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History, Europe

But the RAF’s raid on the mountain had been in vain. Templeman-Rooke had been misinformed—the Führer was not in residence.

Here's What You Need To Remember: None of the Nazi leaders were present. But the alpine pleasure complex - a sort of Nazi Camp David - was heavily damaged by the raid.

Adolf Hitler believed in Vorsehung (providence). The German leader felt that if anything was going to happen to him, such as assassination, there was nothing he could do about it. He had been selected by fate to achieve something great; he would not die, either by accident or assassination, until he had fulfilled that God-given mission.Time and time again in the past, providence, not planning, had taken care of him. In 1933, for instance, just before he became master of the Third Reich, he was involved in a terrible car crash with a truck. He emerged from the wreckage stating that he could not die yet—his mission had not yet been achieved.

It was the same with assassination attempts. Hitler explained that he had many enemies and expected disgruntled Germans and others to try to kill him. But they would never succeed, especially if they came from the German working class. He used to state to his staff quite categorically, “Mil tut kein deutscher Arbeiter was” (“No German worker will ever do anything to me.”). Once, when he was advised by worried police to use the back entrance to a noisy and angry meeting of workers, Hitler snorted, “I am not going through any back door to meet my workers!”

As for those aristocratic Monokelfritzen (Monocle Fritzes, those high-born, monocled aristocrats Hitler had hated with a passion ever since the Great War), both civilian and military, whom he knew from his intelligence sources had been trying to eradicate him in these last years of the 1930s, he was confident that this personal providence would save him. And in truth, until the very end, providence did protect Hitler from all the attempts on his life, including the generals’ plot to kill him in July 1944.

Naturally, ever since Hitler’s election as chancellor in 1933, his security guards had taken secret precautions to protect him. Like some medieval potentate, all the Führer’s food was checked daily before it was served to him. Each day, his personal doctor had to report that the Führer’s food supplies were free of poison. Party Secretary Martin Bormann ran daily checks on the water at any place where the Führer might stay to ascertain whether it might contain any toxic substances.

Later, when Bormann, in his usual fawning manner, started to grow “bio-vegetables” in his Berchtesgaden gardens for the Führer’s consumption, Hitler’s staff would not allow the produce to appear on the master’s vegetarian menu. Once, just before the war, a bouquet of roses was thrown into the Führer’s open Mercedes. One of his SS adjutants picked it up and a day later started to show the symptoms of poisoning. The roses were examined and found to be impregnated with a poison that could be absorbed through the skin. Thereafter, the order was given out secretly that no “admirer” should be allowed to throw flowers into Hitler’s car. In addition, from then on, adjutants would wear gloves.

“We Have not Reached the Stage in Our Diplomacy When We Have to Use Assassination as a Substitute for Diplomacy.”

On another occasion, Hitler, who loved dogs (some said more than human beings), was given a puppy by a supposed admirer. It turned out that the cuddly little dog had been deliberately infected with rabies. Fortunately for Hitler, and not so fortunately for the rest of humanity, the puppy bit a servant before it bit him. It seemed that Hitler’s vaunted providence had taken care of him yet again.

Thereafter, plan after plan was drawn up to kill Hitler by his German and Anglo-American enemies. All failed. Although back in 1939, the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Halifax, had stated, “We have not reached the stage in our diplomacy when we have to use assassination as a substitute for diplomacy.” Prime Minister Winston Churchill decided in April 1945, however, that Hitler must die—by assassination! He gave the task to his most ruthless and anti-German commander, Sir Arthur “Bomber” Harris, the head of Royal Air Force Bomber Command, whose aircrews often called him bitterly “Butcher” Harris.

Back in the summer of 1943, Harris had sworn that Berlin would be “hammered until the heart of Nazi Germany would cease to exist.” Hard man that he was, Harris had once been stopped by a young policeman and told if he continued to speed in his big American car, he would kill someone. Coldly, “Bomber” had replied, “Young man, I kill hundreds every night.” He now ordered that Hitler should be dealt with at last in his own home. The Führer had escaped, so Allied intelligence reasoned, from his ruined capital Berlin. So where could he be? The answer was obvious. “Wolf,” the alias Hitler had used before he achieved power in 1933, had returned to his mountain lair.

In that last week of April 1945, Allied intelligence felt there were only two possible places where Hitler might now be holed up since his East Prussian headquarters had been overrun by the Red Army. Either he was in Berlin, or at his Eagle’s Nest in the Bavarian Alps above the township of Berchtesgaden. Reports coming from Switzerland and relayed to Washington and London by Allen Dulles of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) stated that the Germans were building up a kind of last-ditch mountain fortress in the Austrian-German Alps, so Allied intelligence was inclined to think that Hitler had already headed for Berchtesgaden where he could lead the Nazis’ fight to the finish. The bulk of the Reichsbank’s gold bullion had already been sent to the area to disappear in perhaps the biggest robbery in history.

Luftwaffe chief Hermann Göring had gone in the same direction, followed by Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop, who had taken up residence in his stolen Austrian castle. More importantly, SS General Sepp Dietrich’s beaten 6th SS Panzer Army was retreating from Hungary, followed by the Red Army, heading for Austria and the same general area. Thus, the Allied planners decided that if they were finally going to assassinate Hitler, they would find him in his mountain home—built for him over the last decade by Bormann. Prominent Nazis, the Prominenz, just like Mafia chieftains, had erected their own homes in Berchtesgaden to be close to Hitler.

Once it had simply been a rural beauty spot, with a couple of modest hotels surrounded by small hill farms that had been in the same hands for centuries. Bormann changed all that. He bribed, threatened, and blackmailed the Erbbaueren (the hereditary farmers, as they were called) to abandon their farms. He sold their land at premium rates to fellow Nazis and then, as war loomed, erected a military complex to protect the Führer whenever he was in residence on the mountain among the “Mountain People,” as the Nazis called themselves. After he completed his 50th birthday present for the Führer, the Eagle’s Nest, which Hitler visited only five times and which cost 30 million marks to construct, Bormann turned his attention to making the whole mountain complex as secure as possible, both from the land and the air.

Bormann, the “Brown Eminence” as he was known, the secretive party secretary, who in reality wielded more power on the German home front than Hitler himself, declared the whole mountain sperrgebiet (off limits). A battalion of the Waffen SS was stationed there permanently. Together with mountain troops from nearby Bad Reichenhall, the SS patrolled the boundaries of this prohibited area 24 hours a day, something the British planners of Operation Foxley, a land attack planned by the British in February 1945, had not reckoned with.

If Anyone Could, Harris Swore, He Would Blast Berchtesgaden Off the Map.

Then, Bormann turned his attention to the threat of an air attack. Great air raid shelters were dug, not only for the Führer and the Prominenz, but also for the guards, servants, and foreign workers—there was even a cinema, which could hold 8,000 people. Chemical companies were brought in and stationed at strategic points on the mountain. As soon as the first warning of an enemy air attack was given, they could produce a smoke screen, which, in theory, could cover the key parts of the area in a matter of minutes. Finally, there were the fighter bases such as Furstenfeldbruck in the Munich area where planes could be scrambled to ward off any aerial attack from the west or indeed over the Alps from the newer Allied air bases in Italy.

Whether it was because of Bormann’s precautions, the problem of flying over the Alps in a heavy, bomb-laden aircraft, or Allied scruples about bombing an enemy politician’s home, the mountain had not been seriously troubled by air raids until now. Bomber Harris was determined to end all that. If anyone could, Harris swore, he would blast Berchtesgaden off the map.

To do so, he picked one of his most experienced bomber commanders: 24-year-old Wing Commander Basil Templeman-Rooke, who had begun his bomber career in 1943. By the end of that year, he had already been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) and more importantly had flown over the Alps to bomb Turin in the hope that a bombing raid on that city, so far away from England, would encourage the Italians to surrender. After one tour of duty, Templeman-Rooke commenced another one in May 1944. He took part in the D-Day preinvasion bombing of French railways, storage depots, and other targets, and then in the attacks on V-1 buzz bomb sites after the invasion.

The controversial bombing of Dresden followed in February 1945. Shortly thereafter, Templemann-Rooke had been given the command of the Royal Air Force’s 170 Squadron and awarded a Bar to his DFC. In March, he received the Distinguished Service Order. For Harris, the young squadron commander must have seemed the ideal leader for what he had in mind for 170 Squadron. He was young, brave, very experienced and, above all, lucky. In his two years of combat, he had survived over 40 missions, and even when he had been hit by flak over Gelsenkirchen, he had brought his Avro Lancaster bomber back on two engines and crash-landed the four-engine plane without injury. Now, Harris ordered Templeman-Rooke to fly his squadron’s last combat mission of the war, its target perhaps the most important one left in Germany during April 1945.

For days now, although the hilltops were still covered with snow down to 900 meters and causing fog, reconnaissance planes kept flying over the mountain, setting off the wail of the sirens and sending the populace scurrying for the shelters. Then, once again the smoke screen would descend on the deserted homes of the Prominenz. For even Hitler’s most devoted followers had reasoned that the mountain was no place to be at this stage of the war. Still, there had as yet been no attempt to bomb the area.

That changed at 0930 on Wednesday, April 25, 1945. On the half hour precisely, the pre-alarm sirens started to sound. Obediently, the locals began to file into their air raid shelters, believing that, as usual, nothing much would happen. This time they were wrong. Most of the mountain, right up to the Eagle’s Nest at 9,300 feet, was obscured by fog. This time, on Harris’s order, 170 Squadron, part of a force of 318 Lancasters, was determined to carry out its mission. Within half an hour of the pre-alarm being sounded, the first bombs were raining down on the twin heights of Klaus-and-Buchenhoehe.

Then came the second raid. According to German reports, the Lancasters swept in shortly afterward, dropping 500-pound bombs. Immediately, they hit Hitler’s Berghof, where back in what now seemed another age, the Führer had once received British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, the “Umbrella Man,” as the Germans had mocked him due to his appearance. Afterward, as German eyewitnesses recorded, the interior looked like a landscape after an earthquake. Göring’s house, demolished together with his swimming pool, followed. Bormann’s house received a direct hit. The only place that was not destroyed or damaged was the Eagle’s Nest. It had been well camouflaged with tin leaves and was perhaps too small a target for Harris’s men. But as the bombers swept on to attack nearby Bad Reichenhall, where 200 people were killed that day, they left behind them only smoking wreckage, which would be added to when the SS guards retreated, setting fire to everything they could not loot.

But the RAF’s raid on the mountain had been in vain. Templeman-Rooke had been misinformed—the Führer was not in residence. He had remained in his bunker, spared yet again by the “providence” in which he believed so strongly. But he knew he could not go on forever. As he declared to anyone still prepared to listen to him in his Berlin bunker, he was not going to die at “the hands of the mob” like his friend and fellow dictator Mussolini. Nor was he going to allow himself to be “paraded through the streets of Moscow” in a cage. So, a broken man, embittered at the failings of his own people, and perhaps a little mad, the leader who had survived so many assassination attempts died by his own hand. His “providence” had run out at last.

Even today, at a certain angle, one can see the series of depressions leading up to where Göring’s house was, marking one bomber’s run into the attack. Of the house itself only a few steps remain next to some bushes where visitors allow their dogs to do their business—“Hundepissecke” the locals call it. One wonders what roly-poly Göring would have said. Probably, he would have reached for his shotgun and started blazing away; he was always very keen to shoot anything on four legs.

Charles Whiting has contributed regularly to WWII History. He has written a number of well-received books, which have sold millions of copies worldwide.

This article originally appeared on Warfare History Network.

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Kris Osborn

U.S. Naval Forces,

In the event of some kind of major power warfare on the open seas, allied combat support for U.S. Naval forces at war is something which could not be understated.

In the event of some kind of major power warfare on the open seas, allied combat support for U.S. Naval forces at war is something which could not be understated as it would not only massively expand the size and reach of a collective force engaged in combat but also share node-to-node information across vast, seemingly unpassable distances and domains. 

A new Naval war strategy document specifically cites some of the decisive,  crucial roles allies would need to play in any kind of massive Naval war engagement. Of course, allied forces would naturally figure prominently in the event of large scale ocean war, yet one interesting point made by the new strategy explains that the mere presence and involvement of allies may simply stop war from happening in the first place. 

“Alliances and partnerships are true force multipliers in times of crisis. Partner and ally deployments of combat-credible forces increase the legitimacy of our response, strengthen our deterrence, and demonstrate multinational resolve,” the text of the strategy, called “Advantage at Sea .. Prevailing With Integrated All Domain Naval Power,” states. 

It is also likely not by accident that the text of the strategy makes a point to emphasize U.S.-allied information sharing and surveillance operations, something naturally able to exponentially expand and strengthen the operational reach of any force immersed in war. 

“They (allies) further contribute by providing intelligence, logistics, cyber, and space capabilities. They also provide specialty capabilities, such as mine warfare and anti submarine warfare. Finally, our alliance and partner forces help secure sea-lanes and maintain global maritime security,” the strategy writes.  

This kind of tactical reality might almost immediately come to mind regarding two major, high-risk theaters of possible war… the Pacific and Europe, of course relating specifically to Russia and China to a large extent. As part of this, the strategy makes a clear reference to logistics and allied collaboration when it comes to enabling war operations. 

“They interdict adversary war materials and commerce; provide access, basing, and overflight; and deliver additional critical capabilities, such as intelligence and logistics support. Allies and partners will also play a crucial role in deterring opportunistic aggression in additional theaters, as well as maintaining maritime governance and exposing malign behavior,” the strategy writes. 

These factors may be part of why U.S. Navy destroyers regularly operate in the Black Sea demonstrating interoperability and solidarity with several Eastern European allies, many of which are NATO-aligned.  In a manner naturally fully aligned with this kind of regional activity, the U.S. Navy also makes a routine point of engaging in war preparations, exercises and training opportunities with major NATO allies in places such as the Baltic Sea, an area of great tactical relevance because it affords attack or long-range fire possibilities into Russian territory in the event of any kind of major warfare.

The relevance of the Pacific and U.S. Southeastern Asia allies is of course vital to the point wherein it might seem almost too obvious to mention, however, data sharing, surveillance, and maritime-oriented war preparations indeed take on new operational relevance in an area as vast and widely dispersed as the Asian theater. 

“Allies and partners add capability, capacity, and legitimacy in combat operations. Leveraging our interoperable C2 networks, allies and partners provide all-domain fires to help establish sea control and project power.” 

Kris Osborn is the defense editor for the National Interest. Osborn previously served at the Pentagon as a Highly Qualified Expert with the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Army—Acquisition, Logistics & Technology. Osborn has also worked as an anchor and on-air military specialist at national TV networks. He has appeared as a guest military expert on Fox News, MSNBC, The Military Channel, and The History Channel. He also has a Masters Degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University.

Warfare History Network

History, Europe

Raeder was doomed to fail before he even began.

Here's What You Need To Remember: Geography doomed the Kriegsmarine. The Royal Navy was able to keep it mostly contained to the Atlantic Coast, and there was no massive Jutland-style naval battle in World War II. This did not, however, prevent hundreds of U-Boats from slipping past the Royal Navy and wreaking havoc in the Atlantic.

On the nights of August 21 and 24, 1939, two dark ships slipped out of the German naval base at Wilhelmshaven and turned west toward the English Channel. Forty-eight hours later they were well out into the broad Atlantic Ocean, safe from prying British eyes. They were two of the Kriegsmarine’s most innovative warships, the compact but powerful pocket battleships Admiral Graf Spee and Deutschland. Each was armed with six 11-inch guns and could range for nearly 10,000 miles, prowling the seas for vulnerable prey.

A week before Hitler’s attack on Poland, Germany was already preparing to initiate Grand Admiral Erich Raeder’s Plan Z, the daring surface campaign to destroy Britain’s military and commercial sea trade.

The two ships were the vanguard of what Raeder hoped would eventually be dozens of fast and potent cruisers and battleships that would disrupt and destroy the Allies’ sea lanes and starve England into surrender.

At the war’s outset, Britain possessed about 2,000 merchant ships and another 1,000 coastal vessels of less than 2,000 tons each. This added up to around four million tons of cargo capacity. Another three million tons came from countries conquered by Germany, while another million tons were being launched each year. Britain required about 55 million tons of imports— consisting of food, oil, cotton, wool, and other industrial products—to sustain it. Raeder’s goal was to sink more tonnage than Britain could endure and force the capitulation. In essence, his raiders had to sink ships faster than Britain could replace them. As events proved, Raeder was doomed to fail before he even began.

Grand Admiral Erich Raeder led the Kriegsmarine until he fell out of favor with Hitler.

Erich Raeder, who had risen to command the Kriegsmarine after a career that went back to being a junior officer aboard Kaiser Wilhelm II’s yacht Hohenzollern to the post of chief of staff for Admiral Franz von Hipper’s battlecruiser force in the Great War, was a strong advocate of fast surface commerce raiders. They had proved successful during World War I, even if their impact on the outcome was negligible. The most successful surface raider was the light cruiser SMS Emden. In three months in the Indian Ocean, Emden sank two Allied warships and captured or sank 16 merchant vessels totaling 70,000 tons. Emden was undoubtedly Raeder’s inspiration for his vision of fast raiders running wild through Allied shipping. But he failed to give much credibility to the U-boat campaign of World War I. Although the U-boats were often hampered by the diplomatic need to appease neutral nations who violently opposed unrestricted submarine warfare, in 51 months the 371 U-boats sank 5,282 British, Allied, and neutral merchant ships totaling more than 11 million tons.

Ignoring this persuasive statistic, Raeder had convinced Adolf Hitler that a surface fleet was essential to victory at sea. In January 1939, he proposed his Plan Z, envisioning a huge fleet of battleships, heavy cruisers, and aircraft carriers that would roam and dominate the seas by 1948. Hitler had promised his fleet commander that there would be no war until at least 1944, giving Raeder a healthy margin of time to carry out his grand building program. 

But in the summer of 1939, Raeder learned of the planned invasion of Poland. Even though there was little doubt that Britain would quickly become involved, Hitler forged ahead, disrupting Raeder’s carefully laid plans to build a huge surface fleet. Faced with a fait accompli, Raeder used what few large surface warships he possessed to support Hitler’s grand campaigns.

But Raeder was more of a tactician than a strategist, a remnant of his time with the battlecruisers under Hipper. He never developed a broad strategy, instead using his meager force in hit and run raids and attacks. Additionally, Raeder gave little thought to U-boats as a viable means of cutting the Allied sea lanes. But his greatest blunder was that he failed to recognize the nearly two decades of advances in aviation, marine technology, and radar that made a surface fleet more of a target than a threat.

His shortsighted dogmas condemned the Kriegsmarine to defeat.

Erich Raeder was not only up against the powerful Royal Navy, but the former First Lord of the Admiralty and later Prime Minister Winston Churchill, whose devotion to the Navy was close to reverence. Churchill gave the Navy all the support it needed to assure Britain’s survival.

The German battleship Bismarck posed a tremendous threat to Allied shipping with its main 15-inch gun batteries. Bismarck was hunted down and sunk by Royal Navy warships in 1941.

The last thing Churchill and the Admiralty wanted was for the distinctive shape of a huge German battleship to come out of the misty horizon and open fire with its heavy guns on a helpless convoy of tankers and transports.  A salvo of heavy 8-inch or 11-inch high-explosive shells screaming out of the sky like angels of death could be devastating. The thin-skinned merchant ships could be sunk in minutes, leaving their crews to flounder and die in the freezing sea. Germany’s powerful ships would be wolves in the fold, unstoppable and deadly.

Raeder lacked the strength and time to make a significant contribution to the Third Reich’s war aims, but he doggedly followed a radically shrunken version of his original raiding plan. His only advantage was that the Royal Navy was largely equipped with vessels that had been launched during or shortly after the Great War. They were mostly older, slower battleships and battlecruisers with a leavening of light cruisers and destroyers.

However, Raeder’s ships were all new, having been launched since 1931 and fitted with the latest naval technology and engines. They were for the most part fast, heavily armed and armored and were the equal of their larger British counterparts. But there were too few of them.

The numbers leave little doubt as to the inevitable outcome. Even at a fraction of its former glory, the British Home Fleet consisted of seven battleships, two battlecruisers, four aircraft carriers, 21 cruisers, more than 50 destroyers, and 20 submarines. The navies of Canada, New Zealand, and Australia added their own strength to this huge armada. Against this Raeder never had more than 10 powerful warships. Three were the so-called “pocket battleships” Deutschland, Admiral Graf Spee, and Admiral Scheer. In Germany they were officially called Panzerschiffen, or “armored ships.” They carried two triple turrets with six 11-inch guns. They were registered as being 10,000 tons each but actually displaced over 12,000 tons. Three 14,500-ton Admiral Hipper-class cruisers, Hipper, Blucher, and Prinz Eugen, each carried eight 8-inch guns in four turrets. Formidable in themselves, they were soon superseded by two larger vessels, which were called heavy cruisers but were in fact battleships. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, launched in 1936, each carried nine 11-inch guns in three turrets. While they were officially registered as displacing 19,000 tons, their registered gross tonnage was closer to 32,000. This made them larger than any German warship ever constructed up to that time, but Raeder was not finished. His planned armada was only partially complete.

The zenith of Raeder’s raider fleet were the huge new battleships Bismarck and Tirpitz, each of more than 50,000 tons and carrying eight 15-inch guns in four turrets. Launched in 1939 and 1940, respectively, the sisters were the largest and most heavily armed and armored warships ever built in Germany. But their very size and power made them the focus of Royal Navy attention even before they completed their sea trials. They were also the last capital ships built in Germany during World War II.

A large crowd gathered in June 1934 to watch the launching of the pocket battleship Graf Spee. Graf Spee came to grief in 1939, scuttled after the Battle of the River Plate.

In August 1939, Raeder initiated Plan Z by sending Graf Spee and Deutschland out to sea. Graf Spee, named for Count Maximillian von Spee, commander of the German East Asia squadron in 1914, went to the South Atlantic, while Deutschland headed for the North Atlantic.

From the moment Graf Spee received word that Great Britain and Germany were at war, her captain, Hans Langsdorff, who was above all a gentleman warrior, began his hunt for British merchant ships. German raiders were under the strict rules of cruiser warfare, where all ships stopped must be searched and their crews allowed to escape in lifeboats before the vessel was sunk. His crew was skilled and loyal to their mission. Langsdorff used his ship’s reconnaissance plane to scout for prey. When Graf Spee came upon a likely ship, the first thing Langsdorff did was to destroy the merchant ship’s radio room with direct fire, preventing a distress call. Then he ordered the captain to abandon the vessel before he opened fire. Graf Spee sank 16 ships in three months of raiding in the Indian Ocean and South Atlantic. Not one person was killed or injured. But time and circumstances were catching up with Langsdorff.

Three British cruisers, HMS Exeter, Achilles, and Ajax, none of which had the firepower of Graf Spee, were under the command of Admiral Henry Harwood, a brilliant tactician. Harwood deduced that Graf Spee would head for the port of Montevideo at the mouth of the River Plate in Uruguay where a convoy was expected. On the morning of December 13, 1939, Langsdorff found the three Royal Navy ships converging on him. With few options, he chose to fight. While the three British cruisers had less firepower than their foe, they split up and forced Langsdorff to either concentrate on a single ship or split his own limited firepower. Graf Spee’s main armament of six 11-inch guns were in two triple turrets.

After only 20 minutes of battle, Langsdorff had severely damaged Exeter but suffered major damage to his own ship’s superstructure. The British guns could not penetrate his hull or turret armor. He chose to break off and attempt to make repairs in Montevideo. But the Uruguayan government would not allow him to stay long enough to make repairs, and in the end Langsdorff had to either face a more numerous and powerful foe or scuttle his ship. He stripped Graf Spee of all classified equipment and set off charges that sank her in the river.

Langsdorff and his crew then headed for Buenos Aries, where he later committed suicide.

Coincidentally Admiral Maximillian von Spee had died aboard his flagship SMS Scharnhorst only 1,000 miles from where his namesake would be scuttled almost exactly 25 years later.

The two forward 11-inch main batteries of the battlecruiser Scharnhorst loom as the ship lies at anchor in the port of Kiel in the winter of 1940. Scharnhorst sank the British aircraft carrier HMS Glorious but was destroyed in the Battle of the North Cape.

Graf Spee’s sister, Deutschland, had a longer but far less successful career. Commanded by Captain Paul Veneker, Deutschland was operating off southern Greenland and Nova Scotia to interdict British shipping. At first she was moderately successful with two ships taken, but then Venaker made an error that caused great embarrassment to the Third Reich by capturing the American steamer City of Flint less than 1,200 miles from New York. The ship was seized and the American crew taken prisoner. Evading prowling British warships, Venaker headed for Norway. This was a further outrage, as both America and Norway were still neutral. The United States sent a flood of protests to the Nazi government.

Veneker then tried to go to Murmansk, but the Soviets, also neutral, refused entry. This meant that Deutschland and her crew were, in effect, kidnappers. Returning to Norway, Deutschland was boarded by Norwegian officials and the Americans set free. Deutschland returned to Germany for refit. To avoid any connection with the highly embarrassing incident, the ship was renamed Lutzow. Lutzow was heavily damaged by gunfire and torpedoes during the invasion of Norway the following year and towed back to Germany. Her luck failed to improve when the ship was again torpedoed by a Bristol Beaufort of RAF Coastal Command in June 1941.

Repaired, the ship then went aground off the coast of Norway, thus missing the famous July 1942 attack that scattered convoy PQ-17. By 1944, Lutzow nee Deutschland was providing support to German troops retreating from the advancing Soviets on the Baltic coast. Then an RAF Avro Lancaster heavy bomber dropped a 12,000-pound Tallboy bomb on the deck, doing great internal damage. Repaired once again, her ignominious career was ended when she was deliberately blown up four days after Hitler committed suicide in 1945.

Yet, as ineffective as Deutschland’s raids had been, she had managed to stretch the Royal Navy’s assets to the breaking point. Dozens of cruisers and battleships were detailed to protect the convoys from German raids, making things easier for Raeder’s plans but also rendering his goals virtually impossible.

Worse was in store for Raeder’s reputation. In November 1939, even before Graf Spee’s death ride, the battleships Scharnhorst and Gneisenau found the armed merchant cruiser SS Rawalpindi in the region between the Faeroe Islands and the Denmark Strait. A small P&O liner of 16,700 tons, she was fitted with eight 6-inch and two 3-inch guns. Under the command of Royal Navy Captain E.C. Kennedy, the Rawalpindi savagely attacked the two big German battleships. Even while the small liner sank from dozens of heavy shell hits, her guns continued to fire. The action forced the two German raiders to leave the area before a heavier Royal Navy force arrived.

he heavy cruiser Lutzow lies at anchor in a Norwegian fjord in 1942. The warship was originally christened as the Deutschland, but its name was changed after the seizure of the American steamer City of Flint.

Almost exactly a year later, another converted liner, the 14,000-ton SS Jervis Bay, under Commander Edward Fegen, was escorting Convoy HX-84 from Bermuda to Britain. Admiral Scheer found the convoy off the coast of Iceland. Fegen charged at the German ship with her seven 6-inch and three 3-inch guns. Jervis Bay was sunk in 20 minutes. Fegen earned a posthumous Victoria Cross. The convoy escaped without loss.

Despite some victories, one factor Raeder could not ignore was that the German surface raiders needed fuel, ammunition, replacement parts, food, and other supplies as they roamed far and wide in their hunt for Allied ships. Tankers and freighters had to be stationed in neutral or friendly ports. The raiders could patrol no farther than a few thousand miles from a support vessel, further limiting their range and effectiveness. Raeder recognized that it would become increasingly difficult for any of his raiders to evade the Royal Navy and patrol aircraft.

The other factor was geographical. Germany has only one coastline in the Baltic and North Seas. The major ports on the two seas are connected by the Kiel Canal, built in 1895 and expanded in 1913 to allow rapid deployment of ships, avoiding the long and often treacherous route around Denmark. But the fact was Germany could not deploy any ships without passing England either via the North Sea or through the English Channel. Raeder began to urge Hitler to invade Norway. This would provide dozens of fjords and harbors far up the North Sea from which to send his ships out to the Atlantic. Hitler, who had always considered the Norwegians to be a racially kindred nation with Germany, and seeing both strategic and tactical advantages to taking Norway, agreed. Raeder’s ships and transports were used extensively in the campaign, which began in April 1940.

The heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper and four destroyers were escorting 1,700 troops to Trondheim when they were spotted and attacked by the British destroyer HMS Glowworm. Hipper’s captain first fired on the Glowworm and then attempted to ram, but the British ship turned the tables by ramming the larger ship, tearing a 100-foot rent in the hull. While Glowworm later exploded, Hipper needed extensive repairs. Another invasion unit consisting of the newly named Lutzow and Hipper’s sister Blucher was accompanied by the light cruiser Emden, namesake of the famous raider of World War I. They headed for Oslo, which was guarded by 40-year-old 11-inch guns purchased by the Norwegians from Krupp to defend the city. When the German ships were almost near enough to “see the whites of their eyes,” the heavy guns began firing. Blucher was so heavily damaged that she was easily finished off with torpedoes. More than 1,000 German seamen went down with her. Lutzow was also damaged but escaped. The big German surface ships had not played a major role in the Norwegian campaign.

The Royal Navy sent the carriers HMS Ark Royal and HMS Glorious, recently arrived from the Mediterranean, to support the defense of Norway. They were to recover the remaining RAF fighters and bombers that were now stranded in Norway. The captain of Glorious, a veteran of World War I, failed to have an air patrol watching for any attack as his ship landed the precious fighters and bombers. Then, vectored in by Luftwaffe reconnaissance planes, the battleships Scharnhorst and Gneisenau raced in and began firing their 16 8-inch guns at the helpless carrier. Even with a smokescreen laid down by the escorting British destroyers, Glorious went to the bottom an hour later. This was the only significant warship, other than the battlecruiser HMS Hood the following year, to be sunk by German surface raiders.

The heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper engaged the British destroyer Glowworm off the Norwegian coast in April 1940. Glowworm rammed Hipper, causing extensive damage, but was sunk in the unequal fight.

With the fall of Norway in June 1940, Raeder had his North Sea sanctuaries for the raider fleet. Germany now controlled 3,000 miles of coastline from northern Norway to the Bay of Biscay, 10 times more coastline than before the war.

By the spring of 1941, Raeder was scrutinizing the total number of ships sunk in the first full year of war. Graf Spee had sunk 16 ships, totaling 50,000 tons. Admiral Sheer did better in the less heavily patrolled Indian Ocean, sinking 17 ships totaling over 113,000 tons before sneaking back to Germany in March 1941. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau managed to send 122,000 tons of ships to the bottom before being forced to run for a safe base in France.

The totals were not nearly as high as Raeder had promised Hitler.

And things were only going to get worse. Using radio direction finding (RDF) and brilliant cryptanalysis, the British Admiralty was tracking the raiders with ever-increasing skill. Long-range patrol aircraft, such as the American-built Consolidated PBY Catalina and its Canadian-built counterpart, the Canso, were scouring the Atlantic Ocean over the convoy routes. Added to this must be the work at Bletchley Park, where the German radio traffic was analyzed and distributed to the fleet. The Royal Navy was able to deduce the location and operational orders for Raeder’s ships. Every tanker and supply ship that was found and sunk further limited Raeder’s ability to find and attack the convoys.

But Raeder’s delusion that his few remaining ships could still do what he had envisioned in 1939 refused to die. He sent word to the newly operational Bismarck in April 1941, that she and her escort, the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, should move out of southern Norway and head to the Atlantic. His ultimate plan was to have the two ships join with the newer Tirpitz and the sisters Scharnhorst and Gneisenau to break into the Atlantic and hit the big convoys. His theory was that the two biggest warships could temporarily control and extend into regions of the North Atlantic with their speed and heavy guns. Bismarck, being the most dangerous, was to fight and distract the Royal Navy escort ships while the other German raiders sank the helpless merchant ships. But Raeder’s grand plan was never to materialize. Tirpitz was not yet fully operational, Scharnhorst was having her engines overhauled, and Gneisenau had been torpedoed in the harbor at Brest, France. All Raeder had left were Bismarck and Prinz Eugen. No destroyer escorts could accompany them on their sortie as their range was too limited.

Raeder had little choice. The British convoys were carrying the weapons and troops for the invasion of Crete in the Mediterranean. They had to be destroyed or disrupted. This was pure folly on Raeder’s part. The Royal Navy was well aware of Bismarck’s location and was keeping a close eye on her. Norwegians, resisting their conquerors, reported any movement of German warships and planes to their British allies. Raeder assumed, with some justification in light of Rawalpindi and Jervis Bay, that the Royal Navy was defending convoys with as few as one warship or converted liner.

Yet the Royal Navy was more than willing to strip protection from other convoys to provide extra firepower to destroy Bismarck. In all, the British force consisted of six battleships, four battlecruisers, two carriers, 13 cruisers, 33 destroyers, and dozens of patrol aircraft. This was the largest force ever tasked with the destruction of a single ship.

Even without the additional support of three other large warships, Bismarck was to sail in mid-May and wreak havoc on the convoys no matter what.

There is little need to detail the chase and sinking of Bismarck as it has been covered many times over the years. But it serves as an excellent example of bad planning, bad leadership, and bad judgment by both Raeder and the fleet commander, Admiral Guenther Leutjens, who commanded Bismarck and Prinz Eugen on their ill-fated attempt to break out to the Atlantic. Leutjens made some very poor decisions that not only sealed Bismarck’s fate but condemned nearly his entire crew to death without any hope of success.

The crew of the battleship Tirpitz busily camouflages the warship, which lies at anchor in Flehke Fjord, Norway, in 1942.

By the summer of 1941, Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, Admiral Scheer, and Admiral Hipper were all being repaired or under constant air attack. They were unable to find a way to escape their French and Baltic Sea prisons. Then there was the last big raider, Tirpitz. She was what Raeder called a “fleet in being,” a term for a single powerful ship dominating an entire region. That might have had some validity at the start of the war, but by late 1942 it was pure madness. But Tirpitz’s fearsome presence did reap some unexpected benefits for Raeder. When the Soviet Union joined the Allied cause, Churchill promised Josef Stalin that he would begin sending convoys carrying vital war material to the Russian arctic ports of Murmansk and Archangel.

By the end of 1941, the first seven of these, designated PQ and JW, made it through to their destinations unscathed, but soon the Kriegsmarine was able to take action. More surface raiders and U-boats were sent to northern Norway, and long-range Focke-Wulf FW-200 Condor planes were sent out to find the convoys.  Then the Royal Navy received word that the huge Tirpitz, along with the pocket battleship Admiral Scheer and the cruiser Prinz Eugen, were being sent to Norway. This was ominous news, as they could only have one objective: the Murmansk convoys.

Prinz Eugen was spotted and torpedoed, forcing her into a port for repairs.

In March 1942, Tirpitz was sent out to interdict PQ-12, but bad weather made finding the convoy impossible. The battleship returned to the safety of the Norwegian fjord. The Royal Navy conducted several air raids against the ship, but none were able to get close due to heavy antiaircraft fire.

Convoy PQ-17 was assembled in Iceland. It consisted of 35 merchant ships, 22 of which were American. Their cargoes were composed of hundreds of tanks, aircraft, and trucks, as well as fuel, ammunition, and supplies badly needed by the hard-pressed Red Army in its desperate battle to stop the Germans. The escort was six destroyers and a covering force of four cruisers, two British and two American. Several Royal Navy battleships were sent out in case Tirpitz emerged from her Norwegian redoubt.

On June 27, PQ-17 set a course into the Arctic Ocean, well aware of the threat that could come from the many fjords and harbors along the enemy coast. The convoy was spotted by a Condor on July 1, and the U-boats closed in to sink two ships. Then the Admiralty received word via Bletchley Park that Tirpitz was refueling in a northern Norway port. This could only mean one thing: she was going to attack PQ-17. There was no way for the heavy battleships of the Royal Navy to get there in time to stop a bloodbath. Near panic ensued, and in a series of badly conceived orders, the covering cruiser force was to head west and the convoy was to scatter, each ship to make a run for Murmansk on its own. 

The last transmission from the convoy escort commander was, “Sorry to leave you like this. Good luck. Looks like bloody business.” Convoy PQ-17 was now at the mercy of Doenitz’s U-boats and the Luftwaffe. Day after day they charged in with a savage fury. By the time the remains of PQ-17 reached Murmansk, only 11 of the original 35 ships were left. It was a costly debacle. It was also the German Navy’s greatest single victory against an Allied convoy. The truth was, Tirpitz was never sent out to the convoy, but merely fueling and shifting its berth. The scattering of PQ-17 served to show how much the Admiralty feared the power of heavy guns on a convoy. Yet neither Tirpitz nor any of the other surface raiders fired a single shot at the unprotected ships.

In April 1944 the battleship Tirpitz was attacked by British Fairey Barracuda bombers. Tirpitz took multiple hits, and 300 crewmen were killed or wounded. Still, the battleship sustained only minor damage to its superstructure. The ship was finally sunk by British bombers in November 1944.

The turning point in the debate over the effectiveness of U-boats versus surface raiders was decided in favor of the former at the end of 1942.  Early on, at Hitler’s insistence, Raeder had issued standing orders for the raider fleet. It stated that they engage at whatever cost, as long as they did not endanger or lose their ships. Even a casual reading of this order reveals its obvious contradiction. It ultimately led to Raeder’s fall from power.

In December 1942, Hipper, Lutzow, and six destroyers were sent from Norway to attack convoy JW-51B. The convoy consisted of 15 ships moving through the Arctic Ocean to Kola. The force was heavily escorted by seven destroyers and two light cruisers. Corvettes and air support from Murmansk were at the ready.  When the German ships hove into view on December 31, they attacked the outer escort screen, sinking one minesweeper and a destroyer. But it was apparent that many more British warships were coming and further reinforcements had been called in.

The German commander broke off the action. Raeder’s order had also made it plain that if the German force was confronted with ships of equal strength they were to disengage.  Not one freighter had been sunk. Worse, Hipper received three hits from 8-inch shells. The BBC announced the incident, and Adolf Hitler, never one to accept or recognize his culpability, went into a rage and ordered that all the remaining surface raiders be scrapped, their guns turned into coastal fortifications and their crews transferred to the U-boat fleet. In light of how poorly the surface raiders had so far served the Third Reich, this might have been a good tactical move.

Raeder resigned on January 30, 1943. The new grand admiral of the fleet was Karl Dönitz. The U-boats finally had the high command’s full support.

As for Tirpitz, she remained under heavy air and shore protection in Trondheim throughout much of the war, being subjected to numerous and costly air attacks by Royal Navy torpedo planes and land-based bombers. The only time Tirpitz, the last and most powerful battleship in the Kriegsmarine, ever fired her huge guns at the enemy was a shore bombardment of a British weather station on the island of Spitzbergen in September 1943. Fuel shortages prevented her from any further sorties, and the ship spent months sheltered in antiaircraft and antitorpedo defenses.

More Royal Navy torpedo planes and land-based bombers made attacks on Tirpitz through the summer and fall of 1944. The end finally came in November 1944, when Lancasters of No. 617 Squadron, the same group that had bombed the Ruhr Valley dams in March 1943, attacked Tirpitz with huge 12,000-pound Tallboys. Even though most bombs missed, there were enough hits to assure that the last German battleship would never leave port.

In the end, the mighty Tirpitz rolled over and sank in Tromso, Norway. No more surface raiders emerged from the Baltic or North Sea to threaten Allied shipping lanes.

After February 1943, the U-boats were the primary German naval weapon of the war. Altogether U-boats sank 2,779 ships for a total of 14.1 million tons, or 70 percent of all Allied shipping losses in all theaters of the war. The most successful year was 1942, when more than six million tons of shipping were sunk in the Atlantic.

As for the surface raiders, the total tonnage sunk by their guns was just short of 800,000. Considering the expense and the number of men needed to operate them, the results were dismal. The irony is that Raeder, who oversaw all new construction, was undoubtedly aware that for the cost, materials, and manpower of building just one battleship like Bismarck the Kriegsmarine could have launched at least 10 U-boats. If he had turned the Navy’s efforts to constructing submarines as far back as 1935, there could have been as many as 100 more U-boats manned and in service by 1940.

Churchill had openly stated that the thing that most frightened him during the war was the U-boat menace. Fortunately for the Allies, Raeder followed his own doomed plan. Of all the German surface raiders that put to sea in World War II, only one survived the war. The heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, whose sole claim to fame was accompanying Bismarck on part of her death ride, was captured by the Allies and ended up in the Pacific.

Prinz Eugen was made into a target in the Operation Crossroads atomic bomb tests at Bikini Atoll in July 1946. While Prinz Eugen survived the two blasts, the sturdy cruiser was so totally irradiated that she had to be towed to Kwajalein Atoll and left as a derelict. She later turned over and sank. Her stern is still visible today.

This was the final blow to Admiral Erich Raeder’s fleet of surface raiders.

Author Mark Carlson has written on numerous topics related to World War II and the history of aviation. His book Flying on Film—A Century of Aviation in the Movies 1912-2012 was recently released. He resides in San Diego, California.

This article first appeared at the Warfare History Network.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

Simon Cotton

Security, Asia Pacific

At the heart of this debate, though, lies a mistake that threatens to blind the US to its options and, in doing so, could lead to a stance that increases the risk of conflict.

As Joe Biden’s inauguration approaches, debate about the US’s China policy is intensifying. At issue are the traditional pillars of strategy ambiguity and dual deterrence. Strategic ambiguity means that the US reserves the right to assist Taiwan militarily in the event of a conflict with China but does not commit itself to doing so. Dual deterrence means that the US doesn’t only seek to deter China from an unprovoked attack on Taiwan; it also seeks to deter Taiwan from provoking an avoidable conflict by declaring independence.

Biden has endorsed both pillars in the past. In a 2001 Washington Post op-ed, he wrote that while he remained a strong supporter of Taiwan, ‘The United States has not been obligated to defend Taiwan since we abrogated the 1954 Mutual Defense Treaty’. He also stressed that ‘there is a huge difference between reserving the right to use force and obligating ourselves, a priori, to come to the defense of Taiwan’.

Yet a growing number of commentators and policymakers argue that China’s power is now so great, and its ambitions so extensive, that the US should move away from strategic ambiguity and towards what Richard Haass and David Sacks described in Foreign Affairs as ‘strategic clarity’. In short, they suggest that to better deter China the US should make an unequivocal public commitment to aid Taiwan in any conflict.

At the heart of this debate, though, lies a mistake that threatens to blind the US to its options and, in doing so, could lead to a stance that increases the risk of conflict.

Both critics and defenders of strategic ambiguity tend to assume that it is required for dual deterrence, and thus that, regrettable as it may be, moving away from strategic ambiguity will mean giving up on dual deterrence. It is only the prospect that the US might assist Taiwan, in other words, that can deter China while simultaneously deterring Taiwan. This is why critics of strategic ambiguity like Haass and Sacks feel the need to stress that ‘deterring Taiwan from declaring independence is no longer a primary concern’, while defenders like Walter Lohman and Frank Jannuzi stress the opposite.

In reality, however, this assumption is false. It would be possible for the US to move away from strategic ambiguity without giving up on dual deterrence.

Suppose that, instead of maintaining an ambiguous stance, the US were to make two unequivocal, but conditional, public guarantees: first, to aid Taiwan in the event it were subject to an unprovoked attack, and second, to not aid Taiwan in the event it were to provoke a conflict by declaring independence. In this case, the US would shift away from strategic ambiguity without sacrificing dual deterrence. And it would better deter China from naked aggression without reducing the incentive Taiwan has not to spark an avoidable conflict. Indeed, it may increase this incentive.

It’s not surprising that people conflate strategic ambiguity with dual deterrence, because a certain kind of ambiguity can magnify deterrence. In the right circumstances, adopting a retaliatory stance without saying what would actually trigger retaliation can get your adversary to second-guess their every move. Drawing a clear line in the sand, in contrast, gives them the green light to do everything they can short of crossing that line. To give a well-known illustration, it’s sometimes thought that US Secretary of State Dean Acheson effectively gave a green light to North Korean leader Kim Il-sung to start the Korean War by making a speech in January 1950 that delineated a US ‘defensive perimeter’ that excluded South Korea.

These are not the circumstances in the Taiwan Strait, however. As such, a shift away from strategic ambiguity without a movement away from dual deterrence is not just possible, but advisable.

For one thing, it would be grossly disproportionate—not to mention illegal—for the US to use military force in response to merely diplomatic or economic pressure on Taiwan. As a consequence, a threat to use such force would lack credibility at the best of times—indeed, even if it were plainly stated. It’s no surprise, then, that China is already doing everything it can short of using military force to bring Taiwan back within the fold. There’s thus little that could be gained from strategic ambiguity on this front.

Further, the balance of effective military power in the Taiwan Strait may have shifted so far away from the US that, rather than inducing policy paralysis, strategic ambiguity merely gives China the impression that the US wants to be in a position to save face were it not to aid Taiwan. As the doyen of strategic studies, Thomas Schelling, put it in his 1966 book Arms and influence, when our stance is ‘ill-defined and ambiguous—if we leave ourselves loopholes through which to exit—our opponent will expect us to be under strong temptation to make a graceful exit (or even a somewhat graceless one)’. At this point, in other words, strategic ambiguity threatens to undercut rather than magnify deterrence.

Of course, it might be thought that for the US to positively commit to not assist Taiwan were it to declare independence takes things one step too far. Mightn’t China interpret this as indicating that the US doesn’t recognise the many advantages to retaining Taiwan that are impervious to any such provocation, thereby leading China to downrate US resolve still further? At the very least, wouldn’t such a stance incentivise China to interfere in Taiwanese politics in an attempt to engineer such a declaration?

Yet the US could still better deter China without making such a commitment, namely by moving away from strategic ambiguity vis-à-vis China while retaining it vis-à-vis Taiwan. In other words, the US could make an unequivocal public guarantee to aid Taiwan in the event of an unprovoked attack while reserving the right to aid Taiwan in the event of a conflict sparked by a declaration of independence.

At this stage, the smart money is on the Biden administration retaining strategic ambiguity. But it would a great pity, to put it mildly, if this were done under the false impression that anything else would mean ‘ced[ing] to Taiwan … the ability automatically to draw us into a war across the Taiwan Strait’, as Biden himself put it in 2001. Two decades later, the challenge of the Taiwan issue calls for a far more careful analysis than that.

This article was first published by the Australian Strategic Policy Initiative. 

Image: Reuters

Ana Santos Rutschman

Coronavirus,

The general rule is yes – with some exceptions.

Editor’s note: The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the federal agency in charge of enforcing laws prohibiting discrimination in the workplace, on Dec. 16 said that employers can require employees to get vaccinated before entering the workplace. Now that two COVID-19 vaccines have received emergency use authorization in the U.S., some people are concerned they could be fired if they don’t want to take the vaccine. We asked legal scholar Ana Santos Rutschman, who teaches a course on vaccine law at Saint Louis University, to explain the decision and the rights employees and employers have.

1. Can employers require employees to get a vaccine?

The general rule is yes – with some exceptions.

Under U.S. law, private employers have the ability to define general working conditions, including the adoption of health and safety within the workspace. Requiring employees to get vaccinated against diseases that could compromise health and safety in the workplace is viewed as part of that ability.

2. Does the rule apply to COVID-19 vaccines?

Earlier in the pandemic, there were some doubts about whether the general rule would apply to COVID-19 vaccines because the first vaccines that became available in the U.S. have not been fully approved by the Food and Drug Administration. They have received an emergency use authorization, which is temporary permission to commercialize the vaccines because of the public health crisis the U.S. is facing. This is the first time emergency use authorization has been granted to a new vaccine. For this reason, some legal scholars questioned whether existing laws applied to temporarily authorized vaccines.

That question was addressed when the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission issued guidelines that said employers have the right to impose a mandatory COVID-19 vaccination policy.

From a legal perspective, this view is based on the fact that the law allows employers to impose requirements to make sure that employees don’t pose threats to the “health or safety of other individuals in the workplace.” The EEOC treated emergency use vaccines as part of the sets of measures that employers are able to mandate in order to accomplish this goal.

Therefore, the general rule applies and employers should be able to require that employees get vaccinated against COVID-19, within certain limits. These limits – including the exceptions below – are the same as the general exemptions applicable to any employer-mandated vaccination.

3. Are there religious exemptions?

Title VII of the Civil Rights Act established that if an employee has a sincerely held religious belief incompatible with vaccination, the employer cannot require that employee to be vaccinated. The EEOC has traditionally interpreted the concept of “religious belief” very broadly. Vaccine refusal cannot, however, be a personal or politically motivated belief.

If an employee qualifies for a religious exemption, the employer must then try to reasonably accommodate the employee. An example of an accommodation would be for the employer to have the employee switch from in-person to remote work while COVID-19 poses risks to public health.

However, the employer does not have to grant an accommodation if doing so would result in “undue hardship.” Typical cases of undue hardship include situations in which the accommodation would compromise the health and safety of other employees or in which implementing the accommodation is too costly or logistically burdensome. In case of a dispute over what constitutes an undue hardship for the employer, a court would typically be asked to resolve it based on the cost of offering the accommodation, as well as how difficult it is for the employer to implement it.

4. How about disability-related exemptions?

The balance of rights between an employee with a disability and her employer is similar to the one described above. Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, if an employee has a disability and cannot safely receive a vaccine, that employee qualifies for an exemption and the employer has to provide reasonable accommodations. But the act also establishes that employers do not have to provide an accommodation that would result in undue hardship.

The technical question here was whether employers could impose COVID-19 vaccination because the Americans with Disabilities Act severely limits the ability of employers to require medical examinations. In its Dec. 16 guidance, the EEOC clearly stated that COVID-19 vaccines do not fall in the “medical examination” category.

Therefore, requiring employee vaccination does not violate federal disability law.

5. What if the employer cannot provide accommodation?

If an employee qualifies for either a religious or disability-related exemption but the employer is unable to provide an accommodation because of undue hardship, then the employer has the right to exclude the employee from going to the workplace.

Given the broad set of rights that the law gives employers in order to promote health and safety, in some cases it is possible for an organization to go even further and terminate employment if a worker refuses vaccination and there is no reasonable way to provide an accommodation. For example, if there is no reasonable accommodation that an employer can provide a barista that would allow her to continue make lattes at the coffee shop where she works, the employer may be able to terminate her employment.

However, the EEOC guidelines explicitly say that the inability to reasonably accommodate an employee does not automatically give the employer the right to fire her. Finding out whether the coffee shop could indeed terminate its unvaccinated barista would depend on a variety of factors, including state law, union agreements and any other potentially applicable requirements at the federal level.

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Ana Santos Rutschman, Assistant Professor of Law, Saint Louis University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Coronavirus,

An immunologist's answers.

I am a professor of infectious diseases at the University of Virginia, where I care for patients with COVID-19 and conduct research on how best to prevent, diagnose and treat this new infection. As I interact with patients in the hospital, some mothers and expectant mothers have asked whether it is safe for them to take the vaccine. Here is what I have said to them.

1) Can I get vaccinated if I am pregnant or breastfeeding?

Yes, you can and should get a COVID-19 vaccine if you are either pregnant or breastfeeding.

An important reason is that COVID-19 is more severe during pregnancy. In a study of 23,000 pregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported pregnant women were 3 and 2.9 times more likely to end up in the ICU or on mechanical ventilation, respectively. I find it reassuring, though, that the absolute risk remains low. Only about one out of 100 pregnant women with COVID-19 is admitted to an ICU.

Vaccines are, in general, safe and well tolerated during pregnancy.

Neither the Pfizer nor Moderna COVID-19 vaccine contains the live SARS-CoV-2 virus, so there is no risk of the pregnant woman or her fetus developing COVID-19. These vaccines are safe for another reason. The mRNA used in both vaccines to stimulate a protective immune response never enters the nucleus of a cell. That means it doesn’t interact with the DNA that encodes the human genome of the mother or fetus.

The caveat is that safety data is lacking for the COVID-19 vaccines, because pregnant women were intentionally excluded in the phase 3 studies of the Moderna and Pfizer vaccines.

In the absence of clinical trial data on the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines in pregnant and breastfeeding women, but with the expectation that these vaccines should be safe in these populations, both the CDC and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists have recommended that vaccination be a personal decision of women who are pregnant.

For pregnant women who decide to be vaccinated, any fever associated with vaccination should be treated with acetaminophen, since fever has been associated with adverse pregnancy outcomes.

There is no concern that the vaccines will interfere with lactation and no reason not to be vaccinated if you are breastfeeding.

2) Will I be protected from asymptomatic infection?

Initial data shows 60% protection from asymptomatic infection after the first dose of the Moderna mRNA vaccine. It is likely Pfizer will also protect from asymptomatic infection, but this has not yet been shown. This means that your risk of getting an asymptomatic infection is reduced by more than half after the first dose of the Moderna vaccine.

Subjects in the phase 3 study had nasal swabs taken at the time of the second dose of the vaccine. Of these, 14 of the 15,000 volunteers in the vaccine group and 38 of 15,000 subjects in the placebo group experienced SARS-CoV-2 infection without symptoms – which is called asymptomatic COVID-19.

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This is evidence that asymptomatic infections are being prevented even after only the first dose. This is wonderful news, as vaccine-induced protection from asymptomatic infection will facilitate herd immunity and the end of the pandemic.

3) Will new versions of the SARS-CoV-2 virus succumb to the vaccine?

Fortunately all of the versions of the SARS-CoV-2 virus identified to date are neutralized by the COVID-19 vaccines.

The primary way that these vaccines act is by preventing the spike protein on the exterior of the coronavirus from attaching to the ACE2 protein on human cells.

The vaccines do this by triggering the human immune system to produce anti-spike antibodies that attach to the spike protein whenever they encounter it and neutralize the virus.

All 17 versions of the virus tested so far have been neutralized, including the variant that is most common in the United States.

The new variant in the United Kingdom that is likely more easily spread person to person is also unlikely to evade the new vaccines, despite the presence of mutations in the spike glycoprotein. This is in part due to the fact that there are multiple sites on the spike protein that antibodies can target to neutralize the virus. This is being formally tested now.

William Petri, Professor of Medicine, University of Virginia

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Sebastien Roblin

History, Americas

In fact, the incident caused a scare for the warship that had FDR on board.

Key Point: Several things went wrong over several days with these ships. In the end, one of them would actually be lost.

Patriotic action movies would have you believe military units regularly perform like well-oiled fighting machines. But sometimes reality is closer to Bill Murray’s Stripes.

Such at least was the case of the William D. Porter, whose mishaps were famously immortalized in an article by Kit Bonner.

Named after a swashbuckling Union Civil War captain, the Porter was one of 175 Fletcher-class destroyers built during World War II. Destroyers, dubbed "tin cans" because of their lack of armor, were relatively small but fast warships often tasked with protecting convoys and larger warships. Fletcher-class destroyers boasted ten torpedo tubes, depth charge projectors, and five radar-guided 5” dual-purpose guns allowing them to ably combat aircraft, submarines and surface warships.

The “Willy D’s” shakedown cruise in the summer of 1943 proceeded uneventfully under Lt. Commander Wilfred Walter. That November, she was then assigned to a secret task force charged with escorting President Franklin D. Roosevelt aboard the battleship USS Iowa to conferences in Cairo and Tehran.

FDR was accompanied by Secretary of State Cordell Hull, and the chiefs of the Army, Army Air Force and Navy (Admiral Ernest King). Their meetings with Churchill, Chiang Kai-Shek and Stalin would shape the postwar geopolitical order.

German U-Boats were then exacting a terrifying toll from U.S. convoys in the Atlantic, so the taskforce had to maintain strict radio silence to keep the Kriegsmarine in the dark.

As Porter slipped from her quay in Norfolk, Virginia on November 12, things immediately began to go wrong. Her crew failed to properly raise the anchor, which went rattling across the deck of a neighboring destroyer, tearing away railings and lifeboats.

The following day, Iowa, Porter and two other ships were underway in the Atlantic when an underwater explosion shattered the calm. The taskforce began evasive maneuvers in response to the apparent submarine attack.

But Porter then signaled it was a false alarm: one of her depth charges had accidentally rolled off deck and detonated—because nobody had secured the charge’s safety.

Then a violent wave slammed into the destroyer, sweeping a man overboard, who was tragically never rescued, and flooding one of her boilers. The Porter fell behind and broke radio silence to update the Iowa on her repairs—eliciting an irate message from Admiral King.

Then on November 14, Roosevelt—who had been Secretary of the Navy during World War I—asked to observe an air defense drill. Balloons were released, and gunners on the Iowa and Porter began blasting them out of sky.

Captain Wilfred decided to follow up with a torpedo drill, in which the Porter practiced mock attacks on the Iowa—with the torpedoes’ primer charges removed.

Two mock torpedo launches went smoothly. But upon the third firing command at 2:36 PM, a 24-foot-long Mark 15 torpedo lept from the Porter and surged towards the Iowa.

Torpedoes were tricky to land on target and often unreliable—but just one or two lucky hits sometimes sank even huge battleships and carriers.

The torpedo needed only a few minutes to traverse the 6,000 yards separating the Porter from the Iowa. But Wilfred, reluctant to break radio silence again, insisted on conveying the disastrous news using a signal lamp.

Unfortunately, the signalman garbled the messages twice. Finally, Wilfred radioed “Lion, lion! Turn right!” (“Lion” was Iowa’s codename.) When the Iowa’s operator responded in confusion, the captain clarified “Torpedo in the water!”

Iowa turned hard to port and accelerated to flank speed. Though the 825 pounds of HBX explosive in the torpedo might leave the Iowa at the bottom of the sea in a few minutes given a lucky hit, Roosevelt instructed the Secret Servicemen pushing his wheelchair to position him with a view. The former Navy Secretary wanted to see the action.

Finally at 2:40, the torpedo struck the Iowa’s wake and detonated a safe distance away.

The taskforce’s commander had had enough. He ordered the Porter to report to Bermuda. There, the Navy held an inquiry to evaluate why exactly things had gone so spectacularly wrong. Gross incompetence? A plot to kill Roosevelt?

Eventually, Chief Torpedoman Lawton Dawson admitted to having forgotten to remove the primer from the torpedo. The inexperienced seaman was sentenced to fourteen years hard labor, but Roosevelt intervened to wave his sentence.

As FDR was a Democrat, legend has it Navy ships henceforth greeted the Porter with “Don’t shoot! We’re Republicans!”

But Porter’s misadventures were far from over. On December 29 she arrived at Dutch Harbor, Alaska for her new assignment. While partying on New Year’s Day, a drunk sailor discharged one of her 5” guns, sending a 55-pound shell arcing into the backyard of the base’s commandant, who was hosting a holiday party—leaving his flower garden the worse for wear.

Over the next eight months, the Porter’s crew undertook uneventful anti-submarine patrols and raided the Japanese Kuril islands. Then in November, she joined the fighting at Leyte Gulf, where her gunners shot down at least three aircraft.

In 1945, as U.S. troops engaged in a bloody invasion of Okinawa, Porter was assigned first to cover the landing, then to serve as an air defense picket. In one month, she expended 233 tons of 5” shells bombarding shore positions and blasting six more aircraft out of the sky.

But outrageous misfortune revisited the destroyer a final time on June 10. At 8:15 AM a D3A1 ‘Val’ dive bomber plunged towards Porter in a kamikaze attack. As Porter’s guns roared, the obsolete aircraft smashed into the water beside her.

But the Val’s momentum carried it underneath the Porter, before the explosives packed inside it detonated. The eruption raised the 2,500-ton destroyer out of the water. The impact as she smacked back down ruptured steam lines, causing fires to break out. 

For three hours the Porter’s crew attempted to save the listing destroyer (photo here) before the order to abandon ship was given.

But the unluckiest ship in the Navy had one good turn left: every single member of her crew escaped with his life.

Sébastien Roblin holds a Master’s Degree in Conflict Resolution from Georgetown University and served as a university instructor for the Peace Corps in China. He has also worked in education, editing, and refugee resettlement in France and the United States. He currently writes on security and military history for War Is Boring. This article originally appeared in August 2019 and is being republished due to reader interest.

Image: Reuters.

Si « Le Monde diplomatique » a beaucoup changé depuis soixante ans, ce rationalisme tranquille, cette espérance progressiste, ce refus de hurler avec les loups demeurent son invariant. / France, Culture, Économie, Finance, Idées, Internet, Médias, Mutation, Politique, Presse, A propos du « Diplo », (...) / France, Culture, Économie, Finance, Idées, Internet, Médias, Mutation, Politique, Presse, A propos du « Diplo », Crise économique, Indépendance - 2014/10

Kris Osborn

Drones,

Drones can do so much and cost little that they are now a critical part of the U.S. maritime services new strategy for the 2020s and beyond. 

By keeping an eye on enemy movements, beaming back real-time video of combat developments, and sustaining a persistent, electronic “eye” in the sky, wartime drones increasingly offer what many war planners consider a decisive margin of difference and defining element of modern conflict. While this may, to a very large extent, be considered somewhat self-evident, what is significant is the staggering pace at which U.S. Maritime forces are adding unmanned systems to its surface, undersea and aerial fleet. 

This is so much the case that a new Marine Corps, Navy and Coast Guard warfare strategy, called “Advantage at Sea .. Prevailing With Integrated All Domain Naval Power,” says “our unmanned campaign plan will synchronize our efforts to field a multi-domain portfolio of shore-launched and sea-launched unmanned platforms with urgency.”

The strategy goes on to specifically cite drones as, among other things, adding the capability to “monitor, record, and report instances of coercive behavior. They will also add the capability for scouting, targeting, communications, and battle damage assessment.” 

Part of why drones are receiving so much attention and tactical emphasis is because they no longer merely offer a kind of “point-to-point” connectivity between a forward “node” and command and control system but increasingly network with one another and other larger and small combat platforms in near real-time. 

A Drone Future

“Our networks, battle management aids, and data infrastructure will connect with other joint networks. Combining many informational inputs into a common, actionable operational picture will enable our forces to act more quickly and effectively than our competitors,” the strategy writes. 

For example, the strategy document explains that networked unmanned systems can, among other things, provide warnings of major power rivals’ military preparations and operations while “naval forces—including submarines, surface ships, aircraft, and unmanned systems—gather intelligence from a variety of sources.” 

Tactically speaking, it is not an exaggeration to say that unmanned systems are fast re-shaping the character of war, opening up a new era of land, air, surface and undersea data sharing, massively multiplying the points of view and overall intelligence picture for combat commanders. In effect, they reinforce, sustain and increasingly enable an emerging warfare tactical reality that information itself is a weapon of war as sharing targeting data between submarines, surface ships or carrier-launched fighter jets in minutes if not seconds completely transforms the sensor-to-shooter timeline, a factor which could easily be seen as something quite likely to determine the outcome in war. 

They also of course add longer endurance as an undersea or surface drone, for instance, would not have to return to port or a host ship as a specific “shift” to return sailors and marines. Some undersea drones, for instance, can maintain an uninterrupted operational presence for up to a month without needing to return to the launching point. This phenomenon is also true, to varying extents, with surface drones as well such as mine-sweepers, attack drones, or even large unmanned command and control ships. The Navy is now in various stages of fast-tracking new large, medium and small surface, undersea and aerial drones to the fleet, some of which are expected to be operational in a matter of just several years, if not months. 

Finally, it may seem almost too obvious to mention that perhaps the greatest advantage afforded by drones in combat is … lives. Removing the need for manned boats subject sailors and marines to closer-in enemy fire. Stand-off distances, enabled by command and control networking, allow humans to make decisions about attacks, intelligence or other tactical nuances while much safer from enemy attack. 

Kris Osborn is the defense editor for the National Interest. Osborn previously served at the Pentagon as a Highly Qualified Expert with the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Army—Acquisition, Logistics & Technology. Osborn has also worked as an anchor and on-air military specialist at national TV networks. He has appeared as a guest military expert on Fox News, MSNBC, The Military Channel, and The History Channel. He also has a Masters Degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University.  

Kris Osborn

Advantage at Sea,

A new U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, and Marine Corps maritime warfare strategy outline a significant and tactically impactful plan for “crisis response” in the event of major warfare.

A new U.S. Navy, Coast Guard and Marine Corps maritime warfare strategy outline a significant and tactically impactful plan for “crisis response” in the event of major warfare. The plan has many substantial details, including deterrence missions, stability operations, offensive strikes, and specific maritime combat strategies. 

A New Maritime Strategy for the 2020s and Beyond

The strategy, called “Advantage at Sea .. Prevailing With Integrated All Domain Naval Power,” incorporates Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard mission options, multi-service operational coordination, and what could be called a new mixture of interwoven variables. Some of these nuances include a modern emphasis upon expeditionary warfare, forward deployments, and rapid response in the event of war. 

Interestingly and not surprisingly, much of the Navy strategy is simply to be “already on-scene” in the event of war, an approach which of course sheds light upon the service’s consistent requests from Combatant Commanders for more forward-deployed assets in vital areas of the globe. 

“The Naval Service offers flexible options to respond to crises, manage escalation, and preserve decision space for national leaders. Because naval forces are globally maneuverable and persistently operate forward, we are often already on-scene at the onset of a crisis,” the strategy writes.  

Why It Matters

Simply put, this concept helps explain why the Navy is so often conducting training operations and security patrols in key areas such as the Pacific and Black Sea, among others. A powerful, heavily armed presence with major power-projection capability, prevents war, as the thinking goes. 

“Operating our naval forces far forward—in harm’s way and in contested environments— raises the risks for rivals considering the path of escalation and prevents crisis from escalating into war. Navy and Marine Corps forces demonstrate visible combat readiness, support deterrence, and missile defense,” the strategy writes. 

Along with its major Naval focus, the strategy also places a high premium upon Marine Corps ship-to-shore amphibious attack possibilities to function as a deterrence force ready to attack if necessary. It is also no surprise, and tactically significant, that the strategy places a crucial premium upon Coast Guard missions. 

“Coast Guard forces provide additional tools for crisis management through capabilities that can de-escalate maritime standoffs nonlethally. Crisis operations require an accurate understanding of the operating environment,” the strategy states. 

Not only does the Coast Guard support international Naval security operations but also of course performs a major homeland defense role. This function only continues to take on greater urgency as defending the homeland is by no means restricted to preventing piracy, terrorism, and drug trafficking. These things are crucial, yet now also greatly compounded or added to by the reality that potential adversaries are quickly gaining more and more long-range weapons and attack platforms increasingly capable of striking the U.S. homeland. 

Kris Osborn is the defense editor for the National Interest. Osborn previously served at the Pentagon as a Highly Qualified Expert with the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Army—Acquisition, Logistics & Technology. Osborn has also worked as an anchor and on-air military specialist at national TV networks. He has appeared as a guest military expert on Fox News, MSNBC, The Military Channel, and The History Channel. He also has a Masters Degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University.

Zachary Keck

Security, World

Alliances in international politics are at best a necessary evil.

Here's What You Need to Remember: France, America’s oldest ally, was constantly at odds with the United States during the Cold War, criticized America as a hyperpower in the decade after it and led global opposition to the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Similarly, the U.S.-Japanese alliance may be the foundation of America’s alliance system in Asia.

An old truism recommends keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. But how to tell the two apart?

Alliances in international politics are at best a necessary evil, somewhat analogous to government in liberal political philosophy. For a regional hegemon with global interests, like the United States, allies are particularly indispensable, given Washington’s need to project power globally.

That fact is cold comfort for the diplomats and military officers tasked with maintaining them, as even the best allies are a never-ending source of migraines and anguish. Many would contend that America has no greater friend than Israel. And yet, Israel is a counterintelligence nightmare with a habit of announcing settlement expansions at particularly inopportune times for U.S. officials.

It is hardly an anomaly in this regard. France, America’s oldest ally, was constantly at odds with the United States during the Cold War, criticized America as a hyperpower in the decade after it and led global opposition to the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Similarly, the U.S.-Japanese alliance may be the foundation of America’s alliance system in Asia. Still, despite initially welcoming his election, U.S. officials have been dismayed by Japanese premier Shinzo Abe's historical analysis and field trips to the Yasukuni Shrine.

No U.S. ally is perfect. But five alliances of convenience in particular stand out. (Note: the list is not limited to formal treaty allies.)

1. Imperial Japan

As most Japanese celebrated the success of Pearl Harbor, the architect of the attack, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, reflected ominously, “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and filled him with a terrible resolve."

If only U.S. officials had demonstrated such prescience nearly a century before when they sent Commodore Matthew Perry to forcibly open up the hyperisolationist country. Although Perry was successful in his immediate objective, the United States ultimately got more than it bargained for in the exchange.

After shedding their initial reluctance, Japanese leaders embraced modernization with a fervor nearly unparalleled in human history. Underlying this drive was a desire to transform Japan into a great power so that it could never again be bullied by Western powers.

Although the bilateral relationship was never free of tension, particularly over China and immigration issues, the United States initially found much to like in an increasingly powerful Japan. For example, Tokyo joined American and European powers in helping to suppress the Boxer Rebellion in China. Even before then, Theodore Roosevelt used a rising Japan as a check against Russian power in Asia. Japan was also valuable in commandeering Germany’s Pacific holdings during WWI. Following the war, and despite continued tensions, Japan and the United States signed a number of important agreements at the Washington Conference of 1922.

Of course, all of this was more than outweighed by what followed, as tensions over China and Asia greatly intensified. This ultimately culminated in the attack on Pearl Harbor that killed over 2,000 Americans and wounded more than a thousand others. Imperial Japan followed up the surprise attack by conquering much of the Asia-Pacific, including the U.S.-controlled Philippines. It would rule over these territories with barbaric savagery.

Removing Japan from these lands—which fell primarily to the United States—proved no easy task. Imperial Japanese soldiers surrendered at appallingly low rates. According to some sources, only one to three percent of Japanese forces surrendered throughout the war, and only one third of these troops actually wanted to surrender (the rest were too sick or wounded to commit suicide or continue fighting.) As a result, most estimates suggest that America’s casualty rate in the Pacific theater was about three and a half times larger than in Europe.

2. The Soviet Union

A case could be made that the Soviet Union was actually one of America's best allies to date. After all, while the United States has struggled to get even the most marginal military contributions from its NATO allies, the Soviet Union tied down about 70 percent of Nazi forces during WWII and accounted for around 75 percent of German military casualties.

Nonetheless, no list would be complete without the Soviet Union. Even FDR, one of the earliest and most ardent supporters of the alliance, compared partnering with the Soviet Union to holding hands with the devil.

To begin with, as large as the Soviet Union’s contribution to the allied victory was, Moscow hardly offered up this support enthusiastically. To the contrary, Stalin had originally allied with Germany in the hope that France and England would bear the burden of defeating Hitler. It was only when the Führer invaded the Soviet Union that Stalin joined the fight against the hated fascists. Even still, throughout the war, Stalin constantly (and understandably) demanded the United States and England open up a second European front immediately to relieve the Red Army. FDR and Churchill (just as understandably) demurred until the Red Army was on its way to Berlin.

In other words, the Soviet Union made its enormous contribution to the war effort only because it had no choice. Moscow also extracted a heavy price (at least in America’s eyes) for its role during the war by swallowing up most of Eastern and Central Europe. This set the stage for a global rivalry between the two superpowers that lasted almost half a century. Talk about buyer’s remorse!

3. Saddam Hussein’s Iraq

If Saddam Hussein wasn’t quite the monster that Stalin or Hitler was, it wasn’t for lack of ambition. During his quarter century in power, Hussein ruled with a brutality uninhibited by moral conscience. His ruthlessness extended beyond Iraq’s borders, as he frequently invaded unsuspecting neighbors. And when it came to using chemical weapons, Saddam did not distinguish between internal and external enemies.

It was therefore fitting that after taking power, Saddam continued to ally with the Soviet Union and have no relations with the United States. Even after the Iran-Iraq War first began, the United States adopted a policy of strict neutrality in a conflict pitting two countries in which it maintained no diplomatic relations against one another.

Ultimately, however, America’s disdain for revolutionary Iran—still fresh from the hostage crisis—allowed the Iraqi strongman to curry favor with Washington. When, in the spring of 1982, Iranian forces threatened to overrun Basra, the Reagan administration paved the way for supporting Saddam by removing Iraq from the list of state sponsors of terrorism. The following year, the U.S. president issued a classified National Security Decision Directive that pledged to do "whatever was necessary and legal" to prevent Iraq from losing the conflict. Soon thereafter, Iraq and the United States restored diplomatic relations during a trip to Washington by Iraqi foreign minister (and Saddam’s right-hand man) Tariq Aziz, which included meetings with President Reagan and Secretary of State George Shultz.

Even before that time, in 1982, the United States had begun to furnish Iraq with various kinds of assistance to bolster its war effort. This support would only grow more expansive throughout the war. As one senior official at the time later recounted:

The United States actively supported the Iraqi war effort by supplying the Iraqis with billions of dollars of credits, by providing U.S. military intelligence and advice to the Iraqis, and by closely monitoring third country arms sales to Iraq to make sure that Iraq had the military weaponry required.

This included “strategic operational military” intelligence on Iranian troop positions, which the Iraqi army used to greatly enhance the effectiveness of its chemical weapon attacks, as well as “cluster bombs and anti-armor penetrators,” which CIA Director William Casey termed “force-multipliers.”

Of course, the United States would come to regret this cooperation nearly immediately after the war ended, when Saddam invaded Kuwait in 1990. Although the United States and its allies scored a decisive victory against Iraqi forces in the first Gulf War, Saddam would continue to haunt U.S. officials through the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Even the Clinton administration called Saddam and like-minded dictators ”the greatest security threat we face.” And, of course, the decision to remove Saddam proved beyond costly for the United States (to say nothing of Iraq and the greater region). It was therefore something of an understatement when the former deputy U.S. ambassador to Iraq later conceded of cooperating with Saddam: “History will demonstrate that this was a miscalculation."

4. Pakistan

To defeat Hitler in WWII, FDR was willing to hold hands with the devil. To combat Al Qaeda after 9/11, the United States literally partnered with the “ally from hell.”

Truth be told, America’s relationship with Pakistan long predated the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In fact, the United States was one of the first countries to formally recognize and establish ties with Pakistan in the late 1940s, and Washington made Islamabad an integral part of both its Central and Southeast Asia Treaty Organizations the following decade.

This longevity should not obscure the fact that the bilateral relationship has at best been a dysfunctional marriage.

Even in the brief moments when Pakistan has been valuable to the United States, it has undercut its case with serious transgressions. For example, during the 1970s, Pakistan helped facilitate America’s rapprochement with China while simultaneously committing genocide against the Bengalis in what was then Eastern Pakistan. Similarly, during the 1980s, Pakistan was instrumental in helping the United States and its allies funnel aid to the Afghan Mujahideen resisting the Soviet occupation of their country. At the same time, Islamabad used this support to force Washington to tacitly accept Pakistan’s burgeoning nuclear-weapons program.

But Pakistan’s duplicity reached unimaginable heights in the years after 9/11. On the one hand, when faced with an offer it couldn’t refuse immediately after the attacks, Pakistan signed on to the Global War on Terrorism. For this effort, Islamabad was compensated handsomely, receiving upwards of $25 billion in U.S. aid from 2002 to 2012.

On the other hand, Pakistan has continued to provide massive support for Afghan insurgent groups fighting Kabul, and has hosted most of Al Qaeda’s leaders. Most egregiously, after years of Pakistani officials constantly denying he was even in the country, Osama bin Laden was found living comfortably alongside the country’s military elite.

Nothing captures the sheer dysfunction of America’s relationship with Pakistan better than the fact that those closest—and most supportive of it—have subsequently become its fiercest critics. For example, as Pakistan’s U.S. Ambassador, Husain Haqqani was the strongest advocate for a “real alliance” (instead of a transactional one) between the United States and Pakistan. “If anybody can carry it off, it’s him,” then-chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, Rep. Howard Berman, quipped in 2008—a sentiment Haqqani probably would have wholeheartedly agreed with at the time. Only a few short years later, however, Haqqani wrote a scathing book entitled, Magnificent Delusions, in which he condemned U.S.-Pakistani relations and urged the two sides to adopt the type of transactional relationship he had long tried to transcend.

Similarly, Admiral Michael Mullen spent much of his tenure as the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, trying to cultivate better relations with Pakistan. According to his own count, Mullen met with his Pakistani counterpart, General Ashfaq Pervez Kayani, more than twenty-four times over a four-year span. Nonetheless, during his final testimony before Congress, a defeated Mullen conceded that the Haqqani Network is a “veritable arm” of Pakistan’s intelligence service, and that Islamabad "use[s] violent extremism as an instrument of policy.”

5. The Shah of Iran

When Iranians took to the streets in 1978, most cited the Shah’s alleged status as a pawn of the United States as one of their main grievances against him. By that time, it was probably more accurate to describe America as the Shah’s pawn.

To be sure, the United States did help place the Shah in power on two separate occasions. Nonetheless, if the Shah felt any gratitude for this, he certainly didn’t show it. As early as the JFK administration—only a few short years after a U.S.-backed coup had restored him to the throne—the Shah was enraged when Washington urged him to improve on human rights. As William Polk, who was serving on the policy planning staff at the time, later recounted:

My colleagues and I mildly encouraged the Shah to spread the benefits of Iran's growing revenues more equitably among the people, to curtail the rush toward militarization, and to open the government to political processes. The Shah was furious. In one of our meetings, he told me that he had identified me as the principal enemy of his regime. He set out to do precisely the opposite of what my colleagues and I had recommended.

The Shah only became more brazen as the United States grew increasingly dependent on him to “stabilize” the Middle East following the Vietnam War. Particularly notable during this time period was the Shah’s treachery in the Israeli-Iranian-American operation to aid Iraq’s Kurds in their ongoing rebellion against Baghdad. The United States initially only played a bit role in what was then largely an Israeli-Iranian affair. However, as Trita Parsi has explained, “during President Richard Nixon and National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger's visit to Tehran in May 1972, the Shah convinced the United States to take on a much larger role in what up to then had been a largely Israeli-Iranian operation.” The CIA and the State Department opposed this action, warning the White House that the Shah would ultimately betray the Kurds. While accurate, both agencies failed to warn that the Iranian monarch would also betray the United States.

But this is exactly what happened in March 1975 when the Shah and Saddam Hussein signed the Algiers Accord, which settled many outstanding border issues in Iran’s favor. Immediately afterward, the Shah cut off all support for the Kurds (including allowing the United States and Israel to use Iranian territory to provide assistance.) The United States and Israel were infuriated. As Parsi notes:

The agreement took Israel and the United States by complete surprise. The Shah neither consulted nor informed his Israeli and American allies about the negotiations with the Iraqis, nor did he indicate that the collaboration with the Kurds was in jeopardy.

In truth, the United States should not have been the least bit surprised by the Shah’s complete disregard of U.S. interests in the Kurdish operation. After all, he had acted far more egregiously in manipulating oil prices, particularly in the wake of the 1973 Arab oil embargo.

To be clear, the Shah, a quiet ally of Israel and adversary of the Arabs, did not participate in the oil embargo over the war. In fact, seizing upon higher prices, Iran actually upped its production in the immediate aftermath to capitalize on the higher prices (In October 1973, OPEC had raised the price of oil by over 70 percent, from $3.01 to $5.11 a barrel).

These higher prices were not enough to fund the Shah’s grandiose visions for Iran. In addressing the OPEC meeting in Tehran that December, the Shah urged the oil-producing nations to push the price of crude even higher, promising that “I shall defend our action before the entire world.” With the Shah’s encouragement, OPEC agreed to more than double the price of oil from $5.11 to $11.65. Over a twelve-month period, oil prices had risen an incredible 470 percent, which proved extremely lucrative for Iran and other Persian Gulf countries. As Andrew Scott Cooper notes of the year, “the economic wealth of OPEC members had [sky]rocketed by the then-astronomical sum of $112 billion—an amount that represented the largest single transfer of wealth in history.” Iran’s GDP alone was projected to grow by 50 percent!

Of course, the Shah’s move was catastrophic for Western economies, including the United States’, where law and order began to break down. Time magazine reported in January 1974:

in New York City, motorists fought with fists and knives among themselves and with policemen assigned to keep order around jammed stations. In Phoenix, pump jockeys began packing pistols — for self-protection, they explained.

In hindsight, they should have packed more heat; in Albany, NY, a man toting a hand grenade demanded all the gas he could transport.

Increasingly desperate among the growing chaos, President Nixon appealed directly to his old friend the Shah. His pleas fell on deaf ears, as the Shah flat out ignored Nixon’s request. Instead, the Shah went on 60 Minutes to deny that the United States was experiencing oil shortages at all, insisting instead that the United States was importing “more oil than any time in the past."

Worse still, he admonished: “The industrial world will have to realize that the era of their terrific progress and even more terrific income and wealth based on cheap oil is finished.”

“They will have to find new sources of energy, tighten their belts,” the Shah continued. “If you want to live as well now you’ll have to work for it. Even all the children of well-to-do parents who have plenty to eat, have cars, and run around as terrorists throwing bombs here and there—they will have to work, too.”

With friends like the Shah, who needs enemies?

Zachary Keck is the former managing editor of the National Interest. You can find him on Twitter: @ZacharyKeck. This article first appeared several years ago.

Image: Reuters.

Warfare History Network

History, Americas

These kind of first-person accounts are invauable.

Key point: As more members of the Greatest Generation pass away, many of their memories of World War II are passing with them. Here is how one Veteran's son found the diary he kept during World War II.

Suppose you found a magic door that opened onto some of the most crucial battles fought in the Pacific during World War II?

That’s the kind of door I stumbled upon in February 2010 when my 91-year-old father, Edward James Reynolds, died and left behind a diary that recounts nearly every day he spent as a radar man on the aircraft carrier Yorktown during World War II.

As I opened and read through this remarkable little gem, all kinds of questions surfaced. First, how did this book survive in such perfect condition? The guy served on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific, for cryin’ out loud, where salt water, humidity, and rain were constants. And how did he manage to not miss a single day? We’re talking about approximately 545 days of entries, and they come from places as far flung as the Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois, Virginia Beach, Central America, Pearl Harbor, New Guinea, the Marshall Islands, San Francisco, and sweet home Chicago at 1814 South Komensky Avenue.

And could this really be my father saying something like: “Arrived Pearl Harbor in afternoon. Impressed by Navy Band playing ‘Aloha’ as we pulled up to docks. Country beautiful. Women situation acute—125 men to every woman.”

Questions and curiosities aside, by the time I got to the part where my father laid eyes on the shiny new aircraft carrier that was about to propel him into harm’s way in the boundless blue, I was hooked. The diary became my way of experiencing the war vicariously. Gradually it dawned on me that his story belongs to everyone who benefited from his service in the Navy. If he and some 16 million other Americans had not stepped up to the plate the way they did, our lives would be profoundly different, and not in a positive way. So it is only fitting that the story of Ed Reynolds be shared, and shared as widely as possible.

What makes his story so compelling is that it turns the impersonal into the intensely personal. We all know from reading history books that Allied assaults on Japanese island strongholds in the Pacific—the Marshall Islands, the Gilbert Islands, the Marianas—were the beginning of the end for Japan in World War II. But what if we could be right beside a sailor from Chicago during these assaults? What if we could share his homesickness, his delight in new places, his fear of the ever-present danger that dive bombers and submarines and kamikazes represented, his pride in America’s military might and the rightness of its cause?

What if, through our Chicago sailor, we caught a glimpse of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, commander in chief of the U.S. Pacific Fleet; of a ship’s captain who was the first Native American to graduate from the Naval Academy; of Pearl Harbor; of Pacific atolls and the natives inhabiting them? All of this is ours to share in Ed’s diary.

“Assigned to Yorkie”

He begins in February 1943, when he writes that he is on leave from the Great Lakes Naval Training Base and has “nine heavenly days in Chicago.” A few days later, he leaves Great Lakes bound for Virginia Beach. “Lump in throat,” he tells us. “Will miss Chicago.” He leaves behind a 19-year-old neighborhood girl named Mary Ellen Murphy, who will surface repeatedly in the pages of his diary. Of all the reasons Ed looks forward to returning home after his Navy service, Mary tops the list.

Ed arrives in Virginia Beach March 13, 1943, and is bivouacked in the historic Cavalier Hotel. “Impressed by hotel’s beauty,” he notes. And well he might have been. Built in 1927, it was a masterpiece of architecture, sophisticated ambience, and gorgeous ocean views. So how did he wind up in such splendid digs? Because the U.S. Navy commandeered the Cavalier Hotel as a radar training school. Stables were cleaned and used as living quarters for some of the sailors, while in the swimming pool area the water was drained and the bottom of the swimming pool was used as a classroom. Imagine the Navy walking into Chicago’s Palmer House or New York’s Waldorf Astoria one day and saying, “We’ll be moving in now. And on your way out, drain that pool, will you? We may need it for something.”

By April 5, Ed finds himself five miles up the road at Camp Allen. “Assigned to Yorkie,” he notes. “Glad it’s a big ship, you don’t get so sick.”

This is Ed’s first reference to the USS Yorktown, the Essex-class aircraft carrier named to commemorate the first aircraft carrier Yorktown that was lost in June 1942 at the Battle of Midway.

“It was nearly the length of three football fields,” he always used to tell us when we were kids, and sure enough, the Yorktown was 820 feet long. I should say is 820 feet long—it is now docked at Patriot’s Point near Charleston, South Carolina. Its crew numbered 380 officers, 3,088 enlisted personnel, and 90 planes. It was commissioned on April 15, 1943, as Ed duly notes in his diary. Shortly after the commissioning ceremony, Ed and about 3,400 of his newfound comrades introduced this historic ship to sea.

Arrival in Hawaii

A “shakedown” cruise to Trinidad included beer parties on the beach financed by the 20th Century Fox Studios. June 17 has the Yorktown back at the Navy base in Norfolk, Virginia. The same evening, Ed departs on leave for “four days of happiness” back in the old Chicago neighborhood. Unfortunately, he returns from Chicago to the Yorktown six and a half hours “over leave,” which leads to this June 22-23 entry: “Spent these days ‘over the side,’ airgun in hand, scraping the bottom of the ship. Miserable duty.”

By July 7, with the Yorktown on its way to Pearl Harbor by way of the Panama Canal, Ed notes, “Scout planes spotted two subs.” The next day his entry talks about three “cans”––Navy slang for destroyers. These are the Dashiell, the McKee, and the Terry, and they show the way, writes Ed, “through sub-infested & squall-swept waters.” He also notes that he spent some time on July 8 in the pilot house, which causes him to observe that “the capt. is some character.” It’s worth noting that the captain he refers to is “Jocko” Clark, or Admiral Joseph J. Clark. Born in Oklahoma and a member of the Cherokee tribe, he was the first Native American to come through the U.S. Naval Academy.

While in the vicinity of the Panama Canal, Ed notes sighting Costa Rica and El Salvador. Once through the Canal and sailing west through the Pacific, he writes that the coast of Mexico is 200 miles away. “Issuing steel helmets & gas masks,” he notes. By now, thoughts of home are never far away. “Beautiful moonlit night. Flight deck would be wonderful spot for a dance. Heard ship’s orchestra practice—wow, are they solid.” And the next day: “All afternoon on flight deck gazing out over the water, thinking of home.” And a few days later: “Realization I’m a long way from Komensky Ave. When will I get to see Chicago again? No mail. Just plain lonesome tonight.”

Throughout the loneliness and homesickness, one thing that clearly appeals to him is the thought of being in Hawaii. Remember, he has never been farther from 18th and Komensky than Fox Lake, Illinois. So imagine his sense of anticipation when he writes: “Hawaii just 300 m dead ahead. Swaying palms, make way for E.J.”

When the Yorktown does reach Hawaii, it’s still four nights before E.J. gets up close and personal with those swaying palms. “Wish I could go ashore & just wander around on that mountain range to the West,” he writes. Keep in mind that he’s never seen a palm tree in his life at this point. In the meantime, he rubs shoulders with none other than Chester W. Nimitz, the commander in chief of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. “Anticipating tomorrow’s visit to Honolulu. Up in Radar Plot working tracking problem when Adm. Nimitz came through on inspection tour. Com. of Pac. Fleet is a nice old boy.” He then adds: “Boxed in evening, ran into a stiff left.”

Eventually Ed does get to see Honolulu, and he enjoys it a lot, especially Waikiki Beach, the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, an aquarium and bird collection, tennis, bowling for a nickel a lane, and pool. On August 21 he writes, “Liberty with Small & Furlow. Ping-pong & pool at U.S.O. It’s surprising how much food 3 guys can eat.” By August 22 it’s anchors aweigh from Pearl Harbor. “Rendezvous with task force,” he writes. “18 ships strong headed for Jap. held Marcus Islands.”

“Dog Day”

From here on, the diary entries grow ominous, to say the least. On August 30, he writes: “Exec’s message on eve of attack: ‘Tomorrow morning we will commence to launch attacks on Marcus which will be repeated again & again until all Japanese in the vicinity have been destroyed.’ ”

On August 31, which Ed calls “Dog Day,” war enters the lives of both Ed and the Yorktown: “Reveille 0200. We attack in 6 waves. First planes leave Yorkie 0420. First contact 0600. Japs report they’re under air attack at 0620. Many fires. Sampan strafed, left in flames. Radio installations knocked out. 35% of Marcus destroyed. Yorkie lost 2 F6F’s & 1 T.B.F. & 5 men. We were put into two emergency turns of 60 degrees because of sub. contacts. Our guns manned all day. Didn’t fire a shot. Underway for Pearl at 1800.”

Why the Yorktown makes such a sudden detour from battle—its very first battle—is never made clear. But for the next 14 days, all diary entries describe the Yorktown’s passage back to Pearl Harbor, from there to San Francisco, then back to Pearl again, and then off to attack Wake Island. While not so interesting from the military historian’s point of view, this 14-day period is filled with unique glimpses into what it meant to be a sailor on board an aircraft carrier in the middle of World War II. Again, it is fascinating to read one man’s observations, reactions, and inner thoughts juxtaposed against the drumbeat of all-impersonal history:

“Just a little closer to that 2 wks. accumulation of mail at Pearl Harbor.

“Whipped out a few letters. Sack time.

“Sun bath on flight deck. Saw a bird—land not too far distant now. “Pearl” & promise of liberty tomorrow—good duty. Night trials for pilots.

“Moored at Pearl. Welcoming band played ‘Aloha.’ Nice. Watched school of fish frolicking off the starboard side as we moored.

“Turkey dinner. Received 16 letters. Swell day aboard.

“Underway for Frisco at 1430. Essex leading the way. Abandon destroyer escort 75 m. out.

“Just us & Essex. Hauling ass unescorted.

“Moored starboard side just aft of Lexington at 1600. Nice to be back at Pearl. Kid struck by prop in hangar deck.

“All morning sunbath on flight deck. Wonderful this weather.

“Day closer to Dog Day at ‘Wake.’”

You can only shake your head and wonder what happened to the poor guy who got struck by a prop in the hangar deck.

Eventually Wake Island is in range. Ed writes on October 4, 1943, “2 Bogey contacts. Impending danger sign. Marine shining up dog tags.” Which is the danger sign, the Bogeys or the Marine polishing his dog tags? But the attack on Wake goes well: “0610 report says attack a complete surprise. Cruisers shelled Wake. Yorktown loss: 3 planes, 2 men. Jap loss: 17 planes on the ground left burning, 13 shot out of the sky.”

The attack continues on October 6: “Sent in our bombers from Midway. More strikes from task force. Loss for the day: 6 planes, men. Capt. says to crew, ‘Congratulations, best day Yorkie has ever had.’ ”

Probably not so good for the men who lost their lives.

“The Perfect Liberty”

From Wake it’s back to Pearl and some liberty that includes bicycling in the hills above Honolulu. His descriptions of liberty are priceless little snippets of relaxation and release from the stresses of war. First, there were 18 holes of golf at Waialae Country club with Snapper, Small, and Gus followed by a “swell” meal. “The perfect liberty,” writes Ed. Three days later, eight of them are back on the golf course, and this time some photos are shot. “Four rolls of pictures, including 2 shots of me in shower wearing nothing more than my newly acquired suntan.”

But it’s back to war by November 10. “Meeting of our unit discloses the seriousness of this mission,” Ed writes. “Our new Exec Mr. Briggs warned us in Radar Plot against doping off now that we are approaching the Japs’ sector searches. Exec says they know we’re coming & not to expect a song & dance affair as was experienced at Marcus & Wake.” And the next day: “Out to raise hell in the Gilbert Islands.”

Unfortunately, the hot, humid weather raises hell with Ed’s skin: “Sure hope the sick-bay-prescribed cal-o-mine lotion will in some way reduce the heat rash I have spread over even the least talked-about parts of my anatomy.” Apparently his heat-induced skin rashes cause him to take a less than official approach to garb one day. “Captain had no patience at all with my non-regulation apparel up at Pilot House Sunday night. ‘Out, out!’ Yes, I went out, but fast.”

An Ordinary Man at War

The passage below is presented without editorial interruption because I think its immediacy and intensity best shine through that way. This is what it’s like for an ordinary man to be at war. We’ll circle back at the end for some explication, a term most often used by literary critics who tease out the elusive meanings of poetry. I find the term “explication” appropriate in talking about Ed’s diary, too, because it reads a little like an epic poem, with Mary cast as the patient Penelope and Ed as the wandering and war-tossed Ulysses. One definition I will provide up front: GQ stands for General Quarters, which means be alert for battle conditions.

“November 17: Word was passed forequarters this morning to ‘pray the dead.’ The ceremonies were for 23-year-old N. Carolinian P.M. Second Class Rayford, who died of a heart attack last night. With the entire crew standing at attention on the flight deck, he was committed to the deep as the flag-clad canvas bag was slipped over the Starboard Side Forward to the gun salute of the Marines.

“We are now in the approach area, in waters subject to submarine & air attack. Squared away my preserver, gas mask, & flash clothing up in radar plot.

“November 18: Haulin ass for our operation point at Southern tip of Marshalls, where it will be our job to cruise up & down in the slot between Marshalls & Gilberts, protecting operations to our south.

“November 19, Dog Day: GQ 0420. Launch first of 9 strikes. Hit Makin, Jaluit, Milli, & Tarawa. Very little resistance encountered.

“November 20: Continued attack on islands. Land 6 divisions of Marines & tanks on Tarawa. Considerable resistance. Soldiers establish beach head on Makin. Jaluit attack destroyed 13 sea planes, 1 AK & 2 boats. Planes, though well strafed, did not burn. When AK was left, decks were awash. Report at 1320 that Adm. Turner’s outfit to the south of us is under attack by several Bettys.

“November 21, D+2: GQ 0315 because of four Bogey contacts on radar. One bogey passed within 8 m of the cloud-secluded, slow-moving Yorkie—we’re cut down to 12 knots to reduce wakes. Broke radio silence for short transmission by Commander in Chief of our task force, Capt. Hedington: ‘Bogeys on the way.’ Thanks to the good Man above for no night attack.

“Radio dispatch: ‘In an attack at dusk last evening, the Independence was ‘tin fished’ when attacked by 15 Bettys.’ They came in low and were not detected by Radar. We splashed one Betty 52 miles astern of us on single-vector perfect interception by Lt. Stover. Periscope sighted by USS Cowpens at 1304. It’s wide awake we’ll be at dusk tonight. No mass today, don’t seem like Sunday.

“November 23, D+4: 1030 Bogey contact at 330 Deg. 90 M.I. Fighters vectored out by Lexington Interception at 45 Mi. We splash 15 of 20 Zeros. Our own loss: three planes—only one as a result of engagement. No men lost. Picked up 5 [from] Liscome Bay. Fighters Lost. Just at dusk. She was operating somewhere South of us. We landed 3 of the F4Fs, & the fourth attempted landing resulted in an awful crash & fire that cost 5 men their lives while injuring 3.

“November 24, D+5: Burial services for our 5 lost shipmates in morning. “Baldy” reports Liscome Bay was lost yesterday as the result of either a torpedo or an explosion. I knew “Whitey” Kaskman, he used to pour the “Joe” in the aftermess hall where I often ate.

“GQ alert at 1240. Just when I was eating chow, large Bogey at 90 m. Interception by Lexington’s fighters at 55 m. Bogeys stacked & in two layers Ag 23 & 27. Our fighters at Ag 25. Splashed 9 Zeros, 1 Betty. Chased 2 Bettys, 1 Zero. Raid dispersed. Our loss: 1 fighter shot down in flames by 3 Zeroes.

And now for that explication: “Tin fish” is a torpedo. As for “splashed,” it means shot down. “Bogey,” of course, is an enemy aircraft whose specific type or class has not been identified. Bogeys were very much on the mind of Radarman Third Class Ed Reynolds because a chief responsibility of the radarmen was to know where enemy aircraft were at all times.

Makin, Jaluit, Milli, and Tarawa are all islands in the Gilbert or Marshall chains. Tarawa was an atoll with a garrison commanded by Kaigun Shosho Keiji Shibasaki, who had boasted before the invasion, “It would take one million men one hundred years” to conquer Tarawa.

Shibasaki was slightly off on his 100 years boast; it took only 72 hours. But when Ed reports that the Marine invasion of Tarawa met with “considerable resistance,” it was some kind of understatement. After 72 hours of intense fighting, some 6,000 men died, and 1,667 of them were Americans, mostly Marines. Back in the States after the battle, protests mounted when the casualties were reported. Writing after the war, when Marine General Holland M. Smith was asked if Tarawa was worth it, he didn’t mince words. “My answer is unqualified: No. From the very beginning the decision of the Joint Chiefs to seize Tarawa was a mistake.”

Regarding the term “Bettys,” it’s an Allied code name for one of the many Japanese war planes that had to be dealt with. The Betty is one of several dive bombers that the Japanese air force brought to the table. Zeros, the advanced carrier-launched fighter planes developed by Mitsubishi for the Japanese Air Force during the war, were “Zekes.” Other names included “Nell” (an attack bomber), “Kate” (a carrier-launched attack bomber), and “Dave” (reconnaissance seaplane).

The Sinking of the Liscombe Bay

The explication most helpful in appreciating what Ed experienced regards the sinking of the Liscome Bay, an escort carrier capable of carrying 28 planes. It was sunk by a Japanese submarine torpedo and went down in an explosion so intense that flesh and debris were showered onto the battleship USS New Mexico, a mile away. One sailor on the destroyer USS Hoel described the incident this way: “It didn’t look like a ship at all. We thought it was an ammunition dump. She just went whoom—an orange ball of flame.” She went down in 23 minutes, and with her went 644 officers and men. U.S. ships in the area did manage to save 272 of her crew.

Armed with this information, it would appear that when Ed writes “Picked up 5 Liscombe Bay. Fighters Lost. Just at dusk,” he means that at dusk the Yorktown radarmen picked up five planes trying to find their way to a Liscome Bay that was already at the bottom of the ocean. Of the five planes, four made safe landings on the Yorktown, but one crashed, killing five and injuring three. Ed mourns the loss of  “Whitey” Kaskman, who appears to be one of the five Yorktown men who lost their lives in the crash on the flight deck.

Attack on Kwajalein

With three major battles under her belt, the Yorktown now moves toward its next target: the island of Kwajalein in the Marshall chain. Located 2,100 miles southwest of Honolulu, Kwajalein is the world’s largest coral atoll as measured by area of enclosed water. Heavily fortified and a key piece of the Japanese perimeter of defense, Kwajalein was used as an outlying base for submarines and surface warships.

November 25 brings Thanksgiving and a “wonderful turkey dinner,” writes Ed. “Thanksgiving, & quite a bit to be thankful for.” On midnight watch two days later, he worries about collisions and “closely formed task forces almost running into one another.” The heat bothers him, so he sleeps on the flight deck instead of his bunk. A day later, he wonders about the rumor of transfers, which gets him to thinking about home. “How about Komensky Ave.—will I see it soon?”

Captain Jocko Clark, on the other hand, is more focused on the task at hand. “Message from Capt. says be prepared to fight our way both to and from Kwajalein.” And then my favorite moment in the entire diary: “While up on flight deck tonight playing host to a moonlit starry night, I thought, well, all that wonderful arrangement up there is something this crazy war hasn’t changed.”

The attack on Kwajalein commences December 4, and once again I think Ed’s entry says all that needs to be said:

“December 4: 1st launch 0615 against Kwajalein from 111 mi. out. Shot down 1 Dave, 1 Betty. 15-17 strafed on ground left burning. 8 hits on ships. 6 AK left in flames. Our loss 2 fighters, 1 pilot. Lexington shot down 3 Jap torpedo planes while attempting runs on her. At 1300, four Jap torpedo planes sighted by lookouts coming in low over the San Francisco & into our port bow. Frisco got one, we done in 2. The 2nd one was so damned close you could almost feel the warmth of its flames. One got away. Our gunfire gave the Frisco an awful pasting. 1 dead, 6 wounded as a result. Damn Japs were strafing too as they came in.

“Wotje Island strike almost abandoned to supply additional fighters to repel torpedo attack. Wotje strike got 3 Bettys, 2 Zekes; hangars & oil stores left in flames. Oil slick near large cargo vessel subjected to near miss. Jap snooper reports our position. GQ alert at 1900. Bogies all over the place, looks like a hell of a night. Clear moonlit night & that doesn’t help matters. Smoked a fag given me by radioman “Red.” Constant stream of sandwiches & drinks for the officers. Don’t that fry my ass. Bogeys all disband at 2230. They formed again to start new attack at 2315. They can see us but we can’t see them damn it all. We fire spasmodically when they get in close, just can’t connect. Lexington got one in starboard quarter at 2330. Lexington still able to turn over 18 knots. Steering gear out. Lexington will be guided in by a Can. Those 5-inchers really make a racket.”

Recreation on the Yorktown

With Kwajalein in her rear view mirror—for the time being—the Yorktown heads back to Pearl Harbor. Movies onboard during this time include Granny Get Your Gun and The Kid Glove Killer. The latter, says Ed, is “cool.” Back in Pearl, the days include tennis and ping-pong tournaments and the movie The Human Comedy (“What a movie,” says Ed).

When rumors of a possible return to the States surface, he writes, “Maybe it will be Fox Lake in the Springtime for E.J.” He was crazy about the Chain of Lakes just north and west of Chicago, where his mother had a cottage on Fox Lake. Christmas comes and goes. “Takes a hell of a lot more than good chow & a Christmas tree to make a Christmas,” Ed notes.

On January 15 the Yorktown is underway at 12:45 pm, headed back to the Marshall and Gilbert Islands. All of this activity, it should be noted, was part of the United States’ strategy known as “island hopping.” Admiral Chester W. Nimitz executed this strategy in the central Pacific, while General Douglas McArthur, commander of the Allied forces in the Southwest Pacific, took responsibility for the South Pacific. The idea was to establish a line of island bases close enough to Japan so that American bombers could launch from these islands and reach the Japanese mainland.

Despite the grimness of this task and the number of lives it cost, life onboard the Yorktown wasn’t without its lighter moments. Ed writes of the long-standing naval ceremony that takes place when the ship crosses the Equator and the “pollywogs” (sailors who have not previously crossed the Equator) become “shellbacks” (fit subjects of King Neptune). It’s basically a bunch of good-natured hazing. Ed is one of the sailors who makes the transition from pollywog to shellback.

“January 21: The pollywogs began to play this afternoon on the flight deck. All one guy had on was a large diaper. That boy in pink panties & brassiere sure looked good. How about those poor jerks dressed in those warm fur-lined high-altitude clothes. Lt. Coms. Lambert & Earnshaw sure looked silly dressed in divers gear. And the fighter pilots ran down the deck strafing with beans. Capt. Clark’s usually stern face was lit up with an ear-to-ear smile as he watched the show from the bridge.

“January 22: We all have one thing very much in common tonight & that is a very sore butt, as the result of initiation into the “shellbacks.” Nice to have become a shellback without having my hair dug out in spots or being rolled in the garbage box.”

As he does throughout his time in the Pacific, especially when near the Equator, Ed rails about the heat: “I’d give a hell of a lot for a nonperspiring night’s sleep at that Komensky Ave. shack.”

Majuro lagoon

From January 29 to February 4, 1944, the Yorktown and its planes return to Kwajalein, while other U.S. task forces attack the islands of Roi, Eniwetok, and Wotje, all in the Marshall Islands. In the battle of Kwjalein, 7,870 of 8,000 Japanese soldiers died, while American losses were 372.

By February 4, the Yorktown is anchored in the lagoon of a gorgeous tropical atoll called Majuro. Ed describes it as “tiny islets of coral, with coconut palms & grass shacks. Sure would love to go ashore & browse. Supposed to be 900 natives housed on this U-shaped atoll.” A day later he writes, “A peaceful day in a sleepy lagoon. Mail, wonderful mail. Cool, quiet—nice.” More mail arrives on February 6, and Ed attends Mass with Dan Murphy, the brother of Mary who waits back home.

All Ed’s entries while in Majuro are peaceful, almost idyllic. “Don’t those natives go like hell in an outrigger canoe with sail. Temperature ideal, breeze constant. It’s nice out here.” But he is also constantly aware that this is only one of those calms before a storm: “What a tremendous amount of power sitting around out here. Five big flat-tops, one right next to the other & about a mile apart. Enterprise, us, Essex, Intrepid, & Bunker Hill.”

On February 9 he writes of a “dip in the lovely blue waters of Majuro.” But again, he knows this island paradise is only a brief respite: “How long are we going to stay in this place? If our next objective is Truk, maybe the peace & quiet of Majuro should be appreciated.” He also makes it clear that even island paradises have their downsides: “Major engagement with jellyfish while swimming in 33 fathoms of Majuro blue.”

On February 11 he notes that it is the Yorktown’s last day in the lagoon. After lights-out, he has what he calls an “after it’s over session with Furlow & Weeg.” I would imagine such sessions were a constant source of comfort to countless servicemen who were able to find refuge from the stress and mayhem of war by sitting down next to a comrade and saying, “Here’s what I’m going to do when this thing is over.” Sadly, plenty of servicemen—on both sides of the conflict—never made it to the days when the war was over.

Combat Stress on the Yorktown

Leaving Majuro lagoon at 9:30 am on February 12, Ed learns it is indeed the well-fortified island of Truk in the Caroline Islands that the Yorktown will tackle next. A major Japanese logistical base, it was something like the Japanese equivalent of the U.S. Navy’s Pearl Harbor. “Sounds like a very daring operation,” he notes. “Rough sea. Focksle [sic] awash. This damn heat & continued perspiring has me full of heat rash again.” But he is thankful for small—or not so small—favors: “No bogeys.”

On February 16 he reports, “Our score for the day: shot down in the air 25 planes, on the ground 8 planes, 4 probable. Many hits on our cruisers, destroyers, & cargo ships.” He also says a friend named Smoky was down in a life raft but that a submarine had a fix on his position. “Hope he was picked up,” says Ed. The tail gunner of a badly shot up Yorktown bomber is not so lucky, however, and dies aboard the ship. Ed’s summary: “Long, bogey-crammed day.”

February 18 brings this entry: “Hauling ass from Truk.” The Yorktown’s next target is the island of Saipan in the Marianas chain, where a bomb drops 100 feet off the starboard bow. “It was exactly the kind of day you read about but not the kind you ever expect to actually experience. Planes falling on all sides of our group. Coming in just one or two at a time, they were just duck soup for our gunners. Can’t understand their strategy, if you can call it that.”

February 25 has the Yorktown headed back to Majuro, and it appears that the constant stress of battle is beginning to take its toll: “Our gang could sure use some leave. Not a day goes by anymore when we don’t have a serious argument or near fight. We’re all getting touchy, irritable, & less tolerant. Variety is the spice of life & there’s damn little seasoning we get.”

Four days later, still in Majuro: “Still sitting, waiting, and wondering about our next move.” But the good news is that “beach parties” are being arranged for small groups at a time, and on March 3 it’s Ed’s turn. He and a fellow named “Crotch” have a great day. “Swimming, we see beautifully formed & colored coral. Pabst in cans, sandwiches—really swell. Wandered from one island to the next. Signs of where the Japs were dug in—and then dug out.” 

On March 8 at 8:00 am, the Yorktown is underway once again, this time headed for Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides archipelago. A military supply base, naval harbor, and airfield, Espiritu Santo is generally known as the inspiration for James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific, which in turn was the source for the Broadway classic South Pacific. Some new pollywogs are given the shellback treatment as the ship crosses the Equator on March 11.

Ed’s introspective side surfaces in a Sunday entry: “Every evidence that the sea is observing the Sabbath, judging from its very calm surface.” But he’s a little miffed to hear about the “revelation” that 90 percent of the shells available for use by the Yorktown’s five-inch guns were duds. “What a hell of a lot of protection we wouldn’t have had had we needed it at Saipan,” he writes.

They “drop hook” (anchor) in Espiritu Santo on March 13, and he is not happy about how hot it is: “Every indication that impetigo, ring worm, & the variety of heat rashes we have onboard will really thrive out here.” But there is good news, too: “107 sacks of mail. Wonderful stuff.”

Beach parties resume at Espiritu Santo, and he sees a USO show featuring Ray Milland and Mary Elliot. He also happily reports that the dud shells for the five-inchers are unloaded. He sees Girl Crazy and notes it stars Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. He also describes some of the local marine life: “Strange companions off bow. Large turtle, with two sandsharks depending on him for shade. Large schools of fish raising hell with minnows.”

“Sunset Bogeys”

Scuttlebutt says that the next target for the Yorktown is the Caroline Islands, and as other task forces join his, he’s impressed by the combined firepower they bring: “95 to 105 ships in all, what a powerhouse, including Bunker Hill, Enterprise, Hornet, Lexington, & us.”

But it’s not the Caroline Islands––it’s the island of Palau they’re headed for. Some good news, too, for our Chicago sailor: “Ridgeway says this is the last operation and then Majuro & Frisco & finally Chicago—wonderful Chicago.”

By March 29, the attack on Palau is underway, and Ed notes that the Japanese dive bombers are flying so low that radar contact is difficult to fix. He also notes, “I’m counting on that ‘operating under a spiritual umbrella’ that Father Farrell referred to. We’ll need ‘his’ protection tonight.” Later that day, after concerns about “sunset Bogeys,” he writes: “Escaped unscathed—good old ‘umbrella.’”

On March 31, the Lexington radar crew picks up a sampan in the predawn hours. “Investigation with a searchlight revealed Jap insignia. Sunk same. Made wonderful glow on horizon.” He also reports on the fate of a life raft of U.S. airmen whose plane has gone down. “A Zeke strafing survivors in a life raft was chased & splashed by two of our V.F.s. Life raft survivors unscathed.”

One more note, and a sad one at that, before the Yorktown leaves Palau. There are still about 100 American servicemen listed as missing in action there.

“No Saturday. Passed Time Zone, Gained a day.”

The Yorktown next launches its planes against the island of Woleai in the Carolines on April 1 from 140 miles out. Encountering “no fighter opposition,” the ship then heads back to Majuro. “Scuttlebutt says Majuro, Pearl, then Frisco—oh, how I hope it’s good dope,” says Ed.

On April 7, after a basketball game on the hangar deck, Ed writes sympathetically about the fate of his friends whose girls back home have not been true. “Bogie got news his Arline is getting married. That makes Ward, Geres, Nelson & the Bogie who all belong to the brush-off club.” More bad news comes on Easter Sunday, April 9, when it becomes clear that the aforementioned “dope” was not so good after all: “At Majuro. 0645 Mass. Loading ammunition—that settles the States deal.”

 

Ed and crew are still in Majuro on April 12 when he gets called from a football session on the flight deck to take his Radarman Second Class test. He is clearly getting more than anxious to get back home, and his April 13 entry shows that he has grown skeptical of any news suggesting that home is a possibility anytime soon. “Pow-wow. ‘Ridge’ says we’re covering the invasion of Hollandia in New Guinea. ‘Frisco after this one,’ says Ridge. I don’t find that line funny anymore.”

A day or so later is one of those entries that’s fascinating because it demonstrates how meticulous Ed was when it came to entries in his diary. Between his Friday, April 14 entry and his Sunday, April 16 entry he writes: “No Saturday. Passed time zone, gained a day.” It’s as if he knew someone would be reading his observations one day in the future, so he wants to make sure that whoever that someone is, they won’t be able to accuse him of missing a Saturday entry.

With the Yorktown en route to Hollandia, we learn that “Pinkie” is in sickbay with South Pacific “complection,” whatever that is, and “Dewdrop” is also in sickbay with impetigo. “Nothing to do & lots of time to do it in,” writes Ed. “Too damned routine. Take me back to that Komensky Ave. shack.”

When the Yorktown reaches New Guinea, they hit Wakde Island rather than Hollandia. Ed explains: “Got word the Japs had more planes there.”

April 22 brings a rather cryptic entry describing the crash of a Yorktown torpedo bomber: “Pre-dawn launch T.B.F. 10 crashed N. Orleans on takeoff. Fouled up. Radar antennaes, killed plane crew & 1 N.O. sailor & injured one N.O. sailor, when bombs exploded.” A little research on the USS New Orleans, a heavy cruiser, tells us that this is what happened: “On 22 April a disabled Yorktown plane flew into New Orleans’ mainmast, hitting gun mounts as it fell into the sea. The ship was sprayed with gas as the plane exploded on hitting the water; one crewmember was lost, another badly hurt.”

The April 22 entry also includes a reference to General McArthur: “Army (under direction of Gen. ‘Mac,’ who was upon the bridge of a cruiser) made landings at Humbolt Bay supported by our air group.”

Strikes on Truk continued through April 30, and an entry on that day reminds us that submarines from both sides of the conflict were ever present. “Sub. made daring rescue of 8 of our pilots down in life rafts near targets. Screen destroyers picked up surfaced enemy sub. Ganged up with planes to knock the hell out of it. Oil slick, underwater explosion, & telltale flotsam confirmed sinking.”

“Thinking of Mary an Awful Lot”

By May 1 it’s back to Majuro “with a stopover for a few strikes at Ponape,” writes Ed, adding, “Finally got that second stripe.” Home is really beckoning by now: “More of that stuff about our trip to Pearl & then those Golden Gates—nice dreaming. Wait for me Mary—ironical & true.” But there’s still no guarantee about heading home. “Opinion now divided as to whether it will be Frisco or a change of squadrons at Pearl & then ‘just one more raid.’ ”

Ed also spends more time worrying about his Mary back home. “Lost pen upon focsle [sic] last night while crapped out up there—damn it. Lost the Mary-sent bracelet, now the pen. Say, maybe by this time I’ve lost the donor of these gifts as well.”

When the Yorktown reaches Pearl Harbor, initial scuttlebutt has the ship executing “just one more” mission before heading for the mainland. But some continue to believe there won’t be another mission, that home is around the corner.

“The poor dopes,” writes Ed. “I don’t think I’ll ever believe another word given to me while I’m in this outfit. From now on, ‘I’m from Missouri.’” His skepticism, it turns out, is well founded. He winds up getting assigned as radar school instructor for six months at Catlin Park Military Complex in Pearl Harbor. But there are some good things: “This fresh milk sure is wonderful stuff. Yorktown, I don’t think I’ll miss you very much.” And later, “Burk & I spent the evening admiring a beautiful horizon to the Northeast. Gave me kind of a nice homey feeling. Life out on the blue just doesn’t compare with shore duty.”

Ed manages to collide with another player in a baseball game on June 9, which results in a “metal clip in chin.” He has the clip removed June 12, he tells us, and he adds this poignant detail as well: “This old fart Stokes that sleeps above me sure makes a racket with his combined farting, snoring, and grinding his teeth.” On a slightly more romantic note, he adds: “Thinking of Mary an awful lot.”

On June 15, Ed goes aboard the aircraft carrier USS Intrepid. He notes: “Strange how a smile developed on my face as my feet struck the rather familiar hangar deck of the Intrepid. I guess you do develop a certain amount of sentimentalness after making one your home for 14 months.”

Another kind of “sentimentalness” is also constantly referred to: “Seeing guys and gals together sure makes me think in terms of Komensky Ave.” And then there’s this: “At Catlin & liking it. Time passes so swiftly I seldom have time to keep up this little book of memories.”

A few days after Ed’s July 12 entry about seeing the Bob Hope show at Maluhia, he runs out of space in his diary. So he starts a new one, nearly identical in appearance as the first but this time a softcover version. Needless to say, he does not miss a day. The original ends July 14. The new one begins July 15. Big news on July 17: “Word that Burke, Reynolds, Dekart, Marqus, Brandt to make homeward trek come Aug. 1st. Wonderful—ah, yes, wonderful. Thinking lots these days in terms of Komensky Ave. & Mary.”

He notes that President Franklin D. Roosevelt comes through Catlin on July 27, but it hardly registers: “As Aug. 1st comes closer, I can think of nothing but home.” Not that he won’t miss the beauty of Hawaii: “I’ll miss the soft air, the gardenia scent when passing the lei vendor in front of the Moana Hotel. I’ll miss the purple red sunsets, wonderful cool evenings. It has been nice.”

By August 3, Ed is on a troop transport ship pulling out of Honolulu bound for San Francisco. Onboard with him are a number of wounded sailors, soldiers, Marines, and civilians. Their presence reminds him of how fortunate he has been. “Surely do thank the good Man above whenever I see that sailor without the chin or the Marine without legs—or hell, any number of the many casualties we’re taking Stateside.” The next day his entry is a little less spiritual: “Invested in one of the many crap games on board—fine investment.”

After spending August 8 in San Francisco, Ed boards the Union Pacific’s Challenger for a three-day ride to Chicago. “Chicagee, stand by,” he writes on August 10. Next day: “This vehicle just can’t go fast enough to please me. Neighboring soldiers still have enough quarts to go around.” Finally, on Saturday August 12, the entry he’s been aching to make: “Arrived C. & N.W. station 11:20 am. Taxi ride home. Home wonderful home.”

Once back at 18th and Komensky, he makes an August 13 entry. I must confess, considering all he has been through, the dangers he has survived, and the promising young lives he’s seen snuffed, I fight back tears every time I read it: “Raced Ann all the way to Finbarrs. Strangely enough we arrived on time for 12 o’clock Mass. Father McKenney, Marty, the Brusts—oh hell but it’s swell just saying hellos to guys & gals you haven’t seen for awhile.”

Returning Home After 538 Entries

And that’s it. After 538 days of entries, the next page and all the pages after it are perfectly blank. There were no more diary entries for Ed. I guess he was too busy living.

Ed stayed in the Navy for another 14 months, training radar operators at Great Lakes Naval Base back in Illinois, the very place where his military odyssey began. His discharge papers tell us he exited the Navy on October 1, 1945.

As for Ed and Mary, they were joined in matrimony on May 22, 1948. The wedding was at St. Finbarr’s, not far from that Komensky Ave. shack about which Ed had fantasized while at sea. Ed and Mary had seven children and nine grandchildren, and Ed lived to see one great grandson.

Careerwise, Ed returned to the Cicero, Illinois-based Western Electric Company where he had worked for two years prior to his service in the Navy. By the time he retired from that telephone manufacturing monopoly, he had 43 years under his belt. In the 1950s, Ed and family moved to the town of Lombard in Chicago’s western suburbs. It remained his home until he died at the age of 91. It remains Mary’s home today.

This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

This article originally appeared on the Warfare History Network.

Image: Reuters.

Sebastien Roblin

Security,

In the 2000s, development proceeded for a DDG-1000 destroyer integrating every next-generation technology then conceivable.

Here's What You Need to Remember: Even the destroyer’s stealthy hull did not offer a clear advantage if it had to escort—or required an escort from—un-stealthy warships. And keeping a class of just three vessels operational meant very high overheads expenses in training and sustainment per individual ship. Thus, many analysts speculate the Zumwalt’s operational career could prove short-lived.

In January 2019, the Navy will commission its second hi-tech Zumwalt-class stealth destroyer, the USS Michael Monsoor. The third and last, USS Lyndon B. Johnson was launched this December 2018 and will be commissioned in 2022.

Traditionally, warships are tailored to perform specific missions. But the cutting-edge Zumwalt has been a ship in search of a mission, especially since procurement of hyper-expensive ammunition for its primary weapon system was canceled. Years and billions of dollars later, the Navy may finally have found one.

In the post-Cold War 1990s, the U.S Navy lacked peer competitors on the high seas, so it conceived its next-generation surface combatants for engaging coastal targets. As the Navy phased out its last battleship, it decided its next destroyer should mount long-range guns that could to provide more cost-efficient naval gunfire support than launching million-dollar Tomahawk cruise missiles.

In the 2000s, development proceeded for a DDG-1000 destroyer integrating every next-generation technology then conceivable. The Navy promised Congress a larger destroyer requiring only 95 crew instead of 300 thanks to automation, with adequate space and power-generation capacity to deploy railguns and laser weapons. The new warships would be stealthier to avoid enemy attacks and pack rapid-firing 6-inch guns with a range of 115 miles for the sustained bombardment of land targets. Thirty-two DDG-1000s were to succeed the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer.

The lead ship USS Zumwalt took shape sporting a futuristic-looking tumblehome hull—wider below the waterline than above—helping reduce the 190-meter long vessel’s radar cross-section to that of a small fishing boat. The ship’s induction motors generated a whopping 58 megawatts of electricity while cruising, enough to power the entire 17,630-ton ship thanks to an Integrated Power System. The electrically-driven motors and chilled exhaust also reduce the destroyer’s infrared and acoustic signature. The vessel’s new Total Ship Computing Environment networked all the destroyer’s systems, making them accessible from any console throughout the vessel.

In addition to rapid-firing 6” guns, the Zumwalt had eighty Mark 57 missile vertical-launch cells dispersed across her bow and stern to minimize secondary explosions. These could target and launch Tomahawk land-attack cruise missiles, ASROC anti-submarine rockets, or quad-packs of Evolved Sea Sparrow medium-range air-defense missiles. The Zumwalt’s spacious landing pad and hangar could accommodate up to three MQ-8B helicopter drones or two MH-60R helicopters, which can carry Hellfire anti-tank missiles or torpedoes. The destroyers also boast a capable dual-bandwidth sonar for hunting submarines, but lack the torpedo armament found in Arleigh Burkes.

The destroyer’s crew of one-hundred-and-fifty—plus a twenty-eight-person air detachment—exceeded by over 50 percent the originally promised number, but remained half that of an Arleigh-Burke destroyer. However, some analysts fear the super-trim crew complement leaves too little redundancy should the vessels sustain battle damage.

Indeed, by 2008, the Navy was no longer highly concerned with bombarding militarily weaker countries. Rather, it contemplated the challenge posed by China’s rapidly expanding surface and submarine fleets, and the proliferation of deadly anti-ship ballistic and cruise missiles.

Worse, the Zumwalt’s Advanced Gun System didn’t even work that well, with two-thirds the forecast range (around 70 miles). Furthermore, its rocket-boosted LRLAP GPS-guided shells cost $800,000 dollars each—nearly as expensive as more precise, longer-range and harder-hitting cruise missiles. The Navy finally canceled the insanely expensive munitions, leaving the Zumwalt with two huge guns it can’t fire.

Downsizing and Downgrades:        

Despite the well-known difficulties of developing next-generation military systems, the Zumwalt had been sold to Congress based on unrealistic minimum-cost estimates. Eventually, program costs exceeded the budget by 50 percent, triggering an automatic cancelation according to the Nunn—McCurdy Act.

Already by 2008, the Navy sought to ditch building more than two Zumwalts in favor of procuring Arleigh Burke Flight III destroyers with ballistic-missile defense capabilities. Maine Senator Susan Collins nonetheless wrangled a third destroyer to keep her state’s Bath Iron Works shipyard in business.

Each Zumwalt now costs $4.5 billion—in addition to the $10 billion spent on development. Like the troubled F-35 and Littoral Combat Ship, the Zumwalt’s spiraling costs were due to the Navy’s ambition to integrate completely new technologies still being concurrently developed. The final design was not even stabilized by the time construction began in 2009. The hybrid electrical system has proven especially challenging to integrate, leading the Zumwalt to break down while crossing the Panama Canal in November 2016.

Nearly decade after she was laid down, a 2018 Government Accountability Office report stated only five of the Zumwalt’s twelve key technologies was “mature.” Farcically, the ships were even officially “delivered” without combat systems. The lead ship, commissioned in 2012, won’t be ready for operational deployment until 2021.

The need to curb runaway costs led to crippling downgrades. Instead of fitting combining a powerful SPY-4 volume search radar with a SPY-3 hi-resolution targeting radar, the Navy ditched the former and rejigged the SPY-3 to handle volume-search as well. This saved $80 million per ship but significantly degraded air-search capabilities.

However, the Zumwalt currently only has Evolved Sea Sparrow air defense missiles with a range of thirty miles—adequate only for local coverage at best. Though the Zumwalt’s missile cells are compatible with longer-range Standard Missiles, those depend on the Aegis Combat System for guidance, which the Zumwalt lacks. And the Zumwalt’s last-ditch Close-In Weapon Systems were downgraded from 57-millimeter to much less capable 30-millimeter cannons.

Even the destroyer’s radar cross-section has been degraded to cut costs, with the adoption of cheaper steel for the deckhouse and the incorporation of non-flush sensor and communication masts.

Ship-Hunting Stealth Destroyers?:

What were merely three DDG-1000s good for, despite their nifty stealth features and propulsion? The advanced destroyers lacked ammunition for their guns, anti-ship missiles, anti-submarine torpedoes, and long-range area-air defense missiles. Furthermore, the Zumwalt had fewer cells to pack land-attack missiles than Arleigh-Burke destroyers (96), Ticonderoga-class cruisers (122), or Ohio-class cruise-missile submarines (144)—all of which were cheaper, and the last of which is stealthier.

Even the destroyer’s stealthy hull did not offer a clear advantage if it had to escort—or required an escort from—un-stealthy warships. And keeping a class of just three vessels operational meant very high overheads expenses in training and sustainment per individual ship. Thus, many analysts speculate the Zumwalt’s operational career could prove short-lived.

The Zumwalt needed a new mission—even if that meant tweaking its capabilities at an additional cost. Finally, in December 2017 the Navy announced the class would specialize in “surface strike”, i.e. hunting down other ships.

The destroyers will be modified to fire new Maritime Tomahawk Block IV subsonic anti-ship missiles and SM-6 active-radar-homing missile. The latter can provide longer-range air defense missile (up to 150 miles) and has a secondary ground or naval attack capability. Compared to the Tomahawk, the SM-6 has a much smaller 140-pound warhead, but its maximum speed of Mach 3.5 makes it much harder to intercept. Eventually, cheaper ammunition may be developed for the presently-useless guns, or they may be swapped out for additional missile launch cells or even future railguns or directed-energy weapons.

This surface warfare role may best leverage the Zumwalt’s stealth capabilities, allowing it to range ahead of the fleet and penetrate “anti-access” zones threatened by long-range anti-ship missiles. It could creep closer to enemy warships before launching its own missiles, giving adversaries little time to react.

The Navy is also working on networking sensors between its submarines, surface warships, helicopters, patrol planes and attack jets through “Cooperative Engagement” technology. Thus one strategy could see distant “spotter” generating targeting data using active radar, then transmitting it to a sensor-ghosting Zumwalt to perform the strike.

The cost of the current upgrades is reportedly $90 million—a sum which may prove worthwhile if it helps recoup some value after the $22 billion sunk into the ambitious but failed ship concept.

Sébastien Roblin holds a master’s degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University and served as a university instructor for the Peace Corps in China. He has also worked in education, editing, and refugee resettlement in France and the United States. He currently writes on security and military history for War Is Boring. This piece was originally featured in December 2018 and is being republished due to reader's interest. 

Media: Wikimedia Commons.

James Holmes

History, Americas

The famous admiral could have either helped Hawaii be more prepared or else would have made the situation more dire.

Key point: Commanders have difficult choices to make and they also come with different personalities. How much of a difference did it make who was calling the shots before and during the fateful surprise attack on Pearl Harbor?

Would World War II have taken a different course had Admiral Chester W. Nimitz been in charge at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, when the Japanese hammer blow fell? Almost assuredly. History may have followed a more positive trajectory had U.S. forces on Oahu been prepared for an aerial assault. Or it may have turned out worse—perhaps far, far worse.

That’s because individual leadership matters. It matters a great deal whether a Nimitz or an Admiral Husband Kimmel superintends grand endeavors such as naval warfare and postwar peacemaking.

This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Believe it or not, the claim that individuals count fuels an age-old argument within the ivory tower. Seventy years ago T. S. Eliot heralded the study of Greek history and political life because it deals with compact city-states for the most part. Writes Eliot, the classics have to do with “a small area, with men rather than masses, and with the human passions of individuals rather than with those vast impersonal forces which in our modern society are a necessary convenience of thought, and the study of which tends to obscure the study of human beings.”

The ancients accented the human factor—which helps explain their lasting allure. We see people like ourselves living in unfamiliar times and combating what often look like unendurable stresses. Perchance we learn from antiquity. Now, vast impersonal forces—geography, economics, demographics, and on and on—exist. And they’re important beyond a doubt. That’s why the masters of politics and strategy are so vehement about acquaintanceship with the surroundings. Florentine philosopher-statesman Niccolò Machiavelli, to name one, deems conforming to the times—and adapting to keep up with them—a cornerstone of republican or princely rule.

Sovereigns who fall out of tune with the times expose themselves to dire peril. You seldom read this in these pixels, but Karl Marx may have said it best: “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past.” Vast impersonal forces may try to sweep us along to our destiny, and they certainly bound and constrain our actions. Yet we need not yield to them in full. We get a say.

Who accomplishes most while working within the boundaries imposed by impersonal forces is the best leader.

Whether Kimmel or Nimitz was commander-in-chief of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, then, is no idle question. Nor is it a flight of fancy. As biographer E. B. Potter recalls, Nimitz was offered CINCPAC early in 1941, after President Franklin Roosevelt deposed Admiral James O. Richardson from the post. Yet Nimitz turned it down. He was serving in a plum job at the time as the overseer of the U.S. Navy’s Bureau of Navigation. Accepting, furthermore, would have vaulted him over candidates senior to him. He refused the appointment to avoid embittering long-serving officers with their sense of entitlement.

Such are the vagaries of flag-officer promotions.

To derive value from this foray into alt-history, consider how U.S. naval history may have changed had Chester Nimitz accepted appointment as CINCPAC in early 1941, as he well could have done, and how history may have changed after the Japanese attack. In effect that means subtracting Kimmel’s contributions, virtues, and vices from history leading up to December 7 and postulating what Nimitz would have added to the mix. And it means speculating about whether Nimitz would have been cashiered—and pilloried—the way Kimmel was after Japan struck. If he was, another CINCPAC would have taken his place—perhaps prosecuting operations under a different philosophy heading into 1942. Kimmel himself might have gotten the nod.

Let’s extrapolate from what we know. A few things stand out from studying Nimitz’s life. To name one, he had a bit of Alice in Wonderland’s White Rabbit in his temperament, namely a bias against impulsive action. (The Rabbit famously upbraided Alice: “Don’t just do something, stand there!”) As historian Samuel Morison recalls, Nimitz was “a fortunate appointment” when he took over the Pacific Fleet after Pearl Harbor. He was “calm in demeanor,” and “had the prudence to wait through a lean period; to do nothing rash for the sake of doing something.” At the same time, says Morison, he displayed “the courage to take necessary risks, and the wisdom to select, from a variety of intelligence and opinions, the correct strategy to defeat Japan.”

So Nimitz was calm, prudent, and cautious, and he listened to and heeded counsel from others. Kimmel disregarded disturbing information such as indications that the Imperial Japanese Navy had improvised shallow-water torpedoes able to run within Pearl Harbor; rejected deploying torpedo nets to guard battleships’ sides; and took lightly the (admittedly vague) “war warning” that issued forth from Washington on November 27, instructing Pacific commanders to “execute an appropriate defensive deployment” as a precursor to war. The idea that Nimitz would have done the same beggars the imagination.

In all likelihood, then, U.S. naval forces would have been better prepared to defend themselves on December 7 than they were under Kimmel’s stewardship. If they were—if they put up a spirited fight and avoided massive losses of life and ships—then the hypothetical CINCPAC Nimitz may have escaped the fate that befell CINCPAC Kimmel in real life. He may have kept his job once the political uproar over the attack subsided. History may have unfolded more or less as it did. Things may even have gone better for America than they did, with a greater fraction of the fleet preserved for action, and with continuity of leadership in Honolulu.

Heavy surface combatants could have joined the 1942 carrier raids on Japanese-held Pacific islands—distracting the IJN from its conquests in Southeast Asia, cutting Japan’s navy down to size, and readying the American armada for a transpacific counteroffensive.

Suppose not, though. Perhaps Congress and the American people would have gone on the hunt for senior leaders’ scalps no matter the circumstances. If so, Nimitz may have gotten the Kimmel treatment, expelled from his post. Someone else would have shown up to take charge of the Pacific Fleet late in December 1941. Suppose Kimmel got the call, and the two historical figures in effect traded places. How would the Pacific War have unfolded had CINCPAC Kimmel made and executed strategy in 1942?

Edward Miller, the historian of War Plan Orange, does not play what-if, but he does hint that Kimmel would have been a disaster had he wielded command from 1942 on. Miller notes that Kimmel had a pedestrian understanding of naval strategy coupled with an insatiable lust for a Pacific Trafalgar. He was the archetypal battleship officer, moreover, exhibiting little appreciation for carrier aviation except as an auxiliary to the surface battle fleet. Aircraft carriers were for surveillance and targeting in his view, while battlewagons remained the chief repository of combat power.

Miller ascribes Kimmel’s failures in real life to his desire to be America’s Lord Horatio Nelson, an officer who swept enemies from the sea in epic battles. Yet he was out of step with the times, unsuited to the coming air age at sea. Machiavelli would nod knowingly. In all likelihood his tenure at CINCPAC would have been a short one—even if untainted by disaster at Pearl Harbor. A glory hound with an average understanding of trends in naval warfare would be prone to underperform as naval supremo.

To be fair to both of these officers, Machiavelli disparages individuals’ capacity to change, the Nimitzes as well as the Kimmels. They cannot master their natures, contends the Florentine scribe. In fact, he declares that republics have to change out people to change direction. They have to find new blood suited to new times.

Machiavelli may take his critique too far, but it is fair that it takes a jolt to goad individuals into change. What we know of Chester Nimitz’s wartime leadership comes from after the jolt administered to the U.S. Navy by Pearl Harbor. He wouldn’t have benefited from that catalyst as our hypothetical prewar CINCPAC, and thus he may not have showed the same sterling qualities he showed after garnering the job in real life. Contrariwise, it is conceivable that Pearl Harbor would have stunned Husband Kimmel into new flexibility of character. Seeing the fleet on which your heroic vision of yourself depends wounded gravely will do that for you.

Even so—even if Kimmel found new sobriety in the wake of the Japanese onslaught—it’s doubtful he would have overcome what Miller terms his “mundane” gift for strategy in a few short weeks. Nor would the IJN have transformed Kimmel into a master of naval aviation, even by dint of their aerial onslaught. Changing your temperament, however hard, is easier than reinventing your intellectual capacity and education on the fly. There’s little sign Kimmel was the rare individual who could pull it off.

So it seems we should be grateful that history took the pathway it did—that Nimitz turned down a beguiling job offer in early 1941 only to accept it in late 1941 under the press of events. Unlikely bedfellows Eliot, Machiavelli, and Marx might agree: Providence favors fools, drunkards, and the USA.

James Holmes is J. C. Wylie Chair of Maritime Strategy at the Naval War College and author of A Brief Guide to Maritime Strategy, published this week. This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Image: Reuters.

Kyle Mizokami

Security, World

Which one would you choose?

Key point: Smaller weapons are good for concealed carry or for close-in situations. Here are some of the most famous and reliable 9mms.

The 9mm Luger, invented before the Great War, is one of the longest serving gun calibers in history. Introduced in 1901, it has served in virtually every conflict since then up until today. From World War I’s German army to the British army fighting ISIS in Syria, the Luger round has served militaries for over a century. Despite its age, the 9mm is more dangerous than ever before, due to innovations in ammunition lethality that squeeze greater performance out of the bullet.

This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Adequately powerful and compact, the 9mm Luger round received newfound popularity in the 1980s when the so-called “Wonder Nine” pistols upended the dominance of revolvers and large caliber handguns on the U.S. market. It is the standard handgun caliber for NATO members, with many armies on their second or third generation 9mm pistol, and was recently re-adopted by the U.S. Army for its new issue M17 Modular Handgun System. The 9mm Luger round will be around for many more years. Here are five of the best guns the round is used in.

Glock G19

The Glock 19 was one of the first Glock variants produced. Released in 1988, it was basically the same handgun albeit with a shorter barrel and grip. This reduced the magazine capacity from seventeen rounds to fifteen, but also produced a pistol that was easier to conceal. Today, it is generally acknowledged among handgun enthusiasts as the best Glock model for all-around use. The Glock 19 has been adopted by the U.S. Navy SEALs, U.S. Army Rangers and a modified version competed for the U.S. Army’s Modular Handgun System competition.

The Glock 19 has an overall length of 7.36 inches and a barrel length of 4.01 inches. It is a double-action pistol, meaning that after a round is chambered the pistol only requires pulling the trigger to set the firing pin and fire. Subsequent shots will also only require a single trigger pull. This eliminates the need to cock the hammer prior to firing but does introduce a slightly longer trigger pull. The basic Glock design incorporates three safeties, including a firing pin and drop safety, as well as a trigger safety. It does not have an external manual safety mechanism.

Sig P226

The Sig P226 was originally developed from Sig Sauer’s P210 pistol as a replacement for the long-serving .45 ACP 1911A1 handgun. The resulting pistol failed to win the contract, which went to the Beretta M9 instead. Although the U.S. Navy also picked up the Beretta, early problems with metal quality resulted in cracked slides among pistols with high round counts. SEALs, who experienced defect-related accidents, turned to the Sig P226 instead, calling it the Mark 11. Adoption by U.S. police forces further raised the P226’s profile.

The P226 is an all metal handgun with a metal frame. It has a fifteen-round magazine, an overall length of 7.72 inches, and a barrel length of 4.11 inches. Loaded, the gun has a weight of 2.28 pounds. Like the Glock 19 the P226 is also a double action pistol, although it also has a single action mode allowing the pistol to be manually cocked. It also features a decocking lever to lower the hammer without pulling the trigger.

Heckler & Koch VP9

One of the newest 9mm Luger handguns is the Heckler & Koch VP9. Introduced in 2014, the VP9 is like the rest of the handguns on this list a high capacity, twin-stack handgun with a steel slide and polymer frame. The VP9 carries up to fifteen rounds—as many as a Glock 19. This German-designed pistol has dimensions similar to the G19 and P226 and uses a cold hammer forged barrel for increased accuracy and barrel life.

Unlike older pistols that utilize a hammer, the VP9 is a striker-fired pistol. Striker-fired pistols use a spring-loaded firing pin that is partially cocked by pulling back and releasing the slide. Pulling the trigger completes the cocking action and releases the firing pin. As a result, striker fired pistols are immune to any accidental discharge that does not involve pulling the trigger—such as dropping the handgun on a hard surface.

A new feature—increasingly common in handguns—of the VP9 is the ability to tailor the pistol’s grip to a wide variety of hand sizes. Each pistol comes complete with a number of removable backstraps and grip panels to reduce or enlarge grip width, with a total of twenty-seven different size configurations available for small to large hands.

Smith & Wesson M&P

The Smith & Wesson M&P (Military and Police) was first introduced in 2005 and as a hybrid of two previous guns, the Sigma and the SW99. Like the rest of the guns on this list, it has polymer frame and steel slide, a large internal magazine (seventeen rounds) and a striker-fired operating system. The M&P has aggressive good looks, with serrations on the slide to promote a better grip, and a built-in Picatinny rail under the barrel for mounting lights and laser pointers.

Smith & Wesson claims that the M&P’s low bore axis reduces muzzle rise and allows the shooter to get back on target faster. In many respects it is similar to the Glock 17—including magazine size—but one reviewer has pointed out that it is slightly larger and heavier. The M&P also features a loaded-chamber indicator which tilts upward when a round is in the chamber, ambidextrous controls and four interchangeable palm swell inserts of different sizes to accommodate different hand types.

Springfield XD

Originally developed in Croatia as the HS2000, the Springfield XD (“Extreme Duty”) handgun has enjoyed considerable success in the United States. The XD externally resembles a Glock, from nearby Austria, though is somewhat blockier in appearance. The standard service model features a four-inch barrel—par for the course on this list—and a double-stack magazine that holds up to sixteen rounds of 9mm Luger ammunition.

The Springfield XD combines a number of older and newer features from other guns on this list to create a fairly unique and impressive package. The XD has a grip safety like the one on the Colt 1911A1 handgun, that prevents the gun from being discharged unless gripped properly. It also features a trigger safety, like the Glock, a drop safety that prevents the striker from being released, and a loaded chamber indicator like the Smith & Wesson M&P. A flip of a lever allows the pistol to be quickly field stripped for cleaning.

Kyle Mizokami is a writer based in San Francisco who has appeared in The Diplomat, Foreign Policy, War is Boring and The Daily Beast. In 2009 he cofounded the defense and security blog Japan Security Watch. You can follow him on Twitter: @KyleMizokami. This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Image: Reuters.

Caleb Larson

Security, Americas

Their Ripsaw M5 is an unmanned, multi-mission Robotic Combat Vehicle (RCV) that has gone through several prototypes and is currently in its fifth-generation.

Here's What You Need to Remember: Change is coming for ground troops, and if the technical hurdles inherent to all-electric vehicle technology—namely range and recharge times—can be overcome, robot combat vehicles could become the silent killers of the future.

Textron Systems is the aerospace and defense manufacturing firm responsible for developing a wide range of vehicles and weapon systems including the U.S. Navy’s Landing Craft Air Cushions. The company is also a contender for the Army’s Next Generation Squad Weapon competition and has been developing yet another interesting platform.

Their Ripsaw M5 is an unmanned, multi-mission Robotic Combat Vehicle (RCV) that has gone through several prototypes and is currently in its fifth-generation. Textron currently manufactures the Ripsaw in two variants, a 7.5 ton light variant, as well as a larger 10.5 medium variant. Both the light and medium variants can be equipped with conventional diesel engines, or with a hybrid electric drivetrain.

Textron touts the Ripsaw as a multi-mission, multi-domain platform, capable of performing a variety of missions, including breaching/mine clearing, reconnaissance and surveillance, as well as direct-action missions. To those ends, it can be equipped with a heavy machine gun remote weapon station, a turret for a medium caliber cannon, or anti-aircraft missiles. Armor, suspension, and drivetrain are modular, and can be customized to mission requirements.

Textron is working in tandem with the U.S. Army’s Combat Capabilities Development Command Armaments Center, a research and development command that calls itself the Army’s “scientific and technological foundation” that conducts “world-leading research, development, engineering and analysis.”

Though the Army has been tinkering with the Ripsaw for over a decade, Textron is slated to deliver a new, all-electric variant called the Ripsaw M5-E sometime in 2021, Jane’s reported. The M5-E test platform will ship as a flat-top, lacking a remote weapon station or turret in order to allow the Army to test integrating different weapon systems.

All-electric vehicles have typically struggled to match the ranges of combustion engines, and recharge times are slower than a tank refill—both of which Textron would have to address to make the M5-E a serious competitor to its diesel and hybrid counterparts.

All-Electric, All the Time

The American Textron isn’t the only company charging forward in developing unmanned, all-electric systems. South Korea’s Hyundai Rotem, builder of a number of the Republic of Korea’s land combat systems, including their K1 and K2 main battle tanks, also has something similar to Textron’s Ripsaw in the works.

Their Multipurpose Unmanned Ground Vehicle is also an all-electric design, albeit much smaller at up to 2 tons when fully equipped. According to Jane’s the MUGV’s mission profile will probably be smaller than that of the Ripsaw, supporting ground troops via casualty evacuation and ammunition resupply, though Hyundai artwork show’s the MUGV equipped with what appears to be a medium machine gun. Interestingly, the MUGV’s battery is said to be water-cooled, and sports punctureless, airless tires.

Postscript

Change is coming for ground troops, and if the technical hurdles inherent to all-electric vehicle technology—namely range and recharge times—can be overcome, robot combat vehicles could become the silent killers of the future.

Caleb Larson is a Defense Writer with The National Interest. He holds a Master of Public Policy and covers U.S. and Russian security, European defense issues, and German politics and culture. This article first appeared earlier this year.

Image: Wikipedia.

Sebastien Roblin

History,

This time Japan was not involved.

Here's What You Need to Remember: The accident was deemed was so shocking the Navy instituted a press blackout, and forbade witnesses from speaking about it.  Only a terse statement on May 25 conceded to “some loss of life” and a few lost ships. The board’s recommendation to discontinue nesting ships together to speed up ammunition loading was dismissed by Navy chief Admiral Chester Nimitz, who argued it was “calculated risk that must be accepted.”

Flames roiled into sky from dozens of burning ships, creating a wall of smoke that crept out into the Pacific Ocean. The thunder of multiple explosions succession shook the Navy Headquarters on Pearl Harbor.

Had Japan somehow pulled off a second, stunning raid on Pearl Harbor in 1944?

In truth the ships and men burning were victims of a horrifying accident born of inadequate safety measures—an incident the Navy kept under wraps for years.

How It Occurred:

In May 1944, a gigantic amphibious landing force began assembling at Pearl Harbor to carry U.S. Marines to capture the strategic Mariana islands from Japan, 3,700 miles away.

By May 21st, at least 29 Landing Ship, Tanks (LSTs) were strung beam-to-beam along six piers on West Loch—the western side branch of pincer-shaped Pearl Harbor.  These long boxy vessels displaced over 4,000 tons and 120 meters long.  The flat keels of the ocean-spanning ships allowed them to disgorge up to a company of tanks or infantry from their bow ramps directly onto a beach.

While roughly half the crew were on shore leave, the remainder rested onboard as the vessels were stuffed full of vehicles, ammunition and fuel. Dozens of barrels of high-octane gasoline were lashed to their decks to supply the vehicles once they were unloaded ashore. 

At 3 PM Army stevedores began unloading 4.2” mortar shells from a smaller Landing Craft Tank (LCT) onto the elevator of LST-353. 

So-called “chemical mortars” were used to deploy smoke rounds and burning white phosphorous shells to mark or obscure targets—as well as 24-pound high explosive rounds carrying eight pounds of TNT filler. But the heavy mortars proved too inaccurate fired firing from the LCTs, leading to their transfer back to LSTs. 

The personnel conscripted for the heavy lifting came from the 29th Chemical Decontamination Unit, a largely African-American unit which untrained in ammunition handling.

No one knows exactly what caused a fireball to erupt on LST-353 at 3:08 PM, because no nearby witnesses survived.

Perhaps one of the stevedores dropped a 4.2” shell. Some suggest sparks from a carelessly tossed cigarette, or from sailors doing spot welding, ignited the fuel vapor wafting from the roughly 80 barrels of gasoline tied next to the elevator.

Just a few soldiers managed to jump into the water before the eighty fuel drums erupted like a volcano, throwing a cloud of burning debris, oil and body parts high into the air which came raining down onto the decks of neighboring LSTs.

Three minutes later, another blast left LST-43 in flames. The oil drums on her deck too exploded, feeding the unfolding chain-reaction.  You can see the apocalyptic scene in this recording.

The oil-soaked water caught fire, and flames spread to the adjoining pier 8. Some inexperienced crews abandoned ship before they were consumed by fire. Others did everything they could to save their vessels, but fires raged around the mooring lines tying the boats to the pier, preventing easy escape. Finally, one of the flaming boats rammed into pier, setting another LST on fire.

Surviving LSTs began frantically sputtering away from the fiery piers, some under their own power and others by the gallant intervention of tugs—eleven of which were damaged in the rescue effort. LCM landing craft crept close to the blaze to spray ships with firehoses. Smaller LCTs trawled for survivors but accidentally ran over several in the smoke.

Finally, a third explosion boiled through the harbor, causing flaming debris to drizzle from the sky over a half-mile away and shaking window panes up to 15 miles distant. 

An errant phosphorous shell landed on Joseph Francis midway through loading 350 tons of ammunition from a depot. Her crew put out the chemical fire before it could cause a massive explosion. The blazing wrecks of LST-43, -179 and -69 then began drifting towards Joseph, but thankfully came to a halt just 500 feet away.

Though a final explosion resounded at 10:30 PM, ships continued to burn for days afterward.

In all, six LSTs sank in fiery ruin and four more were severely damaged. Three smaller LCTs, seventeen Amtrac amphibious landing vehicles, and eight 155-millimieter howitzers were also lost

The Navy officially counted losing 163 personnel and suffering 397 wounded though some accounts. But this number reportedly may not include Army and Marine personnel.  Marine deaths may have ranged between 80 and 300 dead.  61 Army personnel, mostly African Americans, were reported dead or missing.

The Navy’s plans for Operation Forager were too big to be long delayed, even by such disastrous losses. The fleet departed just 24 hours later than intended after hasty repairs, leaving behind wreckage on West Loch that would take months to clear away.

Meanwhile, a promptly convened board of inquiry dismissed the theory of a Japanese submarine attack and zeroed in on the ammunition-handling as the likely cause of the accident. Though criticizing some crews for abandoning ship too readily, no one was held at fault.

The accident was deemed was so shocking the Navy instituted a press blackout, and forbade witnesses from speaking about it.  Only a terse statement on May 25 conceded to “some loss of life” and a few lost ships. The board’s recommendation to discontinue nesting ships together to speed up ammunition loading was dismissed by Navy chief Admiral Chester Nimitz, who argued it was “calculated risk that must be accepted.”

But on July 17, 1944 an explosion that killed 320 in Port Chicago, California again highlighted the Navy’s unsafe ammunition handling practices and tendency to place African Americans in risky ammunition handling jobs they had not been trained for. This accident finally led the Navy to redesign ammunition and require advanced training of ammunition handlers.

At West Loch a huge cleanup effort eventually dredged up all but one of the scorched LSTs and dumped them out into sea, along with the wreckage of Japanese mini-submarine Ha-16, which had participated in the Pearl Harbor attack.

In 1960, classification was lifted and the press finally detailed the incident in 1964. A plaque commemorating those who died was installed in 1995, and two years later a lone survivor’s account, The West Loch Story, was published by William Johnson. 

Today, the corroded prow of LST 480 can still be seen protruding from the waters off West Loch—a solemn reminder of the tragedy that unfolded there 75 years ago.

Sébastien Roblin holds a Master’s Degree in Conflict Resolution from Georgetown University and served as a university instructor for the Peace Corps in China. He has also worked in education, editing, and refugee resettlement in France and the United States. This article first appeared last year.

Image: Wikipedia.

The United Nations is commemorating the first International Day of Epidemic Preparedness on Sunday, underscoring the need to learn lessons from the coronavirus pandemic, and urging greater investments in preparedness, to confront future health emergencies.

Warfare History Network

History, Europe

At 5 pm on March 23, along the hazy western bank of the Rhine, British gunners opened up the biggest artillery barrage of the war, and Monty’s Operation Plunder—involving 1.25 million men of his 21st Army Group—was underway.

Here's What You Need To Remember: As Hitler's Third Reich collapsed, its defending armies grew steadily more fanatical - and desparate to stop the Allies at whatever the cost.

January 1945—with World War II in its sixth year—found the Allied armies going on the offensive after the Battle of the Bulge, but they were still west of the Rhine and six weeks behind schedule in their advance toward Germany.

Closing to the Rhine was not easy. Although U.S. and French units of Lt. Gen. Jacob L. Devers’ Sixth Army Group had reached the western bank around Strasbourg in late 1944, the river proved too difficult to cross. Even if an assault could have been mounted, the Allied forces would have been too far away from the heart of Germany to pose any meaningful threat. The key to eventual victory lay in the central and northern Rhineland, but three factors delayed an advance: the failure of Operation Market Garden, the British-American airborne invasion of Holland, the onset of an extremely wet autumn and harsh winter, and the unexpectedly rapid recovery of the German Army in the wake of recent Allied advances.  

A coordinated Allied campaign proved difficult to achieve. General Omar N. Bradley’s U.S. 12th Army Group was licking its wounds after the almost disastrous Ardennes counteroffensive, and it was clear to Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery, commander of the British 21st Army Group, that the Americans would not be ready to undertake a major offensive for some time. Despite its vast reserve of manpower, unlike the critically depleted British Army, the U.S. Army had become seriously deficient of infantry replacements. Monty made the first move.

Meanwhile, on January 12, the Soviet Army launched a long-awaited, massive offensive from Warsaw toward the River Oder—and Berlin. This was just in time, thought Montgomery and General Dwight D. “Ike” Eisenhower, the Allied supreme commander. By the end of the month, the Russians were only 50 miles from the German capital. While the Americans were recovering, it devolved on the 21st Army Group, still supported by Lt. Gen. William H. “Texas Bill” Simpson’s U.S. Ninth Army, to take over the battle as soon as winter loosened its grip.

Monty and Ike agreed that the next stage should be to break through the Germans’ formidable Siegfried Line and close up to the left bank of the Rhine. The main objective was the historic city of Wesel, on the opposite side of the great river in flat country just north of the Ruhr Valley. It was here that Montgomery had originally sought to seize a bridgehead in September 1944, and common sense still favored it. Accordingly, two well-knit, almost copybook offensives were planned for February 8, 1945: Operation Veritable on the left flank and Operation Grenade on the right, adjacent to the boundary with Bradley’s 12th Army Group.

Monty announced that the 21st Army Group’s task was to “destroy all enemy in the area west of the Rhine from the present forward positions south of Nijmegen (Holland) as far south as the general line Julich-Dusseldorf, as a preliminary to crossing the Rhine and engaging the enemy in mobile war to the north of the Ruhr.” Three armies would be involved in the offensives: the Canadian First, the British Second, and the U.S. Ninth.

Commanding the Canadian force was the distinguished, 57-year-old General Henry D.G. “Harry” Crerar, a World War I artillery veteran and a man of cool judgment and cold nerves. The “ration strength” of his First Army exceeded 470,000 men, and no Canadian had ever led such a large force. The British Second Army was led by the skilled, unassuming Lt. Gen. Sir Miles “Bimbo” Dempsey, a 48-year-old World War I veteran of the Western Front and Iraq who later acquitted himself well in the Dunkirk evacuation, the Western Desert, Sicily, Italy, and Normandy. Tall, bald, Texas-born General Simpson, commanding 300,000 men of the U.S. Ninth Army, had served in the Philippine Insurrection, the 1916 Mexico punitive expedition, and on the Western Front in 1918. Eisenhower said of the 56-year-old officer, “If Simpson ever made a mistake as an Army commander, it never came to my attention.”

With 11 divisions and nine independent brigades, the Canadian Army would clear the way in February 1945 up to the town of Xanten; the Ninth Army, with 10 divisions in three corps, would cross the Roer River and move northward to Dusseldorf (Operation Grenade), and the four divisions of the Second Army would attack in the center.

Although he was in customary high spirits about the operation, Montgomery knew that it would be no cakewalk. “I visited the Veritable area today,” he warned Field Marshal Sir Alan Brooke, chief of the Imperial General Staff, on February 6. “The ground is very wet, and roads and tracks are breaking up, and these factors are likely to make progress somewhat slow after the operation is launched.” Besides expected opposition from at least 10 well-entrenched Wehrmacht divisions, the Allied troops would have to face minefields, flooded rivers and terrain, a lack of roads, appalling weather, and tough going in the gloomy, tangled Reichswald and Hochwald forests.

Montgomery won final approval for the great dual assault on the Rhine on February 1, and the preparations were hastily finalized under tight security. Strict blackout regulations were enforced, and a cover story was concocted to convince the enemy that the offensive would be in a northerly direction to liberate Holland, rather than an eastern thrust into Germany. Daytime gatherings of troops were forbidden unless under cover; large concentrations of vehicles, weapons, and ammunition were camouflaged or concealed in farmyards, barns, and haystacks, and rubber dummies of tanks and artillery pieces were positioned along an imaginary battle line where they might attract the attention of enemy patrols. Logistical feats were accomplished speedily as thousands of men, vehicles, and equipment were transported to the forward assembly lines.

The British and Canadian soldiers worked around the clock. Sappers built and improved 100 miles of road using 20,000 tons of stones, 20,000 logs, and 30,000 pickets, and 446 freight trains hauled 250,000 tons of equipment and supplies to the railheads. It was estimated that the ammunition alone—all types, stacked side by side and five feet high—would line the road for 30 miles. Engineers constructed five bridges across the River Maas, using 1,880 tons of equipment. The biggest was a 1,280-foot-long British-designed Bailey bridge. Outside Nijmegen, an airfield was laid in five days for British and Canadian rocket-firing Hawker Typhoons, which would support the offensive.

Meanwhile, a formidable array of armor and specialized vehicles was assembled. It included Churchill, Cromwell, Centaur, Comet, Valentine, and Sherman heavy and medium tanks; Bren gun carriers, jeeps, half-tracks, and armored cars; amphibious Weasel, Buffalo, and DUKW cargo and personnel carriers; and 11 regiments of “Hobart’s Funnies,” Churchills and Shermans fitted with antimine flails, flamethrowers, and bridging equipment. Invented by Maj. Gen. Sir Percy Hobart, these had proved invaluable in the Normandy invasion and the clearing of the flooded Scheldt Estuary by Crerar’s army.

Under the command of the Canadian First Army, the Veritable offensive was to be spearheaded by the seasoned British XXX Corps led by 49-year-old Lt. Gen. Sir Brian G. Horrocks. He returned from leave in England to plunge into preparations for the largest operation he had ever undertaken. A much-wounded veteran of Ypres, Siberia, El Alamein, Tunisia, Normandy, and Belgium, the tall, lithe Horrocks—nicknamed “Jorrocks” by his mentor, Montgomery—was a charismatic officer who led from the front and was regarded as one of the finest corps commanders of the war.

Horrocks regarded Monty’s overall plan for the offensive as “simplicity itself.” The XXX Corps was to attack in a southerly direction from the Nijmegen area with its right on the River Maas and its left on the Rhine. “Forty-eight hours later,” said Horrocks, “our old friends, General Simpson’s U.S. Ninth Army, were to cross the River Roer and advance north to meet us. The German forces would thus be caught in a vise and be faced with the alternatives, either to fight it out west of the Rhine or to withdraw over the Rhine and then be prepared to launch counterattacks when we ourselves subsequently attempted to cross…. In theory, this looked like a comparatively simple operation, but all battles have their problems, and in this case the initial assault would have to smash through a bottleneck well suited to defense and consisting in part of the famous Siegfried Line.”

Horrocks decided to use the maximum force possible and open Operation Veritable with five divisions, from right to left, in line: the 51st Highland, 53rd Welsh, 15th Scottish, and the 2nd and 3rd Canadian, followed by the 43rd Wessex and Maj. Gen. Sir Alan Adair’s proud Guards Armored Division. On the morning of February 4, Horrocks briefed his commanders in the packed cinema in the southern Dutch town of Tilburg. Clad in brown corduroy trousers and a battlefield jacket, the unpretentious general drew a warm response as he crisply outlined the offensive, radiated confidence, and moved from group to group with a friendly and humorous word. Like Montgomery, he made a practice of keeping all ranks informed about operations.

Despite his recurring pain and high fever incurred after being seriously wounded by a German fighter plane in Bizerte two years before, Horrocks was hopeful as the D-day hour neared. But he and General Crerar grew concerned when three days of heavy rain made the roads muddy and slushy. A hard crust of ice that would have ensured the rapid movement of men and armor had thawed, and the roads were sinking.

On February 7, men of the Canadian 1st Scottish Regiment peered across the surrounding fields and were alarmed to see them waterlogged. As a defense measure, the Germans had blasted holes in the Rhine’s winter dikes, and a foot of water now covered the entire area. The flood level reached 30 inches in two hours and was rising at the rate of one foot each hour. Half of the battlefield ahead of Crerar’s army was soon under five feet of water, and the rest of the polderlands bordering the Rhine were a muddy morass. Silent but alarmed, Horrocks listened to reports filtering into his command post. How could 90,000 men and vehicles of his spearhead force be funneled into action through murky water and along roads that were now muddy ruts? But the lines were drawn, and he prayed that this might be the final battle of the long war.

The British and Canadian assault troops waited anxiously on February 7, oiling and loading rifles and machine guns, topping up the fuel levels in tank engines, scribbling letters home, and trying to get some rest. But there was little sleeping that night when the dark sky was rent by great flashes and distant explosions. Aimed at softening up the German defenses, 285 Avro Lancaster heavy bombers of Royal Air Force Bomber Command, led by 10 De Havilland Mosquito pathfinder fighters, thundered overhead. They flattened a number of Rhineland towns that were known to be enemy strongpoints, including Goch, Weeze, Udem, Geldern, and Calcar.

Especially hard hit that night was the beautiful, historic city of Cleve, the gateway to the Rhineland and the key rail and communications center through which the Germans could funnel reinforcements. The Lancasters dropped 1,384 tons of high explosives on Cleve, an inspiration for Richard Wagner’s Lohengrin and the birthplace of King Henry VIII’s meek, homely fourth wife, Anne. Cleve was more devastated than any other German city of its size during the war. Generals Crerar and Horrocks agreed that the RAF raid was tactically necessary to save many Allied lives, but the latter “simply hated the thought of Cleve being ‘taken out.’”

Horrocks recalled later, “It was the most terrible decision I had ever had to take in my life. I felt almost physically sick when I saw the bombers flying overhead on their deadly mission.” He blamed the RAF for dropping high explosives instead of incendiaries, which he had requested, and for reducing Cleve to rubble and huge craters that later held up the Allied advance.

At 5 am on Thursday, February 8, 1945, while Cleve still burned, a massive artillery bombardment paved the way for Operation Veritable. Lined up between 10 and 15 yards apart, 1,400 field and antiaircraft guns of numerous calibers, mortars, medium machine guns, and high-explosive rocket launchers opened up with a deafening roar. It was the heaviest barrage employed so far by the British Army during the European war—greater than anything in Normandy and the historic bombardment at El Alamein on October 23, 1942. More than half a million shells were put down on a seven-mile front.

The Veritable barrage lasted for 21/2hours on that gray, rainy morning as General Horrocks watched and listened from a command post platform that Royal Engineers had built halfway up a large tree. “The noise was unbelievable,” he reported. Below him, the area teemed with armored vehicles, and the air was filled with the roar of engines.

When the artillery barrage stopped, there was an eerie silence as smoke was fired across the XXX Corps front. This was aimed at making the Germans think that the infantry attack had been launched. Enemy gunners who had survived the first bombardment then rushed to their weapons and opened up. British flash spotters zeroed in on the battery positions, and, after 10 minutes of silence, the Allied barrage erupted again, concentrating on the German guns that had been located. In addition to the artillery, each British and Canadian division employed “pepper pot” tactics, with every weapon not used in the assault blasting enemy positions. The effect was so devastating that when Horrocks’ men went forward the German gunners were still crouching in their trenches.

The XXX Corps tanks and infantry advanced against befuddled enemy defenders, and little initial resistance was met. “The enemy had been over-awed by the bombardment,” observed Captain Peter Dryland, adjutant of the 7th Battalion of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. But continual rain had turned the terrain into a quagmire, and the Allied tanks and infantrymen had to struggle through mud. “Our worst enemies that day were mines and mud,” Horrocks reported. “Mud, and still more mud.”

Personnel carriers carrying troops heaved through the mire, and supporting tanks ploughed into the woods. But it was tough going from the start. After the first hour almost every Allied tank had bogged down, and the infantry had to forge ahead on their own. Some tanks simply sank in the mud, others hit mines, and still others were blocked by felled trees or craters gouged by the Allied bombing and artillery barrage. Yet the British and Canadian riflemen and tankers pushed on doggedly.

On the left flank the 2nd Canadian Infantry Division cut the main Nijmegen-Cleve road, and then half of the force turned back to attack and capture the strongly held village of Wyler after a stiff fight. The other half moved to support the 15th Scottish Division advancing on the right, while its 44th Brigade pushed through minefields to breach the northern extension of the concrete and steel Siegfried Line. Meanwhile, on their right men of the tough 53rd Welsh Division disappeared into the dense, gloomy Reichswald, pushing through tangled thickets and along narrow, soggy trails. Farther to the right, the famed 51st Highland Division plunged into the southern part of the Reichswald, east of the River Maas, and encountered strong German opposition.

Conditions worsened for the Allied troops. Flood levels rose steadily, and the only narrow road in the Reichswald available for the advance was soon under several feet of water. The enemy opposition increased, with heavy artillery barrages and the hasty deployment of fresh reserves, including two armored and two parachute divisions. Eventually, a total of 10 divisions—three of them armored—were battling the British and Canadian units. It was a toe-to-toe struggle in rain, sleet, and snow, with numerous hand-to-hand melees and bayonet charges, while casualties mounted alarmingly. But the attack never slackened, and the Tommies and Canucks slogged on staunchly to seize vital German positions.

The Reichswald was a soldier’s battle, influenced chiefly by the battalion commanders. General Horrocks said he was “almost powerless to influence the battle one way or the other, so I spent my days ‘smelling the battlefield.’” He made a habit of visiting brigade and battalion headquarters that were having “a particularly grueling time.

The appalling conditions endured by the Allied soldiers were reminiscent of the Battle of Passchendaele, where more than 300,000 British and Commonwealth troops were killed in 1917, and the Hürtgen Forest, in which several American divisions suffered 33,000 casualties in the autumn of 1944.

The Reichswald-Hochwald struggle was not the sort of campaign General Horrocks wished to command. It had to be fought, but it was grim and painful throughout, with no scope for brilliant tactics or avoidance of heavy losses. As a former infantryman himself, he agonized over the casualty lists, especially when they contained familiar names. Popular with both his officers and other ranks, he regarded the deaths as a great waste and personal loss.

Almost from the start of Operation Veritable, Horrocks’ corps found itself out on a limb. On February 9, the Germans blew up the discharge valves on the River Roer dams, and a wide strip of surging floodwater prevented General Simpson’s powerful U.S. Ninth Army and elements of Lt. Gen. Courtney H. Hodges’ U.S. First Army from crossing for two crucial weeks. Operation Grenade was postponed, but Simpson had the consolation of knowing that once the river had subsided the enemy could never again hold his army in check. Nevertheless, the delay had a damaging effect on Operation Veritable.

Days passed, and the fighting raged in the Reichswald. The 43rd Wessex Division fought its way through the ruins of Cleve, and, after a bitter struggle, the fortified town of Goch was taken by men of the 51st and 15th Scottish Infantry Divisions. Horrocks viewed this as the turning point in the campaign. In the smaller Hochwald, defended by fanatical German paratroopers who gave no quarter, the Canadians fought gallantly to avoid being pushed back and eventually prevailed.

Of all the many obstacles faced by the British and Canadian troops, none were more nerve wracking than the enemy minefields. Major Martin Lindsay was leading the 1st Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders through two feet of mud in an attempt to knock out a German strongpoint astride the Mook-Gennep road when he noticed that his men had grown quiet. There was a sudden explosion, and a company commander 10 yards ahead fell groaning.

Lindsay ordered everyone to stand exactly where they were and shouted for help from mine-prodders and stretcher bearers of the Cameron Highlanders of Ottawa. He looked around and realized that he and his men were in a 50-yard-wide strip of no-man’s land between the German and Canadian positions. Lindsay waited, standing on one leg and not daring to put the other to the ground while the Canadian rescuers carried out the company commander and a stretcher bearer who had trodden on a mine. Each step of the way was gingerly prodded first, and Lindsay followed the other men to safety, planting his feet precisely in the tracks of the Cameron Highlander ahead.

After a week of bitter fighting through its bottleneck, the XXX Corps managed to widen the front so that General Crerar could commit the Canadian 2nd Corps commanded by the gallant, innovative Lt. Gen. Guy Simonds on the northern flank. At 42, Simonds was the youngest general ever to command a Canadian corps in battle. The 2nd Corps now bore the brunt of the assault on the strongly defended Hochwald, with the first major objectives the villages of Calcar and Udem.

It was slow, tough going for the Canadians. High-grade troops of General Heinrich von Luttwitz’s 17th Panzer Corps and General Alfred Schlemm’s First Parachute Army were well concealed and dispersed, and their defense lines were deep. Marshy fields and thick woods favored the enemy, and continual poor weather prevented the Canadians from calling in the rocket-firing Typhoons to deal with enemy strongpoints.

 It took the Canadian infantry six days of harsh fighting to clear the Germans from a small, dark forest near Moyland, blocking the advance to Calcar. About three miles to the southeast, another bloody battle ensued for control of the road linking Calcar with Goch. Although the Canadians soon got astride the road, their hold on it became precarious when the Germans launched fierce counterattacks for two days, including a night thrust supported by tanks. In less than a week, the Canadians had suffered 885 infantry casualties. German losses were higher, and by now Operation Veritable had become increasingly a battle of attrition.

It was a grueling and fluctuating struggle in which the British and Canadian spearhead units, reinforced by the 11th British and 4th Canadian Armored Divisions, gained ground while trying to push through the “Hochwald Gap” and breach the 20-mile-long “Schlieffen Position,” a formidable defense line running from Udem to Geldern. But progress was slow and costly. Besides the abysmal weather and endless mud the Allied soldiers had to face more minefields, antitank ditches, and murderous fire from German panzers, deadly 88mm flak guns, and mortars. The volume of enemy barrages, which included guns fired from across the Rhine, was the heaviest encountered by British troops in the Rhineland.

Yet, against heavy odds in one of the bitterest campaigns of the European war, the gallantry of Crerar’s army and Horrocks’ corps began to pay dividends. British and Canadian troops managed to clear the last enemy units from the Reichswald on February 13 and reach the southern bank of the Rhine, opposite Emmerich, the following day. By February 17, the Canadians reached the Rhine on a 10-mile front. Meanwhile, progress was being made farther south by American units. On February 17-18, Lt. Gen. Alexander M. “Sandy” Patch’s Seventh Army crossed the River Saar and attacked near Saarbrucken, while units of Lt. Gen. George S. Patton Jr.’s Third Army breached the Siegfried Line north of Echternach, Luxembourg.

Then, before dawn on February 23, four divisions of General Simpson’s Ninth Army and two from Hodges’ First Army began to cross the River Roer at several sectors near Julich and Duren. A measure of surprise was gained because the floodwaters had not yet fully subsided, giving the German defenders a false sense of security. Simpson’s divisions suffered fewer than 100 casualties on the first day, and by the evening of February 24 his combat engineers had laid 19 bridges, seven of them fit for armor to cross. Because the Canadian First Army had drawn the bulk of the German reserves upon itself, Simpson’s army built up pressure and his armor broke away on the last day of February. His right flank reached the Rhine south of Dusseldorf two days later, and his left flank linked up with the Canadians near Geldern on March 3.

Farther north, with Wesel and its Rhine bridges only 15 miles distant, intense clashes continued between the British-Canadian forces and the Germans, who were fighting more stubbornly than ever to defend their home soil. More fresh enemy troops were deployed and new defenses hurriedly prepared. The odds against survival were still high for the Allied soldiers, especially the infantrymen. Out of 115 men of B Company of the 2nd Gordon Highlanders who had landed in Normandy seven months before, only three were left by February 26, 1945.

But the fighting spirit and discipline of the Allied troops eventually gained the upper hand. There were numerous acts of sacrifice and valor among the British and Canadian infantrymen, gunners, and tankers during the Reichswald-Hochwald campaign, and four Victoria Crosses were awarded, two of them to Canadians.

Platoon Sergeant Aubrey Cosens of the Queen’s Own Rifles distinguished himself while Sherman tanks of the 1st Hussars were trying to overwhelm stubborn German parachute troops in the hamlet of Mooshof, near the Calcar-Udem road, early on the misty morning of February 26. A quiet, tough loner from the northern Ontario backwoods, the 23-year-old Cosens directed tank fire against a farmhouse to break up an enemy attack. Braving a hail of mortar and shellfire, and armed with only a Sten gun, he dashed into the house after a Sherman had rammed it. Cosens killed at least 20 Germans and took as many prisoners, and his actions saved the lives of his men. While on the way to report to his company commander, he was shot in the head by a sniper. He was posthumously awarded Great Britain’s highest decoration for valor.

The second Canadian VC went to acting Major Frederick A. Tilston of the Essex Scottish Regiment for his gallant leadership in an assault on German defenses at the edge of the Hochwald early on the morning of March 1. During fierce fighting, the affable, mild-mannered Ontario College of Pharmacy graduate led his C Company across 500 yards of open ground and through 10 feet of barbed wire to reach two enemy trench lines. Although wounded in the head, Tilston silenced a machine-gun post with a grenade while his men cleared the trenches and then organized defenses against a German counterattack. He crossed bullet-swept ground six times to carry ammunition to a hard-pressed flanking company and received multiple shrapnel wounds in his legs. He refused medical aid. Tilston’s wounds were so severe that both of his legs had to be amputated.

By March 10, 1945, after a month of costly fighting, the Reichswald campaign was completed and the western bank of the Rhine was in Allied hands. The German high command had ordered a withdrawal on March 6, and the last pockets of enemy troops hurried across the river, destroying bridges and ferries behind them.

The toll was high on both sides in Operation Veritable. From February 8 to March 10, the Canadian First Army suffered 15,634 casualties, of whom almost two-thirds were men of the British XXX Corps. Of the 5,414 Canadian losses, almost all were in the 2nd and 3rd Infantry Divisions. German losses were an estimated 22,000, with a further 22,000 taken prisoner.

General Horrocks was deeply disturbed about the “butcher’s bill” in a campaign that was generally overlooked later even by eminent military historians. “This was the grimmest battle in which I took part during the war,” he said. “No one in their senses would choose to fight a winter campaign in the flooded plains and dense pinewoods of Northern Europe, but there was no alternative. We had to clear the western bank of the Rhine if we were to enter Germany in strength and finish off the war.” In a letter to General Crerar, Eisenhower summed up, “Probably no assault in this war has been conducted in more appalling conditions than was this one.”

Later in March 1945, Horrocks and his battered corps were heartened when British Prime Minister Winston Churchill visited them. With the 51st Highland Division’s massed bagpipes and drums sounding, Horrocks reported, Churchill “was visibly moved as he stood for the first time with his feet firmly planted on the territory of the enemy which he had been fighting for so long.”

Allied forces had closed to the Rhine, but getting across the river, swollen to 1,500 feet wide, was another matter. While Montgomery crushed the last enemy resistance in the Lower Rhineland and secured a springboard for a massive British-American crossing north of the Ruhr, the northern corps of Hodges’ U.S. First Army reached Cologne and wheeled southeast to strike the Germans in the Eifel sector. Patton’s Third Army attacked them frontally, and his freewheeling armor raced to the Rhine near its confluence with the Moselle River. But a dozen bridges between Coblenz and Duisburg were down, and every Allied attempt to seize a crossing was foiled.

Then, on the afternoon of March 7, a task force from Maj. Gen. John W. Leonard’s U.S. 9th Armored Division came upon the big Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen, 20 miles northwest of Coblenz. It was intact but set to be blown up within an hour. In one of the most dramatic feats of the war, combat engineers hastily cut the demolition cables while infantrymen raced across. Ten days later, the span collapsed from bomb damage and heavy use, but engineers had laid pontoon bridges, and the advance across the Rhine continued.

Patton’s army seized crossings at Nierstein and Oppenheim, but these and the Remagen operation could never be more than secondary. The Third Army was too far south to have a decisive impact, and the Remagen bridgehead led into the mountainous Westerwald region. The key to breaching the Rhine barrier lay firmly in the north, where Montgomery was marshaling forces for a major crossing.

At 5 pm on March 23, along the hazy western bank of the Rhine, British gunners opened up the biggest artillery barrage of the war, and Monty’s Operation Plunder—involving 1.25 million men of his 21st Army Group—was underway. Buffaloes carrying assault troops of the 153rd and 154th Infantry Brigades lurched into the dark waters and followed taped routes to the far bank. The first men to scramble ashore, around 9 pm, were Highlanders of the legendary Black Watch Regiment. The 51st Highland Division and the Canadian 3rd Infantry Division crossed the river near Rees and Emmerich, while, upstream near Wesel, Lancasters of RAF Bomber Command softened up the way for an assault by Lt. Gen. Sir Neil Ritchie’s British 12th Corps. General Simpson’s U.S. Ninth Army crossed the Rhine between Wesel and Duisburg. Although the initial crossings went smoothly and with only token resistance from German units exhausted and depleted by the actions west of the river, enemy shellfire was heavy and the 51st Highlanders had to repel a fierce counterattack by panzergrenadiers.

Within a few hours, on the sunny morning of March 24, came Operation Varsity, the subsidiary assault of the historic Rhine crossing, and much-needed reinforcements for the Allied troops on the eastern bank. Standing on a hilltop behind Xanten with Field Marshal Alan Brooke, Prime Minister Churchill shouted excitedly, “They’re here!” With a great roar overhead appeared 4,000 transport planes, tugs, and gliders of Maj. Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway’s XVIII Airborne Corps. In the next 10 minutes, more than 8,000 paratroopers of the British 6th and U.S. 17th Airborne Divisions were dropped.

Meanwhile, working tirelessly and under fire, Monty’s Royal Engineers hastily laid several Bailey and pontoon bridges across the northern Rhine for the continuing Allied buildup. A total of 155 sappers were killed or wounded, and General Horrocks said, “I have always felt that the Rhine crossing was probably the sappers’ finest hour of the whole war.”

British, American, and Canadian troops and equipment were soon flowing steadily over the Rhine, and by the end of March 1945, men of General Jean Lattre de Tassigny’s French First Army had crossed the river. Every Allied army now had troops on the eastern bank, and the end of the war in Europe was only a month away.

This article first appeared at the Warfare History Network and first appeared on TNI last year.

Image: Wikipedia.

Kyle Mizokami

Security, Americas

This is a solid weapon that is easier than trying to assembly your own from separate parts.

Key Point: There are many different AR pistols out there. Here is how this one makes its mark.

The AR-15 rifle, or ArmaLite Rifle-15, was developed by Eugene Stoner as a potential military firearm. The AR-15, first adopted by the U.S. Air Force and later by the rest of the armed forces, is a gas operated, direct impingement firearm that siphons off gunpowder gasses to cycle the weapon. This also has the beneficial side effect of significantly reducing recoil, allowing a rifle shooting a 55-grain cartridge at velocities in excess of 3,000 feet per second to be easily manageable.

Modifications to the AR-15 gas system can also allow for the use of very short barrels, barrels technically shorter than those allowed under the Federal National Firearms Act (NFA). The NFA identifies rifles with barrel lengths shorter than sixteen inches as subject to special regulation, typically involving additional paperwork and a tax stamp. Such “short barrel rifles” are also illegal in many states and municipalities, further complicating their purchase.

A popular workaround to the NFA is the classification of a weapon as a pistol instead of a short barrel rifle. Pistols are not regulated by barrel length. That having been said, pistols do not have buttstocks and are typically not fired from the shoulder. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms however recently declared arm braces on AR-15 “pistols” are in fact legal, even when the “braces” are incidentally capable of firing  (though not comfortably) from the shoulder.

The Ruger AR-556 pistol is one example of an AR pistol made legal by this declaration. The AR-556 has a barrel length of just 10.5 inches and an overall length of 25.3 to 27.9 inches. It is 7.2 inches high. Equipped with a standard buttstock, the “pistol” would be an NFA firearm. Instead, it is equipped with a SBA3 Pistol Stabilizing Brace. The SBA3 wraps around the user’s shooting arm for support during firing. It could also technically be fired from the shoulder like a rifle. Like a regular AR-15, the overall length of the arm brace can be adjusted to increase or decrease the overall length of the weapon, adjusting to the user’s own unique ergonomic profile.

The AR-556 has all of the benefits of any other AR-15 style weapon, including semi-automatic operation, the same method of operation, and the same procedures for clearing a jammed weapon. This makes it easier for an AR-15 rifle owner that also wants a pistol to quickly master the AR-556. Ruger’s pistol also takes the same magazines as the AR-15, including standard capacity 20- and 30-round magazines and 10- or 15-round magazines for gun owners living in states with strong gun control laws. The use of the NATO STANAG magazines is in contrast to Ruger’s older Mini-14 and Mini-30 rifles, which use proprietary, relatively expensive Ruger magazines.  

Ruger’s AR pistol has a barrel length of 10.5 inches with a 1 in 8-inch barrel twist. This twist, a compromise between the 1 in 9-inch twist for 55-grain bullets and a 1 in 7-inch twist for 62 grain and larger bullets, is capable of handling practically all weights of .223 Remington/5.56-millimeter rounds. The barrel is shrouded by a free-float handguard that only touches the rest of the rifle at the barrel nut, ensuring that pressure on the handguard will not affect aim of the pistol. The handguard is machined with M-LOK slots for the attachment of aiming lasers, flashlights, and other accessories.

The AR-556 is unique in the world of ARs in being sold without sights. The weapon lacks a red dot sight or even elementary backup iron sights. It does, however, have a full-length Picatinny rail that extends from the rear of the upper receiver to the tip of the barrel. This allows for user installation of optics such as an Aimpoint T-2 micro red dot sight, Sig Sauer Tango 6 1-6x variable power short range telescopic sight, or Magpul MBUS Pro iron sights.  

Ruger’s pistol is finished off with a standard A2 birdcage flash hider common to all basic AR-15s. The 0.5 by 28-inch threads are also industry standard, allowing a wide range of flash hiders, muzzle brakes, compensators, or some combination thereof to be installed by the user at a later date. The AR-556 threads can even support a suppressor or muzzle device that allows a suppressor to be quickly installed and removed.

The AR-556 is one of many so-called AR pistols. Although many owners experienced with the AR platform may choose to build their own pistol from parts, the gas system for shorter barreled weapons can be tricky to optimize, and buying a complete pistol is a time-saving option. For those that want an AR experience in a handgun form, the AR-556 is one firearm to consider.  

Kyle Mizokami is a writer based in San Francisco who has appeared in The Diplomat, Foreign Policy, War is Boring and The Daily Beast. In 2009 he co-founded the defense and security blog Japan Security Watch. This first appeared earlier and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Image: Ruger.