s Most Dramatic Mission (New York: Doubleday, 2001). 110. U.S. Army, Merrill’s Marauders, February-­May 1944 (1945; Washington: Center of Military History, U.S. Army, 1990), 6–16, 93–114. See Edwin P. Hoyt, Merrill’s Marauders (Los Angeles: Pinnacle Books, 1980). 111. For more precise casualty statistics, see U.S. Army, Statistical and Accounting Branch, Office of the Adjutant General, Army ­Battle Casualties and Nonbattle Deaths in World War II: Final Report, 7 December 1941 to 31 December 1946. http://­w ww​.­ibiblio​ .­org​/ ­hyperwar​/ ­USA ​/­ref​/­Casualties​/­index​.­html#contents; and U.S. Marine Corps, History of U.S. Marine Corps Operations in World War II, vol 5, Victory and Occupation (Washington: Historical Branch, Headquarters Marine Corps, 1968), 730. 112. Edward Jones, cited in Thomas M. Brown, ­Battle Wounds of Iwo Jima (New York: Vantage Press, 2002), 57. 113. U.S. Marine Corps, History of U.S. Marine Corps Operations in World War II, 727–29. 114. David Taplin, et al., “The Role of Temperature in Tropical Immersion Foot Syndrome,” Journal of the American Medical Association 202 (1967): 546–49. 115. See Mary Ellen Condon-­Rall and Albert E. Cowdrey, The Medical Department: Medical Ser­vice in the War Against Japan (Washington: Center of Military History, 1998). 116. See Yuki Tanaka, Hidden Horrors: Japa­nese War Crimes in World War II, 2nd. ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2017). 117. Dower, War Without Mercy, 35–65. 118. John Hershey, Into the Valley (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1943), 55, cited in Craig M. Cameron, American Samurai: Myth, Imagination, and the Conduct of ­Battle in the First Marine Division, 1941–1951 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 114. 119. Niall Ferguson, “Prisoner Taking and Prisoner Killing in the Age of Total War: ­Towards a Po­liti­cal Economy of Military Defeat,” War in History 11 (April 2004): 148–92.



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120. Dower, War Without Mercy, 48–52; Michael Norman and Elizabeth M. Norman, Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and Its Aftermath (New York: Ferrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009); and Yuma Totani, Justice in Asia and the Pacific Region, 1945–1952 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 121. U.S. Department of L ­ abor, “War and Postwar Wages, Prices, and Hours, 1914–23 and 1939–1944,” Bullet No. 52 (Washington: GPO, 2945), 9. 122. U.S. Bureau of Demobilization, Industrial Mobilization for War: History of the War Production Board and Pre­de­ces­sor Agencies, 1940–1945 (Washington: GPO, 1947), 961–62; Matthew S. Muehlbauer and David J. Ulbrich, Ways of War: American Military History from the Colonial Era to the Twenty-­First C ­ entury. 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2017), 349–50. 123. See Paul A. C. Koistinen, Arsenal of World War II: The Po­liti­cal Economy of American Warfare, 1940–1945 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2004). 124. Ames Historical Society, World War II Rationing on the U.S. Home Front. http://­ www​.­ameshistory​.­org​/­content​/­world​-­war​-­ii​-­rationing​-­us​-­home front; Charles F. Phillips, “Some Observations on Rationing,” Journal of Business of the University of Chicago 18 (January 1945): 9–20. 125. Mark H. Leff, “The Politics of Sacrifice on the American Home Front in World War II,” Journal of American History 77 (March 1991): 1296–318; Terrence H. Witkowski, “The American Consumer Home Front During World War II,” in Joseph W. Alba and J. Wesley Hutchinson, eds., NA—­Advances in Consumer Research, Volume 25 (Provo, UT: Association for Consumer Research, 1998), 568–73. A ­simple Google search with key words “Amer­i­ca,” “home front,” “posters,” and “food” can find several dozen posters. 126. Phillips, “Some Observations on Rationing,” 18–19. 127. Amy Bentley, Eating for Victory: Food Rationing and the Politics of Domesticity (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998), 30–58; Melissa A. McEuen, Making War, Making ­Women: Femininity and Duty on the American Home Front, 1941–1945 (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2010), 3–5, 178–213. 128. Roeder, The Censored War, 2. 129. See Roger Daniels, Concentration Camps USA: Japa­nese Americans and World War II (New York: Henry Holt, 1980); Greg Robinson, By Order of the President: FDR and the Internment of Japa­nese Americans (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003). 130. Roger Daniels, The Japa­nese American Cases: The Rule of Law in the Time of War (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2013), 28–79; Commission on War­time Relocation and Internment of Civilians, Personal Justice Denied (Washington: GPO, 1982). http://­ digital​.­lib​.­usu​.­edu​/­cdm​/­ref​/­collection​/­Topaz​/­id​/­5876. 131. Commission on War­time Relocation and Internment of Civilians, Personal Justice Denied, 261–82. 132. Beth Bailey and David Farber, The First Strange Place: Race and Sex in World War II Hawaii (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), 95–107. 133. Cited in Commission on War­time Relocation and Internment of Civilians, Personal Justice Denied, 253. 134. James M. McCaffrey, ­Going for Broke: Japa­nese American Soldiers in the War Against Nazi Germany (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2013). 135. Kennett, G.I., 230–35. 136. Keith Olson, “The G.I. Bill and Higher Education: Success and Surprise,” American Quarterly 25 (December  1973): 596–610; Suzanne Mettler, Soldiers to Citizens: The G.I. Bill and the Making of the Greatest Generation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). 137. The seminal work on suburbia during the postwar years remains Kenneth T. Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of Amer­i­ca (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985).

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138. Hilary Herbold, “Never a Level Playing Field: Blacks and the GI Bill,” Journal of Blacks in Higher Education 6 (Winter 1994): 104–08. 139. Elaine Tyler May, Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era (New York: Basic Books, 1998). 140. Audra Jennings, Out of the Horrors of War: Disability Politics in World War II Amer­i­ca (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016). 141. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 165–68; Kennett, G.I., 234–39. 142. Cited in Thomas Childers, Soldier From the War Returning: The Greatest Generation’s Troubled Homecoming From World War II (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009), 115. 143. See U.S. Department of the Army Pamphlet 27-100-28, Military Law Review Volume 28. https://­jagcnet​.­army​.­mil​/ ­DOCLIBS​/ ­MILITARYLAWREVIEW​.­NSF​/­20a6634512 9fe3d885256e5b00571830​/­84d42b7fc814219785256e5b00583750​/­$FILE​/ ­MLR%2027​-­100​ -­28%2019650401​.­pdf. 144. U.S. Army, The Army ­Lawyer: A History of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, 1775–1975 (Washington: GPO, 1975), 159–204. Richard Bak, Soldier of Misfortune: The Execution of Private Eddie Slovik and Its Aftermath (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo, 2015). 145. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 96–98. 146. Kennett, G.I., 69–70, 77–79, 207–09, quote on 26. 147. Schrijvers, The GI War Against Japan, 100–33; Bergerud, Touched by Fire, 89–103. 148. Gerald F. Linderman, The World Within War: Amer­i­ca’s Combat Experience in World War II (­Free Press, 1997): 161–64. 149. James Weingartner, “War Against Subhumans: Comparisons Between the German War Against the Soviet Union and the American War Against Japan, 1941–1945,” Historian 58 (March 1996): 557–72; Gary Gerstle, American Crucible: Race and Nation in the Twentieth ­Century (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2001), 210–14. 150. John A. Ballard and Aliecia J. McDowell, “Hate and Combat Be­hav­ior,” Armed Forces and Society 17 (Winter 1991): 230–31.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allen, Robert L. The Port Chicago Mutiny. Reprint. Berkeley, CA: Heydey Books, 2006. Ambrose, Stephen E. and Brian Villa, “Racism, the Atomic Bomb, and the Transformation of Japanese-­American Relations,” in The Pacific War Revisited. Edited by Günter Bischof and Robert  L. Dupont, 179–198. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1997. American History Catholic History Classroom. Catholic University of Amer­i­ca. Background: American Catholics and World War II. https://­cuomeka​.­wrlc​.­org​/­exhibits​ /­show​/­american​-­catholic​-­participatio​/­catholics​-­w wii. Austin, Roger O. One Man’s War: Through the Lens of a Combat Engineer. Rochester, NY: Austin Books, 2007. Bailey, Beth. Sex in the Heartland. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Bailey, Beth and David Farber, The First Strange Place: Race and Sex in World War II Hawaii. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994. Bak, Richard. Soldier of Misfortune: The Execution of Private Eddie Slovik and Its Aftermath. Cambridge, MA: De Capo, 2015. Ballard, John A. and Aliecia J. McDowell. “Hate and Combat Be­hav­ior.” Armed Forces and Society 17 (Winter 1991): 229–241. Bass, Paul W. The History of Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Sikeston, MO: Acclaim Press, 2016.



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Belkin, Aaron. Bring Me Men: Military Masculinity and the Façade of American Empire, 1898-2001. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Bentley, Amy. Eating for Victory: Food Rationing and the Politics of Domesticity. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998. Bergerud, Eric. Touched by Fire: The Land War in the South Pacific. New York: Viking, 1996. Bérubé, Allan. Coming Out U ­ nder Fire: The History of Gay Man and W ­ omen in World War II. New York: ­Free Books, 1990. Boehm, Kimberly Phillips. War! What Is It Good For? Black Freedom Strug­gles and the U.S. Military from World War II to the Pre­sent. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012. Brown, Thomas M. ­Battle Wounds of Iwo Jima. New York: Vantage Press, 2002. Cameron, Craig M. American Samurai: Myth, Imagination, and the Conduct of ­Battle in the First Marine Division, 1941–1951. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Childers, Thomas. Soldier From the War Returning: The Greatest Generation’s Troubled Homecoming From World War II. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009. Cole, Wayne S. Roo­se­velt and the Isolationists, 1932–1945. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983. Condon-­Rall, Marry Ellen, and Albert E. Cowdrey. The Medical Department: Medical Ser­ vice in the War Against Japan. Washington: Center of Military History, 1998. Cook, Theodore  F. and Haruko Taya Cook, eds. Japan at War: An Oral History. New York: New Press, 1992. Crosby, Donald F. Battlefield Chaplains: Catholic Priests in World War II. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994. Dallek, Robert. Franklin D. Roo­se­velt and American Foreign Policy, 1932–1945. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Daniels, Roger. Concentration Camps USA: Japa­nese Americans and World War II. New York: Henry Holt, 1980. Daniels, Roger. The Japa­nese American Cases: The Rule of Law in the Time of War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2013. Davis, John W. “The Negro in the United States Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard.” Journal of Negro Education 12 (Summer 1943): 345–349. Dod, Karl C. The Corps of Engineers: The War Against Japan. Washington: Center of Military History, 1966. Donner, Christopher S. Pacific Time on Target: Memoirs of a Marine Artillery Officer, 1943–1945. Edited by Jack M. McCall Jr. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2012. Dorsett, Lyle E. Serving God and Country: United States Military Chaplains in World War II. New York: Berkley Caliber, 2012. Dower, John W. War Without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War. New York: Pantheon Books, 1986. Earhart, David C. Certain Victory: Images of World War II in Japa­nese Media. New York: Routledge 2007. Elshtain, Jean Bethke. ­Women and War. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987. Engineers of the Southwest Pacific, 1941–1945, 8 vols. Washington: GPO, 1947. Ferguson, Niall. “Prisoner Taking and Prisoner Killing in the Age of Total War: ­Towards a Po­ liti­ cal Economy of Military Defeat,” War in History 11 (April  2004): 148–192. Fiefer, George. Tennozan: The ­Battle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1992. Fussell, Paul. ­Doing ­Battle: The Making of a Skeptic. Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1996.

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Gerstle, Gary. American Crucible: Race and Nation in the Twentieth ­Century. Prince­ ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2001. Giangreco, D. M. Hell to Pay: Operation DOWNFALL and the Invasion of Japan, 1945– 1947. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2011. Hartman, Susan M. The Home Front and Beyond: American ­Women in the 1940s. Boston: Twayne, 1982. Heinrichs, Waldo and Marc Gallichio. Implacable Foes: The War in the Pacific, 1944– 1945. New York: Oxford University Press, 2017. Henry, Mark  R. The  U.S. Army in World War II, Volume 1: The Pacific. Oxford, UK: Osprey, 2000. Holm, Jeanne. ­Women in the Military: An Unfinished Revolution. Rev. ed. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1992. Hoyt, Edwin P. Merrill’s Marauders. Los Angeles: Pinnacle Books, 1980. Jackson, Kenneth T. Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of Amer­i­ca. New York: Oxford University Press, 1985. James, D. Clayton. “American and Japa­nese Strategies in the Pacific War.” In Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age. Edited by Peter Paret. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 1986. Jennings, Audra. Out of the Horrors of War: Disability Politics in World War II Amer­i­ca. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016. Kennedy, David M. Freedom From Fear: The American ­People in Depression and War, 1929–1945. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. Kennedy, David M., ed. The Library of Congress World War II Companion. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2007. Kennett, Lee. G.I.: The Amer­i­ca Soldier in World War II. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997. Kindsvatter, Peter S. American Soldiers: Ground Combat in the World Wars, ­Korea, and Vietnam. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2003. Knight, Marcy Kennedy. “Rosie the Riveter.” Saturday Eve­ning Post (July/August 2013). http://­w ww​. ­s aturdayeveningpost​.­c om​/­2013​/­07​/­01​/­a rt​- ­e nterta​i ​n ​m ent​/­norman​ -­rockwell​-­art​-­entertainment​/­rosie​-­the​-­riveter​.­html (accessed May 26, 2018). Koistinen, Paul A. C. Arsenal of World War II: The Po­liti­cal Economy of American Warfare, 1940–1945. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2004. Koppes, Clayton R. and Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Goes to War: How Politics, Profits, and Propaganda ­Shaped World War II Movies. New York: The F ­ ree Press, 1987. Leff, Mark H. “The Politics of Sacrifice on the American Home Front in World War II.” The Journal of American History 77 (March 1991): 1296–1318. Linderman, Gerald F. The World Within War: Amer­i­ca’s Combat Experience in World War II. New York: ­Free Press, 1997. Margo, Robert A. “Employment and Unemployment in the 1930s.” Journal of Economic Perspectives 7 (Spring 1993): 41–59. May, Elaine Tyler. Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era. New York: Basic Books, 1998. McEuen, Melissa A. Making War, Making ­Women: Femininity and Duty on the American Home Front, 1941–1945. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2010. McGregor Jr., Morris J. Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965. Washington: GPO, 1981. McPherson, Milton. The Ninety-­Day Won­ders: OCS and the Modern American Army. Fort Benning, GA: U.S. Army Officer Candidate School Alumni Association, 2001. Mettler, Suzanne. Soldiers to Citizens: The G.I. Bill and the Making of the Greatest Generation. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.



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Meyer, Leisa D. Creating G.I. Jane: Sexuality and Power in the ­Women’s Army Corps in World War II. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996. Moore, Deborah Dash. G.I. Jews: How World War II Changed a Generation. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard, 2006. Moore­house, Maggi M. Fighting in the Jim Crow Army: Black Men and ­Women Remember World War II. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000. Muehlbauer, Matthew S. and David J. Ulbrich, Ways of War: American Military History From the Colonial Era to the Twenty-­first C ­ entury. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge, 2017. Nalty, Bernard C. Strength for the Fight: A History of Black Americans in the Military. New York: ­Free Press, 1986. National World War II Museum, Research Starters: US Military by the Numbers. https://­ www​.­n ationalww2museum​ .­org​ /­students​ -­t eachers​ /­student​ -­r esources​ /­r esearch​ -­starters​/­research​-­starters​-­us​-­military​-­numbers (accessed May 11, 2018). Norman, Michael and Elizabeth M. Norman. Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and Its Aftermath. New York: Ferrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009. Ohl, James Kennedy. Supplying the Troops: General Somervell and American Logistics in WWII. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1994. Olson, Keith. “The G.I. Bill and Higher Education: Success and Surprise,” American Quarterly 25, no. 5 (December 1973) 596–610. Parillo, Mark P., ed. We W ­ ere in the Big One: Experiences of the World War II Generation. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 2002. Phillips, Charles F. “Some Observations on Rationing.” The Journal of Business of the University of Chicago 18 (January 1945): 9–20. Pyle, Ernie. Brave Men. New York: Henry Holt, 1944. Pyle, Ernie. “Illogical Japs.” Rocky Mountain News. February 26, 1945. Pyle, Ernie. ­Here Is Your War. New York: Henry Holt, 1943. Roberts, Larry D. “The Engineer Replacement Training Center, Fort Leonard Wood.” Unpublished manuscript. U.S. Army Engineer School History Archives. Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Robinson, Greg. By Order of the President: FDR and the Internment of Japa­nese Americans. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003. Roeder, George. The Censored War: American Visual Experience During World War Two. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Roo­se­velt, Franklin  D. Speech (Transcript), December  8, 1941. https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​ /­resource​/­afc1986022​.­afc1986022​_­ms2201​/­​?­st​=­text (accessed May 29, 2018). Schiffrin, André. Dr.  Seuss & Co. Go to War: The World War II Editorial Cartons of Amer­i­ca’s Leading Artists. New York: The New Press, 2009. Schrijvers, Peter. The GI War Against Japan: American Soldiers in Asia and the Pacific During World War II. New York: New York University Press, 2002. Sides, Hampton. Ghost Soldiers: The Forgotten Epic Story of World War II’s Most Dramatic Mission. New York: Doubleday, 2001. Sledge, E. B. With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa. Novato, CA: Presidio, 1981. Spector, Ronald. Ea­gle Against the Sun: The American War Against Japan. New York: ­Free Press, 1985. Stars and Stripes. Stouffer, Samuel A., et al. The American Soldier: Combat and Its Aftermath. Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 1949. Taaffe, Stephen R. MacArthur’s Jungle War: The 1944 New Guinea Campaign. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998. Tanaka, Yuki. Hidden Horrors: Japa­nese War Crimes in World War II, 2nd ed. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2017.

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Taplin, David, et al. “The Role of Temperature in Tropical Immersion Foot Syndrome.” Journal of the American Medical Association 202 (1967): 546–549. Tillitt, Malvern Hall. “Army-­Navy Pay Tops Most Civilians: Unmarried Private’s Income Equivalent to $3,600 Salary.” Barron’s National Business and Financial Weekly. April 24, 1944. http://­w ww​.­usmm​.­org​/ ­barrons​.­html (accessed May 11, 2018). Tobin, John. Ernie Pyle’s War: Amer­i­ca’s Eyewitness to World War II. New York: ­Free Press, 1997. Totani, Juma. Justice in Asia and the Pacific Region, 1945–1952. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Tregaskis, Richard. Guadalcanal Diary. New York: Random House, 1943. Tuttle, William M. “­Daddy’s Gone to War”: The Second World War in the Lives of Amer­ i­ca’s ­Children. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Twitchell, Heath. Northwest Epic: The Building of the Alaskan Highway. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992. University of California-­Berkeley. “The Books of the ­Century: 1940–1949.” https://­w ww​ .­ocf​.­berkeley​.­edu​/­~immer​/ ­books1940s (accessed on May 28, 2018). U.S. Army. The Army ­Lawyer: A History of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, 1775– 1975. Washington: GPO, 1975. U.S. Army. The War in the Pacific. 11 vols. The United States Army in World War II. Washington: Center of Military History, 1948–1962. U.S. Army. Merrill’s Marauders, February-­May  1944. Washington: Center of Military History, U.S. Army, 1990. U.S. Army. U.S. Department of the Army Pamphlet 27-100-28, Military Law Review Volume 28. https://­jagcnet​.­army​.­mil​/­DOCLIBS​/­MILITARYLAWREVIEW​.­NSF​/­20a6 6345129fe3d885256e5b00571830​/­84d42b7fc814219785256e5b00583750​/­$FILE​ /­MLR%2027​-­100​-­28%2019650401​.­pdf U.S. Bureau of Demobilization, Industrial Mobilization for War: History of the War Production Board and Pre­de­ces­sor Agencies, 1940–1945. Washington: GPO, 1947. U.S. Department of ­Labor, “War and Postwar Wages, Prices, and Hours, 1914–23 and 1939–1944,” Bulletin No. 52 (Washington: GPO, 2945). https://­fraser​.­stlouisfed​.­org​ /­content​/­​?­title​_­id​= ­4318&filepath​=​/­­files​/­docs​/­publications​/ ­bls​/ ­bls​_­0852​_­1946​.­pdf. Vandegrift, Alexander A. Personal Papers. Marine Corps University Archives. Quantico, ­Virginia. Walker, J. Samuel, “The Decision to the Use the Bomb: A Historiography Update,” Diplomatic History 14 (Winter 1990): 97–114. Wansink, Brian and Craig Wansink. “Are ­T here Atheists in Foxholes: Combat Intensity and Religious Be­hav­ior.” Journal of Religion and Health 52 (September  2013): 768–779. Weingartner, James. “War Against Subhumans: Comparisons Between the German War Against the Soviet Union and the American War Against Japan, 1941–1945,” Historian 58 (March 1996): 557–572. Wilt, David E. “Beyond the Storylines: Even More Ways That Comic Books Helped Boys and Girls Help Win the War,” In The 10 Cent War: Comic Books, Propaganda, and World War II. Edited by Trischa Goodnow and James J. Kimble. Oxford: University of Mississippi Press, 2016. Winchell, Meghan K. Good Girls, Good Food, Good Fun: The Story of USO Hostesses During World War II. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008. Witkowski, Terrence H. “The American Consumer Home Front During World War II.” In NA—­Advances in Consumer Research, Volume 25. Edited by Joseph W. Alba and J. Wesley Hutchinson. Provo, UT: Association for Consumer Research, 1998. Yank, The Army Weekly.

10 The Cold War Robert T. Jones

OVERVIEW “All ­free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and, therefore, as a ­free man, I take pride in the words ‘Ich bin ein Berliner!’ ”1 At a focal point of the Cold War, President Kennedy’s remarks in Berlin at the height of East–­West tensions reflect the essence of the conflict: the defense of freedom throughout the world against the encroaching threat of communist totalitarianism. Throughout the four de­cades of the Cold War, the American soldier was an essential ele­ment of U.S. military power around the world. W ­ hether a draftee or a volunteer, the quality and steadfastness of the individual soldier provided a qualitative edge that contained, and ultimately defeated, the communist threat. This chapter ­will examine the Cold War from the perspective and experiences of the ordinary soldier and the contributions of U.S. Army soldiers to winning the Cold War. The scope of this endeavor ­will necessarily be expansive and wide-­ranging. Unlike more traditional conflicts with clearly defined beginning and end points, the Cold War spanned nearly a half-­century. T ­ here is no scholarly consensus as to  the specific period of this conflict. This chapter ­will address the time frame from the closing months of World War II in 1945 to the final dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. During this period, post–­World War II Amer­i­ca experienced substantial social and cultural change. As a reflection of the society it served, the army also evolved to a ­great degree in terms of race, gender, education, and general socioeconomic composition. This writing w ­ ill explore t­hese and other aspects of the Cold War experience in the context of the ordinary soldier. The Cold War was worldwide in scope; however, the focus h­ ere ­will be primarily on Eu­rope, the most likely setting for the conflict to turn into a “hot” war. A discussion of ­Korea is included, where a de facto state of war existed, and continues to exist, since the 1953 armistice. The wars in ­Korea and Vietnam, while an integral part of the Cold War, are only addressed tangentially within the context of their effect on the U.S. Army as a w ­ hole.

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So what, then, was the “Cold War”? In simplest terms, according to historian John L. Harper, “the Cold War was a contest for supremacy between the United States . . . ​and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) . . . ​to prove the superiority of contending po­liti­cal and economic systems.”2 This multifaceted contest embraced not only the relevant military capabilities but also ideological, diplomatic, economic, cultural, scientific, geopo­liti­cal, and even athletic dimensions. Cold War historian John Lewis Gaddis described the conflict as a competition to answer the fundamental question: “how best to or­ga­nize ­human society?”3 Harper further described the Cold War as a “historical novelty,” in that open and direct military conflict did not occur between the two superpowers.4 Instead, the two sides engaged each other on the peripheries using proxies to fight major regional wars as in ­Korea and Vietnam. A series of Arab–­Israeli wars in the M ­ iddle East also had a Cold War connection. Direct confrontation between the superpowers was deemed unlikely, given the under­lying threat that a conventional conflict might easily escalate into a general nuclear war. The results of such a cataclysmic event ­were too terrible to contemplate. Yet the Cold War endured and was the overarching international relations paradigm during the second half of the twentieth c­ entury. The origins of the Cold War may be found in World War II. United in a common cause, the United States and the Soviet Union, along with the United Kingdom and France, worked together to defeat the existential threat posed by Adolf Hitler’s Nazi Germany. It was an alliance of con­ve­nience in many re­spects and the relationship between the western allies and the Soviets was characterized by mutual suspicions and distrust. During the waning months of the war, the Allied governments began to look to their respective postwar security concerns. The “Big Three” leaders met at Yalta to plan the organ­ization and structure of postwar Eu­rope in general, and of Germany in par­tic­u­lar.5 At the time of the conference, the Soviets already controlled much of eastern Eu­rope and had their sights set on Berlin, while the United States and Britain closed on Germany from the west. The geographic orientation of the main Allied armies virtually assured that by the end of the war, the Soviet Union would occupy central and eastern Eu­rope, including Berlin. While no firm consensus was reached at Yalta, a number of key decisions ­were made that had long-­lasting consequences for the looming Cold War. The Yalta Agreement mandated the division of Germany, including Berlin, into four occupation zones. The Soviets also gained impor­tant territorial concessions, and Stalin pledged to allow the countries of eastern Eu­rope to engage in po­liti­cal self-­determination through f­ ree elections. It was a pledge he never intended to honor.6 The postwar goals of the three major powers could not have been more dif­fer­ ent. Out of all the Allied nations, only the United States emerged from the war stronger than at the beginning. In terms of military and economic power, by mid1945 the United States was inarguably the strongest nation on earth. Using power­ ful land, sea, and air forces it had successfully waged two simultaneous wars against Germany and Japan. The United States alone possessed the atomic bomb and the means to deliver it. The American homeland remained untouched by war, and the economy surged with war­time business. In 1945 the United States generated just over half of the world’s gross national product and most of its food surpluses and possessed nearly all of its financial reserves.7 Harry S. Truman assumed the



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presidency ­after Franklin D. Roo­se­velt’s death in April 1945. Despite his relative inexperience in foreign affairs, Truman desired to continue Roo­se­velt’s postwar international vision. Specifically, ­these goals ­were to maintain American economic power, to ensure global stability through the international body of the United Nations, and to maintain cooperation among the former war­time allies. Winston Churchill’s postwar goals for the United Kingdom ­were easily stated but proved difficult to attain. Britain had fought to survive in the early war years, but by 1945 its economy was virtually bankrupt, despite massive Lend-­Lease aid from the United States.8 As the United States assumed the preponderance of the war­time burden, Britain became the ju­nior member of the U.S.-­Anglo partnership. Britain ended the war victorious but exhausted. Therefore, for Churchill it was imperative to secure British influence throughout the Mediterranean and to maintain the prewar empire. Unfortunately, Churchill was voted from office in July 1945 and replaced by Clement Atlee of Britain’s L ­ abour Party. If Britain found itself exhausted in victory, then by practically e­ very mea­sure, the USSR was nearly destroyed. It had engaged in a life-­and-­death strug­gle with Germany, a war described by Gaddis as arguably “the most terrible one in all of history.”9 The victorious Rus­sian armies accomplished the final destruction of the Nazi regime in the ruins of Berlin, but at a terrible cost in blood and trea­sure. The war had laid waste to vast regions of the Rus­sian homeland, and an estimated 27 million Soviet citizens had lost their lives.10 By most metrics, the Soviets had borne the heaviest burden of fighting to defeat Germany, albeit with substantial American Lend-­Lease aid. Soviet Premier Joseph Stalin believed the USSR had suffered disproportionally and should therefore reap their fair share of postwar gains. What ­were Stalin’s postwar objectives? First and foremost, it was the security of the Soviet regime from internal and external threats. To accomplish this, Stalin desired a “buffer zone” of central and eastern Eu­ro­pean nations bordering on the Soviet Union. ­These buffer zone countries constituted what Stalin regarded as the rightful “sphere of influence” of the Soviet Union. Additionally, Stalin sought outright territorial concessions and massive war reparations from Germany. Stalin got the territorial acquisitions and the sphere of influence he wanted: Soviet borders ­were moved several hundred miles to the west, and the Red Army installed communist regimes throughout the rest of eastern Eu­rope.11 ­These Soviet-­backed regimes became “satellite client states” of the Soviet Union and formed the basis for the f­ uture Warsaw Pact military alliance.12 The transition from war­time partners to peacetime competitors was relatively swift. Stalin’s suspicions of western motives began to manifest themselves almost immediately ­after the war ended in Eu­rope in May 1945. In eastern Eu­rope, the heavy-­handedness of Soviet soldiers and Communist Party officials in the liberated countries began to resemble an outright occupation. While Soviet be­hav­ior varied by country, their actions in occupied eastern Germany, Poland, and Romania ­were especially harsh. Stalin’s selectivity in honoring war­time agreements, especially his pledge to allow f­ ree elections, raised western concerns of pos­si­ble global communist ambitions. The increasing strength of Communist Parties in Italy and France, as well as the growing insurrection in Greece, seemed to validate western fears. By the end of 1945, ­there was an increasing consensus among American

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officials that the United States should respond firmly to force Soviet compliance to formal agreements and to curb communist expansionism. Truman himself stated it was time to “stop babying the Soviets.”13 In early 1946, the basic framework for American Cold War strategy came from an unlikely source. George F. Kennan, a midlevel foreign ser­vice officer posted to the U.S. embassy in Moscow, provided an insightful analy­sis of Soviet ideology.14 In what became the famous 8,000-­word “long tele­gram,” Kennan argued that the Soviet Union was motivated by a combination of traditional Rus­sian desires to expand and Marxist ideology requiring no cooperation with cap­i­tal­ist states.15 His advocacy of a policy of firm opposition to Soviet aspirations had a major impact on decision-­makers in Washington. In a published article, Kennan ­later gave name to this policy, calling for “firm containment” of the USSR.16 Several weeks ­later Churchill delivered his famous “Iron Curtain” speech during which he called for an Anglo-­American alliance to ­counter communism. By 1947 the policy of containment was the conceptual basis for U.S. foreign policy regarding communism. Specific ele­ments of the policy took shape over the next several years. In early 1947, Britain’s termination of support to the Greek government’s fight against a communist insurgency spurred President Truman to action. In a speech to Congress, Truman pledged U.S. aid to “­free ­people who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures.”17 This policy, subsequently known as the “Truman Doctrine,” became the basis for the U.S. Cold War strategy of containment. Historian Eric Foner believes the Truman Doctrine “set a pre­ce­dent for American assistance to anticommunist regimes throughout the world . . . ​and for the creation of a set of global military alliances.”18 Shortly afterwards, Congress began planning the Eu­ro­pean Recovery Program (ERP). Known as the “Marshall Plan” in reference to Secretary of State George C. Marshall, the ERP focused on the twin goals of providing economic assistance for the reconstruction of western Eu­rope and preventing the spread of communism. In retrospect, the Marshall Plan was enormously successful, delivering approximately $12.6 billion to 17 countries over a four-­year period.19 The combined effects of Kennan’s long tele­gram, the Truman Doctrine, and the Marshall Plan solidified the strategy of containment in U.S. policy. From the Soviet perspective, however, such developments appeared threatening and signaled the beginning of a new phase in the nascent Cold War. Only three years ­after the end of World War II, the Cold War confrontation between East and West began to assume an air of permanency. A central point of contention during this period was the ­matter of the “German question.” As the main antagonist of World War II, Germany was to be completely de-­Nazified and demilitarized. The establishment of a liberal demo­cratic form of government was also desirable. The Allied Powers had a vested interest in preventing a resurgence of German militarism. In the short term, a divided and occupied Germany was seen as the key to preventing such a resurgence. The former Allies considered multiple proposals, but ­there was ­little consensus for a long-­term solution. Britain and the United States recognized that a strong and prosperous German economy was an essential ingredient for a full Eu­ro­pean recovery. With assistance from the Marshall Plan, the western two-­thirds of the former Nazi state experienced a rapid



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recovery during the years 1947–1950.20 Concurrently, the economy of eastern Germany suffered ­under harsh Soviet occupation and the burden of extensive war reparations. Stalin’s intent for the reparations was to help rebuild the devastated Soviet economy and to undermine German war-­making potential. The Yalta Agreement required Germany to provide approximately $20 billion in reparations, with roughly half ­going to the Soviet Union.21 Unfortunately for the Soviets, eastern Germany was relatively poor in terms of industrial capacity as compared to the west. Fears of a cap­i­tal­ist encirclement motivated Stalin to take a dramatic step in 1948, shifting the focus to the epicenter of East–­West conflict: the city of Berlin. Berlin, the former Nazi capital, was of critical importance during the closing days of World War II. It continued to be the ideological, po­liti­cal, and psychological focal point for much of the Cold War. To c­ ounter the western commitment to the economic and po­liti­cal rebuilding of Germany, Stalin de­cided in June  1948 to cut off road and rail access to Berlin. Located 100 miles inside the Soviet zone, the city was highly dependent upon a continuous flow of supplies, especially food and coal. The rationale for Stalin’s decision remains unclear to this day. Two likely motivations may have been to reopen negotiations over the “German question” or, failing that, to force the western Allies to abandon the city.22 Given the overwhelming numbers of Soviet troops stationed in the Soviet zone of eastern Germany, the Allied enclave in West Berlin was militarily untenable. Acting against the recommendations of his military advisors, Truman demonstrated considerable resolve when he stated, “­We’re staying. Period.”23 Secretary of State Marshall then announced that the United States and Britain would supply Berlin entirely by air—an unpre­ce­dented proposal. The airlift effort began slowly but increased in frequency and efficiency as time progressed. At its height, aircraft landed roughly ­every minute and a half around the clock. The peak day came during April 1949. During the “Easter Parade,” an aircraft landed nearly ­every minute for 24 straight hours.24 Realizing its futility, Stalin terminated the blockade of Berlin the following month, thus ending the first major crisis of the Cold War. Besides avoiding direct conflict, perhaps the most impor­tant outcome was the resolute response to the Soviet challenge. The airlift signaled American commitment to a ­f ree Germany and, by extension, to western Eu­rope itself. While significant, the Berlin blockade was not the only critical event of the early Cold War period. In retrospect, the year 1949 was notable in that a number of military and po­liti­cal developments set in place a structure that would remain for the next four de­cades. The creation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organ­ization (NATO) formalized a Eu­ro­pean military alliance against any ­f uture Soviet aggression. The NATO charter regarded an attack on one member as an attack upon all. When the United States signed the treaty, it marked the nation’s first formal military alliance with Eu­rope since the American Revolution.25 The new alliance was followed a month ­later by the creation of the new Federal Republic of Germany (FRG)—­West Germany, with its capital at Bonn. The Kremlin countered by establishing the German Demo­cratic Republic (GDR)—­East Germany. The new Federal Republic was not universally celebrated by West Germans, as it was analogous to a permanent division of Germany. The subsequent establishment of the East German state reinforced this perception. The successful detonation of a Soviet nuclear device in

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August 1949 ended the U.S. mono­poly of this strategic weapon. In an early success for the policy of containment, a combination of U.S. financial aid and military advisory assistance to the Greek army defeated the communist insurgency in Greece. As 1949 drew to a close, a new phase of the Cold War was about to begin—­globalization. In late 1949, the long-­r unning civil war in China was fi­nally de­cided in ­favor of the communists ­under Mao Zedong. The new ­People’s Republic of China (PRC) aligned itself with the Soviet Union and entered into a military alliance. In early 1950, the United States responded with a strategic plan outlined in National Security Council Paper 68 (NSC 68) that called for a significant buildup of conventional and nuclear forces coupled with planned military responses to global communist aggression. The outbreak of war between North and South ­Korea in June 1950 added a new dimension to the Cold War: a superpower war by proxy. In accordance with the tenets of NSC 68, President Truman quickly ordered U.S. forces to ­Korea to ­counter the communist attack. The conflict continued for three years ­until an armistice suspended hostilities in July 1953. The war in ­Korea provided the impetus for the formation of the Southeast Asia Treaty Organ­ization (SEATO), a military alliance for Asia similar to NATO.26 During the same period, the death of Joseph Stalin signaled a change in leadership for the world’s most power­f ul communist nation. The se­lection of Nikita Khrushchev as successor to Stalin did not bode well for a lessening of Cold War tensions.27 Also in 1953, former army general Dwight D. Eisenhower assumed the presidency of the United States. The formation of the new West German state did not end the emotionally charged issues surrounding the “German question,” specifically the issue of German rearmament. Communist aggression in Asia had demonstrated the need to strengthen the po­liti­cal and military bonds within the NATO alliance. During the early 1950s, it became increasingly apparent that a ­viable NATO defense structure required German participation. Discussions concerning the issue of German rearmament began as early as 1947, but serious consideration did not begin ­until 1951. ­There was considerable debate among NATO members, especially Britain and France, over the advisability of rearming a recent ­enemy. The United States was the leading advocate for German rearmament. Even so, the pro­cess required four years of delicate diplomatic negotiations to reach an acceptable agreement.28 The newly reconstituted German army eventually fielded 500,000 men or­ga­nized into 12 divisions.29 On May 5, 1955, the Federal Republic of Germany regained full sovereignty, and its armed forces ­were admitted to NATO a week ­later. The Soviet response to the increase in NATO strength was the formation of the Warsaw Pact, a military alliance of Eastern Bloc nations. By the mid-1950s, the cost of the military buildup as envisaged in NSC 68 was a growing concern for American leaders. The cost of the war in ­Korea coupled with increased costs for modern weapons such as jet aircraft, missiles, and submarines influenced a change in defense strategy. Concerned that the long-­term costs of the Cold War could seriously damage or even bankrupt the American economy, the Eisenhower administration ­adopted the “New Look” defense policy. Although the strategy of containment remained the overarching paradigm, the New Look policy emphasized strategic nuclear weapons at the expense of conventional military



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forces. Within a few years the New Look defense cuts significantly affected all the armed forces except the U.S. Air Force, the primary ser­vice to deliver nuclear weapons. The growing numbers of nuclear weapons in the U.S. arsenal made pos­si­ble a strategy of Massive Retaliation. Such a strategy was predicated upon the idea that a massive nuclear response would serve as a sufficient deterrent to any potential ­enemy. However, as the de­cade of the 1950s continued, both superpowers engaged in a nuclear arms race, thereby making the concept of Massive Retaliation increasingly questionable. The growing American stockpile eventually included smaller tactical nuclear weapons designed for employment by battlefield commanders. By the end of the de­cade, American commanders in Eu­rope had an estimated 7,000 nuclear warheads at their disposal.30 The growing threat of a nuclear exchange raised the stakes of potential conflicts at flashpoints around the world. In late 1956, Soviet troops invaded Hungary to suppress an anticommunist uprising and to prevent their threatened withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact. The risks of war left the United States unable to assist the Hungarians in their attempt to break away from Soviet control. A far more serious threat occurred in August 1961 when the East German government began to wall off their sector of Berlin. The Berlin Wall was an attempt to stop the flight of thousands of skilled and educated workers to West Germany. The barrier was improved by stages ­u ntil it fi­nally assumed the scale and effectiveness of a high-­security prison. Although effective in curtailing the flight of East Germans, in the long term it was a public relations disaster for both the GDR and the Soviets. This second Berlin crisis continued to simmer for several months u­ ntil coming to a head in October. A dispute over routine access rights escalated into an armored confrontation between U.S. and Soviet ­battle tanks at Checkpoint Charlie in the heart of Berlin. This most critical moment of the Cold War in Eu­rope was the result of a calculated maneuver by U.S. officials to strengthen their bargaining position regarding a permanent solution for the status of Berlin.31 An American commander worried that “a ner­vous soldier discharging his weapon . . . ​might start a nuclear war.”32 The confrontation ended peacefully, but the wall remained a physical and ideological barrier, symbolizing all that differed between East and West. Berlin was never again a point of direct confrontation, but it was always an impor­tant foreign policy issue. From the Soviet perspective, “Germany and Berlin overshadowed every­thing.”33 By the beginning of the 1960s the limitations of the “all-­or-­nothing” approach embodied in the strategy of Massive Retaliation w ­ ere becoming all too apparent. The military and po­liti­cal limits of such a strategy in a nuclear age could not begin to address the range of potential threats posed by the Cold War. New American president John F. Kennedy and his defense secretary Robert McNamara a­ dopted the new approach of Flexible Response. This strategy offered a range of po­liti­cal and military options to provide a proportional response to a variety of threats. The implementation of the strategy required a strengthening of U.S. conventional forces, along with continuing modernization of strategic nuclear arms. The utility of the new strategy was soon demonstrated during the single most dangerous event of the entire Cold War: the Cuban Missile Crisis. For 13 days in October 1962, the two superpowers faced off over the introduction of Soviet nuclear missiles in Cuba. Such an apparently provocative move by

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­ fter World War II, responsibility for the occupation of Berlin was split between the A Soviet Union (East Berlin) and the western allies (West Berlin). ­Because the city was 100 miles ­behind the East German border, it was often the site of tense confrontations, such as this one in 1961. Beginning in 1961, the Soviets constructed the Berlin Wall, a concrete and steel barrier ­running the entire 96-­mile length of the outer border of West Berlin that remained in place ­until 1990. (U.S. Army)

Khrushchev may have been motivated by several ­factors. The failure of the CIA-­ sponsored Bay of Pigs invasion using Cuban exiles had not lessened the perceived threat of another American invasion to overthrow Fidel Castro’s communist regime.34 It is also likely Khrushchev saw this as an opportunity to strengthen this Soviet client state and lessen the danger of the so-­called “missile gap” between the two superpowers.35 From the Soviet perspective, U.S. nuclear missiles deployed in Turkey posed an equally dangerous threat to the Rus­sian homeland. Immediately upon the discovery of offensive missiles in Cuba, Kennedy and his advisors considered military action. The National Security Council (NSC) considered a range of options, including a naval blockade, air strikes, and a full-­scale invasion of Cuba. The president ordered U.S. strategic and conventional forces moved to higher alert levels worldwide. Si­mul­t a­neously, U.S.-­based land and air forces began to assem­ble at bases in the southeastern United States. The moment of greatest danger occurred when Soviet maritime vessels approaching the blockade line turned back rather than trying to force the blockade. Concurrently, back-­channel negotiations produced an agreement to avoid confrontation while allowing both sides an honorable exit from the crisis. In exchange for the Soviet withdrawal of offensive nuclear missiles from Cuba, the United States agreed to withdraw its nuclear missiles from Turkey and pledged not to invade Cuba. The peaceful



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resolution of the Cuban Missile Crisis demonstrated the utility of the Flexible Response strategy. The threatened use of military force combined with skillful crisis diplomacy had averted a potential nuclear war. For the time being, it seemed Amer­i­ca had regained the initiative in the Cold War.36 Flexible Response also proved useful in lesser conflicts as exemplified by the U.S. involvement in the Dominican Republic’s civil war in 1965. In 1962 the country freely elected Juan Bosch as president to replace long-­time dictator Rafael Trujillo. Bosch was in turn overthrown by a military coup in 1963 that installed Donald Cabral as president. By 1965, rising levels of vio­lence between rebels and ­those loyal to Cabral endangered U.S. citizens and seemed to warrant American intervention. Originally conceived as an evacuation, U.S. involvement became a full-­fledged military intervention, code-­named Operation Power Pack. Heeding the warnings of the American ambassador in the country, President Johnson authorized the deployment of ele­ments of the army’s 82d Airborne Division and additional U.S. Marine units to stabilize the situation. Johnson justified the intervention as necessary to save American lives and prevent the Dominican Republic from falling into communist hands.37 The U.S. contingent was followed by international security forces ­under the auspices of the Organ­ization of American States (OAS).38 American forces withdrew throughout the summer of 1965. Elections ­were held the following year, and the final OAS peacekeepers withdrew in September 1966. ­After the near disaster of the missile crisis, both sides sought improved relations and a general lessening of tensions. The era known as détente began in the mid1960s and lasted more than a de­cade. The ­Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963 was one of the first signs of a thawing relationship between the superpowers.39 Leonid Brezhnev replaced Nikita Khrushchev as the new Soviet leader in 1964. The United States committed itself more deeply to the conflict in Vietnam by introducing large numbers of ground troops in 1965. As the 1960s progressed, both sides faced increasing unrest at home. In the United States the issues ­were inflation, rising racial tensions, re­sis­tance to the draft, and growing dissatisfaction and opposition to the war in Vietnam. In the communist world, Soviet leaders sensed a growing unrest due to socialism’s inability to provide adequate consumer goods, not to mention the failure to improve the overall standard of living. Of significance, in 1968 Brezhnev ordered the Soviet armed forces to invade Czecho­slo­va­k ia to quell a period of social and po­liti­cal unrest now known as the “Prague Spring.” 40 Brezhnev subsequently justified the invasion in a speech to a session of the Communist Party Congress in November 1968. According to the “Brezhnev Doctrine,” the Soviet Union claimed the right to intervene in the affairs of any socialist country to prevent a move away from communism ­toward capitalism. The 1970s marked the beginning of the third full de­cade of the Cold War. American president Richard M. Nixon sought a negotiated end to the Vietnam War, as well as improved relations with the ­People’s Republic of China. Nixon’s 1972 visit to China opened new doors internationally as the United States sought to achieve balance in its relations with the two major communist powers. The China visit also set conditions for additional agreements with the Soviets. Following the China trip, Nixon met with Brezhnev in Moscow to discuss pos­si­ble limits to strategic nuclear weapons.41 The Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT) resulted in a series of

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agreements that first sought to limit and then ultimately reduce total numbers of nuclear weapons. In 1973, the United States formally ended its involvement in the Vietnam War. Shortly thereafter, the U.S. government ended conscription, enabling a transition to an all-­volunteer military. The spirit of détente appeared to continue throughout the latter half of the 1970s. In par­tic­u­lar, the adoption of the Helsinki Accords in 1975 by 35 nations seemed to solidify the post–­World War II borders. It also guaranteed certain basic h­ uman rights such as freedom of speech. In the area of arms control, U.S. and Soviet negotiators agreed to additional reductions in nuclear arms as specified in the SALT II treaty signed by both countries in June 1979. At this point détente appeared to evaporate. Within the guidelines of the Brezhnev Doctrine, Soviet troops invaded Af­ghan­i­stan in December 1979 to support a weak and failing communist regime. In retaliation, the U.S. Senate failed to ratify the SALT II agreement and President Jimmy Car­ter announced an American boycott of the 1980 Summer Olympic Games in Moscow. The election of Ronald Reagan to the presidency in the fall of 1980 fi­nally ended the era of détente. Events of the 1980s moved rapidly and in an unexpected direction—­leading to the unforeseen end of the Cold War by the early 1990s. With a strong electoral mandate, Reagan was determined to strengthen Amer­i­ca’s position around the world. The failed military mission to rescue American hostages from Tehran in April 1980 badly damaged the prestige of Amer­i­ca’s armed forces in the eyes of allies and enemies alike.42 An expansive military buildup of both conventional and nuclear forces characterized Reagan’s first term. Two centerpieces of the Reagan buildup ­were the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) and the fielding of the Pershing II nuclear missile to Eu­rope.43 A general increase in tensions peaked in the fall of 1983 in what turned out to be the last dangerous moment of the Cold War. In November, the United States and its NATO allies conducted command post exercise (CPX) Able Archer 83 to test nuclear readiness procedures. The exercise caused Soviet leader Yuri Andropov and his military commanders to briefly conclude that a nuclear attack was imminent.44 The event was certainly the most dangerous moment since the Cuban Missile Crisis, yet it is relatively unknown. In addition to rebuilding the armed forces, Reagan was determined to correct the perceived loss of Amer­i­ca’s international credibility by engaging in an interventionist-­style foreign policy. He was also concerned about growing communist influence throughout the Western Hemi­sphere sponsored by the Soviet Union and supported by Castro’s Cuba.45 The former British island colony of Grenada was symptomatic of growing communist influence in the region. The communist-­style government of Grenada received military and financial aid from Havana and Moscow. Of concern to analysts was the construction of a large, military-­grade airfield, ostensibly for tourism, but far larger than justified by the tourist trade. In early October 1983 po­liti­cal instability and vio­lence raised concerns for the safety of approximately 700 U.S. students attending medical schools in Grenada. President Reagan was keen to avoid another potential Tehran-­type hostage situation.46 Using the 1965 Dominican Republic intervention as pre­ce­dent, Reagan ordered a military invasion of the island nation to protect lives, prevent vio­lence, and restore demo­cratic institutions.47 While the issue of the military operation was never in



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An American soldier is surrounded by American medical students at St. George University during Operation Urgent Fury. The 1983 operation involved nearly 8,000 troops, most from the Army Rapid Deployment Force, who invaded the island of Grenada in an attempt to end a Communist coup, and to protect approximately 600 U.S. citizens at the medical school. (U.S. Department of Defense)

doubt, U.S. armed forces required eight days to subdue the small Grenadian military establishment and achieve all the campaign’s objectives. While generally pleased with the outcome, the armed ser­vices identified a number of serious operational issues, including noncompatible communications systems, poor intelligence, a complicated chain of command, and poor interser­vice coordination procedures. Despite the difficulties, Urgent Fury was a successful airborne and joint ser­vice operation conducted on very short notice. While much improvement was needed, the ser­vices in general, and the army in par­tic­u­lar, had demonstrated they ­were recovering from the “Vietnam Syndrome.” 48 This optimistic feeling was reflected in President Reagan’s subsequent remarks: “Our days of weakness are over. Our military forces are back on their feet and standing tall.” 49 An impor­tant consequence of the Grenada Urgent Fury operation was a major reor­ga­ni­za­tion of the Department of Defense (DoD). A Senate Armed Ser­vices Committee report on Grenada cited “serious prob­lems in the ability of the ser­vices to operate jointly.”50 The subsequent Goldwater-­Nichols Department of Defense Reor­ga­ni­za­tion Act of 1986 enacted a number of changes designed to clarify command structures and improve the ability of the ser­vices to work together. The act revised the chain of command to run from the president through the secretary of defense to the geographic (regional) combatant commanders. Significantly, the act

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strengthened the role of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to advise the president while also removing the chiefs of staff of the individual ser­vices from the operational chain of command.51 The benefits of Goldwater-­Nichols ­were clearly seen three years l­ater during a subsequent joint operation: the invasion of Panama. The Central American nation of Panama has been strategically impor­tant to the United States since the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914. The United States maintained a sizable military presence in Panama to protect its interests. Relations with Panama and its de facto ruler, General Manuel Noriega, began to deteriorate in the mid-1980s. ­After a complicated series of escalating incidents that led to the death of an American officer and threats against U.S. civilians, President Bush ordered an invasion of the country. Bush justified his decision as necessary to safeguard American lives, defend democracy in Panama, combat drug trafficking, and protect the integrity of the Panama Canal Treaty.52 The invasion began in the early morning hours of December 20 with the army’s largest parachute assault since World War II.53 Operation Just Cause combined the efforts of all four ser­vices, including conventional and special operations forces. The operation was far larger in scope and scale than Urgent Fury conducted six years previously. The complex invasion plan integrated airborne, air assault, and night operations in a multiphase campaign. As a mea­sure of how far U.S. military capabilities had progressed, all of the first day’s objectives ­were successfully taken despite strong opposition from the Panamanian Defense Forces (PDF). The operation was officially concluded 42 days ­later on January 31, 1990. The U.S. armed forces had demonstrated significant improvement since the Grenada operation, and the effects of the Goldwater-­Nichols reforms w ­ ere readily apparent. By practically ­every mea­sure, the U.S. military exhibited the highest levels of professional warfighting expertise. Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney summed up the operation as follows: Just Cause showed what ­we’re capable of. . . . ​I feel very, very good about the overall quality of the operation . . . ​and the professionalism with which [the military] carried out the operation.54

By the mid-1980s, the already weakened Soviet economy strug­gled to match the American defense buildup. Combined with the costs of their long war in Af­ghan­ i­stan, the expense of the Cold War competition with the United States was bankrupting the entire Soviet system. It was clear to most observers the status quo could not continue. Change came in the form of a dynamic and personable new Soviet leader. Mikhail Gorbachev was the youn­gest Soviet leader since Stalin and the first to have a university education since Lenin.55 Reagan and Gorbachev developed an unlikely rapport at their first meeting in Geneva and at a subsequent one in Reykjavík, Iceland. Although no substantive agreement was reached in Iceland, a foundation for pro­gress was laid. The improvement in relations was best reflected in the 1987 Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces (INF) treaty that eliminated entire classes of offensive nuclear weapons from both sides.56 As further evidence of warming relations, the Soviet Union completed their withdrawal from Af­ghan­i­ stan in early 1989. The stage was set for a rapid, but still unexpected, end to the Cold War.



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No one understood at the beginning of 1989 just how close the Cold War was to ending. Cold War scholar John Gaddis described the Soviet Union at this point in time as “a sandpile ready to slide.”57 Within the next two years, six nations of the Eastern Bloc declared their in­de­pen­dence, abolished their Communist Party structures, and left the Warsaw Pact.58 At the end of 1989, the Berlin Wall fi­nally came down. Eleven months ­later, East and West Germany re­united 45 years ­after the end of World War II. The final acts of the Cold War played out within the Soviet Union itself as the vari­ous republics severed their ties to Moscow and declared their own in­de­pen­dence. Then, incredibly, on December 25, 1991, came the dissolution of the USSR itself. The Cold War was over. The nearly half-­century of conflict between two nuclear-­armed superpowers, in all of its complex nuances, is perhaps best described by Raymond Aron’s famous quote “impossible peace, improbable war.”59 To best understand the contributions of American soldiers in the Cold War, it is necessary to view their role within the context of the U.S. Army as a national institution. The army as an organ­ization evolved significantly in response to changes in national strategy and policy and to meet the challenges presented by Cold War adversaries. At the end of World War II, the army was at its historic peak in terms of size and combat capability. In 1945, Army Ground Forces numbered 8 million officers and men or­ga­nized into 89 combat divisions.60 ­After the war the army’s strength experienced cyclic fluctuations. The ­causes ­were the post–­World War II drawdown, the buildup for K ­ orea, and a subsequent large drawdown during the Eisenhower administration. Bud­get constraints and changes necessitated by the strategy of Massive Retaliation caused the post-­Korea drawdown. Even so, army strength seldom fell below 900,000 for the remainder of the Cold War.61 The maintenance of a large peacetime military establishment is one of the defining characteristics of the Cold War period. However, size alone is only one mea­sure of the efficacy of a military force. To apply strength effectively, it must be combined with an appropriate structure and warfighting doctrine. Ingo Trauschweizer identifies three evolutionary stages of the Cold-­War U.S. Army: determining the army’s role in the nuclear age, the search for an optimal orga­nizational structure, and the adoption of an operational and tactical warfighting doctrine.62 The following section ­will summarize the evolution of the army through ­these stages. ­After victory in World War II, the demobilization of the army was rapid and dramatic. During the period from September 1945 to January 1946, an average of 1.2 million soldiers per month w ­ ere discharged from the ser­vice.63 At this time t­ here was much discussion regarding the final size of the peacetime army in light of the need for occupation forces in Germany, Austria, and Japan. By early 1947, the active-­duty Army Ground Forces numbered approximately 600,000 personnel, a reduction of nearly 87 ­percent from the war­time peak. The army at this time consisted of 10 under-­strength divisions and a division-­sized constabulary force assigned to Germany. Of significance to the army, 1947 also saw the expiration of the Selective Ser­vice Act and the passage of the National Security Act of 1947.64 In terms of size, the army was at a postwar low by the end of the de­cade. Active-­ duty strength continued to decline and modernization was practically non­ex­is­tent given the large stockpiles of World War II–­era equipment. However, a new war in Asia quickly invigorated the army and ended its postwar doldrums.

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The Korean War (1950–1953) seemed to be a throwback to an ­earlier era. The country’s rugged terrain made the conflict an infantryman’s war. It may have seemed anachronistic at a time when many thoughtful observers believed the nuclear age had negated the need for mass land armies. The outbreak of war in ­Korea coincided with the completion of NSC 68 and seemed to validate warnings contained in that strategic document. The weakness of U.S. conventional forces had seemingly invited communist aggression on the Korean peninsula, and U.S. nuclear arms w ­ ere not especially applicable to l­ imited war in K ­ orea. The challenge to the army at this time was twofold: fight a war in ­Korea and support a massive military buildup in Eu­rope as called for in NSC 68. The army accomplished both tasks, albeit imperfectly. With an active war raging, top priority was given to supporting the Eighth Army in ­Korea. Si­mul­t a­neously, a new field army (Seventh Army) was activated in Eu­rope and assigned to NATO. However, by 1953 se­nior army leaders expressed serious concerns about the readiness of the forces in Germany.65 As an episode in the larger Cold War, the Korean War was significant for two reasons: it validated the warnings of NSC 68 and served as a catalyst for large-­scale rearmament in the 1950s.66 ­After the Korean Armistice was concluded in 1953, the army turned its full attention to Eu­rope and prepared to fight on a nuclear battlefield. ­After ­Korea, the Eisenhower administration sought to balance the needs of a healthy American economy with the long-­term security requirements necessitated by the Cold War. The administration essentially abandoned the balanced buildup of conventional and nuclear forces as called for in NSC 68. President Eisenhower announced the New Look defense policy in 1954. The new policy relied on the strategy of Massive Retaliation with nuclear weapons and a diminished role for ground forces. Unfortunately for the army, the strategic planning document supporting Massive Retaliation (NSC 162/2) failed to define a strategic role for the army.67 As army bud­gets plummeted, the ser­vice strug­gled to remain relevant in the eyes of defense planners and the American public. Within three years the army bud­get had fallen to a mere 22 ­percent of the Defense Department total, last among the ser­ vices.68 Obviously the army was in a fight for institutional survival. The ser­vice’s response proved to be a radical departure from convention—­ the Pentomic Division. The army’s solution to the challenges of fighting on a nuclear battlefield was embodied in the Pentomic Division.69 The concept was both an orga­nizational and doctrinal approach to addressing the threat posed by nuclear weapons. The challenge to ground forces was to avoid presenting a lucrative target to the ­enemy yet still fight effectively. The Pentomic concept modified the traditional three-­regiment “triangular” division into five ­battle groups, each containing five companies. The intent of the smaller ­battle groups was to disperse laterally and in depth and to operate in­de­pen­dently. The overall size of the Pentomic Division was reduced by 4,000 to 5,000 men, including reductions in artillery and supporting logistic units. To mitigate the reductions, the Pentomic units ­were to receive increased firepower through improved conventional arms and new tactical nuclear weapons. In theory, the fighting doctrine called for the ­battle groups to maneuver in a dispersed fashion to avoid ­enemy firepower, conduct attacks with conventional and nuclear weapons, concentrate when necessary, and then disperse again.70 In the words of



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one army officer at the time, “concentrate to fight—­disperse to live.”71 In a larger sense, the Pentomic organ­ization would show the American public a modern army prepared for a new era and solidify its place in the New Look defense policy.72 Army Chief of Staff General Maxwell Taylor ordered the army to reor­ga­nize itself using the Pentomic design in 1956. While the concept seemed sound in theory, numerous prob­lems appeared in application. All five army divisions assigned to U.S. Army Eu­rope (USAREUR) completed the Pentomic reor­ga­ni­za­tion by 1958 and conducted extensive field tests. Experience revealed serious logistic and communications prob­lems. The Pentomic design eliminated the battalion echelon of command, but it challenged the ability of commanders to control their more numerous subordinates. With the exception of armored units, the other ­battle groups lacked sufficient mobility and conventional firepower to fight effectively. Of concern to all types of units, the effects of radiation ­were not well understood in the 1950s. Army doctrinal and professional lit­er­a­ture tended to downplay the effects of radiation, which encouraged complacency among soldiers involved in live nuclear weapons testing.73 Ultimately, the biggest shortcoming of the Pentomic concept was the army’s failure to understand the realities of warfighting in a nuclear environment. Eventually, se­nior leaders within the ser­vice began to challenge the questionable assumptions regarding the feasibility of nuclear warfare. In short, the ser­vice was preoccupied with the acquisition of nuclear arms and never developed the doctrine necessary to apply the weapons to the battlefield.74 Historian Andrew Bacevich asserts that the reforms of the 1950s made the army a less effective fighting force, ill suited for ­either a tactical nuclear or conventional conflict.75 The army quietly moved away from all ­things Pentomic in the early 1960s as a new administration and a new military strategy necessitated change once again. During the final years of the Eisenhower administration strategists and military planners began to recognize the constraints inherent in the strategy of Massive Retaliation. The range of po­liti­cal and military threats faced by the United States required a strategy that allowed for vari­ous responses proportionate to the circumstances.76 The adoption of Flexible Response as the new strategy required the army to adopt a more versatile orga­nizational structure as well. The Reor­ga­ni­za­tion Objective Army Division (ROAD) was the army’s orga­nizational solution to support the new defense strategy. The structure returned to the triangular division design of World War II, with three subordinate brigade headquarters. Divisions could then be configured with varying types of combat battalions—­infantry, mechanized infantry, or armored. The flexibility of the ROAD division served the army well. The basic design, with only a few modifications, lasted through the end of the Cold War and beyond. By 1963, all five divisions assigned to the Seventh Army in Eu­rope w ­ ere configured to the ROAD design. The ROAD division offered significant advantages over its Pentomic pre­de­ces­ sor. The greater conventional firepower increased the range of options available to commanders short of initiating nuclear war.77 In addition to firepower, the new divisions had increased mobility and a more robust logistical structure for sustained operations. Additionally, the ROAD division was nearly twice the size of its Soviet counterpart. Despite the changes in strategy and force structure, the possibility of tactical nuclear war remained. In 1962, the United States had 5,000 nuclear weapons of vari­ous types deployed in Eu­rope.78 A notable new weapon unique to the

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army in this period was the Davy Crockett recoilless gun system. The weapon featured a low-­yield nuclear warhead with a range of ­either 2,000 or 4,000 meters. The Davy Crockett suffered a host of prob­lems during its existence, not the least of which was the short range that exposed the crew to blast and radiation effects.79 Although the ROAD division was not without its prob­lems, it offered a major improvement in the army’s ability to operate across the spectrum of war. By the mid-1960s the army faced a new challenge at the lower end of that spectrum—­ counterinsurgency. While remaining prepared for a major land war in Eu­rope, the army’s primary focus now turned to Vietnam. The war in Vietnam was a complex and difficult challenge for the army. The complexity was found in the multifaceted operational environment in Vietnam that defied easy generalizations. The prob­lem for the army during this period was to provide all the necessary support to the commanders and troops engaged in combat, while at the same time maintaining readiness in the two primary Cold War theaters of Eu­rope and ­Korea. The main difficulty was one of equitable distribution of personnel. An army historical summary from 1969 is illustrative of the challenges faced by the ser­vice.80 The army’s total strength in 1969 was 1.5 million, of which nearly 700,000 ­were posted overseas. Of this number, approximately 350,000

U.S. Special Forces advisors train South Viet­nam­ese soldiers in marksmanship, December 19, 1964. The Special Forces, commonly referred to as the Green Berets due to their distinctive headgear, ­were formed in 1952 and given responsibility for unconventional warfare and foreign internal defense. They became extremely prominent during the Vietnam War, when they advised South Viet­nam­ese units and conducted their own reconnaissance and direct-­action missions. (PhotoQuest/Getty Images)



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­ ere in Vietnam, with the remainder split between Eu­rope and K w ­ orea. Army assignment policies for overseas ser­vice created an imbalance in personnel inventories by theater. To summarize, short-­tour areas such as Vietnam and ­Korea ­were 12-­ month assignments. Long-­tour areas such as Eu­rope ­were 24-­or 36-­month assignments. To further exacerbate the prob­lem, Vietnam required, on average, 30,000 replacements per month, a 100 ­percent annual turnover.81 From an orga­nizational perspective, the army assigned its 19 divisions and two brigades as follows: Vietnam—­eight, Europe—­five, and ­Korea—­two, with the remainder in the United States constituting a strategic reserve.82 Of the troops in the United States, at any given time nearly 200,000 w ­ ere in training, and the four strategic reserve divisions ­were typically understrength. Essentially by default, the forces assigned to Eu­rope and NATO became the army’s manpower reserve pool to meet needs in Vietnam, especially for noncommissioned officers (NCOs) and ju­nior officers.83 As a result, army units suffered a discernable decline in readiness during the peak Vietnam years. For nearly a de­cade the Vietnam War consumed the preponderance of the army’s bud­get and personnel resources. Doctrinal innovations and general force modernization appeared to stagnate during ­these years with two notable exceptions. The operational environment of Vietnam demonstrated the value of special operations forces such as ranger infantry units and the army’s special forces known as the “Green Berets.” ­These forces grew significantly during the Vietnam years.84 In the area of modernization, the he­li­cop­ter came into its own as a troop transport, medical evacuation aircraft, and gunship for aerial fire support. The army quickly recognized the value of armed he­li­cop­ters for the Eu­ro­pean theater; the new capability was seen as a way to increase antiarmor firepower to ­counter the Soviet numerical advantage in main ­battle tanks. The he­li­cop­ter, especially attack he­li­cop­ters, ­were an impor­tant part of army modernization efforts in the late Cold War period. From a strategic perspective, the army viewed Vietnam as an exceptional case in a peripheral theater.85 The army continued to view the prospect of full-­scale war against the Soviets as the most dangerous possibility, and operational doctrine did not change significantly. Unfortunately, the long-­term costs of Vietnam severely degraded the ser­vice’s overall ability to deter a Soviet threat in Eu­rope. With the end of U.S. involvement in Vietnam came the usual cuts in army strength and bud­ get. To further compound the prob­lem, the expiration of the draft in 1973 ended an assured supply of manpower. From a societal perspective, a growing discontent with the general conduct of national security affairs brought on by the long and unpop­ u­lar conflict in Asia greatly influenced army policies in the 1970s. As the army moved into the post-­Vietnam period, it faced a growing Soviet threat while si­mul­ ta­neously dealing with challenges to rebuild itself in the face of new fiscal, po­liti­ cal, and social realities. In 1973, the army began its transformation to the modern professional force it is ­today. During that year three significant events occurred that influenced the army for de­cades. First, with the end of the draft, the army began its transformation to an all-­volunteer force (AVF). Second, the ser­vice began a pro­cess of comprehensive self-­examination to regain its professionalism and sense of mission. A major change resulting from this line of effort was the creation of the Training and

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Doctrine Command (TRADOC). Lastly, the 1973 Arab-­Israeli War, also known as the Yom Kippur War, gave the army a glimpse of mechanized warfare in the modern era. The transition from an essentially conscripted force to one of all volunteers was a change of lasting impact to the army. Historically, the army had relied upon volunteers in times of peace; however, the circumstances of the Cold War required forces of unpre­ce­dented size. It may be argued that the transition changed the identity and fundamental nature of the army and ultimately enabled its transition to a more professional force.86 The establishment of the AVF did not solve all of the army’s immediate prob­lems. Serious issues with readiness remained—in 1972 only 4 of 13 divisions ­were rated as combat ready.87 However, the change to a force composed of short-­term volunteers and long-­service professionals established conditions to allow more substantive orga­nizational and doctrinal changes. The army’s most impor­tant orga­nizational change during this period was the creation of TRADOC in 1973 to replace the overly large and unwieldy Continental Army Command (CONARC). As indicated by the organ­ization’s title, TRADOC was responsible for all training and doctrinal development within the army. ­Under the guidance of its first commander, General William E. Depuy, the mission was “to totally rethink the way the Army trained its forces and fought its wars.”88 General Depuy’s World War II ser­vice as a ju­nior officer was a formative experience for him and ­shaped his approach to training. One of his enduring contributions was to make army training “standards based.” To achieve synergy, effective training must be combined with a feasible and suitable warfighting doctrine. In the area of doctrine, TRADOC planners focused on the most dangerous threat—­a Soviet attack into western Eu­rope with massed armored and mechanized formations. Depuy recognized that army forces in Eu­rope would benefit from compatibility with NATO partners, especially the large and capable German contingent. To promote consistency between emerging U.S. doctrine and German methods, TRADOC initiated permanent consultations with doctrinal planners in Germany in 1974.89 The need for a new doctrine was readily apparent ­after a major crisis in the ­Middle East—­ the Yom Kippur War. The Arab-­Israeli War in October 1973 served as a useful “­battle laboratory” for the U.S. Army.90 The conflict demonstrated conclusively that the speed and lethality of modern war rendered Amer­i­ca’s reliance on slow mobilization and training of reserves to be outmoded. The army must be prepared to win the first ­battle of the next war. To do so required a highly trained, professional army equipped with modern weapons. The fighting on the Golan Heights in Syria was especially instructive. ­Here the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) defended with a single division against an attacking Syrian army of five divisions. The outcome was close-­r un, but in the end the superior training, leadership, and fighting doctrine of the IDF allowed it to prevail. The Israeli defensive fight was quite similar in most re­spects to what U.S. forces could expect in a Eu­ro­pean war. A ­ fter careful study, the army released a new edition of its capstone warfighting manual, Field Manual (FM) 100–5 Operations in 1976. Given the manual’s predominant defensive theme, it acquired the informal title of “Active Defense.”91 With a new warfighting doctrine and an all-­volunteer force, the army entered the 1980s a much



The Cold War 701

more capable force. It continued to refine its capabilities and build professionalism during the next de­cade. Events of the late 1970s during the administration of President Jimmy Car­ter set conditions for the sweeping electoral victory of Ronald Reagan in November 1980. The Car­ter administration’s minimalist defense policy during the early years of his presidency reduced military bud­gets significantly. The takeover of the U.S. embassy in Tehran by militant students during November 1979 and the Soviet invasion of Af­ghan­i­stan the following month likely ­shaped public opinion in ­favor of increased defense spending. Defense bud­gets started to rise during the final year of Car­ter’s presidency, but the new Reagan administration continued the trend for the next six consecutive years. This was the longest sustained peacetime investment in the military during the twentieth c­ entury.92 Most of the spending increases ­were invested in modernization, increasing readiness, and improving military pay and benefits. Army modernization efforts during this period centered on the acquisition of the “Big 5” weapons systems.93 The army continued to study and refine its approach to warfighting, as codified in the Active Defense doctrine. The new doctrine had not been universally accepted throughout the army when introduced in 1976.94 Criticisms centered on the overtly defensive nature of the doctrine. Given the Soviet superiority in ground forces, it became apparent that eventually defending forces, no m ­ atter how well trained and equipped, would be worn down by successive Soviet echelons. General Don Starry, Depuy’s successor at TRADOC, began developing a concept he termed the “extended battlefield.”95 The new concept required defenders to be able to strike Soviet formations throughout the depth of a battlefield in the close, deep, and rear areas. ­After continued study and debate, the new doctrine was published in FM 100–5 Operations in August 1982. The new concept of “AirLand ­Battle” emphasized the primacy of the offensive and required close cooperation between air power and army combined-­arms forces. When combined with the new “Big 5” weapons systems, the doctrine allowed for a continuous ­battle in depth. AirLand ­Battle was of such significance it came to define the U.S. Army in the late stages of the Cold War.96 The opening of the Berlin Wall in November 1989 signaled the rapidly approaching end of the Cold War. Over a period of approximately 45 years, both sides faced off against each other in the most likely arena of combat, central Eu­rope. Both sides fielded large and power­ful forces maintained with ­great care and enormous expense. The period was marked by episodes of greatly increased tensions in which open war appeared likely. The avoidance of war may be attributed to a myriad of ­factors, but the readiness of the U.S. Army to deter war can be counted as a major reason. The individual American soldier was at the heart of the army’s readiness in the Cold War.

CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Soldiers of the Cold War period may be grouped into two broad categories: conscripts and volunteers. The four de­cades of the Cold War may be similarly divided

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into the draft and volunteer-­force eras. The draft era of the Cold War lasted from 1945 u­ ntil 1973, with one brief exception.97 However, it is notable that even during the draft era, volunteers made up a significant portion of the army’s inductees. Volunteers during the draft era created a special situation in that a percentage of them ­were considered to be draft-­influenced “volunteers.” ­These individuals volunteered to avoid being drafted, and thereby exerted a degree of control over the circumstances of their military ser­vice. Draft-­influenced inductees w ­ ere therefore not truly volunteers in a literal sense. The army transitioned into an all-­volunteer force in 1973 and has remained so to the pre­sent day. The peacetime draft for military ser­vice is one of the unique aspects of the Cold War. The draft ran continuously for a quarter-­century (1948–1973); it sustained forces in time of peace and provided the necessary manpower for the Korean and Vietnam conflicts. The size of the draft varied depending upon need at a given point in time. For example, not a single person was drafted in 1949, as volunteers ­were sufficient to meet the needs of an army much reduced in size.98 Draft calls increased enormously during the Korean War, as in September 1951 when 56,000 ­were called to ser­vice.99 The prospect of being drafted was of ­little concern to military-­age males during the period between ­Korea and the buildup for Vietnam. The army adjusted draft calls accordingly to bridge the gap between the supply of volunteers and total manpower requirements. To illustrate, in 1954 draftees made up 58 ­percent of all inductions, but in 1961 the number had fallen to 22 ­percent.100 During the Vietnam years, draft calls ­were proportionate to the army’s level of involvement. In February 1965 before the big buildup, the monthly call was a miniscule 3,600. By April 1966 the monthly quota was 42,200.101 Wayne Perkins was a part of the rec­ord number of draftees in 1966.102 ­After training as a truck driver, he was assigned to ­Korea. Upon arriving at his unit, Wayne discovered he was to serve as an infantryman. Despite difficult circumstances in the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), he served honorably. Wayne’s experience is indicative of the army’s personnel prob­lems during this time. Soldiers ­were often utilized as circumstances dictated, without regard to their training or specialty. As the army withdrew from Vietnam and overall force levels declined, draft calls fell accordingly. It is in­ter­est­ing to note that the army drafted its last soldier, Dwight E. Stone, in December 1972, a full six months before the expiration of draft authority.103 The change to an all-­volunteer force was not an abrupt one. A transitional period from 1967 to 1972 is sometimes inaccurately described as the Volunteer Army (VOLAR) era. As early as 1967, the army had made the first conceptual moves ­towards an all-­volunteer force.104 In 1969, the army formed the Proj­ect Volunteer in Defense of the Nation (PROVIDE) study group. The PROVIDE study group developed the Modern Volunteer Army (MVA) concept. The term VOLAR refers to the Modern Volunteer Army Program, an experimental proj­ect designed to identify ways to make ser­vice life more attractive. The VOLAR program was tested at 13 U.S. and 3 overseas locations. The program considered a range of changes for implementation, all with the intent of improving the day-­to-­day life of the enlisted soldier. Some notable changes included the adoption of a five-­day workweek, the hiring of civilian employees to work in army mess halls (KPs), liberalized pass



The Cold War 703

policies, and allowing beer in the barracks.105 The significance of such actions may be lost on the civilian reader, but for the young enlisted soldier of the era, each change brought much improvement to his or her quality of life. The reduction in menial chores such as grass cutting, kitchen duties, and the like had an overall positive effect. Not all VOLAR changes ­were enthusiastically embraced, however. Critics inside and outside the ser­vice complained of the new permissiveness and the perception of the army g­ oing “soft.”106 The VOLAR experiment ended in June 1972 ­after 17 months. In the army’s view, the program was a success. In its final report, the army noted that VOLAR had improved the soldier’s attitude ­toward the army and increased the re-­enlistment rate.107 In retrospect, the VOLAR program was an impor­tant step on the road to an all-­volunteer force. The switch to an all-­volunteer force coincided with a difficult time in the history of the army and the nation. The army was emerging from a long and increasingly unpop­u­lar war in Asia. A number of high-­profile atrocities committed in Vietnam tarnished the reputation of the ser­vice and diminished the army in the eyes of the public. Public opinion surveys conducted by the PROVIDE study group revealed the army ranked last among the ser­vices in terms of desirability and public esteem. ­These ­factors, combined with the end of the draft, created a difficult environment in which to attract quality volunteers. From a societal perspective the nation was experiencing a paradigm shift in social values. Power­f ul forces w ­ ere reshaping the nation’s social and cultural landscape. Such forces included racism, gender equity, changing sexual norms, illegal drugs, and an increasingly permissive culture that encouraged the rejection of traditional forms of authority. Despite President Nixon’s invoking of the “moral majority,” the changes sweeping the country could not be ignored. Such changes created a difficult recruiting environment for the army. Throughout the remainder of the 1970s the army’s recruiting efforts ­were not resoundingly successful. The costs of the AVF w ­ ere higher than predicted and the overall quality of the recruited personnel was lower. The basic mea­sure of a quality recruit was the high school diploma. Experience indicated high school gradu­ ates ­were far more likely to complete their enlistment and less likely to have discipline prob­lems. On average, during this period less than 60 ­percent of male army volunteers had a high school diploma.108 In addition, recruit demographics ­were decidedly skewed in terms of minorities. African Americans and other ethnic minorities made up 40 ­percent of army enlistments during this period, as compared to 18 ­percent of the overall population. While not necessarily a mea­sure of quality, the high percentage of minority enlistments suggested a missing component of society—­the m ­ iddle class. Many nonminority volunteers during this period came from the least educated sectors of the white community, thus contributing to a decline in the overall educational level of the army. As a body, army recruits of the late 1970s ­were not representative of the nation’s broader social mix.109 By the end of the de­cade the AVF was considered by some as being close to failure. In 1979, the army missed its recruiting goal by 17,000 soldiers, or nearly 11 ­percent.110 Such shortages had a direct impact on the readiness of the army for war. That same year the army rated six of ten divisions in the Continental United States

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(CONUS) as not combat-­ready.111 Many deficiencies in ­these units ­were attributable to shortages of personnel, including NCOs. At its low point, Army Chief of Staff General Edward Meyer described the institution as a “hollow army.”112 The army began to turn the corner in 1980. General Maxwell Thurman, the new head of Army Recruiting Command, applied advanced statistical methods to help target quality recruits. Through his work ethic, he energized both his own command and the army’s civilian advertising agency responsible for recruiting. In late 1980, the agency produced one of the most effective advertising slogans of the twentieth ­century: “Be All You Can Be.”113 The slogan resonated not only with the target audience of young Americans from all walks of life but also throughout the army itself. When combined with inducements such as the Montgomery G.I. Bill, the Army College Fund, and vari­ous enlistment bonuses, army recruiting was producing tangible results by the mid-1980s. Beth Bailey asserts that the “Be All You Can Be” campaign and the ­mental association of the army with a college education effectively rebranded the ser­vice in the eyes of the American public.114 Patrick “Doc” Schwartz is representative of the volunteers recruited during this period.115 He was from a small town and enlisted in the army in 1985 as a means to a college education. Patrick served with distinction as a combat medic and was decorated for heroic actions during a training accident. By the end of the Cold War, the overall quality of personnel in the army was the highest in its history to that point. Fully 98.4 ­percent of enlistees ­were high school gradu­ates, and the number of personnel testing in the lowest acceptable m ­ ental cat116 egory had declined sharply. While minorities remained overrepresented relative to the population, the army of the late Cold War was far more representative of American society as a w ­ hole.

TRAINING Continuous military training throughout one’s time in ser­vice has always been one of the hallmarks distinguishing the soldier from the civilian. The initial training experience for all enlisted soldiers of the Cold War was Basic Combat Training (BCT), or simply “basic.” As the name suggests, BCT transforms the civilian into a soldier by imparting common skills required of all soldiers such as discipline, physical fitness, marksmanship, and basic combat skills. The length of BCT varied throughout the Cold War period from as few as four weeks to as many as sixteen.117 BCT was typically followed by Advanced Individual Training (AIT), which provided additional specialized training specific to the soldier’s ­f uture job within the army. Graduation from AIT resulted in the awarding of a military occupational specialty (MOS) code such as 11B Infantryman. It should be noted that graduation from BCT and AIT did not produce a fully trained soldier. The soldier’s training continued upon assignment to an operational unit. Unit training was typically progressive in nature, from smaller ele­ments such as the squad up through platoon-­, company-­, and even battalion-­level training events. Large-­scale training events such as brigade or division exercises varied widely in scope and purpose. Such exercises w ­ ere typically the culminating event in the soldier’s training year.



The Cold War 705

The duration and intensity of army basic training varied throughout the Cold War. The period 1945–1950 was marked by the turbulence of the period, and BCT fluctuated accordingly. Basic training in the immediate postwar period was nine weeks in duration but by late 1946 was reduced to only four weeks.118 Soldiers sent overseas during this time had to receive additional basic training before being assigned to units, as they ­were only capable of performing basic garrison duties. Training was extended during the Korean War, but deficiencies ­were still noted in combat skills, physical fitness, and fighting spirit.119 ­After K ­ orea, basic training was a rigorous eight weeks of 18-­hour training days. As the 1950s progressed, the army became increasingly complex and more technically oriented. A soldier could receive training in any of over 500 specialties. The coming of the atomic era and the age of rockets and missiles added more complexity. To illustrate, by 1957 the army had 72 MOSs related to missiles alone.120 Female soldiers of the era ­were trained separately as members of the W ­ omen’s Army Corps (WAC). In keeping with the norms of the time, female soldiers ­were not allowed a combat role and received only “basic training” as compared to BCT for males. WAC trainees received instruction over eight weeks, including first aid, map reading, camouflage, and familiarization with firing the M1 carbine.121 During the 1960s and 1970s army BCT remained relatively stable, averaging eight weeks in length and retaining the rigor instituted in the 1950s. Robert Duncan recalls the challenges of marching five miles to the ranges, firing his M1 ­rifle all day, and then a five-­mile return march in the late after­noon.122 In the early 1980s, BCT was increased to nine weeks in an effort to improve readiness. No ­matter when a soldier received basic training, it marked a formative period in his life—­the transition from civilian to soldier. It may be said that a soldier’s training ­really begins at the operational unit. For soldiers newly arrived from BCT and AIT, the first experiences in their unit can be overwhelming. At the unit many realize for the first time how ­little they ­really know. Unit training combines individual, section, crew, and squad-­level events. Eventually, training progresses at platoon, com­pany, and higher levels. During the early years of the Cold War in Eu­rope, many units conducted constabulary (policing) operations and had minimal tactical training. This began to change at the end of 1948 with a renewed emphasis on training for pos­si­ble combat operations. During the winter of 1948–1949, each combat battalion in Germany conducted a two-­ week field training exercise (FTX) at the Grafenwohr Training Area.123 For the Seventh Army in Eu­rope, it was the beginning of four de­cades of continuous training to deter a pos­si­ble Soviet offensive into western Eu­rope. Unit training during this period emphasized defensive operations and the integration of infantry, armor, and artillery into combined-­arms teams. John C. Gazlay of the 13th Armored Infantry Battalion (AIB) remembers his exhaustion ­after a particularly difficult period of field training at the Grafenwohr Training Area in 1956. In his words, we ­were “bone tired from thirty days of intensive day and night training.”124 Rigorous field training was a shared common experience for soldiers of the Cold War. In the l­ ater 1950s, unit training became more complex as the army fielded new rockets, missiles, and heavy artillery with nuclear capabilities.125 ­After the adoption of the Pentomic division, ­battle groups rotated through the major German training areas to conduct live firing and test their capabilities.125 The incorporation of simulated

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nuclear attack and defense activities was a common feature of unit training during the late 1950s. Unit training during the 1960s focused on providing trained forces for the war in Vietnam while still maintaining a capable deterrent force in Eu­rope. Unit training continued to emphasize combined-­arms operations in a conventional environment. ­After the withdrawal from Vietnam in 1973, the army as a ­whole refocused its efforts on improving readiness for large-­scale combat operations. By 1975 all army divisions w ­ ere rated as combat-­ready.126 The 1970s also saw an increasing emphasis on realism in training. Training standards as published in the Army Training and Evaluation Program (ARTEP) manuals ­were intended to closely match the realities of the modern battlefield.127 The 1973 Yom Kippur War provided a glimpse of such realities, especially the lethality of modern ­battle tanks and antitank weapons systems. An impor­tant lesson for the U.S. Army was the importance of proper training for tank crews. As a result, standards for tank crew training w ­ ere increased 128 and based in part on the Israeli experiences in 1973. The trend t­ oward increased realism in training continued into the 1980s. A major innovation was the creation of the Combat Training Centers (CTCs), which featured full-­time opposing forces or­ga­nized and equipped to replicate Soviet military practice. Another revolutionary development was the new multiple integrated ­laser engagement system (MILES), which allowed for extremely realistic force-­on-­force maneuvers and accurate appraisals of combat casualties and losses.129 The synergistic effect of the CTCs and MILES technology provided the most realistic training environment pos­si­ble short of ­actual war. By the mid-1980s, the army had achieved its highest overall readiness since the end of the Vietnam War.130 Major training exercises involving tens of thousands of soldiers ­were a distinctive feature of the Cold War years. The two most impor­tant of ­these ­were the REFORGER (Return of Forces to Germany) exercises in Eu­rope and the TEAM SPIRIT exercises in South ­Korea. REFORGER was an annual NATO reinforcement exercise designed to demonstrate the ability to deploy forces rapidly to Eu­rope in an emergency. NATO defense plans ­were predicated upon the United States’ ability to deploy six divisions within 10 days.131 The first REFORGER in 1968 was relatively modest in scope; the army transported 12,000 troops to Eu­rope to test the concept and train u­ nder winter conditions. A typical exercise involved movement to Eu­rope, drawing prepositioned equipment, maneuvers in the exercise area, and live-­fire training at one of the major training areas. Doug Voss participated in two early REFORGERs during 1970 and 1971.132 Doug’s job was MOS 63F (Recovery Specialist), but he found himself assigned to a scout platoon driving the M114 armored reconnaissance vehicle. He recalls many long days and nights driving ­under all types of conditions. Rodger Kauffman participated in three REFORGERs in the mid-1970s as a tank crewman (MOS 19K).133 His most vivid memory of ­those times was a mock ­battle between opposing armored forces. The exercise varied in size over the years, with the largest being REFORGER Certain Challenge in 1988.134 The final REFORGER was conducted in 1993 ­after the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact. The TEAM SPIRIT exercises ­were similar in concept to REFORGER and involved movement of forces to South ­Korea followed by a joint exercise with South



The Cold War 707

Korean forces. Beginning in 1976, ­these exercises ­were a tangible demonstration of the U.S. commitment to the Republic of ­Korea (ROK). During the late 1980s, the TEAM SPIRIT exercises ­were the ­free world’s largest military exercises, with over 200,000 personnel participating.135 Paul Batchelor participated in TEAM SPIRIT 1984 as a heavy antiarmor infantryman (MOS 11H).136 His unit spent more than 60 days in the field, the highlight of which was an air assault operation involving CH47 he­li­cop­ters. The final TEAM SPIRIT exercise was held in 1993, but given on-­going tensions on the Korean peninsula, it is pos­si­ble they may be resumed in the ­f uture.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE Just as the army evolved greatly during the Cold War, so did American society. The four de­cades of the Cold War saw much change caused by the complex interaction of social, cultural, and po­liti­cal ­factors. The conservatism and social conformity of the 1950s gave way to the civil rights, antiwar, counterculture, and feminist protests of the 1960s. As a national institution, the army was not immune to the effects of this societal discourse. The effects of the long war in Vietnam and the Watergate po­liti­cal scandal ­were precursors to a feeling of national malaise that characterized much of the de­cade of the 1970s. Throughout the de­cade, the army labored ­under the constraints of reduced bud­gets and the first difficult years of the AVF. Although substantial challenges remained to be overcome, the de­cade of the 1980s offered a sense of renewed optimism for the army and the nation. By the end of the Cold War, the army was one of the most progressive ele­ments of American society, offering its members unparalleled opportunities for personal and professional growth. African Americans and other minorities of color have a long history of serving the nation in times of need. Even during times of ­great racial oppression, such as the years of slavery and the more recent “Jim Crow” era, African Americans have rallied to the colors in large numbers.137 They have served in ­every American conflict since the American Revolution. In modern times, the army’s official policy since the end of World War II was one of segregation and quotas.138 During World War II and the immediate postwar years, the vast majority of African Americans served in support units, as they w ­ ere generally considered unsuitable for a direct combat role. The pro­cess of integration began with President Truman’s Executive Order 9981 in July 1948, but serious pro­gress did not occur ­until the Korean War when the army began to rapidly field integrated combat units. Army leaders soon noted that African American soldiers performed more effectively in integrated units.139 Also during this time the army ended its draft quotas for minorities, formerly set at 10 ­percent, and accepted all comers without regard to race or color.140 Daniel E. Harper well exemplifies the African American experience during the 1950s.141 From a small town in South Carolina, he volunteered for the army to escape the racial constraints of the time and to better his prospects in life. ­After attending an integrated BCT, Dan was shipped to K ­ orea in 1952 as an infantry soldier. Serving in an integrated unit, he remembers his first squad as consisting of “four whites,

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two African-­Americans, one Hispanic, and four KATUSAs.”142 He recalls an event when ­after days of hard fighting, a large can of juice was provided to his squad. All the squad members drank equally from the same container, without regard for racial prejudices. This small event can be seen as representative of a tentative step ­toward full equality of the races within the ser­vices. The event impressed Dan as perhaps the “first time I had seen ­people, especially blacks and whites have such close physical contact . . . ​it would never happen in South Carolina, or anywhere ­else in the south.”143 Even though pro­g ress was being made, soldiers ­were not unaware of racial prob­lems back home in Amer­i­ca. Dan Harper also remembers a conversation with a cousin he encountered in ­Korea. The ­family member cautioned Dan to “­don’t get yourself killed ­here when the folks at home are having trou­ble voting.”144 Dan served with distinction in ­Korea and survived the vicious fighting at the b­ attle of Pork Chop Hill. The solid per­for­mance of integrated combat units in ­Korea affected the army worldwide. In 1952, the army still maintained segregated units in Eu­rope. The Seventh Army contained 66 all-­black units, of which 57 ­were support units.145 Based on the results of a study commissioned through the Operations Research Office (ORO) of Johns Hopkins University, the army planned to integrate all-­white units through individual replacements and African American units by the “packet method.”146 The integration of the army’s Eu­ro­pean units proceeded smoothly with 98 ­percent of formerly all-­black units integrated within the first year and fully complete by August  1954.147 As the integration effort progressed, inspection results indicated that the per­for­mance of formerly segregated units generally improved, while the per­for­mance of formerly all-­white units did not diminish. It is in­ter­est­ ing to note that the Eu­ro­pean Command avoided publicizing the integration effort through the usual media channels. A public affairs announcement was planned for release upon completion of the army’s integration in Eu­rope. However, this release was preempted by a Department of Defense (DoD) report in 1954 announcing the abolishment of all-­black units within the military.148 The overall education level of enlisted soldiers hampered the efficiency and effectiveness of the army during the 1950s. Many soldiers, w ­ hether draftee or volunteer, white or minority, had less than a fourth-­grade education level as mea­ sured by the Armed Forces Qualification Test (AFQT).149 The pressures of the Korean War and the need to maintain large forces in Eu­rope compelled the army to lower entrance standards in the 1950s. By 1954, almost one-­third of army inductees ­were classed as Category IV by the AFQT.150 From historical data the army knew ­those with low education levels ­were harder to train, created more disciplinary prob­lems, and ­were more likely to fail to complete their term of ser­vice. The growing complexity of army equipment and operations in the nuclear age placed increasing demands on the abilities of individual soldiers. Accordingly, in 1954 the army established minimum education levels of fourth grade for enlisted personnel, eighth grade for NCOs, and two years of college for officers. To support ­these standards, the army established a worldwide system of education centers staffed by qualified instructors to assist soldiers in improving general education, earn high school diplomas, and even earn technical certificates. Command policies in Eu­rope allowed all soldiers up to 10 hours of duty time per week to attend education



The Cold War 709

classes.151 By the end of the de­cade, the army’s overall educational level had improved to a significant degree. This remained the case ­u ntil the buildup for Vietnam. The 1960s posed difficult prob­lems for the army and the nation. American society was confronted head on by ­those challenging previous norms in race and gender relations, the antiwar movement, and even pop culture. Such challenges grew in proportion to American involvement in Vietnam. The need to meet troop requirements in Vietnam as well as the worldwide commitments of the Cold War caused the army to greatly increase draft calls. Over time an extensive system of draft deferments was set in place, few of which applied to African Americans. During the 1960s the draft fell disproportionately on African Americans and on lower-­class youth in general.152 As the pressures of war mounted and draft re­sis­tance increased, the DoD announced a program seemingly at odds with previous policies concerning recruit quality. “Proj­ect 100,000” allowed the ac­cep­tance of Category IV recruits formerly rejected for m ­ ental and/or physical reasons. The rationale for the program was that the army’s structured school system and methods of training could offer disadvantaged young men an opportunity to succeed where their public schooling had failed them.153 The alternative point of view was that the program allowed the draft to further sweep up a larger percentage of minority and lower-­class youth. As the 1960s progressed, increasing numbers of Category IV recruits likely contributed to rising levels of indiscipline and a deterioration in race relations. An in­ter­est­ing aspect of the Cold War was the paradox in the treatment of African Americans at home and abroad. At home, African American ser­vice members still faced overt discrimination as Jim Crow laws ­were slowly overturned during the Civil Rights era. Yet ­these same personnel ­were able to experience unparalleled freedom when stationed overseas, especially in Eu­rope. Many Germans ­were far more open-­minded and nondiscriminatory in their business and personal relationships with African American ser­vice members.154 Even though the military ser­ vices ­were officially integrated, some forms of social segregation still existed off-­duty in towns and communities surrounding army garrisons. Some commanders even went so far as to pressure local German businesses to adopt segregationist policies in their dealings with soldiers.155 While it is difficult to draw generalized conclusions concerning such a complex issue, it is accurate to state that discrimination endured and racial tensions continued to rise throughout the 1960s. Change was happening, but at a very slow pace. Events of the late 1960s culminated in a severe racial crisis that resonated across army posts worldwide. By the early 1970s race relations in the army had deteriorated to such a degree that a number of articles in high-­profile publications shook the army leadership to its core. Nowhere was the prob­lem more evident than in Germany, where African American and white soldiers fought each other in their barracks and often in local civilian communities.156 Events in Germany drew the attention not only of the army’s leadership but also the National Association for the Advancement of Colored ­People (NAACP) and the Congressional Black Caucus. A major source of tension was the perception of inequities in the military justice system. A DoD task force investigated the justice system across all the ser­vices, but its findings ­were particularly relevant to the army in Eu­rope. The task force found clear disparities

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in the treatment of dif­fer­ent racial groups.157 African American soldiers w ­ ere more likely to be court-­martialed and less likely to be acquitted. A related ­factor was the lack of repre­sen­ta­tion of African Americans in the se­nior enlisted and officer ranks within the army hierarchy. In 1974, African Americans constituted 19.9 ­percent of the army, yet they w ­ ere sharply underrepresented in the two highest enlisted grades of E-8 and E-9.158 Additionally, African American soldiers tended to be promoted more slowly than their white counter­parts. A litany of the army’s prob­lems was published in a 1974 Ebony article, “­Battle the Army C ­ an’t Afford to Lose.”159 The article highlighted all that was wrong with race relations in the army, but it was also fair in pointing out the army’s efforts to correct itself. One such effort was the establishment of a Race Relations School, a forerunner of the present-­ day Equal Opportunity (EO) program. The school trained volunteers in leading and facilitating race relations training within units. Despite the army’s strug­gle with race relations, a large portion of the African American community still retained a favorable image of military ser­vice and regarded it as an excellent ave­nue for opportunity.160 The army entered the de­cade of the 1980s building upon previous efforts and determined to revitalize itself. It worked to overcome the crisis in professionalism and morale that had so weakened the ser­vice during the previous de­cade. Army leaders consistently stressed the importance of leadership and professionalism, thus making the army a more attractive ­career choice.161 Throughout the de­cade the ser­ vice implemented vigorous EO programs to improve race relations and to ensure fairness to all soldiers. By the ­middle of the de­cade, racial and other ethnic minorities composed approximately one-­third of the army.162 Additionally, the imbalance of African Americans in the se­nior enlisted grades had been corrected. To ensure readiness, it was essential for the ser­vice to establish internal programs and policies to allow all its members to achieve their full potential. The army was largely successful in this effort, and by the mid-1980s racial issues had mostly dis­appeared. The ser­vice had literally remade itself from the ground up during the 1980s. By the time the Cold War ended in 1991, the army was a profoundly dif­fer­ent institution from the one that emerged from Vietnam nearly 20 years before. The history of army ­women in the Cold War is essentially the history of the WAC. The WAC was established during World War II and reached a peak strength of 90,388.163 At war’s end, the WAC rapidly demobilized; however, ­there was much discussion concerning the pos­si­ble retention of ­women in the army. While the war created new opportunities for ­women to move into the public sphere, the return to “normalcy” seemed to encourage a return to prewar social norms. It is recognized that the urgent demands of war­time may disrupt traditional patterns and speed up social changes.164 The strong per­for­mance of military w ­ omen during the war and the burgeoning needs of the new Cold War built momentum ­toward a permanent female presence in the armed forces. ­After much public and congressional debate, President Truman signed the ­Women’s Armed Ser­vices Integration Act in July 1948.165 ­Women ­were now formally recognized as an official component of the armed forces, but with numerous restrictions. The Integration Act allowed the ser­vice secretaries wide latitude to establish service-­specific policies to further regulate their utilization.



The Cold War 711

In 1948, the army established the WAC Training Center initially at Fort Lee, ­ irginia, which ­later moved to Fort McClellan, Alabama. The training center was V a vital part of the WAC concept, providing ­women the opportunity to exercise command and staff leadership positions not available elsewhere in the army.166 As a separate entity, the WAC was able to achieve full integration of African American ­women in its ranks sooner than the rest of the army. The WAC Training Center conducted integrated BCT as early as April 1950. During this early period, army ­women ­were primarily utilized in medical, clerical, and administrative fields, similar to their role in civilian society. As a further restriction, pregnancy was grounds for an automatic discharge from the ser­vice. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s ­women’s programs in the military ­were subject to such limits. Leaders of the female ser­vice components ­were reluctant to push for changes so as not to threaten their program’s survival.167 This situation began to change in the 1970s. Throughout its history, the leadership of the WAC tended t­ oward a conservative and cautious approach in its policies, while still advocating for increased opportunities for its members.168 While the WAC was an integral part of the army, it was in many ways a separate institution within the institution. Army w ­ omen might work alongside men in their daily activities, but they w ­ ere recruited, trained, promoted, and administered through the WAC. ­Because of the broader social changes occurring in the 1970s, circumstances for army w ­ omen began to change rapidly. The transition to the AVF entailed many changes for ­women in the army. The size of the WAC expanded greatly during the early 1970s as the army opened 437 of its 485 MOSs to ­women and eased their assignment restrictions.169 ­Women now began to move into formerly all-­male domains and take on nontraditional roles. Army historian Gregory Fontenot argues that the full integration of ­women into the army was crucial to sustaining the all-­volunteer force.170 Fontenot uses the case of Second Lieutenant (2LT) Eugenia Thornton to illustrate the scope of change occurring during this period. She was the first female officer assigned to the 1st Infantry Division, serving in public affairs at Fort Riley, Kansas. This was not unusual in that ­women had always served in administrative capacities; however, divisions ­were the warfighting instruments of the army. For the institution, this constituted dramatic change. Despite re­sis­tance from many in the formerly all-­male division, Thornton had a successful tour of duty and deployed with the unit to the 1973 REFORGER exercise in Germany. As Fontenot describes it, “someone had to be first.”171 With the expanding role of w ­ omen came considerations for eventually eliminating the WAC as a separately managed group within the army. Over time it became obvious that the disestablishment of the corps was the next logical step in the recognition of ­women for what they ­were, “full and equal members of the Army in e­ very sense.”172 The final disestablishment of the WAC came in 1978. ­Women continued to play a growing and vital role in the army throughout the 1980s, but all aspects of the female military experience ­were not positive. In the early 1980s ­there was a growing opposition movement of po­liti­cal and military conservatives that believed the changes had gone too far and too fast. ­There was a noticeable re­sis­tance to ­women’s growing role in the military.173 Most opposition centered around the implications of ­women in combat and a perceived lowering of standards. For a time in 1980, the army even suspended the recruitment of ­women.

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Si­mul­ta­neously, an army study of operational risk in war­time actually opened additional MOSs to w ­ omen.174 Clearly, it was a confusing time for army w ­ omen. In fairness to the ser­vice, the army at this time was attempting to strike a balance between military readiness, equal opportunity, and social values.175 The experience of Juanita Coover is typical of the times. Juanita joined the army seeking a nontraditional job and a challenge: she chose MOS 15D, Lance missile crewmember.176 Upon arriving at her unit in Germany, Juanita was essentially ignored by her fellow soldiers. Through sheer hard work and determination, she gained their re­spect over time and eventually the mentorship of a supervising NCO. She served with distinction for four years and earned a promotion to sergeant. Soldiers such as Juanita and many thousands of other army w ­ omen ­were vital team members in units charged with deterring the communist threat. By the end of the Cold War, w ­ omen in the army made up 10.8 ­percent of the active-­duty strength, their numbers having doubled between 1977 and 1987.177 Although it is beyond the scope of this chapter, the per­for­mance of army ­women in the Persian Gulf War of 1991 more than validated the confidence placed in them by the army and the American ­people.

DAILY LIFE The daily life of soldiers stationed overseas during the Cold War may be viewed from two perspectives: the daily life in garrison and the daily life in a field training environment. Interestingly, the common experience did not vary much at all over four de­cades. In the garrison environment the normal duty day was generally 12 hours long and ­until 1972, conducted six days a week. ­After the VOLAR changes, a normal workweek was five days except ­under unusual circumstances such as preparing for a major inspection or a field training event. The field training environment was decidedly dif­fer­ent. Depending upon the type of training being conducted, the duty day could last as long as 18 to 20 hours, leaving very ­little time for rest. Furthermore, field training was conducted seven days per week for as long as the training event required. On Sundays, a short pause for religious ser­vices was usually planned for if circumstances permitted. ­These general observations ­were applicable in both major overseas theaters: Eu­rope and K ­ orea. In garrison, the typical week for a soldier always included physical training (PT), equipment maintenance, and routine individual and small-­unit training that could be conducted in local areas close to the garrison. All army units conducted PT a minimum of three days per week, with many combat-­arms units ­doing PT up to five days per week. One of ­these days would typically involve sports competition (e.g., basketball, flag football, softball) or similar form of athletic recreation intended to promote fitness. Time devoted to equipment maintenance consumed increasing amounts of time as army equipment became more complex and technically sophisticated. As a rule, soldiers in armored, mechanized, artillery, air defense, engineer, and aviation units performed “command maintenance” at least two days per week in the unit’s “motor pool” or maintenance area. This was in addition to time spent maintaining the soldier’s personal uniforms and equipment and routine maintenance of barracks and other unit facilities. Throughout the Cold War, a unit’s



The Cold War 713

vehicles, weapons, and equipment had to be maintained in a high state of readiness at all times. A distinctive feature of army forces forward-­deployed to Eu­rope and K ­ orea was the regular system of peacetime alerts to ensure war­time readiness. T ­ hese ­were the most intense component of a unit’s routine in garrison. Alerts ­were called on an unannounced basis, typically during early morning hours and on average once or twice a month. The Seventh Army in Eu­rope required a two-­hour alert standard.178 Once alerted, a unit had to be fully uploaded and ready to move within two hours. The required sequence consisted of accounting for all personnel, issuing weapons, uploading all personal and individual equipment, and marshalling vehicles in the proper sequence at designated departure points. By any mea­sure, two hours is an aggressive standard for even a well-­trained unit to transition from peacetime routine to preparedness for war. Varying alert levels required differing responses. Muster alerts only required all unit personnel to sign in for accountability within the prescribed time. Selected alerts required units to not only prepare but to actually move to their war­time locations in accordance with classified operations plans. Alerts ­were subject to evaluation by any of several higher headquarters such as the unit’s division, corps, or even the Seventh Army. When called, alerts superseded any of the unit’s routine scheduled activities. Alerts ­were a distinguishing feature of the Cold War years and a constant reminder of the importance of the army’s daily mission of deterrence to prevent war. Field training for army units in Eu­rope and K ­ orea was perhaps the most demanding and challenging aspect of Cold War ser­vice. Such events consisted of maneuver training, live-­fire weapons training, or a combination of the two. The duration could vary from as ­little as 5 days to as many as 45. Maneuver training in large-­ scale events such as multidivision NATO exercises or REFORGERs ­were far too large for established training areas. Therefore, large-­scale training events ­were conducted throughout the German countryside but well away from borders with Warsaw Pact nations. Units conducted training day and night and in all weather conditions to ensure readiness for war in any season. An advantage for U.S. Army units deployed to Eu­rope and K ­ orea was the opportunity to train with and occasionally compete with allied armies. In Eu­rope, the Canadian army sponsored an annual tank gunnery competition for all NATO members. Major units from all the NATO armies selected their best tank crews to compete in this prestigious competition. In addition to increasing the overall proficiency of all NATO tankers, serious national bragging rights ­were at stake! The Boeselager Competition was a similar event for Cavalry Scouts hosted by the German army.179 All such military-­ to-­military competitions fostered camaraderie, interoperability, and readiness between Cold War military partners. All soldiers look forward to returning to garrison at the conclusion of a field training exercise. However, for Cold War soldiers, the hard work continued for three additional days. Given the constant requirement for readiness, soldiers followed a strict routine known as “recovery.” Upon returning from the field all vehicles ­were unloaded, washed, and refueled. Weapons w ­ ere given an initial cleaning and returned to storage in arms rooms. All other unit equipment, especially sensitive items, ­were accounted for. ­These ­were typical day-­one recovery tasks. Days two

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and three involved intense vehicle maintenance, additional weapons cleaning, and the cleaning of all other unit equipment. Only ­after all tasks had been completed to standard could the soldier expect to receive a ­little time off. Mike Arthur recalls spending much time at the “wash rack” power washing and scrubbing ­every speck of dirt from his vehicle to prepare for his unit’s recovery inspection.180 Likewise, Bob Kern remembers the meticulous layout procedure for all of his personal gear and equipment to ensure cleanliness and ser­viceability during his own recovery inspections.181 A soldier’s daily life during the Cold War was not all work, especially for t­ hose stationed overseas in Eu­rope or K ­ orea. For many veterans, the overseas experience was a prime attraction to ser­vice life. The most common form of recreation for enlisted soldiers in Eu­rope was the enjoyment of local culture. Young men (and ­women) ­were drawn to venues offering food, drink, and popu­lar ­music. Of course, in Germany beer in its infinite va­ri­e­ties was the main attraction. German culture is known for its festivals, the most famous being the Oktoberfest. Bob Kern fondly recalls his own experiences at many festivals and his affinity for the German ­people and their culture.182 For ­those inclined to travel, Eu­rope offered nearly unlimited opportunities for travel well within the bud­gets of enlisted personnel. Additionally, the military operated their own system of Armed Forces Recreation Areas offering a wide range of attractions at excellent pricing. Cold War soldiers could also expect to spend some or even all of their ser­vice time stationed at home in the continental United States (CONUS) depending upon their individual enlistment situation. Like their overseas colleagues, t­ hese soldiers divided their time between routine garrison activities and periods of field training. Time in garrison was virtually identical to the overseas experience, with PT, maintenance, and individual training filling most of the soldier’s week. Field training in CONUS was essentially similar to training in Eu­rope and K ­ orea, with varying periods of maneuvers and live-­fire training. Most field training was conducted at the soldier’s assigned home base, the typical army installation being large enough to accommodate most types of training events. Depending on a unit’s assigned war­ time mission, soldiers might travel to distant bases for specialized training environments. For example, a unit might deploy to Fort Drum, New York, for cold weather training; to Fort Carson, Colorado, for mountain training; or to Fort Bliss, Texas, for desert training. The highlight of the training year for selected units was an overseas deployment to a REFORGER, TEAM SPIRIT, or other foreign exercise. In addition to receiving excellent training, soldiers w ­ ere afforded some time off to enjoy differing cultures. Aside from training events, t­here w ­ ere some impor­tant differences between CONUS and overseas ser­vice. Most notably, the majority of soldiers and units in the United States did not face the immediate prospect of combat and therefore ­were not subject to short-­notice recalls such as the two-­hour alert standard practiced overseas. Except for selected units, CONUS units did not routinely undergo a regular system of alerts to test readiness. Similarly, CONUS units generally w ­ ere maintained at slightly reduced readiness levels compared to overseas units based on a system of priorities. Exceptions to this ­were units capable of rapid overseas movement by air to respond to short-­notice contingencies. Units such as the



The Cold War 715

82nd Airborne Division and the vari­ous ranger battalions ­were maintained at high readiness levels and routinely practiced short-­notice alert procedures. A soldier’s off-­duty time in CONUS also differed in some re­spects to the overseas experience. An obvious difference was ready access to traditional American forms of entertainment and outdoor recreation. Consistent with reduced readiness levels, U.S.-­based soldiers usually enjoyed more liberal leave and pass policies than their overseas brethren. In addition to their immediate families, soldiers in the homeland enjoyed more frequent opportunities to visit their extended families. While all soldiers, regardless of station, had access to army education centers, t­ hose stationed at home usually had a wider range of civilian schools and colleges to choose from to further their education.

RELIGION Throughout the Cold War the army maintained an extensive system of post chapels, as it does to the pre­sent time. The Army Chaplain Corps is a professional branch of the army consisting of ordained ministers who are commissioned officers supported by enlisted chaplain’s assistants in MOS 56M. Together, the army chaplain and the assistant constitute the unit ministry team. Each army unit of battalion size or larger has an assigned unit ministry team. The role of the army chaplaincy is essentially the same as in civilian life—to provide for the religious and moral needs of its members. As a snapshot, in 1969 the army had 1,909 ordained chaplains of Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish denominations.183 In contrast to their civilian counter­parts, army chaplains are called upon to serve in austere and often hostile environments. During the Cold War, religious considerations for the average soldier w ­ ere not significantly dif­fer­ent from other historical periods, with the pos­si­ble exception of the 1950s. Historians have noted that religious participation increased in 1950s Amer­i­ca, and accordingly many army members followed prevailing social norms.184 The strongest linkage between religion and Cold War concerns came during this de­cade as the conflict was sometimes seen as a strug­gle between the fundamentally “Christian West” and “godless communism.” If we accept that the Cold War was also a strug­gle of ideas, beliefs, and culture, then the idea that religion was used as a tool of mass persuasion is not surprising.185 The army’s Character Guidance Program, administered by the Chaplain Corps, reflected the tenor of ­these times. The purpose of the program was to provide citizenship and morality lectures to soldiers during duty time, to educate them in religious and moral law and patriotism.186 ­There ­were even annual themes, such as 1957’s “One Nation, ­Under God.” Clearly, the army had to walk a fine line in this program to avoid undue command influence on the personal religious beliefs of soldiers. In parallel with the religious landscape of Amer­i­ca, the religious demographics of the army changed over the course of the Cold War. At the end of World War II, American religious preferences encompassed three mainstream faiths. Americans responding to a Gallup survey revealed that 69 ­percent ­were Protestant, 22 ­percent ­were Catholic, and 4 ­percent ­were Jewish.187 Despite the surge in religious

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participation in the 1950s, the following de­cades saw a significant decline in membership of mainstream religions. This decline has been attributed to two ­factors: the growing numbers of Americans claiming “no religious preference” (NRP) and the trend ­toward religious diversity. The social forces of the 1960s created a “new vista of lifestyle options” to such a degree that mainstream faiths no longer represented all of society’s spiritual interests.188 Since the 1960s the American religious scene has grown ever more diverse and complex, and the U.S. military has reflected ­these changes. Increasing numbers of non-­European immigrants enabled by the passage of the Immigration Act of 1965 has driven the increase in nontraditional religious ethnic groups. The Institute for the Study of American Religion has reported the formation of 375 ethnic or multiethnic religious groups in the last three de­cades.189 To respond to the changing religious needs of the ser­vice and to better address diverse religions, the Army Chaplain Corps established a Minority Ministry Training Program.190 The intent of the program is to foster a better understanding among the army chaplaincy of the prob­lems faced by members of minority cultures and religions. While the largest single religious group in the army remains the Protestant faith at 53.6 ­percent, the second largest is NRP at 24.5 ­percent.191 Continuing a trend first identified in the 1960s, the army ­today has a wide range of faiths represented in its ranks, including atheists, Buddhists, Hindu, Muslims, and ­others. ­W hether in the draft era or the modern volunteer force, the army has reflected the religious demographics of the society it serves.

POPU­L AR CULTURE Popu­lar culture has always exerted a degree of influence over the lives and conduct of soldiers during their off-­duty time. Like the army itself, popu­lar culture evolved continuously and significantly throughout the four de­cades of the Cold War. At times it was a major ­factor affecting the daily lives of soldiers. This was especially true for the army during the turbulent times of the 1960s and 1970s. This was a de­cided contrast to the 1950s when cultural norms ­were supportive of military ser­vice as a duty of citizenship. Brian Linn highlights the impact of 1950s popu­lar culture in his 2016 work Elvis’s Army. He uses the example of draftees such as Elvis Presley and professional baseball player Willie Mays as representatives of t­ hose who served in the 1950s army. The idea that Elvis, perhaps the biggest pop icon of the era, could set aside his professional life reinforces the idea of military ser­vice as a responsibility of citizenship. During this time the army actively promoted itself through sponsorship of radio, tele­vi­sion, and motion pictures. One of the most successful and popu­lar ventures featuring the army was the tele­vi­sion show The Big Picture which ran for nearly 20 years and over 800 episodes.192 Army cooperation for Hollywood pictures was very much contingent upon a favorable portrayal of military life. Army reviewers often strug­gled to pre­sent a positive image, versus the realities of army life, especially in terms of race and gender subject ­matter. The army’s public image and its portrayal in pop culture changed ­after the 1950s. Released in 1973, George Lucas’ American Graffiti was a coming-­of-­age portrayal



The Cold War 717

of American youth in the final peaceful years of the early 1960s before the big buildup in Vietnam. L ­ ater in the de­cade, the popu­lar TV show Route 66 featured the character of a brooding and somewhat troubled army veteran recently returned from Vietnam. Dan Harper remembers it as one of the first times he had even heard of Vietnam.193 It is hard to overstate the impact of popu­lar culture on the army during this period. The hippie movement with all its attendant symbology, the drug culture, vari­ous black power and ­women’s movements, all typified the era of the mid-­to-­late 1960s. The essence of the era is perhaps best portrayed in the 1969 film Easy Rider. The pushback against traditional norms and forms of authority in civilian life certainly found its way into the army through the induction of draftees and the draft-­influenced “volunteers.” A popu­lar mouthpiece that expressed soldier’s frustrations was the under­ground newspaper Overseas Weekly. Published in Germany, the paper represented the enlisted soldier’s point of view and served as a counterweight to the semiofficial and better-­k nown Stars and Stripes newspaper. The Overseas Weekly had such an impact that the army attempted to ban the publication from its installations on several occasions but ultimately relented given the enormous First Amendment implications.194 While the paper occasionally leaned ­toward tabloid sensationalism, its content was typically accurate in reporting ­actual conditions within the army. Radio broadcasts are always impor­tant for soldiers stationed overseas, but never more so than during the 1950s and 1960s when small transistor radios became widely available. The Armed Forces Network (AFN) offered the only English-­ language radio broadcasts during the early de­cades of the Cold War. Don Buchwald of the 13th AIB remembers listening at ­every opportunity during the late 1950s.195 He recalls the programing being heavi­ly biased t­ oward country m ­ usic, much to the dismay of his African American and Hispanic comrades. Rock and roll programming was a steady stream of Elvis Presley tunes. Don also remembers reading Stars and Stripes and the Overseas Weekly, also known in the 13th AIB as the “Oversexed Weekly.”196 In terms of English-­language tele­vi­sion broadcasts, AFN tele­vi­sion programming was not available in Eu­rope ­until the 1970s. Prior to that time, some popu­lar American TV shows such as Bonanza ­were broadcast on German stations but with a German-­language soundtrack. During the 1970s a more lackadaisical and humorous portrayal of army life replaced the previous counterculture themes. Although released in the early 1980s, the comedy films Private Benjamin and Stripes poked fun at 1970s and VOLAR-­ era army life. The former addresses aspects of the female 1970s army experience and the overly optimistic promises of army recruiters, while the latter is the more typical “down-­on-­their-­luck” group of volunteer misfits. Interestingly, both films contain communist and Cold War references within their storylines. Also from the 1970s, the highly successful and long-­r unning (1972–1983) tele­vi­sion show M*A*S*H portrayed a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) in the Korean War. This highly rated and award-­winning series featured skillful writing to combine comedy with more serious themes. The show tackled subjects ranging from patriotism and ser­vice to the idiosyncrasies of military life, and even social issues such as racism. Amer­i­ca’s role in the Cold War and its view of war ­were common thematic ele­ments, especially during the early seasons when the show aired

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concurrent with the nation’s involvement in Vietnam. As a mea­sure of the show’s impact on popu­lar culture, the final episode drew 125 million viewers, a rec­ord at that time.197 The resurgence of national pride and patriotism during the 1980s is seen in several films. Released in 1985, Rocky IV prominently featured a Cold War theme where underdog American fighter Rocky Balboa defeats a formidable Soviet opponent in Moscow. Army veteran Bob Kern recalls seeing the film in theaters and cheering loudly along with the rest of the audience as Rocky triumphs in the end, draped in an American flag.198 Also released in the early 1980s, the film First Blood, the first in the “Rambo” film franchise, deals with more serious subject ­matter. Despite the highly implausible storyline, the heart of the film deals with issues of veterans returning from war and adjusting to normal life. Another movie reflective of a similar Cold War theme was Rambo III, released in 1988. This third installment of the Rambo franchise finds the hero in Af­ghan­i­stan fighting against Soviet troops occupying the country. A notable 1980s movie with a major Cold War theme is the John Milius film Red Dawn. The movie is a fictionalized account of ordinary Americans conducting guerrilla warfare in “occupied Amer­i­ca” ­after being invaded by Rus­sian, Cuban, and Nicaraguan forces. Released in 1984, an Olympic year that featured a Soviet boycott, the film received mixed reviews at the time but has gone on to become a cult classic.

PAY AND COMPENSATION Military pay and compensation have always been a m ­ atter of some complexity and always an item of intense interest for soldiers of any era. For enlisted personnel, the calculation begins with “basic pay.” Basic pay is determined by the soldier’s rank and time in ser­vice. Enlistment or reenlistment bonuses or other special types of pay are paid on a case-­by-­case basis. For single soldiers residing in unit barracks, room and board are provided gratis. Enlisted soldiers are also provided their initial issue of uniforms at government expense and afterwards receive a monthly clothing allowance for upkeep and replacement. An impor­tant ele­ment of the compensation package is ­free medical and dental care. Married soldiers residing in privately purchased or rented accommodations off-­post receive a housing allowance commensurate with their rank and time in ser­vice. One of the most attractive features of a military ­career has been the retirement pension. Pension specifics vary depending upon the soldier’s era of ser­vice, but the basic requirement is for a soldier to complete 20 years of honorable ser­vice to qualify. For soldiers of the Cold War, the biggest ­factor influencing their pay was their era of ser­vice. Pay was relatively stagnant during the draft era but began to increase during the AVF years. The basic pay of a Private E-1 remained unchanged at $78 per month from 1952 to 1962.199 Dan Harper remembers receiving his first army pay of $78 in 1952 and it was “the most money I had earned in my entire life.”200 Robert Duncan also received that same $78  in 1962, but he remembers the excitement of his promotion to Private E-2, which raised his pay to $85.80.201 While ­these amounts might seem to be pauper’s wages, the total compensation package



The Cold War 719

such as ­f ree room and board greatly increased a soldier’s discretionary income. Even so, military pay rates during the draft era did not compare favorably with private-­sector wages. Army pay began to rise noticeably during the transition to the AVF. Increasing pay and improving the benefits package ­were seen as essential to attract volunteers. In 1973, a private’s starting monthly pay was $288, a point emphasized in army recruiting ads.202 More importantly, army pay was irrespective of gender. Despite the ser­vice’s efforts to continue to improve quality of life through pay and benefits increases, military members continued to fall ­behind their civilian counter­parts. An army and DoD study revealed that by 1980 the buying power of military pay was 20 ­percent less than comparable civilian wages.203 An impor­tant component of the Reagan administration’s military buildup in the early 1980s was to increase military pay in an attempt to correct the disparity. Cold War veterans from this period still recall the years of the “Reagan pay raises.” Military pay improved substantially during the de­cade but was still an estimated 10 ­percent below civilian levels in 1989.204 A somewhat unique aspect of military pay for Cold War soldiers stationed overseas was the ability to be paid in cash. In the pre-­Internet era, the majority of soldiers received a paper check at their unit on payday. As American banks ­were not readily available overseas, the soldier had the option of exchanging the check for cash. On payday a com­pany officer would sign for the unit’s payroll at an army finance office, then establish a pay station within the unit area. Soldiers then reported for pay by saluting and presenting identification. At their option, soldiers could receive their pay in dollars, a foreign currency (such as German deutsche marks), or a combination thereof. Payment in foreign currency was a g­ reat con­ve­nience in paying local debts such as rent and phone bills. The army now requires all soldiers to have their pay electronically deposited in their bank accounts. Accordingly, direct payment of soldiers is rarely done in the Internet age.

WEAPONRY Arms and equipment are the tools of the soldier. Soldiers must have confidence in their weapons and their ability to employ them. As it is the soldier that risks his life on behalf of the nation, so then must the nation equip its soldiers with the best pos­si­ble tools of war. Unfortunately, such idealistic notions sometimes fall prey to competing military, po­liti­cal, and economic considerations. Throughout much of the Cold War the army strug­gled to equip its forces with the latest technology. External events such as the Korean and Vietnam Wars and internal changes such as the Pentomic reor­ga­ni­za­tion and the transition to the AVF hampered the army’s modernization. It was not ­until the final de­cade of the Cold War that the army fi­nally achieved a substantial degree of modernization, giving a clear advantage to its soldiers. What follows is a decade-­by-­decade survey of the most common weapons employed by soldiers throughout the Cold War.205 The army began the Cold War with massive quantities of World War II–­ era equipment of all kinds. With ­limited exceptions, the army used ­these items

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throughout the Korean War and into the early Pentomic period. Small arms for the infantry soldier during this period ­were the M1 ­rifle, M1 carbine, Browning Automatic ­Rifle (BAR), M3 submachinegun, .45 pistol, and vari­ous Browning medium and heavy machine guns. All w ­ ere World War II or e­ arlier vintage. While the M1 ­rifle was the best infantry weapon of World War II, by the time of the Korean War it was beginning to show its age. Armor soldiers operated a mix of M26 Pershing and M47 Patton tanks throughout much of the 1950s. The increasing lethality of the battlefield and the Soviets’ preference for armored forces influenced changes in U.S. infantry forces.206 Increasingly, infantry units ­were converted to armored infantry, ­later designated mechanized infantry. The army began equipping such units with the M59 Armored Personnel Carrier (APC), but never in sufficient quantities. By the late 1950s, the requirements of the anticipated nuclear battlefield created a dilemma for army modernization programs. While the ser­vice invested heavi­ly in new high-­tech weapons, the tools required for conventional war changed very ­little. The only ­really new item for the ordinary soldier was the M14 ­rifle. A derivative of the M1, this new design was intended to be a universal ­rifle replacing an entire ­family of weapons: the M1 ­rifle and carbine, the BAR, and the submachine gun. The M14 suffered from a number of shortcomings and was withdrawn from ser­vice ­after only seven years. The army’s move into high-­tech weapons garnered the most publicity and the lion’s share of its bud­get. The M65 Atomic Cannon and the M28 Davy Crockett recoilless gun system symbolized the army during the Pentomic years.207 The M65 “Atomic Annie” was noteworthy as the first and only artillery piece in history to fire a live atomic warhead. The weapon was a 280-mm, 83-­ton towed howitzer transported by two diesel tractors arranged in a somewhat awkward “push-­pull” configuration. Atomic Annie could deliver a 20-­k iloton nuclear projectile to a range of nearly 20 miles. It could be prepared for action within 15 minutes by its seven-­man crew. The army fielded the M65 to both Eu­rope and ­Korea in specially or­ga­nized atomic gun battalions. The large size and weight of the weapon soon proved problematic and hampered its movement along the constricted roads, bridges, and small towns of Eu­rope. Cumbersome and dangerous to operate, it was dubbed the “widow-­maker” by its soldier crews.208 Rapidly replaced by rockets and smaller nuclear-­capable artillery systems, the M65 was withdrawn from ser­vice ­after only 10 years. The M28 Davy Crockett was intended to put tactical nuclear firepower in the hands of the ordinary infantry soldier. ­These weapons w ­ ere assigned to heavy mortar platoons in armor and infantry units. With a three-­man crew, it fired a 51-­ pound nuclear warhead, one of the smallest ever developed. It was envisioned that the weapon could be effectively employed by small, fast-­moving teams of soldiers who would be difficult to target. Like the atomic cannon, the Davy Crockett enjoyed a less-­than-­stellar reputation with its soldier operators. It was thought that the weapon’s blast radius exceeded its range and that the nuclear flash could cause permanent blindness.209 All Davy Crocketts ­were withdrawn from the army inventory by 1971. The army also moved heavi­ly into new rocket and missile technologies. A series of unguided and guided missiles ­were rapidly fielded, including the Corporal,



The Cold War 721

The first and only test of the M65 atomic cannon, an artillery piece firing a 240 mm nuclear shell yielding 15 kilotons at a range of 7 miles, Frenchman’s Flat, Nevada, May 25, 1953. Nicknamed “Atomic Annie,” the M65 was envisioned as a tactical weapon capable of stopping or forestalling a Soviet attack in central Eu­rope or on the Korean peninsula. However, the development of smaller nuclear artillery shells, coupled with advances in rocket and missile design, rendered the M65 obsolete, and it was retired in 1963. (Library of Congress)

Sergeant, Honest John, Redstone, and Pershing I systems. In the late 1950s the army’s Jupiter rockets ­were a cutting-­edge technology. Such investments ­were not only seen as necessary from a warfighting perspective but also to portray a new army image as a progressive, modern, and scientific military organ­ization.210 The army dominated missile development among the ser­vices, but at the price of compromising its conventional fighting ability. Andrew Bacevich asserts that by 1960, the army was a less effective fighting force due to its pursuit of missile technology.211 Army equipment procurement proceeded slowly throughout the 1960s as the Vietnam War consumed enormous resources. One bright spot for the soldier was the adoption of the M16 ­rifle. This new ­rifle was a radical departure from traditional designs, and once initial prob­lems ­were resolved, it proved to be an effective weapon for the soldier. The new M113 APC began to replace the M59 model. However, the M113 provided ­limited firepower and protection for soldiers. It was essentially a battlefield “taxi.” The army lagged ­behind their German NATO partners and even the Soviets in developing an infantry fighting vehicle (IFV).212 A true IFV not only transports troops but also allows them to fight from the vehicle

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without dismounting. A good IFV design also provides additional antitank firepower for infantry formations, a critical capability in modern armored warfare. For its own tanks, the army began to issue the M60 Patton to replace the older M47 series. The M60 was a capable tank, generally equal to its Soviet counter­parts. During the 1960s the he­li­cop­ter came into its own and came to symbolize army modernization. The most versatile he­li­cop­ter in the army inventory was the UH1, serving as a troop transport, gunship, and casualty evacuation aircraft. Modernization began slowly in the early 1970s but gained momentum by the end of the de­cade. The post-­Vietnam downsizing and the growing cost of the AVF allowed for very ­little new gear for the infantry soldier. In the area of ­battle tanks, the U.S. and German armies embarked on a joint venture to develop a state-­of-­the-­ art tank, the MBT70. The proj­ect never came to fruition due to contradicting design philosophies. The failure of the proj­ect did energize a new American tank design program—­the XM1. In the meantime, army tank units received the M60A3, a good tank but not superior to the latest Soviet designs. Perhaps the biggest event to spur new equipment acquisition was the army adoption of the Active Defense doctrine. This led to the beginnings of the “Big 5” weapon systems programs.213 The fourth and final de­cade of the Cold War saw the U.S. Army fi­nally achieve a clear superiority in key weapons systems needed to fight successfully in modern mechanized war. In the early 1980s, the army began to take delivery of an entire ­family of weapons specifically designed to implement the new AirLand ­Battle doctrine. The centerpiece of 1980s modernization was the M1 Abrams Main ­Battle Tank, the most advanced in the world. For the infantry, the M2 Bradley fi­nally provided a true IFV capability for American mechanized infantry. Two new he­li­cop­ ters, the AH64 Apache and the UH60 Black Hawk, replaced Vietnam-­era aircraft and brought army aviation into the modern age.214 The Patriot Air Defense Missile and the Multiple Launch Rocket System rounded out the major items of new equipment. The best equipment is of ­little use without skilled and dedicated personnel to operate it. By the 1980s, the efforts at attracting quality volunteers paid off, and the army benefitted from the highest-­quality enlisted force since the end of World War II. The combined effects of high-­quality personnel and equipment produced the most capable and effective army of the Cold War period.

COMBAT By definition, the term Cold War would seem to preclude direct confrontation between U.S. and Soviet-­led communist forces. Strictly speaking, this is true; however, throughout the Cold War the U.S. Army conducted border patrol operations that in many re­spects ­were similar to combat operations. In Eu­rope, border operations began in 1946 along 425 miles of border with Soviet-­controlled eastern Germany and Czecho­slo­va­k ia. ­T hese operations continued ­u ntil the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. Border operations in ­ Korea are along the 151-­ mile, 4,000-­meter-­wide DMZ established by the July 1953 armistice agreement. Patrols of the DMZ continue to the pre­sent day, conducted by Korean forces. The mission of U.S. Army border patrol forces in Eu­rope was to conduct continuous surveillance of major ave­nues of approach into Germany likely to be used



The Cold War 723

in the event of a Soviet invasion. The border patrol mission was assigned to armored cavalry units, and the army maintained two cavalry regiments in Germany throughout most of the Cold War. ­These units provided early warning of any attack, collected intelligence, and acted as a security screen for other forces. During the early years, border operations ­were primarily concerned with border control as Eu­rope strug­gled to recover from the ravages of war. Border control activities centered around repatriation of refugees, guarding against illegal border crossings, and preventing criminal be­hav­ior. As ­these activities ­were essentially nonmilitary in nature, the army created the U.S. Constabulary forces consisting of three constabulary brigades totaling 30,000 men.215 The Constabulary period of border operations lasted from 1946 to 1950 when the mission shifted from control to surveillance. One truly unique aspect of army operations during this period was the famous Constabulary h­ orse platoons.216 ­These platoons utilized former German army and police ­horses to patrol remote sections of the border not accessible by vehicle. This was indeed a rare opportunity for soldiers in the modern age to utilize their equestrian skills. Beginning in 1950, the Constabulary units ­were gradually phased out and their responsibilities transferred to the cavalry regiments. As with other aspects of the Cold War, the border operations gradually assumed permanency. Over time the border zone came to be marked with signs, fences, and observation posts. In the early years, portions of the border ­were not so well marked, and accidental border crossings by U.S. and Warsaw Pact forces sometimes occurred. Sergeant Ed Keaney of the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment remembers that “the border was ­little more than a plowed strip and a few stakes, it was easy to make a ­mistake.”217 Initially a five-­kilometer buffer zone was established to prevent inadvertent border crossings; this was ­later reduced to one kilo­meter. Only personnel certified and assigned to border patrol operations ­were allowed inside the buffer zones. To facilitate continuous coverage of the border zones, the cavalry regiments established forward camps to operate from during their tours of duty at the border. Due to their temporary nature, border camps w ­ ere somewhat austere when compared to the regular kasernes, which ­were the unit’s permanent stations.218 In addition to the border camps, the regiments established observation posts (OPs) positioned along likely ave­nues of approach such as the Fulda and Meiningen gaps. The OPs ­were equipped with vari­ous observation devices, including ground surveillance radars designed to detect ground movements.219 The OPs w ­ ere manned on a 24-­hour basis and supplemented with ground and air patrols. Similar to all other soldiers in Eu­rope, cavalry soldiers on the border ­were subject to unannounced alerts to test readiness or to respond to border incidents. The DMZ dividing North and South K ­ orea is one of the most heavi­ly guarded borders in the world. The ­actual border between the two ­Koreas is the Military Demarcation Line (MDL). Each side maintains a 2.5-­mile buffer zone on ­either side of the MDL. The terms of the 1953 armistice allow each side to conduct security patrols inside the buffer zone. Patrols are only equipped with small arms; no heavy weapons are allowed inside the DMZ. Army border operations in ­Korea during the Cold War years w ­ ere somewhat dif­fer­ent than t­hose in Eu­rope. Although border operations in K ­ orea w ­ ere concerned with providing warning of a pos­si­ble North Korean invasion, the more routine aspect was the detection of North Korean

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infiltrators. Observation posts ­were also used as in Germany, but ­these also served as guard posts (GPs) due to the infiltrator threat. The typical GP was a heavi­ly fortified bunker sunk deep in the ground and positioned to afford good observation of the DMZ. Living conditions in the GPs ­were spartan at best; they ­were cold in winter and prone to flooding in the spring. Soldiers normally pulled 24-­hour shifts, and tours of duty along the DMZ could be as long as four months.220 Periods of increased tension and even exchanges of gunfire w ­ ere fairly common along the DMZ. The three-­year period from 1966 to 1969 is known as the “Quiet War.” During this time the North Koreans w ­ ere especially aggressive in employing ambush patrols and infiltrators to engage American troops. The frequency of such events threatened to erupt into full-­scale war on several occasions.221 To illustrate, in November 1966 the North Koreans ambushed an eight-­man U.S. patrol, killing seven and severely wounding one. The ­enemy stripped the American dead before departing. Private David Bibee was the sole survivor. As he explained l­ ater: “I played like I was dead . . . ​the only reason I’m alive now is ­because I ­didn’t move.”222 ­There ­were a total of 42 incidents during 1966, and similar numbers in the following years. The seriousness of the situation caused the DoD to declare the DMZ a hostile fire zone. ­After 1969 the North Koreans ended the Quiet War, reducing, but not eliminating, the danger of DMZ duty. The reasons for the undeclared border war remain unclear.223 Moments of tension and crisis continued to characterize the Korean peninsula in the coming de­cades, as they do to this day.

ELITE TROOPS Militarily speaking, elite units of any army are ­those with special equipment, advanced training, and carefully selected personnel that conduct specialized or highly dangerous missions. Elite units typically possess special capabilities not normally found in regular military organ­izations. ­Because of their special mission requirement, elite units are often equipped with unique or highly modified items. To accomplish their assigned missions, elite units receive specialized advanced training and typically follow aggressive training regimens. Fi­nally, as with most aspects of military ser­vice, it is the h­ uman dimension that is the most impor­tant. Soldiers serving in elite units are highly motivated volunteers. Each volunteer is subject to rigid screening requirements par­tic­u­lar to the unit. As a general rule, ­these soldiers are characterized by higher levels of intelligence and physical fitness and are motivated to excel in highly competitive, intense environments. The U.S. Army’s elite units that played an impor­tant role in the Cold War ­were the U.S. Army Special Forces, U.S. Army Rangers, and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. The U.S. Army Special Forces (SF) had their origins in World War II. Former members of the First Special Ser­vice Force and army personnel assigned to the Office of Strategic Ser­vices (OSS) helped form the nucleus of the modern SF in 1952.224 The original Cold War mission of the SF was unconventional ­warfare ­behind ­enemy lines. Additional missions w ­ ere subsequently added that included foreign internal defense, special reconnaissance, direct action, and



The Cold War 725

counterterrorism. The first SF unit formed in 1952 was the 10th Special Forces Group, based in Bad Tolz, Germany. The mission of this first unit was to conduct unconventional warfare b­ ehind Soviet lines in the event of an invasion of western Eu­rope. The SF grew rapidly in the early 1960s ­after President Kennedy visited Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the home of the Special Forces. SF units played a major role in the Vietnam War and in many of the low-­intensity conflicts that followed. In recognition of the importance of SF to the army’s overall mission, “Special Forces” was designated a permanent branch of the army in 1987.225 Throughout most of the Cold War the army maintained, on average, six SF groups, each oriented to a dif­fer­ent region of the world.226 This regional focus enabled the groups to orient on cultural aspects, including languages, of their assigned area. In contrast with regular army units, SF soldiers operate in small teams of 12 individuals. Each team member holds an MOS in weapons, combat engineering, medical, communications, or military intelligence. To provide redundancy, each soldier usually cross-­trains to learn one additional specialty. As an added capability, each SF soldier is language qualified in at least one foreign language. In addition to the normal range of SF missions, each team may be trained in additional specialties such as free-­fall parachuting, underwater diving operations, or mountain warfare. Given the requirements for extensive training and the unconventional nature of SF missions, all SF enlisted soldiers hold NCO rank. The U.S. Army Rangers trace their lineage to colonial times when Major Robert Rogers formed ranger companies for the French and Indian War. From the beginning, the rangers consisted of physically fit men highly skilled in fieldcraft, small-­unit tactics, and marksmanship. Ranger battalions served with distinction in the Eu­ro­pean and Pacific theaters during World War II and as separate companies during the Korean War. During the 1950s the U.S. Army Infantry School conducted ranger training for individual soldiers and officers, awarding each gradu­ate the highly coveted “Ranger Tab” for wear on their uniforms. The first direct use of ranger units in the Cold War was the formation of Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (LRRP) companies in Eu­rope in the early 1960s.227 The mission of ­these units was to conduct deep reconnaissance ­behind ­enemy lines. The LRRP concept was successfully employed throughout the Vietnam War. The creation of the modern ranger battalions began in 1974. The First Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment (1/75th Rangers) was the army’s first battalion-­sized ranger organ­ization since World War II. A second battalion (2/75th Rangers) followed soon ­after. In keeping with the growing emphasis on special operations forces, the army created a third battalion (3/75th Rangers) and formally established the 75th Ranger Regiment in 1984.228 During the final years of the Cold War ranger units ­were involved in the attempted Ira­nian hostage rescue (Operation Ea­gle Claw), the Grenadian intervention (Operation Urgent Fury), and the invasion of Panama (Operation Just Cause). Since the end of the Cold War in 1991, U.S. Army Rangers have been frequently called upon to provide their unique skills in a range of operations, including the Persian Gulf War, Somalia, Haiti, Iraq, and Af­ghan­i­stan. The rangers are considered to be the army’s premier light infantry force. All ranger soldiers must be airborne (parachute) qualified or volunteer for airborne training. To qualify as a ranger, the soldier must complete Ranger School, one of

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the most difficult courses the army offers. This demanding school is approximately 10 weeks in duration and divided into three phases: basic, mountain, and jungle. The course emphasizes small-­unit leadership and tactics conducted in all weather conditions and terrain environments. Ranger units are capable of conducting a wide range of missions, including direct action, crisis response, airfield seizure, special reconnaissance, combat search and rescue, joint special operations, and counterterrorism. The failure of Operation Ea­gle Claw in 1980 highlighted the need for specially trained aviators to support special operations. The army responded to the challenge by forming a provisional (temporary) Task Force 158. Over time this unit has evolved into the present-­day 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), consisting of the army’s very best he­li­cop­ter pi­lots and support personnel. The unit flies an array of highly modified aircraft and specializes in attack, assault, and reconnaissance missions usually flown at night and over difficult terrain. The specialized aircraft are equipped with state-­of-­the-­art radars, navigational aids, radios, and electronic countermea­sures enabling them to insert, resupply, and extract forces from hostile territory.229 The 160th is nicknamed “Night Stalkers” in reference to the predominance of night missions flown by the unit. Members of this elite organ­ ization must first be fully qualified army aviators then successfully complete advanced 160th SOAR training before being assigned to the unit. A ­ fter ac­cep­tance, it may take up to an additional three years of training to become a fully qualified “Night Stalker” pi­lot. Successful pi­lots are clearly an elite group, among the best in the world of military aviation.

HEALTH AND MEDICINE The Army Medical Department is responsible to maintain the health of soldiers, especially during combat. As members of the medical profession, army doctors maintain currency in the latest medical procedures and practices. In general, army medical care advances commensurate with civilian practice, as was the case throughout the Cold War. In certain areas such as trauma, burns, and prosthetic devices the army is a world leader. Health care for Cold War soldiers advanced to a considerable degree during the 1980s. The fielding of the UH60 Black Hawk he­li­ cop­ter significantly improved the army’s ability to evacuate battlefield casualties. Army medics are the first line of treatment for battlefield injuries, and their aid bags received major updates during the 1980s.230 Also introduced in the 1980s was the Over-40 Medical Screening Program. This initiative added in-­depth cardiovascular screening for soldiers over 40 years of age in an effort to detect heart disease. Perhaps the best-­k nown veterans’ health issue of the Cold War period has been Agent Orange exposure. Agent Orange was a chemical defoliant widely used in Vietnam from 1961 to 1971 and to a lesser extent along the DMZ in ­Korea. The chemical was dispersed primarily from aircraft, but also from trucks, boats, and man-­portable spraying systems. It was thought at the time that the chemical was harmless to ­humans, and no special safety precautions ­were taken. Subsequent government research revealed Agent Orange contained dioxins, a known carcinogen



The Cold War 727

in ­humans. Veterans began filing claims based on Agent Orange exposure with the Veterans’ Administration (VA) in the late 1970s. In the early years the standard of proof to receive compensation was very high and only a small percentage of claims ­were approved.231 Over time it seemed that veterans with Vietnam ser­vice suffered higher-­than-­normal rates of vari­ous cancers, leukemia, and ner­vous system disorders. As evidence continued to mount suggesting a link to Agent Orange exposure, the U.S. Congress was forced to act. Passed in 1991, the Agent Orange Act authorized treatment and compensation for veterans with any Vietnam ser­vice based on “presumptive exposure.”232 Given the one-­year personnel rotation policy during the Vietnam War, many veterans of the larger Cold War likely served one or more tours of duty in Vietnam. In addition to Agent Orange defoliant, another impor­tant health issue unique to Cold War soldiers has been exposure to nuclear weapons testing and subsequent cleanup operations in the Marshall Islands. The U.S. government conducted nuclear weapons testing in vari­ous locations between 1945 and 1958. An estimated 54,000 army personnel participated in ­these tests.233 An example of one such test was exercise Desert Rock VI conducted at Yucca Flats, Nevada, in 1955. In this test, a 30-­kiloton nuclear device was detonated 3,000 meters (about two miles) from an armored task force.234 The exercise plan called for the task force to advance and attack directly across ground zero. When the task force reached a point approximately one-­half mile from ground zero, the radiation levels exceeded 10 roentgens per hour and forced the unit to turn away. In order to gain meaningful test data for operations in a nuclear environment, the army de­cided to use a­ ctual units with real soldiers. Clearly, the army leadership and the scientific community grossly underestimated the effects of radiation on ­humans. In the early 1980s, the army established a database to identify all affected personnel from atomic testing. The U.S. Congress subsequently passed legislation in 1988 to provide automatic medical care for troops involved in such testing. A far more serious situation exists for soldiers involved in the Marshall Islands cleanup operations conducted from 1977 to 1979. About 4,000 troops served six-­ month tours of duty to cleanup leftover atomic waste on the Enewetak and Bikini atolls. This was the largest nuclear cleanup ever undertaken by the U.S. military. Through ignorance or neglect, ­these troops ­were not issued any protective equipment. Procedures for monitoring radiation exposure ­were also haphazard and poorly documented. Jim Androl of the 94th Engineer Battalion recalls “we ­were just issued our normal warm weather gear . . . ​shorts, tee-­shirts, hats and jungle boots and that’s it.”235 An estimated 84,000 cubic meters of radioactive material was collected and dumped. One failed nuclear test littered the atoll with about 400 chunks of plutonium, which ­were collected by hand. Jim Androl was one of t­hose involved in ­handling the loose pieces. T ­ oday he suffers from a variety of cancers that the government disavows any responsibility for.236 Paul Laird was also involved in the Enewetak cleanup as a bulldozer operator. He worked at Runit Island, which was known for the fine plutonium dust that blanketed every­thing. Paul was not issued any protective gear as he operated his bulldozer to scrape away contaminated soil. By the time he left the island, he was throwing up and had a blister-­like rash.237 Proving a connection between radiation exposure and current disease is nearly

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impossible, and a formal study of the Marshall Island cleanup veterans has never been done. Unfortunately for t­ hese veterans, they are not covered by the 1988 legislation and are not eligible for any help from the VA. Efforts are currently underway in the U.S. House of Representatives to correct this injustice.

PRISONERS OF WAR It may be argued that the Cold War produced no true prisoners of war (POWs) as defined by the Geneva Conventions. The U.S.-­USSR Cold War as an international conflict falls into the gray area of historical and ­legal interpretations. Border-­crossers, deserters, and defectors are the Cold War equivalent of POWs. Border-­crossers are ­those individuals who intentionally or unintentionally cross prohibited borders. This situation was primarily seen in Eu­rope where border crossings occurred throughout the Cold War. Deserters are defined by army regulations as individuals who have been absent without leave (AWOL) from their unit for more than 30 consecutive days. A defector is a ser­vice member who willingly deserts his duty post and seeks refuge with an ­enemy of the United States. Depending upon specific circumstances, a soldier may fall into one or more of ­these categories si­mul­ta­neously. Border crossings ­were a common prob­lem during the Cold War in Eu­rope. Most ­were unintentional. Reactions to border crossing incidents by communist authorities varied with the circumstances. In one example from 1952, two army privates who accidently crossed into East Berlin w ­ ere held for six months before being released. Similarly, an army NCO standing three feet inside the border while surveying the boundary line was arrested and detained for two days. He was only released a­ fter signing a statement that he had illegally crossed the border.238 In retrospect it is surprising that inadvertent border crossings w ­ ere not more common given the long and sometimes poorly marked border with East Germany and Czecho­slo­va­kia. Not all incidents ­were in the line of duty. One American soldier on leave crossed into Czecho­slo­va­kia to take personal photos and was detained for 39 days.239 Carelessness on the part of individuals in such situations not only risked provoking an international incident but also incurred ­great personal risk. Deserters ­were a par­tic­u­lar prob­lem during the Vietnam War, making it difficult to distinguish ­those deserting to avoid Vietnam ser­vice from the more general Cold War deserters. To illustrate the prob­lem, the army estimated t­ here w ­ ere nearly 9,000 deserters during the Vietnam years 1964 to 1973. Of ­these, less than 15 ­percent deserted b­ ecause of anti-­war sentiments.240 According to army statistics, the majority of deserters had only been in the ser­vice a short period of time and could not adjust to military life, or deserted for some other personal reason. Compared to deserters, defectors w ­ ere relatively rare. The soldier who defects to the e­ nemy usually does so to make a po­liti­cal statement. A well-­k nown example is that of army Sergeant Charles Jenkins who defected across the Korean DMZ in 1965 and remained in North K ­ orea for four de­cades.241 Jenkins spent the first eight years in prison, part of it with other American defectors. A ­ fter his release from prison, he



The Cold War 729

was forced to act in the regime’s propaganda movies and to teach En­glish to North Korean intelligence agents. Jenkins was fi­nally allowed to leave in 2004, but he never returned to the United States. Defections also occurred in Eu­rope across the Iron Curtain. For some unexplained reason, t­ here was a rash of defections into East Germany in the early 1960s. Seventh Army rec­ords indicate four in 1961, three in 1962, and twelve in 1963.242 Increased enforcement of the one-­kilometer buffer zone reduced ­these defections ­after 1963.

HOME FRONT The Cold War’s effects on the American homeland ­were a complex mix of the vis­i­ble and invisible. Among the most vis­i­ble aspects w ­ ere the infrastructure of the military–­industrial complex, army air defense missile sites, public fallout shelters, and civil defense training and drills. Other aspects that w ­ ere essentially invisible to the American ­people at large included the peacetime draft, the nation’s under­ ground network of intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs), and under­ground bomb shelters constructed by individual families. The national strategy of forward defense in foreign lands and containment of Soviet expansionism worked to keep any vis­i­ble Soviet threats far from American shores. A l­ imited exception might be the Soviet Union’s air and naval patrols along the bound­aries of U.S. airspace and territorial ­waters. The so-­called military–­industrial complex grew enormously throughout the Cold War period. It grew to such an extent that President Eisenhower felt compelled to warn of its dangers.243 The military–­industrial complex included Amer­i­ca’s vast network of military bases and headquarters, government arsenals, laboratories, testing and proving grounds, missile and radar sites of all types, and nuclear sites. Also included ­were commercial factories producing wholly or in part items for military use. A prime example of such growth that was directly connected to the Cold War was the Savannah River Plant located in western South Carolina. The federal government purchased 250,000 acres of land and constructed the plant in less than two years at a cost in excess of $2 billion. As of 1952, it was the largest construction proj­ect to date in the United States.244 The purpose of the plant was to produce nuclear materials for use in nuclear weapons. The Savannah River Plant was the primary provider of nuclear materials throughout the Cold War. The plant also represented an example of government and corporate partnership within the military–­ industrial complex. The plant was government owned but operated by the E. I. DuPont Corporation. A second example, interestingly enough, was the Eisenhower Interstate and Defense Highway System. The system was a major improvement in Amer­i­ca’s transportation infrastructure, and it improved the lives of all citizens; however, its secondary purpose was to enable the rapid movement of military forces inside the country. The construction of missile emplacements was at the same time a highly vis­i­ble and a relatively low-­profile impact on the American homeland. Nearly 1,000 ICBM missile silos dotted the landscape of a number of midwestern and western

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states. As ­these w ­ ere the responsibility of the U.S. Air Force, they are beyond the scope of this chapter except to note their impact on civilians. ­T hese silos ­were under­ground and blended seamlessly into the landscape. Each silo was positioned on one-­to two-­acre parcels, with each individual missile placed three to ten miles apart. For example, 150 Minutemen missiles ­were spread over 13,500 square miles of land in South Dakota.245 The large number of parcels required numerous leases and right-­of-­way access on private property. The major role of the army in homeland defense was the extensive system of air defense missile sites constructed at strategic locations across the United States. The construction of Nike-­Ajax and Nike-­Hercules missile sites in the mid-1950s was prob­ably the largest defensive construction program in Amer­i­ca since the Civil War.246 Based on assessments from NSC 68, the threat of Soviet bomber attacks on the United States motivated construction of the Nike sites. Sites ­were positioned to protect critical metropolitan and defense complexes.247 As a surface-­to-­air missile system with multiple supporting radars, each Nike site required 40 to 50 acres of land. The Washington–­Baltimore area alone was protected by 20 such sites requiring considerable acquisition of land at g­ reat expense. The growth of the army air defense arm necessitated a corresponding growth in the number of soldiers assigned to air defense duties in the 14-­series MOS. Each Nike site required 100 enlisted personnel for security, operations, and maintenance. In common with soldiers stationed overseas, air defense soldiers in the United States w ­ ere subject to unannounced alerts and drills. The growing visibility of air defense sites and their close proximity to populated areas required the army to engage in a concerted public relations program. Nike sites ­were open for public visits and tours on certain occasions such as Armed Forces Day. The army encouraged its air defense soldiers to volunteer for civic and youth groups to better assimilate into their local communities.248 As the 1950s progressed and jet aircraft flew faster and higher, a replacement for the Nike-­Ajax was necessary. Fielded in 1958, the Nike-­Hercules had twice the range of the ­earlier missile and reached altitudes of 100,000 feet. In keeping with the mind-­set of the Pentomic era, the Nike-­Hercules carried a small nuclear warhead capable of destroying an entire formation of attacking ­enemy aircraft.249 The addition of nuclear warheads to the air defense installations greatly increased security requirements and terminated all public tours and open h­ ouses. As one commander explained, “­We’re still anxious to remain a part of the community . . . ​but we are ­under Atomic Energy Commission restrictions which are rigid.”250 Nike missile sites guarded the American homeland for two de­cades, gradually being withdrawn from ser­vice in the mid-1970s. The increasingly sophisticated Soviet ICBM program had made an attack by manned bombers unlikely. The army deactivated its final U.S. site in 1979. The growth of the military–­industrial complex enabled the shadow of the Cold War to reach even remote corners of the American heartland. Cold War tensions created a sense of urgency for civil defense officials across the country, even in rural Amer­i­ca. Unfortunately, the austerity bud­gets of the early Eisenhower years provided minimal funding for civil defense. The president and some members of



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Congress balked at the expense, instead favoring large-­scale evacuations of urban areas.251 Many states and some metropolitan areas drafted evacuation plans and routes and even conducted evacuation drills in 1954.252 Most such plans offered advice to local civil defense officials but tended to be short on specifics. Over time it became apparent that the logistics of providing food, ­water, medical aid, and shelter to millions of evacuees was not a practical solution to civil defense. The military’s nuclear testing in the Marshall Islands showed that radioactive fallout could spread over thousands of miles. By the time of the Kennedy administration, the civil defense strategy shifted from evacuation to one of public and private shelters. Even before the Cuban Missile Crisis, President Kennedy addressed the nation on the importance of civil preparations, becoming the first president to actively encourage citizens to prepare their families and communities for nuclear war.253 Civil defense bud­gets provided for the stockpiling of emergency supplies in large public buildings designated to serve as fallout shelters. By 1970, the nation’s civil defense capability included more than 202,000 shelters with a capacity of 194.8 million ­people.254 The army had primary ser­vice responsibility for military support of civil defense functions. The requirements of the Cold War also influenced the growth of ordinary military installations throughout the United States. The first large-­scale growth of army bases was seen in the early twentieth c­ entury as the army built up to meet the needs of World War I. Many new training camps ­were established across the country but especially in the southern states, as plentiful land and a moderate climate lent itself to year-­round training.255 Many World War I training camps ­were retained a­ fter the war and ­later upgraded and modernized as part of the mobilization for World War II. Some notable army posts from this period include Fort Dix, New Jersey (basic training); Fort Benning, Georgia (infantry training); Fort Knox, Kentucky (armor training); and Fort Bragg, North Carolina (airborne and special operations training). The army established a number of completely new installations to support World War II, including Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, and Fort Hood, Texas. Fort Hood is especially notable for its size—340 square miles (214,968 acres). The post was home to two complete armored divisions for much of the Cold War. It was considered to be the largest armor training post in the ­free world. A memorable feature of army posts for many Cold War–­era soldiers was “World War II wood.” The term refers to the hastily built wooden structures constructed during the mobilization and expansion of the army for World War II. Easily and cheaply built, the structures originally had a design life of five to ten years. ­These wooden buildings w ­ ere of s­ imple design, poorly insulated, heated by coal furnaces, and completely lacking in amenities. Ubiquitous in application, a range of designs included barracks, mess halls, chapels, gymnasiums, classrooms, and headquarters buildings. With postwar demobilization and slashed military bud­gets, ­these buildings continued in use for de­cades at many army installations. The army began replacing ­these structures with more substantial brick and concrete block construction in the 1960s as part of the Vietnam buildup. The remnants of ­these World War II–­era buildings ­were not demolished ­until the late 1980s, more than 40 years ­after their initial construction.

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VETERANS’ ISSUES A major issue for veterans in the modern era is their frequently adversarial relationship with the VA. The VA traces its origins to the Veterans Bureau of 1921 created by Congress to provide assistance to World War I veterans. The organ­ization was plagued with mismanagement from the start and was disestablished within a de­cade. President Herbert Hoover created the modern VA by executive order in 1930. The new organ­ization consolidated the activities of a number of government agencies providing support to veterans.256 Despite the reor­ga­ni­za­tion, the VA continued to face management and ser­vice issues throughout the 1930s. Prob­lems continued during the World War II years leading to the resignation of the VA administrator in 1945.257 The Veterans Health Administration (VHA) is the component of the VA responsible for providing health care for U.S. military veterans. Since its creation, the VHA has grown into the largest integrated health care system in the United States.258 Over time the agency strug­gled with bud­getary constraints while dealing with an aging veteran population. By the 1990s the VHA had a reputation for providing ­limited, poor-­quality care.259 Continuing prob­lems led to a series of congressional reforms. Solutions w ­ ere not easy to come by for an organ­ization that serves more than 230,000 veterans a day.260 Prob­lems have been exacerbated by the surge in the number of veterans from the more recent wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. Reforms continue to the pre­sent day. Aside from their strug­gles with the VA for just compensation and medical treatment, the most significant issue for Cold War veterans is one of formal recognition for their ser­vice. The difficulty ­here is understanding the magnitude of the ser­vice and sacrifices made by Cold War veterans of all the armed forces. The very term “Cold War” certainly lends itself to ambiguity. Historians and po­liti­cal scientists may interpret the conflict as one of ideology, but the ­human dimension cannot be overlooked. It was certainly a war for ­those who served in far-­flung locations around the world. Excluding the Korean and Vietnam conflicts, it was a war without ­battles or monuments. It was Amer­i­ca’s longest war, producing more veterans than any other. According to DoD estimates, approximately 35 million Americans served over 45 years. Of ­these, 382 lost their lives through direct communist action along the Iron Curtain in Eu­rope, the DMZ in ­Korea, and other lesser-­k nown locations. If training accidents are included, the numbers run into the thousands. Lorna Bourg’s ­brother was killed by the Soviets in Armenia in 1958. As she stated ­after his belated funeral in 1997, “­People ­don’t ­really know and understand . . . ​the Cold War was a real war with real casualties . . . ​real ­people died.”261 Isaac Oakes, a veteran of the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment echoes t­ hose sentiments. “­After personally witnessing death along the Iron Curtain . . . ​and spending more than ten years in Germany, . . . ​I would like to say it was the GI who won the Cold War—­ not politicians.”262 Yet it seems the politicians are the very ones most opposed to recognizing the sacrifices of veterans. In 1993, President Clinton signed the “Friendship Act” as passed by the 103rd Congress.263 Ostensibly intended to rescind and update laws passed during the Cold War era, it also removed all references critical of past Soviet actions. Included in the act was a section rescinding the section of the Foreign Relations Act pertaining to the murder of Army Major Arthur



The Cold War 733

Nicholson. Nicholson was very likely the final casualty of the Cold War. He was shot and left to die by a Soviet sentry in East Berlin in 1985. In terms of official recognition, the U.S. government, including the Defense Department, has done very l­ ittle. Traditionally the armed forces have awarded “ser­ vice medals” for wars and campaigns to recognize honorable ser­vice. Such medals are officially recorded in the ser­vice member’s rec­ords and are authorized for wear on military uniforms and appropriate civilian attire. To date, no Cold War ser­vice medal has been authorized. In 1992, the DoD recommended against a Cold War medal ­because it was “po­liti­cally inappropriate.”264 Instead, the DoD offered a “Certificate of Recognition,” which many veterans regard as insulting. The certificate was not automatically issued; veterans had to apply to even receive one. ­There have been recurring efforts by members of Congress to authorize a Cold War medal. Currently, HR 1419 “Cold War Ser­vice Medal Act” languishes in committee with l­ ittle chance of passage.265

MILITARY DISCIPLINE Except for the early 1970s, issues of military discipline in the army during the Cold War ­were not significantly dif­fer­ent than in other eras. For most of the Cold War, the army’s rates of indiscipline ­were not notably better or worse than at other times in its history. U ­ ntil 1973, the army was an overwhelmingly male institution. In consonance with the draft, many of the enlisted personnel during this time ­were 18-­ to 21-­year-­old males susceptible to the usual vices characteristic of that age group.266 Many of the army’s disciplinary prob­lems ­were alcohol related, especially overseas. In Eu­rope, the army maintained on average 250,000 troops plus another 60,000 ­family members. Such a large population in an overseas environment with differing cultural norms inevitably led to certain prob­lems. Over time the army in Eu­rope developed policies designed to ­counter alcohol-­related offenses and foster good relations with German communities. ­T hese policies included eliminating double-­shot drinks, reducing “happy hours,” and providing alternative recreational activities not centered around alcohol. The use of “courtesy patrols” where unit leaders checked downtown areas also contributed to better soldier be­hav­ior. Courtesy patrol personnel often intervened before a misbehaving soldier came to the attention of local or military police. Such efforts helped, but the prob­lem of drunk and disorderly soldiers never entirely dis­appeared throughout the army’s time in Eu­rope.267 Army leaders noted that rates of indiscipline began rising in 1968. The reasons for the increase w ­ ere complex but essentially centered around issues related to Vietnam and the social changes underway at home, including racial discrimination. The issue of soldier dissent was of ­great concern to the army’s leadership, as this was considered a serious threat to good order and discipline. Acts of dissent included refusal to obey ­orders, publishing and disseminating “under­ground” newspapers, participating in anti-­war demonstrations, and petitioning civil courts for “soldier’s rights.” According to army estimates, t­ here w ­ ere likely no more than 100 personnel at one time attempting to or­ga­nize fellow soldiers to participate in acts of

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dissent.268 Although relatively few in number, their actions ­were felt across the ser­ vice. Further compounding disciplinary prob­lems ­were the large numbers of marginal recruits being taken into the army. As previously discussed, Proj­ect 100,000 allowed the induction of Category IV personnel in large numbers, up to 12 ­percent of total strength. The army discovered a direct correlation between increased numbers of low-­quality recruits and increased disciplinary prob­lems. In a classified document, one artillery unit’s report of quarterly judicial actions in 1968 revealed that 92 ­percent of the unit’s discipline prob­lems ­were from Category III and IV soldiers.269 The low point for the army in terms of disciplinary prob­lems ­were the first few years ­after the withdrawal from Vietnam. The declining morale and general loss of professionalism that characterized the final years before the end of the draft affected the Cold War army as a ­whole. Drug abuse and racial animosity grew to nearly epidemic proportions in this period. By 1973, the prevalence of such prob­ lems hampered the army’s ability to function effectively. It was common practice for duty officers to carry loaded sidearms during the per­for­mance of their duties. The weapons w ­ ere considered necessary for the personal protection of the officer. As an example, one duty officer was disarmed and beaten by soldiers when he attempted to bring order to an altercation in an enlisted club.270 Most of the troublemakers across the army ­were Vietnam returnees marking time ­until the end of their ser­vice. Gangs of soldiers openly dealt drugs in the barracks, and vicious fights occurred. Some of the worst offenders w ­ ere not above sabotaging army equipment 271 or setting nuisance fires in unit areas. Criminal ele­ments did not limit their activities to just the army or their fellow soldiers. Crimes against German civilians r­ ose dramatically and included robbery, rape, and hom­i­cide.272 The crime rate aggravated already poor German–­American relations that had been declining since the late 1960s. Slowly but surely the army was able to turn the corner. Practical solutions such as expedited discharge procedures allowed unit commanders to quickly separate troublesome soldiers. An aggressive urine testing program began to reduce illegal drug use. Revised Equal Opportunity policies began to improve race relations, and crime rates within the army declined sharply. Beginning in 1975, serious prob­lems such as AWOL and desertion dropped noticeably and continued to decline for the next de­cade.273 In terms of intangible ­factors, much credit for the army’s recovery is due to the efforts of officers and noncommissioned officers at all levels.274 ­These individuals elected to stay the course, rather than resign and return to civilian life as so many did. The single biggest f­ actor in the army recovery of the late 1970s was the transition to the AVF. The men and ­women coming into the army ­after mid-1973 made an enormous difference and contributed to a growing professional ethos within the ser­vice. Regardless of their motivation for enlisting, all w ­ ere true volunteers.

UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE COLD WAR The Cold War era certainly qualifies as one of the more unique periods in the history of the United States and the U.S. Army. For the first time in the nation’s



The Cold War 735

history, the Cold War required the American ­people to support a large standing army in times of peace. An extended peacetime draft, the longest in the nation’s history, was necessary to sustain this army. On two separate occasions, the par­tic­ u­lar circumstances of the Cold War required the army to divide its resources between competing priorities. The army or­ga­nized, trained, and equipped forces to fight two peripheral Cold War conflicts in K ­ orea and Vietnam. Si­mul­ta­neously, it provided a large presence in Eu­rope in the form of the Seventh Army. The Seventh Army came to symbolize the army’s role in the Cold War and the nation’s commitment to the defense of Eu­rope. Although smaller in size, the Eighth Army in ­Korea represented our pledge to defend the sovereignty of South ­Korea. ­These ­were technically peacetime forces; however, they ­were kept on a war­time footing. The requirement to maintain a continuous readiness for war over four de­cades is certainly unique in the army’s history. Traditionally, the U.S. Army relied upon a period of mobilization to transition from peace to war. From the earliest days of the Cold War, it was apparent that the army would no longer have the luxury of time. A constant series of alerts and readiness inspections ensured ­these forces could transition to war on very short notice with minimal preparation. Another distinctive aspect of the Cold War was that a large percentage of the army’s combat forces ­were permanently based overseas, primarily in Germany and K ­ orea. Consequently, a Cold War soldier could expect to spend a good portion of his time in ser­vice posted overseas. Another sizeable group of forces in the homeland was earmarked for rapid reinforcement of the forward deployed forces. Fi­nally, the army did not expect to fight alone if war had broken out. Formal alliances ensured the army would fight alongside capable Eu­ro­pean and South Korean forces in a common cause. From the soldier’s perspective, the Cold War era was one of ­great change. A private entering the army in 1950 and retiring 30 years ­later would have experienced two completely dif­fer­ent armies. In 1950, segregation of the races was the norm, and female soldiers ­were restricted to their own ­Women’s Army Corps. The army in 1950 was primarily one of draftees and draft-­influenced volunteers. The soldier entering ser­vice in 1950 would likely have served in ­Korea, Vietnam, or both. By 1980, the army had under­gone a paradigm shift that changed the essential character of the ser­vice. First and foremost, the army of 1980 was entirely all-­volunteer. The enlisted force was well educated, highly trained, and motivated to excel in the profession of arms. All soldiers, regardless of race or gender, served side by side as full and equal partners in the nation’s defense. One aspect of ser­vice that did not change over time was the shared common experience of continuous training to prepare for war. Throughout the Cold War, soldiers overseas expected rigorous field duty for extended periods in all environmental conditions. Soldiers posted to border duty in Germany or on the DMZ in ­Korea could see their adversary up close on a daily basis. The stress of unannounced alerts provided a level of unpredictability and uncertainty to the soldier’s daily life. This served as a constant reminder of their duty and purpose. Amer­i­ca’s victory in the Cold War, and the army’s role therein, is one of the least understood events in our collective history. With the pos­si­ble exception of the opening of the Berlin Wall, the conflict has no defining events to mark its beginning

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and ending. Even the term “Cold War” is in and of itself a misnomer. For t­hose soldiers guarding the German border or patrolling the DMZ in ­Korea, the conflict was anything but “cold.” To the outside observer, was it a war at all? Gretchen Heefner asks the thought-­provoking question: “How ­will a nation remember a war that was never fought and was defined not by individual glory but by military technologies?”275 While at times the emphasis on technology may have overshadowed all ­else, the conflict remained essentially a ­human endeavor. No ser­vice was more acutely aware of the ­human dimension than the army. Even during the Pentomic era when the army embraced cutting-­edge technologies, it never lost sight of the importance of soldiers. Army Chief of Staff General Matthew Ridgway acknowledged the importance of technology but still earnestly believed that wars ­were won by men and not by machines.276 The Cold War also reinforced the American tradition of citizen-­soldiers. ­W hether a draftee or a volunteer, many millions of ordinary Americans filled the army’s ranks during the four-­plus de­cades of the Cold War. Approximately 5 million served in Germany alone. If t­here is a uniquely American universal military experience, then the Cold War is a strong candidate. Historians continue to debate who won the conflict; or perhaps more accurately—­ was ­there a winner at all? No one despises war, or loves peace, more than the soldier. Therefore, the fact that the Cold War was never fought is the true mea­sure of victory. The individual soldier remained the key and essential ingredient that enabled Amer­i­ca to prevail in the conflict. Former Georgia senator Sam Nunn reminds us all of the valuable ser­vice rendered by all who served: “As the Cold War recedes in history, we should all pause to acknowledge the tremendous debt we owe to t­ hose who served.”277 TIMELINE February 4–11, 1945 Yalta Conference. April 12, 1945 Harry S. Truman becomes 33rd president of the United States. May 8, 1945 World War II ends in Eu­rope. June 26, 1945 United Nations established. July 17–­August 2, 1945 Potsdam Conference. August 6 and 9, 1945 United States drops nuclear weapons on Japan. February 22, 1946 George F. Kennan’s “long tele­gram” from Moscow outlines U.S. strategy for the Cold War.



The Cold War 737

March 1947 Truman goes to Congress to request aid for Greece’s fight against communism, beginning the “Truman Doctrine.” March 1947 Churchill delivers his “Iron Curtain” speech in Fulton, Missouri. June 1947 Congress drafts the “Marshall Plan.” September 1947 Soviets create the Communist Information Bureau (COMINFORM) to coordinate actions between Communist Parties ­under Soviet direction. September 18, 1947 National Security Act of 1947 creates the DoD, CIA, and NSC. 1947–1949 Communists are defeated in the Greek Civil War. February 21–25, 1948 Soviets stage coup d’état in Czecho­slo­va­kia. April 3, 1948 President Truman signs the “Marshall Plan” into law. June 24, 1948 Soviets begin the Berlin Blockade (June 24, 1948–­May 12, 1949). April 4, 1949 NATO Alliance is created. May 23, 1949 Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany) is established. August 29, 1949 Soviets detonate first nuclear device. October 1, 1949 ­People’s Republic of China is established. October 7, 1949 German Demo­cratic Republic (East Germany) is established. Early 1950s Germany begins rearmament. April 1950 U.S. State Department completes NSC 68. June 25, 1950 Korean War begins. July 4, 1950 “Radio ­Free Eu­rope” begins broadcasting.

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September 1, 1951 United States signs the Australia, New Zealand, United States Security Treaty (ANZUS). January 20, 1953 Dwight D. Eisenhower becomes 34th president of the United States. March 5, 1953 Death of Soviet leader Joseph Stalin. July 27, 1953 Armistice signed in ­Korea. September 14, 1953 Nikita Khrushchev becomes leader of the Soviet Union. September 8, 1954 Southeast Asia Treaty Organ­ization is established. November 17, 1954 Mutual defense treaty formalized between United States and K ­ orea. May 5, 1955 West Germany regains sovereignty. May 9, 1955 West Germany joins NATO. May 14, 1955 USSR establishes the Warsaw Pact as a c­ ounter to NATO. October 23–­November 10, 1956 Soviet troops crush the Hungarian Revolution. January 1, 1959 Fidel Castro and Cuban revolutionaries overthrow Batista in Cuba. January 20, 1961 John F. Kennedy becomes 35th president of the United States. April 17–19, 1961 Cubans defeat U.S.-­backed Bay of Pigs invasion. August 13, 1961 East Germans begin construction of the Berlin Wall. October 27–28, 1961 U.S. and Soviet tanks face off at Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin. October 16–28, 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis. October 14, 1964 Nikita Khrushchev ousted as USSR first secretary.



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April 30–­September 21, 1965 U.S. Army intervenes in Dominican Civil War. June 21, 1966 France withdraws from NATO. 1968 U.S. Army conducts first REFORGER exercise. January 5–­August 21, 1968 “Prague Spring” and Soviet invasion of Czecho­slo­va­kia. November 13, 1968 “Brezhnev Doctrine” announced at 5th Party Congress. April 1, 1971 South Korean troops take over DMZ responsibilities. February 21–28, 1972 President Nixon visits ­People’s Republic of China. May 26, 1972 SALT I arms reduction treaty signed by United States and USSR. 1973 End of the Vietnam War. United States ends the military draft. June 1, 1973 U.S. Army becomes an all-­volunteer force. August 1, 1975 Helsinki Accords signed by 35 Eu­ro­pean nations. 1978 U.S. Army disestablishes the ­Women’s Army Corps. June 18, 1979 SALT II treaty signed by United States and USSR. December 25, 1979 Soviets troops invade Af­ghan­i­stan. April 24–25, 1980 Operation Ea­gle Claw to rescue American hostages in Iran fails. January 20, 1981 Ronald Reagan becomes 40th president of the United States. September 1, 1983 USSR shoots down Korean Airlines Flight #007 killing all aboard. October 19, 1983 ­People’s Revolutionary Army (PRA) seize power in Grenada.

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October 25–­November 2, 1983 U.S. military invade Grenada to evacuate American citizens and other foreign nationals. November 7–11, 1983 NATO conducts Able Archer 83 command post exercise to test nuclear readiness leading to Soviet fears of a nuclear attack. November 23, 1983 United States deploys Pershing II missiles to Eu­rope. November 23, 1984 Last U.S. firefight along the DMZ. March 11, 1985 Mikhail Gorbachev elected general secretary of Soviet Communist Party. November 19–20, 1985 Reagan and Gorbachev hold summit talks at Geneva, Switzerland. October 4, 1986 Goldwater-­Nichols Defense Reor­ga­ni­za­tion Act of 1986 is enacted. October 11–12, 1986 Reagan and Gorbachev meet at Reykjavik, Iceland. December 8, 1987 Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty is signed. February 15, 1989 Soviets forces complete their withdrawal from Af­ghan­i­stan. 1989–1991 Eastern Bloc nations overthrow communist rule (Poland, Hungary, East Germany, Bulgaria, Czecho­slo­va­kia, Romania). November 9, 1989 Opening of the Berlin Wall. December 20, 1989–­January 31, 1990 U.S. forces invade Panama and depose Manuel Noriega. October 3, 1990 German reunification. July 31, 1991 George H. W. Bush and Gorbachev sign START I treaty. December 25, 1991 Soviet Union officially dissolved.



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Documents of the Cold War: Personal Accounts 1  NSC 68: The Fight against Communist Aggression In late 1949, the long-­running civil war in China was fi­nally de­cided in ­favor of the communists ­under Mao Zedong. The new ­People’s Republic of China (PRC) aligned itself with the Soviet Union and entered into a military alliance. In early 1950, the United States responded with a strategic plan outlined in National Security Council Paper 68 (NSC 68) that called for a significant buildup of conventional and nuclear forces coupled with planned military responses to global communist aggression. The following includes the conclusions and recommendations of a larger document. CONCLUSIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS CONCLUSIONS The foregoing analy­sis indicates that the probable fission bomb capability and pos­si­ble thermonuclear bomb capability of the Soviet Union have greatly intensified the Soviet threat to the security of the United States. This threat is of the same character as that described in NSC 20/4 (approved by the President on November 24, 1948) but is more immediate than had previously been estimated. In par­tic­u­lar, the United States now f­ aces the contingency that within the next four or five years the Soviet Union w ­ ill possess the military capability of delivering a surprise atomic attack of such weight that the United States must have substantially increased general air, ground, and sea strength, atomic capabilities, and air and civilian defenses to deter war and to provide reasonable assurance, in the event of war, that it could survive the initial blow and go on to the eventual attainment of its objectives. In return, this contingency requires the intensification of our efforts in the fields of intelligence and research and development. Allowing for the immediacy of the danger, the following statement of Soviet threats, contained in NSC 20/4, remains valid: “14. The gravest threat to the security of the United States within the foreseeable f­ uture stems from the hostile designs and formidable power of the USSR, and from the nature of the Soviet system. “15. The po­liti­cal, economic, and psychological warfare which the USSR is now waging has dangerous potentialities for weakening the relative world position of the United States and disrupting its traditional institutions by means short of war, ­u nless sufficient re­sis­t ance is encountered in the policies of this and other non-­ communist countries. “16. The risk of war with the USSR is sufficient to warrant, in common prudence, timely and adequate preparation by the United States. “a. Even though pre­sent estimates indicate that the Soviet leaders prob­ably do not intend deliberate armed action involving the United States at this time, the possibility of such deliberate resort to war cannot be ruled out.

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“b. Now and for the foreseeable ­f uture ­there is a continuing danger that war ­will arise ­either through Soviet miscalculation of the determination of the United States to use all the means at its command to safeguard its security, through Soviet misinterpretation of our intentions, or through U.S. miscalculation of Soviet reactions to mea­sures which we might take. “17. Soviet domination of the potential power of Eurasia, w ­ hether achieved by armed aggression or by po­liti­cal and subversive means, would be strategically and po­liti­cally unacceptable to the United States. “18. The capability of the United States ­either in peace or in the event of war to cope with threats to its security or to gain its objectives would be severely weakened by internal development, impor­tant among which are: “a. Serious espionage, subversion and sabotage, particularly by concerted and well-­directed communist activity. “b. Prolonged or exaggerated economic instability. “c. Internal po­liti­cal and social disunity. “d. Inadequate or excessive armament or foreign aid expenditures. “e. An excessive or wasteful usage of our resources in time of peace. “f. Lessening of U.S. prestige and influence through vacillation of appeasement or lack of skill and imagination in the conduct of its foreign policy or by shirking world responsibilities. “g. Development of a false sense of security through a deceptive change in Soviet tactics. Although such developments as ­those indicated in paragraph 18 above would severely weaken the capability of the United States and its allies to cope with the Soviet threat to their security, considerable pro­g ress has been made since 1948 in laying the foundation upon which adequate strength can now be rapidly built. The analy­sis also confirms that our objectives with re­spect to the Soviet Union, in time of peace as well as in time of war, as stated in NSC 20/4 (para. 19), are still valid, as are the aims and mea­sures stated therein (paras. 20 and 21). Our current security programs and strategic plans are based upon ­these objectives, aims, and mea­sures: “19. “a. To reduce the power and influence of the USSR to limits which no longer constitute a threat to the peace, national in­de­pen­dence, and stability of the world ­family of nations. “b. To bring about a basic change in the conduct of international relations by the government in power in Rus­sia, to conform with the purposes and princi­ples set forth in the UN Charter.



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“In pursuing ­these objectives, due care must be taken to avoid permanently impairing our economy and the fundamental values and institutions inherent in our way of life. “20. We should endeavor to achieve our general objectives by methods short of war through the pursuit of the following aims: “a. To encourage and promote the gradual retraction of undue Rus­sian power and influence from the pre­sent perimeter areas around traditional Rus­ sian bound­aries and the emergence of the satellite countries as entities in­de­ pen­dent of the USSR. “b. To encourage the development among the Rus­sian ­peoples of attitudes which may help to modify current Soviet be­hav­ior and permit a revival of the national life of groups evidencing the ability and determination to achieve and maintain national in­de­pen­dence. “c. To eradicate the myth by which ­people remote from Soviet military influence are held in a position of subservience to Moscow and to cause the world at large to see and understand the true nature of the USSR and the Soviet-­directed world communist party, and to adopt a logical and realistic attitude t­ oward them. “d. To create situations which ­will compel the Soviet Government to recognize the practical undesirability of acting on the basis of its pre­sent concepts and the necessity of behaving in accordance with precepts of international conduct, as set forth in the purposes and princi­ples of the UN Charter. “21. Attainment of ­these aims requires that the United States: “a. Develop a level of military readiness which can be maintained as long as necessary as a deterrent to Soviet aggression, as indispensable support to our po­liti­cal attitude ­toward the USSR, as a source of encouragement to nations resisting Soviet po­liti­cal aggression, and as an adequate basis for immediate military commitments and for rapid mobilization should war prove unavoidable. “b. Assure the internal security of the United States against dangers of sabotage, subversion, and espionage. “c. Maximize our economic potential, including the strengthening of our peacetime economy and the establishment of essential reserves readily available in the event of war. “d. Strengthen the orientation t­oward the United States of the non-­Soviet nations; and help such of ­those nations as are able and willing to make an impor­tant contribution to U.S. security, to increase their economic and po­liti­ cal stability and their military capability. “e. Place the maximum strain on the Soviet structure of power and particularly on the relationships between Moscow and the satellite countries.

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“f. Keep the U.S. public fully informed and cognizant of the threats to our national security so that it w ­ ill be prepared to support the mea­sures which we must accordingly adopt. ***** In the light of pre­sent and prospective Soviet atomic capabilities, the action which can be taken ­u nder pre­sent programs and plans, however, becomes dangerously inadequate, in both timing and scope, to accomplish the rapid pro­gress ­toward the attainment of the United States po­liti­cal, economic, and military objectives which is now imperative. A continuation of pre­sent trends would result in a serious decline in the strength of the ­free world relative to the Soviet Union and its satellites. This unfavorable trend arises from the inadequacy of current programs and plans rather than from any error in our objectives and aims. ­These trends lead in the direction of isolation, not by deliberate decision but by lack of the necessary basis for a vigorous initiative in the conflict with the Soviet Union. Our position as the center of power in the f­ ree world places a heavy responsibility upon the United States for leadership. We must or­ga­nize and enlist the energies and resources of the ­free world in a positive program for peace which ­will frustrate the Kremlin design for world domination by creating a situation in the f­ ree world to which the Kremlin w ­ ill be compelled to adjust. Without such a cooperative effort, led by the United States, we w ­ ill have to make gradual withdrawals u­ nder pressure ­until we discover one day that we have sacrificed positions of vital interest. It is imperative that this trend be reversed by a much more rapid and concerted build-up of the a­ ctual strength of both the United States and the other nations of the ­free world. The analy­sis shows that this ­will be costly and ­will involve significant domestic financial and economic adjustments. The execution of such a build-up, however, requires that the United States have an affirmative program beyond the solely defensive one of countering the threat posed by the Soviet Union. This program must light the path to peace and order among nations in a system based on freedom and justice, as contemplated in the Charter of the United Nations. Further, it must envisage the po­liti­cal and economic mea­sures with which and the military shield ­behind which the f­ree world can work to frustrate the Kremlin design by the strategy of the cold war; for ­every consideration of devotion to our fundamental values and to our national security demands that we achieve our objectives by the strategy of the cold war, building up our military strength in order that it may not have to be used. The only sure victory lies in the frustration of the Kremlin design by the steady development of the moral and material strength of the f­ ree world and its projection into the Soviet world in such a way as to bring about an internal change in the Soviet system. Such a positive program—­harmonious with our fundamental national purpose and our objectives—is necessary if we are to regain and retain the initiative and to win and hold the necessary popu­lar support and cooperation in the United States and the rest of the f­ ree world.



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This program should include a plan for negotiation with the Soviet Union, developed and agreed with our allies and which is consonant with our objectives. The United States and its allies, particularly the United Kingdom and France, should always be ready to negotiate with the Soviet Union on terms consistent with our objectives. The pre­sent world situation, however, is one which militates against successful negotiations with the Kremlin—­for the terms of agreements on impor­tant pending issues would reflect pre­sent realities and would therefore be unacceptable, if not disastrous, to the United States and the rest of the ­free world. A ­ fter a decision and a start on building up the strength of the f­ ree world has been made, it might then be desirable for the United States to take an initiative in seeking negotiations in the hope that it might facilitate the pro­cess of accommodation by the Kremlin to the new situation. Failing that, the unwillingness of the Kremlin to accept equitable terms or its bad faith in observing them would assist in consolidating popu­ lar opinion in the ­free world in support of the mea­sures necessary to sustain the build-up. In summary, we must, by means of a rapid and sustained build-up of the po­liti­ cal, economic, and military strength of the ­free world, and by means of an affirmative program intended to wrest the initiative from the Soviet Union, confront it with convincing evidence of the determination and ability of the f­ ree world to frustrate the Kremlin design of a world dominated by its ­will. Such evidence is the only means short of war which eventually may force the Kremlin to abandon its pre­sent course of action and to negotiate acceptable agreements on issues of major importance. The ­whole success of the proposed program hangs ultimately on recognition by this Government, the American p­ eople, and all ­free ­peoples, that the cold war is in fact a real war in which the survival of the f­ ree world is at stake. Essential prerequisites to success are consultations with Congressional leaders designed to make the program the object of non-­partisan legislative support, and a pre­sen­ta­tion to the public of a full explanation of the facts and implications of the pre­sent international situation. The prosecution of the program w ­ ill require of us all the ingenuity, sacrifice, and unity demanded by the vital importance of the issue and the tenacity to persevere u­ ntil our national objectives have been attained. RECOMMENDATIONS That the President: a. Approve the foregoing Conclusions. b. Direct the National Security Council, ­under the continuing direction of the President, and with the participation of other Departments and Agencies as appropriate, to coordinate and insure the implementation of the Conclusions herein on an urgent and continuing basis for as long as necessary to achieve our objectives. For this purpose, representatives of the member Departments and Agencies, the Joint Chiefs of Staff or their deputies, and other Departments and Agencies as required should be constituted as a revised and strengthened staff organ­ization

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u­ nder the National Security Council to develop coordinated programs for consideration by the National Security Council. Source: “A Report to the National Security Council—­NSC 68,” April 12, 1950. President’s Secretary’s File, Truman Papers, Harry  S. Truman Library & Museum, In­de­pen­dence, Missouri.

2  George F. Kennan: Containment In early 1946, the basic framework for American Cold War strategy came from an unlikely source. George F. Kennan, a midlevel foreign ser­vice officer posted to the U.S. embassy in Moscow, provided an insightful analy­sis of Soviet ideology. In what became the famous “long tele­gram,” Kennan argued that the Soviet Union was motivated by a combination of traditional Rus­sian desires to expand and Marxist ideology requiring no cooperation with cap­i­tal­ist states. His advocacy of a policy of firm opposition to Soviet aspirations had a major impact on decision-­makers in Washington and the lives of soldiers during the Cold War. In a published article, Kennan ­later gave name to this policy, calling for “firm containment” of the USSR. Secretary of State, Washington 511, February 22, [1946] 9 p.m. [Received February 22–3: 52 p.m.] Answer to Dept’s 284, Feb 3 [13] involves questions so intricate, so delicate, so strange to our form of thought, and so impor­tant to analy­sis of our international environment that I cannot compress answers into single brief message without yielding to what I feel would be dangerous degree of over-­simplification. I hope, therefore, Dept ­will bear with me if I submit in answer to this question five parts, subjects of which ­will be roughly as follows: (One) Basic features of post-­war Soviet outlook. (Two) Background of this outlook (Three) Its projection in practical policy on official level. (Four) Its projection on unofficial level. (Five) Practical deductions from standpoint of US policy. I apologize in advance for this burdening of telegraphic channel; but questions involved are of such urgent importance, particularly in view of recent events, that our answers to them, if they deserve attention at all, seem to me to deserve it at once. ­THERE FOLLOWS PART ONE: BASIC FEATURES OF POST WAR SOVIET OUTLOOK, AS PUT FORWARD BY OFFICIAL PROPAGANDA MACHINE, ARE AS FOLLOWS: (A) USSR still lives in antagonistic “cap­i­tal­ist encirclement” with which in the long run ­there can be no permanent peaceful coexistence. As stated by Stalin in 1927 to a del­e­ga­tion of American workers:



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“In course of further development of international revolution t­ here w ­ ill emerge two centers of world significance: a socialist center, drawing to itself the countries which tend ­toward socialism, and a cap­i­tal­ist center, drawing to itself the countries that incline t­ oward capitalism. ­Battle between t­ hese two centers for command of world economy ­will decide fate of capitalism and of communism in entire world.” (B) Cap­i­tal­ist world is beset with internal conflicts, inherent in nature of cap­i­ tal­ist society. ­T hese conflicts are insoluble by means of peaceful compromise. Greatest of them is that between ­England and US. (C) Internal conflicts of capitalism inevitably generate wars. Wars thus generated may be of two kinds: intra-­capitalist wars between two cap­i­tal­ist states, and wars of intervention against socialist world. Smart cap­i­tal­ists, vainly seeking escape from inner conflicts of capitalism, incline ­toward latter. (D) Intervention against USSR, while it would be disastrous to ­those who undertook it, would cause renewed delay in pro­gress of Soviet socialism and must therefore be forestalled at all costs. (E) Conflicts between cap­i­tal­ist states, though likewise fraught with danger for USSR, nevertheless hold out ­great possibilities for advancement of socialist cause, particularly if USSR remains militarily power­f ul, ideologically monolithic and faithful to its pre­sent brilliant leadership. (F) It must be borne in mind that cap­i­tal­ist world is not all bad. In addition to hopelessly reactionary and bourgeois ele­ments, it includes (1) certain wholly enlightened and positive ele­ments united in acceptable communistic parties and (2) certain other ele­ments (now described for tactical reasons as progressive or demo­cratic) whose reactions, aspirations and activities happen to be “objectively” favorable to interests of USSR ­These last must be encouraged and utilized for Soviet purposes. (G) Among negative ele­ments of bourgeois-­capitalist society, most dangerous of all are ­those whom Lenin called false friends of the ­people, namely moderate-­ socialist or social-­democratic leaders (in other words, non-­Communist left-­wing). ­These are more dangerous than out-­and-­out reactionaries, for latter at least march ­u nder their true colors, whereas moderate left-­wing leaders confuse ­people by employing devices of socialism to seine interests of reactionary capital. So much for premises. To what deductions do they lead from standpoint of Soviet policy? To following: (A) Every­thing must be done to advance relative strength of USSR as ­factor in international society. Conversely, no opportunity most be missed to reduce strength and influence, collectively as well as individually, of cap­i­tal­ist powers. (B) Soviet efforts, and ­those of Rus­sia’s friends abroad, must be directed ­toward deepening and exploiting of differences and conflicts between cap­i­tal­ist powers. If ­these eventually deepen into an “imperialist” war, this war must be turned into revolutionary upheavals within the vari­ous cap­i­tal­ist countries.

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(C) “Democratic-­progressive” ele­ments abroad are to be utilized to maximum to bring pressure to bear on cap­i­tal­ist governments along lines agreeable to Soviet interests. (D) Relentless ­battle must be waged against socialist and social-­democratic leaders abroad. PART TWO: BACKGROUND OF OUTLOOK Before examining ramifications of this party line in practice ­there are certain aspects of it to which I wish to draw attention. First, it does not represent natu­ral outlook of Rus­sian ­people. Latter are, by and large, friendly to outside world, e­ ager for experience of it, ­eager to mea­sure against it talents they are conscious of possessing, ­eager above all to live in peace and enjoy fruits of their own ­labor. Party line only represents thesis which official propaganda machine puts forward with ­great skill and per­sis­tence to a public often remarkably resistant in the stronghold of its innermost thoughts. But party line is binding for outlook and conduct of ­people who make up apparatus of power—­party, secret police and Government—­and it is exclusively with ­these that we have to deal. Second, please note that premises on which this party line is based are for most part simply not true. Experience has shown that peaceful and mutually profitable coexistence of cap­i­tal­ist and socialist states is entirely pos­si­ble. Basic internal conflicts in advanced countries are no longer primarily ­those arising out of cap­i­tal­ist owner­ship of means of production, but are ones arising from advanced urbanism and industrialism as such, which Rus­sia has thus far been spared not by socialism but only by her own backwardness. Internal rivalries of capitalism do not always generate wars; and not all wars are attributable to this cause. To speak of possibility of intervention against USSR ­today, ­after elimination of Germany and Japan and ­after example of recent war, is sheerest nonsense. If not provoked by forces of intolerance and subversion “cap­i­tal­ist” world of ­today is quite capable of living at peace with itself and with Rus­sia. Fi­nally, no sane person has reason to doubt sincerity of moderate socialist leaders in Western countries. Nor is it fair to deny success of their efforts to improve conditions for working population whenever, as in Scandinavia, they have been given chance to show what they could do. Falseness of t­ hose premises, ­every one of which predates recent war, was amply demonstrated by that conflict itself Anglo-­American differences did not turn out to be major differences of Western World. Cap­i­tal­ist countries, other than ­those of Axis, showed no disposition to solve their differences by joining in crusade against USSR. Instead of imperialist war turning into civil wars and revolution, USSR found itself obliged to fight side by side with cap­i­tal­ist powers for an avowed community of aim. Nevertheless, all ­these t­heses, however baseless and disproven, are being boldly put forward again ­today. What does this indicate? It indicates that Soviet party line is not based on any objective analy­sis of situation beyond Rus­sia’s borders; that it has, indeed, ­little to do with conditions outside of Rus­sia; that it arises



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mainly from basic inner-­Russian necessities which existed before recent war and exist ­today. At bottom of Kremlin’s neurotic view of world affairs is traditional and instinctive Rus­sian sense of insecurity. Originally, this was insecurity of a peaceful agricultural ­people trying to live on vast exposed plain in neighborhood of fierce nomadic ­peoples. To this was added, as Rus­sia came into contact with eco­nom­ ically advanced West, fear of more competent, more power­f ul, more highly or­ga­ nized socie­ties in that area. But this latter type of insecurity was one which afflicted rather Rus­sian rulers than Rus­sian ­people; for Rus­sian rulers have invariably sensed that their rule was relatively archaic in form fragile and artificial in its psychological foundation, unable to stand comparison or contact with po­liti­cal systems of Western countries. For this reason they have always feared foreign penetration, feared direct contact between Western world and their own, feared what would happen if Rus­sians learned truth about world without or if foreigners learned truth about world within. And they have learned to seek security only in patient but deadly strug­gle for total destruction of rival power, never in compacts and compromises with it. It was no coincidence that Marxism, which had smoldered in­effec­tively for half a ­century in Western Eu­rope, caught hold and blazed for first time in Rus­sia. Only in this land which had never known a friendly neighbor or indeed any tolerant equilibrium of separate powers, ­either internal or international, could a doctrine thrive which viewed economic conflicts of society as insoluble by peaceful means. ­After establishment of Bolshevist regime, Marxist dogma, rendered even more truculent and intolerant by Lenin’s interpretation, became a perfect vehicle for sense of insecurity with which Bolsheviks, even more than previous Rus­sian rulers, ­were afflicted. In this dogma, with its basic altruism of purpose, they found justification for their instinctive fear of outside world, for the dictatorship without which they did not know how to rule, for cruelties they did not dare not to inflict, for sacrifice they felt bound to demand. In the name of Marxism they sacrificed ­every single ethical value in their methods and tactics. ­Today they cannot dispense with it. It is fig leaf of their moral and intellectual respectability. Without it they would stand before history, at best, as only the last of that long succession of cruel and wasteful Rus­sian rulers who have relentlessly forced country on to ever new heights of military power in order to guarantee external security of their internally weak regimes. This is why Soviet purposes most always be solemnly clothed in trappings of Marxism, and why no one should underrate importance of dogma in Soviet affairs. Thus Soviet leaders are driven [by?] necessities of their own past and pre­sent position to put forward which [apparent omission] outside world as evil, hostile and menacing, but as bearing within itself germs of creeping disease and destined to be wracked with growing internal convulsions ­until it is given final Coup de grace by rising power of socialism and yields to new and better world. This thesis provides justification for that increase of military and police power of Rus­sian state, for that isolation of Rus­sian population from outside world, and for that fluid and constant pressure to extend limits of Rus­sian police power which are together the natu­ral and instinctive urges of Rus­sian rulers. Basically this is only the steady advance

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of uneasy Rus­sian nationalism, a centuries old movement in which conceptions of offense and defense are inextricably confused. But in new guise of international Marxism, with its honeyed promises to a desperate and war torn outside world, it is more dangerous and insidious than ever before. It should not be thought from above that Soviet party line is necessarily disingenuous and insincere on part of all ­those who put it forward. Many of them are too ignorant of outside world and mentally too dependent to question [apparent omission] self-­hypnotism, and who have no difficulty making themselves believe what they find it comforting and con­ve­nient to believe. Fi­nally we have the unsolved mystery as to who, if anyone, in this g­ reat land actually receives accurate and unbiased information about outside world. In atmosphere of oriental secretiveness and conspiracy which pervades this Government, possibilities for distorting or poisoning sources and currents of information are infinite. The very disrespect of Rus­ sians for objective truth—­indeed, their disbelief in its existence—­leads them to view all stated facts as instruments for furtherance of one ulterior purpose or another. ­There is good reason to suspect that this Government is actually a conspiracy within a conspiracy; and I for one am reluctant to believe that Stalin himself receives anything like an objective picture of outside world. ­Here ­there is ample scope for the type of subtle intrigue at which Rus­sians are past masters. Inability of foreign governments to place their case squarely before Rus­sian policy makers—­ extent to which they are delivered up in their relations with Rus­sia to good graces of obscure and unknown advisors whom they never see and cannot influence—­ this to my mind is most disquieting feature of diplomacy in Moscow, and one which Western statesmen would do well to keep in mind if they would understand nature of difficulties encountered ­here. PART THREE: PROJECTION OF SOVIET OUTLOOK IN PRACTICAL POLICY ON OFFICIAL LEVEL We have now seen nature and background of Soviet program. What may we expect by way of its practical implementation? Soviet policy, as Department implies in its query ­under reference, is conducted on two planes: (one) official plane represented by actions undertaken officially in name of Soviet Government; and (two) subterranean plane of actions undertaken by agencies for which Soviet Government does not admit responsibility. Policy promulgated on both planes ­will be calculated to serve basic policies (A) to (D) outlined in part one. Actions taken on dif­fer­ent planes ­will differ considerably, but w ­ ill dovetail into each other in purpose, timing and effect. On official plane we must look for following: (A) Internal policy devoted to increasing in ­every way strength and prestige of Soviet state: intensive military-­industrialization; maximum development of armed forces; g­ reat displays to impress outsiders; continued secretiveness about internal ­matters, designed to conceal weaknesses and to keep opponents in dark. (B) Wherever it is considered timely and promising, efforts ­will be made to advance official limits of Soviet power. For the moment, ­these efforts are restricted



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to certain neighboring points conceived of h­ ere as being of immediate strategic necessity, such as Northern Iran, Turkey, possibly Bornholm However, other points may at any time come into question, if and as concealed Soviet po­liti­cal power is extended to new areas. Thus a “friendly Persian Government might be asked to grant Rus­sia a port on Persian Gulf. Should Spain fall ­under Communist control, question of Soviet base at Gibraltar Strait might be activated. But such claims w ­ ill appear on official level only when unofficial preparation is complete. (C) Rus­sians ­will participate officially in international organ­izations where they see opportunity of extending Soviet power or of inhibiting or diluting power of ­others. Moscow sees in UNO not the mechanism for a permanent and stable world society founded on mutual interest and aims of all nations, but an arena in which aims just mentioned can be favorably pursued. As long as UNO is considered h­ ere to serve this purpose, Soviets ­will remain with it. But if at any time they come to conclusion that it is serving to embarrass or frustrate their aims for power expansion and if they see better prospects for pursuit of t­ hese aims along other lines, they ­will not hesitate to abandon UNO. This would imply, however, that they felt themselves strong enough to split unity of other nations by their withdrawal to render UNO in­effec­tive as a threat to their aims or security, replace it with an international weapon more effective from their viewpoint. Thus Soviet attitude t­ oward UNO ­will depend largely on loyalty of other nations to it, and on degree of vigor, decisiveness and cohesion with which ­those nations defend in UNO the peaceful and hopeful concept of international life, which that organ­ization represents to our way of thinking. I reiterate, Moscow has no abstract devotion to UNO ideals. Its attitude to that organ­ization ­will remain essentially pragmatic and tactical. (D) ­Toward colonial areas and backward or dependent ­peoples, Soviet policy, even on official plane, ­will be directed ­toward weakening of power and influence and contacts of advanced Western nations, on theory that in so far as this policy is successful, ­there ­will be created a vacuum which ­will ­favor Communist-­Soviet penetration. Soviet pressure for participation in trusteeship arrangements thus represents, in my opinion, a desire to be in a position to complicate and inhibit exertion of Western influence at such points rather than to provide major channel for exerting of Soviet power. Latter motive is not lacking, but for this Soviets prefer to rely on other channels than official trusteeship arrangements. Thus we may expect to find Soviets asking for admission everywhere to trusteeship or similar arrangements and using levers thus acquired to weaken Western influence among such p­ eoples. (E) Rus­sians ­will strive energetically to develop Soviet repre­sen­ta­tion in, and official ties with, countries in which they sense Strong possibilities of opposition to Western centers of power. This applies to such widely separated points as Germany, Argentina, ­Middle Eastern countries, ­etc. (F) In international economic ­matters, Soviet policy ­will ­really be dominated by pursuit of autarchy for Soviet Union and Soviet-­dominated adjacent areas taken together. That, however, ­will be under­lying policy. As far as official line is concerned, position is not yet clear. Soviet Government has shown strange reticence since termination hostilities on subject foreign trade. If large scale long term

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credits should be forthcoming, I believe Soviet Government may eventually again do lip ser­vice, as it did in 1930’s to desirability of building up international economic exchanges in general. Other­wise I think it pos­si­ble Soviet foreign trade may be restricted largely to Soviet’s own security sphere, including occupied areas in Germany, and that a cold official shoulder may be turned to princi­ple of general economic collaboration among nations. (G) With re­spect to cultural collaboration, lip ser­vice ­will likewise be rendered to desirability of deepening cultural contacts between ­peoples, but this ­will not in practice be interpreted in any way which could weaken security position of Soviet ­peoples. ­Actual manifestations of Soviet policy in this re­spect ­will be restricted to arid channels of closely shepherded official visits and functions, with superabundance of vodka and speeches and dearth of permanent effects. (H) Beyond this, Soviet official relations ­will take what might be called “correct” course with individual foreign governments, with ­great stress being laid on prestige of Soviet Union and its representatives and with punctilious attention to protocol as distinct from good manners. PART FOUR: FOLLOWING MAY BE SAID AS TO WHAT WE MAY EXPECT BY WAY OF IMPLEMENTATION OF BASIC SOVIET POLICIES ON UNOFFICIAL, OR SUBTERRANEAN PLANE, i.e. ON PLANE FOR WHICH SOVIET GOVERNMENT ACCEPTS NO RESPONSIBILITY. Agencies utilized for promulgation of policies on this plane are following: One. Inner central core of Communist Parties in other countries. While many of persons who compose this category may also appear and act in unrelated public capacities, they are in real­ity working closely together as an under­ground operating directorate of world communism, a concealed Comintern tightly coordinated and directed by Moscow. It is impor­tant to remember that this inner core is actually working on under­g round lines, despite legality of parties with which it is associated. Two. Rank and file of Communist Parties. Note distinction is drawn between t­ hose and persons defined in paragraph 1. This distinction has become much sharper in recent years. Whereas formerly foreign Communist Parties represented a curious (and from Moscow’s standpoint often incon­ve­nient) mixture of conspiracy and legitimate activity, now the conspiratorial ele­ment has been neatly concentrated in inner circle and ordered under­ground, while rank and file—no longer even taken into confidence about realities of movement—­are thrust forward as bona fide internal partisans of certain po­liti­cal tendencies within their respective countries, genuinely innocent of conspiratorial connection with foreign states. Only in certain countries where communists are numerically strong do they now regularly appear and act as a body. As a rule they are used to penetrate, and to influence or dominate, as case may be, other organ­izations less likely to be suspected of being tools of Soviet Government, with a view to accomplishing their purposes through [apparent omission] organ­izations, rather than by direct action as a separate po­liti­cal party.



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Three. A wide variety of national associations or bodies which can be dominated or influenced by such penetration. ­T hese include: ­labor ­u nions, youth leagues, ­women’s organ­izations, racial socie­ties, religious socie­ties, social organ­izations, cultural groups, liberal magazines, publishing ­houses, e­ tc. Four. International organ­izations which can be similarly penetrated through influence over vari­ous national components. ­Labor, youth and ­women’s organ­ izations are prominent among them. Par­tic­u­lar, almost vital importance is attached in this connection to international l­ abor movement. In this, Moscow sees possibility of sidetracking western governments in world affairs and building up international lobby capable of compelling governments to take actions favorable to Soviet interests in vari­ous countries and of paralyzing actions disagreeable to USSR Five. Rus­sian Orthodox Church, with its foreign branches, and through it the Eastern Orthodox Church in general. Six. Pan-­Slav movement and other movements (Azerbaijan, Armenian, Turcoman, e­ tc.) based on racial groups within Soviet Union. Seven. Governments or governing groups willing to lend themselves to Soviet purposes in one degree or another, such as pre­sent Bulgarian and Yugo­slav Governments, North Persian regime, Chinese Communists, ­etc. Not only propaganda machines but a­ ctual policies of ­these regimes can be placed extensively at disposal of USSR It may be expected that component parts of this far-­flung apparatus ­will be utilized in accordance with their individual suitability, as follows: (A) To undermine general po­liti­cal and strategic potential of major western powers. Efforts ­will be made in such countries to disrupt national self confidence, to hamstring mea­sures of national defense, to increase social and industrial unrest, to stimulate all forms of disunity. All persons with grievances, ­whether economic or racial, ­will be urged to spelt redress not in mediation and compromise, but in defiant violent strug­gle for destruction of other ele­ments of society. ­Here poor ­will be set against rich, black against white, young against old, newcomers against established residents, ­etc. (B) On unofficial plane particularly violent efforts ­will be made to weaken power and influence of Western Powers of [on] colonial backward, or dependent ­peoples. On this level, no holds ­will be barred. ­Mistakes and weaknesses of western colonial administration w ­ ill be mercilessly exposed and exploited. Liberal opinion in Western countries ­will be mobilized to weaken colonial policies. Resentment among dependent p­ eoples ­will be stimulated. And while latter are being encouraged to seek in­de­pen­dence of Western Powers, Soviet dominated puppet po­liti­cal machines ­will be undergoing preparation to take over domestic power in respective colonial areas when in­de­pen­dence is achieved. (C) Where individual governments stand in path of Soviet purposes pressure ­will be brought for their removal from office. This can happen where governments directly oppose Soviet foreign policy aims (Turkey, Iran), where they seal their

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territories off against Communist penetration (Switzerland, Portugal), or where they compete too strongly, like ­Labor Government in ­England, for moral domination among ele­ments which it is impor­tant for Communists to dominate. (Sometimes, two of ­these ele­ments are pre­sent in a single case. Then Communist opposition becomes particularly shrill and savage. [)] (D) In foreign countries Communists ­will, as a rule, work ­toward destruction of all forms of personal in­de­pen­dence, economic, po­liti­cal or moral. Their system can ­handle only individuals who have been brought into complete dependence on higher power. Thus, persons who are financially independent—­such as individual businessmen, estate o­ wners, successful farmers, artisans and all ­those who exercise local leadership or have local prestige, such as popu­lar local clergymen or po­liti­cal figures, are anathema. It is not by chance that even in USSR local officials are kept constantly on move from one job to another, to prevent their taking root. (E) Every­thing pos­si­ble ­will be done to set major Western Powers against each other. Anti-­British talk ­will be plugged among Americans, anti-­A merican talk among British. Continentals, including Germans, ­will be taught to abhor both Anglo-­Saxon powers. Where suspicions exist, they w ­ ill be fanned; where not, ignited. No effort w ­ ill be spared to discredit and combat all efforts which threaten to lead to any sort of unity or cohesion among other [apparent omission] from which Rus­sia might be excluded. Thus, all forms of international organ­ization not amenable to Communist penetration and control, ­whether it be the Catholic [apparent omission] international economic concerns, or the international fraternity of royalty and aristocracy, must expect to find themselves ­under fire from many, and often [apparent omission]. (F) In general, all Soviet efforts on unofficial international plane ­will be negative and destructive in character, designed to tear down sources of strength beyond reach of Soviet control. This is only in line with basic Soviet instinct that t­ here can be no compromise with rival power and that constructive work can start only when Communist power is doming But ­behind all this ­will be applied insistent, unceasing pressure for penetration and command of key positions in administration and especially in police apparatus of foreign countries. The Soviet regime is a police regime par excellence, reared in the dim half world of Tsarist police intrigue, accustomed to think primarily in terms of police power. This should never be lost sight of in ganging Soviet motives. PART FIVE: [Practical Deductions From Standpoint of US Policy] In summary, we have ­here a po­liti­cal force committed fanatically to the belief that with US ­there can be no permanent modus vivendi that it is desirable and necessary that the internal harmony of our society be disrupted, our traditional way of life be destroyed, the international authority of our state be broken, if Soviet power is to be secure. This po­liti­cal force has complete power of disposition over energies of one of world’s greatest p­ eoples and resources of world’s richest national territory, and is borne along by deep and power­f ul currents of Rus­sian nationalism. In addition, it has an elaborate and far flung apparatus for exertion of its



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influence in other countries, an apparatus of amazing flexibility and versatility, managed by ­people whose experience and skill in under­ground methods are presumably without parallel in history. Fi­nally, it is seemingly inaccessible to considerations of real­ity in its basic reactions. For it, the vast fund of objective fact about ­human society is not, as with us, the mea­sure against which outlook is constantly being tested and re-­formed, but a grab bag from which individual items are selected arbitrarily and tendenciously to bolster an outlook already preconceived. This is admittedly not a pleasant picture. Prob­lem of how to cope with this force in [is] undoubtedly greatest task our diplomacy has ever faced and prob­ably greatest it ­will ever have to face. It should be point of departure from which our po­liti­cal general staff work at pre­sent juncture should proceed. It should be approached with same thoroughness and care as solution of major strategic prob­lem in war, and if necessary, with no smaller outlay in planning effort. I cannot attempt to suggest all answers ­here. But I would like to rec­ord my conviction that prob­lem is within our power to solve—­and that without recourse to any general military conflict. And in support of this conviction ­there are certain observations of a more encouraging nature I should like to make: (One) Soviet power, unlike that of Hitlerite Germany, is neither schematic nor adventunstic. It does not work by fixed plans. It does not take unnecessary risks. Impervious to logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to logic of force. For this reason it can easily withdraw—­and usually does when strong re­sis­tance is encountered at any point. Thus, if the adversary has sufficient force and makes clear his readiness to use it, he rarely has to do so. If situations are properly handled t­here need be no prestige-­engaging showdowns. (Two) Gauged against Western World as a ­whole, Soviets are still by far the weaker force. Thus, their success ­will ­really depend on degree of cohesion, firmness and vigor which Western World can muster. And this is f­ actor which it is within our power to influence. (Three) Success of Soviet system, as form of internal power, is not yet fi­nally proven. It has yet to be demonstrated that it can survive supreme test of successive transfer of power from one individual or group to another. Lenin’s death was first such transfer, and its effects wracked Soviet state for 15 years. ­After Stalin’s death or retirement ­will be second. But even this ­will not be final test. Soviet internal system w ­ ill now be subjected, by virtue of recent territorial expansions, to series of additional strains which once proved severe tax on Tsardom. We ­here are convinced that never since termination of civil war have mass of Rus­sian ­people been emotionally farther removed from doctrines of Communist Party than they are ­today. In Rus­sia, party has now become a ­great and—­for the moment—­highly successful apparatus of dictatorial administration, but it has ceased to be a source of emotional inspiration. Thus, internal soundness and permanence of movement need not yet be regarded as assured. (Four) All Soviet propaganda beyond Soviet security sphere is basically negative and destructive. It should therefore be relatively easy to combat it by any intelligent and r­ eally constructive program.

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For ­those reasons I think we may approach calmly and with good heart prob­lem of how to deal with Rus­sia. As to how this approach should be made, I only wish to advance, by way of conclusion, following comments: (One) Our first step must be to apprehend, and recognize for what it is, the nature of the movement with which we are dealing. We must study it with same courage, detachment, objectivity, and same determination not to be emotionally provoked or unseated by it, with which doctor studies unruly and unreasonable individual. (Two) We must see that our public is educated to realities of Rus­sian situation. I cannot over-­emphasize importance of this. Press cannot do this alone. It must be done mainly by Government, which is necessarily more experienced and better informed on practical prob­lems involved. In this we need not be deterred by [ugliness?] of picture. I am convinced that ­there would be far less hysterical anti-­ Sovietism in our country t­ oday if realities of this situation w ­ ere better understood by our ­people. ­There is nothing as dangerous or as terrifying as the unknown. It may also be argued that to reveal more information on our difficulties with Rus­sia would reflect unfavorably on Russian-­American relations. I feel that if ­there is any real risk ­here involved, it is one which we should have courage to face, and sooner the better. But I cannot see what we would be risking. Our stake in this country, even coming on heels of tremendous demonstrations of our friendship for Rus­sian ­people, is remarkably small. We have ­here no investments to guard, no ­actual trade to lose, virtually no citizens to protect, few cultural contacts to preserve. Our only stake lies in what we hope rather than what we have; and I am convinced we have better chance of realizing ­those hopes if our public is enlightened and if our dealings with Rus­sians are placed entirely on realistic and matter-­of-­fact basis. (Three) Much depends on health and vigor of our own society. World communism is like malignant parasite which feeds only on diseased tissue. This is point at which domestic and foreign policies meets ­Every courageous and incisive mea­sure to solve internal prob­lems of our own society, to improve self-­confidence, discipline, morale and community spirit of our own p­ eople, is a diplomatic victory over Moscow worth a thousand diplomatic notes and joint communiqués. If we cannot abandon fatalism and indifference in face of deficiencies of our own society, Moscow ­will profit—­Moscow cannot help profiting by them in its foreign policies. (Four) We must formulate and put forward for other nations a much more positive and constructive picture of sort of world we would like to see than we have put forward in past. It is not enough to urge ­people to develop po­liti­cal pro­ cesses similar to our own. Many foreign ­peoples, in Eu­rope at least, are tired and frightened by experiences of past, and are less interested in abstract freedom than in security. They are seeking guidance rather than responsibilities. We should be better able than Rus­sians to give them this. And ­u nless we do, Rus­ sians certainly ­will. (Five) Fi­nally we must have courage and self-­confidence to cling to our own methods and conceptions of h­ uman society. A ­ fter Al, the greatest danger that can



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befall us in coping with this prob­lem of Soviet communism, is that we ­shall allow ourselves to become like t­ hose with whom we are coping. KENNAN Source: Tele­gram, George Kennan to George Marshall [“Long Tele­gram”], February 22, 1946. Harry S. Truman Administration File, Elsey Papers, Harry S. Truman Library & Museum, In­de­pen­dence, Missouri.

3  Harry S. Truman: Executive Order 9981 During World War II and the immediate postwar years, the vast majority of African Americans served in support units, as they ­were generally considered unsuitable for a direct combat role. The pro­cess of integration began with President Truman’s Executive Order 9981 in July 1948, but serious pro­gress did not occur ­until the Korean War when the army began to rapidly field integrated combat units. Army leaders soon noted that African American soldiers performed more effectively in integrated units. Also during this time the army ended its draft quotas for minorities, formerly set at 10 ­percent, and accepted all comers without regard to race or color. EXECUTIVE ORDER ________ ESTABLISHING THE PRESIDENT’S COMMITTEE ON EQUALITY OF TREATMENT AND OPPORTUNITY IN THE ARMED SERVICES WHEREAS it is essential that t­ here be maintained in the armed ser­vices of the United States the highest standards of democracy, with equality of treatment and opportunity for all t­ hose who serve in our country’s defense: NOW THEREFORE, by virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, by the Constitution and the statutes of the United States, and as Commander in Chief of the armed ser­vices, it is hereby ordered as follows: 1. It is hereby declared to be the policy of the President that t­ here s­ hall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed ser­vices without regard to race, color, religion or national origin. This policy ­shall be put into effect as rapidly as pos­si­ble, having due regard to the time required to effectuate any necessary changes without impairing efficiency or morale. 2. T ­ here s­ hall be created in the National Military Establishment an advisory committee to be known as the President’s Committee on Equality of Treatment and Opportunity in the Armed Ser­vices, which s­ hall be composed of seven members to be designated by the President. 3. The Committee is authorized on behalf of the President to examine into the rules, procedures and practices of the Armed Ser­vices in order to determine in what re­spect such rules, procedures and practices may be altered or improved with a view to carry­ing out the policy of this order. The Committee ­shall confer and advise the

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Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of the Army, the Secretary of the Navy, and the Secretary of the Air Force, and ­shall make such recommendations to the President and to said Secretaries as in the judgment of the Committee ­will effectuate the policy hereof. 4. All executive departments and agencies of the Federal Government are authorized and directed to cooperate with the Committee in its work, and to furnish the Committee such information or the ser­vices of such persons as the Committee may require in the per­for­mance of its duties. 5. When requested by the Committee to do so, persons in the armed ser­vices or in any of the executive departments and agencies of the Federal Government ­shall testify before the Committee and ­shall make available for use of the Committee such documents and other information as the Committee may require. 6. The Committee ­shall continue to exist ­until such time as the President ­shall terminate its existence by Executive order. The White House July 26, 1948

Harry Truman

Source: Executive Order 9981, July 26, 1948; General Rec­ords of the United States Government; Rec­ord Group 11; National Archives.

NOTES   1. Miller Center of Public Affairs, University of V ­ irginia. John F. Kennedy speech, June 26, 1963: “Ich bin ein Berliner.” https://­millercenter​.­org​/­the​-­presidency​/­presidential​ -­speeches​/­june​-­26​-­1963​-­ich​-­bin​-­ein​-­berliner​-­speech (accessed November 14, 2017).   2. John Lamberton Harper, The Cold War (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011), 1.   3. John Lewis Gaddis, The Cold War: A New History (New York: Penguin Books, 2005), 84.   4. Harper, Cold War, 2.   5. One of three major war­time strategic-­level meetings, the Yalta Conference was held in the Crimea (Soviet Union) February 4–11, 1945. President Franklin D. Roo­se­velt, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Premier Joseph Stalin represented the United States, the United Kingdom, and the Soviet Union, respectively. T ­ hese nations constituted the “­Grand Alliance.”   6. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 21.   7. Michael Cox, “From the Truman Doctrine to the Second Superpower Détente: The Rise and Fall of the Cold War,” Journal of Peace Research 27, no. 1 (Feb. 1990), 26.   8. Britain received nearly half of the $42 to 50 billion allocated by Congress to fund Lend-­Lease. For a concise overview of the program, see Warren Kimball, “Lend-­Lease,” in I.C.B. Dear, ed., The Oxford Companion to World War II (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 677–83.   9. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 9. 10. Melvyn P. Leffler, “Cold War and Global Hegemony,” OAH Magazine of History 19, no. 2 (March 2005), 66. 11. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 21.



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12. The “Eastern Bloc” nations eventually included Poland, East Germany, Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Czecho­slo­va­kia, and Albania. Yugo­slavia was a communist nation that pursued a nonaligned foreign policy ­under the leadership of Marshall Josip Broz Tito. 13. David F. Smitz, “Cold War (1945–91): C ­ auses,” in John Whiteclay Chambers II, ed., The Oxford Guide to American Military History (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1999), 149. 14. George F. Kennan (1904–2005) was an American po­liti­cal scientist and diplomat. He is credited with formulating the basic American foreign policy for the Cold War: containment. In ­later years he became critical of the policy and encouraged more constructive engagements with the Soviets. He also served as ambassador to the Soviet Union and to Yugo­slavia. For a biography of Kennan see John Lewis Gaddis’ George F. Kennan: An American Life (New York: Penguin Books, 2012). 15. Smitz, “Cold War (1945–91): ­Causes,” 149. 16. Harper, Cold War, 59. 17. Miller Center of Public Affairs, University of ­Virginia. President Harry S. Truman speech, March  12, 1947: “Truman Doctrine.” https://­m illercenter​.­org​/­the​-­presidency​ /­presidential​-­speeches​/­march​-­12​-­1947​-­t ruman​-­doctrine (accessed January 17, 2018). 18. Eric Foner, Give Me Liberty! An American History, Vol. II (New York: W. W. Norton, 2008), 892. 19. Harper, Cold War, 71. 20. The western portion of Germany consisting of the occupation zones of the United States, Britain, and France ­were merged into a single economic unit by 1949. Known as “Trizonia,” it had many characteristics of a modern state. 21. Gar Alperovitz and Kai Bird, “A Theory of Cold War Dynamics: U.S. Policy, Germany, and the Bomb,” The History Teacher 29, no. 3 (May 1996), 284. 22. At the Potsdam Conference (July 17–­August 2, 1945), the Allies agreed that postwar Germany, including Berlin, was to be divided into four occupation zones, each to be administered by one of the major powers (United States, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union). 23. Ernest R. May, “Amer­i­ca’s Berlin: Heart of the Cold War,” Foreign Affairs 77, no. 4 (July–­August 1998), 150. 24. Col­o­nel Donald C. Foote, “Operation Vittles”—­Tempelhof. A Transportation Corps Milestone, Historical Reference Collection, U.S. Army Center of Military History, Washington, D.C. File GEOG. M Germany 523—­Berlin Airlift, 12. 25. William T. Allison, Jeffrey G. Grey, and Janet Valentine, American Military History: A Survey from Colonial Times to the Pre­sent (Boston: Pearson, 2013), 288. 26. SEATO member nations included Australia, France, New Zealand, Pakistan, the Philippines, Thailand, the UK, and the United States. Unlike NATO, the SEATO treaty did not guarantee a military response against communist aggression. The organ­ization disbanded in 1977. 27. Nikita Ser­ge­ye­vich Khrushchev (1894–1971) was a man of formidable reputation, based largely on his rec­ord in World War II. Khrushchev served as a po­liti­cal commissar during the war and was Stalin’s personal representative at the pivotal ­battle of Sta­lin­grad. 28. Ingo Wolfgang Trauschweizer, “Learning With an Ally: The U.S. Army and the Bundeswehr in the Cold War,” The Journal of Military History 72, no. 2 (April 2008), 478. 29. The agreed-­upon force structure was achieved in phases, requiring several years to reach full strength. The first operational units joined the NATO armies in 1957. 30. Allan R. Millett, Peter Maslowski, and William B. Feis, For the Common Defense: A Military History of the United States From 1607 to 2012, 3rd ed. (New York: ­Free Press, 2012), 491. 31. Ingo Wolfgang Trauschweizer, “Tanks at Checkpoint Charlie: Lucius Clay and the Berlin Crisis 1961–62,” Cold War History 6, no. 2 (May 2006), 205–06. 32. Ibid., 215.

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33. May, Amer­i­ca’s Berlin, 156. 34. The Bay of Pigs Invasion (April 17–20, 1961) was a CIA-­sponsored invasion of Cuba intended to overthrow Fidel Castro’s communist regime. The invasion force consisted of a paramilitary group of 1,400 mostly Cuban exiles along with ­limited air support provided by the CIA. The force was decisively defeated and was a major embarrassment to the new Kennedy administration. 35. Harper, Cold War, 132. Some intelligence analysts believed the Soviet Union to be ahead of the United States in numbers of nuclear-­capable long-­range ballistic missiles. In 1961 the “missile gap” actually favored the United States by approximately 190–25. Soviet deployment of SS-4 (medium range) and SS-5 (intermediate range) missiles may have been an attempt to redress the imbalance. 36. Millett et al., For the Common Defense, 506. 37. Lawrence Greenberg, US Army Unilateral and Co­ali­t ion Operations in the 1965 Dominican Republic Intervention, Historical Analy­sis Series, U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 93–5 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1987), 21. 38. The OAS authorized the Inter-­American Peace Force (IAPF) with troops from Brazil, Paraguay, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, El Salvador, and Honduras. 39. The ­Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963 banned nuclear weapons testing in the atmosphere, underwater, or in space. The intent was to limit the amounts of residual radiation from “fallout.” The treaty did not ban under­ground tests. 40. The term “Prague Spring” refers to a short period (January–­August 1968) of po­liti­ cal liberalization within Czecho­slo­va­kia led by Alexander Dubcek. The event instigated an invasion of the country by the Soviet army. 41. The United States and USSR had reached a rough nuclear parity by the early 1970s. Although the Soviets possessed a numerical advantage in total warheads, U.S. technological superiority ensured a general level of parity. At this point in the Cold War the enormous costs of the nuclear arms race imposed a severe economic burden on the two countries. 42. The Ira­nian hostage crisis involved the seizure of the American embassy in Tehran by militant Ira­nian students as part of the Ira­nian Revolution against the Shah of Iran. Fifty-­ two American diplomats and citizens ­were held hostage for 444 days (November  4, 1979–­January 20, 1981). Operation Ea­gle Claw was the U.S. military operation intended to rescue the hostages in April 1980. The complex rescue plan included ele­ments of all four armed ser­vices plus special operations forces. The rescue operation failed due to technical, operational, and intelligence failures and was a major embarrassment for the U.S. government. 43. SDI was a ballistic missile defense system intended to protect the United States from Soviet ground and submarine-­launched ICBMs. Inherently defensive, the system was potentially destabilizing as seen from the Soviets’ perspective. Research and development continued throughout the 1980s, but with the end of the Cold War the program was officially ended in 1993. 44. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 228. 45. Richard W. Stewart, Operation Urgent Fury: The Invasion of Grenada, October 1983, U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 70-114-1 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2008), 7. 46. Mark Adkin, Urgent Fury: The ­Battle for Grenada (New York: Lexington Books, 1989), 108. 47. Ibid., 107–08. 48. Stewart, Operation Urgent Fury, 36. 49. Adkin, Urgent Fury, 112. 50. Stewart, Operation Urgent Fury, 30.



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51. See Public Law 99–433 Goldwater-­Nichols Department of Defense Reor­ga­ni­za­tion Act of 1986. https://­www​.­gpo​.­gov​/­fdsys​/­pkg​/­STATUTE​-­100​/­pdf​/­STATUTE​-­100Pg992​.­pdf (accessed May 28, 2018). 52. Ronald H. Cole, Operation Just Cause: The Planning and Execution of Joint Operations in Panama, February 1988–­January 1990, Joint History Office, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1995), 42. 53. Ibid., 39. For a description of the army’s airborne operations in Panama, see Thomas Donnelly, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Barker, Operation Just Cause: The Storming of Panama (New York: Lexington Books, 1991). 54. Ibid., 72. 55. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 229. 56. The INF Treaty is unique in that it eliminated an entire class of weapons. The United States and USSR agreed to eliminate all nuclear and conventional ground-­launched and cruise missiles with ranges between 500 and 5,500 kilo­meters. The treaty eliminated a total of 2,692 weapons, including American Pershing I and II and the Soviet SS-20. 57. Gaddis, Cold War: A New History, 238. 58. During the period 1989–1991 Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria, Czecho­slo­va­kia, Romania, and East Germany declared their in­de­pen­dence. 59. Harper, Cold War, 110. 60. Ingo Trauschweizer, The Cold War U.S. Army: Building Deterrence for L ­ imited War (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008), 18. ­These figures do not include the Army Air Corps, soon to be the separate U.S. Air Force by 1947. 61. David T. Fautua, “The Long Pull Army: NSC 68, the Korean War, and the Creation of the Cold War U.S. Army,” The Journal of Military History 61, no. 1 (Jan. 1997), 116. 62. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 3–4. 63. Leo J. Daugherty III, “Preparing for the Long War: The United States Army and the Early Cold War Period 1945–1950,” Journal of Slavic Military Studies 23 (2010), 492. 64. The National Security Act of 1947 unified the ser­vices ­u nder the newly created Department of Defense. The act also established the U.S. Air Force as a separate and in­de­ pen­dent branch of the armed forces. 65. William M. Donnelly, “The Best Army That Can Be Put in the Field in the Circumstances,” The Journal of Military History 71, no. 3 (July 2007), 810. 66. Fautua, “The Long Pull Army,” 117. 67. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 29. 68. Ibid. 69. Pentomic is a descriptive term derived by combining the words pentagonal (reflecting the division’s five-­sided orga­nizational structure) and atomic. Army Chief of Staff General Maxwell Taylor conceived the term in 1955. 70. Brian McAllister Linn, Elvis’s Army: Cold War GIs and the Atomic Battlefield (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 87. 71. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 54. 72. Donald A. Car­ter, Forging the Shield: The U.S. Army in Eu­rope, 1951–1962, Army Historical Series, Gen. Ed. Richard W. Stewart, U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 45-3-1 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military History, 2015), 259. 73. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 80–81. 74. A. J. Bacevich, The Pentomic Era: The U.S. Army Between ­Korea and Vietnam (Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1986), 133. 75. Ibid., 141–42. 76. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 114. 77. Ibid., 117.

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  78. Ibid., 135.   79. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 442.   80. William Gardner Bell, ed., Department of the Army Historical Summary, Fiscal Year 1969 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1973), 4. Hereafter cited as DAHSUM.   81. Ibid., 3.   82. Army force structure at this time contained a number of separate brigades, each counted as one-­third of a division.   83. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 162.   84. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army (New York: MacMillan Publishing Com­pany, 1967), 543.   85. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 179.   86. Richard Lock-­Pullan, “An Inward Looking Time: The United States Army, 1973– 1976,” The Journal of Military History 67, no. 2 (April 2003), 484.   87. Ibid., 486.   88. H. Norman Schwarzkopf, It D ­ oesn’t Take a Hero (London: Bantam Press, 1992), 240.   89. Trauschweizer, “Learning With an Ally,” 497.   90. The 1973 Arab-­Israeli War (October  6–26, 1973) involved a co­ali­tion of Arab states led by Egypt and Syria against Israel. The war was fought on two fronts: in the south Egyptian forces attacked in the Sinai Desert, while Syrian forces attacked Israeli positions on the Golan Heights in the north. Arab forces achieved initial success, but the conflict ended essentially with the prewar status quo.   91. Lock-­Pullan, “An Inward Looking Time,” 506.   92. Millett et al., For the Common Defense, 577.   93. The “Big 5” weapons systems for the army ­were the M1 Abrams main ­battle tank, the M2 Infantry fighting vehicle (IFV), the AH64 Apache attack he­li­cop­ter, the UH60 utility he­li­cop­ter, and the Patriot Air Defense Missile System.   94. Trauschweizer, “Learning With an Ally,” 501.   95. Ibid., 502.   96. Ibid., 508.   97. The U.S. Congress passed the Selective Ser­vice Act of 1940 on the eve of World War II. The act continued in effect ­until its expiration in March 1947. Congress renewed the act in June 1948, and it remained in effect u­ ntil 1973.   98. Beth Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army: Making the All-­Volunteer Force (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 12.   99. Andrew J. Bacevich, “Who ­Will Serve?” The Wilson Quarterly 22, no. 3 (Summer, 1998), 88. 100. Robert K. Griffith Jr., The U.S. Army’s Transition to the All-­Volunteer Force 1968– 1974, Army Historical Series, Gen. Ed. Jeffrey J. Clarke, Center of Military History (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1997), 9. 101. Bacevich, “Who ­Will Serve?” 89. 102. Bob Kern, We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book 5—­The Second Korean War: The DMZ Conflict (BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2017), 5–34. 103. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 3. For a photo­graph of Private Dwight Stone, see Griffith, U.S. Army’s Transition to the All-­Volunteer Force, 221. 104. Willard Latham, The Modern Volunteer Army Program: The Benning Experiment, 1970–1972, Center of Military History Publication 90–2 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1974), 3. 105. ­Until the 1970s, most army units worked a six-­day-­week routinely. Civilian mess hall employees freed soldiers from dreaded kitchen duties such as cleaning and scrubbing pots. Improved pass policies allowed soldiers to leave their base more frequently. In a sharp



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break with tradition, one of the more controversial VOLAR initiatives was allowing beer in the barracks. 106. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 58–59. 107. Bell, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1973, 61. 108. Charles Moskos, “The All-­Volunteer Force,” The Wilson Quarterly 3, no. 2 (Spring 1979), 133. 109. Ibid., 135. 110. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 173. 111. Karl E. Cocke, Ronald H. Cole, James E. Hewes Jr., and Vincent C. Jones, U.S. Department of the Army Historical Summary (DAHSUM) Fiscal Year 1980 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1983), 9. 112. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 173. 113. Ibid., 192. 114. Ibid., 194–96. 115. Bob Kern, We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book Two—­A Historical Look at Germany During the Cold War from the U.S. Soldiers Who Served T ­ here, Ed. Brian Hawkins (BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2016), 145–50. 116. Vincent H. Demma, U.S. Department of the Army Historical Summary (DAHSUM) Fiscal Year 1989 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1989), 110–11. 117. As of the date of this writing (2018), Army BCT is 10 weeks in duration. 118. Daugherty, “Preparing for the Long War,” 501. 119. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 194. 120. Ibid., 134. 121. Bettie J. Morden, The ­Women’s Army Corps, 1945–1978, Army Historical Series (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1990), 336. 122. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too: Book 2, 20. 123. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 9. 124. Tales From the Cold War: The 13th Armored Infantry Battalion on Freedom’s Frontier, Ed. Donald M. Buchwald (Victoria, Canada: Trafford Publishing, 2004), 78. 125 Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 217. 125. For U.S. Army forces in Eu­rope, the major unit training areas ­were Grafenwohr, Hohenfels, and Wildflecken. All ­were former German army training areas from World War II. Soldiers stationed in Germany during the Cold War became intimately familiar with them. 126. Karl E. Cocke et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1975, 10. 127. Lock-­Pullan, “An Inward Looking Time,” 500. 128. Saul Bronfeld, “Fighting Outnumbered: The Impact of the Yom Kippur War on the U.S. Army,” The Journal of Military History 71, no. 2 (April 2007), 476–77. 129. MILES is the multiple integrated ­laser engagement system. It is composed of a set of eye-­safe ­lasers and sensors fitted to individual soldiers and adapted to a variety of combat systems such as tanks and infantry fighting vehicles. The system provides a realistic appraisal of combat engagements and allows for accurate tabulations of ­battle casualties and equipment losses. 130. Dwight D. Oland, U.S. Department of the Army Historical Summary (DAHSUM) Fiscal Year 1984 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1995), 60. 131. Robert D. Blackwill and Jeffrey W. Legro, “Constraining Ground Force Exercises of NATO and the Warsaw Pact,” International Security 14, no. 3 (Winter, 1989–1990), 69. 132. Bob Kern, We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book 4—­Defending the Iron Curtain (BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2013), 21–26. 133. Ibid., 45–57. 134. Gregory Fontenot, The 1st Infantry Division and the U.S. Army Transformed: Road to Victory in Desert Storm 1970–1991 (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2017),

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53–54. REFORGER 88 included U.S., German, and Canadian contingents with over 7,000 armored vehicles maneuvering over a vast expanse of the south German state of Bavaria. 135. John F. Farrell, “Team Spirit: A Case Study on the Value of Military Exercises as a Show of Force in the Aftermath of Combat Operations,” Air & Space Power Journal 23, no. 3 (Fall 2009), 97. 136. Bob Kern, We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book 3—­T he Unknown ­Battle to Defend the Demilitarized Zone Against North K ­ orea During the Cold War, Ed. Brian Hawkins (BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2016), 108–21. 137. The term “Jim Crow” refers to a series of laws in the American South intended to maintain the segregation of races. The Jim Crow era lasted from the end of Reconstruction in 1877 ­until the beginnings of the Civil Rights era in the 1950s. This chapter utilizes the modern term African American except when citing period sources. 138. Integration of Negro and White Troops in the U.S. Army, Eu­rope 1956. Headquarters, United States Army Eu­rope, Historical Division, 1956. U.S. Army Center of Military History, Washington, D.C., Historical Manuscripts Collection, File Number 8–3.1 CK 2., 1. Hereafter cited as HMC 8–3.1 CK 2. 139. Paul T. Murray, “Blacks and the Draft: A History of Institutional Racism,” Journal of Black Studies 2, no. 1 (September 1971), 68. 140. HMC 8–3.1 CK 2, 2. 141. Daniel E. Harper, Life of a Soldier (­Temple Hill, MD: Harper Press, 2011), 29–72. 142. Ibid., 43. KATUSAs ­were South Koreans assigned to assist army units. The acronym stands for “Koreans Assigned to the U.S. Army.” The KATUSA program continues in K ­ orea to the pre­sent day. 143. Ibid., 44. 144. Ibid., 66. 145. HMC 8–3.1 CK 2, 5. 146. In 1951 the army commissioned the Operations Research Office of The Johns Hopkins University to conduct field and research studies to determine the best methods to achieve integration. This effort is commonly referred to as the ORO study. See HMC 8–3.1 CK 2, 6–9. 147. HMC 8–3.1 CK 2, 33. 148. Ibid., 35. 149. The Armed Forces Qualification Test (AFQT) sorted inductees into four ­mental categories. Categories I through III ­were acceptable for military ser­vice, while ­those in Category IV ­were considered functionally illiterate and unsuitable for the military. See Linn, Elvis’s Army, 135–36, 144. 150. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 282. 151. Ibid., 59. 152. Murray, “Blacks and the Draft,” 71. 153. Clayton Braddock, “Proj­ect 100,000,” The Phi Delta Kappan 48, no. 9 (May 1967), 425. 154. Maria Hohn and Martin Klimke, A Breath of Freedom: The Civil Rights Strug­gle, African-­American GIs, and Germany (New York: Palgrave-­MacMillan, 2010), 3. 155. Ibid., 87. 156. Trauschweizer, The Cold War U.S. Army, 183. 157. Alexander Vazansky, “Army in Anguish: The US Army Eu­rope, in the Early 1970s,” in Thomas W. Maulucci Jr. and Detlef Junker, eds., GIs in Germany: The Social, Economic, Cultural, and Po­liti­cal History of the American Military Presence (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 284. 158. John Sibley Butler, “Assessing Black Enlisted Participation in the Army,” Social Prob­lems 23, no. 5 (June 1976), 560–62. E-8 is the pay grade for a master sergeant/first sergeant; E-9 is the pay grade for sergeant major.



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159. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 113. 160. Murray, “Blacks and the Draft,” 72. 161. Demma, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1989, 8. 162. Mary L. Haynes, U.S. Department of the Army Historical Summary (DAHSUM) Fiscal Year 1987 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1995), 16. 163. Morden, ­Women’s Army Corps, 24. 164. Janann Sherman, “They ­Either Need ­T hese ­Women or They Do Not: Margaret Chase Smith and the Fight for Regular Status for ­Women in the Military,” The Journal of Military History 54, no. 1 (January 1990), 58. 165. The ­Women’s Armed Ser­vices Integration Act ­limited ser­vicewomen to no more than 2 ­percent of the armed forces. Further, w ­ omen could not serve in combat, could not command men, could not rise above the rank of col­o­nel/navy captain, and did not automatically quality for dependents benefits as the men did. 166. Morden, ­Women’s Army Corps, 87. 167. Judith Hicks Stiehm, “The Generations of U.S. Enlisted ­Women,” Signs 11, no. 1 (Autumn, 1985), 164. 168. Morden, ­Women’s Army Corps, 229. 169. Ibid., 264. 170. Fontenot, US Army Transformed, 19. 171. Ibid., 20. 172. Ibid., 315. 173. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 165. 174. Demma, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1989, 130. 175. Ibid., 218. 176. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too: Book 2, 65–75. 177. Demma, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1989, 129–30. 178. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 91. 179. The Boeselager Competition was an eight-­event armored cavalry competition hosted by the German army. The competition tested essential cavalry skills such as reconnaissance, land navigation, and overcoming battlefield obstacles. The event was named in honor of former German cavalry officer Georg von Boeselager. 180. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too—­Book 2, 95. 181. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too—­Book 1, 40. 182. Ibid., 81. 183. Bell, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1969, 40. 184. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 280. 185. Tony Shaw, “Martyrs, Miracles, and Martians: Religion and Cold War Cinematic Propaganda in the 1950s,” Journal of Cold War Studies 4, no. 2 (Spring 2002), 5. 186. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 289–90. 187. Linda Lyons, “Tracking U.S. Religious Preferences Over the De­cades,” May 24, 2005. http://­news​.­gallup​.­com​/­poll​/­16459​/­t racking​-­us​-­religious​-­preferences​-­over​-­decades​ .­aspx (accessed June 2, 2018). 188. Joanne Beckman, “Religion in Post-­World War II Amer­i­ca,” National Humanities Center. http://­nationalhumanitiescenter​.­org​/­tserve​/­twenty​/­tkeyinfo​/­trelww2​.­htm (accessed June 2, 2018). 189. Ibid. 190. Cocke et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1980, 132. 191. Brian Koyn, “Religious Participation: The Missing Link in the Ready and Resilient Campaign,” Military Review (September-­October, 2015), 122. 192. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 263. 193. Harper, Life of a Soldier, 94. 194. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 253–54.

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195. Buchwald, Tales From the Cold War, 169–70. 196. Ibid., 171. 197. “Finale of M*A*S*H Draws Rec­ord Number of Viewers,” The New York Times. March 3, 1983. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1983​/­03​/­03​/­fi nale​- ­of​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h​- ­d raws​-­record​ -­number​-­of​-­v iewers​.­html (accessed May 31, 2018). 198. Bob Kern, We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book One—­Serving as a Reagan Soldier During the Cold War, Ed. Brian Hawkins (BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2015), 111. 199. Enlisted pay grades are E-1 (private) through E-9 (sergeant major). Pay grades are for administrative purposes and should not be confused with rank. 200. Harper, Life of a Soldier, 27. 201. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too—­Book 2, 22. 202. Bailey, Amer­i­ca’s Army, 162. 203. Cocke et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1980, 109. 204. Demma, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1989, 162. 205. A number of good encyclopedic references can provide detailed information on the U.S. Army’s Cold War weapons and equipment. See Edward Clinton Ezell, Small Arms of the World: A Basic Manual of Small Arms, 12th ed. (New York: Barnes & Noble Books, 1993) and The Encyclopedia of Tanks and Armored Fighting Vehicles: The Comprehensive Guide to Over 900 Armored Fighting Vehicles From 1915 to the Pre­sent Day, gen. ed. Christopher F. Foss (San Diego: Thunder Bay Press, 2002). Also, Stephen J. Zaloga and Lt.-­Col. James W. Loop, Modern American Armour: Combat Vehicles of the United States Army ­Today (London: Arms & Armour Press, 1982). 206. More than half of the Soviet divisions stationed in eastern Eu­rope ­were tank divisions. The anticipated conditions on a Eu­ro­pean battlefield placed a premium on mechanized infantry in lieu of traditional light infantry forces. 207. The Davy Crockett was issued to infantry units. It delivered a 15-­kiloton nuclear warhead at a range of 1.25 miles. It was the definitive symbol of army modernization in the late 1950s. 208. Linn, Elvis’s Army, 105. 209. Ibid., 111. 210. Ibid., 106. 211. Bacevich, The Pentomic Era, 141–42. 212. During the 1960s, the German Marder IFV and the Soviet BMP-1 IFV ­were fielded to their respective armies. ­These ­were among the world’s first IFVs and superior to anything in the U.S. Army inventory. 213. See note 93. 214. Army he­li­cop­ters are traditionally named in honor of Native American tribes. 215. William E. Stacy, US Army Border Operations in Germany, 1945–1983, Headquarters U.S. Army Eu­rope and 7th Army, Military History Office, GSM 5-1-84, U.S. Army Center of Military, Washington, D.C., History Historical Manuscripts Collection, 22. 216. Ibid., 29. 217. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 23. 218. Army posts in Germany ­were commonly referred to as “kasernes,” the German word for barracks. 219. Stacy, US Army Border Operations, 224–25. 220. Kern, We W ­ ere Soldiers Too—­Book 3, 46. 221. Nicholas Evan Sarantakes, “The Quiet War: Combat Operations Along the Korean Demilitarized Zone, 1966–1969,” The Journal of Military History 64, no. 2 (April 2000), 439. 222. Ibid., 443. 223. Ibid., 457. 224. The term “special forces” is often a generic descriptor for any type of special operations forces. However, for the U.S. Army, the term “Special Forces” is a proper noun



The Cold War 767

referring specifically to the U.S. Army Special Forces, a basic branch of the U.S. Army. The term “Green Beret” is not an official title and only refers to their distinctive headgear. 225. Haynes, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1987, 31. 226. A Special Forces Group during the Cold War normally consisted of three battalions, each with three companies. Each com­pany consisted of six 12-­man teams known as “A-­teams.” Since 2012, a fourth battalion has been added to the SF Groups. 227. V Corps LRRP A/75 Rangers. http://­w ww​.­75thrra​.­com ​/ ­history​/­a75​_­h x​.­html (accessed June 5, 2018). 228. Oland, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1984, 50. 229. Demma, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1989, 78. 230. Oland, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1984, 197. 231. Doris Fleischer and Freida Zames, The Disability Rights Movement: From Charity to Compensation (Philadelphia, PA: T ­ emple University Press, 2001), 178. 232. The Agent Orange Act of 1991, Public Law 102–4. https://­w ww​.­g po​.­gov​/­fdsys​/­pkg​ /­STATUTE​-­105​/­pdf​/­STATUTE​-­105​-­Pg11​.­pdf (accessed June 2, 2018). 233. Cocke, et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1980, 15. 234. Bacevich, Pentomic Army, 110–14. 235. Mark Willacy, “It was supposed to be a trip to paradise, instead it sealed their fate,” ABC News, November 27, 2017. http://­w ww​.­abc​.­net​.­au​/­news​/­2017​-­11​-­28​/­the​-­toxic​-­legacy​ -­of​-­a​-­deadly​-­paradise​/­9168422 (accessed February 20, 2018). 236. Ibid. 237. Dave Phillips, “Troops Who Cleaned Up Radioactive Islands ­Can’t Get Medical Care,” The New York Times, January 28, 2017. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­01​/­28​/­us​ /­t roops​-­radioactive​-­islands​-­medical​-­care​.­html (accessed February 20, 2018). 238. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 77. 239. Stacy, US Army Border Operations, 105. 240. Cocke, et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1975, 49. 241. Scott Neuman, “Charles Jenkins, Cold War Defector to North ­Korea, Dies at 77,” National Public Radio, December 12, 2017. https://­www​.­npr​.­org​/­sections​/­thetwo​-­way​/­2017​ /­12​/­12​/­570080374​/­charles​-­jenkins​-­cold​-­war​-­defector​-­to​-­north​-­korea​-­dies​-­at​-­77 (accessed February 20, 2018). 242. Stacy, US Army Border Operations, 146. 243. President Eisenhower warned of the dangers of the military–­industrial complex in his farewell address given on January 17, 1961. For the text of his speech see https://­avalon​ .­law​.­yale​.­edu​/­20th​_­century​/­eisenhower001​.­asp (accessed February 22, 2018). 244. Kari Frederickson, “Confronting the Garrison State: South Carolina in the Early Cold War Era,” The Journal of Southern History 72, no. 2 (May 2006), 351–52. 245. Gretchen Heefner, “Missiles and Memory: Dismantling South Dakota’s Cold War,” Western Historical Quarterly 38, no. 2 (Summer 2007), 183. 246. Christopher John Bright, “Nike Defends Washington: Antiaircraft Missiles in Fairfax County, ­Virginia During the Cold War, 1954–1974,” The V ­ irginia Magazine of History and Biography 105, no. 3 (Summer 1997), 318–19. 247. American cities protected by Nike air defense missile sites included Washington, D.C., Baltimore, Norfolk, Boston, New York, Niagara Falls, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Detroit, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, and Hanford. 248. Bright, “Nike Defends Washington,” 336. 249. Ibid., 338. 250. Ibid., 341. 251. Jenny Barker-­Devine, “Mightier Than Missiles: The Rhe­toric of Civil Defense for Rural American Families, 1950–1970,” Agricultural History 80, no. 4 (Autumn 2006), 420. 252. Ibid., 421. 253. Ibid., 424.

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254. Bell, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1970, 22. 255. The army designates its smallest installations as “camps” and larger ones as “forts.” The term fort is a shortened version of fortress, traditionally a fortified location from which an army may defend itself or as a location to launch a military campaign. In contrast, the navy and air force label its installations as “bases,” a location from which its forces operate to conduct missions in distant locations. 256. The VA consolidated the functions of the former Veterans’ Bureau, the Bureau of Pensions, and the National Homes for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers. For a history of the VA, see VA History in Brief. https://­w ww​.­va​.­gov​/­opa​/­publications​/­archives​/­docs​/ ­history​-­in​ -­brief​.­pdf (accessed June 2, 2018). 257. Michael Pearson, “The VA’s Troubled History,” CNN, May 30, 2014. https://­w ww​ .­cnn​.­com​/­2014​/­05​/­23​/­politics​/­va​-­scandals​-­timeline​/­index​.­html (accessed June 2, 2018). 258. Adam Oliver, “The Veteran’s Health Administration: An Amer­i­ca Success Story?” The Milbank Quarterly (March  2007), 5. https://­w ww​.­ncbi​.­nlm​.­n ih​.­gov​/­pmc​/­articles​ /­PMC2690309 (accessed June 2, 2018). 259. Ibid. 260. Robert Pear, “History and Context of an Embattled Department of Veterans Affairs,” The New York Times, May 21, 2014. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2014​/­05​/­22​/­us​ /­p olitics​ / ­h istory​ -­a nd​ -­c ontext​ -­of​ -­a n​ -­e mbattled​ -­d epartment​ -­of​ -­veterans​ -­a ffairs​ .­html (accessed June 2, 2018). 261. Richard K. Kolb, ed., Cold War Clashes: Confronting Communism, 1945–1991 (Kansas City, MO: Veterans of Foreign Wars, 2004), 147. 262. Ibid. 263. “S. 1672—103rd Congress: Act for Reform in Emerging New Democracies and Support and Help for Improved Partnership with . . .” https://­w ww​.­govtrack​.­us​/­congress​ /­bills​/­103​/­s1672 (accessed February 24, 2018). 264. Cold War Clashes, 146. 265. H.R. 1419—115th Congress: Cold War Ser­vice Medal Act. https://­w ww​.­govtrack​ .­us​/­congress​/ ­bills​/­115​/ ­h r1419 (accessed February 24, 2018). 266. Car­ter, Forging the Shield, 386. 267. Ibid., 387. 268. Bell, DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1969, 45. 269. Robert R. Ulin, Witness to History: Reflections of a Cold War Soldier (Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse, 2011), 35. 270. Ibid., 88–89. 271. Ibid., 133. 272. Trauschweizer, Cold War U.S. Army, 182. 273. Cocke, et al., DAHSUM Fiscal Year 1975, 50. 274. For an overview of the army’s post-­Vietnam recovery, see James Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers: How the Generation of Officers Born of Vietnam Revolutionized the American Style of War (Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 1997). 275. Heefner, “Missiles and Memory,” 182. 276. Trauschweizer, Cold War US Army, 33. 277. Kolb, Cold War Clashes, 7.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary Sources Foote, Donald C. “Operation Vittles”—­Tempelhof A Transportation Corps Milestone. Historical Reference Collection. U.S. Army Center of Military History. File GEOG. M Germany 523—­Berlin Airlift.



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Harper, Daniel E. Life of a Soldier. ­Temple Hill, MD: Harper Press, 2011. Kern, Bob. We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book One—­Serving as a Reagan Soldier During the Cold War. Ed. Brian Hawkins. BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2015. Kern, Bob. We W ­ ere Soldiers Too: Book 2—­A Historical Look at Germany During the Cold War From the U.S. Soldiers Who Served ­There. Ed. Brian Hawkins. BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2016. Kern, Bob. We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book 3—­T he Unknown ­Battle to Defend the Demilitarized Zone Against North ­Korea During the Cold War. Ed. Brian Hawkins. BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2016. Kern, Bob. We ­Were Soldiers Too: Book 4—­Defending the Iron Curtain. BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2013. Kern, Bob. We W ­ ere Soldiers Too: Book 5—­The Second Korean War: The DMZ Conflict. BookDesignTemplates​.­com, 2017. Tales From the Cold War: The 13th Armored Infantry Battalion on Freedom’s Frontier. Ed. Donald M. Buchwald. Victoria, Canada: Trafford Publishing, 2004. Ulin, Robert R. Witness to History: Reflections of a Cold War Soldier. Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse, 2011.

Secondary Sources—­Published Government Documents U.S. Department of the Army. Integration of Negro and White Troops in the U.S. Army, Eu­rope 1956. Headquarters, United States Army, Eu­rope. Historical Division. 1956. U.S. Army Center of Military History Historical Manuscripts Collection. File Number 8–3.1 CK 2. U.S. Department of the Army. U.S. Army Border Operations in Germany 1945–1983. William E. Stacy. Headquarters, U.S. Army Eu­rope and 7th Army. Military History Office. GSM 5-1-84. U.S. Army Center of Military History Historical Manuscripts Collection. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1969. Compiled and Edited William Gardner Bell. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1973. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1970. Compiled and Edited William Gardner Bell. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1973. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1973. Compiled and Edited William Gardner Bell and Karl E. Cocke. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1977. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1975. Compiled Karl E. Cocke. Edited Rae T. Panella. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1978. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1980. Compiled Karl E. Cocke, Ronald H. Cole, James E. Hewes Jr., and Vincent C. Jones. Edited Lenwood Y. Brown. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1983. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1984. Compiled Dwight D. Oland. Edited Cheryl Morai Young. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1995. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1987. Mary L. Haynes. Edited by Cheryl Morai Young. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1995. U.S. Department of the Army. Historical Summary Fiscal Year 1989. Vincent H. Demma. Edited Susan Carroll. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1989.

Secondary Sources— ­Books Adkin, Mark. Urgent Fury: The B ­ attle for Grenada. New York: Lexington Books, 1989. Allison, William T., Jeffrey G. Grey, and Janet G. Valentine. American Military History: A Survey From Colonial Times to the Pre­sent. Boston: Pearson, 2013.

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Bacevich, A. J. The Pentomic Era: The U.S. Army Between ­Korea and Vietnam. Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1986. Bailey, Beth. Amer­i­ca’s Army: Making the All-­Volunteer Force. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Car­ter, Donald A. Forging the Shield: The U.S. Army in Eu­rope, 1951–1962. Army Historical Series. Gen. Ed. Richard W. Stewart. U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 45-3-1. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military History, 2015. Cold War Clashes: Confronting Communism 1945–1991. Ed. Richard K. Kolb. Kansas City, MO: Veterans of Foreign Wars, 2004. Cole, Ronald H. Operation Just Cause: The Planning and Execution of Joint Operations in Panama February 1988–­January 1990. Joint History Office, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1995. Donnelly, Thomas, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Baker. Operation Just Cause: The Storming of Panama. New York: Lexington Books, 1991. The Encyclopedia of Tanks and Armored Fighting Vehicles: The Comprehensive Guide to Over 900 Armored Fighting Vehicles From 1915 to the Pre­sent Day. Gen. Ed. Christopher F. Foss. San Diego, CA: Thunder Bay Press, 2002. Ezell, Edward Clinton. Small Arms of the World: A Basic Manual of Small Arms. 12th ed. New York: Barnes & Noble Books, 1993. Fleischer, Doris and Freida Zames. The Disability Rights Movement: From Charity to Compensation. Philadelphia: T ­ emple University Press, 2001. Foner, Eric. Give Me Liberty! An American History. Vol. II. New York: W. W. Norton, 2008. Fontenot, Gregory. The 1st Infantry Division and the U.S. Army Transformed: Road to Victory in Desert Storm 1970–1991. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2017. Gaddis, John Lewis. The Cold War: A New History. New York: Penguin Books, 2005. GIs in Germany: The Social, Economic, Cultural, and Po­liti­cal History of the American Military Presence. Eds. Thomas W. Maulucci Jr. and Detlef Junker. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Greenberg, Lawrence. US Army Unilateral and Co­ali­tion Operations in the 1965 Dominican Republic Intervention. Historical Analy­sis Series, U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 93–5. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1987. Griffith, Robert K. Jr. The U.S. Army’s Transition to the All-­Volunteer Force 1968–1974. Army Historical Series. Gen. Ed. Jeffrey J. Clarke. U.S. Army Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1997. Harper, John Lamberton. The Cold War. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2011. Hohn, Maria and Martin Klimke. A Breath of Freedom: The Civil Rights Strug­gle, African-­American GIs and Germany. New York: Palgrave-­Macmillan, 2010. Latham, Willard. The Modern Volunteer Army Program: The Fort Benning Experiment, 1970–1972. U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 90–2. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1974. Linn, Brian McAllister. Elvis’s Army. Cold War GIs and the Atomic Battlefield. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016. Millett, Allan R., Peter Maslowski, and William B. Feis. For the Common Defense: A Military History of the United States From 1607 to 2012. 3rd  ed. New York: ­Free Press, 2012. Morden, Bettie J. The ­Women’s Army Corps, 1945–1978. Army Historical Series. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1990.



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Schwarzkopf, H. Norman. It ­Doesn’t Take a Hero. London: Bantam Press, 1992. Stewart, Richard W. Operation Urgent Fury: The Invasion of Grenada, October 1983. U.S. Army Center of Military History Publication 70-114-1. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2008. The Oxford Companion to World War II. Gen. Ed. I.C.B. Dear. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. The Oxford Guide to American Military History. Editor in Chief John Whiteclay Chambers II. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1999. Trauschweizer, Ingo. The Cold War U.S. Army: Building Deterrence for L ­ imited War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008. Weigley, Russell F. History of the United States Army. New York: MacMillan Publishing Com­pany, 1967. Zaloga, Steven J. and Lt.-­Col. James W. Loop. Modern American Armour: Combat Vehicles of the United States Army ­Today. London: Arms & Armour Press, 1982.

Secondary Sources— ­Articles Alperovitz, Gar and Kai Bird. “A Theory of Cold War Dynamics: U.S. Policy, Germany, and the Bomb.” The History Teacher 29, no. 3 (May 1996): 281–300. Bacevich, Andrew J. “Who ­Will Serve?” The Wilson Quarterly (1976–) 22, no. 3 (Summer 1998): 80–91. Barker-­Devine, Jenny. “Mightier Than Missiles: The Rhe­toric of Civil Defense for Rural American Families, 1950—1970.” Agricultural History 80, no. 4 (Autumn 2006): 415–435. Blackwill, Robert  D. and Jeffrey  W. Legro. “Constraining Ground Force Exercises of NATO and the Warsaw Pact.” International Security 14, no.  3 (Winter 1989– 1990): 68–98. Braddock, Clayton. “Proj­ect 100,000.” The Phi Delta Kappan 48, no.  9 (May  1967): 425–428. Bright, Christopher John. “Nike Defends Washington: Antiaircraft Missiles in Fairfax County, ­Virginia, During the Cold War, 1954–1974.” The V ­ irginia Magazine of History and Biography 105, no. 3 (Summer 1997): 317–346. Bronfeld, Saul. “Fighting Outnumbered: The Impact of the Yom Kippur War on the U.S. Army.” The Journal of Military History 71, no. 2 (Apr 2007): 465–498. Butler, John Sibley. “Assessing Black Enlisted Participation in the Army.” Social Prob­ lems 23, no. 5 (June 1976): 558–566. Cox, Michael. “From the Truman Doctrine to the Second Superpower Détente: The Rise and Fall of the Cold War.” Journal of Peace Research 27, no. 1 (Feb 1990): 25–41. Daugherty, III., Leo J. “Preparing for the Long War: The United States Army and the Early Cold War Period 1945–1950.” Journal of Slavic Military Studies 23 (2010): 490–516. Donnelly, William M. “The Best Army That Can Be Put in the Field in the Circumstances: The U.S. Army, July 1951–­July 1953.” The Journal of Military History 71, no. 3 (July 2007): 809–847. Farrell, John F. “Team Spirit: A Case Study on the Value of Military Exercises as a Show of Force in the Aftermath of Combat Operations.” Air & Space Power Journal 23, Issue 3 (Fall 2009): 94–106. Fautua, David T. “The Long Pull Army: NSC 68, the Korean War, and the Creation of the Cold War U.S. Army.” The Journal of Military History 61, no. 1 (Jan 1997): 93–120. Frederickson, Kari. “Confronting the Garrison State: South Carolina in the Early Cold War Era.” The Journal of Southern History 72, no. 2 (May 2006): 349–378.

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Heefner, Gretchen. “Missiles and Memory: Dismantling South Dakota’s Cold War.” Western Historical Quarterly 38, no. 2 (Summer 2007): 181–203. Koyn, Brian. “Religious Participation: The Missing Link in the Ready and Resilient Campaign,” Military Review (September-­October, 2015): 119–129. Leffler, Melvyn P. “Cold War and Global Hegemony.” OAH Magazine of History 19, no. 2 (Mar 2005): 65–72. Lock-­Pullan, Richard. “An Inward Looking Time: The United States Army, 1973–1976.” The Journal of Military History 67, no. 2 (April 2003): 483–511. May, Ernest R. “Amer­i­ca’s Berlin: Heart of the Cold War.” Foreign Affairs 77, no. 4 (Jul–­ Aug 1998): 148–160. Moskos, Charles. “The All-­Volunteer Force.” The Wilson Quarterly (1976–) 3, no. 2 (Spring 1979): 131–142. Murray, Paul  T. “Blacks and the Draft: A History of Institutional Racism.” Journal of Black Studies 2, no. 1 (September 1971): 57–76. Sarantakes, Nicholas Evan. “The Quiet War: Combat Operations Along the Korean Demilitarized Zone, 1966–1969.” The Journal of Military History 64, no. 2 (April 2000): 439–457. Shaw, Tony. “Religion and Cold War Cinematic Propaganda in the 1950’s.” Journal of Cold War Studies 4, no. 2 (Spring 2002): 3–22. Sherman, Janann. “They E ­ ither Need T ­ hese ­Women or They Do Not: Margaret Chase Smith and the Fight for Regular Status for W ­ omen in the Military.” The Journal of Military History 54, no. 1 (January 1990): 47–78. Stiehm, Judith Hicks. “The Generations of U.S. Enlisted ­Women.” Signs 11, no. 1 (Autumn 1985): 155–175. Trauschweizer, Ingo Wolfgang. “Learning With an Ally: The  U.S. Army and the Bundeswehr in the Cold War.” The Journal of Military History 72, no. 2 (Apr 2008): 477–508. Trauschweizer, Ingo Wolfgang. “Tanks at Checkpoint Charlie: Lucius Clay and the Berlin Crisis, 1961–62.” Cold War History 6, no. 2 (May 2006): 205–228.

Secondary Sources—­Newspaper and Internet Articles Beckman, Joanne. “Religion in Post-­World War II Amer­i­ca.” Duke University National Humanities Center. https://­nationalhumanitiescenter​.­org​/­tserve​/­t wenty​/­tkeyinfo​ /­t relww2​.­html (accessed June 2, 2018). “Finale of M*A*S*H Draws Rec­ord Number of Viewers” The New York Times March 3, 1983. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1983​/­03​/­03​/­arts​/­finale​- ­of​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h​- ­d raws​-­record​ -­number​-­of​-­viewers​.­html (accessed May 31, 2018). Lyons, Linda. “Tracking U.S. Religious Preferences Over the De­cades.” May 24, 2005. http://­news​.­gallup​.­c om​/­p oll​/­16459​/­t racking​-­u s​-­religious​-­preferences​- ­over​-­t he​ -­decades​.­aspx (accessed June 2, 2018). Neuman, Scott. “Charles Jenkins, Cold War Defector to North ­Korea, Dies at 77.” 2017/12/12/570080374/Charles-­j enkins-­c old-­w ar-­d efector-­t o-­n orth-­k orea-­ dies-­at-77 (accessed February 20, 2018). Oliver, Adam. “The Veteran’s Health Administration: An American Success Story?” The Milbank Quarterly (Mar 2007), 5. https://­w ww​.­ncbi​.­nlm​.­nih​.­gov​/­pmc​/­articles​ /­PMC2690309 (accessed June 2, 2018). Pear, Robert. “History and Context of an Embattled Department of Veterans Affairs.” The New York Times, May  21, 2014. https://­w ww​.­nutimes​.­com​/­2014​/­05​/­22​/­us​ /­p olitics​/­h istory​-­a nd​-­context​-­of​-­a n​-­e mbattled​-­department​-­of​-­veterans​-­affairs​ .­html (accessed June 2, 2018).



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Pearson, Michael. “The VA’s Troubled History.” CNN. May 30, 2014. https://­www​.­cnn​.­com​ /­2014​/­05​/­23​/­politics​/­va​-­scandals​-­t imeline​/­i ndex​.­html (accessed June 2, 2018). Philipps, Dave. “Troops Who Cleaned Up Radioactive Islands ­Can’t Get Medical Care.” The New York Times, January 28, 2017. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­01​/­28​/­u s​ /­Troops​-­r adioactive​-­islands​-­medical​-­care​-­html (accessed February 20, 2018). V Corps LRRP A/75 Rangers. http://­w ww​.­75thrra​.­com ​/ ­history​/­a75​_­h x​.­html (accessed June 5, 2018). Willacy, Mark. “It Was Supposed to Be a Trip to Paradise, Instead It Sealed Their Fate.” ABC News, November 28, 2017. http://­w ww​.­abc​.­net​.­au​/­news​/­2017​-­11​-­28​/­the​-­toxic​ -­Legacy​-­of​-­a​-­deadly​-­paradise​/­9168422 (accessed February 20, 2018).

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11 The Korean War Michael E. Krivdo

OVERVIEW The American experience in the Korean War is a study in contradictions. Only five years ­earlier the United States successfully wielded one of the most power­ful armies in history. Its veteran forces could forcibly enter the most contended territory and relentlessly grind the ­enemy down to achieve victory. Front-­line soldiers ­were backed by a military–­industrial logistics chain that extended back to the homeland, capable of maintaining both American army momentum in the field and that of several allies. Yet in ­Korea, Amer­i­ca went to war ill equipped, poorly trained, and largely unprepared for the rigors of combat. As a result, the early months raised serious doubts that Amer­i­ca’s soldiers ­were up to the task of defeating Soviet-­trained North Koreans. In quick succession, American soldiers experienced dizzying waves of dismal failures, brilliant victories, breakout successes, shocking defeats, and long periods of costly static warfare that ended in an inconclusive military armistice that continues to this day. It was Amer­i­ca’s first “police action,” wherein its military forces fought to achieve a stalemate or status quo, rather than an outright victory. The final months saw costly engagements fought for minor positional gains on insignificant hills that ­were almost immediately lost or abandoned. From the soldier’s perspective, casualties incurred no apparent gain other than bringing a frustratingly vexing ­enemy back to the negotiating ­table. Both sides used the thousands of prisoners of war (POWs) as bargaining chips ­toward gaining a negotiated settlement. And over it all, ­Korea was the first U.S. conflict fought ­under the specter of nuclear war, resulting in the imposition of po­liti­cal constraints on military action to a level never experienced. ­Korea became the first modern example of Amer­i­ca’s “­limited wars,” ones fought not to achieve victory, but instead to gain a settled yet largely unsatisfying and inconclusive “peace.” It is therefore not surprising that Americans tried to put the Korean conflict ­behind them while still being fought. Frustrated veterans of World War II strug­gled

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to understand why victory was not obtainable. The average citizen could not comprehend the reasons for fighting in ­Korea or discern the nation’s goals. Soldiers fought for their lives, and for the lives of their comrades. Military leaders w ­ ere frustrated by increased po­liti­cal limitations on what they could do, and many could not understand what outcome was expected. Maddeningly, the last two years of combat became a grinding, World War I trench warfare style of fighting along a front that roughly traced the prewar boundary line. Politicians looked narrowly ­toward a settlement to end the fighting, intent only on keeping it from escalating. With no clear goals, strategy, or objectives; rising casualty rates; and seemingly negligible pro­gress being made, most Americans ­were anxious to put the conflict ­behind them and forget it. The Chinese, intent on maintaining North ­Korea as a buffer state, had lost several times more soldiers and ­were also interested in bringing the carnage to a halt. So with the signing of the military armistice in July 1953, ­Korea quickly became known as “the forgotten war.” The American soldier’s experiences in ­Korea ­were bad from the start. On July 4, 1950, less than two weeks ­after their successful breakthrough of the 38th Parallel, a well-­trained North Korean ­People’s Army (NKPA) charged south from Seoul in pursuit of its routed and demoralized ­enemy, the fleeing remnants of the South Korean army. Thousands of veteran North Korean soldiers hoped to push the ­enemy into the sea at Pusan and thereby unify the peninsula. The relatively poorly equipped Republic of ­Korea (ROK) military force, minimally trained and equipped by Americans as a constabulary force, could slow their pro­gress, but not halt it. The North Koreans ­were well led, motivated, and benefitted from sound operational planning, good equipment, and solid training.1 The NKPA attacked south, not yet aware they ­were moving into their first contact with American forces who had de­cided to intervene. On the American side, General of the Army Douglas A. MacArthur, commander of the Far East Command (FECOM), and his staff hastily arranged an ad hoc task force around ele­ments of a Japan-­based infantry regiment of the 24th Division. The repurposed occupation troops ­were quickly or­ga­nized and then flown to Pusan. Arriving with only 10 ­percent of their normal complement of equipment, the task force was then hurriedly dispatched to the front.2 Prior to departing Japan, Major General William F. Dean (commander, 24th Division) issued broad, unspecific ­orders to Lieutenant Col­o­nel Charles “Brad” Smith to somehow slow the ­enemy’s advance. Dean directed Smith to simply “stop the North Koreans as far from Pusan as we can.”3 Lieutenant Col­o­nel Smith’s troops, known as Task Force Smith, moved into combat with ­little more than their personal weapons, rucksacks, 120 rounds of ammunition, and two days’ supply of rations.4 Around 0300 hours on July 5, the 540 soldiers of Smith’s task force occupied a stretch of high ground about three miles north of Osan to block the ­enemy from moving south on the main highway from Seoul. Smith’s soldiers quickly dug in and prepared fighting positions to engage the oncoming ­enemy. At 0700 hours, his lead ele­ments reported sighting a column of North Korean tanks, supported by infantry coming down the road. At 0816 hours, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Smith engaged



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Troops of Task Force Smith, named for its commander Lieutenant Col­o­nel Charles B. Smith, arrive at Taejon railroad station in South ­Korea on July 2, 1950. Two days l­ater, they became the first Americans to engage North Korean troops, suffering 40 ­percent casualties in a seven-­hour b­ attle. Their experience demonstrated how unprepared and under-­equipped U.S. forces ­were for the Korean War. (U.S. Department of Defense)

the e­ nemy with artillery, scattering the NKPA infantry, but had ­little effect on the tanks. From prepared positions, Smith’s men held their fire ­until the armor forces closed and began to pass through. Ambush style, Smith’s infantry fired their heaviest weapons, World War II–­era 2.36-­inch rockets and 75-mm recoilless ­rifles, point blank into the Soviet-­made T-34 tanks, but the rounds had l­ ittle effect.5 North Korean tanks then opened fire on Smith’s men, inflicting heavy casualties and cutting their communication with artillery and other ele­ments. ­Enemy infantry deployed, creating chaos within Task Force Smith. With no communications, the planned withdrawal broke down. Smith’s men abandoned their crew-­ served weapons and tried to escape. Some units attempted to disengage and move south in an orderly fashion; ­others continued to fight in place ­until overrun. The lone artillery battery supporting Smith’s men removed their artillery sights and breech locks and abandoned the guns. Heavy casualties resulted, with more than 150 men killed, wounded, or missing.6 Amer­i­ca’s first combat action in ­Korea was an abject disaster. Although most scholars of the Korean War agree that the soldiers of Task Force Smith fought determinedly and honorably, they are equally convinced that the initial engagement revealed major prob­lems that w ­ ere indicative of how badly the U.S. military’s capabilities had degraded since World War II. Historian Max Hastings remarked that the failings of Task Force Smith “flowed, inexorably, from the

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sudden decision of the United States to commit itself to the least expected of wars, in the least predicted of places, u­ nder the most unfavorable pos­si­ble military conditions.”7 ­Others echo the theme that the systemic prob­lems leading to the defeat of American military forces in the early months of ­Korea had originated out of a haphazard demobilization following World War II. Amer­i­ca, it seemed, could bring about the defeat of the Axis, but could not preserve the hard-­won peace. The early defeats in ­Korea, not ­limited to Task Force Smith, ­were symptomatic of a five-­year decline in American military capabilities. General Matthew B. Ridgway, the former commander of FECOM who replaced General MacArthur in April 1951, noted that Task Force Smith’s prob­lems ­were not unique, but merely indicative of larger systemic issues in the military that led to a dismal pattern of in­effec­tive­ness and retreat.8 Historian and Korean War veteran Theodore R. Fehrenbach, in his account of the conflict, recounts the tale of “The Late Com­pany A,” one of several units that backed up Task Force Smith. Like Smith’s force, Com­pany A experienced similar challenges as to lack of training, equipment, and leadership, and all led to the same predictable result—­failure. Breakdowns in communications; shortages of weapons, ammunition, and supplies; and lack of discipline and training led directly to its defeat at Ch’onan and Taejon. World War II veteran Sergeant First Class Roy E. Collins, a newly assigned platoon sergeant in Com­pany A, encountered ­those types of prob­lems. ­After his platoon’s initial engagement with NKPA near Ch’onan, Sergeant First Class Collins angrily walked his line from foxhole to foxhole, querying his men why they did not fire their weapons at the ­enemy as directed. Several replied their weapons would not fire. Collins’ inspection revealed why: some weapons w ­ ere jammed with dirt, o­ thers had not been assembled correctly a­ fter their last cleaning, and some ­were improperly reassembled. Many of Collins’ soldiers did not know how to correctly assem­ble their own weapon.9 Unfortunately for them, the North Koreans ­were quite capable of properly assembling theirs. Fehrenbach argues the prob­lems experienced by the initial respondents to the fighting in ­Korea ­were systemic and traceable back to American society, “for they represented exactly the kind of pampered, undisciplined, egalitarian army their society had long desired and had at last achieved.” Amer­i­ca’s soldiers, he believed, “had been raised to believe the world was without tigers, then sent to face ­those tigers with a stick. On their society must fall the blame.”10 Although the previous description accurately summarizes prob­lems faced by the U.S. Army in transitioning from occupation force to combat, the Korean War is unusual for the drastic changes that took place as the war progressed. The war went through several distinct phases, each clearly defined by specific combat operations, military decisions, or po­liti­cal actions that significantly changed the character of the conflict. It is impor­tant to understand ­those phases and the defining events that ­shaped them as they directly affected the lives and experiences of the men and ­women who fought t­ here. The roots of the Korean conflict originate in the end of World War II, with the arbitrary decision to administratively divide Japan’s former colony in two along the 38th Parallel. The United States occupied the southern half to disarm the Japa­ nese ­there, while the Soviet army did the same in the north. According to United



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Nations (UN) resolutions, the division along the 38th Parallel was never meant to be permanent; the two halves ­were to be re­united by 1950. But in the interim, the two ­Koreas ­adopted quite dif­fer­ent forms of government and ideology, and each became intent on reunifying the Korean Peninsula ­under their own sole leadership. American-­backed President Syngman Rhee of the ROK consolidated his power in a cap­i­tal­ist south, while Soviet Union–­backed and—­trained Kim Il Sung did the same in his communist-­totalitarian north. Neither would bend to the other, and each fervently believed his claim to control both halves was the only legitimate one.11 Conflict seemed inevitable. When war came, it occurred in five distinct phases. Each phase is demarked by an event or action that resulted in a drastic change made in the operational or strategic situation—­a clear turning point. Phase 1 of the Korean War began at 0300 hours on June 25, 1950, with a surprise attack by North Korean forces along a 40-­mile stretch of the 38th Parallel, the established boundary between North and South ­Korea. From the town of Kaesong in the west to Ch’orwon in the east, 80,000 North Korean soldiers broke through the weaker South Korean army lines and pushed down the Uijongbu Corridor ­toward Seoul, taking the South’s capital three days ­later.12 The United States and UN de­cided to intervene to assist the battered ROK army defending the south. But South Korean and UN forces ­were pushed back all along the front into precariously held defensive positions scattered around the southeastern port city of Pusan (now Busan). The previously described rout of Task Force Smith was only the first of similar defeats that ­were representative of the losses incurred by American soldiers in that first phase of the war. To be fair, t­ here w ­ ere some tactical successes that helped maintain a defensive perimeter around Pusan, but the situation appeared desperate for the soldiers. General MacArthur’s FECOM used Pusan as a staging area to introduce more ground forces, build combat power, and sustain the UN effort. Meanwhile, American and UN soldiers fought tenaciously to defend the loose perimeter and to maintain their toehold on the Korean Peninsula. Concurrently, planning began for a breakout, made pos­si­ble by a bold amphibious assault on September 15, 1950, of sailors, marines, and soldiers at Inchon, just southwest of Seoul. That assault, marking the beginning of Phase 2 of the war, was a master stroke by the UN forces, a decisive move that allowed them to mount an offensive. The amphibious operation deep ­behind ­enemy lines threatened to cut off North Korean supply lines to their troops in the south, leaving them without support. To avoid the trap, the NKPA was compelled to withdraw north u­ nder constant pressure from UN forces.13 As fresh troops poured into Pusan and Inchon, American soldiers fought north and recaptured Seoul. Units fanned out and clashed with the retreating NKPA. To General MacArthur, President Truman, and o­ thers, the idea of ridding the Korean Peninsula of the threat of communism seemed tantalizingly within reach. The UN objective changed from simply restoring the border to that of reuniting the peninsula ­under South Korean president Syngman Rhee. On October 4, 1950, soldiers of the Eighth U.S. Army (EUSA) crossed the 38th Parallel and pursued the remnants of the NKPA north.14

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The communist government in China viewed that latest development with deep concern. While UN forces surged north ­toward China, the Chinese Communist Forces (CCF) made subtle threats to intervene if the advance continued. American leaders dismissed the threats, but on October 25, 1950, CCF units engaged some ROK units. Over the next week the attacks became more determined. Nonetheless, the reports of CCF intervention w ­ ere dismissed by American intelligence specialists, who refused to believe that the Chinese had entered the war. Instead, they attributed the engagements to NKPA counterattacks. But on November 3, large-­ scale attacks commenced against UN troops throughout North ­Korea, confirming CCF intervention and shifting the war into a new phase.15 The introduction of almost 300,000 CCF soldiers in 30 divisions into the conflict was a “game-­changer” that significantly altered the character of the war. Phase 3, from November 3, 1950 to January 24, 1951, saw the CCF overrun many UN units and force them to retreat south of Seoul. It was a major turn of events, and the losses on both sides w ­ ere excessive. The CCF intervention had again changed the UN objective from reunification of ­Korea to a more ­limited restoration of the 38th Parallel as a boundary between the two K ­ oreas. Phase 4 began on January 25, 1951, with a major UN counteroffensive that again moved the front lines about 20 miles north of Seoul, near the prewar boundary. But it had cost many casualties, and leaders on both sides pursued initiatives to end the fighting. Fi­nally, on July 8, 1951, officers from the UN, United States, Soviet Union, China, and North ­Korea agreed to meet and talk about a cease-­fire. This development marked the end of Phase 4, and the war shifted into its final stage (Phase 5), a deadly stalemate that would last two more years.16 By then both sides had lost their appetite for major ground combat actions, each side having experienced high b­ attle casualties with ­little gain to show for them. Nonetheless, as the negotiation effort dragged frustratingly on for the next two years, both sides fortified their positions and fought minor ­battles and skirmishes to gain incremental advantage over the other. The war became a static trench warfare campaign that saw soldiers killed in large numbers with ­little to show for their sacrifice. At the negotiating ­table, talks ­were alternatively cancelled, restarted, postponed, and convened at w ­ ill, a po­liti­cal show for the international audience. Representatives argued over ­every minor point, from the shape of the ­table to what to do with each other’s POWs. Fi­nally, on July 27, 1953, se­nior military representatives from the UN, United States, China, and North ­Korea signed an armistice that dictated a cease-­fire along the front lines from the east coast to the west.17 With the cease-­fire, the front lines became quiet. The military armistice agreement specified that a demilitarized zone be created to physically separate the two forces. It also established procedures for raising grievances by e­ ither side to a military armistice committee formed by representatives. Of note, the South Korean government did not sign the armistice since President Syngman Rhee refused any settlement that would prevent him from reuniting the peninsula by force. Although the armistice brought about a lasting cease-­fire, it is a military, not a permanent, diplomatic solution to the conflict. Furthermore, it is a shaky settlement at best—­one that continues to experience over 100 violations each year. Some have been quite serious, and the threat of major fighting being



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resumed is a constant. However, despite the incidents, the armistice has generally maintained the watchful peace for 65 years.18 In what military historian S. L. A. Marshall succinctly described as “the ­century’s nastiest ­little war,” 1,319,000 Americans served in ­Korea as soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines.19 Of them, 33,629 ­were killed, 105,785 wounded, and 7,240 ­were taken prisoner. About 45 ­percent of the casualties came in the last stage of the war, Phase 5, a­ fter negotiations for the armistice began. Most of the American POWs ­were captured in Phases 1 and 3.20 This chapter provides a glimpse into the lives and experiences of ­those soldiers who fought in the war. CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Any examination of the soldiers who served must first begin with an understanding of the induction pro­cess in place when the war began on June 25, 1950. B ­ ecause it is so well documented, Task Force Smith again provides a good portal into what the army looked like in 1950. Its soldiers ­were representative of ­those found throughout FECOM and EUSA at the time. Their induction and recruitment ­were accomplished through the systems in place to fill out the army in 1950. And since the primary mission of the prewar EUSA was “occupation duty,” essentially watching over and administering the defeated Japa­nese p­ eople, that duty must also be understood in context. The soldiers who served in 1950 ­were brought into ser­vice to conduct occupation duty, a chore that the postwar army had comfortably settled into in 1945.21 They ­were not drafted or recruited for war­time ser­vice, as ­those in the Far East soon found out a­ fter the fighting started. The U.S. Army quickly discovered that the systems in place to gain and train occupation soldiers ­were not easily changed when the requirement shifted to creating effective combat soldiers. Changing laws on the draft or modifying policies that set standards and levels of training took time. New legislation was required, always a lengthy pro­cess. In the interim, the ser­vices had to make do with what they w ­ ere getting and somehow get occupation soldiers to meet the new demands of combat. Drastic changes w ­ ere needed in the induction/recruiting system of the late 1940s and 1950, which suffered from military policies that arose out of the end of World War II. To understand the soldiers who fought that first year in ­Korea, one must know how the army demobilized a­ fter World War II and the type of soldiers Amer­i­ca sought. The first prob­lem evolved out of Amer­i­ca’s rush to demobilize U.S. troops at the end of World War II and to get them reintegrated into American society as fast as pos­si­ble. When the top priority is dismantling the force in the quickest manner imaginable, it is impossible to plan and build a force for the f­ uture. Further complicating the issue, most citizens saw ­little need of a peacetime army when the military threats of World War II ­were defeated and broken. While it is understandable that Americans ­were anxious to put the long war ­behind them and to embrace the long-­awaited benefits of peace and prosperity, the absence of a consistent and cohesive plan for the army of the ­f uture failed to materialize. The questions of who to demobilize, who to keep, and how best to accomplish the demobilization led to frustration and chaos in practice.22 Instead, the nation dismantled

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its military capability in a haphazard fashion, with speed being the only impor­ tant ­factor. Furthermore, social scientist John C. Sparrow posits that “as demobilization progressed, the decline of combat effectiveness was not in proportion to the reduction in total strength. Rather, it diminished at a progressively faster rate than the members of military personnel decreased.” This had a sudden and remarkably deleterious effect on combat capability. That prob­lem was exacerbated by the fact that demobilization priority went first to discharging combat arms personnel, the principal fighters.23 The degradation of military capabilities was so swift and widespread that “by the Fall and Winter of 1945–1946 the armies and the air forces that had been victorious in Eu­rope and in the Pacific ­were no longer a closely integrated military machine, but rather had disintegrated to l­ittle more than large groups of individual replacements.”24 That state of unreadiness remained in effect u­ ntil K ­ orea forced changes. The second dynamic was that, just like soldiers coming back from World War I, citizenry came out of World War II with the expectation that they would never again have to experience large-­scale ground combat. ­After all, Amer­i­ca had a mono­ poly on nuclear bombs, the same weapons that brought the long war to a sudden and decisive end. In addition, a new worldwide governmental organ­ization had been created, the United Nations, to help maintain peace and ­settle conflicts without warfare.25 With perceived protections like ­these, and in consideration of Amer­i­ca’s rebounding economy, increased individual prosperity, growth of international trade, and the rapid fading of war­time shortages and restrictions, the clear majority of citizenry considered the possibilities of ­f uture major ground combat very remote.26 Fehrenbach identified the issue thus: “Americans in 1950 rediscovered something that since Hiroshima they had forgotten: you may fly over a land forever; you may bomb it, atomize it, pulverize it and wipe it clean of life—­but if you desire to defend it, protect it, and keep it for civilization, you must do this on the ground, the way the Roman legions did, by putting your young men into the mud.”27 ­Because of that way of thinking, to gain even the low numbers of soldiers needed in the postwar military, Congress reduced the minimum standards for military ser­ vice to a new low to increase the pool of potential personnel. As the army downsized, se­nior military leaders failed to understand that the need for higher-­quality, intelligent soldiers increased, not decreased, since more capability would be expected from fewer soldiers. Instead, the ser­vices accepted what was offered instead of demanding what was required. To make the situation worse, as the numbers of functional illiterates and borderline untrainable persons increased in the ranks, the army was forced to increase social efforts such as remedial education programs and basic reading classes to try to raise their level of education to one in which they would be appropriately trained. T ­ hose new programs competed with time needed for individual and unit training.28 As the post–­World War II peacetime army reduced from a force of 8.2 million in 1945 to 591,000 in 1950, it underwent historic levels of personnel turnover and turbulence.29 Along with the reduction in authorized force structure, Congress discontinued the practice of national conscription in March 1947, and the last draftee



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separated from the army on June 30, 1947. Soon thereafter, however, the quantity of volunteer enlistments dropped off dramatically due to loss of the threat of conscription and a growing economy. According to Matthew Payne, “Amer­i­ca could not meet its military manpower requirements without conscription.”30 To compensate for the shortfall of recruits and to make up for the attrition of personnel leaving the ser­vices, Congress was forced to renew the draft in July 1948. As part of the new conscription laws, Congress set even lower standards for inductees. The minimum standard for Army General Classification Test (AGCT) scores, the test used to mea­sure ­mental aptitude, dropped. That increased the numbers of persons who ­were brought into the ser­vices at the lowest ­mental category (Category V, representing the bottom 9 ­percent of the population’s scores, and Category IV, ­those scoring in the 10th to 30th percentile).31 The lowering of entrance standards had negative impacts on readiness and discipline. Apart from dropping AGCT standards, the new Selective Ser­vice Act of 1948 looked much like the one passed in 1940. It targeted males aged 18 to 26, requiring them to register for a 21-­month tour if drafted, with a five-­year reserve commitment. The legislation also contained the “Doctor Draft,” aimed at inducting health professionals into military ser­vice. Strangely, the mere threat of conscription was enough to drive up volunteer enlistment rates. Some volunteers sought to avoid the perceived “worse” jobs and duties associated with the draft by preemptively enlisting for better options or choice of ser­vice. This accounts for at least some of the high enlistment rates during the war, which roughly paced the numbers of t­hose drafted into ser­vice.32 The Selective Ser­vice System (SSS) did a competent job during ­Korea, providing manpower requirements for the fight ­under the policy constraints of a partial mobilization, not a full mobilization as implemented in World War II. That was a difficult task. But according to Morris, “Despite the early combat failures and ­later stalemate in K ­ orea, the draft has been credited by some as playing a vital role in turning the tide of war.” Between the start of the war in June 1950 and June 1953, the SSS inducted over a million and a half men, only a l­ ittle more than the 1.3 million who voluntarily enlisted, though many of them went into the navy or air force. In addition, a Gallup Poll conducted in February 1953 revealed that 70 ­percent of Americans (with 64 ­percent being from the demographic group of draft-­age men) believed that the SSS handled the draft in a fair manner, as opposed to ­later during Vietnam, when the clear majority believed it to be unfair. But during the Korean War, the majority of t­ hose drafted obeyed the call to duty and reported for induction, many arriving for duty in ­Korea less than two months ­later.33 TRAINING Just five years before the outbreak of conflict in ­Korea, Amer­i­ca boasted an armed forces of more than 12 million battle-­hardened experts in warfare, fully capable of conducting some of the most complex military operations ever conceived— an army that had soundly defeated some of the most capable enemies ever.34 Since then, bud­get cuts, the lowering of standards for recruits, personnel shortages, faulty doctrine, and a general reluctance to train to World War II standards had combined

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to take its toll on the force. By mid-1950 it had become painfully evident that Amer­ i­ca’s military was a mere husk of its former self. The embarrassing defeats of American forces by the NKPA in Phase 1 of the war clearly established that fact. As William W. Epley explained, “The defeat exposed the general failure of the Army to prepare itself for ­battle in peacetime during the five years since the end of World War II.”35 Historian Russell Weigley clarified it thus: the army of 1950 was “­shaped less by military doctrine looking to a ­f uture . . . ​than by the last war of whose massive armies it was the remnant.”36 Fortunately for the U.S. Army, the initial defeats also served as a catalyst for rectifying the ser­vice’s many prob­lems, including the issues of force structure and training. The idea that the post–­World War II army had major issues in training to meet standards was well established, regardless of where its members w ­ ere stationed. Examples of it ­were everywhere, if one looked. For example, at the end of World War II the Army Ground Forces (AGF) headquarters prohibited the use of live ammunition in training exercises: “Live fire demonstrations conducted at schools continued, but unit-­level exercises with live ammunition ­were not conducted from 1945 ­until the beginning of the Korean War in 1950.”37 The chief of the Army Field Forces (AFF), General Mark W. Clark, expanded live-­fire prohibitions in 1949 when he issued his Training Memorandum No. 1: “Training in infiltration courses is not authorized; Training in ‘Combat in Cities and Villages’ course and ‘Close Combat Course’ are not to be conducted with ser­vice ammunition.”38 The use of live ammunition firing in army training exercises did not resume u­ ntil July 17, 1950, almost two weeks ­after Task Force Smith’s defeat.39 Similarly, EUSA regulations restricted the employment of tanks in Japan: “For economy reasons and to avoid damage to the roads in Japan, the Eighth Army divisions ­were restricted to one com­pany of old M-24 Chaffee light tanks, which ­were used primarily for ceremonial purposes. The few Shermans and Pershings or variants in Japan ­were stored in ware­houses.” 40 The inaccessibility to critical combat weapons, ammunition, and equipment for training is yet another indicator of the lack of combat readiness in the pre-­Korea army. Brad Smith bluntly summed the situation up: “you ­couldn’t get any proper training. I ­don’t think anybody felt ­there was any need for it.” 41 Deficiencies in individual and collective training began in recruit training and worsened during a soldier’s ser­vice. The pressure to cut military bud­gets resulted in shortening the duration of recruit training in January 1946 from 17 weeks to only 8 weeks, a reduction of more than 50 ­percent in training days. Furthermore, training was ­limited to 40 hours per week, with recruits given a half-­day off on Wednesdays and Saturdays.42 This drastic decrease meant that recruits received half as much individual training as soldiers during World War II. The burden to make up the training deficit was placed on the operational units, which ­were never able to make up the shortfall. Conflicting priorities ensured that soldiers remained raw and untrained in combat skills. T ­ here was only so much training time available. The training shortfall degenerated in 1948 when Congress lowered military entrance standards. A greater numbers of recruits with Category IV and V ­mental ­were allowed in. ­Those in the lowest ­mental acuity group, Category V, required far more time to master individual skills than ­those from Category I, Category II, or



The Korean War 785

Category III. The “one-­two punch” combination of lowering the minimum m ­ ental aptitude for ser­vice and reducing the amount of time available for recruit training was a knockout blow. ­Those changes doomed units in the field with a flood of recruits who not only could not master basic skills but also required far more time to do so than ­others. As a result, their training proficiency levels decreased ­every year. Illiteracy rates ­were high, another handicap to effective training. A 1948 analy­ sis of EUSA test scores revealed that “90% of the personnel of one battalion w ­ ere illiterate.” 43 Col­o­nel William L. Davies notes, “Significant and crucial training time that could have been devoted to combat training was diverted to remedial literacy training.” 44 Soldiers attending literacy training courses w ­ ere not available to participate in combat readiness training, which was sorely needed. With all t­hese competing priorities, EUSA units could never catch up and achieve any acceptable level of readiness. For example, in October 1949, 188 soldiers of the 24th Infantry Division attended literacy training, but ­there ­were still more than 1,600 waiting their turn. In the 25th Infantry Division, 1,279 soldiers needed the program.45 Crucially, at the start of the Korean War, illiteracy was widespread in the Far East. Another issue that prevented units from training to standard at the collective (unit) level was the fact that the army’s foundational doctrine was fundamentally flawed. The existing doctrine was based on a force structure model that did not exist. In August  1949 the army ­adopted a new doctrinal publication, Operations (FM 100–5), that superseded the World War II–­era version of June 15, 1944. According to Davies, the U.S. Army had ­adopted the new doctrine despite making significant changes to its force structure. Bud­get cuts and downsizing caused many units to dis­appear, yet the new doctrine did not reflect the changes. As a result, the foundational document for how to fight was wrong from the start.46 Davies notes that the army’s “deactivation of one battalion in each of the three divisional regiments and deletion of one of the three firing batteries in each of the four artillery battalions had serious repercussions for doctrine.” The unit deletions conflicted with the army’s methodology for how to fight ­under the triangular system of maneuver units.47 The realities of the two battalion infantry/three battalion artillery regiments’ force structure significantly compromised the combat effectiveness of the divisions. It also made it impossible to “train to standard” when ­there was no valid standard to train to. No won­der then that the 24th Infantry Division, as the first U.S. unit into action in 1950, paid the price in blood for not having its full doctrinal complement of units.48 The doctrinal/training mismatch issue was worsened by short-­staffing. In 1950, all four of the EUSA divisions w ­ ere severely undermanned; not one came near to having its orga­nizational complement of soldiers. Clay Blair calculated that “[a]n American infantry division at full war strength numbered about 18,000 men. Owing to the bud­get restrictions, however, three of the Eighth Army’s four divisions each ­were authorized only 12,500 men; the 25th  [to which all black soldiers ­were assigned] 13,500.” Blair continued: “On paper the 1st CAV, 7th, and 24th divisions ­were thus about 6,000 men short of full war strength; the 25th, about 5,000 men short.” But when you considered other personnel ­factors, rotation policies, and medical issues, “the 1st CAV, 7th, and 24th divisions numbered only about 11,300 men each and ­were thus about 7,000 men short of full war strength. The 25th Division,

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numbering 13,000 men, was 5,500 men short of full war strength.” His calculation was that “[o]n the w ­ hole, none of the four divisions w ­ ere capable of laying down more than 62 ­percent of its normal infantry firepower.” 49 Using the army’s own definitions, the divisions ­were combat in­effec­tive. If both the force structure unit deletions and the chronic personnel shortages are factored into Blair’s equation, the Eighth Army’s four divisions could proj­ect, at best, the combat power of about two divisions ­under optimal conditions. However, since the soldiers ­were also severely deficient in both unit and individual training proficiency, it is not likely that they would meet that level of per­for­mance. Simply put, “no ­matter which course was ­adopted, the regiments’ tactical integrity was gravely impaired.” The new doctrinal model assumed that units would deploy at their full war­time strength and complement of units, a condition they had not seen since 1945.50 When all ­these facts are considered, the ser­vices v­ iolated the basic tenet of “train how you w ­ ill fight.” In the final analy­sis, U.S. soldiers in Asia ­were untrained and unprepared to meet the severity of combat. The widespread deficiencies in unit and individual training could not have been a surprise to any military leader. Reports to the Department of the Army in May 1950 on the combat efficiency of the four divisions of the Eighth Army revealed grades of combat efficiency that ranged from a high of 84 ­percent to a dismal 65 ­percent.51 Sadly, their lack of combat readiness “mirrored the Army’s state of unreadiness in all re­spects,” meaning the Eighth Army’s divisions ­were just as bad off as the rest of the army.52 The logical conclusion drawn is that the noted training deficiencies ­either did not ­matter to se­nior leaders or ­were not impor­ tant enough to address. Another ­factor contributing to training deficiencies was the primary mission of EUSA—­occupation duty. The occupation army in Japan had long since fallen into the tranquil and peaceful ways of the post–­World War II period. Callum A. MacDonald was blunt in his characterization of a soldier’s life in pre–­Korean War Japan: “Many of the men w ­ ere more familiar with beer halls and brothels of the Japa­nese cities than with the basics of soldiering. As one critic ­later complained, it was a ‘cream puff’ army . . . ​if ­these guys had spent more time on the firing range and less time in the PX snack bar . . . ​they might be alive ­today.’ ” MacDonald also asserted that soldiers dispatched to the Far East w ­ ere generally inferior in quality to ­those sent to Eu­rope: “­Under prevailing strategic priorities, the best troops w ­ ere 53 retained in the U.S. or sent to Eu­rope.” To his credit, General MacArthur grew concerned about the training issues that came to his attention through the Department of Army inspections. Anxious, he issued a new training directive to EUSA in June 1949 to try to rectify the prob­lem. He also removed many administrative occupation duties from his divisions, thereby freeing up time to conduct training in combat skills. This was a dramatic change from the relaxed lifestyle that had been prevalent in Japan, and his new directive proved difficult to implement.54 But this initiative came too late to make any significant change in readiness for the coming war in ­Korea. Davies provides an example of just how bad the degradation of basic skills had become by 1949. When the EUSA headquarters conducted a s­ imple CPX (command post exercise) to try to comply with MacArthur’s intent to increase readiness, the



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results ­were abysmal. EUSA assistant G-3, Major John  H. “Mike” Michaellis, recalled the exercise with some amusement: “General Walker called an ‘alert’ and moved the headquarters to the field. It was a top secret CPX which envisioned a Rus­sian invasion off Hokkaido. ­Until then combat preparations had been almost negligible. The CPX was a disaster. It took almost three days for them to get the tents set up. The ­people had no place to sleep. ­There was no lighting, no communications. They ­couldn’t get the meals together. It was god awful. But by June 1950 [the same month the Korean War started] we’d done this so many times that the headquarters was adequately trained to go into the field.”55 Major General Walker established a timeline to meet the goals of MacArthur’s training plan. It dictated accomplishment of a graduated scale of field training exercises within a structured time frame: “completion of company-­level training by December 1949, battalion level by May 1950, regimental-­level by July 1950, and divisional level by December 1950.” However, the force lacked sufficient training areas to accommodate the units within the prescribed schedule. Even with flawless execution, the army could not have fielded an integrated combat ready force by the time the war began.56 When fighting broke out in June 1950, the regiments, divisions, and army levels of command had not even begun their training, and the real level of battalion training was questionable: of t­hose that had completed it, only a few “had reached a satisfactory level of battalion training.” Furthermore, according to General J. Lawton Collins, chief of staff of the army, “­because of the wide dispersion of Eighth Army units and the rampant turnover, t­here was no sense of cohesion, esprit, or unit pride, even at regimental level, let alone at the army level.”57 Though most units ­were on rec­ord as having finished their battalion-­level training, many received a failing grade.58 But evidence exists that some of the testing may have occurred only on paper. If the battalion evaluations ­were actually administered, some of the unit commanders w ­ ere not aware of it. For example, Davies points out that in a ­later oral history interview with Task Force Smith commander Brigadier General (Ret.) Charles Brad Smith, he indicated that he was unaware that any formalized training evaluation had ever been accomplished. If it did, it had no merit. Smith stated that during the year he commanded his battalion in Japan no live-­fire training had been conducted.59 Smith also recalled that the Eighth Army administered an Army Training Test (ATT), but it consisted only of a staff CPX, without troops. Queried about ­whether ­there was a requirement to conduct training at the com­pany, battalion, regimental, and division levels, Smith replied “[I]f that included live firing and maneuvers, that’s hogwash.” He said that only a few amphibious exercises and a CPX had been conducted during his time in Japan. He ­wasn’t sure if the training had been linked to any requirements for battalion-­, regimental-­, or division-­level standards of training. Smith said that in terms of training, it “was almost non-­existent. We had PT. We prob­ably did physical training as well as we did anything. It was PT in place— it ­wasn’t a three-­mile run followed by a half dozen pushups . . . ​nothing like that.” 60 According to official reports, the only rec­ord of any Department of the Army staff-­level training inspection in the Far East since the end of World War II is the one that was conducted in September to October 1949. Only one in a four-­year

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period, corroborated in a memorandum from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Omar Bradley, to Army Chief of Staff General Collins. In it, General Bradley stated that “­there has been no plan, since termination of hostilities [WWII] in which the Department of the Army inspects training of overseas units.” However, he added, “The changing conditions, in addition to the reor­ga­ni­za­tion of occupation troops in combat type units, warrants a deeper interest by the Department of the Army [in determining the] training status of ­these units.” 61 Again, it came far too late to make a difference. General Collins had conducted his own visit soon ­after assuming his post as chief of staff of the army (CSA) in October 1949, shortly ­after the aforementioned training inspection. He addressed t­hose shortcomings while in Japan in a memorandum to the secretary of the army. Collins said that “[a]s a result of the reductions in strength of personnel . . . ​and b­ ecause our troops ­were primarily engaged in occupation missions ­until recently, the troops of the Eighth Army are now in fighting condition . . . ​given another six months the divisions I inspected should be in excellent shape.” 62 This would appear to be wishful thinking, at best. Collins ­later explained his ­earlier observations: “In my subsequent inspection visits to the troops it was evident that the recent emphasis on training, inaugurated by General Walton H. Walker, the commander of the Eighth Army in Japan, had reached only the battalion level and had not overcome the inevitable slackness that results from occupation duty. On my return to Washington I reported to Secretary of the Army Frank Pace that given time, deficiencies in combat readiness could be corrected. Now it appeared ­there would not be time.” 63 Speaking ­after the war, Brigadier General (Ret.) Smith stated that he believed EUSA commander Lieutenant General Walton H. “Johnnie” Walker was “intimately familiar with the terrible training facilities in Japan.” 64 Yet Walker raised no objections to MacArthur when ordered to send Task Force Smith into combat. Similarly, Smith stated that “[Major General] Bill Dean well knew his division was in no way prepared for combat, but he raised no objections to Johnnie Walker. In view of the existing frenzy, had [Dean] done so it was likely he would have been relieved of command if not by Walker, then by GHQ. He subscribed to the prevailing American view that his division however ill-­equipped, had merely to make an appearance on the battlefield and the NKPA would melt into the hills.” 65 As we now know, that did not happen. The shocking defeat of Task Force Smith and other units in Phase 1 of the war proved to be a power­f ul catalyst for change. Within weeks, the training of units for ­Korea ser­vice became the highest priority throughout FECOM. Training areas and ammunition, non­ex­is­tent before the war, suddenly became available. Historian James Schnabel noted that by July 19, 1950, only two weeks ­after Task Force Smith’s defeat, the army “had discarded peacetime strengths and authorized full combat” personnel levels for all divisions in FECOM. Units in Japan and the United States busied themselves in preparing their soldiers for combat. Infantry battalions from the stateside General Reserve ­were quickly readied, marshalled, and dispatched to ­Korea to flesh out the understrength EUSA units. Unused training facilities ­were opened, ammunition provided, and training cadres began the task



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of readying the men for war.66 Priorities for training ­were now clear and remained high for the duration of the war. SOCIAL STRUCTURE Although the Korean War was the first conflict fought ­after President Harry S. Truman’s Executive Order 9981 directed the racial integration of the armed forces, not much had changed in the army. Critic Clay Blair states bluntly that “[t]he history of blacks in the Army was a long and shameful tale, more or less paralleling black history in American civil life.” 67 While it is far beyond the scope of this chapter to deal with the many issues of the officially segregated military prior to 1948, ­there are some ele­ments of information from that period that provide context or background to the discussion of race relations among soldiers in the Korean War. The issue of racial integration had long been looming, but no one in politics or the military was anxious to bring it to the forefront. The situation came to a head when, according to Morris MacGregor, “the sheer number of Negroes in the armed forces gave them new prominence in national defense. B ­ ecause of postwar racial quotas, particularly in the Army and Air Force, black ser­vicemen now constituted a significant segment of the ser­vice population, and consequently their abilities and well-­being had a direct bearing on the nation’s cold war defenses.” 68 For its part, the army, “with long ties to the Deep South, fought the order by e­ very conceivable stratagem.” 69 As proof, one of the first broadsides against the executive order came in a speech delivered to instructors at Fort Knox, Kentucky, by none less than the CSA, General Omar N. Bradley. Apparently unaware of both Truman’s order and the presence of reporters, Bradley “declared that the Army would have to retain segregation as long as it was the national pattern.” In the ensuing debate, Bradley “explained that he had supported the Army’s segregation policy ­because he was against making the Army an instrument of social change in areas of the country which still rejected integration.”70 Bradley ­later apologized to the president for the embarrassing episode, but the army’s position seemed clear and firm. When combat broke out in ­Korea, the army was still rigidly segregated, with the notable exception of the elite 82nd Airborne Division, which had been in­de­ pen­dently desegregated by its charismatic commander, Major General James M. Gavin, in December 1947. Within FECOM, all black soldiers ­were assigned to the 24th Infantry Regiment in the 25th Infantry Division. According to Blair, ­there ­were two reasons for maintaining that status: “mainly ­because its larger structure was required to absorb the many blacks in Japan, and ­because [Major General Edward] Ned Almond wanted the blacks out of sight and in one place.”71 However, the Korean War proved to be the catalyst for the army’s sudden decision to desegregate. The outbreak of war caused the army to double its size in only five months, and black soldiers made up a significant portion of its combat power. In April 1950, black soldiers made up 10.2 ­percent of the army’s enlisted strength. In August that figure jumped to 11.4 ­percent; by January 1951, 11.7; and in December 1952 blacks comprised 13.2 ­percent. What was surprising was that from March

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to August 1950 the numbers of black soldiers enlisting in the army for the first time surged from 8.2 to 25.2 ­percent and constituted about 18 ­percent of all first-­term enlistments for the first nine months of combat.72 ­These new recruits caused overages in some all-­black units. In some cases, units ­were 60 ­percent above their authorized strength. ­Because many black soldiers ­were in combat arms specialties, “they ­were being assigned to the combat branches in approximately the same percentage as white soldiers, 41 ­percent.” The growing imbalance ­under segregation soon forced the army to reactivate division-­sized black units to absorb the growth. The new CSA, General Collins, told his inspector general in August 1950 that “the Army must eventually desegregate.”73 Meanwhile, in ­Korea, questions arose over the per­for­mance of the all-­black 24th Infantry. According to Blair, the 24th entered combat in ­Korea with weak leaders in charge. ­After a week of acclimatization, one reinforced battalion of the 24th was given the mission to seize the town of Yechon from NKPA control. In a well-­planned attack the battalion traded machine gun and mortar fire with the ­enemy and soon pushed the ­enemy out of Yechon. In a follow-up action, the commander of the 77th Engineer Combat Com­pany, Captain Charles Bussey, engaged several hundred North Koreans and rallied his soldiers to win in a fierce firefight that left 258 ­enemy dead. This action constituted one of the first clearly victorious actions against the e­ nemy. A very impressed Major General William B. Kean awarded Bussey the Silver Star on the spot.74 A war correspondent with the Associated Press had accompanied the black troops and witnessed Bussey’s actions during the fight. His story on the exploit led to a push in Congress to upgrade the award to the Medal of Honor. When that initiative was unsuccessful, the downgrade triggered charges of racism for not awarding black soldiers at the same level as whites.75 Meanwhile, ­because of the previously mentioned manpower overages in black combat arms units, EUSA ­adopted a policy of assigning new black replacements to previously all-­white units, essentially desegregating them. The practice accelerated and expanded since EUSA had also begun assigning individual South Korean soldiers as individual replacements for combat losses. In August 1950, replacements to the 9th Infantry included 2 black officers and 89 black enlisted men. They ­were assigned throughout the 1st and 2nd Battalions as replacements for combat losses. The next month saw 60 more men reassigned from the regiment’s all-­black 3rd Battalion to fill holes throughout the regiment. By year’s end, black soldiers ­were found in ­every unit at about the same proportions as the national average of 11 ­percent.76 The replacement policy accelerated in early 1951 and became a widespread personnel practice. By May it expanded into the rotation program and about “9.4 ­percent of all Negroes in the theater ­were serving in some forty-­one and unofficially integrated units.” Another 9.3 ­percent ­were in predominantly black but integrated units, and the remaining 81 ­percent ­were still serving in segregated units. By May 1951, 61 ­percent of EUSA infantry companies ­were integrated to some extent. “Though still l­ imited, the conversion to integrated units was permanent.”77 The EUSA de facto replacement solution prompted two manpower studies at Army HQ in the spring of 1951. The first was prompted by a request from the Army



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G-1 (Personnel) asking for more information on what the EUSA was ­doing regarding their assignment of black soldiers to formerly white units. A panel of army personnel experts was convened to investigate it. The second was a study initiated by the Army G-4 asking the Operations Research Office, an early military “think tank,” to explore the situation of how to best use black manpower in the army.78 MacGregor reports that within the two studies, the “findings complemented each other. The G-1 team reported that integration of black soldiers into white combat units in K ­ orea had been accomplished generally ‘without undue friction and with better utilization of manpower.’ ” Based on the results of their interviews in the field, “[c]ombat commanders, the team added, ‘almost unanimously f­ avor integration.’ ”79 That does not mean every­thing worked well to every­one’s satisfaction. Racial prejudices still surfaced on occasion and frictions sometimes arose. For example, during the 25th Division’s withdrawal from the Yalu River ­after the Chinese communist “volunteers” intervened in late 1950, an episode occurred that reopened old charges about black soldiers supposedly being unreliable in combat. The event, which saw wide publication from both perspectives ­after the fact, began in the chaotic days ­after Chinese Communist Forces infiltrated North ­Korea and attacked EUSA and X Corps ele­ments along a broad front. Numbering in the hundreds of thousands, the CCF w ­ ere successful in turning United Nations Command (UNC) forces from their drive to the Ch’ongch’on River, near ­Korea’s northern border with China. The tactical and operational situation was unclear, communications almost non­ex­is­tent. UN forces ­were withdrawing south, and the movement was disjointed. This opened gaps between units that the Chinese infantry exploited. Some units ­were on the verge of panic, and ­there w ­ ere examples of that confusion all along the rapidly disappearing lines.80 The hard-­hit 24th Infantry was able to disengage most of its forces intact, something not all units ­were able to do. Near the village of Kunu-ri, CCF engaged the 3rd Battalion, 24th (3/24) Infantry hard and pushed them back. 3/24 was a black unit led by white officers. The battalion commander, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Melvin R. Blair, was a World War II veteran of Burma and had garnered a good reputation in that war. But in K ­ orea he may have reached the end of his line. Blair claimed that his black soldiers “bugged out,” a term used at the time to describe fleeing to the rear to avoid combat. Several black officers and noncommissioned officers (NCOs) instead blamed the disorder and chaos on Blair’s “ineptitude and what appeared to be panic on his part.”81 This event was representative of most arguments about ­whether black units could fight or not. What made this dif­fer­ent from other similar allegations was in how it played out in the stateside press at the time, inflaming the debate. ­After the initial action, Blair happened to run into a war correspondent from the Saturday Eve­ning Post. He told the reporter a story of how he had watched from a hill as all three of his line companies “broke at once” on contact with the CCF. In his account, widely published in the United States, “The men fled like rabbits across the ­great open field . . . ​and he could see groups of them being surrounded and marched off.”82 The author said that as Blair drove down the road in his jeep looking for survivors “he heard the sound of singing. It was good singing, with a rhythm to it that pleased him—­a bounce and a swing.” In the article Blair s­ topped the vehicle and

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got out. He “called to the Negro soldiers huddled around a ­little fire in the snow and asked what song they sang.” One of the black soldiers came up to him and said “Sir. . . . ​That is the official song of the Twenty-­Fourth Infantry Regiment. That is the Bugout Boogie.”83 Several black officers and NCOs ­were indignantly enraged by Blair’s characterization of the men when they saw the article in print. ­Those intimately familiar with the incident placed the blame squarely on the ineptitude and pronounced lack of leadership of Blair. One black warrant officer, Thomas H. Pettigrew Jr., published his own book specifically to ­counter Blair’s version of events. To Pettigrew, Blair’s account, with the fictional song’s “words and psychological ste­reo­t yped meaning portraying the Negro as a coward, a minstrel man and indifferent to a serious cause” was racist and wholly inaccurate. His book, The Kunu-ri (Kumori) Incident, describes a quite dif­fer­ent account. In it, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Blair deployed his forces poorly before the CCF attack. According to Pettigrew, “the troops stood out like a sore thumb which made the command vulnerable to being attacked, surrounded, and captured.”84 Blair had occupied a school­house in the village for his command post. When the Chinese attacked, every­one was asleep. Grabbing his weapon, Pettigrew encountered Blair “hysterically and incoherently giving ­orders to defend the Command Post.” Confusion reigned and many panicked. Pettigrew charged that the men of the battalion “would not have ‘fled like rabbits’ in the face of the onslaught had the leadership not failed them,” that is, Blair’s leadership. In his description, Pettigrew “saw and realized the tragedy of leaderless men.” Blair was hysterical and out of control, exclaiming, “Someone take me out of ­here!”85 The competing versions played out back home. As a postscript, Pettigrew was awarded a Bronze Star medal for his actions that night. The regimental commander, Col­o­nel John T. Corley, relieved Blair soon a­ fter for failing to execute combat o­ rders to deploy his men. Again, Pettigrew witnessed the event. Blair argued that he did not have enough men and that they would not fight. Col­o­nel Corley had a face-­to-­ face talk with Blair and ordered him to execute the mission to defend his sector. Blair set about the task but kept shouting wildly that “[t]he Col­o­nel’s ­going to relieve me, the Col­o­nel’s g­ oing to relieve me!” L ­ ater that day Col­o­nel Corley did.86 The integration of the units in ­Korea did not end the debate over ­whether all-­ black units could fight. It did not end racial prejudices ­either—it just shifted the per­for­mance discussions to individuals, not units. Meanwhile, army leaders debated ­whether to expand the integration solution practiced in K ­ orea to a service-­wide policy. But in the spring of 1951 the army was reluctant to embrace a universal integration policy. Reporters who visited front-­line units, however, could not resist asking white soldiers what they thought about fighting alongside black soldiers. The answers they got must have surprised some of their readers back home. Instead of negative comments, most w ­ ere positive and pragmatic.87 Some typical comments as collated by MacGregor include: “Far as I’m concerned it [integration] worked pretty good. . . . ​W hen it comes to life or death, race does not mean any difference . . . . ​It’s like one big ­family. . . . ​Got a colored guy on our machinegun crew—­after a while I ­wouldn’t do without him. . . . ​Concerning combat, what I’ve seen, an American is an American. When we have to do something



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­ e’re all the same. . . . ​Each guy is like your own ­brother—we treated all the w same. . . . ​Had a colored platoon leader. They are as good as any ­people. . . . ​We [an integrated squad] had something g­ reat in common, sleeping, guarding each other—­sometimes body against body as we slept in bunkers. . . . ​Takes all kinds to fight a war.”88 At the same time, ­women in the military had their own fight ­going for equal recognition of ser­vice. The Korean War served as the catalyst for watershed changes in the status of ser­vicewomen. Although about 350,000 ­women served in vari­ous capacities in World War II, all of them ­were quickly demobilized afterward. However, the issue of ­whether and how ­women should serve in the military remained. On June 12, 1948, President Truman signed into law the ­Women’s Armed Ser­vice Integration Act, thereby ensuring the permanent presence of ­women in the military. The act also created for the first time an or­ga­nized Reserve organ­ization for ser­vicewomen.89 By 1950 the ser­vices had inducted about 22,000 w ­ omen, with 7,000 serving in medical fields. Although the outbreak of the Korean War generated ­great demands for ser­vice members, w ­ omen soldiers and officers ­were not initially authorized to serve in K ­ orea. The only exception was army nurses assigned to forward hospitals. In June 1950, t­ here was only one female nurse in K ­ orea, Army Captain Viola B. McConnell. By August t­ here w ­ ere about 100, and by 1951 almost 400. Thousands of other ser­vicewomen soon filled much-­needed roles in Japan, many working in evacuation hospitals where the need for nurses was especially acute. Japan was the first stop for many of the wounded being evacuated from ­Korea, and medical specialists w ­ ere in short supply for ­those critical billets.90 One army nurse served in K ­ orea for most of the war. Marjory Montgomery Lovelady enlisted in the army in Poplar Bluff, Missouri ,in 1950. A ­ fter recruit training at Fort Lee, V ­ irginia, she graduated from her nursing training and airborne school and joined the 3420th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, before transferring to ­Korea. Arriving in late 1950, she served in Pusan, Seoul, and the Chosin Reservoir. She remained in ­Korea ­until ­after the final POW exchanges and was discharged in February 1954. Describing her time at Chosin, a pivotal ­battle in North ­Korea, she said, “I went in the operating room at 6:30 one morning and ­didn’t leave for 72 hours. We treated at least 2,000 wounded, every­ thing from minor to major injuries. Minor injuries ­were when fin­gers or parts of hands ­were blown off.” Major injuries ­were soldiers with “half their head blown away, legs blown off, terrible burns, chest blown open.” With temperatures dropping to 20 degrees below zero, “For three days and three nights we ­didn’t leave the operating room.”91 Her experience was typical of female nurses working near the front lines. Although the recruitment and retention of ­women had been authorized by Truman’s “Integration Act,” ­there ­were some significant hurdles to ­women’s continued ser­vice that men did not face. ­These issues included marriage, ­children, and pregnancy. Although the question of ­whether marriage should be a bar to continued ser­vice was quickly resolved, the issues of de­pen­dency entitlements and in-­ service pregnancy ­were not. In addition, as explained by Margaret Dev­ilbiss, “A 1951 Executive Order (EO 10240) signed by President Harry S. Truman gave the

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ser­vices permission to discharge a w ­ oman if she became pregnant, gave birth to a child, or became a parent by adoption or a stepparent; the ser­vices took it as a mandate.” Although some waivers to the minor child policy w ­ ere issued, military ­women always had that specter of dismissal hanging over them.92 In the Korean War army, ser­vicewomen ­were routinely discharged when they became pregnant. That policy remained in effect ­until the 1970s. Each year this resulted in an average loss of 6 ­percent of female soldiers. Eventually, it took a federal lawsuit to change the practice.93 Like black ser­vicemen, ­women thronged to join the ser­vice when the Korean War started. The population of females more than doubled between June 1949 (18,081) and June 1953 (45,485), the month before the armistice was signed. Somewhat predictably, ­after the conflict, the female ser­vice member numbers declined slightly to 38,600, beginning a slump in overall numbers that would not be surpassed ­until 1969 during Vietnam. Some, like Margaret Lovelady, had simply had enough of the war.94 The allowable roles of ser­vicewomen in the 1950s w ­ ere ­limited by law, as was the highest rank attainable and their limitation to no more than 2 ­percent of the overall authorized strength by ser­vice. The first two (rank limit and percentage limitation) dis­appeared in the 1970s, but the third, the “combat exclusion clause,” is still debated t­oday, along with the related issue of the draft. In any event, in 1950 that clause effectively prohibited w ­ omen from being trained in combat arms specialties or being assigned to combatant units, ships, or assignments. Also, in the early part of the war it was interpreted as prohibiting ­women from being assigned to ­Korea. Although nursing and other medical fields allowed ­women to serve in ­Korea, ­others maintained that prohibition.95 That policy changed in 1952, when the ser­vices allowed ­women from all fields to serve in K ­ orea. In addition to army nurses, ­women of the air force also served in ­Korea, assisting capably in the evacuation of over 350,000 casualties during the war. And 16 ser­vicewomen made the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives in the ser­vice of the nation.96 DAILY LIFE In Phase 1 of the Korean War, troops coming over from the “easy life” of occupation duty in Japan experienced a bit of culture shock as they got used to the idea of living in the field. Soldiers in Japan, ­whether married or single, officer, NCO, or nonrated private, had long benefited from the destitute condition of the Japa­nese. Any soldier could easily afford a ­house­maid to do his cleaning, laundry, and other chores. It was relatively common to see a first sergeant afford one or two servants to take care of his ­family. And with no apparent threat, life settled into an easy routine of accountability formations and petty duties.97 As colorfully described by Fehrenbach, “in a country where an American lieutenant made as much as a cabinet minister, even a PFC could make out.”98 Once in ­Korea, the soldiers learned quickly just how much their lives had changed. Instead of a barracks or quarters, they now lived in fighting holes hastily dug in the ground. Most ­were combat arms soldiers: infantry, artillery, engineers,



The Korean War 795

or armor. ­There w ­ ere never enough of the latter. The support and combat ser­vice support soldiers, not yet pre­sent in large numbers, ­were always within artillery range of the ­enemy in ­those early days. All ­were subject to being called out and pushed into the lines to help blunt an ­enemy attack or track down infiltrators or collaborators. The average infantryman became used to walking everywhere: through paddies or across mountains, on roads or off. Artillerymen at least had their own vehicles but walked their share of hills as well when their trucks ­were full of ammunition. Also, the secondary mission of artillery troops was to serve as provisional infantry when needed. Soldiers in armor or mechanized units went to war in the vehicle that also served as their home and shelter. Most every­one near the front lines ate field rations, the ubiquitous cold C ration with some “hot chow” meals issued from a field kitchen. ­Those closest to the front (mostly infantry) subsisted mainly on individual C rations, which they carried, with an occasional hot meal when available. Artillery units, with their more plentiful vehicles, might have more hot meals than cold. T ­ hose farther from the front ate most of their meals in semi-­permanent “chow halls” run by soldiers, with a less frequent intake of field rations like K rations or Cs. ­Those soldiers fortunate enough to be stationed in/around hospitals, airfields, or supply bases ­were far more likely to occupy a building to live in and eat in a more permanent “mess hall” set up in repurposed buildings or tents with rough wooden ­tables and benches. Meals and assigned duties soon set the pace of most soldiers’ lives, establishing a routine for their work day. In Phases 1 through 3, field rations ­were a mix of the World War II–­era K rations and the newer, more popu­lar C rations. Although declared obsolete by the Quartermaster Corps in 1948, the army continued to issue K rations ­until its sizeable stocks ­were depleted; supply soldiers in the United States pushed stocks of the aging meals forward ­until they vanished from the ware­houses. Soldiers continued to consume K rations into 1951 or even ­later, but C rations quickly became the staple for field use.99 Of course, e­ very soldier had his own personal favorites and dislikes among the always-­limited se­lection of meals. In C rations, the choices of canned meats w ­ ere generally meat and beans; meat-­and-­vegetable stew; meat and spaghetti; ham, egg, and potato; meat and noodles; pork and rice; frank­furters and beans; pork and beans; ham and lima beans; and chicken and vegetables. But one meal, ham and lima beans, came to be almost universally disliked, even reviled by most soldiers. It earned the nickname “ham and mother-­f—­ers” from its detractors. Often soldiers would pass off their least favorite foods to starving Koreans, who ­were generally thankful for the meal. But as recounted in one story, when a Korean ­woman saw it was ham and lima beans, she threw it back at the soldier. Nicknames abounded for most meals: “Chopped ham and eggs earned the nickname ‘H.E.s’—­h igh explosives—­because of the bloating and gas they caused.”100 Of par­tic­u­lar value to soldiers ­were the “accessory packs” that came with the C ration meal. Although the exact contents changed over the years as minor changes ­were made to the rations, the typical pack contained gum, all-­important toilet paper, a small metal can opener (also called a P-38), granulated salt, salt tablets (for fighting dehydration), and wooden spoons to consume the meal. Many of ­these items

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­ ere traded to other soldiers or shared with Korean soldiers and civilians. A ration w generally had some assorted lemon or orange beverage powders, sugar, and a packet of instant coffee, which was trea­sured almost as much as the cigarettes that came in a separate pack. The “cigarette pack” consisted of ­either three units of three or one unit of nine cigarettes and a book of matches to light them (or cooking fires for the meal).101 Variety of meals was always an issue, particularly when the field mess halls often served institutional-­sized cans of the same meals found in C rations. The individual trading of meals issued for ones more palatable became a widespread practice that added a bit of sport and humor to an other­wise dull and routine day. For soldiers serving in infantry units, billeting usually came in the form of a two-­man fighting hole, or “foxhole.” The practice of pairing soldiers up provided several advantages. First, the l­abor of constructing the foxhole could be shared between the two occupants, usually in shifts with one providing security while the other dug, switching out from time to time. Second, in the event one man was wounded, the other soldier could provide “buddy aid” ­until the arrival of a medic. Third, security duties could be shared as well u­ nless the threat of e­ nemy action was high. Then, the soldiers could watch each other’s blind side or take turns firing when the other was reloading. Fi­nally, soldiers of two dif­fer­ent experience levels could be paired to provide the lesser experienced soldier with a more experienced mentor. ­These practices and ­others helped promote teamwork, dependability, and unit cohesion at the lowest pos­si­ble level. Examples of them in practice are ubiquitous in memoirs and accounts of combat in K ­ orea. Soldiers with less “foot-­mobile” specialties (for example, supply, maintenance, and aviation) or ­those working in larger headquarters often occupied “tent cities” or abandoned buildings or h­ ouses. Their duties generally placed them farther from the ­enemy than combat arms soldiers. The support troops w ­ ere also more prone to staying in one location for longer duration since they had less reason to relocate. ­Those soldiers could accumulate more possessions to make their billeting more hospitable as time went on. In their case, an inertia set in that discouraged moves u­ ntil ordered to a new site, whereas the nomadic infantry lifestyle promoted rapid movement and more frequent moves. During ­every phase of the war, the impact of the weather established a pace on the fighting. As temperatures dropped so, too, did the tempo of combat. Soldiers on both sides had to fight the effects of the cold, which could kill just as surely as an e­ nemy bullet. In Korean summers the men faced the other extreme, heat, which slowed their movements as well. However, the ­enemy soon learned to utilize bad weather to their advantage by attacking during periods of low visibility. Bad weather meant poor visibility, and that in turn meant the feared and greatly respected American close air support was less effective. In the positional warfare of the fifth phase of the war, which encompassed the last two years of combat, soldiers occupied dug-in, heavi­ly fortified bunkers along static defensive lines for extended periods. In that final phase, the war had devolved into front lines that looked more like ­those found in World War I than the more mobile and fluid situations experienced in the first four phases. Soldiers settled into ­these static positions and quickly adapted to the subterranean lifestyle



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that protected them from ­enemy direct and indirect fires.102 ­T here was no shortage of ­either. Nonetheless, the front remained a deadly place where shelling, sniping, and raiding remained constants. So did routine duties like patrolling, guard duty, and setting out night listening posts to keep the ­enemy from surprising their unit. The quiet­est of days (or nights) often had surprises. In that final phase of the war most front-­line soldiers lived in a “hootchie,” the slang term that was used for under­ ground bunkers constructed mostly of logs and dirt. ­These structures went on to become primary UN defenses in K ­ orea. Dug into the sides of hills and reinforced with wood, lumber, and sandbags, a standard hootchie was occupied by somewhere between two and seven men. Each bunker was usually equipped with a single automatic weapon set to fire at the ­enemy through ground-­level firing ports. Inside the hootchie, candles, lamps, and heaters “shed their pale light on the straw-­ matted floors and pin-up bedecked walls of the cramped, five-­by-­eight-­foot areas that comprised a hootchie’s living quarters.” Stoves fired by oil, charcoal, or wood provided some degree of heat for the occupants. The best hootchies featured bunk beds constructed of wood suspended by strong communications wire. Boxes of extra ammunition and hand grenades provided seats for the men and ­tables for playing cards when they ­weren’t needed for manning their outside fighting positions. ­Humble as it was, t­ hese shelters ­were home for the soldiers who lived in them, and it protected them from the weather, shells, and bullets outside.103 One of the most effective morale-­raising tools in the EUSA was the rest and recuperation (R&R) program. Originally begun in early 1951 ­after the demoralizing defeats in Phase 3 of the war (when the UN had been pushed back south of the Han River), the R&R program offered soldiers and officers a five-­day holiday in Japan. Although the program started small with only a ­couple of hundred soldiers per division, by Phase 5 the EUSA attempted to get ­every soldier one R&R on an annual basis. As historian Bevin Alexander described it, the program “soon became an extremely significant ­factor in the capacity of [soldiers] to endure the loneliness, exhaustion and danger of their assignments.”104 To participants, that five-­day glorious vacation from the hardships and horrors of the front lines was a trip to heaven on earth. Many are the stories told of what one did in that all-­too-­short break from field life. The possibilities ­were endless and ­limited only by the individual’s imagination and finances. Memoirs are filled with tales of their personal exploits on R&R. Soldiers “quickly dubbed the R&R leaves I&I (Intercourse and Intoxication), or more vulgarly A&A (Ass and Alcohol).” But no ­matter what the preferences or experiences, the concept worked; “the hope for R&R buoyed many a man whose morale other­wise would have sunk.”105 In addition to the annual individual R&R trips, EUSA complemented ­those activities with an extensive unit rotation program to keep the forward-­most units fresh. Companies regularly rotated their platoons to switch between front-­line and reserve duty. Similar rotations occurred with battalions and their companies, regiments and their battalions, divisions and their regiments, and corps rotating their divisions. This effort was done to make sure that all combat units had recurring chances to move back from direct observation of the ­enemy to a position back from the lines where they could rest, recoup, retrain, and absorb replacements with less

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chance of being fired on. In addition, the army managed a sizeable individual replacement program to equalize as much as pos­si­ble the burdens of military ser­ vice in a “­limited war” that seemed to have no end.106 In September 1951, soon a­ fter negotiations began at Kaesong, the army came up with another way of boosting morale—­rotating soldiers home. It introduced a point system for determining a soldier’s or officer’s eligibility to rotate back to the United States to be replaced by a fresh soldier. A similar system had been employed in World War II with mixed success. The new point system was based on the nature of individual ser­vice of soldiers and officers. According to this system, a soldier earned four points for ­every month he served in the combat zone at the front, two points per month for “rear-­echelon duty” in ­Korea, and one point for duty elsewhere in the Far East. ­After receiving some complaints over the definitions, the army added a new category, divisional reserve status, worth three points per month.107 When first initiated, in order to gain eligibility for rotation, enlisted men had to earn 43 points, and officers ­were required to earn 55 points. The army went on to modify their requirements, lowering the eligibility requirements to only 36 points for enlisted men and 37 points for officers as of June 1952. An enlisted soldier could earn his ticket home ­after nine months on the front lines. Of course, earning the required number of points did not guarantee immediate rotation, only eligibility to do so. However, most soldiers returned to the States shortly ­after accruing the required number of points. During the fall and winter of 1951–1952 between 15,000 and 20,000 men w ­ ere rotated each month.108 The point system proved to be a boost to morale right at that point in the war when it looked as if the conflict would drag on interminably. It injected hope into what many felt had become an other­wise endless and, they felt, pointless war. Soldiers knew that in many cases, they would be allowed to go home ­after serving a year of front-­line tour of duty ser­vice in ­Korea. The system also helped raise the spirits of soldiers’ loved ones back home by placing an end date on their time in ­Korea, a feature that was notably missing before. The point system not only benefitted the soldier but also helped to maintain public support for what was becoming an increasingly unpop­u­lar war.109 Interestingly, the FECOM “morale-­enhancing” R&R program had a therapeutic effect that Cowdrey called “preventive psychotherapy.” Statistics compiled from World War II revealed that sharp increases occurred in casualty rates when soldiers experienced combat for more than 180 days without a break. The five-­day R&R period met that requirement. By the end of August 1951, more than 91,000 officers and men had been provided a furlough from the war. Though perceptive commanders always had tried to provide breaks from combat for their soldiers when able, the Korean R&R program systematized the practice. Short of ­actual rotation to the States, no more popu­lar program existed.110 Benefits aside, the rotation program incurred certain costs. The constant turnover generated by the replacements was inefficient and created pressures on the army’s personnel and training systems. Rotations also hurt military proficiency by increasing personnel turbulence and by producing a continuous drain on skilled manpower. It negatively affected unit cohesion, a side effect that was l­ater pushed to its extremes in Vietnam. Just when a soldier became fully acclimatized to the



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physical, ­mental, and technical demands of combat and fit well within his unit, he was rotated out and replaced with a green soldier who lacked ­those attributes. This was true not only of the enlisted men, many of whom had been rushed into combat with ­little or no field training, but of the officers as well. Indeed, by the fall of 1952 most ju­nior officers with combat experience from both World War II and ­Korea had been rotated home and replaced by t­ hose recently commissioned with l­ ittle or no command or combat experience.111 However, by that time EUSA had learned how to manage the point system and efficiently distribute the new soldiers and officers across the force. RELIGION The Army Chaplain Corps is a professional branch of the army consisting of ordained ministers who are commissioned officers. Each army unit of battalion size or larger has an assigned unit chaplain, whose role is to provide ministers for the religious and moral needs of its members. The surprise outbreak of war in ­Korea caught the Army Chaplain Corps as unprepared as ­every other ele­ment of the armed forces. When World War II ended in 1945, ­there ­were 8,141 army chaplains on active duty. By the end of 1947, only a l­ittle more than 1,100 remained. In 1949, about half of the remaining chaplains transferred to the newly created U.S. Air Force. And when war broke out ­there ­were 706 active-­ duty army chaplains, with more in the National Guard and U.S. Army Reserve.112 The Army Chaplain Corps found itself in an embarrassing predicament. It just completed the pro­ cess of involuntarily releasing chaplains from active duty and forcing them into reserve status. To provide enough chaplains for the war, it now had to reverse that pro­cess by recalling reserve chaplains to active duty. Chaplain authorizations would Chaplain Kenny Lynch conducts ser­vices for men more than double over the course of the 31st Regiment north of Hwachon, South of the war, reaching a peak at ­Korea, August 28, 1951. Chaplains accompany 1,618 in 1953.113 troops to ­every ser­vice location, but as desigTwo chaplains, Herman G. Fel- nated noncombatants, they do not carry weaphoelter of the 19th Infantry Reg- ons and hold a protected status ­under the iment and Chaplain Byron D. international laws of war. (National Archives)

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Lee of the 35th Infantry Regiment, died in ­those early Phase 1 days. Felhoelter was executed along with several soldiers when the North Koreans overran their positions; Lee was killed in an ­enemy barrage. During Phase 3, the chaplain for the 3rd Battalion, 8th Cavalry Regiment, Emil J. Kapaun, was captured. Soon ­after, Chaplain Kenneth C. Hyslop (19th Infantry Regiment), Wayne  H. Burdue (2nd  Engineer Battalion, 2nd  Infantry Division), and Lawrence F. Brunnert (32nd Infantry Regiment, 7th Infantry Division) ­were also taken prisoner. None of them survived captivity. Many of them ­were veterans of World War II, but all returned to the field when requested.114 The Korean War did have one positive result where chaplains are concerned. For almost 100 years, the chaplains had been petitioning the army for an enlisted religious specialist to be assigned to each chaplain to assist him in the per­for­mance of his responsibilities. ­Because of the demands of the war, the army fi­nally agreed. In 1950, training for that new military occupational specialty began at Fort Dix, New Jersey, and Fort Ord, California. Recruits assigned to that billet soon graduated from nine weeks of basic combat training and nine weeks of clerk typist training before being sent to their designated unit. The chaplain and the religious programs specialist constituted the Unit Ministry Team, together providing religious ser­vices for the unit.115 In December  1952, the Reverend Billy Graham, one of the most influential American Christian leaders, de­cided to visit ­Korea to meet with missionaries, chaplains, officers, pastors, and soldiers during the Christmas holiday season. Graham said that he wanted to visit for several reasons. “I thought that if I could see how Christians w ­ ere suffering in ­Korea, it would make an impact in my own life, and in turn would enable me to be of greater help to the hundreds of p­ eople to whom I have the privilege of ministering,” he said. Graham also hoped to “spend Christmas with the troops, to bring them just a touch of home at Christmas time.” He had been planning such a trip for two years. Graham contemplated that, “I had found it difficult to sit down and enjoy my dinner as I thought of the boys in the cold, muddy trenches of K ­ orea.” Furthermore he hoped to “encourage the missionaries in Japan, K ­ orea, and Formosa” and be able to see the Korean Church in person.116 While in the Far East, Graham took the time to visit as many soldiers as he could in the time allotted. Starting with visits of wounded at Tokyo General Hospital, he traveled to ­Korea from December 14 to December 25, 1952. It was a busy schedule: he visited “orphanages, hospitals, and mission stations in Pusan and Taegu; attended prayer meetings at vari­ous churches in Seoul; spent a short time on the Danish hospital ship Jutlandia; and then traveled in a small aircraft to ‘the front.’ ” ­There, Graham spent three days visiting e­ very American division on the line. A ­ fter one ser­vice with the men, he went into their bunkers and trenches. In addition, he met with ROK President Syngman Rhee at his home, toured a MASH hospital unit, and had a Christmas Eve meal. Graham said the highlight of his trip was preaching a Christmas morning ser­vice to 3,000 or 4,000 men in an area called the “Bulldozer Bowl,” followed by a second ser­vice “right at the front, in partial view of the ­enemy lines.”117 His visit brought the soldiers a ­little bit of home and raised morale along the lines, giving them something to write home about.



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Overall, American G.I.s appreciated the presence of chaplains, who provided for their religious needs in the field and helped counsel them through tough times. The society that filled out the ranks of the military was very religious, with over 90 ­percent proclaiming themselves to be Protestant (66 to 70 ­percent), Catholic (23 to 26 ­percent), or Jewish (4 ­percent). All three of t­ hose faiths ­were represented by military chaplains. Only about 1 ­percent of the population declared they had no religion at all.118 During the war, the oft-­repeated adage that “­there are no atheists in foxholes” became popu­lar. The South Korean populace also respected chaplains, since many of them ­were ­either practicing Protestants, Catholics, or Buddhists, who generally respected the beliefs of ­others. The leader of South ­Korea during the war, Dr. Syngman Rhee, was himself a convert to Chris­tian­ity. Religious researcher Jang Sukman reflects that “Protestantism is a major religion in ­Korea. It has an image of being the religion of the ­middle class, of youth and intellectuals, and of urbanites.” Even before the war, religious Koreans found themselves in conflict with the communist North, and many relocated in the South to avoid persecution. According to Jang, “Armed with a solid combination of extreme verbalist faith and experiential anti-­communism, many Christians defected to South ­Korea when the communist regime scaled up oppression of their religion. In the south, Protestant defectors actively cooperated with the U.S. military government and the Syngman Rhee regime, whose policy directives ­were based on anti-­communism and a pro-­U.S. stance.” He concludes that “The ultra-­rightism and pro-­U.S. inclinations of the Protestant defectors w ­ ere further reinforced a­ fter the Korean War. They justified their position by claiming that ‘North ­Korea oppresses religion, but South ­Korea at least guarantees the freedom of religion.’ ”119 Their strug­gle for religious freedom, a stance fully backed by their fellow Buddhists (the major religion in South Korean), was also supported by a predominantly Christian U.S. Army who saw in their plight another reason to help them fight the “godless communists” of the North. POPU­L AR CULTURE Regarding m ­ usic, former POW John Thornton commented on the changes he observed in popu­lar ­music on his return to the United States in late 1953: “We went away to Glenn Miller. We came back to Elvis Presley.”120 Although he was lamenting the change, Thornton had picked up on the fact that much had changed during his time in ­Korea. As a POW for more than two years, his isolation may have made him more attuned to pick up on the changes. Born out of a youth-­oriented fusion of rhythm and blues, gospel ­music, country and western, and a bit of jazz thrown in, rock and roll was recognized as early as 1951 by popu­lar disk jockey (DJ) Alan Freed as a new form of ­music. Freed is also credited with coining the term “rock and roll.” From the beginning it resonated with the post–­World War II youth market since it catered to their desires to break ­free from the staunchly conservative, growing materialism of that “older generation.” Heavi­ly sexual in its overtones, the new style of ­music started to steamroll in popularity, heavi­ly influenced by the unique sounds of a few popu­lar black artists and new, upcoming talents.121

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By the time the Korean War was ending, soldiers who had served in Amer­i­ca’s first desegregated force came back to the sounds of a new beat. Pop­u­lar­ized by both radio and the newer, more visual means, tele­vi­sion, the rock and roll “movement” caught on among some of the soldiers seeking to plug back into the society they had ­earlier left. Many w ­ ere caught up in the new m ­ usic and the way of life it represented. By 1950, emerging stars of rock and roll, like ­Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, Bill Haley, Buddy Holly, and Carl Perkins ­were pushing out the old standards of Perry Como, Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole, and the Andrews ­Sisters with their more vibrant, less “conventional” m ­ usic.122 Never able to compete with the skyrocketing popularity of rock and roll, ­there ­were some songs that focused on remembering the boys in ­Korea. In 1951, Louis Perosi Sr. recorded “God Bless Our Boys in K ­ orea.” Joe Simpson wrote “Good Bye Maria, I’m Off to ­Korea,” ­later recorded by Canadian artist Wilfred “Wilf” Car­ ter. Religious song-­writer John B. Chapple performed “Say a Prayer for the Boys in ­Korea” early in the war. And Korean War veteran Charles Loivin recorded the somber “From M ­ other’s Arms to K ­ orea.”123 The songs seemed to become increasingly melancholy as the war progressed. Another major cultural influence that was still experimental at the time the war began was tele­vi­sion. In 1950 ­there ­were only 6 million ­house­holds with a tele­vi­ sion, but five years l­ater that number jumped to about 39 million. In 1954 the first color tele­vi­sion sets ­were introduced to the market. Initially, the color sets had 15-­inch screens. By 1955 all sets w ­ ere made with 21-­inch screens, indicating the public’s preference for a larger picture. With ­those numbers reflecting the growth of this new medium, programming was created that catered to the new audience. This invention would come to be a major influence on the war in Vietnam, but it had l­ ittle impact on the Korean War at the time. However, one TV show that ­later had ­great impact on Amer­i­ca’s perception of ­Korea was M*A*S*H. The long-­r unning and popu­lar TV show originated first as a popu­lar novel, then ­later as a hit movie, before moving to tele­vi­sion as a weekly prime-­time show. Titled a­ fter the Korean War Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) that he served in during the war, the book was penned by Korean War surgeon Heister Richard Hornberger Jr. ­under the pseudonym of Richard Hooker. Hornberger’s experiences as a surgeon with the 8055th MASH influenced him to write three novels. The first, published in 1968, led to the filming of a very successful movie (M*A*S*H, 1970) that became the third-­highest grossing movie of the year.124 Coming out as it did during the height of Vietnam War unpopularity, the film, and particularly the TV show that started in 1972 and ran for 11 seasons, used the Korean scenario as a vehicle to be critical of Vietnam. Hornberger disagreed with the critical direction the TV show was taking, and he soon parted with the show’s production. That issue aside, Hornberger’s novel and the movie are fair depictions of some of the irreverence, dedication to duty, and innovation found in the medical ser­vice in ­Korea.125 A popu­lar con­temporary Korean War movie was The Bridges at Toko-­Ri (1954), also based on a popu­lar novel by writer James Michener. It tells the story of a navy fighter pi­lot, a reserve officer from World War II who was reactivated for ­Korea.



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Disillusioned with a mission to bomb an impossible target, he begins to question his resolve to complete the task. The target is well protected and difficult to hit. On his second attempt, the pi­lot (William Holden) is shot down. In a forlorn recovery attempt, the search and rescue he­li­cop­ter is also hit and the crew, along with Holden’s character, are killed in a ditch in North K ­ orea.126 Fi­nally, a movie inextricably linked with K ­ orea and the concept of “brainwashing” that came out of the American POW experience is The Manchurian Candidate (1962). Also based on a popu­lar fictional novel by writer Richard Condon, a combat patrol of Americans and Koreans is captured by the ­enemy and subjected to brainwashing techniques that turn one of the soldiers (Sergeant Raymond Shaw, played by Lawrence Harvey) into an unwitting assassin. Years afterward, his commander suspects that all did not go as remembered on that patrol. Major Ben Marko (played by Frank Sinatra), has recurring, disturbing nightmares of the event that seem to indicate his patrol members w ­ ere brainwashed and programmed to tell a fictional account of what ­really happened. When other members of the patrol seek Marko out and share their same nightmares, he investigates the event. He recalls memories that indicate Shaw, the son of two rabidly ambitious politicians, is ­really a killer. At the end, the Chinese issue the “brainwashed” Shaw the task of killing the president who has just appointed Shaw’s ­father to be his ­r unning mate, hoping to make Shaw’s ­father the next president. Shaw instead shoots his ­father and ­mother, who inflicted this pain on him, then kills himself.127 Ironically, the movie premiered a year before the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. The film was a resounding success and drew attention to the horrific treatment of Korean War POWs at a time when Vietnam was just heating up. Although the Korean scenes are only a minor part of the movie, it reinforced the popu­lar idea that the Chinese had strange methods of brainwashing persons to do what they wanted them to do. In 1951, the United Ser­vice Organ­izations (USO) was reactivated in ­Korea. During World War II it had provided a wide variety of morale ser­vices to soldiers around the world. The USO had thousands of volunteers who set up stations throughout ­Korea, handing out hot coffee and sandwiches and providing small recreation centers with ­free books and games to give soldiers at the camps some ­things to entertain themselves. In addition to the recreation centers, the USO continued its tradition of sponsoring tours showcasing American movies stars and other popu­ lar entertainers. Participants during ­Korea included comedians Bob Hope and Jack Benny and movie stars Errol Flynn, Marilyn Monroe, Danny Kaye, Mickey Rooney, Jayne Mansfield, and many more. The popu­lar shows ­were very much appreciated by the soldiers.128 As seen, recreational activities for soldiers in ­Korea ­were very much ­limited by the nature of the war. Chronic personnel shortages did not allow for a lot of off-­ duty time, and when it presented itself, their options w ­ ere few. Soldiers distanced themselves from the Korean ­people and vice versa. Language difficulties and cultural differences helped keep the two ­peoples apart. The requirements of combat in ­Korea added to that isolation as it created large buffer zones around military positions that few Koreans ­were willing to breach for danger of being mistaken as an ­enemy. As a result, the average soldier did not have many outlets when he or

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she did get time off. Unlike World War II before it, or Vietnam ­later, ­Korea did not see large-­scale investment in recreational activities or facilities. The few that w ­ ere available ­were ­those of nongovernmental ser­vice organ­izations. Even then, ­those opportunities ­were ­limited. PAY AND COMPENSATION When the war began on June 25, 1950, an army private with less than four months of ser­vice was paid $75.00 a month. A ­ fter serving four months his pay increased to $80.00 per month. A new second lieutenant ­u nder two years’ ser­vice earned $213.75. At the end of World War II, the same two individuals earned $50.00 and $130.00, respectively.129 Soldiers who qualified for certain hazardous duty pays, such as parachute pay, flight pay, duty involving explosives pay, submarine, or other specified duties, could collect extra money each month. For example, a parachute-­qualified private earned an additional $30.00 each month, a significant increase in spending money, considering his $80.00-­per-­month salary. A sergeant with over four years’ ser­vice would rate $60.00 parachute pay to go with his $160.52 base pay. As one can see, ­those hazardous-­duty pays represented a significant financial incentive for a soldier. In addition, soldiers stationed in a foreign country (like Japan or ­Korea) would gain another $8.00 for each month’s ser­vice overseas.130 And their money went a lot further in most overseas locations. During World War II, certain soldiers also received “badge pay,” a monetary way of recognizing the combat risks associated with infantry duty. Created to boost sagging infantry morale during the war, badge pay granted $10 per month to recipients of a Combat Infantryman’s Badge (CIB) (which was earned by way of combat ser­vice) and $5 to ­those who earned an Expert Infantryman’s Badge. To its proponents in Congress and the Department of the Army, the uniquely dangerous and austere qualities of serving in the infantry ­were argued to hurt the infantry’s morale and spirits, and proponents felt that such conditions warranted additional pay and recognition. The pay, which was less than what ­those in other specialties received, degraded morale. Unlike succeeding allowances, badge pay was not a combat pay as we now think of it. Unquestionably, other military members also experienced danger, uncomfortable situations and morale issues, but the infantry was alone in receiving badge pay. Once awarded, an infantryman would continue to receive compensation while on active duty u­ ntil the overall entitlement was revoked in 1949. By introducing the general concept of recognizing and rewarding the unique “­hazards and hardships” of infantry ser­vice, badge pay established a pre­ce­dent for ­f uture special pays and allowances.131 The loss of badge pay in 1949 and the start of the war in June 1950 left a distinct gap in combat compensation. However, in response, Congress agreed that ­those who ­were deployed in ­Korea in 1952 should receive combat pay. This amounted to $45 a month for members of designated “combat units” who served at least six days out of the month, as well as individuals who w ­ ere harmed during ser­vice or to the ­family members of ­those killed. ­T hese units, as defined by the law at the time, fought on ground units on the front line that ­were deemed the worst “­hazards and



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hardships” of war.132 This legislation became the pre­ce­dent for the same legislation ­today, with some tweaks over the years. To get a feel for how much buying power their pay and allowances gave them in 1950, the following average costs are given: it cost about 12 cents for a loaf of bread, 30 cents for a pound of hamburger, 18 cents for a gallon of gas, $1,510 for a new car, and $8,450 for a new ­house. The average salary in 1950 was about $3,210.00 per year, more money than the base pay of the highest enlisted rank (sergeant major or E-7) with over 16 years of military ser­vice ($2,998.80).133

WEAPONRY Essentially, when the war began soldiers of the Far East fought the ­enemy with surplus World War II equipment that had been left rusting throughout the Pacific at the end of the war. Ninety p­ ercent of the heavy weapons and 75 ­percent of the vehicles that EUSA employed in the early phases of the war had been recovered from Pacific battlefields to meet the demands of ­Korea.134 ­Under the name of Operation Roll-­Up, the EUSA had contracted vessels and crews to retrieve vehicles, weapon systems, and other equipment from war­time dump sites and depots and return them to Japan. ­There, the equipment was repaired by contract Japa­nese laborers with minor supervisory oversight. When the equipment was fixed, it was to be added into the inventory. However, when the Korean War started, an estimated 80 ­percent of the army’s 60-­day war stocks ­were still unfinished and piled up in workshops to be fixed. Only ­after their repair could ­those vital pieces of equipment be transported to ­Korea to outfit troops moving into combat. Not surprisingly, even when finished the equipment did not stand up to sustained combat conditions. The contract repair program was made necessary ­because army leadership failed to implement an adequate depot repair and acquisition program.135 The military inventory received no new tanks or vehicles since the end of World War II; soldiers w ­ ere expected to use what­ever was left over from that war. Critical items such as 4.2-­inch mortars, recoilless ­rifles, and medium tanks ­were difficult to find. Shortages ­were widespread. “The Eighth Army was authorized 226 recoilless ­rifles but had only 21. Of 18,000 4 × 4 vehicles in the Eighth Army’s stocks, 10,000 ­were unser­viceable and out of 18,780 2 1/2-­ton 6x6 trucks only 4,441 ­were in r­ unning condition.”136 This worn-­out equipment simply could not be depended upon when needed. Essentially, “an estimated 80 ­percent of the Army’s 60-­day reserve of armament equipment was unser­viceable” on the day the war began.”137 Equally ominous was the obsolescence of equipment. Much of the equipment the army fought with in World War II had been inadequate even during that conflict. Most notable among ­these outdated weaponries ­were tanks and antitank weapons. Yet in 1950, five years ­after the close of World War II, American soldiers still used weapons long known to be substandard. For example, the in­effec­tive­ness of Task Force Smith’s antitank weapons against North Korean tanks was startling. During their short ­battle, Second Lieutenant Ollie D. Connor “fired twenty-­t wo 2.36-­inch rockets at approximately fifteen yards’ range against the rear of the tanks where their armor was weakest.” The tanks shook them off and kept moving.138

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In that same ­battle, Lieutenant Col­o­nel Smith’s artillery battery was issued only six high-­explosive antitank (HEAT) rounds (one-­third of the Eighth Army’s entire allocation), the best ammunition to use against tanks. They destroyed two tanks with the HEAT rounds, the only tanks that w ­ ere knocked out in that action. Their standard high-­explosive ammo proved to be just as in­effec­tive as Connor’s rockets had been.139 But once the few HEAT rounds ­were expended, the ­enemy tanks easily rolled through Task Force Smith. The far more effective 3.5-­inch rocket launchers and the vast majority of existing artillery HEAT rounds ­were earmarked specifically for use in Eu­rope, where t­ here was no war.140 Se­nior army leaders of the post–­World War II era had the inherent responsibility to keep the army modern and competitive through research and development programs to procure effective weaponry. Their inability to gain congressional and presidential support for such items compromised American combat power. Year ­after year, cuts in the federal bud­get resulted in a significant reduction in the quantity and quality of equipment in the U.S. forces. Fehrenbach dryly describes the status of American weapons modernization between 1945 and 1950: “Since the end of WWII ground weapons had been developed but none had been procured. T ­ here ­were plenty of old arms around; and it has always been a Yankee habit to make do. The Army was told to make do.”141 By 1950, FECOM’s vehicles and equipment ­were in a deplorable state. ­Because of the rapid demobilization at the end of World War II ­there ­were insufficient maintenance personnel to perform the technical work required to keep equipment functioning. As a result, when ­things broke, they ­were set aside and allowed to deteriorate. To begin with, most of the equipment had endured continuous combat and had never been restored to full functionality. Replacement parts to make required repairs ­were unavailable due to bud­get cuts. Vehicles ­were simply parked in the open in large lots, susceptible to the weather. As a result, over the years their hoses and tires rotted, engines rusted, batteries corroded and died, wires cracked and shorted, and radiators rusted solid. They would require considerable time and effort to get them in ­running order. Most weapons and other equipment ­were also in disrepair, especially small arms, which often w ­ ere missing parts that ­were simply not available.142 Less than three months prior to the beginning of the Korean War, Omar Bradley had received a Top Secret letter from Vannevar Bush outlining the army’s failure to advance in research and development. He commented on the almost negligible acquisition of new technology necessary for the army to be effective in combat. Bradley recommended that the army must procure advanced weapons and ammunition to combat Rus­sian tanks. He said: “[W]e have the means of rendering ­those heavy tanks obsolete, of turning a ­great asset into a liability, of throwing the ­enemy preparations into confusion and forcing upon him sweeping readjustments which ­will take him years. We have the means in embryo in our hands now. If we had been sufficiently alert, we could have had them, several years ago, but at least we have them now.” Bradley also referred to the need to develop new munitions and hardware such as antiaircraft guns and rockets, ground-­to-­air missiles, antitank mines, and even new means of laying them.143 The technology and the means to modernize the army and other ser­vices certainly existed, but the se­nior military and civilian leadership lacked the vision and



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aggressiveness to improve combat effectiveness. Such an effort certainly would have saved many American lives in their strug­gle against the North Koreans in June 1950 and in the years that followed. However, American soldiers in K ­ orea generally employed most of the same weapons systems that their f­ athers, ­uncles, older b­ rothers, or older cousins carried and fired in World War II. In ­Korea, most infantrymen ­were armed with the venerable M1 Garand ­rifle, in army ser­vice since 1936. The dependable gas-­operated ser­vice ­r ifle held eight rounds of 30-06 ammunition and could accurately engage man-­sized targets at 600 yards. The ­rifle was so versatile and dependable that General George S. Patton Jr. described it as “the greatest ­battle implement ever devised.” More than 8 million of the weapons ­were manufactured during World War II alone, and the Garand continued to be the standard ser­vice ­rifle in the army ­until 1961, when it was replaced by its 7.62-mm progeny, the M14 r­ ifle.144 Many of the other weapons used in the war w ­ ere also inherited from World War II. In addition to the M1 Garand, Americans and some allies (to include the ROK army) ­were armed with M1 and M2 .30-­caliber carbines and the venerable M1911A1 .45-­caliber pistol for self-­defense. Some M1 ­rifles ­were fitted with scopes for use as sniper ­rifles, particularly in the last, mostly static phase of the war. Also inherited from World War II ­were the .45-­caliber M1928A1 and M1A1 Thompson submachine guns, .45-­caliber M3A1 “grease gun” submachine gun (nicknamed for its likeness to a mechanic’s grease gun), and the M1918 A2 .30-06 Browning Automatic R ­ ifle (BAR).145 Heavier machine guns included the belt-­fed, water-­cooled M1917 Browning, the air-­cooled M1919A4 Browning, and the M1919A6 Browning machine guns, all chambered in .30-06 caliber and dated back to World War I. In addition, a heavier, extremely capable .50-­caliber air-­cooled M2HB Browning machine gun provided antiair and antiarmor machine gun capability to the ground units. The effective and dependable M2 is still in use ­today.146 Although most weapons and equipment used in K ­ orea w ­ ere the same as t­hose used in previous wars, ­there ­were a few notable exceptions. One was the 3.5-­inch rocket launcher (or bazooka) to replace the already obsolete, but still issued, 2.36-­ inch and 2.5-­inch variants. The 3.5-­inch “Super Bazooka” was developed ­toward the end of WWII, but ­because of the large stocks available, was not issued to the Far East.147 When the soldiers reported the in­effec­tive­ness of the older 2.36-­inch bazookas against Soviet-­made T-34 tanks, the army shipped supplies of the 3.5-­inch variants to ­Korea. The new weapon was far more effective and capable of penetrating three to four times the armor thickness of the older model. On July 20, in the first known engagement of a T-34 with a 3.5-­inch bazooka, the team engaged the tank with one rocket, set it on fire, and then captured the ­enemy crew when they evacuated the disabled, blazing vehicle.148 One must won­der how Task Force Smith’s soldiers might have fared if they had the newer bazookas then. But one of the Korean War’s genuine contributions to warfare came with the employment of he­li­cop­ters in several impor­tant roles. With their “vertical lift” capability, he­li­cop­ters ­were used to supply critical items to front units. Ammunition, grenades, weapons, food, and equipment could be moved forward quickly and the

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wounded then transported back to the rear in that same “chopper.” ­Because of their versatility, he­li­cop­ters came to dominate in the combat search and rescue role and served as capable observation platforms for adjusting supporting fires. They ­were also used as command and control platforms, getting commanders and staff to aerial positions where the action could be better seen. The U.S. Marine Corps also experimented with using he­li­cop­ters to quickly maneuver ground forces, a role they would soon master in Vietnam. He­li­cop­ters ­were also employed for inserting reconnaissance ele­ments, quickly moving forces in counterguerrilla operations, and in sustaining units in the field once inserted.149 The capabilities of ­those early aerial platforms w ­ ere only just being realized. Although military forces w ­ ere mostly l­imited to surplus World War II equipment for much of the war, the requirements of combat in K ­ orea eventually led to new equipment and weapons. As mentioned in the coming section on health and medicine, the extreme cold climate of K ­ orea proved once again the inadequacy of the World War II cold-­weather footwear, the shoepac, leading to its replacement by superior cold weather footwear. Casualties from shrapnel led to the development of body armor, or “flak jackets.” It took some time to prove ­those requirements, but once the prewar bud­get considerations w ­ ere swept aside, new weapons 150 and equipment proved their worth in the field. COMBAT U.S. forces entered the Korean War at the end of a five-­year drawdown from World War II. In addition to massive cuts in the size of army units, an enormous amount of heavy equipment had been scrapped, abandoned in theater, or mothballed. The failure to predict conflict on the Korean Peninsula ensured that U.S. military units entered combat underequipped and unprepared, making them ­little match for the battle-­hardened and well-­supplied North Korean army. American troops deploying to ­Korea in June 1950 had arrived with almost no heavy weapons, and thus had no means to halt the advance of Soviet-­built T34/85 tanks. The first engagements involving U.S. forces quickly turned into a rout, and only the timely intervention of airstrikes managed to slow the ­enemy tanks. American troops retreated into a thinly held line around the port of Pusan at the southern end of the peninsula. However, continual reinforcements, combined with naval and aerial bombardment of North Korean supply lines, allowed the defenders at Pusan to not only hold out but also to plan for a counteroffensive. In September 1950, the U.S. X Corps spearheaded an amphibious invasion at Inchon, near the South Korean capital, Seoul. The assault overwhelmed the small North Korean garrison and quickly threatened to encircle the troops attacking Pusan. A second major assault from Pusan put the North Koreans in the m ­ iddle of a pincer movement, shattering their combat power and sending them reeling in retreat. In the ensuing six weeks, UN Command forces, led by American ground units, pushed the e­ nemy north of the 38th Parallel and moved t­oward the Yalu River, the border with the ­People’s Republic of China. During this advance, American units utilized many of the lessons of World War II to good advantage, including the need to conduct joint operations that utilized all of the technological and



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logistical advantages that could be brought to bear. For the average American soldier, this period of rapid advance gave hope that they might return to the United States by the end of 1950. The movement of UN forces near the Chinese border provoked a massive Chinese counterattack, which compensated for technological inferiority with overwhelming numbers. For more than six months, Chinese attacks pushed UN forces back down the peninsula. In the pro­cess, they took Seoul and destroyed the combat effectiveness of the remaining South Korean troops. B ­ ecause the Chinese relied upon light infantry moving over mountains and through forests, American superiority in firepower had ­little effect. The environment played a major role, with the ­bitter cold causing thousands of nonbattle casualties. The reversal was not merely physical—­U.S. troops also experienced a massive decline in morale as they w ­ ere steadily pushed south, moving back across the 38th Parallel. In the summer of 1951, the situation stabilized and devolved into an attritional stalemate. Both sides utilized local attacks as a means to improve their negotiating position, but neither possessed sufficient combat power to drive the ­enemy far from their well-­entrenched positions. In many ways, the last two years of the Korean War more closely resembled World War I than World War II. The front lines remained relatively stable, and neither side proved capable of assembling enough combat power to upset the balance. Long periods of boredom ­were punctuated by short periods of abject terror as each side strug­gled in vain to gain an advantage. Artillery barrages and small raids became the order of the day, and both sides seemed to effectively accept the notion that combat operations might continue in­def­ initely, with l­ ittle hope of forcing a decision through combat. ELITE TROOPS ­After World War II, the military ser­vices dissolved all special operations units and had no intention of resurrecting them. But the outbreak of the Korean War changed that. To gain both space and time and to meet urgent combat requirements, General MacArthur and the army created several ad hoc special operations units to stem North Korean advances in the early days of the war. The general headquarters (GHQ) raiders and a guerrilla command ­were among ­those hastily formed and trained to perform specific functions that could not other­wise be filled by existing army units.151 Army Chief of Staff General J. Lawton Collins had observed that “[o]ne of the major lessons to be learned from the Korean fighting appears to be the fact that the North Koreans have made very successful use of small groups, trained, armed and equipped for the specific purpose of infiltrating our lines and attacking command posts and artillery positions. . . . ​The results obtained from such units warrant specific action to develop such units in the American Army.” Accordingly, he directed that “Marauder” units be formed to ­counter the North Korean guerrilla success on the battlefield. ­These ­were ­later formed and trained ­under the name Rangers and represented the regeneration of that type of special operation force in the army.152 In addition, during Phase 2 of the war, UN forces discovered large numbers of North Koreans who had become guerrillas to continue their fight against the

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communists. ­After a quick assessment, EUSA provided select soldiers to train, equip, and advise ­those guerrillas to harness their combat power in support of UN goals. Since that function had not been performed by soldiers since World War II, it meant creating a new unit u­ nder the EUSA. In turn, the successes of that unit proved to the army that it, too, required the capability of a special operations unit to perform unconventional warfare on a permanent basis.153 On August 6, 1950, the EUSA (GHQ) activated the GHQ Raider Com­pany with six officers and 100 enlisted men. The com­pany consisted of a small headquarters and three platoons composed of three 10-­man squads. The Raider squads ­were armed with M1 Garand ­r ifles, fully automatic M2 .30-­caliber carbines, and an M1918A2 BAR. Each squad could also draw an M1919A2 light machine gun and a 60-mm mortar, if needed.154 The GHQ Raider Com­pany trained at Camp McGill near the coastal village of Otawa, Japan, an area ideal for practicing amphibious raiding. Trained by a U.S. Marine Corps Mobile Training Team (MTT), the Raiders worked day and night for several weeks, learning to operate rubber boats, over-­the-­water navigation, marksmanship, de­mo­li­tions, and small-­unit tactics. They operated their rubber craft from submarines and other naval vessels. The marines also taught them hand-­to-­ hand combat, open-­water swimming, and how to breach the surf in their rubber boats. Physical conditioning and ­mental stress weeded out ­those not able to ­handle the pressures of raiding ­behind ­enemy lines. ­Toward the end, the Raiders conducted attacks on targets ashore at nearby Chigasaki Beach.155 ­After training was done, the Raider Com­pany proceeded to the beaches at Kunsan to land on the night of September 13, 1950. Their mission was to mislead the North Koreans from where the real amphibious operation was scheduled. The force disembarked at 2248 hours on September 12 in rubber boats and paddled ashore.156 A North Korean machine gun position opened fire almost as soon as the Raiders grounded their boats. Sergeant First Class Patrick T. Gannon Sr., recalled, “When the machine gun opened up, I remember green and orange flashes [tracers] and the sound of air being lost from the rubber boats.” The deception mission was a success, though it cost the lives of three men. The actions on the beach that night focused e­ nemy attention on Kunsan instead of Inchon.157 Meanwhile, the U.S. Army bent to the task of creating and training ranger companies for ­every infantry division. On August 29, 1950, General J. Lawton Collins issued a memorandum directing the establishment of experimental “Marauder” companies.158 The Infantry Center at Fort Benning, Georgia, established a training section to train the new unit. And on September 6, 1950, the name Rangers was officially ­adopted.159 A provisional ­Table of Organ­ization and Equipment (TO&E) was soon developed that set each ranger com­pany at five officers and 107 enlisted, with an allowable 10 ­percent combat overage, bringing the com­pany strength to 122.160 The first cycle accommodated four companies in training, numbered 1 to 4. The initial 300 volunteers began arriving in late September, and the training of the first three companies (1st, 2nd, and 3rd) began on October 2, 1950.161 The 4th Com­pany, composed solely of black soldiers, was or­ga­n ized on October 6 and began training on October 9, 1950.162 The program consisted of 17 dif­fer­ent topics, including



The Korean War 811

training with foreign weapons, de­mo­li­tions, field craft and patrolling, map reading, escape and evasion, and intelligence collection.163 Ranger operations during the Korean War ­were primarily ­shaped by weather and moon phases (tides and illumination) and ­were driven by the availability of transport for delivery, recovery, and resupply. Other ­factors included the level of unit training, occupational specialty, and/or allied contingent support. The absence of some unified command and control over all ranger companies added to the confusion and competition for their ser­vices. Strategic employment of special operations forces was largely ignored in K ­ orea. Critical tactical situations at the regiment and battalion level regularly caused them to be used as assault ele­ments for infantry attacks, armor/mechanized force protection, reaction forces to recapture key terrain, to “plug gaps in the lines,” or simply to blunt e­ nemy penetrations in static defensive lines.164 The six ranger infantry companies (airborne) that served in ­Korea engaged in some of the most grueling fighting that was done during the first year of the war. They performed the most difficult of assignments with valor and fortitude. But by Phase 4 of the war, when the front lines had stabilized roughly along the original 38th Parallel, the missions for which the rangers ­were best suited (notably raids ­behind ­enemy lines) ­were no longer feasible. What FECOM needed ­were troops to man static front-­line defenses. At this point, FECOM disbanded the ranger companies and assigned most of the men to the 187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team since they ­were parachute qualified.165 In addition, the newest of special operations units, the guerrilla command, absorbed some of the former rangers, particularly ­those with an eye for working with the North Korean guerrillas in behind-­the-­lines action. By October 1951, all the army’s ranger infantry companies had been disbanded, but the Ranger Training Center at Fort Benning became the Ranger Training Command and trained individuals instead of units. The curriculum originally developed for the Korean War ranger companies became the foundation of the army’s premier light infantry and leadership course, the Army Ranger School. The army had realized the value of that course in training the army’s new leaders in elite infantry skills, and their decision to maintain the course permanently eventually led to the reforming of ­today’s 75th Ranger Regiment. It is the permanent legacy of the army’s brief experimentation with ranger units during the Korean War. Prior to the start of the war, a nascent re­sis­tance movement existed above the 38th Parallel that fought the communist North Korean government. When Mac­ Arthur’s forces moved north in Phase 2, t­ hose groups took advantage of the situation and fought to ­free their districts from communist rule. The intervention of the CCF in Phase 3 forced the withdrawal of the EUSA and pushed anticommunists out of their villages. ­T hose citizens not accepting of communist control fell back into remote enclaves and offshore islands that provided some degree of security and continued their fight. By early 1951, ­there ­were tens of thousands of ­these armed refugees on several islands, conducting small-­scale raids against communists. UN military leaders wanted the guerrillas to be incorporated into the allied effort. “A partisan strength of 25,000, well-­led and properly trained, could be expected to divert from 375,000 to 500,000 regular troops from other duties

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necessary to a successful prosecution of the war.”166 “A number of remote ­little islands in the Yellow Sea, unnoticed before . . . ​suddenly had become last-­stand strongholds of North Korean antagonists to the Communist regime.”167 American military planners wanted the actions of the guerrillas pulled into the overall UN effort. This required imposing an American command and control structure over the scattered partisans to fulfill UN objectives, rather than conducting operations in­de­pen­dently. “The prob­lem was how to convert ­these untrained and [largely] unarmed volunteers into an effective fighting force and adapt their capabilities to missions advantageous to the over-­all operations against the ­enemy.”168 The debate produced the requirement to create a guerrilla command to support the partisans, provide training and guidance for their operations, and direct their overall activities. The EUSA assigned Col­o­nel John H. McGee the task of creating a guerrilla command to or­ga­nize, train, equip, and direct the North Korean irregulars. By March 15, 1951, the EUSA had established its first guerrilla base on Paengnyongdo and began training them for raids into North ­Korea. Other bases followed on similar islands teeming with guerrillas and their families. Training cadres ­were established, and the Americans supported guerrillas’ incursions into North ­Korea. In addition, the EUSA formed a special training unit with soldiers who had previously taught a ranger course for ROK soldiers and marines near the town of Kijang, just north of the port city of Pusan.169 The guerrilla command also inherited another guerrilla unit, Task Force (TF) Redwing, on Sok-to off the northwest coast of ­Korea. Redwing was a “special American-­led ROK Marine Com­pany [trained] for intelligence, sabotage, and commando-­t ype operations.”170 Formed to seize North Korean islands along the west coast all the way up to the mouth of the Yalu River, the raiders became an impor­t ant unit in FECOM. ­Until the armistice in 1953, TF Redwing planned, rehearsed, and conducted its own missions on vulnerable ­enemy targets and gathered information on communist troop dispositions and actions. ­Because of their location, Redwing personnel also performed the impor­tant task of recovering allied pi­lots and aircrews downed over North K ­ orea.171 Their contributions in manning an escape and evasion (E&E) net in the northwest ­were significant: by January 28, 1952, it was “credited with 15 rescues—­seven British and eight American.”172 Significantly, the guerrillas posed a ­viable threat to the weak flank and rear of the NKPA, thereby tying down large numbers of e­ nemy that other­wise would be on the front lines.173 In addition, about 2,000 guerrillas guarded the flank of the South’s capital city of Seoul and held the two main islands of the Han Estuary: Kyodongdo and Kanghwa-­do.174 A con­temporary study assessed that “partisan morale appears to have been quite good in 1951.”175 Their effectiveness in unconventional warfare (UW) increased, and combat actions doubled from an average of 101 per month in 1951 to 221 per month throughout 1952. The guerrillas also grew steadily in size from about 6,000 to over 20,000 during that same period.176 When armistice negotiations heated up, the communists focused new attention on the troublesome islands and the hated guerrillas who occupied them.177 Although communist negotiators wanted the islands, the allies w ­ ere unwilling to just give



The Korean War 813

the islands away. The guerrilla-­held islands provided the UN with too g­ reat an advantage. One UN negotiator noted that “it is prob­ably not pos­si­ble to equate the military value of the islands off the coast of North ­Korea with an acreage calculation,” a fact borne out by the fact that ­those islands are now held by the UN still.178 In the last months of the war a significant event took place. In March 1953, the first contingent of newly created army special forces arrived and ­were sent to advise the guerrilla units. At last, personnel specially trained and qualified in UW ­were assigned to advise guerrillas, but their arrival in ­Korea came too late to affect operations in any significant way. However, it represents the first combat employment of special forces, helping ensure its permanence in army structure. Furthermore, the combat experiences and practices ­were injected into the SF course as lessons to be passed on to ­others.179 How effective was the army’s guerrilla command? At the tactical level it was successful since its hit-­and-­r un tactics w ­ ere often quite lethal. The island-­based units used their intimate knowledge of the terrain, customs, and ­people to ­great advantage. The guerrillas ­were cunning fighters who ­were often fearless, understanding all too well that the ­enemy would show no mercy. They experienced good success against poorly trained communist militias. At the operational level, their success extends to the pre­sent. The islands remain ­under UN/ROK control and provide depth to the defense of Seoul. Another lasting contribution is the durable U.S.-­ROK special forces relationship and realization of the value and utility of UW in any ­f uture conflict.180 HEALTH AND MEDICINE As the war progressed, several advancements ­were made in the field of medicine that benefitted the soldier in the field. One of t­ hose was the use of he­li­cop­ters to quickly and more efficiently medically evacuate (medevac) wounded soldiers from the battlefield to treatment facilities and hospitals located farther ­behind the front lines. He­li­cop­ters had already proven themselves as a faster means of traversing some of the more rugged and mountainous areas of K ­ orea. Soon, light he­li­cop­ ters took over as the preferred means of transporting critically injured soldiers, cutting down on the time to get treatment and thereby increasing the chances of survival of the patient. Modifications such as stretcher racks made them even more efficient as air ambulances. Other modifications ­were made to make he­li­cop­ters even more versatile in their medevac role. In the summer of 1951, military engineers constructed a he­li­cop­ter landing platform on the hospital ship USS Consolation (AH-15), allowing medevac he­li­cop­ters to speedily transport patients to that fa­cil­i­ty direct from land-­based treatment facilities. By December 1951 the concept was widely used. During the Christmas holiday season, from its post at anchor in a small port on the east coast of ­Korea near the 38th Parallel, U.S. Marine or Air Force he­li­cop­ters transferred 245 patients flown straight to the hospital ship from front-­line aid stations. The patients ­were all classified as emergency cases, where minutes often meant the difference “between life and death or the loss or saving of a limb.” Time saved was dramatic: “In as ­little as five minutes the egg-­beaters could make the trip from aid

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

station to ship and in forty-­five seconds they could unload the wounded and clear the deck.”181 The versatility and dependability of he­li­cop­ters in this new role ­were dramatic and made transfer of patients pos­si­ble even in high seas when small boats could not be used. The captain of the Consolation called it “one of the greatest advances made in years for h­ andling of ­battle casualties.”182 By the fifth (and final) phase of the war, both the power, advantages, and the limitations of the he­li­cop­ter had become clear. Figures from one MASH alone reveal that the he­li­cop­ter had become the preferred method of medevac. The 12 medevac he­li­cop­ters assigned to it carried 5,040 casualties during 1951, 7,923 in 1952, and 4,735 during the last seven months of the war. Statistically, each of ­those aircraft carried an average of about 1.5 casualties per day. During 1951, a year for which total hours of flying time are available, the medevac he­li­cop­ter was in the air about one hour and 15 minutes on an average day. Recognizing that other means ­were transporting patients as well, the available numbers suggest that medical he­li­cop­ ters carried between 3.5 and 4 ­percent of more critical cases of the 443,163 known hospital admissions during the war.183 Like its eventual partner, the he­li­cop­ter, the Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, or MASH, was briefly introduced in World War II, but found its true calling in ­Korea. The basic idea extends as far back as World War I when the army loaded up both surgical teams and hospitals into trucks with all their equipment and tentage to get

Surgeons and nurses of the 8209th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) perform an operation on a wounded soldier, August 4, 1952. Just 20 miles from the front lines, this MASH worked in austere conditions, ­under the continual threat of attack. During the Korean War, aerial evacuations became the norm, resulting in a much higher survival rate for grievously wounded troops. (National Archives)



The Korean War 815

as close as pos­si­ble ­behind the lines. Proving that a surgical hospital could be mobile, two successful experiments furthered the idea in World War II. In General MacArthur’s Southwest Pacific Area, a medical unit was built to cope with the challenges of the dense jungle that MacArthur’s soldiers operated in. In the Eu­rope and Mediterranean theaters, another approach was used. A new form arose: that of field hospital units reinforced by forward-­ located special mobile surgical teams who worked from tents located near division clearing stations. Both experiments demonstrated the ability to save lives by minimizing the time needed to get a severely wounded man to proper treatment.184 In 1948 the concept came to life. The army’s surgeon general implemented a T/O&E establishing a 60-­bed, tented mobile surgical hospital as a permanent unit of the Medical Department. The T/O&E provided for a “headquarters and headquarters detachment, a preoperative and shock treatment section, an operating section, a postoperative section, a pharmacy, an X-­ray section, and a holding ward. Fourteen medical officers, twelve nurses, two Medical Ser­vice Corps officers, one warrant officer, and ninety-­seven enlisted men formed the complement. One medical officer commanded; one was a radiologist; two ­were anesthesiologists; one was an internist; four ­were general duty medical officers; and five ­were surgeons.”185 The model was set for what a MASH was supposed to consist of. The real­ity was far dif­fer­ent. Personnel shortages ­were the norm, especially among doctors and nurses. Equipment was also in short supply. Although several MASHs arrived in K ­ orea with the first troops into Pusan, when they w ­ ere pushed out to take care of the forward units, some ­were quickly overrun. When Task Force Smith was forced to retreat, so w ­ ere several MASHs who had moved too far forward. ­Under attack with no cover in front, in some cases the units ­were forced to abandon nonmobile casualties and form litter teams to carry the remainder to safety. In the aftermath, the MASHs ­were repositioned a ­little farther to the rear for the safety of the unit and its injured. And throughout the war, the danger of North Korean guerrillas was always pre­sent.186 The key was to move forward but not be stationed too close to the front where they could be easily engaged by the ­enemy. Not ­u ntil late 1952 did MASH unit manning ever approach their authorized strengths. By 1953 they ­were the functional 60-­bed hospitals envisioned in the concept. However, the MASHs performed well despite the shortages, saving thousands of lives through their innovative and creative ways. Although popularly portrayed as somewhat irreverent, they always placed their patients first and often performed their duties in a heroic fashion.187 Late in the war, the MASH went through another orga­nizational change. Just about the time when the MASHs fi­nally gained their authorized strength, changes came to the venerable units. First, in February and March 1953, several of them ­were renumbered, only to be redesignated soon afterward with the new name, Surgical Hospital (Mobile Army). But despite ­these official designations, or perhaps ­because of them, every­one continued to call the surgical hospital a MASH.188 Furthermore, the army had more pressing prob­lems of a practical nature. For a modern army to function in the field and care for its soldiers injured in combat, one item of supply is of critical importance—­fresh w ­ hole blood. Whole blood had long been used to successfully treat ­those most injured, replenishing their fluid

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levels to keep the patients from ­going into shock and ­dying. Of course, the heavier the combat, the greater the need for ­whole blood. In addition, that critical supply item came with a short shelf life before it expired and could no longer be effectively used.189 Whole blood was especially impor­tant during the critical first hours of treatment. It was one of the keys to the high Korean survival rates experienced by the wounded. Most wounded men bled, and the condition known as shock, with its characteristic symptoms of low blood pressure, chill, and rapid heartbeat, could rapidly become irreversible and end in death. T ­ here was nothing equal to w ­ hole blood for stopping circulatory failure. FECOM doctors had originally estimated that each injured man would need less than a pint of ­whole blood, but battlefield experience steadily increased that amount to 3.3 pints. For a critically wounded soldier on the day of the injury, a transfusion of 15 to 30 pints (up to three times his total blood volume) sometimes proved necessary. Transfusions maintained life even as hemorrhage continued; they stabilized the patient’s condition, enabling the doctors to perform the necessary surgery. Maintaining an adequate blood supply network was fundamental to the survival of many thousands of wounded men.190 The task of keeping the EUSA field hospitals, aid stations, and medics supplied with fresh ­whole blood became a ­great logistical challenge, with the lives of soldiers in the balance. The first step in that critical chain of supply was back in Japan. ­There, prior to the war, the Tokyo and Osaka army hospitals had maintained small blood banks to serve the needs of the EUSA. But ­those sources could not meet the growing requirements of the fighting front. Recognizing that fact, the 406th Medical General Laboratory set up an organ­ization to deal with the issue as early as July 7, 1950. The system they established included a mobile blood collecting team, a collecting and pro­cessing center in Tokyo, and an advance blood depot in southern Japan. From the depot a courier ser­vice ensured delivery to hospitals in Pusan, ­Korea.191 Fortunately, back in the United States, the World War II blood and plasma program that had quickly dissolved postwar underwent a revival in early 1950, thanks largely to the American Red Cross (ARC). Although the Red Cross system of blood banks only met civilian needs, it was adapted for military use. Stateside military hospitals, like ­those in Japan, gained donors to supply blood. With the onset of the conflict, the American Red Cross and the Department of Defense teamed up to tackle the prob­lem of pro­cessing ­whole blood. By the end of 1950 the United States was able to deliver 21,188 pints from both civilian and military sources, while donors in Japan had provided another 22,099.192 In addition to providing ­whole blood from its collection efforts in the States, the American Red Cross served as a valuable support mechanism for the soldier in ­Korea. Since 1861 the ARC has provided basic emergency ser­vices for troops overseas and in combat zones. In ­Korea it provided soldiers with emergency communications with ­family members and helped parents and siblings gain information about their loved ones. In addition, it provided key ser­vices for prisoners of war, arranging for International Red Cross visits as allowed ­under the Geneva Convention. At the request of General MacArthur, the organ­ization expanded mobile canteen ser­vices with its first in Pusan in November 1950. By early 1951 ­there ­were



The Korean War 817

29 of them operating throughout K ­ orea. During the war the ARC collected and delivered more than 5 million pints of blood for wounded soldiers.193 One of the most impor­tant forward-­area medical innovations of the war was the rapid improvement in arterial repair—­the art of vascular surgery. During World War II, severely damaged peripheral arteries normally ­were ligated, or tied off, to stop the bleeding. Then, both doctor and patient waited to see if the smaller surrounding vessels could supply enough blood flow to the limb to prevent having to amputate it. It was not an efficient method; about half of all World War II arterial wounds in extremities ended with amputation. The biggest ­factor was the speed in which the patient arrived at the surgeon’s ­t able. ­Because injuries of that nature received high priority for he­li­cop­ter medevac, the average time dropped below the critical gap that most surgeons set at 10 hours.194 Besides the he­li­cop­ter, many other surgical advances had occurred since World War II. Among them was improved techniques in vascular surgery, to discontinue the previous practice of tying off arteries and instead sew the ends together to continue blood flow. In addition, the use of arterial segments from deceased individuals, preserved in an antibiotic solution, to fill large gaps in arteries was employed. Between 1952 and 1953, new techniques in vascular surgery ­were introduced at the MASHs and ­were rapidly transferred to other surgeons throughout ­Korea. The results of the new techniques ­were dramatic. From April 1952 through the end of the war, 269 of 304 major arterial injuries ­were successfully repaired and only 35 had to be ligated. The rate of limbs lost to failed surgical grafting dropped below 15 ­percent. Follow-up studies showed some issues in the repair of blood vessels, yet many limbs that would have other­wise been left with only partial functionality if ligated had instead regained full functionality. Overall, arterial repair a­ fter the spring of 1952 was one of the more striking success stories in the field of military medicine in K ­ orea.195 Along with the prob­lems of moving blood w ­ ere the issues of preventing and treating disease. Preventative medicine had long been a duty of the prewar occupation force, and the medical professionals of FECOM and EUSA had performed that function well. Throughout the 1940s they had many fine programs in place to monitor and reduce the incidence of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) and other communicable diseases. ­After the outbreak of the Korean War ­those efforts continued. The same successful campaigns and inspections w ­ ere simply turned to ­Korea. Medical professionals visited and inspected brothels, food production facilities, and other areas to keep bad prob­lems from becoming worse.196 In the case of venereal disease, the medical prac­ti­tion­ers saw far greater success in keeping down the rates once troops left Japan and arrived in ­Korea. But war­time conditions made the collection and reporting of accurate statistics impossible. EUSA reported that venereal disease rates declined from 183 cases per 1,000 troops per year in 1949 to 143 by 1950. The reduction was attributed to the war, which moved large numbers of men to front-­line locations where opportunities for sexual contact w ­ ere few. However, one surgeon admitted that the figures w ­ ere “not a true indication of the incidence among the troops in K ­ orea.”197 Initially, medical planners thought that soldiers would experience a high incidence of malaria, based on the prevalence of that disease in ­Korea prior to the war.

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At the beginning, it seemed like that would be the case: 5 cases occurred in July, 129 in August, and 225 in September 1950. However, due to proactive mea­sures implemented by the Medical Ser­vice, it was not as g­ reat a prob­lem as originally feared. Medics proactively issued and monitored use of malaria prophylaxis. Also, two insect control units began functioning in July, killing mosquitoes, flies, and fleas. They utilized Japanese-­made foggers and equipment, which proved to be “highly satisfactory and effective” systems.198 When Seoul was recaptured in Phase 2, the air force began a widespread aerial spraying program with specially equipped C-47 aircraft. Essentially, malaria reached its height when thousands of U.S. soldiers ­were crowded into the Pusan perimeter along with hundreds of thousands of infected Korean civilians, who formed the main reservoir of the disease. But with the two-­pronged attack of killing the vectors and issuing preventive medicines, the disease declined ­after the Phase Two breakout and ended by winter, since the freezing temperatures killed the remaining mosquitoes.199 The greatest threat to EUSA soldiers came from an unknown disease that had no name yet, unknown causation, and no apparent cure. The center of the outbreak was a region north and northeast of Seoul, and UN troops had passed through it in Phases 2 and 3 with no apparent prob­lems. But when soldiers began spending more time in the region during Phases 4 and 5, many troops began to contract the mystifying disease.200 The mysterious disease had a very high mortality rate. It was very painful and often deadly. Descriptions ­were horrific: “Sore throat, headache, nausea, and backache marked the first phase, followed quickly by the appearance of red spots on the soft plate, in the armpits, and on the chest. The patient was thirsty; he drank heavi­ly and doctors, fearing dehydration, administered intravenous fluids.” Cowdrey’s visualization continued, “In the second phase the [victim’s] temperature fell, as did blood pressure. Weakened vascular walls ­were allowing blood fluids to seep into the tissues—­hence the thirst and hemorrhagic symptoms. As the victim slipped ­toward hypotensive shock, his vision became blurred and ­mental confusion sometimes ended in delirium, convulsions, or coma.” In the next phase the kidneys ceased to function, resulting in accumulations of fluid in the lungs, dangerous levels of urea in the blood, and irritable outbreaks that sometimes verged on mania.201 Initial statistics revealed a mortality rate of 20 ­percent. Dif­fer­ent physicians diagnosed the disease as leptospirosis, malaria, infectious hepatitis, fever of undetermined origin, and even leukemia. The army investigated ­whether it was a manmade disease that was part of a deliberate World War II Japa­nese biological warfare program. Although the disease now known as Korean hemorrhagic fever was not fully understood ­until much ­later, a rough form of identification and treatment was developed during the war that helped minimize the impact of this flea-­borne disease.202 ­Every veteran of K ­ orea remembers the b­ itter cold of winter. Cold weather injuries w ­ ere prevalent. The cold affected every­one, but front-­line soldiers w ­ ere most susceptible due to their constant exposure. With the coming of winter tied with the Chinese intervention in Phase 3 of the war, tens of thousands of soldiers experienced cold injuries to one extent or another. Icy winds cut through uniforms and



The Korean War 819

sucked the heat from the body. In remote mountainous areas, conditions ­were worse. In November 1950 the 7th Division treated 142 men for frostbite. At Chosin Reservoir the temperature dropped 40 degrees over the night of November 10–11, ­going from freezing (32°) to −8°F. More than 200 marines ­were hospitalized. The cold also caused other medical complications: water-­soluble medicines froze; plasma froze or had to be warmed for an hour or more before use.203 The irony was that planners knew ahead of time that the Korean winter would be bad and prepared to deal with its effects. Soldiers underwent a two-­hour class on how to prevent cold injuries. Command medical personnel developed a program to teach use of proper winter clothing and equipment, as well as the correct preventative actions to avoid frostbite and other injuries. In all of World War II, the United States suffered over 90,000 cases of cold weather injuries, including frostbite, trench foot, and immersion foot. Commanders tried hard to not repeat that experience by being proactive in educating troops on the dangers of fighting in the cold.204 However, the severity of the mid-­November cold wave caused cold weather injuries to spike. At its peak in the week of December 29–­January 5, 1951, admissions for ­those injuries shot to 293 hospital admissions a week, with thousands of lesser cases ­going unreported. A total of 1,791 cases ­were recorded in 1950, averaging 34 per 1,000 troops. One hospital recorded 850 cases alone between November 12 and December 24, reporting cold injury as its biggest prob­lem. On November 29, 1950, FECOM opened a cold injury treatment center in Japan.205 Studies in Japan and Amer­i­ca looked at other causative ­factors like environment and heredity, military sociology, and other combat ­factors. Among their findings, they showed that “race was a ­factor. Black soldiers suffered more than whites, even in integrated units where differences in motivation, training, and discipline ­were at a minimum.” Analy­sis revealed that lower-­ranked soldiers “suffered far beyond their proportional numbers” and that members of combat units ­were more susceptible than t­ hose in support ele­ments. Furthermore, “[s]oldiers from warm states apparently w ­ ere more subject to injury than ­those from cold states.”206 One typical case history was “that of a seventeen-­year-­old black soldier who suffered frostbitten feet when pinned down for twelve hours at 0°F. When he fi­nally was able to remove his boots, his feet swelled to such an extent that he was unable to replace them. Evacuated, he went through a lengthy period of hospitalization during which his toes became mummified. Forty-­three days ­after the initial injury, eight toes ­were amputated. Final closure and grafting ­were performed in a zone-­ of-­interior hospital ninety-­nine days ­after his frigid hours ­under fire.” This description shows both the ease with which soldiers ­were injured and the length of time needed to treat them.207 FECOM admitted that many cold injuries w ­ ere “without question . . . ​preventable.” One of the biggest ­causes was inadequate footwear for the conditions. The prescribed footwear was the shoepac, a winterized boot with felt insoles worn with heavy socks. The deficiencies of the shoepac ­were well known back in World War II and had even provided a name for the injuries the footwear caused: “Among ­those who wore it, a cycle was often set up of perspiration, maceration, and the development of so-­called shoepac foot.” The medical report on the ailment dryly stated that it caused “hospitalization for 10 to 15 days, return to duty, and a

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repetition of the cycle.” Based on the World War II experience, the K ­ orea soldiers ­were directed to remove the boot frequently and dry the socks and insole. However, this preventive regimen was not always pos­si­ble in combat. A better cold-­ weather boot was sorely needed.208 It took a while, but the army soon provided some improved footwear and other items to protect soldiers from the cold. Among new items provided for winter wear ­were insulated boots, which proved to be far better in the field than the shoepac. The boots w ­ ere distributed between November 1951 and February 1952. The new boots, popularly called “Mickey Mouse” boots ­because the double insulated rubber gave soldiers’ feet a larger, rounded look, “won instant popularity among the men who received them.” Six thousand pairs ­were issued per division, and incidences of foot-­related cold injuries dropped.209 Other items also appeared to better protect casualties from the cold. Insulated casualty bags, similar in design to large-­sized sleeping bags, greatly increased the comfort and survival of medevaced patients, especially as winter approached and the weather grew worse. The “Jamesway,” a new weather-­tight, insulated tent that stretched over a semi-­cylindrical frame, provided a rugged, easily assembled shelter that kept patients cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and ­free from direct sunlight, dust, and insects, making them far more comfortable than more conventional tenting.210 Another newly in­ven­ted and notable piece of equipment was body armor, or the “flak jacket.” Although experiments with the concept ­were undertaken with fliers during World War II, the innovation came into its own in ­Korea. The (relatively) lightweight and flexible jackets made from layers of fiberglass, resin, plates, and a material called “doron” protected infantrymen and artillerymen from fragmentation and shrapnel, the most common form of wounding. It cut the incidence of chest and abdominal wounds by 60 to 70 ­percent and reduced the severity of ­those that did occur by more than 25 ­percent.211 PRISONERS OF WAR Most of the American prisoners of war (POWs) ­were captured during Phases 1 and 3, when the North Koreans ­were pressing on Pusan and when Chinese communist volunteers entered the war and pushed UN troops back across the 38th Parallel. Both of ­those phases ­were characterized by dramatic defeats of UN troops and large-­scale retreats of American units u­ nder e­ nemy pressure. T ­ here w ­ ere o­ thers taken prisoner at dif­fer­ent times in the war, but in general the majority ­were during ­those two phases.212 All told, 3,746 U.S. soldiers ­were documented as POWs held by the North Koreans or Chinese. One hundred and forty-­six Americans ­were repatriated as part of a group of 684 UNC POWS returned during Operation ­Little Switch, which began on April 20, 1953. That exchange was set up as a “demonstration of faith” in the opposing side’s ability to honor an agreement. The intent was to return POWs who ­were in the worst health or most in need of medical treatment. T ­ here is some debate over ­whether the North Korean and Chinese negotiators honored that agreement to the letter, but negotiations continued nonetheless.213



The Korean War 821

A wounded soldier and former prisoner of war is exchanged for a Communist prisoner during Operation ­Little Switch on April 26, 1953. The first major exchange of prisoners during the Korean War, the operation included the release of 6,670 Chinese and North Korean prisoners in exchange for 684 United Nations POWs, including 149 Americans. (National Archives)

A further 3,597 Americans ­were received during Operation Big Switch, that began at Panmunjom on August 5, 1953, about a week ­after the signing of the armistice on July 27, 1953. The return of POWs became a major sticking point in the negotiations in 1953, with most discussion centering on ­whether to forcibly repatriate soldiers, mostly Korean but including significant numbers of former nationalist Chinese as well, who might want to remain in the South. A massive prison break-­out from Koje-do POW Camp, aided by the South Koreans, somewhat resolved the issue and prevented the po­liti­cal embarrassment of North K ­ orea and the Chinese. With the issue partially resolved, arrangements w ­ ere made to screen remaining POWs by neutral parties before their return. Satisfied for the moment, North Koreans and Chinese negotiators returned to the armistice talks.214 Another 23 Americans, most of them African Americans disgusted with the segregation of the American South, refused repatriation, although two of them soon changed their minds. The remainder moved to China, where they expected to receive educational opportunities and benefits that would not be afforded them in the United States. At the same time, they ­were used to embarrass the United States and the Western way of life. Most of the repatriation refusals eventually came back to the United States to “face the ­music,” only to find that in their absence the army had awarded them dishonorable discharges, and that punishment prevented them

822

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from being brought up again on charges. Some did well ­after their return, integrating themselves back into American society in several ways.215 According to the latest statistics from the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), a further 7,644 Americans remain unaccounted for from their ser­ vice during the Korean War. The DPAA also counts another 455 soldiers as “accounted for,” meaning their bodies have been recovered and identified since the end of the war. The two lists equal 8,099 soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines who ­were not properly accounted for at the end of the war. DPAA notes that operations continue to locate, recover, and identify Amer­i­ca’s unaccounted-­for military members. Some of ­those are thought to have been held in captivity and died ­because of the harsh conditions in which they ­were held.216 American and UN soldiers taken captive by the North Koreans or Chinese could expect brutal treatment by their captors. Part of the reason was that neither nation had ratified the Geneva Convention which governed the humane treatment of POWs. Part of it was due to cultural differences ­toward persons who had surrendered on the field of b­ attle. But in general, the treatment of POWs was far worse in the hands of the North Koreans, who w ­ ere brutal and cruel. Hastings summarizes their policy as, “From the outbreak of war, Kim Il Sung’s army made it plain that it killed American prisoners whenever it suited its con­ve­nience to do so.”217 Former Pennsylvania National Guard member and World War II veteran Sergeant Charles B. Schlichter, a medic in the 2nd Infantry Division, was captured by North Koreans along with about 100 of his fellow soldiers on November 30, 1950. The North Koreans forced the soldiers to march to a long trench and then aimed in with their weapons to shoot the prisoners in cold blood. The sudden appearance of a CCF officer, however, ­stopped them from pulling the trigger. Instead, Schlichter and his group ­were forced to march north, soon joined by other groups of prisoners.218 On the march, their captors fed the prisoners one meal a day, consisting of a handful of boiled corn. The prisoners marched at night, sleeping during the day in the freezing weather along the side of the road with their boots tied to each other so they could not slip away. For more than 20 nights they marched, their group now numbering several hundred men. The starvation diet, extreme cold, and exposure began to take its toll. Fi­nally, the group reached their interim destination, a frozen bauxite mining camp that became known as Death Valley.219 A Chinese officer met them and informed them they would be treated as any Chinese felon or po­liti­cal prisoner. He explained the Chinese meaning of Lenient Policy (deprivation and indoctrination during re-­education) and that ­there was no rank among prisoners, “No one ­here has any rank—­you are all the same.” Schlichter was shocked when some of the American POWs expressed agreement with that policy. One soldier openly slapped an officer on the back and shouted, “Hey Jack, how the hell are you?” The Chinese administrator smiled, pleased that he was able to contribute to the breakdown of discipline.220 Men began ­dying from starvation, disease, or untreated wounds. Civilization and military discipline broke down, and some soldiers took advantage of the weak. Schlichter was placed in charge of the “dispensary,” rather than one of the officers, but the fa­cil­i­ty had l­ittle in the way of supplies or medicine. E ­ very day the dead



The Korean War 823

­ ere turned over to a detail for burial, often in shallow graves. The meager rations w of a cup of boiled millet or corn w ­ ere sometimes supplemented with dog meat. Soon, the deadly attrition had made it pos­si­ble to ­house the prisoners in only a few camps. On March 12, 1951, the ­enemy shut down Death Valley and began marching the prisoners to Camp Number 5. They reached their new home five days ­later. The men ­were separated from the officers and noncommissioned officers. ­There, the starved, sick, and thoroughly demoralized mob, most already reduced to an animal-­like survival state, began their re-­education.221 On arrival, ­after physically separating the ranks, the North Koreans counted 3,200 prisoners. By October 1951, 50 ­percent of them ­were dead. One American doctor told Sergeant Schlichter that the prisoners w ­ ere only eating between 1,200 and 1,600 calories per day. The constant starvation diet of corn, millet, Chinese cabbage, and soybeans was not enough to survive. By late winter 1951 the Chinese camp commandant himself grew concerned when an average of 24 men died each day. He made some medicines available and ordered the doctors to stop the deaths but refused to raise the food intake. ­After all, he told the prisoners, Chinese criminals w ­ ere able to survive on that diet and do hard l­abor as well!222 The Chinese took ­great pains to re-­educate the survivors. Disor­ga­nized, mistreated, starved, and bombarded by propaganda six to eight hours a day, some soldiers broke and cooperated fully with their captives. ­Under the constant pressure, some men actively collaborated with their ­enemy. This phenomenon, ­later popularly known as “brainwashing,” shocked the American public back home when it came to light. The average American knew ­little about the privations and conditions in the camps or that the e­ nemy sought to deliberately and methodically achieve that effect. To maximize the effectiveness of their re-­education effort, the Chinese captors identified ­those POWs who still resisted and transferred them to other camps, concentrating ­those “reactionaries,” as they w ­ ere called, into other facilities. On August 12, 1952, reactionary Sergeant Schlichter was transferred to Camp Number 4 at Wewan along with other recalcitrant POWs.223 Around that same time, the issue of POW return became one of the major stumbling blocks in the ongoing armistice negotiations. ­Those negotiations, held for the first time at the town of Kaesong on the 38th Parallel on June 10, 1951, ­were confrontative, with both sides trying to eke out of it all pos­si­ble po­liti­cal and military concessions before the cease-­fire could be implemented. By 1952, when the talks ­were held with regularity, NKPA and CCF commanders began increasing the rations of the prisoners. As characterized by Fehrenbach, “the Chinese ­were fattening the POWs up.” Although news had always been withheld from the POWs and they ­were unaware of the armistice negotiations, many took the increase in rations and medical supplies as a good sign. Fi­nally, in a surprise move, Schlichter and his fellow reactionaries ­were transported south and repatriated in September 1953 at Operation Big Switch. They ­were among the final group of 160 soldiers to be returned.224 Scores of stories of similar treatment abound. As experiences go, the Korean War was among the deadliest of wars for POWs. According to the Veterans Administration and several studies, the mortality rate among American POWs in ­Korea was 38 ­percent.225

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The Korean War experience led to the Department of Defense forming a Defense Advisory Committee on Prisoners of War. On July 29, 1955, the committee published its findings. Its investigation led them to find that about “1 in 23 American POWs was suspected of serious misconduct” during their captivity. While downplaying that statistic, the committee felt compelled to recommend the adoption of a code of conduct to guide ser­vicemen and ser­vicewomen in the f­ uture should they be captured by the ­enemy. On August 17, 1955, the president of the United States, as commander in chief of the armed forces, signed Executive Order 10631 promulgating that code of conduct, which is a lasting legacy of the American soldier’s experiences as a POW in K ­ orea.226 HOME FRONT In general, most soldiers found that the home front was not as supportive as it had been during World War II. Max Hastings bluntly states that many veterans “came home from K ­ orea to discover that their experience was of no interest whatsoever to their fellow countrymen.” The “crusade to save South K ­ orea from communism,” enjoyed some initial interest, but that “died in the mud and blood of retreat in the winter of 1950.”227 Blair pinpoints when he believes most of the American ­people turned from the war in ­Korea. He asserts that the public’s attention on General MacArthur and his speech to Congress ­after being fired by the president of the United States is telling. Unlike the president and his se­nior advisors, who believed that the attention paid to MacArthur would fade quickly away, the polls say other­wise. Although the polls revealed the public supported some of MacArthur’s proposals, they ­were clearly against o­ thers. The impor­tant point was the majority believed ­there w ­ ere clear alternatives to the administration’s course of action. MacArthur’s speech “hardened opposition to the war, diminished Truman po­liti­cally, and strengthened and emboldened the Republican Party.”228 Furthermore, by the time of the MacArthur hearings in May 1951, “the ­great majority of Americans ­were thoroughly sick of this no-­win, yo-yo war.” Although the hearings ­were not public, ­great amounts of material ­were released each day, most of it highly critical of how the war was progressing. The release of statistics saying over 69,000 American ­battle and 72,000 nonbattle casualties had already occurred did ­little to promote confidence to the average citizen in how the war was run.229 Once both sides agreed to meet between July 10 and 15, 1951, at Kaesong for “conducting talks concerning cessation of military action and establishment of peace,” the die was cast.230 Although the war continued ­u ntil an armistice was signed, neither side would “win,” but just perpetuate the stalemate while casualties continued. That the leaders agreed to such an inconclusive strategy proved frustrating to most citizens. ­People lost confidence in their leaders and could not understand why they could not just end the war now. The last two years of the war, with continued fighting, no pro­gress made, and casualties mounting, worsened ­those feelings. The homeland just wanted it to end and forget the w ­ hole ­thing happened.231



The Korean War 825

Fehrenbach described the situation thus, “The Korean War ended inconclusively on July 27, 1953. Not ­u ntil long afterward was it even dignified by the name of war—­the governmental euphemism was Korean conflict—­and it rapidly became the most forgotten war in American history.” He continues, “­There was l­ ittle to it, from near-­disastrous beginning to honorable but frustrating end, that appealed to American sensibilities. ­Because they cannot look back on it with any sense of pride that a defeated nation sometimes finds, Americans prefer not to look back at all.”232 Back home, most Americans went about their lives with peaceful regularity, enjoying the fruits of a growing economy and building the f­ uture for themselves and their ­family. ­Unless they had a friend or ­family member involved, most thought about ­Korea when it was thrust upon them in the headlines or radio. As Hastings bluntly observed: “­Korea was perceived only as a ­r unning sore, belatedly cauterized in July 1953.”233 The study of the home front during the Korean War remains a gap in the academic coverage of “the forgotten war.” Even the military was quick to put it ­behind them. While much has been written on the home front during World War II and on Vietnam, ­there remains considerable room for a scholarly study on the home situation during K ­ orea. Historian Hastings noted the differences: “It is a source of widespread bitterness among Korean War veterans in the United States that their memories and sacrifices seem so much less worthy of attention than ­those of Vietnam veterans.”234 The same sentiment can be applied to the home front. VETERANS’ ISSUES In general, most soldiers returned from ­Korea and worked hard to blend back into American society. They wanted to re-­enter the society they left ­behind, the same society that seemed to care so ­little about the Korean War, and just put the experience b­ ehind them. Typical issues w ­ ere generally the same as t­ hose found during World War II, since the soldiers fell generally u­ nder the same Veterans Affairs system and protections that covered World War II veterans. For example, the Soldiers and Sailors Civil Relief Act of 1940 protected ser­vicemembers from certain ­legal actions or indebtedness while serving on active duty. The provisions of that law covered ­those serving in K ­ orea, including any reservists or National Guard members who w ­ ere federalized.235 Furthermore, in 1952 Congress passed the Veterans Readjustment Assistance Act, subsequently known as the “Korean G.I. Bill.” That law provided Korean War veterans with similar protections and benefits to ­those given to World War II veterans in 1944. In addition to paying subsistence checks for up to 36 months for veterans attending colleges and universities, it paid unemployment insurance, provided guaranteed home loans, assisted in job placement, and paid other mustering-­ out benefits. The Korean G.I. Bill helped soldiers make the transition back to civilian life easier, and more than 2.4 million veterans received education or training ­under that legislation.236 With the booming economy back home, veterans generally had no issues gaining employment ­after military ser­vice. The Korean G.I. Bill, along with a positive sentiment ­toward veterans, helped make getting a job relatively easy. According to

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Cornell University Professor Altschuler, by 1965 Korean War veterans enjoyed an average annual income of $5,100 compared with $3,200 for nonveterans. The veterans’ unemployment rate was about half that of civilians, and statistics bore out that veterans’ c­ hildren ­were more likely to attend college than nonveterans’ ­children.237 In addition to getting reemployed, Korean War veterans ­were afforded the same health care benefits ­under the Department of Veterans Affairs as ­those who served during World War II, and the VA hospital system was expanded to 151 facilities to ensure care for beneficiaries.238 Recent studies, particularly in G ­ reat Britain and Australia, both contributors of ground troops to K ­ orea, indicate that the incidence of post-­traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD) in veterans of ­Korea may be high. Although “in the postwar de­cades Korean War veterans have received l­ittle attention in veteran health lit­er­a­ture compared with Second World War, Vietnam War and Gulf War veterans,” several medical researchers are investigating the incidences of PTSD. The studies “suggest that adverse health effects of Korean War ser­vice may be persisting well into l­ater life.” Their results indicate that as many as 12 ­percent of ­those who served in combat experienced PTSD, with that number doubling among ­those veterans who ­were wounded. Although the research has not been duplicated among U.S. troops, it points to another “forgotten” area of the Korean War worthy of f­ uture exploration.239 One postwar issue that rankled Korean War veterans was that of recognition. Blair notes that “[i]t is a source of widespread bitterness among Korean veterans . . . ​ that their memories and sacrifices seem so much less worthy of attention than ­those of Vietnam veterans.”240 ­Those sentiments first surfaced in the national debate over the raising of a Vietnam War Memorial on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., in the early 1980s. Similar sentiment occurred among the veteran soldiers of the other UN contributing nations. In a statement that could have been echoed by many American veterans of ­Korea, Canadian Terry Wickens said, “We ­were neglected for a long time.” He explained, “The Korean War was too close to World War II” for special recognition. “Then Vietnam came along.” Many of the veterans felt their ser­vice was underappreciated.241 MILITARY DISCIPLINE As previously stated, FECOM had far more discipline prob­lems from soldiers serving in Japan on occupation duty than it did from soldiers once the war started. The number of soldiers facing courts-­martial or nonjudicial punishment on occupation duty was high. So many ­were in trou­ble for vari­ous infractions in Japan that the EUSA offered them an “amnesty” if they would join one of the combat units on their way to ­Korea. Essentially, the deal was that if they would go to fight in ­Korea, the EUSA would forget about their pending charges.242 Many of the soldiers took the army’s deal. Part of the reason for the high numbers of discipline prob­lems in prewar Japan can be traced back to the lowering of standards for inducting recruits into the army. As previously discussed, the reduction in the ­mental acuity test scores needed for recruit accession brought more recruits in from the lowest (Category IV and



The Korean War 827

Category V) levels. Previously, the army allowed only ­limited numbers of soldiers in from the lowest m ­ ental categories since studies showed Category IV and Category V soldiers had far more disciplinary prob­lems and ­were more difficult to train and fit into the units.243 Studies indicated that soldiers in the lower ­mental categories tended to be more disruptive, indifferent, and disgruntled about military life than their pre­de­ces­sors and ­were more difficult to train, exacerbating that issue. The DA Inspection team noted the “poor character of many replacements” to FECOM and identified it as another obstacle to effective training.244 No won­der that a former battalion commander in the 2nd Infantry Division reflected that his soldiers had “sullen and resentful attitudes.”245 The situation in FECOM was considered critical, leading the 1949 DA Inspection Team to recommend that ­future replacements to FECOM with Category V scores not be assigned to occupation duty.246 One major change in the system of military justice was contained in the Selective Ser­vice Act of 1948. One provision of that law was to create a Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) to replace the two quite dif­fer­ent systems that previously governed military justice in the army and the navy. The UCMJ was passed by Congress on May 5, 1950, and signed into law by the president the following day. It took effect on May 31, 1951, effectively superseding the two ser­vice systems. Some of the major changes included provisions designed to limit command influence in the proceedings, establishment of a single system for all ser­vices, creation of three levels of courts-­martial, and uniformity of punishments for standardized offenses.247 Perhaps the largest single courts-­martial case of the war was that of the “Borinqueneers,” the nickname given to the mostly Puerto Rican 65th Infantry Regiment, assigned to the 3rd  Infantry Division. The 65th  had served honorably in several major ­battles, but by mid-1952 its combat effectiveness had deteriorated markedly. ­Because of personnel rotations and a policy to assign English-­speaking soldiers to other units, the regiment had “only 381 NCOs out of an authorized strength of 811 in the upper three grades” in September 1952, when the unit was ordered to hold two hills. The positions ­were combat outposts Kelly and Jackson Heights, and Chinese forces attacked, occupied them, and repulsed ­every attempt by the Borinqueneers to retake them.248 In the aftermath of the defeat, 95 men of the 65th Regiment ­were court-­martialed and convicted of desertion, misbehavior before the ­enemy, and disobeying the ­orders of a superior officer. The regiment’s commanding officer, Col­o­nel Juan Cesar Cordero was relieved. But criticism of the mass disciplinary actions began. Considering the absence of ­middle leadership caused by the gutting of the unit’s NCOs and further allegations of leadership failures by some officers, Army Secretary Robert Stevens acted to remit the sentences of t­hose convicted. He also granted clemency and p­ ardons to all involved. He also de­cided to fully integrate the unit, which was accomplished by the spring of 1953.249 UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE KOREAN WAR In contrast to other wars before and ­after ­Korea, ­there ­were few outlets for soldiers seeking relief from the alternating boredom of watch and the terror of

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combat. Where rear area personnel might be able to find some relaxation in the small villages that sprung up almost overnight outside the gates, t­here was l­ittle available to ­those on the front lines. As Max Hastings observed: “for the most part, the forward area remained resolutely military territory ­under military discipline. ­There ­were no officers’ clubs or bars, no drugs or movies or diversions. ­There ­were only the mountain ridges, surmounted by the defenses which both sides now dug with extraordinary care and caution.”250 Entertainment on the front lines, particularly in the latter, more static phases of the war consisted predominantly of huddling around an oil-­fired space heater, reading and re-­reading letters from home or some other reading material passed from man to man. M ­ usic or radio entertainment was largely absent. T ­ here w ­ ere no movies shown near the front lines—­those w ­ ere only available to t­hose safely in the rear areas. Often at night the troops would listen to the tinny sound of propaganda announcements and make fun of the content. “Come over soldier, you are on the wrong side!” Radio operators heard similar broadcasts on their tactical nets: “Hello, Tommy. You must be very cold. Missing your wife?” The announcements lent a surreal touch to the long night hours.251 And then, suddenly came the clanging of gongs, and a “wave of screaming, bugle-­blowing Chinese infantry would hurl themselves upon the wire, seeking to rush a position before its inhabitants could call down their devastating artillery fire support.” Most men rarely removed their boots at night or slept inside their sleeping bags. One never knew when the still quiet of night might explode into a hell of fire.252 That was life in the front lines of K ­ orea. Some Korean veterans who fought ­later in Vietnam could not help but notice differences in the mind-­set of the average soldiers of ­those wars. Private James Stuhler, veteran of the 3rd Division in K ­ orea, served l­ater in Vietnam. In comparing the two “average” soldiers in ­those wars, he wrote of the generational differences between them. To Stuhler, Korean War veterans practiced the “Yours [is] not to reason why” tradition of following ­orders without questioning them, as opposed to the Vietnam soldier who questioned e­ very aspect of military life and decisions. Stuhler also observes that “the army in ­Korea was much less well-­informed than the army in Vietnam. In ­Korea, guys on [the front] line read comic books. In Vietnam, you’d see men reading the Wall Street Journal.” He believed “that l­ater generation was better educated, much more questioning.” In K ­ orea, he said, “we just got on and did it without thinking much about why we ­were being asked to do it.” Veteran officers who fought in both wars also noted a difference: “In ­Korea, ­there was nothing to do but fight.”253 One of the major ­factors that contributed to a soldier’s sense of isolation from the ­people whose country they fought in was language. Few American soldiers spoke Korean, and even fewer Koreans could speak En­glish. The two languages are as far apart as can be linguistically and take years of practice to master. That was coupled by the reluctance of most Koreans to approach Americans and early war experiences when the soldiers mistrusted all civilians ­because of deadly North Korean infiltrations, so the two ­peoples met and interacted when they needed to. In the mountainous spine of the South, communist guerrillas operated through the 1960s, and some occasionally came out of the hills at night to shoot at American



The Korean War 829

vehicles and troops. Without good communication it was next to impossible to tell with any certainty the ardent Syngman Rhee supporter from the communist sympathizer ­unless they ­were shooting at you.254 When discussing the experiences of the American soldier in ­Korea, former FECOM commander General Matthew Ridgway asserts that “­there is one feature of ­Korea that ­every fighting man ­will remember—­the smell. The use of ­human excrement—­night soil—to fertilize the fields, the husbanding of that commodity in pails and barrels, and in leaky wagons, give to the atmosphere of the country a fragrance so overpowering that the soul rebels.”255 Of course, the country has long abandoned such practices, but in the 1950s that feature was ubiquitous. And for many veterans, that experience has been recounted over and over in their memoirs and interviews, long a­ fter their fight ended. The Korean War consisted of many “firsts” for American fighting men and ­women. The U.S. Army, coming off the heights of its combat power only a few years ­earlier, performed poorly at first and required some significant reforms to improve. The conflict was not a declared war, but rather was called a “police action” at the highest levels of government, leaving many p­ eople unsure what that meant. It is the first in U.S. military history to end with the physical situation on the ground almost the same as when it began. The American ­people found out firsthand that having nuclear weapons as a deterrent meant nothing if ­there was no intent to employ them even in major combat. That, in turn, led to the brutal realization that in modern warfare the country needed a well-­trained, well-­equipped, and well-­manned military force nimble enough to respond quickly to flaring crises. And many soldiers paid the price in blood for a nation that failed to realize that such a force could not quickly be formed ­after a conflict erupted but must be ready beforehand. In addition, despite having been desegregated by law several years before, soldiers still had to deal with the debilitating effects of racial and gender-­based misconceptions and prejudice. K ­ orea is also the first modern American fight to end in an inconclusive armistice and not as a settled peace. Lastly, the nation’s soldiers deserved good leaders that looked out for their welfare and provided realistic training for the tasks they would face in the crucible of combat. Unfortunately, such leadership was not always ­there. TIMELINE June 25, 1950 Phase 1 begins. Soldiers of the North Korean ­People’s Army (NKPA) invade South ­Korea on a 40-­mile front, starting the Korean War. At the urging of the United States, and in the absence of the delegate from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), the United Nations’ Security Council adopts a resolution calling for the withdrawal of North Korean forces back north of the 38th Parallel. June 27, 1950 President Harry S. Truman directs U.S. air and sea ser­vices to provide support to South Korean forces. The UN Security Council passes a resolution calling on member nations to provide aid in repelling North Korean aggression. General of the

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Army Douglas A. MacArthur is named Supreme Commander Allied Powers (SCAP). June 29, 1950 The NKPA seizes Seoul, capital of the Republic of ­Korea (ROK). ­Great Britain directs its Far Eastern Fleet to give aid to the ROK forces. June 30, 1950 President Truman ­orders a naval blockade of ­Korea and dispatches U.S. ground troops to South ­Korea. He also authorizes the U.S. Air Force to bomb targets in North ­Korea. July 1, 1950 The first U.S. combat troops arrive in ­Korea from Japan. Major General William F. Dean is placed in command of U.S. forces in K ­ orea. July 5, 1950 U.S. soldiers of Task Force Smith meet the NKPA north of Osan and are soundly defeated. July 13, 1950 Lieutenant General Walton A. Walker (EUSA commander) assumes command of U.S. forces in ­Korea. July 4, 1950 U.S. troops first engage the e­ nemy north of Osan and are forced to retreat. July 7, 1950 General Douglas MacArthur named Supreme UN Commander. July 13, 1950 Lieutenant General Walton  H. Walker, commander of the Eighth  U.S. Army (EUSA), assumes command of ground forces in K ­ orea. July 15, 1950 North Koreans cross Kum River in K ­ orea. July 18, 1950 U.S. First Cavalry and the 25th Infantry Division reach ­Korea. July 21, 1950 24th Division retreats from Taejon. Major General Dean missing in action, ­later captured by NKPA. August 1, 1950 Second U.S. Infantry Division reaches ­Korea. August 2, 1950 First U.S. Marine Brigade arrives in K ­ orea. August 8, 1950 North Koreans breach Naktong River perimeter line. August 15, 1950 UN troops repel two attacks along Naktong.



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August 29, 1950 British 27 Brigade arrives from Hong Kong. September 3, 1950 Communist offensive threatens Taegu. September 15, 1950 Phase Two begins. U.S. X Corps makes successful amphibious assault at Inchon. UN forces break out of Pusan Perimeter and push e­ nemy back t­ oward 38th Parallel. September 19, 1950 X Corps pushes into Seoul. EUSA attacks ­enemy forces north and west of Pusan. NKPA retreats. September 26, 1950 Seoul recaptured by UN. September 29, 1950 General MacArthur and ROK President Syngman Rhee enter Seoul. October 1, 1950 ROK army soldiers cross 38th Parallel. October 7, 1950 UN adopts resolution that “all appropriate steps be taken to ensure conditions of stability throughout K ­ orea.” U.S. troops cross 38th Parallel. October 8, 1950 Mao Zedong secretly ­orders Chinese Communist Forces (CCF) “volunteers” to aid NKPA. October 15, 1950 Truman and MacArthur meet on Wake Island to confer. October 18, 1950 ROK army troops occupy Hamhung and Hungnam. October 19, 1950 EUSA occupies Pyongyang, capital of North ­Korea. October 25, 1950 CCF engages ROK army less than 40 miles below Yalu River, China’s border with North ­Korea. October 27, 1950 CCF engages EUSA, halts its pro­gress along a broad front. October 29, 1950 X Corps engaged by large-­scale CCF attack near Chosin (Changjin) Reservoir. October 30, 1950 EUSA’s 6th ROK Division overwhelmed at Yongdu. November 1, 1950 Chinese MiGs engage UN aircraft near Yalu River.

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November 3, 1950 Phase Three begins. U.S. 25th Division forced to retreat from Yalu region due to CCF attacks. November 16, 1950 President Truman reassures the international community that t­here are no intentions to carry the fight into China. November 24, 1950 China special del­e­ga­tion arrives at UN Security Council. MacArthur launches new offensive; troops approach northern border. November 25, 1950 CCF releases 57 POWs as propaganda move. November 26, 1950 CCF launch counterattack on UN forces. November 27, 1950 EUSA offensive halted by massive CCF attacks. November 28, 1950 Lieutenant General Walker calls off EUSA offensive. December 1, 1950 EUSA and X Corps withdraw in face of CCF pressure. December 5, 1950 U.S. and UN forces withdraw from Pyongyang. CCF occupies it and turns control back over to NKPA. December 9, 1950 X Corps conducts an amphibious withdrawal from Wonsan. December 11, 1950 X Corps evacuates Hungnam. December 17, 1950 President Truman declares state of emergency. December 22, 1950 CCF rejects call for a cease-­fire. December 23, 1950 General Walker killed in a jeep accident. December 25, 1950 CCF attacks across the 38th Parallel. December 27, 1950 Lieutenant General Matthew Ridgway assumes command of ground forces in ­Korea. January 1, 1951 CCF offensive begins.



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January 4, 1951 UN forces evacuate Seoul. January 7, 1951 Communist forces take Wonju. January 8–15, 1951 ­Battle for Wonju. U.S. 2nd Division and ­others stop CCF south of Wonju. January 13, 1951 U.S. del­e­ga­tion votes for UN cease-­fire resolution. January 17, 1951 China rejects UN cease-­fire proposal. EUSA reoccupies Suwon. January 25, 1951 Phase Four begins. UN counteroffensive begins. February 1, 1951 UN resolution declares China as an aggressor. February 10, 1951 EUSA regains Inchon and Kimpo airfield. February 13, 1951 CCF conducts major offensive on X Corps in central K ­ orea. February 15, 1951 EUSA defeats CCF at Chipyong-ni. February 21, 1951 EUSA launches Operation Killer. March 7, 1951 Operation Ripper begins. EUSA crosses Han River east of Seoul. March 13, 1951 Communists begin to withdraw across the front. March 15, 1951 EUSA reoccupies Seoul; EUSA guerrilla base on Paengnyong-do becomes operational. March 21, 1951 EUSA reoccupies Chunchon. April 3, 1951 EUSA crosses 38th Parallel. April 5, 1951 General MacArthur’s letter criticizing Truman’s strategy becomes public. April 11, 1951 President Truman relieves General MacArthur, appoints General Ridgway to replace him as UN commander.

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April 15, 1951 Lieutenant General James Van Fleet replaces General Ridgway as EUSA commander. April 19, 1951 General MacArthur criticizes Truman administration in Congress for refusing to lift restrictions on fighting the war. April 22, 1951 CCF begins spring offensive. B ­ attle of Imjin River begins. April 25, 1951 CCF pushes EUSA back 18 to 20 miles. May 23, 1951 EUSA begins offensive. May 28, 1951 EUSA recaptures Hwachon and Inje. June 12, 1951 EUSA controls “Iron Triangle.” June 23, 1951 Soviet ambassador to the UN calls for a cease-­fire. June 25, 1951 Chinese radio calls for a cease-­fire. June 29, 1951 General Ridgway offers to meet communist leaders to discuss cease-­fi re and armistice. July 9, 1951 Phase Five begins. Communists agree to meet U.S./UN representatives at Kaesong to discuss an armistice. July 10, 1951 Armistice negotiations begin at Kaesong. July 26, 1951 Representatives agree on the agenda for the armistice talks. August 23, 1951 The communist armistice negotiators suspend talks, alleging a UN violation of the neutral zone at Kaesong. October 25, 1951 Negotiations resume at Panmunjom. November 13, 1951 United States proposes ac­cep­tance of existing line of contact, if other issues could be settled in 30 days. U.S. and UN forces continue ground actions.



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November 27, 1951 Demarcation line established. December 27, 1951 Thirty-­day limit reached ­after establishing demarcation line. Line invalidated due to no other pro­gress made in talks. April 19, 1952 UN del­e­ga­tion informs communists that only 70,000 out of 132,000 POWs are willing to go home. May 2, 1952 Communists reject UN proposals over the question of voluntary repatriation. May 7, 1952 Chinese and North Korean POWs riot at Koje-do and hold the camp commandant, Brigadier General Francis T. Dodd, hostage ­until May 11. May 12, 1952 General Mark Clark replaces General Ridgway as head of UN Command (UNC)/ Far East Command (FECOM). October 8, 1952 Communists reject offer on voluntary POW repatriation. They announce an indefinite suspension of talks. October 24, 1952 Presidential candidate Dwight D. Eisenhower announces “I ­will go to ­Korea,” if he is elected. November 4, 1952 Eisenhower is elected by 55 ­percent majority. November 10, 1952 General Van Fleet mobilizes two new ROK divisions and six regiments. December 5, 1952 President-­elect Eisenhower visits ­Korea for three days. February 10, 1953 General Maxwell D. Taylor replaces General Van Fleet as commander, EUSA. February 22, 1953 General Clark proposes an exchange of sick and wounded prisoners. March 30, 1953 Chinese propose that prisoners unwilling to repatriate be transferred to a neutral state. April 20, 1953 Operation ­Little Switch begins; exchanging of sick and wounded POWs at Panmunjom.

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May 20, 1953 U.S. National Security Council (NSC) proposes extending combat operations into China and intensifying operations in K ­ orea. May 28, 1953 The U.S./UN negotiators pre­sent their final terms and recommend breaking off talks if they are rejected. CCF attacks U.S. 25th Division. June 8, 1953 POW issue of voluntary repatriation is accepted. June 10, 1953 CCF attacks ROK positions at Kumsong, forces them back to a new front line. June 15, 1953 CCF initiates offensive on U.S. I Corps. June 17, 1953 Revised line of demarcation established. July 20, 1953 New main line of re­sis­tance (MLR) is established on the south bank of the Kumsong River. July 27, 1953 Armistice signed at Panmunjom, becomes effective at 2200. August 5, 1953 Operation Big Switch begins, the repatriation of remaining POWs, lasts ­u ntil December 23.

Documents of the Korean War: Personal Accounts 1  Dwight David Eisenhower: Executive Order 10631 The Korean War experience led to the Department of Defense forming a Defense Advisory Committee on Prisoners of War. On July 29, 1955, the committee published its findings. Its investigation led them to find that about “1 in 23 American POWs was suspected of serious misconduct” during their captivity. While downplaying that statistic, the committee felt compelled to recommend the adoption of a code of conduct to guide ser­vicemen and ser­vicewomen in the ­future should they be captured by the ­enemy. On August 17, 1955, the president of the United States, as commander in chief of the armed forces, signed Executive Order 10631 promulgating that code of conduct, which is a lasting legacy of the American soldier’s experiences as a POW in ­Korea. By virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, and as Commander in Chief of the armed forces of the United States, I hereby prescribe the Code of Conduct for Members of the Armed Forces of the United States which is attached to this order and hereby made a part thereof.



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All members of the Armed Forces of the United States are expected to mea­sure up to the standards embodied in this Code of Conduct while in combat or in captivity. To ensure achievement of t­ hese standards, members of the armed forces liable to capture ­shall be provided with specific training and instruction designed to better equip them to ­counter and withstand all ­enemy efforts against them, and ­shall be fully instructed as to the be­hav­ior and obligations expected of them during combat or captivity. [Second paragraph amended by EO 12633 of Mar. 28, 1988, 53 FR 10355, 3 CFR, 1988 Comp., p. 561] The Secretary of Defense (and the Secretary of Transportation with re­spect to the Coast Guard except when it is serving as part of the Navy) ­shall take such action as is deemed necessary to implement this order and to disseminate and make the said Code known to all members of the armed forces of the United States. [Third paragraph amended by EO 11382 of Nov. 28, 1967, 32 FR 16247, 3 CFR, 1966–1970 Comp., p. 691] Code of Conduct for Members of the United States Armed Forces I I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense. [Article I amended by EO 12633 of Mar. 28, 1988, 53 FR 10355, 3 CFR, 1988 Comp., p. 561] II I ­will never surrender of my own ­free w ­ ill. If in command, I ­will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist. [Article II amended by EO 12633 of Mar. 28, 1988, 53 FR 10355, 3 CFR, 1988 Comp., p. 561] III If I am captured I w ­ ill continue to resist by all means available. I w ­ ill make e­ very effort to escape and aid ­others to escape. I ­will accept neither parole nor special ­favors from the ­enemy. IV If I become a prisoner of war, I ­will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I ­will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am se­nior, I ­will take command. If not, I ­will obey the lawful ­orders of ­those appointed over me and ­will back them up in ­every way. V When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, ser­vice number and date of birth. I ­will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I ­will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

[Article V amended by EO 12017 of Nov. 3, 1977, 42 FR 57941, 3 CFR, 1977 Comp., p. 152] VI I ­will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the princi­ples which made my country ­free. I ­will trust in my God and in the United States of Amer­i­ca. [Article VI amended by EO 12633 of Mar. 28, 1988, 53 FR 10355, 3 CFR, 1988 Comp., p. 561] Source: The provisions of Executive Order 10631 of August 17, 1955, appear at 20 FR 6057, 3 CFR, 1954–1958 Comp., p. 266, ­u nless other­wise noted. https://­w ww​ .­archives​.­gov​/­federal​-­register​/­codification​/­executive​-­order​/­10631​.­html

2  Douglas MacArthur: Address to Congress, April 19, 1951 In general, most Korean War soldiers found that the home front was not as supportive as it had been during World War II. Public attention on General Mac­ Arthur and his speech to Congress ­after being fired by the president of the United States may have been a turning point in American support for the war. Unlike the president and his se­nior advisors, who believed that the attention paid to Mac­ Arthur would fade quickly away, the polls say other­wise. Although the polls revealed the public supported some of MacArthur’s proposals, they ­were clearly against ­others. The impor­tant point was the majority believed ­there ­were clear alternatives to the administration’s course of action. Mr. President, Mr. Speaker and Distinguished Members of the Congress: I stand on this rostrum with a sense of deep humility and pride—­humility in the weight of t­ hose g­ reat architects of our history who have stood h­ ere before me, pride in the reflection that this home of legislative debate represent ­human liberty in the purest form yet devised. ­Here are centered the hopes and aspirations and faith of the entire h­ uman race. I do not stand ­here as advocate for any partisan cause, for the issues are fundamental and reach quite beyond the realm of partisan considerations. They must be resolved on the highest plane of national interest if our course is to prove sound and our ­f uture protected. I trust, therefore, that you ­will do me the justice of receiving that which I have to say as solely expressing the considered viewpoint of a fellow American. I address you with neither rancor nor bitterness in the fading twilight of life, with but one purpose in mind: to serve my country. The issues are global, and so interlocked that to consider the prob­lems of one sector oblivious to ­those of another is to court disaster for the ­whole. While Asia is



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commonly referred to as the Gateway to Eu­rope, it is no less true that Eu­rope is the Gateway to Asia, and the broad influence of the one cannot fail to have its impact upon the other. T ­ here are t­ hose who claim our strength is inadequate to protect on both fronts, that we cannot divide our effort. I can think of no greater expression of defeatism. If a potential e­ nemy can divide his strength on two fronts, it is for us to c­ ounter his effort. The Communist threat is a global one. Its successful advance in one sector threatens the destruction of ­every other sector. You can not appease or other­wise surrender to communism in Asia without si­mul­ta­neously undermining our efforts to halt its advance in Eu­rope. Beyond pointing out ­these general truisms, I ­shall confine my discussion to the general areas of Asia. Before one may objectively assess the situation now existing ­there, he must comprehend something of Asia’s past and the revolutionary changes which have marked her course up to, the pre­sent. Long exploited by the so-­called colonial powers, with l­ ittle opportunity to achieve any degree of social justice, individual dignity or a higher standard life such as guided our own noble administration in the Philippines, the ­people of Asia found their opportunity in the war just past to throw off the shackles of colonialism and now see the dawn of new opportunity and heretofore unfelt dignity, and the self-­respect of po­liti­cal freedom. Mustering half of the earth’s population, and 60 ­percent of its natu­ral resources ­these p­ eoples are rapidly consolidating a new force, both moral and material, with which to raise the living standard and erect adaptations of the design of modern pro­gress to their own distinct cultural environments. ­ hether one adheres to the concept of colonialization or not, this is the direction W of Asian pro­gress and it may not be ­stopped. It is a corollary to the shift of the world economic frontiers as the ­whole epicenter of world affairs rotates back ­toward the area whence it started. In this situation, it becomes vital that our own country orient its policies in consonance with this basic evolutionary condition rather than pursue a course blind to real­ity that the colonial era is now past and the Asian p­ eoples covet the right to shape their own ­free destiny. What they seek now is friendly guidance, understanding and support, not imperious direction, the dignity of equality and not the shame of subjugation. Their pre-­war standard of life, pitifully low, is infinitely lower now in the devastation left in war’s wake. World ideologies play ­little part in Asian thinking and are ­little understood. What the ­peoples strive for is the opportunity for a ­little more food in their stomachs, a ­little better clothing on their backs and a ­little firmer roof over their heads, and the realization of the normal nationalist urge for po­liti­cal freedom. ­ hese political-­social conditions have but an indirect bearing upon our own national T security, but do form a backdrop to con­temporary planning which must be thoughtfully considered if we are to avoid the pitfalls of unrealism.

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

Of more direct and immediately bearing upon our national security are the changes wrought in the strategic potential of the Pacific Ocean in the course of the past war. Prior thereto the western strategic frontier of the United States lay on the literal line of the Amer­i­cas, with an exposed island salient extending out through Hawaii, Midway and Guam to the Philippines. That salient proved not an outpost of strength but an ave­nue of weakness along which the ­enemy could and did attack. The Pacific was a potential area of, advance for any predatory force intent upon striking at the bordering land areas. All this was changed by our Pacific victory, our strategic frontier then shifted to embrace the entire Pacific Ocean, which became a vast moat to protect us as long as we hold it. Indeed, it acts as a protective shield for all of the Amer­i­cas and all ­free lands of the Pacific Ocean area, We control it to the shores of Asia by a chain of islands extending in an arc from the Aleutians to the Marianas held by us and our ­free allies. From this island chain we can dominate with sea and air power e­ very Asiatic port from Vladivostok to Singapore—­with sea and air power ­every port, as I said, from Vladivostok to Singapore—­and prevent any hostile movement into the Pacific. Any predatory attack from Asia must be an amphibious effort. No amphibious force can be successful without control of the sea lanes and the air over ­those lanes in its ave­nue of advance. With naval and air supremacy and modest ground ele­ments to defend bases, any major attack from continental Asia ­toward us or our friends in the Pacific would be doomed to failure. ­ nder such conditions, the Pacific no longer represents menacing ave­nues of U approach for a prospective invader. It assumes, instead, the friendly aspect of a peaceful lake. Our line of defense is a natu­ral one and can be maintained with a minimum of military effort and expenses. It envisions no attack against anyone, nor does it provide the bastions essential for offensive operations, but properly maintained, would be an invincible defense against aggression. The holding of this defense line in the western Pacific is entirely dependent upon holding all segments thereof, for any major breach of that line by an unfriendly power would render vulnerable to determine attack ­every other major segment. This is a military estimate as to which I have yet to find a military leader who ­will take exception. For that reason, I have strongly recommended in the past. as a ­matter of military urgency, that ­under no circumstances must Formosa fall ­under Communist control. Such an eventuality would at once threaten the freedom of the Philippines and the loss of Japan and might well force our western frontier back to the coast of California Oregon and Washington. To understand the changes which now appear upon the Chinese mainland, one must understand the changes in Chinese character and culture over the past 50 years.



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China up to 50 years ago was completely non-­homogenous, being compartmented into groups divided against each other. The war-­making tendency was almost non-­ existent as they still followed the tenets of the Confucian ideal of pacifist culture. At the turn of the c­ entury u­ nder the regime of Chang Tso Lin efforts t­ oward greater homogeneity produced the start of a nationalist urge. This was further and more successfully developed ­u nder the leadership of Chiang Kai-­Shek, but has been brought to its greatest fruition u­ nder the pre­sent regime to the point that it has now taken on the character of a united nationalism of increasingly dominant aggressive tendencies. Through ­these past 50 years the Chinese ­people have thus become militarize in their concepts and in their ideals. They now constitute excellent soldiers, with competent staffs, and commanders. This has produced a new and dominant power in Asia, which, for its own purposes, is allied with Soviet Rus­sia but which in its own concepts and methods has become aggressively imperialistic, with a lust for expansions and increased power normal to this type of imperialism. ­ here is ­little of the ideological concept ­either one way or another in the Chinese T make-up. The standard of living is so low and the capital accumulation has been so thoroughly dissipated by war that the masses are desperate and ­eager to follow any leadership which seems to promise the alleviation of woeful stringencies. I have from the beginning believed that the Chinese Communists’ support of the North Koreans was the dominant one. Their interests are at pre­sent parallel with ­those of the Soviet, but I believe that the aggressiveness recently displayed not only in K ­ orea but also in Indo-­China arid Tibet and pointing potentially t­ oward the South reflects predominantly the same lust for the expansion of power which has animated ­every would-be conqueror since the beginning of time. The Japa­nese ­people since the war have under­gone the greatest reformation recorded in modern history, With a commendable ­will, eagerness to learn, and marked capacity to understand, they have from the ashes left in war’s wake erected in Japan an edifice dedicated to the supremacy of individual liberty and personal dignity and in the ensuing pro­cess t­here has been created a truly representative government committed to the advance of po­liti­cal morality, freedom of economic enterprise, and social justice. Po­liti­cally, eco­nom­ically, and socially Japan is now abreast of many ­free nations of the earth and ­will not again fail the universal trust. That it may be counted upon to wield a profoundly beneficial influence over the course of events in Asia is attested by the magnificent manner in which the Japa­nese ­people have met the recent challenge of war, unrest and confusion surrounding them from the outside and checked communism within their own frontiers without the slightest slackening in their forward pro­gress. I sent all four of our occupation divisions to the Korean battlefront, without the slightest qualms as to the effect of the resulting power vacuum upon Japan. The results fully justified my faith.

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I know of no nation more serene, orderly and industrious, nor in which higher hopes can be entertained for f­ uture constructive ser­vice in the advance of the h­ uman race. Of our former ward, the Philippines, we can look forward in confidence that the existing unrest ­will be corrected and a strong and healthy nation ­will grow in the longer aftermath of war’s terrible destructiveness We must be patient and understanding and never fail them. As in our hour of need, they did not fail us. A Christian nation, the Philippines stand as a mighty bulwark of Chris­tian­ity in the Far East, and its capacity for high moral leadership in Asia is unlimited. On Formosa the government of the Republic of China has had the opportunity to refute by action much of the malicious gossip which so undermined the strength of its leadership on the Chinese mainland. The Formosan ­people are receiving a just and enlightened administration with majority repre­sen­ta­tion in the organs of government, and po­liti­cally, eco­nom­ically and socially they appear to be advancing along sound and constructive lines, With this brief insight into the surrounding area, I now turn to the Korean conflict. While I was not consulted prior to the President’s decision to intervene in support of the Republic of ­Korea, that decision from a military standpoint, proved a sound one. As I said, it proved to be a sound one, as we hurled back the invader and decimated his forces. Our victory was complete, and our objectives within reach, when Red China intervened with numerically superior ground forces. This created a new war and an entirely new situation, a situation not contemplated when our forces ­were committed against the North Korean invaders; a situation which called for new decisions in the diplomatic sphere to permit the realistic adjustment of military strategy. Such decisions have not been forthcoming. While no man in his right mind would advocate sending our ground forces into continental China, and such was never given a thought, the new situation did urgently demand a drastic revision of strategic planning if our po­liti­cal aim was to defeat this new ­enemy as we had defeated the old one. Apart from the military need, as I saw It, to neutralize sanctuary protection given the ­enemy north of the Yalu, I felt that military necessity in the conduct of the war made necessary the intensification of our economic blockade against China, the imposition of a naval blockade against the China coast, removal of restrictions on air reconnaissance of China’s coastal area and of Manchuria, removal of restrictions on the forces of the Republic of China on Formosa, with logistical support to contribution to-­their effective operations against the Chinese mainland. For entertaining t­hese views, all professionally designed to support our forces in ­Korea and to bring hostilities to an end with the least pos­si­ble delay and at a saving of countless American arid allied lives, I have been severely criticized in lay circles, principally abroad, despite my understanding that from a military standpoint the above views have been fully shared in the past by practically ­every



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military leader concerned with the Korean campaign, including our own Joint Chiefs of Staff. I called for reinforcements, but was informed that reinforcements ­were riot available. I made clear that if not permitted to destroy the e­ nemy built-up bases north of the Yalu, if not permitted to utilize the friendly Chinese Force of some 600,000 men on Formosa, if not permitted to blockade the China coast to prevent the Chinese Reds from getting succor from without, and if t­ here was to be no hope of major reinforcements, the position of the command from the military standpoint forbade victory. We could hold in ­Korea by constant maneuver and in an approximate area where our supply line advantages w ­ ere in balance with the supply line disadvantages of the e­ nemy, but we could hope at best for only an indecisive campaign with its terrible and constant attrition upon our forces if the ­enemy utilized its full military potential. I have constantly called for the new po­liti­cal decisions essential to a solution. Efforts have been made to distort my position. It has been said in effect that I was a warmonger. Nothing could be further from the truth. I know war as few other men now living know it, and nothing to me–­and nothing to me is more revolting. I have long advocated its complete abolition, as its very destructiveness on both friend and foe has rendered it useless as a means of settling international disputes. Indeed, the Second Day of September, 1945, just following the surrender of the Japa­nese nation on the Battleship Missouri, I formally cautioned as follows: “Men since the beginning of time have sought peace. Vari­ous methods through the ages have been attempted to devise an international pro­cess to prevent or ­settle disputes between nations. From the very start workable methods ­were found in so far as individual citizens ­were concerned, but the mechanics of an instrumentality of larger international scope have never been successful. Military alliances, balances of power, Leagues of Nations, all in turn failed, leaving the only path to be ‘by way of the crucible of war. The utter destructiveness of war now blocks out this alternative. We have had our last chance. If we ­will not devise some greater and more equitable system, Armageddon w ­ ill be at our door. The prob­lem basically is theological and involves a spiritual recrudescence and improvement of ­human character that ­will synchronize with our almost matchless advances in science, art, lit­er­a­t ure and all the material and cultural developments of the past 2000 years. It must be of the spirit if we are to save the flesh.” But once war is forced upon us, t­here is no other alternative than to apply e­ very available means to bring it to a swift end. War’s very object is victory, not prolonged indecision. In war ­there can be no substitute for victory.

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­ here are some who for varying reasons would appease Red China. They are blind T to history’s clear lesson, for history teaches with unmistakable emphasis that appeasement but begets new and bloodier wars. It points to no single instance where this end has justified that means, where appeasement has led to more than a sham peace. Like blackmail, it lays the basis for new and successively greater demands ­until, as in blackmail, vio­lence becomes the only other alternative. Why, my soldiers asked me, surrender military advantages to an ­enemy in the field? I could not answer. Some, may say to avoid spread of the conflict into an all-­out war with China, O ­ thers, to avoid Soviet intervention. Neither explanation seems valid, for China is already engaging with the maximum power It can commit, and the Soviet w ­ ill not necessarily mesh its actions with our moves. Like a cobra, any new ­enemy, ­will more likely strike whenever it feels that the relativity of military and other potentialities is in its ­favor on a world-­wide basis. The tragedy of K ­ orea is further heightened by the fact that its military action was confined to its territorial limits. It condemns that nation, which it Is our purpose to save, to suffer the devastating impact of full naval and air bombardment while the ­enemy’s sanctuaries are fully protected from such attack and devastation. Of the nations of the world, ­Korea alone, up to now, is the sole one which has risked its all against communism. The magnificence of the courage and fortitude of the Korean ­people defies description. They have chosen to risk death rather than slavery. Their last words to me ­were: “­Don’t scuttle the Pacific.” I have just left your fighting sons in ­Korea. They have done their bust ­there, and I can report to you without reservation that they are splendid in ­every way. It was my constant effort to preserve them and end this savage conflict honorably and with the least loss of time and a minimum sacrifice of life. Its growing bloodshed has caused me the deepest anguish and anxiety. T ­ hose gallant men w ­ ill remain often in my thoughts and in my prayers always. I am closing my 52 years of military ser­vice. When I joined the Army, even before the turn of the ­century, it was the fulfillment of all of my boyish hopes and dreams. The world has turned over many times since I took the oath at West Point, and the hopes and dreams have all since vanished, but I still remember the refrain of one of the most popu­lar barracks ballads of that day which proclaimed most proudly that old soldiers never die; they just fade away. And like the old soldier of that ballad, I now close my military c­ areer and just fade away, an old soldier who tried to do his duty as God gave him the light to see that duty. Good Bye. Source: Transcript of General Douglas MacArthur’s Address to Congress, April 19, 1951. Truman Papers, President’s Secretary’s Files. MacArthur, Douglas: Dismissal. https://­www​.­trumanlibrary​.­org​/­whistlestop​/­study​_­collections​/­koreanwar​/­docu​m​e​nts​ /­index​.­php​?­documentid​= m ­ a​-­2​-­18&pagenumber​=­1



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3  Regulations Governing the Separation from the Ser­vice of Certain ­Women Serving in the Regular Army, Navy, Marine Corps, or Air Force Although the recruitment and retention of w ­ omen had been authorized by Truman’s “Integration Act,” ­there ­were some significant hurdles to ­women’s continued ser­ vice that men did not face. ­These issues included marriage, ­children, and pregnancy. Although the question of w ­ hether marriage should be a bar to continued ser­vice was quickly resolved, the issues of de­pen­dency entitlements and in-­service pregnancy ­were not. President Truman essentially gave the armed forces permission to dismiss pregnant w ­ omen from ser­vice. Although some waivers to the minor child policy ­were issued, military ­women always had that specter of dismissal hanging over them. By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Army-­Navy Nurses Act of 1947 (61 Stat. 41) and the ­Women’s Armed Ser­vices Integration Act of 1948 (62 Stat. 356), and as Commander in Chief of the armed forces of the United States, I hereby prescribe the following regulations governing the separation from the ser­vice of certain ­women serving in the Regular Army, navy, Marine Corps, or Air Force: The commission of any ­woman serving in the Regular Army, the commission or warrant of any w ­ oman serving in the Regular Navy or the Regular Marine Corps, and the commission, warrant, or enlistment of any ­woman serving in the Regular Air Force ­under ­either of the above-­mentioned acts may be terminated, regardless of rank, grade, or length of ser­vice, by or at the direction of the Secretary of the Army, the Secretary of the Navy, or the Secretary of the Air Force, respectively, (1) ­under the same circumstances, procedures, and conditions and for the same reasons ­under which a male member of the same armed force and of the same grade, rating or rank, and length of ser­vice may be totally separated from the ser­vice by administrative action, ­whether by termination of commission, termination of appointment, revocation of commission, discharge, or other­wise, or (2) whenever it is established ­under appropriate regulations of the Secretary of the department concerned that the ­woman (a) is the parent, by birth or adoption, of a child ­under such minimum age as the Secretary concerned ­shall determine, (b) has personal custody of a child ­under such minimum age, (c) is the step-­parent of a child ­under such minimum age and the child is within the ­house­hold of the w ­ oman for a period of more than thirty days a year, (d) is pregnant, or (e) has, while serving ­under such commission, warrant, or enlistment, given birth to a living child; and such ­woman may be totally separated from the ser­vice by administrative action by termination of commission, termination of appointment, revocation of commission, discharge, or other­wise. HARRY S. TRUMAN THE WHITE HOUSE, April 27, 1951 Source: Truman, Harry S. Executive Order 10240. 16 Federal Register 3689, May 1, 1951.

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NOTES   1. Roy E. Appleman, South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (June–­November 1950), United States Army in the Korean War Series (Center of Military History; Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office (GPO), 1961), 7–17; Major John Garrett, “Task Force Smith: The Lesson Never Learned,” School of Advanced Military Studies, U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 2000, 3.   2. Garrett, “Task Force Smith: The Lesson Never Learned,” 3–6; Col­o­nel William J. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” U.S. Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, PA, 1992, 3–4.   3. As quoted in Joseph Lawton Collins, War in Peacetime: The History and Lessons of ­Korea (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Com­pany, 1969), 45.   4. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 3–6.   5. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 69.   6. One of the most detailed accounts of the action is Appleman, South to the Naktong, 59–76, who gives a balanced account of the action based on a mix of historical documents, oral interviews, and interrogation reports of captured ­enemy soldiers and leaders.   7. Max Hastings, The Korean War (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987), 22.   8. Matthew B. Ridgway, The Korean War (Reprinted, 1967; New York: Da Capo Paperback, 1989), 6–11.   9. Theodore R. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, The Classic Korean War History (Reprinted, 1963: Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2008), 72–80; Russell A. Gugeler, Combat Actions in ­Korea, Army Historical Series (Reprinted, 1954; Center of Military History, Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2000) 6–12. 10. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 72–84, quote from 84. 11. ­There are many excellent studies of the events that led up to the division of ­Korea and the installation of the ideologically based, state-­sponsored governments of Syngman Rhee and Kim Il Sung. One good source is James F. Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year, United States Army in the Korean War Series (Center of Military History; Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1992), 11–40. 12. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 18–21; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 1,” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​ /­Korea​/ ­KW​-­P1​.­pdf. According to CMH, Phase 1 (UN Defense) began on June 25 1950, and ended with the launching of the amphibious assault at Inchon on September 15 1950. 13. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 488–606; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 2,” United States Army CMH. https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P2​.­pdf. Phase 2 (UN Offensive) began on September 15, 1950, and ended on November 2, 1950, before the Communist Chinese Force (CCF) intervention. 14. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 607–37. 15. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 667–97; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 3,” CMH. https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/ ­Korea​/ ­KW​-­P3​.­pdf. Phase 3 (CCF intervention) began on November 3, 1950, and ended on January 24, 1951. 16. Richard Stewart, The Korean War: The Chinese Intervention, 3 November 1950–24 January 1951, Korean War Commemorative Series (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 2000), 6; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 4.” https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​ /­Korea​/ ­KW​-­P4​.­pdf . Phase 4 consists of two sections: the first UN counteroffensive (January 25–­April 21, 1951) and the CCF spring offensive (April 22, 1951–­July 8, 1951). 17. Andrew J. Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, Korean War Commemoration Series (Washington, D.C. GPO, 2000), 3–8; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 5” CMH. https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P5​.­pdf. 18. Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 3–8; U.S. Army, “The Korean War: Phase 5,” CMH. https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P5​.­pdf.



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Between the signing of the armistice on July 27, 1953, and March 18 2003, more than 100 “major incidents” ­were reported and investigated by the Military Armistice Committee (MAC). ­These major incidents are reported in Dick K. Nanto, “North ­Korea: Chronology of Provocations, 1950–2003,” Congressional Research Ser­vice, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. In addition, a South Korean newspaper article in 2011 claimed that Shin Hye in “North ­Korea has ­violated the armistice with South ­Korea 221 times,” ­Korea Herald, January 5, 2011. http://­nwww​.­koreaherald​.­com​/­view​.­php​?­ud​=2­ 0110105000563. 19. As cited by Hastings, The Korean War, 329; and David Halberstam, The Coldest Winter: Amer­i­ca and the Korean War (New York: Hyperion Books, 2007), 1. 20. Casualty figures are cited from Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 36–37; and Hastings, The Korean War, 329. 21. Clay Blair, The Forgotten War: Amer­i­ca in ­Korea, July 1950–1953 (New York: Times Books, 1987), 46–47. 22. An excellent accounting of the difficulties of American demobilization ­after World War II is the work by social scientist and army logistician John C. Sparrow, History of Personnel Demobilization in the United States Army, DA Pamphlet 20–210, July 1952 (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1952), 100–228. In his exhaustive study of American military demobilization efforts from the American Revolution through World War II, Sparrow concludes that “[w]hen f­uture scholars evaluate the history of the United States during the first-­half of the twentieth ­century they ­will list World War II demobilization as one of the cardinal ­m istakes.” Sparrow, History of Personnel Demobilization, 297. 23. Combat arms troops (infantry, armor, and artillery troops, as well as pi­lots and aircrewmen) ­were the predominant soldiers covered ­under vari­ous “points” systems developed to demobilize the military ­after World War II. As the primary combatants, they ­were the last troops needed in peacetime but the first needed in war. Vari­ous point-­based systems tried to rotate out or demobilize ­those who had borne most combat, while retaining the combat ser­vice and ser­vice support soldiers who ­were still needed for making the administration and logistics of the force work. See Sparrow, History of Personnel Demobilization, 29–46; quotes from 266. 24. Quotes from Sparrow, History of Personnel Demobilization, 266. 25. United Nations, “Charter of the United Nations,” published online by UN​.­Org​.­ http://­ www​.­un​.­org​/­en ​/­sections​/­un​-­charter​/­chapter​-­i​/­index​.­html. Article 1 of the UN Charter stated that its purpose was “To maintain international peace and security, and to that end: to take effective collective mea­sures for the prevention and removal of threats to the peace.” It also was charged with suppressing “acts of aggression [. . .] and to bring about by peaceful means [the]settlement of international disputes.” 26. Joseph C. Goulden, ­Korea: The Untold Story of the War (New York: McGraw-­Hill, 1982), xvi. 27. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 427. 28. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 61. 29. Richard Whelan, Drawing the Line: The Korean War, 1950–1953 (Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1990), 58, 169. 30. Matthew C. Payne, “The Draft as a Deterrent Influence on U.S. Military Interventions,” U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 2008. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­a483005​.­pdf, 22–23, quote from 23. 31. The Selective Ser­vice Act of 1948 called for the conscription of men, aged 18 to 26, to register for the draft. Although only 20,348 men ­were inducted in 1948 and only 9,781 in 1949, the law drastically lowered standards for military ser­vice. Statutes at Large, 62 Stat 604, Chapter 625. For a good reference on the impact and particulars of the Selective Ser­ vice Act of 1948 see https://­w ww​.­loc​.­gov​/­r r​/­f rd​/ ­Military​_­Law​/­pdf​/­act​-­1948​.­pdf; for information pertaining to the Army General Classification Test (AGCT) see Milton H. Maier,

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“Military Aptitude Testing: The Past Fifty Years,” June 1993, Personnel Testing Division, Defense Manpower Data Center, Monterey, CA. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­m il ​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u 2​ /­a269818​.­pdf, 23. 32. Payne, “The Draft as a Deterrent Influence on U.S. Military Interventions,” 23–25; Selective Ser­vice System, “The Military Selective Ser­vice Act,” as amended through July 9 2003. https://­w ww​.­sss​.­gov​/­portals​/­0​/ ­PDFs​/ ­MSSA​-­2003​.­pdf, 4–13; Selective Ser­vice System, “Induction Statistics.” https://­web​.­archive​.­org​/­web​/­20090507211238​/ ­http://­w ww​.­sss​ .­gov​/­induct​.­htm; Mike Haskew, “To Field an Army: A Short History of the Draft,” Warfare History Network, January 23, 2016. http://­warfarehistorynetwork​.­com​/­daily​/­military​ -­history​/­to​-­field​-­an​-­army​-­a​-­short​-­history​-­of​-­the​-­draft; Brett E. Morris, “The Effects of the Draft on US Presidential Approval Ratings During the Vietnam War, 1954–1975” (Doctoral dissertation, unpublished, Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama, 2006), 39; George E. Gallup, The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971, Vol. 2 (New York: Random House, 1972); and Kathleen Weldon, “­Ain’t Marching Anymore: Public Opinion and the Draft,” Huffington Post, July 25, 2017. https://­w ww​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­entry​/­aint​-­marching​-­anymore​ -­public​-­opinion​-­and​-­the​-­draft​_­us​_­59777f66e4b01cf1c4bb73a2. 33. Payne, “The Draft as a Deterrent Influence on U.S. Military Interventions,” 25; Selective Ser­vice System, “The Military Selective Ser­vice Act”; Morris, “The Effects of the Draft on US Presidential Approval Ratings During the Vietnam War, 1954–1975,” quote from 40. 34. R. Alton Lee, “The Army ‘Mutiny’ of 1946,” Journal of American History 53, no. 3 (Dec 1966): 557. According to Alton, almost 8.5 million troops ­were serving overseas in August 1945. 35. Information Paper, William W. Epley, “Subject: Army Live-­Fire Training, 1945– 1950,” DAMH-­R AM, December 23, 1991, 1. 36. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army (New York: Macmillan, 1967), 502. 37. Epley, “Subject: Army Live-­Fire Training, 1945–1950,” 1. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Blair, The Forgotten War, 48, see footnote. 41. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 25. 42. William W. Epley, Amer­i­ca’s First Cold War Army, 1945–1950, Land Warfare Papers (Arlington, VA: Association of the United States Army, 1999), 12–13. Although recruit training was lengthened for a time in 1948, Epley notes that the amount of time dedicated to combat training remained about the same. 43. “DA Inspection Report,” 3; quote from Appleman, South to the Naktong, 56. 44. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 63. 45. “DA Inspection Report,” Tab R and Tab S. 46. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 15. 47. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?” quote from 14–15; as cited from William G. Robertson, Leavenworth Papers: Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950 (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, 1985), 8. 48. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 15. 49. Blair, The Forgotten War, 42. 50. Calculations as cited in Blair, The Forgotten War, 93; Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 15–16; quotes from Robertson, Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950, 8. 51. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 16; citing from Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year, 58–59. 52. Robertson, Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950, 4. 53. Callum A. MacDonald, The War Before Vietnam (New York: The ­Free Press, 1986), 203. 54. Blair, The Forgotten War, 49.



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55. As cited in Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 17; Blair, The Forgotten War, 49. 56. Blair, The Forgotten War, 50. 57. Blair, The Forgotten War, 50; quote from Collins, War in Peacetime, 66. 58. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 113 59. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 18. 60. Ibid. 61. “DA Inspection Report,” 3. 62. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 19–20; cited from Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year, 56–57. 63. Collins, War in Peacetime, 6. 64. Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 24. 65. Ibid. 66. Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year, 83–99, quote from 88. 67. Blair, The Forgotten War, 147. 68. Morris J. MacGregor Jr., Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, Defense Studies Series (Center of Military History, Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1981), 291. MacGregor’s book details all the events that occurred in the strug­gle to desegregate the ser­vices. It is a superb work, covering each of the ser­vices. It is a must-­have work for any serious student of desegregation and its impact. 69. Blair, The Forgotten War, 150. 70. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 317, quotes from text. 71. Blair, The Forgotten War, 150–51. 72. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 430. 73. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 431–432, quotes from 431 and 432, respectively. 74. Blair, The Forgotten War, 152–53. 75. Ibid. 76. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 434. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid. 79. Ibid. The two studies ­were Operations Research Office (ORO), “A Preliminary Report on the Utilization of Negro Manpower,” ORO-­T-99, June 30, 1951, copy in Center of Military History (CMH), Ft. McNair, Washington, D.C.; and DA Personnel Research Team, “A Preliminary Report on Personnel Research Data” (ca. 28 July 1951), AG 333.3, copy in CMH. 80. A good description of the chaotic events a­ fter the CCF intervention can be found in Hastings, The Korean War, 128–91; and Billy C. Mossman, Ebb and Flow: November 1950–­ July 1951, United States Army in the Korean War (Center of Military History, Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1990), passim. 81. Blair, The Forgotten War, 474. 82. Blair, The Forgotten War, 474–75; Harold H. Martin, “How Do Our Negro Troops Mea­sure Up?,” Saturday Eve­ning Post, June 16, 1951, 223, no. 51: 30, quotes from text. 83. Blair, The Forgotten War, 474–75; Martin, “How Do Our Negro Troops Mea­sure Up?,” 30, quotes from text. Bugout was a slang term to mean a soldier ­r unning away from the ­enemy. 84. Blair, The Forgotten War, 475–76; Thomas H. Pettigrew Jr., The Kuni-ri (Kumori) Incident (New York: Vantage Press, 1963), quotes from text. 85. Blair, The Forgotten War, 475–76; Pettigrew, The Kuni-ri (Kumori) Incident, quotes from text. 86. Blair, The Forgotten War, 476; Pettigrew, The Kuni-ri (Kumori) Incident, quotes from text.

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  87. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 436–47.   88. MacGregor, Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965, 447; extracted from a series of interviews conducted by Lee Nichols with a group of wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, November 12, 1952, in Nichols Collection, CMH.   89. “The ­Women’s Armed Ser­v ices Integration Act of 1948.” George Mason ­University. http://­chnm​.­gmu​.­edu​/­courses​/­r r​/­s01​/­cw​/­students​/­leeann​/­archresreshistkwintact​ .­htm.   90. Margaret C. Dev­ilbiss, ­Women and Military Ser­vice: A History, Analy­sis, and Overview of Key Issues (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1990), 10; Korean War Educator. http://­www​.­koreanwar​-­educator​.­org​/­topics​/­women​_­in​_­korea​/­women​ _­in​_­korea​.­htm.   91. Dwayne Lair, “Korean War Nurse Talks of M.A.S.H. Unit,” Bolivar [MO] Herald-­ Free Press, November 10, 2003.   92. Dev­ilbiss, ­Women and Military Ser­vice, 14.   93. Dev­ilbiss, ­Women and Military Ser­vice, 14–15.   94. Dev­ilbiss, ­Women and Military Ser­vice, 17.   95. Dev­ilbiss, ­Women and Military Ser­vice, 24–26.   96. An excellent source of information on the ser­vice of w ­ omen during the Korean War is Korean War Educator. http://­w ww​.­koreanwar​- ­educator​.­org​/­topics​/­women​_­i n​ _­korea​/­women​_­in​_­korea​.­htm. It contains details of the females who died in or around ­Korea during the war.   97. Blair, The Forgotten War, 48–49.   98. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 66.   99. Franz  A. Koehler, “Special Rations for the Armed Forces, 1946–53,” Quartermaster Corps Historical Studies Series 2, no. 6 (1958). 100. Koehler, “Special Rations for the Armed Forces;” Paul Richard Huard, “Beans and Baby Dicks, Ham and MoFos: A Brief History of the C-­ration,” War Is Boring, November  7, 2014. https://­medium​.­com​/­war​-­is​-­boring​/ ­beans​-­and​-­baby​- ­dicks​-­ham​-­and​-­mofos​ -­e58f1ca8943c, quote from text; Linda Granfield, I Remember ­Korea: Veterans Tell Their Stories of the Korean War, 1950–53 (New York: Clarion Books, 2003), 48. 101. Koehler, “Special Rations for the Armed Forces.” 102. Bevin Alexander, ­Korea: The Lost War (London: Arrow Books, 1989), 436. 103. Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, quote from 25; Walter G. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, United States Army in the Korean War Series (Center of Military History; Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1966), 75. 104. Alexander, ­Korea: The Lost War, 396. 105. Ibid. 106. Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 27. 107. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 186–87; Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 27. 108. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 186; Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 27. 109. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 187; Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 27. 110. Albert E. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, United States Army in the Korean War Series (Center of Military History; Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1987), 156. 111. Birtle, The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951–­July 1953, 27–28. 112. Mark W. Johnson, “­Under Fire: Army Chaplains in ­Korea, 1950,” U.S. Army Chaplain Corps, April  9, 2013, reprinted at: https://­w ww​.­army​.­mil​/­article​/­100572​/­under​_­fire​ _­army​_­chaplains​_­in​_­korea​_­1950. 113. Johnson, “­Under Fire: Army Chaplains in ­Korea, 1950.” 114. Ibid.



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115. Kelvin Davis, “100 Years of the Chaplain Assistant: A Centennial Cele­bration, 1909–2009,” US Army.Mil, June 2, 2009. https://­w ww​.­army​.­mil​/­article​/­22002​/­100​_ ­years​ _­of​_­the​_­chaplain​_­assistant​_­a​_­centennial​_­celebration​_­1909​_­2009. 116. “I Saw Your Sons at War,” The Korean War Educator. http://­w ww​.­koreanwar​ -­educator​.­org​/­topics​/ ­homefront​/­p ​_­sons​.­htm. 117. “I Saw Your Sons at War.” 118. Gallup Corporation, “In Depth: Topics A to Z, Religion.” https://­news​.­gallup​.­com​ /­poll​/­1690​/­religion​.­aspx. 119. Jang Sukman, “Historical Currents and Characteristics of Korean Protestantism ­After Liberation,” ­Korea Journal 44, no. 4 (Winter 2004): 133–56, quotes from 153, 139, and 139, respectively. 120. Hastings, The Korean War, 331. 121. Robert Palmer, “The 50s: A De­cade of ­Music That Changed the World,” Rolling Stone, April 19, 1990. https://­w ww​.­rollingstone​.­com ​/­music​/­music​-­features​/­the​-­50s​-­a​ -­decade​-­of​-­music​-­that​-­changed​-­the​-­world​-­229924. 122. Palmer, “The 50s: A De­cade of M ­ usic That Changed the World”; ­Music Played in the 50s, The ­People History. http://­w ww​.­thepeoplehistory​.­com ​/­50smusic​.­html. 123. “Home Front–­In the Songs.” Korean War Educator. http://­www​.­koreanwar​-­educator​ .­org​/­topics​/ ­homefront​/­in​_­the​_­songs​.­htm. 124. Lawrie Mifflin, “H. Richard Hornberger, 73, Surgeon ­Behind ‘M*A*S*H,’ Dies,” New York Times, November 7, 1997. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1997​/­11​/­07​/­arts​/ ­h​-­richard​ -­hornberger​-­73​-­surgeon​-­behind​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h​.­html; MeTV Staff, “The Real Hawkeye Pierce, H. Richard Hornberger, Had Some Major Issues with M*A*S*H,” MeTV, August 31, 2017. https://­w ww​.­metv​.­com​/­stories​/­r ichard​-­hornberger​-­t he​-­real​-­hawkeye​-­pierce​-­had​-­some​ -­major​-­issues​-­with​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h. 125. Mifflin, “H. Richard Hornberger, 73, Surgeon ­Behind ‘M*A*S*H,’ Dies”; MeTV Staff, “The Real Hawkeye Pierce, H. Richard Hornberger, Had Some Major Issues with M*A*S*H;” Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 209. 126. “The Bridges at Toko-­Ri (1954),” Internet Movie Database. https://­w ww​.­imdb​.­com​ /­title​/­tt0046806. 127. “The Manchurian Candidate (1962),” Internet Movie Database. https://­w ww​.­imdb​ .­com​/­title​/­tt0056218​/­​?­ref​_​= ­ n­ v​_­sr​_­2. 128. Edwards, The Korean War, 123–24. 129. A good source of information concerning pay and allowances for ser­vice members is “Military Pay Chart 1949–1951,” Navy Cyberspace. https://­www​.­navycs​.­com​/­charts​ /­1949​-­military​-­pay​-­chart​.­html. 130. “Military Pay Chart 1949–1951.” 131. Brandon R. Gould and Stanley A. Horo­witz, “History of Combat Pay,” Institute for Defense Analyses, 2011. https://­militarypay​.­defense​.­gov​/ ­Portals​/­3​/ ­Documents​/ ­Reports​ /­SR09​_­Chapter​_­6​.­pdf, 207. 132. Gould and Horo­witz, “History of Combat Pay,” 207. 133. “Comparison of Prices Over 70  Years,” The ­Peoples’ History. http://­w ww​ .­thepeoplehistory​.­com​/­70yearsofpricechange​.­html; “Military Pay Chart 1949–1951.” 134. William G. Robertson, “Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950,” Leavenworth Papers, December 1985, 4. 135. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 59; Schnabel, Policy and Direction, The First Year, 58–61. 136. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 59. 137. Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year, 59. 138. Appleman, South to the Naktong, 68–69. 139. Blair, The Forgotten War, 99; Appleman, South to the Naktong, 68–69. 140. Blair, The Forgotten War, 28.

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141. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 409. 142. Blair, The Forgotten War, 28. 143. As quoted in Davies, “Task Force Smith—­A Leadership Failure?,” 53. 144. Bob Seijas, “History of the M1 Garand ­R ifle,” Garand Collectors Association. http://­thegca​.­org​/ ­history​- ­of​-­the​-­m1​-­garand​-­r ifle; Matthew Moss, “The Legendary ­R ifle That Fought World War II,” Popu­lar Mechanics, December  30, 2016. https://­w ww​ .­popularmechanics​.­com​/­military​/­weapons​/­a24537​/­m1​-­garand​-­world​-­war​-­t wo, quote cited in text. 145. See Gordon L. Rottman, Korean War Order of ­Battle (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishing, 2002), passim. 146. Rottman, Korean War Order of B ­ attle, passim. 147. Blair, The Forgotten War, 28. 148. Blair, The Forgotten War, 135. 149. Ronald J. Brown, Whirlybirds: U.S. Marine He­li­cop­ters in K ­ orea, Marines in the Korean War Commemorative Series (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2003). https://­ia802602​.­us​ .­a rchive​ .­o rg​ /­17​/­items​ /­W hirlybirdsU​ .­S​ .­M arineHelicoptersInKorea​ /­W hirlybirdsU​ .­S​ .­MarineHelicoptersInKorea​.­pdf, passim; and Eugene W. Rawlins, Marines and He­li­cop­ ters, 1946–1962 (History and Museums Division; Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1976). http://­ www​.­koreanwar2​.­org​/ ­k wp2​/­usmckorea​/­reference​/­usmchelo1946​-­1962​.­pdf, passim. The U.S. Marine Corps, b­ ecause of its focus on expeditionary warfare and amphibious operations, had long been interested in the growing capabilities of he­li­cop­ters and led the research and development of them since World War II. 150. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 118–19, 210–11. 151. Charles H. Briscoe, “Born of Desperation: Early Special Operations in the Korean War,” Veritas, The Journal of Army Special Operations History 6, no. 1 (2010): 14–22. 152. Department of the Army, Memorandum for the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3 (Operations), “Subject: Organ­ization of Marauder Companies,” August  29, 1950, National Archives, Rec­ord Group 95, Box 380, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 153. See Michael E. Krivdo, “Creating an Army Guerrilla Command, Part One: The First Six Months,” Veritas 8, no. 2 (2012): 12–26; Michael E. Krivdo, “The Army’s Guerrilla Command, Part II,” Veritas 9, no. 1 (2013): 3–18; and Michael E. Krivdo and Troy J. Sacquety, “CCRAK: The Combined Command for Reconnaissance Activities, ­Korea,” Veritas 9, no. 1 (2013): 41–49. 154. GHQ, Far East Command, APO 500 letter to Commanding General (CG), GHQ, FECOM, “Subject: Provisional Group, Raiding Forces,” August 6, 1950, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC; Donald W. Boose Jr., Over the Beach: U.S. Army Amphibious Operations in the Korean War (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2008), 82. 155. Commander, Amphibious Group One (COMPHIBGRUONE) correspondence AT63/35/ceb serial 007, “MTT Able Report,” August 6, 1950, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC; telephone interview, CWO-3 (Ret.) Delmer E. Davis, with Dr. Charles H. Briscoe, August 25, 2009, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC; interview, First Sergeant (1SG) (Ret.) Daniel W. Bish, October 26, 2009, with Dr. Briscoe, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 156. Fred Hayhurst, Green Berets in ­Korea: The Story of 41 In­de­pen­dent Commando Royal Marines (Cambridge, MA: Vanguard, 2001), 42–44; David I. Car­ter, Las Vegas, Nevada, correspondence with Dr. Charles H. Briscoe, USASOC Command Historian, September 23, 2009, USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC; Davis interview, August 25 2009; John B. Dwyer, Commandos From the Sea: The History of Amphibious Special Warfare in World War II and the Korean War (Boulder, CO: Paladin Press, 1998), 243, CINCFE Memorandum, “SUBJECT: Prov Raider Co and Royal Navy



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Volunteer Grp Attached to COMNAVFE for Operations, September 7, 1950, [UN/18 (TS-­F) Bk 1], GHQ, United Nations Command (UNC), General ­Orders No. 7: Establishment of Command dated September 5, 1950, National Archives, Rec­ord Group 7, Box 1, USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 157. Patrick T. Gannon Sr., email to Delmer Davis, “Subject: GHQ RAIDER COM­ PANY,” June 25, 1999, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 158. DA Memorandum, “Subject: Organ­ization of Marauder Companies.” 159. Department of the Army, Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3, Operations, Memorandum, “Subject: Conference Notes on Marauder Com­pany,” September 7, 1950, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 160. Chief of Army Field Forces, memorandum dated September 23, 1950, “Subject: Marauder (Ranger) Units,” copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. On September 21, 1950, Department of the Army authorized Third U.S. Army to increase its force structure by 20 officers and 440 enlisted men for organ­izing four ranger companies ­under the proposed TO&E manning. Chief of Army Field Forces memorandum dated October 10, 1950, Subject: Outline Plan and Pro­gress Report, Ranger Units, USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. A standard infantry r­ ifle com­ pany of the time had a TO&E strength of 211. The ranger com­pany had a six-­man com­ pany headquarters section and three 33-­man platoons. ­There was no weapons platoon as in the standard com­pany. A seven-­man augmentation for mess, clerical, and supply functions was included in the TO&E. This gave the com­pany a strength of 112 when filled. 161. The first volunteers came predominantly from the 82nd Airborne Division. Of the first 300 arrivals, 260 came from the 82nd, 30 from the 11th Airborne Division, and 10 from the Airborne Section of the Infantry Center. An additional 180 volunteers arrived on October 6, 1950. Chief of Army Field Forces memorandum dated October 10, 1950, “Subject: Outline Plan and Pro­gress Report, Ranger Units,” 2, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 162. On October 26, 1950, for no discernable reason, the 2nd and 4th Companies switched com­pany numbers and guidons. 163. Department of the Army, Office of the Chief of Staff, G-3, Operations, Memorandum to the Chief of Staff, “Subject: Organ­ization of Ranger Companies,” October 16, 1950, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 164. Singlaub interview by Briscoe, September 12, 2008. 165. Department of the Army, Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3, Operations, message to CINCFE, “Subject: Inactivation of Ranger Units in FECOM,” June 1, 1951, copy in USASOC History Office Classified Files, Fort Bragg, NC. 166. Letter, “Questionnaire, Proj­ect MHD-3,” March 16, 1953, Headquarters, 2nd Partisan Infantry Regiment [PIR], Far East Command/ Liaison Detachment, K ­ orea [FEC/LD (K)], 8240th Army Unit (AU), included in 8086th AU, Armed Forces Far East (AFFE) Military History Detachment-3, “UN Partisan Forces in the Korean Conflict, 1951–1952,” Proj­ect MHD-3, Center of Military History, Fort McNair, DC, (hereafter “UN Partisan Forces”), 85–88, quote from 85. 167. Frederick W. Cleaver, George Fitzpatrick, John Ponturo, et al., “UN Partisan Warfare in ­Korea, 1951–1954,” AFFE Group Tactical Memorandum ORO-­T-64, Johns Hopkins University, Operations Research Office, June 1956 (hereafter ORO Study), 30–31; Quote from “UN Partisan Forces,” 10. In December 1950 and January 1951, the UNC received many reports from several commands ranging from ROK navy vessels, Royal Navy warships, intelligence sources, British commandos, and ­others regarding the presence of tens of thousands of refugees accumulating on the many islands off the west coast of North ­Korea. Their sudden presence on ­those normally sparsely inhabited islands caused concerns both for humanitarian relief and military reasons since the refugees essentially owned only what they could move ­there on the backs of the ­people and a collection of

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appropriated small boats. For more information see the many copies of reports from UN commands in the west coast area as contained in both the ORO Study and “UN Partisan Forces.” 168. ORO Study, 30–31; quote from “UN Partisan Forces,” 10. 169. ORO Study, 154; Douglas  C. Dillard, Operation Aviary: Airborne Special Operations—­Korea, 1950–1953 (Victoria, BC, Canada: Trafford Publishing, 2003), 12–13, 28–29; Memorandum, John H. McGee to Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3, EUSA, G-3, EUSA, March 15, 1951, “Status Report of Miscellaneous Division,” reprinted in “UN Partisan Forces,” 54. 170. ORO Study, 39–40, 42, quote from 39. 171. ORO Study, 39–40, 42; Pat Meid and James M. Yingling, U.S. Marine Operations in ­Korea 1950–1953, vol. V, Operations in West ­Korea (Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps) (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1972), 53–56. 172. Central Intelligence Agency, “Infiltration and Resupply of Agents in North ­Korea, 1952–1953” (redacted document: Air Force/Haas/Korean War 51–53 HS [Mar 95/ KCRuffner] Doc#2), 160–162, quote from 162. 173. Krivdo, “Creating an Army Guerrilla Command, Part One,” Veritas 8, no. 2 (2012): 12–26. 174. Robert I. Channon, The Cold Steel Third: 3rd Airborne Ranger Com­pany, Korean War (1950–1951) (Franklin, NC: Genealogy Publishing Ser­vice, 1993), 408–10, 417–28, 493–516. 175. ORO Study, 43. 176. Statistics cited from ORO Study, 13–16. One interpretation of that data is that the guerrillas realized that their hopes of restoring their former lives ­were fading fast, causing them to focus more on gaining as much material wealth from the communists as they could before being forced into South Korean society. 177. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), “The Secret War in ­Korea, June  1950–­ June 1952,” Clandestine Ser­vices History, CS Historical Paper No. 52, July 17, 1968, 21. 178. Herbert Goldhamer, The 1951 Korean Armistice Conference: A Personal Memoir (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1994), 94–95, 141–42, quotes from 95 and 141, respectively. 179. ­Orders, Department of the Army, Adjutant General, TAG 14357, February 27, 1953; ­Orders, DA, TAG 16679, March 27, 1953. For further information on the experiences of the 99 SF-­t rained personnel who ­were employed in ­Korea beginning in March 1953, see the article by Kenneth Finlayson, “A Combat First: Army SF Soldiers in ­Korea, 1953–1955,” Veritas 9, no. 1 (2013): 57–69. 180. “History of Special Operations Command ­Korea (SOCKOR),” Special Operations Command—­Korea. http://­8tharmy​.­korea​.­army​.­mil​/­SOCKOR​/ ­history​.­htm. 181. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 185–86, quotes from 186. 182. Commander, Naval Forces Far East (COMNAVFE), “Command and History Report, January 1952,” Naval History and Heritage Command, Washington, D.C., 10–11, 10–12; also cited in Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 186. 183. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 341–42. 184. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 70. 185. Ibid. 186. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 71–75. 187. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 210–11. 188. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 342. 189. G. Strandenes, et al., “Emergency Whole Blood Use in the Field: A Simplified Protocol for Collection and Transfusion,” Prolonged Field Care (November 2006). https://­ prolongedfieldcare​.­files​.­wordpress​.­com​/­2014​/­11​/­emergency​-­wb​-­protocol​.­pdf; Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 154. 190. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 155.



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191. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 154. 192. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 154–55. 193. Paul M. Edwards, The Korean War (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006), 122. 194. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 204–05. 195. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 207. 196. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 38–42. Of interest is the ­table on page 41 (­Table 5), which reveals the significant pro­gress made by FECOM medical specialists in reducing incidences of diphtheria, typhus, smallpox, and other diseases. 197. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 149. 198. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 146. 199. Ibid. 200. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 184–85. 201. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 185–86. 202. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 186–87. 203. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 116. 204. Ibid. 205. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 117. 206. Ibid. 207. Ibid. 208. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 118. 209. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 210. 210. Ibid. 211. Cowdrey, The Medics’ War, 210–11. 212. Phases 1 and 3 are characterized as ­those parts of the war where American (and by extension UN) forces ­were forced to retreat. It is during ­those phases when significant amounts of troops ­were overrun first by North Korean (Phase 1) and ­later Chinese Communist Forces (CCF). Several U.S. units ­were defeated and overrun, resulting in the ­enemy capturing many soldiers. Although Americans ­were captured in ­every phase, 1 and 3 ­were the worst. 213. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 415–20; for information regarding numbers of POWs, see Appendix B, Prisoners of War, in Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, B-1; citing from N.A., “Final Report of the Neutral Nations Repatriation Commission,” no date, Center of Military History Archive, Fort McNair, DC; and John A. McReynolds, Headquarters, U.S. Army, Pacific, Military History Office, “The ­Handling of Prisoners of War During the Korean Conflict,” Center of Military History Archive, Fort McNair, DC, 97–98. 214. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, 215. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front, B-1; “Final Report of the Neutral Nations Repatriation Commission”; and McReynolds, “The ­Handling of Prisoners of War During the Korean Conflict,” 98; Brendan McNally, “The Korean War Prisoner Who Never Came Home,” The New Yorker, December 9, 2013. https://­w ww​.­newyorker​.­com​/­news​/­news​-­desk​ /­the​-­korean​-­war​-­prisoner​-­who​-­never​-­came​-­home. 216. Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), “Personnel Missing—­Korea (PMKOR) (Reported For ALL Unaccounted For),” June 19, 2018. http://­w ww​.­dpaa​.­m il​ /­portals​/­85​/ ­Documents​/ ­KoreaAccounting​/­pmkor​_­u na​_ ­all​.­pdf; and Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), “Personnel Missing—­Korea (PMKOR) (Reported for ALL Accounted For),” June 19, 2018. http://­www​.­dpaa​.­mil​/­portals​/­85​/­Documents​/­Korea​Accoun​ ting​/­pmkor​_­acc​_­all​.­pdf. 217. Hastings, The Korean War, 287. 218. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 232–36. 219. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 287–88, 317. 220. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 317–18, quotes from 318.

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221. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 317–21. 222. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 374–75. 223. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 375–81. 224. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 448–49. 225. William Paul Skelton III, “American Ex-­Prisoners of War,” Department of Veterans Affairs, April 2002. https://­web​.­archive​.­org​/­web​/­20120112010338​/ ­http://­w ww​.­public​ health​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­vhi​/­pow​.­pdf, 30. Another researcher, Brian D. McKnight, We Fight for Peace: Twenty-­Three American Soldiers, Prisoners of War, and Turncoats in the Korean War (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2014); and Brendan McNally, “The Korean War Prisoner Who Never Came Home,” The New Yorker, December 9, 2013. https://­ www​.­newyorker​.­com​/­news​/­news​-­desk​/­the​-­korean​-­war​-­prisoner​-­who​-­never​- ­came​-­home, states that the mortality rate of American POWs was closer to 50 ­percent. In the New Yorker article, he is quoted as saying the rate was 43 ­percent. 226. Report, Secretary of Defense’s Advisory Committee on Prisoners of War, July 29, 1955, copy in Office of Armed Forces Information and Education, Department of Defense, The U.S. Fighting Man’s Code (DoD Pam 8-1), November 1955, quote from vi; Executive Order 10631, “Code of Conduct for Members of the Armed Forces of the United States,” August 17, 1955, 20 Federal Register (FR) 6057, 3 CFR, 1954–1958, Comp., 266. 227. Hastings, The Korean War, 330. 228. Blair, The Forgotten War, 812–13, quote from 813. 229. Blair, The Forgotten War, 904. 230. FRUS, VII, 1951, pt.1, 612–13. 231. Blair, The Forgotten War, 934–39. 232. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 452. 233. Hastings, The Korean War, 330. 234. Hastings, The Korean War, 331. 235. Act of October 17, 1940, ch. 888, 54 Stat. 1178; “­Legal Assistance Guide: Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act,” September 1990, Judge Advocate General’s School, Charlottesville, VA. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­a226160​.­pdf , 1–1. 236. “VA History in Brief,” Department of Veterans Affairs. https://­www​.­va​.­gov​/­opa​ /­publications​/­archives​/­docs​/­history​_­in​_­brief​.­pdf, 16; Statutes at Large, 66 Stat 663, Chapter 7, 8. 237. Samuel Greengard, “Fighting for Employment: Veterans in the 1940s and ­Today,” Workforce, February 22, 2012. http://­www​.­workforce​.­com​/­2012​/­02​/­22​/­fighting​-­for​-­employ​ ment​-­veterans​-­in​-­the​- ­40s​-­and​-­today. 238. “VA History in Brief,” 16. 239. Jillian K. Ikin et al., “Anxiety, Post-­Traumatic Stress Disorder and Depression in Korean War Veterans 50 Years ­After the War,” British Journal of Psychiatry 190, no. 6 (June 2007): 475–83, quotes from text; Jillian K. Ikin et al., “Comorbidity of PTSD and Depression in Korean War Veterans: Prevalence, Predictors, and Impairment,” Journal of Affective Disorders (September 2010): 279–86. 240. Hastings, The Korean War, 331. 241. Jim Wilkes, “Korean War Vets Fi­nally Get Recognition,” Toronto Star, July 27, 2010, quotes from text. 242. Halberstam, The Coldest Winter, 150–51. 243. Davies, “Task Force Smith,” 62–65. 244. “DA Inspection,” 2, quote from text; Davies, “Task Force Smith,” 62–65. 245. Col­o­nel James W. Edwards (Ret.), “Fighting Battalion” (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military History archives, unpublished manuscript, 1966), 4. 246. “DA Inspection,” GHQ, 2. 247. U.S. Army Judge Advocate General’s School, “The Background of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice,” 1959. https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​/­r r​/­frd​/­Military​_­Law​/­pdf​/ ­background​ -­UCMJ​.­pdf 6–13.



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248. Gilberto Villahermosa, “From Glory to Disaster and Back,” Army Magazine (September 2001), 81–84, quote from 84. 249. Villahermosa, “From Glory to Disaster and Back,” 81–84. 250. Hastings, The Korean War, 272. 251. Hastings, The Korean War, 272–73, quotes from 273. 252. Hastings, The Korean War, 273–74, quote from 273. 253. Interview, James Stuhler with Max Hastings, August 1985, cited in Hastings, The Korean War, 271. 254. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War, 388–89; Ridgway, The Korean War, 1–5. 255. Ridgway, The Korean War, 2.

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“I Saw Your Sons at War.” The Korean War Educator. http://­w ww​.­koreanwar​-­educator​ .­org​/­topics​/ ­homefront​/­p ​_­sons​.­htm. Johnson, Mark  W. “­Under Fire: Army Chaplains in ­Korea, 1950.” U.S. Army Chaplain Corps. April  9, 2013. Reprinted at: https://­w ww​.­army​.­mil​/­article​/­100572​/­under​ _­fire​_­army​_­chaplains​_­in​_­korea​_­1950. Library of Congress. “Selective Ser­vice Act of 1948.” https://­w ww​.­loc​.­gov​/­r r​/­f rd​/­Military​ _­Law​/­pdf​/­act​-­1948​.­pdf. Maier, Milton H. “Military Aptitude Testing: The Past Fifty Years.” June 1993. Personnel Testing Division. Defense Manpower Data Center. Monterey, CA. http://­w ww​.­dtic​ .­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­a269818​.­pdf. “The Manchurian Candidate (1962).” Internet Movie Database. https://­w ww​.­imdb​.­com​ /­title​/­tt0056218​/­​?­ref​_​= ­ n­ v​_­sr​_­2. “Military Pay Chart 1949–1951.” Navy Cyberspace. https://­www​.­navycs​.­com​/­charts​/­1949​ -­military​-­pay​-­chart​.­html. Selective Ser­vice System. “The Military Selective Ser­vice Act.” As amended through July 9, 2003. https://­w ww​.­sss​.­gov​/­portals​/­0​/­PDFs​/ ­MSSA​-­2003​.­pdf. Skelton III, William Paul. “American Ex-­Prisoners of War.” Department of Veterans Affairs. April 2002. https://­web​.­archive​.­org​/­web​/­20120112010338​/ ­http://­w ww​ .­publichealth​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­vhi​/­pow​.­pdf. Special Operations Command—­Korea. “History of Special Operations Command ­Korea (SOCKOR).” http://­8tharmy​.­korea​.­army​.­mil​/­SOCKOR​/ ­history​.­htm. Statutes at Large. 62 Stat 604. Chapter 625. Statutes at Large 66 Stat 663. Chapter 7. Strandenes, G., et al. “Emergency Whole Blood Use in the Field: A Simplified Protocol for Collection and Transfusion.” Prolonged Field Care (November 2006). https://­ prolongedfieldcare​.­files​.­wordpress​.­com​/­2014​/­11​/­emergency​-­wb​-­protocol​.­pdf. The ­People History. http://­w ww​.­thepeoplehistory​.­com ​/­50smusic​.­html. United Nations. “Charter of the United Nations.” UN​.­org. http://­w ww​.­u n​.­org ​/­en ​/­sections​ /­un​-­charter​/­chapter​-­i​/­index​.­html. U.S. Army. “The Korean War: Phase 1.” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P1​.­pdf. U.S. Army. “The Korean War: Phase 2.” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P2​.­pdf. U.S. Army. “The Korean War: Phase 3.” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/ ­Korea​/ ­KW​-­P3​.­pdf. U.S. Army. “The Korean War: Phase 4.” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/ ­Korea​/ ­KW​-­P4​.­pdf. U.S. Army. “The Korean War: Phase 5.” United States Army Center of Military History (CMH). https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­reference​/­Korea​/­KW​-­P5​.­pdf. U.S. Army Judge Advocate General’s School. “The Background of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice.” 1959. https://­www​.­loc​.­gov​/­rr​/­frd​/­Military​_­Law​/­pdf​/­back​ground​ -­UCMJ​.­pdf. War Is Boring. November  7, 2014. https://­medium​.­com ​/­war​-­is​-­boring ​/ ­beans​-­and​-­baby​ -­dicks​-­ham​-­and​-­mofos​-­e58f1ca8943c. “­Women in ­Korea.” Korean War Educator. http://­w ww​.­koreanwar​- ­educator​.­org​/­topics​ /­women​_­in​_­korea​/­women​_­in​_­korea​.­htm.

Newspapers and Periodicals Greengard, Samuel. “Fighting for Employment: Veterans in the 1940s and T ­ oday.” Workforce. February 22, 2012. http://­w ww​.­workforce​.­com​/­2012​/­02​/­22​/­fighting​-­for​ -­employment​-­veterans​-­in​-­the​- ­40s​-­and​-­today.

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Ikin, Jillian K., et al. “Anxiety, Post-­Traumatic Stress Disorder and Depression in Korean War Veterans 50 Years ­After the War.” British Journal of Psychiatry 190, no. 6 (June 2007): 475–483 Ikin, Jillian K., et al. “Comorbidity of PTSD and Depression in Korean War Veterans: Prevalence, Predictors, and Impairment.” Journal of Affective Disorders (September 2010). 279–286. In, Shin Hye. “North K ­ orea Has V ­ iolated the Armistice With South ­Korea 221 Times.” ­Korea Herald, January 5, 2011. http://­nwww​.­koreaherald​.­com​/­view​.­php​?­ud​=2­ 01101​ 0​5000563. Lair, Dwayne. “Korean War Nurse Talks of M.A.S.H. Unit.” Bolivar [MO] Herald-­Free Press. November 10, 2003. Martin, Harold H. “How Do Our Negro Troops Mea­sure Up?” Saturday Eve­ning Post. June 16, 1951. Vol. 223, Issue 51. McNally, Brendan. “The Korean War Prisoner Who Never Came Home.” The New Yorker, December 9, 2013. https://­w ww​.­newyorker​.­com​/­news​/­news​- ­desk​/­the​-­korean​-­war​ -­prisoner​-­who​-­never​-­came​-­home. MeTV Staff. “The Real Hawkeye Pierce, H. Richard Hornberger, Had Some Major Issues With M*A*S*H.” MeTV. August 31, 2017. https://­w ww​.­metv​.­com ​/­stories​/­richard​ -­hornberger​-­the​-­real​-­hawkeye​-­pierce​-­had​-­some​-­major​-­issues​-­with​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h. Mifflin, Lawrie. “”H. Richard Hornberger, 73, Surgeon ­Behind ‘M*A*S*H,’ Dies.” New York Times, November 7, 1997. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1997​/­11​/­07​/­arts​/­h​-­richard​ -­hornberger​-­73​-­surgeon​-­behind​-­m​-­a​-­s​-­h​.­html. Moss, Matthew. “The Legendary ­R ifle That Fought World War II.” Popu­lar Mechanics, December  30, 2016. https://­www​.­popularmechanics​.­com​/­military​/­weapons​/­a24537​ /­m1​-­garand​-­world​-­war​-­t wo. Palmer, Robert. “The 50s: A De­cade of M ­ usic That Changed the World,” Rolling Stone, April 19, 1990. https://­w ww​.­rollingstone​.­com​/­music​/­music​-­features​/­the​-­50s​-­a​ -­decade​-­of​-­music​-­that​-­changed​-­the​-­world​-­229924. Seijas, Bob. “History of the M1 Garand ­R ifle,” Garand Collectors Association. http://­ thegca​.­org​/ ­history​-­of​-­the​-­m1​-­garand​-­rifle. Sukman, Jang. “Historical Currents and Characteristics of Korean Protestantism ­After Liberation.” ­Korea Journal 44, no. 4 (Winter 2004): 133–157. Villahermosa, Gilberto. “From Glory to Disaster and Back.” Army Magazine (September 2001). 81–84. Weldon, Kathleen. “­Ain’t Marching Anymore: Public Opinion and the Draft.” Huffington Post. July 25, 2017. https://­www​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­entry​/­aint​-­marching​-­a nymore​ -­public​-­opinion​-­and​-­the​-­draft​_­us​_­59777f66e4b01cf1c4bb73a2. Wilkes, Jim. “Korean War Vets Fi­nally Get Recognition,” Toronto Star. July 27, 2010.

Primary Source Books Channon, Robert I. The Cold Steel Third: 3rd Airborne Ranger Com­pany, Korean War (1950–1951). Franklin, NC: Genealogy Publishing Ser­vice, 1993. Collins, Joseph Lawton. War in Peacetime: The History and Lessons of ­Korea. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Com­pany, 1969. Dean, William F. General Dean’s Story. New York: Viking Press, 1954. Goldhamer, Herbert. The 1951 Korean Armistice Conference: A Personal Memoir. Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1994. Pettigrew Jr., Thomas H. The Kuni-ri (Kumori) Incident. New York: Vantage Press, 1963. Ridgway, Matthew B. The Korean War. Reprinted, 1967; New York: Da Capo Paperback, 1989.



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Secondary Sources Alexander, Bevin. ­Korea: The Lost War. London: Arrow Books, 1989. Appleman, Roy E. South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (June–­November 1950). United States Army in the Korean War Series. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1961. Birtle, Andrew J. The Korean War: Years of Stalemate, July 1951-­July 1953. Korean War Commemoration Series. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2000. Blair, Clay. The Forgotten War: Amer­i­ca in ­Korea, July 1950–1953. New York: Times Books, 1987. Boose Jr., Donald W. Over the Beach: U.S. Army Amphibious Operations in the Korean War. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2008. Bowers, William T., William M. Hammond, and George L. MacGarrigle. Black Soldier, White Army: The 24th  Infantry Regiment in ­Korea. Center of Military History, Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1996. Brown, Ronald J. Whirlybirds: U.S. Marine He­li­cop­ters in ­Korea. Marines in the Korean War Commemorative Series. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2003. Cowdrey, Albert E. The Medics’ War. United States Army in the Korean War Series. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1987. Dev­ilbiss, Margaret C. ­Women and Military Ser­vice: A History, Analy­sis, and Overview of Key Issues. Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1990. Dillard, Douglas C. Operation Aviary: Airborne Special Operations—­Korea, 1950–1953. Victoria, BC, Canada: Trafford Publishing, 2003. Dwyer, John B. Commandos From the Sea: The History of Amphibious Special Warfare in World War II and the Korean War. Boulder, CO: Paladin Press, 1998. Edwards, Paul M. The Korean War. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006. Epley, William W. Amer­i­ca’s First Cold War Army, 1945–1950. Land Warfare Papers. Arlington, VA: Association of the United States Army, 1999. Fehrenbach, Theodore R. This Kind of War, The Classic Korean War History. Reprinted, 1963: Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2008. Gallup, George E. The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971. Vol. 2. New York: Random House, 1972. Goulden, Joseph C. ­Korea: The Untold Story of the War. New York: McGraw-­Hill, 1982. Granfield, Linda. I Remember ­Korea: Veterans Tell Their Stories of the Korean War, 1950–53. New York: Clarion Books, 2003. Gugeler, Russell A. Combat Actions in K ­ orea. Army Historical Series. Reprinted, 1954; Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2000. Halberstam, David. The Coldest Winter: Amer­i­ca and the Korean War. New York: Hyperion Books, 2007. Hastings, Max. The Korean War. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987. Hayhurst, Fred. Green Berets in ­Korea: The Story of 41 In­de­pen­dent Commando Royal Marines. Cambridge, MA: Vanguard, 2001. Hermes, Walter G. Truce Tent and Fighting Front. United States Army in the Korean War Series. Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1966. Hogan Jr., David W. Raiders or Elite Infantry? The Changing Role of the U.S. Army Rangers from Dieppe to Grenada. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992. Hogan Jr., David W. U.S. Army Special Operations in World War II. Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1992. MacDonald, Callum A. The War Before Vietnam. New York: The ­Free Press, 1986. MacGregor Jr., Morris J. Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940–1965. Defense Studies Series. Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1981. McKnight, Brian D. We Fight for Peace: Twenty-­Three American Soldiers, Prisoners of War, and Turncoats in the Korean War. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2014.

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Meid, Pat and James M. Yingling. U.S. Marine Operations in ­Korea 1950–1953. Vol. V. Operations in West ­Korea. Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1972. Morris, Brett E. “The Effects of the Draft on US Presidential Approval Ratings During the Vietnam War, 1954–1975” (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama: 2006. Mossman, Billy C. Ebb and Flow: November 1950-­July 1951. United States Army in the Korean War Series. Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1990. Paddock  Jr., Alfred  H. U.S. Army Special Warfare: Its Origins. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2002. Rawlins, Eugene W. Marines and He­li­cop­ters, 1946–1962. History and Museums Division; Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1976. Robertson, William G. Leavenworth Papers: Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, 1985. Rottman, Gordon L. Korean War Order of ­Battle. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishing, 2002. Schnabel, James F. Policy and Direction: The First Year. United States Army in the Korean War Series. Center of Military History. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1992. Schuetta, Lawrence V. Guerrilla Warfare and Airpower in ­Korea, 1950–1953. Aerospace Studies Institute. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1990. Stewart, Richard. The Korean War: The Chinese Intervention, 3 November 1950–24 January 1951. Korean War Commemorative Series. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2000. U.S. Army. Official Army Register, 1951. Vol. 1. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1951. Weigley, Russell F. History of the United States Army. New York: Macmillan, 1967. Whelan, Richard. Drawing the Line: The Korean War, 1950–1953. Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1990.

12 The Vietnam War Robert J. Thompson

OVERVIEW In November 1966, ele­ments of the 1st Brigade, 101st Airborne Division, and the 4th Infantry Division maneuvered in the remote hinterlands of Phu Yen Province during Operation Geronimo I. Their search-­and-­destroy mission, designed to protect Phu Yen Province’s rice harvest, embodied the range of Vietnam War experiences of U.S. Army combat troops. Devised by U.S. Army planners as a three-­phase operation, only Geronimo I produced sizable results. Twice Geronimo I resulted in American soldiers engaging North Viet­nam­ese regulars of the 95th ­People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN) Regiment in ­battle. The first encounter involved a brief firefight in comparison to the ­later instance where men of the 4th Infantry Division assaulted an entrenched ­enemy amid a sprawling ­enemy base camp in an intense engagement.1 The other two phases, Geronimo II and Geronimo III, proved nothing of value, as the former saw American soldiers encountering only weapons caches and sniper fire as the ­enemy simply avoided contact. Geronimo III never materialized due to poor weather conditions. The second phase demonstrated the ­enemy’s control over the war’s tempo—­producing only frustration and errant assumptions of a weakened foe on the part of American authorities.2 Yet the operation furthered the allure of nearing victory, positing U.S. soldiers as the conduits of pro­gress in a war with an unclear endgame.3 The aforementioned anecdote perfectly captured the war as witnessed by American soldiers. The void between firefights and monotonous efforts to contact the ­enemy both exacted a toll from participants. Operation Geronimo I exemplified the intensity of combat emblematic of the war in Vietnam, while Geronimo II revealed the futility often associated with the numerous, far less eventful operations conducted by U.S. Army forces in the Republic of Vietnam. The events in Phu Yen Province mirrored a war laced with vio­lence and fruitlessness. Between ­these two extremes existed, in a war pitting Viet­nam­ese against Viet­nam­ese, a strug­gle in which the United States implanted itself. Indeed, what unfolded between

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1965 and 1975 amounted to an American effort to build, and then support, a nation to stand against communist expansion. The Vietnam War—or more accurately the American War as it bookended internal Viet­nam­ese strug­gles—­consumed the United States of the 1960s and early 1970s.4 Fallout from World War II ultimately brought American soldiers to the fledgling Republic of Vietnam. Born out of French efforts to reassert control over its colony of Indochina, the American war in Vietnam proved the continuation of U.S. efforts to contain communism. As part of the wider decolonization period of the Cold War, the emergence of Viet­nam­ese nationalism, largely ­under the banner of the Viet Minh, transformed Indochina into the battleground of competing ideologies among the Viet­nam­ese themselves and their foreign backers. To keep monolithic communism from spreading into Southeast Asia, the United States embarked on a global strategy to keep Soviet influence out of economic markets, to deny it the means of competing against the cap­i­tal­ist system favored by Amer­i­ca. Part of this policy entailed the buttressing of states and governments against Soviet influence, resulting in the meddling in civil wars in the developing world—­the areas once the hotbed of colonialism before World War II. The United States used its military to back diplomacy, sending forces to ­Korea and, of consequence ­here, Vietnam. With the end of French efforts to retain Indochina in 1954, the ­future of the Viet­ nam­ese p­ eople unfolded on the world stage. Disregarding the elections of 1955 mandated by the Paris Agreement out of fear of Hanoi winning full control of Vietnam, the United States created the Republic of Vietnam—­often simply referred to as South Vietnam—­out of what was the Annam portion of Indochina. Consisting of territory spanning from the 17th Parallel in the north to the Mekong Delta in the south, the Republic of Vietnam existed as the physical manifestation of U.S. re­sis­ tance to what it perceived as monolithic communism directed by the Soviet Union. Crafted as a bastion of democracy to thwart the Viet Minh goal of a single, unified communist Vietnam, Amer­i­ca fostered a repressive regime in Saigon. To lead the new nation, the United States selected Ngo Dinh Diem. Although capable of ­r unning the Republic of Vietnam, Diem’s authoritarian ways severely undermined his popularity. Indeed, he successfully alienated the Buddhist majority and ignored rampant corruption—­much to the chagrin of American advisors. As po­liti­cal intrigue diverted attention away from the growing ­People’s Liberation Army Front (PLAF) insurgency, an Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) coup in 1963 ended Diem’s rule and life, spiraling the country into years of poor leadership. The unfolding turmoil advanced Hanoi’s agenda and led to the escalation of the war by the Johnson administration. What began as an advisory effort ­under the guise of Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG) during the Truman administration eventually transformed with the formation of Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) into the full Americanization of the war ­under the Johnson administration. In part ­because of perceived inadequacies in South Viet­nam­ese military capabilities and the gains made by the National Liberation Front (NLF), the Johnson administration intensified the war. The Tonkin Gulf Incident on August  2, 1964, elicited Operation Rolling Thunder—an intense aerial campaign against North Viet­nam­ese targets.



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Members of the 9th Infantry Division burn My Tho, a suspected Viet Cong base camp in South Vietnam. Search-and-destroy missions became an increasingly common aspect of the Vietnam War and tended to infuriate South Viet­nam­ese citizens, whose property was often taken or destroyed on the basis of suspected disloyalty to the South Viet­nam­ ese government. (National Archives)

The PLAF attack on February 7, 1965, against American forces at Pleiku, however, did more to ensure American escalation, as the event resulted in the deployment of U.S. troops as purveyors of security.5 The arrival of PAVN regiments in South Vietnam and the territorial gains of the PLAF in 1965 fundamentally changed the trajectory of the war. By the end of 1966, General William C. West­moreland, head of MACV, commanded 450,000 American troops and had permission to take the offensive. Consequently, the Viet­nam­ese strug­gle transformed into an American war.6 The shift from the purely advisory mission to one of taking the offensive marked a major escalation of the war, one with ­great pressure on American soldiers to engage with, and destroy, the e­ nemy as quickly as pos­si­ble. Through successive operations in priority areas, called Hop Tac in Vietnamese—­ those designed as central to the Republic of Vietnam’s survival—­MACV created space between urban centers and ­enemy forces. Over the course of 1966 and 1967, U.S. troop numbers dramatically increased as MACV launched numerous search-­ and-­destroy operations by maneuver battalions to isolate and destroy ­enemy main forces. Often mischaracterized as a function of West­moreland’s so-­called war of attrition, search and destroy meant bringing the e­ nemy to b­ attle with the goal of creating space between e­ nemy main force units and the South Viet­nam­ese ­people. While ­enemy kills did ­matter, the body count was just one of many indicators of pro­gress.

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In a war driven by data, American authorities accumulated statistics for ­every aspect of the Vietnam War. One of the more well-­k nown metrics, the Hamlet Evaluation System, served to indicate the level of security enjoyed, or not, by hamlets across the Republic of Vietnam. The system scores included A for most secure, B almost secure, C secure with prob­lems, D barely secure, F not secure, and VC for ­those secured by the e­ nemy. Another famous metric, body count, is forever entwined with narratives of the Vietnam War. Much unlike the Hamlet Evaluation System, however, the importance of body count is grossly exaggerated.7 Aside from t­hose pro­gress metrics, o­ thers revealed the more ­human side of the war. Indeed, statistics helped relay who fought the war and the ­human cost paid by American soldiers on the battlefields of South Vietnam. To pre­sent the war in Vietnam as more than an American endeavor, the Johnson administration requested, and obtained, combat forces from an array of friendly nations. With military assistance rendered by Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, South K ­ orea, Taiwan, and Thailand, t­ hese ­Free World Military Forces augmented the massive footprint of the U.S. military.8 For example, in II Corps, American soldiers often operated in close proximity to soldiers of the Republic of ­Korea Army, in addition to t­hose of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. At the war’s height in April 1969, 543,400 Americans served in the Republic of Vietnam. Lack of pro­gress ­toward a military victory ­under both the Johnson and Nixon administrations resulted in Vietnamization, a pro­cess by which the United States returned the majority of warfighting to the South Viet­nam­ese. Vietnamization served to fulfill President Richard Nixon’s plan of “peace with honor.” To exit the war, the Nixon administration fostered warmer diplomatic relations with China. ­Doing so suggested dialogue, not war, could c­ ounter communism.9 In turn, this geopo­liti­cal development greatly reduced the need to bolster a demo­cratic state in Southeast Asia. Yet the pro­cess of returning the task of finding and battling the ­enemy to ARVN units proved difficult ­after years of misusing the South Viet­nam­ ese troops. While South Viet­nam­ese soldiers and marines fought well on numerous occasions during the 1968 Tet Offensive, Saigon lacked the resources and capabilities to fight an American-­style war. By the time the United States extricated itself from the war via the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, Amer­i­ca had gained ­little. The Republic of Vietnam itself remained far from the stable, blossoming democracy envisioned by American authorities a de­cade ­earlier. That made the h­ uman cost for the United States all the more ­bitter. A recorded 45,929 military personnel dead and a security situation eerily similar to that of 1965 meant the United States had achieved ­little, if anything, ­after the expenditure of substantial blood, time, and trea­sure. The abandonment—­initially in terms of U.S. combat forces and ­later the lack of arms and financing—of the Republic of Vietnam by the United States left President Nguyen Van Thieu and his country facing a bleak ­f uture. The focus on unification through war and the buildup of North Vietnam’s military for that end eventually consumed South Vietnam. The subsequent fall of Saigon in April 1975 to PAVN underscored the bitterness that defined the American war in Vietnam. American ser­vice personnel w ­ ere the physical manifestation of U.S. involvement in Vietnam. As the executors of U.S. strategy in Vietnam, they also symbolized



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the war itself. Consequently, veterans dealt with derision from an unsupportive American public and the long journey of coming to terms with the war. American veterans of the war permanently harbored the trauma and effects of war—­with healing still an ongoing pro­cess. Indeed, the unveiling of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C., in 1980 symbolized the start of a national healing pro­cess, one delayed ­because of fervent anti-­war sentiments and the inability to reconcile Amer­i­ca’s defeat. The lessons from the war itself, too, lingered from neglect. With the advent of the ongoing War on Terror, and the return of the U.S. Army to counterinsurgency warfare, the lessons of Vietnam are as applicable as ever. Veterans of Vietnam and the War on Terror share the continued uncertainty of their contributions. CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS To fill the ranks of American units in South Vietnam, both the Johnson and Nixon administrations relied on the draft. Reluctance to deploy reserve units meant only the draft could sustain the U.S. military’s manpower needs. With 50 million young men turning 18 between 1964 and 1973, ­these Baby Boomers offered the United

Four male civilians take the oath of ser­vice, a key step to becoming recruits in the armed forces. During the Vietnam War era, 2.6 million troops served in South Vietnam, of whom 25 ­percent ­were conscripts and the remainder ­were volunteers. (Rohn Engh/FPG/Getty Images)

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States a source of vast manpower. As the war escalated, so, too, did the need for military personnel to serve in theater. The nearly 4,000 local draft boards in the United States met the demands by selecting roughly 1,800,000 men for ser­vice, with 33 ­percent comprising the forces deployed to Vietnam.10 The very nature of the draft, however, made it highly controversial and ultimately ensured the war as one of Amer­i­ca’s working class. The draft emerged as one of the main controversies of the war. Although authorities deemed 57 ­percent of ­those drafted as unfit for military ser­vice, for young men the draft represented the willingness of authorities to sacrifice young American lives in a war poorly explained to the American p­ eople.11 The Baby Boomer generation’s search of individual identity and purpose placed them at odds with blind ser­vice to the nation at war. Their f­ athers had defeated fascist regimes hell-­ bent on genocide and world domination, yet young Americans of the 1960s found themselves tasked with fighting a war on the other side of the globe against an ­enemy that had not attacked the United States or directly threatened the liberal world order. David W. Eichhorn described the feeling of getting drafted in 1969 accordingly: “­Wasn’t feeling good. It was sad. I guess sadness would describe the feeling more than anything.”12 Nevertheless, 19-­year-­old American men—­the representative age of the majority of soldiers deployed to South Vietnam—­confronted Hanoi’s forces.13 The majority of draftees came from underprivileged backgrounds, thereby lacking the academic and economic means of avoiding military ser­vice. Privileged whites used ­family connections and funds to obtain positions that kept them from Vietnam. Loopholes in the draft meant working-­class men shouldered the burden of the war. Medical exceptions exempted nearly 3.5 million draft-­eligible men. Men from middle-­to upper-­class upbringings had access to help, particularly their own doctors, and thus w ­ ere quite easily able to gain letters from their care provider needed to disqualify them from military ser­vice. Time constraints and disinterest in challenging outside opinions meant draft boards almost always awarded an exemption to ­those carry­ing a letter from a physician. Poorer men from less educated backgrounds, however, typically did not seek outside medical advice, permitting draft board doctors to conduct physicals. Unlike their privileged counter­parts, ­these men rarely received disqualifications, save for the most undeniable ailments.14 Education played a significant role in deciding who fought in Vietnam. Indeed, ­those with the economic means to attend college often had access to information on how to avoid getting drafted—­resources not readily, if at all, available in poor neighbors across the United States.15 Students for a Demo­cratic Society, for instance, provided anti-­war information to ­those seeking it and, most significantly, existed in a network that could help one avoid military ser­vice by fleeing abroad.16 Enrollment in college provided men with a deferment, precluding them from ser­vice as long as they maintained full-­time status or u­ ntil graduation.17 National Guard duty offered a means of escaping the draft and, potentially, the war in Vietnam. In a U.S. government study, approximately 80 ­percent of National Guardsmen indicated the draft as being the motivating f­ actor for their joining the National Guard. Fearing the backlash of the anti-­war movement and increased scrutiny of the war, the Johnson administration refused to mobilize the National Guard



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for action in Vietnam. With such a stance, the National Guard offered a face-­saving opportunity for men to serve the nation, yet with scant chance of ending up in Vietnam. Although 15,000 guardsmen deployed to Vietnam, a million more did not. While enlistees signed a six-­year agreement, two years longer than ­those drafted, many accepted the extra two years as fair payment to avoid Vietnam.18 Not all who served ­were drafted. Reluctant volunteers, two-­thirds of American men who volunteered for military ser­vice, did so b­ ecause they feared the draft would place them in the thick of fighting in South Vietnam. To avoid ground combat—­seemingly promised if drafted and placed in the infantry—­these volunteers viewed enlistment as a means of escape. Enlisting offered the opportunity to select both a branch of ser­vice and a military specialization, yet did not guarantee avoidance of deployment to South Vietnam. Nevertheless, enlistment at least offered the best means of serving, albeit for anything but belief in the cause, in a capacity not likely to entail locking in b­ attle with the ­enemy.19 The account of John Swalby serves as a useful example of a reluctant volunteer and, ­later, deserter. “More or less, I was A-1 all the way as far as I know. I ­don’t know what the designation is nowadays. So, by the fall or late summer in ’67 I enlisted ­under the gun basically I was g­ oing to get drafted very shortly,” Swalby recalled.20 Instead of waiting to get drafted, he enlisted in the U.S. Army. Yet Swalby’s story broke with that of thousands of other reluctant volunteers; he deserted. While in the m ­ iddle of his training to become a Vietnamese-­language specialist, rather than follow through with his military ser­vice, he absconded to Canada. Fleeing to Canada existed as another option to avoid the war, albeit one with profound complications. Feeling the war in Vietnam was morally wrong, Swalby connected with university students who ultimately helped him enter Canada. His connections with Students for a Demo­cratic Society led him to the Toronto Anti-­Draft Program, which in turn linked him with Quakers living in Toronto. Canadians provided him with a job, and thus the l­ egal means with which he could stay in Canada. Swalby commented that “within about a month’s time of arriving in Canada, I was out milking cows in rural Ontario.”21 Only ­later did he learn that his actions cost him his American citizenship.22 Other American men volunteered for ser­vice ­because they wanted to serve. Termed legitimate volunteers, men like Frank Gutierrez wanted to follow in the footsteps of relatives who served in prior wars. The themes of social pressure, ­family history, and inability to avoid military ser­vice all factored into the decision-­making pro­cess of a volunteer. In the case of Gutierrez, his experience helps explain why volunteering made sense for some men. Indeed, Volunteering seemed like the reasonable ­thing to do ­because they ­were ­going to get you one way or the other. So, in being that my friends ­were also volunteering, it seemed like a good ­thing to do. Plus, I have an ­uncle who was my role model, who if it w ­ ere not for him I prob­ably would not have even thought about joining the military. But, he had been in the Army, he came to Texas Tech, and I wanted to follow his lead and be like him. So, it ­wasn’t difficult for me to consider joining the Army ­because I liked him and the way he was and I wanted to be like him, so it seemed like the logical ­thing to do at the time. I suppose that if I had known more about what was ­going on over t­ here, the real­ity of the war, I may not have been so e­ ager to

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volunteer. But, I think that I was determined to go ­there, voluntarily or ­under conscription. One way or the other, I would have wound up t­ here. That was just my mentality at the time, best that I can recollect. I ­wasn’t scared of the potential of ­going to Vietnam. It’s just that it was something that I felt like I had to do.23

Albeit at lower levels than reluctant volunteers, at least one-­third of volunteers felt compelled to enlist. Compulsion to serve applied to the Vietnam War. TRAINING A quin­tes­sen­tial scene of ser­vice in South Vietnam is that of a young man begrudgingly arriving at basic training to learn to fight a war he does not understand. ­After a buzz cut and the issuing of fatigues, fresh recruits began to look like soldiers—­but the pro­cess was far from complete. Unlike the two world wars, the United States used a centralized training system to prepare new troops for combat during the Vietnam War. Over a period of eight weeks at installations such as Fort Ord, California; Fort Polk, Louisiana; and Fort Riley, Kansas, the U.S. Army transformed recruits into soldiers.24 Via a pro­cess of breaking down and then building up, drill instructors introduced recruits to soldiering. Through a well-­structured system intended to tax one’s physical capabilities while programming them to function as part of a unit, not as an individual, recruits became accustomed to life in the army. Basic skills such as marching, marksmanship, and military courtesy gave recruits the basis on which the army would add specialized training.25 For the young men at basic training, the experience seemed barely, if at all, related to soldiering. Polishing boots, making beds, saluting, kitchen duty, cleaning and reassembling ­rifles, and miles upon miles of marching all made the tear-­down phase arduous and frustrating for recruits. Dehumanizing pro­cesses, like the near-­constant yelling of instructions, group punishment for individual infractions, and highly regimented sleep and activity schedules, pushed recruits to their ­mental and physical limits. This period of preparation appeared indistinguishable from that experienced a generation ­earlier by men preparing for war in Eu­rope and the Pacific. Intense, soul-­crushing training provided the army with an empty canvass on which to fashion a soldier fit for Amer­i­ca’s wars. Eventually, however, the build-up phase began, with recruits spending time at the ranges, learning to properly fire their weapon to ultimately earn their ­rifle qualification. So, too, did the now-­hopeful soldiers learn to throw grenades, engage in hand-­to-­hand combat, and fight as small units.26 The basic training experience of John Mark Bland encapsulated that of the thousands of other American men. His basic training tran­spired at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. As recalled by Bland, “My daily training routine in basic, in boot was typical, up before the sun, breakfast, PT (physical training), classes. Our weapons training was good in basic. We even got to shoot the M-16, which our basic training weapon had been the M-14, but the last two weeks every­body got sent to M-16 training. You knew they ­were ­going to Vietnam.”27 For another example, take the experience of Michael Morris, who trained at Fort Ord, California. He remembered his arrival at basic training as rather surreal. Indeed, “You get off the bus and they scream at you and they put you in platoons and they cut off your hair. It was still a big joke. It was a big game.”28 He added, “They worked us very hard. They made



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sure that you had to do PT (physical training) before you went in to eat so guys ­were throwing up when they ­were supposed to be having breakfast or lunch. It was very rigorous physical training. Every­body who showed up was in sad shape believe me. It’s life at home versus life ­under duress.”29 The results, however, demonstrated why the U.S. Army pushed men like Bland and Morris to their physical and ­mental limits. Morris noted that training “put me in terrific shape to the point where, ­there’s a PT test they give and I scored 496 out of a pos­si­ble five hundred points. Then they picked me to be one of the trainees who demonstrated the obstacle course to the assembled multitude on graduation day or what­ever it was. I was in g­ reat shape. I was smokin’.”30 With such fitness, the U.S. Army prepared its recruits’ bodies for the physicality of modern warfare. Basic training instilled recruits with just enough skills required for additional training. Only further, more detailed instruction could prepare soldiers for ser­vice in a war zone. Therefore, at the close of basic training, recruits graduated to Advanced Infantry Training. At this stage, soldiers honed their military occupational specialty. For many, this entailed earning the rifleman designation with the M14 ­r ifle. ­Others specialized in heavier squad weapons—­machine guns and mortars—­while some took specialization to a higher level with the radiotelephone or by becoming a medic. Advanced Infantry Training also featured intense study of combat in South Vietnam, including the ­enemy’s tactics. Through lessons on the PLAF’s use of traps and ambushes to full mock-­ups of hamlets, soldiers experienced the war as best as the U.S. Army could offer short of a­ ctual combat.31 Completion of Advanced Infantry Training meant soldiers received deployment ­orders and the last bit of leave before embarking for South Vietnam. With the prospect of ­going to South Vietnam more apparent than ever before, soon-­to-­deploy soldiers celebrated the final ­free days in the United States while becoming more apprehensive of their ­f uture. During training, soldiers came to realize that only the skills instilled in them by the U.S. Army could save their lives in combat. Such knowledge weighed heavi­ly on the minds of t­ hose about to start their tour.32 SOCIAL STRUCTURE The Cold War period in general involved profound cultural changes, with the Vietnam War no exception. As the ­children of the so-­called “greatest generation” came of age, they did so in a nation very much in flux. The Amer­i­ca of the Vietnam War era proved quite dissimilar to that witnessed by the previous generation. With the Civil Rights Movement, the Gay Rights Movement, emergent feminism, and the counterculture that produced Woodstock, the United States of the 1960s bore ­little resemblance to the nation of a generation e­ arlier. Two of the most popu­ lar songs of the era, Staff Sergeant Barry Sadler’s “Ballad of the Green Berets” and Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son,” encapsulated the rift within American society. Whereas the former espoused patriotism and military duty, the latter spoke of the working-­class youth fighting a privileged man’s war. The culture transmitted on American airwaves followed young Americans even to Vietnam. In turn, the Vietnam War fueled the rather tumultuous societal changes transpiring in the United States. A rich milieu of cultural and social backgrounds

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on the part of draft-­eligible men reflected an increasingly diversifying nation. The U.S. Army echoed this diversity. A disproportionate number of minorities and working-­class white Americans shouldered the burden of fighting the war in Vietnam. James Nall grew up in segregated Alabama, where as an African American he essentially lived a life separate from that of whites. Nall commented that, “You had the colored ­water and the white ­water. I never tasted any of that white ­water. For all them years, I obeyed. I ­didn’t never know how white ­water tasted.”33 When the U.S. Army drafted Nall in May 1966, he recalled, “But I never gave it much thought. I never looked at it from that point of view; I never did think that it was a race t­ hing.”34 Yet African American involvement in the Vietnam War was a race issue. As in Amer­i­ca’s prior wars, African Americans served despite being denied the freedoms and rights enjoyed by their white counter­parts. Before 1967, the African American soldier experience in South Vietnam entailed more societal pressures and higher casualties than their white counter­parts. The Civil Rights Movement back in the United States affected African Americans fighting in Southeast Asia. Martin Luther King Jr. noted the irony of African American and white men fighting a war together overseas, yet ­because of segregation t­hese men w ­ ere denied the ability to use the same public facilities back in the United States.35 African Americans suffered twofold more deaths than their repre­sen­ta­tion in the nation’s population. The fact that 20 ­percent of combat deaths between 1965 and 1967 ­were that of African Americans did not go unnoticed back home. King emphasized the losses suffered by African Americans, as well as that of all the poor, regardless of race.36 As phrased by King, “The promises of the ­Great Society have been shot down on the battlefield of Vietnam.”37 As President Lyndon Johnson’s primary domestic initiative, the ­Great Society was meant to uplift Amer­i­ca’s working class and continue President Franklin Roo­se­ velt’s New Deal. The words of King therefore stung, as the Vietnam War certainly jeopardized Johnson’s ­G reat Society. Over the course of the war ­after 1967, the number of African Americans killed in combat decreased to 12.5 ­percent, bringing more parity to their percentage of the American population.38 As argued by historians Kara Dixon Vuic and Heather Stur in their respective works, to make sense of the Cold War period, Americans relied on time-­tested gendered constructs. W ­ omen embodied all the virtues Amer­ i­ ca associated with defending the American way of life from the ills of communism—­caregivers full of purity willing to give all to support their husbands or boyfriends. Such concepts stuck with ­women as the U.S. Army sent them to South Vietnam.39 ­Women, forbidden from soldiering, served as nurses. While the U.S. Army sent men to advise the South Viet­nam­ese military, the Army Nurses Corps sent nurses to Saigon to train their South Viet­nam­ese counter­parts in 1956. With escalation and the war becoming an American one, the number of nurses serving at U.S. Army hospitals in the Republic of Vietnam r­ ose from 390 in 1966 to 906 in 1968.40 Take the example of Mary Messerschmidt, who enlisted as a nurse in the U.S. Army in 1963. Her experience demonstrates the U.S. Army’s eagerness to recruit ­women and the rewards offered by the ser­vice to the w ­ omen like Mary who joined. While taking courses at Western Chase University in Ohio, “a friend and I saw a sign in the nursing office at the university that said they needed Army nurses. This



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was r­ eally a surprise.” Both Mary and her friend l­ater conversed with a recruiter: “ ‘Do they take Army nurses into the Army?,’ ” the pair asked.41 The response: “He was ecstatic. He was a sergeant. He said, ‘I get double points for this.’ So, by Monday, this was Saturday, by Monday when I was back up at school, the recruiter was calling. I said, ‘My, they are fast. They must be an efficient organ­ization.’ So I got to join—we both joined as first lieutenants ­under two years for pay purposes.” 42 The U.S. Army permitted Mary to complete her education before attending basic training, certainly a motivator for joining the ser­vice. “So when I actually went to basic, I had my bachelors in science, bachelors in science and nursing. They paid me for a ­whole year, first lieutenant ­u nder two, full quarters, all of that,” Mary explained.43 ­Later, “Following the year at Fitz Simmons in Denver, Colorado, I went to Vietnam. I volunteered to go to Vietnam. I thought Vietnam would be long over before—­none of us thought a war would go on that long. I was assigned to the 91st Evac hospital in Chu Lai, Vietnam.” 44 In Mary’s case, the U.S. Army provided rich incentives for her enlisting. American ­women serving in a war zone found themselves caught between living up to the girl next door archetype and serving as officers in the U.S. Army. Their experience proved equally valuable and daunting. Female nurses found themselves caught between two enemies—­Hanoi’s forces intent on killing Americans and predatory American men who saw them as sexual objects. The very nature of the mission, caring for wounded soldiers, meant nurses routinely encountered the horrors of war. Such a real­ity forced female nurses to uphold the femininity imbued on them by American society, while assuming traditional masculine traits of bravery and stalwartness while treating one wounded soldier a­ fter another.45 The girl next door image ­women took with them to Vietnam, albeit reluctantly, caused prob­lems not of their own creation. Indeed, ­because of that social construct, female nurses found themselves the objects of desire by ­those they ­were tasked to care for: American soldiers. The U.S. Army furthered that construct as it used female nurses as caregivers and as reminders to the troops of what they ­were fighting for. A friendly football game—­dubbed the Easter Bowl—in Dong Tam in 1968 between female nurses from the 3rd Surgical Hospital and men from the nearby 9th Infantry Division helps convey the gender constructs w ­ omen faced during the war. For the game, the nurses wore outfits with the same bunny tail associated with the ever-­popular Playboy magazine. Although the men could chase ­after the ­women, touching the bunny tail called for a 50-­yard penalty. W ­ omen w ­ ere within reach, but most certainly off limits, symbolizing the sexualization of ­women in uniform while affirming bound­aries.46 DAILY LIFE A soldier’s existence in South Vietnam centered around advancing Amer­i­ca’s fight against North Vietnam’s forces. For some soldiers, this meant participating in search-­and-­destroy operations to find and engage the ­enemy in ­battle. For the majority of American military personnel stations in the Republic of Vietnam, however, helping the American war effort amounted to performing tasks in rear base areas. In a war without front lines, the U.S. Army spread its base camps

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throughout the country. From shops to barracks to chow halls, ­these base camps eventually contained every­thing needed by the soldiers. Soldiers, too, wore clothing designed especially for the tropical conditions associated with Southeast Asia. MACV located its soldiers in bases strategically placed throughout the Republic of Vietnam. Some bases sat atop remote hills deep in the countryside, while other installations abutted large urban areas. At the remote locations, soldiers of the battalion and smaller units existed to conduct operations against the e­ nemy. Life in the countryside, or the “boonies” as termed by American soldiers, proved anything but glamorous. Companies rotated in and out of bases for patrol duties, while other companies refit for ­future maneuvers. When on patrol, soldiers scoured for the ­enemy and established ambushes and endured the heat, humidity, and bugs while sustaining themselves on infamously unpop­u­lar C rations. Away from base meant soldiers experienced the unforgiving environment of South Vietnam. Larry Lukes, a soldier in the U.S. Army, recalled operating in a swamp as particularly difficult: “We would go out on night ambush patrol, and the tide would come in. So you have to blow up your air mattress and put all your web gear and your weapon and stuff on ­there and make sure you tied rope to it and to a tree.” Failure to do so meant floating away. Insects proved troubling also, as leeches and mosquitoes pestered soldiers to no end. “It was just leeches, mud, and dirt. You would have leeches all over you and ­little cuts from where they had been,” Lukes noted.47 Bases afforded soldiers respite, though sometimes only for a single night. The tempo of war dictated the amount of time soldiers spent on base before returning to the field. When not on patrol, soldiers assigned to combat units passed the time reading letters from home, responding to said letters, listening to ­music, drinking, and pursuing w ­ omen. Gifts and letters from home, as well as audio recordings, provided soldiers with much-­needed reminders of home. Gifts such as mosquito repellent, hot sauces, and cakes helped improve morale. Indeed, mail call existed as the high point of a soldier’s day.48 Near South Vietnam’s cities sat the larger division and corps bases. U.S. Army soldiers assigned to rear support units caught the ire of their counter­parts deployed to combat units. Given the derogatory moniker REMF for “rear echelon ­mother f—­ers,” support personnel performed duties that kept the U.S. Army functional in South Vietnam. While maintaining vehicles, ­handling supplies, and clerical duties, the soldiers stationed away from combat ­were looked down upon by ­those dodging ­enemy fire. Support personnel enjoyed the products of American consumerism far more than their comrades deployed in the jungles and rice paddies elsewhere in the country. In Long Binh, one of the largest U.S. Army bases in South Vietnam, soldiers had access to shops, bars, an unofficial brothel, an outdoor movie theater, and a host of recreational facilities. Post exchanges, the shops typically found on bases, sold just about e­ very product one would find back in the United States.49 The U.S. Army began developing a uniform for hot conditions between 1952 and 1955. In 1962, the Quartermaster Research and Engineering Command began the creation of a uniform to meet the hot and damp environmental conditions of Southeast Asia. The tropical combat uniform emerged from that effort—­featuring lightweight cotton construction for comfort and multiple cargo pockets. Lessons



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from the war in the Pacific informed the development pro­cess, as soldiers of World War II in the Pacific theater favored wearing tightly woven, light fabric. By 1963, the U.S. Army accepted the new uniform, issuing it rapidly to its units. Yet the tropical combat uniform lacked significant features, most notably protection from chemicals, fungi, insects, radiation, and thermals. The uniforms also lacked a camouflage pattern, featuring solid olive green instead. That shade, termed Olive Green Army Shade 107, proved darker—as to better blend into the shadowy landscape of vegetation-­rich South Vietnam—­than the olive green associated with the U.S. Army of World War II. The uniform of the Vietnam War underwent enhancements throughout the conflict, particularly in regard to protecting soldiers from mosquitos. By the end of 1968, the revised uniform afforded wearers 98 ­percent protection from mosquitoes, as opposed to the lower 92 ­percent offered by the original design. In a tropic environment teaming with malaria-­carrying mosquitoes, the 1968 improvement cannot be understated. The M1952 fragmentation body armor provided soldiers who wore it with torso protection, yet this vest left appendages and head exposed.50 Soldiers of the U.S. Army wore a variety of headgear during the war. The U.S. Army equipped soldiers in South Vietnam with the M1 steel helmet, a design not all too dissimilar from the one worn a generation ­earlier during the fight against the Axis powers. Soldiers customized their uniforms and gear—in par­tic­u­lar, decorating their helmets with vari­ous graffiti. Army he­li­cop­ter crew members wore the APH5 flying helmet, which ­housed communication gear. Aside from helmets, the U.S. Army authorized the wearing of Australian-­style bush hats. Affectionally called “boonie hats,” this light headgear offered better protection to a soldier’s face and neck from the ele­ments than baseball-­style caps and berets. Some boonie hats ­were produced locally in South Vietnam.51 A reward all soldiers longed for was that of a week away from the war. Termed rest and relaxation, or more commonly called R&R, soldiers received a week holiday during their tour. Intended to give soldiers a break from the stress of war in South Vietnam, R&R entailed sending a recipient to locations within the Republic of Vietnam: Bac My An, Saigon, and Vung Tau. Other options involved ­those outside the country in exotic Pacific destinations, some of which included Bangkok, Thailand; Hong Kong; Honolulu, Hawaii; Singapore; Manila, the Philippines; Sydney, Australia; and Tokyo, Japan. Areas designated by MACV for R&R offered fruits similar to ­those found at Long Binh, if not more. While debauchery typified the R&R experience, soldiers often found the experience surreal. The transition from combat to tourist occurred far too quickly for a soldier to properly acclimate. Consequently, soldiers often longed for the return to their units.52 RELIGION Chaplains personified the moral underpinning of the U.S. Army. For the U.S. Army, chaplains provided soldiers with access to religious ser­vices. Chaplains with the U.S. Army in South Vietnam balanced their religious responsibilities with the realities of the war in which they found themselves. Indeed, priests and ministers

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represented morality to the soldiers ­u nder their care and thus made sure to act accordingly. Yet chaplains ­were fully cognizant of the need to bond with soldiers, thus causing some clergy to ignore activities they found morally questionable. One chaplain, ­Father Charles Watters, personified a chaplain’s commitment to his fellow men. He posthumously earned the Medal of Honor for his actions during the ­Battle of Dak To on November 19, 1967. Attached to the 173rd Airborne Brigade, he followed his men into ­battle, where he assisted wounded soldiers despite his own exposure to ­enemy fire. Multiple times, Watters placed himself in grave danger to administer aid to the American paratroopers. Friendly fire in the form a misplaced bomb from a U.S. Air Force aircraft claimed Watters’s life.53 Selfless acts, however, did not always translate to the rear echelon. Soldiers often turned to chaplains for guidance, confiding actions and thoughts that weighed them down morally. What chaplains did, or did not do, with information obtained from soldiers’ confessions affected the image of the U.S. Army as a ­whole. In some instances, chaplains relayed unsettling news of soldiers mistreating South Viet­nam­ese civilians and North Viet­nam­ese corpses. Conversely, other crimes went unreported. When soldiers of Com­pany C, 1st Battalion, 20th Infantry Regiment, 11th Brigade, 23rd (Americal) Infantry Division, ­under the command of Lt. William Calley massacred civilians at My Lai in 1968, he­li­cop­ter pi­lot Hugh Thompson placed his Huey between the remaining civilians and the American soldiers ­after witnessing the attack unfold from the air. ­Later, Thompson relayed what he witnessed to chaplain Carl Creswell, yet he did not report anything to the proper commanding authorities. While the ­later Peers Commission uncovered all the intricacies of the My Lai Massacre, the chaplaincy in South Vietnam on the ­whole seemed incapable of upholding morality in the U.S. Army.54 As the war’s unpopularity grew in the United States, U.S. Army soldiers in South Vietnam also developed an aversion to the conflict. Chaplains witnessed disillusionment take hold in the ranks ­after the 1968 Tet Offensive as both civilians and soldiers understood that the war was unwinnable. In one example, fully aware that the United States was losing the war, chaplain Thomas Des Champs recalled placing the morale of his men above his duty to inform them of the real­ity they faced. Indeed, “As God’s emissary to the troops, I found myself telling them every­thing would be ‘all right.’ But in my heart, I knew that every­thing ­wasn’t or ­couldn’t be ‘all right.’ No words can describe the horrors of war or the effects that it can have upon men’s souls.”55 Des Champs himself felt conflicted, but he believed “God was still in control;” thus, he felt comfortable telling his men what he thought they needed to hear. His message demonstrated the need of chaplains to balance their personal and religious convictions with that of keeping soldiers motivated. POPU­L AR CULTURE American soldiers in the Republic of Vietnam found themselves in an alien environment, yet not without ele­ments of American pop culture. Indeed, the U.S. Army provided its soldiers with access to lit­er­a­t ure and entertainment for morale purposes. American pop culture kept U.S. Army soldiers mentally connected to the home front. A fixture of pop culture in 1960s Amer­i­ca, Playboy provided soldiers



The Vietnam War 877

with both entertainment and informative commentary on po­liti­cal developments back home. “If World War II was a war of Stars and Stripes and Betty Grable, the war in Vietnam is Playboy magazine’s war,” wrote Ward Just of The Washington Post.56 The pictures of nude w ­ omen, especially the centerfold, certainly enticed soldiers to buy the magazine. Of interest to soldiers ­were Playboy articles on leisure topics enjoyed by men—­newest gadgets, cars, and fashion. Yet arguably, the most impor­ tant contribution came in the form of the controversial topics covered by Playboy—­ counterculture, civil rights, feminism, gay rights, and the Vietnam War itself—​which kept soldiers informed of po­liti­cal and social developments. Articles on the war addressed strategy and discussed the ­handling of the war by the Johnson administration and MACV. At the pinnacle of Vietnamization and widespread disenchantment with the war in 1971, Playboy featured pieces to boost soldier morale—thanking them even for continued ser­vice in South Vietnam. ­T hese reminders of home offered soldiers brief escapes from the war, while keeping them connected to the cultural and social maturations unfolding back in the United States.57 Relief from the war came in the form of entertainment. United Ser­vice Organ­ izations, or USO, tours sent comedians, bands, and other acts to divert the attention of soldiers away from the war. Easily recognizable icons like Bop Hope, Nancy Sinatra, and John Wayne took their talents to South Vietnam via the USO. Through comedy and ­music, soldiers enjoyed some of the more popu­lar acts of the era. In one 1969 tour, Hollywood producer Jim Begg traveled throughout South Vietnam with actresses Susan Howard, Pamela Moffitt, and Jill Townsend to entertain troops recovering in hospitals and ­those stationed at isolated fire bases. Among the destinations visited, the group met with soldiers at the 312th Evacuation Hospital in Chu Lai and, l­ater, with soldiers at the Headquarters of the 2nd Squadron, 1st Calvary Division at Fire Base Black Hawk.58 Pop culture icons visited with American soldiers in lower-­key settings than ­those afforded by USO shows. Indeed, American celebrities visited troops near the battlefields of South Vietnam. On one occasion in 1966 in Phu Yen Province, for an hour and a half Hollywood actor Robert Mitchum met with men of the 101st Airborne Division while the unit participated in Operation Harrison. Soldiers put on a weapons demonstration for the star of films such as The Night of the Hunter and Cape Fear, with Mitchum himself getting an opportunity to fire an M79 grenade launcher. Mitchum ­later conversed and ate with soldiers before he reboarded a U.S. Army he­li­cop­ter and departed the area of operations.59 Mitchum’s visit demonstrated a concerted effort by the Department of Defense to boost morale among soldiers in the field, particularly as anti-­war sentiment continued to ferment in the United States. As an expression of the working class by the working class itself, rock and roll reflected the shifting attitudes of average Americans to the Vietnam War. Disinterest on the part of Amer­i­ca and rock and roll at the start of the war gave way to concern in 1967, which then transformed into anger and rebellion between 1968 and 1972. In mirroring public sentiment, rock and roll entwined itself with the war. Prewar songs such as Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War” and Phil Ochs’ “I ­Ain’t Marching Anymore” embodied anti-­war attitudes already attached to the American

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

psyche. In 1966, a popu­lar song, Sergeant Barry Sadler’s “The Green Berets” reached number one on the charts. Pro-­military, Sadler’s tune prepared a nation’s sons for war in Southeast Asia. A year l­ ater, “The Green Berets” had given way to songs like Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant” and Country Joe and the Fish’s “I-­Feel-­Like-­I’m-­Fixin’-­To-­Die Rag”—­tracks that exuded apprehension and, in the case of the latter, outright re­sis­tance to the war. As the war escalated and ­after the 1968 Tet Offensive helped intensify opposition to American military action in Vietnam, the rock and roll scene reflected re­sis­tance to the war and the establishment by Amer­i­ca’s youth. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s 1969 hit “Fortunate Son” perfectly captured the anti-­war sentiment while placing the war in the context of class: “It ­ain’t me, it ­ain’t me, I ­ain’t no senator’s son, son.” Upper-­class sons could use connections to avoid ser­vice, while men in the lower classes could not. Groups like Cream, the Doors, Jefferson Airplane, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Love, and ­others also recorded songs dealing with the Vietnam War.60 For American soldiers in South Vietnam, the sounds of home came in the form of rock and roll. Indeed, ­music popu­lar at home proved equally so in theater as soldiers also listened to The Beatles and other acts dominating the airwaves in the United States. Broadcasting out of Saigon, Armed Forces Radio played far less rebellious tunes. Yet soldiers had access to the increasingly popu­lar anti-­war and antiestablishment songs thanks to tape recorders and radios. Indeed, some soldiers set up pirate radio stations and played anti-­war tracks across the airwaves. Thus soldiers ­were in tune with the shifting attitudes back home ­because of their access to popu­lar ­music in South Vietnam.61 PAY AND COMPENSATION Compensation for U.S. Army soldiers during the Vietnam War varied ­because of one’s par­tic­u­lar set of circumstances. Location, rank, and time in ser­vice all factored in to what a soldier earned. For ­those serving in Southeast Asia, hostile fire pay, or combat pay as it was more often called, applied. In this case, soldiers assigned to units in South Vietnam earned between $150 and $200 per month. Some earned an additional $50 to $65 for hazardous duty.62 What soldiers did with their pay had profound ramifications for the ­people of the Republic of Vietnam and their economy. While the pay seemed paltry, the average American soldier enjoyed spending power far beyond that of the typical South Viet­nam­ese citizen. With the war consuming villages across the country—­a war in which pacification entailed keeping the civilian population isolated from ­enemy influence and interaction—­many South Viet­nam­ese became refugees, ultimately residing in camps near American bases. Thus a cottage industry arose catering to ­every need of Americans. Soldier pay went to the vari­ous businesses that arose around U.S. military installations, especially cleaning ser­vices, bars, and brothels, essentially catering e­ very need of the Americans. In turn, this made the economy of South Vietnam totally dependent on the infusion of American dollars spent by ser­vice personnel. American soldiers earned enough to afford South Viet­nam­ese cleaning ladies who did every­thing from polishing boots to ironing uniforms to making beds. U.S. Army soldier Mike Mercer recalled, “The Viet­nam­ese would



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come in, pay them and ­they’d do your laundry, take care of our boots. A buck and a half, two bucks a week. Some of them ­were our enemies and some of them ­weren’t. ­They’d cut our hair; ­they’d do anything you wanted them to do.” 63 On average, a South Viet­nam­ese cleaning lady earned $5 per month from each soldier. For ­those catering to the sexual needs of soldiers, the payoff was much higher. Unsurprisingly, such relationships with South Viet­nam­ese induced friction between the American soldiers and the Viet­nam­ese p­ eople. Memories of Viet­nam­ese servitude in the French colonial system remained fresh in the minds of the Viet­nam­ese themselves. Creating an image of servitude of the South Viet­nam­ese to the Americans further complicated the uneasy relationship between the purported allies. Prostitution proved rampant, as American soldiers could exploit the ser­vices of young Viet­nam­ese ­women struggling to make ends meet during war­time.64 Don Halsey, a U.S. Army soldier attached to Civil Operations and Revolutionary Development Support, or CORDS, explained the economic ramifications of the U.S. presence accordingly, “I think basically what the Americans did, they corrupted them. ­You’ve read so much about how high the prostitution rate was over ­there, well I think the average pay in a Viet­nam­ese ­family at that time was like, equivalent to about $2.00 a month for working in the rice paddies and they ­were starving ­because they had been driven from their land ­because of the war.” 65 He added that American troops ­were everywhere and easy to find, “so ­these girls could make an awful lot of money, and take the money back to their families, and I think that a lot of them turned to prostitution for it and unfortunately, it ruined a lot of families ­because the Viet­nam­ese religion and their culture was very, very strict and very puritanical but you just had prostitutes everywhere, everywhere.” 66 Insofar as personal experiences went, Halsey remarked, “You’d walk around in Saigon and ­they’d grab you in an alley. I went into a department store in Saigon, and a prostitute, ‘Hey GI,’ and pulls her dress up. This right in the ­middle of a department store.” 67 Halsey was likely in or near Saigon’s infamous Tu Do Street. In that par­tic­u­lar sector of Saigon, a red light district flourished as numerous businesses existed to provide American ser­vice men access to alcohol and prostitutes. WEAPONRY The U.S. Army wielded a technologically advanced arsenal during the Vietnam War. The Vietnam War saw the average American infantryman equipped with substantially more personal firepower than his Korean War and World War II counter­ parts. The state-­of-­the-­art M16 assault ­rifle, fabricated from metal alloys and plastic, marked a leap from the wood-­and-­steel-­based ­rifles previously associated with modern warfare. No other handheld weapon embodied the Vietnam War like the M16. As the standard-­issue ­rifle for American soldiers ­after 1966, the M16 earned an early negative reputation for jamming. To function properly, the ­rifle required near-­constant cleaning, a difficult task in the tropical climate of South Vietnam. By 1968, however, updates to the ­rifle made the M16 far more reliable. The M16 also used a 5.56-mm round, which lacked the stopping power of the larger 7.62-mm round fired by the AK47—­the weapon of choice for PAVN and PLAF. Nevertheless, the M16’s automatic fire was well suited for South Vietnam, where the jungle

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environment often negated marksmanship. The volume of fire produced by the M16 offset the small-­arms advantage enjoyed by the PLAF during the U.S. advisory years, making the weapon popu­lar among once-­outgunned American troops.68 The M60 light machine gun augmented the firepower at the disposal of an infantry com­pany. Operated by two men, the M60’s 7.62-mm round provided im­mense stopping power and versatility as it was fitted to a multitude of vehicles.69 Rapid fire for the M60 entailed 200 rounds per minute with operators changing the barrel ­every two minutes. Sustained fired meant 100 rounds per minute and a barrel change ­every 10 minutes. Regardless, the M60 could potentially hit targets at a maximum distance of 3,725 meters, with effectiveness maxing out at 1,100 meters.70 With he­li­cop­ters alone, the war for the Republic of Vietnam’s existence proved markedly dif­fer­ent from the previous wars of the twentieth ­century fought by Americans. The mobility afforded by he­li­cop­ters like the UH-1 Huey and the CH-47A Chinook meant American soldiers could move rapidly and engage the ­enemy away from urban areas. He­li­cop­ter gunships, like rocket-­equipped UH-1 Hueys and AH-1 Cobras, provided soldiers with loitering fire support. Similarly, such aircraft could perform duties including scouting and interdiction of the e­ nemy from above.71 Firepower served as a ­great equalizer for American forces engaged in combat. In addition to the support rendered by he­li­cop­ters and fixed-­wing aircraft of the U.S. Air Forces, field artillery provided American soldiers with a means of turning the tide in ­battle. Often situated in fire bases strategically placed across the country ­were 105-mm and 155-mm howitzers, which fired in support of U.S. Army operations and to interdict ­enemy supply routes. Howitzers of the M101 and M102 variety ­were light enough for transport by he­li­cop­ter, permitting the relatively easy deployment of the pieces in remote tracks of South Vietnam. The mobility of artillery meant the infantry rarely operated without it. Larger-­caliber artillery, such as self-­propelled 175-mm and 8-­inch howitzers supplemented the aforementioned pieces when necessary.72 Arguably, however, PAVN retained an advantage in that its Soviet-­and Chinese-­supplied artillery typically outranged that of American and South Viet­nam­ese forces.73 Nevertheless, the U.S. Army enjoyed fire superiority as it deployed artillery to envelope an area of operations ­under an umbrella of coverage, much to the chagrin of the ­enemy. Indeed, U.S. Army operations centered on the ability of infantry commanders to call upon artillery for direct fire support.74 The ability of the U.S. Army to shield infantry ­behind a wall of steel influenced ­enemy tactics. To lessen the effectiveness of American artillery and aerial support, the PLAF ­adopted a “grab them by the b­ elt” approach—­getting close enough to the U.S. soldiers to render fire support too dangerous for the Americans.75 Thus, the weaponry at Amer­i­ca’s disposal also heavi­ly influenced the actions of the ­enemy. The technological edge enjoyed by the U.S. Army continued with the armored vehicles at its disposal. Despite difficulties in the terrain, American forces used tanks, particularly the M48 Patton. Armored personnel carriers (APCs) could transport soldiers while offering protection and firepower. Used extensively by the U.S. Army in South Vietnam, the M113 served the Americans well, yet proved vulnerable to the B-40 rockets carried by the ­enemy. More importantly, however, ­because of tonnage, the M113 could



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go where the M48 could not. For instance, Phu Yen’s extensive rice paddies made deploying the heavy M48 impractical. However, the lighter M113 could more easily traverse the local roads and without getting bogged down.

COMBAT All the preparing, particularly that offered at Advanced Infantry Training, came to the fore for a soldier upon arrival in South Vietnam. In a war without front lines, soldiers did not need to wait long to realize they ­were in a war zone as evidence of the conflict abounded. Keen knowledge of the terrain and ability to blend into the local population on part of the PAVN and the PLAF meant American forces fought a war on the e­ nemy’s terms. Since the e­ nemy controlled the tempo of war—­often deciding when and where to fight—­American soldiers found themselves constantly reacting to situations. Thus, a war of extremes best encapsulated the combat experiences of U.S. soldiers in South Vietnam. For U.S. Army soldiers, the war featured a range of experiences, from intense combat against a seen and unseen ­enemy, to uneventful patrols u­ nder the searing Southeast Asian sun, to the stresses of participating in a conflict derided by the American ­people at home. Unseen dangers, too, inflicted suffering on the Americans. Booby traps, mines, and snipers made life for an American soldier exceedingly dangerous. The terrain of the Republic of Vietnam often proved a formidable foe for patrolling American units and frequently proved as dangerous as hidden PAVN and PLAF troops. In April 1967, while patrolling the infamous swamp lands east of Saigon known as the Rung Sat, Ronald Schworer, a soldier with the 9th Infantry Division, vanished into a fast-­moving river while trying to dodge friendly fire—he accounted for the sole fatality on that maneuver.76 As the most stressful part of a soldier’s tour, patrols meant finding an ­enemy that did not endear itself to being located. Survival, and thus continuing the war, in the face of massive American firepower required the PAVN and PLAF to avoid contact with American units, especially on American terms. Thus, ambushes and booby traps often met American soldiers out on patrol. Indeed, concealed pits with sharpened bamboo stakes, grenades rigged with tripwires, and antipersonnel mines awaited unaware American soldiers.77 In festooning the landscape with such devices, the PLAF slowed down American patrols while exacting a physical and ­mental toll on American soldiers. With the time between arrival and reporting to one’s unit amounting to a ­matter of days, many soldiers found themselves out on patrol a mere 10 days ­after arriving in-­country.78 For ­others, the first taste of war came much faster. Consider the following example of the quick introduction to the war. Hours ­after arrival at Long Binh, Darryl Nelson found himself with the 1st Military Police Com­pany shooting at and killing PLAF infiltrators. Nelson described his first night on duty as such: “That night, armed with an M-14, two other guys and I ­were on patrol. We had somebody try to run the gate and I fired my first shots in anger in Vietnam.” He continued, “That’s the first time I’d ever fired at anybody in anger or in duty, and it’s amazing, it was amazing, that I hit ­because I was prob­ably 200 yards away and I

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was just standing. I just jumped out of the truck and came into a standing position and fired, and I took two of the three out and the other guys ­didn’t even fire.”79 His first taste of action, and the claiming of two lives, left Nelson shaken: I was immediately taken back to the guard shack and they started to say something and I said, “­People, you folks are ­going to have to excuse me ­because I am sick,” and I went outside and I upchucked every­thing that I’d eaten in two days, I’m sure, and I came back in. ­There was an old master sergeant around ­there and when I say old I mean old. He gave me a canteen of w ­ ater and he said, “Go wash your mouth out, son.” I washed my mouth out and I came back and he said, “Did you drink some of that?” and I said, “Yes, sarge,” and he took me to one side and out of his side pocket he pulled a ­little flask and he gave me a shot of whiskey and he said, “­There you are.” He said, “By God, ­you’re a combat veteran now. Go talk to them.” I went over and they asked me to give them a statement.80

Admittedly extreme, Nelson’s experience nonetheless encapsulated the rapidity at which some American soldiers went from arrival in-­country to contact with the ­enemy. Nelson’s exploit also touched upon the replacement experience in Vietnam. The Vietnam War differed from o­ thers in that, on paper, units deployed to South Vietnam remained ­there while soldiers rotated in and out. Instead of soldiers arriving and fighting together before all returning home, the U.S. military sent soldiers home individually as they completed their tour. Such a system caused a breakdown in unit cohesion, as replacements joined units full of resentful seasoned soldiers. Replacements arrived in-­country with scant, if any, knowledge of the nature of combat in South Vietnam—­often necessitating the learning on the job, much to the chagrin of their experienced counter­parts, as seasoned soldiers viewed replacements as a liability. Compounding m ­ atters for replacements—­dubbed FNGs by seasoned soldiers—­they often found themselves tasked with the most dangerous jobs in the field: ­r unning point and scouting in front of their unit. Such tasks exposed them to the first burst of fire from the ­enemy; thus, it is no won­der replacements suffered high casualty rates.81 David Shelly explained his replacement experience thus, “­Until you get some combat experience ­you’re ­going to be treated that way but it ­wasn’t a treatment as far as the rest of the units, they stood away from me. They ­didn’t want to even be associated with you but ­these guys they called you the cherry and FNG and stuff, but they still would hang out with you and be associated with you and help you out.”82 Save for a few major ­battles, when fighting did erupt, it typically pitted small units against one another. Such engagements proved intense. During Operation Francis Marion in Binh Dinh Province during May 1967, ele­ments of the 4th Infantry Division located and engaged ele­ments of the 1st PAVN Division. In most instances, PAVN de­cided where and when to fight, luring the American patrols into areas where PAVN had prepared overlapping fields of fire and amassed superior troop numbers. Such actions on the part of PAVN functioned to place its troops as close to their American counter­parts as pos­si­ble, thereby lessening the effectiveness of American firepower. Outnumbered and with ­limited fire support, men of the 4th Infantry Division fought nine close-­quarter ­battles as part of MACV’s push to keep PAVN as far away from urban areas as pos­si­ble. This strategy, however,



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played into PAVN’s hands, as it endeavored to draw American maneuver battalions into the remote countryside to both relieve pressure on the PLAF and to prepare the urban areas for the 1968 Tet Offensive. During one of the engagements, U.S. Army soldier Bruce Allen Grandstaff recalled getting into a shouting match with opposing North Viet­nam­ese regulars. “Come and get us, you bastards,” he yelled. In response, a nearby PAVN soldier quipped “Come and get us, G.I.!”83 The combat experiences of ­those serving with armored units often proved more hazardous than ­those of the infantry. At the height of the 1968 Tet Offensive, M113 armored personnel carriers of D/16 Armor assumed positions near a hamlet on the outskirts of Tuy Hoa City. Ele­ments of the 95th ­People’s Army of Vietnam Regiment overran the hamlet hours ­earlier and occupied buildings, preparing for D/16 Armor’s entrance into the ­battle. Immediately upon crossing into “Indian country”—­ the pejorative term used by Americans to describe territory u­ nder ­enemy control— an American armored personnel carrier erupted in flames as an ­enemy rocket pierced its thin armor, testament to the ferocity of the ensuing b­ attle and, more generally, the offensive itself. In a scene repeated throughout the Republic of Vietnam in early 1968, only overwhelming firepower could remove the North Viet­nam­ese, yet at the expense of individual dwellings. Thus, the subsequent clash provided a hollow American and South Viet­nam­ese victory as hamlets smoldered from the effects of urban warfare and heavy ordinance. Elsewhere across the Republic of Vietnam, Hanoi’s massive nationwide offensive upended Saigon’s efforts to control the countryside or ensure pacification. Intense combat in cities like Hue, Saigon, and Tuy Hoa provided American soldiers with a war markedly dif­fer­ent from the one fought before 1968.84 The Vietnam War was very much a he­li­cop­ter war. Combat for U.S. Army aviators proved no less intense than for the infantry on the ground. In seeking out the ­enemy in the hinterlands of the Republic of Vietnam, operational planners relied on U.S. Army he­li­cop­ters to take the fight to the ­enemy. Indeed, the nature of search-­ and-­destroy operations necessitated the air mobility that only a he­li­cop­ter could provide. He­li­cop­ter crews typically supported the operations of ground forces, ferrying in and out troops, hauling supplies, and providing fire support. A Cobra gunship pi­lot during the war, David Tela recalled one of his combat experiences that speaks to the devastating firepower at the disposal of American forces. While on a mission over the U Minh Forest, Tela and his wingman engaged structures suspected of sheltering PAVN troops. Tela explained, So, ­there ­were memorable moments. Firing rockets that ­were ­really fired too close to the target and then flying through the explosion. Firing rockets at a thatched structure and flying so close and so fast, that when it blew up, the thatched structure went up and—­I ­didn’t see this ­because all I saw was dust, dirt, ­things clanking up against the fuselage, but Paul Chalet screaming on the radio, “Jesus Christ, did you see that?” And what I had done was, when the explosion went off of the rockets, the structure had lifted and I had flown under­neath the thatched structure as it was airborne and came out the other side.85

Tela’s experience addresses both the extremes of combat for he­li­cop­ter crews and, more significantly, the firepower used by the United States to support soldiers on the ground.

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Members of the 25th Infantry Division board Bell UH-1D he­li­cop­ters during a search-­ and-­destroy mission near Cu Chi, South Vietnam, 1966. He­li­cop­ter assaults offered a new means to quickly transport troops for surprise attacks against the elusive Viet Cong guerrillas. Of the approximately 12,000 he­li­cop­ters used in the Vietnam War, more than 5,000 ­were destroyed in combat operations. (National Archives)

ELITE TROOPS Pacification existed as the principal concern of all military efforts on the part of American and allied forces during the Vietnam War. A key component of advancing pacification manifested in the use of special forces to ­counter the PLAF’s guerrilla tactics with their own guerrilla tactics. More accurately termed counterinsurgency, attempts to reverse PLAF influence and outright control of the countryside entailed assisting the Saigon government with improving security mea­ sures through the training of local defense units and identifying e­ nemy cadre. American special forces matured during the Vietnam War. Specialized units operated as part of the U.S. Army’s counterinsurgency efforts. Long-­range patrols, intelligence gathering, and engaging e­ nemy forces in small-­unit b­ attles existed as the duties typically associated with the U.S. Army’s elite forces.86 One of the more well-­k nown specialized U.S. Army units to emerge during the Vietnam War was Tiger Force. Developed by Major David Hackworth, Tiger Force existed on the premise that a small unit would excel at intelligence gathering and fighting, beating the PLAF at the communists’ own game of small-­unit warfare. Composed of soldiers of the 1/327th Infantry, 101st Airborne, Tiger Force often operated with irregular South Viet­nam­ese units. In late January 1966 in Phu Yen Province, where Tiger Force entered the war, the unit participated in Operation Van Buren. During the operation, Tiger Force learned hard lessons at the village of My



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Canh, where a well-­fortified PAVN outfit drew the American sweep of the area to a halt. At the hamlet of My Canh 2 on February 7, the Americans learned the tactics taught by the U.S. Army w ­ ere in­effec­tive in South Vietnam. Tiger Force had encountered a hamlet specifically crafted by the 95th PAVN Regiment to draw Americans in and fight on PAVN’s terms. Tunnels linked buildings, thereby permitting the defenders to move about the hamlet and, l­ ater, disengage from the b­ attle. Efforts to outflank and envelop the PAVN forces resulted only in American casualties as the North Viet­nam­ese regulars of the 95th PAVN Regiment covered ­every ­angle of approach with devastating automatic-­weapons fire. A ­ fter an intense firefight and heavy bombardment by U.S. artillery, plus numerous American casualties, the PAVN occupiers simply withdrew.87 The engagement at My Canh 2 hardly validated the existence of Tiger Force. Yet Tiger Force proved its value as Operation Van Buren continued. Hackworth’s troops found themselves operating in the remote western reaches of Phu Yen near the village of Cung Son. H ­ ere, U.S. Special Forces detachment A221 trained and operated alongside Montagnard Civilian Irregular Defense Group, or CIDG, platoons. Tiger Force now joined ­these units to deny the ­enemy freedom of movement and access to the province’s population. During this phase of Operation Van Buren, Tiger Force’s actions typified ­those of a specialized force—­working alongside irregular friendly units and ­doing so in the more remote parts of the countryside. Before the arrival of Tiger Force, the area adjacent to Dong Tre rested u­ nder e­ nemy control. The efforts of Hackworth’s men, however, helped clear the surrounding area, at least temporarily, of e­ nemy forces. The success of Tiger Force spawned similar outfits. Units like Tiger Force included the Hawk Force of the 2/327th Infantry and the Recondos of the 2/502nd Infantry.88 HEALTH AND MEDICINE The Vietnam War exacted a high toll from the U.S. Army and the soldiers themselves. During the war, approximately 300,000 soldiers suffered wounds. Half that number, about 150,000, required hospitalization, with thousands ­later treated “for disease and noncombat injuries.”89 Of that 150,000 in need of hospital care, wounded soldiers faced a system built on speed to save their lives. In a war without traditional ­battle lines, by 1968 the U.S. Army operated 19 hospitals strategically placed throughout the Republic of Vietnam. Teams of doctors and nurses staffed ­these hospitals, including 16,000 physicians, 15,000 nurses, and 19,000 other officers of the Army Medical Corps by 1969. To get the wounded from the battlefield to the operating ­table, the Army Medical Corps employed scores of he­li­cop­ ters as air ambulances, a testament to the rapidity with which the Army Medical Corps he­li­cop­ters conveyed wounded soldiers from the landing zone to the awaiting hospital medical staff. Typically, within moments of suffering a debilitating wound, a U.S. Army medic administered first aid in an all-­out effort to stabilize the soldier for evacuation. Meanwhile an alerted medevac he­li­cop­ter made its way to extract the wounded soldier. The medic and medevac he­li­cop­ter constituted the first tier of five in the U.S. Army’s medical system employed during the war. Once loaded and airborne,

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the he­li­cop­ter flew to a division clearing station. Such facilities ­housed teams of doctors and nurses tasked with providing ser­vices short of surgery. Soldiers in need of surgery advanced to the third tier, the mobile surgical hospital. For the severely wounded, subsequent surgeries tran­spired at more advanced hospitals. For example, while the third tier could stabilize a traumatic amputation, only the fourth tier of care could provide the surgery required to save the remaining part of the damaged appendage. Additionally, t­ hese facilities provided psychiatric care. Hospitals in Japan and the Philippines, with capabilities on par with the best hospitals in the United States, w ­ ere the fourth tier. The most severely wounded and t­ hose recovering from intense surgeries found themselves transferred to the U.S. Army’s major hospitals in the United States, such as Letterman in San Francisco and Walter Reed in Washington, D.C. The U.S. Army did not anticipate the return to South Vietnam of soldiers treated at fifth-­tier hospitals. The experience of a U.S. Army he­li­cop­ter pi­lot furthers our understanding of getting wounded and the rapidity of the medical system put in place by the Americans. In 1965, while on a combat mission near the infamous Mang Yang Pass in the Central Highlands, a U.S. Army he­li­cop­ter of the 1st Cavalry Division crashed ­after taking intense ­enemy ground fire. The pi­lot, Roy Charles Gentry, remembered getting shot down while providing suppressing fire during the landing of troops in a hot landing zone. As Gentry tried to land his stricken Huey, “a bullet came through the bottom of the fuselage and up through, ricocheted through and hit me in the face, clipped through my flight helmet, right on the edge of it below my cheek.”90 Knocked out from that injury, Gentry awoke ­after his crew pulled him from the wreckage. Only when he tried to get up to reach help did Gentry realize his back was broken, preventing him from walking.91 Flown directly to a mobile surgical hospital in Qui Nhon ­because of its proximity to his crash site, Gentry recalled, “I was in and out of an operation, at least I was in within an hour of having been shot down.”92 While surgery alleviated the pressure on his back, Gentry still suffered from a compression fracture and four damaged vertebrae—­fortunately, his spinal cord remained unaffected. A week ­after surgery, Gentry arrived at Clark Air Force Base Hospital in the Philippines, where doctors and nurses continued to treat his back.93 The ­Battle of Dak To in November 1967 offers another useful example of how the U.S. Army medical system in South Vietnam cared for wounded American soldiers. Nurse Margaret Easterly Canfield recalled her experience at the 71st Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku during the aforementioned ­battle: We had so many men wounded and killed. We got in just about all the wounded from that operation. We w ­ ere g­ oing in the emergency room twenty four hours a day. Some of the doctors just ­didn’t get any rest at all. Fortunately, we ­were able to get a few hours rest at a time and then go back and work some more, but it went on for days and days, just bringing in the wounded. They ­weren’t able to get to them right away, so some of the wounds w ­ ere pretty old. T ­ here ­were a lot of head wounds and a lot of chest wounds. In it was a pretty rough time. In fact, we ­were ­doing quite a bit of major surgery even in the emergency room ­because the operating rooms w ­ ere all full. That was the biggest operation that I’d been associated with since I’d been in Vietnam. A lot of the wounded, as soon as we got them stabilized, w ­ ere air-­evac’ed to other places, but the initial care was down at the 71st Evac.94



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The Canfield anecdote provides a glimpse into the experiences of hospital staff and the lengths they went to save American lives. Moreover, her experience demonstrates how the system functioned. All the medical capabilities at the U.S. Army’s disposal, however, could not save ­every soldier or resurrect ­those killed outright in combat. Statistics provide a sobering account of the loss of American soldier lives in the Republic of Vietnam. Between January 1, 1965, and March 31, 1973, 58,022 American military personnel died as part of the Vietnam War. Of that number, U.S. Army soldiers accounted for 30,595 deaths. Distilled further, enlisted men bore the brunt of the war with 27,271 dead, as 3,324 army officers also died in combat.95 In terms of age, soldiers between 17 and 21 suffered 17,550 deaths. T ­ hose 22 and older accounted for an additional 12,006 fatalities.96 From January 1967 to December 1972, 26,435 soldiers perished ­because of the war. Out of that number, one can extrapolate that replacements faced lower chances of survival than ­those approaching the end of their tours. The first half of one’s first tour proved most dangerous, as indicated by the deaths of 11,502 soldiers during the first three months, 7,489 in the second three months, 5,045 in the third three months, 1,714 in the fourth three months, and 653 over twelve months. The discrepancy of 32 deaths exists ­because of reporting issues. When separated along racial lines, 26,280 whites died, with 3,994 African Americans killed in combat.97 Of the draftees, 14,791 died serving with the U.S. Army in South Vietnam.98 The ­causes of death reflected the small-­unit warfare that typified Vietnam War combat. Indeed, the U.S. Army reported 13,852 of its deaths resulted from fragmentation—­artillery shell bursts, mines, and rockets—­while 12,327 deaths stemmed from gunshots or small-­arms fire.99 PRISONERS OF WAR U.S. Army soldiers captured by the ­enemy faced an arduous journey. Unlike their American aviator counter­parts who found themselves in the infamous Hanoi Hilton or in other facilities in North Vietnam upon capture, soldiers typically found themselves in the remote areas below the 17th Parallel. Between 1961 and 1964, the PLAF captured 21 American soldiers serving as advisors. From that number, four prisoners died in captivity from illness and two escaped, while the PLAF killed five and released nine. However, the PLAF kept one U.S. Army soldier, Captain Floyd “Jim” Thompson, ­until March  16, 1973. Captured on March  26, 1964, Thompson was the longest-­held captive of the war and in the history of the U.S. military.100 The POW experience for Americans kept in South Vietnam varied considerably from ­those confined to prison cells in the North. Differences in confinement—­ bamboo cages in southern camps as opposed to concrete cells in North Viet­nam­ ese prisons—­made the POW experience harsher for ­those held in South Vietnam. Largely b­ ecause of their location of capture in South Vietnam and since their captors had to operate ­there, U.S. Army prisoners of war ­were confined to small, isolated camps. The PLAF often moved POWS from camp to camp to keep them away from American and other friendly forces. The number of captured soldiers paled in comparison to that of U.S. Air Force and U.S. Navy pi­lots held in North

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Vietnam. Life in a POW camp for an American soldier entailed abuse, isolation, and malnourishment. Captors beat uncooperative Americans and exposed them to indoctrination lectures about the history of Vietnam and the war currently underway. Camps typically contained six POWs, with the Americans often locked up in exceedingly small cells or in cages. Constructed with bamboo and thatch, holding cells varied in size. A large cell’s dimensions ­were 10 feet by 8 feet, whereas a smaller structure barely left a captive enough room to sit up, never mind stand. Interaction between prisoners proved fleeting as ­those held ­were typically confined to separate cells. Daily distribution of just three cups of rice meant captives lost considerable weight. The poor quality of the rice, often contaminated, left detainees with dysentery. Additionally, ­because of the environment itself, prisoners suffered from malaria.101 Prisoners served one major purpose for the communists: propaganda. The PLAF displayed captured Americans to the local population to elicit certain responses from the Viet­nam­ese themselves. “To use live examples (American POW’s) and real facts for pre­sen­ta­tion to the masses in public meetings with a view to propagandize our victories (we ­were victorious ­because we had been able to capture U. S. POW’s) and enable our armed forces and ­people to know the Americans concretely,” the National Liberation Front mandated.102 When on public display, captured Americans found themselves chained and u­ nder heavy guard.103 For the PLAF, presenting captured Americans was meant to boost morale while si­mul­ta­neously sending the message that the communists, not the Americans, ­were in control. Take, for instance, the plight of Thompson. He commanded a group of U.S. Army Rangers in the Republic of Vietnam’s northernmost province of Quang Tri in 1964. Geo­graph­i­cally, Quang Tri abutted Laos to the west and North Vietnam to the north, placing the province in some of the most contested territory during the war. Such placement mattered ­later when Thompson fell into PLAF hands following the crash of his aircraft during a reconnaissance mission. Thompson’s prisoner-­of-­war experience entailed imprisonment in small, remote camps in Laos and North Vietnam. His case proved aty­pi­cal in that his PLAF captors kept him isolated from other Americans ­u ntil shortly before his release in 1973 and that, as a U.S. Army soldier, he ended up in North Vietnam.104 The point of his confinement was the extraction of a statement from Thompson admitting the PLAF had a just cause and w ­ ere good ­people; his captors promised a quick release if he just signed a statement. To that end, and in light of his dogged refusal, PLAF guards subjected him to long indoctrination sessions, meager food, l­ abor, and beatings to ultimately extract such a contrived statement from him. ­There ­were no limits to the PLAF’s determination and resourcefulness as they constructed and manned camps solely for Thompson. He ­later recalled astonishment at the lengths the PLAF went to get him to admit, albeit in what Thompson described as a near-­death state, his guilt as an American in a so-­called illegal war against the Viet­nam­ese p­ eople. Thompson did not realize his value as a propaganda piece for the PLAF ­until much ­later. Indeed, the PLAF used the words of prisoners like Thompson to incite the anti-­ war movement in the United States.105 Thus the takeaway from the Thompson example is the im­mense value communists placed on prisoners of war as instruments of propaganda.



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HOME FRONT Despite the thousands of miles separating the United States from the Republic of Vietnam, the war overcame such a distance as events in Southeast Asia profoundly altered the mood of the American ­people. Public sentiment initially supported the war, albeit passively. With each passing year producing no indication of an end to hostilities, the mood shifted across the United States. Lack of pro­gress in Vietnam directly empowered the burgeoning anti-­war movement. Perhaps the most infamous act of the anti-­war movement was Jane Fonda’s trip to North Vietnam in 1972. Fonda ventured to Hanoi as part of the Indochina Peace Campaign, an initiative intended to educate Americans on Viet­nam­ese culture and history. The infamous scene of Fonda manning a North Viet­nam­ese antiaircraft gun scorched itself into the minds of many Americans, particularly ­those of veterans. Yet Fonda represents just a sliver of the anti-­war movement that engulfed the American psyche. The escalation of the war in Vietnam ­after the Gulf of Tonkin Incident exacerbated nascent anti-­war sentiment in the United States. Composed principally of civil rights activists, pacifists, and students, the anti-­war movement represented a rejection of the Johnson administration’s ­handling of events in Vietnam. By 1965, anti-­ war rallies swept the United States from coast to coast. Anti-­war protestors took a cue from the Civil Rights Movement in adopting civil disobedience as the means of challenging the U.S. government.106 Indeed, both movements shared commonalities, with civil rights leaders empowering anti-­war sentiment. The Student Non-­ Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) presented the war as immoral and imperialistic. Stokely Carmichael, the leader of SNCC, remarked that the war amounted to “white ­people sending black ­people to make war on yellow ­people, in order to defend the land they stole from red p­ eople.”107 Instead of participating in the draft, SNCC called upon African American men to support the communist cause in Vietnam. In 1967, Martin Luther King Jr. entered the discourse, proclaiming the war as inhumane and one that all Americans must protest.108 Years of purported success in South Vietnam by MACV and the Johnson administration proved illusory in 1968 as Hanoi launched its Tet Offensive. For the growing anti-­war movement, the eruption of warfare across the entire country of South Vietnam proved the war far from over and, at least in their eyes, one American authorities had no means of ending. Hereafter, public sentiment irrevocably turned against the war and ­those fighting it—­soldiers included. As the embodiment of U.S. involvement in Vietnam, the American public viewed American soldiers with considerable disdain. L. W. Clement, who served in the U.S. Army in South Vietnam, explained, “Well, at that point in time I knew that I was ­there for a very unpop­u­lar war and I was ­going home and I could take some grief from ­people ­because I had read enough—­a few of the articles about the demonstrations and what was ­going on.”109 Clement remembered returning home to Tulsa as uneventful, much unlike the experiences of ­those who faced angry anti-­war demonstrators outside of airports. Yet his experience relays the knowledge of the war’s growing unpopularity among soldiers. Clement recalled, “Most of the real demonstrations and ­things that came along from the McNamara era came along a­ fter I got home and a lot of that started up a­ fter I got home. So, it even got worse a­ fter I

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got home for the next two or three years. When I arrived back home, though, I was greeted greatly by the neighbors and every­body in town, big signs up, ‘Welcome Home, Welcome Home ­Daddy,’ from the kids across the ­whole front yard and stuff. It was kind of neat.”110 As Amer­i­ca’s first televised war, scenes from Vietnam appeared on tele­vi­sion sets throughout the nation. On-­site reporting by American news correspondents to video of U.S. troops maneuvering against the ­enemy during operations quickly reached American viewers. With local stations providing casualty figures on a nightly basis, Americans could not easily escape the war and the discourse it generated. Tele­vi­sion coverage influenced public perceptions of the war’s direction, or lack thereof to some. Influence, too, extended to the f­ uture replacements who found themselves deploying to South Vietnam. Newly arrived soldiers brought preconceptions of the war with them Public re­sis­tance t­ oward the Vietnam War came to the fore on at least two separate occasions: the 1968 Demo­cratic Convention in Chicago, Illinois, and the 1970 Kent State massacre in Kent, Ohio. With a growing consensus among the nation’s youth that the Vietnam War was not one they wished to fight, it is unsurprising that college students joined the anti-­war movement. On May 4 at Kent State University, ele­ments of the Ohio National Guard fired upon students protesting the Nixon administration’s military incursion into Cambodia. The shooting left four student bystanders dead. If anything, the shooting further enraged Amer­i­ca’s youth. By May 7, 44 college campuses experienced anti-­war demonstrations.111

VETERANS’ ISSUES A host of issues confronted veterans of the war. From disillusionment with the war to the vari­ous health ailments caused by fighting, American soldiers faced a strug­gle in the postwar United States. At the center of life ­after the Vietnam War rested the need to heal—­both from the physical wounds and the ­mental trauma. Consequently, the years immediately following the end of the war saw veterans confronting U.S. authorities as part of the wider coming-­to-­terms pro­cess. The Vietnam War exacted a heavy toll on American soldiers. For some, the war transformed a soldier’s opinions of U.S. policy in Vietnam. Resentment and disillusionment with Amer­i­ca’s ­handling of the war caused the emergence of Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW). Although membership rested in the low thousands, VVAW further empowered the anti-­war movement ­because its members had served the nation in Vietnam. War­time ser­vice gave members of the VVAW legitimacy and credibility as patriots, a trait lacking among the counterculture groups that opposed the war. The organ­ization, too, demonstrated the healing pro­cess as exercised by veterans themselves. In a 900-­member-­strong march on Washington, D.C., in April 1971, the VVAW efforts connected directly with American operations in Vietnam, and the VVAW members took national attention. John Kerry, a navy veteran of the war, delivered a damming critique of the war to Congress. Through Operation Dew Canyon III, veterans solidified their embodiment of the war, from fighting in it and against it.112



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For veterans, surviving the war amounted to just the first stage of overcoming the Vietnam experience. The haunting images of war, permanently imprinted on the minds of soldiers, left many veterans of the war with post-­ traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Intense combat and the strain of fighting an unpop­u­lar and poorly defined war made it difficult for some veterans to rationalize their involvement. ­After the war, research by the National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study posited approximately 829,000 veterans suffering from PTSD. Research by the National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study also revealed that the more a soldier witnessed combat, the more likely the soldier would develop Approximately 1,100 members of the Vietnam PTSD.113 War­ time exposure to defoli­ Veterans Against the War (VVAW) commence a ants—Agent Orange being the week-­long antiwar demonstration in Washington on April 19, 1971. At its height, the organ­ization most infamous—­meant ­future claimed more than 25,000 veterans on its ­battles with cancer for some vet- membership rolls, accounting for approximately erans. Used to remove vegetation 1 ­percent of all Vietnam veterans. (Bettmann/ to deny the e­ nemy cover and to Getty Images) kill crops to deny the ­enemy sustenance, defoliants proved dangerous to all who came in contact with them. As part of the effort to deny cover and food to the ­enemy, U.S. forces conducted operations like Ranch Hand and Trail Dust. This entailed the spreading of defoliants to remove jungle growth that often hid the e­ nemy and herbicides to destroy crops and starve them. A ­ fter the war, veterans suffering from cancer began claiming a link between their suffering and the chemicals used by the United States in South Vietnam, Agent Orange in par­tic­u­lar. The determination of veterans eventually overcame re­sis­tance from the Department of Veterans Affairs, which initially held dismissive views of such claims. The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) contended it was impossible to discern any negative effects of Agent Orange on the premise that too few soldiers came into contact with the chemical, and thus it was impossible to conduct a study. Veterans Affairs shared the CDC’s opinion, as did the administration of President George H. W. Bush and other government entities. Through lawsuits, veterans used the courts to establish herbicides as the cause of their cancer. In 1989, a California federal court ruled in ­favor of the Vietnam Veterans of Amer­i­ca and the National Veterans Law Center in their suit

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against Veterans Affairs. The ruling argued that the proof required by Veterans Affairs was excessive—­indeed, sufficient evidence by Congress’s standards existed.114 Coming to terms with the Vietnam War and the major rift it tore across American society accelerated in 1982. That year, Americans witnessed the unveiling of the national Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Yet memorialization proved a sticking point for veterans. The establishing of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial went a long way in healing the m ­ ental wounds from the war. Designed by Maya Ying Lin, the wall displays the name of ­every American ser­vice person killed as a result of the war, offering the only tangible link for friends and f­ amily with their lost soldier. Like the war it sought to remember, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial emerged surrounded in controversy. With opposing groups wrangling over the postwar narrative, the implementation of Lin’s design generated further discord over how to best remember the war dead. What then emerged in the National Mall was a memorial not too dissimilar to the one put forth by Lin—­a wall displaying names of the deceased on vertical black slate slabs embedded in the side of a knoll. As the controversy faded, the centrality of the memorial in the postwar narrative intensified. Reunions transpire at the wall, where veterans reconnect and reminisce about the war that profoundly s­ haped their lives—­all the while honoring ­those the war consumed.115

MILITARY DISCIPLINE The Vietnam War took a toll on the U.S. Army. The need to patrol and search out the ­enemy had adverse effects on discipline. Indeed, discipline in the ranks faltered when U.S. Army soldiers interacted with South Viet­nam­ese civilians. The war rendered much of U.S. Army combat in­effec­tive. The lack of pro­gress ­toward victory hurt morale. To mentally escape the war, soldiers took drugs and drank alcohol, rendering many unable to perform basic tasks. An initial source of despondency for a soldier beginning his tour was the remoteness of his date of expected return from overseas, or DEROS. Much of the time, soldiers held a fatalist outlook on life, figuring the war would claim them. As time progressed, however, and as a soldier’s rotation out of country loomed closer, his morale increased, though with complications. Dubbed “short-­timer syndrome,” soldiers near the completion of their tour developed a heightened sense of vulnerability. While the war in South Vietnam would rage a­ fter their departure, soldiers still harbored a strong desire to survive the war. Soldiers feared ­dying during their final days in-­country, often resulting in the shirking of duty.116 Prob­lems of all sorts dogged the army during the height of Vietnamization. As Vietnamization moved closer ­toward completion, soldiers in the U.S. Army still in South Vietnam knew they ­were now fighting for anything but victory. As reported in an issue of Newsweek, “Worst of all, American troops have never before experienced the pervasive bitterness, regret, and frustration that stems from a final national retreat.”117 Morale plummeted as drug use skyrocketed. Incidents by enlisted men against their officers revealed troubling indicators of poor discipline and aversion to the cause.118 While soldiers in the early stages of the war faced l­ ittle



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contact with drugs, by the 1970s drug use among soldiers proved pervasive. The readily available supply of beer furnished by the U.S. Army meant alcoholism, too, dogged the ser­vice. Inebriated and high soldiers ­were combat-­ineffective and thus useless to the ser­vice. Ju­nior officers had an exceptionally difficult time in South Vietnam with the onset of Vietnamization. As the removal of U.S. combat forces increased, so, too, did the despondency and boredom of the soldiers still fighting the war. Confronted with keeping their unit combat-­effective, while staying in ­favor with their men, ju­nior officers had to pick and choose when to enforce U.S. Army alcohol and drug policies. With the widespread availability of alcohol, the primary issue laid with drug use. A fortunate ju­nior officer was one whose own men policed their drug use while in the field—­saving him overexercising his leadership powers. In rear areas, however, drug use proved far less regulated.119 The perceived overstepping of authority by ju­nior officers, combined with reluctance to die in a lost war on the part of regular soldiers, made the war even more dangerous. Combat avoidance on the part of soldiers during the late-­war period sometimes manifested in the attacking of officers. Fragging, or the use of fragmentation grenades by soldiers to assassinate their superior officers and noncommissioned officers, emerged as a prob­lem for the U.S. Army in South Vietnam. Despite the drawdown of combat forces, between 1969 and 1970, fragging incidents ­rose dramatically from 96 to 209.120 Perpetrators acted out of a twisted desire to preserve their lives and that of their fellow soldiers. Murdered officers ­were targeted ­because they seemed too ­eager to engage the ­enemy and at ease with the risking of lives. ­W hether targeted officers actually harbored such intentions mattered not.121 Military discipline often broke down when American soldiers interacted with South Viet­nam­ese civilians. While some Americans cared about the South Viet­ nam­ese and interacted with them on positive terms, such instances w ­ ere not the norm. Throughout the war, the divide between e­ nemy and friend often blurred. The average American soldier viewed the South Viet­nam­ese with contempt—­often conflating a South Viet­nam­ese peasant with a PLAF combatant. American soldiers often mistreated the South Viet­nam­ese when on patrol. ­W hether roughing up suspects during ad hoc interrogations or burning villages suspected of harboring the ­enemy, American soldiers developed a rather poor rapport with the very p­ eople they ­were meant to protect. Such negative sentiment also made killing easier, serving to justify the shooting of fleeing civilians on the pretext they ­were ­enemy combatants.122 Unsurprisingly, atrocities by American forces did happen. The most infamous incident occurred in My Lai. Hatred of the Viet­nam­ese p­ eople and careerism created the My Lai Massacre. When Lt. William Calley and his soldiers of Com­pany C, 1st Battalion, 20th Infantry Regiment, 11th Brigade, 23rd (Americal) Infantry Division entered My Lai in 1968, they did so with ­every intention of taking their anger out on the South Viet­nam­ese. Calley and his men set out to destroy the entire hamlet. They torched dwellings, indiscriminately executed 300 to 500 civilians, and raped w ­ omen. Only the intercession of U.S. Army he­li­cop­ter pi­lot Hugh Thompson ended the rampage. Having witnessed the crimes from the air, Thompson took it upon himself to end the massacre. To do so, he landed his Huey between

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Calley’s men and the remaining inhabitants, with Thompson ordering his door gunner to shoot any U.S. infantry that dared fire. Thompson’s actions thwarted further murders at My Lai. Through investigative journalism, word of the My Lai Massacre eventually got out in 1969. Only ­after a thorough investigation by General Willard Peers and his commission did the public learn of the U.S. Army’s cover-up of My Lai. The Peers Commission ultimately brought criminal charges against 18 officers, but only ­those against Calley stood, as prosecutors dropped charges against the other defendants.123 Given life with hard ­labor by court-­martial, Calley did not complete his sentence at Fort Leavenworth prison, as President Nixon instead ordered the disgraced soldier placed ­under ­house arrest. ­After three and a half years of being confined to quarters at Fort Benning, Calley received his release in 1974.124 The massacre at My Lai represented the brutality and the worst collapse of military discipline on the part of U.S. Army soldiers during the war.125 UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE VIETNAM WAR From start to finish, advising defined the American war in South Vietnam. Unlike previous American wars of the twentieth ­century, the one in Vietnam began as an advisory effort. With pacification at the forefront of objectives, American advisory efforts centered on assisting their South Viet­nam­ese allies with improving their control over the Republic of Vietnam’s population. When  U.S. combat forces assumed the burden of combat from the South Viet­nam­ese military, the advisory role remained intact and impor­tant. The development of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam into an effective fighting force was a goal of the United States. Crafted in the image of the U.S. Army, ARVN strug­gled as a conventional military force tasked with combating guerrillas. Unlike the U.S. Army, ARVN also lacked the logistical infrastructure necessary to sustain conventional units. For the full duration of Amer­i­ca’s involvement, a fundamental aspect entailed the advising of the South Viet­nam­ese military. The United States combined civilian and military advisory efforts u­ nder Civil Operations and Revolutionary Development Support, or CORDS. This hybrid organ­ization assisted the South Viet­nam­ese with pacification—­ the principal concern of all forces during the war. Pacification entailed the improving of Saigon’s governance in the provinces and combating the PLAF insurgency that gripped much of the country. In the late 1950s, U.S. advisors helped prepare South Viet­nam­ese troops in the fight against the PLAF insurgency. To defend the emerging South Viet­nam­ese state meant the development of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam—­a task that fell upon the collective shoulders of U.S. Army personnel. MAAG, or the Military Assistance Advisory Group, consisted of Americans sent to South Vietnam expressly to train South Viet­nam­ese troops. In ­doing so, the Americans re-­created the South Viet­nam­ese military in the image of that of the United States. Select South Viet­nam­ese officers attended professional military schools in the United States, while ­others experienced training at four locations in South Vietnam. A U.S. Army officer assigned to MAAG spent the majority of his 11-­month tour with a deployed ARVN unit. Such an advisor consulted his South Viet­nam­ese counter­parts as to imbue them with the attitudes expected of an American army officer. Yet efforts



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to encourage a South Viet­nam­ese command to use American procedures often failed to illicit the desired response, as relatively short MAAG tours and the Viet­ nam­ese command structure impeded the implementation of on-­site education.126 MAAG also trained irregular forces to protect the South Viet­nam­ese state. MAAG trained CIDG units in the art of counterinsurgency. Focus centered largely on training the Montagnards, South Vietnam’s largest minority population. With training by special forces, local South Viet­nam­ese communities gained a means of challenging the PLAF.127 Once the United States deployed conventional forces to the Republic of Vietnam, the war became an American one. With the shift from advising to fighting, MAAG gave way to MACV, which in 1967 created a new, hybrid advisory body called CORDS. When attached to CORDS, officers in the U.S. Army occupied a range of advisory positions. Some found themselves attached to an ARVN combat unit or advising an ARVN officer, who served as a district chief in a province administration. In ­either instance, the U.S. soldier needed familiarity with the local language, Viet­nam­ese. Aside from advising their South Viet­nam­ese allies, American advisors reported on South Viet­nam­ese activities to help MACV discern war pro­gress and, ­later, the ability of the Republic of Vietnam to function without U.S. involvement. Lieutenant col­o­nels in CORDS advised province chiefs and ran the advisory team. When working at the province level, advancing pacification existed as the primary task for an American advisor. Indeed, he helped province officials craft and execute pacification programs and ­later reported on pertinent activity—­ enemy attacks, South Viet­nam­ese security, completion of pacification goals, and generally any ­matters deemed consequential enough for higher echelons to read. A CORDS advisor needed to foster a rapport with his Viet­nam­ese counterpart and provide assistance when necessary. Robert Barron, a U.S. Army officer and CORDS advisor, served with Advisory Team 28 in Phu Yen Province as a district se­nior advisor. His experience in Phu Yen encapsulated the purpose of the American advisory effort. As discussed by Barron, it helped tremendously for Americans to build a positive relationship with their South Viet­nam­ese advisee: “Well, they tell you in school to try and build rapport, what­ever that means and so, he was a ­family man and I was a ­family man, we tried to work on that.”128 As for his role when on maneuvers with the South Viet­nam­ese ­under his advisement, Barron explained, “The idea of just taking ­people from ­these non-­Infantry branches and sending us out ­there to try and essentially be infantry advisors worked better than I thought it would, ­because ­really all they wanted us to do was fire support and logistics and so forth. We ­weren’t ­really telling this guy how to fight, although ­after I’d been t­ here six or eight months I kind of was telling him how to fight, once you kind of got the hang of it.”129 Through efforts to understand the war from the South Viet­nam­ese perspective, Barron knew they ­were far removed from the ste­reo­types of bad soldiers: “[I]f you ever talk to anybody from a U.S. unit, they basically think the Viet­nam­ese w ­ ere just no damn good, and u­ nless you w ­ ere an advisor you never ­really knew a Viet­nam­ese, I ­don’t know how they would know, but if you ever talk to anybody from a U.S. unit they ­couldn’t stand the Viet­nam­ese and I think it was pretty much vice versa.”130 Indeed, CORDS forced American ser­vicemen to a­ dopted a fresh perspective of the war and that of their South Viet­nam­ese allies.

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TIMELINE 1858 French Admiral Charles Rigault de Genouilly and his forces capture Da Nang and, ­later, Saigon. 1883 Annam and Tonkin fall ­u nder French rule as protectorates, while Cochinchina becomes a French colony. 1890 Ho Chi Minh is born. 1930 Indochinese Communist Party formed. 1939 World War II begins. June 1940 Germany conquers France. September 1940 Indochina occupied by Japan, who permits the French colonial administration to remain. 1941 Viet Minh formed. March 1945 March: Japan ends the French colonial administration. August 1945 Japan surrenders unconditionally to the Allied powers and hands over authority of Indochina to Viet Minh. September 1945 Ho Chi Minh announces an in­de­pen­dent Vietnam. British troops arrive in Saigon, promptly returning authority to the French. March 1946 Vietnam announced by French and Viet Minh as a f­ ree state within the French Union. French forces allowed to enter the North. May 1946 The agreement reached by the French and Viet Minh fails, resulting in the November attack on Haiphong by French warships. December 1946 First Indochina War commences ­after Viet Minh forces vacate Hanoi. October–­November  1947 French forces conduct the first major operations of the war.



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March 1949 Bao Dai works with the French to make Vietnam an associated state within the French Union. France establishes the Viet­nam­ese National Army. October 1949 Chinese Civil War ends as Mao Zedong and his communist forces triumph over the Nationalists. June 1950 Korean War begins. October 1950 French troops defeated in Cao Bang. December 1950 General Jean de Lattre de Tassigny given command of French forces in Indochina. 1951 ­Under the guidance of Nguyen Giap, Viet Minh forces launch an offensive in the Red River Valley, incurring heavy causalities with no territorial gain. 1952 French forces ­under General Raoul Salan begin Operation Lorraine. May 1953 General Henri Navarre given command of French forces in Indochina. October 1953 Laos granted in­de­pen­dence by France. November 1950 Cambodia declares in­de­pen­dence from France. Navarre launches Operation Castor, with French troops moving into Dien Bien Phu. January 1954 French forces commence Operation Atlante in the South. March 1954 ­Battle of Dien Bien Phu begins. May 1954 Viet Minh defeat the French at Dien Bien Phu. June 1954 Ngo Dinh Diem selected as prime minister in the South. July 1954 Geneva Accords signed. July 1955 Ngo Dinh Diem renounces the Geneva Accords. October 1955 Ngo Dinh Diem is president of the newly established Republic of Vietnam.

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1956 The training of South Viet­nam­ese troops taken over by U.S. Military Assistance and Advisory Group (MAAG). October 1957 Ngo Dinh Diem’s forces and ­those of the Viet Minh are battling one another. 1959 North Vietnam begins sending men and material southward down the Ho Chi Minh trail. December 1960 The National Liberation Front is formed. April 1961 In Cuba, the Bay of Pigs invasion occurs. February 1962 U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) replaces MAAG, with General Paul Harkins taking command. March 1962 South Vietnam implements the Strategic Hamlet Program. July 1962 The Australian Army Training Team arrives in South Vietnam. January 1963 ­Battle of Ap Boc transpires, with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) faring terribly against forces of the National Liberation Front. June 1963 Tensions between Ngo Dinh Diem and South Vietnam’s Buddhist majority deteriorate further as Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc immolates himself in Saigon. November 1963 Ngo Dinh Diem is deposed and killed by ARVN during a coup. Kennedy is assassinated l­ater that same month. April 1964 North Viet­nam­ese troops start infiltrating South Vietnam. June 1964 General William West­moreland takes command of MACV. August 1964 The Gulf of Tonkin Incident occurs, resulting in the escalation of the war by the United States. President Lyndon Johnson receives authority to ­handle the situation in Vietnam as he sees fit by Congress. November–­December  1964 The National Liberation Front’s ­People’s Liberation Army of Vietnam attacks American installations in South Vietnam.



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February 1965 The United States launches Operation Rolling Thunder, with air assets bombing targets across North Vietnam. March 8, 1965 U.S. Marines land in Da Nang. May 1965 1st Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment reaches South Vietnam. November 1965 U.S. Army and ­People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN) engage one another at the ­Battle of the Ia Drang Valley. This ­battle marks the first use of air mobility and is the first major contact between the two forces. 1966 MACV conducts search-­and-­destroy operations throughout South Vietnam. November 1966 Operation Attleboro transpires near Saigon. December 1966 A reported 385,000 American troops are in Vietnam. 1967 The “big unit war” is well underway as MACV attempts to push PAVN and PLAF units away from South Viet­nam­ese communities via search and destroy. Conversely, PAVN endeavors to lure MACV’s forces away from the cities and into the countryside so as to afford PLAF units time and space to prepare for the coming Tet Offensive. January–­April  1967 Two major MACV operations unfold: Operation Cedar Falls and Operation Junction City. May–­October  1967 PAVN lays siege to the marines at Con Thien. November 1967 U.S. Army soldiers participate in the ­Battle of Dak To. December 1967 A reported 500,000 American troops are in Vietnam. January 1968 PAVN starts its siege of the marines at Khe Sanh. January 31, 1968 North Vietnam’s Tet Offensive is underway. February 1968 Tet Offensive ends with North Viet­nam­ese forces failing to incite revolt in South Vietnam’s urban areas. West­moreland’s subsequent request for another 206,000 troops is met with criticism.

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March 1968 My Lai massacre transpires. President Johnson informs the American ­people that he ­will not seek re-­election. May 1968 Paris peace talks start. June 1968 MACV undergoes change in command as General Creighton Abrams replaces General William West­moreland. August 1968 Riots take place in Chicago during the Demo­cratic National Convention. November 1968 Republican Richard Nixon wins the presidential election. March 1969 The United States begins secret bombing of Cambodia. May 1969 ­Battle of Hamburger Hill unfolds. June 1969 Nixon announces Vietnamization, beginning the pro­cess of withdrawing American forces from South Vietnam. September 1969 Ho Chi Minh dies. October 1969 Massive anti-­war protests in the United States. March 1970 Lon Nol deposes Prince Sihanouk in Cambodia. May 1970 Cambodia invaded by U.S. and ARVN units. Four student anti-­war protestors killed by U.S. National Guard at Ohio’s Kent State University. December 1970 American troop levels in Vietnam decrease to 335,000. February–­March, 1971 ARVN conducts Operation Lam Son 719 in Laos. November 1971 Australia exits the Vietnam War with the withdrawal of the 1st Australian Task Force. December 1971 American troop levels in Vietnam decrease to 156,000. February 1972 President Richard M. Nixon visits China.



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March–­April  1972 North Viet­nam­ese Easter Offensive. April 1972 United States conducts intense bombing of North Vietnam via Operation Linebacker I. May 1972 Nixon visits the USSR. Haiphong harbor mined by U.S. forces. August 1972 Last remaining American combat forces leave South Vietnam. October 1972 South Viet­nam­ese President Nguyen Van Thieu rejects peace treaty being crafted by Americans and North Viet­nam­ese in Paris. December 1972 United States launches Operation Linebacker II as peace takes stall. January 27, 1973 The American war in Vietnam ends with the signing of the Paris Peace Accords. March 1973 Remaining U.S. military advisors leave South Vietnam as part of Paris Peace Accords. Similarly, Hanoi releases American POWs. November 1973 Congress passes the War Powers Act. January 1974 Resumption of fighting between North Vietnam and South Vietnam. August 1974 Nixon resigns. Congress dramatically reduces financial and military support for South Vietnam. January 1975 South Vietnam’s Phouc Long Province lost to encroaching North Viet­nam­ese forces. March 1975 Successful skirmishes by the North Viet­nam­ese result in Hanoi’s decision to commence PAVN’s invasion of the South. President Nguyen Van Thieu ­orders ARVN to vacate the Central Highlands. Instead of an orderly retreat, ARVN troops frantically flee southward. April 1975 ­Battle of Xuan Loc. Fearing the imminent fall of Saigon, the United States conducts Operation Frequent Wind to evacuate Americans from the South Viet­nam­ ese capital. April 30, 1975 North Viet­nam­ese forces capture Saigon.

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December 1975 Khmer Rouge take over Cambodia. January 1977 Draft dodgers pardoned by U.S. president Jimmy Car­ter. December 1978 Border skirmishes result in Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia. Former South Viet­ nam­ese flee Vietnam by the thousands, becoming “boat p­ eople.” February 1979 In response to Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia, China invades Vietnam. November 1982 Vietnam Veterans Memorial dedicated in Washington, D.C. September 1989 Viet­nam­ese forces leave Cambodia ­after defeating the Khmer Rouge and occupying the nation for 10 years. July 1995 U.S. president Bill Clinton announces the normalization of diplomatic relations between the United States and Vietnam.

Documents of the Vietnam War: Personal Accounts 1  Anonymous: Operation Cedar Falls Operations Cedar Falls and Junction City occurred during the first five months of 1967. They ­were the U.S. military’s first multidivisional conventional offensive in Vietnam. The 173rd Airborne Brigade’s after-­action report relates a typical small-­ unit action that took place on January 9, 1967. On the morning of 9 January Com­pany C was located in Position Blue, ten kilo­ meters east of the Iron Triangle. At 1055 the com­pany was airlifted out of its pickup zone and twenty minutes ­later landed in LZ 4 on the northeast corner of the perimeter surrounding the Thanh Dien forest. Its mission was patrolling, forming blocking positions, and setting up night ambushes. Each rifleman of the com­pany was armed with an M16 ­rifle, 400 rounds of ammunition, 2 smoke grenades, and 2 fragmentary grenades. ­There ­were 2 M60 machine guns in each of the three platoons; each gunner carried a total of 1,500 rounds of ammunition. In addition, each squad had 2 M79’s (grenade launchers) with 45 rounds per grenadier and an average of 2 claymore mines. The com­pany as a w ­ hole was equipped with 3 81-mm. mortars with 30 rounds per mortar. Each individual carried 3 C-­ration meals while on operations. By 1130 on 9 January the com­pany had cleared its landing zone and was establishing a blocking position. Captain Thomas P. Carney, the com­pany commander,



The Vietnam War 903

moved to the right flank to co-­ordinate with the commander of the unit to the north—­Com­pany B, 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry. With the co-­ordination completed, the com­pany’s three platoons established defensive positions along an oxcart trail west of the Thi Tinh River. The com­pany’s area of operation was primarily dense jungle with the exception of one section which had been defoliated within the last year. Based upon an assessment of the situation and terrain by the two adjacent com­pany commanders, night ambush patrols ­were to be placed on an overgrown trail in the western portion of the perimeter. ­ fter the defensive position had been established, patrols ­were sent out to search A the immediate area for signs of the ­enemy and for pos­si­ble ambush sites. The 3d Platoon soon discovered a hut connected to a combination tunnel and bomb shelter. That the hut had been inhabited recently was confirmed by the freshly cooked rice which was found. Further search of the area revealed a cache of twelve bicycles and 200 pounds of polished rice on a concrete platform. Every­thing was destroyed with the exception of the bicycles, which ­were ­later to provide transportation for the men of “Charlie” Com­pany while in base camp. The 33-­man weapons platoon found one small hut while screening to the rear of the com­pany command post. ­After destroying the hut, the platoon moved east ­toward the Thi Tinh River and found a fordable stream. The platoon then returned to the com­pany base area. Sergeant Nathaniel King was in charge of the 1st Platoon’s patrol. Two foxholes ­were discovered; neither showed signs of recent use. Sergeant King also reported finding a footpath ­r unning parallel to the overgrown trail in the western portion of the com­pany’s position. Although the trail showed no signs of recent use, ­there was evidence that the small footpath was heavi­ly traveled, prob­ably b­ ecause it could not be observed from the air. All patrols returned to the command post by 1630. Hot A-­rations and a .50-­caliber machine gun arrived by resupply choppers, and the com­pany settled down to warm chow. During darkness the com­pany employed three-­man listening posts around its position. One post located between the 2d and 3d Platoon positions was occupied by Sergeant Frank Bothwell, Specialist Four Walter Johnson, and Private First Class Joseph Russo. They had moved into position shortly a­ fter nightfall, situating themselves three meters from one another in a triangular position for easy communication and 360-­degree observation. The terrain was generally flat and overgrown with elephant grass and bamboo. The men w ­ ere instructed not to engage the e­ nemy ­unless absolutely necessary. The three men lay quietly. ­After minutes of silence, movement was detected at about 1940 at a distance of approximately fifty meters. The noise became louder. ­Because of the thick vegetation, vision was ­limited. The men ­were prone and could not move without being detected. The ­enemy was now nearly on top of the position. Sergeant Bothwell knew that if he reached for his M16, the noise would be heard; he prepared to throw a fragmentation grenade instead.

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Johnson was in a better position to observe the e­ nemy; however, he knew he must come to a sitting position to fire and would thereby expose himself and his comrades. However, as the ­enemy came closer, Johnson realized that the time for action had come. He sprang to a sitting position and fired approximately five rounds before his weapon jammed. An e­ nemy grenade exploded and a fragment hit Johnson in the neck. In an attempt to have his grenade detonate on impact, Bothwell had pulled the pin, released the ­handle, paused three seconds, then tossed it ­toward the ­enemy. The grenade, however, exploded in flight and rained fragments on the position. Russo was wounded in the hand and was unable to fire his M79. Bothwell radioed back to the command post informing them of the casualties; he then sprayed the area with M16 fire and, assisting Johnson and Russo, withdrew to the com­pany position. The wound in Johnson’s neck, although not fatal, was very close to the jugular vein. The medical evacuation he­li­cop­ter arrived twenty-­five minutes ­later and evacuated the two men. While the listening post was seeing action, an ambush patrol ­under Sergeant Julius Brown had been in position near the footpath. The patrol had left the command post at 1900 and moved south along the path, passing its ambush site and then backtracking to it to mislead any ­enemy ele­ments following them. The ambush site had been chosen ­because of the cover available and the indications that the path was frequently traveled at this point. T ­ here w ­ ere nine men in the patrol, six armed with M16’s, two with M79’s, and one with an M60 machine gun. The patrol maintained radio silence but was able to receive any messages transmitted to it. Captain Carney received reports from adjacent units that movement had been detected near their com­pany command posts. He warned Sergeant Brown to keep on the alert for infiltrating Viet Cong. At 1945 came the sounds of firing from Sergeant Bothwell’s listening post. Shortly thereafter another warning of e­ nemy activity in the area was received. The ambush patrol lay quietly waiting. At 2045, sounds of movement ­were heard near the ambush site. Private First Class Gary Gaura became anxious and crawled to Sergeant Brown’s position a few meters away to get instructions. Brown told him to do nothing and be still. When Gaura crawled back to his position, he coughed, and the ­enemy, now only about fifteen meters away, halted sharply. The Viet Cong remained s­ ilent and motionless for approximately ten minutes and then moved on around the patrol’s killing zone. Private Gaura counted fifteen silhouettes. The ­enemy crossed the trail, avoiding the ambush, yet remained in the immediate area. About one and a half hours l­ater, the e­ nemy column moved to the west and out of range and sight. Fifteen minutes ­later machine gun fire was heard from the direction of the adjacent com­pany. At 2300 the sound of movement was again heard and out of the brush came a single e­ nemy soldier. He cautiously moved t­oward the ambush position. Again someone coughed, alerting the ­enemy, but this time it was too late; ­there was no chance for escape. Private First Class Michael Farmer, armed



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with the M60 machine gun, squeezed off five rounds. The ­enemy fell wounded. Another ­enemy soldier emerged into the ambush site. He looked at the wounded man, turned, and walked away. The wounded man cried out. The straggler wheeled, sprayed the area with automatic weapons fire, and proceeded ­toward the man on the ground, walking so close to the ambush position that he nearly tripped over the barrel of the M60. Bending over, he lit a candle which illuminated both men. Private First Class Michael Hill fired his M60 machine gun but it malfunctioned; si­mul­ta­neously Private First Class Martin Norman fired his M16. The candle went out. Silence was maintained u­ ntil morning when the two e­ nemy dead w ­ ere found along with two AK47 weapons. Among their personal items was a document containing codes for the Military Region IV headquarters; it appeared that the second Viet Cong had been a courier whose job was to transport impor­tant documents. At 0630 the ambush patrol moved out of the area and returned to the com­pany command post. It ­later developed that the captured documents ­were one of the most significant finds of the operation and had a direct bearing on the subsequent capture of a high official assigned to Military Region IV. Source: Rogers, Bernard William. Cedar Falls-­Junction City: A Turning Point. Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1974, 46–50.

2  N. Michael Bissell: A Nomination for the Congressional Medal of Honor N. Michael Bissell served two tours of duty as a combat he­li­cop­ter pi­lot in Vietnam. Stefan M. A. Dietrich interviewed Bissell on February 27, 2007. Dietrich—­Can you please describe your first combat experience and the emotions you had relating to it? Bissell—­That’s a tough one. In aviation it is a ­little bit dif­fer­ent ­because, literally, when ­you’re in a combat zone like Vietnam, ­every time you went out, you’d get shot at. You can log combat hours if you get a bullet hole in your aircraft. We got into an awful lot of firefights over ­there. One I remember was a night flight—­you’re not comfortable at night when ­you’re a young aviator. We ­were alerted and heard ­there ­were barges of Viet Cong coming down the river. We flew out ­there and had one aircraft fly low with a search light. It would fly fast and low and act as a decoy to draw fire. We would sit up ­there in the Huey gun ships with machine guns on each side and we would roll in ­behind ­those lights at targets. I remember knocking rafts out of the ­water with rockets and seeing Viet Cong jump into the ­water screaming. We spent about 30 minutes out ­there in a duck shoot, just knocking ­these rafts out of the ­water. It was about 2:00 a.m. in the morning and it was a scramble mission. That’s the first one I remember that ­really impressed me as being combat. I still see ­those guys jumping into the ­water and rafts blowing up with the ammunition

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on them. It was a large strike and was my first combat operation, ­going out and uncovering this large a convoy coming down the river full of ammunition with Viet Cong on it. We never received any fire. Dietrich—­In 1968 you ­were nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor while rescuing a severely wounded American adviser in Vietnam. Can you tell me, in detail, the situation and the events that led into this incident? Bissell—­It was in that Cavalry unit and I was the S-3. We had a Cavalry troop deployed with the three ele­ments I spoke to you about. We had infantry on the ground looking for the ­enemy, and scouts ­were poking along in the trees. The gun ships ­were supporting overhead. I had just arrived in the area of operation to observe. As I arrived t­ here, they w ­ ere saying “­we’ve got big ­enemy h­ ere. We need reinforcements quick.” The infantry suddenly ran into a division of Viet Cong. They ­were frantic, screaming and reported “We’ve got one young soldier that blew his leg off and he’s bleeding to death.” I had just come into the area and advised them to continue the contact and get the wounded troops out of t­here. I volunteered to go in and try to see if we could pull this guy out. It took awhile for them to get him back out to where ­there was an LZ or some place we could land. I had a crew chief, two door gunners and a co-­pilot with me and we rolled into the LZ. We w ­ ere just about to set down when we got riddled with machine gun fire. I pulled pitch and just kept ­going and got out of ­there, and said “Move him further out. ­We’ll try again.” We went through three attempts, I think. Actually, I think it was four but it said three in the narrative. The second attempt appeared much more open and so we flared again and got to the ground and our he­li­cop­ter again got raked with machine gun fire. I was hit in the neck. The gun fire hit the crew chief and he fell out the door. We just got trapped, big time. Rounds hit all the panel lights and blew them out so none of the gauges w ­ ere working. We knew we had been hit pretty hard and so I just lifted pitch to get us out of ­there. I knew the crew chief was on the ground so I came around again and said “We’ve got to get the crew chief and that guy out of ­there.” Move them one more time and ­we’re ­going to come in.” I ­didn’t know how much damage the aircraft had had to it. The next time we came down, we picked up fire ­going in but we just went ahead and landed. Well, we ­didn’t get the crew chief in the aircraft. We found out ­later that he had been killed in the previous approach. We did get the soldier with the bad leg that was ­there, so we pulled pitch and I asked a ­couple of gun ships to escort us to the nearest medi-­vac pad, which ­wasn’t too far. It was about five miles along the river. Every­thing was gone—­the dials, the gauges, no lights in the cockpit. It was daylight but still you ­couldn’t see anything. Just as we w ­ ere turning final and coming into this very small hospital pad, the engine quit and we had to auto-­rotate and crash land on the pad. We all walked away from it. They got the advisor in and saved him. The aircraft was a total loss and full of bullet holes. My CO was a ­great guy—­Colonel Crook. He’d heard about it on the radio and he landed beside my aircraft, picked me up and we went back to try and find the crew chief. About an hour ­later, we ­were fi­nally able to get him. We wanted to get him



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out of t­here. We saved the advisor but lost the life of my crew chief. I have very mixed emotions about that entire operation. The crew chief was killed instantly. Part of the irony was that the Army ­wouldn’t let me contact the ­family. He was the crew chief that flew with me all the time. They nominated me for the Medal of Honor. They reviewed it for over a year. Fi­nally, at Ft. Benning, I came back for the C ­ areer Course and I was presented with the Distinguished Ser­vice Cross, the second highest medal of valor in combat. Source: N. Michael Bissell Interview, Military Oral History Collection, V ­ irginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

3  Bayes L. Bryant: A Platoon Sergeant Bayes L. Bryant completed two combat tours beginning in 1968 in Vietnam. Bryant was a platoon sergeant with the U.S. Army. Brandon Bryant interviewed Bayes Bryant on March 3, 2008. Bayes Bryant—­In Vietnam, you tried to team up with an older person who had been ­there. If you could make it for the first ­couple of months in Vietnam, you stood a pretty good chance of getting out of Vietnam. It took you—­maybe as much as 90 days—­that long to learn how. If you heard a gun go off, hit the dirt—­hit the damn ground—­get down. It became a reflex. It became automatic. In Vietnam, the first rule was “All I’m ­here for is to get my ass and elbows out of this place. That’s all I’m trying to do. I’m trying to save my own ass and my elbows.” That’s what it, basically, came down to. Brandon Bryant—­W hat was the standard “carry” like? What weapons did you have on you? Bayes Bryant—­I was a platoon sergeant so, basically, I could get any weapon I wanted. I had a .45 caliber pistol for a side arm. I had—­I think it was—an M-1 or an M-2 carbine that had been cut off. I had an M-16 ­rifle—­I think they fi­nally issued us the M-16 ­rifle. I also had an M-60 machine gun and I could use it if I wanted to. I had an M-79 grenade launcher. I had an M-14 ­rifle. I ­didn’t like the M-16 ­rifle ­because it would jam up so fast. I happened to get my hands upon an AK-47. Now the AK-47 was one of the best weapons ­every made as far as I’m concerned. It sounded like a pile of junk. You could pick it up and shake it and it would rattle around and rattle around. You could throw it in a mud hole, pull the breech back, put a shell in it, and it would go on off. The M-16 was real finicky about the dust. Six months in Vietnam and you lived in dust and six months you lived in mud. That was the extent of the seasons—­mud and dust. ­There ­wasn’t any fair and medium—it was e­ ither wetter than hell or drier than hell. When the monsoons did come, they looked like they came ­every day, and they ­were gully-­washers. You could hardly see your hand in front of your face. ­ fter a while I developed this attitude that all ­these ­people over ­here ­aren’t bad. A Not every­body ­here is trying to hurt us. It’s like I think it is in Iraq. I ­don’t think

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all t­ hose p­ eople over t­ here are trying to harm our soldiers. It’s just a bunch of radical fools that’s trying to harm our ­people over ­there. I know ­there are good ­people over ­there. It took me a long time to realize it. You know, some of ­these ­people are basically just trying to survive. Vietnam was hell, but if ­you’re only looking for hell, you ­will find only hell. You have to look for something good and I’ve done it all my life. I’ve tried to look for the positive. You have always got to remember ­there’s something good in every­ thing. A thorn bush is a thorn bush. It might stick the hell out of you, but birds build their nest in the thorn bush and it’s a sanctuary for the birds and the birds are pretty. That’s one ­thing, when I first got to Vietnam, and it was so quiet and still, I said “Something is missing. Something is out of place ­here.” It took me a long time and then I found out, t­ here are no birds singing in this country. T ­ here w ­ ere no birds chirping like we have in this country ­here. I’d grown up in the mountains and it was always birds chirping, in the spring time and when the sun came out, and in the winter time ­they’d still be pecking around and chirping a ­little bit. Over ­there, it was just a deathly quiet. I said “Something just seems out of place.” And it fi­nally dawned on me—­there are no birds chirping around ­here or making noise or anything like that. That’s what I c­ ouldn’t understand—­why t­ here w ­ eren’t any birds ­doing their ­little chirping. That’s when I first got to Vietnam. It’s just death quiet over ­here, and when it was quiet, it was death quiet. Just like being in a mortuary and nobody saying nothing. Source: Bayes L. Bryant Interview, Military Oral History Collection, V ­ irginia Military Institute Archives, Lexington, VA.

4  Terry Davis: Forward Observer with the 1st Air Cavalry Division Terry Davis was a second lieutenant in the 1st Air Cavalry Division. Davis served in Vietnam as a forward observer from September 1969 to June 1970. Andrew Vezza interviewed Davis on February 21, 2008. Davis: In July of 1969 I got ­orders for deployment to Vietnam and I actually left in late September of 1969 to go to Vietnam and was in-­country from September 1969 to June of 1970. I was assigned, upon arrival, to the First Air Cavalry Division and was made a forward observer even though I had no prior training whatsoever in field artillery. So I was given a crash course by a field artillery officer and then assigned to an infantry unit and. I was a forward observer from September 1969 u­ ntil April of 1970. Even though the normal tour of duty for a forward observer in the field was six months, I stayed in the field longer ­because they, quite frankly, ­didn’t know what to do with me ­because I ­didn’t have any battery experience. So they ­were just leaving me out ­there and rotating other, more ju­nior, officers into the battery . . . Vezza: ­Were you ever involved in any firefights? How often ­were your engaged or how many engagements w ­ ere you in?



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Davis: When I look back on it all, and I do occasionally, it’s a pretty amazing ­thing. The bottom line answer, to your question, is that ­there w ­ ere very few times we ­were engaged where I called in the battery. I used the Cobras more often. Sometimes ­there might be just one or two VC or what­ever and the Cobras would be on-­site. I’d work with them, but actually calling in the batteries in a fire fight? I could count ­those on my one hand. The amazing ­thing about that is that it should have been more. Often our mission was to go in and to take the place of a battalion that had been virtually wiped out b­ ecause the NVA w ­ ere so strong in the area. So we would get dropped in and ­they’d be gone—­just like ghosts—­nobody ­there. Conversely we w ­ ere taken out of an area of operation to go back to the rear area to recuperate and the unit that took our place would be over-­r un. This happened so many times that it was more than just coincidence. Source: Terry Davis Interview, Military Oral History Collection, ­Virginia Military Institute Archives.

5  Charles L. ­Little: A Maintenance Battalion Clerk Charles L. ­Little was drafted into the army in 1968. ­Little served in the 4th Infantry Division, 704th Maintenance Battalion. Matthew Lawrence and Shaun Illingworth interviewed L ­ ittle on May 11, 2007. I mean, I consciously remember thinking that and, in my draft board, every­body got drafted. My friend who went to Prince­ton got drafted. I heard from a friend of mine, who you o­ ught to get in h­ ere, Roger Daley, the judge. He was drafted, too. He was an MP, but he told me that Donna Shalala, [Secretary of Health and H ­ uman Ser­vices from 1993 to 2001], said that, “The best and brightest ­didn’t go to Vietnam.” I mean, where does that leave me, chop meat, you know? but I think I understand what she was saying, ­because ­there was widespread belief that every­body ­wasn’t ­going to get drafted, that if you got some connections, you could get out of it. You heard for years afterwards, I heard, the ­people from the heartland, where I was from, or the hearthland industrial centers got drafted—­others ­didn’t. That was not true in Endicott. Mrs. Snow was a snot to every­body, I guess. I mean, I knew a guy, who’s dead, who’s on the [Vietnam Veterans Memorial] Wall now, who was the best basketball player in our county; guy bled to death. It’s funny how you hear ­these stories. I’ve gone to my own high school reunions and the reunions of the high school next to mine, ­because we ­were pretty good friends, and it’s surprising the stories that I heard. ­There’s a guy who was in the Fourth Division same time I was, the toughest kid in our ­whole area, in western Broome County, I think. . . . ​I never talked to him, mostly ­because I was afraid of him when I was young, and I talked to him at this reunion. We’ve become friends now. I ­don’t know how he did what he had to do. I would be dead if I had to do that, ­because I—­honest to God, guys—­I was a nothing. I mean, I was just a person who was a clerk, who could read and write, and I did my guard duty and I just did some other stuff, but some guys who ­were my peers, by location and every­thing, they had some horrendous

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experiences, just frightening beyond belief. . . . ​I ­didn’t realize how frightened I was, ­because I think I know I was frightened. I’ve been thinking about ­going back to the VA; I just ­don’t want to. I mean, I ­don’t want their money and I just ­don’t want to be labeled a kook or anything, but I’ve got some issues about it and it’s ­because it was frightening. It is frightening to have to know that ­you’re ­going to have to confront somebody and, at a distance, I saw the e­ nemy. I did not see anybody up close. Like that guy ­today, who shot the guy in the foxhole, holy crow, good for him—­I’m glad he got it off. If you ever watch the History Channel, that Stanley Karnow ­thing, they have it on the History Channel, it was, like, twenty installations—it takes a lot to watch it—­there’s some NVA [North Viet­nam­ese Army] on ­there who says he used to like to get Americans and pull them close and cut their guts out. If I’d have met that guy back when I was twenty-­two, he’d have killed me, ­because I ­didn’t understand, and, for years, I ­didn’t ­really understand. I ­don’t think I understood what I was ­doing when I was ­there even. See, some ­people got it put on them right away, up close and personal—­not me. I got to watch it from Camp Enari, inside the perimeter. We went out on sweeps and stuff—­nothing ever happened. I ­can’t believe that they let us do that. That is so incompetent. SI: When you say you w ­ ere g­ oing out on sweeps . . . CL: Oh, they would wake the base camp up at four in the morning and say, “You guys are ­going out on a sweep.” The ­whole base camp would wake up. Now, ­don’t tell me this ­didn’t wake up “Charlie,” too, who’s prob­ably watching us outside the perimeter, but they did it, so that they did. See, we used to have indigenous ­people come into the camp ­every day and, if it was known to anybody, . . . ​they would have tipped every­body off. We could have gotten ambushed or something. Anyway, ­they’d get every­body up, “Get your shit together and ­we’re ­going on a sweep.” They put you in trucks and drive you out, like, ten miles into the bush. I ­don’t even know if it was ten miles. It must have been shorter than that, five miles, eight miles, something like that, and then, we would all get in a gigantic line—­this is several thousand guys—­and march back to base camp. That was a sweep. We did that quite a bit, and then, another t­ hing that was worrisome, and I remember being worried about this, when the trucks ­didn’t come to pick us up one time, we ­were out in the boonies on a tank trail, where a tank had gone by. . . . ​­There was ruts; we ­were sitting in the rut. Man, if they, “Charlie,” would have been out t­here, he could have killed all of us, a ­whole bunch of us, but the trucks came, we got back in. Another ­thing I’ve got to tell you, that I used to not be able to talk about it—­I can talk about it now pretty good—­people think that when ­you’re in the Army, you see scary ­things and all that stuff. I ­didn’t see anything particularly scary. I did see one ­thing that was another bone-­chiller. One day, I was walking, ­because I had ­these papers, I had to take stuff over to the adjutant general, and I used to have to walk past this chopper pad in our base camp where the medivacs w ­ ere. In our base camp, t­here ­were no medivacs ­there, just bodies. So, I’m walking along, a nice summer day, and I should say that when ­you’re in Vietnam, if you look up at the sky, it’s blue and you could pretend ­you’re back in New York. So, I’m walking along, minding my own business, with my stuff ­under my arm, and ­there’s two deuce-­and-­a-­halfs, two big dump trucks, piled high with ­these green bags. . . . ​It took me around half



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a millisecond to say, “Holy Christmas,” and I had heard that LZ Oasis had been hit the night before. That was the bags, the bodies coming back. Source: Charles L. ­Little Oral History Interview, Rutgers Oral History Archives, New Brunswick, NJ.

NOTES   1. 322rd Military History Detachment, The First Brigade in the Republic of Vietnam July 1956-­January 1968 (Tuscaloosa, AL: U.S. Army Reserve, Undated), 44; “Operational Report Lessons Learned, Department of the Army, Headquarters 1st Brigade 4th Infantry Division, sub: Operational Report Lessons Learned for Quarterly Period Ending 31 January 1967,” p. 10, Defense Technical Information Center (DTIC). http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­get​ -­t r​-­doc​/­pdf​?­AD​=A ­ D0388158.   2. “Operational Report Lessons Learned, Department of the Army, Headquarters 1st Brigade 4th Infantry Division, sub: Operational Report Lessons Learned for Quarterly Period Ending 31 January 1967,” p. 10, DTIC. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­m il​/­get​-­t r​- ­doc​/­pdf​?­A D​ =­AD0388158.   3. For more on U.S. soldiers as conduits of pro­gress, read Robert J. Thompson, “Pacification, Through the Barrel of a Gun.” The New York Times. March 10, 2017. https://­w ww​ .­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­03​/­10​/­opinion​/­pacification​-­through​-­the​-­barrel​-­of​-­a​-­g un​.­html.   4. See Gregory A. Daddis, Withdrawal: Reassessing Amer­i­ca’s Final Years in Vietnam (New York: Oxford University Press 2017).   5. John Prados, Vietnam: The History of an Unwinnable War, 1945–1975 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2009), 112.   6. George C. Herring, Amer­i­ca’s Longest War: The United States and Vietnam, 1950– 1975 (New York: McGraw-­Hill, 2002), 181.   7. See Gregory A. Daddis, No Sure Victory: Mea­sur­ing U.S. Army Effectiveness and Pro­gress in the Vietnam War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).   8. Herring, Amer­i­ca’s Longest War, 180–81.   9. Andrew L. Johns, Vietnam’s Second Front: Domestic Politics, the Republican Party, and the War (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2010), 244, 276–77. 10. Andrew Wiest, Vietnam: A View From the Front Lines (Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2013), 14. 11. Ibid., 15. 12. Interview with David W. Eichhorn, March 29, 2005, p. 9, Stacks, Mr. David D. Eichhorn Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0420. 13. Christian G. Appy, Working-­Class War: American Combat Soldiers and Vietnam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 27. 14. Ibid., 33. 15. Ibid., 34. 16. Interview with John Swalby, March 19, 2001, p. 2, Cold Storage, Johann Swalby Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0088. 17. Appy, Working-­Class War, 35. 18. Ibid., 36–37. 19. Wiest, Vietnam, 14; Peter S. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers: Ground Combat in the World Wars, K ­ orea, & Vietnam (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2003), 10. 20. Interview with John Swalby, March 19, 2001, p. 2, Cold Storage, Johann Swalby Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0088.

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21. Ibid., 8. 22. Ibid. 23. Interview with Frank Gutierrez, January 24, 2001, p. 1–2, Cold Storage, Frank Gutierrez Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0078. 24. Wiest, Vietnam, 39. 25. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 17. 26. Ibid., 21–22. 27. Interview with John Mark Bland, October 10, 2005, p. 3, John Mark Bland Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​ /­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0565. 28. Interview with Michael Morris, January 21, 2003, p. 17, Cold Storage, Michael James Morris Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0263. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid., 17–18. 31. Wiest, Vietnam, 40–41. 32. Ibid. 33. James Nall quoted in Wiest, Vietnam, 21. 34. Ibid. 35. Appy, Working-­Class War, 20. 36. Ibid., 19. 37. Martin Luther King Jr. quoted in Appy, Working-­Class War, 19. 38. Ibid. 39. Kara Dixon Vuic, Officer, Nurse, ­Woman: The Army Nurse Corps in the Vietnam War (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010), 9–12; Heather Marie Stur, Beyond Combat: W ­ omen and Gender in the Vietnam War Era (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 3. 40. Vuic, Officer, Nurse, W ­ oman, 1–2. 41. Interview with Mary Messerschmidt, May 29, 2004, p. 2, Kara Dixon Vuic Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​ /­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0389. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid., 6. 45. Stur, Beyond Combat, 106. 46. Vuic, Officer, Nurse, W ­ oman, 136. 47. Wiest, Vietnam, 91. 48. Ibid., 84, 90, 105–06. 49. Meredith H. Lair, “Easy Living in a Hard War: ­Behind the Lines in Vietnam.” HistoryNet. February 5, 2012. http://­w ww​.­historynet​.­com​/­easy​-­living​-­in​-­a​-­hard​-­war​-­behind​ -­the​-­lines​-­in​-­vietnam​.­htm. 50. Shelby Stanton, U.S. Army Uniforms of the Vietnam War (Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1989), 5–7, 32. 51. Ibid., 26–41. 52. Appy, Working-­Class War, 238. 53. Interview with Lawrence Dacunto, October 24, 2008, p. 47, Lawrence Dacunto Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0645; “Charles Joseph Watters,” Medal of Honor citation, The Virtual Wall. http://­w ww​.­v irtualwall​.­org ​/­dw​/ ­WattersCJ01a​.­htm (accessed March 23, 2018).



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54. Jacqueline E. Whitt, “Faith ­Under Fire: Military Chaplains and the Morality of War.” HistoryNet. March 22, 2017. http://­w ww​.­historynet​.­com​/­faith​-­fi re​-­m ilitary​- ­chaplains​ -­morality​-­war​.­htm. 55. Jacqueline E. Whitt, Bringing God to Men: American Military Chaplains and the Vietnam War (Chapel Hill: The University Press of North Carolina, 2014), 112. 56. Ward Just quoted in Amber Batura, “How Playboy Explains Vietnam.” The New York Times. February 28, 2017. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­02​/­28​/­opinion​/­how​-­playboy​ -­explains​-­vietnam​.­html. 57. Ibid. 58. ­After Action Report, Captain Roberson, USARV Special Ser­vices Officer—­Jim Begg handshake tour—­R E: USO tour [incomplete], April 3, 1969, p. 1–3, Folder 05, Box 01, Sabrina Frizzell Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​=­3710105015. 59. “Operation Harrison,” YouTube video, posted by “virgil tracy.” https://­www​.­youtube​ .­com​/­watch​?­v​=N ­ vsUh68Nou0&t​= ­0s&list​=P ­ L6n2​-­SVE6uc24Sm7CnsJfdt5sjCXGkneK& index​=5­ . 60. Kim Herzinger, “The Soundtrack of Vietnam” in Andrew Wiest, Mary Kathryn Barbier, and Glenn Robbins, eds., Amer­i­ca and the Vietnam War: Re-­examining the Culture and History of a Generation (New York: Routledge, 2010), 255–68. 61. Ibid., 262–63. 62. Appy, Working-­Class War, 270. 63. Interview with Mike Mercer, January 13, 2001, p. 16, Cold Storage, Mike Mercer Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0076. 64. Stur, Beyond Combat, 39. 65. Interview with Don Halsey, April 9, 1990, p. 13, Cold Storage, Don Halsey Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​ /­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0038. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Thomas L. McNaugher, Marksmanship, McNamara and the M16 ­Rifle: Organ­ izations, Analy­sis and Weapons Acquisition (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1979), 41–44. https://­w ww​.­rand​.­org​/­content​/­dam​/­rand​/­pubs​/­papers​/­2008​/ ­P6306​.­pdf. 69. “Vietnam Equipment.” Pritzker Military Museum and Library. https://­w ww​ .­pritzkermilitary​.­org​/­explore​/­vietnam​-­war​/­vietnam​-­equipment (accessed March 23, 2018). 70. Field Manual, U.S. Department of the Army—­FM 23–67 Machinegun, 7.62-­ MM, M60. Vietnam Center and Archive, October 26, 1964, p. 4, Folder 09, Box 01, Paul Kasper Collection, TTUVA. https://­w ww​.­v ietnam​.­t tu​.­e du​/­v irtualarchive​/­items​.­php​ ?­item​=5­ 620109003. 71. Ibid. 72. Major General David Ewing Ott, Vietnam Studies: Field Artillery, 1954–1973 (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1995), 49–50, 53. https://­history​.­army​.­mil​/­html​ /­books​/­090​/­90​-­12​/­CMH​_­Pub​_­90​-­12​.­pdf. 73. For more on Chinese material assistance to North Vietnam see Qiang Zhai, China and the Vietnam Wars, 1950–1975 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2000). 74. Ott, Vietnam Studies, 55. 75. Warren K. Wilkins, Nine Days in May: The ­Battles of the 4th Infantry Division on the Cambodian Border, 1967 (Norman, University of Oklahoma Press, 2017), 17, 64. 76. Wiest, The Boys of ’67: Charlie Com­pany’s War in Vietnam (Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2012), 119–120.

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  77. Bernard Edelman, “On the Ground: The US Experience,” in Andrew Wiest, ed., Rolling Thunder in a Gentle Land: The Vietnam War Revisited (Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2006), 198.   78. Wiest, Vietnam, 41.   79. Interview with Darryl Nelson, July 18, 2000, p. 15, Cold Storage, Darryl Nelson Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0125.   80. Ibid., 16.   81. Thomas C. Thayer, War Without Fronts: The American Experience in Vietnam (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2016), 114.   82. Interview with David Shelly, April 18, 2000, pp. 11–12, Cold Storage, David A. Shelly Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0120.   83. Wilkins, Nine Days in May, 75.   84. Captain Frank C. Foster, “Summary of the Taped Combat ­After Action Interview With D Com­pany 16th Amor, 173d Airborne Brigade on 4 March 1968,” May 15, 1968, p. 1, U.S. Army Center of Military History; “Combat ­After Action Interview With Members of Com­pany D (Airborne), 16th Armor, 173rd Airborne Brigade,” Interviewed by Captain Frank C. Foster, March 4, 1968, Phu Hiep Army Base, Phu Yen Province, Republic of Vietnam, Transcribed by David Curtis, January 2016, p. 10, Personal Collection of David Curtis; Curtis’s transcript is a more complete version.   85. Interview with Dave Tela, March 11, 2002, p. 20, Cold Storage, Dave Tela Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​ /­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0141.   86. Brigadier General James Lawton Collins Jr., Training of the South Viet­nam­ese Army, 1950–1972 (Washington, D.C.: The U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1991), 20.   87. John D. Howard, First In, Last Out: An American Paratrooper in Vietnam With the 101st and Viet­nam­ese Airborne (Guilford, CT: Stackpole Books, 2017), 77–81.   88. Ibid., 78, 82–83.   89. Thayer, War Without Fronts, 109.   90. Interview with Roy Charles Gentry, September 25, 2006, p. 64, Mr. Roy Charles Gentry Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0549.   91. Ibid., 66–67.   92. Ibid., 68.   93. Ibid., 68, 72.   94. Interview with Margaret Easterly Canfield, May 29, 2004, p. 10–11, Kara Dixon Vuic Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0395.   95. Thayer, War Without Fronts, 111.   96. Ibid., 112.   97. Ibid., 112–13.   98. Ibid., 115.   99. Ibid., 117. 100. Glenn Robins, “The American POW Experience,” in Andrew Wiest, Mary Kathryn Barbier, and Glenn Robbins, eds. Amer­i­ca and the Vietnam War, 169. 101. Ibid., 166–67. 102. NLF ­Handling of U.S. Prisoners of War, July 1, 1967, Folder 07, Box 20, Douglas Pike Collection: Unit 03 -­POW/MIA Issues, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​.­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​=2­ 202007030. 103. Captured Documents (CDEC): U.S. and Army of The Republic of Vietnam Prisoners of War, July 8, 1967, p. 3, Folder 2604, Box 0140, Vietnam Archive Collection, The



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Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​.­vietnam​.­t tu​.­edu​ /­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​=­F034601402604. 104. Stuart I. Rochester and Frederick Kiley, Honor Bound: American Prisoners of War in Southeast Asia: 1961–1973 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999), 81. 105. Ibid., 83–84. 106. Amy Scott, “Patriots for Peace: The Anti-­War Movement,” in Wiest, Barbier, and Robbins, eds., Amer­i­ca and the Vietnam War, 122–23. 107. Ibid., 125. 108. Ibid., 125–27. 109. Interview with L. W. Clement, June 3, 2000, Cold Storage, Col­o­nel L. W. Clement Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­www​.­vietnam​ .­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0021. 110. Ibid. 111. William M. Hammond, Reporting Vietnam: Media and Military at War (Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 209. 112. Patrick Hagopian, The Vietnam War in American Memory: Veterans, Memorials, and the Politics of Healing (Amherst: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts, 2009), 50. 113. Raymond M. Scurfield, “Post-­Traumatic Stress Disorder and Healing From the War,” in Wiest, Barbier, and Robbins, eds., Amer­i­ca and the Vietnam War, 188. 114. Wilbur J. Scott, Vietnam Veterans Since the War: The Politics of PTSD, Agent Orange, and the National Memorial (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003), 206–09. 115. Ibid., 139–40, 142. 116. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 91. 117. “The Troubled Army in Vietnam.” Newsweek. January 11, 1971, 3, quoted in William J. Shkurti, Soldiering on in a ­Dying War: The True Story of the Firebase Pace Incidents and the Vietnam Drawdown (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2011), 4. 118. Ibid., 3. 119. Ron Milam, Not a Gentleman’s War: An Inside View of Ju­nior Officers in the Vietnam War (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2009), 148–49. 120. Shkurti, 6–7, 103. 121. Kindsvatter, American Soldiers, 150. 122. Appy, Working-­Class War, 190–91. 123. Appy, Working-­Class War, 276–77; Christopher J. Levesque, “The Truth ­Behind My Lai.” The New York Times. March  16, 2018. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2018​/­03​/­16​ /­opinion ​/­the​-­t ruth​-­behind​-­my​-­lai​.­html. 124. Frank Emblen, “Follow-up on the News; William Calley Jr.” The New York Times. July 10, 1983. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­1983​/­07​/­10​/­nyregion​/­follow​-­up​-­on​-­the​-­news​-­william​ -­calley​-­jr​.­html; “Calley Apologizes for Role in My Lai Massacre.” nbcnews​.­com. August 21, 2009. http://­w ww​.­nbcnews​.­com​/­id​/­32514139​/­ns​/­us​_­news​-­military​/­t​/­calley​-­apologizes​-­role​ -­my​-­lai​-­massacre#​.­WxR​_­fC​-­ZOb8. 125. Appy, Working-­Class War, 276–77; Christopher J. Levesque, “The Truth ­Behind My Lai.” The New York Times. March  16, 2018. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2018​/­03​/­16​ /­opinion ​/­the​-­t ruth​-­behind​-­my​-­lai​.­html. 126. Ronald H. Spector, Advice and Support: The Early Years, 1941–1960 (Washington, D.C.: The U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1985), 282–93. 127. Collins, Training of the South Viet­nam­ese Army, 20. 128. Interview with Robert Barron, April 21, 2001, p. 34, Cold Storage, Robert C. Barron Collection, The Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. https://­w ww​ .­vietnam​.­ttu​.­edu​/­virtualarchive​/­items​.­php​?­item​= ­OH0163. 129. Ibid., 37. 130. Ibid., 45.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Appy, Christian G. Working-­Class War: American Combat Soldiers and Vietnam. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1993. Batura, Amber. “How Playboy Explains Vietnam.” The New York Times. February  28, 2017. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​/­02​/­28​/­opinion​/­how​-­playboy​-­explains​-­vietnam​.­html. “Charles Joseph Watters.” Medal of Honor citation. The Virtual Wall. http://­w ww​ .­virtualwall​.­org​/­dw​/ ­WattersCJ01a​.­htm. Collins Jr., Brigadier General James Lawton. Training of the South Viet­nam­ese Army, 1950– 1972. Washington, D.C.: The U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1991. Daddis, Gregory A. No Sure Victory: Mea­sur­ing U.S. Army Effectiveness and Pro­gress in the Vietnam War. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Daddis, Gregory A. Withdrawal: Reassessing Amer­i­ca’s Final Years in Vietnam. New York: Oxford University Press, 2017. Hagopian, Patrick. The Vietnam War in American Memory: Veterans, Memorials, and the Politics of Healing. Amherst: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts, 2009. Hammond, William M. Reporting Vietnam: Media and Military at War. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998. Herring, George C. Amer­i­ca’s Longest War: The United States and Vietnam, 1950–1975. New York: McGraw-­Hill, 2002. Johns, Andrew L. Vietnam’s Second Front: Domestic Politics, the Republican Party, and the War. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2010. Kindsvatter, Peter S. American Soldiers: Ground Combat in the World Wars, ­Korea, & Vietnam. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2003. Lair, Meredith H. “Easy Living in a Hard War: ­Behind the Lines in Vietnam.” HistoryNet. February 5, 2012. http://­w ww​.­historynet​.­com​/­easy​-­living​-­in​-­a​-­hard​-­war​-­behind​ -­the​-­lines​-­in​-­vietnam​.­htm. Levesque, Christopher J. “The Truth ­Behind My Lai.” The New York Times. March 16, 2018. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2018​/­03​/­16​/­opinion​/­the​-­t ruth​-­behind​-­my​-­lai​.­html. McNaugher, Tom L. Marksmanship, McNamara, and the M16 R ­ ifle: Organ­izations, Analy­ sis, and Weapons Acquisition. Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1979. Milam, Ron. Not a Gentleman’s War: An Inside View of Ju­nior Officers in the Vietnam War. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2009. “Operation Harrison.” YouTube video. Posted by “virgil tracy.” https://­www​.­youtube​.­com​ /­watch​?­v​=­NvsUh68Nou0&t​= 0­ s&list​=­PL6n2​-­SVE6uc24Sm7CnsJfdt5sjCXGkneK &index​=5­ . Ott, Major General David Ewing. Vietnam Studies: Field Artillery, 1954–1973. Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1995. Prados, John. Vietnam: The History of an Unwinnable War, 1945–1975. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2009. Rochester, Stuart  I. and Frederick Kiley, Honor Bound: American Prisoners of War in Southeast Asia: 1961–1973. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999. Scott, Wilbur J. Vietnam Veterans Since the War: The Politics of PTSD, Agent Orange, and the National Memorial. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003. Shkurti, William J. Soldiering on in a D ­ ying War: The True Story of the Firebase Pace Incidents and the Vietnam Drawdown. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2011. Stanton, Shelby. U.S. Army Uniforms of the Vietnam War. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1989. Stur, Heather Marie. Beyond Combat: W ­ omen and Gender in the Vietnam War Era. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Thayer, Thomas C. War Without Fronts: The American Experience in Vietnam. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2016.



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U.S. Army Center of Military History, Fort Leslie J. McNair, Washington, D.C. Vietnam Archive, Texas Tech University, Lubbock, Texas. —­Robert C. Barron Collection —­John Mark Bland Collection —­Colonel L. W. Clement Collection —­Lawrence Dacunto Collection —­Sabrina Frizzell Collection —­Mr. Roy Charles Gentry Collection —­Don Halsey Collection —­Mike Mercer Collection —­Michael James Morris Collection —­Darryl Nelson Collection —­Douglas Pike Collection —­Dave Tela Collection —­Kara Dixon Vuic Collection —­David A. Shelly Collection —­Johann Swalby Collection Vuic, Kara Dixon. Officer, Nurse, ­Woman: The Army Nurse Corps in the Vietnam War. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010. Whitt, Jacqueline E. Bringing God to Men: American Military Chaplains and the Vietnam War. Chapel Hill: The University Press of North Carolina, 2014. Whitt, Jacqueline E. “Faith U ­ nder Fire: Military Chaplains and the Morality of War.” HistoryNet. March 22, 2017. http://­w ww​.­historynet​.­com​/­faith​-­fi re​-­military​ -­chaplains​-­morality​-­war​.­htm. Wiest, Andrew, Mary Kathryn Barbier, and Glenn Robbins, eds. Amer­i­ca and the Vietnam War: Re-­examining the Culture and History of a Generation. New York: Routledge, 2010. Wiest, Andrew. The Boys of ’67: Charlie Com­pany’s War in Vietnam. Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2012. Wiest, Andrew. Rolling Thunder in a Gentle Land: The Vietnam War Revisited. Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2006. Wiest, Andrew. Vietnam: A View From the Front Lines. Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2013. Wilkins, Warren K. Nine Days in May: The ­Battles of the 4th Infantry Division on the Cambodian Border, 1967. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2017. Zhai, Qiang. China and the Vietnam Wars, 1950–1975. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2000.

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13 The Persian Gulf War Paul J. Springer

OVERVIEW On August 2, 1990, large ele­ments of the Iraqi army, led by the elite armored divisions of the Republican Guard, commenced an invasion of Kuwait. Within eight hours, they captured Kuwait City, overwhelmed the meager Kuwaiti re­sis­tance, and drove the Kuwaiti emir into exile.1 To Iraqi president Saddam Hussein’s surprise, the members of the United Nations Security Council did not accept this rapid conquest as a fait accompli, and instead authorized a formation of a co­ali­tion of the willing to send military aid, first to defend Saudi Arabia and ­later to drive the Iraqis out of Kuwait. Eventually, 34 countries contributed troops to the effort to eject the Iraqis from Kuwait, including 14 nations with majority-­Muslim populations.2 In 1990, Iraq possessed the fourth-­largest army in the world, with approximately 1 million troops. The Iraqi army was composed largely of veterans of the Iran-­Iraq War (1980–1988), a conflict Hussein had launched in the expectation of seizing Ira­ nian oil fields during the chaos of the Ira­nian Revolution. He also believed that by taking the offensive against the Shi’ite Ira­ni­ans, he would emerge as the leader of the Sunni Arab world. Although Iraq possessed a larger, more disciplined military in 1980, the Ira­nian population was nearly five times that of Iraq, making a long war of attrition a losing proposition for Hussein. When the initial Iraqi aggressive moves failed to end the conflict, Hussein ordered the withdrawal of his forces—­ and found that he could not unilaterally end the war. Although the Ira­ni­ans received almost no external support, while the Iraqis w ­ ere able to purchase military equipment from the major suppliers of the world, the numerical advantages of the Ira­ni­ ans proved sufficient to ­counter superior Iraqi hardware. Only the introduction of weapons of mass destruction, specifically nerve agent attacks against civilian populations, provided the necessary advantage to broker an end to the conflict. Approximately 1 million deaths, half of them civilian, occurred in the war, which ended with no change of territory.

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Although Iraq was able to claim victory against Iran by merely surviving the war intact (so long as one ignored the original cause of the war), the conflict was ruinously expensive. Iraq’s entire economy depended largely upon the possession of large petroleum reserves, comprising approximately 10 ­percent of the known deposits in the world. To rebuild a­ fter the war, Iraq needed the price of oil to remain high, but other members of the Oil Producing and Exporting Countries (OPEC) believed it was po­liti­cally advantageous to produce more oil, even if it meant prices would dip. In par­tic­u­lar, Hussein accused the Kuwaitis of cheating on an agreement to limit their production. He also claimed that Kuwait was engaged in slant-­ drilling, a practice of driving oil wells at an ­angle such that the well head remained in Kuwait, but the well itself crossed the border into Iraq and tapped into reserves that Hussein considered Iraqi. In 1990, Iraq accounted for approximately 10 ­percent of the world’s oil production, with Kuwait accounting for another 10 ­percent. The largest-­known oil reserves in the world ­were located in Saudi Arabia, with the biggest discovered oil fields in the eastern portion of the kingdom. As such, the Iraq–­Kuwait–­Saudi border region possessed an enormous share of the world’s known reserves and represented a major strategic asset. When Iraq invaded Kuwait, Hussein essentially doubled the economic resources of his cash-­strapped nation—­and ­there was l­ ittle to stop him from continuing the advance across the border into Saudi Arabia. Such a move would have major economic repercussions, although it would be harder for Hussein to portray the move as anything more than a naked power grab. In response to the Iraqi invasion, President George H. W. Bush called for a meeting with his national security team. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Colin Powell, as well as U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) commander General  H. Norman Schwarzkopf, attended to discuss the situation. They quickly determined that the United States would need to take immediate military action, unilaterally if necessary, to first protect Saudi Arabia and next eject Iraq from Kuwait. The immediate plan was to send 13 squadrons of U.S. Air Force aircraft to the region, to be followed by an airborne infantry division and a marine brigade. Two U.S. Navy aircraft carrier ­battle groups ­were already on station in the region and could commence sorties on short notice. Bush understood that gaining United Nations consent for such a move would provide legitimacy, and possibly allies. On August  6, the UN Security Council released two resolutions. Number 660 formally condemned the invasion and demanded an immediate withdrawal of all Iraqi forces. Number 661 imposed sanctions upon the Iraqi government, including a prohibition upon shipping oil. Hussein could easily ignore the first, but the second was likely to prove problematic, particularly if other nations in the region chose to support it.3 American ground forces began their movement ­toward the ­Middle East on August 6, with the 82nd Airborne Division receiving ­orders to defend Saudi airfields as a necessary step for the basing of U.S. strike aircraft. The mechanized 24th Infantry Division also commenced its shift to the region, but given its much heavier footprint and need for armored vehicles, it was clear that the division would not be in Saudi Arabia and ready to fight for several weeks. As the American troops started the long haul to Saudi Arabia, the Iraqis began fortifying the Kuwait–­Saudi



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border. On August 8, Hussein made it clear that he had no intention of evacuating Kuwait, as he proclaimed it the nineteenth province of Iraq. Only a week ­after the invasion, Britain and France agreed to send troops to assist in the defense of Saudi Arabia, dubbed Operation Desert Shield. Turkey agreed to allow an expanded U.S. presence, opening up the possibility that Iraq might face an invasion from two fronts, or at least might have to defend against aerial attacks from multiple directions. The support that Hussein expected to receive from regional Sunni powers never materialized—­demonstrations in Sann’a, Yemen, and Khartoum, Sudan, offered support to the Iraqi cause, as did the Palestinian Liberation Organ­ization. However, the vast majority of nations in the region rallied to the defense of Saudi Arabia, perhaps fearing the creation of a regional hegemonic power in Iraq. By mid-­August, two ­things had become clear. First, the United States had the capacity to move large numbers of troops and materiel in a very short period. The entire 82nd Airborne Division was in place by August 15, ready to defend against an Iraqi attack, and was backed by a substantial amount of airpower. Second, Iraq had no real intention of invading Saudi Arabia, as the longer Hussein delayed such a move, the more costly it would become. Instead of continuing the advance, Iraq ­adopted a defensive posture, ­going so far as to announce that Western hostages would be used as ­human shields at key strategic targets. Iraq mined the Kuwait harbors, continued to build entrenchments along the border, and promised to meet any attack with overwhelming firepower. Throughout the next three months, the American buildup in Saudi Arabia continued apace. President Bush issued call-up ­orders for ele­ments of the Reserves and National Guard, and continued to deploy units to the region. He also worked tirelessly with his diplomatic team to secure the participation of as many co­ali­tion members as pos­si­ble. Surprisingly, even the Soviet Union, which was in the midst of a collapse, de­cided to send military forces to defend Saudi Arabia. This represented the first time since World War II that the United States and the Soviet Union cooperated on the same side of a military conflict—­a sure sign that Hussein had badly miscalculated the world response to his maneuvers. By the time that the a­ ctual fighting began, 19 co­ali­tion members contributed land forces and 14 supplied naval vessels. By the end of November, the entire U.S. XVIII Corps was in position in the Saudi desert and offered more than enough forces to defend it from any likely Iraqi attack. When coupled with the non-­U.S. co­ali­tion forces, they constituted a force of 430,000 troops standing in defense of the kingdom. On November 8, President Bush notified the VII Corps, a heavi­ly armored unit that had been stationed in Germany, that it should prepare to move to the ­Middle East. ­These divisions in VII Corps, which had long prepared for an expected fight with the Soviets over control of Eu­rope, quickly began movements ­toward Saudi Arabia, where they ­were expected to provide most of the striking power in the event that an attack against Iraqi positions became necessary. The commander of this massive force, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, was a West Point gradu­ate who had served two tours in Vietnam. He had spent several years in the ­Middle East as a teenager, accompanying his ­father to a military

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General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, commander of U.S. Central Command, addresses troops in-­theater in 1991. Schwarzkopf helped rebuild public confidence in the U.S. military through his confident and effective briefings on military operations. (U.S. Department of Defense)

posting in Teheran. He steadily ­rose through the ranks and was named CENTCOM commander in 1988. In that capacity, he determined that the major strategic threat to the region was not a Soviet invasion, but rather the rise of a regional hegemon. In par­tic­u­lar, he identified Iraq as an unpredictable and potentially dangerous player in the region. When Iraq invaded Kuwait, Schwarzkopf immediately activated contingency plans for the defense of the region and then began to consider the strategy to defeat Iraq should open conflict arise. Schwarzkopf was a mercurial leader with a strong temper. As one of his subordinates described him, The commander in chief (CINC) was a light infantryman, respected as an aggressive, indeed, combative leader. He was also known as a boss who “shot messengers,” a big man whose leadership style was that of a classic bully, a commander who employed his size as a weapon of intimidation and tolerated neither fools nor honest disagreement gladly. Yet Schwarzkopf was also a leader known for the genuine affection he felt for his soldiers, and ­there are t­hose who maintain that, in spite of his sometimes brutal treatment of subordinates, in the long run he rarely followed through on threats made in bad temper.4

One of the few Iraqi capabilities that gave Schwarzkopf and other top American officials pause was the possession of chemical weapons and the demonstrated willingness to use them. In late December 1990, the Department of Defense announced that it would vaccinate all troops in-­theater against biological and chemical weapons, and in mid-­January, U.S. troops began receiving daily anti–­nerve agent pills. Troops also had o­ rders to remain within reach of full mission oriented



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protective posture (MOPP) gear. The gear offered head-­to-­toe protection against most chemical and biological agents—­but it was bulky, hot, uncomfortable, and lined with activated charcoal, which stained every­thing it touched. To deter the pos­ si­ble use of chemical weapons, both Israel and the United States hinted that they would retaliate with weapons of mass destruction if hit by chemical attacks. Neither nation promised to limit itself to retaliation in kind, opening the possibility that nuclear escalation might ensue in the event of a chemical weapon strike, a possibility that Hussein could not take lightly. They also distributed prophylactic mea­sures to troops in the field. As one veteran commented, “The PB pills ­were a deterrent to nerve-­agent poisoning. A soldier who took ­these pills ­every eight hours and then was exposed to a nerve toxin ­wouldn’t die. He’d be incredibly sick, but he ­wouldn’t die in seconds, as he would if he was unprotected.”5 On January 15, 1991, the final UN deadline for the peaceful evacuation of Iraqi forces passed without any signs of a withdrawal. That night, AH-64 Apache he­li­ cop­ters penetrated Iraqi airspace and attacked early warning radar sites, paving the way for the initiation of a massive air campaign. Dubbed “Instant Thunder,” the air campaign plan was the brainchild of Col­o­nel John Warden III, widely regarded as the air force’s chief expert on the strategic application of airpower. Instant Thunder called for simultaneous attacks conducted in parallel against Iraqi leadership targets, key industrial nodes, economic centers of power, and fielded forces. By hitting such a wide variety of targets, the campaign served to disrupt and confuse Iraqi efforts at command and control and to break up any coherent plan of defense. The Iraqis had no mechanism to resist the overwhelming airpower they faced—­and new American “stealth” aircraft proved invisible to Iraqi defense radars, allowing deep penetration strikes with impunity. Precision munitions, first tested at the end of Vietnam, demonstrated an accuracy o­ rders of magnitude greater than what had been seen in ­earlier conflicts, allowing attacks against pinpoint targets. While co­ali­tion airstrikes punished Iraqi targets on a daily basis, a massive troop shift occurred. U.S. VII Corps, supported by smaller contingents of allied forces, moved westward, positioning for an attack directly into Iraq that might serve to trap Iraqi forces in Kuwait. If ­those units attempted a withdrawal, this striking force would instead hit them in the flank. In ­either case, the results ­were likely to be devastating, particularly if the Iraqis did not detect the shift of ground forces and ­counter it. For the first two weeks of airstrikes, the biggest Iraqi response was to fire Scud missiles ­toward both co­ali­tion targets in Saudi Arabia and Israel. In both cases, Patriot missile batteries engaged the missiles, and in several cases managed to destroy them in flight. Iraqi units also attempted to use environmental disasters to dissuade ground attacks. They opened up oil pipelines at the Sea Island Terminal, flooding the Persian Gulf with a huge oil slick. They also commenced sabotage against Kuwaiti oil wells, setting them aflame both to cause economic damage and to create a rudimentary smokescreen that impeded co­ali­tion air sorties. On January 29, three Iraqi armor and mechanized divisions attacked across the border into Saudi Arabia, moving into Al Khafji. ­T here, they fought a two-­day pitched b­ attle against co­ali­tion forces, including U.S. Marines, Saudi National Guard forces, and units from Qatar and Kuwait. Although the Iraqis initially

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succeeded in reaching and occupying the coastal town, they had neither the capacity to defend themselves against aerial attack nor the ability to hold onto the territory they had overrun. The Arab-­led counterattack, backed by co­ali­tion airpower, forced the Iraqis to attempt a withdrawal on February 1—­a move that opened them to further aerial attacks. What started as a propaganda victory for Saddam Hussein soon turned into a humiliating defeat and confirmed the contentions of many U.S. planners that the Iraqi military would not fare well against co­ali­tion ground forces when the invasion of Iraq commenced. Although co­ali­tion airpower inflicted enormous losses upon Iraqi-­fielded forces and continued to punish targets throughout Iraq, it was not clear that airpower would suffice to drive the Iraqis out of Kuwait. Also, a substantial amount of air sorties ­were being flown over the western desert in a frustrating search for the launch sites of Iraqi Scud missiles. ­These ballistic missiles, which ­were capable of striking targets in Israel and Saudi Arabia, could be outfitted with chemical or biological weapons that the Hussein regime was known to possess. The infrequent Scud strikes upon Israel, in par­tic­u­lar, created substantial po­liti­cal pressure to neutralize the Scud sites as a means of keeping the Israelis out of the war. Co­ali­tion leaders feared that any Israeli involvement in the war might undermine Arab support for the co­ali­ tion, and at the same time might make Hussein a sympathetic figure to some of the region’s Muslim inhabitants. On February 24, ­after more than a month of a punishing air campaign, co­ali­tion forces commenced their advance on the ground. U.S. Marine Corps units, partnered with Arab military forces, began an attack directly across the border into Kuwait. Although designed as a feint to root Iraqi attention upon the southern approaches, ­these co­ali­tion units soon made substantial pro­gress and proved capable of driving the Iraqis from their prepared positions. Schwarzkopf had to order the units to slow their pro­gress, lest they push the Iraqis out of the trap he had set farther west. While the Iraqis concentrated upon the attack near the coast, the entire VII Corps, coupled with British and French units, launched a maneuver dubbed “the left hook.” ­These units, which ­were based west of the Kuwait–­Saudi–­Iraq border, pushed north into Iraq and then swung east in a massive flanking move designed to cut off fleeing Iraqi forces and ensure their destruction before they left the Kuwait Theater of Operations. The left hook was backed by an enormous logistical line, with thousands of trucks following almost immediately ­behind the front lines to provide fuel, ammunition, and w ­ ater to the rapidly advancing troops. Although t­here was some consternation about exposing vulnerable transportation resources to Iraqi fire, events proved that the Iraqis did not have the ability to put up a concerted defense, and co­ali­tion forces reached their initial objectives in short order. Once they turned to the east to capture the vital escape routes, they effectively pinned the bulk of the Iraqi military inside a kill-­box, with heavy armored units attacking from two sides and the continual threat of airstrikes looming above. The Iraqis surrendered in droves, abandoning their equipment in their quest to survive the onslaught. In only 100 hours, the ground offensive shattered any Iraqi illusions about defending their state and forced Saddam Hussein to agree to a cease-­fire.



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The Persian Gulf War demonstrated the utter superiority of U.S.-­built military equipment over that supplied to the Iraqis by the Soviet Union. American and co­ali­ tion forces had substantial advantages in range, accuracy, and lethality of their weaponry. They also had complete aerial dominance, allowing them both an accurate picture of the battlefield as it developed and an ability to call in aerial attacks on any position that provided stubborn re­sis­tance. On the occasions when Iraqi and co­ali­tion forces met and fought, the co­ali­tion inflicted tremendous losses upon its ­enemy and took very few casualties in return. The lopsided casualty statistics of the war demonstrate that the Iraqis ­were completely outmatched and that once the co­ali­tion had been allowed to build up its forces, the outcome of the war was almost a fait accompli. Observers of the conflict, such as the P ­ eople’s Republic of China, noted the capabilities of the U.S. military and vowed not to engage in a conventional conflict with the United States, although it did not cause them to abandon any hope of resisting American po­liti­cal, economic, and cultural hegemony in the aftermath of the Cold War. Not e­ very commenter saw the victory as a vindication of American technological superiority. General (Ret.) Barry R. McCaffrey commented, “Our enormous technological edge over Iraq translated into a decisive tactical advantage on all Persian Gulf battlefields. However, in my professional opinion, the US forces in Desert Storm could have won the Gulf War decisively even if we swapped equipment with the Iraqi military.” 6 Co­ali­tion forces, and particularly American troops, ­were exceedingly well trained, had high morale, and had prepared an excellent campaign plan to bring about victory with a minimum of friendly losses. CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS During the Vietnam War, the U.S. military had consisted largely of conscripted forces, particularly among the combat troops deployed to South Vietnam. This caused substantial unrest on the domestic front and significantly undermined morale among the uniformed troops. At the conclusion of that conflict, President Richard Nixon asked the Department of Defense to permanently suspend the military draft pro­cess, immediately transforming the U.S. Army into an all-­volunteer force.7 While this might have quieted many of the social tensions somewhat, it also meant that the military needed to create a recruitment campaign in very short order. Given the ongoing Cold War with the Soviet Union, the military needed to maintain its size, which meant that, in the mid-1970s, it would have to accept virtually any recruit who might offer to serve. As a result, the army became flooded with high school dropouts, soldiers with criminal rec­ords, and a substantial population of drug abusers. One study showed that in 1974, 40 ­percent of soldiers lacked a high school diploma; 41 ­percent ­were classified as Category IV, the lowest tier for intelligence; and 40 ­percent of troops stationed in Eu­rope confessed to drug use, including 7 ­percent using heroin.8 Despite retaining troops of such a low desirability, the army remained 20,000 troops short of its recruiting goals and rated only 4 of 13 divisions as “combat ready.” Racial divisions within the force also proved a constant prob­ lem, with units effectively segregating themselves and racially motivated vio­lence

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erupting at military bases worldwide. The popularity of military ser­vice had reached its nadir, and the institution was perceived as the natu­ral landing point for the dregs of society. To combat this prob­lem, the U.S. Army commenced a series of internal reforms, primarily designed to improve the quality of life for its personnel. This began with efforts to root out and discharge the worst of the troublemakers on the assumption that units would perform better, even with less personnel, if their morale improved. Pay increases ­were authorized across the board, an absolute necessity given that enlisted personnel qualified for federal benefits programs designed to alleviate poverty. Military housing, food, and recreation areas ­were all subjected to major improvement programs, with mostly positive results. Also, the army commenced a major education push, working with soldiers to help them earn GEDs and even college credits. By 1990, 93 ­percent of enlisted troops had a high school diploma, and t­ hose who did not achieve a GED by the end of their first tour ­were not allowed to reenlist.9 At the same time, the U.S. Army commenced one of its most successful recruitment campaigns of all time. The ­simple slogan “Be All That You Can Be” became the cornerstone of army recruitment—­but the second line of the recruiting song actually suggested more of the army’s focus and intent. That line read, “Get an edge on life in the army,” and it implied that most enlistees ­were not expected to join for a lifelong ­career. Instead, the army offered a ­viable training program to enlisted personnel that would provide them with the skills necessary to compete in the modern workforce. In exchange for a few years’ ser­vice, a new recruit could learn lifelong skills and qualify for significant educational benefits through the G.I. Bill. This stood in stark contrast to the concurrent recruiting slogan of the U.S. Marines, “The Few, the Proud, the Marines,” which suggested that only the elite might aspire to membership. Not ­every recruit was convinced by the army’s slogan—as one put it, “Being ‘all you can be’ is fine if all you can be is the Army. I can be a lot more!”10 Yet, he joined of his own volition, or at least selected the army over less palatable options. By changing both the army’s image and the benefits associated with ser­vice, the quality of recruits gradually began to rise, allowing the army to increase its standards for enlistment. By 1990, the army could demand a high school diploma or GED as a condition of enlistment, although some exceptions ­were made. Drug users had the opportunity to enroll in rehabilitation programs, but ­those who failed to give up their habits ­were gradually discharged. The number of recruits with a severe criminal rec­ord precipitously dropped as the army s­ topped accepting individuals with felonies or serious misdemeanors. Although the transition to the new army was painful, the resulting force bore ­little resemblance to the military that had departed Vietnam less than two de­cades ­earlier. Of course, not all of the changes ­were embraced by the troops, and not all of the troops fit the new mold. As one noted in his diary, “Through a combination of lies, drugs, burned bridges and vari­ ous misdemeanors, I have wound up in the U.S. Army. Now I’m facing the blunt real­ity that I may die. It’s one ­thing to risk one’s life indirectly by crossing the street or boarding an airplane. It’s another to throw the dice in a game with no winners. Politicians are the only players in this game, and ­they’re playing with other ­people’s lives. I won­der if they realize the magnitude of what ­they’re ­doing.”11 For ­those who



The Persian Gulf War 927

thought army ser­vice would primarily involve garrison duty and a relatively safe day-­to-­day experience, the need to deploy to the desert came as a harsh reminder that military forces are inherently designed to engage in vio­lence on behalf of the state. Major Sandra L. Vann-­Lejasz, of the 87th Maintenance Battalion, received her deployment ­orders in November and argues “The most significant challenges concerned personnel issues.”12 Vann-­Lejasz cited examples of deliberate pregnancies and self-­inflicted wounds as means to avoid deployment to Saudi Arabia. The army entered the 1990s firmly committed to maintaining an all-­volunteer force, augmented by substantially improved National Guard and Reserves forces that could be called up in the event of a major contingency. As Frederick Kagan and Chris Kubik noted, “Operation Desert Storm was the first major high-­intensity conflict that the U.S. has ever fought using only the members of a professional armed force. All of the soldiers and officers who served ­were volunteers in the Active Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force, in the reserves, or in the National Guard and Air National Guard. T ­ here w ­ ere no conscripts as ­there had been in e­ very major conflict of the twentieth ­century, and no hastily inducted untrained volunteers, as ­there had been in numerous wars in the previous c­ entury. All of the ser­vicemen and ­women who fought in the Gulf War ­were highly trained and professional volunteers.”13 TRAINING In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the army underwent a training revolution, with a renewed focus upon realistic situations to closely simulate the conditions of combat. Individual soldiers came to represent a major investment of time and resources, with the cost of specialized training r­ unning into the hundreds of thousands of dollars per soldier.14 Troops no longer attended basic training for several weeks and then reported to their units to learn their trades. Instead, basic training served as a fundamental grounding and mass indoctrination system to familiarize all new recruits with the requirements of military discipline, physical fitness, and team building. ­After basic training, soldiers could expect further training based upon their military specialty to prepare them for the unique contribution they would make to the military endeavor.15 Training also did not stop once new soldiers reached their units. The post-­Vietnam army placed enormous emphasis upon training as a means to instill discipline, unit cohesion, and morale into the force. As a result, troops spent more time in some form of training than ever before, ranging from individual marksmanship to large-­ scale combat simulations. The army in 1990 was the best-­trained peacetime force that the United States had ever fielded—­and this led to a high degree of confidence in the ability of units to perform their missions.16 One of the most large-­scale changes to military training came with the creation of the National Training Center (NTC), based at Fort Irwin, California. The NTC allowed units to practice their tactics in a simulated free-­fire zone, using newly developed technology to enhance the realism of the exercises. In par­tic­u­lar, units rotating to the NTC for training used weapons and vehicles outfitted with the multiple integrated ­laser engagement system (MILES). MILES could be used to rec­ord

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individual hits, track the movement of vehicles, and consolidate the data for pre­sen­ ta­tion in an after-­action review (AAR). During the AAR, unit leaders faced the harsh criticism associated with making poor decisions in a battlefield environment. While often humiliating, this approach also proved effective—­units tended to perform much better over their training rotation as they integrated the lessons from ­earlier engagements. Supplementing their learning was the professional opposing force (OPFOR), a training unit that utilized Soviet-­style equipment and tactics and showed no hesitation to destroy American forces. In fact, ­later studies conducted ­after the end of the Cold War demonstrated the OPFOR was more skilled at fighting ­under Soviet doctrine than most front-­line troops in the Red Army.17 In July 1973, the army established the Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC) at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Its first commander, General William DePuy, arrived convinced that army training methods, which had not significantly changed since World War II, desperately required modernization. DePuy believed ju­nior officers spent too much time in the classroom and too ­little in the field. To alleviate this perceived prob­lem, DePuy instituted a new motto, “An army must train as it fights,” and a new approach to mea­sur­ing combat readiness, the Army Training and Evaluation Program (ARTEP). ARTEP offered an objective means to evaluate the field per­for­mance of units, although it relied upon scripted scenarios that did not effectively replicate combat conditions. DePuy saw ARTEP as a short-­term solution while the necessary major reforms could take place. DePuy firmly believed that doctrine was useless ­unless it was understood and accepted by the troops expecting to follow it. To that end, he commenced a major review of army doctrine in 1973, which culminated in the 1976 publication FM 100-5, Operations. This work represented a distillation of the army’s understanding of modern combat, with a particularly strong emphasis on the situation near the Fulda Gap, long perceived as the most likely site for any Soviet invasion of the West. The manual focused upon the use of prepositioned forces in a defensive orientation, using carefully husbanded resources to destroy an ­enemy offensive push. It relied upon high technology to offset superior numbers of the ­enemy—­and it reminded officers that the first ­battle of a modern conflict might also be the last.18 Critics of the manual argued that it placed too ­little emphasis upon aggressive maneuver, effectively ceding the initiative to the ­enemy, or it represented an effort to not lose rather than to win. Yet it still offered a better solution to the current threat than ­earlier doctrine, and it was written in a fashion that made it comprehensible to enlisted troops. FM 100-5 underwent significant revisions in the years prior to Desert Storm. In par­tic­u­lar, the 1982 version focused less upon force ratios and quantifiable data than the intangibles associated with leadership. It also introduced a new joint doctrine, developed in conjunction with the U.S. Air Force, called AirLand B ­ attle. This reflected the army’s understanding of Soviet doctrine, which called for waves of attackers to move forward in successive echelons separated by 50 miles. Each wave was designed to strike the collision point separated by a day—­while the first echelon might be ­stopped by defensive positions, the succeeding echelons would sweep over the defenses before they could be reprovisioned and repositioned to ­counter the next wave.19 AirLand ­Battle called for the close integration of ground commanders and aerial interdiction forces. T ­ hese aerial attackers could strike deep into the



The Persian Gulf War 929

successive echelons, breaking formations and creating gaps in the attackers’ lines, which could then be exploited by the active defenses. By the 1986 version of FM 100-5, AirLand ­Battle had become the new norm for U.S. Army combat doctrine and infused all of the training efforts associated with preparing for major conflicts in the ­f uture. It also incorporated the new technologies coming online as a part of the major army push for weapons modernization in the 1970s and 1980s. SOCIAL STRUCTURE As had been the case for two centuries in the U.S. military, the most obvious division within the social structure of the force was that between officers and enlisted personnel. Other divisions certainly existed, such as the ones between combat and support troops; between dif­fer­ent branches of the army, such as armor and infantry; and between active-­duty and Reserves/National Guard units. Less obvious divisions existed between seemingly homogenous groups. For example, within the officer corps, a clear delineation existed between ­those who received their commission at the U.S. Military Acad­emy at West Point and ­those who ­were commissioned through other sources. However, each of t­hese divisions proved far less deleterious to morale and combat efficiency than the race-­based controversies associated with ­earlier wars, suggesting that the army had made significant pro­gress in eliminating many of its traditional divides. As a class, officers had dif­fer­ent requirements for ser­vice in the U.S. Army than did enlisted personnel. One of the most obvious is that they required a college degree prior to commissioning—­a fact that ensured that even the most ju­nior of officers would be a few years older than the newest enlisted recruits. Of course, the noncommissioned officer (NCO) ranks, long considered the backbone of any army, ­were often older than the ju­nior officers in any unit. A substantial portion of the Desert Storm NCOs had served in Vietnam and the subsequent period of low morale and poor troop quality. For ­these veterans, taking ­orders from a newly minted lieutenant might have occasionally rankled, even if it had always been a part of their ser­vice c­ areer. What made the relationship function more than anything ­else was the quality of preparation the ju­nior officers had received. In this regard, the training revolution of the 1970s and 1980s had paid dividends—­lieutenants entered their positions with a high level of preparedness for their roles, allowing them to demonstrate a certain degree of competency that proved invaluable in earning the esteem of their troops. Given the expectation of a four-­year college degree as a minimum requirement for officers, it is unsurprising that officers tended to come primarily from middle-­ class families. ­Those who attended the U.S. Military Acad­emy (USMA) may have done so as a congressional appointee or as an open admissions student; but without the requisite academic preparation seldom afforded by schools serving poorer communities, making it through the rigorous program proved extremely difficult. Officers from lower socioeconomic classes ­were far more likely to have received their commissions from the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) system. The six se­nior military colleges (the Citadel, North Georgia, Norwich, Texas A&M, ­Virginia Military Institute, and ­Virginia Tech) each provided a substantial share

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

of the ju­nior officers added to the army in any given year. However, Academy-­ commissioned officers had the highest likelihood of receiving commissions in highly selective branches (especially armor and aviation in the 1980s), and consequently had a greater likelihood of attaining high rank. In the general officers category, USMA alumni claimed a disproportionate share of the positions, including the commanding general position during Desert Storm, which went to General H. Norman Schwarzkopf Jr., West Point Class of 1956. Officers leading the U.S. Army ­were exceptionally well qualified for their roles, particularly ­those who had reached the highest ranks. The competition for promotions within the army ensured that only the best would move up in the ranks. ­Because the army promoted through a merit-­based system and a smaller percentage of candidates reached each level of rank, by the time an individual reached flag rank (brigadier general and above), they likely had an enormous amount of experience, a high intellect, and a demonstrated ability to lead their fellow soldiers.20 NCOs and enlisted personnel ­were far more likely to join the army from a working-­class background. Although the pay and benefits hikes of the preceding de­cade went a long way ­toward making the army a ­viable ­career, new recruits still operated on a contract basis, meaning they typically commenced their ser­vice with a fixed end date in place. Naturally, retaining soldiers already trained in a specialty became a major initiative in the army, as constantly indoctrinating and educating new personnel was both time consuming and extremely costly. Thanks to the all-­ volunteer nature of the force, retaining personnel required a certain degree of persuasion and finesse—­and almost certainly contributed to a rise in the ratio of NCOs to enlisted personnel as a w ­ hole. The second most obvious division within the army came from the types of ser­ vice performed by each branch of the organ­ization. The first delineation in this divide came between the combat arms (armor, infantry, aviation, field artillery, and air defense artillery) and the support units. Within the social hierarchy of the army, the combat arms always took precedence—­although an informal pecking order also existed within ­those combat arms. In 1990, the armored branch claimed the top spot, as it was perceived as the key offensive firepower of any expected ­future conflict. Much of the army’s ­battle doctrine served to protect the armored forces and get them into position to inflict maximum damage against the ­enemy. Despite internal rivalries in the combat arms, members of t­hese units held universal assumptions that they ­were more impor­tant to the army’s success than support units. One of the more obvious aspects of the combat vs. support divide was in the role played by female soldiers. In 1990, w ­ omen ­were banned from combat-­arms units, making the troops in ­those organ­izations entirely male, even though they interacted with liaisons from other units on a regular basis. Although w ­ omen comprised nearly 15 ­percent of the army in 1990, their relegation to support units ensured ­those organ­izations held a much higher percentage of ­women than the army’s total numbers might suggest. In Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, w ­ omen deployed to the region with their units and endured the same difficult conditions as the men and steadfastly refused to accept lesser roles due to their sex.21 In the eyes of many commanders, their presence “had a calming influence on the men, who seemed to behave better and w ­ ere less likely to show cases of nerves around ­women.”22



The Persian Gulf War 931

Female soldiers deployed during Operation Desert Storm. Approximately 40,000 ­women w ­ ere deployed by Co­ali­tion forces during the Persian Gulf War, although they ­were formally restricted to non-­combat roles. Fifteen ­were killed in the conflict, and two w ­ ere held by the Iraqis as prisoners of war. (Corel)

­Women had gradually moved upward through the ranks since their formal inclusion in the army, such that the first female general officers ­were promoted to one-­ star rank in 1970. However, only a handful of ­women have reached general officer rank in the U.S. Army, and most have been ­limited to one star. In 2008, the army promoted Anne Dunwoody to four-­star rank, the first ­woman to reach the highest rank in that ser­vice. Desert Storm undoubtedly contributed to the upward mobility of ­women within army ranks. Over 41,000 ­women deployed to the Persian Gulf and 5 w ­ ere killed in action.23 They had performed exceedingly well in their roles, and many showed l­ittle interest in returning to a secondary role a­ fter the end of the conflict.24 The army’s racial demographics did not directly match ­those of the United States as a w ­ hole at the end of the Vietnam War. African Americans comprised 12 ­percent of the national population, but made up 28 ­percent of army personnel. They disproportionately served as enlisted personnel, as less than 10 ­percent of army officers identified as African American. Many reported seeing military ser­vice as a means of escaping poverty and having upward mobility, a feeling reflected in their much-­higher reenlistment rates. Sixty-­three ­percent of black soldiers signed up for a second tour, compared to the average of 38 ­percent for the army as a w ­ hole.25 Unsurprisingly, African American generals ­were relatively rare, although General Colin Powell held the position of chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS), making him the highest-­ranking military officer in the nation during Desert Storm. The story for Latinos followed a dif­fer­ent pattern—­although they accounted for

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16 ­percent of the U.S. population, they comprised only 11 ­percent of the army. Other racial minorities largely followed the same pattern. If they tended to come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, they ­were far more likely to serve in the enlisted ranks rather than the officer corps. However, aggressive diversity recruitment initiatives proved effective by 1990, especially ­those touting the benefits of a revamped G.I. Bill. For many ethnic minorities, the army became a ­career pathway to increased educational and economic opportunities.26 DAILY LIFE The daily life of troops deployed to participate in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm differed markedly, based upon when they arrived in theater and the function of their unit. For example, the first units sent to the kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA) arrived not knowing if they might face an imminent attack by hundreds of thousands of Iraqi troops. As a result, their first priority upon arrival was establishing some degree of defensive positions, primarily in the form of individual infantry fighting positions. ­These positions ­were extremely spartan, to say the least, and typically consisted of hand-­excavated dugouts with minimal protection from the ele­ments and no creature comforts. Troops in the forward positions carried all of their own supplies in, which meant they dined almost exclusively upon military rations, dubbed meals ready to eat (MREs). While an improvement upon ­earlier versions of field rations, MREs certainly left a lot to be desired in anything other than basic nutritional requirements.27 Many troops complained that they could scarcely identify the items in each ration, despite having a clear label on the outside. As Dominic Caraccilo noted, “When it comes to MREs, ‘strange’ is usually the correct term, ­because God only knows what is in some of ­those brown packets.”28 The biggest logistical difficulty was in bringing enough purified ­water forward to sustain the troops in the awful heat of a summertime desert in the Arabian Peninsula. Daytime temperatures often ranged above 120 degrees, meaning the vast majority of physical ­labor needed to be completed in darkness or the early morning hours. Summarizing the early days in-­theater, Caraccilo stated, “We ­were hot, hungry, tired and scared in the early stages of Desert Shield, and the mission was just beginning.”29 As the situation along the border stabilized and it became clear that the Iraqi military did not intend to sweep into KSA, military commanders cast about for better long-­term shelter options. One of the first positions occupied on a long-­term basis was a four-­story parking garage with space for a few thousand vehicles. It offered immediate shelter from direct sunlight and a solid foundation upon which to place cots, cooking equipment, and the other necessities of life.30 Some troops ­were moved into temporary quarters in an unoccupied apartment complex built by the KSA government to h­ ouse Bedouins, who never chose to move in. The vast majority of troops received ­orders to establish tent encampments. Before enough standard military shelters arrived in-­theater, local logisticians contracted with Saudi brokers to supply thousands of Bedouin tents. Most of ­these tents ­were normally rented to pilgrims en route to Mecca, and troops who stayed in the tents reported



The Persian Gulf War 933

them to be prone to flooding, as they ­were not waterproof, but still a significant upgrade over sleeping on the open ground. The longer U.S. troops remained in the area, the better their living quarters became. As the immediate threat of an Iraqi assault across the Saudi border proved unfounded, troops could turn their efforts ­toward improving their living situation. In the 101st Airborne Division, that meant attempting to create a more permanent set of quarters that might provide some shelter from the ele­ments. According to the divisional history of the war, “One of the troopers in the camp said that it eventually became a first class installation, but never let it be said that Camp Ea­gle II was a nice place to live, or even to visit. Mosquitoes, sand vipers, scorpions and spiders also shared the camp. The heat was miserable and the dust got into every­ thing. Yet, hot chow, a cot to sleep on and a tent to get ­under ­after 30 days of sleeping in a hole ­under a poncho on the desert floor was an improvement. The laundry ser­vice was superior to washing your own clothes in a bucket if you ­didn’t mind getting back some other soldier’s underwear.”31 Eventually, the Saudis turned over a series of public housing proj­ects and empty apartment buildings to the U.S. Army to serve as temporary living quarters ­u ntil their equipment arrived and allowed transition into the field.32 In the same way that shelters gradually stabilized and made the establishment of field kitchens a high priority, knowing that a hot, cooked meal would be served could work won­ders on troop morale. The longer Operation Desert Shield continued, the better the food situation became, particularly as the logistical infrastructure necessary to support the transportation, preparation, and distribution of fresh food developed in-­theater. The two biggest undertakings in terms of food preparation occurred on Thanksgiving and Christmas. President George H. W. Bush was absolutely determined that deployed forces away from their families for the holiday season would at least be treated to a communal feast—­and as a result, the U.S. Army kitchens attempted to prepare ­every traditional holiday fare for the troops they served. The Thanksgiving menu for 1990 included turkey and all the trimmings for the troops serving in the Saudi desert, and President George H. W. Bush made a surprise visit to Saudi Arabia. Over the course of his whirlwind visit, he managed to interact with over 6,000 troops, some of them serving almost upon the Kuwait border.33 Of course, even on holidays, t­ here w ­ ere plenty of unpleasant tasks that simply had to be completed. As Douglas MacGregor noted, “Christmas morning, the day of the VIP visit, began with soldiers setting cans of excrement on fire. Soldiers found the experience distasteful, commenting l­ater that they remembered seeing shit-­burning details on a tele­vi­sion show about Vietnam called Tour of Duty.”34 Geoffrey Frankel offered a more visceral description of the experience, writing “On the first day of my desert Christmas, Santa gave to me . . . ​a lesson in how to dispose of ­human waste on a vast scale in the desert. The pro­cess had acquired the blunt but illustrative nickname of S—­Burning. The stench of it is not easily forgotten. Neither is the memory of learning how to do it on Christmas Day.”35 Military uniforms underwent significant changes between the end of Vietnam and the beginning of Desert Shield. The olive drab fatigues of the 1970s dis­appeared in ­favor of a desert-­camouflage pattern uniform made of special fire-­retardant polymers designed to stand up to the rigors of desert warfare.36 In addition to the

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standard ­battle uniforms and redesigned desert boots, army troops received some of the earliest Kevlar body armor. The American Kevlar helmets, in par­tic­u­lar, became one of the iconic pieces of equipment of the conflict. They ­were substantially lighter than the Vietnam-­era steel helmets, but still offered more protection against small-­arms fire and shrapnel. One of the most hated aspects of U.S. Army uniforms during Desert Shield was the incorporation of MOPP gear. Given the advanced state of the Iraqi chemical and biological weapons program, American troops faced the very real possibility of such an attack. As a result, most units required their members to carry a gas mask at all times and to remain in close proximity to their MOPP gear. Drills requiring troops to don their full protective clothing ­were conducted on a regular basis. Soldiers absolutely hated the MOPP drills—­not only w ­ ere the protective layers stifling, they also contained an inferior coating of charcoal, which blackened anything it touched and proved very difficult to remove. However, given that the Iraqi military had utilized chemical weapons in its war with Iran (1980–1988), troops could not ignore the possibility that Saddam Hussein might order their use again, particularly if he felt his personal position was in jeopardy. Once the initial stress of reaching the combat theater had been handled, troops settled in to a regular routine. The need to operate in the coolest hours meant that daily activities started before sunrise. According to MacGregor, “ ‘Stand To’ meant every­one dressed, awake, and manning his respective weapon, ready to fight. In the desert, the 2nd Cavalry executed Stand To daily at 0500 hours.”37 In the early days, troops worked long hours to prepare their positions, so much so that Edward Flanagan argued, “The few men on the ground initially felt that they w ­ ere all alone and a long way from home. They knew the Iraqis ­were somewhere to the north, massed with hundreds of tanks and artillery pieces, but ­there was so much work to be done that the troops and the staff gave l­ ittle thought to how exposed and vulnerable they w ­ ere.”38 The longer troops ­were in the desert, the less likely they perceived an Iraqi attack was imminent, which meant that even the monotony-­breaking calls to attention became less frequent and troops became increasingly frustrated with their inability to quickly pass the time. The biggest complaints from the troops tended to come from sheer boredom. As Richard Swain described the region, “The sheer emptiness and unlimited vistas make orientation difficult and distort estimates of time and distance. For t­ hose more used to h­ ouses and trees, the desert can contribute to a sort of melancholy.”39 Boredom and the lack of any noticeable scenery weighed heavi­ly upon some of the troops. As Geoffrey Frankel noted, “I see nothing but sand. ­There ­isn’t a single tree, bush, weed or blade of grass in sight. I could make a drawing of the place by scrawling a single line across the page. Not counting our convoy, the only line out ­here is the horizon. If we ­were to ‘nuke’ this place, the world would never run out of glass.” 40 As had been the case in previous wars, a large number of popu­lar entertainers went on morale-­boosting tours into the theater. Naturally, Bob Hope led the charge into the desert and proved just as popu­lar in 1990 as he had in ­earlier conflicts. Famous musicians put on concerts with all the fanfare of their normal tours, as did comedians and variety acts. T ­ hese tours helped to alleviate the sheer boredom for



The Persian Gulf War 935

troops in the desert, waiting for a pos­si­ble fight. When a major entertainer was not available, the troops or­ga­nized their own talent shows, and musical instruments ­were shipped to outfit military bands in virtually ­every unit. ­These bands often toured other units, providing entertainment in their own style and facilitating cooperation between military organ­izations. Once regular mail ser­vice was established for the deployed troops, they flooded their f­amily and friends with requests for luxuries, particularly candy and other sweets. They also asked for board games and decks of cards as a means to while away their hours of downtime when it was too hot to sleep or engage in any form of physical activity.41 The U.S. public responded by sending hundreds of thousands of care packages containing almost any form of entertainment imaginable. So long as the packages contained neither alcohol nor pornography, they ­were admitted into the theater and distributed to the addressees. ­Those prohibited categories of items ­were established to re­spect Saudi religious and social customs and ­were expressly banned from U.S. forces deploying to the region. The USS Ranger, stationed in Subic Bay, received over five tons of mail designated “To Any Ser­viceman,” most of which was forwarded to the theater.42 RELIGION Religion offered a significant potential complication for Operation Desert Storm. Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein often tried to pre­sent himself as the defender of both the Sunni Muslim faith and the Arab ­people. When he fought the Iran-­Iraq War, he found this a useful posture to shore up contributions from other Sunni Arab states, none of which wished to see the Ira­nian Shi’a become the dominant power in the region. Hussein believed that if he could transform the crisis in the Persian Gulf into a form of religious strife, pitting Iraqi Muslims against a western co­ali­tion composed largely of Christians, he might be able to garner significant support from the region. In par­tic­u­lar, Hussein attempted on a number of occasions to portray the western troops as invaders into the Muslim Holy Land, bent upon a crusade to dominate the region and destroy the Muslim faith. When his initial propagandistic efforts failed, Hussein resorted to launching Scud missiles against Israel, knowing that none of his Arab neighbors even recognized the existence of the Jewish state. Hussein knew that the state of Israel maintained a standing policy of strict retaliation for any attack, and he believed that any Israeli attack upon Iraq would fracture the co­ali­tion. Most Arab Muslim armies simply would not accept even the perception of fighting on the same side of a conflict as Israel. This cynical attempt to utilize religion as a means to manipulate his enemies failed, but keeping the Israelis from launching retaliatory strikes ­after each Scud launch proved extremely difficult. The prohibition of alcohol and pornography among U.S. troops was not the end of efforts to re­spect the Muslim faith.43 Troops w ­ ere given several hours of instruction regarding how to avoid offering offense to their Saudi hosts, in par­tic­u­lar by avoiding the use of religious and racial slurs. Pocket guides offering the basic rules for being properly behaved guests in a Muslim nation ­were distributed to all U.S. troops deployed to the theater, as ­were explanations regarding why co­ali­tion forces had been sent to the KSA. One of the obvious ways that U.S. planners mitigated

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the likelihood of giving offense was simply by maintaining their forces as far from Saudi population centers as pos­si­ble, minimizing the contact between U.S. personnel and Saudi citizens. The most obvious authorities on religious beliefs in Operation Desert Shield ­were the army chaplains. T ­ hese ordained soldiers deployed with their units and served in an enormous multitude of roles. Chaplains could theoretically come from any faith in the army’s ranks, although the vast majority ­were ­either Catholic or Protestant Christians. In the aftermath of Desert Storm, the army chief of chaplains requested a separate insignia for Muslim chaplains, allowing them to wear a crescent rather than the cross or the Ten Commandments symbols that ­were previously required for all chaplains. This third insignia was approved in early 1993. The chaplains provided religious ceremonies as required by par­tic­u­lar faiths, but they also served in a limitless number of nonofficial fashions. Chaplains often performed as a type of religious diplomat, comparing beliefs and practices with local inhabitants. They provided enormous assistance as informal counselors, offering guidance, advice, or simply a sounding board for soldiers struggling with the pressures of deployment. Chaplains also engaged nongovernmental organ­izations (NGOs) on a continual basis, providing a valuable conduit for ­those organ­izations to offer assistance to troops in the field and their families at home. Although the Christian faith comprised the majority of American citizens in 1990 and more than half of all deployed U.S. forces self-­identified as Christians, the level of observance of the faith varied by individual. Some soldiers carried Bibles, crucifixes, Q’urans, or other overt symbols of their faith. ­Others tended to keep their beliefs largely to themselves or attended religious ser­vices on holy days and Sabbaths without engaging much in outward displays of religion. Of course, a substantial number of U.S. troops ­were drawn from other faiths, and e­ very attempt was made to provide reasonable accommodations for the needs of t­ hose faiths. At no time did religious requirements supersede the mission at hand—­for example, when the ground combat phase of the war began, it did so in the predawn darkness of a Sunday morning. Likewise, attempts by Christian organ­izations in the United States to limit or stop the use of military force in the name of humanitarian relief had l­ ittle, if any, effect upon the decision to go to war.44 POPU­L AR CULTURE The American troops that deployed to the Persian Gulf largely held common tastes with the rest of their age groups in the United States when it came to entertainment and other aspects of pop culture. The ubiquitous cassette tape players made it easy for soldiers to carry their own musical preferences along to war and to share them with other troops. It was also ­simple for ­family and friends back home to send ­music to the deployed forces, making it pos­si­ble for soldiers in the Persian Gulf to remain abreast of the latest musical trends. Tastes varied by individual, although the most popu­lar genres remained rock and roll, hip hop, and country and western ­music. A surprisingly popu­lar song was released on January 15, 1991. An ensemble of Yoko Ono, Sean Lennon, and Lenny Kravitz released an updated version of John Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance” just in time for the first combat operations. Soldiers who did not have their own cassette players could rely upon radio



The Persian Gulf War 937

broadcasts, both t­ hose provided by the U.S. military and local stations, which often catered to soldiers’ preferences. Troops in-­theater rarely had time for or access to tele­vi­sion and movies. However, ­because the U.S. Army soldiers had an almost 100 ­percent literacy rate, books, magazines, and other forms of printed ­matter ­were quite popu­lar with the troops. In par­tic­u­lar, comic books tended to generate substantial interest, not necessarily for their reading level so much as for the escapism that they represented. Troops continually requested more ­things to read in the care packages sent from home, and a number of civic organ­izations prepared donation drives to ensure the soldiers did not lack access to reading material. In the years ­after the Persian Gulf War, the conflict did not spawn a large number of popu­lar culture vehicles. One of the few movies set in the Persian Gulf War that proved successful at the box office was Three Kings, starring George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, and Ice Cube. The plot of the film revolved around a small group of soldiers plotting to steal gold bullion from an Iraqi bunker, even though it belonged to the government of Kuwait. Interestingly, the film raised issues of Kurdish re­sis­tance to the Iraqi government, the relationships between Iran and Iraq, and the abuse of Iraqi citizens by both their own government and American troops. However, it also presented a false sense of indiscipline and lack of institutional control within the U.S. Army that did not remotely align with the a­ ctual experience of troops in-­theater. Courage ­Under Fire, starring Denzel Washington, Meg Ryan, and Matt Damon, presented a dramatic example of how battlefield casualties are often given hero status on the basis of their sacrifices, rather than their actions in the field. It examined the role of ­women in the modern military and how medical personnel might perceive the irony of attempting to save lives while their comrades attempted to end them. Both of ­these films did relatively well in their initial run, but neither has achieved a lasting status as a triumph of the cinema. The most popu­lar fictional veteran of the Persian Gulf War in literary form is undoubtedly Jack Reacher, who has appeared in more than 20 novels by British author Lee Child. Two of the novels have been adapted into films starring Tom Cruise, although in both films, Reacher’s military ser­vice has been shifted to the 2003 Iraq War rather than Operation Desert Storm. In the novels, Reacher is a retired military police officer who wanders the countryside solving crimes and inserting himself into local conflicts. His military ser­vice provided him with the necessary skills for his par­tic­u­lar brand of violent interventions, but other­wise seems to have largely faded into the background. The Reacher novels have almost all reached the top slot on the New York Times bestseller list. PAY AND COMPENSATION Thanks to the shift to an all-­volunteer force, the army found itself competing with the private sector for new recruits—­a situation it had never truly faced in the twentieth c­ entury. Army pay had never been considered generous, even for c­ areer soldiers, but in the late 1970s, the compensation the army provided to soldiers declined by 10 ­percent relative to equivalent civilian positions.45 When added to the stresses of army life, with its frequent moves and uncertain ­future, the army simply did not rank as an attractive option for most young Americans. Not surprisingly,

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this led to a rise in the number of poorly educated soldiers, many of them in the Category IV section of the army’s intelligence scale (the lowest category from which a recruit could be admitted into ser­vice). A 1973 poll found that the army was ranked near the bottom of available professions in terms of re­spect. By 1974, the institution was 20,000 recruits short of its goal, and the combat units w ­ ere starting to see significant personnel shortages.46 Five years l­ater, an army study found that 40 ­percent of all new recruits ­were being dismissed for indiscipline or unsuitability during their first enlistment—­making the recruitment prob­lem that much worse.47 When Ronald Reagan was elected to the presidency, he made improving the nation’s military readiness a high priority. In 1981, Congress authorized a pay increase of 25 ­percent, which offset many of the immediate prob­lems for soldiers already in uniform, but it did not have the expected intent for recruitment.48 By 1990, this meant that enlisted privates earned $753.90 per month in basic pay for their ser­vice, so long as they had been in uniform for four months. Soldiers with specialized skills could earn additional money in their paychecks, and their pay rates increased with both promotions and time in ser­vice. Troops also received a subsistence allowance in addition to their basic pay if they chose to live off-­post. This subsistence allowance offset the cost of housing and thus allowed soldiers to have families living with them. When the troops w ­ ere called up for deployment to the Persian Gulf, though, the government de­cided to eliminate the subsistence allowance on the grounds that the troops would be ­housed and fed by the army. This misstep caused enormous consternation for soldiers u­ ntil the secretary of defense declared t­hose serving in the Persian Gulf w ­ ere in a region of imminent danger and should receive additional pay. Also, families separated for more than 30 days received a small stipend. When combined, ­these emergency mea­sures somewhat offset the lack of subsistence pay.49 Interestingly, the army found that the potential recruits who performed best on ser­vice intelligence tests ­were more motivated by educational benefits, calling for a return of the G.I. Bill.50 In 1984, Congress responded by passing a revamped educational program for military service—­the Montgomery G.I. Bill. It served to attract a far more qualified group of recruits such that by 1991, nearly 100 ­percent of army applicants held a high school diploma. Interestingly, the new version of the G.I. Bill allowed troops to contribute a portion of their pay t­oward an Army College Fund. At the end of their ser­vice, the government provided a huge return on the soldiers’ personal investments—at a rate of $8 for ­every $1 paid in by the troops (up to a maximum of $600 paid in per year). Nearly 50 ­percent of troops ­were enrolled in the program in the year prior to Desert Shield, knowing that they could only claim the benefits ­after receiving an honorable discharge. Not surprisingly, desertions and indiscipline plummeted, as it had become in the soldiers’ best interests to behave well while in uniform.51 WEAPONRY During the Vietnam War, the U.S. military possessed a significant technological edge over the adversary. U.S. decision-­makers had long assumed that a qualitative superiority would offset the numerical advantages held by the Soviet military.



The Persian Gulf War 939

However, the cost and duration of Vietnam had caused technological innovation to stagnate, as resources shifted to the dual prob­lems of training sufficient personnel and providing them the necessary resources to carry on the conflict. In 1973, as the last American combat forces left Vietnam, a war erupted in the M ­ iddle East, pitting Israel against its neighbors for the third time in as many de­cades. The Israelis primarily utilized equipment supplied by the west, while their opponents in the Yom Kippur War fielded Soviet-­built equipment. To the surprise of both the Israelis and the western observers, the Soviet equipment proved far more effective than expected, equaling and in many cases surpassing its western counter­parts. The Israelis, who had defeated the same foes with minimal losses in 1967, found themselves in danger of annihilation. Their tactical superiority, tenacity, and an emergency infusion of direct western support saved them from conquest—­but the warning for the United States was obvious. If Soviet equipment mea­sured up to what the Americans and their North Atlantic Treaty Organ­ization (NATO) allies had in the field, the entire set of assumptions regarding an outbreak of war in Eu­rope had to be rethought. When coupled with the U.S. shift to an all-­volunteer force, this amounted to a crisis in military preparedness. General Creighton Abrams, the chief of staff of the army, quickly grasped the nature of the situation, and he began calling for revolutionary advances in U.S. military technology. In par­tic­u­lar, he clamored for what he dubbed “the Big Five,” the weapons systems necessary to execute U.S. war plans in Eu­rope. According to Abrams, American troops required a massive improvement in the quality and quantity of their main ­battle tanks, air defense systems, attack he­li­cop­ters, transport he­li­cop­ters, and armored personnel carriers.52 Despite constrained bud­gets, Abrams managed to convince Congress to fund ­these developmental programs, in part by managing to corral the army bureaucracy at the Pentagon. Through sheer force of personality and single-­minded focus, Abrams convinced all of the army leadership to prioritize ­these systems, and even ­after Abrams was gone as the chief of staff, his successors continued the programs. By the time Desert Shield commenced in 1990, all of the Big Five ­were in full production, providing a major leap forward in the field capabilities of the U.S. Army. The M1 Abrams tank, named for the general who had championed its development, boasted a number of revolutionary changes in American tank design. The armor used for the Abrams is a composite ceramic material with exact specifications that remain classified. This armor proved extremely durable during Desert Storm—­not only was it damage-­proof against Soviet-­made antitank rounds fired by Iraqi vehicles, it also survived frontal direct hits from American armor-­piercing rounds, with sabot, in friendly fire incidents (although on at least two occasions, the armor was penetrated when hit from ­behind by friendly fire). Abrams tanks ­were initially outfitted with 105-mm rifled guns capable of firing a wide variety of projectiles. However, testing determined that this gun yielded a maximum kill range of less than two miles, and thus, when the tank underwent upgrades to the M1A1 model in 1988, it was given a 120-mm smoothbore gun. This new primary armament nearly doubled the effective range of an Abrams, giving it a massive advantage over the Soviet-­built models it was designed to face. Further enhancing its lethality, the Abrams was outfitted with a fire control computer that incorporated

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Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

a ­laser range-­finder and thermal imaging data. The suite of sensors on an Abrams gave the U.S. military an unparalleled capacity to fight at night, something used to deadly effect in Desert Storm.53 The M2 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle was envisioned as a means to rapidly transport an infantry squad to operate in support of armored vehicles. It can carry six fully armed soldiers into ­battle and provide a substantial amount of fire support in its own right. The Bradley has aluminum armor, making it relatively light and secure against small-­arms fire. It is armed with a 25-mm chain gun capable of firing up to 200 rounds per minute, as well as coaxial machine guns. While a Bradley’s rounds are unlikely to penetrate a tank’s armor at long range, it also carries two antitank missiles for attack and a smoke grenade launcher to create a defensive screen.54 The AH-64 Apache was designed to serve as a deep-­penetration tank-­killer. It has a maximum speed of approximately 170 miles per hour and a ser­vice ceiling of over 21,000 feet, depending upon weather conditions. The two-­man crew has dual controls, making it pos­si­ble for ­either crew member to fly the aircraft as necessary. A partition between the crew members serves as extra protection in the event that one is hit by ­enemy fire. The Apache is armed with a 30-mm cannon that can be slaved to ­either crew member’s helmet, meaning the gun ­will point where the soldier looks. It is also armed with AGM-114 Hellfire missiles or Hydra rockets, depending upon the type of mission intended by its users. Nearly 300 Apaches ­were deployed to the Persian Gulf during Desert Storm—­approximately half of the nation’s inventory. In four days of combat, they destroyed 278 Iraqi tanks at a cost

The M2 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle, an armored personnel carrier designed to safely and rapidly transport infantry to the battlefield and provide fire support to troops in contact. One of General Creighton Abrams’s “Big Five” weapons platforms, the Bradley represented a major modernization effort within the U.S. Army. (U.S. Department of Defense)



The Persian Gulf War 941

of a single Apache, which was brought down by a rocket-­propelled grenade at close range.55 The UH-60 Black Hawk is a transport/utility he­li­cop­ter that has proven extremely durable and versatile. It can be configured in a limitless number of ways for every­ thing from stealthy insertion of Special Forces troops to heavy lifting of equipment. The aircraft can carry up to 9,000 pounds of cargo using an underbody sling, and it can also transport 11 combat-­loaded soldiers. When configured for close air support, it can be outfitted with machine guns, rocket launchers, and missile systems, including Stinger air-­to-­air missiles. It has a cruising speed of 170 miles per hour and a ser­vice ceiling of 19,000 feet.56 For air defense, the army developed the MIM-104 Patriot missile system. Initially envisioned as a means to keep ground forces safe from aerial attack, the first systems ­were built with PAC-1 missiles. ­These had a range of over 40 miles and could reach heights of nearly 80,000 feet. However, in the mid-1980s, the possibility of using Patriot batteries as interceptors for inbound ballistic missiles began to gain traction. The PAC-1 proved fairly inaccurate when fired at such projectiles, and thus the upgraded PAC-2 was introduced to ser­vice just in time for Desert Storm. In that conflict, Patriot batteries proved capable of engaging inbound Iraqi Scud missiles. Although they did not perform perfectly, they represented a substantial upgrade over previous point defenses.57 Army weaponry developments ­were not ­limited to the Big Five. In the 1980s, Congress became substantially more willing to spend money on weapons modernization programs, and hence the army was able to acquire a new field artillery system; a multiple-­launch rocket system (MLRS); and the ubiquitous High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV), commonly known as the Humvee. The Humvee replaced a wide variety of specialized vehicles from ­earlier eras. Even in the unarmored version, it offered substantially better protection to its occupants than the M151 jeep. The vehicle’s rugged frame, large engine, and four-­ wheeled drive allowed it to navigate difficult terrain, and its large cargo area could be adapted for ser­vice as a troop carrier or a field ambulance. In Desert Storm, it became the most common land vehicle for rapid mobility—it seemed almost perfectly designed for the desert environment, and it proved relatively easy to maintain in the field. Humvees can also be outfitted with armored protection for use in hostile urban environments, and weapons mounts can be used to affix a heavy machine gun or grenade launcher in a rotary turret cut through the roof of the vehicle.58 The Humvee remains in production and is used throughout the U.S. military, although it is less commonly used in zones where an attack is likely, having been supplanted by the Stryker and Mine-­Resistant, Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicles. For heavy fire support, American troops relied upon the M109 howitzer, a self-­ propelled artillery piece, and the M270 MLRS. The M109 fires 155-mm rounds to an effective range of over 11 miles and can do so at a maximum rate of four projectiles per minute. When using rocket-­assisted projectiles, the M109 can fire up to 30 miles. The MLRS carries up to 12 rockets that can be fired in ­under one minute, with a range of 30 miles. During Desert Storm, it primarily used the M26 rocket, which had a range of 20 miles. This rocket contained 644 submunitions that

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it released when it reached the target. As a result, when an MLRS fired all of its rockets, it distributed more than 7,700 bomblets across a one-­square-­kilometer area, devastating every­thing in the target zone.59 All high-­technology advances aside, the standard infantry soldier serving in Desert Storm carried an M16 ­rifle, the same basic weapon as his Vietnam forebears. The M16, based upon the ArmaLite AR15, went through a few upgrades between Vietnam and Desert Storm, such that by 1990, troops w ­ ere equipped with the M16A2, which boasted improved grips, a stronger barrel, and a larger 30-­round magazine firing 5.56-mm NATO rounds. It was also equipped with a shot selector, allowing soldiers to fire in ­either semi-­automatic mode or in three-­shot bursts. Infantry also carried M67 hand grenades, and many infantry had a special contribution to the firepower of their units. Some participated in combat with a crew-­served weapon, as mortar teams and machine-­g un squads. O ­ thers carried man-­portable light antitank weapons (LAW) or antiair missiles such as the FIM-92 Stinger. The combat load of a Desert Storm soldier could easily exceed 70 pounds, not including their uniform, headgear, and any body armor they might be issued. It is unsurprising that the army preferred to transport infantry to the battlefield in vehicles, rather than expecting the troops to walk in the desert heat to reach their fighting positions. The sheer weight and volume of the Desert Storm equipment, when coupled with the special difficulties caused by the desert climate and long distances involved in any combat operation, guaranteed that the conflict would be primarily fought between vehicles. Infantry simply had no possibility of moving fast enough to keep up with the lead ele­ments. As a result, even on the rare occasions that infantry might be called upon to fight dismounted, they ­were almost certainly ferried to the immediate combat area. COMBAT The quin­tes­sen­tial combat experience for U.S. Army troops in Desert Shield occurred on February 26, 1991, at a map coordinate called “73 Easting.” Ele­ments of the Second Armored Cavalry Regiment, part of the left hook maneuver, ­were tasked with finding and pinning down the Tawakalna Division, an ele­ment of the Iraqi Republican Guard. The cavalry was not expected to attack so much as locate the much larger Iraqi unit, allowing an American armored division to move into attack position and destroy it.60 Poor weather had grounded most of the aviation assets that might have assisted with the task, leaving the regiment to its own devices on the ground.61 The Tawakalna was one of several elite Iraqi units equipped with Soviet-­built T-72 tanks, the best armored vehicles in the Iraqi inventory. Late in the after­noon, Ea­gle Troop, commanded by Captain H. R. McMaster, crested a ridgeline and saw dozens of Iraqi tanks in dug-in fighting positions. Rather than retreating to call for assistance, McMaster ordered his much-­smaller unit to attack, including his personal tank in the lead position. Within a few seconds, McMaster’s tank destroyed two Iraqi tanks, and as the remainder of his troop topped the ridgeline, they opened fire at ranges the Iraqis could not match. ­Because American doctrine called for



The Persian Gulf War 943

tanks to fire while in motion, even the Iraqis who managed to return fire did not come close to hitting the American tanks. Within 23 minutes, the regiment obliterated two of the Tawakalna division’s brigades, with Ea­gle Troop accounting for 50 tanks, 25 armored personnel carriers, 40 trucks, and multiple surface-­to-­air missile launchers without taking a single casualty. McMaster reflected on the ­battle ­later, stating “I believe that the most critical f­ actors w ­ ere the offensive spirit of our soldiers and the aggressive actions of crews, platoons, and the unit as a ­whole. All of our soldiers attacked without hesitation a numerically superior ­enemy force that possessed all the advantages of the defense.” 62 Collectively, the 36 tanks of the Second Armored Cavalry Regiment destroyed more than 160 tanks and 180 armored personnel carriers. The Iraqis attempted to maneuver and fight a classic tank ­battle, but they ­were hopelessly outclassed. When the U.S. troops became concerned by the number of enemies they faced, they called in a series of highly accurate artillery strikes and ­were also assisted by close air support from the U.S. Air Force.63 By the end of the day, the Tawakalna Division had simply ceased to exist, and the biggest prob­lem facing the Americans was the need to resupply ammunition. In all the fighting, the army lost a single Bradley vehicle and one soldier killed by ­enemy fire, while killing 1,000 Iraqi troops and capturing 1,300 more. This approach to combat created an unpre­ce­dented logistical requirement—­the Abrams tank, in par­tic­u­lar, consumes an enormous volume of fuel for e­ very mile it moves, to say nothing of the need to resupply ammunition and other commodities. During the ground combat phase of operations, American units required 4.5 million gallons of fuel per day, enough to fill 880 tanker trucks. Ammunition required another 700 trucks per day and weighed over 14,000 tons. All of ­these resources had to follow closely ­behind the advance, moving past Iraqi units and fortified positions that had been bypassed, ignored, or missed by the advancing forces.64 As soon as American troops came into contact with their Iraqi enemies, even ­those from veteran units that had fought in the Iran-­Iraq War, it was clear that the Iraqis ­were hopelessly outmatched. In a short, intense firefight, an American armored brigade drove straight through an ambush laid by a brigade of the Medina Division, another elite Iraqi unit. The Iraqi T-72 tanks proved incapable of penetrating the frontal armor of the American M1 tanks, which returned fire at maximum range and devastated the Iraqi formation. Even the Iraqi effort to protect their tanks by partially burying them in sand berms did nothing to save their vehicles or their crews. In a few short minutes of fighting, the Iraqi brigade was annihilated, losing over 300 vehicles while inflicting a single casualty upon their foes.65 The only means the Iraqis might have had of offsetting American superiority lay in their possession of chemical agents. As Dominic Caraccilo noted, “What became prevalent in our everyday lives was the fear of chemicals and of the uncertainty of their use. From the moment we landed, the possibility of an Iraqi use of chemical munitions was always in the back of most soldiers’ minds.” 66 Iraqi field commanders did not have the authority to launch a chemical attack, even if their units ­were completely overrun, as Hussein knew such an attack might provoke a massive retaliation. Nevertheless, reports of chemical detections tended to unnerve American troops, and they occurred on a regular basis. Martin Stanton described

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one such false alarm: “We had one incident of a ‘chemical attack’ false alarm. Some Iraqi long-­range artillery hit in the desert a few kilo­meters from one of our units, and a few of our ­people reported feeling sick. By the time this news reached the brigade, it had been exaggerated into a chemical attack. The panic that ensued when this word got out was indescribable.” 67 ­There ­were no known chemical attacks upon American personnel during Desert Storm, although some troops may have been exposed to trace amounts of nerve agents and other toxins as they moved through the Iraqi countryside, particularly if they ­were in the vicinity of the locations used for the postwar disposal of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction. Some of the American troops began to question the morality of the war they ­were fighting, thanks to the Iraqi inability to offer effective re­sis­tance. Greg Downey described such a feeling: “I had called the artillery that erased the lives of over six hundred ­human beings. In forty-­five minutes, I had killed more ­people than what lived in my hometown of Merna, Nebraska. Combat is a series of contradictions. One moment, ­you’re trying your best to kill the ­enemy, the next moment ­you’re ­doing your best to save him. I looked at the shock in the Iraqis’ eyes. For the first time during the ground attack, I felt guilt and sorrow.” 68 Other troops felt no compunctions about their efforts and simply hoped to move as far and as fast as pos­si­ble. For some, the greatest difficulty in the advance was simply maintaining awareness during the long overnight hours. Many of the troops spent ­little time resting during the ground phase of Desert Storm, as they ­were making too much pro­ gress to deliberately slow down and allow the Iraqis to regroup. As Alex Vernon described it, “Occasionally one of my tanks would slowly drop ­behind, and I’d call that tank commander over the radio to wake him to wake his driver. My own driver fell asleep fairly often as well. To keep the soldiers rested, all my tank crews had their loaders take turns driving. Some gunners and tank commanders also switched, although I did not, since I led the com­pany.” 69 Had the ground combat phase continued much longer, American forces might have faced significant prob­lems from the pace of operations, a fact that weighed heavi­ly in the minds of American commanders. ELITE TROOPS By 1990, the U.S. military had substantially developed its special operations community. Within the U.S. Army, t­hese units included the Army Rangers, Special Forces (Green Berets), and the then-­secret Army Delta. Rangers served as an elite light infantry force who specialized in the rapid capture and occupation of ­enemy airfields, which then allowed an aerial resupply mission to create a much larger presence in the rear of the ­enemy. Special forces troops provided long-­range reconnaissance capability and could conduct extremely effective guerrilla operations in an ­enemy’s territory. Members of Delta ­were initially trained to serve as the army’s elite counterterrorism force, but in Desert Storm, they tended to conduct long-­range patrols searching for Scud sites in the Western Desert. Special operations troops undergo extremely difficult training regimens and are often not bound by the same disciplinary rules as army regulars, particularly in regard to uniforms and grooming standards. This is in large part to allow them a



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American Special Forces accompanying Saudi and Kuwaiti co­ali­tion troops during a ground offensive in Operation Desert Storm, February 25, 1991. Many Special Forces troops moved into the Western Desert of Iraq prior to the commencement of ground operations, seeking elusive Scud missile mobile launchers and providing invaluable reconnaissance for ground commanders. (Patrick Durand/Sygma via Getty Images)

better opportunity to conceal themselves b­ ehind ­enemy lines—­given the nature of their ser­vice in the most dangerous of environments, anything they can do to camouflage themselves is likely to prove beneficial. ­These troops also had a rapid acquisitions pro­ cess that was radically dif­ fer­ ent from the supply systems for the regulars—­essentially, they had the first opportunity to obtain new technology, weaponry, and vehicles. As one marine veteran put it, “The Green Beret supply system was the paragon of opulence by Marine standards, and wherever they went, they always seemed to leave a trail of night-­vision goggles, digitally encrypted radio sets, l­aser range-­finders, and other cool gizmos like bread crumbs.”70 Special operations units are small in number, which means they cannot be used in the same fashion as a traditional armored or infantry unit. They are at their most effective when operating in small groups dispersed ­behind ­enemy lines, but backed by the ability to call in air support or artillery fire at a moment’s notice. The attempt to find the Scud missiles sites in the Western Desert proved mostly futile, but its po­liti­cal importance meant that the army was expected to send its most capable troops into the region. In theory, they might locate a site and call in an airstrike to destroy it. In practice, many members of the U.S. Army special operations community became frustrated by their assigned roles, as they felt their capabilities w ­ ere being underutilized by Schwarzkopf, who did not come from their community and did not appear to hold them in high regard.

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A conventional fight like Desert Storm can quickly destroy special operations units if they are thrown into the thick of the fight. Using special forces in such a manner ignores their unique capabilities and essentially relegates them to the role of regulars, albeit with more lethal firepower. In the aftermath of the war, the special operations community renewed its focus upon counterterrorism activities and unconventional warfare. Shortly a­ fter Desert Storm, substantial numbers of special operators ­were deployed to Somalia to provide a highly capable fighting force in support of humanitarian operations near Mogadishu. This role more accurately reflected their abilities to improvise solutions in complex situations that do not lend themselves to a heavy-­handed, overt military presence. HEALTH AND MEDICINE Soldiers in the Persian Gulf War had some of the best medical care that has ever been utilized in-­theater for American troops. Despite moving forces to the Arabian Peninsula at the height of summer, the U.S. Army did not lose a single soldier to heat stroke or other environmental conditions.71 In part, this was due to the long period of buildup prior to the combat phase—­the United States was able to set up 44 hospitals, ranging from casualty evacuation centers to a full general hospital. Only a small fraction of their capacity (over 13,500 beds) was ever in use, although the troops ­were glad to know such elaborate facilities ­were available.72 The survival rate for soldiers wounded in combat was extremely high—­virtually ­every soldier who reached a hospital survived the war, although some had devastating injuries that disabled them for life. Combat search-­and-­rescue operations and medical evacuation ser­vices w ­ ere performed with extreme proficiency, even though Iraqi forces had a tendency to open fire upon medical personnel when they w ­ ere able to do so. The excellent medical care during the Persian Gulf War contributed to the extremely low number of deaths in-­theater. In part, this was due to the rapid response to any wounds; in part, it was due to the high level of preventive care. Medical experts ­were on hand who had experience in countering nerve agents and other chemical weapons, and they ­were able to limit troops’ exposure to dangerous chemicals by creating a significant immunization and prophylactic plan. Although the troops despised the PB pills taken to ­counter the immediate effects of nerve toxins, they recognized the necessity of maintaining the regimen and, for the most part, complied with medical ­orders to ingest the pills on a daily basis. The U.S. forces deployed to the Persian Gulf had the lowest sickness rate of any American deployment in history, and the ability to prevent any form of heat casualties was a sure sign that the medical personnel not only understood the dangers of the environment but also effectively communicated them to the field commanders.73 PRISONERS OF WAR In its final report to Congress on the Persian Gulf War, the Department of Defense took justifiable pride in the fact that the International Committee of the Red Cross referred to the ­handling of ­enemy prisoners of war as the best example of how to



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h­ andle captured enemies in the history of modern warfare. In just four days of ground combat operations, co­ali­tion forces captured nearly 100,000 Iraqi troops, many of whom surrendered at the first opportunity.74 Dominic Caraccilo noted, “Once they realized that they actually could surrender, and could do so safely, the Iraqi 45th Division did so en masse.”75 In fact, so many Iraqis ­were surrendering in the hope of surviving the war and receiving proper treatment, it occasionally impeded the advance of co­ali­tion forces, as when Caraccilo explained, “By the end of the day, the TF [Task Force] had taken so many prisoners that our momentum was slowed ­because we had no way to evacuate them. At the close of G-­Day, we estimated that TF 2-82 alone had taken about 600 EPWs.”76 Other units reported similar difficulties with guarding and pro­cessing the sheer mass of surrenders.77 Lieutenant Rob Holmes reported a far more disturbing situation among the Iraqis captured by his unit. He stated, “As if this ­wasn’t enough, Delta Tank’s first sergeant, Randy Walker, walked up with a horrible look of disgust. Having just pro­ cessed a group of prisoners, he was shaking his head as he told me ­these Iraqis had been captured barefoot with bloody feet, some with cut Achilles’ tendons. They had no choice but to fight; they could hardly walk.”78 Once the Iraqi captives had surrendered their weapons and been searched, they ­were sent to a central collecting point, where a few w ­ ere selected for interrogation, but most ­were simply confined to await the end of the conflict. The captures came so quickly that the first ­enemy prisoners actually had to be pressed into ­labor to construct their own confinement facilities—­and to the surprise of American observers, they followed the blueprints very carefully, essentially securing themselves. Many of them had expected to be executed by their captors, thanks to propaganda from their own po­liti­cal leadership. When they discovered this was not to be the case, they ­were all too e­ ager to assist their captors.79 To assist with the logistical duties, and to prevent any accidental infringement upon religious sensitivities, the Saudi military offered to take over the duty of guarding and providing for prisoners once they had been e­ ither interrogated or cleared.80 American and co­ali­tion prisoners held by the Iraqis did not fare so well, although this was in part due to the circumstances of their capture. The earliest captives held by the Iraqis ­were pi­lots and aircrew from aircraft downed by ground fire. The physical effects of bailing out of a fatally damaged aircraft often mimicked the signs of beatings—­a fact seized upon by western media. ­There ­were some incidents of mistreatment of pi­lots, to include at least a few reported instances of torture and the suggestion that they would be used as h­ uman shields at strategic targets. In some cases, the Iraqi treatment of downed pi­lots was better than expected. This might have reflected more a fear of retribution than any effort to follow the laws of war on the part of the Iraqis—it is almost impossible to determine their motivations in this regard. All told, the Iraqis captured only a few dozen prisoners, as search-­and-­ rescue teams managed to recover several downed pi­lots. The most famous American captive held by Iraq, then-­Major Rhonda Cornum, was serving as a flight surgeon on a search-­and-­rescue he­li­cop­ter that was shot down. Cornum survived the crash with two broken arms and a gunshot wound to the back. Once taken captive by the e­ nemy, she was subjected to a horrifying sexual assault, but she also received immediate medical care from a dif­fer­ent Iraqi unit.

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The return of prisoners of war was one of the first conditions presented to the Iraqis as a requirement for any cease-­fire agreement. On March 4, 1991, the Iraqi military released 10 co­ali­tion prisoners near the Jordanian border. The next day, they released their remaining 35 co­ali­tion prisoners and received 294 sick or wounded Iraqi prisoners in exchange. HOME FRONT In the wake of the experiences of home front unrest during the Vietnam War, both the military and the federal government took significant steps to ensure that ­future conflicts would have the backing of the American public. When American troops first began deploying to the Persian Gulf, ­there was a significant fear that the American public might protest against the use of American troops to defend Saudi Arabia, and early polling showed 40 ­percent of the civilian population opposed sending troops to the Persian Gulf.81 To c­ounter such a potential outcome, the Department of Defense commenced a significant information operations campaign targeting the American public. In many ways, it might be considered a propaganda campaign, although the term propaganda has been linked to totalitarian regimes and the dissemination of false statements, whereas the leaders of the Desert Shield advertising campaign ­were scrupulous in adhering to the facts of the situation. The effect was enormous—­the population and major public institutions rallied ­behind the troops, even if they did not always support the cause of their deployment, and a remarkable resurgence of patriotism ensued.82 Deploying units of com­pany size or larger w ­ ere mandated by army policy to appoint a rear detachment commander. This individual did not deploy, but rather handled community and ­family support for the families left ­behind by the deployment. This decision, although it had uneven results, provided an obvious liaison between the home front and the deployed forces and had a significant effect upon morale for most units. The rear detachment commander coordinated support plans, established ­family support groups at their home installations, and ran the emergency response teams if the unit took casualties.83 Rather than pretending that ­there was nothing to worry about, the government instead began preparing the American public for the possibility of significant casualties, while at the same time attempting to explain the rationale ­behind the need to place troops in harm’s way. The Department of Defense, for its part, bent over backward to embed as many reporters into its forces as pos­si­ble and to give them more access than had ever been offered in previous campaigns. ­There was ­little effort to directly censor news reports, although ­there was a request that the media do nothing to hinder military operations or place American personnel at risk. As such, the media and the military cooperated extremely well, and the American public was able to see firsthand accounts of the conflict on a nightly basis. Reporters ­were also on the ground in Baghdad and in other locations throughout Iraq, and thus w ­ ere able to communicate the effects of the conflict in near real time. A more subtle, but no less effective, means of propping up public support for the troops involved in Desert Shield was undertaken during the fall of 1990. In the first months of the buildup, the Department of Defense created and distributed ribbons emblazoned with slogans such as “I support Desert Shield” and “I support



The Persian Gulf War 949

the troops.” The ribbons, designed to be worn on outer clothing, allowed citizens to openly demonstrate their support for the personnel engaged in the theater, even if they did not necessarily agree with the cause for their deployment. In 1991, ribbons with “I support Desert Storm” appeared almost as quickly as the first footage of bombs hitting Iraqi military targets—­and ­these ubiquitous reminders of public support served a very useful function in creating a public mind-­set of re­spect for the troops, regardless of the po­liti­cal aspects of the war. Communications technology meant that the troops in Desert Shield and Desert Storm ­were much more in touch with their loved ones in the United States. Telephone calling cards, allowing troops to call the United States, quickly became one of the most popu­lar items to be included in packages sent to soldiers. The lines for the telephone banks tended to be long, but the ability to call home and maintain a close connection to ­family provided a major boost to troops’ morale and quieted fears of what might be happening on the home front. A nascent email system was established for the troops and their families, as was a direct fax system allowing the transmission of short messages. The army placed a premium on establishing a rapid mail system, to include the use of cargo space on all inbound flights to the Persian Gulf.84 Letters from home w ­ ere read and reread, offering a trea­sured connection to ­family and friends. Many of the letters ­were destroyed on the eve of Operation Desert Storm out of a fear that the holder might be captured and have them confiscated.85 Even citizens who did not have a direct connection to a soldier in the Persian Gulf could remain abreast of the pro­gress of the conflict. Nightly news broadcasts ­were dominated by updates from the conflict zone, and a host of previously unknown media personalities quickly became ­house­hold names due to their coverage of the war. The relatively young Cable News Network (CNN) vaulted to prominence by offering continual updates of the situation, even though t­here was l­ittle to report before the UN deadline for Iraqi withdrawal passed. In many ways, the Persian Gulf War should be credited with spawning the host of 24-­hour news networks that exist in the twenty-­first ­century, as it created an almost inexhaustible demand for constant information. In addition to the network broadcasters, a number of military briefers became well known to the American public. In par­tic­u­lar, General Norman Schwarzkopf, who was in the pro­cess of coordinating the entire war effort, won over many citizens through his gruff but confident demeanor, especially ­after the commencement of combat operations. He seemed completely unfazed by any Iraqi activity and unthreatened by any situation in the war zone—­and his disposition soon carried over to the enthralled viewers. For the first time, a combatant commander was able to provide daily updates to the entire American public, without the messages being filtered through the White House, the Department of Defense, or a news broadcast. As such, “Stormin’ Norman” became one of the most prominent and popu­lar military commanders in U.S. history. VETERANS’ ISSUES Although the casualties of the Persian Gulf War ­were extremely low when compared to other large-­scale U.S. conflicts, the advanced state of medical treatment

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meant that hundreds of personnel survived wounds that would have likely killed them in an ­earlier conflict. Thus, a larger-­than-­expected percentage of Gulf War veterans came home with lifelong disabilities and had to rely upon the Veterans Administration for their health care needs. Unfortunately, the Veterans Administration (VA) medical system, which had significantly atrophied in the 1990s, proved completely inadequate to the task. By the early twenty-­first ­century, a series of scandals had rocked the VA, including the discovery that the organ­ization had not only failed to offer necessary medical care in a timely fashion but had also falsified its rec­ords to hide the levels of its own failures. Despite the existence of a hospital system with branches throughout the United States, many veterans of the Persian Gulf War reported that they could not rely upon the government to fulfill its promises regarding the treatment of service-­related disabilities. One of the major long-­term ailments of Gulf War veterans caused a substantial amount of controversy. Thousands of Gulf War troops reported a host of mysterious, seemingly unconnected health issues, including chronic prob­lems. For years, the VA denied the existence of what many investigative journalists dubbed “Gulf War syndrome.” Sufferers of the illness report fatigue, pain, respiratory prob­lems, gastrointestinal disorders, and other ongoing issues. A series of medical examinations have verified that Gulf War veterans suffer from chronic illnesses at a much higher rate than veterans of other wars, with more than 250,000 Gulf War veterans (out of nearly 700,000 deployed to the region) reporting the characteristic symptoms. ­There has been a host of speculation about the potential ­causes of the disorder, although the current medical assumption is that no single issue is the root cause of the veterans’ ailments. The most commonly cited potential ­causes are the heavy use of organophosphate pesticides to control disease-­spreading insects and second­hand exposure to trace amounts of chemical weapons. It is also likely that the long-­term inhalation of smoke from burning oil wells and the widespread use of vaccinations and prophylactic mea­sures against biological and chemical weapons likely contributed to the development of health issues.86 Although post-­traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) has been cited as a major concern from the twenty-­first-­century conflicts in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan, veterans of the Persian Gulf War actually have lower rates of PTSD and other m ­ ental disorders than their fellow veterans from e­ arlier and ­later wars. This is almost certainly due to the shorter period of combat operations, the extremely low number of friendly casualties, and the fact that combat tended to be conducted at greater distances in the Persian Gulf War. As a result of t­hese f­ actors, Gulf War veterans have sought a substantially lower amount of ­mental health care than other veterans’ cohorts and report far fewer psychological prob­lems that can be traced to their time of ser­vice. The total number of Gulf War veterans (just below 700,000) means that the veterans of Desert Shield and Desert Storm comprise a much smaller percentage of the population than the Vietnam veterans at a similar distance from their ser­vice. Not surprisingly, this has translated to a much lower prominence of Gulf War veterans—­fewer utilized their military ser­vice as a means of creating po­liti­cal opportunities, for example. Of course, the vast majority of Gulf War veterans remained in ser­vice well beyond the end of the war, and some remain in military ser­vice in 2018, although maximum ages for military ser­vice mean that even ­those who pursued a full ­career in uniform are now mostly moving into retirement and



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postmilitary ­careers. Gulf War veterans have not shown elevated levels of unemployment or other social readjustment prob­lems that had characterized the return of their pre­de­ces­sors. MILITARY DISCIPLINE More than any other f­ actor, boredom contributed to incidents of indiscipline within the Army. As Geoffrey Frankel noted: A lot of soldiers are getting in trou­ble around ­here, losing rank and having their pay docked. The reasons are stupid but understandable. We all have short fuses. All it takes is for one person’s flame to get too close to another’s. We’ve had at least two fights a day. When the time comes to fight the real war, ­we’ll still be recovering from this one. The following is a list of ­things that I am sick and tired of: Nothingness, sand, rocks, mud, MREs, the color green, tents, Stand Two, a cold desert, the Army as a ­whole, NCOs who ­shouldn’t have their rank, privates who think ­they’re captains, ­water ­bottles, urinating, darkness, KP, burning shit, shitting in a barrel, being outdoors, trash, sunrise, Walkmans, headphones, my cassette tapes, boots, dust, thinking of ­women, showering in subzero weather, rats, candy and cookies, writing five letters to a person without receiving one in return, flashlights, camo sleeping bags, having no space to breathe, not being able to express myself except in this journal—­ and listening to other ­people tell me what ­they’re sick and tired of!

Frankel’s sentiments ­were echoed by many of the ground troops for whom waiting had become far worse than the impending action against Iraqi forces. ­Because alcohol had been banned from the entire theater, t­ here ­were almost no alcohol-­related incidents during Desert Shield and none reported during Desert Storm. The troops had ­little means to obtain illicit supplies, as packages mailed to the theater ­were checked for contraband, and the soldiers had ­little opportunity to interact with the local population, which might have other­wise taken the risk of offering a supply. Likewise, marijuana and harder drugs ­were essentially unheard of in the war zone, in large part due to the Saudi’s stringent efforts to prevent their entry into the country. Although soldiers complained about their daily activities, t­ here was also almost no desertion and very ­little be­hav­ior that might be considered anything akin to mutiny. The troops worked so much during the buildup phase that most had ­little energy to expend pushing back against their leadership. Also, morale remained high and personnel losses exceedingly low, eliminating the two major ­factors to ­these prob­lems. The Department of Defense supplied a final report to Congress on the conduct of the war, which offered a single line regarding military discipline: “Discipline prob­lems ­were almost non­ex­is­tent.” The troops might not have always been happy, but they expressed their discontent in an acceptable fashion.87 UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE PERSIAN GULF WAR Desert Storm was the last American conflict in which troops had a realistic fear of being subjected to chemical or biological attack. The knowledge that the United States would engage in a massive retaliation for such an attack was cold comfort

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to the troops who might bear the brunt of it. It was also noteworthy b­ ecause it was the first time since the Korean War that American troops had fought ­under the auspices of a United Nations Security Council Resolution. It was the first time since World War II that American ground forces had fought against a numerically superior foe in a series of armored vehicle engagements. Perhaps what made it so unique, though, was the overwhelming difference in casualty numbers. For the entire period from Desert Shield through Desert Storm, the United States lost a total of 148 personnel in combat. Nearly one-­fourth (35) ­were due to fratricide incidents (a historically high percentage that demonstrated the sheer lethality of American weaponry).88 In comparison, most estimates place the Iraqi war dead between 25,000 and 50,000, with another 86,000 captured and held ­until the end of the war, when they ­were repatriated.89 Desert Storm proved to be a much more asymmetrical fight than most planners and strategists had expected. The vaunted Iraqi army, with its hundreds of thousands of veteran troops, proved completely unprepared for the high-­intensity combat it faced. As a result, ­after the 100 hours of ground combat ended, ­there was ­little need for a major occupation force. The U.S. military had clearly demonstrated that it had emerged from the shadows of the Vietnam War with a high degree of lethality and effective combat planning. Having proven its capabilities, most of the members of the army simply wanted to go home. As Edward Flanagan described the situation, Home meant spouses, c­ hildren, girlfriends, daily showers, clean uniforms, home-­ cooked meals, temperate climates, an occasional beer, a full night’s uninterrupted sleep, a car, and ladies in American-­style clothes. It meant an end to rain and sandstorms, torrid temperatures, MREs, daily consumption of gallons of w ­ ater in plastic ­bottles, mud-­filled holes, dust, Saudi non-­waterproof tents, sand dunes, sandbags, camels, sheep, Bedouins, chemical warfare threats, scud alerts, box latrines, slit trenches, hand-­washed clothes in buckets or basins, irregular mail, long lines at rare telephones, scant goodies at mobile PXs, Iraqi soldiers with black mustaches, and noisy, bumpy flights in crammed he­li­cop­ters.90

Most soldiers gave l­ ittle thought to the ultimate reasons b­ ehind their victory—­they only knew that they had been phenomenally successful, particularly when the results w ­ ere so much better than what had been expected during the buildup for the conflict. Some commentators w ­ ere harsh in their criticism of U.S. preparedness, particularly ­toward the failure of the intelligence agencies to predict the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. Retired General Barry McCaffrey summed it up: “We ­were fortunate in Desert Shield and Desert Storm that a tactical military surprise (Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait) did not translate into a decisive operational and strategic advantage for the ­enemy.”91 Once Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm ­were underway, one of the key advantages held by the United States and its partners was an astounding amount of tactical intelligence gathered from a wide variety of platforms. But according to McCaffrey, “Overwhelming amounts of raw intelligence from a wide range of sensors could promote paralysis rather than decisive action by the b­ attle staffs.”92 McCaffrey closed his analy­sis of the war by noting, “Absolute dependence upon high technology in pursuit of a bloodless war may encumber our warfighting doctrine with at least two major weaknesses.”93 In his view, a strong desire



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to limit or even eliminate American b­ attle deaths created an almost impossible standard for ­future conflicts, in that it limits response options and makes assumptions about fair play and proportionality a military imperative. An ­enemy willing to sacrifice territory and its own troops for the sake of inflicting casualties upon the U.S. Army, or one willing to ignore the laws of warfare and the corresponding moral be­hav­iors, might hold a significant advantage against an American adversary. In Operations Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom, such an ­enemy took the field against the United States and managed to inflict much higher losses, with correspondingly stronger po­liti­cal pressure, upon American forces. TIMELINE July 17, 1990 Saddam Hussein threatens war against Kuwait for exceeding OPEC production quotas and slant-­drilling across the Iraq border. July 19, 1990 CENTCOM notified of Iraqi mobilization upon the border of Kuwait. July 21, 1990 Three thousand military vehicles move from Baghdad t­ oward the Kuwait border. July 25, 1990 Kuwait mobilizes 25,000 troops. July 26, 1990 CENTCOM estimates 120,000 Iraqi troops have massed on the Kuwait border. July 31, 1990 CENTCOM notifies the White House of an imminent invasion of Kuwait by Iraq. August 2, 1990 Iraqi invasion of Kuwait begins with two army divisions and an airborne assault. Kuwait City falls in two hours. The Kuwaiti royal ­family flees into exile. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Colin Powell issues a warning order to the U.S. military to prepare for imminent deployment. Iraq begins fortifying the Kuwait–­ Saudi Arabia border. August 3, 1990 Iraq claims it w ­ ill withdraw within the next three days. U.S. Air Force readies combat aircraft for transfer to the M ­ iddle East. August 4, 1990 U.S. war plan is the immediate application of airpower (12 fighter squadrons, 1 bomber squadron), plus the transfer of one airborne division and one marine brigade. ­There are two navy carrier groups in the Persian Gulf region. August 6, 1990 UN Security Council Resolution 660 condemns the invasion. UN Security Council Resolution 661 imposes sanctions upon Iraq. U.S. 82nd  Airborne Division

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commences movement, with the initial duty of protecting airfields in Saudi Arabia. U.S. 24th Infantry Division (mechanized) commences movement. Israel offers assistance in defending Saudi Arabia. August 7, 1990 Movement of U.S. forces to Saudi Arabia begins. U.S. 101st Airborne Division alerted for pos­si­ble deployment. U.S. Navy Third Carrier Group leaves United States, headed to Persian Gulf. August 8, 1990 President George H. W. Bush issues deployment ­orders. First U.S. troops reach King Abdul Aziz airbase at Dharan, where the temperatures are 140 degrees in the daytime and t­here is no shelter in place. Twenty-­four F-15C aircraft arrive in-­theater. Iraqi President Saddam Hussein declares Kuwait as the nineteenth Iraqi province, indicating Iraq w ­ ill not withdraw from its conquest. Maritime prepositioning ships (MPS) depart Diego Garcia, carry­ing heavy equipment for use in defending Saudi Arabia. August 9, 1990 Airborne warning and control systems (AWACS) arrive on station for 24-­hour patrols over Saudi Arabia. Turkey agrees to an expanded U.S. military presence. Britain and France agree to deploy forces to Saudi Arabia. August 10, 1990 Major General Pagonis secures 10,000 Bedouin tents to supply basic shelter to early-­ arriving U.S. troops. August 11, 1990 Demonstrations of support for Iraq are held in Sana’a, Yemen, and Khartoum, Sudan. The Palestinian Liberation Organ­i zation also pledges support for Iraq. August 12, 1990 The 2nd Brigade of the 82nd Airborne Division completes its movement to Saudi Arabia. The 1st and 3rd Brigades w ­ ill soon follow. August 14, 1990 General Norman Schwarzkopf’s Combat Analy­sis Group calls for 50 ­percent attrition of Iraqi forces by aerial attack before the ground assault can begin. U.S. Army Space Programs Office begins transmitting real-­time imagery from satellite sensors. August 15, 1990 Entire U.S. 82nd Airborne Division is in Saudi Arabia. First MPS arrive in Saudi Arabia. August 17, 1990 General Norman Schwarzkopf receives the Instant Thunder air campaign plan. U.S. 24th Infantry Division departs Savannah, Georgia, for Saudi Arabia. U.S. 101st Airborne Division commences deployment to Saudi Arabia.



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August 18, 1990 President George H. W. Bush activates Civil Reserve Air Fleet for the first time in its history. August 20, 1990 Iraq announces that adult male hostages from foreign nations ­will be used as ­human shields at key sites. August 21, 1990 Iraq has mined Kuwait harbors and pulled its elite divisions back to Iraq to be replaced by basic infantry units. August 22, 1990 Executive Order 12727 calls up 200,000 reservists for 180 days of ser­vice. August 23, 1990 U.S. intelligence agencies detect Iraqis with decontamination equipment in Kuwait, suggesting the possibility of chemical weapons in-­theater. August 24, 1990 The U.S. embassy in Kuwait is forcibly evacuated to Baghdad. Approximately 1,000 U.S. citizens are being held as hostages in Iraq. August 25, 1990 UN Security Council Resolution 665 institutes a maritime embargo of Iraq. More than 40,000 troops from the U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps are in Iraq. August 26, 1990 Ele­ments of the U.S. 24th Infantry Division begin arriving in Saudi Arabia. August 27, 1990 U.S. Army Reserve activations commence in the United States. August 30, 1990 CENTCOM issues General Order Number 1, pertaining to religious and cultural sensitivities. The order bans alcohol and pornographic materials. U.S. forces in Saudi Arabia possess 84 attack he­li­cop­ters, 169 antitank missile systems, 200 tanks, and 109 artillery pieces. The first U.S. Special Forces units from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, begin to arrive in Saudi Arabia. September 3, 1990 Over 100,000 U.S. military personnel are in Saudi Arabia. September 7, 1990 The 24th Infantry Division begins deploying in the desert. The first U.S. Army Reserve units begin to arrive in Saudi Arabia. September 8, 1990 The entire U.S. 82nd Airborne Division is in Saudi Arabia. September 10, 1990 Iraqi president Saddam Hussein offers f­ ree oil to any nation willing to ship to Iraq. Iran and Iraq resume diplomatic relations.

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September 11, 1990 President George H. W. Bush addresses a joint session of Congress, presenting his demands for Iraqi withdrawal from Kuwait, the restoration of the Kuwaiti government, security and stability in the Persian Gulf region, and the safety of U.S. citizens abroad. The U.S. 1st Cavalry Division begins deployment. September 12, 1990 Five Patriot antiaircraft missile batteries are in place to defend U.S. troops in Saudi Arabia. September 14, 1990 Iraq has 155,000 troops, 1,350 tanks, 900 armored personnel carriers, and 650 artillery pieces in Kuwait, with 12 extra divisions in Iraq near the Kuwait border. September 18, 1990 U.S. military forces number 140,000 in Saudi Arabia. September 22, 1990 The entire U.S. 101st Airborne Division is in Saudi Arabia. September 25, 1990 UN Security Council Resolution establishes an aerial blockade of Iraq. September 27, 1990 Norman Schwarzkopf tours the Saudi–­Iraqi border. His party captures two Iraqi soldiers who have poor equipment and ­little training. September 30, 1990 The USSR announces its troops w ­ ill support the anti-­Iraq co­ali­tion u­ nder UN auspices. It is the first time since World War II that the United States and Soviet Union are cooperating against a common ­enemy. Iraq has 22 divisions numbering 433,000 troops, 3,350 tanks, 2,340 armored personnel carriers, and 2,140 artillery pieces in the Kuwait theater of operations. October 9, 1990 Iraqi president Saddam Hussein announces an intention to use Scud missiles against Saudi Arabia and Israel if a war commences. Scud missiles are capable of carry­ ing chemical warheads. October 15, 1990 U.S. forces in Saudi Arabia have 261 attack he­li­cop­ters, 668 support he­li­cop­ters, 559 main ­battle tanks, 456 artillery pieces, 48 multiple-­launch rocket systems, and 9 tactical missile systems in place. October 17, 1990 Saudi Arabia offers to pay for most costs of the war for the United States. Eight Patriot missile batteries are in place. October 21, 1990 U.S. forces in Saudi Arabia number 200,000, plus a further 206,000 co­ali­tion troops. The U.S. Navy has 55 ships in the region. ­There are a further 49 co­ali­tion warships, including 2 Soviet ships.



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November 5, 1990 The U.S. XVIII Corps in Saudi Arabia possesses 763 tanks, 444 howitzers, 63 multiple-­launch rocket systems, 18 tactical missile systems, 1,494 armored fighting vehicles, 24 Patriot missile launchers, 24 Hawk missile launchers, 117 Vulcan antiair defense guns, 320 Stinger antiair missiles, 368 antitank missiles, 227 attack he­li­cop­ters, 741 support he­li­cop­ters, and 18 infantry battalions. November 8, 1990 President George H. W. Bush ­orders Phase II of the buildup, adding 150,000 personnel. U.S. VII Corps, based in Germany, alerted for deployment. The corps possesses 220,000 personnel and ­will require 770,000 kilotons of supplies to be shipped to the Persian Gulf. November 12, 1990 Co­ali­tion forces in Saudi Arabia number 430,000; of t­ hose, 210,000 are American. November 21, 1990 U.S. VII Corps commences deployment from Germany to Saudi Arabia. November 22, 1990 President George H. W. Bush travels to Saudi Arabia to celebrate Thanksgiving with the troops. November 29, 1990 UN Security Council authorizes the use of military force if Iraq has not evacuated Kuwait by January 15, 1991. November 30, 1990 The first U.S. Army National Guard activations commence. December 1, 1990 U.S. XVIII Corps has completed its movement to the Kuwait theater of operations. December 13, 1990 Iraqi troops complete the construction of fire ditches at the Saudi Arabia–­Kuwait–­ Iraq shared border point. In the event of combat, ­these ditches can be flooded with oil and set on fire. December 21, 1990 Twenty-­one U.S. Navy sailors die when a ferry capsizes while returning from liberty in Haifa, Israel. December 28, 1990 The U.S. Department of Defense announces a plan to vaccinate all troops against biological and chemical weapons. December 31, 1990 Iraq calls up 17-­year-­old males for military training. January 1, 1991 U.S. troops in Saudi Arabia possess 344 attack he­li­cop­ters, 1,016 support he­li­cop­ ters, 1,046 main ­battle tanks, 650 artillery pieces, 90 multiple-­launch rocket systems, and 18 tactical missile systems.

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January 2, 1991 U.S. personnel in the M ­ iddle East number 325,000. January 6, 1991 The U.S. 1st Armored Division commences live-­fire exercises in Saudi Arabia. January 8, 1991 U.S. personnel in the M ­ iddle East number 360,000. January 12, 1991 The U.S. Congress votes to use force to eject Iraq from Kuwait. CENTCOM personnel number 409,000. January 13, 1991 The Joint Chiefs of Staff alert U.S. military units worldwide and raise the threat level to DEFCON 2. U.S. VII Corps is fully manned and equipped in Saudi Arabia. January 15, 1991 Israel begins a 24-­hour curfew in Gaza. U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps ­orders all personnel to carry MOPP gear at all times and begins issuing anti–­nerve agent pills. January 16, 1991 AH-64 Apache he­li­cop­ters attack Iraqi early warning radar sites. U.S. troops number 425,000 in the region, including 75,000 marines and 60,000 U.S. Navy personnel. The co­ali­tion against Iraq includes 19 land forces partners and 14 naval forces contributors. January 17, 1991 Operation ­Eager Anvil commences—an aerial attack that begins with an AGM114 Hellfire missile fired from an Apache he­li­cop­ter against an Iraqi radar station. January 18, 1991 Iraq launches its first Scud missile against Israel, injuring 12 civilians. January 19, 1991 President George H. W. Bush authorizes a two-­year extension for 1,000,000 members of the U.S. Army Reserves and U.S. Army National Guard. January 20, 1991 “Phase Bravo” commences—­a huge movement of ground forces into positions from which they ­will launch an attack into Iraq. Iraq launches four Scud missiles ­toward Dharan. Three are intercepted by Patriot missile batteries. Israel requests Patriot missile batteries and receives them from the U.S. 10th Air Defense Brigade in Darmstadt, Germany, in two days. January 21, 1991 Iraq announces that it ­will use prisoners of war as h­ uman shields at strategic targets. U.S. troop strength is at 450,000. The total co­ali­tion force is 721,000 troops. January 22, 1991 An Iraqi Scud hits Ramat Gan, Israel, killing two civilians.



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January 23, 1991 Scout platoons from the 82nd Airborne conduct nightly reconnaissance missions into Iraq and fight multiple engagements while probing e­ nemy positions. January 24, 1991 The hunt for Scud missiles in the western Iraqi desert consumes 40 ­percent of all aerial sorties. January 25, 1991 An Iraqi Scud missile hits Tel Aviv, killing one civilian. Iraq begins dumping raw petroleum into the Persian Gulf, intending to target Saudi desalination plants. U.S. troop strength in Saudi Arabia reaches 482,000. January 26, 1991 The U.S. Army’s unmanned aerial vehicle platoon arrives in Saudi Arabia and commences reconnaissance operations. One hundred and ten Iraqi prisoners of war are in co­ali­tion custody in Saudi Arabia. January 27, 1991 Patriot missile batteries engage six Scud missiles fired at Saudi Arabia. Twenty-­ three Iraqi aircraft flee to Iran, signaling an end to Iraqi attempts to contest control of the air. January 28, 1991 The intentional Iraqi oil slick contains an estimated 460 million gallons of oil and covers an area 35 miles by 10 miles in the Persian Gulf. January 29, 1991 Iraqi armored and infantry units attack into Saudi Arabia at Al Khafji. The ­battle lasts two days and primarily involves U.S. Marines. January 30, 1991 The dumping of oil from the Sea Island Terminal stops. January 31, 1991 A Scud missile hits the West Bank, demonstrating the accuracy prob­lems with Iraqi missiles. Three Special Operations Forces are active in the region. One is searching the Western Desert for Scud missile sites, one is operating out of Turkey to recover downed pi­lots, and one is providing special combat ser­vices in the southern region of Iraq. February 2, 1991 Tel Aviv is hit by two Scuds, while Jordan and the West Bank are each hit by one. A Patriot missile battery intercepts a Scud fired ­toward Riyadh; the resulting debris injures 29 troops. February 3, 1991 U.S. VII Corps is 330 miles to the west of the main co­ali­tion position, and U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps is 500 miles west of the main position. ­These units ­will constitute the primary co­ali­tion ground offensive, a “left hook” that ­will serve to entrap most Iraqi forces in the region. A naval remotely pi­loted vehicle is used to spot bombardment targets for the first time.

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February 4, 1991 Three Iraqi Scud sites are attacked, an operation made pos­si­ble by rare clear conditions in the region. February 5, 1991 Eight hundred Iraqi prisoners of war, most of whom voluntarily crossed the border to surrender, are in custody in Saudi Arabia. February 6, 1991 The U.S. Air Force estimates half of all aerial sorties have been diverted due to the poor weather conditions in the area. February 7, 1991 U.S. forces possess 21 Patriot missile batteries with 132 launchers in the Kuwait theater of operations. February 8, 1991 Tel Aviv is targeted by a Scud, possibly intercepted; it still caused multiple injuries but no fatalities. February 9, 1991 General Norman Schwarzkopf recommends an attack against Iraqi forces to commence between February 21 and 25. The recommendation is approved by President George H. W. Bush. February 11, 1991 Iraq claims U.S. bombs struck a civilian bunker in Baghdad. The U.S. Air Force claims it attacked a fortified military position. Fifty oil wells are set on fire in Kuwait. The resulting smoke masks troop movements and significantly impedes aerial operations. February 13, 1991 Multiple-­launch rocket systems fire counter-­artillery raids. Twenty-­seven launchers, each with 216 rockets, fire a total of 140,000 bomblets at Iraqi positions, with devastating results. February 15, 1991 General Norman Schwarzkopf is briefed on Iraqi prisoner-­of-­war interrogations. They claim that 60 ­percent of Iraqi troops are willing to surrender, and more would do so if not for the Iraqi mine fields and their fear of the Republican Guard. They are universally exhausted, with low morale. February 17, 1991 Apache he­li­cop­ters and field artillery units launch a major feint to distract from the a­ ctual attack positions. February 18, 1991 The U.S. 82nd Airborne Division commences an armed reconnaissance with aviation assets to scout the primary assault route into Iraq. February 20, 1991 U.S. forces attack across the Kuwaiti border. The U.S. 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions make preparatory attacks to secure supply routes into Iraq.



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February 21, 1991 Four Scud missiles hit near King Khalid Military City and the Saudi Arabian coast but do no damage. February 22, 1991 U.S. and British units begin counter-­artillery fire into Iraq. One hundred Kuwaiti oil wells are burning. Iraqi fire ditches are filled with oil. The co­ali­t ion launches airstrikes with napalm to ignite them, spoiling their use during the ­actual assault. February 23, 1991 The UN deadline for Iraqi withdrawal passes. U.S. Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney announces a ground invasion of Iraq is underway. President George H. W. Bush addresses the nation to announce the ground attack. To date, 605 Iraqi tanks, 925 armored vehicles, and 1,450 artillery pieces have been destroyed by co­ali­tion airstrikes. Four hundred and fifty Kuwaiti oil wells are burning thanks to Iraqi sabotage. February 24, 1991 The official “G-­Day” signals the beginning of a full co­ali­tion ground attack. Ele­ ments of the 101st Airborne Division fly into Iraq to establish an airhead and create refueling points. The U.S. Marine Corps launches a ground attack into Kuwait, directly into Iraqi defenses. The U.S. 1st Infantry Division leads U.S. VII Corps on a full assault at 1500. Two Iraqi Silkworm missiles are fired at U.S. Navy warships. One is intercepted and shot down; the other misses. February 25, 1991 U.S. VII Corps is surprised at the lack of Iraqi re­sis­tance. U.S. ground casualties number only 4 killed and 21 wounded in action. Two hundred and seventy Iraqi tanks destroyed in the first two days of ground assault. Iraqi re­sis­tance in Kuwait is collapsing, but their only escape route is cut off. February 26, 1991 Iraqi president Saddam Hussein announces Iraqi forces are withdrawing. President George H. W. Bush refuses to call off the co­ali­tion attack. The ­Battle of 73 Easting demonstrates the technological and per­for­mance superiority of American equipment and troops over their Iraqi counter­parts. In 23 minutes, one tank com­pany destroyed 50 T-72 tanks, 25 armored personnel carriers, and 40 trucks, while taking no casualties in the pro­cess. February 27, 1991 Co­ali­tion forces entrap three Iraqi Republican Guard units, destroying 200 tanks, 50 armored vehicles, and 20 artillery pieces. February 28, 1991 U.S. forces assume defensive positions and dig in, rather than continuing to advance. March 1, 1991 Hundreds of Iraqis on Faylaka Island surrender to a remotely pi­loted vehicle from the USS Missouri ­after a sustained naval bombardment.

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March 2, 1991 The UN Security Council votes 11–1 to approve Resolution 686, which sets conditions for a formal cease-­fire. March 3, 1991 General Norman Schwarzkopf and Prince Khalid bin Sultan bin Abdul Aziz meet with Iraqi Deputy Chief of Staff Lieutenant General Sultan Hasheem Ahmad. The Iraqis accept all co­ali­tion demands. They claim to possess 41 co­ali­tion prisoners of war, including 17 Americans. March 4, 1991 Iraq releases 10 prisoners of war near the Jordanian border. March 5, 1991 Iraq releases 35 more prisoners of war to co­ali­tion forces. March 6, 1991 In a small prisoner-­of-­war exchange, the co­ali­tion releases 294 Iraqis for 35 co­ali­ tion prisoners. The U.S. casualty count is 124 killed, 357 wounded, and 102 noncombat fatalities. March 8, 1991 Redeployment to the United States begins at a rate of 5,000 troops per day in Operation Farewell. March 13, 1991 President George H. W. Bush establishes the Southwest Asia Ser­vice Medal. Iraq returns the remains of 13 co­ali­tion members, including 5 Americans. March 14, 1991 The emir of Kuwait returns from exile. April 7, 1991 Iraq accepts the UN formal cease-­fi re. Operation Provide Comfort commences attempts to deliver food and medical care to Kurds fleeing their homes in northern Iraq. April 9, 1991 UN Security Council Resolution 689 creates an observer mission to protect the cease-­fire. April 11, 1991 The UN Security Council announces the end of Operation Desert Storm. April 18, 1991 Iraq reports possession of 10,000 nerve agent warheads, 1,000 tons of mustard gas, 1,500 other chemical weapons, and 30 Scud missile chemical warheads and agrees to destroy them as part of the cease-­fire.



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Documents of the Persian Gulf War: Personal Accounts 1  George H. W. Bush, Radio Address to U.S. Armed Forces Stationed in the Persian Gulf Region, March 2, 1991 In this address, President George H. W. Bush congratulated the American troops of Operation Desert Storm and thanked them for their ser­vice at the end of the conflict. It was broadcast at all American troop locations over the Armed Forces Radio Network. Never have I been more proud of our troops, or more proud to be your Commander in Chief. For ­today, amid prayers of thanks and hope, the Kuwaiti flag once again flies high above Kuwait City. And it’s ­there ­because you and your co­ali­tion allies put it t­ here. Kuwait is liberated. And soon hometowns across Amer­i­ca ­will be welcoming back home the finest combat force ever assembled—­Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Marines, Air Force—­the brave men and w ­ omen of the United States of Amer­i­ca. Saddam Hussein’s dreams of dominating the ­Middle East by the terror of a nuclear arsenal and an army of a million men threatened the ­f uture of our ­children and the entire world. And the world was faced with a ­simple choice: If international law and sanctions could not remove Saddam Hussein from Kuwait, then we had to f­ ree Kuwait from Saddam Hussein. And that’s exactly what you did. Throughout 7 long and arduous months, the troops of 28 nations stood with you, shoulder to shoulder in an unpre­ce­dented partnership for peace. ­Today we thank you, for the victory in Kuwait was born in your courage and resolve. The stunning success of our troops was the result of superb training, superb planning, superb execution, and incredible acts of bravery. The Iraqi Army was defeated. Forty-­two divisions ­were put out of action. They lost 3,000 tanks, almost 2,000 armored vehicles, more than 2,000 artillery pieces. And over half a million Iraqi soldiers ­were captured, defeated, or disarmed. You ­were as good as advertised; you ­were, indeed, “Good to go.” This is a war we did not seek and did not want. But Saddam Hussein turned a deaf ear to the voices of peace and reason. And when he began burning Kuwait to the ground and intensifying the murder of its p­ eople, the co­ali­tion faced a moral imperative to put a stop to the atrocities in Kuwait once and for all. Boldly, bravely, you did just that. And when the rubber met the road, you did it in just 6 weeks and 100 decisive hours. The evil Saddam has done can never be forgotten. But his power to attack his neighbors and threaten the peace of the region is t­ oday grievously reduced. He has been stripped of his capacity to proj­ect offensive military power. His regime is totally

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discredited, and as a threat to peace, the day of this dictator is over. And the bottom line is this: Kuwait’s night of terror has ended. Thomas Jefferson said that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. We must remain vigilant to make absolutely sure the Iraqi dictator is never, ever allowed to stoke the ashes of defeat into the burning embers of aggression. The sacrifice ­you’ve already made demands nothing less. The sacrifice of ­those who gave their lives ­will never be forgotten. Saddam made many ­mistakes. But one of the biggest was to underestimate the determination of the American ­people and the daring of our troops. We saw in the desert what Americans have learned through 215 years of history about the difference between democracy and dictatorship. Soldiers who fight for freedom are more committed than soldiers who fight b­ ecause they are enslaved. Americans ­today are confident of our country, confident of our ­f uture, and most of all, confident about you. We promised you’d be given the means to fight. We promised not to look over your shoulder. We promised this would not be another Vietnam. And we kept that promise. The specter of Vietnam has been buried forever in the desert sands of the Arabian Peninsula. ­ oday, the promise of spring is almost upon us, the promise of regrowth and renewal: T renewed life in Kuwait, renewed prospects for real peace throughout the M ­ iddle East, and a renewed sense of pride and confidence ­here at home. And we are committed to seeing e­ very American soldier and ­every allied POW home soon—­home to the thanks and the re­spect and the love of a grateful nation and a very grateful President. Yes, ­there remain vital and difficult tests ahead, both ­here and abroad, but nothing the American ­people ­can’t ­handle. Amer­i­ca has always accepted the challenge, paid the price, and passed the test. On this day, our spirits are high as our flag, and our ­f uture is as bright as Liberty’s torch. Tomorrow we dedicate ourselves anew, as Americans always have and as Americans always ­will. The first test of the new world order has been passed. The hard work of freedom awaits. Thank you. Congratulations. And God bless the United States of Amer­i­ca. Source: Bush, George H. W. “Radio Address to United States Armed Forces Stationed in the Persian Gulf Region.” March 2, 1991. Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: George H. W. Bush (1991, Book I). Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1992, 206–07.

2  Final Report to Congress, Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, April 1992 This U.S. Department of Defense report represents the military’s official position on the per­for­mance of U.S. forces during the Persian Gulf War. The excerpt comes from Chapter 3, “The Military Option—­Operation Desert Shield.”



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The High Quality of the U.S. Armed Forces The third general lesson is the importance of high-­quality troops and commanders. Warriors win wars, and smart weapons require smart ­people and sound doctrine to maximize their effectiveness. The highly trained, highly motivated all-­volunteer force we fielded in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm is the highest quality fighting force the United States has ever fielded. Many aspects of the war the complexity of the weapon systems used, the multinational co­ali­tion, the rapidity and intensity of the operations, the harsh physical environment in which it was fought, the unfamiliar cultural environment, the threat of chemical or biological attack tested the training, discipline and morale of the members of the Armed Forces. They passed the test with flying colors. From the very start, men and ­women in the theater, supported by thousands on bases and headquarters around the world, devoted themselves with extraordinary skill and vigor to this sudden task to mount a major military operation far from the United States and in conditions vastly dif­fer­ent from the notional theaters for which our forces had primarily trained in the Cold War. Reflecting that American “can do” spirit, the campaign included some remarkable examples where plans ­were improvised, work arounds ­were found, and new ways of operating in­ven­ted and rapidly put into practice. Over 98 ­percent of our all-­volunteer force are high school gradu­ates. They are well trained. When the fighting began, they proved not just their skills, but their bravery and dedication. To continue to attract such p­ eople we must continue to meet their expectations for top-­notch facilities, equipment and training and to provide the quality of life they and their families deserve. In taking care of them, we protect the single most impor­tant strategic asset of our armed forces. The 1st Infantry Division out of Fort Riley, Kansas, did a tremendous job in the Gulf. When we called upon them to deploy last fall, they ­were ready to go. But, 10 years ago, they only had two-­thirds of the equipment needed to equip the division, and half of that was not ready for combat. Our forces’ per­for­mance bore testimony to the high quality of the training they had received. Of par­tic­u­lar note are the vari­ous training centers which use advanced simulation, computer techniques, and rigorous field operations to make the training as realistic as pos­si­ble and to exploit the benefits of subsequent critique and review. For example, many of the soldiers who fought in Desert Storm had been to the armored warfare training at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin, California, which has been described as tougher than anything the troops ran into in Iraq. Similarly, the Air Force “Red Flag” exercise program, which employs joint and multinational air ele­ments in a realistic and demanding training scenario, provided a forum for the rehearsal of tactics, techniques and procedures for the conduct of modern theater air warfare. The Navy’s “Strike University” aided greatly in air and cruise missile operations, and the Marine Corps training at 29 Palms sharpened Marine desert war fighting skills. That is the way training is supposed to work. The war highlighted as well the importance and capability of the reserves. The early Operation Desert Shield deployments would not have been pos­si­ble without volunteers from the Reserves and National Guard. The call-up of additional reserves

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u­ nder the authority of Title 10, Section 673(b) the first time that authority has ever been used was critical to the success of our operations. Reserves served in combat, combat support and combat ser­vice support roles and they served well. However, the use of reserves was not without some prob­lems. For example, the war exposed prob­lems with including reserve combat brigades in our earliest-­deploying divisions. Tested in combat, the Total Force concept remains an impor­tant ele­ment of our national defense. Nonetheless, as we reduce our active forces ­under the new strategy, we w ­ ill need to reduce our reserve components as well. Our success in the Gulf reflected outstanding military leadership, ­whether at the very top, like General Colin Powell, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and General Norman Schwarzkopf, Commander in Chief of the forces in U.S. Central Command; or at the Component level, like Lieutenant General Chuck Horner, who orchestrated the Co­ali­tion’s massive and brilliant air campaign, or Vice Admiral Hank Mauz and Vice Admiral Stan Arthur, who led the largest deployment of naval power into combat since World War II, or Lieutenant General John Yeosock, who implemented the now-­famous “left hook,” or Lieutenant General Walt Boomer who led his Marines to the outskirts of Kuwait City, while continuing to divert Iraqi attention to a pos­si­ble amphibious attack, or Lieutenant General Gus Pagonis who provisioned this enormous force that had deployed unexpectedly half-­way around the world; or at the Corps or division commander, wing commander, or b­ attle group commander level. The command arrangements and the skills of the military leadership w ­ ere challenged by the deployment of such a large force in a relatively short period of time, the creation or substantial expansion of staffs at vari­ous levels of command and the establishment of working relationships among them, the melding of the forces of many dif­fer­ent nations and of the dif­fer­ent ser­vices into an integrated theater campaign, and the rapid pace of the war and the complexity of the operations. The result was a coordinated offensive operation of g­ reat speed, intensity and effectiveness. This conflict represented the first test of the provisions of the Goldwater-­Nichols Department of Defense Reor­ga­ni­za­tion Act of 1986 in a major war. The act strengthened and clarified the authority of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. We ­were fortunate in this pre­ce­dent setting time when joint arrangements w ­ ere tested to have a Chairman with the unique qualities of General Colin Powell. General Powell’s strategic insight and exceptional leadership helped the American ­people through trying times and ensured our forces fought smart. He drew upon all of our capabilities to bring the necessary military might to bear. We ­were also fortunate to have a superb Vice Chairman, Admiral Dave Jeremiah, and an outstanding group of Ser­vice Chiefs who provided excellent military advice on the proper employment of their forces. Working with their Ser­vice Secretaries, they fielded superbly trained and equipped forces, and saw that General Schwarzkopf got every­thing he required to prosecute the campaign successfully. The nation was well served by General Carl Vuono, Admiral Frank Kelso, General Merrill McPeak, and General Al Gray of the Joint Chiefs, as well as Admiral Bill Kime of the Coast Guard. To them and their associates, ­great credit must be given.



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The act also clarified the roles of the Commanders in Chief of the Unified and Specified Commands and their relationships with the Ser­vices and the ser­vice components of their commands. Overall, the operations in the Gulf reflected an increased level of jointness among the ser­vices. Indeed, in the spirit of Goldwater-­Nichols, General Schwarzkopf was well-­supported by his fellow commanders. General H. T. Johnson at Transportation Command delivered the force. General Jack Galvin at Eu­ro­pean Command provided forces and support. General Donald Kutyna at Space Command watched the skies for Scuds. General Ed Burba, commanding Army forces h­ ere in the continental U.S., provided the Army ground forces and served as rear support. Admiral Chuck Larson in the Pacific and Admiral Leon Edney in the Atlantic provided Navy and Marine Forces, while General Lee Butler at SAC provided bombers, refuelers, and reconnaissance. General Carl Stiner provided crack special operations forces. It was a magnificent team effort. General Schwarzkopf and his counter­parts from diverse Co­ali­tion nations faced the task of managing the complex relationships among their forces. This task, challenging enough ­under the best of circumstances, was particularly difficult given the g­ reat cultural differences and po­liti­cal sensitivities among the Co­ali­tion partners. The prob­lem was solved by an innovative command arrangement involving parallel international commands, one, headed by General Schwarzkopf, incorporating the forces from the Western countries, and another, u­ nder the Saudi commander, Lieutenant General Khalid bin Sultan bin Abdul-­Aziz, for the forces from the Arab and Islamic ones. In historical terms, the Co­ali­tion was noteworthy not only b­ ecause of the large number of nations that participated and the speed with which it was assembled, but also ­because the forces of all t­hese nations ­were participating in a single theater campaign, within close proximity to each other on the battlefield. The close coordination and integration of ­these diverse units into a cohesive fighting force was achieved in large part thanks to the deftness with which General Schwarzkopf managed the relations with the vari­ous forces of the nations of the Co­ali­tion and to his ­great skill as a commander. The high quality of our forces was critical to the planning and execution of two very successful deception operations that surprised and confused the ­enemy. The first deception enabled the Co­ali­tion to achieve tactical surprise at the outset of the air war, even though the attack, given the passage of the United Nations deadline, was in a strategic sense totally expected and predictable. The deception required, for example, the careful planning of air operations during the Desert Shield period, to accustom the Iraqis to intense air activity of certain types, such as refueling operations, along the Saudi border. As a result, the heavy preparatory air activity over Saudi Arabia on the first night of Desert Storm does not appear to have alerted the Iraqis that the attack was imminent. The second deception operation confused the Iraqis about the Co­ali­tion’s plan for the ground offensive. Amphibious landing exercises as well as other activities that would be necessary to prepare for a landing (such as mine sweeping near potential landing areas) ­were conducted to convince the Iraqis that such an attack was part

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of the Co­ali­tion plan. At the same time, unobserved by the Iraqis who could not conduct aerial reconnaissance ­because of Co­ali­tion air supremacy, the VII Corps and XVIII Airborne Corps shifted hundreds of kilo­meters to the west from their initial concentration points south of Kuwait. Deceptive radio transmissions made it appear that the two Corps ­were still in their initial positions, while strict discipline restricted reconnaissance or scouting activity that might have betrayed an interest in the area west of Kuwait through which the ­actual attack was to be made. The success of this deception operation both pinned down several Iraqi divisions along the Kuwaiti coast and left the Iraqis completely unprepared to meet the Co­ali­ tion’s “left hook” as it swung around the troop concentrations in Kuwait and enveloped them. Co­ali­tion strategy also benefitted im­mensely from psychological operations, the success of which is evidenced primarily by the large number of Iraqi soldiers who deserted Iraqi ranks or surrendered without putting up any re­sis­tance during the ground offensive. Our efforts built on, among other f­ actors, the disheartening effect on Iraqi troops of the unanswered and intensive Co­ali­tion aerial bombardment, the privations they suffered due to the degradation of the Iraqi logistics system, and the threat of the impending ground campaign. Radio transmissions and leaflets exploited this demoralization by explaining to the Iraqi troops how to surrender and assuring them of humane treatment if they did. More specific messages reduced Iraqi readiness by warning troops to stay away from their equipment (which was vulnerable to attack by precision munitions) and induced desertions by warning troops that their positions ­were about to be attacked by B-52s. The skill and dedication of our forces ­were critical ele­ments for the Co­ali­tion’s efforts to design and carry out a campaign that would, within the legitimate bounds of war, minimize the risks of combat for nearby civilians and treat ­enemy soldiers humanely. Co­ali­tion pi­lots took additional risks and planners spared legitimate military targets to minimize civilian casualties. Co­ali­tion air strikes ­were designed to be as precise as pos­si­ble. Tens of thousands of Iraqi prisoners of war ­were cared for and treated with dignity and compassion. The world w ­ ill not soon forget pictures of Iraqi soldiers kissing their captors’ hands. In the course of Desert Shield and Desert Storm our troops spent long hours in harsh desert conditions, in dust storms and rainstorms, in heat and cold. The war saw tense periods of uncertainty and intense moments ­under ­enemy fire. It was not easy for any American personnel, including the quarter of a million reservists whose civilian lives ­were disrupted, or for the families separated from their loved ones. The fact that our pi­lots did not experience high losses ­going through Iraqi air defenses and our ground forces made it through the formidable Iraqi fortifications with light casualties does not diminish the extraordinary courage required from every­one who faced ­these dangers. It was especially hard for American prisoners of war, our wounded, and, above all, the Americans who gave their lives for their country and the families and friends who mourn them. Throughout ­these ­trials as Amer­i­ca indeed, all the world watched them on tele­vi­sion, American men and ­women portrayed the best in American values. We can be proud of the dignity, humanity and skill of the American soldier, sailor, airman and marine.



The Persian Gulf War 969 Source: U.S. Department of Defense, Final Report to Congress on the Conduct of the Persian Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1992), 31–35. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­a249270​.­pdf

3  The ­Battle of Wadi Al-­Batin This description of the ­Battle of Wadi Al-­Batin, which included the armor engagement at the ­Battle of 73 Easting, represents the army’s official account of some of the heaviest combat in the Persian Gulf War. THE ­BATTLE OF WADI AL-­BATIN VII CORPS, G-­DAY PLUS 2 2d Armored Cavalry Regiment: G-­Day Plus 2, 1525 On mid­afternoon, February 26, Franks began the long awaited ­battle against Saddam’s Republican Guard as VII Corps crossed Phase Line Tangerine on the 65 Easting, the longitude selected as the final coordination line before the corps reached the Guard. At 1525, the 2d ACR advanced past Tangerine with its three ground squadrons abreast: the 2d Squadron in the north, the 3d in the center, and the 1st in the south. Thirty minutes l­ater at the 70 Easting, the 2d Squadron ran into the forward security outpost of the Tawakalna Division’s 18th Mechanized Brigade. A task force of more than 30 T72M-1 main ­battle tanks and a dozen BMP infantry fighting vehicles occupied revetted firing positions, while supporting infantry manned interconnecting dugouts and trenches. The think blowing sand and swirling mist cut visibility to less than 1,000 meters, but with thermal sights the Abrams and Bradleys still had an advantage in any weather. The cavalry advanced to the killing ground unannounced. As the 2d Squadron pressed forward, indistinct blobs in thermal viewers grew steadily in size and clarity. Excited gunners first used low power to pick out ­those with turrets rotated in their direction. A mile and a half from the Iraqis, tank commanders’ fire commands broke the soft rushing noise of vehicle intercoms. Gunners answered immediately with “On the way” and pressed the firing buttons on their “cadillac” handgrips. The boom of tank guns and the sharp “crack—­crack—­crack” of Bradley 25mm chain guns echoed through the fog, rolling over many Iraqi crews 10 seconds a­ fter they died. Inside American tanks, the blast of the main guns outside merely blended with the cacophony of ­battle. All along the firing line, the sequence in each tank was identical: a rapid-­fire command to engage; the mass of the main gun slamming rearward with each shot; the blast-­proof door banging open as the loader smoothly flipped another silver bullet into the breech. Survivors in the Iraqi security force stubbornly returned fire, aiming at the muzzle flashes of the American guns. Unable to see clearly, Iraqi gunners collectively made two technical ­mistakes that doomed them. First, they had all zeroed their 125mm main guns at the standard Soviet ­battle sight range of 1,800 meters. The cavalry opened the duel at 2,400 meters, so nearly ­every Iraqi shot landed short.

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Second, they assumed that the distant muzzle flashes came from stationary tanks. Since Americans fired on the move, the Iraqi shots that came close merely skipped over the spot where the Abrams had been only seconds before. ­Under the American guns, the remaining combat vehicles in the Iraqi security force died quickly. The defending Iraqi commander ­later remarked that ­after losing 2 of his 39 T-72s in five weeks of air attack, the 2d Cavalry had annihilated his entire command in fewer than six minutes in what l­ater became known as the ­Battle of 73 Easting. As flaming T-72s began to form the outline of the Iraqi firing line, the squadron’s fire support teams called for artillery. More than 2,000 howitzer rounds and 12 MLRS rockets spewed 130,000 bomblets on the frontline Iraqis and targets beyond the range of direct fire weapons. When a com­pany of T-72s threatened to overrun 3d Platoon of G Troop, howitzers fired an immediate suppression mission that ­stopped the Iraqis cold. Regimental gunners fired 128 DPICM rounds and 12 MLRS rockets shortly thereafter against an unseen Iraqi armored unit previously located from aerial photo­graphs. Faint white flashes followed by dense columns of smoke stretched out horizontally by the wind proved the intelligence target to have been a good one. ­Later inspection verified that the strike had knocked out a com­ pany of armored vehicles, 27 ammunition bunkers, and 40 trucks. The 73 Easting fight was nearly over. As darkness fell, the fighting in the northern zone of the regimental sector slackened, while in the southern portion of the zone the 1st and 3d Squadrons had ­little contact. Unfortunately, another fratricide incident occurred in 3d Squadron as a Bradley mistakenly fired at another Bradley in a neighboring troop, wounding six soldiers. Once its leaders had sorted out the friendly fire incident, the cavalry regiment halted, its job of finding the ­enemy completed. At the VII Corps tactical command post, reports from this engagement and ­others arrived almost si­mul­ta­neously from across all 80 kilo­meters of the corps front. Source: Robert H. Scales, Certain Victory: The US Army in the Gulf War (Fort Leaven­worth, KS: U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994), 261–265.

4  Statement of Derek E. Davis before the Committee on Veterans Affairs, House of Representatives, February 11, 1997 In this statement, army veteran Derek E. Davis summarizes his ser­vice in the Persian Gulf War and the deleterious effects it had upon his health. He also illustrates the difficulties he has encountered in trying to obtain medical care from the Department of Veterans Affairs. Mr. Chairman and Members of the Committee, My name is Derek Davis. As a veteran of the Persian Gulf War, I appreciate the opportunity to testify t­ oday.



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My ser­vice in the Gulf was as commander of the Army National Guard’s 276th Military Police Com­pany. My com­pany was deployed to the Gulf in February 1991, ­after approximately a month’s medical screening and final training at Fort ­Meade, Me. Our pre-­deployment medical screening was very thorough (much more so than at separation ­after returning from the Gulf), and several men did not deploy ­because of health prob­lems that ­were uncovered. ­Those who left for Saudi ­were in excellent health and top physical shape. Ours was a cracker-­jack com­pany which had served e­ arlier overseas with distinction. My com­pany’s mission in Saudi Arabia was to provide security for a large ammunition supply point (ASP Quarry) in a desert area approximately ten miles from Khobar. The camp area where my com­pany bunked and took our meals was just downhill from the munitions storage area. Within the first weeks ­after getting in-­ country in February, I became aware that several of my men ­were becoming ill, with difficulty in breathing, runny eyes, and diarrhea. Several men w ­ ere hospitalized. ­Because of suspicions that living and working full time in close proximity to the munitions storage area had something to do with ­these illnesses, I requested a change in the location of our camp area and recommended the establishment of rotating duty shifts to cover the security requirement. T ­ hese recommendations w ­ ere accepted. I also asked headquarters to conduct a survey of the site to see what was wrong. An environmental assessment was conducted and on May 15, 1991, I received a copy of a memorandum, which I ask be placed in the rec­ord, which stated that this site (ASP Quarry) “has now been identified as containing significant respiratory ­hazards, both in the form of toxic gases . . . ​and vari­ous airborne particulates.” The memo, from a headquarters physician, made reference to a protective mask which had been found successful in filtering out particulates, and stated” [I]t is vital that a protective mask of the above type be made available to ­every soldier who w ­ ill be on duty in A. S. P. Quarry. . . .” Many of my men w ­ ere alarmed by the issuance of t­ hese masks, but we wore them while on security rotations. My request to my brigade commander for a copy of the environmental report received no response. (See copy of memo, to be placed in the rec­ord). I do not have personal knowledge of what we may have been exposed to at ASP Quarry, but in attending a very high level meeting at a ­later date I heard a conversation among high-­ranking officers that indicated that unconventional, highly classified ordnance was among the ordnance stored t­ here. My com­pany’s experience in Saudi also included numerous warnings of SCUD launches. ­After many false alarms, my men had become more relaxed about the loud warnings, “SCUD launch.” But we ­were less than a mile from the SCUD that killed 23 men; I was relatively lucky, I only sustained a concussion in seeking cover from the clearly vis­i­ble incoming rocket. The injury led to total loss of hearing in one ear. I am proud of my ser­vice in Saudi, and of the Bronze Star and Army Commendation Medal I received for that ser­vice. I am convinced, however, that something (other than my hearing loss) happened to me and to numbers of my men in the Persian Gulf. I began to have prob­lems almost as soon as I returned to the States. I ­couldn’t pinpoint a cause, but I had difficulty sleeping, difficulty in breathing, was

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constantly fatigued, had joint pain, memory loss and stomach prob­lems. I had had none of ­these prob­lems before serving in Saudi. I have been a relatively high-­achiever, and before my military ser­vice, I completed college studies earning a B.A. degree from the University of Mary­land. I was unprepared, however, to deal with the health prob­lems I experienced ­after returning from Saudi Arabia, and I regret that I turned to alcohol to mask the pain. (Only ­after serious ­family prob­lems did I stop drinking, and have been active in AA since 1993). My health prob­lems did not improve, and fi­nally, with the establishment of the VA’s Registry program several years l­ater, I turned to the VA. I was evaluated extensively by the VA Medical Center in Washington, D.C., and ­later by Walter Reed Army Medical Center. T ­ hese evaluations, which included extensive testing during a period of VA hospitalization, led to my being diagnosed as suffering from sleep apnea, fibromyalgia, degenerative joint disease, and PTSD. I especially want to acknowledge that I have gotten a lot of help from the VA medical center’s PTSD program, and I have very high regard for their clinical staff. They have helped me cope with what I’m ­going through. I continue to be ­under treatment from VA, and receive medi­cation. My other medical prob­lems still give me a lot of trou­ble, though. I have almost come to accept that if VA and Walter Reed have been unable to resolve ­these prob­lems, that they are not likely to get better, and I w ­ ill have to learn to live with them. As one who served in war for his country and, I believe, became sick as a result, I do expect that ­those who work to assist veterans ­will be empathetic, and give me some special consideration. Many VA clinicians and staff have done just that, and I do want to acknowledge that. For example, when I have had prob­lems ­there, the VA’s patient advocate at the Washington VA medical center has “jumped on it” and resolved them. But t­ here have been frustrations. If it is not pos­si­ble to cure my health prob­lems, I believe the Government should acknowledge that they are due to military ser­vice, and provide appropriate compensation benefits and vocational rehabilitation (­because it is increasingly difficult with my joint pains to work at a job that requires me to stand all day). Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of prob­lem[s] getting favorable action, or any action, on my claim for service-­connection, which I first filed years ago. Even my hearing loss, which is documented in my military medica1 rec­ords in 1991, has yet to be adjudicated as service-­connected. While the many physicians that have treated or evaluated me have generally been concerned, a few seemed like they ­were just ­going through the motions. In one particularly upsetting case, a psychologist at Walter Reade wrote a statement in my medical rec­ords to the effect that I might be faking symptoms. It was also unsettling to have to wait about four months to undergo VA testing for a severe sleep disorder. The negative experiences I have had as a patient—­such as long waits to discuss my case with a physician, an error in my medi­cation, and being billed in error for care that was supposed to be ­free—­may seem trivial, but ­after years of battling t­ hese health prob­lems, even small issues become large.



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In closing, let me say that I am testifying not just for myself, but for the many ­others who are also hurting. Although I am not the man I was when I left for Saudi Arabia, many of my troops are still looking to me to take care of them. I hope this Committee w ­ ill help me help them. Thank you. Source: U.S. House of Representatives, “Persian Gulf War Illnesses,” 105th Congress, 1st Session, Serial 105-1, February 11, 1997 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1997), 403–08. https://­ia801901​.­us​.­archive​.­org​/­12​/­items​/­gov​.­gpo​.­fdsys​ .­CHRG​-­105hhrg39303​/­CHRG​-­105hhrg39303​.­pdf.

NOTES   1. Rodney P. Carlisle, Persian Gulf War (New York: Facts on File, 2003), 43–50.   2. Ibid., 60.   3. Full text of UN resolutions available in Micah L. Sifry and Christopher Cerf, eds., The Gulf War Reader (New York: Random House, 1991), 137–56.   4. Richard M. Swain, “Lucky War”: Third Army in Desert Storm (Fort Leavenworth, KS: U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994), 17.   5. Dominic J. Caraccilo, The Ready Brigade of the 82nd Airborne in Desert Storm (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1993), 101.   6. Frederick W. Kagan and Chris Kubik, eds., Leaders in War: West Point Remembers the 1991 Gulf War (New York: Frank Cass, 2005), 183.   7. Bernard Rostker, “The Evolution of the All-­Volunteer Force” (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2006), https://­w ww​.­rand​.­org​/­pubs​/­research​_­briefs​/­R B9195​.­html.   8. Robert H. Scales, Certain Victory: The US Army in the Gulf War (Fort Leavenworth, KS: U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994), 6–7.   9. Thomas Houlahan, Gulf War: The Complete History (New London, NH: Schrenker Military Publishing, 1999), 133. 10. Geoffrey Frankel and John H. Nielsen, Desert Storm Diary: An American Soldier’s Personal Rec­ord of the Gulf War in Words and Pictures (Rosemont, NJ: Morris-­Lee Publishing, 1997), 11. 11. Ibid., 1–2. 12. Kagan and Kubik, Leaders in War, 141. 13. Kagan and Kubik, Leaders in War, 3. 14. Frank N. Schubert and Theresa L. Kraus, eds., The Whirlwind War: The U.S. Army in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm (Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, 1995), 37–40. 15. Scales, Certain Victory, 10–12. 16. Stephen A. Bourque, Jayhawk! The VII Corps in the Persian Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 2002), 105. 17. Scales, Certain Victory, 20–22. 18. James Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers: How the Generation of Officers Born of Vietnam Revolutionized the American Style of War (Washington, D.C.: Potomac Books, 1995), 192. 19. Ibid., 207, 305. 20. Houlahan, Gulf War, 132. 21. Carlisle, Persian Gulf War, 92. 22. Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers, 378. 23. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 210.

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24. Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers, 424; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 208–09. 25. Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers, 407. 26. Rostker, “Evolution of the All-­Volunteer Force.” 27. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 65–66. 28. Caraccilo, Ready Brigade, viii. 29. Ibid., 29. 30. Edward M. Flanagan Jr., Lightning: The 101st in the Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 1994), 46–47. 31. Tennessee-­Kentucky Association of the U.S. Army, North to the Euphrates: 101st Airborne Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm (Fort Campbell, KY: Tennessee-­ Kentucky Association of the U.S. Army, 1991), 24–28. 32. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 66–67. 33. Caraccilo, Ready Brigade, 62–63. 34. Douglas MacGregor, Warrior’s Rage: The ­Great Tank ­Battle of 73 Easting (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2009), 20. 35. Frankel and Nielsen, Desert Storm Diary, 38. 36. Alberto Bin, Richard Hill, and Archer Jones, Desert Storm: A Forgotten War (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1998), 146. 37. MacGregor, Warrior’s Rage, 21. 38. Flanagan, Lightning, 45. 39. Swain, “Lucky War,” 139. 40. Frankel and Nielsen, Desert Storm Diary, 37. 41. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 151. 42. Barry McWilliams This ­Ain’t Hell . . . ​But You Can See It From ­Here!, ed. Colin Sorel McWilliams (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1992), 35. 43. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 95–96. 44. National Council of Churches of Christ, “On the Gulf and ­Middle East Crisis,” in Sifry and Cerf, eds., Gulf War Reader, 230–33. 45. Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers, 208. 46. Scales, Certain Victory, 7. 47. Ibid., 16. 48. Ibid., 17. 49. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 224. 50. William Bowman, Roger L ­ ittle, and G. Thomas Sicilia, All-­Volunteer Force A ­ fter a De­cade: Retrospect and Prospect (Washington, D.C.: Pergamon-­Brassey’s, 1986), 270. 51. Jack C. Wheeler, “In Recruiting, Quality Is All,” Army (September 1991), 35–43. 52. Scales, Certain Victory, 19–20. 53. Thomas D. Dinackus, Order of ­Battle: Allied Ground Forces of Operation Desert Storm (Central Point, OR: Hellgate Press, 2000), 13:1–13:4; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 29–30, 255. 54. Dinackus, Order of B ­ attle, 13:4–13:6; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 30–31, 256. 55. Dinackus, Order of ­Battle, 13:18; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 31–32. 56. Dinackus, Order of ­Battle, 13:19; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 32. 57. Dinackus, Order of ­Battle, 13:16; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 32–33, 264. 58. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 267. 59. Dinackus, Order of B ­ attle, 13:8–13:10; Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 259–261. 60. Houlahan, Gulf War, 319. 61. Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, The Generals’ War: The Inside Story of the Conflict in the Gulf (Boston: L ­ ittle, Brown, 1995), 390. 62. Kagan and Kubik, Leaders in War, 114. 63. Bourque, Jayhawk!, 261–62.



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64. William G. Pagonis, Moving Mountains: Lessons in Leadership and Logistics From the Gulf War (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1992), 147. 65. Gordon and Trainor, Generals’ War, 408; Bin, Hill, and Jones, Desert Storm, 193. 66. Caraccilo, Ready Brigade, 26. 67. Martin Stanton, Road to Baghdad; B ­ ehind E ­ nemy Lines: The Adventures of an American Soldier in the Gulf War (New York: Ballantine Books, 2003), 252. 68. Alex Vernon, ed., The Eyes of Orion: Five Tank Lieutenants in the Persian Gulf War (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 1999), 205–06. 69. Ibid., 186. 70. David J. Morris, Storm on the Horizon: Khafji—­The ­Battle That Changed the Course of the Gulf War (New York: F ­ ree Press, 2004), 76. 71. Scales, Certain Victory, 361. 72. Dinackus, Order of ­Battle, 6–7. 73. Scales, Certain Victory, 361. 74. Carlisle, Persian Gulf War, 90–91. 75. Ibid., 145. 76. Ibid., 146. 77. Bourque, Jayhawk!, 237. 78. Vernon, Eyes of Orion, 227. 79. Kitfield, Prodigal Soldiers, 402. 80. Pagonis, Moving Mountains, 151–53. 81. Schubert and Kraus, Whirlwind War, 225. 82. Ibid., 225–26. 83. Stephen P. Gehring, From the Fulda Gap to Kuwait: U.S. Army, Eu­rope and the Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1998), 201–08. 84. Ibid., 209–10. 85. Gordon and Trainor, Generals’ War, 377. 86. Houlahan, Gulf War, 449–51. 87. U.S. Department of Defense, Final Report to Congress on the Conduct of the Persian Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1992), 131. 88. Houlahan, Gulf War, 447. 89. Bourque, Jayhawk!, 455; Bin, Hill, and Jones, Desert Storm, 205; Carlisle, Persian Gulf War, 108. 90. Flanagan, Lightning, 223. 91. Kagan and Kubik, Leaders in War, 192. 92. Ibid., 186. 93. Ibid., 190.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bin, Alberto, Richard Hill, and Archer Jones. Desert Storm: A Forgotten War. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1998. Bourque, Stephen A. Jayhawk! The VII Corps in the Persian Gulf War. Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 2002. Bourque, Stephen A. and John W. Burdan, III. The Road to Safwan: The 1st Squadron, 4th  Cavalry in the 1991 Persian Gulf War. Denton: University of North Texas Press, 2007. Bowman, William, Roger ­Little, and G. Thomas Sicilia. All-­Volunteer Force A ­ fter a De­cade: Retrospect and Prospect. Washington, D.C.: Pergamon-­Brassey’s, 1986. Caraccilo, Dominic J. The Ready Brigade of the 82nd Airborne in Desert Storm. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1993.

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Carlisle, Rodney P. Persian Gulf War. New York: Facts on File, 2003. Dinackus, Thomas D. Order of ­Battle: Allied Ground Forces of Operation Desert Storm. Central Point, OR: Hellgate Press, 2000. Engel, Jeffrey A., ed. Into the Desert: Reflections on the Gulf War. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Flanagan, Edward M. Jr. Lightning: The 101st  in the Gulf War. Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 1994. Frankel, Geoffrey and John H. Nielsen. Desert Storm Diary: An American Soldier’s Personal Rec­ord of the Gulf War in Words and Pictures. Rosemont, NJ: Morris-­Lee Publishing Group, 1997. Gehring, Stephen P. From the Fulda Gap to Kuwait: U.S. Army, Eu­rope and the Gulf War. Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1998. Gordon, Michael R. and Bernard E. Trainor. The Generals’ War: The Inside Story of the Conflict in the Gulf. Boston: ­Little, Brown, 1995. Houlahan, Thomas. Gulf War: The Complete History. New London, NH: Schrenker Military Publishing, 1999. Hutchison, Kevin Don. Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm: Chronology and Fact Book. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1995. Kagan, Frederick W. and Chris Kubik, eds. Leaders in War: West Point Remembers the 1991 Gulf War. New York: Frank Cass, 2005. Kitfield, James. Prodigal Soldiers: How the Generation of Officers Born of Vietnam Revolutionized the American Style of War. Washington, D.C.: Potomac Books, 1995. MacGregor, Douglas. Warrior’s Rage: The ­Great Tank ­Battle of 73 Easting. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2009. McWilliams, Barry. This ­Ain’t Hell . . . ​But You Can See It From ­Here! Edited by Colin Sorel McWilliams. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1992. Morris, David J. Storm on the Horizon: Khafji—­T he ­Battle That Changed the Course of the Gulf War. New York: ­Free Press, 2004. Pagonis, William G. Moving Mountains: Lessons in Leadership and Logistics from the Gulf War. Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1992. Rec­ord, Jeffrey. Hollow Victory: A Contrary View of the Gulf War. Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 1993. Rostker, Bernard. “The Evolution of the All-­Volunteer Force.” Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2006. https://­w ww​.­rand​.­org​/­pubs​/­research​_­briefs​/­R B9195​.­html. Scales, Robert H. Certain Victory: The US Army in the Gulf War. Fort Leavenworth, KS: U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994. Schubert, Frank N. and Theresa L. Kraus, eds. The Whirlwind War: The United States Army in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, 1995. Sifry, Micah L. and Christopher Serf, eds. The Gulf War Reader. New York: Random House, 1991. Stanton, Martin. Road to Baghdad; B ­ ehind E ­ nemy Lines: The Adventures of an American Soldier in the Gulf War. New York: Ballantine Books, 2003. Swain, Richard M. ‘Lucky War’: Third Army in Desert Storm. Fort Leavenworth, KS: U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994. Tennessee-­Kentucky Association of the U.S. Army. North to the Euphrates: 101st Airborne Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Fort Campbell, KY: Tennessee-­ Kentucky Association of the U.S. Army, 1991. U.S. Department of Defense. Final Report to Congress on the Conduct of the Persian Gulf War. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1992. http://­w ww​.­dtic​ .­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­a249270​.­pdf.



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U.S. News & World Report. Triumph Without Victory: The Unreported History of the Persian Gulf War. New York: Random House, 1992. Vernon, Alex, ed. The Eyes of Orion: Five Tank Lieutenants in the Persian Gulf War. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 1999. Wheeler, Jack C. “In Recruiting, Quality Is All.” Army (September 1991): 35–43.

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14 Af­ghan­i­stan War and the War on Terror Ryan Wadle

OVERVIEW The war in Af­ghan­i­stan is the longest war in American history. As of 2019, personnel from the U.S. military have fought a war in Af­ghan­i­stan for nearly 18 years, and it appears unlikely that it w ­ ill end anytime soon. Given that the minimum age of enlistment is 18, it is highly likely that some Americans who ­were not even born by September 11, 2001, ­will be deployed to Af­ghan­i­stan in the coming years. The war has cost American taxpayers more than $1 trillion dollars, and nearly 2,300 personnel have lost their lives in the war, with 80 ­percent of ­those killed in combat. The United States became directly involved in Af­ghan­i­stan b­ ecause of the September 11 attacks, but the roots of the conflict can be traced back centuries into the past. Af­ghan­i­stan has been at the center of many conflicts during recorded ­human history, and, at vari­ous times, the Macedonians, Huns, Arabs, Mongols, and British occupied some part of modern-­day Af­ghan­i­stan. By the late nineteenth ­century, the British and Rus­sians viewed Af­ghan­i­stan as a potential buffer state between their respective empires. In 1893, they agreed upon a boundary between British India (present-­day Pakistan) and Af­ghan­i­stan, the so-­called Durand Line. Named for Sir Henry Mortimer Durand, the boundary ran through the ­middle of ethnic Pashtun territory, leaving members of the group on both sides of the border. Overall, the placement of the Durand Line as well as the affixing of Af­ghan­i­stan’s other borders, created a state composed of numerous distinct ethnic and cultural groups. T ­ hese borders also left modern Af­ghan­i­stan with l­ ittle arable land, few easily exploitable natu­ral resources, and no navigable rivers that could facilitate trade.1 For much of the twentieth ­century, Af­ghan­i­stan remained a poor, neutral country that avoided involvement in ­great power conflicts and remained a relatively stable society built around its tribes. ­Under the reign of Mohammad Zahir Shah (1933– 1973), Af­g han­i­stan also slowly began modernizing, but some Afghans resented this pro­cess for vari­ous reasons. The numerous tribes in the Afghan countryside,

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many of them Pashtun, resisted the new influences and desired to adhere to their traditional cultures. Meanwhile, a group of Marxists grew impatient with the pace of reform. In 1973, Shah was overthrown by his cousin, Mohammad Daoud Khan, who was eventually assassinated by Marxists in April  1978. The imposition of radical reforms by the Marxists in the wake of Khan’s death caused the tribes to revolt, and the assassination of the first Marxist leader, Nur Mohammad Taraki, only exacerbated the chaos. In late 1979, the Soviets, fearing that chaos in Af­ghan­ i­stan could lead to an American presence on their borders, invaded Af­ghan­i­stan and installed a new communist government u­ nder Babrak Karmal. The invasion only inflamed an insurgency among the tribes in the Afghan countryside and created a host of strategic challenges for the Soviet Union. First, the Soviets ­limited the size of their troop commitments to Af­ghan­i­stan, presumably so as to not weaken their presence in the critical Cold War battleground of northern Eu­rope. As a result, they deployed their forces to control Af­ghan­i­stan’s major cities and lines of communication in order to support the Afghan army’s engagement with the insurgents, known as the mujahedeen. ­These lines of communication, mostly along Af­ghan­i­stan’s road network, proved vulnerable to insurgent attack. Furthermore, the Afghan army proved incapable of neutralizing the mujahedeen, forcing the Soviets to assume more of the combat burden than initially planned.2 The mujahedeen also received financial and materiel support from Pakistan and the United States; the former helped recruit some foreign fighters into Af­ghan­i­stan, including the Saudi Osama bin Laden, and the latter provided weapons, most famously the Stinger antiaircraft missile. By the late 1980s, the Soviets had made l­ ittle pro­gress in suppressing the mujahedeen and grew increasingly war-­ weary. According to the terms of the 1988 Geneva Accords, the Soviets withdrew from Af­ghan­i­stan in February 1989. The war cost the Soviet Union more than 14,000 dead but, perhaps more importantly, undercut the credibility of the regime at home and abroad and helped contribute to its downfall in 1991.3 The 1990s saw several dramatic po­liti­cal and military shifts inside Af­ghan­i­stan. The mujahedeen continued to fight the Soviet-­backed government in the years that followed, fi­nally seizing the capital city of Kabul in 1992. However, the mujahedeen was very much a personality-­driven group and had badly splintered, and the fall of Kabul created po­liti­cal and social chaos among the feuding warlords. As ­these warlords fought, the nascent Afghan government failed to develop any legitimacy b­ ecause it could not control most of its own territory, leaving spaces where corruption, thievery, and vio­lence thrived. This created a power vacuum into which the Pakistani-­backed Taliban (“Students”) stepped into in late 1994. The Taliban, formed from Pashtun Soviet-­war veterans and men schooled in madrasas (schools) in Pakistan, combined a very conservative interpretation of Islam with tight controls and security. Afghans, tired of the chaos from the civil war, initially welcomed the Taliban, who spread rapidly across the Pashtun areas of southern and eastern Af­ghan­i­stan. They entered Kabul in 1996, forcing the still-­splintered opposition to fi­nally coalesce into the Northern Alliance as their forces retreated northward. As the Taliban continued to pursue the Northern Alliance, they allowed bin Laden, who had been expelled from Sudan ­under U.S. pressure, to seek refuge inside their territory in order to help train their fighters. This, in addition to numerous ­human



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rights abuses and the destruction of non-­Islamic religious landmarks, caused the Taliban to become an international pariah. Bin Laden’s closeness with Mullah Mohammad Omar, the Taliban leader, led them to coordinate the assassination of the Northern Alliance leader, Ahmad Shah Massoud, on September 9, 2001, just two days before the attacks on the United States.4 The attacks on New York, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania brought swift international condemnation and pressure on the Taliban. For the first time in its 51-­year history, the North Atlantic Treaty Organ­ization (NATO) invoked Article 5 of its charter, declaring the attacks on the United States as an attack on all member states.5 President George W. Bush’s administration quickly pressured Pakistan’s president Pervez Musharraf to cut ties with the Taliban and support U.S. efforts in Af­ghan­i­stan. In late September, the first American special operations forces entered Af­ghan­i­stan and made contact with the Northern Alliance in advance of the formal opening of the U.S. campaign in October 2001.6 Using what came to be known as the “Afghan Model” of supporting the Northern Alliance with special operations forces and precision-­guided strikes from co­ali­tion aircraft, the Taliban quickly crumbled ­under the weight of the assault.7 In November, co­ali­tion forces entered Kabul and soon afterwards chased bin Laden and some Taliban leaders to the mountainous Tora Bora region along the Pakistani border. Unfortunately, the United States was unable to fully secure the area due to a lack of trained native forces, thus allowing them to escape into Pakistan.8 As the co­ali­tion continued to pursue the remaining Taliban forces, the international community supported the creation of a new Afghan government. Seeking to appeal to the Pashtun majority in Af­ghan­is­ tan, the Afghans and the United States endorsed the Pashtun Hamid Karzai, who became the Afghan president on December 22, 2001. To assist the interim Afghan government, the international community committed tens of billions of dollars to facilitate the reconstruction of infrastructure in order to allow the country to regain its economic footing a­ fter more than two de­cades of fighting.9 Through 2002 and well into 2003, the U.S.-­led co­ali­tion continued to wage ­limited counterterrorism campaigns to destroy remaining al Qaeda and Taliban networks still operating in Af­ghan­i­stan. The number of foreign troops in Af­ghan­i­ stan remained relatively small to that point, fewer than 30,000 total. The Bush administration’s 2002 decision to declare the “Axis of Evil” of North ­Korea, Iran, and Iraq and its subsequent move in March 2003 to invade Iraq ­after Saddam Hussein’s obfuscation over the existence of weapons of mass destruction in his country ­limited the American ability to commit more resources to the fight in Af­ghan­i­stan. The development of an insurgency in Iraq that summer complicated U.S. efforts to quickly withdraw forces from the country and forced the United States to wage a long, lonely, and strategically flawed campaign to restore order.10 In October 2003, Lieutenant General David Barno became the commander of military operations in Af­ghan­i­stan and remained the se­nior American military officer for the next two years. The per­sis­tence of the Taliban, albeit greatly reduced from its 2001 peak, forced Barno and his staff to incorporate counterinsurgency ideas into their overall strategy for maintaining security.11 Still, strategic plans developed by NATO—­which officially oversaw Afghan reconstruction—­de-­emphasized

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counterinsurgency in ­ favor of counterterrorism and stability operations that could facilitate the physical and economic reconstruction that the still-­devastated country badly needed.12 This reluctance to more directly engage the insurgency at this early date might have been due to the fact that some NATO members who committed forces attempted to prevent their personnel from g­ oing into combat zones. While many parts of Af­ghan­i­stan ­were stable and allowed for some countries to tailor the deployment of their forces to the most peaceful and safe provinces, the issues highlighted the inability to come up with a coherent strategy to appease all members of the co­ali­tion.13 Soldiers from the 101st Airborne Division search During Barno’s tenure, the local residents for weapons and contraband, near Afghan Loya Jirga produced and Narizah, Af­ghan­i­stan, July 23, 2002. ­After then ratified a new constitution toppling the Taliban regime, thousands of U.S. for Af­ghan­i­stan in 2004, allowtroops participated in operations seeking the ing the first formal elections to destruction of al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden be held l­ater that year. President and his top lieutenants. (U.S. Department of Karzai overwhelmingly won the Defense) presidential election, but t­hese po­liti­cal successes masked questions about the growing corruption in the Afghan government, some of which was linked to Karzai himself. In addition, pro­gress in training an Afghan National Army capable of providing internal and external security throughout the country moved slowly, meaning that the United States and NATO continued to assume ­those roles. The limitations of the Afghan government and military undercut the ability of all parties to accomplish their goals.14 Some f­ actors challenged the immediate control of the Afghan government and the co­ali­tion forces in Af­ghan­i­stan. The Taliban continued to exist in spite of its losses, at least in part ­because of Pakistan’s inability or outright refusal to neutralize Taliban sanctuaries inside their own borders. Even though President Musharraf openly proclaimed support for the co­ali­tion campaigns soon a­ fter the September 11 attacks, some members within his Inter-­Services Intelligence (ISI) agency continued to provide covert support for the Taliban b­ ecause they feared that a secular Afghan government might ally with India and surround Pakistan with strategic rivals. In addition to the strategic issues, persecuting the Taliban threatened to create new internal po­liti­cal and security concerns for Pakistan. The area known as



Af­ghan­i­stan War and the War on Terror 983

Waziristan, along the Afghan–­Pakistani border, is incredibly rugged and isolated, preventing the government from fully exerting control over the area. Pakistan’s Pashtun population also lived in ­these areas in tribal socie­ties very similar to ­those found across the border and, unsurprisingly, sympathized with the Afghan Pashtuns. Since the co­ali­tion had no authority to operate inside Pakistan and treat the Pashtun insurgency as a single prob­lem spanning two distinct nation-­states, this also greatly complicated the military situation inside Af­ghan­i­stan.15 Thus, by late 2005 as the co­ali­tion continued to support Afghan reconstruction, many authorities believed that the Taliban would continue its resurgence, and ­these predictions came true. The number of U.S. forces continued to grow in the years that followed as the Taliban sought to extend its influence inside Af­ghan­i­stan. Indeed, they grew increasingly aggressive and successful at inflicting large numbers of casualties on the co­ali­tion at vulnerable moments, especially in the Pech River Valley in eastern Af­ghan­i­stan. In 2005, the insurgents shot down a Chinook he­li­cop­ter carry­ing 16 men as they searched for a U.S. Navy SEAL, Marcus Luttrell, as part of Operation Red Wings, an action that was originally intended to neutralize an insurgent group in the region.16 In July 2008, insurgents overwhelmed an incomplete combat outpost (COP) ­under construction in the village of Wanat at the western end of the Pech, killing 13 American soldiers and sparking a series of controversial investigations.17 In October 2009, the Taliban launched an assault against the isolated and vulnerable COP Keating in Nuristan, killing eight Americans before being driven away from the outpost. Two Americans, Ty Car­ter and Clint Romesha, earned Medals of Honor for bravery in that b­ attle.18 The resurgence of the Taliban occurred as American attention focused primarily on the war in Iraq as the insurgency t­ here worsened. Perceived mismanagement of the war contributed to a major Demo­cratic victory during the 2006 congressional elections. This fi­nally compelled the Bush administration to adjust its strategy in Iraq, and eventually a “surge” of U.S. forces into Iraq, combined with the “Sunni Awakening” whereby many Sunnis abandoned their insurgency, led to a dramatic reduction in vio­lence in that country.19 As Iraq grew more stable, Af­ghan­i­stan became the focus of renewed public attention. Whereas Af­ghan­i­stan had heretofore been an uncontroversial war, the deteriorating security situation in Af­ghan­i­ stan in the latter years of the Bush administration sparked a public debate in the United States over ­whether Af­ghan­i­stan had been overlooked in ­favor of the far more divisive war in Iraq. Often, public figures framed Af­ghan­i­stan as the “good war” and a war of necessity, as opposed to the war of choice in Iraq. During the Demo­cratic primaries and presidential campaign, Illinois Senator Barack Obama pledged to recommit American forces to the war in Af­ghan­i­stan.20 To be fair, the war in Af­ghan­i­stan was not his top priority, especially when the stock market crash in summer 2008 led to an overwhelming focus on domestic policy issues, but his victory confirmed that Af­ghan­i­stan would receive renewed attention from the country’s po­liti­cal leadership. The first major signal of a recommitment occurred in May 2009 when Secretary of Defense Robert Gates asked the head of U.S. Forces–­Afghanistan and the International Security Assistance Forces, General David McKiernan, to resign, a rare instance of a removal of a U.S. commander before the end of his scheduled

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term.21 His replacement, General Stanley McChrystal, initiated a major review of Af­ghan­i­stan that called for a “surge” of U.S. forces comparable to that initiated in Iraq. T ­ hese expanded forces waged a population-­centric counterinsurgency campaign designed to improve security in the Afghan countryside to improve local governance and to buy time for the buildup of the Afghan National Army.22 The number of forces in Af­ghan­i­stan had already grown in 2009, but President Obama endorsed McChrystal’s recommendation for an even more dramatic increase of forces and publicly announced the policy change in a December 2009 speech at the U.S. Military Acad­emy at West Point.23 The surge in Af­ghan­is­ tan from 2010 through 2012 proved far rockier than its pre­ de­ces­sor in Iraq. General McChrystal’s tenure ended prematurely in 2010 ­because of a controversial article that appeared in Rolling Stone magazine. In a series of conversations, his aides described criticisms made by the general of Vice President Joe Biden and ­others.24 As a result, McChrystal resigned his position, leading President Obama to replace him with General David Petraeus, the architect of the surge in Iraq and the biggest proponent of population-­centric counterinsurgency in the U.S. Army. As U.S. forces grew to nearly 100,000 in 2010, Petraeus employed them in the “clear, hold, build” strategy that he enshrined in the U.S. military’s Field Manual 3–24 Counterinsurgency in 2006.25 The growth in U.S. forces allowed them to launch a number of major operations to clear Taliban strongholds, particularly ­those in the contested southern and eastern parts of Af­ghan­i­stan where the Taliban remained strong.26 ­These units also relied upon the so-­called ­human terrain system of sociologists and other academics to provide sophisticated analyses of local ­peoples and their cultures to aid in the counterinsurgency fight.27 They also successfully enabled Af­ghan­i­stan to hold its second presidential election in 2010 that led to the re-­election of the increasingly in­effec­tive Karzai, undercutting the effectiveness of the strategy.28 In May 2011, at the height of the surge, U.S. Navy SEALs raided a compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, and killed al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden.29 The successful raid led some to conclude that the United States had fi­nally accomplished many of its original goals from 2001, and it, coupled with the apparent neutralization of Taliban networks, allowed the drawdown of U.S. forces. This began on schedule in 2012, with a target date of the end of 2014 to remove all U.S. forces from the country. The withdrawal, however, could not be executed as had been originally planned ­because the Taliban managed to renew itself in the face of U.S. pressure. The Taliban thrived in part ­because the Afghan government ­u nder Karzai had grown increasingly corrupt and did not always enjoy popu­lar support. In addition, the Afghan National Army, despite the best efforts of U.S. advisors and significant American funding, never recruited and maintained the manpower necessary to fight the Taliban on its own. The Iraqi surge also appeared to succeed ­because the “Sunni awakening” had given the Sunnis a chance at a po­liti­cal solution to their prob­lems. Despite the efforts of Karzai and ­others in his government who sought to negotiate with the Taliban, ­there was no corresponding “Pashtun awakening” in Af­ghan­i­ stan that could sap the strength of the insurgency.30 Thus, at the end of 2014 when all U.S. forces w ­ ere scheduled to leave the country, President Obama ordered several thousand U.S. troops to remain in the country



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to continue training and assisting the Afghans. In 2015, the administration de­cided to keep ­these forces in Af­ghan­i­stan through at least the end of Obama’s second term in office. In 2017, President Donald Trump’s administration increased the number of U.S. forces in Af­ghan­i­stan amid yet another resurgence of the Taliban, and ­there is no sign that the United States ­will leave the country anytime soon.31 CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS The war in Af­ghan­i­stan, along with the concurrent conflict in Iraq, relied solely upon volunteers. Amidst the social upheavals of the Vietnam War, President Richard Nixon ended the draft in 1972. This forced the U.S. military to alter its recruiting and retention policies to rely solely upon volunteers; in par­tic­u­lar, this led to a number of “quality of life” improvements to pay and ser­vices in the years that followed. This also led to changes to training, with the U.S. military emphasizing qualitative edges in technology, firepower, and the training of its personnel. This model had proven itself effective in Operation Desert Storm and, in most re­spects, remained in place when U.S. forces entered Af­ghan­i­stan in 2001.32 Even though the numbers of U.S. forces in Af­ghan­i­stan have been relatively small for most years of the U.S. occupation, the concurrence and the length of the wars in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq began to tax the all-­volunteer force. In addition, the United States relied upon reservists and units from the National Guard. Guard units had not been deployed to Vietnam, but the 1973 Total Force Policy stated that ­these units would be sent to war if necessary, with the reinstatement of the draft as the final resort. The bulk of U.S. forces in Af­ghan­is­ tan came from regular units, while National Guard and Reserve units helped to buttress U.S. strength in Iraq. At the height of the wars between 2006 and 2012, the military applied a number of policies to keep manpower levels high. The most controversial was the use of the “stop-­loss,” which allowed the military to involuntarily extend the enlistments of soldiers with essential skills. This led to a massive public outcry and served as the basis for an eponymous film released in 2007. In addition, the military relaxed recruiting and retention standards, including fitness and discipline. This allowed individuals to join or stay in the military who, in times of peace, would never have been allowed to serve.33 ­These unpop­u­lar policies, combined with the length of the wars, led many to conclude that the military would suffer from a significant manpower crisis. While the manpower situation never led to a sudden breakdown as some might have predicted, continuing issues with recruiting and retention as of 2018, even among popu­ lar military specialties, led many to predict that a manpower crisis loomed.34 TRAINING ­Because the United States had consciously abandoned the draft in f­ avor of maintaining a smaller, more capable force, training and education ­were at a premium for the U.S. military to retain a qualitative edge on their opponents. Training could include basic training, specialized training in a ser­vice member’s ­career field, and

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exercises and maneuvers. Factoring in support costs and logistics, maintaining one soldier for a year in Af­ghan­i­stan cost U.S. taxpayers between $850,000 and $1.4 million each year.35 U.S. forces also went through extensive educational programs in addition to their training requirements. Each of the ser­vices maintained their own professional military education (PME) system to educate officers and enlisted personnel in service-­specific topics but also adhered to a series of requirements and standards that ensured the instruction of common subjects across the Department of Defense, including history, international relations, leadership, and the pro­cesses to conduct military operations. The PME system had provided ­little to no specific instruction on the nature of insurgencies or on Central Asia, but the schools w ­ ere forced to adapt to the war. During the mid-2000s, many of the schools updated their curricula to incorporate cultural studies that provided students with the theory and practical tools to engage in cross-­cultural encounters.36 As the war in Af­ghan­i­stan continued, the army saw fit to adjust its training routines to incorporate counterinsurgency operations. This was a marked departure from the earliest days of the U.S. invasion that had relied upon extant special operations forces, light infantry, and airpower acting in concert. The army established the National Training Center at Fort Irwin in 1980 to train U.S. forces to fight the planned war of maneuver against the Soviet Union in central Eu­rope. This training involved armor and mechanized formations supported by aircraft against the “opposing force” permanently stationed at the center, who mimicked Soviet capabilities and tactics. This training, however, was obviously not well suited to the counterterrorism and counterinsurgency missions in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq, so the army constructed villages at the center and populated them with actors speaking foreign languages. In this new training environment, military leaders could learn how to respond to the variety of potential combat and noncombat situations they could expect to face while deployed overseas.37 SOCIAL STRUCTURE As the number of U.S. forces in Af­ghan­i­stan began to grow, ­women comprised a significant share of the force. During the 1990s, the Department of Defense began to open up more jobs to ­women, including as pi­lots of combat aircraft, which placed them in the line of fire, while leaving many front-­line infantry and other combat positions off-­limits. ­Women took advantage of the growing number of opportunities available to them with a military c­ areer and joined the ser­vices in growing numbers. W ­ omen comprised around 12 ­percent of U.S. forces deployed overseas a­ fter 2001, and oftentimes found themselves u­ nder fire b­ ecause the nature of insurgencies meant that combat could not be restricted solely to front-­line units. Thus, w ­ omen who theoretically served in noncombat roles could be subject to the same risks as their male counter­parts.38 The social and cultural environment in Af­ghan­i­stan, while conservative and patriarchal, did not always allow male U.S. soldiers to properly manage all of the potential situations they might encounter in the field. The Marine Corps recognized that they needed ­women to interact with Afghan females lest they run afoul of local



Af­ghan­i­stan War and the War on Terror 987

U.S. Army sergeant Lidya Admounabdfany obtains information from a local ­woman at the W ­ oman’s Center, Zhari District, near Forward Operating Base Pasab, Kandahar Province, Af­ghan­i­stan. Admounabdfany is a member of the 10th Mountain Division, serving in a Female Engagement Team (FET). The FET ­was established to protect Muslim sensibilities by providing enlisted ­women for interactions with local female citizens. (U.S. Army photo by Spc. Kristina Truluck, 55th Signal Com­pany)

customs. In response, the Marine Corps began to establish female engagement teams (FETs) to accompany deployed units into the field. Drawn from female volunteers who possessed a variety of dif­fer­ent backgrounds, ­these female marines could accomplish tasks that their male brethren could not. The concept proved a success, leading the army to eventually establish their own FET teams. Though not explic­itly a combat unit, ­women serving in FET teams carried weapons and other­wise appeared indistinguishable from their male counter­parts. Special Operations units also established their own FET teams to accompany units during missions. As can be expected, serving in an FET team carried risks; in 2011 First Lieutenant Ashley White and in 2013 Captain Jenny Moreno ­were killed while serving in FET teams supporting Special Operations units.39 The blurring of the old, gendered lines of military ser­vice combined with the socially liberal Obama administration fi­nally led to more formal changes in the status of ­women in the field. In 2015, First Lieutenants Katherine Griest and Shaye Haver made history by being the first ­women to complete the grueling nine-­week course at the U.S. Army’s Ranger School at Fort Benning, Georgia. Lieutenant Griest made more history the following spring when she graduated from the Maneuver Captain’s Course—­also hosted at Fort Benning—to become the army’s first female infantry officer. Since then, many more ­women have moved into the vari­ ous army courses to also become infantry officers.40 The Marine Corps moved more

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slowly in integrating ­women into infantry roles, graduating its first female from its own infantry officer course in the fall of 2017. Since then, the Marine Corps has adjusted the scoring for the endurance test within the course, which could potentially allow for more ­women to gradu­ate in the f­ uture.41 The all-­volunteer force that served in Af­ghan­is­ tan had erased a number of flashpoints that had crippled the army during the Vietnam era. For instance, the draft had exempted college students from eligibility, meaning that ­those who could not afford to attend college often lay exposed to the draft and a pos­si­ble tour in Vietnam. This cut across racial lines, forcing a disproportionate share of African Americans into the military. As a result, many labeled Vietnam a “poor man’s fight.” In the several de­cades ­after Vietnam, the military made g­ reat strides in reducing the overt racial animus ­toward the two largest racial minorities in the United States, African Americans and Latinos, by enforcing a culture that was accepting of racial diversity. Dating back to the 1970s, the military has worked to eliminate any presence of hate groups within the ranks, although some avowed racists have slipped through the cracks and have served in the military since 2001. According to data from a 2007 Department of Defense (DoD) study, Latinos ­were only slightly underrepresented in the military relative to their numbers in the overall population, while African Americans ­were overrepresented. In the officer corps, minorities remained underrepresented, at least in part b­ ecause promotion rates for minority officers lagged ­behind ­those of whites. In other areas, minorities are more likely to be subject to military law and discipline and may also have less access to health care than whites. While the overall data suggest that minorities are subject to far fewer biases in the military than in civilian life and that the military has dramatically improved the opportunities for minorities, small but noticeable structural gaps in equality remain.42 The war in Af­ghan­i­stan also coincided with a major policy shift regarding homo­sexuality. In 1993, the Clinton administration had enacted a policy of “­don’t ask, ­don’t tell” that prevented se­nior personnel from inquiring about one’s sexual orientation while si­mul­ta­neously preventing homosexual personnel from publicly disclosing their status. While certainly an improvement over the previous zero-­ tolerance policy regarding homo­sexuality, “­don’t ask, ­don’t tell” became an unsatisfying compromise that homosexuals believed infringed upon their freedoms. This policy remained in place during the George  W. Bush administration, but fi­nally changed in 2011. A law enacted in 2010 allowed the president, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the secretary of defense to rescind the policy once it was verified that readiness would not be negatively affected. This certification was handed down in July 2011, leading to a formal repeal of the policy in September.43 In the l­ater years of the Obama administration, transgender rights became an impor­tant social concern that spread from civilian life into the Department of Defense. In 2015, Secretary of Defense Ashton Car­ter initiated a review that studied ­whether the DoD should integrate transgendered individuals into the military. A year l­ater, upon completion of this review, Secretary Car­ter formally announced the integration of trans ­people into the military. In keeping with the practices of many prominent private-­sector companies, the ac­cep­tance of trans ­people also meant assuming health care costs.44 The Trump administration, however, proved far less



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accommodating to this policy than their pre­de­ces­sors, and in August 2017, President Trump directed that the DoD could no longer recruit trans ­people. This ban was struck down by the federal courts, and the recruitment of trans ­people began anew on January 1, 2018. Three months ­later, in March, President Trump announced that the DoD must expel trans ­people from the military. As with the ­earlier attempt to end trans recruitment, this policy was also embroiled in a court case.45 DAILY LIFE The daily lives of American ser­vicemen and ser­vicewomen depended heavi­ly upon their branch of ser­vice and where they happened to be stationed. The United States maintained large bases at Bagram, Jalalabad, and Kandahar that h­ oused thousands of personnel and included extensive amenities; the base at Kandahar Airfield famously ­housed a Tim Horton’s coffee shop and a T.G.I. Friday’s restaurant, among numerous other businesses and restaurants along its “boardwalk.” Recreation facilities could include exercise equipment, video games, and satellite tele­vi­sion.46 However, the emphasis upon counterinsurgency that began as early as 2003 but was formalized following General McChrystal’s review in 2009 led to very dif­fer­ent living conditions for front-­line personnel.47 Many smaller bases, sometimes referred to as vehicle patrol bases (VPBs) but most commonly as combat outposts (COPs), ­were isolated, austere bases usually large enough to accommodate he­li­cop­ter landing facilities but often containing no r­ unning ­water.48 The widely varying living conditions at American bases also affected the foods they ate. The large airbases and major forward operating bases (FOBs) all contained their own dining facilities and produced up to four meals a day for personnel. Even though ­these bases ­were all part of the same logistical system that supplied the war effort in Af­ghan­i­stan, personnel insisted that the quality of food varied from base to base, with some amusingly attempting to review the quality of food at each fa­cil­i­ty.49 ­Those who did not have access to a mess hall ­because they ­were in remote locations or out in the field relied upon the ubiquitous meals ready to eat (MREs) rations issued to U.S. personnel. MREs contained food heated to very high temperatures and then vacuum-­sealed to give them a three-­year shelf life. MREs are high in calories—­not a prob­lem for personnel in the field who are often working hard—­ but some argued that they did not provide a very balanced diet.50 As the American presence wound down in Af­ghan­i­stan in 2013, the military sought to create efficiencies in their supply networks by cutting back on some amenities, including the number of hot meals served to troops daily. This forced personnel to eat MREs for at least one meal a day.51 The uniforms worn by American soldiers have also under­gone major changes. When the war in Af­ghan­i­stan began in 2001, most personnel wore tan and brown desert camouflage uniforms (DCUs) identical to ­those worn in Operation Desert Storm in 1991. T ­ hese uniforms, along with the predominantly green b­ attle dress uniform (BDU), have been shared across the Department of Defense for the past two de­cades. Beginning in 2002, however, the Marine Corps began to issue its own uniforms based upon a unique design. Known as the Marine Corps combat utility

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uniform, it featured a revolutionary digitally created camouflage called Marine Pattern or Marpat. The camouflage pattern was quite popu­lar and proved effective, but the Marine Corps waged bureaucratic b­ attles for more than a de­cade against the other ser­vices to prevent them from copying the pattern into their own uniforms. By 2005, the army de­cided to replace its DCUs and BDUs with its own digitally created pattern uniform known as the army combat uniform (ACU). The pattern incorporated tan, brown, green, and gray into a universal pattern that could theoretically be worn in any combat environment from cities to forests to the desert. In practice, however, the camouflage did not always prove effective. Making ­matters worse, the supposedly strong fabric of the uniform proved especially susceptible to ripping, especially around the crotch of the pants. Eventually, the army began issuing its soldiers in Af­ghan­i­stan uniforms with a brown and green pattern known as Multicam that provided much more effective cover for soldiers, although some personnel in the field continued to complain that ­these new uniforms easily ripped. The U.S. Air Force and the U.S. Navy also issued their own unique uniform designs in response to the moves made by the U.S. Army and U.S. Marine Corps. The airman ­battle uniform featured a Vietnam-­inspired camouflage scheme with colors similar to the ACU, while the navy released a camouflage uniform similar to the Marpat for its forces, who often served on the Provincial Reconstruction Teams that aided in Af­ghan­i­stan’s physical and economic reconstruction. Unfortunately, the proliferation of all of ­these dif­fer­ent uniform designs has resulted in bureaucratic ­battles and unnecessary fiscal costs and has prevented the ser­vices from adopting a common uniform design similar to the old BDUs and DCUs that personnel had worn in 2001.52 RELIGION Religion is one of the most impor­tant issues surrounding the War on Terror and the war in Af­ghan­i­stan. Beginning in the 1970s, prominent and wealthy Saudi Arabians exported a conservative interpretation of Islam known as Wahabbism into other countries, especially Pakistan, through the funding of mosques and schools known as madrassas. Over time, the traditions associated with Wahabbism often overwhelmed the local, typically more moderate interpretations of Islam found in ­these other countries. Wahabbi-­funded madrassas drew in numerous Pashtuns, who, inspired by the adoption of their new interpretation of the faith, waged jihad against the Soviets in Af­ghan­i­stan. Osama bin Laden and many foreign fighters inspired by this religion also joined the fight and formed al Qaeda in 1988. The victory over the Soviets did ­little to cool the ardor of bin Laden, who then began to view the United States as an e­ nemy when U.S. and other western forces occupied his native Saudi Arabia during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm.53 Yet even as religion helped inspire and cause the wars, the United States consciously sought to de-­emphasize the effect of religion in crafting its response. Soon ­after the September 11 attacks, President George W. Bush made an impassioned plea for tolerance of Muslims living in the United Sates, declaring that, “Islam is Peace.”54 Unfortunately, just two days ­after this declaration, the president referred to the infant War on Terror as a “crusade,” a term that many Eu­ro­pean and Muslim



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leaders recoiled from ­because of its linkage to the series of devastating conflicts between Christian Eu­rope and the Muslim world that stretched across multiple centuries.55 The military, like the remainder of the U.S. government, is a secular institution, but religion is one of its most impor­tant social and cultural components. Even in the narrower social confines of the all-­volunteer military, broader social trends in civil society ­will inevitably carry over into the military. The rise of evangelical Chris­tian­ity in the latter half of the twentieth c­ entury was no dif­fer­ent, and Protestant Christian denominations grew to have increasing social influence as more officers and enlisted personnel identified as evangelical. This came into conflict with the long-­standing military chaplains who had generally sought to maintain nondenominational spiritual agency. Even though the evangelical movement peaked during the 1990s and 2000s, it remains a potent cultural force.56 Yet some found the growing religious influence within the armed forces distasteful and sought to counteract what they viewed as an undue influence. In 2005, Michael “Mikey” Weinstein founded the Military Religious Freedom Foundation to counteract what he described as “dominionist” activities that he believed had contributed to the anti-­Semitism he and his sons had experienced at times during his air force c­ areer. The following year, the group received a major boost when Texas billionaire and former presidential candidate H. Ross Perot made significant

U.S. Army chaplain Major Dawud Agbere answers a question from Afghan National Army sergeant Mohammad Ikram, Forward Operating Base Lightning, Af­ghan­i­stan, June 19, 2013. One of four Muslim chaplains in the U.S. Army, Agbere traveled throughout Af­ghan­i­stan, helping to build social and cultural connections between the U.S. Army and the Afghan National Army. (U.S. Army photo by U.S. National Guard staff sergeant Jerry Saslav, 129th Mobile Public Affairs)

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donations to the group that allowed it to pursue protest and l­egal campaigns to further its agenda. Since its founding, the MRFF has waged many campaigns to limit the intrusion of religion into the military sphere, such as fighting to remove Bibles placed in navy lodges by the Gideons and criticizing the use of religious scriptures that justified war in training programs for nuclear officers.57

POPU­L AR CULTURE The September 11 attacks that marked the beginning of the War on Terror and the subsequent invasion of Af­ghan­i­stan inspired a dizzying array of works of art. Within days of the attacks, tele­vi­sion shows, especially ­those filmed or recorded in New York, addressed the events. ­These included talk shows such as The Late Show With David Letterman, Saturday Night Live, and The Daily Show. In addition, the dramatic series Third Watch aired episodes depicting the hours before the attacks and the days and weeks afterwards as its characters pro­cessed the events of the day and even spent shifts working at the former World Trade Center site nicknamed “Ground Zero.” The series West Wing aired a special episode of the series in which the characters of the drama discussed events of the day as they endured a lockdown during a major terrorist attack. Even series such as the animated satire South Park, which had already featured Saddam Hussein in a recurring role, featured Osama bin Laden in a Looney Tunes–­inspired episode.58 For a time, Hollywood sought to avoid any controversy by eliminating any reminder of the World Trade Center from its properties. This included the deletion of scenes innocuously showing the World Trade Center towers as New York landmarks in films such as the comedy Zoolander and temporarily removing an episode of the animated comedy The Simpsons from syndication that depicted the titular ­family’s visit to the towers that aired nearly four years before the attacks. Elsewhere, for a time, broadcasters edited disaster films such as Armageddon and Deep Impact, both released in 1998, that showed the buildings aflame from a meteor strike in the former to their destruction by a tsunami caused by a meteor impact in the latter film. In time, many of ­these temporary changes ­were undone, and the World Trade Center returned to both the big and small screens as a ghostly reminder of its existence.59 A number of notable ­music artists addressed the attacks, too. The hip hop group Wu Tang Clan released the song “Rules” in December 2001 that expressed solidarity with the efforts to hunt down the perpetrators of the attacks. More prominently, country ­music star Toby Keith completed a song soon ­after September 11 at least partially inspired by the war in Af­ghan­i­stan titled “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (The Angry American).” The song became a hit, reaching number one on country m ­ usic charts and even enjoying some success on pop radio stations. Keith ­later wrote a follow-up song that appeared in 2003 titled “American Soldier” that he explic­itly linked to the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band wrote most of their 2002 ­album The Rising in response to the attacks and even adapted older songs, such as “My City of Ruins” to symbolically address the effect of the attacks on New York City.



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Meanwhile, other musical artists took a more critical and, at times, conspiratorial tone ­toward the attacks. Staunchly feminist punk rockers Sleater-­K inney released the song “Combat Rock” in 2002 that explic­itly called upon citizens to question and protest against what they saw as a drumbeat for war propagated by the Bush administration. L ­ ater, industrial metal group Ministry released the a­ lbum Rio Grande Blood in 2006 that featured numerous songs critical of the Bush administration and the war in Iraq, and even jokingly suggested that Osama bin Laden was hiding at Bush’s personal ranch outside Crawford, Texas. The longest-­lasting influence of the September 11 attacks has been in the subtle iconography that appeared in numerous works afterwards. Films such as Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds (2005) depicted victims of an alien invasion disappearing into piles of ash in a nod to the omnipresent dust created by the collapse of the towers. Another Spielberg film, Munich (2006), linked the events of the film about the purported assassination of Palestinian terrorists a­ fter the death of Israeli athletes during the 1972 Olympic Games by showing the World Trade Center in its final shot. The tele­vi­sion series Battlestar Galactica (2003–2008) updated a campy 1970s science fiction show to become a longform allegory for the War on Terror, civil–­military relations, insurgency, and many other topics that had become part of the post–­September 11 public debate. Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy—­ Batman Begins (2005), The Dark Knight (2008), and The Dark Knight Rises (2012)—­also featured numerous allusions to the War on Terror as the titular hero strug­gled to make Gotham City safe from a series of ever more dangerous threats.60 Hollywood has also released many films about the war in Af­ghan­i­stan, although the number of films about the conflict pale in comparison to the concurrent war in Iraq. B ­ ecause of the rapid downfall of the Taliban and the relative lack of U.S. personnel in Af­ghan­i­stan ­until 2009, the war did not lead to the release of any films ­until ­after it had been ongoing for many years. To be fair, this matched Hollywood’s slow reaction to the Soviet war in Af­ghan­i­stan in the 1980s as films such as Spies Like Us (1985), The Living Daylights (1987), and Rambo III (1988) only appeared many years into the decade-­long conflict. The September 11 attacks that led to U.S. involvement in Af­ghan­i­stan led to the release of a number of works. ­These included a documentary released in 2002 and broadcast on the CBS tele­vi­sion network titled 9/11. Shot by two French filmmakers following a rookie New York firefighter undergoing training, they had inadvertently shot the only footage of American Airlines Flight 11 hitting the North Tower. The documentary then chronicles the ­brothers as they accompanied firefighters and other emergency ser­vices to the World Trade Center during rescue operations and filmed the demise of the two main towers and the chaos of the day. In 2006, director Oliver Stone ­later produced a fictional film about Port Authority officers during the attacks titled World Trade Center in time for the fifth anniversary of the attacks. Stone’s film, however, was overshadowed by Paul Greengrass’ United 93, released a few months ­earlier to critical acclaim. The latter film starred mostly unknown actors alongside real-­life participants in the events of the day focusing on the vari­ous responses to the hijacking of the four airliners, climaxing with the passengers of the titular flight trying—­and failing—to retake control of their aircraft. The film went on to earn two Acad­emy Award nominations.

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Two of the earliest films about the United States in Af­ghan­i­stan appeared in 2007, although they covered fictionalized events and chronicled a pivotal moment from the ­earlier Soviet-­Afghan War, respectively. The first, Robert Redford’s Lions for Lambs, told three seemingly disconnected stories that grappled with the politics and the strategy of war while showing the effects of t­ hese decisions on individual soldiers. The film was a dud with both critics and audiences and left ­little mark on the debates over the war. Mike Nichols’ Charlie Wilson’s War, an adaptation of George Crile III’s 2003 book, appeared a month ­after Lions for Lambs and told the story of Texas Representative Charlie Wilson’s efforts in the 1980s to support the mujahedeen with modern weaponry to aid their fight against the Soviets. In par­ tic­u­lar, Wilson became known for his advocacy to have advanced Stinger man-­ portable antiaircraft missiles sent to Af­ghan­i­stan to better allow the insurgents to shoot down Soviet he­li­cop­ter gunships. Only in its closing moments did the film directly touch upon con­temporary policy by criticizing the lack of American attention paid to Afghan reconstruction in the 1990s, a decision that the film argues directly led to the September 11 attacks and the subsequent U.S. invasion. Unlike Lions for Lambs, Charlie Wilson’s War turned a profit and earned excellent reviews and nominations for numerous awards. Perhaps the first noteworthy film about the ­later war in Af­ghan­is­ tan did not originate with Hollywood, but rather a documentary shot by two journalists; the 2010 film Restrepo was co-­directed by British-­born photographer Tim Hetherington and American journalist Sebastian Junger. It chronicles a year that the two spent with a platoon manning the “KOP,” or Combat Outpost Korengal, as well as the smaller Outpost Restrepo. The outpost and film took their name from Private First Class Juan Restrepo, a member of the platoon killed on July 22, 2007, in a firefight in the Korengal Valley in eastern Af­ghan­is­ tan. The Korengalis come from the small Pashai tribe and are ethnically and linguistically dif­fer­ent from the ­peoples in neighboring valleys, and this has led to cultural isolation. The documentary showed the men from the platoon engaging with the local population, fighting against suspected insurgents, and staving off boredom while occupying t­ hese spartan outposts in an isolated corner of Af­ghan­i­stan. Hetherington ­later died while filming the civil war in Libya, but Junger released a book, War, based on his experiences, as well as a second film, Korengal, based upon unused footage from Restrepo.61 In addition, Restrepo paved the way for further documentaries about the war, including The ­Battle for Marjah (2010) produced by the HBO tele­vi­sion network. In showing the isolated, intimate nature of the counterinsurgency mission that contrasted the intensity of small-­unit combat with the boredom and monotony of life inside a small and isolated outpost, Restrepo remains perhaps the most striking document of the war in Af­ghan­i­stan. The 2011 raid on Abbottabad, launched from Jalalabad Airfield, inspired director Kathryn Bigelow and screenwriter Mark Boal to chronicle the mission and the decade-­long hunt for bin Laden in their 2012 film Zero Dark Thirty. The film condenses the group of mostly female CIA analysts who searched for bin Laden into a single character, Maya, as she pursues leads on the terrorist leader’s whereabouts for eight years. The proj­ect was announced shortly ­after the raid occurred and reportedly received extensive cooperation from the Department of Defense,



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although some criticized the film’s attitude ­toward the torture of suspected terrorists and its depiction of a real-­life suicide attack by a double agent on a CIA outpost in Khost Province in 2009. T ­ hese shortcomings, however, did not prevent the film from becoming a hit at the box office and attracting strong reviews and many prominent award nominations. Arguably, this film is perhaps the best produced to date about the United States in Af­ghan­i­stan and the War on Terror. Following the critical and financial success of Zero Dark Thirty, Hollywood continued adapting events from the long war in Af­ghan­i­stan into feature films. Peter Berg’s Lone Survivor (2014) is based on the memoir of Marcus Luttrell, the only surviving member of a SEAL team sent to reconnoiter a small Afghan village and determine the whereabouts of an insurgent leader, Ahmad Shah, in 2005. Local herders accidentally stumbled onto the four-­man team and notified the insurgents, prompting a lengthy firefight that left three of the SEALs dead. As shown in the film, Luttrell himself only survived ­because of the Pashtunwali tradition of harboring guests, no ­matter their background. The film went on to earn solid reviews and box office receipts, although it did not receive the same level of critical praise as Zero Dark Thirty. Three additional ­later films furthered this trend. In 2016, Paramount released Whiskey Tango Foxtrot from co-­directors Glenn Ficara and John Requa and produced by and starring Tina Fey of Saturday Night Live fame. The team adapted Kim Barker’s memoir Taliban Shuffle: Strange Days in Af­ghan­i­stan and Pakistan into a chronicle of a journalist attempting to cover the war in Af­ghan­i­stan at ­great personal and professional cost. In 2017, Netflix released David Michod’s War Machine, which adapted the Max Hastings book The Operators that grew out of the late journalist’s interviews with General Stanley McChrystal and his staff that eventually led to the general’s resignation in 2010. It told a fictionalized story of the first year of the surge in Af­ghan­i­stan that strongly criticizes the continued U.S. commitment to what is seen as a failing war. Fi­nally, in 2018, Warner ­Brothers released 12 Strong, a film produced by long-­time Hollywood action-­film mogul Jerry Bruckheimer. It adapted Doug Stanton’s nonfiction book The Horse Soldiers, which chronicled the first Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) teams of special forces sent into Af­ghan­i­stan prior to the start of the American aerial campaign on October 7, 2001. ­These events had attracted much attention, at least in part b­ ecause of the need for the U.S. soldiers to ­ride on ­horse­back with their Afghan partners, but many found the film to be ridden with clichés. Ultimately, none of ­these three films attracted good reviews or large audiences. The lit­er­a­ture about the war in Af­ghan­i­stan is unique b­ ecause many of the highest-­profile works have been authored by Afghan and Afghan Americans. Khaled Hosseini, a native Afghan who eventually earned American citizenship, attracted worldwide acclaim for his first novel, The Kite Runner (2003). The novel follows an Afghan boy and his relationships with friends and ­family that spans from the 1960s up the downfall of the Taliban. Hosseini ­later followed up his debut success with A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007), a novel about Afghan ­women from dif­fer­ent generations that also is set during the Soviet occupation, Taliban rule, and post-2001 era. ­These novels are not explic­itly about war and combat but offer unique insights into Afghan culture and life during the respective regimes. Hosseini’s

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success also inspired ­others to share their stories, including Qais Akbar Omar with his autobiographical novel A Fort of Nine Towers (2013). Omar’s novel covers a ­family’s strug­gle for survival during the Soviet occupation and u­ nder the thumb of the Taliban. Elliott Ackerman’s Green on Blue (2015) is unique ­because of Ackerman’s background as a marine who deployed multiple times to Af­ghan­i­stan. Yet, like his Afghan American counter­parts, his novel is written from an Afghan perspective and follows a young man who joins a U.S.-­backed militia in the wake of the 2001 invasion. ­These books have all met with acclaim and have provided American reading audiences with a unique perspective on the war in Af­ghan­is­ tan.62 The collection of short stories edited by Matt Gallagher and Roy Scranton, Fire and Forget (2013), offers many dif­fer­ent perspectives on the wars in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq and received excellent reviews.63 Yet as of 2018, the war in Af­ghan­i­stan lacks a defining novel from an American perspective akin to Ben Fountain’s Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk (2012) or Kevin Powers’ The Yellow Birds (2013) about the war in Iraq or the many works of Tim O’Brien and o­ thers about the Vietnam War. PAY AND COMPENSATION The War on Terror and the war in Af­ghan­i­stan led to a dramatic change in the financial fortunes for American military personnel. Military pay had historically waxed and waned, with the 1990s in par­tic­u­lar serving as a low point. According to some estimates, pay for enlisted personnel ­rose relative to civilians with equivalent educational experience, but relative compensation for the officer corps had fallen relative to civilians with a bachelor’s degree. Just prior to the beginning of the war in Af­ghan­is­ tan, Congress began to address compensation for military members, though many of t­ hese early pieces of legislation addressed benefits more than salaries. ­These included many expansions to the military health care program known as Tricare. The public popularity of the wars, however, fueled even more increases to pay and benefits. In early 2002, military members received a historically large pay increase that averaged 6.9 ­percent. For the remainder of the de­cade, annual pay increases well outpaced the rate of inflation, which boosted military pay and compensation to rec­ord highs relative to civilian pay. ­These pay increases slowed significantly during the Obama administration and growing fiscal pressures, but pay and benefits to military personnel, on average, remained above that of civilians with equivalent education and experience.64 The increases in base pay successfully reversed the trend in military pay, but pay increases alone ­were not enough of an incentive for the Department of Defense to continue to expand the army and the marine corps while fighting two wars. In order to retain enough personnel to send to both Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan, the Department of Defense increasingly relied upon cash re-­enlistment bonuses to maintain manpower levels. Depending on an individual’s skillset and ­whether or not their specialty was in demand in a combat zone, they could earn anywhere from $10,000 to $150,000, although the high amounts w ­ ere extremely rare. By 2007, t­ hese bonus payments cost the DoD more than $1 billion annually, and some of t­hese re-­ enlistment bonuses remained in place in 2018 despite the dramatically reduced number of U.S. forces deployed to overseas combat zones in recent years.65



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Still, in spite of the post-2001 pay increases, some sectors of the military continue to strug­gle financially. In 2013, Census Bureau data revealed that more than 20,000 military families received food stamps, and a quarter of military families qualify for free-­or reduced-­price meals for schoolchildren. Some of ­these data suggest that the prob­lem may be focused upon areas with high costs of living, such as California, but it also suggests that the pay raises have only partially alleviated the prob­lems faced by military families over the past two de­cades.66 WEAPONRY U.S. forces entered Af­ghan­i­stan in 2001 with an arsenal of legacy weapons first introduced during the Cold War. The M16 ­rifle carried by most soldiers and marines had first been developed in the late 1950s and entered ser­vice in the early 1960s. It was an advanced weapon for its day b­ ecause of its light weight and its use of a smaller, 5.56-mm round capable of achieving higher velocities than the previous, heavier .30-­caliber ammunition in use since the turn of the ­century. Despite many early complaints from soldiers fighting in Vietnam about the ­rifle’s reliability that led to several investigations, updated and refined versions of the M16 remained the primary U.S. infantry ­rifle through the remainder of that war and through Operation Desert Storm. When Operation Enduring Freedom began, the U.S. military had started introducing the M16A4, a variant of the ­rifle that removed the old iron sights and visually distinctive carry­ing h­ andle in ­favor of a variety of modular optical sights and other equipment. Still, in spite of the four de­cades of improvements, some soldiers in Af­ghan­i­stan reported continued prob­lems with the weapon. During the ­Battle of Wanat in July 2008, in which nine U.S. soldiers died in a fight with insurgents attempting to overrun their incomplete outpost, some of the soldiers’ ­rifles jammed and directly led to casualties. By the late 2000s, the U.S. Army started deploying units to Af­ghan­i­stan carry­ ing the M4 carbine, a shortened version of the M16 introduced in the 1990s and previously used exclusively by special operations units. The M4’s extra grips, lighter weight, and smaller dimensions made the weapon popu­lar with soldiers even though the basic design sometimes suffered from the same faults as the original M16. It remained the primary r­ ifle carried by U.S. forces through the end of 2017. Similar issues dogged the primary sidearm for U.S. soldiers, the M9 9-mm pistol developed by Beretta. ­Adopted in 1985, the M9 controversially replaced the venerable M1911 .45-­caliber pistol, but the new pistol suffered from design flaws and reliability issues. Even though remedies had been introduced to the weapon, a 2005 survey by the Center for Naval Analyses (CNA) found that 46 ­percent of soldiers ­were “not confident” in the M9’s ability to operate effectively in combat, far more than for any other small arm carried by U.S. personnel. The Belgian-­designed M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) had been introduced in the 1980s to replace the older Vietnam-­era M60 machine gun. Like the M16, it instead used the 5.56-mm round in place of .30-­caliber ammunition and sought to maximize portability. The SAW occupied a critical place in small American infantry units ­because of its ability to deliver automatic fire, a key ele­ment in the “fire and maneuver” tactics favored by the U.S. military. The 2005 CNA

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survey found much dissatisfaction with both the reliability and the durability of the weapon, and other studies noted that the weapons rusted at a much higher rate than desired.67 The issues with all of ­these weapons combined with concerns about the development of more effective body armor and the length of time many of ­these designs had been in ser­vice caused the U.S. military to explore alternatives in the 2010s. The U.S. Marine Corps ­adopted the M27 Infantry Automatic ­Rifle in 2011 to replace the M249 in its inventory and has explored replacing the M4—of which the M27 shares some visual similarities but uses a very dif­fer­ent design—­with the M27 too. The army has explored new ­rifle designs, too, but as of 2018, has yet to make any final decisions. In 2017, however, the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force ­adopted the Sig-­Sauer–­designed M17 pistol ­after a multiyear competition to replace aging M9s in their inventories.68 Even though the counterinsurgency effort placed a strong emphasis on the value of individual soldiers, U.S. forces used heavier weapons to deadly effect against concentrations of ­enemy forces. Infantry units employed 40-mm grenade launchers, ­whether individually or as crew-­served weapons that could provide localized fire support. Infantry battalions included mortars capable of delivering shells from 60 mm to 120 mm up to more than four miles away. At the extreme end, U.S. forces could also rely upon artillery pieces, including the M777 howitzer that first entered ser­vice in 2005. T ­ hese weapons, typically stationed in American combat outposts, could deliver global position system (GPS)–­aided rounds up to 25 miles away. In addition to this firepower, U.S. forces relied upon superior mobility to gain an edge in Af­ghan­is­ tan. This included the ubiquitous Humvee truck, although their vulnerability to small-­arms fire and especially improvised explosive devices (IEDs) led to their replacement in combat zones by MRAPs in the late 2000s. Armored vehicles, such as the M1 Abrams tank and M2/M3 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles, likewise saw ser­vice in Af­ghan­i­stan, although ­these ­were more concentrated in the open terrain common to southern Af­ghan­i­stan. During the 1990s, the United States began developing a new generation of weapons systems as part of an ongoing “transformation” effort to exponentially increase combat capability, mobility, and lethality. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was a major proponent of t­hese efforts, although this did not prevent him from cancelling the Comanche scout he­li­cop­ter and Crusader artillery programs during his tenure. One program that did survive, however, was the Stryker Interim Armored Vehicle (IAV). Intended to provide a balance between protection and ease of transport, Strykers first saw combat in Iraq in late 2003 and ­were ­later deployed to Af­ghan­i­stan. Unfortunately, t­hese vehicles still proved vulnerable to insurgent attacks, prompting the Department of Defense to upgrade their armor.69 Fi­nally, U.S. forces relied extensively on their fleets of he­li­cop­ters. Gunships such as the AH-64 Apache and AH-1 Cobra could provide support for ground forces using rockets, cannons, and guided missiles. The United States also used OH-58 Kiowas in an armed scouting role for many years in Af­ghan­i­stan u­ ntil their eventual withdrawal from that role in 2017. T ­ hese armed he­li­cop­ters could provide rapid support and offered yet another layer of protection to troops.



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The UH-60 Black Hawk he­li­cop­ter also saw extensive ser­vice in Af­ghan­i­stan, ­ hether as a conventional troop transport or as a “dustoff” unit designed to transw port wounded personnel out of a combat zone and to a hospital. Still, Black Hawks could not always reach the high altitudes of Af­ghan­i­stan’s mountainous regions, leading U.S. forces to utilize heavier transports when pos­si­ble. The V-22 Osprey, a tilt-­rotor aircraft in development since the 1980s that could take off and land vertically while flying as a fixed-­wing aircraft, fi­nally entered ser­vice in the 2000s and offered a new tool to move personnel and equipment throughout the country. The venerable CH-47 Chinook, a heavy two-­rotor he­li­cop­ter that first saw ser­vice in the 1960s, continued to provide yeoman ser­vice throughout the war in Af­ghan­i­stan and could reach many of the most rugged, high-­altitude combat zones in the country. COMBAT Combat experiences in both the War on Terror and the war in Af­ghan­i­stan could at once be disconnected from the battlefield and also very intimate. Perhaps the most defining feature of ­these conflicts is that the U.S. military only rarely relied upon the massed formations of infantry and armor that defined both the preferred practice and common public perceptions of the military. The first U.S. personnel in Af­ghan­i­stan ­were ­either parts of elite units, such as the Delta Force ODA teams inserted into Af­ghan­i­stan in September and October 2001 to advise and assist the extant Northern Alliance forces, or pi­lots of U.S. aircraft ranging from smaller fighter-­bombers to B-52s sent to deliver ordnance on Taliban targets. The ODA units at times engaged well-­protected targets as part of mounted formations while supported by co­ali­tion airstrikes. For ­those on the ground, the combat could be an intense affair, while the lack of a strong Taliban air defense network and the increased use of bombs guided to their targets by the GPS known as Joint Direct Attack Munitions, or JDAMs, often made sorties of fixed-­wing aircraft by American pi­lots and aviators over Af­ghan­i­stan feel routine. This did not mean that all American aircraft could operate in Af­ghan­i­stan with impunity; he­li­cop­ters, especially the large, ungainly CH-47 Chinooks that the army relied upon to transport large numbers of men into b­ attle, offered inviting targets to the insurgents. In 2005 and twice in 2011, insurgents shot down Chinooks, and two of ­these—­one landed safely—­caused some of the largest mass casualty events for American personnel throughout the entire war.70 Once the concentrations of Taliban forces had been destroyed or fled into Pakistan and U.S. forces shifted into counterterrorism and counterinsurgency missions by 2003, the dynamic of combat shifted somewhat. The combat burden mostly fell on U.S. and co­ali­tion forces ­because the Afghan National Army was perpetually ­behind schedule in meeting its training and manpower requirements. To be fair, the demise of the Taliban did create some sense of calm in Af­ghan­i­stan for a few years, but this did not mean that ­there was no action. Elite units often played an impor­tant role in the war in Af­ghan­i­stan ­because of the nature of the mission. Special forces played critical roles in many of the initial engagements of the war, such as the aid provided to the Northern Alliance, the

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pursuit into Tora Bora, and Operation Anaconda. ­These included Navy Sea Air Land (SEAL)s, Army Rangers, and other units. In addition to using elite units, the co­ali­tion from the outset of the conflict sought to maximize their advantages in firepower and mobility, but this sometimes proved difficult ­because the terrain of Af­ghan­i­stan often dictated the nature of the fighting. At Tora Bora in late 2001, the rugged mountains and high altitude prevented the U.S. and Afghan forces from closing in on the cave complex thought to be housing Osama bin Laden and Taliban leaders.71 Just a few months ­later, the co­ali­tion executed Operation Anaconda in the Shahikot Valley in Paktia Province. In a harbinger of many ­battles to come, some of the most pitched fighting occurred on the nearby mountain of Takur Ghar at approximately 10,000 feet above sea level as Taliban and al Qaeda fighters sought to escape the co­ali­tion forces clearing the valley below. Terrain also played a role in the death of former National Football League star Pat Tillman in a firefight in April 2004. Tillman, who was in line for a lucrative contract but joined the army alongside his ­brother and subsequently qualified to join the army’s elite 75th Ranger Regiment, was driving with the lead ele­ment of his platoon ­toward a village in Khost Province when the second ele­ment ­behind them came ­under attack. Led by the platoon leader, the first ele­ment that included Tillman left their vehicles and sought positions above the roadway where the second ele­ment had taken fire. This first ele­ment had attempted to signal the second to notify them of their positions, but t­ hese messages did not reach a portion of the second ele­ment in time. The second ele­ment saw fire coming from above the roadway and returned fire, killing Tillman and a nearby Afghan soldier. ­W hether ­because of the embarrassment of a friendly-­fire incident or ­because of Tillman’s public profile, the army reported his death having occurred at the hands of the ­enemy and did not reveal the true sequence of events ­until many months ­later.72 The danger of dispersing forces to conduct the counterinsurgency mission appears when the ­enemy can mass forces on a weaker target. Furthermore, in spite of the incredible sensors and advanced technology available to U.S. forces, the insurgents could gather and attack in almost total surprise. This occurred in Af­ghan­ i­stan on multiple occasions, most prominently during the ­Battle of Wanat in July 2008. Units from the 173rd Airborne Brigade had controlled a series of isolated outposts throughout the Pech River Valley in Kunar Province in eastern Af­ghan­i­ stan. Near the end of their deployment, they sought to consolidate ­these outposts, oftentimes placing them in population centers to increase the opportunities for engagement with local leaders and the public. One of ­these new outposts was to be established near the village of Wanat, but before the soldiers could complete construction, a force of at least 150 e­ nemy fighters ambushed the outnumbered Americans. They overwhelmed the defenses and forced the Americans into a small perimeter before superior American training and firepower fi­nally forced the fighters to withdraw. Thirteen American soldiers died in the b­ attle, and it led to a series of controversial investigations as the army and the public sought to assign blame for the tragedy.73 A similar event occurred the following year near the village of Kamdesh in Nuristan Province adjacent to Kunar. American forces had established COP



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Three wounded U.S. Army soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division are prepared for evacuation by he­li­cop­ter in Kamdesh, Nuristan, August 27, 2006. Islamic militants ambushed an American patrol with automatic weapons and rocket-­propelled grenades, in an engagement typical of the conflict in Af­ghan­i­stan. (Robert Nickelsberg/Getty Images)

Keating to extend its influence into the remote, rugged province, but had de­cided to close the outpost ­because it was adjacent to a river and surrounded on multiple sides by higher terrain, making it vulnerable to attack. In October, an insurgent force of 300 overwhelmed an outlying observation post and then streamed into the COP. ­Under heavy fire from all directions, the defenders formed a small perimeter around the COP’s aid station and a few other structures. With heavy air support, the defenders rallied to force the insurgents out of the COP a­ fter a 12-­hour ­battle. Eight U.S. soldiers ­were killed and 27 wounded, while the insurgents lost at least 150 men.74 To further mitigate U.S. advantages in firepower and training, insurgents eventually a­ dopted IEDs to destroy co­ali­tion vehicles. IEDs proved especially deadly during the early years of the U.S. occupation of Iraq ­because of the frequent use of lightly armored Humvee trucks to transport personnel. The Taliban saw their effectiveness and began using them in greater numbers. First used in the southern part of the country to mitigate co­ali­tion advantages in mobility, eventually their use spread to other parts of the country, such as the deadly Pech River Valley in Kunar Province. To c­ ounter their success, the United States introduced the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicle into Af­ghan­i­stan ­after 2007, but one mea­ sure shows that at least half of U.S. combat deaths in Af­ghan­i­stan occurred ­because of IEDs.75

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At other times, the insurgents sought to inflict casualties against the co­ali­tion using suicide attacks against so-­called “soft targets.” ­T hese attacks allowed the insurgents to target personnel away from the front lines to po­liti­cal and psychological effect and avoided the possibility of pitched ­battles against superior co­ali­ tion forces. At times, this included a series of “green on blue” incidents where a Taliban sympathizer infiltrated the Afghan National Security Forces and killed co­ali­tion personnel. The most prominent of ­these attacks occurred in August 2014 when a suspected insurgent killed U.S. Army Major General Harold Greene during a visit to a training fa­cil­i­ty.76 ­These suicide attacks also included bombings, and nowhere was this strategy more apparent than in the capital city of Kabul. As the Taliban rebuilt its strength by 2009, they launched an increasingly deadly series of attacks that, at times, targeted the Afghan government, co­ali­tion forces, and prominent officials. Specific targets included the Indian Embassy, the NATO headquarters building, the Afghan presidential palace, the Afghan parliament, h­ otels that catered to westerners, and, in April 2018, a double-­suicide bombing that targeted western journalists covering the war in Af­ghan­i­stan.77 ELITE TROOPS From the perspective of American combatants, the war in Af­ghan­is­ tan has oscillated between two extremes: the period immediately preceding and during the “surge” dominated by the appearance of regular units, and the remainder of the war in which elite special forces units shouldered a significant portion of the combat burden. T ­ hese units included U.S. Navy SEALs; Marine Force Recon units; and the Rangers, Special Forces Groups, and Delta Force units from the U.S. Army. During the early phase of the war, Delta Force teams and o­ thers connected with Northern Alliance units on the ground and made for a potent combination that, critically, did not require large numbers of regular units to deploy to Af­ghan­ i­stan quickly. The regular units that did deploy to Af­g han­is­ tan, beginning with the 10th Mountain Division by late 2001 and ­later followed by the 82nd Airborne Division, often had elite reputations even if their official status as elite units was debatable. Noticeable differences existed between special forces and regular units, including their specialized equipment, advanced training, and notorious disdain for grooming regulations. This masked the incredible hardships for ­these units ­because they became so vital to the war effort that they deployed multiple times to Af­ghan­ i­stan as well as Iraq and other countries where the United States supported counterterrorism and counterinsurgency missions. In addition, the length of the deployments for special forces units could vary far more than t­ hose of regular units, thus imposing extra burdens upon ­those personnel and their families. In spite of their outsized presence in the public sphere, the use of special forces in Af­ghan­i­stan was not without controversy. During the long period in which the Taliban slowly reconstituted and then during and ­after the surge, elite units often served in a counterterrorism capacity. They sought out and engaged so-­called high-­ value targets (HVTs). Unfortunately, ­these counterterrorism missions often involved nighttime raids into Afghan villages to locate suspected terrorists or insurgent



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leaders. The intrusiveness of t­hese raids led to widespread criticism, eventually compelling the Afghan government in 2012 to insist that any such raids be conducted by Afghan commando units that American advisors had trained.78 As of this writing in 2018, special forces units continue to deploy to Af­ghan­i­stan to provide support for the local government. Even as the bulk of American forces appear unlikely to return in Af­ghan­i­stan in any numbers rivaling that of the surge, it is almost a given that special forces units ­will continue to comprise a significant portion of the American deployment to Af­ghan­i­stan for the foreseeable f­ uture. HEALTH AND MEDICINE The U.S. military brought to Af­ghan­i­stan an advanced medical system that had built upon lessons from previous wars to provide care for battlefield wounds. This medical system was a joint and international affair, incorporating medical professionals from all branches of the U.S. military as well as from other NATO member countries who also had forces in Af­ghan­i­stan. Per NATO guidelines, three levels of medical care existed in Af­ghan­i­stan. The lowest tier, Role 1, consisted of battalion aid stations and treated minor wounds and injuries of soldiers. Role 2 facilities handled more serious cases, but ­were only equivalent to the urgent care facilities that operated back in the United States. The highest level in Af­ghan­i­stan was Role 3, which provided major surgical care. The primary Role 3 fa­cil­i­ty was a hospital that operated at the Kandahar Airfield in southern Af­ghan­i­stan.79 The increasing effectiveness of battlefield medicine can be borne out through statistics. In the Vietnam War, t­here w ­ ere approximately three men wounded per one killed in action. During Operation Enduring Freedom, this ratio drastically improved to ten wounded per one killed in action. The decrease in the number of deaths, however, was met by challenges in how to provide better care for the gravely wounded who, in previous conflicts, would not have survived. Amputation of limbs, for instance, has been common throughout warfare due to the limits of medicine and the increasingly deadly amount of force in modern weaponry. The number of American amputees in Af­ghan­i­stan remained relatively small for many years, but the growing numbers of U.S. troops in-­country and also the insurgency’s adoption of IEDs and other lethal tactics led to a spike in the number of amputees. At the height of the surge in 2011, 257 personnel had a limb amputated, the single largest number of amputations in ­either Af­ghan­i­stan or Iraq in any year since 2011. ­Those numbers, predictably, fell rapidly as U.S. personnel left Af­ghan­i­stan, and in 2016 no U.S. ser­vice member in Af­ghan­i­stan had a limb amputated.80 Dating back to at least World War I, doctors have devised a multitude of devices that could attempt to replicate ­either the form or the function of the lost limb. However, the number of amputees in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan helped to drive significant advances in the use of prosthetic limbs that proved extraordinarily effective at restoring quality of life to ­those wounded. One of the most notable medical achievements that came from the wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan came from use of prosthetics that, when made with modern, lightweight materials, could restore much more physical function than any previous generation of devices ever could.81

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Resources devoted to artificial arms lagged well ­behind that for legs, but advances in biotechnologies allowed amputees to be fitted with devices that could detect and pro­cess impulses sent through the ner­vous system and then move in a manner akin to the lost limb. Known as the “Luke Arm” and named ­after the artificial hand given to Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back (1980), the arm sought to restore near-­normal movements to the user and provided for greater self-­sufficiency and quality of life.82 The advances in prosthetics proved so incredible that many ser­ vicemembers, even ­after having suffered a grievous wound, remained on active duty b­ ecause their new prosthetics had restored their freedom of movement.83 A far more difficult prob­lem for military medicine came in the number of traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) suffered by U.S. forces in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq. For all of the trauma associated with amputation, it was primarily a physical prob­lem that could be better understood and treated by modern medicine. However, the inner workings of the brain remained much more of a mystery even by the twenty-­first ­century. “Shell shock” had first gained widespread notice during World War I when soldiers on the front lines suffered from the shock of the staggering number of exploding artillery shells in and around the front-­line trenches. The use of IEDs in Af­ghan­i­stan, while not nearly as prevalent as in Iraq, led to many soldiers receiving traumatic brain injuries from the shock of the explosion. In a bit of irony, many personnel who would have been killed in the lightly-­armored Humvees used more commonly during the early years of the war in Af­ghan­i­stan physically survived in the better protected MRAPs, only to suffer a TBI inside their armored cocoon. Recent studies have better pinpointed the effects of explosions upon the brain, including inflammation on lesions that most commonly appear in the frontal lobes of the brain that govern decision-­making, memory, and other vital functions. The long-­term effect of ­these injuries is greater incidences of anxiety, depression, and substance abuse. Managing the care of personnel with t­hese “unseen wounds” proved very difficult, to say the least.84 Even as the wars in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq advanced the adoption of new treatments and improved understanding of combat medicine, the flow of patients returning from the wars exposed serious flaws in the military’s health care system. As early as 2005, articles began appearing in the online magazine Salon and the Washington Post reporting on the poor conditions at Walter Reed Hospital, the army’s primary medical treatment fa­cil­i­ty located in Washington, D.C.85 ­These first articles, however, did not attract notice ­until more articles appeared in the Washington Post in 2007 that fi­nally brought the issues at Walter Reed to widespread public attention. T ­ hese prob­lems included charging hospital patients—­including ­those who had been wounded in combat—­for their meals, chronic misdiagnosis and mistreatment of post-­traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and other ­mental health conditions, and a lack of adequate staff to manage care that often forced patients to care for one another in the absence of doctors and nurses. Urgent care still occurred as needed, but discharged patients who required further treatment and t­hose awaiting a resolution on their duty status often waited in limbo for one to two years. The army provided funding to rent ­hotel rooms and apartments for some of the more fortunate personnel who w ­ ere in limbo, but many remained on the grounds



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of the hospital in Building 18. Rodents, insects, and mold had overrun this dilapidated structure that dated back to before World War II.86 In response, Secretary of Defense Robert Gates forced the head of the hospital to resign, but reporters soon discovered that Kevin Kiley, the army surgeon general and the former head of the hospital, had been aware of many of the prob­lems during his tenure. He resigned from the army, which then led to Major General Eric Schoomaker’s appointment to lead Walter Reed.87 A commission headed by retired Senator Bob Dole and former Health and ­Human Ser­vices Secretary Donna Shalala investigated the hospital and issued a series of findings in 2007. The commission recommended a number of reforms, including enacting comprehensive treatment plans, aggressively treating PTSD and other ­mental health conditions arising from the wars, bolster hiring and retention at Walter Reed and other hospitals, and a complete restructuring of disability compensation and care programs.88 Some of the reforms stemming from the commission targeted the Veterans Health Administration (VA), the division of the Department of Veterans Affairs responsible for treating former military personnel. ­These reforms, however, failed to shore up significant shortcomings in the VA that eventually came to light in 2014. The VA had seen its bud­get grow by an average of 3 ­percent per year from 2009 onwards, in part to treat the veterans of the wars in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq. To accommodate the needs of the patients, the VA had a stated policy to see patients within 14 days of the patient requesting an appointment. In practice, however, the system began to break down. At the VA clinic in Phoenix, Arizona, it was discovered that patients often waited more than 115 days to receive an appointment—­eight times longer than the stated policy. Other clinics around the country likewise reported delays far beyond the 14-­day standard. The wait times stemmed in part from understaffing, especially of doctors, ­because VA pay could not easily compete with civilian pay for medical professionals. The scandal lay in the VA’s response to the prob­lems. First, and most importantly, the VA headquarters in Washington, D.C., had conducted only the most rudimentary oversight of its clinics, which had allowed the wait time issues to continue unchecked. In addition, the VA had incentivized pay for leaders based on ­whether their clinic had met that 14-­day benchmark. When the Phoenix clinic and ­others could not meet that threshold, they instead falsified rec­ords that allowed ­those eligible for the per­for­mance bonuses to receive them. In addition, the lengthy wait times for veterans to receive care had resulted in many cases where conditions had significantly worsened or, at times, the patient had died while awaiting their VA appointment. Congress and the Obama administration moved quickly to address the scandal once it came to light. In a rare instance of bipartisan cooperation during the increased po­liti­cal polarization of the 2010s, Congress passed a bill with overwhelming support through both chambers in July 2014. The bill provided more money for the VA to hire staff and to expand into new facilities while upgrading existing structures. In addition, money was set aside for patients to see private physicians when wait times backed up. It also cancelled the per­for­mance bonus system while also granting the secretary of Veterans Affairs more leeway to fire underperforming

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employees. The Obama administration also changed procedures, including forcing the VA to formally abandon its wait time goals and to increase oversight over its facilities.89 ­These mea­sures did not fully remedy all of the prob­lems found in the scandal. Few employees lost their jobs b­ ecause of the wait time fraud, and wait times remained quite high into 2017. The Trump administration passed an executive order that protected VA employees who came forward to reveal continued prob­lems in an effort to incentivize employees to speak up, but as of the end of 2017, prob­lems continued to plague the VA.90 PRISONERS OF WAR During the war in Af­ghan­i­stan, the Taliban and al Qaeda took very few Americans prisoners. In the first four years of the war, ­there ­were no American POWs. The best known POW from Af­ghan­i­stan is Bowe Bergdahl. He deployed to Paktika Province in Af­ghan­i­stan as a member of the 1st Battalion, 501st Infantry Regiment of the 25th Infantry Division, where the Taliban-­affiliated Haqqani Network captured him on June 30, 2009. The accounts of the capture vary; Bergdahl has claimed the incident occurred while on patrol, while the military instead argued that he simply abandoned his post. His captors released a video of Bergdahl a few weeks l­ater, and several more videos followed over the next year. Some have claimed that several soldiers died searching for Bergdahl, although this, too, is disputed. Through his captivity, in keeping with the prevailing military custom, the army continued to promote Bergdahl, first to specialist in 2010 and then sergeant in 2011. By 2012, the United States began negotiating for his release, fi­nally succeeding in 2014 in exchange for transferring some suspected terrorists detained at Guantanamo Bay to Qatari custody. ­After his release, the army investigated Bergdahl for the next three years, and Bergdahl eventually pled guilty in October 2017 to desertion. He was dishonorably discharged from the army the following month as a private, his original rank, but served no jail time.91 The issue of al Qaeda and Taliban fighters in captivity became an issue almost immediately ­after the war began. The rapid collapse of the Taliban led to the capture of many e­ nemy personnel by the co­ali­tion and the Northern Alliance. A ­ fter the fall of Mazar-­i-­Sharif in northern Af­ghan­i­stan, the Northern Alliance ­housed many prisoners at an old fortress, Qala-­i-­Jangi. In late November 2001, the prisoners revolted, killing two American CIA agents interrogating the prisoners and driving the captors outside the prison. Only ­after a week-­long siege and heavy fighting involving co­ali­tion airstrikes did the Northern Alliance retake the prison. The recapture of the prison, however, led to the discovery of an American citizen, John Walker Lindh, among the Taliban. Born in California in 1981, he converted to Islam and, while studying at a Pakistani madrassa, he joined many of his peers and fought in Af­ghan­i­stan with the Taliban against the Northern Alliance. In November 2001, he and several other fighters surrendered at Kunduz. He was ­u nder interrogation in Qala-­i-­Jangi when the uprising began, and he hid with a group of other foreign fighters ­u ntil his recapture. Only then did his interrogators identify him as an American. He was l­ater charged with 10 crimes, including



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conspiracy to commit murder and supporting terrorist organ­izations. In late 2002, he pled guilty to the charges and was sentenced to 20 years in federal prison. If he remains on good be­hav­ior, he ­will be eligible for early release in 2019.92 Lindh’s status as an American citizen made him an exception and did not offer a solution for how to deal with the more se­nior Taliban and al Qaeda leaders. Rather than trying terrorists using the criminal justice system, the Bush administration argued that the 2001 Authorization for the Use of Military Force granted it the power to try suspects using military tribunals. The administration concluded that the lack of a state actor ­enemy meant that the Geneva Convention did not apply to captured terror suspects. As a result, they deemed the use of “enhanced interrogation” techniques on captured terror suspects to be ­legal, often conducting ­these interrogations in third-­party countries. To avoid scrutiny of t­hese programs, the administration also de­cided to construct a camp at the U.S. naval base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to h­ ouse the detainees. The l­ egal status of the detainees has been subjected to international criticism and numerous ­legal challenges since 2001, although the camp continued to operate. The Obama administration promised to close the camp, but criticism about where to ­house the remaining detainees led the administration to instead reduce the numbers of detainees. More than 700 detainees had been ­housed at Guantanamo since 2001, and 41 of ­these remained as of January 2017. Much like the War on Terror or the war in Af­ghan­i­stan, it is not clear when or if the camp may close.93 HOME FRONT During the War on Terror and the war in Af­ghan­i­stan, the notion of what constitutes the “home front” changed markedly compared to many recent American conflicts. The increasingly deadly al Qaeda attacks that led to both of ­these wars occurred both abroad and inside the continental United States. While the specter of large-­scale casualties from nuclear weapons had loomed throughout the Cold War and some American civilians had perished in incidents during both world wars, they arguably had not been directly threatened in more than a ­century. Al Qaeda’s earliest attacks had targeted prominent locations abroad, such as the U.S. embassies in ­Kenya and Tanzania in 1998 and the USS Cole in 2000, but the September 11 attacks theoretically made e­ very American civilian a target. Barely six weeks ­after 9/11, President Bush signed into law the Uniting and Strengthening Amer­i­ca by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act (USA PATRIOT Act), which broadened a number of law enforcement powers in terrorism-­related cases. ­These included provisions making it easier for law enforcement to surveil and/or listen to communications of suspected terrorists. In addition, the PATRIOT Act granted law enforcement easier access to business rec­ords and communication rec­ords without the knowledge of the users. The access to business rec­ords tied into a larger government effort to clamp down on the international financing of terrorism. However, within a few years, the provisions related to communications rec­ords had been used to justify the collection of all phone rec­ords from several U.S. telecommunications companies, although this did not come to light ­until ­after the leak of top secret government files by a

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government contractor, Edward Snowden, in 2013. Some of the more controversial provisions of the law ­were not made permanent and ­were subject to review by Congress at a ­later date. In 2015, the USA FREEDOM (Uniting and Strengthening Amer­i­ca by Fulfilling Rights and Ending Eavesdropping, Dragnet-­collection and Online Monitoring) Act allowed some of the more notorious parts of the PATRIOT Act to expire while renewing the remaining portions of the law.94 The American public strongly supported U.S. intervention in Af­ghan­i­stan in its early days, with one public opinion poll taken in October  2001 showing that 80 ­percent of Americans agreed with the decision to deploy U.S. forces ­there.95 Perhaps due to the apparent success that the co­ali­tion had in removing the Taliban from power and driving al Qaeda into hiding, the war remained popu­lar for many years thereafter. In fact, the war became a po­liti­cal issue in 2008 when Demo­cratic candidates advocated sending more troops to Af­ghan­i­stan on the grounds that it should have remained the main focus of the United States all along. This made good po­liti­cal sense b­ ecause, at the time and even a­ fter seven years of combat, 70 ­percent of Americans continued to support the war in Af­ghan­i­stan. As the war dragged on and casualties began to increase during the surge, however, this support began to erode. Only briefly just ­after the death of Osama bin Laden did support rebound. By 2014, a majority of Americans labeled the war a “­mistake” according to one poll, while another poll showed that 80 ­percent of Americans—­a complete reversal of the 2001 numbers—­now refused to support the war.96 The withdrawal of the majority of American forces lowered the profile of the war but appears to have done ­little to revive public support. This long period of public support for the war occurred when many Americans had l­ ittle, if any, direct connection to the war in Af­ghan­i­stan. At no point did civilian or military leaders seriously entertain reinstating the draft, thus forcing the military to rely on its regular volunteer forces as well as reserve and National Guard units to shoulder the combat burden. Unfortunately, this meant that soldiers ­were often deployed multiple times to support the wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. To some, this had the perverse effect of driving a public “support our troops” movement even as many of t­hose who supported such movements never had any intention of serving.97 For many military families, the deployment of loved ones increased their reliance upon the generous benefits and welfare system established in the 1970s to support the all-­volunteer force. During the wave of neoliberal privatization in the 1990s that enjoyed bipartisan support, some functions of the military welfare system ­were outsourced to private firms in an attempt to curb costs. While this decision may have seemed prudent at the time, the promised cost savings melted away during the 2000s thanks to the wars in both Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. The strains forced the army in 2007 to commit more than $100 million ­toward new ­family support programs to ease the strains of multiple deployments and ­mental health conditions spreading from the combat zones to U.S. military bases at home and abroad.98 Even as the military welfare system and the shrinking numbers of Americans in uniform have served to distort and isolate the meaning of the home front, modern technology eroded many of the bound­aries that had previously existed between the home front and personnel in-­theater. As early as 2001, email and instant messaging



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had become widely used technologies and, coupled with the increasingly regular Internet access enjoyed by deployed personnel, allowed them to more easily remain in contact. Satellite and cellular phones also allowed for far more regular contact. By the end of the 2000s, the growing prevalence of laptop computers (­later followed by tablets and smartphones) and video chatting and messaging ser­vices allowed for even closer contact.99 VETERANS’ ISSUES The length of the war in Af­ghan­i­stan and the concurrent war in Iraq created a new generation of combat veterans who dealt with a number of prob­lems, some of them experienced by their ancestors and o­ thers that ­were unique to them. For instance, soldiers wounded in combat had required special care in all of Amer­i­ca’s previous conflicts, but the new wars altered the dynamic ­because many more ser­ vice members survived their injuries than in previous conflicts. The advances in battlefield medicine had allowed wounded soldiers who would have likely died in previous wars to survive and ultimately return home from Af­ghan­i­stan, and advances in prosthetics led to improved quality of life for ­those who suffered terrible battlefield wounds. Finding jobs for ser­vice members has been a strong concern in the wake of almost ­every major American conflict, and the war in Af­ghan­i­stan proved no dif­fer­ent. The World War II–­era G.I. Bill is given universal credit for providing unpre­ce­dented educational opportunities for veterans that helped fuel the post–­World War II economic boom, and Congress looked to that when they passed the Post-9/11 G.I. Bill in 2008. This bill, initially eligible for active-­duty personnel but amended by a 2010 law that expanded eligibility for members of the National Guard and the reserves, provided generous tuition assistance, housing stipends, a relocation allowance, and the ability to transfer t­ hese benefits to an eligible ­family member.100 When the ­Great Recession struck in 2008–2009, it fueled concerns about the unemployment rate among veterans. Overall, veterans had been only somewhat more likely to be employed than a comparable civilian prior to the Recession, but the biggest disparity existed for veterans aged 18 to 24. For this group, unemployment stood at 10.7 ­percent versus 8 ­percent for civilians. When the Recession hit, this gap spiked to 21.6 ­percent for veterans versus only 13.5 ­percent for civilians. The Recession also created more prob­lems for veterans aged 25 to 30, seeing their unemployment rise to more than 3 ­percent higher than civilians. Overall, unemployment for veterans of Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq peaked at nearly 12 ­percent in 2011.101 In response, a number of initiatives ­were enacted both by the federal government and nongovernmental groups. In 2009, President Obama ordered federal agencies to better recruit and retain veterans for civil ser­vice positions. This order had the effect of increasing the percentage of veterans in civil ser­vice from approximately 25 ­percent to nearly 31 ­percent by 2015 but led to controversy over ­whether the preference given to veterans had prevented agencies from hiring the most talented employees. Outside the federal government, a number of major corporations stepped up their recruitment of veterans, and many nonprofit groups also formed with the intent of improving the job prospects of veterans. The combined effect of

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t­hese initiatives brought down the unemployment rate of veterans of Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan to 4.5 ­percent by the end of 2017, a marked improvement from the alarming 2011 numbers.102 Even as the unemployment numbers improved, veterans of the war in Af­ghan­i­stan suffered from other prob­lems that proved far more difficult to address. By one estimate, nearly a quarter of veterans from Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan suffered from PTSD, a condition caused by a person witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event. This can cause flashbacks, anxiety, and depression, among other conditions.103 ­Whether ­because of a specific PTSD diagnosis or not, two prob­lems in par­tic­u­lar have marked the veterans of Af­ghan­i­stan. First, veterans suffer from higher rates of alcoholism and substance abuse than the civilian population at large. Veterans abused alcohol at higher rates in general, but personnel who saw combat reported even higher percentages of alcohol abuse, especially in heavy or binge drinking. In addition, the use of opioids, which had been recognized as a nationwide public health crisis by the 2010s, also increased among veterans. In par­tic­u­lar, opioid use increased most significantly among veterans who received a PTSD diagnosis. Veterans also ­were more likely to use tobacco products than their civilian counter­parts.104 Perhaps even greater official and public interest has been devoted to the other health crisis afflicting veterans of Af­ghan­i­stan: suicide. A 2012 study released by the VA suggested that as many as 22 veterans a day committed suicide, a rate significantly higher than the civilian population. The study, however, suggested that the rate of suicides among older veterans was much higher. A 2014 VA study showed that veterans between 18 and 24 years old ­were significantly more likely to commit suicide than civilians. Furthermore, the rates of suicide among both male and female veterans stood much higher than civilians. In response, the VA and other groups have initiated campaigns to destigmatize ­mental health disorders and raised awareness for suicide prevention programs. While ­these have had some positive effects, it is clear that ser­vice in Af­ghan­is­ tan has harmed the m ­ ental health of many Americans.105 MILITARY DISCIPLINE The all-­volunteer force that fought in Af­ghan­i­stan existed at least in part ­because of the social strife and rampant drug abuse of soldiers during the latter years of Vietnam and into the 1970s. By switching to volunteers and imposing new standards of discipline, substance abuse within the military declined dramatically. Over time, military culture became more conservative and focused upon fitness and frowned upon the excesses of military culture in previous wars.106 Officially, the Department of Defense banned the importation, sale, and use of alcohol by personnel in Af­ghan­i­stan and other combat zones ­under General Order No. 1, dating back to 1990, believing it to be a potential distraction from the mission. In practice, however, soldiers managed to sneak ­bottles of alcohol into Af­ghan­ i­stan in their baggage or surreptitiously procure or produce their own while in-­country. In cases where U.S. forces ­were in close contact with other NATO member countries with more relaxed rules regarding the use of alcohol, they could sometimes procure it from their allies. As with many cases, the access to alcohol



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also depended very much on w ­ hether a ser­vice member was in an outlying COP or stationed at one of the principal U.S. bases in Af­ghan­i­stan. Still, it meant that t­ here ­were ways of circumventing a prominent order if one chose to do so.107 In one notorious incident involving alcohol, Army Staff Sergeant Robert Bales, who had previously suffered a traumatic brain injury during a deployment to Iraq, consumed alcohol on March 11, 2012, and then left his post, Camp Belambai near Kandahar in southern Af­ghan­i­stan. He then proceeded to a nearby village where he murdered four Afghans and wounded six more. He returned to his camp, then left again for another village where he murdered 12 more Afghans. Several of t­ hose Bales killed in the second village ­were small ­children. He also burned several of the bodies in an affront to the Islamic traditions. Upon returning to his camp a second time, Bales surrendered and was taken into custody. He eventually pled guilty to 16 counts of murder and received a sentence of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.108 The increased numbers of ­women serving in front-­line positions during the war in Af­ghan­i­stan also opened up possibilities for sexual encounters between personnel. This was especially impor­tant ­because, unlike during Vietnam or the world wars, Af­ghan­is­ tan frowned upon prostitution, which, combined the sensitivities of attempting to gain the trust and re­spect of the population during a counterinsurgency campaign, severely ­limited the opportunities for soldiers to seek sexual outlets outside the confines of their post or base. Also, since the 1990s, the military had more aggressively pursued charges of conduct unbecoming for officers and also fraternization between officers and enlisted personnel in order to curtail improper sexual relationships within the workplace, as well as discourage adultery and infidelity among the officer corps. Fi­nally, the Department of Defense also formally banned sexual relations between deployed personnel. Even with t­ hese cultural shifts and changes to military laws and rules, in practice, none of t­ hese policies fully prevented personnel in Af­ghan­i­stan from engaging in sexual activities. Internet access helped to facilitate this; for many years, personnel in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan used the Casual Encounters section of the Craigs­list classified listing website to find prospective partners.109 The proliferation of smartphones among deployed personnel that also allowed them to maintain close, regular contact with their families back homes further aided ­those looking for sex thanks to “hook-up” apps such as Grindr (for homosexuals) and Tindr (for heterosexuals).110 UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE AFGHANISTAN WAR The war in Af­ghan­i­stan began with an initial burst of optimism due to the rapid collapse of the Taliban even before many U.S. forces had entered the country. Unfortunately, as of this writing, the 17 years that followed that initial victory devolved into a long-­r unning counterinsurgency campaign in which neither side appears capable of completely overwhelming the other. American personnel have borne a large share of the burden of this conflict. U.S. forces have endured many significant challenges since 2001, fighting in an isolated and physically rugged country with a unique culture unlike any other that

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Americans had encountered in the past. Furthermore, the very nature of population-­ centric counterinsurgency as waged by the U.S. military requires patience, intelligence, and restraint in order to build trust among local populations while seeking to neutralize the ­enemy. This kind of war mitigated some of the advantages that American forces are known for, especially their firepower and mobility, while still drawing upon their superior training, superior technology, and tactical adaptability. That this long conflict has occurred amidst the backdrop of im­mense cultural and technological shifts in civilian culture that quickly spread into the military makes the continued effectiveness of U.S. forces in combat all the more remarkable. ­These traits are in large part the reason why the post-2001 Afghan government remains functional even as it strug­gles for nationwide legitimacy. Many American personnel have endured multiple deployments to Af­ghan­i­stan, with some reaching double-­digits since 2001. Still, even the advantages held by U.S. forces have not been enough to prevent the Taliban and other insurgent groups from achieving some notable successes and demonstrating resiliency while extracting their price in blood. TIMELINE April 28, 1978 President Mohammed Daoud Khan is assassinated by military officers loyal to the ­People’s Demo­cratic Party of Af­ghan­i­stan. The resulting communist reforms lead to unrest in the countryside against the government. December 12, 1979 The Soviet Union authorizes the introduction of Soviet troops into Af­ghan­i­stan. Soviet troops enter Af­ghan­i­stan 12 days l­ater. January 8, 1980 U.S. president Jimmy Car­ter issues a statement calling the Soviet invasion of Af­ghan­i­stan “the greatest threat to peace since the Second World War.” November 20, 1980 The United Nations issues Resolution 35/37 calling for the withdrawal of foreign troops from Af­ghan­i­stan. April 14, 1988 Af­ghan­i­stan and Pakistan sign the Geneva Accords, which also include a timetable for the end of the Soviet occupation of Af­ghan­i­stan that occurs on February 15, 1989. April 23–25, 1992 Vari­ous mujahideen factions enter the Afghan capital Kabul and depose the communist government of Mohammad Najibullah. March 7, 1993 The vari­ous factions vying for control of Af­ghan­i­stan sign the Islamabad Accord, also known as the Afghan Peace Accord, in an attempt to form a unified national government.



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February 26, 1993 Islamic extremists, financed by the al Qaeda terrorist group, detonate a car bomb in a basement garage of New York City’s World Trade Center, killing 6 and injuring 1,042 p­ eople. January 1994 Afghan warlord Rashid Dostum revokes his allegiance to Ahmad Shah Massoud and allies himself with Gulbuddin Hekmetyar. November 4, 1994 The Taliban captures Kandahar. September 5, 1995 Taliban fighters capture Herat. May 18, 1996 The Sudanese government deports al Qaeda terrorist leader Osama bin Laden, who goes to Af­ghan­i­stan, where he is welcomed by the coalescing Taliban regime. June 25, 1996 Al Qaeda operatives detonate a truck bomb in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, at the Khobar Towers, the main military barracks for U.S. ser­vice members, killing 19 Americans and wounding 500. September 26, 1996 The Taliban capture Kabul with minimal re­sis­tance, executing former Afghan president Mohammad Najibullah and ­others and forcing many to flee. May 19, 1997 Taliban fighters take Mazar-­i-­Sharif, but on May 23 a spontaneous uprising kills up to 3,000 fighters and forces the Taliban to withdraw. February 23, 1998 Bin Laden publishes a fatwa declaring jihad (holy war) on all “nonbelieving crusaders” and Jews. August 7, 1998 In Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, and Nairobi, ­Kenya, al Qaeda operatives nearly si­mul­ ta­neously detonate two truck bombs in front of the U.S. embassies, killing 224 ­people and injuring more than 5,000. August 8, 1998 The Taliban recaptures the city of Mazar-­i-­Sharif from the Northern Alliance and kills as many as 6,000 civilians in retribution for the massacre of some 3,000 Taliban fighters in May 1997. August 20, 1998 In retaliation for the deadly embassy bombings on August 7, the United States launches 75 cruise missiles against targets in Af­ghan­i­stan and northern Khartoum, Sudan.

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January 19, 2001 The UN Security Council passes Resolution 1333, imposing punitive economic sanctions and an arms embargo against the Taliban regime in Af­ghan­i­stan and calling for the Taliban to hand over bin Laden. September 9, 2001 Northern Alliance leader Ahmad Shah Massoud is mortally wounded by a bomb detonated by al Qaeda operatives posing as journalists. September 11, 2001 Nineteen al Qaeda operatives hijack four airliners in the United States. Two crash into the twin towers of New York City’s World Trade Center, killing 2,900 ­people, including all aboard both jetliners. A third plane crashes into the Pentagon in northern ­Virginia less than an hour ­later, killing 189 ­people, including all on board. A fourth flight is also hijacked by terrorists, allegedly intended for the Capitol or White House, but the passengers fight back and the plane crashes into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, killing all 45 p­ eople on board. September 14, 2001 Congress authorizes the use of force in retaliation for the attacks of September 11. September 20, 2001 President George W. Bush demands that the Taliban turn Osama bin Laden over to the United States for trial. October 2, 2001 NATO invokes Article 5, declaring the September 11 attacks on the United States an attack against all NATO member states. October 7, 2001 ­After the Taliban fails to turn bin Laden over to the United States, U.S. forces, assisted by the British, commence air attacks against Af­ghan­i­stan. November 11, 2001 The  U.S.-­supported Northern Alliance, fighting against the Taliban, captures Mazar-­i-­Sharif. November 13, 2001 Co­ali­tion forces capture Kabul. On the same day, the Bush administration authorizes the creation of military tribunals, which ­will be used to try non-­Americans suspected of planning or fomenting acts of terrorism against the United States. December 5, 2001 Meeting in Bonn, Germany, Afghan leaders form a new interim government ­u nder the leadership of Hamid Karzai. He ­will be sworn in as president on December 22. December 6, 2001 Kandahar, Af­ghan­i­stan, the Taliban’s last stronghold, falls to co­ali­tion forces. The 11-­day siege of Tora Bora also begins, but the co­ali­tion fails to capture Osama bin Laden and other Taliban leaders before they escape into Pakistan.



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December 20, 2001 UN Resolution 1386 creates the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) to provide security in Kabul. January 16, 2002 The UN Security Council votes unanimously to freeze all assets of the Taliban, al Qaeda, and bin Laden. The same resolution also invokes a full arms embargo on the three entities. March 1–18, 2002 Operation Anaconda neutralizes the Taliban threat in the Shahi-­Kot Valley. September 5, 2002 A car bomb kills more than 30 ­people in Af­ghan­i­stan and an assassination attempt against Karzai fails. He ­will survive five more attempts during his two terms as president. August 11, 2003 NATO assumes control of ISAF, marking the first time NATO assumed operational control of military operations outside of Eu­rope in its history. On October 13, UN Security Council Resolution 1510 changes the mandate for ISAF, allowing it to operate throughout Af­ghan­i­stan. January 26, 2004 The Loya Jirga ratifies the constitution of Af­ghan­is­ tan by consensus. April 22, 2004 Corporal Patrick Tillman, a former National Football League star, is killed in a friendly fire incident while serving as a member of the 2nd Ranger Battalion. October 9, 2004 Hamid Karzai, Af­ghan­i­stan’s interim president, wins the nation’s first presidential election. February 1, 2006 The Af­ghan­i­stan Compact is agreed to at the London Conference that outlines a series of reconstruction targets to occur over the following five years. December 15, 2006 The U.S. Department of Defense issues a new Field Manual 3–24, Counterinsurgency, based upon lessons learned in countering the Taliban and the Sunni insurgency in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq. May 3, 2007 In testimony to the Senate Armed Ser­vices Committee, Admiral William J. Fallon states that the frequency of Taliban attacks have reached their highest levels since 2001. June 13, 2008 More than 900 prisoners—350 of them Taliban—­escape from a prison and Kandahar when Taliban operatives explode a fuel truck adjacent to the prison using a rocket-­propelled grenade. Similar such incidents ­will occur in ­later years.

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July 13, 2008 Thirteen U.S. soldiers are killed in an attack by more than 200 insurgents on an unfinished outpost in Wanat in the Waygal River valley in Kunar Province. February 2009 The administration of President Barack Obama announces that 17,000 additional troops w ­ ill be sent to Af­ghan­i­stan. April 7, 2009 A joint German–­Afghan force, ­later dubbed Operation Ea­gle, steps up efforts to combat the rising insurgency in Kunduz Province. Major fighting continues ­until July. June 30, 2009 Private Bowe Bergdahl leaves his unit in Paktika Province and is captured by insurgents. He ­will remain in captivity ­until May 2014 when he is traded for five Taliban prisoners. He w ­ ill ­later be convicted of desertion. July 2, 2009 Operation Strike of the Sword (also known as Operation Khanjar), the largest airlift offensive since the Vietnam War, begins in southern Af­ghan­i­stan. August 20, 2009 Hamid Karzai wins re-­election in a vote marred by fraud and low turnout. August 30, 2009 General Stanley McChrystal, the new ISAF commander, completes a major strategic review that calls for significant troop increases in Af­ghan­i­stan. October 3, 2009 An estimated force of 300 insurgents nearly overwhelms Combat Outpost Keating near Kamdesh in Nuristan Province. Eight U.S. soldiers are killed and 27 wounded in the 12-­hour firefight, in addition to approximately 150 insurgents. December 1, 2009 In an address at the United States Military Acad­emy, West Point, President Barack Obama announces that he ­will send 30,000 additional U.S. forces to Af­ghan­i­stan in a “surge” beginning in 2010 and lasting into 2012. During the surge, nearly 100,000 U.S. troops ­will be in Af­ghan­i­stan. February 13, 2010 Operation Moshtarak, an offensive involving more than 6,000 co­ali­tion troops against a Taliban stronghold in the town of Marja, begins. June 24, 2010 U.S. president Barack Obama removes Stanley A. McChrystal from command of U.S. and NATO forces in Af­ghan­i­stan following critical comments allegedly made by McChrystal and members of his staff against President Obama and ­others that appeared in Rolling Stone magazine. His replacement is Central Command commander General David H. Petraeus.



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July 25, 2010 WikiLeaks, an Internet organ­ization dedicated to the public dissemination of government secrets, releases more than 91,000 documents, collectively called the Afghan War Diary, covering the Af­ghan­i­stan War from 2004 to 2010. ­These reports by U.S. military personal describe military actions but also detail the role of the Pakistani intelligence ser­vice in supporting Taliban activities in Af­ghan­i­stan. ­These leaks w ­ ill eventually be traced to U.S. Army Private Bradley Manning. September 21, 2010 Operation Dragon Strike, an attack by more than 8,000 co­ali­tion forces against Taliban strongholds in Kandahar Province, begins. November 20, 2010 At the Lisbon Summit, NATO members announce their intent to gradually disengage from Af­ghan­i­stan by the end of 2014. Mid-­October  2010 U.S. and Afghan officials confirm that the Afghan government has been negotiating secretly with Taliban leaders and that NATO and U.S. forces have facilitated the transportation of Taliban leaders from Pakistan to the peace talks. April 27, 2011 Hamid Gul, an Afghan Air Corps officer who had been trained by the Soviets 30 years before, shoots and kills eight American ser­vice members and a military contractor in a meeting of foreign and Afghan military officers at Kabul International Airport before he himself is shot and killed. This is the first of several “green on blue” incidents that occur in succeeding years. May 1, 2011 U.S. Navy SEALs kill Osama bin Laden in a raid on his compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan. President Obama announces the news in a televised address. June 22, 2011 President Barack Obama, in a televised address to the American ­people concerning the Af­ghan­i­stan War, announces that 10,000 troops w ­ ill be withdrawn by the end of 2011, with the remainder of the so-­called “surge troops” (about 23,000) to depart by the end of the summer of 2012. This would still leave some 70,000 American troops in Af­ghan­i­stan u­ ntil the end of 2014. August 6, 2011 Taliban forces in Wardak Province shoot down a U.S. Army Boeing CH-47 Chinook he­li­cop­ter, killing all 38 U.S. and Afghan passengers and crew on board. October 29, 2011 In the Afghan capital of Kabul, a Taliban suicide bomber rams his vehicle loaded with 1,540 pounds of explosives into an armored NATO bus, killing 17 ­people, including 12 Americans. It is the deadliest attack on the U.S.-­led co­ali­tion in Kabul since the beginning of the Af­ghan­i­stan War.

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November 26, 2011 A NATO attack on two Pakistani border bases kills 24 Pakistani soldiers. This is the deadliest incident by NATO forces against Pakistan since the beginning of the Af­ghan­i­stan War, and it plunges already fragile U.S.-­Pakistani relations into crisis. January 27, 2012 Following an increase in casualties, French president Nicolas Sarkozy announces the withdrawal of remaining French forces from Af­ghan­i­stan by the end of the year, a year e­ arlier than anticipated. February 1, 2012 The Obama administration announces a timetable for U.S. troop withdrawals from Af­ghan­i­stan. By mid-2013, the Americans plan to cease combat operations and to withdraw nearly all troops withdrawn by the end of 2014. February 23, 2012 Afghans begin demonstrating in response to news reports that U.S. military personnel burned copies of the Q’uran that Taliban prisoners used to pass messages to each other. Four Americans are killed in the demonstrations along with dozens of Afghans. March 11, 2012 U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Robert Bales leaves a U.S. military base in Af­ghan­i­stan ­under cover of darkness and murders 16 Afghan civilians, 9 of whom are ­children, in a nearby village. He ­will l­ater be convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. May 1, 2012 While visiting Af­ghan­i­stan, President Obama announces the U.S. intent to keep forces in Af­ghan­i­stan past the end of the scheduled end of combat mission in 2014. May 22, 2012 At the Chicago Summit, NATO member states agree on a withdrawal plan beginning in 2013 and to turn over all security responsibilities to Af­ghan­i­stan by the end of 2014. January 11, 2013 President Obama announces that U.S. troops in Af­ghan­is­ tan w ­ ill begin the transition from combat to support in the spring of 2013. April 23, 2013 Taliban leader Mullah Mohammad Omar dies in Pakistan, although it ­will not be formally announced ­until the Taliban unveil his successor, Mullah Akhtar Mohammad, in September 2015. June 18, 2013 The Afghan military formally assumes complete responsibility for maintaining security throughout Af­ghan­i­stan. November 23, 2013 Af­ghan­i­stan’s Loya Jirga overwhelmingly approves the post-2014 security agreement with the U.S. government.



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May 27, 2014 President Obama announces the end of the U.S. combat mission in Af­ghan­i­stan by December, but 9,800 U.S. troops ­will remain in Af­ghan­i­stan to conduct training and counterterrorism missions. June 14, 2014 Presidential elections are held in Af­ghan­i­stan. In September, Ashraf Ghani w ­ ill be declared the winner, while the runner-up, Abdullah Abdullah assumes the new position of chief executive officer. June 15, 2014 Pakistani military aircraft target eight militant hideouts in the area of North Waziristan, bordering Af­ghan­i­stan, killing as many as 100 militants in the second strike on the region since a deadly Taliban attack on Karachi airport a week ­earlier. August 5, 2014 A rogue Afghan soldier at Marshal Fahim National Defense University in Kabul opens fire, killing Army Major General Harold Greene, deputy commander of U.S. forces in Af­ghan­is­ tan, and wounding 15 co­ali­tion soldiers, including a German general and two Afghan generals. Greene is the highest-­ranking U.S. military officer to be killed since September 11, 2001. September 29, 2014 ­After his inauguration ceremony, President Ghani signs a new status of forces agreement with the United States and NATO. October 26, 2014 The last U.S. Marines and British forces in Af­ghan­i­stan both end their combat missions and hand over control of the massive Bastion–­Leatherneck military complex that once h­ oused 40,000 co­ali­tion personnel to Afghan forces. December 16, 2014 In retaliation for recent attacks by the government, Pakistani Taliban gunmen storm a school in the city of Peshawar, killing 145, including 132 ­children aged 10 to 18, 10 members of the school’s staff, and 3 soldiers. December 28, 2014 ­After more than 13 years, Operation Enduring Freedom–­Afghanistan officially ends. ISAF is also formally disbanded on this date. A reported 9,800 U.S. troops and more than 2,000 NATO forces remain in Af­ghan­i­stan. March 24, 2015 The U.S. government confirms that it ­will maintain 9,800 troops in Af­ghan­i­stan through at least the end of the year. September 28–­October 13, 2015 In Af­ghan­i­stan, Taliban insurgents capture the strategic city of Kanduz on September 28. Aided by U.S. airstrikes, Afghan forces retake the city on October 13. During the ­battle on October 3, a U.S.-­piloted AC-130 gunship mistakenly fires on a hospital run by Doctors Without Borders. Nineteen ­people are killed and another 37 are wounded.

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October 15, 2015 President Barack Obama announces that the 9,800 U.S. troops ­will remain in Af­ghan­i­stan through the end of 2016, followed by a reduction to 5,500 in 2017. May 21, 2016 Taliban leader Mullah Akhtar Mohammad is killed in Pakistan by a missile fired from a U.S. Predator unmanned aircraft. He is replaced by Mullah Akhundzada. July 7, 2016 Due to continued instability, President Obama announces that 8,400 U.S. troops—­ not the 5,500 number previously announced—­will remain in Af­ghan­is­ tan through the end of January 2017. July 24, 2016 A terrorist bombing in Kabul, Af­ghan­i­stan, kills 80 and wounds more than 230 ­others. A branch of ISIS claims responsibility. August 21, 2017 President Donald Trump announces that the United States ­will send more than 5,000 troops to Af­ghan­i­stan with no timetable for reductions and openly criticizes Pakistan’s lack of assistance in fighting the insurgency.

Documents of the Afghanistan War and the War on Terror: Personal Accounts 1  John F. Kerry, “Tora Bora Revisited: How We Failed to Get Bin Laden and Why It ­Matters ­Today,” November 30, 2009 In this report, Senator John F. Kerry informs the members of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations about the tactical decisions made in the fall of 2001 that allowed Osama Bin Laden and his chief lieutenants to escape from the Tora Bora cave complex and flee into Pakistan. The Afghan model required elite teams of American commandos and CIA paramilitary operatives to form alliances with Afghans who opposed the Taliban and had the militias to help topple the religious fundamentalists. Some of t­ hese Afghans ­were legitimate ethnic and tribal leaders who chafed at the restrictions of the Taliban and the sanctuary it provided to al Qaeda. ­Others ­were allies of con­ve­nience, Taliban rivals who held power by force and paid their men by collecting tolls and taxes on legitimate commerce and trafficking in heroin. By providing money and weapons, the U.S. forces helped the warlords destroy their rivals and expand their personal power. Many ­later entered the Afghan government and remain influential figures. The strategy was a short cut to victory that would have consequences for long-­term stability in Af­ghan­i­stan. Taliban and the sanctuary it provided to al Qaeda. ­Others ­were allies of con­ve­ nience, Taliban rivals who held power by force and paid their men by collecting tolls and taxes on legitimate commerce and trafficking in heroin. By providing



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money and weapons, the U.S. forces helped the warlords destroy their rivals and expand their personal power. Many ­later entered the Afghan government and remain influential figures. The strategy was a short cut to victory that would have consequences for long-­term stability in Af­ghan­i­stan. The Delta Force commandos had doubts about the willingness and ability of the Afghan militias to wage a genuine assault on Tora Bora almost from the outset. ­T hose concerns ­were underscored each time the Afghans insisted on retreating from the mountains as darkness fell. But the suspicions ­were confirmed by events that started on the after­noon of December 11. Haji Ghamsharik approached Fury and told him that al Qaeda fighters wanted to surrender. He said all they needed to end the siege was a 12-­hour ceasefire to allow the fighters to climb down the mountains and turn in their weapons. Intercepted radio chatter seemed to confirm that the fighters had lost their resolve ­under the relentless bombing and wanted to give up, but Fury remained suspicious. “This is the greatest day in the history of Af­ghan­i­stan,” Ghamsharik told Fury. “Why is that?” asked the dubious American officer. “­Because al Qaeda is no more,” he said. “Bin Laden is finished.” The Special Operations Command history rec­ords that CentCom refused to back the ceasefire, suspecting a ruse, but it said the special ops forces agreed reluctantly to an overnight pause in the bombing to avoid killing the surrendering al Qaeda fighters. Ghamsharik negotiated by radio with representatives of al Qaeda. He initially told Fury that a large number of Algerians wanted to surrender. Then he said that he could turn over the entire al Qaeda leadership. Fury’s suspicions increased at such a bold promise. By the morning of December 12, no al Qaeda fighters had appeared and the Delta Force commander concluded that the ­whole episode was a hoax. Intelligence estimates are that as many as 800 al Qaeda fighters escaped that night, but bin Laden stuck it out. Despite the unreliability of his Afghan allies, Fury refused to give up. He plotted ways to use his 40 Delta Force soldiers and the handful of other special ops troops u­ nder his command to go a­ fter bin Laden on their own. One of the plans was to go at bin Laden from the one direction he would never anticipate, the southern side of the mountains. “We want to come in on the back door,” Fury explained ­later, pointing on a map to the side of the Tora Bora enclave facing Pakistan. The peaks ­there ­rose to 14,000 feet and the valleys and precipitous mountain passes ­were already deep in snow. “The original plan that we sent up through our higher headquarters, Delta Force wants to come in over the mountain with oxygen, coming from the Pakistan side, over the mountains and come in and get a drop on bin Laden from b­ ehind.” The audacious assault was nixed somewhere up the chain of command. Undeterred, Fury suggested dropping hundreds of landmines along the passes leading to Pakistan to block bin Laden’s escape. “First guy blows his leg off, every­body ­else stop” he said. “That allows aircraft overhead to find them. They see all ­these heat sources out ­there. Okay, ­there is a big large group of al Qaeda moving south. They can engage that.” That proposal was rejected, too. Source: John F. Kerry, “Tora Bora Revisited: How We Failed to Get Bin Laden and Why It ­Matters ­Today,” 111th Congress, First Session (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2009), 10–12. https://­w ww​.­foreign​.­senate​.­gov​/­imo​/­media​/­doc​ /­Tora ​_­Bora ​_­Report​.­pdf.

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2  Tommy R. Franks, “ ‘Lessons Learned’ during Operation Enduring Freedom in Af­ghan­i­stan, and Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operations in the United States Central Command Region,” July 9, 2003 In this committee hearing transcript, General Tommy Franks, the out­going commander of U.S. Central Command, offered his thoughts to the Senate Armed Ser­ vices Committee about the lessons learned in the first two years of Operation Enduring Freedom. OPERATION ENDURING FREEDOM—­LESSONS LEARNED In Af­ghan­i­stan, co­ali­tion forces continue to deny anti-­coalition ele­ments sanctuary while disrupting their ability to plan, target, rehearse, and execute operations. This is accomplished through active combat patrolling from secure fire bases and forward operating bases (FOB) in order to promote stability, enhance the legitimacy of the Interim Transitional Government of Af­ghan­i­stan (ITGA), and prevent the re-­emergence of terrorism. During OEF, we saw a number of functional areas and capabilities that reached new levels of per­for­mance. In some areas, improvements w ­ ere made prior to Operation Iraqi Freedom. For example, the DOD/CIA synergy, which worked well during OEF, was built upon the integration of liaison officers in each of our headquarters which facilitated teamwork and paid ­great dividends in Iraq. Also, we continued to leverage co­ali­tion strengths as new co­ali­tion members ­were added. “The mission determines the co­ali­tion; the co­ali­tion does not determine the mission.” Advanced technologies employed during OEF w ­ ere also critical. The command and control of air, ground, naval, and SOF from 7,000 miles away was a unique experience in warfare as our forces achieved unpre­ce­dented real time situational awareness and C2 connectivity. We learned that precision-­guided munitions represent a force multiplier. Low collateral damage during both OEF and OIF was a fundamental ­factor in achieving our objectives. Early in OEF we saw the need for an unmanned sensor-­to-­shooter capability to support time-­sensitive targeting (TST). The armed Predator demonstrates ­great potential and ­will be a high payoff system in the ­future. Blue Force Tracking and enhanced C4I systems increase lethality and decrease response time, and also represent transformational technologies. We w ­ ill continue with development of Global Hawk as an unmanned, high-­altitude, long loiter time, beyond line-­of-­sight multi-­sensor UAV, and ­will work to incorporate ­laser designation and delivery of precision weaponry from that platform. The integrated common operating picture (COP) was a very power­f ul tool. Tracking systems ­were previously Ser­vice unique. Workarounds ­were developed for OIF, but ­there is a need to develop one integrated, user-­friendly, C4I architecture that captures blue and red air, ground and maritime forces. Strategic lift and tanker aircraft availability ­were stretched during OEF and OIF. ­These forces are critical to rapid ­f uture force projection, and we must enhance this vital capability in the years ahead.



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Combined and joint training of our forces was also a key f­ actor during OEF and was carried over into OIF. Our military forces are the best-­prepared forces in the world, and I thank the Members of Congress for providing assets and funding to train ­these wonderful fighting men and ­women to give them e­ very pos­si­ble advantage. Fi­nally, our ability to take action in OEF was predicated on “Strategic Anchors,” one of which was “Cooperative Security” relationships, which paid high dividends in basing, staging, and over flight rights during recent crisis. . . . AF­GHAN­I­STAN Our efforts in Af­ghan­i­stan have given the Afghan ­people a chance to break the chain of vio­lence, civil war, and poverty that many have endured their entire lives. Our co­ali­tion has made considerable pro­gress over the last 18 months, but much remains to be done. The average Afghan now enjoys basic freedoms, a higher quality of life, and prospects for a better ­f uture. A Loya Jirga to ratify a new Constitution ­will be held this fall and national elections are scheduled for next summer. President Karzai’s transitional government continues to develop as he works to expand its authority beyond Kabul. Security and stability are the keys to President Karzai’s success. Since 1 May, our primary focus has shifted to stability operations. A stable and secure environment enables reconstruction. U.S. Civil-­Military Operations forces have completed more than 150 proj­ects and nearly 300 more are underway. To date, ­these proj­ects have improved drinking ­water, medical care, transportation, communications, irrigation, and agriculture throughout the country. To further our reconstruction efforts and to help foster stability, Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRT) are working in Bamian, Konduz, and Gardez. A fourth U.K.-­led team ­will soon deploy to Mazar-­e-­Sharif, and other PRTs are being planned for ­f uture deployments to additional provinces. A critical step t­oward stability in Af­g han­is­ tan is building the Af­g han­i­stan National Army (ANA). The U.S. is leading this effort, supported by five co­ali­tion partners. To date, three brigades of professional Afghan soldiers have been fielded; we proj­ect ANA strength of approximately 8,500 soldiers by December 2003. . . . CONCLUSION The global war on terrorism is underway. The precision, determination, and expertise of our military forces and our co­ali­tion partners brought about the liberation of Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq in lightning speed with minimum bloodshed. However, t­ hese two nations have only taken the first steps t­ oward freedom, and United States and our co­ali­tion partners must be ­there to support the ­whole journey. While we have accomplished much, the potential for terrorist acts and other setbacks remains very real. Af­ghan­i­stan has a new government, a new army, and with co­ali­tion support the nation is making ­great strides ­towards long-­term stability. In Iraq, Saddam Hussein’s regime was destroyed and regime supporters are being rooted out. Our focus has changed from military destruction of a regime to providing security and humanitarian assistance to the Iraqi ­people, while helping to establish a representative form of government. Decisive combat operations have been completed, but much work remains.

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I am very proud of each and ­every one of the men and ­women who continue to serve selflessly and tirelessly in the execution of our mission from Egypt to Kazakhstan, from the Suez to Pakistan, regardless of the uniform of ser­vice they wear or the nation from which they come. I thank Congress and the American ­people for the tremendous support you have given them. Source: Senate Armed Ser­vices Committee, “ ‘Lessons Learned during Operation Enduring Freedom in Af­ghan­i­stan, and Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operations in the United States Central Command Region,” 108th Congress, 1st Session, S. Hrg. 108–654, (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 2004), 23–25. https://­ archive​.­org​/­details​/­gov​.­g po​.­fdsys​.­CHRG​-­108shrg96501.

NOTES   1. Barnett Rubin, “­Theses on Peacemaking in Af­ghan­i­stan: A Manifesto,” War on the Rocks. February 23, 2018. https://­warontherocks​.­com​/­2018​/­02​/­theses​-­peacemaking​-­afgha​ nistan​-­manifesto/.   2. U.S. Army, “Lessons From the War in Af­ghan­i­stan.” May  1989. http://­nsarchive2​ .­gwu​.­edu//­NSAEBB​/ ­NSAEBB57​/­us11​.­pdf.   3. Stephen Tanner, Af­ghan­i­stan: A Military History From Alexander the G ­ reat to the War Against the Taliban (Philadelphia: Da Capo Press, 2009), 221–70; See also Steve Coll, Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Af­ghan­i­stan, and Bin Laden, From the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001 (New York: Penguin Books, 2004).   4. Tanner, Af­ghan­i­stan, 287–91.   5. Statement by NATO Secretary General, Lord Robertson. October 2, 2001. http://­ www​.­nato​.­int​/­docu​/­speech​/­2001​/­s011002a​.­htm.   6. Doug Stanton, Horse Soldiers: The Extraordinary Story of a Band of US Soldiers Who Rode to Victory in Af­ghan­i­stan (New York: Scribner, 2009), passim.   7. Stephen D. Biddle, “Allies, Airpower, and Modern Warfare: The Afghan Model in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq,” International Security 30. no. 3 (Winter 2005/06): 161–76.   8. Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Tora Bora Revisited. November 30, 2009. https://­w ww​.­foreign​.­senate​.­gov​/­imo​/­media​/­doc​/­Tora​_­Bora​_­Report​.­pdf?   9. Interim Agreement on Af­ghan­i­stan. December 5, 2001. http://­w ww​.­un​.­org​/ ­News​/­dh​ /­latest​/­afghan ​/­afghan​-­agree​.­htm. 10. Sean Naylor, Not a Good Day to Die: The Untold Story of Operation Anaconda (New York: Berkley Books, 2005), passim; Thomas Ricks, Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2003 to 2005 (New York: Penguin, 2006), passim. 11. Christopher Koontz, ed., Enduring Voices: Oral Histories of the U.S. Army Experience in Af­ghan­i­stan, 2003–2005 (Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, 2008), 13–94. See also Donald P. Wright, et. al., A Dif­fer­ent Kind of War: The United States Army in Operation ENDURING FREEDOM (OEF), October 2001–­September 2005 (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2010), passim. 12. NATO SACEUR OPLAN 10302 Revise-1, December 8, 2005. http://­w ww​.­f t​.­d k​ /­samling​/­20051​/ ­U M​-­del​/ ­Bilag​/­44​/­242709​.­pdf. 13. Paul Gallis, “NATO in Af­ghan­i­stan: A Test of the Transatlantic Alliance,” Connections 6, no. 3 (2007): 10–32. http://­w ww​.­jstor​.­org​.­aufric​.­idm​.­oclc​.­org​/­stable​/­26323297. 14. Joshua Partlow, A Kingdom of Their Own: The F ­ amily Karzai and the Afghan Disaster (New York: Vintage, 2016). 15. Mark Mazzetti, “The Devastating Paradox of Pakistan.” The Atlantic, March 2018. https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­magazine​/­archive​/­2018​/­03​/­the​-­pakistan​-­t rap​/­550895/. 16. Edward Darack, Victory Point: Operations Red Wings and Whalers—­The Marine Corps B ­ attle for Freedom in Af­ghan­i­stan (New York: Berkley Caliber, 2009), passim;



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Marcus Luttrell, Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Red Wings and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 (New York: L ­ ittle, Brown, 2007), passim. 17. Mark Bowden, “Echoes From a Distant Battlefield,” Vanity Fair, November 11, 2011. https://­w ww​.­vanityfair​.­com​/­news​/­2011​/­12​/ ­battle​-­of​-­wanat​-­201112. 18. Jake Tapper, The Outpost: An Untold Story of American Valor (Boston: Back Bay Books, 2013), passim. 19. Thomas Ricks, The ­Gamble: General David Petraeus and the American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2006–2008 (New York: Penguin, 2008), passim. 20. “Obama Calls Situation in Af­ghan­i­stan ‘Urgent,’ ” CNN, July 21, 2008. http://­w ww​ .­cnn​.­com​/­2008​/ ­POLITICS​/­07​/­20​/­obama​.­afghanistan/. 21. “A General’s Marching ­Orders,” The Economist, May  14, 2009. https://­w ww​ .­economist​.­com​/­node​/­13649351. 22. General Stanley McChrystal Initial Assessment, August 30, 2009. http://­w ww​.­dtic​ .­mil​/­get​-­t r​-­doc​/­pdf​?­AD​=A ­ DA602104. 23. Barack Obama. Address to the Nation on the Way Forward in Af­ghan­i­stan and Pakistan. December 1, 2009. https://­obamawhitehouse​.­archives​.­gov​/­the​-­press​-­office​/­remarks​ -­president​-­address​-­nation​-­way​-­forward​-­afghanistan​-­and​-­pakistan. 24. Michael Hastings, “The Runaway General: The Profile That Brought Down McChrystal,” Rolling Stone, June 22, 2010. https://­www​.­rollingstone​.­com​/­politics​/­news​/­the​ -­r unaway​-­general​-­20100622. Hastings ­later authored a book that drew upon the incident, The Operators: The Wild and Terrifying Inside Story of Amer­i­ca’s War in Af­ghan­i­stan (New York: Blue Rider Press, 2012). 25. Field Manual 3–24, December 15, 2006. http://­usacac​.­army​.­m il​/­cac2​/­Repository​ /­Materials​/­COIN​-­FM3​-­24​.­pdf. 26. Donald P. Wright, ed., Vanguard of Valor: Small Unit Actions in Af­ghan­i­stan (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2012), passim. 27. Montgomery McFate and Janet Laurence, eds., Social Science Goes to War: The ­Human Terrain System in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), passim. 28. Partlow, A Kingdom of Their Own. 29. Peter L. Bergen, Manhunt: The Ten-­Year Search for bin Laden—­From 9/11 to Abbottabad (New York: Crown, 2012), passim. 30. Spencer Ackerman, “Military’s Own Report Card Gives Afghan Surge an F,” Wired, September 27, 2012. https://­w ww​.­wired​.­com ​/­2012​/­09​/­surge​-­report​-­card/. 31. Barack Obama, Statement by the President on Af­ghan­i­stan, May 27, 2014. https://­ obamawhitehouse​. ­a rchives​. ­g ov​/ ­t he​- ­p ress​- ­office​/ ­2 014​/ ­0 5​/ ­2 7​/­s tatement​- ­p resident​ -­afghanistan; Remarks by President Trump on the Strategy in Af­ghan­i­stan and South Asia. August 21, 2017. https://­www​.­whitehouse​.­gov​/­the​-­press​-­office​/­2017​/­08​/­21​/­remarks​-­president​ -­t rump​-­strategy​-­afghanistan​-­and​-­south​-­asia. 32. Jennifer Mittelstadt, The Rise of the Military Welfare State (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), passim. 33. Philip Car­ter and Owen West, “Dismissed!,” Slate, June 2, 2005. http://­w ww​.­slate​ .­com​/­articles​/­news​_­and​_ ­politics​/­war​_­stories​/­2005​/­06​/­dismissed​.­html. 34. Phil Klay, “Two De­cades of War Have Eroded the Morale of American Troops,” The Atlantic, April 13, 2018. https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­magazine​/­archive​/­2018​/­05​/­left​ -­behind​/­556844/. 35. Larry Shaughnessy, “One Soldier, One Year: $850,000 and Rising,” CNN Security Clearance, February 28, 2012. http://­security​.­blogs​.­cnn​.­com​/­2012​/­02​/­28​/­one​-­soldier​-­one​ -­year​-­850000​-­and​-­rising/. 36. For a con­temporary critique of this approach, see Rory A. Crooks, “Creating a Cross-­ Cultural Disposition” (Master’s thesis, Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 2005).

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37. “In the Box: A Tour Through the Simulated Battlefields of the U.S. Army National Training Center,” Venue, May 17, 2013. http://­v​-­e​-­n​-­u​-­e​.­com ​/­In​-­the​-­Box​-­A​-­Tour​-­Through​ -­the​-­Simulated​-­Battlefields​-­of​-­the​-­U​-­S​-­A rmy. 38. Lisa Mundey, “The Combatants’ Experiences,” in Beth Bailey and Richard Immerman, eds., Understanding the U.S. Wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. (New York: New York University Press, 2015), 177. 39. Michael J. Doidge, “Combat Multipliers: Tactical Female Engagement Teams in Paktika Province,” in Donald P. Wright, ed., Vanguard of Valor, vol. 2, Small Unit Actions in Af­ghan­i­stan (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2012), 105–24; Gayle Tzemach Lemmon, “­Women in Combat? ­T hey’ve Already Been Serving on the Front Lines, With Heroism,” Los Angeles Times, December 4, 2015. http://­w ww​.­latimes​.­com​ /­opinion​/­op​-­ed​/­la​-­oe​-­1204​-­lemmon​-­women​-­combat​-­20151204​-­story​.­html. 40. Michelle Tan, “Meet the Army’s First Female Infantry Officer,” Military Times, April 27, 2016. https://­w ww​.­armytimes​.­com​/­news​/­your​-­army​/­2016​/­04​/­27​/­meet​-­the​-­army​-­s​ -­first​-­female​-­infantry​-­officer​/­; Corey Dickstein, “10 female Soldiers Gradu­ate Infantry Officer Course, ­Will Attend Ranger School,” Stars and Stripes, October  27, 2016. https://­ www​.­stripes​.­c om​/­news​/­u s​/­10​-­female​-­soldiers​-­g raduate​-­i nfantry​-­officer​-­c ourse​-­w ill​ -­attend​-­ranger​-­school​-­1​.­436010. 41. Hope Hodge Seck, “Marine Corps Quietly Drops Major Obstacle to Female Infantry Officers,” Military​.­com, February 11, 2018. https://­w ww​.­military​.­com​/­daily​-­news​/­2018​ /­02​/­11​/­marine​-­corps​-­quietly​-­drops​-­major​-­obstacle​-­female​-­infantry​-­officers​.­html. 42. Phil Klay, “Two De­cades of War Have Eroded the Morale of American Troops,” The Atlantic, April 13, 2018. https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­magazine​/­archive​/­2018​/­05​/­left​ -­behind​/­556844​/­; James Burk and Evelyn Espinoza, “Race Relations Within the U.S. Military,” Annual Review of Sociology 38 (2012): 401–22. 43. James E. Parco and David E. Levy, eds., Evolution of Government Policy T ­ owards Homo­sexuality in the U.S. Military: The Rise and Fall of DADT (New York: Taylor & Francis, 2014). 44. Ashton Car­ter, “DoD Transgender Policy Changes,” Medium, June 30, 2016. https://­ medium​.­com​/­@SecDef​/­dod​-­t ransgender​-­policy​-­changes​- ­4f473b21b416. 45. Jeff Schogol, “DoD: Trump’s Ban ­Will Not Stop Our Transgender Recruiting and Retention—­For Now,” Task and Purpose, March 24, 2018. https://­t askandpurpose​.­com​ /­t rumps​-­ban​-­will​-­not​-­stop​-­t ransgender​-­recruiting​-­and​-­retention/. 46. Matthew M. Burke, “Military’s New R&R Plan ­Doesn’t Include Leaving Af­ghan­i­ stan,” Stars and Stripes, June 18, 2012. https://­w ww​.­stripes​.­com​/­news​/­military​-­s​-­new​-­r​-­r​ -­plan​-­doesn​-­t​-­include​-­leaving​-­afghanistan​-­1​.­180662. 47. Jay Price, “Surreal Af­g han­i­stan Boardwalk Fading Into Memory as U.S. Troops Withdraw,” Miami Herald, September 11, 2013. http://­w ww​.­miamiherald​.­com​/­latest​-­news​ /­article1954872​.­html. 48. James Janega, “The Most Remote Combat Outpost in the Province,” Chicago Tribune, July 7, 2009. http://­newsblogs​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­afghan​-­war​-­blog​/­2009​/­07​/­the​-­most​ -­remote​-­combat​-­outpost​-­in​-­the​-­province​.­html. 49. “Mess Halls in Af­ghan­i­stan Ratings,” Cooking With ­Little Buddy (blog), July 13, 2011. http://­cookingwithlittlebuddy​.­com​/­mess​-­halls​-­in​-­afghanistan​-­ratings/. 50. Aamer Madhani, “Field Rations Failing Soldiers,” Chicago Tribune, March 25, 2007. http://­w ww​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­chi​- ­070325mre​-­story​-­story​.­html. 51. Heather Druzin, “As US Packs Up in Af­ghan­i­stan, the Return of the Dreaded MRE,” Stars and Stripes, April  2, 2013. https://­w ww​.­stripes​.­com​/­news​/­as​-­us​-­packs​-­up​-­i n​ -­afghanistan​-­the​-­return​-­of​-­the​-­dreaded​-­m re​-­1​.­214684. 52. David W. Brown, “Why Is the Marine Corps Fighting With the Navy Over a Camouflage Pattern?,” The Atlantic, January 17, 2013. https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com ​/­national​ /­a rchive​/­2013​/­01​/­why​-­is​-­t he​-­marine​- ­corps​-­fighting​-­w ith​-­t he​-­navy​- ­over​-­a​- ­camouflage​ -­pattern​/­267232/.



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53. Yousaf Butt, “How Saudi Wahhabism Is the Fountainhead of Islamist Terrorism,” Huffington Post, January 20, 2015. https://­w ww​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­dr​-­yousaf​-­butt​-­​/­saudi​ -­wahhabism​-­islam​-­terrorism​_­b​_­6501916​.­html; “What Is Wahhabism? The Reactionary Branch of Islam From Saudi Arabia Said to Be ‘the Main Source of Global Terrorism,’ ” The Telegraph, May 19, 2017. https://­w ww​.­telegraph​.­co​.­u k​/­news​/­2016​/­03​/­29​/­what​-­is​ -­wahhabism​-­the​-­reactionary​-­branch​-­of​-­islam​-­said​-­to​-­be​-­the​/­; see also Jonathan Sozek, “Osama bin Laden’s Global Islamism and Wahhabi Islam,” McGill Journal of M ­ iddle East Studies 8 (2006): 33–54. 54. George W. Bush, “ ‘Islam Is Peace’ Says President,” September 17, 2001. https://­ georgewbush​-­whitehouse​.­archives​.­gov​/­news​/­releases​/­2001​/­09​/­20010917​-­11​.­html. 55. Peter Ford, “Eu­rope Cringes at Bush ‘Crusade’ Against Terrorists,” Christian Science Monitor, September 19, 2001. https://­www​.­csmonitor​.­com​/­2001​/­0919​/­p12s2​-­woeu​.­html. 56. Anne C. Loveland, American Evangelicals and the U.S. Military 1942–1993 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1997), passim. 57. B. C., “One Army ­Under God?,” The Economist, September 9, 2014. https://­w ww​ .­economist​.­com​/ ­blogs​/­erasmus​/­2014​/­09​/­religion​-­and​-­american​-­armed​-­forces. 58. Linda Ge, “How 21 Movies and TV Shows Portrayed 9/11 (Photos),” The Wrap, September 11, 2017. https://­www​.­thewrap​.­com​/­how​-­19​-­movies​-­and​-­tv​-­shows​-­portrayed​-­911​-­photos/. 59. Phil Owen, “Movies, TV Shows and Games That ­Were Altered ­After 9/11 (Photos),” The Wrap, September 11, 2017. https://­w ww​.­thewrap​.­com ​/­movies​-­t v​-­shows​-­and​ -­games​-­that​-­were​-­altered​-­after​-­911​-­photos/. 60. Andrew C. McKevitt, “ ‘Watching War Made Us Immune’: The Popu­lar Culture of the Wars,” in Beth Bailey and Richard Immerman, eds., Understanding the U.S. Wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan (New York: New York University Press, 2015), 238–58. 61. Sebastian Junger, War (New York: Twelve, 2010). 62. “Siblings’ Separation Haunts in ‘Kite Runner’ Author’s Latest,” National Public Radio, May 19, 2013. https://­www​.­npr​.­org​/­2013​/­05​/­19​/­184191561​/­siblings​-­separation​-­haunts​ -­in​-­kite​-­r unner​-­authors​-­latest; Stephenie Foster, “A Fort of Nine Towers: An Afghan F ­ amily Story,” Huffington Post, January 23,2014. https://­www​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­stephenie​-­foster​ /­a​-­fort​-­of​-­nine​-­towers​-­an​-­​_­b​_­4029478​.­html. 63. Brian Castner, “ ‘Fire and Forget’: A Review,” Foreign Policy, October 8, 2013. http://­ foreignpolicy​.­com​/­2013​/­10​/­08​/­fire​-­and​-­forget​-­a​-­review/. 64. Bipartisan Policy Center and the American Enterprise Institute, “Trends in Military Compensation,” July 18, 2014. http://­w ww​.­aei​.­org​/­w p​-­content​/­uploads​/­2014​/­07​/­​-­eagl entrendsinmilitarycompensationjuly2014chartbook​_­141227584026​.­pdf; Kathleen T. Rhem, “20-­Year-­High Military Pay Raise Averages 6.9 ­Percent,” Department of Defense, January 7, 2002. http://­archive​.­defense​.­gov​/­news​/­newsarticle​.­aspx​?­id​= ­43877; “Eleventh Quadrennial Review of Military Compensation, Main Report,” Department of Defense, June 2012. http://­m ilitarypay​.­defense​.­gov​/ ­Portals​/­3​/ ­Documents​/ ­Reports​/­11th​_ ­QRMC​ _­Main​_­Report​_­FINAL​.­pdf​?­ver​=2­ 016​-­11​- ­06​-­160559​-­590. 65. “Pay Soars to Keep P ­ eople in Military,” Associated Press, April 11, 2007. http://­ www​.­foxnews​.­com​/­story​/­2007​/­04​/­11​/­pay​-­soars​-­to​-­keep​-­people​-­in​-­military​.­html. 66. Dorian Merina, “When Active-­Duty Ser­vice Members Strug­gle to Feed Their Families,” National Public Radio, April 19, 2017. https://­w ww​.­npr​.­org​/­sections​/­thesalt​/­2017​/­04​ /­19​/­524563155​/­when​-­active​-­duty​-­service​-­members​-­struggle​-­to​-­feed​-­their​-­families. 67. Sara M. Russell, “Soldier Perspectives on Small Arms in Combat,” Center for Naval Analyses, 2006. https://­w ww​.­cna​.­org​/­CNA​_­files​/ ­PDF​/ ­D0015259​.­A2​.­pdf. 68. Jeff Schogol, “Is the Army Testing a Super Gun to Replace the M4?,” National Interest, January  18, 2018. http://­nationalinterest​.­org​/ ­blog​/­the​-­buzz​/­the​-­army​-­testing​-­super​ -­g un​-­replace​-­the​-­m4​-­24123. 69. Loren Thompson, “How the Army Missed Its Chance to Modernize,” Forbes, September 27, 2011. https://­w ww​.­forbes​.­com​/­sites​/ ­beltway​/­2011​/­09​/­27​/ ­how​-­the​-­army​-­missed​ -­its​-­chance​-­to​-­modernize​/­#3a10d8b128ec.

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70. Another Chinook crashed in June 2011 during a major operation in the Watapur Valley, though all crew and passengers miraculously survived the crash. See Ryan Wadle, HAMMER DOWN: The ­Battle for the Watapur Valley, 2011 (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2014), 52–57. 71. Senate Foreign Relations Committee, “Tora Bora Revisited,” November 30, 2009. https://­w ww​.­foreign​.­senate​.­gov​/­imo​/­media​/­doc​/­Tora​_­Bora​_­Report​.­pdf? 72. Department of Defense, “Review of M ­ atters Related to the Death of Corporal Patrick Tillman,” March 26, 2007. http://­w ww​.­dodig​.­m il​/­I nspections​/­I PO​/­reports​/­Tillman​ _­Redacted​_­Web​_­0307​.­pdf. 73. Combat Studies Institute. Wanat: Combat Action in Af­ghan­i­stan, 2008 (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2010); Department of Defense, “Reinvestigation of Combat Action at Wanat Village, 22 June 2010.” http://­w ww​.­dodig​.­mil​/­ai​/­reports​ /­roi​-­wanat508​.­pdf. 74. Tapper, The Outpost, passim; Clinton Romesha, Red Platoon: A True Story of American Valor (New York: Dutton, 2016), passim. 75. Jason Shell, “How the IED Won: Dispelling the Myth of Tactical Success and Innovation,” War on the Rocks, May 1, 2017. https://­warontherocks​.­com​/­2017​/­05​/ ­how​-­the​-­ied​ -­won​-­dispelling​-­the​-­myth​-­of​-­tactical​-­success​-­and​-­innovation; “Operation Enduring Freedom,” http://­icasualties​.­org​/­oef/. 76. Howard Kopolowitz, “What Is a ‘Green-­on-­Blue’ Attack? Killing of US Major General Harold Greene Is Just Third Insider Attack in 2014,” International Business Times, August 5, 2014. http://­w ww​.­ibtimes​.­com​/­what​-­green​-­blue​-­attack​-­killing​-­us​-­major​-­general​ -­harold​-­greene​-­just​-­third​-­insider​-­attack​-­1649920. 77. Diaa Hadid and Scott Neumann, “Multiple Suicide Bombings in Af­ghan­i­stan Leave Dozens Dead, Scores Wounded,” National Public Radio, April 30, 2018. https://­w ww​.­npr​ .­org​/­sections​/­t hetwo​-­way​/­2018​/­0 4​/­30​/­606986047​/­suicide​-­bomb​-­attacks​-­i n​-­kabul​-­leave​ -­dozens​-­dead​-­scores​-­wounded. 78. Hamid Shalizi, “Af­g han­i­stan, U.S. Reach Deal on Controversial Night Raids,” ­Reuters, April  8, 2012. https://­w ww​.­reuters​.­com​/­a rticle​/­us​-­afghanistan​-­n ightraids​ -­idUSBRE83703920120408. 79. Drew Brown, “At Role 3 Hospital, ‘­There’s Essentially Nothing That Can Come in ­Here That We ­Can’t ­Handle,’ ” Stars and Stripes, November 2, 2010. https://­w ww​.­stripes​ .­com​/­news​/­at​-­role​-­3​-­hospital​-­there​-­s​-­essentially​-­nothing​-­that​- ­can​- ­come​-­in​-­here​-­that​-­we​ -­can​-­t​-­handle​-­1​.­124057. 80. Hannah Fisher, “A Guide to U.S. Military Casualty Statistics: Operation Freedom’s Sentinel, Operation Inherent Resolve, Operation New Dawn, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation Enduring Freedom” Congressional Research Ser­vice, August 7, 2015. https://­ fas​.­org​/­sgp​/­crs​/­natsec​/ ­RS22452​.­pdf; Nancy Montgomery, “2016 Marks First Year Without Combat Amputation Since Afghan, Iraq Wars Began,” Stars and Stripes, March 10, 2017. https://­w ww​.­stripes​.­com​/­2016​-­marks​-­first​-­year​-­without​-­combat​-­amputation​-­since​-­afghan​ -­iraq​-­wars​-­began​-­1​.­459288. 81. “High Tech Lab to Optimize Care for Veterans With Prosthetics,” Department of Veterans Affairs, December  23, 2010, https://­w ww​.­va​.­gov​/ ­health​/ ­NewsFeatures​/­201​ 01223a​.­asp. 82. Heather Martino, “War Vets Cast Aside Costly Prosthetic Arms, Citing Usability,” NBC News, December  19, 2014. https://­w ww​.­nbcnews​.­com ​/­news​/­i nvestigations​/­war​ -­vets​-­cast​-­aside​-­costly​-­prosthetic​-­arms​-­citing​-­usability​-­n271211; “Giving the Gift of In­de­pen­dence on Fourth of July: Veterans Receive DARPA’s LUKE Arm,” Defense Advanced Research Proj­ects Agency, June 30, 2017. https://­w ww​.­darpa​.­mil​/­news​-­events​ /­2017​- ­06​-­30. 83. Demetria Mosley, “ ‘I’m Not Disabled’: Prosthetics Keep Amputee Soldiers on Active Duty,” U.S. Army, February 17, 2017. https://­www​.­army​.­mil​/­article​/­182626​/­im​_­not​_­disabled​ _­prosthetics​_­keep​_­amputee​_­soldiers​_­on​_­active​_­duty.



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84. “Combat Veterans’ Brains Reveal Hidden Damage From IED Blasts,” Johns Hopkins Medicine, January 14, 2015. https://­w ww​.­hopkinsmedicine​.­org​/­news​/­media​/­releases​ /­combat​_­veterans​_­brains​_­reveal​_­hidden​_­damage​_­f rom​_­ied​_­blasts. 85. Mark Benjamin, “Insult to Injury,” Salon, January 27, 2005. https://­w ww​.­salon​ .­com​/­2007​/­02​/­23​/­walter​_­reed; Mark Benjamin, “­Behind the Walls of Ward 54,” Salon, February  18, 2005, https://­w ww​.­salon​.­com​/­2005​/­02​/­18​/­walter​_­reed​_­2​/­; Mark Benjamin, “Losing Their Minds,” Salon, January 5, 2006. https://­w ww​.­salon​.­com​/­2006​/­01​/­05​/ ­brain​ _­t rauma/. 86. Dana Priest and Anne Hull, “Soldiers Face Neglect, Frustration at Army’s Top Medical Fa­cil­i­t y,” Washington Post, February 18, 2007. http://­w ww​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​ -­dyn​/­content​/­article​/­2007​/­02​/­17​/­AR2007021701172​.­html; Dana Priest and Anne Hull, “The ­Hotel Aftermath,” Washington Post, February 19, 2007. http://­w ww​.­washingtonpost​.­com​ /­w p​-­dyn​/­content​/­article​/­2007​/­02​/­18​/­AR2007021801335​.­html; Dana Priest and Anne Hull, “Hospital Investigates Former Aid Chief,” Washington Post, February 20, 2007. http://­www​ .­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​-­dyn​/­content​/­article​/­2007​/­02​/­19​/­A R2007021901113​.­html; Dana Priest and Anne Hull, “It Is Not Just Walter Reed,” Washington Post, March 5, 2007. http://­ www​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​- ­dyn​/­content​/­article​/­2007​/­03​/­04​/­A R2007030401394​.­html; Priest and Hull also wrote a series of follow-up articles that appeared in the Washington Post throughout the remainder of 2007. 87. “General Steps Down in Walter Reed Furor,” New York Times, March 21, 2007. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2007​/­03​/­12​/­washington​/­12cnd​-­kiley​.­html. 88. Serve, Support, Simplify: Report of the President’s Commission on Care for Amer­ i­ ca’s Returning Wounded Warriors, July 2007. http://­w ww​.­patriotoutreach​.­org​/­docs​ /­presidents​-­commission​-­report​-­july​-­2007​.­pdf. 89. German Lopez, “The VA Scandal of 2014, Explained,” Vox, May 13, 2015. https://­ www​.­vox​.­com​/­cards​/­va​-­scandal​-­explained​/­what​-­went​-­wrong​-­at​-­the​-­va. 90. Jacy Gomez, “Remember the VA Healthcare Scandal? It’s Still Happening,” Washington Examiner, October 31, 2017. https://­w ww​.­washingtonexaminer​.­com​/­remember​-­the​ -­va​-­healthcare​-­scandal​-­its​-­still​-­happening. 91. Richard A. Oppel Jr., “Bowe Bergdahl Avoids Prison for Desertion; Trump Calls Sentence a ‘Disgrace,’ ” New York Times, November 3, 2017. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2017​ /­11​/­03​/­us​/ ­bowe​-­bergdahl​-­sentence​.­html. 92. Frank Lindh, “How John Walker Lindh Became ‘Detainee 001,’ ” The Nation, August  29, 2014. https://­w ww​.­thenation​.­com​/­article​/ ­how​-­john​-­walker​-­lindh​-­became​ -­detainee​-­001/. 93. Carolyn Rosenberg, “By the Numbers,” Miami Herald, October 25, 2016 (updated May  3, 2018). http://­w ww​.­m iamiherald​.­com ​/­news​/­nation​-­world ​/­world ​/­americas​/­g uanta​ n​amo​/­article2163210​.­html. 94. Dara Lind, “Every­one’s Heard of the Patriot Act. ­Here’s What It Actually Does,” Vox, June 2, 2015. https://­w ww​.­vox​.­com​/­2015​/­6​/­2​/­8701499​/­patriot​-­act​-­explain; “USA Freedom Act: What’s In, What’s Out,” Washington Post, June 2, 2015. https://­w ww​.­washing​ tonpost​.­com ​/­graphics​/­politics​/­usa​-­f reedom​-­act/. 95. David W. Moore, “Eight of 10 Americans Support Ground War in Af­ghan­i­stan,” Gallup​.­com, November 1, 2001. http://­news​.­gallup​.­com​/­poll​/­5029​/­eight​-­americans​-­support​ -­ground​-­war​-­afghanistan​.­aspx. 96. Frank Newport, “More Americans Now View Af­ghan­i­stan War as a ­Mistake,” Gallup​.­com, February 19, 2014. http://­news​.­gallup​.­com​/­poll​/­167471​/­americans​-­view​-­afghan​istan​ -­war​-­mistake​.­aspx; “CNN Poll: Af­ghan­i­stan War Arguably Most Unpop­u­lar in U.S. History,” CNN, December 30, 2013. http://­politicalticker​.­blogs​.­cnn​.­com​/­2013​/­12​/­30​/­cnn​-­poll​ -­afghanistan​-­war​-­most​-­unpopular​-­in​-­u​-­s​-­history/. 97. James Fallows, “The Tragedy of the American Military,” The Atlantic, January/Febru​ ary 2015. https://­www​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­magazine​/­archive​/­2015​/­01​/­the​-­tragedy​-­of​-­the​-­american​ -­military​/­383516/.

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  98. Mittelstadt, The Rise of the Military Welfare State, 190–228.   99. Amber J. Seidel, Melissa M. Franks, Grady F. Murphy, and Shelley MacDermid Wadsworth, “Bridging the Distance: Illustrations of Real-­Time Communication of Support Between Partners and Deployed Members of the National Guard,” in Shelley MacDermid Wadsworth and David S. Riggs, eds., Military Deployment and Its Consequences for Families (New York: Springer, 2014), 28–30. 100. “Post-9/11 GI Bill,” Vets​.­gov. https://­w ww​.­vets​.­gov​/­education​/­gi​-­bill​/­post​-­9​-­11/. 101. David S. Loughran, “Why Is Veteran Unemployment So High?” RAND, 2014; Kellie Lunney, “No One ­Really Understands How Vets’ Preference Works in Federal Hiring,” Government Executive, April 20, 2016. https://­w ww​.­govexec​.­com​/­pay​-­benefits​/­2016​ /­04​/­no​-­one​-­really​-­understands​-­how​-­vets​-­preference​-­works​-­federal​-­hiring​/­127666/. 102. “Employment Situation of Veterans Summary,” Bureau of L ­ abor Statistics, March 22, 2018. https://­w ww​.­bls​.­gov​/­news​.­release​/­vet​.­n r0​.­htm. 103. “What Is PTSD?,” VA​.­gov. https://­w ww​.­ptsd​.­va​.­gov​/­public​/ ­PTSD​-­overview​/ ­basics​ /­what​-­is​-­ptsd​.­asp. 104. Jenni B. Teeters, Cynthia L. Lancaster, Delisa G. Brown, and Sudie E. Back, “Substance Use Disorders in Military Veterans: Prevalence and Treatment Challenges,” Substance Abuse Rehabilitation 8 (2017): 69–77. https://­w ww​.­ncbi​.­nlm​.­n ih​.­gov​/­pmc​/­articles​ /­PMC5587184/. 105. Michelle He Yee Lee, “The Missing Context ­Behind the Widely Cited Statistic That ­There Are 22 Veteran Suicides a Day,” Washington Post, February 4, 2015. https://­w ww​ .­washingtonpost​.­com​/­news​/­fact​- ­checker​/­w p​/­2015​/­02​/­0 4​/­t he​-­m issing​- ­context​-­behind​-­a​ -­w idely​- ­cited​-­statistic​-­t hat​-­t here​-­a re​-­22​-­veteran​-­suicides​-­a​- ­d ay​/­​?­noredirect​= o­ n&utm​ _­term​=­​.­4603c54a3e08; Janet E. Kemp, “Suicide Rates in VHA Patients Through 2011 With Comparisons With Other Americans and Other Veterans Through 2010,” Veterans Health Administration, January 2014. https://­www​.­mentalhealth​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­Suicide​_­Data​_­Report​ _­Update​_ ­January​_­2014​.­pdf. 106. Michael D. Matthews, Head Strong: How Psy­chol­ogy Is Revolutionizing War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 122. 107. Heidi Vogt, “No Alcohol for Troops in Af­g han­i­stan,” Deseret News, March 16, 2012. https://­w ww​.­deseretnews​.­com​/­article​/­765560581​/ ­No​-­alcohol​-­for​-­t roops​-­i n​-­Afgha​ n​istan​.­html. 108. Mark McDonald, “When Alcohol Invades a War Zone,” New York Times, March 19, 2012. https://­rendezvous​.­blogs​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2012​/­03​/­19​/­when​-­alcohol​-­invades​-­a​-­war​-­zone/ Jack Healy, “Soldier Sentenced to Life Without Parole for Killing 16 Afghans,” New York Times, August 23, 2013. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2013​/­08​/­24​/­us​/­soldier​-­gets​-­life​-­without​ -­parole​-­in​-­deaths​-­of​-­afghan​-­civilians​.­html​?­emc​= e­ dit​_­na​_­20130823&​_­r ​= ­0. 109. “U.S. Soldiers in Af­ghan­i­stan Using Craigs­list to Have Sex With Each Other on Base,” Daily Mail, July 30, 2013. http://­w ww​.­d ailymail​.­co​.­u k​/­news​/­article​-­2381367​/ ­U​-­S​ -­soldiers​-­Afghanistan​-­using​-­Craigslist​-­hook​-­base​.­html. 110. “Westerners Are Using Tinder in Af­ghan­i­stan. An Anonymous User Tells Us How It Works,” Task and Purpose, May 21, 2014. https://­taskandpurpose​.­com​/­westerners​-­using​ -­tinder​-­in​-­afghanistan/.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bailey, Beth. Amer­i­ca’s Army: Making the All-­Volunteer Force. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Bergen, Peter L. Manhunt: The Ten-­Year Search for bin Laden—­From 9/11 to Abbottabad. New York: Crown, 2012.



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Biddle, Stephen D. “Allies, Airpower, and Modern Warfare: The Afghan Model in Af­ghan­i­stan and Iraq.” International Security 30. no. 3. (Winter 2005/06): 161–176. Bipartisan Policy Center and the American Enterprise Institute. “Trends in Military Compensation.” July 18, 2014. http://­w ww​.­aei​.­org​/­w p​-­content​/­uploads​/­2014​/­07​/­​-­ea glentrendsinmilitarycompensationjuly2014chartbook​_­1412275​84026​.­pdf. Burk, James and Evelyn Espinoza. “Race Relations Within the U.S. Military.” Annual Review of Sociology 38 (2012): 401–422. Coll, Steve. Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Af­ghan­i­stan, and Bin Laden, From the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001. New York: Penguin Books, 2004. Combat Studies Institute. Wanat: Combat Action in Af­ghan­i­stan, 2008. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2010. Crooks, Rory  A. “Creating a Cross-­Cultural Disposition.” Master’s Thesis, Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 2005. Darack, Edward. Victory Point: Operations Red Wings and Whalers—­The Marine Corps ­Battle for Freedom in Af­ghan­i­stan. New York: Berkley Caliber, 2009. Department of Defense. “Reinvestigation of Combat Action at Wanat Village, 22 June 2010.” http://­w ww​.­dodig​.­mil​/­ai​/­reports​/­roi​-­wanat508​.­pdf. Department of Defense. “Review of ­Matters Related to the Death of Corporal Patrick Tillman,” March  26, 2007. http://­w ww​.­dodig​.­m il​/­I nspections​/­I PO​/­reports​/­Tillman​ _­Redacted​_­Web​_­0307​.­pdf. Field Manual 3–24, Counterinsurgency. December 15, 2006. http://­usacac​.­army​.­mil​/­cac2​ /­Repository​/ ­Materials​/­COIN​-­FM3​-­24​.­pdf. Fisher, Hannah. “A Guide to U.S. Military Casualty Statistics: Operation Freedom’s Sentinel, Operation Inherent Resolve, Operation New Dawn, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation Enduring Freedom.” Congressional Research Ser­vice, August 7, 2015. https://­fas​.­org​/­sgp​/­crs​/­natsec​/ ­RS22452​.­pdf. Gallis, Paul. “NATO in Af­ghan­i­stan: A Test of the Transatlantic Alliance.” Connections 6, no. 3 (2007): 10–32. http://­w ww​.­jstor​.­org​.­aufric​.­idm​.­oclc​.­org​/­stable​/­26323297. Hastings, Max. The Operators: The Wild and Terrifying Inside Story of Amer­i­ca’s War in Af­ghan­i­stan. New York: Blue Rider Press, 2012. Immerman, Richard H. and Beth Bailey, eds. Understanding the U.S. Wars in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. New York: New York University Press, 2016. Junger, Sebastian. War. New York: Twelve, 2010. Kemp, Janet E. “Suicide Rates in VHA Patients Through 2011 With Comparisons With Other Americans and Other Veterans Through 2010.” Veterans Health Administration, January 2014. https://­w ww​.­mentalhealth​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­Suicide​_­Data ​_­Report​ _­Update​_ ­January​_­2014​.­pdf. Koontz, Christopher, ed. Enduring Voices: Oral Histories of the U.S. Army Experience in Af­ghan­i­stan, 2003–2005. Washington, D.C.: Center for Military History, 2008. Loughran, David S. “Why Is Veteran Unemployment So High?” Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2014. Loveland, Anne C. American Evangelicals and the U.S. Military 1942–1993. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1997. Luttrell, Marcus. Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Red Wings and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10. New York: ­Little, Brown, and Com­pany, 2007. Matthews, Michael D. Head Strong: How Psy­chol­ogy Is Revolutionizing War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. McChrystal, Stanley. Initial Assessment. August 30, 2009. http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­get​-­t r​-­doc​ /­pdf​?­AD​=A ­ DA602104. McFate, Montgomery and Janet Laurence, eds. Social Science Goes to War: The ­Human Terrain System in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015.

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Mittelstadt, Jennifer. The Rise of the Military Welfare State. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015. Naylor, Sean. Not a Good Day to Die: The Untold Story of Operation Anaconda. New York: Berkley Books, 2005. Parco, James E. and David E. Levy, eds. Evolution of Government Policy T ­ owards Homo­ sexuality in the U.S. Military: The Rise and Fall of DADT. New York: Taylor & Francis, 2014. Partlow, Joshua. A Kingdom of Their Own: The ­Family Karzai and the Afghan Disaster. New York: Vintage Books, 2017. Ricks, Thomas. Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2003 to 2005. New York: Penguin, 2006. Ricks, Thomas. The ­Gamble: General David Petraeus and the American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2006–2008. New York: Penguin, 2008. Romesha, Clinton. Red Platoon: A True Story of American Valor. New York: Dutton, 2016. Rubin, Barnett. “­Theses on Peacemaking in Af­ghan­i­stan: A Manifesto.” War on the Rocks, February 23, 2018. https://­warontherocks​.­com​/­2018​/­02​/­theses​-­peace​making​-­afghanistan​-­manifesto/. Russell, Sara M. “Soldier Perspectives on Small Arms in Combat.” Center for Naval Analyses, 2006. https://­w ww​.­cna​.­org​/­CNA​_­files​/ ­PDF​/ ­D0015259​.­A2​.­pdf. Senate Foreign Relations Committee. “Tora Bora Revisited.” November 30, 2009. https://­ www​.­foreign​.­senate​.­gov​/­imo​/­media​/­doc​/­Tora​_­Bora​_­Report​.­pdf? Serve, Support, Simplify: Report of the President’s Commission on Care for Amer­i­ca’s Returning Wounded Warriors, July 2007. http://­w ww​.­patriotoutreach​.­org​/­docs​ /­presidents​-­commission​-­report​-­july​-­2007​.­pdf. Shell, Jason. “How the IED Won: Dispelling the Myth of Tactical Success and Innovation.” War on the Rocks, May 1, 2017. https://­warontherocks​.­com​/­2017​/­05​/­how​-­the​-­ied​ -­won​-­dispelling​-­the​-­myth​-­of​-­tactical​-­success​-­and​-­innovation. Sozek, Jonathan. “Osama bin Laden’s Global Islamism and Wahhabi Islam.” McGill Journal of M ­ iddle East Studies 8 (2006): 33–54. Stanton, Doug. Horse Soldiers: The Extraordinary Story of a Band of US Soldiers Who Rode to Victory in Af­ghan­i­stan. New York: Scribner, 2009. Tanner, Stephen. Af­ghan­i­stan: A Military History From Alexander the G ­ reat to the War Against the Taliban. Philadelphia: Da Capo Press, 2009. Tapper, Jake. The Outpost: An Untold Story of American Valor. Boston: Back Bay Books, 2013. Teeters, Jenni B., Cynthia L Lancaster, Delisa G Brown, and Sudie E Back. “Substance Use Disorders in Military Veterans: Prevalence and Treatment Challenges.” Substance Abuse Rehabilitation 8 (2017): 69–77. https://­w ww​.­ncbi​.­nlm​.­nih​.­gov​/­pmc​ /­articles​/ ­PMC5587184. U.S. Army, “Lessons From the War in Af­ghan­i­stan,” May  1989. http://­nsarchive2​.­gwu​ .­edu//­NSAEBB​/ ­NSAEBB57​/­us11​.­pdf. Wadle, Ryan. HAMMER DOWN: The ­Battle for the Watapur Valley, 2011. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2014. Wadsworth, Shelley MacDermid and David S. Riggs, eds. Military Deployment and Its Consequences for Families. New York: Springer, 2014. Wright, Donald P., ed. Vanguard of Valor: Small Unit Actions in Af­ghan­i­stan. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2012. Wright, Donald P. Vanguard of Valor: Small Unit Actions in Af­ghan­i­stan, Vol. II. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2012. Wright, Donald P., ed. A Dif­fer­ent Kind of War: The United States Army in Operation ENDURING FREEDOM (OEF), October  2001-­September  2005. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2010.

15 The Iraq War Jared R. Donnelly

OVERVIEW The 2003 war in Iraq commenced as part of the War on Terror, declared by President George W. Bush following the September 11 terror attacks.1 The war had two distinct phases and lasted over eight and a half years from the invasion on March 20, 2003, to the formal withdrawal of U.S. troops on December 18, 2011. The first phase was the invasion and major conventional combat operations from March 20 to May 1, 2003. The second phase was the drawn-­out insurgency as the United States worked to establish a stable Iraqi government. The war cost over 4,500 co­ali­tion dead and over 32,000 wounded. Iraqi military dead numbered approximately 35,000. The stated goal of regime change was achieved very early in the war, but the concurrent aim of a stable, demo­cratic Iraq eluded the co­ali­tion for years and led to a much longer conflict than initially planned. The Bush administration based its rationale for ­going to war on the belief that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction, harbored or supported terrorists, and poised a threat to the security of the region.2 ­After building a co­ali­tion of partners, notably the United Kingdom, Poland, Spain, Australia, Denmark, and Italy, Operation Iraqi Freedom was launched to overthrow Saddam Hussein’s regime. A force of about 145,000 took part in the invasion, including around 125,000 American soldiers of the 3rd Infantry Division, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), 173rd Airborne Brigade, and 82nd Airborne Division, along with marines from the I Marine Expeditionary Force.3 The war plan called for a “shock and awe” campaign that featured overwhelming speed and firepower. Stepping off from assembly areas in Kuwait, American troops, supported by precision airpower, quickly overwhelmed Iraqi defenses and sped along the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers ­toward the Iraqi capital of Baghdad. Despite the speed and overwhelming force, co­ali­tion forces faced stiff re­sis­tance during the invasion. Exhaustion and the constant fear of chemical weapons dogged soldiers as they fought through sandstorms and fierce urban ­battles along the way to Baghdad.

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The port city of Basra in southwestern Iraq was the second-­largest city in 2003, and its capture was assigned to the British forces. Since the British w ­ ere not part of the drive on Baghdad and therefore not in a rush to move on, their commander, Major General Robin Brims, took a dif­fer­ent approach in capturing Basra that focused on limiting both civilian casualties and damage to the city. The population was predominately Shia and likely predisposed to working with co­ali­tion forces. The British 1st Armored Division encircled the city on March 23, but allowed ­people to move freely out of the city in the hopes of encouraging desertion among the Iraqi soldiers defending the city. The commander of the Iraqi defense, General Ali Hassan al-­Majid, also known as Chemical Ali for his role in a gas attack on a Kurdish town in 1988, wanted to draw the British into a street fight in the city where British armor would be less effective.4 As it became apparent the British ­were content to hold their positions as Iraqi deserters slipped out of the city, al-­Majid launched a column of Soviet-­built T-55 tanks to attack the British positions on March 26. The Iraqi tanks ­were far outranged by the 120-mm guns of the British Challenger tanks and suffered the loss of 15 T-55s without inflicting a single kill on the British Challengers.5 Several days ­later the British initiated a number of ­limited raids to probe Basra’s defenses and began to eliminate Iraqi positions in the city. On April 5 an American airstrike on al-­Majid’s headquarters was widely believed to have killed the general, and demoralized Iraqi defenses melted away. By April 7 the British took the city with ­limited losses to both co­ali­tion troops and Iraqi civilians.6 Another significant ­battle during the invasion was fought at Nasiriyah, the fourth-­ largest city in Iraq, about 200 miles south of Baghdad. Nasiriyah was a strategic location where several key bridges spanned the Euphrates River, and it was also home to the headquarters of the Iraqi Army III Corps. The city was one of the key objectives during the invasion, and the task of taking it fell to the Marine Task Force Tarawa. Task Force Tarawa, which was primarily composed of the 2nd Marine Expeditionary Brigade, entered Nasiriyah from the east on March 23 as the main body of the advance skirted it on the west. The marines encountered stiffer re­sis­ tance than expected as Fedayeen Saddam, fanatical irregular troops, had entered the city the day before the assault. Despite the desertion of many of the regular Iraqi army units in the city, irregulars still fiercely defended Nasiriyah. The heavy fighting in the city centered on the main road to the Saddam Canal and the bridge spanning the canal where the Fedayeen ­were embedded in surrounding buildings and defensive positions. Supported by artillery, tanks, he­li­cop­ter gunships, and A-10s, the marines of Task Force Tarawa pushed through the city and by the eve­ ning of March 24 made it secure enough for other ele­ments to continue the drive north. It took another five days to clear Nasiriyah of significant pockets of re­sis­ tance and several more before the city was declared secure.7 The plan for the capture of the Iraqi capital was designed to avoid a drawn-­out and bloody urban fight that might destroy much of the city.8 The Bush administration and military leaders wanted to keep the damage to a minimum to make it easier for the new Iraqi government to assume control. To accomplish this the 3rd Infantry Division (ID) encircled Baghdad from the west while the I Marine Expeditionary Force encircled the city from the east. ­After taking key positions on



The Iraq War 1035

the roads and highways leading out of the city along with Saddam International Airport, marine and army units planned to whittle away at Baghdad’s defenses, supported by special forces and precision airstrikes. Once in position west of the city, the 3rd ID launched a reconnaissance in force, known as a thunder run, on April 5 with 29 Abrams tanks and 14 Bradleys. The armor column from the 2nd Brigade Combat Team (BCT) suffered the loss of one Abrams to a rocket-­propelled grenade (RPG), but was other­wise intact when it arrived at Saddam International Airport.9 Although the thunder run encountered determined re­sis­tance, the 3rd ID commander believed Baghdad’s defenses ­were brittle and ordered another thunder run for April 7. Instead of driving through the city, the commander of the column made the decision to stop in the city center and set up a defensive perimeter. ­There and all along its supply lines back to the 3rd ID the two armored battalions of the 2nd BCT fought off increasingly desperate attacks by ele­ments of the Republican Guard, Fedayeen Saddam, and Syrian volunteers. This b­ attle proved decisive as Baghdad’s defenses crumbled, and the city was considered secure just three days ­later on April 10.10 ­After the fall of Baghdad in April, co­ali­tion forces made efforts to stabilize the region and capitalize on the ­limited goodwill earned during the liberation of the country. The Bush administration believed the liberated Iraqis would quickly take over the governance of the country and create a stable environment that would allow co­ali­tion forces to return home. ­Because of the Bush administration’s desire to have a small, mobile force along with a quick, decisive war, ­there was a significant lack of phase-­IV planning (stabilization operations), which severely affected the strategic picture ­after the fall of the regime. As the security environment rapidly deteriorated, American soldiers found themselves without clear direction and w ­ ere poorly trained and equipped to deal with community building and peacekeeping.11 A series of questionable policy decisions and lack of strategic vision on the part of the Co­ali­tion Provisional Authority (CPA) created the conditions for an insurgency in Iraq. Sectarian vio­lence, the absence of legitimate governance, and the lack of security launched Iraq into a guerrilla war that caught co­ali­t ion forces unprepared.12 As the insurgency spread in the summer and fall of 2003, casualties mounted and military leaders began to recognize they ­were fighting an entirely dif­fer­ent war. The soldiers on the ground no longer faced a conventional force they understood and ­were trained and equipped to defeat, but instead faced insurgents they could not easily identify in an environment that was increasingly hostile. Lacking translators, local area knowledge, body armor, and armored vehicles, American soldiers began to encounter improvised explosive devices (IEDs), snipers, and suicide bombers. The CPA set up a government district in Baghdad that became known as the Green Zone. The Green Zone was a heavi­ly fortified area where the CPA, co­ali­ tion leadership, and civilian contractors lived and worked.13 The ­hotels, former government buildings, and palaces ­were filled with bureaucrats, soldiers, and news reporters. The Green Zone had all the amenities of a small American city with restaurants, coffee shops, stores, a hospital, recreation center, laundry facilities, and

1036

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U.S. Army soldiers move down a street during a clearing mission in Dora, Iraq, May 3, 2007. T ­ hese soldiers are in the 2nd Platoon, Alpha Com­pany, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Infantry Regiment, 3rd Stryker Brigade. Dismounted patrols allowed local troops to interact with the civilian populace and also to create a vis­i­ble security presence in areas ­under threat from insurgents. (U.S. Army photo by Specialist Elisha Dawkins)

even a bar. Often called “the ­Bubble,” it was surrounded by high concrete blast walls, known as T-­walls or “Bremer walls” ­after L. Paul Bremer, who led the CPA following the invasion. The security provided by the blast walls and barbed wire also insulated Green Zone residents from the rest of Baghdad. Iraqis easily noticed the lights of the Green Zone, while much of the city lacked power and basic utilities. Furthermore, Baghdad residents, like much of the country, lacked security as armed gangs operated widely and vio­lence was commonplace.14 For the most part, co­ali­tion forces gradually moved to large bases away from the cities, including bases that ­were known as forward operating bases (FOBs). The Bush administration’s vision for the rebuilding of Iraq was centered on quickly standing up a newly trained and equipped Iraqi army and police force and transferring the responsibility of providing security from co­ali­tion forces to the Iraqis. As troops w ­ ere withdrawn from cities to the relative safety of the FOBs, Iraqi soldiers and police ­were expected to take over more and more of the day-­to-­day security operations. It was believed that the sooner Iraqis provided their own security, the better, as many felt that the presence of American troops was an irritant to the population and an obstacle for the nascent Iraqi government. By the winter of 2003–2004, the pacification and rebuilding efforts ­were stumbling, as the CPA ­under Bremer’s leadership strug­gled to get its initiatives off the ground. In December 2003, Saddam Hussein was captured near his hometown, Tikrit, and many in the U.S. military believed ­things would begin to improve. The



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CPA leadership thought some ele­ments of Iraqi society resisted the American occupation while Saddam was on the run b­ ecause, to some, he continued to represent the regime. ­After he was captured, many believed the pockets of re­sis­tance would collapse as the last vestige of the former Iraq state dis­appeared. The real­ity outside of the Green Zone was quite dif­fer­ent.15 The U.S. Army worked to train Iraqi soldiers and police to transfer the security of the country to Iraqis as much of Iraq devolved into a patchwork of sectarian strongholds. Religious vio­lence in Iraq escalated as tensions between Shia and Sunni Muslims, somewhat contained during Saddam’s regime, flourished in the absence of established local government and police. Car bombings, rocket attacks, ambushes, and roadside bombs became increasingly frequent throughout Iraq. Kidnappings and brutal executions of co­ali­tion soldiers, private contractors, government workers, and members of international aid organ­izations highlighted the lack of security. Several cities in the area northwest of Baghdad, known as the Sunni Triangle, became centers of opposition. T ­ hese cities included Ramadi, Fallujah, Baqubah, and Samarra. Fallujah, about 65 kilo­meters west of Baghdad in central Iraq, was the site of two ­battles in 2004. The first began in April 2004 in response to the killings of four U.S. citizens working as private security contractors. The four-­week ­battle for control of the city ended with a U.S. withdrawal. Operations ­were turned over to a Sunni security force formed and equipped by the U.S. government.16 When the force dissolved and its soldiers declared for the insurgents, the U.S. military initiated the Second ­Battle of Fallujah in November 2004. This second attempt to gain control of the city featured intense urban combat and was the bloodiest of the war, with co­ali­tion forces suffering 107 killed and 613 wounded. The plan for the November ­battle called for the concentration of forces north of Fallujah, including approximately 10,000 marines and soldiers along with 2,000 Iraqi troops. On November 7 ­these troops entered the city with the intent to clear it from north to south. The main assault was conducted at night to take advantage of the U.S. forces’ technological superiority with night vision devices.17 Supported by Abrams tanks and Bradleys, American troops methodically cleared the city block by block moving south through the city while Iraqi forces followed, clearing mosques that the Americans intentionally bypassed. The assault was successful—­ using a lethal combination of infantry, armor, precision airstrikes, and artillery, it was a textbook example of urban combat operations. By November 15, assault forces had reached the southern end of the city where they turned around and swept back north to mop up any remaining insurgents. Observers noted that the Second ­Battle of Fallujah was the most intense urban combat for U.S. forces since the Vietnam War. By November 16 the city was deemed secure at a cost of about 95 killed and more than 500 wounded American troops. B ­ ecause of the intensity of the urban combat and the extensive defenses constructed by the insurgents, much of the city was damaged or destroyed. Despite the resounding display of military power and the clear victory of co­ali­tion forces at Fallujah, insurgent attacks increased across Iraq following the b­ attle.18 That same week, b­ attle also erupted in Mosul, far to the north of Fallujah. The 101st Airborne had held Mosul for much of the year prior to the ­battle and had not

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encountered significant levels of vio­lence. In October 2004 the 101st was moved to Fallujah to prepare for the November b­ attle, and the units replacing it faced a sharp spike in vio­lence. On November 8, as the Second ­Battle of Fallujah developed, insurgents captured a number of police stations in Mosul and launched coordinated attacks against American units. ­After several days of increasingly brazen attacks on American troops and positions, including an RPG and mortar attack on FOB Courage, the insurgents had freedom of movement throughout much of the city. Co­ali­tion forces gathered units including Kurdish Peshmerga, Iraqi special forces, and American conventional troops, and on November 13 began operations to regain control of the city. ­After heavy combat, co­ali­tion forces secured much of the city within three days. It was several months before the entire city was brought ­under control. As the U.S. military redeployed units to the United States and new units moved in to replace them, the transitions further hindered operations on the ground. Relationships with local Iraqi leaders had to be developed anew, and the already poor intelligence situation suffered as well. It was extremely difficult to maintain continuity, and Iraqis often found it difficult to trust army leadership when they knew the next unit might renege on previous agreements. The transitive nature of the army’s presence in Iraq undermined efforts to win the hearts and minds of Iraqis and ran ­counter to most theories upon how to conduct irregular warfare. In the early stages of the insurgency, co­ali­tion forces employed tactics aimed at capturing high-­value targets and known insurgents who ­were responsible for attacks on co­ali­tion troops or who could be linked to insurgent groups. ­These tactics included ­house searches that often left homes ransacked, humiliating and terrifying late-­night raids, mass arrests of military-­aged men, and interrogations that employed harsh methods.19 This focus on capturing and dealing with individual targets often angered and alienated the general population. The heavy-­handed methods pushed many more Iraqis ­toward supporting the insurgency rather than working with the co­ali­tion. In many ways, this approach to counterinsurgency operations missed the forest for the trees. In an effort to stamp out the insurgency by capturing individual insurgents, co­ali­tion forces made life even more difficult for the average Iraqi, the segment of the population that needed to be won to halt the insurgency.20 As the U.S. military and the Bush administration came to terms with the real­ity that an insurgency had taken hold in Iraq, the army set to work on developing doctrine for fighting an irregular war. The American military and po­liti­cal establishments vowed to never repeat the failures of Vietnam and avoided anything resembling counterinsurgency warfare. This sentiment played a major role in the planning, or lack thereof, for Iraq ­after the fall of the Saddam regime. The war with Iraq in 1991 and the major combat operations at the beginning of 2003 clearly illustrated American military dominance and seemed to validate the focus on conventional warfare. However, when the insurgency erupted in Iraq a­ fter the fall of Saddam’s regime, the military was unprepared to deal with it. Some commanders, such as Major General David Petraeus, commanding the 101st Division in Mosul, employed counterinsurgency princi­ples as early as 2004.21 But t­hese efforts ­were rare and conducted upon their own initiative. Simply put, the U.S. Army did not know how to fight against an insurgency.



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While leading the army’s Training and Doctrine Command, Petraeus oversaw the team of experts that wrote the book on counterinsurgency warfare for the U.S. military. Known simply as ­Counter Insurgency, U.S. Army Field Manual 3-24 was officially released in December 2006 and it provided the doctrinal foundation for the counterinsurgency campaign the army would fight in Iraq. The manual focused on the nonkinetic aspects of irregular warfare such as cultural analy­sis, ethics, civilian and military cooperation, linguistics, and the laws of war.22 A minority in the military and po­liti­cal leadership of the United States believed that a temporary increase in troop levels would help them get a h­ andle on the insurgency and put them on the path ­toward sustainable pro­gress. This was an unpop­u­ lar approach, but with ample evidence that ­things ­were quickly ­going from bad to worse, ­there ­were not many other options. Petraeus was given the opportunity to employ the concepts he developed in FM 3-24 and given command of all U.S. troops in Iraq. The surge, as the temporary troop increase became known, called for five Brigade Combat Teams to be added to the forces already in Iraq for an addition of about 20,000 troops. Along with some special forces ele­ments, a marine battalion, and aviation units, about 25,000 troops ­were added to the 130,000 troops already in Iraq.23 The surge in troop levels helped provide the additional combat power to accomplish the missions, but the real effect came from how they w ­ ere used. Petraeus firmly believed in counterinsurgency theory that emphasized the protection of the civilian population over the destruction of the insurgent force. The co­ali­tion had to win over the population before they could defeat the insurgents, and the only way to gain their trust and support was to protect them. The once-­or twice-­daily trips from the FOBs into neighborhoods w ­ ere far too l­ittle to adequately provide the security necessary to win hearts and minds. As Petraeus put it, “You ­can’t commute to this fight; you must live among the ­people.”24 This required commanders to send their soldiers out of the FOBs and into the communities to live on combat outposts (COPs) embedded in the neighborhoods. This isolated soldiers and made them tempting targets for insurgent attacks, but it also allowed them to provide real security and convince some Iraqis that they would protect them from insurgent retribution.25 In Anbar Province, the largest province in Iraq with a predominately Sunni population, the situation by mid-2006 looked hopeless. Sunni tribes ­were working with al Qaeda in Iraq (AQI) and made this region one of the most violent in the country. In the provincial capital of Ramadi, the security environment was particularly poor and insurgents nearly had total freedom of movement in the city. A number of tribal chiefs in the province w ­ ere disgruntled with AQI, as the organ­ ization demanded total control of the insurgency in the region, marginalized the sheikhs, and brutally punished sheikhs who opposed them. The disaffected sheikhs banded together and started a movement to resist AQI. This development, called the Anbar Awakening, created an opportunity for co­ali­tion forces to change the balance of power in the region and reduce the power of the insurgency. The 1st Brigade Combat Team (BCT) took over Ramadi’s security in June 2006 and began developing relationships with the sheikhs who resisted AQI control. With support and protection from 1st BCT, some sheikhs directed their followers to stop their attacks on U.S. troops and helped to develop the Iraqi police force in Ramadi. By

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late 2007 the movement gained enough momentum to dramatically change the vio­ lence levels in Anbar Province. The combined effort of the local tribes and the U.S. Army was seen as a major accomplishment in the counterinsurgency campaign.26 Attacks spiked all spring and early summer of 2007, but civilian casualties decreased sharply and eventually American casualties decreased as well. When General Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker testified before the Senate in September 2007 the data supported their claim that the military objectives of the surge ­were being met and the goal of a secure, stable, and demo­cratic Iraq was attainable. American forces ­were getting better intelligence from civilians who w ­ ere no longer as concerned with retribution from insurgent groups, as the surge had demonstrated the U.S. commitment to protecting the ­people where they lived. The surge also often led to closer relationships between soldiers and Iraqi civilians, which helped establish a foundation of trust that had been missing. All of t­ hese developments severely degraded capabilities and movement for insurgents. This resulted in fewer and oftentimes much less sophisticated IEDs, as bomb-­making networks ­were disrupted and IED planting was quickly reported by local Iraqis. Former insurgents ­were brought in with offers of amnesty and given paying jobs as local militia. T ­ hese former insurgents often shared critical intelligence that helped further degrade the capabilities and cohesion of the insurgent groups. In the end the surge worked to reduce vio­lence and build stability in Iraq. The next difficulty was translating the effects of the surge into real po­liti­cal gains for the Iraqi government. By 2008, the United States and Iraq worked on a status of forces agreement (SOFA) that specified a date for the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraqi cities and a date for the complete withdraw of all combat forces from the country. The SOFA also more clearly defined the ­legal framework for American soldiers, officials, and contractors working in Iraq. The SOFA was signed by President Bush and the Iraqi prime minister Nuri al-­Maliki on December 14, 2008, with the agreed-­upon date of June 30, 2011, for the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraqi cities, and December 31, 2011, for the complete withdrawal of all U.S. combat troops from Iraq.27 The transition from Operation Iraqi Freedom to Operation New Dawn on September 1, 2010, marked the end of American combat operations in Iraq. The remaining 50,000 troops ­were dedicated to stability operations that mainly focused on training, advising, and assisting the Iraq army and the Iraqi police. T ­ hese soldiers ­were part of advisory and assistance brigades (AABs), and while they maintained the ability to defend themselves, they ­were not actively engaged in combat missions. Much of the equipment and supplies left by redeploying combat units ­were ­either shipped to Af­ghan­i­stan or sold to the Iraqi government. The final withdrawal of American troops took place on December 18, 2011.28 The Obama administration had attempted to negotiate an agreement to extend the American military presence in order to continuing training Iraqi security forces and ensure the stability of the country. ­These discussions broke down over the issue of ­legal immunity for U.S. soldiers. The Iraqi government refused to give immunity, and the United States was unwilling to stay without it.29 Furthermore, a significant portion of the Iraqi parliament and population was adamantly opposed to continuing the American military presence despite the benefits in terms of training and intelligence support. The United States continued to operate the embassy in Baghdad



The Iraq War 1041

with about 17,000 personnel and maintained smaller consulates in Mosul, Basra, and Kirkuk. As the last American troops left Iraq, a broad strategic agenda was agreed to between the Obama administration and the Iraqi government. This included cooperation on economic development, energy, education, security, and counterterrorism in order to strengthen ties between the United States and Iraq as well as ensure the stability of the country in the wake of the military withdrawal. During the initial combat phase of the war, which included the invasion of Iraq and the fall of Baghdad, from March 19 to April 30, 2003, 139 Americans ­were killed in action (KIA) and 545 ­were wounded in action (WIA). The insurgency that followed the toppling of Saddam’s regime was much more costly for American forces. From May 1, 2003, to the end of 2011, 4,496 Americans ­were killed and about 32,000 wounded.30 The majority of the wounded troops ­were able to return to duty within three days and classified as wounded in action, returned to duty (WIA RTD).31 Around 9,200 Iraqi combatants ­were killed in the first phase of the war; data on wounded Iraqi combatants are l­ imited. The insurgency was also much more costly for the forces opposing the co­ali­tion, with tens of thousands killed. Exact numbers are extremely difficult to come by, as ­these data are not officially sourced or verifiable ­because of the nature of insurgencies. The war also killed and wounded a ­great number of Iraqi civilians with estimates ranging from 600,000 to over 1 million civilian dead.32 CONSCRIPTION AND VOLUNTEERS Unlike most wars in American history, the Iraq War was fought with an all-­ volunteer force. The September 11 terror attacks played a major role in the decision pro­cess of many soldiers. Many Americans felt it was their duty to sign up to fight in the War on Terror ­after they witnessed the planes crash into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Soldiers described a surge in patriotism and a palpable need to rectify the injustice of the attack on the homeland. Recruiting offices ­were overwhelmed with potential recruits, and training facilities quickly fell b­ ehind. New recruits often had to wait several months before heading off to basic training. L ­ ater on, as the Iraq War continued without vis­i­ble pro­gress and became increasingly unpop­u­lar, the army offered cash bonuses to raise enlistments. The army offered a variety of incentives to draw in new recruits. T ­ hese included cash bonuses, student loan repayments, and specialized training, along with money for school and housing loans through the G.I. Bill. The army promised recruits that the training they would receive as a soldier would prepare them for exciting, lucrative ­careers in the civilian world, particularly in fields like information technology and engineering. Keeping soldiers in the army and in-­theater frequently became an issue during the Iraq War. The army instituted stop-­loss, a pro­cess by which the military involuntarily extends an active-­duty soldier’s ser­vice, several times during the Iraq War to mitigate manpower issues. Stop-­loss was implemented prior to deployment in 2003, then lifted in September 2003 when the military believed the situation on the ground in Iraq was stable enough to begin troop reductions. Stop-­loss was put back into effect in January 2004 as it became clear ­there ­were not enough troops

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to secure Iraq.33 This was very unpop­u­lar, as soldiers w ­ ere forced to continue their military commitment. Many soldiers saw stop-­loss as an indication that the military was not prepared for how conditions developed in Iraq. At the beginning of the surge in 2007 a stop-­loss policy was again instituted in order to help raise troop levels. Units had their 12-­month deployments extended to 15 months, which gave Petraeus extra manpower to start implementing his strategy, while five BCTs ­were surged into theater over the span of several months. This proved critical to getting the surge ­going, but came at a cost to the endurance and morale of the troops. Reserve and National Guard soldiers played a major role in the Iraq War, where they operated alongside active-­duty units. As a testament to the training and readiness of the Reserve and National Guard, ­these part-­time soldiers ­were usually indistinguishable from their professional counter­parts. Several hundred thousand reservists and guardsmen served in Iraq over the course of the war. Many Reserve and National Guard soldiers spent far more than the one weekend a month and two weeks a year usually required of them; it was not uncommon for a reservist to serve multiple yearlong tours.34 Reserve and National Guard soldiers w ­ ere necessary to supplement the active-­duty force that ranged from 500,000 to 550,000 troops during the war.35 TRAINING Soldiers in Iraq w ­ ere very well trained and among the best in the world. The army learned a g­ reat deal from its experiences in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan that was incorporated into training. Soldiers who enlisted, e­ ither as active duty or through the Reserves or National Guard, all went through the same basic training pro­cess. Officers commissioned via one of four ways: the United States Military Acad­emy at West Point, Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), Officer Candidate School, or direct commission, though this was reserved for professional fields such as law, medicine, or religion. Basic training was nine weeks long for most of the Iraq War. Recruits reported to basic training at bases across the country and went through several days of in-­ processing before starting. Basic training was divided into three segments known as Red, White, and Blue. If a recruit failed to pass any of the three phases, they would have to start again from the first phase. During the training, recruits ­were put ­under intense pressure as the drill instructors endeavored to break them down as individuals and build them back up as soldiers. Drill instructors ­were not allowed to hit recruits, but they did exercise a good deal of ridicule and other verbal harassment to exploit any weak points in a recruit’s persona. The stress placed on recruits was intentionally levied so that they would learn to function u­ nder the pressures of combat and learn to work as part of a team. A typical day lasted 16 hours, with a ­great deal of ­r unning, standing in formation, and performing mundane tasks. If a recruit made a ­mistake, the entire training unit would be collectively punished through some sort of physical exercise, such as pushups or squats. Recruits w ­ ere pushed to their physical limits and frequently had their sleep interrupted so that they never felt rested for the entirety of their basic



The Iraq War 1043

training experience. Most recruits understood that all the verbal harassment, yelling, and punishment ­were just part of the program and learned to adapt. A few found they could not h­ andle the pressure and washed out, but this was fairly rare. In basic training recruits learned order in ­every aspect of their lives from clothes, to hygiene, to how they walked, to how they communicated, to how they conducted themselves throughout the day. They learned how to salute, march, stand in formation, and address superiors. They also learned skills for combat such as basic marksmanship and the use of standard-­issue weapons, map reading and orienteering, and basic infantry tactics. At the end of the nine-­week program they ­were fitter, tougher, and more confident in their abilities to endure the rigors of combat. While most did not enjoy their time in basic training, the majority believed it was worthwhile. ­After completing basic training soldiers received their military occupational specialty (MOS) and reported to Advanced Individual Training (AIT) for their field. AIT was anywhere from several weeks to several months long depending on the specific ­career field. For example AIT for an Infantryman MOS (11B) was five weeks long and usually took place at Fort Benning, Georgia, while AIT for an M1 Abrams Tank System Maintainer (91A) was 24 weeks. A large number of ­career fields in the army gave soldiers skills that ­were applicable to professions in the civilian world, and the army made a point to highlight this when recruiting. Training shifted from major combat operations to counterinsurgency operations (COIN) in 2004 and 2005. The army published Field Manual 3-24 on counterinsurgency in 2006, and this publication codified in doctrine how the army approached the insurgency in Iraq and operationalized COIN. In order to quickly respond to the new training requirements necessitated by COIN operations, the army developed a training and equipping pro­cess called Army Force Generation Pro­cess, or ARFORGEN. This pro­cess trained and prepared forces in the United States and sent them to units ready for the COIN fight. This provided units with soldiers already trained and equipped for COIN operations and was a good solution in the short term. Some officers and NCOs saw this pro­cess, by which soldiers are trained outside of the unit, as detrimental in the long term, as units lost the institutional knowledge and capability to train on their own. SOCIAL STRUCTURE In the all-­volunteer army of the early 2000s class division was not as much of a significant ­factor as it had been in the past. ­There ­were still some class distinctions between officers and enlisted personnel, but for the most part class was not an issue many ­people noticed. It was not uncommon to find enlisted soldiers with college degrees, and while the military offered opportunities for social mobility for soldiers from low-­income backgrounds, the vast majority of military members ­were solidly lower ­middle class to ­middle class. Minorities made up about 25 ­percent of the army during the Iraq War. The army reflected a more racially diverse American society and found value in having soldiers from all backgrounds and perspectives. While some racial tensions existed, for the vast majority of soldiers, race was not a significant ­factor in the military.

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However, soldiers of ­Middle Eastern descent at times faced discrimination outside of the military. During the Iraq War, ­women made up about 10 ­percent of the military. Well over 100,000 ­women served in Iraq and more than 600 ­were killed or wounded. ­These numbers are a dramatic increase from the Gulf War and the Vietnam War. B ­ ecause of the nature of the war in Iraq, ­women ­were frequently in combat. When the war started in 2003 ­women ­were not allowed to serve in combat units. The speed of the invasion and the inability to properly secure supply lines put many female soldiers in combat. Private Jessica Lynch’s unit is a famous example of female soldiers in support roles finding themselves in fierce combat.36 ­After the fall of the Saddam regime ­women continued to fight in combat despite having “noncombat” roles b­ ecause of the nature of irregular warfare. T ­ here w ­ ere no front lines during the counterinsurgency in Iraq. Snipers, ambushes, IEDs, and indirect fire targeted soldiers indiscriminately. Many female soldiers served as military police (MPs) and in ­those roles frequently provided protection for VIPs or high-­value targets that put them in combat situations. Female engagement teams (FETs) ­were a major part of the army’s approach to COIN operations. In order to be as respectful as pos­si­ble to Iraq cultural and societal norms, male soldiers w ­ ere not allowed to touch female Iraqi civilians, so FETs ­were required anytime a unit needed to engage with the local population. This included a huge variety of combat missions where female soldiers w ­ ere essential to completing the task. Shortly ­after the war, the restriction on ­women in combat roles was lifted by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, due primarily to the experience of female soldiers in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan.37 The challenges of serving in the military as a w ­ oman often rivaled the challenges of serving in a war zone. It is estimated that around one-­third of ­women in the military during the Iraq War faced sexual assault and nearly all dealt with sexual harassment. Incidents of sexual assault w ­ ere often unreported to such a degree that the military instituted the Sexual Assault and Prevention Response (SAPR) Office to address the prob­lem. DAILY LIFE During the invasion, soldiers lived on the move as they raced across Iraq. During the early days of the war ­after the fall of Saddam’s regime, soldiers lived in makeshift quarters occupying former government buildings; the lucky ­were quartered in some of Saddam’s palaces. Field rations known as meals ready to eat (MRE) ­were the staple for soldiers during the invasion. MREs provided about 1,200 calories of nutrition with a main course; a side dish; a dessert or snack; crackers or bread; a spread such as cheese, peanut butter, or jelly; powdered drink mix; a plastic spoon; flameless ration heater; and an accessory pack that included chewing gum, a matchbook, napkin, moist towelette, seasonings such as salt, pepper, sugar, creamer, Tabasco sauce, and freeze-­d ried coffee.38 Soldiers generally avoided eating MREs if they could. When operating with co­ali­tion partners, American soldiers always wanted to trade for the co­ali­tion field



The Iraq War 1045

rations. The American soldiers thought they w ­ ere gourmet, or at least more in­ter­ est­ing than their MREs. A good number of MREs ­were given to locals b­ ecause soldiers had lots on hand. Since the army provided more than enough MREs to feed the troops and most avoided eating them, soldiers w ­ ere more than happy to pass them on to less fortunate Iraqi civilians. Most soldiers scrounged up food from care packages, mobile PX trailers, and small eateries rather than eat MREs. The army endeavored to provide a good variety of meal choices for soldiers; among them, chicken and rice and beef stew ­were two of the most desired. Most fell short of the mark, omelet with ham being considered one of the worst. The small Tabasco ­bottles w ­ ere particularly popu­lar and would be scavenged from MREs for use on other meals. The pound cake was popu­lar as well, as unlike most food, it did not seem to suffer in taste or texture as a field ration. Rarely did anyone actually eat the w ­ hole meal, even if that was all they had. Rip Its, a generic energy drink, ­were available for ­f ree at the dining fa­cil­i­t y (DFAC). Soldiers ­were reminded to drink it in moderation to avoid becoming a heat causality. The army provided the energy drinks ­because soldiers often worked long hours and performed late-­night operations. Other energy drinks like Red Bull and Monster ­were widely available at shops as well. Protein powders and workout supplements ­were in high demand, as soldiers split their ­free time between watching movies, playing video games, and working out. Gatorade and Gatorade powder ­were very commonly used. No ice was available for troops during the early months of the war ­because regulations would not allow soldiers to use Iraqi ice and refrigeration units ­were not yet set up on most bases. Soldiers frequently disobeyed the restriction on Iraqi ice as the summer temperatures arrived and soldiers ­were unable to cool down any of their drinks. Many soldiers bought cheap coolers from Iraqis to store ice and drinks. Interpreters hired by the army to work with army units and commanders usually provided e­ ither the contact for a ser­vice or got the goods themselves. They served as local fixers for their units, often bargaining for better deals or steering their soldiers away from risky transactions. The average soldier was more than willing to utilize their “terp” to find hard-­to-­get items by purchasing in local markets, and interpreters ­were even more willing to accommodate them.39 One of the most basic needs for any army is ­water, and an army fighting in the desert needed a ­great deal of it. ­Water was usually transported in tankers and then stored in big tanks on base. ­Water purification facilities ­were eventually set up to meet the huge demands for w ­ ater by U.S. troops. Most soldiers used bottled w ­ ater rather than fill their canteens, and the army made sure to deliver it by the pallet. Pallets of bottled w ­ ater ­were always scattered throughout American installations. Soldiers ­were not allowed to eat Iraqi food for the first few months of the war, ­because army leadership and the division surgeons ­were concerned about contamination and food-­borne illnesses. This significantly hampered relationship-­building efforts as Iraqis saw the refusal to eat their food as an insult. By August 2003, this restriction was lifted when army leadership recognized the impact of the restriction. Many soldiers developed a taste for Iraqi dishes such as falafel, shawarma, and kebabs. Chai tea was ubiquitous at ­every meeting with Iraqis, and soldiers learned to drink it despite the heat.

1046

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

As co­ali­tion troops began to establish a presence in Iraq to stabilize and rebuild the country, the military built installations throughout the country categorized as camps, forward operating bases, and combat outposts. The largest installations ­were camps and forward operating bases, known as FOBs, that ­were built up around airfields and strategic locations to provide security and support for co­ali­tion forces. They ranged in size from 30,000 ­people to a few thousand. Combat outposts (COPs) ­were much more remote, supported fewer p­ eople, and tended to be correspondingly austere. The largest camps and FOBs had a wide variety of amenities, such as DFACs, shops, morale and welfare buildings, laundry facilities, gyms, and sports fields.40 Smaller and much more isolated, COPs had ­limited amenities and ser­vices for soldiers, often consisting of a modular kitchen trailer (MKT), headquarters, medical building, and basic housing. Shipping containers, trailers, and prefabricated buildings known as containerized housing units (CHUs) ­were the most common forms of housing for soldiers. Most installations larger than COPs had quarters with air conditioning and ­r unning ­water for showers and toilets. A common lodging experience for a soldier with multiple tours in Iraq was being ­housed in a former Republican Guard fa­cil­i­ty in 2003, a factory turned into barracks in 2004, and a FOB in 2005. Even ­later in the war, soldiers ­were ­housed in makeshift barracks throughout the country that made for an extremely uneven living experience for soldiers during the entire course of the war. Troops also had Internet ser­vices that greatly improved during the course of the war. By the late 2000s it was common for soldiers to stay in regular contact with friends and ­family back home via social media and video chats. This connectivity played a major role in the war experience for soldiers in Iraq. It was common for soldiers to return from a combat patrol and immediately update their online blog with their thoughts on their recent mission and reflections on their time in Iraq. Soldiers with reliable electricity in their quarters, usually in the form of generators, often hooked up tele­vi­sions, gaming consoles, and personal computers to occupy themselves during their down time. PlayStations and Xboxes w ­ ere nearly ubiquitous in soldiers’ quarters, and the irony of playing a first-­person shooter game while serving in a combat zone was not lost on the troops. Gaming tournaments that pitted squad mates against one another w ­ ere a common form of entertainment. The dining facilities on most bases provided a large range of food with a serious effort to provide variety for soldiers. The DFACs ­were large buildings built by private construction companies, usually Kellogg, Brown, and Root (KBR), and staffed by contractors from the United States and third-­country nationals from places like India, Nepal, the Philippines, and Sri Lanka. ­T hese air-­conditioned buildings served thousands of meals a day and gave soldiers food choices that ­were a far cry from the MREs they ate in the field. It was common to see prime rib, T-­bone steak, lobster tails, crab legs, chicken cordon bleu, and pork chops on the menu, along with comfort foods like pork and beans, pizza, ravioli, burritos, chicken tenders, French fries, and onion rings. The facilities also offered a large se­lection of desserts such as cheesecake, choco­late cake, sweet potato pie, ice cream, and brownies. A wide variety of soft drinks, juice, milk, and coffee ­were also available. A particularly popu­lar feature of some of the larger DFACs was the stir-­fry



The Iraq War 1047

station where soldiers could order beef or chicken dishes along with stir-­fried vegetables. For some soldiers who did not have jobs that kept them active, staying in shape with such dining options became a challenge. Some DFACs, recognizing the temptation of all the high-­fat and sugar dishes, created healthy eating rooms where food options ­were ­limited to more health-­conscious items for soldiers watching their diets. Beyond the DFAC, many bases had fast food restaurants such as Burger King, Subway, and Pizza Hut, which ­were open 24/7, along with cafes and coffee shops. Add to this the post exchanges where soldiers could buy snacks and drinks, and it is clear that soldiers on some of the larger bases in Iraq w ­ ere provided nearly all the comforts of home when it came to food. The smaller the installation, the less ­there was available when it came to dining options. Combat outposts often had one or two hot meals a day provided by contactors or made in an MKT by the soldiers themselves. At ­these isolated locations, MREs w ­ ere regularly served as a lunch or dinner. The most isolated got by on MREs alone. Nearly every­thing required for a FOB or COP to operate had to be trucked or flown in, and food was certainly no exception. Refrigeration was a major limiting f­ actor for food ser­vice in Iraq, and the farther one got from the large bases, the less likely that the electricity and infrastructure required to support a large kitchen would be available. To complicate ­matters further, the big convoys of food and supplies ­were often targets for ambush or IEDs and required substantial escort support. This logistical real­ity made for widely dif­fer­ent experiences for soldiers on a FOB and t­ hose on a COP. Soldiers on remote COPs often volunteered to escort convoys simply to visit a FOB to get a hot shower and eat at the DFAC. Soldiers who primarily served in support roles and did not “go outside the wire” on patrols ­were often referred to as “fobbits” which was a play on words referencing Hobbits from J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.41 Much like “POG” or “person other than grunt”, fobbit was a term used by front-­line combat troops to show disdain to soldiers who did not have combat missions and thus typically did not put themselves directly at risk. Many of ­these soldiers rarely, if ever, left the FOB, as their jobs and daily lives ­were entirely contained within the protective perimeters of concrete and wire. Fobbit was also a catch-­all term for anyone whose job did not require them to leave their base, and could refer to soldiers and civilian personnel alike. The term became derogatory when it was applied to a soldier who actively avoided g­ oing outside the wire.42 The uniform issued to soldiers when the U.S. Army invaded Iraq was the desert camouflage uniform (DCU), which had been in ser­vice since the early 1990s. The DCU was nearly identical to the woodland b­ attle dress uniform but designed for the color patterns of the Arabian Peninsula. The DCU was replaced by the army combat uniform (ACU) in the mid-2000s a­ fter several years of testing in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. The camouflage design for the new ACU was a pixilated pattern of gray, green, and tan called universal camouflage pattern (UCP) that was intended to work in desert, wooded, and urban environments. Pockets ­were moved to more accessible positions, Velcro replaced buttons, infrared tabs ­were added, and ele­ ments to increase the combat functionality of the uniform w ­ ere part of the new design. The helmet issued to soldiers was also redesigned during the war. The Personal Armor System for Ground Troops (PASGT) consisted of a Kevlar helmet

1048

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

and a ballistic vest that had been in ser­vice since the 1980s. The PASGT was replaced in the mid-2000s by the advanced combat helmet (ACH), which was a lighter, more functional helmet that gave soldiers improved visibility. Soldiers in Iraq w ­ ere equipped with body armor to protect them from bullets and shrapnel. T ­ here w ­ ere a variety of body armor systems that ranged from a heavy Kevlar vest with armor plates to lightweight, modular plate carriers. Each system utilized ceramic plates of armor called small-­arms protective inserts (SAPI) that protected the chest, back, and sides. The SAPIs ­were designed to stop a 7.62-mm NATO ­rifle round as well as smaller-­caliber rounds.43 Most body armor systems had webbing much like the modular lightweight load-­carrying equipment (MOLLE) soldiers used for their gear in the field. Extra protection for the neck, groin, and shoulders could be added to most systems. Depending on how a soldier chose to set up their body armor, the system weighed between 20 and 30 pounds. The armor was heavy, and soldiers complained that it restricted their mobility. The combined weight of their body armor, helmet, weapons, ammunition, and field gear—­which often added up to around 60 pounds—­made for a hot, arduous existence for soldiers in Iraq. However, soldiers did not deny the extra protection it provided against IEDs. Some soldiers made a habit of keeping their hands inside their vests whenever they could if they ­were riding in a vehicle to reduce the risk of losing their unprotected fin­gers and hands in an IED strike. RELIGION During the Iraq War, nearly all religious faiths w ­ ere represented in the military, with approximately three-­quarters identifying as Christian.44 On FOBs and major bases chapels w ­ ere built to serve the spiritual needs of soldiers. E ­ very battalion had a chaplain who was trained to serve soldiers of a variety of faith practices. The army often used chaplains to engage with local imams in an effort to be more effective in working with the religious community. Chaplains ­were utilized by ­those who ­were normally religiously active, but they also assisted soldiers who w ­ ere not particularly religious in times of acute stress or trauma. Soldiers frequently described g­ oing to the unit chaplain to get counseling or simply talk with someone who they believed was a sympathetic listener and would not compromise them in their moment of insecurity. Chaplains frequently found themselves in the position of comforting or counseling a soldier who other­ wise would have never interacted with them. Soldiers often felt they could show emotion and express feelings with a chaplain that they could not other­wise share with their peers or leadership. Sometimes soldiers would seek spiritual guidance ­after particularly stressful or traumatic moments during their time in Iraq. Soldiers throughout history have sought refuge or absolution in faith during war­time, and Iraq was no dif­fer­ent. Along with their established religious functions, many chaplains conducted what they called a “ministry of presence.” 45 They would make a point to interact with soldiers where they worked and lived. ­These chaplains felt that if soldiers regularly saw them in the motor pool, common rooms, and living areas, they would find chaplains more approachable. Some chaplains even went on patrol with units



The Iraq War 1049

to provide moral support and show soldiers they ­were willing to take the same risks. Furthermore, accompanying a patrol outside the wire gave chaplains a certain credibility that often helped when counseling soldiers ­after stressful operations. Chaplains ­were not allowed to carry weapons and w ­ ere designated noncombatants. The army created the position of chaplain’s assistant to aid the chaplain in their official duties, as well as to serve as their bodyguard in a war zone. Many chaplains had prior military ser­vice and ­were familiar with weapons; in some particularly extreme instances during the war, they picked up weapons to defend their fellow soldiers. For many soldiers Iraq was a confusing country divided on sectarian lines that stemmed from ancient religious and tribal traditions. Shi’a Islam is the main religion in Iraq, followed by about 60 ­percent of the population. Sunni Islam is followed by about 35 ­percent of the population and was the group that held power during Saddam Hussein’s regime. The Shi’a/Sunni split is almost as old as Islam itself and derives from the dispute over the succession to Muhammad as caliph of the Islamic community. Much of the vio­lence during the insurgency was driven by sectarian strife between Sunni and Shi’a Iraqis, with revenge killings, car bombings, and death squads frequently used to terrorize adherents of the opposing faith.46 Some insurgents and extremist organ­izations characterized the Iraq War as an American “crusade” against Islam. They attempted to paint the war as a religious war between western Chris­tian­ity and Islam. This depiction usually rang hollow on the international stage as the United States had never portrayed the war in a religious nature, nor did most soldiers see the war through a religious lens. Furthermore, much of the vio­lence in Iraq during the insurgency was sectarian, with Muslims fighting against other Muslims. The U.S. Army worked to educate soldiers about the religious environment in Iraq and to improve their sensitivity to Muslim faith traditions. American soldiers ­were generally prohibited from entering mosques during operations and relied on Iraqi police or army units to search any religious buildings. Soldiers and unit commanders often worked to develop cordial, if not friendly, relationships with local imams in order to re­spect religious traditions and gain access to leaders in the community. General Order Number 1, in effect since 1990, specifically prohibited the consumption of alcohol and the possession of pornography in Muslim countries out of re­spect for Muslim laws.47 The possession of pornography was particularly difficult to control during the Iraq War as soldiers often had easy access to the Internet and personal computers. POPU­L AR CULTURE Soldiers, particularly in the l­ater years of the war, had an unpre­ce­dented level of access to the rest of the world through the Internet. Social media was ubiquitous, and operational security (OPSEC) training and guidance had to account for this phenomenon. Many soldiers had TVs and gaming consoles in their quarters. In this re­spect, barracks life was much like life stateside. The United Ser­vice Organ­izations (USO) is a nonprofit organ­ization formed during World War II to support the U.S. military by providing entertainment to troops. Hundreds of musicians, comedians, movie stars, and athletes visited soldiers and

1050

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

put on shows in Iraq during the war. Most events ­were held on the major bases where the USO was able to serve the largest number of troops. The USO believed that their shows gave soldiers a respite from the stress of their deployment and served as a reminder of home. Many celebrities saw their work with the USO as a significant display of their patriotism and support for the troops despite the po­liti­ cal context of the war. USO stars took photos, signed autographs, and spent time individually with soldiers in an effort to brighten their day and thank them for their ser­vice.48 Armed Forces Network, a tele­vi­sion network run by the U.S. military, showed movies and sports events for soldiers along with a series of information campaigns, called Command Information (CI), designed to teach soldiers about available resources and warn them against common discipline issues. The Armed Forces Network (AFN) was notorious for ­these CI spots that aired in the normal commercial breaks in programming. The CI spots provided health and wellness tips, promoted local command-­sponsored events, and advertised education programs available on the base, along with offering segments that focused on sexual harassment, force protection and terrorism, and salutes to ser­vice. While some of the information was somewhat useful, much of the commercials w ­ ere targeted for units in garrison rather than in a war zone. Cheesy commercials that warned against drunk driving seemed out of place to soldiers who spent their days patrolling in a war zone. Internet cafes w ­ ere prevalent on established bases to provide soldiers the opportunity to check email, update blogs, and video-­call friends and ­family back home. ­These often had lines and time limits, and ­there never seemed to be enough computer terminals to satisfy the demand. Social media accounts on platforms such as Facebook, Myspace, and, by the end of the war, Twitter w ­ ere extremely common among solders. When unit casualties occurred, the Internet and phone ser­vices w ­ ere cut off ­until official notification was conducted; this was known as a communications blackout. Once notification was complete, Internet and phone ser­vices w ­ ere restored. While on FOBs and other installations, soldiers had a variety of opportunities to exercise. Facilities ­were often available for lifting weights, ­r unning, basketball, or even bowling. Weight lifting was a very popu­lar pastime for soldiers in Iraq, and the army focused on providing adequate weight rooms wherever it could. Soldiers in more austere locations often augmented the exercise facilities with their own weight rooms in their work place or quarters that generally consisted of a set of dumbbells and a bench press. Soldiers had lots of books and magazines sent to them in care packages from ­family and friends, as well as organ­izations dedicated to supporting deployed soldiers. Nearly e­ very soldier brought an external hard drive they had loaded with movies, TV shows, and ­music. During their deployment, soldiers shared and traded their favorite movies or ­music with p­ eople in their unit. Communications sections that worked on the military’s nonclassified network often created shared folders where pirated movies, TV shows, and m ­ usic would be dropped for the entire unit. ­Because of their access to the Internet, most soldiers w ­ ere able to stay up to date with the latest in entertainment. It was not u­ ntil the last years of the war that Hollywood was able to produce a film or TV series that had significant influence over the perception of the war for



The Iraq War 1051

the American public. Many of the popu­lar films and series focused on the actions and heroism of American troops and gave American audiences feel-­good stories. At times ­these films engaged with deeper issues of the choice to go to war, how the war was conducted, and the effect the war had on ­those who fought it. The 2008 HBO miniseries Generation Kill was one of the first successful efforts to depict the war on-­screen. The miniseries followed U.S. Marines during the invasion of Iraq and was lauded for its accurate depiction of life for the troops on the ground.49 Another major hit, The Hurt Locker, was a film about an explosive ordinance disposal (EOD) technician who thrived on the danger of his work in Iraq but did not know how to function back home. The Hurt Locker was full of suspense and drama with a good deal of artistic license, but it also highlighted the disconnect between the American public and the war.50 A number of successful films about the Iraq war focused on elite soldiers and units, and American Sniper was especially popu­lar as it was based on the true story of Navy SEAL Chris Kyle. The film depicts the chaos of war and the heroism of many who fought in Iraq. It also portrays the difficulty of coming home, a part of the film that became even more poignant when Chris Kyle was murdered by a veteran he was trying to help while the film was being made.51 PAY AND COMPENSATION Soldiers during the Iraq War w ­ ere generally paid better than their counter­parts back home. For ­those who came from low-­income backgrounds, the army provided income stability that made a significant impact on their lives. Soldiers who made a ­career in the army, ­either as enlisted troops or as officers, could have a comfortable middle-­class life. The health care and other benefits, such as the Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH), commissary, and G.I. loans, combined for an attractive compensation package. When soldiers ­were deployed to combat zones, a number of financial benefits went along with the deployment. Their pay was tax-­free up to a point; they received hazardous duty pay, ­family separation pay, and hostile fire pay. Since ­there ­were not many opportunities or need to spend money, many soldiers ­were able to save a ­great deal of their pay while on deployment. If a soldier was extended past the typical 12-­month deployment, they received an extra $1,000 a month in pay. Soldiers who ­were up for reenlistment made a point to reenlist while in Iraq, ­because the bonuses that often accompanied reenlistment ­were tax-­free. Some of the more hazardous jobs, such as Special Forces or explosive ordinance disposal, offered bonuses to enlisted soldiers to join their ranks based on increased demand for the ­career fields during the war. Soldiers at the rank of staff sergeant received bonuses as high as $80,000 to reenlist in order to preserve the critical combat experience in the noncommissioned officer corps. While soldiers certainly did not become wealthy on deployment, many used the extra pay and financial bonuses to pay off debts or save for big purchases when they returned home. New cars w ­ ere a common purchase upon redeployment. The average enlisted soldier earned a base pay of a l­ittle u­ nder $2,000 a month before combat pay, which put them on par with an hourly worker who earned $10 an hour. The average NCO was paid around $3,000 a month, and a platoon leader

1052

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

and company-­level officer was paid around $3,500 a month. Field-­grade officers made around $5,500 a month, and general officers’ pay ranged between $9,000 and $12,000 a month.52 Beyond pay ­there ­were a number of benefits for soldiers that had a significant effect on their finances. All soldiers who served at least three years on active duty ­after September 11, 2001, are eligible for the Post-9/11 Veterans Educational Assistance Act of 2008, also known simply as the G.I. Bill in reference its post–­World War II pre­de­ces­sor. The G.I. Bill included funding for all expenses of a four-­year public university undergraduate degree. The G.I. Bill also provided funding for up to 36 months of tuition, as well as a monthly living stipend and a stipend to cover the cost of books and supplies. If a soldier served 10 years they ­were allowed to transfer their G.I. Bill benefits to their spouse or ­children. This was an extremely popu­lar benefit that many soldiers took advantage of ­after their time in the ser­vice. The military prominently advertised the educational benefits to draw in recruits, and it was common for ­people to join largely for the opportunity to go to college on the G.I. Bill.53 Despite the pay and benefits, most enlisted soldiers felt they ­were underpaid for the work they did, especially when they ­were deployed to Iraq. Many soldiers did the math on their monthly pay to see what they w ­ ere being paid by the hour only to discover, once all the hours they spent on patrol combined with the myriad of ancillary duties and tasks ­were counted, they ­were making far less than minimum wage. Journalist Sebastian Junger observed, “Each Javelin round costs $80,000, and the idea that it’s fired by a guy who ­doesn’t make that in a year at a guy who ­doesn’t make that in a lifetime is somehow so outrageous it almost makes the war seem winnable.”54 Events like this highlighted the extreme contrast of wealth between American soldiers and their adversaries in Iraq. Particularly during the counterinsurgency phase, this was a war that pitted highly trained and extremely well-­equipped American soldiers against insurgents who often had minimal training and ­were equipped with an old AK-47 with a few magazines of ammunition or an RPG. This war highlighted that despite enormous resources poured into organ­ izing, training, and equipping American soldiers, insurgencies are not won through the marshaling of resources. WEAPONRY At the beginning of the war soldiers carried the M16A2, a variant of the M16 that was introduced during the Vietnam War. The M16A2 was ­adopted in the 1980s and was chambered in 5.56 × 45–mm NATO rounds. Partway through the war, a shorter version known as the M4 was issued as soldiers often saw close combat in urban environments where a shorter ­rifle was easier to use. The M4 had an adjustable stock and the ability to mount a wide variety of accessories such as lights, sights, forehand grips, and ­laser target designators. Officers and medics also carried M9 pistols as sidearms. The M9 was a 9-mm semi-­automatic pistol made by Beretta that has been in ser­vice since 1985. Most soldiers who carried an M9 that spent the majority of their time on a FOB and fell in the category of “fobbit” wore their sidearm in a shoulder holster that combat troops called a “FOB Bra.”



The Iraq War 1053

From the outset of the war, night vision devices (NVDs) ­were used by combat troops and special units, particularly snipers and special forces. NVDs intensify the available light from the moon, street lamps, or vehicles and allow American soldiers to operate at w ­ ill during the night hours. NVDs w ­ ere typically worn mounted on a soldier’s helmet and could be flipped down to cover one or both eyes, depending on the kind of NVD, when they needed to operate without lights to conceal their positions and movement. The view through an NVD was displayed in green, as the h­ uman eye can see more shades of green than any other color. T ­ hese devices ­were only l­imited by their battery life and proved to be a major combat multiplier for soldiers. Night operations w ­ ere conducted with a significant advantage over insurgents, and many soldiers commented that frequently the e­ nemy fumbled around in the dark unaware of their presence. Soldiers had available a shoulder-­mounted antitank weapon known as the AT-4. The AT-4 fires an 84-mm projectile with a high-­explosive, antitank (HEAT) warhead and has a range of about 300 meters. Soldiers rarely used it against armored vehicles in Iraq, but the AT-4 was useful against buildings and hard points in ­enemy defenses. M3 Bradleys, HMMWVs, and the M1134 Stryker had tube-­launched optically tracked wire-­guided (TOW) missiles as an antitank weapon. The TOW missile had a range of about three and a half kilo­meters and was also often used against buildings and hard points. The AGM-114 Hellfire missile was an antitank missile that saw frequent use on he­li­cop­ters and remotely pi­loted aircraft (RPA). Hellfires ­were commonly used against vehicles, buildings, and concentrations of insurgents. The U.S. Army fielded the M1 Abrams as its main ­battle tank (MBT) in Iraq. Weighing around 70 tons, the Abrams is built around a 1,500-­horsepower diesel engine and a 120-mm main gun. The Abrams was designed in the 1970s with innovative steel encased depleted uranium armor that was nearly impenetrable by any weapon fielded at the time. It had a crew of four—­commander, gunner, loader, and driver—­and was also armed with a .50-­caliber M2HB heavy machine gun and two 7.62-mm M240 machine guns. The Abrams was likely the best MBT in the world at the time. During the war, only a few Abrams w ­ ere destroyed or disabled by e­ nemy 55 action. The Abrams could engage the Soviet-­built Iraqi T-72s well beyond the range of the Iraqi MBT’s effective range. Furthermore, the Abrams’ sensor capabilities and advanced fire control system that allowed it to use its main gun accurately while on the move made it far superior to the T-72. Much of the Iraqi armor was destroyed before it ever saw an Abrams approach its position. During the insurgency, however, dozens of Abrams ­were destroyed or seriously damaged by IEDs and explosively formed penetrators (EFPs). A number of tank crewmembers ­were killed or wounded by sniper fire when they ­were exposed out of the turret of the tank. The Abrams was unchallenged in conventional warfare, but was not as well suited for the unconventional fight that emerged in Iraq. The Bradley Fighting Vehicle is a lightly armored tracked personnel carrier and tank killer that comes in two primary variants: the M2 Infantry Fighting Vehicle and the M3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle. The Bradley was armed with a 25-mm Bushmaster chaingun and a 7.62-mm machine gun along with a TOW that enabled it to engage heavy armor from a distance. The Bradley was designed to fight alongside

1054

Daily Life of U.S. Soldiers

U.S. soldiers on an M1A2 Abrams tank conduct a combat patrol in Tal Afar, Iraq, on February 2, 2006. Patrols using heavily ­armored vehicles protected U.S. troops from pos­si­ble attacks by Iraqi insurgents, but also created the perception that U.S. soldiers did not wish to interact with Iraqi civilians without overwhelming firepower, creating a substantial social backlash from Iraqis. (U.S. Department of Defense)

the Abrams while carry­ing infantry into combat. It holds a crew of three—­driver, commander, and gunner—­and can transport six soldiers in the M2 variant or three soldiers and electronic equipment in the M3 variant. Bradleys ­were an integral part of mechanized infantry brigades, and many soldiers experienced the war from the back of ­these vehicles. The Bradley proved to be a durable machine that provided mobility and firepower for soldiers across Iraq. The Interim Armored Vehicle (IAV), better known as the Stryker, is an eight-­ wheeled armored fighting vehicle that falls between a Bradley and an HMMWV. The Stryker was developed as a medium-­weight combat platform that could transport troops and provide firepower. The Stryker is powered by a 350-­horsepower engine and can transport nine soldiers. It is armed with a .50-­caliber M2 machine gun, Mark 19 grenade launcher, and M240 machine guns. Strykers have RPG nets that are bolted to the exterior of the vehicles to protect against RPG attacks. ­These wire nets ­were designed to catch or deflect an RPG so that its ­shaped charge is rendered in­effec­tive. ­Because it was not a tracked vehicle, the Stryker is significantly quieter than a Bradley or an Abrams. This proved to be a particularly useful attribute in urban combat. Some Iraqis took to calling Strykers “ghost tanks” ­because of how quiet they w ­ ere and how quickly they could slip into a neighborhood. The Stryker was the vehicle that Stryker Brigades ­were built around. ­These units ­were designed to be rapidly deployable, multifunction, and highly mobile infantry brigade combat teams for use in the twenty-­fi rst-­century fight. Established just



The Iraq War 1055

before the invasion of Iraq, Stryker Brigades provided significant flexibility and mobility to army leaders. The units ­were fairly well suited for combat in Iraq with advanced electronics systems that allowed them to shoot, move, and coordinate with relative ease.56 Armored vehicles such as the Abrams, the Bradley, and the Stryker ­were used extensively to help ­counter the IED threat and add firepower in urban combat. They ­were used in a wide variety of somewhat nontraditional roles in Iraq, including patrols, urban assaults, route clearance, and traffic control. The firepower advantage provided by Abrams and Bradleys was often a critical ele­ment for battlefield success in the intense urban combat in places like Fallujah, Sadr City, and Najaf. Tanks and Bradleys ­were equipped with thermal viewers that allowed them to operate in urban environments without having to look out open hatches and risk sniper fire. Urban combat became such a normal experience for tankers that they kept their tanks ­free of the gear and equipment they would normally have hanging off the exterior so that nearby Bradleys could shoot any insurgents that tried to climb on their tank. ­Because of the IED threat and the realities of urban combat, Abrams tanks ­were outfitted with special kits known as tank urban survival kits (TUSK) with reactive armor tiles to protect against RPGs, more grenade dischargers, more remotely operated machine guns, and an infantry phone mounted on the back of the tank so it could communicate directly with ground troops without opening hatches. The M-998 High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) or “Humvee” was prob­ably the most commonly used vehicle of the early years of the war. Brought into ser­vice in 1983 as the replacement for the ubiquitous jeep, the HMMWV was the backbone of the U.S. military. Weighing 5,200 pounds and about 15 feet long, the HMMWV was powered by a variety of diesel motors and had a ground clearance of about 16 inches. It was designed to be a stable, four-­wheel-­ drive, multipurpose vehicle that could carry a TOW, machine gun, or grenade launcher as armament. It was a relatively lightweight vehicle that could be transported by he­li­cop­ter, but it was not well suited for an IED-­saturated environment. ­There ­were a series of up-­armor kits to help mitigate the IED threat to the most prolific vehicle in the U.S. military inventory, but over 200 ­were lost in combat. In the end it was relegated to on-­base use, while specifically designed IED-­defeating vehicles took over the role of transporting soldiers on the battlefield. With the IED threat and the abject vulnerability of the HMMWV, the army urgently needed a better vehicle for the battlefields of Iraq. The Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicle was the stop-­gap solution for the war in Iraq. Specifically designed to ­counter the IED threat, the MRAP is very dif­fer­ent from the HMMWV. It has a V-­shaped hull and armor plates to deflect the blast from an IED and protect the passengers. ­These are extremely heavy vehicles when compared to the HMMWV, ranging from 7 tons to 25 tons depending on the variant. Some are six-­wheeled and specially equipped for explosive ordnance disposal, and ­others are equipped to transport an infantry squad into combat. Inside an MRAP, soldiers are secured with a five-­point harness and provided headsets so they can communicate in the loud interior. Powered by large diesel engines, the MRAP’s cost ranges from $549,000 to $855,000 depending on the variant and configuration.57

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In response to the threat of roadside improvised explosive devices (IEDs), the Army quickly procured mine-­resistant, ambush-­protected (MRAP) vehicles for use in patrolling and transporting supplies. In the background, an M1117 Guardian security vehicle is also vis­i­ble. ­These troops are ele­ments of the 41st Infantry Brigade Combat Team, based at Camp Adder, Iraq, in 2009. (U.S. Army photo by Anita VanderMolen)

While clearly safer for the combat environment soldiers faced in Iraq during the insurgency, the MRAP often made it more difficult for troops to engage with the Iraqi population. Troops felt like they ­were riding in a tank rather than a truck and ­were much less vis­i­ble to the general population, making the MRAP good for force protection but not conducive to counterinsurgency operations where developing relationships with the population was critical. Furthermore, the MRAP was designed to address an acute operational need rather than as part of a long-­term, strategic acquisitions pro­cess. It was airlifted to Iraq at a cost of about $135,000 per vehicle and was much less mobile when off road compared to the HMMWV. Over 5,000 MRAPs ­were fielded in Iraq, at a total cost of over $20 billion. All of this cost and decreased operational capability ­were a direct result of the employment of IEDs by the insurgency.58 Some army units also had cutting-­edge remotely pi­loted aircraft (RPA) to provide real-­time intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) on the battlefield. The RQ-11 Raven was specially designed for ground troops to allow them to quickly assess trou­ble spots over the horizon. The Raven is a small RPA made of Kevlar weighing only 4.2 pounds with a 4.5-­foot wingspan and launched by hand like a model airplane. It is equipped with cameras that provide infrared and color imagery back to a ground control unit (GCU).59 Soldiers control the RPA and view the real-­time imagery on the ground via the GCU. The Raven is GPS guided and easy to use with very short setup and takedown time. Ravens ­were particularly useful in finding IEDs and providing real-­time ISR in urban environments.60



The Iraq War 1057

COMBAT During the first phase of the war, soldiers experienced an extremely fast-­paced combat environment as they launched the invasion with speed, shock, and awe. They faced regular soldiers, the elite units of Saddam’s Republican Guard, and the Fedayeen Saddam irregulars as they pushed to Baghdad. ­There w ­ ere some pitched ­battles, mostly in impor­tant cities such as Nasiriyah, Basra, Najaf, and Baghdad, but the majority of the combat for soldiers consisted of skirmishes and ambushes along the drive to the capital. They fought from their vehicles, smashing any re­sis­ tance with a focus on speed and fire superiority. The pace of the operation often left soldiers with ­little time to rest and refit. Many did not have a chance to wash or change their uniforms ­until a­ fter Baghdad fell. Airpower provided overwhelming close air support (CAS) for soldiers and prepared the ­battle space through the interdiction of any massed Iraqi forces and the destruction of Iraqi command, control, and communications networks. Army Apache attack he­li­cop­ters; air force F-15s, F-16s, A-10s, and AC-130 gunships; navy F-18s; and marine Cobra attack he­li­cop­ters and AV-8s provided overwhelming firepower in support of the invasion. Airpower was frequently called on to provide CAS when ground forces encountered stiff re­sis­tance, and the Iraqi forces w ­ ere almost completely defenseless against it. Combat in the second phase of the war was markedly dif­fer­ent. Soldiers never faced a regular force and rarely had the ability to easily identify their adversary. Except for a number of major urban ­battles in cities like Fallujah, Mosul, Samarra, Ramadi, Najaf, Tal Afar, and Baqubah, most combat consisted of sporadic skirmishes with insurgents that rarely engaged soldiers for any length of time, preferring to melt away into the population ­after a brief engagement. Snipers ­were a common threat to soldiers as they patrolled. Whenever they ­were engaged, soldiers would usually aggressively pursue the attackers and attempt to kill or capture all of the insurgents involved. This often led to street-­to-­street or rooftop gunfights that put Iraqi civilians in danger and seriously disrupted the normal functions of the neighborhood. Soldiers ­were in the difficult position of fighting insurgents in their own neighborhoods, while ­doing their best to minimize civilian casualties and avoid damaging homes and businesses. For most soldiers, this was an incredibly frustrating experience, one that often did l­ittle to improve security or foster positive relationships with the local population. The rules of engagement (ROEs) evolved somewhat during the war, but ­were a constant point of emphasis for the army, as commanders wanted to ensure that soldiers used the appropriate level of force. This was particularly impor­tant in the counterinsurgency fight. Excessive force could be extremely detrimental to winning the hearts and minds of a civilian population. The standard rules w ­ ere that soldiers had to positively identify that the person was an e­ nemy combatant, could not engage anyone who had surrendered, and could not target civilians. However, soldiers could use deadly force at any time to defend themselves as well as their unit, detainees, civilians, or supported personnel such as UN or Red Cross personnel. The army also instituted a pro­cess for the escalation of force, known as the 5 S’s, to reduce the excessive use of force. The escalation of force mea­sures required soldiers to first shout to the person to stay back or move away, then show the

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person their weapon, then shove the person away from the immediate area, then shoot a warning shot, then as a last resort shoot to kill. For mounted units on patrol or in convoy, the pro­cess was similar: shout, show by using a green ­laser pointer or a small pin flare, fire a warning shot at a vehicle, then shoot the vehicle’s engine block to disable it, and as a last resort shoot to kill. This was a pro­cess that was usually employed successfully, as Iraqi civilians quickly learned to respond to the shouts and l­aser pointers.61 IEDs ­were the number-­one killer of co­ali­tion forces in Iraq, and ­these improvised bombs caused the vast majority of combat wounds. The concussive force of the blasts did a ­great deal of damage that was not well understood and often overlooked. It was not ­until ­later in the war (2005–2006) that the U.S. military gained a better understanding of the damage IEDs and explosions in general caused to the ­human brain. IEDs ­were made from a variety of materials, but the most common ­were artillery shells, generally 155-mm shells left over from Saddam’s stockpiles. The majority of ­these shells likely came from unsecured Iraqi weapons stockpiles stolen immediately ­after the fall of the regime.62 A detonator, wires, and the munitions ­were often all that ­were required to build an IED. When the IED was ready for employment, insurgents often buried them in the road or hid them in trash or debris on the roadside. Soldiers ­were constantly on the lookout for suspicious piles of trash, wires near the road, oddly positioned junk, recently disturbed dirt, or new patches of asphalt.63 As insurgents developed more sophisticated IEDs, bombs designed to defeat the up-­armored vehicles began to arrive on the battlefield. Since the battlefield was the streets and highways of Iraq, t­ hese new IEDs poised yet another unseen danger to American soldiers. An explosively formed penetrator (EFP) was a type of ­shaped charge designed to penetrate armor. Much like the munitions used in antitank missiles such as the HEAT warhead, EFPs focus the effects of the explosive’s energy to defeat the armor of a vehicle. The explosive effect of an EFP deformed a metal plate into a slug and accelerated it ­toward the target. Much of the mea­sures taken to protect soldiers by way of adding armor or specially designing vehicles to ­counter the IED threat ­were useless against an EFP. EFPs ­were difficult to detect and ­counter ­because they w ­ ere effective at much larger distances than regular IEDs, which required a vehicle to be nearly on top of them to be lethal. Looking for the usual signs of an IED such as trash piles, animal carcasses, recently turned dirt, and fresh patches of pavement was not as helpful for detecting an EFP when they could be effective at ranges up to 50 meters. Control or trigger devices also developed over time. Initially the IEDs ­were ­either wired to a pressure plate that was activated by the weight of a vehicle or wired directly to the trigger so an insurgent had to be fairly close to the bomb to set it off. As IED technology developed, remote triggers became more common. This allowed insurgents to conceal their devices more creatively; as long as the signal could reach the bomb, anything could be used to hide it. Parts from radio-­controlled (RC) toys ­were used in some early remote triggers, causing one commander to put an RC remote with the toggles taped down on the dash of his HMMWV in an effort to trigger any IED with an RC trigger before his vehicle reached it. L ­ ater cell phone technology became common for triggering IEDs. This allowed insurgents more



The Iraq War 1059

U.S. Army explosive ordnance expert First Lieutenant Brad Lewis displays fragments from a vehicle-­borne improvised explosive device (VBIED) to Iraqi security forces, November 16, 2008. Such improvised devices proved the deadliest means for insurgents to attack U.S. soldiers, accounting for more than half of all combat casualties in Iraq. (U.S. Army photo by Justin Carmack)

flexibility in how they employed their bombs and often made it more difficult for soldiers to identify the “trigger man.” However, insurgents still maintained close proximity to their IED to make sure they had a good view of approaching troops. Insurgents often varied their timing for maximum damage and disruption to the patrol or convoy. At times the IED strike was part of an ambush, and ­after the explosion insurgents would fire on the soldiers with RPGs and small arms. To be most effective with their timing, insurgents needed a good line of sight of the road and the emplaced device. IED strikes ­were often filmed for ­f uture analy­sis, training, and propaganda. ­These tactics made soldiers extremely wary of military-­aged males observing troop movements from upper-­floor win­dows and rooftops. ­These relatively s­ imple and inexpensive bombs cause massive amounts of damage to soldiers and equipment. Furthermore, the risk of IEDs forced soldiers to separate themselves from the population and made them suspicious of the Iraqi civilians watching them on the road, which made their counterinsurgency efforts even more challenging. The IED threat was countered by billions of dollars spent on up-­armored vehicles, body armor, and signal-­jamming technology. For the Iraqi insurgents, the IED was the ultimate force multiplier.64 Injuries from IED strikes

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­ ere often horrific burns, destroyed limbs, and ruptured organs, as well as brain w injuries that did not always have obvious symptoms. IEDs caused around 60 ­percent of ­those killed in action (KIA) in Iraq and thousands of injuries, many of which resulted in amputations. It is estimated that nearly 90 ­percent of injuries requiring amputation ­were caused by some kind of explosive device.65 Insurgents commonly used RPGs in their attacks on co­ali­tion troops. RPGs ­were a short-­range, shoulder-­fired antitank weapon that was easy to use and transport. RPGs had a fairly ­limited range, and significant training was required to consistently be accurate beyond 100 meters, so RPG teams had to get close or wait in ambush for their targets to come to them. When fired, an RPG gave off a telltale smoke trail that, combined with the need for the team to be close to the target, meant RPG teams had to fire and move quickly if they wanted to survive. ­Because accuracy was an issue, insurgents often launched a large number of RPGs hoping for a few to find their target. RPGs could be fired from inside rooms and other enclosed spaces, which made them particularly effective in urban combat. The warhead on an RPG was power­f ul enough to penetrate reinforced concrete, brick walls, and standard vehicular armor. ELITE TROOPS A variety of special forces units played major roles in both the invasion and counterinsurgency phases of the Iraq War. Task Force 20 was formed just prior to the invasion and was composed of Delta Force, the 75th Ranger Regiment, and other units from the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC). Ele­ments of the task force ­were assigned the mission to enter western Iraq from Saudi Arabia a day before the invasion and investigate a number of suspected weapons of mass destruction (WMD) sites. Then they ­were to drive north ­toward the Haditha Dam where intelligence believed another WMD site was located. As they searched for WMD sites Task Force 20 was also instructed to head off Iraqi forces that ­were expected to be fleeing the invasion from the south.66 One week into the war ele­ments of the 75th Ranger Regiment parachuted into western Iraq and joined with the forces at the Haditha Dam as JSOC commanders recognized the strategic significance of the location.67 Special forces units ­were also tasked with searching for Saddam Hussein and other high-­ value targets as the invasion progressed. ­Because of their flexibility and highly developed, specialized skillset, co­ali­tion commanders employed special forces in a wide variety of roles ranging from high-­risk combat missions to clandestine operations. Special forces are also particularly well suited for working with local populations and helping them provide for their own security. In fact, foreign internal defense (FID) is one of their primary missions. They ­were not employed in this role u­ ntil l­ ater years of the Iraq War, much to the regret of many special forces members.68 For much of the war, special forces ­were used for kill or capture missions that seemed to work against the counterinsurgency doctrine that ­these soldiers ­were particularly trained to employ.69 Private contractors ­were employed in nearly ­every aspect of the co­ali­tion effort in Iraq. Since the U.S. government was reluctant to establish a large military presence in Iraq a­ fter the invasion, it relied heavi­ly on private companies and their



The Iraq War 1061

contractors to conduct a huge variety of tasks from transport and construction to food ser­vice and security, to name a few. Contractors numbered in the tens of thousands, and many ­were third country nationals (TCNs) from countries such as India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Indonesia. One of the most controversial jobs performed by contractors was private security. Private security contractors operated in a ­legal gray area that caused a ­great deal of friction between the co­ali­tion governments and Iraqis. Private security contractors, often former special forces soldiers, took jobs protecting U.S. government officials, other co­ali­tion member officials, journalists, and any outside private com­pany operating in Iraq. They w ­ ere well armed, often highly trained, and well paid. It is estimated that about 15,000 to 20,000 private security contractors worked in Iraq; many ­were Iraqi, but around 6,000 ­were American, South Africans, British, or other nationalities.70 In essence, t­hese armed contractors, considered mercenaries by many Iraqis, ­were roughly the size of an army division. Their missions ­were to protect their clients and/or their client’s property, and the execution of ­these missions often ran ­counter to the overall mission of the co­ali­tion. ­There ­were a number of incidents involving private security contractors that directly affected the conduct of the war. Private security contractors from a com­ pany known as Blackwater ­were ambushed in Fallujah on March 31, 2004, and their dismembered bodies w ­ ere burned and hung from a bridge that spanned the Euphrates River. Marines ­were in the pro­cess of establishing control of the city when the Blackwater contractors ­were ambushed and events quickly spiraled out of control. Determined to deliver a strong response, the U.S. government demanded action from the marine commanders on the ground, thus initiating the First ­Battle of Fallujah. It is unclear why the Blackwater contractors ­were in Fallujah, but they drove around marine roadblocks in the city, and their movements ­were not coordinated with the military.71 Private security contractors w ­ ere also criticized for aggressive actions that frequently put Iraqi civilians’ lives in danger. On September 16, 2007, Blackwater security contractors escorting a U.S. Embassy convoy opened fire on Iraqi police and civilians in Nisour Square in central Baghdad, killing 17 and injuring 20.72 The contractors claimed they ­were engaging insurgents and acted in self-­defense, but subsequent investigations concluded the killings ­were not justified. The Iraqi government was outraged and demanded that the U.S. government punish the American contractors. The incident highlighted the lack of control and oversight the U.S. government had over the booming private security business in Iraq.73 HEALTH AND MEDICINE Medical care for soldiers in the Iraq War was very high quality and quickly rendered. Serious injuries received an enormous amount of resources. Most soldiers ­were quickly transported to major medical facilities in Iraq, stabilized, and then flown to Germany for treatment at the Landstuhl Medical Center. American rescue and medical personnel rigidly adhered to the concept of the “golden hour,” the win­dow of time ­after a traumatic injury considered most critical for emergency treatment, and this likely saved the lives of thousands of personnel.

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If a soldier was seriously wounded in combat, they ­were picked up in a vehicle or carried to a medical collection point at the battalion or brigade level. The medical team at that level called the aeromedical evacuation (air evac) center if the soldier needed theater evacuation. Most of the coordination for the aeromedical evacuation took place at the Combined Air Operations Center (CAOC) at Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar. The medical team had to determine if air evac was the right plan for the soldier. In the Air Medical Division medical personnel determined what asset would be best, while the Patient Movement Center determined the equipment and personnel required for the air evac. If necessary, a specialized team that was not available in theater was flown in from wherever they ­were to meet the patient and provide en route care. In some cases a critical care team could be added, which consisted of three more medical personnel, typically an emergency room or critical care physician, nurse, and respiratory therapy technician. They also brought special equipment and supplies for the patient to augment the standard equipment and supplies of the air evac crew. Depending on what level of care the soldier needed, they could be air evacuated to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany; Andrews Air Force Base for Walter Reed Medical Center; or Fort Belvoir for San Antonio Brook Army Medical Center, which ­houses the Department of Defense burn center. Aeromedical evacuation could be used for any medical condition for soldiers in the field, not just major combat injuries. For example, a soldier who had a disease, nonbattle inflicted (DNBI), that needed treatment elsewhere could be air evacuated if their medical team deemed it necessary. In the end a single soldier could receive dedicated care from dozens of specialized medical personnel, a dedicated airlift in and out of theater and across the globe, and high-­quality specialized care at a number of medical centers in Eu­rope or the United States. This was done routinely. A soldier could count on, at a minimum, definitive medical care within 72 hours for routine care; for urgent or priority missions, it was rendered in less than 24 hours. During the Vietnam War, what might have taken a week was normally delivered in Iraq within 24 hours. Communication between health care providers was significantly improved by the time of the Iraq War. Medical centers across the world could talk with the immediate care providers about the soldier and his or her care. Medical centers and physicians could track patients through the entire transport pro­cess. ­These improvements made care much more responsive and ultimately meant soldiers could expect the best treatment available. For a soldier in Iraq, ­there was no doubt in their mind that they would receive quick, expert care in the case of a combat wound or noncombat injury. ­Every soldier deployed to Iraq received basic first aid training called Buddy Aid and Basic Life Support. This was enough to cover the basic combat wounds and initial care for serious wounds. ­Every squad had at least one soldier who had taken a Combat Lifesaver Course (CLS) and was trained and equipped to deal with time-­ sensitive trauma such as arterial bleeding or blocked airways. A combat lifesaver bridged the gap between army combat medics and the soldier with basic first aid training and could serve as a medic’s assistant in extreme situations. The climate in Iraq contributed to a variety of health issues for soldiers. In the summers, the temperature easily reached 120 degrees Fahrenheit, which made



The Iraq War 1063

nearly ­every task miserable and physically taxing. Heat casualties ­were common, and the army made serious efforts to provide plenty of ­water to keep soldiers hydrated. As soon as they could, the military installed air conditioning in living quarters and workplaces to alleviate the stress of the Iraqi heat.74 The dust and sand that seemed to be everywhere and get into every­thing also contributed to the general misery of the average soldiers’ existence. Furthermore, the dust in the air frequently caused lung and throat irritations that gave soldiers breathing prob­lems. Some troops w ­ ere so afflicted with respiratory illnesses they had to be sent out of theater for treatment. Kidney stones became a common affliction, as soldiers often drank more soda, energy drinks, and coffee than ­water. Considered a DNBI, kidney stones ­were one of many preventable ailments that soldiers dealt with in Iraq. Diarrhea from not being careful with their food and drink hygiene was common, as ­were heat causalities from dehydration. Portable toilets provided welcome relief when they arrived in theater in the early summer of 2003. Waste trucks, called SSTs or s—­sucking trucks by the troops, provided by contractors maintained the portable toilets. They replaced slit trenches and urine tubes with latrines and significantly improved hygiene. Burning feces was a miserable but daily event for most soldiers. Oil barrels that had been cut in half ­were used in the latrines and w ­ ere then pulled out, doused with diesel fuel, and burned. Duty roster often determined who had the task, although it was also assigned as a punishment. The head injuries soldiers often suffered in an IED attack caused a new and ­little understood kind of injury. Classified as traumatic brain injuries (TBIs), ­these ­were dif­fer­ent from other injuries such as a gunshot wound, broken bone, or even an impact injury to the skull ­because they could have serious and often long-­term physical, cognitive, social, emotional, and behavioral symptoms. The sudden acceleration or deceleration of the brain within the skull ­causes damage and may result in a secondary injury. Once they ­were understood and diagnosed, TBIs ­were recognized as a common injury for soldiers who had been in vehicles struck by IEDs. The symptoms included dizziness, memory loss, difficulty concentrating, and headaches.75 TBIs ­were linked to chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a progressive degenerative disorder of the brain, as well as Alzheimer’s disease. As a result, the army became increasingly focused on preventive mea­sures. Soldiers who other­wise appeared to have survived an IED strike unscathed might actually be seriously injured. Many soldiers ­were given several days off to recover and when the symptoms abated ­were sent back to combat duty. To better understand the effect of IED strikes on troops, the U.S. military began administering a baseline brain test before deployment in 2009. ­These Automated Neurophysiological Assessment Metrics (ANAM) tests ­were conducted pre-­ deployment and post-­deployment to track brain per­for­mance and neurophysiological function. The military also gave soldiers an ANAM test ­after any IED strike. As a further symbol of how the army regarded t­hese injuries, it began awarding the Purple Heart to soldiers who showed any change in baseline tests ­after an IED event.

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PRISONERS OF WAR During the invasion t­ here w ­ ere two instances of American soldiers being taken prisoner. Early in the morning of March 23, 2003, a maintenance and supply convoy became lost and was ambushed near Nasiriyah. ­After the ambush, 11 soldiers ­were dead and 6 ­were taken prisoner. One soldier, Private First Class Jessica Lynch, was rescued from a hospital in Nasiriyah, and the other five ­were rescued from a Baghdad prison several weeks ­later.76 Along with the five soldiers from the convoy, two warrant officers ­were held in the Baghdad prison, having been captured ­after their Apache he­li­cop­ter was shot down on March 24. Basic medical care was provided by Iraqi medical personnel for t­ hese soldiers. They w ­ ere interrogated and filmed for propaganda by the Iraqi military. Their prison conditions ­were rough with ­limited food and dirty conditions, with the result that most lost weight during their captivity. ­After the combat phase and the fall of the Saddam regime, ­there w ­ ere no U.S. prisoners of war. This did not mean that ­there w ­ ere no captured American soldiers, just that they ­were not held by a recognized state. American soldiers who ­were captured by insurgents ­were killed before they could be recovered. ­These incidents ­were rare, and the few times they did occur the U.S. military put an enormous amount of effort and resources into recovering the captured soldiers. In spring 2004 reports of torture and prisoner abuse emerged from a prison fa­cil­ i­ty known as Abu Ghraib, located about 20 miles west of Baghdad. The prison was infamous during Saddam’s reign for executions and brutal treatment of inmates. The U.S. Army used the fa­cil­i­ty to detain insurgents a­ fter the fall of the regime. As the insurgency grew in late 2003 Abu Ghraib was inundated with detainees and quickly became overcrowded. This exacerbated the chronic staffing shortage and generally difficult working conditions the military police faced at Abu Ghraib. During this period, a series of abuses and episodes of torture occurred at the hands of military police. Evidence of this abuse circulated in the media and likely further incited the Iraqi population against the occupation. The military investigated and determined that 23 soldiers ­were responsible. To help address the chronic overcrowding, the military made an effort to reduce the prison population and reassess detainment policies.77

HOME FRONT During the Iraq War, members of the military w ­ ere generally well respected in American society. Patriotism was frequently displayed with flags, bumper stickers, and public messages of support for the troops. In the aftermath of the September 11 terror attacks, Americans collectively held an awareness of the threat terrorist organ­izations such as al Qaeda posed to the homeland. Many felt their way of life and demo­cratic values ­were ­under siege by religious extremists and rallied ­behind the “War on Terror” President Bush informally declared during a speech to Congress just days ­after the September 11 attacks.78 At the outset, the Iraq War received a high level of support from both the American population and members of Congress. The resolution authorizing military



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action against Iraq passed the House of Representatives 297 to 133 and the Senate 77 to 23.79 That support waned as it became clear that Saddam did not have an active WMD program and the insurgency began to grow. Republican support was strong for much of the war, but at times their support slacked as well. During the particularly violent months early on in the surge, several prominent Republican congressmen openly questioned the strategy and suggested it was time to pull out of Iraq. Demo­cratic support declined precipitously a­ fter the invasion, as the war morphed into an insurgency without a clear end in sight. Support for the war among the general public also waned as the conflict dragged on without clear gains. Within a year of the invasion, the majority of Americans believed it was a ­mistake to go to war in Iraq. By 2006, the population was split on what to do, with approximately half calling to bring the troops home right away, while the other half supported a more extended timetable for troop withdrawal. Almost every­one wanted the war to end, and the longer it continued, the more ­people in Amer­i­ca clamored for a plan to get out of Iraq. T ­ here ­were a number of public protests against the war both before the invasion and a­ fter the fall of the Saddam regime. T ­ hese ­were relatively peaceful demonstrations, but they attracted a good deal of media attention. Cindy Sheehan, the m ­ other of a soldier who was killed in action, Specialist Casey Sheehan, helped found a peace organ­ization called Gold Star Families for Peace to protest the war. She also camped near President Bush’s ranch outside of Crawford, Texas, for weeks in protest of the war.80 Support in the U.S. population for the war often followed po­liti­cal affiliation, with far more Republicans in ­favor of the war than Demo­crats. On the home front, the Iraq War became less impor­tant to the average American the longer it went on. Soldiers received a g­ reat deal of support from f­amily and friends back home, but to most Americans the war was of ­little importance. ­Because the military was small and all-­volunteer, only a very small percentage w ­ ere directly affected by the war. ­There ­were no war­time rationing programs or any restrictions on food and goods or shortages. It was fairly easy for Americans to go about their life without ever encountering soldiers in uniform, wounded troops, or soldiers who had been killed in action. The war cost around $2.4 trillion, or about $740 million per day, yet t­hese costs w ­ ere not especially felt in the economy.81 ­Until the 2008 recession, the U.S. economy was ­doing quite well while the war in Iraq raged on. VETERANS’ ISSUES For veterans of the war in Iraq a large number of ser­vices are provided, and it is likely they have received better care than the veterans of any previous American war, yet prob­lems still exist. The Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) provides near-­comprehensive health care to veterans. VA hospitals and clinics are located throughout the country, and e­ very military installation also provides some health care ser­vices to veterans. The VA also provides disability payments, vocational training, educational loans, home loans, life insurance, and burial and memorial benefits. The U.S. government has made significant efforts to care for veterans. It has been estimated that the long-­term costs of the ser­vices and benefits provided by the VA could be as high as $6 trillion.82

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Despite the enormous investment and po­liti­cal support, the VA strug­gled to deal with the hundreds of thousands of new veterans from the Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan wars. Many veterans saw the VA as a bureaucracy that focused on denying claims rather than an organ­ization dedicated to caring for veterans. Veterans needing medical care often waited weeks or months to see a doctor, and ­there ­were a number of incidents where medical care was subpar or negligent. As health care costs ­rose and the inefficiencies of the VA ­were highlighted in the media, the organ­ization became the focal point for public and po­liti­cal ire. During and ­after the war, a wide range of veterans’ advocacy groups and veterans’ ser­vice organ­izations ­were established by veterans and other concerned Americans. ­These groups provided a wide range of ser­vices to help veterans receive health care, re­adjust to society, find employment, and connect with other veterans. Many of ­these groups existed entirely to help veterans navigate the VA bureaucracy and receive the benefits they earned. PTSD was one of the most common ailments of soldiers who served in Iraq, and American society has grappled with how to treat soldiers with this condition.83 The United States developed a much better understanding of PTSD during and ­after the Iraq War as the illness became a relatively common ele­ment in film, TV, ­music, and lit­er­a­ture. However, a stigma still existed about PTSD and ­mental illness in general that created barriers for soldiers who needed care. A somewhat unexpected cost of the war has been the high number of suicides among ser­vice members and veterans. The effects of PTSD and the overall stress and hardships of combat have led to a high rate of suicides, with around 20 veterans a day committing suicide.84 The high suicide rates among Iraq War veterans may be an indication that the U.S. military and American society still have not adequately addressed the m ­ ental health challenges of war. Iraq War veterans seem to have entered the job market ­after the military ser­vice fairly well. ­There w ­ ere a number of federal initiatives to encourage the employment of veterans in the private sector, as well as a federal requirement to give preference to veterans in federal employment. As of 2017 the U.S. government reported that about 3.7 ­percent of Iraq War veterans ­were unemployed. The U.S. government also reported in 2017 that around 41 ­percent of Iraq War veterans had a service-­ related disability compared to 21 ­percent of all veterans.85 MILITARY DISCIPLINE The most common discipline issue was likely insubordination. Soldiers that mouthed off or w ­ ere not paying attention to their task faced the wrath of their NCOs. This was generally dealt with by “smoking” the offender through pushups or squats. NCOs could also write them up and put a rec­ord in their file that could have a negative effect on their next promotion. For the most part, NCOs handled general discipline within the unit. One significant discipline issue the army dealt with was negligent discharges (ND). An ND occurred when soldiers did not properly clear, or make sure the firing chamber was empty, their weapons on base and accidentally fired their weapon. The best-­case scenario for an ND was when the weapon was dry-­fired in clearing



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barrels at the entrance to the installation and actually fired a round. At a minimum the soldier usually received a General Officer Memorandum of Reprimand filed in the soldier’s official rec­ord. They could also receive an Article 15, which could result in up to 45 days restriction to barracks, extra duty, or two months of half-­pay; this was a serious issue, but usually soldiers ­were simply given the reprimand. In some cases negligent discharges resulted in the injury or death of a soldier, which is why the military took them so seriously. Another discipline issue was malingering, when soldiers ­were shirking duty or avoiding ­going on patrol. This was not very common, as most soldiers ­were focused on their job and dedicated to the ­people they served with; however, the kind of soldier that shirked their duties stateside did the same in Iraq. The punishment for malingering was often hard ­labor on bases in Kuwait filling sand bags for a few months. This usually rehabilitated soldiers, and they returned to their units in Iraq. Outright desertion was very uncommon, but usually occurred before soldiers deployed to Iraq. Once in theater, desertion was almost non­ex­is­tent b­ ecause ­there was nowhere to go and the risk of capture followed by torture and murder by insurgents was very high. Alcohol was prohibited u­ nder General Order Number 1. Most soldiers abided by this order, but some resourceful troops acquired homemade booze from enterprising Iraqis. ­Others simply made friends with co­ali­tion soldiers from Britain or Poland and enjoyed beer in their section of the base. B ­ ecause of the restriction on alcohol, ­there was never ­really an issue with alcoholism in the war zone. However, alcoholism and alcohol abuse w ­ ere major concerns when units redeployed. The army tried to give soldiers redeploying from Iraq the time and space to unwind and enjoy themselves, but this leeway was tempered with the concern about the prob­lems associated with alcohol abuse. Petty crime such as theft, disorderly conduct, or vandalism did occur during the war. The army encouraged soldiers to secure their personal belongings and strictly prosecuted theft and vandalism. For the most part soldiers could trust their fellow troops, and as long as they took common precautions such as locking their lockers and securing their bags, t­here w ­ ere not many issues. More serious crimes such as bribery, major theft, contract rigging, and embezzlement generally involved troops who managed the many contracts issued to both Iraqi and international businesses. Enormous amounts of cash ­were funneled through soldiers to Iraqis for small and large building proj­ects, wages for security personnel, and goods. In Iraq, soldiers who ­were not trained to deal with finances found themselves ­handling large cash transactions in a part of the world where bribes and kickbacks w ­ ere a common part of financial dealings. The army strictly punished violent crimes such as rape, murder, and assault ­either against fellow soldiers or against civilians in Iraq. ­There w ­ ere several accusations of war crimes in Iraq, and a number resulted in investigations and convictions against soldiers. In one case soldiers from the 101st Airborne ­were convicted of raping and murdering a young girl and murdering her f­ amily in a village near the town of Al-­Mahmudiyah in March 2006. The soldiers attempted to cover up their crimes, but a few months ­later a member of their unit found out and then reported the crimes to a m ­ ental health counselor. The soldiers w ­ ere found guilty of crimes

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ranging from murder to obstruction of justice and w ­ ere sentenced to the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. The story of how the unit degraded to the point where they planned rape and murder and then acted on their plan was told in a book that ­later became assigned reading for members joining the 101st Airborne Division.86 ­These incidents w ­ ere very damaging to the American efforts to support the new Iraqi government and likely drove Iraqis into the arms of insurgent groups. B ­ ecause of the nature of the counterinsurgency, particularly in the ­earlier years of the war, it was difficult for Iraqi citizens to hold American soldiers accountable for alleged crimes. Soldiers convicted of serious crimes ­were usually given prison sentences that w ­ ere served in the federal military prison at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. UNIQUE ASPECTS OF SOLDIERING IN THE IRAQ WAR ­After the American withdrawal from Iraq, a security vacuum emerged that was soon filled by the Islamic State of Iraq (ISI), an outgrowth of AQI. In July 2012 Abu Bakr al-­Baghdadi, the leader of ISI declared the group was returning to the strongholds that they had been driven from during the surge in 2007 and 2008, and vio­lence in Iraq began to escalate. On June 29, 2014, the group, now known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) or the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), proclaimed itself to be a worldwide caliphate with al-­Baghdadi named its caliph. In part due to the Syrian civil war, ISIS was able to gain control of large swaths of territory in Syria and Iraq, including major cities such as Mosul, Ramadi, and Fallujah. The Iraqi government strug­gled to deal with ISIS, and the Iraqi army, ­after many years of American training and billions of dollars of American equipment, fell apart when it confronted ISIS fighters. Many frustrated Americans and veterans questioned the worth of the eight years spent fighting in Iraq ­after the rise of ISIS. With significant support from the United States, the Iraqi military slowly rebuilt and prepared to drive ISIS out of Iraq. Several thousand American soldiers once again deployed to Iraq in 2015 and 2016 to advise, train, and equip Iraqi army units in the fight against ISIS. With heavy support in the form of American airpower and soldiers, Iraqi units gradually retook the territory lost to ISIS. Many of the same cities American soldiers fought for during the invasion in 2003 and the insurgency in 2005 through 2008 ­were fought over once again in 2016 and 2017. ­There was a feeling of déjà vu in Iraq for the U.S. Army, though this time ­there w ­ ere no FOBs or neighborhood patrols. The Iraq War for the American soldier was a series of contrasts. The invasion was a high-­speed assault of overwhelming firepower that leveraged all the advantages Amer­i­ca had as a superpower. The fight was primarily against conventional forces and largely unfolded as commanders and planners had expected. While the invasion was an exhausting race punctuated by urban assaults and roadside firefights, it was what soldiers had trained for and resembled the previous war a generation e­arlier. ­After the fall of Baghdad, every­thing changed. Soldiers found themselves in a war they did not understand, and the insurgency presented situations for which they ­were completely unprepared. This phase of the war was characterized by long patrols focused on searching for indistinguishable insurgents and



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establishing a presence that could easily turn into an IED ambush, followed by snipers and RPG teams. The major ­battles ­were fought over cities that had fallen during the invasion but had somehow once again ended up in the hands of the ­enemy. The primary killer was the IED, which made anyone who traveled outside the wire in a combat troop at risk for an attack by insurgents. The front lines of the battlefield ­were just outside the gates of the FOBs and COPs that dotted the Iraqi landscape like ­little sanctuary islands in a sea of chaos and vio­lence. The massive resource and technological advantage of the United States was up against a vastly inferior, yet strikingly innovative, irregular force made up of disparate and often disjointed groups united by hatred of the American presence. For much of the war the ­great advantage American soldiers had in weaponry, technology, resources, and training did ­little to defeat the insurgency. This was a very dif­fer­ent war from the Gulf War of 1990–1991. ­There was also a stark contrast in experiences during the Iraq War. Soldiers who worked on an FOB lived a life that strongly resembled life stateside. They slept in air-­conditioned rooms; used flush toilets; took hot showers; ate at buffets; worked in large office complexes; and in their downtime watched TV, worked out, played video games, or video-­chatted with friends and ­family. Soldiers who worked on COPs or even smaller installations experienced a much more spartan existence that often lacked hot showers, flush toilets, and fresh food. They spent their days outside the wire in the dusty heat waiting for the IED strike or sniper ambush that they knew was coming. Both large FOBs and smaller patrol bases dealt with indirect fire and large vehicle-­borne IEDs. ­Running to bunkers during a mortar attack was a common experience, regardless of where one served. Another unifying experience for soldiers was that pro­gress was extremely difficult to quantify for much of the war. ­There ­were two major unique aspects to the American soldiers’ experience in the Iraq War that diverged from the experience of soldiers in previous wars: Internet access and the privatization of support ele­ments. ­These two phenomena combined to give soldiers a somewhat disjointed war­time experience. On the major installations one could forget one was in a war zone thanks to the fast food restaurants, coffee cafes, shops, and Internet access. Even the soldiers who worked and lived outside the major installations w ­ ere able to visit t­hese veritable islands of American middle-­class life and get a real taste of home. While the army certainly provided many more comforts to improve soldiers’ daily lives, some have argued that for ­those who lived and worked on ­these bases, the war was strangely distant and filtered. The larger bases still had plenty of combat patrols, which led to an odd dynamic in some chow halls where dusty soldiers fresh off of a patrol ­were waiting at a salad bar next to a contractor or ser­vice member who had never left the wire, complaining about the lack of variety in desserts at the food bar. Soldiers who served in the Iraq War had an unpre­ce­dented level of connectivity to the outside world made pos­si­ble by the increasingly ubiquitous presence of the Internet on American installations. The army provided soldiers with computers with access to the Web in Internet cafes, soldiers who worked on base had computers at their workstations, and many soldiers brought personal laptop computers and used wireless networks to connect to the Internet. This unparalleled access to the world through the Internet facilitated communication with friends and ­family back

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home with an unbelievable ease and frequency compared to previous wars. The concurrent rise of social media in the 2000s provided even more platforms for communication, with Facebook and Myspace among the most popu­lar. Soldiers commonly kept digital blogs to rec­ord their thoughts, feelings, and experiences while deployed, and ­these blogs became invaluable sources for audiences back home as well as for posterity. This connectivity was in sharp contrast to past wars where soldiers communicated with ­family and friends via letters and relied on the army or locals to transport the mail, often waiting months to hear from home. At the same time families could expect to hear from their soldiers somewhat regularly and even speak with them face to face with video chats. This made for an unpre­ce­dented war­time experience for soldiers and families that was a dramatic divergence from the past. The privatization of many support functions by the U.S. government was driven largely by the fact that the military simply did not have the personnel to staff all the noncombat support jobs. Private companies, particularly Halliburton and KBR, built American bases and provided the staff and supplies to run them. The enormous dining facilities ­were staffed almost entirely by third country nationals brought in through government contracts and served food that had been flown, shipped, and trucked in on contracted transport. Intent on maximizing business, the private companies w ­ ere more than willing to provide for e­ very need and want of American soldiers. Unlike in previous wars where soldiers dealt with unappetizing army chow or no rations at all, soldiers in Iraq could rely on a steady supply of nearly any food they could imagine. Instead of living off the land or surviving on army rations, soldiers in Iraq had the culinary comforts of Amer­i­ca brought to them. For the average soldier, the Iraq War was a hot, dusty existence that featured air-­ conditioned chow halls, Internet ser­vice, and energy drinks. Their lives outside the wire w ­ ere a strange combination of tense boredom as they rode in armored vehicles waiting for the IED strike and moments of terrifying excitement from violent encounters with insurgents, who ­were often almost indistinguishable from the civilian population. Their mission was at times undefined, as the army and the White House strug­gled to come to terms with the real­ity on the ground, and generally frustrating as they fought and bled to provide security and stability for a country that did not r­eally want their presence. American soldiers had overwhelming firepower and resources at their disposal, but at times they found it useless in combating the insurgency. T ­ hose who fought the war often looked back on their time in Iraq and the rise and fall of ISIS in the years that followed with frustration at the opportunities missed and the significant financial and ­human cost. The eight-­year war was fought primarily by the generation known as the millennials, yet it never defined the generation as a ­whole, since for many millennials outside of the military, much like the rest of American society, it was a war that was fairly easy to forget.

TIMELINE September 11, 2001 Hijacked planes crash into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, while Flight 93, possibly intended for the White House, crashes in a field in Pennsylvania.



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January 29, 2002 President George Bush identifies Iraq, Iran, and North ­Korea as an “Axis of Evil” in a State of the Union address. November 8, 2002 The UN Security Council approves Resolution 1441, which requires Iraq to allow weapons inspectors to return a­ fter a four-­year absence. November 13, 2002 Iraq accepts UN Resolution 1441 and allows weapons inspectors into the country. January 9, 2003 Weapons inspector Dr. Hans Blix tells the UN Security Council that unanswered questions remain, but weapons inspections had not found any “smoking guns.” January 29, 2003 In his State of the Union address, President Bush declares he is ready to attack Iraq. February 5, 2003 Secretary of State Colin Powell addresses a plenary session of the UN Security Council to argue for military action, stating that Saddam Hussein had biological weapons and the ability to rapidly produce more. February 14, 2003 Dr. Blix reports to the UN that Iraq must do more to prove it does not have weapons of mass destruction. March 7, 2003 The United States, with the support of Spain and the United Kingdom, submits a United Nations resolution calling for authorization to remove Saddam Hussein by force. The resolution does not gain sufficient support and is withdrawn 10 days ­later. March 18, 2003 The United States forms a co­ali­tion of 30 countries willing to go to war to remove Saddam Hussein from power in Iraq. March 19, 2003 President George W. Bush announces the start of Operation Iraqi Freedom. March 21, 2003 The United States begins the invasion of Iraq with a coordinated satellite-­guided Tomahawk cruise missile strike on Baghdad. American, British, Australian, Polish, and Danish military operations begin; ground troops move into Iraq. March 23, 2003 An army convoy is ambushed in Nasiriyah; Private First Class Jessica Lynch is taken captive along with several other members from her unit. April 1, 2003 Special forces units rescue Jessica Lynch from a hospital in Nasiriyah and recover the bodies of members of her unit that w ­ ere killed in action.

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April 7, 2003 The fall of Basra, the second-­largest Iraqi city, to the British 1st Armored Division occurs. April 10, 2003 The fall of Baghdad: co­ali­tion forces move into Baghdad, ending the reign of Iraqi president Saddam Hussein. April 11, 2003 Mosul falls to U.S. and Kurdish forces. May 1, 2003 U.S. president George W. Bush declares major combat operations in Iraq over. May 23, 2003 L. Paul Bremer issues Co­ali­tion Provisional Authority Order Number 2, dissolving the Iraqi army. June 15, 2003 Operation Desert Scorpion begins; the U.S. military performs a series of raids across Iraq and finds Iraqi re­sis­tance and heavy weapons. June 24, 2003 Six soldiers from the British Royal Military Police are killed by a mob in Majar al-­Kabir in Southern Iraq. July 2, 2003 U.S. president George W. Bush addresses ­those attacking U.S. troops, saying “bring ’em on!” July 13, 2003 The Iraqi Governing Council is established ­under the authority of the Co­ali­tion Provisional Authority. July 22, 2003 Uday and Qusay Hussein, Saddam Hussein’s sons, are killed in Mosul. August 7, 2003 In the first car bombing of the occupation, the Jordanian embassy is bombed. August 19, 2003 A truck bomb at the United Nations headquarters kills the top UN envoy, Sergio Vieira de Mello, and 21 o­ thers, in the Canal H ­ otel bombing. August 29, 2003 A car bomb blast kills influential Shi’ite cleric Ayatollah Mohammed Baqr al-­Hakim as he leaves his mosque. At least 84 ­others are killed. September 3, 2003 The first post-­Saddam government is formed. The Iraqi Governing Council consisted of 22 tribal leaders and politicians appointed by the CPA to provide advice and leadership u­ ntil the June 2004 transfer of power.



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September 23, 2003 A Gallup poll shows that the majority of Iraqis expect a better life in five years. Around two-­thirds of Baghdad residents state the Iraqi dictator’s removal was worth the hardships they have been forced to endure. October 2, 2003 David Kay’s Iraq Survey Group report finds ­little evidence of WMD in Iraq, although plans to develop more weapons with additional capabilities did exist. While t­hese plans appear to have been dormant, their existence was concealed from UNSCOM during the inspections that began in 2002. Weapons inspectors in Iraq found a secret “network of biological laboratories” and a deadly strain of botulinum. October 16, 2003 The UN Security Council issues Resolution 1511, which envisions a multinational force and preserves Washington, D.C.’s quasi-­absolute control of Iraq. October 27, 2003 Baghdad is bombed in an event knows as the Ramadan Offensive. November 2, 2003 Two U.S. Chinook he­li­cop­ters are fired upon by two surface-­to-­air missiles; one crashes near Fallujah on its way to Baghdad airport. Sixteen soldiers are killed and 20 are wounded in the heaviest single loss for the co­ali­tion troops up to that time. November 12, 2003 A suicide truck bomb destroys the Italian headquarters in Nasiriyah, killing 19 Italians (17 of them soldiers) and 14 Iraqis. November 15, 2003 The Governing Council unveils an accelerated timetable for transferring the country to Iraqi control. November 22, 2003 An Airbus A-300 freighter belonging to German courier firm DHL is forced to make an emergency landing ­after being struck by a portable shoulder-­fired SA-14 missile. November 27, 2003 U.S. president George W. Bush visits Baghdad for Thanksgiving Day in secret (the White House had announced that he would be at home with his ­family) in an attempt to boost morale among both the troops and ordinary Iraqis. November 30, 2003 The  U.S. military reports killing 46 militants and wounding 18  in clashes in Samarra. December 13, 2003 Saddam Hussein is captured by special forces in Operation Red Dawn; it is announced the next day.

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February 1, 2004 Two suicide bombers strike Kurdish po­liti­cal offices in the northern city of Arbil, killing 117 and injuring 133. March 2, 2004 Multiple bombings in Baghdad and Karbala kill nearly 200 ­people during the Shi’a festival of Aashurah; ­these are the deadliest attacks up to that time. March 8, 2004 Provisional Iraqi constitution signed. March 31, 2004 Four Blackwater private security contractors are ambushed and killed in Fallujah. This incites the First ­Battle of Fallujah. April 4, 2004 Violent clashes between the co­ali­tion and followers of Shi’a cleric Muqtada al-­Sadr begin. April 18, 2004 Spain, led by newly elected José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero (Socialist Party), vows to withdraw its troops. The prisoner abuses at Abu Ghraib become widely known, sparking outrage in Iraq and the Arab world. May 17, 2004 Ezzedine Salim, head of the Iraqi Governing Council, is killed in a suicide attack. June 1, 2004 The Iraqi interim government, led by Prime Minister Iyad Allawi, begins to assume functions; Ghazi al-­Yawer is designated the head of the Iraqi state. June 8, 2004 UN Security Council Resolution 1546 passes, ordering the transfer of sovereignty from the Co­ali­tion Provisional Authority to the Iraqi interim government. June 28, 2004 The U.S.-­led Co­ali­tion Provisional Authority formally transfers sovereignty of Iraqi territory to the Iraqi interim government, two days ahead of schedule. L. Paul Bremer departs the country two hours ­later. June 30, 2004 Saddam Hussein and 11 high ex-­governmental figures are put ­under the Iraqi interim government’s authority. July 1, 2004 Saddam Hussein appears at his first court hearing. August 5–27, 2004 Forces loyal to Muqtada al-­Sadr resist government authority in Najaf, With the help of ­Grand Ayatollah Ali al-­Sistani, the fighting ends.



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September 14, 2004 Thirteen Iraqis are killed in the Haifa Street he­li­cop­ter incident; it is televised around the world. September 30, 2004 A car bomb strikes an American Humvee handing out candy to ­children, killing up to 35 c­ hildren. October 1, 2004 The B ­ attle of Samarra begins. November 7, 2004 The Second B ­ attle of Fallujah begins. November 8, 2004 Insurgents regroup and begin the B ­ attle of Mosul. December 21, 2004 A bomb at Forward Operating Base Marez kills 22, including 18 Americans. January 26, 2005 Thirty-­one U.S. soldiers die in a he­li­cop­ter crash. This is the deadliest day of the entire postinvasion period for the U.S. military. January 30, 2005 In the Iraqi legislative election. the Shi’a United Iraqi Alliance obtains a majority, followed by the Kurdish Alliance. The Sunnis largely boycott the election. February 28, 2005 A car bomb kills 127 in Hillah in what was the deadliest single blast up to that time. The Jordanian nationality of the bomber ­causes diplomatic tension between Iraq and Jordan. March 4, 2005 Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena is liberated, but Italian secret agent Nicola Calipari is killed by U.S. fire. In response, the Italian government announces a partial retreat of Italian troops from the co­ali­tion. March 16, 2005 The first meeting of the transitional National Assembly. April 6, 2005 Election of Kurdish Jalal Talabani as president of Iraq. April 7, 2005 Ibrahim al-­Jaafari is nominated as prime minister of Iraq. May 8, 2005 In the ­Battle of Al Qaim, the United States aims to stop the flow of foreign fighters into Iraq. May 15, 2005 The parliamentary commission is formed and charged with drafting the new constitution.

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July 19, 2005 Musayyib bombing kills nearly 100 Shi’a. August 1–4, 2005 ­Battle of Haditha. August 28, 2005 The Iraqi constitution is presented to parliament. August 31, 2005 Rumors of a suicide bomber lead to a stampede on the Al-­Aaimmah bridge in Baghdad; approximately 1,000 p­ eople die. September 1, 2005 U.S. troops launch an offensive in Tal Afar. The city becomes a “model” for the Americans. September 14, 2005 In the deadliest day of the insurgency in Baghdad, bombs kill 160 and injure more than 500. September 19, 2005 British troops storm a police station in Basra to ­free two soldiers being held t­ here. September 29, 2005 Bombings in Balad kill at least 95. October 15, 2005 Iraqi voters approve Iraq’s new constitution. October 19, 2005 Start of Saddam Hussein’s trial. October 24, 2005 The Palestine ­Hotel and the Sheraton Ishtar ­Hotel in Baghdad are hit by truck bombs. November 5, 2005 Operation Steel Curtain is launched to root out foreign fighters. November 15, 2005 In an Iraqi government bunker in Baghdad, 173 prisoners are found, having been starved, beaten, and tortured. November 18, 2005 Bombings in Khanaqin kill at least 74. November 19, 2005 ­After an insurgent attack in Haditha, American soldiers kill 24 ­people, including 15 noncombatants. December 14, 2005 U.S. president George W. Bush says that the decision to invade Iraq in 2003 was the result of faulty intelligence and accepts responsibility for that decision. He maintains that his decision was still justified.



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December 15, 2005 Iraqi legislative election. February 22, 2006 The Al Askari Mosque is bombed, sparking a wave of sectarian vio­lence. March 12, 2006 A group of American soldiers rape an Iraqi girl and murder her and her f­ amily in a village near Mahmudiyah. The soldiers are l­ater tried and convicted of crimes ranging from murder to obstruction of justice and are given prison sentences. April 24, 2006 In the Hamdania incident marines allegedly abduct an Iraqi civilian from a ­house. They kill him and place components and spent AK-47 cartridges near his body to make it appear he was planting an IED. May 20, 2006 The new Iraqi government, which succeeds the Iraqi transitional government, begins its functions. June 7, 2006 Abu Musab al-­Zarqawi, the leader of AQI, is killed in an airstrike. June 17, 2006 The ­Battle of Ramadi begins. This fight for the control of the capital of Al Anbar province w ­ ill last nearly five months. July 9, 2006 Shia militias kill 40 Sunnis in the Hay al Jihad massacre. October 19, 2006 In the B ­ attle of Amarah, the Mahdi Army and the Badr Organ­ization clash. October 28, 2006 The first chlorine bombings occur in Iraq. November 7, 2006 In the U.S. midterm elections, the Republican Party loses control of both chambers of the U.S. Congress. Despite the Bush administration’s attempt to distance itself, the failings in the Iraq War ­were cited as one of the main ­causes of the Republicans’ defeat. November 19, 2006 Ammar al-­Saffar, deputy health minister, becomes the highest-­ranking Iraqi to be kidnapped. November 23, 2006 Bombings in Sadr City kill more than 200 Shi’a. December 6, 2006 The Iraq Study Group releases their final report. The report to Congress concludes that the situation in Iraq is deteriorating and more U.S. troops should be sent to help train and advise Iraqi forces.

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December 25, 2006 The Diyala campaign begins, initiating a nine-­month effort against insurgents in Diyala Province. December 30, 2006 Saddam Hussein is executed. He was convicted of crimes against humanity by an Iraqi special tribunal and hanged in Baghdad. January 10, 2007 The troop surge of 2007 is announced. January 10, 2007 Followers of the Shi’a cult Soldiers of Heaven initiate the ­Battle of Najaf, which leaves nearly 300 dead. February 3, 2007 A bomb in a Baghdad market kills 135 p­ eople. March 6, 2007 Al Hillah bombings kill 120 Shi’a. March 10, 2007 The ­Battle of Baqubah begins a five-­month effort to take control of Diyala Province. March 27, 2007 A bombing in Tal Afar, which killed 152, sets off Shi’a retaliation, which leaves 70 Sunnis dead. March 29, 2007 Suicide bombings in Baghdad kill 82 Shi’a. April 6, 2007 In Operation Black Ea­gle. fighting ensues between co­ali­tion forces and the Madhi Army. April 18, 2007 Bombings across Baghdad kill nearly 200. April 23, 2007 In Mosul, Yazidi workers are massacred in revenge for the stoning of Du’a Khalil Aswad. June 13, 2007 The al-­Askari Mosque bombing destroys two of the mosque’s minarets. July 12, 2007 The Initial Benchmark Assessment Report is released. General David Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker give the report to Congress, updating them on the pro­ gress of the troop surge and the state of the war in Iraq. July 16, 2007 The 2007 Kirkuk bombings kill 86.



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July 17, 2007 A truck bomb in Amirli kills 156. July 18, 2007 A Baghdad market is bombed, killing 92. August 14, 2007 Four bombings in Kahtaniya and Jazeera, in northern Iraq, hit Yazidi communities. Seven hundred and ninety-­six ­people are killed and more than 1,500 are injured in the most deadly insurgent strike to date. September 16, 2007 Blackwater shootings in Nisour Square, Baghdad, kill 17 Iraqi civilians. The incident caused significant outrage in Iraq and the Arab world. Several of the Blackwater security contractors involved w ­ ere tried in U.S. courts. February 1, 2008 Bombings in Baghdad kill 98. November 27, 2008 The U.S.-­Iraq Status of Forces Agreement, which requires that U.S. troops w ­ ill be out of Iraq by the end of 2011, is approved and ratified by the Iraqi parliament. January 2009 A total of 191 Iraqis are killed violently during January, the lowest monthly toll since the invasion began in March 2003. Sixteen U.S. troops die in Iraq in the same time. May 11, 2009 Camp Liberty killings. Army Sergeant John Russell kills five soldiers at the Combat Stress Center. He ­will be sentenced to life in prison. The incident brings increased attention to the m ­ ental health of soldiers in a war zone. May 28, 2009 The last of the UK’s combat troops are withdrawn. December 31, 2009 Only four deaths of U.S. troops occur in 2009; none of them are combat deaths. March 7, 2010 Iraqi parliamentary election. The 2010 parliamentary elections are controversial. Incumbent Prime Minister Nouri Al-­Maliki continues in his position, while the opposition candidate, Ayad Allawi, takes leadership of a new security council. April 18, 2010 Islamic State of Iraq leaders Abu Ayyub al-­Masri and Abu Omar al-­Baghdadi are killed in a joint U.S.-­Iraqi operation near Tikrit, Iraq. August 18, 2010 American combat operations in Iraq end as the last combat brigade departs for Kuwait.

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December 18, 2011 Final withdrawal of American troops. June 15, 2014 President Obama o­ rders U.S. forces to be dispatched to Iraq and Syria to combat the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant.

Documents of the Iraq War: Personal Accounts 1  Justin Prather: Killing Al-­Zarqawi Justin Prather joined the U.S. Army in October 2004. As an aviation operations specialist, he served tours of duty in both Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan. Prather describes his role in the mission that killed the terrorist leader al-­Zarqawi on June 7, 2006. Richard C. Smoot interviewed Prather on June 14, 2012. PRATHER: It was wake up—­I would work, um, I would work 8:00 to 8:00 and, for about half the year, and then we would switch, so, you know, the other shift could experience daylight, you know. ‘Cause one of the shifts was working at night and sleeping during the day. SMOOT: Um-hm. PRATHER: You know, it’s not a way to live. So we would have a switch in the ­middle of the year, and then we would switch shifts. I would be night shift, and someone e­ lse would replace me as day, 8:00 to 8:00 ­every day . . . SMOOT: Did you come ­under fire at, uh, Tikrit? PRATHER: Yes, sir, all the time. You know, my—­the fire I came ­under was mortar fire. That’s how they liked to fight. They would shoot mortars from a distance. And, um, they would try to get lucky. And, you know, I could be ­doing anything. I could be sitting t­ here watching a movie on my laptop in my room when I was off, or I could be walking to the chow hall, or I could be working. And what we found out was that if you heard, you know, the—(imitates sound of bomb falling)—­like that’s a good ­thing, ‘cause it’s over your head, so you ­don’t have to worry about that one. But when you d­ on’t hear it, you know, it’s re-­relatively close. But the t­ hing about that is it’s—­the Military, they try to space their bases out as best as they can. It’s like throwing a needle in a haystack, like with—­well, ­can’t ­really use that phrase, but the odds of them hitting somebody walking is so small, you know, you have ­really nothing to worry about. I mean, yeah, t­ hey’re flying mortars, and they have to hit somewhere, and, you know, unfortunately they did hit a few places where, where ­people w ­ ere at, and, um—­but the base is so spread out that you just, you ­really ­don’t pay it any mind, as weird as that may seem. Like I could be watching a movie and, and we would hear it, and me and my roommate would just look at each other and put our headphones back in and continue watching, and just hoping that, you know, w ­ e’re not gonna be one of the unlucky ones.



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SMOOT: Hmm. PRATHER: But if ­you’re out—­Usually we ­were just too tired to get up, and— (laughs)—we would stay in our room. But if we ­were at work or if we ­were out at the gym or at the chow hall, they would, you know—­the sirens would go off, and then that’s when you would run and find cover ­under a bunker. Like I said, they had ‘em all over the place. You always had one in a m ­ atter of steps, no ­matter where you w ­ ere. You would just go hang ­there u­ ntil the all clear came on, and, um—­But what was cool for me was that my job—­you know, I worked in the TOC with, and I would always know what was ­going on, so we would always get some in­for­mants that would tell us where ­people liked to fire ­these mortars at, so I would—­well not me, the ­Battle Captain would get a mission together to go take care of ­these ­people, and I would track the ­whole ­thing. I would see it go down. So, you know, I always got to see payback on ‘em, which was pretty cool . . . PRATHER: One of my biggest war stories is that I was a part of the mission that took care of al-­Zarqawi. Um, I watched it happen. I watched the building explode. And, uh, we had gotten word that this was about to go down, and a hand few ­people got called into the TOC, and they needed somebody to run the radios, so they called me. And, um, actually had gotten the day off—­I think it was, I think it was June 6th in, uh— SMOOT: —0-­five?— PRATHER: —­two-­thousand and six. SMOOT: Okay, ‘06. PRATHER: That, uh, that that, that this mission happened, and, um, I had given, I had been given the day off that day and had been told to come in late that night. And I—­they ­wouldn’t tell me why. You know, they ­didn’t want me to tell anybody or what­ever and ask questions. I was like, “Okay,” so I knew something was goin’ down. I thought it was, you know, go find some other high value target, but I ­didn’t realize it would be as high as al-­Zarqawi. And, um, I got ­there and got briefed on the mission, and we found out that c­ ouple Air Force, uh, jets w ­ ere gonna go drop a ­couple guided bombs ­there, and we got up our, uh, um, our Predator feed. You, you familiar with the Predator? It’s the—­it’s, it’s a plane that’s flown from base, like nobody’s in it. It’s like a remote controlled aircraft that can just hover a mile in the sky, and you can watch every­thing that’s g­ oing down below you. The p­ eople down ­there, they ­don’t have a clue what’s up ­there. It makes zero noise. It’s small. You ­can’t see it, and you can see ­people clear as day. It’s, it’s, you know, it’s a grey-­white feed. I’m sure ­you’ve seen it on the news. It’s, uh, it’s pretty cool. We, we launched our Predator, and, um, we had, um—­the reason I needed to come up ­there is ‘cause we had our Apaches on standby in case, you know, something that, something went wrong or what­ever. We would send them in ­there to take care of some ­things. But nothing went wrong, and ­we’re all sitting ­there, a ­couple generals ­behind me, and ­we’re watching this building, and the next ­thing you know it’s not ­there anymore, and— SMOOT: —­hmm—

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PRATHER: —­nothing but smoke and dust take over the screen, and that’s when al-­Zarqawi was killed, and that was Osama’s number two. [Note that Prather l­ater corrected himself and said that al-­Zarqawi was Saddam’s number 2] And, uh, I saw that happen live, which is something I’ll never forget. Source: Justin Prather Interview, Col­o­nel Arthur L. Kelly American Veterans Oral History Collection, Louie B. Nunn Center for Oral History, University of Kentucky Libraries, Lexington.

2  Jeremy Adam Bowen: Night Raid in Fallujah Jeremy Adam Bowen served two tours of duty with the American Army in Iraq. Bowen was a combat infantryman in the 82nd Airborne whose first exposure to combat came during a night raid in Fallujah. Mark Tyler Scott interviewed Bowen on November 3, 2010. SCOTT: What was your experience like the first time you came into contact with the e­ nemy? BOWEN: Uh, well, um, the first time I ever directly came into contact was, uh, pretty scary. Um, I ­can’t even remember when it was. Um, I remember, like, a span of time. It was—it was between October and January. I ­don’t remember exactly when it was, but we ­were on a mission, and I ­don’t remember a lot of the specifics of the mission. But we ­were meeting up with a, um,—­a more special unit, I guess you could say, uh, for lack of better terms, than what we ­were. Um, we met up with them north of Fallujah at an overpass. And they had—uh, ­these big—­and they w ­ ere relatively new at the time, they ­were, uh, I think they ­were called Strykers, um, they ­were ­these six-­wheeled vehicles with big guns on top, and they ­were armored, and, uh, you had guys hanging all over ‘em. They had ­these real cool guns and stuff, and they ­were a mix of Ranger Battalion and, um, Special Forces soldiers. We met up with them at this, uh, this overpass. And we went through the north side of the city, which was a part of the city that we ­didn’t go into very often. It was—so it was kind of uneasy to go through that area, and, um, went through the north side of the city. We hit—­our job was pretty ­simple, that time. Uh, we ­weren’t ­going into the buildings. All we had to do was secure the—­secure the perimeter, so. Get out, make sure every­thing stay—is safe and stays safe on the outside while we—­you know, the Special Forces guys, Ranger guys, go in, take care of the mission, um, do what­ever they had to do. They ­didn’t—­I ­didn’t know what their mission was, I ­don’t think any of us did. Uh, they went in, done what they had to, and they come out and we leave. We had two missions that night—we hit one, pack up, go to the next building, hit that one, we ­were done. And, um, we got to the first—­rolled into the first place and, uh, we w ­ ere in what they called L ­ ittle Detroit. Um, which is a pretty dangerous part of town, but it was like, two ­o’clock in the morning. We had—­you know, they—­they say the Army owns the night b­ ecause we had night vision, l­asers, all that stuff, so we—we seen what was ­going on even though, you know, who—­you know, anyone ­else ­wouldn’t have, um, if they ­didn’t have that type of technology.



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We jumped off vehicles. Uh, we had specific areas we ­were supposed to secure. Mine was pretty ­simple: jump off the vehicle, go fifteen feet that way. ­There’s—­a ­little, makeshift car dealership ­there with a bunch of BMWs and Mercedes sitting in front. Overwatched that building, and then ­there’s buildings over top of it that you need to watch, rooftops. The riflemen on my team—­I ­wasn’t a team leader at the time; I was, uh, a grenadier. SCOTT: Which is? BOWEN: Um, I’m sorry, uh, a grenadier is somebody who has—­you have your basic carbine, your ­r ifle, and on that, you have a, um, a grenade launcher that’s attached to it. And, uh, you, um, you stick your grenade in it and pull the—­and pull the, uh, the barrel back and pull the trigger, and it pops the grenade. I mean, you can shoot the grenades much further than what you could throw ‘em, so. So, that’s what my specialty was or my job—my specific job was, to shoot grenades. Um, but anyway. Um, rifleman was off to my left side, he was watching down this road, and, uh, he had a rooftop over top of him that he ­couldn’t cover, so I was kind of watching it for him. The automatic rifleman, which is the machine gunner, um, which is where all our firepower was, was to my right side. Then on his side—­his right side was our team leader, and, um, we ­were—we secured this ­whole area on our own, and, um, I keep scanning over, you know, looking over to make sure every­thing’s good with my buddy ­there. Um, you know, you work in buddy teams. Checking on him, I look up to the rooftop and soon as I look up at it, I hear the distinct sound of it—an AK-47 chambering a round. AK-47 is—is the weapon of choice for most of your ­enemy, uh, soldiers. And he—­this guy—­I turned and he had a AK-47. A big guy, too. And it was coming down. Like, he was coming down to—to draw a bead. It was almost like he’s seen my buddy, but I ­don’t think he did ­because he was kind of ­behind a pillar. And, um—­but he was coming down to shoot in that general direction, and I thought, oh, crap. And I had my weapon up and—­and it was pointed in that general direction anyway, so all I had to do was turn my ­laser on, line it up with him, and—­and start pulling the trigger, and—­and, uh, that’s—­that’s what I done. Um, I put the l­ aser on him, uh, put it right h­ ere in his chest. And, uh, I was— by that time, I was very ner­vous, I guess you could say. I was shakin’, and I put that ­laser on his chest, but it was prob­ably all over the place, and I just start pulling the trigger. And I prob­ably—­I prob­ably put ten rounds downrange with just that one person. And, uh, they obviously hit him. I ­don’t—­I ­don’t think they hit exactly where I wanted to ‘cause I was—­I was kinda flustered at the time. And, uh, then somebody ­else ran out the back door. By that time my buddy’s, uh—­ Shannon Still is his name. He spun around and raised his ­rifle up and shot the guy who was ­r unning out, and, uh, I shot that guy twice as well. He fell down ­behind a wall, and, uh, then about that time—­and this is just, like, all within just a ­couple seconds. And I looked back and this guy that I initially shot is still standing ­there, he just—­like, just rocking back and forth, and, like, he’s—­he’s not dead yet. And so,— um, I think it was my team leader, uh, shot him again, and, uh, he—he went down at that point and, uh, hit the ground. And it was almost like, um, kind of like in the movies when ­things just go in slow motion and you—­it’s like, you hear every­thing.

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Um, it kind of quietens down except for that one specific ­thing. And the one ­thing I remember hearing, even with all that gunfire ­going on, was, uh, was him hitting the ground. It just—­like, “smack,” and his leg curled up ­behind him, and that was—­that’s something that I w ­ ill never forget, um, is him hitting the ground. And—­and, uh, my buddy ­there that was beside me, he—he would agree with me, he says the same ­thing. ­He’ll never forget that. And the guy that was—­fell ­behind the wall, he—he was ­behind a wall—­it’s prob­ably about twelve inches high. He kept sticking his head up and trying to fire his ­rifle and stuff, but we ­weren’t giving him a chance to—to even get his round off. And, uh, by that point, my buddy Steve, he’s a machine gunner, um, he—­his weapon jammed up on us, so we picked up the fire. And ­there was two other guys—­I ­didn’t see ­these guys, but ­these other guys came—­came out, well, I seen one of ‘em, and, uh, I ­didn’t shoot at ‘em though ­because they w ­ ere out of my sector, which is, uh, they w ­ ere out of my lane, so—­I ­wasn’t allowed to fire at ‘em. Other­wise it would have been unsafe. And, um—so, my team leader, and—­I think the automatic rifleman before his—­his weapon jammed shot them. And, uh, I remember my team leader yelling, “If that guy sticks his head up again, shoot him.” And he—­behind the—he was the guy ­behind the wall, and he stuck his head up and I put my ­laser—he kind of stuck it up sideways—­I put my ­laser about right ­here and, uh, pulled the trigger. SCOTT: How far away do you think this was? BOWEN: Um, prob­ably about fifteen meters . . . ​I’d say maybe twenty, twenty-­five feet. They w ­ ere real close. SCOTT: And the guy on the rooftop. How far of a distance do you think that was? BOWEN: The guy on the roof? Uh, well, ­there ­were—­there ­weren’t anybody—­ there w ­ asn’t anybody on the roof, um— SCOTT: —­um-hm. I’m sorry, the first—­the first guy that you— BOWEN: —­the first guy, he was—he came out a ­little closer. He was actually prob­ably about fifteen meters away or fifteen feet away from, uh, well, about twenty feet away. Um, he was pretty close. I mean, you could—­I could see facial expressions and stuff. Even though I had night vision on, you can still make out, uh, a ­little bit about his—­his facial features and stuff. And he was just—he was a big guy, and, uh, I remember that. And, um, he said something, too, before he fired a round. He said something, yelled, um, something in Arabic but I ­don’t—­I ­don’t know what it was. And then he just started shooting, and that’s when we returned fire and—­and, uh, that was—at that point—­like, ­after every­thing was said and done, every­thing calmed down, they told us to pull back. And, uh, the ROE [Rules of Engagement] at the time was, uh—we w ­ ere—we w ­ ere supposed to—­I ­don’t know this, this—­this may not be true, may just be rumor, but the ROE at that time was if we took fire from a building, ­you’re supposed to



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destroy the building itself. But of course, that never happened, um, so that makes me think it was all a rumor. And then we pulled back, and they pulled a, uh, a bigger machine gun up, and, uh, just kind of suppressed the area to make sure that no one ­else came out. Um, it—­you know, scare ‘em away. And, um, at that point, I pulled back and—­I ­didn’t even—­you coulda—­I was useless at that point, as far as psychologically and, uh, and physically and stuff. I was—­I pulled back and I kind of fell down on the ground and I look at my buddy Still and I said, “Did that just happen?” Uh, and he’s like,—­I ­don’t know, man, did—­I ­don’t know if that was real or not.” And I’m like, “Did I just kill somebody?” And he said, “That’s what I’m wondering—­did I just kill that person?” I shot that guy in the, you know, in the head or what­ever it was, and that was—it was like, instantly the—­like, the worst flu symptoms you could ever imagine came on—on me. I ­don’t know about him, but I just felt so sick, and I ­couldn’t—­I was shaking real bad, I could barely move, and as an infantryman, uh, it’s kind of ingrained into you, if you fire your weapon, you have to change—­you have to put a new, uh, magazine which holds rounds, uh, into your weapon so ­you’re ready to go for the next fight. I totally forgot to even do that ­because—­and my team leader had to tell me, put a new magazine in. I’m like—­I was just totally lost, even the— SCOTT: —­even ­after all the numerous times ­you’ve done this and been to training, you ­were still in a state of shock— BOWEN: —­yes, I mean, that was—­that was something that you ­shouldn’t even have to think about it— SCOTT: —­right— BOWEN: —­it’s just automatic, and it—it just—­I just d­ idn’t do it. And, uh—­which was—is actually a very dangerous ­thing to do, um, to forget. So that shows you the level of—of, uh, I guess fear I was feeling at that time. And then we, uh, loaded back on—up on the trucks, and, uh, the—­the other mission—­like, this all happened within prob­ably two minutes, and the other mission was already over. I mean, they went in, got who they had to have, and they w ­ ere out by that point. And we moved on to the next objective, and we ­were supposed to do something at that—­that point, I ­don’t remember what it was, but I told my team leader, I said, “I ­can’t do—­can you just leave me ­here at the truck, ­because it would prob­ably be more dangerous for us as a team for me to go out ­there than it would be, um, for—­for me to stay ­here?” So, he said, “Just stay ­here at the truck.” Um, gave me an area to—to kind of overwatch, and that’s where I stayed. And—­and went back and, uh—­yeah, that was—it was very weird to talk about your first—­because that was all of our first combat. I mean, even the guys who had been to Af­ghan­i­stan, a lot of them h­ adn’t been—­hadn’t seen combat and, uh, so it was ­really weird to talk about. And, um, especially weird that my fire team was responsible for—­for killing at least two, and, um, then ­there was another ­couple guys that got shot somehow, and-or they w ­ ere shot, anyway. And, uh, they, uh, they came around, eventually came around and turned themselves in so they could

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get—­receive medical attention ­because they w ­ ere wounded pretty bad. And, uh— so, they turned themselves over to us, and we of course gave them aid, and then what­ever we had to do with them. And then, um, uh, I think what ­really hit home, a ­couple weeks ­later, uh, or maybe a week ­later, one of my other friends was on gate guard and, uh, out front, you know, searching vehicles as they ­were coming in and out. And, um, he said that they brought the bodies—­the bodies of the two that we killed, they brought them to the—to the base. And, um, come to find out one of ‘em was a boy, like—it was a ­father and son, and one of ‘em was pretty young. Um, I’m not sure. I think they said he was fourteen or something. Coming from somebody who, at that time, was, uh—at that time I was nineteen—­a fourteen year-­old boy was—­was still way too young to die. Uh, well, shoot, anybody was—­I ­don’t know, just—­I ­don’t know what to say about that. That was just—­that was something that was hard to swallow. Um, and I think the guy who told me was both­ered by it ­because he had kids and stuff, and I ­don’t he meant for it to have the effect that it did on me, but that was—it r­ eally both­ered me. And, uh—­ but from ­there on, I mean, um, ­after talking—­you know, you—­t alking with my buddies and—­and all, I think it—it, uh, kind of went to the back of my head. And you had several other missions you had to focus on, so SCOTT: Right. But talking about it right now: I mean, what—­how does it—­what kind of reaction does it cause? BOWEN: I get ner­vous about it. Um, um, to be honest with you, uh, I ­don’t usually—­u nless you ask me about it, I would—­I ­don’t usually tell you about it ­unless ­you’ve been ­there and—­and had some sort of experience with it, if ­you’re a veteran. I feel pretty comfortable about talking to p­ eople that are veterans. SCOTT: Um-hm. BOWEN: Um, and, uh, as far as anyone ­else, um, like a lot of ­people, including my wife, ­will say, uh, well, you ­don’t—­you d­ on’t talk about it, and—­and stuff like that. And I have to try to understand their viewpoint on it. But, uh, my viewpoint on it is, you never ask, and I’m not g­ oing to tell you. Source: Jeremy Adam Bowen Interview, Col­o­nel Arthur L. KeAmericanican Veterans Oral History Collection, Louie B. Nunn Center for Oral History, University of Kentucky Libraries, Lexington.

3  Hans Hull: A New War: Improvised Explosive Devices Sergeant Hans Hull served with the 4th Infantry Division during that unit’s deployment to Iraq in 2005–2006. Hull’s com­pany participated in convoy actions along roads infested with improvised explosive devices (IEDs). Question: How kinetic was the activity at this time? Answer: It was kinetic to a degree. We would have ­little fights from time to time, but they w ­ ere very short and sharp . . . ​We had a lot more experience with indirect



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fires, mortars, rockets, IEDs. Though once in a while, we did get into a small arms fight. Question: Was ­there a lot of IEDs at this time? Answer: ­There w ­ ere a lot of IEDs . . . ​personally, our com­pany would run into two or three IEDs ­every week. Though . . . ​in our . . . ​t wo or three battalion sector, somebody was getting hit on a daily basis . . . Question: ­Were the IEDs big enough that they would damage the tanks or have you run into any explosively formed penetrators (EFPs) at this point? Answer: We ­wouldn’t run into EFPs ­until ­later in the year. Christmas day was the first day we went on patrols and from Christmas ­until about . . . ​mid-­February of 2006, when we had the outpost, we ran into quite a few IEDs. Typically, 155 mm shells, artillery shells, a number of 125 mm buried tank projectiles. ­These ­were buried ­under the road. Route Redwings, a ­couple years before, had been an unpaved country road and one of the previous divisions had contracted to have the road paved. Unfortunately, and . . . ​—­I ­don’t ­really know the details—­somehow the insurgents ­were able to lay a large number of IEDs in the road before it was paved. . . . ​So, basically we ­were . . . ​­r unning them out of their ammunition by driving up and down the road. They ­weren’t able to put more, but they had quite a few to go off of. Now as far as damage goes, they would typically damage the ­r unning gear of the tanks, . . . ​but tanks would suffer a lot of damage from ­r unning gear. Bradley’s would suffer damage from ­r unning gear. We did have half an attached mortar platoon with us and I ­really feared for them, ­because all they had was their [armored] HMMWVs. So, I was hoping they ­wouldn’t get [hit] too hard. A route clearance package came down our road in January. One of our ­sister tank companies and they lost a tank, literally, to a buried aircraft bomb. So, yes, ­there ­were some highly destructive IEDs down t­ here. Question: Wow. How was your Soldiers morale? Answer: . . . ​At the time, morale was pretty good. They w ­ ere irritated. They r­ eally did not like being hit by IEDs. They wanted to get into a straight up fight so they could shoot at somebody if they needed to . . . Question: Looking over your deployment experience is ­there any specific memories that stand out? Answer: Oh, wow. Yeah. ­There are a few. Prob­ably the starkest is ­people we lost. One of our Infantry squad leaders was killed in a fight and I had to go identify him. That stands out. I ­don’t want to focus on all the bad ­things, but the tank that was blown up, Delta 2–3, SSG Chase and PFC Wagler ­were killed. I remember, even though SSG Chase was in a dif­fer­ent com­pany, I remember talking to him. He was a good guy. That was very stark, ­because when that tank was lost, I was part of the folks that went out ­there to pick up the pieces. Yeah, that’s pretty tough. Another would be our loss of SSG Christopher Schornak, a squad leader in our attached mechanized Infantry platoon. On 26 February 2006, the platoon was involved in a nighttime cordon and search in sector, looking for a local insurgent leader. SSG

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Schornak’s squad surprised two ­enemy mortar teams that ­were trying to escape the area, and the squad, supported by the platoon, killed several insurgents and scattered the rest. Unfortunately, while he was directing the squad against the insurgents, SSG Schornak was hit by ­enemy ­rifle fire and killed. SSG Schornak’s actions allowed the squad to react against the ­enemy more quickly and prevent more friendly casualties. The second would be the death of 1LT James Lyons, the platoon leader for Second Platoon. On 27 September 2006, while commanding a combined section (two M1A2 tanks and an M1114 HMMWV) near an old sewage treatment plant, he responded to a request for help from a nearby Iraqi National Police patrol. The friendly patrol had come ­under attack from ­enemy dismounted fighters, so 1LT Lyons brought his section forward to hit the ­enemy with heavier weapons. During the fighting which was at very close quarters among palm groves and farm buildings, 1LT Lyons, who was manning his machine gun at the hatch of his tank, was hit and killed by ­enemy fire. The rest of the Soldiers in the section kept the ­enemy pinned down in a nearby palm grove u­ ntil a combination of the rest of C Co and supporting attack he­li­cop­ters could arrive and join the fight. 1LT Lyon’s actions took the pressure off of the friendly Iraqi forces and allowed C Co to defeat the ­enemy. Both of ­these leaders ­were well liked in the com­pany and we all took it pretty hard. But as we had to, we said our goodbyes and continued the mission. Fi­nally, a very, very, I guess, momentous moment was in October of that year, when the Mahdi Militia was able to drop mortar rounds into our ammunition supply point. They set it on fire. The fire department was unable to put it out and we got a ringside seat to watch an ammunition supply point burn for, I ­don’t know, 12/13 hours and blow up. It was very, very—­I ­don’t want to minimize it. I ­don’t want to say entertaining, though, dif­fer­ent groups of ­people might see it differently. Yes, it stood out. It was very, very—­you’ll remember something like that. Question: I’m assuming you w ­ eren’t too close to that. Answer: We ­were 300 meters away. We ­couldn’t go anyway. So, we sat next to a burning ammunition dump for about 12/13 hours. It’ll get your attention to be sure. Question: Is ­there anything e­ lse you’d like to add that we h­ aven’t covered? Answer: . . . ​As a leader, making sure that Soldiers are ­doing the right ­thing, ­whether it’s checking on a weapon, ­whether it’s making sure somebodies awake on their guard post, ­whether ­they’re ­doing maintenance on their vehicle, ­whether ­they’re making sure their Soldiers hydrated or maybe just calling home. Leaders checking on each other and checking on Soldiers, I think is ­really very impor­tant. That’s something I’d have to add. That also includes the right arm checking on the leader. Like, I’d check on the [com­pany commander] to make sure he was squared. He ­wasn’t ­running down. He ­didn’t have something that he ­couldn’t ­handle, ­because, of course, the first sergeant and the CO have to be—­have a tight working relationship. B ­ ecause, if ­those leaders, someone i­sn’t looking out for them, they can get run down too. Source: Hans Hull Interview, June 26, 2014, by Lisa Beckenbaugh. Courtesy of the Operational Leadership Experiences Digital Collection, Combat Studies Institute, Fort Leavenworth, KS.



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NOTES   1. I would like to thank Major Adam “Jay” Daino, Major Mike Bell, Col­o­nel Thomas Wilson, and Chuck Heaton, Iraq veterans all, for their advice and input.   2. John Keegan, The Iraq War (New York: Vintage Books, 2005), 104–25.   3. Thomas E. Ricks, Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq (New York: Penguin Books, 2007), 117.   4. Williamson Murray and Robert H. Scales, The Iraq War: A Military History (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2005), 144–50.   5. Keegan, The Iraq War, 178–79.   6. Murray and Scales, The Iraq War, 147–53.   7. Ibid., 118–26.   8. Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, Cobra II: The Inside Story of the Invasion and Occupation of Iraq (London: Atlantic, 2007), 374–75.   9. Ibid., 380–89. 10. Murray and Scales, The Iraq War, 211–18. 11. George Packer, The Assassins’ Gate: Amer­i­ca in Iraq (London: Faber and Faber, 2007), 137–39. 12. Ricks, Fiasco, 158–67. 13. Rajiv Chandrasekaran, Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Iraq’s Green Zone (New York: Vintage Books, 2010), 12. 14. Ibid., 14–25. 15. Ricks, Fiasco, 262–64. 16. Ibid., 330–46. 17. David Bellavia and John R. Bruning, House to House: An Epic Memoir of War (New York [u.a.]: Pocket Star Books, 2009), 72–76. 18. Ricks, Fiasco, 398–405. 19. George Packer, Assassins’ Gate, 309. 20. Ibid., 230–40. 21. Dexter Filkins, The Forever War (Vancouver: Crane Library at the University of British Columbia, 2012), 130. 22. Conrad C. Crane, Cassandra in Oz: Counterinsurgency and ­Future War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2016). 23. Thomas Ricks, The ­Gamble: General David Petraeus and the American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2006–2008 (New York: Penguin Press, 2009), 118–22. 24. Ibid. 25. David Finkel, The Good Soldiers (New York: Picador/Sarah Crichton Books, 2010), 29–30. 26. Ibid., 202–16. 27. Mark Lander, “U.S. Troops to Leave Iraq by Year’s End, Obama Says,” The New York Times, October 21, 2011. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com ​/­2011​/­10​/­22​/­world ​/­m iddleeast​ /­president​- ­obama​-­a nnounces​- ­end​- ­of​-­war​-­i n​-­i raq​.­html​?­src​= ­u n&feedurl​= ­http%3A​%2F​ %2F​json​8​.­nytimes​.­com%2Fpages%2Fworld%2Fmiddleeast%2Findex​.­jsonp. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. U.S. Department of Defense, Casualty Report. https://­www​.­defense​.­gov​/­casualty​.­pdf 31. Thomas R. Mockaitis, The Iraq War Encyclopedia (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-­CLIO, 2013), 200. 32. Ibid., 200–01. 33. Josh White, “Soldiers Facing Extended Tours,” The Washington Post, June 3, 2004. http://­w ww​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​-­dyn​/­articles​/­A10961​-­2004Jun2​.­html.

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34. Michael C. Musheno and Susan M. Ross, Deployed: How Reservists Bear the Burden of Iraq (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2009), 3–5. 35. David Coleman, “U.S. Military Personnel: 1954–2014,” History in Pieces. https://­ historyinpieces​.­com​/­research​/­us​-­military​-­personnel​-­1954​-­2014. 36. Gordon and Trainor, Cobra II, 240. 37. Terri Moon Cronk, “Officials Describe Plans to Integrate ­Women Into Combat Roles,” DOD News, February  2, 2016. https://­w ww​.­defense​.­gov​/ ­News​/­A rticle​/­A rticle​ /­648766​/­officials​-­describe​-­plans​-­to​-­integrate​-­women​-­into​-­combat​-­roles. 38. U.S. Army, “Meals Ready to Eat.” https://­m​.­goarmy​.­com​/­soldier​-­life​/­fitness​-­and​ -­nutrition​/­ ​.­ ​.­ ​.­ ​​/­meals​-­ready​-­to​-­eat​.­m​.­html. 39. Jamie Tarabay, “Translators Work in Iraq With More Than Just Words,” February 16, 2007. https://­w ww​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​/­story​/­story​.­php​?­storyId​=­7445123. 40. Marc Santora, “Big U.S. Bases Are Part of Iraq, But a World Apart,” The New York Times, September 8, 2009. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2009​/­09​/­09​/­world​/­middleeast​/­09bases​ .­html. 41. David Abrams, Fobbit: A Novel (New York: Grove Press, 2012), 3–4. 42. Ibid. 43. “Interceptor Body Armor,” Global Security​.­org. https://­w ww​.­globalsecurity​.­org​ /­military​/­systems​/­ground​/­interceptor​.­htm. 44. Charlotte Hunter, “Military Leadership and Education & Religion’s Role in the U.S. Military’s Mission.” http://­w ww​.­dtic​.­mil​/­dtic​/­t r​/­f ulltext​/­u2​/­1005633​.­pdf. 45. Archbishop Timothy Broglio, “A Ministry of Presence,” The Word Among Us. https://­ waupartners​.­org​/­resources​/­article​/­a​_­ministry ​_­of​_ ­presence. 46. The World Factbook, Central Intelligence Agency, “Iraq.” https://­w ww​.­cia​.­gov​ /­library​/­publications​/­the​-­world​-­factbook​/­geos​/­iz​.­html. 47. “General Order No. 1—­Prohibited Activities for Soldiers,” The New York Times. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­interactive​/­projects​/­documents​/­general​-­order​-­no​-­1​-­prohibited​ -­activities​-­for​-­soldiers. 48. Brian Dakss, “USO at 65: Same Mission, New ­Faces,” CBS. https://­w ww​.­cbsnews​ .­com​/­news​/­uso​-­at​- ­65​-­same​-­mission​-­new​-­faces. 49. Peter Maass, “Situation Normal,” Slate, July 18, 2008. http://­www​.­slate​.­com​/­articles​ /­arts​/­culturebox​/­2008​/­07​/­situation​_­normal​.­html. 50. Kate Holt, “The Hurt Locker ­Doesn’t Get This Vet’s Vote,” The Huffington Post, June  4, 2010. https://­w ww​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/ ­kate​-­hoit​/­the​-­hurt​-­locker​- ­doesnt​-­ge​_­b​ _­449043​.­html. 51. Dean Obeidallah, “ ‘American Sniper’ A Power­ful Anti-­War Film,” CNN, January 27, 2015. https://­edition​.­cnn​.­com​/­2015​/­01​/­27​/­opinion​/­obeidallah​-­american​-­sniper. 52. Defense Finance and Accounting Ser­vice, “Military Pay Charts.” https://­w ww​.­dfas​ .­mil​/­militarymembers​/­payentitlements​/­military​-­pay​-­charts​.­html. 53. “Post-9/11 GI Bill Overview,” Military​.­com. https://­w ww​.­military​.­com​/­education​/­gi​ -­bill​/­new​-­post​-­911​-­gi​-­bill​-­overview​.­html. 54. Junger was writing about the war in Af­ghan­i­stan when he made this observation. However, that scenario likely occurred many times over in Iraq. Sebastian Junger, War (London: Fourth Estate, 2010), 150. 55. Murray and Scales, The Iraq War, 260–62. 56. Alan J. Vick, David T. Orletsky, Bruce R. Pirnie, and Seth G. Jones, The Stryker Brigade Combat Team: Rethinking Strategic Responsiveness and Assessing Deployment Options (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2002). https://­www​.­rand​.­org​/­pubs​/­monograph​_­reports​ /­MR1606​.­html. 57. Robert W. Russell, “Does the MRAP Meet the U.S. Army’s Needs as the Primary Method of Protecting Troops From the IED Threat?” (Master of Military Art and Science thesis, U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 2009).



The Iraq War 1091

58. Alex Rogers, “The MRAP: Brilliant Buy, or Billions Wasted?” Time, October 2, 2012. http://­nation​.­time​.­com​/­2012​/­10​/­02​/­the​-­m rap​-­brilliant​-­buy​-­or​-­billions​-­wasted. 59. “RQ-11 Raven Unmanned Aerial Vehicle,” Army Technology​.­com. https://­www​.­army​ -­technology​.­com​/­projects​/­rq11​-­raven. 60. Defense Industry Daily staff, “Raven UAV Draws Raves From the Field,” Defense Industry Daily, February 24, 2005. https://­www​.­defenseindustrydaily​.­com​/­raven​-­uav​-­draws​ -­raves​-­f rom​-­the​-­field​- ­067. 61. Adam J. Tiffen, “How the Rules of Engagement Save Lives in Combat,” Task and Purpose, August 22, 2014. https://­taskandpurpose​.­com​/­r ules​-­engagement​-­save​-­lives​-­combat. 62. Packer, Assassins’ Gate, 299–300. 63. Gregg, Zoroya, “How the IED Changed the U.S. Military,” USA ­Today, December  18, 2013. https://­w ww​.­usatoday​.­com​/­story​/­news​/­nation​/­2013​/­12​/­18​/­ied​-­10​-­years​-­blast​ -­wounds​-­amputations​/­3803017. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Gordon and Trainor, Cobra II, 331–32. 67. Ibid., 332–33. 68. Ricks, Fiasco, 367–69. 69. Ibid., 368–69. 70. Ibid., 371. 71. Ibid., 331–32. 72. David Johnston and John M. Broder, “F.B.I. Says Guards Killed 14 Iraqis Without Cause,” The New York Times, November 14, 2007. https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2007​/­11​/­14​ /­world​/ ­m iddleeast​/­14blackwater​. ­h tml​?­e x​=1­ 352696400&en​= 4­ d3e7a7a4f bc5721&ei​ =­5088&partner​= ­rssnyt&emc​= ­rss. 73. Saad Abedine, “Joint Iraqi-­U.S. Review Begins in Wake of Blackwater Firefight,” CNN, October 8, 2007. http://­w ww​.­cnn​.­com​/­2007​/ ­WORLD​/­meast​/­10​/­07​/­i raq​.­main​/­​?­i ref​ =­mpstoryview. 74. John Burnett, “When G ­ oing Gets Hot in Iraq, Hot Keep G ­ oing,” NPR Weekend Edition Saturday, July 21, 2007. https://­w ww​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​/­story​/­story​.­php​?­storyId​=­12144942. 75. Lisa K. Lindquist, Holly C. Love, and Eric B. Elbogen, “Traumatic Brain Injury in Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan Veterans: New Results From a National Random Sample Study,” The Journal of Neuropsychiatry and Clinical Neurosciences 29, no. 3 (Summer 2017): 254–59. 76. Keegan, The Iraq War, 150. 77. Ricks, Fiasco, 290–97. 78. President George W. Bush, “Address to a Joint Session of Congress and the American ­People,” September 20, 2001. https://­georgewbush​-­whitehouse​.­archives​.­gov​/­news​ /­releases​/­2001​/­09​/­20010920​-­8​.­html. 79. Dan Collins, “Congress Says Yes to Iraq Resolution,” CBS News, October 3, 2002. https://­w ww​.­cbsnews​.­com​/­news​/­congress​-­says​-­yes​-­to​-­iraq​-­resolution. 80. Michael A. Fletcher, “Cindy Sheehan’s Pitched ­Battle,” Washington Post, August 13, 2005. http://­w ww​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​- ­dyn​/­content​/­article​/­2005​/­08​/­12​/­AR2005​081​ 201​816​.­html. 81. Amy Belasco, The Cost of Iraq, Af­ghan­i­stan, and Other Global War on Terror Operations Since 9/11 (Washington, D.C.: Congressional Research Ser­vice Report RL33110, December 8, 2014). 82. Katy Hall and Chris Spurlock, “VA Spending From Iraq, Af­ghan­i­stan Wars to Rise for De­cades,” The Huffington Post, March 19, 2013. https://­w ww​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­2013​ /­03​/­19​/­va​-­spending​-­veterans​-­iraq​-­afghanistan​_­n​_­2902519​.­html. 83. Brett T. Litz and William E. Schlenger, “PTSD in Ser­vice Members and New Veterans of the Iraq and Af­ghan­i­stan Wars: A Bibliography and Critique,” PTSD Research Quarterly 20(1): 1–7.

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84. U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, “National Suicide Data Report: 2015 Update.” https://­w ww​.­mentalhealth​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­d ata​-­sheets​/­OMHSP​_­National​_­Suicide​_­D ata​ _­Report​_­2005​-­2015​_­06​-­14​-­18​_­508​-­compliant​.­pdf. 85. U.S. Department of L ­ abor, Bureau of L ­ abor Statistics, “Employment Situation of Veterans—2017.” https://­w ww​.­bls​.­gov​/­news​.­release​/­archives​/­vet​_­03222018​.­pdf. 86. Jim Frederick, Black Hearts: One Platoon’s Descent Into Madness in Iraq’s Triangle of Death (London: Pan, 2011), 358–63.

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Ricks, Thomas E. Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq. New York: Penguin Books, 2007. Ricks, Thomas  E. The ­Gamble: General David Petraeus and the American Military Adventure in Iraq, 2006–2008. New York: Penguin Press, 2009. Rogers, Alex. “The MRAP: Brilliant Buy, or Billions Wasted?” Time, October 2, 2012. http://­nation​.­time​.­com​/­2012​/­10​/­02​/­the​-­m rap​-­brilliant​-­buy​-­or​-­billions​-­wasted. Santora, Marc. “Big U.S. Bases Are Part of Iraq, But a World Apart.” The New York Times, September 8, 2009. https://­www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2009​/­09​/­09​/­world​/­middleeast​ /­09bases​.­html. Tarabay, Jamie. “Translators Work in Iraq With More Than Just Words.” NPR, February 16, 2007. https://­w ww​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​/­story​/­story​.­php​?­storyId​=­7445123. The New York Times. “General Order No. 1—­Prohibited Activities for Soldiers.” https://­ www​.­nytimes​.­com​/­interactive​/­projects​/­documents​/­general​-­order​-­no​-­1​-­prohibited​ -­activities​-­for​-­soldiers. Tiffen, Adam J. “How the Rules of Engagement Save Lives in Combat.” Task And Purpose, August 22, 2014. https://­t askandpurpose​.­com​/­r ules​- ­engagement​-­save​-­lives​ -­combat. U.S. Army. “Meals Ready to Eat.” https://­m​.­goarmy​.­com​/­soldier​-­life​/­fitness​-­and​ -­nutrition​/­ ​.­ ​.­ ​.­ ​​/­meals​-­ready​-­to​-­eat​.­m​.­html. U.S. Department of Defense. Casualty Report. https://­w ww​.­defense​.­gov​/­casualty​.­pdf. U.S. Department of L ­ abor. Bureau of L ­ abor Statistics, “Employment Situation of Veterans—2017.” https://­w ww​.­bls​.­gov​/­news​.­release​/­archives​/­vet​_­0322​2018​.­pdf. U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. “National Suicide Data Report: 2015 Update.” https://­ www​.­mentalhealth​.­va​.­gov​/­docs​/­d ata​-­sheets​/­OMHSP​_­National​_­Suicide​_­Data​ _­Report​_­2005​-­2015​_­06​-­14​-­18​_­508​-­compliant​.­pdf. Vick, Alan J., David T. Orletsky, Bruce R. Pirnie, and Seth G. Jones. The Stryker Brigade Combat Team: Rethinking Strategic Responsiveness and Assessing Deployment Options. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2002. White, Josh. “Soldiers Facing Extended Tours.” The Washington Post, June 3, 2004. http://­ www​.­washingtonpost​.­com​/­w p​-­dyn​/­articles​/­A10961​-­2004Jun2​.­html. Zoroya, Gregg. “How the IED Changed the U.S. Military.” USA ­Today, December  18, 2013. https://­w ww​.­usatoday​.­com​/­story​/­news​/­nation​/­2013​/­12​/­18​/­ied​-­10​-­years​-­blast​ -­wounds​-­amputations​/­3803017.

About the Editors and Contributors

EDITORS CHRISTOPHER R. MORTENSON, PhD, is an associate professor and chair of the Department of History at Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas. He is the author of Politician in Uniform: General Lew Wallace and the Civil War (Oklahoma University Press, 2019). He is past president of the Arkansas Association of College History Teachers and serves on the board of trustees of the Arkansas Historical Association. PAUL J. SPRINGER, PhD, is a full professor of comparative military studies and the chair of the Department of Research at the Air Command and Staff College, Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama. He is the author of Amer­i­ca’s Captives: Treatment of POWs From the Revolutionary War Through the War on Terror (University Press of Kansas, 2010); Military Robots and Drones: A Reference Handbook (ABC-­ CLIO, 2013); Transforming Civil War Prisons: Lincoln, Lieber, and the Laws of War, with Glenn Robins (Routledge, 2014); Cyber Warfare: A Reference Handbook (ABC-­CLIO, 2015); 9/11 and the War on Terror: A Documentary Handbook (Greenwood, 2016); The Encyclopedia of Cyber Warfare (ABC-­CLIO, 2017); and Outsourcing War to Machines: The Military Robotics Revolution (Praeger, 2018). He is a se­nior fellow of the Foreign Policy Research Institute. CONTRIBUTORS JONATHAN A. BEALL, PhD, earned his MA and PhD degrees at Texas A&M University in 2004 and 2014, respectively. He has taught at Norwich University and is now at the University of North Georgia, where he is an assistant professor of history. At North Georgia, he teaches military history courses in the university’s Strategic and Security Studies Program. SCOTT A. COOK, PhD, is a retired U.S. Air Force officer and taught for seven years at the Air Command and Staff College. He is currently an assistant professor of po­liti­ cal science and leadership studies at Longwood University. His research interests include early American history, citizen leadership, and po­liti­cal philosophy.

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About the Editors and Contributors

JARED R. DONNELLY, PhD, is an assistant professor of military and security studies in the Department of ­Future Security Studies at the U.S. Air Force’s Air Command and Staff College. Dr. Donnelly received his PhD in Eu­ro­pean History from Texas A&M University. His research focuses on war and social change in Germany and Eu­rope with a specific interest in the period since 1945. RICHARD S. FAULKNER is the William A. Stofft Professor and Chair of Military History at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He served 23 years in the U.S. Army. He is the author of The School of Hard Knocks: Combat Leadership in the American Expeditionary Forces (Texas A&M Press, 2012), which was the recipient of the Society for Military History’s 2013 Distinguished Book Award. His second book, Pershing’s Crusaders: The American Soldier in World War I (University Press of Kansas, 2017) received the World War I Association’s 2017 Norman B. Tomlinson Jr. Prize for the best work of history in En­glish on World War I, the Organ­ization of American Historians’ 2017 Richard W. Leopold Prize, and the Army Historical Foundation’s 2017 Excellence in U.S. Army History Book Award. JORDAN R. HAYWORTH, PhD, is an assistant professor of military and security studies at the U.S. Air Force Air Command and Staff College. He received his PhD from the University of North Texas, where he was a Student Fellow of the Military History Center. He is a member of the Society for Military History and the Society for French Historical Studies. ROBERT T. JONES is a retired officer with more than 20 years active ser­vice in the U.S. Army. He is currently assistant professor on the faculty of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College at Fort Gordon, Georgia. His other publications include “The Persian Gulf War in American Popu­lar Memory,” in Monumental Conflicts: Twentieth-­Century Wars and the Evolution of Popu­lar Memory, edited by Derek R. Mallett. MICHAEL E. KRIVDO earned three degrees from Texas A&M University. He is a retired Force Recon Marine Officer, now working as the Deputy Command Historian at the U.S. Army Special Operations Command in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. He is also a gradu­ate of the Republic of ­Korea Naval War College and has served in ­Korea off and on for two and a half de­cades. ROBERT J. THOMPSON earned a PhD in American history from the University of Southern Mississippi. He recently turned his dissertation “More Sieve Than Shield: The  U.S. Army and CORDS in the Pacification of Phu Yen Province, Republic of Vietnam, 1965–1972” into a publishable manuscript. His bylines include The Strategy Bridge and The New York Times—­the latter of which ran his article “Pacification, Through the Barrel of a Gun.” DAVID J. ULBRICH is associate professor and director of the online MA in History and Military History Programs at Norwich University. He is author of the



About the Editors and Contributors 1097

award-­winning Preparing for Victory: Thomas Holcomb and the Making of the Modern Marine Corps, 1936–1943. More recently, Ulbrich coauthored the second edition of Ways of War: American Military History from the Colonial Period to the 21st ­Century with Matthew Muehlbauer. RYAN WADLE, PhD, is an associate professor of comparative military studies at the Air Command and Staff College’s eSchool of Gradu­ate Professional Military Education at Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama. He was previously a member of the Af­ghan­is­ tan Study Team at the U.S. Army’s Combat Studies Institute at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He is the author of HAMMER DOWN: The ­Battle for the Watapur Valley, 2011, published by Combat Studies Institute Press. He is also the author of the book, Selling Sea Power: Public Relations and the U.S. Navy, 1917– 1941, from the University of Oklahoma Press. ROBERT WETTEMANN JR., PhD, received a BA with Honors from Oklahoma State University and holds gradu­ate degrees from Texas A&M University with emphases in U.S., military, and public history. He is author of Privilege vs. Equality: Civil-­Military Relations in the Jacksonian Era, 1815–1845 (Praeger Security International, 2009) and numerous articles and book chapters on U.S., military, and public history. He is currently an assistant professor of history at the U.S. Air Force Acad­emy.

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Index

Aachen, Battle of, 545, 572, 600–601 Aachen, Germany, 538, 554, 600–601 Abbottabad, Pakistan, 984, 994 Able Archer exercise, 692 Abrams, Creighton, 939 Abu Ghraib prison, 1064 Ackerman, Elliott, 996 Active Defense doctrine, 701 Acy-en-Multien, France, 507 Adair, John, 107 Adams, Harvey, 508–509 Adams, John, 2, 91, 98, 100 Adams, John Quincy, 211 Adams, Samuel, 3, 18, 26, 48 Adams-Onis Treaty, 171 Admounabdfany, Lidya, 986 Advanced combat helmet (ACH), 1048 Advanced Individual Training (AIT), 704, 1043 Advanced Infantry Training, 871, 881 Advisory and assistance brigades (AAB), 1040 Aerial bombardment, 670 Afghan Loya Jirga, 982 “Afghan Model,” 981, 1020 Afghan National Army, 982, 984, 991, 999, 1023 Afghan National Security Forces, 1002 Afghanistan history, 979–980 Soviet invasion of, 694, 701, 980, 990, 994 war in, costs, 979, 1008 war in, overview, 979–985 war in, popular support, 1008 Afghanistan Loya Jirga, 1023

African American rights, 291 African American soldiers, and the Confederacy, 264 African Americans, and the U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terrror, 988 American Revolution, 21–22, 64–66 Civil War, 263–264, 278, 283, 295–296 Cold War, 707–710, 757–758 Indian Wars, 329–330, 352, 354 Korean War, 789–792, 810 Mexican War, 184–185 Persian Gulf War, 931 Spanish-American War, 400 Vietnam War, 872, 887 War of 1812, 107 World War I, 463–464 World War II in Europe, 541–542, 546–549 World War II in the Pacific, 623, 627–629, 655 See also Discrimination, racial Afrika Korps, 534 Agbere, Dawud, 991 Age of Imperialism, 428 Agent Orange, 726–727, 891 AGM-114 Hellfire missile, 940, 1053 Aguinaldo, Emilio, 391–394, 398, 414, 416–417, 424–425 AH-1 Cobra helicopter, 880, 883, 909, 998, 1057 AH-64 Apache helicopter, 722, 923, 940–941, 998, 1057 Air Medical Division, 1062 Airborne troops, 573, 574, 725 AirLand Battle doctrine, 701, 722, 928–929

1100 Index Aisne-Marne Campaign, 482, 489, 505, 507 AK47 rifle, 879, 905, 907, 1052, 1083 Al Khafji Battle of, 923–924 Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, 923 Al Qaeda, 990, 1000, 1006–1008, 1020 in Iraq, 1039, 1068, 1080–1082 Al Udeid Air Base, Qatar, 1062 Alamo, Battle of the, 172 Alaska Canadian Highway, 628 al-Baghdadi, Abu Bakr, 1068 Alcohol Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1010–1011 American Revolution, 30, 43, 51 Civil War, 268–269, 274 Cold War, 714, 733 Indian Wars, 353 Iraq War, 1049, 1067 Mexican War, 179, 190 Persian Gulf War, 935, 951, 972 Vietnam War, 879, 893 World War I, 500 World War II in Europe, 563–564 World War II in the Pacific, 657 Alerts, 713–715 Alexander, Bevin, 797 Alexander, Harold, 535 Alexander, Isaac, 269 Alger, Russell A., 427 “Alice’s Restaurant,” 878 Alien Enemies Act of 1941, 654 Allen, Ethan, 3, 41 Allen, James, 192 Allen, Thomas, 27 All-volunteer force, 692, 699, 700, 702–703, 711, 718, 719, 722, 734, 927, 937, 965, 985, 988, 1008, 1010, 1041, 1043 Al-Mahmudiyah, Iraq, 1067–1068 Al-Majid, Ali Hassan, 1034 Al-Maliki, Nuri, 1040 Almond, Edward, 548, 789 Al-Zarqawi, Abu Musab, 1080–1082 Alzheimer’s disease, 1063 Amalgamation, 463 Ambulances, 488–489, 512–513 Ambushes, 341, 366–368, 881, 904–905, 1037, 1044, 1047, 1059, 1064 America First Committee, 634, 637 American Civil War, results of, 318

American Expeditionary Forces (AEF), 455, 456, 466–468, 481–482, 494, 496 American Graffiti (film), 716 American Historical Association, 356 American Legion, 498 American Library Association, 474 American Sniper (film), 1051 “American Soldier” (song), 992 American Veterans of Foreign Wars, 498 Amphibious assault, 619–620, 648, 666, 779 Amphibious landings, 406 Ampudia, Pedro de, 201 Amputations, 1003 Anbar Province, Iraq, 1039–1040 Anderson, Robert, 186, 256 Andersonville prison camp, 283–284 Andrews, Paul, 468, 510–512 Andrews Air Force Base, 1062 Andrews Sisters, 802 Androl, Jim, 727 Antietam, Battle of, 257, 301–302 Anti-Imperialist League, 391, 423, 425 Anti-slavery movement, 255 Antitank weapons, 566–567, 777, 805–806, 942, 1053 Anti-war movement, 889–891 Antwerp, Netherlands, 538 Anzio landings, 536, 571 Apache, 322–323, 343, 349–350 APH5 flying helmet, 875 Appomattox Courthouse, VA, 258 Arabian Nights (book), 28 Arab-Israeli wars, 684, 700, 706, 939 Arapaho, 369 in Colorado, 320 Ardennes Forest, 538–539 Arista, Mariano, 173–174 Arkadelphia, AR, 284 Armageddon (film), 992 ArmaLite AR15 rifle, 942 Armed Forces Code of Conduct, 824, 836–838 Armed Forces Network, 717, 1050 Armed Forces Qualification Test (AFQT), 708 Armed Forces Radio, 878, 963–964 Armed Forces Recreation Areas, 714 Armistice (1918), 475, 496 Armored personnel carriers (APCs), 880 Armored vehicles, 939–940

Index 1101 Armstrong, John B., 94, 97, 104, 126 Armstrong, Lila, 633–634 Army College Fund, 704 Army combat uniform (ACU), 990, 1047 Army Force Generation Process (ARFORGEN), 1043 Army General Classification Test (AGCT), 548, 622–623, 783 Army Medical School, 418 Army Nurse(s) Corps, 418, 465, 550–551, 872–873 Army of Northern Virginia, 256–258, 276 Army of Observation, 173, 179, 181, 185, 205, 214, 225–226 Army of the Center, 175 Army of the Potomac, 257–258, 276 Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), 864, 866, 894–895 Army of the West, 175–176, 182, 187–188 Army Service Forces, 551–559 Army strength, Reconstruction, 319 Army Training and Evaluation Program (ARTEP), 706, 928 Army War College, 456 Arnold, Benedict, 3, 5, 7, 11 Arthur, Mike, 714 Arthur, Stan, 966 Articles of Confederation, 7 Articles of War, 135, 214, 289, 328 Artificiers, 20 Artillery American Revolution, 5, 21–22, 74 Civil War, 275–276, 299–301 field, 413–415, 441–443, 480 Indian Wars, 340–341 Mexican War, 174, 197–200, 226–229, 237–239 Persian Gulf War, 941 self-propelled, 880 Spanish-American War, 412, 434–437 Vietnam War, 880, 908–909 War of 1812, 120–121, 161 World War I, 477, 485–486 Artillery barrages Korean War, 797, 809 Persian Gulf War, 970 World War I, 481–482, 485–486, 508–511 World War II in Europe, 536, 596, 603–604 World War II in the Pacific, 645, 667 Artillery designs, 567–568, 596, 643

Asiatic Squadron, 396, 414 Assault guns, 596 AT-4 light antitank weapon, 1053 Atkinson, Henry, 126 Atkinson, Rick, 578–585 Atlanta, GA, 285, 298–299 Atlee, Clement, 685 Atomic Energy Commission, 730 Atomic weapons, 621, 646–647, 684 Soviet, 687 testing, 720, 727 Atrocities American Revolution, 72 Indian Wars, 335–336, 365, 369–370 Iraq War, 1061, 1067–1068 Korean War, 800, 822–823 Persian Gulf War, 947 Spanish-American War, 393–394, 402, 410, 417, 420–422, 427 Vietnam War, 876, 893–894 World War I, 492 World War II in Europe, 578–579 World War II in the Pacific, 617, 637, 646, 650, 658 Attrition, 342 Attucks, Crispus, 2 Austin, Roger O., 624–625 Austin, Stephen F., 171 Authorization for the Use of Military Force (2001), 1007 Authorization for the Use of Military Force (2003), 1064–1065 Automated Neurophysiological Assessment Metrics (ANAM), 1063 Automatic weapons, 477–479 “Axis of Evil,” 981 Aztec Club, 1847, 190, 212 Bac My An, South Vietnam, 875 Baccus, Thurmond, 485 Bacevich, Andrew, 697, 721 Bad Tolz, Germany, 725 “Badge pay,” 804 Baghdad, Iraq, 1036–1040, 1057 Bagram, Afghanistan, 989 Bailey, Beth, 704 Baker, Newton, 499 Balangiga massacre, 394, 443–446 Bales, Robert, 1011 “Ballad of the Green Berets,” 871–878 Baltimore Light Dragoons, 152 Baltimore Sun, 210

1102 Index Baltimore, MY, 98, 131 Bamian, Afghanistan, 1023 Bancroft, George, 211 Bands, 30, 334 Baqubah, Battle of, 1057 Baqubah, Iraq, 1037, 1057 Barker, Kim, 995 Barno, David, 981, 982 Barracks, 553, 629, 712, 718–719, 731, 734, 874, 1046 Barron, Robert, 895 Barton, Clara, 265, 301, 303, 439–441 Base Hospital 117, 490 Baseball, 190, 272–273, 405, 472, 475, 631 Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH), 1051 Basic Army Combat Training (BACT), 870, 927, 985, 1043 Basic Combat Training (BCT), 704–705, 707–708 Basic Life Support, 1062 Basketball, 475, 631, 1050 Basra, Battle of, 1034, 1057 Basra, Iraq, 1034, 1041, 1057 Bastogne, Belgium, 539 Bataan Death March, 637, 651 Bataan Peninsula, 634, 650 Batangas, Philippines, 402, 417 Batavia, NY, 104 Batman Begins (film), 993 Battalion de San Patricio, 210 Battalion des Voluntaires d’Orleans, 106–107 Battle for Marjah, The, (documentary) 994 Battle of the Bulge, 539 Battlestar Galactica (television series), 993 Bayonet, 34, 477, 479, 498, 515 Bazooka, 566, 807 “Be All (That) You Can Be,” slogan, 704, 926 “Bear Flag Republic,” 176 Beatles, The, 878 Beauregard, Pierre G. T., 203 Beckenbaugh, Lisa, 1086–1088 Bedouins, 932 Begg, Jim, 877 Bell, J. Franklin, 417 Belleau Wood, Battle of, 481 Bennett, Tony, 802 Benny, Jack, 803 Benton, Thomas Hart, 136 Bergdahl, Bowe, 1006

Berlin, Germany, 683–684, 687, 689–690 Berlin, Irving, 473 Berlin airlift, 687 Berlin blockade, 687 Berlin crisis, 687 Berlin Wall, 689–690, 701 Berry, Chuck, 802 Berube, Allan, 552 Bibee, David, 724 Biden, Joseph, 984 Big 5 weapons systems, 722, 939 Bigelow, John, Jr., 434–437 Bigelow, Kathryn, 994 Bigger, James, 363 Bikini atoll, 727 Billings, John D., 267–268, 273 Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk (novel), 996 Bin Abdul-Aziz, Khalid bin Sultan, 967 Bin Laden, Osama, 980–982, 990, 992–993, 1000, 1082 death of, 984, 994, 1008 escape from Tora Bora, 1020–1021 Binh Dinh Province, South Vietnam, 882 Biological weapons, 922–923, 950–951 Bissell, N. Michael, 905–907 Black Hills, 322 Black Kettle, 368–369 Black markets, 652 Blackman, Learner, 115 Blackwater, 1061 Bladensburg, Battle of, 97, 154–157 Blair, Clay, 785, 789–790, 824, 826 Blair, Melvin R., 791–792 Bland, Humphrey, 16 Bland, John Mark, 870–871 “Bleeding” Kansas, 255 Blood transfusions, 815–816 Blount, William, 95 Blue Force Tracking, 1022 Board games, 935 Board of Vocational Training, 497 Body armor, 808, 820, 875, 934, 942, 1035, 1048 Boer War, 412 Boeselager Competition, 713 Bofors, A. B., 643 Bofors guns, 643 Bolo knife, 413, 422, 443–446, 479 Bonanza (television series) 337, 717 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 91–92, 95 Bonn, Germany, 687

Index 1103 Bonus March, 498 Boomer, Walt, 966 Booth, James, 602–604 Border crossings, accidental, 728 Border patrols, 723, 728 Border states, Civil War, 258, 263 Boredom, 266, 268–269, 273, 330 Borginnis, Sarah, 186 Bosch, Juan, 691 Bosque Redondo, 320 Boston, MA, 1–5, 193 Boston “Massacre,” 1–2 Boston Port Act, 2 Boston Tea Party, 2 Bothwell, Frank, 903, 904 Bounties, 118, 194–195, 273 Bounty jumpers, 260, 290 Bourg, Lorna, 732 Bowen, Charles, 297 Bowen, Jeremy Adam, 1082–1086 Bowie, James, 171 Bozeman Trail, 320–321 Braddan, William, 464 Bradley, Omar, 788–789, 806 Bragg, Braxton, 202, 227–230, 232 Brandywine Creek, Battle of, 6 Branyon, T. M., 509–510 “Brave Dewey and His Men” (song), 411 Brave Men (book), 635 Breechloading rifles, 345 Breed’s Hill, Battle of, 4 Bremer, L. Paul, 1036 “Bremer walls,” 1036 Brest, France, 538, 554 Brezhnev, Leonid, 691 Brezhnev Doctrine, 691–692 Brigade combat team (BCT), 1035, 1039 Brims, Robin, 1034 Brinch, Boyrereau, 64–66 British, will to fight, 12 British Commandos, 647 British strategy, War of 1812, 95–96 Brock, Isaac, 93, 160 Brook Army Medical Center, 1062 Brooklyn Heights, NY, 5, 52 Brown, Jacob, 104, 122, 198–199 Brown, Julius, 904 Browning, John M., 506, 641 Browning, Val, 506 Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR), 566, 720 Browning-Colt .45 pistol (1911), 413

Bruckheimer, Jerry, 995 Brunnert, Lawrence F., 800 Bruscino, Thomas, 583–584 Bryan, William Jennings, 387, 424 Bryant, Bayes L., 907–908 Bryant, Brandon, 907–908 Buchanan, James, 256 Buckner, Simon Bolivar, 190 Buddy Aid, 1062 Buena Vista, Battle of, 177, 186, 201–202, 210, 225–234 Buffalo/bison, 351 Buffalo Soldiers, 329–330, 400–401 Bugs Bunny, 637 Bull Run, Battle of, 256 Buna, Battle of, 644 Bunker Hill, 4 Buntline, Ned, 193 Burba, Ed, 967 Burdue, Wayne H., 800 Bureau of Indian Affairs, 318, 321, 348, 356 Bureau of Motion Pictures, 562 Burgoyne, John, 6–7, 46 Burials, 364 Burke Act (1906), 465 Burma, 647 Burnette, Jesse, 598–600 Burrowes, John, 66–72 Bush, George H. W., 694, 891, 920, 921, 933, 963–964 Bush, George W., 428, 981, 988, 990, 1007, 1033, 1040, 1064–1065 Bush, Vannevar, 806 Bushmaster chaingun, 1053 Bussey, Charles, 790 Butler, E. Anne, 281–282 Butler, Lee, 967 Butler, William, 240–241, 244 Cable News Network, 949 Cabral, Donald, 691 Caen, France, 537 Caldwell, James, 2 Calhoun, John C., 93, 138, 178, 213 California, 192 Calley, William, 876, 893–894 Cameron, Robert, 569 Camouflage, 934, 989, 1047 digital, 990 Camp Adder, Iraq, 1056 Camp Belambai, 1011

1104 Index Camp Belknap, 182 Camp Chase, OH, 283 Camp Des Moines, IA, 463 Camp Devens, MA, 462, 469 Camp Dodge, IA, 462 Camp Eagle II, 933 Camp Funston, KS, 470, 496 Camp Gordon, GA, 462 Camp Grant, 322 Camp Greene, NC, 505 Camp Hancock, GA, 466 Camp Hood, TX, 596 Camp hygiene, 418–419 Camp Jackson, SC, 475 Camp McGill, Japan, 810 Camp Merritt, NJ, 512 Camp Mills, NY, 506 Camp Upton, NY, 462 Camp Wikoff, NY, 401 Camps 17, 23, 44, 157, 266 Canada, 93–94 operations in, 4 during War of 1812, 138, 151 Canby, Edward, 322 Canfield, Margaret Easterly, 886–887 Cape Fear, 877 Captain Jack, 322 Caraccilo, Dominic, 932, 943, 946 Card games, 405 Carleton, Guy, 4 Carlisle, PA, 350 Carmichael, Stokely, 889 Carnegie, Andrew, 391, 423 Carney, Thomas P., 902, 904 Caroline Islands, 620 Carr, Patrick, 2 Carrington, Henry B., 320, 332 Carroll, William, 107 Carson, Christopher “Kit,” 320 Carter, Ashton, 988 Carter, Jimmy, 692, 701 Carter, Ty, 983 Carter, Wilfred “Wilf,” 802 Cartoons, 636 political, 410 Casablanca Conference, 535 Cass, Lewis, 94, 211 Castro, Fidel, 692 Casualties, U.S. army, Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 997, 1000–1001, 1003, 1008 American Revolution, 3, 12

Civil War, 291 Indian Wars, 341–342, 346, 355, 374 Iraq War, 1033, 1037, 1041, 1050, 1058, 1060 Korean War, 777, 780–781, 794, 814, 817, 866 Mexican War, 174, 177, 198, 202–203, 206–207, 233–234 Persian Gulf War, 931, 941–943, 946, 949–950, 952 Vietnam War, 885, 893, 907 War of 1812, 94, 121, 127–128 World War I, 461, 482–483, 486–488, 508–509, 512 World War II in Europe, 570, 576–577 World War II in the Pacific, 644, 646, 650 Casualty evacuation, 577–578 Catholic Church, 191, 407–409 Causes Indian Wars, 318 Mexican War, 171 War of 1812, 91 Cavalry, 35–36, 120, 345, 486, 498 charges, 341 Cavite, Philippines, 407, 417 Cease-fire declarations, 391 Censorship, 631 Center for Naval Analyses, 997–998 Centers for Disease Control, 891 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 690, 1020 Central Pacific Theater, 618, 620 Cerro Gordo, Battle of, 177, 187, 203, 205, 209, 234–235 Cervera y Topete, Pascual, 389 CH-47 Chinook helicopter, 983, 999 CH-47A Chinook helicopter, 880 Chai tea, 1045 Champagne-Marne Campaign, 482 Chancellorsville, Battle of, 257 Chapels, 715 Chaplains, 27, 114–116, 191, 270–271, 335, 462, 470–471, 560–561, 580, 632–633, 715–716, 799–801, 876, 936, 1048–1049 Buddhist, 801 Catholic, 715, 801, 876, 936 Jewish, 715 Muslim, 936 Protestant, 715, 801, 876, 936 Chapple, John B., 802

Index 1105 Chapultepec, Battle of, 178, 205 Charlestion Harbor, SC, 256 Charleston, Battle of, 44 Charleston, SC, 8–9, 12, 21–22, 39, 44, 405 Charlie Wilson’s War (film), 994 Charlottesville, VA, 47 Chateau Thierry, 456, 481, 507 Checkpoint Charlie, 689 Chemical Warfare Service, 551, 642 Chemical warfare, 477, 482–484, 515 Chemical weapons, 922–923, 934, 943–944, 950–951, 1033 Chemin des Dames, France, 507 Cheney, Dick, 694 Cherbourg, France, 538 Chesapeake Bay, 148–149 Chesapeake offensive, War of 1812, 97–98 Chesapeake-Leopard Affair, 100 Cheyenne, 369 in Colorado, 320 Chickamauga, Battle of, 277, 299, 308 Chickamauga Park, TN, 400 Chief Joseph, 323 Chigasaki Beach, Japan, 810 Child, Lee, 937 Children and the army, 262 Chinese Civil War, 688, 741 Chinese Communist Forces (CCF), 780, 791–792, 822–823 Chippewa, Battle of, 96–97, 99, 121, 139 Chivington, John, 320 Cholera, 346 Ch’onan, South Korea, 778 Ch’ongch’on River, 791 Ch’orwon, South Korea, 779 Chosin Reservoir, 793 Christianity, 335 Chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), 1063 Chu Lai, South Vietnam, 873, 877 Church of Christian Science, 470 Churchill, Winston, 534, 536, 647, 685–686 Churubusco, Battle of, 178, 204, 209 Citadel, 929 Citizen-soldiers, 1, 147 concept of, 260 effectiveness of, 107 tradition of, 179, 216 view of, 99–100

Civil Operations and Revolutionary Development Support (CORDS), 879, 894–895 Civil Rights Movement, 552, 582–583, 871–872, 889 and Native Americans, 324–325 Civil War, three phases of, 256–258 Civil War veterans and the Indian Wars, 327 Civilian Irregular Defense Group (CIDG), 884, 895 Civilian population, 48 Clark, Mark, 575 Clark, Marston G., 362 Clarke, Ransom, 366–368 Class conflict, 19 Clay, Henry, 92, 98, 172, 211–212 Clement, L. W., 889–890 Clemson, Eli, 109 Cleveland, Grover, 387 Climate, 182, 187–188 Clinton, Henry, 4, 8–12, 42, 66–67 Clinton, William J., 732, 988 Clooney, George, 937 Close air support (CAS), 1057 Coahuila, Mexico, 175 Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), 1035–1037 Coalition warfare, 919, 921, 923, 945, 967, 983, 1020, 1033, 1044 Coastal fortifications, 109 Cody, William Frederick, 345, 351 Coffee, John, 107, 122–123 Cohan, George M., 473 “Cold War Service Medal Act,” 733 Cold War definition, 683–684 end of, 701 victory in, 735–736 Cole, Nat King, 802 Collier, William Hurle, 595–596 Collins, J. Lawton, 787–788, 790, 809–810 Collins, Roy E., 778 Colorado 3rd Cavalry Regiment, 320 Columbian Exposition of 1893, 423 Colt Firearms Company, 479 Comanche helicopter, 998 Combat Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 981–985, 999–1002, 1011–1012

1106 Index Combat (cont.) American Revolution, 35–40, 64–67, 73–76 Civil War, 235–236, 240–243, 277–278, 299–310 Cold War, 722–724 Indian Wars, 341–344, 363–364 Iraq War, 1057–1060, 1069, 1080–1088 Korean War, 776, 784, 792–793, 808–809, 828 Persian Gulf War, 923–924, 942–944, 946, 952, 968–973 Spanish-American War, 414–417, 434–437, 441–443 Vietnam War, 863–867, 881–883, 905–911 War of 1812, 121–125 World War I, 461, 480–487, 508–510 World War II in Europe, 568–572, 595–604 World War II in the Pacific, 642, 644–647, 663–671 Combat Lifesaver Course, 1062 Combat Outpost Keating, 983, 1000–1001 Combat Outpost Korengal, 994 Combat Outpost Restrepo, 994 Combat outposts (COB), 983, 989, 1046–1047, 1069 Combat pay, 804–805 “Combat Rock” (song), 993 Combat search and rescue, 808, 947 Combat Training Centers (CTCs), 706 Combined Air Operations Center (CAOC), 1062 Combined arms operations, 38, 569, 571–572 Comic books, 937 Command Information, 1050 Command structure, 94, 97 Commandos, 572, 574, 647 Commissary system, 473 Commission on Training Camp Activities, 472 Committee on Public Information, 494 Committee on the Philippines, 425 Communications, 465, 968 Communism, 715, 752–754, 864 Communist Party, 685 Como, Perry, 802 Compton, John Travers, 578–579 Concentration camps, 387, 417, 420 Congress, call for volunteers, 175

Congressional Black Caucus, 709 Connor, Ollie D., 805 Conscientious objectors, 470 Conscription Act of 1863, 260 Conscription and volunteers Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 985 American Revolution, 13–15, 52 Civil War, 258–260, 262, 288–289 Cold War, 701–704 Indian Wars, 325–326 Iraq War, 1041–1042 Korean War, 781–783 Mexican War, 173 Mexican War, effectiveness of, 205, 214, 216 Persian Gulf War, 925–927 Spanish-American War, 394–401 Vietnam War, 867–870 War of 1812, 148 World War I, 456–458, 510 World War II in Europe, 540–542 World War II in the Pacific, 621–623 Constitution, 99–100, 191 “Constitution and the Guerriere,” 116 Containerized housing units (CHUs), 1046 Containment, 683, 686, 729, 746–757, 864 Continental Army, 1, 5, 12–13, 18 supplies, 7, 9, 14–15 training, 16 Continental Congress, 2–4, 6–7, 22, 31, 46, 48–49 Continental currency, 5 Contreras, Battle of, 178, 204–205, 209 Convalescence camps, 490 Convention Army, 47 Cooke, Philip St. George, 192 Coolidge, Calvin, 498 Cooper, James Fenimore, 336 Coover, Juanita, 712 Coral Sea, Battle of, 618 Corbin, Molly, 20 Cordero, Juan Cesar, 827 Corinth, MS, 256 Corley, John T., 792 Cornum, Rhonda, 947 Cornwallis, Lord Charles, 10–12, 22, 47 Corporal rocket, 720 Corps of Engineers, 138, 183, 198, 626 Corpus Christi, TX, 172, 179, 181–182, 185–187, 205, 214

Index 1107 Corrected English Model (CEM) gas mask, 484 Corregidor, Philippines, 634, 650 Counterinsurgency, 407, 416, 421, 424, 698, 894–895, 981–982, 986, 1002, 1011–1012, 1038, 1040, 1043, 1056, 1069 Counterterrorism, 944, 981–982, 1002, 1007 Country Joe and the Fish, 878 Courage Under Fire (film), 937 “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (The Angry American)” (song), 992 Courtesy patrols, 733 Courts-martial, 186, 210, 214, 289–290, 499, 502, 585–586, 629, 657, 826, 894, 1007 Cowardice, 403, 485, 791–792 Cowdrey, Albert E., 798 Cowpens, Battle of, 11, 38 Craigslist (website), 1011 Crater, Battle of the, 264, 278 Crawford, George W., 184 Crawford, TX, 993, 1065 Crazy Horse, 320, 322, 341, 345 Cream (rock group), 878 Creedence Clearwater Revival, 871, 878 Creek Indians, 95 Creek War, 122 Creel Committee, 562 Creswell, Carl, 876 Crile, George, III, 994 Crocker, Ryan, 1040 Crook, George, 322–323, 334 Cruise, Tom, 937 Crump, Irvin, 494 Crusade, 990, 1049 Crusader artillery, 998 Cu Chi, South Vietnam, 883 Cuba, 386–388, 391, 394 blockade of, 690 Cuban insurrection, 386–388, 414, 420 Cuban Missile Crisis, 689–692, 731 Cuban nationalism, 386–388 Culbertson, F. A., 372–373 Cung Son, South Vietnam, 884 Currency, 31 Cushing, Caleb, 211 Custer, George Armstrong, 322–323, 327, 334, 336, 342, 368, 370–373 Czechoslovakia, Soviet invasion of, 691 Dade, Francis L., 366 Daffy Duck, 637

Daily life, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 989–990 American Revolution, 22–26 Civil War, 266–269 Cold War, 712–715 Indian Wars, 330–334 Iraq War, 1044–1048 Korean War, 794–799 Mexican War, 187–190 Persian Gulf War, 932–935 Spanish-American War, 404–407 Vietnam War, 873–875 War of 1812, 109–114 World War I, 465–469, 510–512 World War II in Europe, 552–559 World War II in the Pacific, 629–632, 663–671 Daily Show, The, 992 Daiquiri, Cuba, 406, 415 Dak To, Battle of, 876, 886–887 Dakota Sioux uprising, 1862, 320 Daley, Roger, 909 Damon, Matt, 937 Dana, Napoleon Jackson Tecumseh, 181, 187–188 Daniel, Eugene L., 580 Daniel, John W., 288 D’Aquin, Louis, 107 Dar es Salaam, Tanzania embassy bombing, 1007 Darby, Charles P., 488, 512–513 Darby, William O., 574 Dark Knight, The (film), 993 Dark Knight Rises, The (film), 993 Date of expected return from overseas (DEROS), 892 Davies, Joseph H., 362 Davies, William L., 785–787 Davis, Derek E., 970–973 Davis, George Turnbull Moore, 185 Davis, Jefferson, 189, 196, 201–202, 206, 227, 232, 256, 282 Davis, Richard Harding, 436 Davis, Terry, 908–909 Davy Crockett recoilless gun, 698 Dawes Severalty Act (1887), 465 D-Day, 537, 545–546, 560, 571, 574, 598–600 De Gaulle, Charles, 602 de Kalb, Johann, 10 Dean, William F., 776, 788

1108 Index Dearborn, Henry, 94, 106 Deception operations, 968 Declaration of Rights, 2 Declaration of war with Mexico, 173 Decoration Day, 288 Deep Impact (film), 992 Defection, 728 Defense Advisory Committee on Prisoners of War, 824, 836 Defenses, 39 Deferments from service, 540–541 Defoliation, 891 Delaware River, 5 Demilitarized zone (DMZ), 722–724, 726, 728 DeMille, Cecil B., 118 Demobilization, 496, 655, 781–782 Democratic National Convention (1968), 890 Democratic Party, 172 Dengue fever, 649 Dennett, Carl, 491 Denver, James W., 212–213 Department of Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), 822 Department of the Interior, 318, 497 Department of the Missouri, 319, 356 Department of Veterans Affairs, 825–826, 891–892, 970–973 DePuy, William E., 700, 876, 928 Desert camouflage uniform (DCU), 1047 Desert Rock VI exercise, 727 Desertion Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1006 American Revolution, 5, 46–47, 51–52, 77 Civil War, 290 Cold War, 728, 734 Indian Wars, 353–354 Iraq War, 1067 Korean War, 827 Mexican War, 209–210, 215 Spanish-American War, 402–403, 426–427 Vietnam War, 869 War of 1812, 136–137 World War I, 457, 499–501 World War II in Europe, 586 World War II in the Pacific, 657 Destruction, 67, 285 Détente, 691–692

Detroit, MI, 586 Devilbiss, Margaret, 793–794 Dewey, George, 388–389, 396, 414 Diarrhea, 484, 1063 Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT), 649 Dieppe Raid, 574 Dietrich, Marlene, 564 Dietrich, Stefan M. A., 905–907 Dime novels, 336 Dining facilities (DFACs), 1045–1047 Diphtheria, 346 Disabled American Veterans, 656 Discipline Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1010–1011 American Revolution, 50–52 Civil War, 260–261, 288–289 Cold War, 733–734 Indian Wars, 353–354 Iraq War, 1066–1068 Korean War, 826–827 Mexican War, 185, 205, 214–215 Spanish-American War, 426–427, 441–443 Vietnam War, 870, 892–894 War of 1812, 97, 135–136 World War I, 498–502, 516–517 World War II in Europe, 584–586 World War II in the Pacific, 656–657 Discrimination, racial Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 988 Cold War, 709–710, 757–758 Korean War, 788–791 Persian Gulf War, 925–926 Spanish-American War, 401–402, 404 World War I, 462, 464–465 World War II in Europe, 541–542, 547–549, 582, 585–586 World War II in the Pacific, 627, 646 See also African Americans, and the U.S. army Disease American Revolution, 42, 77, 80 Civil War, 269, 279–280, 283 Indian Wars, 346, 348 Iraq War, 1062 Korean War, 817 Spanish-American War, 418–420, 426 War of 1812, 128, 157–159 World War I, 484, 488

Index 1109 World War II in Europe 576 World War II in the Pacific, 630 Distinguished Service Cross, 654–655, 907 Diversity, racial, 988 Diving favor, 114 Dkaye, Danny, 803 Dodge, Grenville M., 427 Dominican Republic, 691–692 Don Quixote, 28 Dong Tam, South Vietnam, 873 Dong Tre, South Vietnam, 884 Doniphan, Alexander W., 175–176, 189, 206 Donner, Christopher, 645 “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, 988 Doors, The (rock group), 878 Double-V Campaign, 548, 582, 627, 655 Downey, Greg, 944 Draft, 457, 867, 925, 985 end of, 692, 702 Draft boards, 457, 470, 540–541, 621, 868 Draft calls, 702 Draft deferments, 457, 709, 868, 988 Draft dodging, 869 Draft-induced volunteers, 702, 783, 869 Draft lottery, 540, 621 Draft pool, 540–541 Draft quotas, 707 Draft rejections, 541, 622 Dragoons, 182, 188, 196–197, 279, 345 Driftwood, Jimmy, 117 Drill, 36, 149, 182, 261–262, 268–269, 332, 335 Drone warfare, 1022 Drug trafficking, 1020 Drug usage, 500, 734, 893, 925–926, 951, 1010 Duane, William, 103 Duels, 135–136 Duffy, Francis, 471 Duncan, Robert, 705, 718 Duncan, Thomas R., 294, 296 Dunkirk evacuation, 534 Dunwoody, Anne, 931 DuPont Corporation, 729 Dupuy de Lome, Enrique, 388 Durand Line, 979 Durand, Henry Mortimer, 979 Dylan, Bob, 877 Dynamite gun, 412, 414 Dysentery, 42, 266, 468, 645, 649

Eagle Troop, 942–943 Eastern Front (WWII), 536–537 Easy Rider (film), 717 Eddy, Manton, 505–507 Edney, Leon, 967 Educational opportunities, 474 Eichelberger, Robert L., 644 Eichhorn, David W., 868 Eighteenth Connecticut Volunteers (Civil War), 297 Eighth Corps, 392, 398, 407, 416 Eighth U.S. Army (EUSA), 779, 781, 784–786, 790, 805 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 574, 579, 586, 607, 688, 696, 729–730, 836–838 El Alamein, Battle of, 534 El Brazito, Battle of, 175 El Caney, Battle of, 389, 401, 415 “El Capitan March” (song), 411 Election presidential of 1844, 172 presidential of 1860, 255 presidential of 1864, 272 presidential of 1900, 424 Congressional of 2006, 983 Elite troops, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 999–1000, 1002–1003 American Revolution, 40–41 Civil War, 278–279 Cold War, 724–726 Indian Wars, 344–345 Iraq War, 1060 Korean War, 809–813 Mexican War, 205–206 Persian Gulf War, 944–946 Vietnam War, 883–884 War of 1812, 125–126 World War II in Europe, 572–575 World War II in the Pacific, 647 Elkins, Stephen, 352 Email, 1008 Emancipation Proclamation, 257, 263 Empie, Adam, 115 Empire Strikes Back, The (film), 1004 Energy drinks, 1045 Enewetak atoll, 727 Enfield rifles, 275 Engineer Replacement Training Centers, 624–625 Engineers, 36, 39

1110 Index Eniwetok, 620 Enlistment, 259 Enlistment numbers, 180 Epley, William W., 784 Equal Opportunity program, 710 Equality, 18 Equipment shortages, 543, 776, 778, 805, 815, 1035 Escobar, Edward, 582 Essay Concerning Human Understanding (book), 28 Ettinger, Albert, 467 Euphrates River, 1033, 1061 European Recovery Program (ERP), 686 Eustis, William, 94, 126 Evans, Alan D., 602–604 Executions, 585–586, 657 Executive Order 9066, 549, 653 Executive Order 9981, 707, 757–759, 789 Executive Order 10240, 793–794 Executive Order 10631, 824, 836–838 Expansible army concept, 178 Explosively formed penetrator (EFP), 1053, 1058, 1087 Facebook, 1050, 1070 Fair Employment Practices Commission (FEPC), 582 Fairfax, William, 16 Fallout shelters, 731 Fallujah, First Battle of, 1037, 1057, 1061, 1082–1086 Fallujah, Iraq 1037, 1055, 1057, 1061, 1068 Fallujah, Second Battle of, 1037–1038 “False Battle of the Nile,” 97 Fandangos, 190 Far East Command (FECOM), 776, 778–779, 781, 789, 806, 811, 826 Farmer, Michael, 904 Fast food restaurants, 1047 Fatalities combat, 75, 128, 206, 231, 265, 271, 277–278, 304, 426 non-combat, 418, 420, 426 Faulkner, William C., 193 Fax communications, 949 Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America, 471 Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany), 687–688, 690, 695 Federalist Republican, 131

Fedeyeen Saddam, 1034 Fehrenbach, Theodore R., 778, 782, 795, 823, 825 Felhoelter, Herman G., 799–800 Female Engagement Team (FET), 987, 1044 Female soldiers and service providers Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 986–988 American Revolution, 20 Civil War, 265–266 Cold War, 710–712 Indian Wars, 330 Iraq War, 1044 Korean War, 793–794, 845 Mexican War, 185–186 Persian Gulf War, 930–931 Vietnam War, 872–873 War of 1812, 108–109 World War I, 465 World War II in Europe, 550 World War II in the Pacific, 628–629 Fetterman, William, 320–321 Fey, Tina, 995 Field kitchens, 556, 559, 795, 933, 989, 1045 Field Manual (FM) 100–5 Operations, 700–701, 785, 928–929 Field Manual 3–24 Counterinsurgency, 984, 1039, 1043 Fifteenth Amendment, U.S. Constitution, 291 Fifth Corps (Spanish-American War), 405–406, 415, 418–419, 421, 427 Fifth Texas Infantry (Civil War), 306, 308 Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts USCT (Civil War), 264 Fighting, 269 Filipino constabulary, 398 Filipino Federal Party, 424 Filipino insurgency, 393–394, 416–417, 421, 437–439 FIM-92 Stinger anti-air missile, 942 Fire and Forget, 996 Fire Base Black Hawk, 877 Firearms, 412, 565 First Blood (film), 718 First Bull Run, Battle of, 261 First Kansas Colored Infantry (Civil War), 263 First Missouri Volunteers (Mexican War), 206 First Ohio Volunteers (Mexican War), 239

Index 1111 First Regiment, U.S. Dragoons, 178 First South Carolina Infantry (Mexican War), 208 First Special Service Force, 573, 575, 587 First Tennessee Cavalry (Mexican War), 237 First Tennessee Volunteers (Mexican War), 234–235 First United States Volunteer Cavalry (Spanish-American War), 397 Fish, Hamilton, 386 Fisk, Wilbur, 261, 263, 276, 278–279 Flamethrowers, 477, 642–643 Flanagan, Edward, 934, 953 Fletcher, William A., 306, 308 Flexible Response, 689, 691, 697 Flynn, Errol, 803 “Fobbits,” 1047, 1052 Fonda, Jane, 889 Foner, Eric, 686 Fontenot, Gregory, 711 Football, 475–476, 631 Foraging, 557 Foreign internal defense (FID), 1060 Foreign policy, U.S., 386 Foreign Relations Act, 732–733 Foreign-Speaking Soldier Subsection, 461 Forrest, Nathan Bedford, 294–295 Fort Belvoir, TX, 1062 Fort Belvoir, VA, 624 Fort Benning, GA, 505–507, 548, 552, 568, 810–811, 894, 907, 987, 1043 Fort Bliss, TX, 714 Fort Bragg, NC, 548, 552, 725, 731, 793 Fort Brown, TX, 198, 205 Fort C. F. Smith, MO, 320 Fort Carson, CO, 714 Fort Cummings, NM, 354 Fort Defiance, AZ, 320 Fort Delaware prison camp, 283 Fort Detroit, MI, 93–94, 101, 160 Fort Diablo, WY, 241–243 Fort Dix, NJ, 731, 800 Fort Donelson, TN, 256 Fort Drum, NY, 714 Fort Edward, NY, 6–7 Fort Erie, Ontario, 126 Fort George, NY, 96 Fort Goodwin, AZ, 348 Fort Harrison, WY, 362 Fort Henry, TN, 256 Fort Hood, TX, 731

Fort Huachuca, AZ, 547–548 Fort Irwin, CA, 927–928, 965, 986 Fort Jackson, SC, 548 Fort King, FL, 366 Fort Klamath, OR, 319 Fort Knox, KY, 567, 731, 789 Fort Laramie, WY, 332 Fort Laramie Treaty, 320, 328 Fort Leavenworth, KS, 175, 182, 331, 928, 1068 Fort Lee, VA, 711, 793 Fort Leonard Wood, MO, 624, 731, 870 Fort Lincoln, ND, 334 Fort Malden, Ontario, 93 Fort McClellan, AL, 711 Fort McHenry, MD, 98, 109, 116, 149 Fort Michilimackinac, MI, 93 Fort Niagara, NY, 128 Fort of Nine Towers, A (novel), 996 Fort Ord, CA, 800, 870 Fort Phil Kearny, WY, 320, 332, 345 Fort Pickens, FL, 323 Fort Pillow, Battle of, 264, 294–295 Fort Pillow massacre, 294–295 Fort Polk, LA, 870 Fort Reno, WY, 320 Fort Riley, KS, 331, 711, 870 Fort Sill, OK, 323, 506 Fort Strother, AL, 95 Fort Sumter, SC, 256, 258 Fort Texas, 174, 198–199 Fort Ticonderoga, NY, 3, 5–6, 41 Fort Wagner, NC, 264 Fortifications, 330–332 field, 460, 555 Forts, 109–110 “Fortunate Son” (song), 871, 878 Forty-Eighth Black Infantry Regiment, 402 Forty-Ninth Black Infantry Regiment, 402 Forty-Third Battalion Virginia Cavalry (Civil War), 279 Forward operating base (FOB), 989, 1036, 1039, 1046–1047, 1069 Forward Operating Base Courage, 1038 Forward Operating Base Lightning, 991 Forward Operating Base Pasab, 987 Fosdick, Raymond, 472 Fountain, Ben, 996 442nd Regimental Combat Team, 549, 654

1112 Index Fragging, 893 France, operations with during American Revolution, 8, 12 Francis Berrian, or The Mexican Patriot (novel), 193 Franco-American Treaty of Commerce and Treaty of Alliance, 7 Franco-Prussian War, 413 Frankel, Geoffrey, 933–934, 951 Franklin, Benjamin, 1, 48 Franks, Tommy R., 1022–1024 Fraternization, 1011 Fratricide, 876, 893, 952, 1000 Freaner, James L., 211 Frederick, Robert, 575 Fredericks Town, MD, 47 Fredericksburg, Battle of, 257 Free World Military Forces, 866 Freed, Alan, 801 Freedom and independence, concept of, 18 Free-labor ideology, 255 Freely, Cornelius, 496 Fremont, John C., 176, 192 French and Indian War, 1, 318, 725 French Army, 53, 481 French fleet during American Revolution, 12 French Revolution, 91 Frenchman’s Flat, NV, 720 “Friendship Act,” 732 Frontal assaults, Civil War, 258 Frostbite, 576, 819 Fulda Gap, Germany, 723, 928 Funkhouser, William, 598–600 Funston, Frederick, 393, 417 Furber, George C., 237, 239 Fussell, Paul, 623 G.I. Bill, 583–584, 587, 655, 704, 926, 932, 938, 1009, 1052 G.I. Bill of Rights, 496 G.I. loans, 1051 Gabel, Christopher, 567 Gaddis, John Lewis, 684–685, 695 Gage, Thomas, 2–3 Gaines, Edmund P., 179 Gallagher, Matt, 996 Gallatin, Albert, 211 Gallegas, Maria Antonias, 185 Gallup Polls, 783 Galvin, Jack, 967

Gambling, 25, 272, 274, 334, 405, 471–472, 797 Gangrene, 649 Gannon, Patrick. T., Sr., 810 Gannt, Levi, 205–206 Garand, John, 640 Gardez, Afghanistan, 1023 Garfield, James A., 213 Garrison life, 712 “Garry Owen” (song), 334 Gas masks, 483–484, 509–510, 971 Gates, Horatio, 7, 10 Gates, Robert, 983, 1005 Gatling Gun, 276, 340, 413–414, 441–443 Gatorade, 1045 Gaura, Gary, 904 Gavin, James M., 789 Gay Rights Movement, 871 Gazlay, John C., 705 Geisel, Theodore (Dr. Seuss), 637 General Headquarters Raider Company, 810 General Orders Number 100 (1863), 427 General Recruiting Service, 179 General Regulations for the Army of the United States, 1841, 185, 214 General Regulations of the Army, 1821, 213–214 General Staff, 127 General Taylor’s Encampment, 193 Generation Kill (television show), 1051 Geneva Accords (1988), 980 Geneva Convention Relative to Prisoners of War (1929), 579, 650, 657, 728 Geneva Convention Relative to Prisoners of War (1949), 728, 822, 1007 Gentleman’s Magazine, 28 Gentry, Roy Charles, 886 Gerber, Ernst, 644 German Army, 480 German Democratic Republic (East Germany), 687, 690, 695 Germany, reunification of, 695 Geronimo, 323, 343, 349 Gettysburg, Battle of 258 Ghamsharik, Haji, 1021 Ghost Dance religion, 323–324, 336 Gibson, George, 187–188 Gibson, James, 126 Giddings, Luther, 239–240, 244 Gilded Age, 408, 423 Gilmor, Harry, 296, 298

Index 1113 Gilpin, William, 186 Girard, Frederick Frances, 370–371 “Give Peace a Chance” (song), 936 Gleason Publishing Hall, 193 Gliders, 573 Global position system (GPS), 998, 1056 Golan Heights, 700 Gold Star Families for Peace, 1065 Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986, 693–694, 966–967 Goliad, Battle of, 172 Gonorrhea, 577 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 694 Grable, Betty, 877 Grafenwohr Training Area (Germany), 705 Graham, Billy, 800 Grand Army of the Republic, 212–213, 287–288 Grandstaff, Bruce Allen, 883 Grant, Ulysses S., 182, 184, 190, 195, 204, 216, 257–258, 262, 268, 276–277, 321–322 as president, 386 Grattan, John, 328 Gray, Al, 966 Gray, Justin, 663–671 Gray, Samuel, 2 Great Awakening, 559 Great Depression, 533, 559, 581–582, 617, 621, 626, 651, 656 Great Lakes, 97 Great Recession (2008), 1009, 1065 Great Sioux War, 322–323, 341 Great Society, 872 “Green Grow the Lilacs” (song), 194 Green Mountain Boys, 3, 41 “Green on Blue” incidents, 996, 1002. See also Fratricide Green Zone, 1035–1037 Greene, Harold, 1002 Greene, Nathanael, 10–12, 41 Greengrass, Paul, 993 Greenwood, Charles, 512 Grenada, invasion of, 692–693 Grenades, 479, 515, 565, 668, 902–903 Grey, Zane, 336 Griest, Katherine, 987 Grindr (website), 1011 Guadalcanal, 619, 630, 643, 650, 658 Guam, 391, 407, 618, 620, 6550 Guanica, Puerto Rico, 407, 415

Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, 403, 414, 1006–1007 Guard duty, 36 Guerrilla warfare Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1002 American Revolution, 10 Civil War, 279, 286, 296–298 Indian Wars, 324 Iraq War, 1035 Korean War, 809, 811–813 Vietnam War, 881, 883–884, 894–895, 903 Guibert, August, 107 Guilford Courthouse, NC, 11 Gulf of Tonkin Incident, 889 Gulf War Syndrome, 950, 970–973 Gulliver’s Travels (novel), 28 Gunpowder, 413, 477 Gunsmoke (television show), 337 Gustav Line, 536, 596–597 Guthrie, Arlo, 878 Gutierrez, Frank, 869 Hackworth, David, 883–884 Haditha Dam, 1060 Hadley, Walter, 547 Hague Convention of 1899, 492 of 1907, 492 “Hail Columbia” (song), 116 Haiti, 725 Hale, Nathan, 5, 26 Haley, Bill, 802 Hall, Dominick Augustin, 132 Halliburton, 1070 Halls carbine, model 1833, 196 Halsey, Don, 879 Hamlet Evaluation System, 866 Hancock, John, 3 Hancock, Winfield Scott, 213 Handbook for Infantry, 103 Handbook on Japanese Military Forces, 662–663 Hanoi Hilton POW camp, 887–888 Hanson, Alexander Contee, 131 Haqqani Network, 1006 Hardee, William J., 173, 261 Hardtack, 333 Harlem Heights, 5 Harper, Daniel E., 707–708, 717–718 Harper, John L., 684

1114 Index Harpers Ferry, VA, 196 Harpers Ferry Rifle (1803), 120 Harrison, William Henry, 95, 101, 109, 112, 126, 362 Hart, Ira, 116 Hartford, CT, 98, 131 Harvard University, 23 Harvey, Lawrence, 803 Hastie, William, 547 Hastings, Max, 777–778, 822, 824–825, 828, 995 Have Gun—Will Travel (television show), 337 Haver, Shaye, 987 Hawai’i, 654 Hawai’i Defense Act, 654 Hawaiian Provisional Battalion, 549 Hawk Force, 884 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 193 Hay, John, 385, 391, 425 HB-M2 machine gun, 641 Health and medicine Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1003–1006 American Revolution, 42–44 Civil War, 279–282 Cold War, 726–728 Indian Wars, 346–348 Iraq, 1061–1063 Korean War, 813–820 Mexican War, 206–208 Persian Gulf War, 946 Spanish-American War, 417–420 Vietnam War, 885–887 War of 1812, 126–128 World War II in Europe, 575–578 World War II in the Pacific, 648–649 Hearst, William Randolph, 410, 423 Helicopters, 699, 807–808, 813–814, 883, 885–886, 906, 940 Helsinki Accords, 692 Henry, Patrick, 21 Henry, William S., 185 Henry lever-action rifle, 345 Hepatitis, 818 Here Is Your War (novel), 635 Hersey, Mark L., 437–439 Hessians, 46–47 Heston, Charleton, 118 Heterington, Tim, 994 Higgins Boat, 537 High Forehead, 328

High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV), 941, 998, 1001, 1055, 1058, 1087–1088 High-value targets (HVTs), 1002 Hill, Michael, 905 Hillsborough, NC, 10 Hinds, Thomas, 107 Hirohito, 621 Hiroshima, Japan, 621, 647 History Channel, 910 Hit-and-run tactics, 341, 368 Hitler, Adolf, 589, 684 HMS Leopard, 92 Hoar, George F., 425 Hobson, Richmond, 421 Hoby, Oveta Culp, 550 Hogan, David, 573 Hokkaido, Japan, 787 Holguin, Cuba, 421 Holly, Buddy, 802 Hollywood, CA, 562–563, 637, 653, 716, 992–993, 1051 Home front Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1007–1009 American Revolution, 47–49 Civil War, 284–286 Cold War, 729–731 Indian Wars, 350–351 Iraq War, 1064–1065 Korean War, 824–825, 838–839 Mexican War, 210–212 Persian Gulf, 948–949 Spanish-American War, 422–425 Vietnam War, 889–890 War of 1812, 130–132 World War I, 493–496 World War II in Europe, 580–583 World War II in the Pacific, 651–655, 666 Homeland defense, 731 Homestead Act of 1862, 265 Homma, Masaharu, 650–651 Homosexuality, 552, 622, 629, 988 Honest John rocket, 721 Honolulu, HI, 875 Hood, John Bell, 272, 306, 308 Hope, Bob, 564, 636–637, 803, 877, 934 Hornberger, Heister Richard, Jr., 802 Horner, Charles, 966 Horse Soldiers, The (book), 995 Horse-drawn vehicles, 485 Horseshoe Bend, Battle of, 95

Index 1115 Hospital Corps, 419 Hospital ships, 813–814 Hospitals Civil War, 265, 280–282, 301 field, 649, 815, 1003 Persian Gulf War, 946, 950 Spanish-American War, 439–441 Vietnam War, 886 War of 1812, 127, 157, 159 World War I, 483, 487–491, 512–513 World War II in Europe, 550, 5 77–578 Hosseini, Khaled, 995 “Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” (song), 411 Hotchkiss 1.65-inch gun, 341 Hotchkiss Mountain Gun, 414 Houston, Sam, 172 Howard, Oliver O., 323 Howard, Susan, 877 Howe, Richard, 8 Howe, William, 4–6, 8 Hudrey, Hean, 107 Hue, South Vietnam, 883 Huerta, Domingo, 208 Huger, Isaac, 11 Hull, Hans, 1086–1088 Hull, John, 396 Hull, William, 93, 160 Human rights abuses, 980–981 Hungary, invaded by Soviet Union, 689 Hunger, 69, 79–80, 267 Hunter, David, 296, 298 Hurt, John, 27 Hurt Locker, The (film), 1051 Hurtgen Forest, Germany, 538, 554, 572, 576, 579, 586, 603–604 Hussein, Saddam, 919–921, 923–924, 935, 943, 963–964, 981, 992, 1033, 1036, 1060 Hwachon, South Korea, 799 Hydra rocket, 940 Hygiene, 555 Hypothermia, 576 Hyslop, Kenneth C., 800 “I Ain’t Marching Anymore” (song), 877 Ice Cube, 937 Ideology, 272 “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-To-Die Rag” (song), 878 Ikram, Mohammad, 991

Illingworth, Shaun, 909–911 Immigrants, in U.S. Army, 131, 191–192, 209–210, 264–265, 325 Immigration, to the U.S., 423, 461 Imperial Japanese Army, 617, 667 discipline of, 663 efficiency of, 663 morale of, 662–663, 670 weaponry, 668 Imperialism, U.S., 391–392, 408, 410, 423–425, 428 Impressment, 92 Improvised explosive device (IED), 998, 1001, 1004, 1035, 1040, 1044, 1047, 1053, 1055–1056, 1058–1060, 1069–1070, 1087 Incheon, Battle of, 779, 808 Indian Wars, end of, 356–357 Indians, War of 1812, 94 Indochina Peace Campaign, 889 Industrial production, figures, 651 Industrial Revolution, 399 Industrialization, 398–399, 413, 455, 477, 480, 572, 581, 617, 651, 653 Infantry fighting vehicle, 721–722 Inflation, 273, 286 Influenza, 42, 346, 488 Influenza epidemic (1918–1919), 460, 488, 495 Inouye, Daniel, 654–655 Insects, 874–875 Instant Thunder, 923 Institute for the Study of American Religion, 716 Insubordination, 354, 1066 Insurance, war risk, 476 Insurgency, 686, 688, 1035 Integration, 827 Integration Act, 845 Inter-Allied Games, 476 Intercontinental ballistic missiles, 729–730 Interim Armored Vehicle (IAV), 1054 Interim Transitional Government of Afghanistan (ITGA), 1022 Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces Treaty, 694 International Security Assistance Forces (ISAF), 983 Internet communications, 1009, 1046, 1049–1050, 1069–1070 Interpreters, 1045

1116 Index Interstate and Defense Highway System, 729 Intolerable Acts, 2 Iran, 981 Iranian hostage crisis, 692, 701, 725–726 Iranian Revolution, 919 Iran-Iraq War, 919–920, 934 Iraq, 981 Iraq War costs, 1052, 1056, 1065 overview, 1033–1041 popular support, 1064–1065 Iraqi Army casualties, 963, 1033 Republican Guard, 919, 942–943 Iraqi civilians, casualties, 1041 “Iron Curtain” speech, 686 Irregular warfare, 12, 324. See also Guerrilla warfare Irwin, Leroy, 571 Islam, 935 Islamic State of Iraq, 1068 Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), 1068, 1070 Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), 1068 Island-hopping, 619–620 Isolationism, 394, 540, 617 Israel, 924 Israeli Defense Force (IDF), 700 Issei, 549 Italy, invasion of, 535–536, 570 Iwo Jima, Battle of, 620, 630, 648–649

Jay, John, 91 Jay Treaty, 91 Jefferson, Thomas, 21, 92–93, 100, 964 Jefferson Airplane, 878 “Jefferson and Liberty” (song), 116 Jenkins, Charles, 728–729 Jeremiah, David, 966 Jewish Welfare Board, 472–473, 563 Jihad, 990 Jim Crow segregation, 270 Jimi Hendrix Experience, 878 Jingoism, 385, 388, 394, 423 Johnson, H. T., 967 Johnson, Henry, 479 Johnson, Lyndon B., 691, 866, 868, 872, 889 Johnson, Richard, 113, 120 Johnson, Walter, 903–904 Joint Chiefs of Staff, 694 Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAM), 999 Joint operations, 415 Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), 1060 Jolson, Al, 564 Jones, James, 645–646 Jones Publishing Office, 193 Judge Advocate General’s Corps, 585, 657 Juh, 323 Junger, Sebastian, 994, 1052 Jungle rot, 649 Jupiter rocket, 721 Just, Ward, 877

Jack Reacher novels, 937 Jackson, Andrew, 93, 95, 98–99, 106–107, 115–116, 122–125, 132, 135–139, 172 Jackson, Thomas “Stonewall,” 270 Jackson, Warren, 499 Jalalabad, Afghanistan, 989 Jalalabad Airfield, 994 Jamestown, VA, 318 Janis, Elsie, 473 Japan planned invasion of, 621, 646 surrender of, 655 Japanese American citizens, 549 Japanese American internment camps, 549, 653–654 Japanese Combined Fleet, 619 Jarvis, Nathan S., 207 Jaudenese, Fermin, 416

Kabul, Afghanistan, 980–981, 1002 Kaesong, South Korea, 779, 797, 824 Kagan, Frederick, 927 Kaiser, Henry, 581 Kamdesh, Afghanistan, 1000–1001 Kamikaze, 646 Kandahar, Afghanistan, 989, 1011 Kandahar Airfield, 1003 Kanghwa-do, South Korea, 812 Kansas-Nebraska Act, 255 Kapaun, Emil J., 800 Karlsruhe, Germany, 492 Karmal, Babrak, 980 Karnow, Stanley, 910 Karzai, Hamid, 981–982, 984, 1023 Kasserine Pass, Battle of, 535, 570 Kauffman, Rodger, 706 Kean, William B., 790

Index 1117 Keaney, Ed, 723 Kearny, Stephen Watts, 175–176, 182, 188, 192 Kearny Code, 206 Keefe, Mary Doyle, 635 Keim, Debenneville Randolph, 368, 370 Keith, Toby, 992 Kellogg, Brown, and Root (KBR), 1046, 1070 Kelly, Arthur L., 596–597 Kelso, Frank, 966 Kemerer, Duncan, 490 Kenaday, Alexander, 212–213 Kendall, George, 210–211 Kennan, George F., 401, 439–441, 686, 746–747 Kennedy, John F., 683, 689–690, 725, 731, 803 Kennedy, John P., 147 Kennesaw Mountain, Battle of, 303–304 Kennett, Lee, 553–554, 565, 577 Kent State Massacre, 890 Kern, Bob, 714, 718 Kerry, John F., 890, 1020–1021 Kettle Hill, Battle of, 389, 401, 415 Key, Francis Scott, 98, 116 Key West, Florida, 400 Keys, Ancel, 630 Khan, Mohammad Daoud, 980 Khartoum, Sudan, 921 Khost Province, Afghanistan, 995, 1000 Khruschev, Nikita, 688, 690–691 Kidney stones, 1063 Kijang, South Korea, 812 Kiley, Kevin, 1005 Killing, 305 Kim Il Sung, 779, 822 Kimbell, Charles B., 298–299 Kime, Bill, 966 Kindsvatter, Peter, 623 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 872, 889 King, Nathaniel, 903 Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, 919, 921, 932, 935 Kings Bridge, CT, 47 King’s Mountain, NC, 10 Kiowas, 369 Kipling, Rudyard, 410 Kirk, Isaac, 185 Kirkuk, Iraq, 1041 Kite Runner, The (book), 995 Knights of Columbus, 472–473

Knives, 340 Knox, Henry, 5, 20 Konduz, Afghanistan, 1023 Korean G.I. Bill, 825–826 Korean hemorrhagic fever, 818 Korean War armistice, 696 armistice negotiations, 780, 798, 812–813, 820–821, 823–824 objectives, 779–780, 812 overview, 696, 775–781 Korengal Valley, Afghanistan, 994 Korengalis, 994 Krag-Jorgensen rifle, 413 Kravitz, Lenny, 936 Kris, 413 Ku Klux Klan, 291 Kubik, Chris, 927 Kunar Province, Afghanistan, 1000 Kunduz, Afghanistan, 1006 Kunsan, South Korea, 810 Kunu-ri, South Korea, 791 Kurds, 1038 Kutyna, Donald, 967 Kuwait, 919–920 Kuwait Theater of Operations, 924 Kwajelein, 620 Kyle, Chris, 1051 Kyodong-do, South Korea, 812 La Teneria fortification, 240, 242, 244 Lacoste, Pierre, 107 Lafayette, Marquis de, 6 Lafitte, Jean, 107, 118 Laguna Bay, Philippines, 417 Laird, Paul, 727 Lake Champlain, 94–95, 97 Lake Erie, 95 Battle of, 97 Lake Ontario, 95 Lakota Sioux, 344–345 Lancaster, PA, 46 Land bounties, 32, 132–133, 194–195 Land mines, 669, 881, 902 Landis, Carole, 564 Landshut, Germany, 492 Landstuhl Medical Center, 1061–1062 Langford, Francis, 564 Langres, France, 506 Larson, Chuck, 967 Las Guasimas, Battle of, 389, 415

1118 Index Late Show With David Letterman, The (television show), 992 Latrobe, Charles, 183 Lawrence, Matthew, 909–911 Laws of armed conflict, 492, 520, 650 Lawson, Thomas, 206–207 Le Ferte Milon, France, 507 Leatherstocking Tales (books), 336 LeBarron, Francis, 127 Lee, Byron D., 799–800 Lee, Charles, 45–46 Lee, Fitzhugh, 404 Lee, Henry “Light Horse Harry,” 9–100 Lee, Robert E., 203–204, 256–258, 270, 276, 307 Lend-Lease program, 534, 581, 618, 651, 685 Lennon, John, 936 Lennon, Sean, 936 Leptospirosis, 818 Letterman Hospital, 886 Letters from home, 266–269, 351, 494–496, 510–512, 631, 874, 935, 949 Leukemia, 818 Lew, Barzillai, 21 Lewis, Brad, 1059 Lexington, VA, 288 Lexington and Concord, MA, 3 Leyte, Philippines, 648 Leyte Gulf, Philippines, 647 Leyte Island, 619, 621 Liberty ships, 553, 581 Lieber Code, 492. See also General Orders Number 100 (1863) Life of Franklin Pierce (book), 193 Liggett, Hunter, 501 Light cavalry, 18, 38 Lilly, J. Robert, 585–586 Limited Test Ban Treaty (1963), 691 Lin, Maya Ying, 892 Linares, Arsenio, 415 Lincoln, Abraham, 171, 256–258, 263, 265, 268, 282, 320 Lincoln, Abraham, assassination of, 258 Lincoln, Abraham, “Spot Resolution,” 211 Lincoln, Benjamin, 9, 41–42 Lincoln, George, 231 Lindbergh, Charles, 634 Linderman, Gerald, 578 Lindh, John Walker, 1006–1007 Linear tactics, 341 Linn, Brian, 716

Lions for Lambs (film), 994 Literacy, 272 Little Big Horn, Battle of, 334, 342, 370–372 Little Raven, 369 Little Richard, 802 Little, Charles L., 909–911 Living Daylights, The (film), 993 Living quarters, 22–23, 43, 109–110, 187–188, 266–267, 330–331, 333, 338. See also Barracks Lodge, Henry Cabot, 425 Logistics, 404, 418, 461, 467, 485–487, 538, 555–556, 559, 587, 943, 945 Loivin, Charles, 802 Lone Survivor (film), 995 Long Binh, South Vietnam, 874–875, 881 Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (LRRP), 725 “Long telegram,” 686, 746–757 “Long Walk” of the Navajo, 320 Looney Tunes (cartoons), 992 Lord of the Rings, The (films), 1047 Los Angeles, CA, 582, 587 Lost Battalion, 510–512 Lost cause mythology, 270, 288 Lotbiniere, Louis Eustace, 27 Louallier, Louis, 132 Louis XVI, King, 53 Love, 878 Lovelady, Marjory Montgomery, 793–794 Loyalists, 21–22, 46 Lucas, John, 536 Lucus, Paul, 493 Ludendorff Bridge, 539 Ludendorff Offensives (1918), 459–460, 475 “Luke Arm,” 1004 Luke Skywalker (fictional character), 1004 Lukes, Larry, 874 Luna, Antonio, 392 Lundy’s Lane, Battle of, 96, 121 Luttrell, Marcus, 983, 995 Luzon, Philippines, 393, 402, 416, 642, 651 Lynch, Jessica, 1044, 1064 Lynch, Kenny, 799 Lynching, 548 Lyons, James, 1088 M1 Abrams Main Battle Tank, 722, 939–940, 943, 970, 998, 1035, 1037, 1043, 1053–1055, 1088

Index 1119 M1 antitank gun, 643 M1 carbine, 566, 705, 720, 807, 907 M1 Garand rifle, 545, 565, 639–640, 720, 807, 810 M1 helmet, 875 M1 howitzer, 643 M10 tank destroyer, 567 M101 howitzer, 880 M102 howitzer, 880 M109 howitzer, 941 M1117 Guardian vehicle, 1056 M113 armored personnel carrier, 721, 880–881, 883 M1134 Stryker infantry fighting vehicle, 1053 M14 rifle, 720, 807, 870–871, 881 M16 rifle, 721, 870, 879–880, 902–904, 907, 942, 997, 1052 M18 Hellcat tank destroyer, 567, 643 M1897 Winchester shotgun, 479–480 M1903 Springfield rifle, 477, 693–640 M1911 pistol, 639, 807, 997 M1914 Hotchkiss machine gun, 478, 507 M1915 Chauchat gun, 478–479 M1915 Lewis gun, 478–479 M1915 Vickers machine gun, 478, 506–507 M1917 Browning machine gun, 478, 807 M1917 Colt pistol, 479 M1917 rifle, 477 M1917 Smith & Wesson pistol, 479 M1917A1 machine gun, 641 M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR), 478–479, 640–641, 807, 810 M1919 Browning machine gun, 641, 807, 810 M1928 Thompson submachine gun, 640 M1A1 pack howitzer, 643 M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicle, 722, 940, 969, 998, 1035, 1037, 1053–1055 M2 carbine, 807, 810 M2 flamethrower, 642 M24 Chaffee tanks, 784 M240 machine gun, 1053–1054 M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW), 997–998 M26 Pershing tank, 567, 720, 784 M26 rocket, 942 M27 infantry automatic rifle, 998 M270 multiple-launch rocket system, 941–942, 970 M28 Davy Crockett recoilless gun, 720

M2HB Browning machine gun, 807 M2HB machine gun, 1053–1054 M3 Bradley cavalry fighting vehicle, 1053–1055 M3 grease gun, 566–567, 640 M36 tank destroyer, 567 M3A1 grease gun, 807 M4 carbine, 997–998, 1052 M4 Sherman tank, 566–567, 571, ­ 643–644, 784 M47 Patton tank, 720, 722 M48 Patton tank, 880–881 M59 armored personnel carrier (APC), 720–721 M60 machine gun, 880, 902, 905, 907, 997 M65 Atomic Cannon, 720 M777 howitzer, 998 M79 grenade launcher, 877, 902, 904, 907 M9 pistol, 997–998, 1052 M9A1 bazooka, 641–642 MacArthur, Arthur, 393, 422, 424, 426–427 MacArthur, Douglas, 422, 498, 618–6121, 634, 644, 647–648, 776, 778–779, 786–788, 809, 811, 815, 824 address to U.S. Congress, 838–844 MacDonald, Callum A., 786 Macdonough, Thomas, 97 MacGregor, Douglas, 933–934 MacGregor, Morris, 549, 789, 791–792 Machine guns, 477–478, 481–482, 505–510, 524, 641, 790 Macomb, Alexander, 97 Madero, Francisco R., 210 Madison, Dolley, 98 Madison, James, 92–94, 97, 102, 114, 126, 129, 138–139, 154 Madrassas, 990, 1006 Magazines, popular, 635 Mahan, Alfred Thayer, 395 Mahan, Clarence L., 475, 487 Mahan, Dennis Hart, 183 Mahdi Militia, 1088 Mail, 351 Malaria, 419, 576, 649, 817–818, 875 Malingering, 1067 Malmedy Massacre, 578 Malolos, Battle of, 392 Malolos, Philippines, 392 Malone, Paul B., 441–443 Malvern Hill, Battle of, 259 Manchuria, 617

1120 Index Maneuver Captain’s Course, 987 Mang Yang Pass, South Vietnam, 886 Manhattan, NY, 5 Manifest Destiny, 171, 194, 211, 408–409 Manila Bay, Battle of, 388–389, 392, 407, 412, 414 Manila, Battle of, 621 Manila, Philippines, 416, 875 Mann, James 128, 157 Mansfield, Jayne, 803 Mansfield, Joseph, 198–199, 200, 240–241 Mansoor, Peter, 546 Manuals, 121 Mao Zedong, 688, 741 Marauder units, 809–810 Marching, 152–154 Marcy, William L., 179, 202 Marianas Islands, 620, 663 Marine Pattern camouflage (MARPAT), 990 Marion, Francis, 12 Market Revolution, 255 Marshall, George C., 534, 551, 568, 575, 686, 687 Marshall, S. L. A., 781 Marshall Islands, 620, 727–728, 731 Marshall Plan, 686 Marti, Jose Julian, 387 Martial law, 132, 653 Martin, Joseph Plumb, 18–20, 23–25, 28, 32, 37, 48–49, 51–52, 73–76 Martloff, Maurice, 542 Marxim, 686, 749–750, 980 M*A*S*H (television show), 717–718, 802Masculinity, soldiers and, 259, 271–272, 288–290 Massachusetts Provisional Congress, 3 Massacres, 344 Massacres of African American soldiers, 264, 278. See also Fort Pillow Massacre Massive Retaliation, 689, 695–697 Massoud, Ahmad Shah, 981 “Masters of War” (song), 877 Mata Grand March, 194 Matamoras, Mexico, 173, 198 Mauldin, Bill, 636 Mauser rifle, 413, 415 Mauz, Hank, 966 Maverick (television show), 337 Maverick, Samuel, 2

Max, Gilbert, 492 May, Charles, 174 May, Karl, 336 Mays, Willie, 716 Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan, 1006, 1023 MBT70 tank, 722 McBride, Richard, 481 McCaffrey, Barry R., 925, 952–953 McCall, George, 183 McChrystal, Stanley, 984, 989, 995 McClellan, George, 257, 262–262, 307 McClernand, John, 257 McCloy Committee, 542 McClure, George, 104 McConnell, Viola B., 793 McCormick, Robert R., 634 McCulloch, Ben, 206, 226, 233 McElroy, John, 191 McGee, John H., 812 McKey, J. R., 409 McKiernan, David, 983 McKinley, William, 385, 387388, 390–394, 396–398, 401, 416, 428 McMaster, H. R., 942–943 McNamara, Robert S., 689, 889 McNeil, Samuel, 299, 301 McPeak, Merrill, 966 Meade, George G., 258 Meals ready to eat (MRE), 932, 989, 1044–1045, 1047 Measles, 419, 488 Mecca, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, 932 Medal of Honor, 400–402, 470, 654–655, 790, 876, 905–907, 983 Media, 948, 984 Medical advances, 578 Medical care, 75, 125–126, 465, 468, 500, 559 Medical Department, 418–419, 427, 551 Mexican War, 206 Medical evacuation, 813–814, 885, 904, 906, 910, 946, 1062 Medical personnel Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1003 American Revolution, 42, 80 Civil War, 279, 282–283, 301 Indian Wars, 346–348, 365 Iraq War, 1061–1063 Korean War, 783, 815 Mexican War, 207 Persian Gulf War, 946, 971

Index 1121 Spanish-American War, 418, 439–441, 446–448 Vietnam War, 872–873, 885 War of 1812, 157 World War I, 468, 488–489 World War II in Europe, 550–551, 577 Mefford, D. M., 412 Meiningen Gap, Germany, 723 Mekong Delta, 864 Memphis, TN, 256 Mercer, Mike, 878 Merrill, Frank, 647 Merrill Marauders, 647 Merrit, Wesley, 391, 407, 416 Messerschmidt, Mary, 872–873 Metz, France, 538 Meuse Argonne campaign, 456, 461, 468, 482, 487, 489, 493, 501, 512–513 Mexican Americans, 582 Mexico City, Mexico, 180, 189, 204 Meyer, Edward, 704 Meyer, G. E., 443–446 Michaellis, John H., 787 Michener, James, 802–803 Michod, David, 995 Midway, Battle of, 618, 658 Mier, Battle of, 208 Mier Expedition, 208 Milam, Benjamin, 171 Miles, Nelson, 323, 349, 356, 389–390, 399, 404, 407, 415–416 Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG), 864, 894–895 Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), 864–865, 874, 882, 895 Military contractors, 1046, 1060–1061, 1069–1070 Military Demarcation Line (MDL), 723 “Military Laws and Rules and Regulations for the Armies of the United States” (1813), 135 Military occupational specialties (MOS), 704, 712, 725, 800, 930, 985, 1043 Military police, 501 Military Postal Express, 494–496 Military Religious Freedom Foundation, 991–992 Military Society of the War of 1812, 133 Military tribunals, 1007 Military-industrial complex, 729–730 Militia, 3, 148 Militia Act of 1792, 102, 105–106

Militia Act of 1862, 263 Militia effectiveness of, American Revolution, 7–8, 10, 16 effectiveness of, as volunteers in the Civil War, 258–259 effectiveness of, as volunteers in the Mexican War, 179 effectiveness of, War of 1812, 94–95, 97, 101–104, 124–125, 161 officers, 2 views of, 92, 99, 105, 139 as volunteers, 13 Milius, John, 718 Miller, Arthur, 618 Miller, Bob, 637 Miller, Glenn, 801 Mine-resistant, ambush protected (MRAP) vehicle, 941, 998, 1001, 1004, 1055–1056 Mines, naval, 412 Minick, Charles, 461 Minie ball, 275, 339 Ministry (rock group), 993 Minority Ministry Training Program, 716 Mission oriented protective posture (MOPP) gear, 922–923, 934 Missionaries, 408 Mississippi River, 257 Mitchum, Robert, 877 Mobile, AL, 400 Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH), 717, 793, 800, 814–815 Mobilization, 455–456, 586–587, 617 problems of, 404 Mobilization Training Program, 543 Modern Volunteer Army (MVA), 702–703 Modoc War of 1873, 349 Modocs, 322 Modular kitchen trailer (MKT), 1046–1047 Modular lightweight load-carrying equipment (MOLLE), 1048 Moffitt, Pamela, 877 Mogadishu, Somalia, 946 Molino Del Ray, Battle of, 178, 209 “Molly Pitcher,” 73, 76 Monmouth, Battle of, 73–76 Monroe, James, 113, 125, 181 Monroe, Marilyn, 803 Monroe Doctrine, 386, 423 Monster energy drinks, 1045

1122 Index Mont Blanc, Battle of, 508–510 Montagnards, 884 Monte Cassino, Italy, 568 Monterey, Battle of, 207, 239–240 Montgomery, AL, 256 Montgomery, Bernard Law, 535, 538 Montgomery, Richard, 4 Montreal, Canada, 4, 94, 97 Monuments, 288 Morale Branch, 461, 472, 496 Morality of war, 428 Moreno, Jenny, 987 Morgan, Daniel, 7, 10–11, 38, 41 Morgan, David, 123–124 Mormon Battalion, Mexican War, 189–190, 192, 195 Moro Campaign, 409, 413 Morphine, 489 Morris, Brett E., 783 Morris, Michael, 870–871 Morristown, NJ, 6, 9 Mortars, 480, 566, 598–601, 641, 668, 790 902, 998, 1038 Mosby, John Singleton, 279 Mosquitoes, 818 Mosul, Battle of, 1057 Mosul, Iraq, 1037–1038, 1041, 1057, 1068 Motion pictures, 474, 553, 562–563 Mount Suribachi, Iwo Jima, 620 Mount Vernon, AL, 323, 350 Mounted infantry, 345 MQ-1 Predator, 1022, 1081 Mujahedeen, 980 Mulberry artificial harbor, 538 Multicam camouflage system, 990 Multiple integrated laser engagement system (MILES), 706, 927–928 Multiple-launch rocket system (MLRS), 722, 941 Mumps, 419, 488 Munich, Germany, 993 Musharraf, Pervez, 981–982 Music American Revolution, 29–30 Indian Wars, 334 Korean War, 801–802 Mexican War, 193–194 Persian Gulf War, 936 Spanish-American War, 410–411 Vietnam War, 877 War of 1812, 116–117

Muskets, 5, 34, 103, 119–120, 148, 195, 198, 204, 274–275 “Mustang Gray” (song), 193 Mustard gas, 482–483 Mutiny, 51, 119, 289, 354, 501 My Canh, South Vietnam, 883–884 My Canh 2, South Vietnam, 884 “My City of Ruins (song), 992 My Lai Massacre, 876, 893–894 My Tho, South Vietnam, 865 Myitkyina, Siege of, 647 MySpace (website), 1050, 1070 Nagasaki, Japan, 621, 647 Nairobi, Kenya embassy bombing, 1007 Najaf, Battle of, 1057 Najaf, Iraq, 1055, 1057 Nall, James, 872 Napoleonic Wars, 93 Narizah, Afghanistan, 982 Narrative of the Texan Santa Fe Expedition (book), 211 Narrative of the Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet (book), 193 Nashville, TN, 547 Nasiriyah, Battle of, 1057 Nasiriyah, Iraq, 1034, 1057, 1064 Nat Turner’s Rebellion, 255 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 709 National Association of Mexican War Veterans, 212–213 National Catholic Community Service, 563 National Catholic War Council, 471 National Guard Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 985, 1008–1009 Iraq War, 1042 Persian Gulf War, 921, 927, 929, 965 Spanish-American War, 396, 399 Vietnam War, 868–869, 890 World War I, 455–456, 458, 462–463, 465–466, 471, 486, 493–494 World War II in Europe, 544 National Liberation Front (NLF), 864 National Security Act (1947), 695 National Security Council, 690 National Security Council Paper 162/2 (NSC 162/2), 696 National Security Council Paper 20/4 (NSC 20/4), 741

Index 1123 National Security Council Paper 68 (NSC 68), 688, 696, 730, 741–746 National Society of the Army of the Philippines, 426 National Training Center (NTC), 927–928, 965, 986 National Travelers Aid Association, 563 National Veterans Law Center, 891–892 National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study, 891 Nation-building, 393, 407, 864, 981–982, 1003, 1012, 1023, 1033 Native American scouts, 345 Native Americans and the American Revolution, 68–69, 71–72, 318 American views of, 355 as auxiliaries in U.S. army, 326 and British colonial warfare, 318 and the Civil War, 265, 318 and the War of 1812, 95, 107, 122–123, 318 Nativism, 191 Navajo, skirmishes with, 320 Naval bombardment, 645, 666 Naval guns, 412 Navigation Acts, 1 Naylor, Isaac, 362 Negligent discharge (ND), 1066–1067 Nelson, Darryl, 881–882 Nerve agents, 922, 944, 946 New Caledonia, 631 New Guinea, 618–620, 630, 640, 643–644, 658 New Jersey Line, 51 New Look policy, 688–689, 696–697 New Orleans Picayune, 210 New Orleans, Battle of, 99, 106, 108, 113, 123–124, 132, 138–139 New Orleans, LA, 256, 400 New York City, 5, 8, 10, 12, 22, 37, 44 New York City Draft Riots (1863), 260, 265 New York Herald, 410 New York Journal, 387–388, 410 New York World, 387 Newburgh, NY, 12 Newburgh Conspiracy, 32–33, 49 Newcome, Elizabeth C., 186 Newgarden, George J., 446–448 Newport, RI, 8–9 Newspapers, 269, 350, 410 printed by soldiers, 474

Newsweek magazine, 892 Nez Perce, 323 Nez Perce War of 1877, 341, 344 Ngo Di, 864 Nguyen Van Thieu, 866 Niagara Campaign, 96 Niagara River, 94 Nicely, Guy C., 600–601 Nichols, Mike, 994 Nicholson, Arthur, 732–733 Night of the Hunter, The (film), 877 Night vision devices (NVD), 1053 Nike-Ajax missile, 730 Nike-Hercules missile, 730 Niles’ National Register, 366 Nimitz, Chester, 618, 620 9/11 (film), 993 Ninety-Second Division, 462, 464, 548 Ninety-Third Division, 463 Ninth Cavalry Regiment, 400, 434–437, 462 Ninth Infantry Regiment, 422, 437–439, 443–446 Nisei, 549 Nixon, Richard M., 691, 703, 866, 890, 894, 925, 985 Nolan, Christopher, 993 Noncombatants, 486, 492, 628, 644, 799, 1049, 1057 Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 936 Noriega, Manuel, 694 Norman, Martin, 905 Normandy landings, 536–537, 545–546, 560, 571, 574, 598–600, 621 North Africa, invasion of, 534–535, 569 North Atlantic Squadron, 396, 414 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 687–688, 696, 706, 713, 721, 939, 981–982, 1003 North Korean People’s Army (NKPA), 776–780, 790, 821, 823 Northern Alliance (Afghanistan), 980–981, 999, 1002, 1006 Northern Patrol Squadron, 396 Norwich University, 929 Nuclear weapons, 688–689, 697, 720, 782 Nueces River, 172 Nuevo Leon, Mexico, 175 Nuremberg, Germany, 554

1124 Index Nuristan, Afghanistan, 983, 1000 Nurses, 150, 265–266, 420, 551, 793, 815, 872–873, 885 Oakes, Isaac, 732 Obama, Barack, 983–985, 987–998, 996, 1005, 1007, 1010, 1040–1041 Obersigner, Richard, 493 O’Brien, Tim, 996 Ochs, Phil, 877 Office of Economic Stabilization, 652 Office of Price Administration, 652–653 Office of Strategic Services (OSS), 724 Office of War Information, 562–563, 634, 652–653 Office of War Mobilization, 581, 652 Officer Candidate School (OCS), 625, 1042 Officers election of, 21, 261 grievances, 32 quality of, 93 and social class, 329 training, 17, 106, 328 OH-58 Kiowa helicopter, 998 Oil Producing and Exporting Countries (OPEC), 920 Oil production, 920, 923 Okinawa, 621, 645, 664–671 Old Soldiers Act of 1855, 134 Olive Green Army Shade Number 107, 875 Olympic Games, 692, 718 Omaha Beach, 575 Omar, Mohammad, 981 Omar, Qais Akbar, 996 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, 724, 726 Ono, Yoko, 936 Operation Anaconda, 1000 Operation Big Switch, 821, 824 Operation Cedar Falls, 902–905 Operation Cobra, 537 Operation Desert Shield, 921, 932–933, 952 Operation Desert Storm, 924–925, 927, 932, 952, 985 Operation Dew Canyon III, 890 Operation Downfall, 646 Operation Dragoon, 538 Operation Eagle Claw, 726 Operation Enduring Freedom, 997

Operation Francis Marion, 882 Operation Geronimo I, 863 Operation Geronimo II, 863 Operation Geronimo III, 863 Operation Harrison, 877 Operation Husky, 535–563 Operation Iraqi Freedom, 1033, 1040 Operation Junction City, 902–905 Operation Just Cause, 694 Operation Little Switch, 820–821 Operation Market Garden, 538 Operation New Dawn, 1040 Operation Power Pack, 691 Operation Ranch Hand, 891 Operation Red Wings, 983 Operation Rolling Thunder, 864 Operation Roll-Up, 805 Operation Torch, 573–574 Operation Trail Dust, 891 Operation Urgent Fury, 693 Operation Van Buren, 883–884 Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) team, 995, 999 Operations Research Office, Johns Hopkins University, 708 Operators, The (book), 995 Opium, 353 Orders in Council, 92 Ordnance Corps, 559 Ordnance Department, 551, 626 Oregon Trail, 319 Organic Act, 654 Organization of American States, 691 Orphans, 286 Osage, 370 Osan, South Korea, 776 Otis, Elwell S., 392–393, 398, 416 Over There Theater League, 473 Over-40 Medical Screening Program, 726 Overseas Weekly (newspaper), 717 Pace, Frank, 788 Pacific Theater, compared to Europe, 663–671 Pacification campaigns, 407, 426 Paengnyong-do, South Korea, 812 Pagois, Gus, 966 Pakistan Inter-Services Intelligence, 982 Paktia Province, Afghanistan, 1000 Palestinian Liberation Organization, 921 Palo Alto, Battle of, 174, 180, 199–200 Panama, invasion of, 694

Index 1125 Panama Canal, 694 Panama Canal Treaty, 694 Panic of 1873, 326 Panic of 1893, 386–387, 423 Paris, France, 475, 487, 500 Paris Agreement (1954), 864 Parker, John Henry, 413, 441–443 Parker, Peter, 150 Paroles, prisoners of war, 209, 282–283 Partisans, 41 Pashais, 994 Pashtuns, 979–980, 983, 990, 995 Patient Movement Center, 1062 Patriot Air Defense Missile, 722, 923, 941 Patton, George S., Jr. 535, 538, 602, 807 Patuxent River, 97–98 Paul, Gabriel, 205 Pay and compensation, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 996–997 American Revolution, 31–33, 79 Civil War, 273–274 Cold War, 718–719 Indian Wars, 337–338 Iraq War, 1051–1052 Korean War, 804–805 Mexican War, 194 Persian Gulf War, 926, 937–938 Spanish-American War, 411–412 Vietnam War, 878–879 War of 1812, 118–119 World War I, 476 World War II in Europe, 554, 564–565, 586 World War II in the Pacific, 638–639 Pay Department, 411–412 Paymaster Department, 194 Paymasters, irregular payments by, 273–274 Payne, Matthew, 783 Peace Policy, 321 Peacekeeping, 691 Pearl Harbor attack, 533, 541, 549, 560, 580, 617–618, 621, 634, 650 Pech River Valley, 983, 1000 Peers, Willard, 894 Peers Commission, 876, 894 Peleliu, 620 Penicillin, 578, 649 Pennsylvania Line, 51 “penny press,” 210 Pensions, 49–50, 132–133, 212–213, 287, 497

Pentomic Division, 696–697, 705 People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN), 863, 865, 881, 883–884 People’s Liberation Army Front (PLAF) 864, 865, 880–881, 883–884, 887–888 People’s Republic of China (PRC), 688, 691, 741, 776, 780, 808–809, 925 Percussion cap, 196, 275 Percy, Hugh, 3 Perez, Francisco, 202 Perkins, Carl, 802 Perkins, Wayne, 702 Perosi, Louis, Sr., 802 Perot, H. Ross, 991–992 Perote Prison, 208 Perret, Geoffrey, 568 Perry, Oliver Hazard, 95, 97 Pershing, John J., 409, 456, 460, 477, 481–482, 496, 500 Pershing I missile, 721 Pershing II nuclear missile, 692 Persian Gulf War overview, 919–925 popular support, 948–949 Personal Armor System for Ground Troops (PASGT), 1047–1048 Peshmerga, 1038 Petersburg, VA, 258, 278 Petraeus, David, 984, 1038–1040, 1042 Pettigrew, Thomas H., Jr., 792 Philadelphia, PA, 2, 6, 111 Philadelphia Light Horse, 40 Philippine Republic, 392 Philippines, 388, 391, 618, 621 U.S. annexation, 391 Phoenix, AZ, 1005 Phosgene gas, 482–483 Photography, 284 Phu Yen Province, South Vietnam, 877, 883–884, 895 Physical fitness, 871, 985, 989, 1042–1043, 1050 Physical training (PT), 712 Pickens, Andrew, 38 Pigot, Robert, 4 Pike, Albert, 193, 228, 232–233 Pike, Zebulon, 94 Pillow, Gideon, 204, 234–238 Pistols, 196–197, 340, 479 Pitcairn, John, 3–4 Plague, 419

1126 Index Plattsburgh Bay, 97 Plauche, Jean Baptiste, 106 Playboy magazine, 873, 877 Playing cards, 935 Plays, 29, 190 Pleiku, South Vietnam, 865 Pneumonia, 488, 512 Poetry, 193 Pogue, Forrest C., 568 Poinsett, Joel Robert, 197 Point Lookout, Maryland prison camp, 283 Pointe-du-Hoc, France, 574 Poison Spring, Battle of, 264 Political generals, 177, 215, 265 Political party platforms, 172 Politics, 272 Mexican War, 177, 211, 215 Polk, James K., 171–173, 176–177, 179–180, 191, 200, 201–202, 209–211 territorial objectives, 174–175 Ponce de Leon, Antonio, 175 Poor Richard’s Almanack, 28 Popular culture, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 992–996 American Revolution, 28–31 Civil War, 272–273 Cold War, 716–718 Indian Wars, 336–337 Iraq War, 1049–1051 Korean War, 801–804 Mexican War, 192–194 Persian Gulf War, 936–937 Spanish-American War, 409–411 War of 1812, 116–118 World War I, 471–476 World War II in Europe, 562–564 World War II in the Pacific, 634–638 Population, North vs. South, 259 Pork Chop Hill, Battle of, 708 Pornography, 935, 1049 Port Isabel, 173–174 Porter, Peter B., 136 Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1004–1005, 1010 Civil War, 286–287 Iraq War, 1066 Korean War, 826 Persian Gulf War, 950, 972 Spanish-American War, 426 Vietnam War, 891

World War I, 490–491 World War II in the Pacific, 656 Post, Charles Johnson, 394–395 Post-9/11 Veterans Educational Assistance Act of 2008, 1009, 1052 Postwar occupation of Germany, 539 Potter, John, 186 Powder River, 322 Powell, Colin, 920, 931, 966 Powell, James, 345 Powers, Kevin, 996 Powers, Thomas, 116 Prague Spring, 691 Prather, Justin, 1080–1082 Precision-guided munitions, 923 Pregnancy, 711, 794, 845 Prentiss, Benjamin, 230 Preparedness, U.S. lack of, 385 Preparedness for war, 173 Presley, Elvis, 716–717, 801–802 Prevost, Augustine, 8–9 Prevost, George, 97 Price, Sterling, 175 Prison Farm Number 2, 501–502 Prisoner exchanges, 45, 130 Prisoner of war camps, 129–130, 492, 579–580 Prisoners of war (POWs) Afghan, 1006 Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1006–1007 American Revolution, 15, 44–47, 77, 79–81 Austrian, 492 British, 46–47, 77, 79–81, 128–129 Civil War, 282–284 Cold War, 728–729 deaths, 823 German, 488, 492–493, 509, 512–513, 547, 578, 601 Indian Wars, 348–349, 365 Iraq War, 1064 Iraqi, 947, 968, 1064 Italian, 578 Japanese, 650, 670–671 Korean War, 780, 820–824 labor of, 493 Mexican, 208–209 Mexican War, 208–210 Native Americans, 348–350, 365 officers, 492 Persian Gulf War, 946–948

Index 1127 refusal to accept, 421, 426, 492 refuse repatriation, 821–822 repatriation, 421, 887–888, 948 Spanish, 421 Spanish-American War, 420–422 treatment, 45, 421, 491–493, 671, 822–823, 887–888, 947, 968, 1006, 1064 Vietnam War, 887–888 War of 1812, 128–130 World War I, 491–493 World War II in Europe, 578–580 World War II in the Pacific, 650–651 Prisoners of war (POWs), American Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1006 American Revolution, 44–47 Civil War, 282–284 Indian Wars, 350 Iraq War, 1064 Korean War, 781, 800, 820–824, 837 Mexican War, 210 Persian Gulf War, 931, 947 Spanish-American War, 420–422 Vietnam War, 887–888 War of 1812, 128–130 World War I, 491–492 World War II in Europe, 579–580 World War II in the Pacific, 650 Private Benjamin (movie), 717 Proctor, Henry, 95 Professional military education (PME), 986 Professionalism, of the U.S. army, 147, 173, 181, 213, 215 Progressive Era, 398, 408, 420 Project 100,000, 709, 734 Project Volunteer in Defense of the Nation (PROVIDE), 702–703 Propaganda, 562, 637, 653, 729, 828, 887–888, 924, 947–948, 1059, 1064 Propaganda, Filipino 424–425 Propaganda, Soviet, 746–747, 755 Prosthetic limbs, 1003–1004, 1009 Prostitution, 269, 271, 274, 330, 471–472, 563, 576–577, 878–879, 1011 Protestantism, 191, 408 Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRT), 1023 Provost Marshal General, 585 Puerto Rico, 388–391, 394–395, 403–404, 407, 415 Pulitzer, Joseph, 410, 423

Punishments, 51, 290 Punitive Expedition to Mexico (1916), 459, 471 Purple Heart medal, 1063 Pusan, South Korea, 776, 779, 793, 800, 808, 818 Putnam, Israel, 3 Pyle, Ernie, 632, 635 Qala-i-Jangi, Afghanistan, 1006 Quaker Guns, 35 Quartermaster Corps, 333, 350, 487, 551, 553, 555–556, 558–559, 795 Quartermaster Department, 111, 411 Quartermaster Research and Engineering Command, 874 Quasi-War, 91 Queenston Heights, Battle of, 129 Queenston Heights, Ontario, 94 “Quiet War” (Korea), 724 Quinn, Anthony, 118 Quitman, John, 206, 238, 241, 244 Race Relations School, 710 Racism, 464, 633, 645–647, 651, 653, 658, 790, 988 Radiation, 727 Radiation exposure, 727–728, 731 Rage militaire, 180, 259 Railroads, 405, 494 Ramadi, Battle of, 1057 Ramadi, Iraq, 1037, 1039, 1057, 1068 Rambo III (film), 718, 993 Randolph, A. Philip, 582 Ranger School, 725–726 Ranger Training Center, 811 Ranger Training Command, 811 Rangers, War of 1812, 125–126 Rape, 499–500, 585, 629, 650, 657, 734, 1067 Rastatt, Germany, 491 Rationing, 581, 652 Rations Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 989 American Revolution, 23, 67, 69–71, 77–80 Civil War, 284 Cold War, 718–719 hardtack, 267–268 Indian Wars, 330, 332–333, 338, 366 Iraq War, 1044–1045

1128 Index Rations (cont.) Korean War, 795–796 Mexican War, 188 Persian Gulf War, 932 spoiled, 406 Vietnam War, 874, 903 War of 1812, 113–114, 153, 155 World War I, 466–468, 485, 491, 493, 511–512 World War II in Europe, 553, 555–557, 559 World War II in the Pacific, 630 Raucourt, France, 501 Rauthe, Philip, 80–81 Rawhide, 337 Reading material, 28, 192–193, 272 Reagan, Ronald, 692, 701, 719, 938 Rear echelon mother f—ers (REMF), 874 Reclamation Service, 497 Recondos, 884 Reconstruction of the South, 258, 270, 291, 395, 408 Recreation, 25, 190, 269, 272, 334 Recruit depots, Indian Wars, 327 Recruiters, of African American troops, 263 Recruiting, bounties, 13 Recruiting, quotas, 13–14 Recruitment, 178, 457 Recruits, classification of, 457 Red Army (USSR), 685 Red Bull energy drinks, 1045 Red Cloud, 320 Red Cloud’s War, 320 Red Cross, 439–441, 465, 472–473, 491–492, 495, 580, 630, 816–817, 946, 1057 Red Dawn (film), 718 Red Sticks, 95, 110, 122–123 Redford, Robert, 994 Redstone missile, 721 Reed, Walter, 418 Regiments, structure of, 179 Regulars effectiveness of, 205 views of, 101, 139, 179, 183–184, 216, 261, 325, 329 Regulations for the Medical Department, 1814, 127 Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States (1779), 18

Religion Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 990–992 American Revolution, 26–28, 49 Civil War, 269–272, 278 Cold War, 715–716 Indian Wars, 335–336, 365–366 Iraq War, 1048–1049 Korean War, 799–801 Mexican War, 191–192 of Native Americans, 335, 365–366 Persian Gulf War, 935–936 Spanish-American War, 407–409 Vietnam War, 875–876 War of 1812, 114 World War I, 462, 469–471 World War II in Europe, 559–562 World War II in the Pacific, 632–634 Remagen, Germany, 539 Remington Firearms Company, 477 Remotely piloted aircraft (RPA), 1053, 1056 Rendezvous camps, 260 Reno, Marcus, 370–378 Reorganization Objective Army Division (ROAD), 697–698 Reparations to Native American tribes, 325 Repeating rifles, 345 Republic of Korea (ROK), 707, 776 Republic of Korea Army, 779 in Vietnam, 866 Republic of Vietnam, 863–864, 873 Republican Guard (Iraq), 1057 Resaca de la Palma, Battle of, 174, 180, 199–200 Reservation, San Carlos, 323 Reservations, 349 Indian Territory, 322 South Dakota, 321 Reserve Equal Opportunity policy, 734 Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), 625–626, 929, 1042 Resources, Confederacy, 258 Restrepo (film), 994 Restrepo, Juan, 994 Return of Forces to Germany (REFORGER) exercises, 706, 711, 713 Reveille, 332 Revere, Paul, 3 Rey, Anthony, 191

Index 1129 Reykjavik, Iceland, 694 Reynolds, G. H., 412 Rhee, Syngman, 779–780, 800–801 Rhein, John, 490 Rhode Island General Assembly, 3 Rhodes, Elisha Hunt, 259, 270 Riall, Phineas, 112, 122 “Rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight,” 259 Richmond, VA, 256, 285, 306 Riddle, David, 104 Riders of the Purple Sage (novel), 336 Ridgway, Matthew B., 736, 778, 829 Rifle and Infantry Tactics, 261 Rifled muskets, 34, 120, 275, 339 and defensive tactics, 275–276 Riflemen, 41 and Battle of New Orleans, 107 Rifles, 227 hunting, 413 War of 1812, 126 Riley, John, 209–210 Ringgold, Samuel, 199 Rio Grande, 174, 176, 200 Rio Grande Blood (album), 993 Riots, 400, 582, 586 Rip Its energy drinks, 1045 Rising, The (album), 992 Robert E. Lee memorial, 288 Robertsen, John Blount, 234, 237 Robinson, Carson, 637 Roccaromana, Battle of, 570 Rochambeau, Comte de, 9–10, 12, 53 Roche, Pierre, 107 Rockefeller, John D., 423 Rocket-propelled grenade (RPG), 1035, 1038, 1052, 1054, 1059–1060, 1069 Rockets and missiles, 720 Rockwell, Norman, 635 Rocky IV (film), 718 Rogers, Robert, 647, 725 Rolling Stone magazine, 984 Romance of battle, 152, 192, 277 Rome, capture of, 571 Romesha, Clint, 983 Rommel, Erwin, 534–535 Rooney, Mickey, 803 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 534–535, 547, 549, 581, 587, 617, 621, 646, 653–654, 685, 872 Roosevelt, Theodore, 388–390, 394, 397, 401, 403–404, 413, 425, 434–437

Rosales, Steven, 550 “The Rose of Alabama” (song), 194 Rosebud, Battle of the, 342 Rosebud River, 322, 371 Rosie the Riveter, 635–636 Rosina (play), 29 Ross, George T., 107 Ross, John, 98, 107 Rough Riders, 390, 397, 401, 414, 434–437 Rough Riders (film), 410 Route 66 (television show), 717 Royal Navy, War of 1812, 97 RQ-4 Global Hawk, 1022 RQ-11 Raven, 1056 Rudder, James, 574 “Rules” (song), 992 Rules of engagement (ROE), 1057–1058, 1084–1085 Rumsfeld, Donald, 998 Runit Island, 727 Rush, Benjamin, 42–43 Rush, Robert, 579 Russo, Joseph, 903–904 Russo-Japanese War, 412–413 Rutland, MA, 47 Ryan, Meg, 937 Sabers, 197 Sabotage, 549 Sackett’s Harbor, NY, 95 Sacramento, Battle of, 175 Saddam International Airport, 1035 Sadler, Barry, 871, 878 Sadr City, Iraq, 1055 Saenz, Jose de la Luz, 464–465 Saigon South Vietnam, 875, 879, 883 South Vietnam, fall of, 866 Saipan, 620 Salem, Peter, 22 Salon magazine, 1004 Salvation Army, 470, 472–473, 563 Samar, Philippines, 402, 417, 422, 437–439, 443–446 Samar Massacre, 417 Samarra, Battle of, 1057 Samarra, Iraq, 1037, 1057 Sampson, Deborah, 21 Sampson, William, 396, 414 San Diego, CA, 419 San Francisco, CA, 400, 407

1130 Index San Jacinto, Battle of, 172 San Juan, Puerto Rico, 407, 415 San Juan Hill, Battle of, 389, 401, 403, 406, 414–415, 425, 434–437 San Pasqual, Battle of, 176 San Patricio Battalion, 215 Sand Creek Massacre, 320 Sanitary Lessons of the War, 420 Sanitation, 42–43, 157, 207, 332 Sann’a, Yemen, 921 Santa Anna, Antonio de Lopez de, 171–172, 176–178, 201–202, 204, 208, 225–227, 229, 231 Santa Fe, New Mexico, 175 Santa Fe Trail, 175 Santiago, Battle of, 389, 391, 406, 434–437, 439–443, 446–448 Santiago, Cuba, 405 Santiago, surrender of, 412, 421 Sappers and miners, 41 Saratoga, NY, 7 Satanta, 369 Satterwhite, E. F., 495 Saturday Evening Post, 636 Saturday Night Live (television show), 992, 995 Savannah, GA, 8–9, 12, 21 Savannah River Plant, SC, 729 Scales, Robert H., 969–970 Scheck, Peter, 495 Schlichter, Charles B., 822–823 Schnabel, James, 788 Schoomaker, Eric, 1005 Schornak, Christopher, 1087–1088 Schrijvers, Peter, 554–555, 565, 575 Schuyler, Philip, 4, 6–7 Schwan, Theodore, 411 Schwartz, Patrick, 704 Schwarzkopf, H. Norman, 920–922, 924, 930, 945, 949, 966–967 Schworer, Ronald, 881 Scott, Mark Tyler, 1082–1086 Scott, Winfield, 94, 96–97, 101, 104, 112–114, 121–122, 129, 137–138, 140, 176–177, 180–181, 185–186, 189, 193, 196, 200–204, 208–210, 213–215, 237–238 Scott’s Tactics, 181 Scranton, Roy, 996 Scud missile, 923–924, 941, 944–945, 967, 971 Scurvy, 268, 333

Sea Island Terminal, 923 Search-and-destroy missions, 863, 910 Seaton, Earl, 483, 498 Secession, 1861, 256 Second Bull Run, Battle of, 256 Second Confiscation Act, 263 Second Illinois Regiment, Mexican War, 228 Second Indian Regiment, Mexican War, 228 Second Seminole War, 173, 179, 366 Second Sino-Japanese War, 617 Sectarian violence, 1035 Segregation, 541–542, 547–548, 550, 582–583, 623, 627, 707–709, 735, 789, 872 Selective Service Act (1917), 457–458, 471, 500, 540, 622, 695 Selective Service Act of 1948, 783, 827 Selective Service System, 783 Selective Training and Service Act (1940), 617, 621 Seminole Indians, 366 Senior military colleges, 929 Seoul, South Korea, 779–780, 793, 808 September 11 Attacks, 981, 990, 992, 1007, 1033, 1041, 1064–1065 Sergeant rocket, 721 Serviceman’s Readjustment Act of 1944, 583–584, 655 Services of Supply (SOS), 466, 486–487 Settlement of the American frontier, 355–356 Seven Days Battles, 256, 306 17th Parallel, 864 Seventh Army, 538–539 Seventh Corps, 420 Seventh Regiment, U.S. Infantry (Mexican War), 205–206 Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment, 725, 811, 1000, 1060 73 Easting, Battle of, 942–943, 969–970 Seward, William Henry, 386 Sexual Assault and Prevention (SAPR), 1044 Sexual harassment, 1050 Sexually transmitted diseases, 817 Shafter, William, 389, 403, 405–406, 411–412, 415, 425 Shah, Ahmad, 995 Shah, Mohammad Zahir, 979–980 Shahikot Valley, 1000

Index 1131 Shalala, Donna, 909, 1005 “The Shannon and the Chesapeake” (song), 116 Sharpshooters, 278–279 Shawnee Confederation, 335 Sheehan, Casey, 1065 Sheehan, Cindy, 1065 Shell shock, 490–491, 1004 Shenandoah Valley, 256, 296 Sheridan, Philip, 268, 319, 322, 356, 368 Sherman, William T., 227–228, 232, 257–258, 268, 299, 326 Sherman’s March to the Sea, 285 Shield, James, 185, 206–207, 238 Shiloh, Battle of, 256, 259, 277 “Shock and awe, 1033 “Short-timer syndrome,” 892 Shotguns, 413, 479–480 Sibley, Henry Hopkins, 190, 320 Siboney, Cuba, 397, 406, 415 Sicily, Invasion of, 535–536, 569–570, 573–574 Sickness, 415, 418, 437–439 Siege of Monterrey, The (poem), 193 Siegfried Line, 538, 576 Sigel, Franz, 265 Signal Corps, 551, 559, 563, 626 Signal-jamming technology, 1059 Signals, 342 Simpsons, The, (television show), 992 Simulcik, Jason, 600–601 Sinatra, Frank, 803 Sinatra, Nancy, 877 Singapore, 618, 875 Sitting Bull, 322–323, 341–342 Sixth Army Group, 538 Skirmish of the Rough Riders, The (film), 410 Skirmishes, 342, 373–378 Slavery, 21–22, 255, 270, 272 end of, 285 and the Mexican War, 211 as the opposite of freedom, 261 and the territories, 255 Sleater-Kinney (rock group), 993 Sledge, E. B., 642, 645 Sloat, John D., 172 Slovik, Eddie, 586, 657 Small-arms protective inserts (SAPI), 1048 Smallpox, 42, 419, 576

Smith, Charles “Brad,” 776–777, 784, 787–788 Smith, Francis, 3 Smith, Frank, 501–502 Smith, Jacob H., 417, 422 Smith & Wesson Firearms Company, 479 Smoot, Richard C., 1080–1082 Smyth, Alexander, 94, 103, 136 Snipers, 644–645, 669, 797, 807, 881, 1035, 1044, 1053, 1055, 1057 Snowden, Edward, 1008 Social Contract, The (book), 28 Social Darwinism, 394, 423 Social Gospel 408–409 Social media 1046, 1049–1050, 1070 Social Register, 395 Social structure, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 986–989 American Revolution, 18–22 Civil War, 262; the Confederate South, 286 Cold War, 707–712 Indian Wars, 329–330 Iraq War, 1043–1044 Korean War, 789–794 Mexican War, 184 Persian Gulf War, 929–932 Spanish-American War, 400–404 Vietnam War, 871–873 War of 1812, 105–109 World War I, 461–465 World War II in Europe, 546–552 World War II in the Pacific, 626–629 Soissons, Battle of, 484 Sok-to, South Korea, 812 Soldiers, foreign-born, 461–462 Soldiers, views of officers, 161 Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act of 1917, 497 Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act of 1940, 825 Soldier’s Handbook, The (book), 328 Solomon Islands, 618–619 Somalia, 725 Somervell, Alexander, 208 Songs, popular, 637 Sosey, Floyd, 466 Sousa, John Philip, 411 South Mountain, Battle of, 301 South Park (television show), 992

1132 Index Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO), 688 Southwestern Pacific Theater, 618 Soviet Army, 550 Soviet Army, weaponry, 925, 939 Soviet Army doctrine, 928, 986 Soviet Union, collapse of, 695 Soviet Union, perceived as a threat, 741–757 Spain, 386–387 Spanish Army, 395, 418 morale, 415 Spanish-American War Veterans Association, 403 Sparrow, John C., 782 Special Services Division, 563–564 Spence, Solomon, 284 Spencer repeating rifle, 339 Sperry, Andrew, 284 Spielberg, Steven, 993 Spies, 266 Spies Like Us (film), 993 Sports, 25, 30–31, 334, 475–476, 631, 712 Springer, Paul J., 579 Springfield Armory, 119, 196, 275, 339, 413, 477 Springfield Arsenal, 119 Springfield Model 1866 Rifle, 321, 345 Springfield Model 1873 Rifle, 339–340, 413 Springsteen, Bruce, and the E Street Band, 992 SS Oronsa, 476 St. Clair, Arthur, 6–7, 100 St. Geme, Henri, 107 St. George University (Grenada), 693 St. Johns, CA, 4 St. Lo, Battle of, 602 St. Mihiel, Battle of, 456 St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome, 562 Stalemate, 459, 809 Stalin, Joseph, 685, 687–688, 694 Stamp Act, 18 Standing armies, view of, 99, 139, 178, 215 Standing Rock Agency, 323 Stanton, Doug, 995 Stanton, Edwin M., 265, 283 Stanton, Martin, 943–944 Starry, Don, 701 “The Star Spangled Banner” (song), 116–117

“The Stars and Stripes Forever” (song) 411 Stars and Stripes magazine, 474, 500, 636, 717, 877 Status of forces agreement (SOFA), 1040 Stealth aircraft, 923 Sternberg, George, 418–420 Stevens, Robert, 827 Stevens, Thaddeus, 263 Still, Shannon, 1083 Stiner, Carl, 967 Stockton, Richard, 176 Stoddard, Amos, 121 Stokes mortars, 480 Stone, Dwight E., 702 Stone, James M., 301, 303 Stone bridge, Battle of Antietam, 302 Stony Point, NY, 8 Stop-loss policy, 985, 1041 Stouffer, Samuel, 627 Strasbourg, France, 538 Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), 691–692 Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), 692 Strategy, 356, 534–535 British and the southern colonies, 8 of George Washington, 6 Stripes (film), 717 Strong, Josiah, 408 Stryker Brigades, 1055 Stryker infantry fighting vehicle, 941, 998, 1054–1055 Studebaker Motor Company, 575 Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), 889 Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), 868–869 Stuhler, James, 828 Stur, Heather, 872 Subsistence Department, 411, 556 Subsistence Research Laboratory, 555 Substitutes, 262 Suez Canal, 534 Suicide, 353 Suicide bombing, 1002, 1035 Sukman, Jang, 801 Sulfa, 578 Sullivan, John, 66, 71 Sumner, Charles, 211, 263 “Sunni Awakening,” 983 Sunni Triangle, 1037 Supplies, 24, 35, 78, 110–111, 148, 160, 330, 333, 555–556, 559, 587

Index 1133 Supply problems, 485 Support for troops, 49 Support for war, 48, 130–131, 211–212 Surgeon General, 555 Surgery, 281–282 vascular, 817 Surrender, German, 583 Sutherland, Joel, 134–135 Sutlers, 268, 353 Swain, Richard, 934 Swalby, John, 869 Swearing, 27–28 Sweningsen, Milton, 467 Sydney, Australia, 875 Syphilis, 577 T-34 tanks, 807–808 T-55 tank, 1034 T-72 tank, 943, 969–970, 1053 Tactical defense, advantages of, 258 Tactics, 121–122, 274 Taegu, South Korea, 800 Taejon, South Korea, 777 Taft, William Howard, 393, 424 Takur Ghar, 1000 Tal Afar, Battle of, 1057 Tal Afar, Iraq, 1054, 1057 Taliban, 980–984, 993, 999–1000, 1002, 1006–1008, 1011–1012, 1020 resurgence of, 983–985 Taliban Shuffle: Strange Days in Afghanistan and Pakistan (memoir), 995 Tampa, FL, 389, 400, 405, 419 Tank urban survival kits (TUSK), 1055 Tanks, 477, 486, 498, 545, 566, 569, 571–572, 668, 939–940, 943 German, 566–567, 570 North Korean, 776 Soviet, 777, 807–808, 1053 Taraki, Nur Mohammad, 980 Tarawa, 620 Tariffs, 255 Tarleton, Banastre, 10–11, 38 Task Force 20, 1060 Task Force Redwing, 812 Task Force Smith, 776–779, 781, 784, 788, 805–807, 815 Task Force Tarawa, 1034 Tattoo and Taps, 333 Tawakalna Division, 942–943, 969

Taxation, British, 1 Taylor, Maxwell, 697 Taylor, Waller, 362 Taylor, Zachary, 172–177, 180–182, 185, 189, 196, 200–202, 205, 208–209, 214, 225, 234, 241, 362 Tea Act, 54 TEAM SPIRIT exercises, 706 Tear gas, 498 Tearing Down the Spanish Flag (film), 410 Technological advantages, over Native Americans, 354–355 Tecumseh, 95, 101, 365–366 Teheran Conference, 536 Teheran, Iran, 922 Tela, David, 883 Telegraph, 351, 438 Telephone communications, 949 Television, 802, 890, 989, 1049 Teller Amendment, 388, 391 Tenskwatawa, 335 Tenth Cavalry Regiment, 400, 402, 434–437, 462 Tents, 333 Terrain, 66, 68, 226, 277 Terrorism, 981 Tet Offensive, 866, 878, 883, 889 Tetanus, 576 Texas, annexation of, 172, 255 Texas, Republic of, 172, 208 Texas A&M University, 929 T.G.I. Friday’s restaurant, 989 Thames, Battle of the, 95, 97, 113, 120, 126 Thayer, Sylvanus, 183 Thi Tinh River, 903 Thin Red Line, The (novel), 645 Third Army, 538–539 Third Great Awakening, 335 Third Watch (television show), 992 38th Parallel, 779 Thirty-First Ohio Regiment, 299 Thomas, George H., 256 Thompson, Floyd “Jim,” 887–888 Thompson, Hugh, 876, 893–894 Thompson submachine gun, 566 Thornton, Eugenia, 711 Thornton, John, 801 Thornton, Seth B., 173, 179 Thousand Splendid Suns, A (novel), 995 Three Kings (film), 937 Thurman, Maxwell, 704 Tiger Force, 883–884

1134 Index Tigris River, 1033 Tikrit, Iraq, 1036, 1080 Tillman, Pat, 1000 Tilton, James, 127 Tim Horton’s coffee shop, 989 Tindr (website), 1011 Tinian, 620 Tippecanoe, Battle of, 126, 362 Tipton, John, 364 Tobacco usage, 796 Toilets, portable, 1063 Tokyo, Japan, 621 Tokyo General Hospital, 800 Tolkien, J. R. R., 1047 Tonkin Gulf Incident, 864 Tools, 33 Tora Bora, 981, 1000, 1020–1021 Toral, Jose, 421 Toronto Anti-Draft Program, 869 Torpedoes, 412 Torture, 422 Total Force Policy (1973), 985 Total war, 258, 268 Tour of Duty, 933 Townsend, Jill, 877 Towson, Nathanial, 194 Training Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 985–986 American Revolution, 7 Civil War, 260–262 Cold War, 700, 704–707, 712–714, 731 Indian Wars, 327 Iraq War, 1042–1043 Korean War, 778, 783–789 Mexican War, 181–183 Persian Gulf War, 927–929, 965 realism of, 544–546 Spanish-American War, 389, 398–400 Vietnam War, 870–871 War of 1812, 103–105 World War I, 458–461, 465–466, 472, 480, 505–507, 513–527 World War II in Europe, 542–546, 548–549, 552, 563, 568, 587 World War II in the Pacific, 623–626, 629 Training accidents, 544–545 Training cadres, 543 Training competitions, 713 Transport vessels, 405–406, 415, 418, 553

Transportation, 467 Transportation Corps, 551, 553, 559 Traumatic brain injury (TBI), 1004, 1011, 1060, 1063 Trauschweizer, Ingo, 695 Treadwell, Mattie, 552 Treason, 1006 Treatise of Military Discipline, A, 28 Treaty of Fort Jackson, 95, 123 Treaty of Fort Laramie, 321 Treaty of Ghent, 93, 98–99, 132 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, 178, 211 Treaty of Paris (1783), 12 Treaty of Paris (1898), 391–392, 398 Treaty of San Ildefonso, 96 Treaty of Velasco, 172 Trench foot, 484, 576, 649 Trench knives, 479 Trench warfare, 276, 298–299, 481–482, 508–509, 513–515, 521–524, 776, 778, 795–797, 809 Trenton, NJ, 5, 40 Triage, 487–489, 512–513 Tricare, 996 Trimmingham, Rupert, 547–548, 561 Trujillo, Rafael, 691 Truk, 620 Truman, Harry S., 621, 646–647, 684–688, 707, 710, 757–758, 779, 789, 793, 824, 845, 864 Truman Doctrine, 686 Trump, Donald J., 409, 985, 988–989, 1006 Truscott, Lucian, 570 Tube-launched, optically tracked wireguided (TOW) missile, 1053, 1055 Tuberculosis, 488 Tunney, Gene, 564 Turkey, 690 Turner, Frederick Jackson, 356 Tuy Hoa City, South Vietnam, 883 Twain, Mark (Samuel Clemens), 391, 423 12 Strong (film), 995 Twenty-Fifth Infantry Regiment, 400, 402, 462 Twenty-First Massachusetts Regiment (Civil War), 301 Twenty-Fourth Infantry Regiment, 400, 402, 462 Twenty-Second Infantry Regiment, 426 Twiggs, David E., 203–204, 235, 240, 244 Twitter (website), 1050 Tyler, John, 172

Index 1135 Typhoid fever, 346, 476 Typhus, 419, 576, 649 U Minh Forest, South Vietnam, 883 U-boats, 581 UH-1 Huey helicopter, 880, 883, 905–907 UH60 Black Hawk helicopter, 722, 726, 941, 999 Uijongbu Corridor, South Korea, 779 “Uncle Sam” (character), 117 Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), 657, 827 Uniform Militia Act of 1792, 100 Uniforms/clothing Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 989–990 American Revolution, 24–25, 44, 78 Civil War, 268, 280 Indian Wars, 330, 334, 338 Iraq War, 1047 Mexican War, 188–189, 195 Persian Gulf War, 922–923, 933–934 Spanish-American War, 406 Vietnam War, 874–875 War of 1812, 111–113, 148, 154 World War I, 468–469, 484 World War II in Europe, 557–558, 576 World War II in the Pacific, 630–631 Union of Soviet Socialist Republic (USSR), collapse of, 921 Unit cohesion, 485, 645 United 93 (film), 993 United Brethren of the War of 1812, 134–135 United Methodist Church, 408 United Nations, 778–779 creation, 782 United Nations Command, 780, 791, 808–809 United Nations Security Council, 919, 952 United Nations Security Council Resolution 660, 920 United Nations Security Council Resolution 661, 920 United Service Organizations (USO), 563–564, 636–637, 803, 877, 934–935, 1049–1050 Uniting and Strengthening America by Fulfilling Rights and Ending Eavesdropping, Dragnet-collection and Online Monitoring Act (USA FREEDOM Act), 1008

Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act (USA PATRIOT ACT), 1007 Universal camouflage pattern (UCP), 1047 University of North Georgia, 929 Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV), 1022 Unrestricted Submarine Warfare, 455 Upton, Emory, 399 U.S. Army Air Forces, 541, 622–624 U.S. Army Chaplain Corps, 715–716, 799–801 U.S. Army Continental Army Command (CONARC), 700 U.S. Army Delta Force, 944, 999, 1002, 1021, 1060 U.S. Army Europe (USAREUR), 697 U.S. Army Green Berets, 698, 945 U.S. Army Ground Forces, 624, 695, 784 U.S. Army Infantry School, 725 U.S. Army Medical Corps, 885 U.S. Army Medical Department, 406, 726, 815 U.S. Army Military History Institute, 496 U.S. Army Ordnance Department, 477 U.S. Army Ranger School, 987 U.S. Army Rangers, 573–574, 587, 647, 724–725, 809–811, 944, 1000, 1002, 1060, 1082 U.S. Army Recruiting Command, 704 U.S. Army Service Forces, 624, 724–725, 941, 944–945, 981, 987, 995, 1002, 1020, 1082 U.S. Army Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC), 699–701, 928, 1039 U.S. Army Armored Force, 569 atheist soldiers, 716, 801 authorized strength, 178 boredom of soldiers, 664–665 branches of service, 930 Buddhist soldiers, 560, 632, 716 Catholic soldiers, 462, 469–470, 560–561, 632, 801, 1048–1049 chapels, 561 Chinese American soldiers, 627 Christian Scientist soldiers, 470, 560 Christian soldiers, 632–633, 716 communications, 664–665, 777, 1022 costs, 426, 986

1136 Index U.S. Army (cont.) demographics, 461–462, 469–470, 789–790, 794, 801, 887, 931–932, 986, 988 dissent within, 733 doctrine: Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 986; Cold War, 695–697, 699; Indian Wars, 356; Iraq War 1057, 1060; Korean War, 785; Persian Gulf War, 928–929, 942–943; World War II in Europe, 533, 544–546, 568–569, 573 education of soldiers, 703–704, 708–709, 735, 783–785, 868, 925–926, 929, 937–938, 972, 1049 field kitchens, 467 Filipino American soldiers, 627 footwear, 558, 576, 819–820 in France, 554, 557, 570–571, 602 gay soldiers, 552 in Germany, 714, 733 Greek Orthodox soldiers, 470, 560 Hawaiian soldiers, 627 headgear, 875 health of troops, 487–491 helmets, 558, 631, 875, 1047–1048 Hindu soldiers, 632, 716 Hispanic soldiers, 464–465, 550, 931–932 hygiene, 1043, 1063 integration, 789 Japanese American soldiers, 549, 627, 654 Jewish soldiers, 462, 470, 560–561, 632, 801 Latino soldiers, 550, 627, 931–932, 988 literacy rate, 785, 937 living conditions, 554–555, 559 medics, 488–489, 577, 601, 648, 885, 1062 morale, American Revolution, 9, 40 morale, Cold War, 710, 734 morale, Indian Wars, 334, 354 morale, Iraq War, 1087–1088 morale, Korean War, 797–798, 800, 804–805, 877 morale, Mexican War, 191 morale, Persian Gulf War, 933, 951–952 morale, Spanish-American War, 406, 410–411, 419, 421, 426 morale, Vietnam War, 892, 910

morale, World War I, 459, 462, 471, 473, 484–485, 494–496, 516 morale, World War II in Europe, 603–604 morale, World War II in the Pacific, 631–632, 644, 664–665 Muslim soldiers, 470, 632, 716 Native American soldiers, 464–465, 627, 632 non-commissioned officers, 459, 466, 626, 929–930 occupation duties, 778, 786, 795 officers, 411, 434–437, 459, 466, 469, 476, 625–626, 638–639, 645,929, 988 pay raises, 719 pay rates, 412, 564–565, 638, 1051–1052 pensions, 718 personnel shortages, 785–786 promotion system, 459 Protestant soldiers, 469–470, 560–561, 632, 801, 991, 1048–1049 Puerto Rican soldiers, 627, 827 readiness, 782 recruitment, 703–704, 711, 782, 784, 826–827, 867, 937, 985, 996, 1041–1042 re-enlistment, 996, 1051 regulations, 467, 499, 513–527 replacement soldiers, 882 size of, Cold War, 695–696, 698–699, 702 size of, Korean War, 781–784 size of, Persian Gulf War, 985 size of, Spanish-American War, 395, 398 size of, War of 1812, 101 size of, World War I, 455–458, 465, 482 size of, World War II in Europe, 534, 540–542, 544, 586 size of, World War II in the Pacific, 618, 622, 626–627, 644, 648, 655 supplies, 404–406 training exercises, 786–787 transgendered soldiers, 988–989 troop rotation, 797–799 in United Kingdom, 553–554, 565 in works of fiction, 337 U.S. Census Bureau, 997 U.S. Central Command, 920, 922 U.S. Congress, 618, 838–844, 970–973 U.S. Constabulary, 723

Index 1137 U.S. Department of Defense budget, 696, 701 Final Report to Congress on the Persian Gulf War, 964–969 U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, 1005–1006, 1065–1066 U.S. Employment Service, 497 U.S. Marine Corps, 389, 414, 456, 508–509, 541, 618, 781, 998 U.S. Marine Force Recon, 1002 U.S. Military Academy at West Point, 100, 138, 140, 173, 182–183, 205, 268, 326–329, 547, 625–626, 929–930, 984, 1042 graduates of, 177–178, 198 U.S. Navy, 541 preparations for war, 395–396 size of, 395, 412 U.S. Navy SEALs, 983–984, 1000, 1005 U.S. Senate Armed Services Committee, 693, 1022–1024 U.S. Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, 1020–1021 U.S. Veterans Administration, 498, 656, 727–728, 732, 950, 972 U.S. Veterans Bureau, 498 U.S. War Department, 94, 140, 330–331, 396, 400, 405, 411, 427, 459–460, 465–466, 513, 542, 548–549 USS Chesapeake, 92 USS Cole, 1007 USS Consolation, 813–814 USS Maine, 387–388, 395, 410, 412, 418, 423 USS Ranger, 935 USS Vesuvius, 412 V-22 Osprey, 999 Valley Forge, PA, 5, 23–24, 76 Van Rensselaer, Stephen, 94 Vancouver Barracks, 319 Vandegrift, Alexander, 633 Vann-Lejasz, Sandra L., 927 Vedette, 213 Vehicle Patrol Bases (VPB), 989 Vehicle-borne improvised explosive device (VBIED), 1059 Venereal disease, 488, 500–501, 541, 563–564, 576–577, 817 Vera Cruz, siege of, 237–239 Veracruz, Mexico, 185 landing near, 177, 180, 201, 203, 205, 215 Vernon, Alex, 944

Vestal, Stanley, 319 Veterans, 351–352 Veterans’ associations, 426 Veterans Bureau, 732 Veterans Health Administration (VHA), 732, 1005 Veterans’ issues, Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 1009–1010 American Revolution, 49–50 Civil War, 286–288 Cold War, 732–733 Indian Wars, 351–352 Iraq War, 1065–1066 Korean War, 825–826 Mexican War, 212–213 Persian Gulf War, 949–951 Spanish-American War, 425–426 Vietnam War, 867, 890–892 War of 1812, 132–135 World War I, 496–498 World War II in Europe, 583–584 World War II in the Pacific, 655–656 Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States (VFW), 426 Veterans Readjustment Act (1952), 825–826 Veterans disability rates, 497, 1066 numbers of, 732 suicide rates, 1010, 1066 unemployment rates, 1009–1010, 1066 Vezza, Andrew, 908–909 Vicksburg, MS, 257–258 Video games, 989, 1046, 1049 Viet Cong, 865, 904–907, 909 Viet Minh, 864 “Vietnam Syndrome,” 693 Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW), 890–891 Vietnam Veterans Memorial, 867, 892, 909 Vietnam Veterans of America, 891–892 Vietnam War, overview, 698–699, 863–867 Vietnamization, 866, 892–893 Villingen, Germany, 492 Virginia House of Burgesses, 2 Virginia Military Institute, 929 Virginia Polytechnic Institute, 929 Virginian, The (novel), 336 Viven-Bessiere rifle grenade, 479

1138 Index Volunteer Army (VOLAR) era, 702–703, 712, 717 Volunteer Bill of 1899, 398 Von Steuben, Baron Friedrich Wilhelm, 7, 11, 18, 53, 102 Vosges Mountains, 538, 572 Voss, Doug, 706 Vuic, Kara Dixon, 872 Vung Tau, South Vietnam, 875 Vuono, Carl, 966 Wabash River, 362 Wadi Al-Batin, Battle of, 969–970 Wagner, Jacob, 131 Wagon Train, 337 Wahabbism, 990 Wahlberg, Mark, 937 Wake Island, 618, 650 Wake Island (film), 637 Waldo, Albigence, 76 Walker, Adam, 160 Walker, George, 500–501 Walker, James, 189 Walker, Walton H., 787–788 Wallace, Lew, 282–283 Waller, Littleton, 422 Walter Reed Army Medical Center, 886, 972, 1004–1005, 1062 Wanat, Afghanistan, 983, 1000 Wanat, Battle of, 983, 997, 1000 War (book), 994 War, declarations of, 385–386, 388, 395, 533–534, 618, 621 War Advertising Council, 653 War bonds, 581 War crimes trials, 651 War Food Administration, 652 War Hawks, 92 War Labor Board, 652 War Machine (film), 995 War Manpower Commission, 542, 652 War of the Worlds (film), 993 War on Terror, 990, 992, 996, 1007, 1023, 1033, 1041, 1064–1065 War Pension Act of 1818, 50 War Production Board (WPB), 581, 652 War Risk Insurance, 497 Ward, Artemas, 3 Warden, John, III, 923 Warren, Joseph, 3 Wars, undeclared, 775–781 Warsaw Pact, 685, 688–689, 695, 706, 723

Wartime objectives, 580 Washington, D.C., 98, 152, 154, 256, 400 Washington, Denzel, 937 Washington, George, 3–7, 12–14, 18–19, 21, 23–28, 30, 32–35, 38–42, 46, 48, 51–52, 79–81, 100 Farewell Address, 91 military education, 16 strategy of, 34 Washington, William, 10–11 Washington Package Research and Development Laboratory, 555 Washita, Battle of the, 370 Water cure, 422 Water requirements, 932, 1045, 1063 Waters, Edward J., 560 Watkins, Sam, 272, 277, 303, 305 Watters, Charles, 876 Wayne, Anthony, 9, 51 Wayne, John, 877 Waziristan, Pakistan, 983 Wealth of Nations (book), 28 Weaponry, U.S. army Afghanistan War and the War on Terror, 997–999 American Revolution, 33–35 Civil War, 274–276 Cold War, 700–701, 719–722 Indian Wars, 339–341 Iraq War, 1052–1056, 1069 Korean War, 777, 805–808 Mexican War, 195–198 Persian Gulf War, 925, 938–942, 965 Spanish-American War, 412–414 Vietnam War, 879–881 War of 1812, 119–121 World War I, 477–480 World War II in Europe, 565–568 World War II in the Pacific, 639–644 Weapons of mass destruction, 981, 1033, 1060, 1065 Weather American Revolution, 24, 71, 77 Civil War, 266 Indian Wars, 332, 334 Iraq War, 1062–1063 Korean War, 796, 818–819 Persian Gulf War, 932, 946, 968 World War I, 469, 484 World War II in Europe, 538, 554, 557–558, 575 World War II in the Pacific, 658

Index 1139 Weather-related injuries, 818–819 Webb, Marshall, 596–597 Weigley, Russell, 784 Weinstein, Michael, 991 Wellesley, Arthur, Duke of Wellington, 204 West Wing (television show), 992 West, Horace T., 578–579 West, settlement of, 318–319 Western Chase University, 872 Western films, 336–337 Westmoreland, William C., 865 Westover, Wendell, 482 Weyler, Valeriano, 387 Weymouth, England, 560 Wheeler, Joseph, 404, 415 Whig Party, 172 Whipple, Abraham, 39 Whiskey Rebellion, 100 Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (film), 995 White, Ashley, 987 White, Maunsel, 107 White Loon, 365 “White Man’s Burden” (poem), 394, 410 White Plains, Battle of, 63–64 Whitney, Eli, 196, 274 Why We Fight (film series), 637 Wickens, Terry, 826 Wilderness Campaign, 276–277 Williams, Otho, 10 Williams, William, 200 Wilmot, David, 211 Wilson, Woodrow, 455, 493, 499 Winchester Firearms Company, 477 Winder, William, 97 Winthrop, John, 408 Wirz, Henry, 284 Wister, Owen, 336 Women’s Armed Service Integration Act (1948), 710, 793 Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC), 550–552, 628 Women’s Army Corps (WAC), 550–552, 628–629, 705, 710–711, 735 Women’s Rights Movement, 552, 656, 871 Women’s Service Integration Act (1948), 656 Wood, Leonard, 397, 470

Woods, John, 137 Wool, John E., 175–176, 201–202, 226, 229, 231–233 World Trade Center, 992–993, 1041 World Trade Center (film), 993 World War Adjusted Compensation Act of 1924, 498 Worth, William Jenkins, 200, 203–204, 235 Wounded Knee Creek Massacre, 324, 344 Wounds, 346–347 from arrows, 347–348 self-inflicted, 501 treatment of, 207 Wovoka, 336 Wu Tang Clan, 992 X, Y, Z affair, 91 Yalta Agreement, 684, 687 Yalta Conference, 539, 684 Yalu River, 791, 808, 812 Yamamoto, Isoroku, 637 Yank magazine, 547, 636, 663–671 “Yankee Doodle” (song), 116, 194 Yechon, South Korea, 790 Yellow Birds, The (novel), 996 Yellow fever, 42 Yellow Fever Commission, 418–419 Yellow journalism, 423 “The Yellow Kid” (Cartoon Strip), 410 Yeosock, John, 966 Yom Kippur War, 700, 706, 939 York, Alvin, 470–471 York, Canada, 94, 101 Yorktown, VA, 11–12 Young, Charles, 401 Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), 472–475, 563, 580 Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA), 563 Ypres, Battle of, 482 Yucca Flats, NV, 727 Zero Dark Thirty (film), 994–995 Zimmerman Telegram, 455 Zoauve regiments, Civil War, 268 Zoolander (film), 992 Zoot suit, 582

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