Diplomacy & Crisis News

The UN Secretary-General has welcomed the announcement by the Afghan Government and the Taliban of a ceasefire to mark the end of Ramadan, the holy month of fasting for Muslims around the world.

Mitchell Blatt

Security, Asia

China made some mistakes, as did every country, in responding to the coronavirus, but China’s overall response was more effective than most countries, with domestic quarantines of inter-city travelers, widespread mask-wearing, and a testing and tracing regime with access to a vast trove of data.

Since President Donald Trump’s early optimism that coronavirus was “under control” and “within a couple of days is going to be down to close to zero” has proven to be false hope, he has been trying to turn China into a scapegoat. He is attacking China and blaming them for the fact that America has 1.6 million confirmed cases of coronavirus and ninety-five thousand deaths, even though many of the reasons for the severe outbreak here have to do with mistakes by governors, government agencies, and Donald Trump himself. 

China, for example, did not decide to continue to allow 140,000 travelers to fly into the U.S. from Italy, twice as many as the amount that came in from China, and 1.7 million from the rest of Europe, for weeks after Italy had become a hot spot, without so much as temperature checks or fourteen-day quarantines upon arrival. 

China made some mistakes, as did every country, in responding to the coronavirus, but China’s overall response was more effective than most countries, with domestic quarantines of inter-city travelers, widespread mask-wearing, and a testing and tracing regime with access to a vast trove of data. And the claims of a “cover-up” are inaccurate. They are nothing but a cover for politicians and countries with antagonistic relationships towards China to defend themselves in front of their domestic publics and to pressure China internationally.

The claims of a “cover-up” are increasingly vague—Trump blamed “some wacko in China” on Twitter on May 20 but the claims typically rest on a few premises:

1.) the claim that China undercounted the number of cases and deaths 

2.) the claim that China did not respond quickly enough 

3.) the claim that China denied that the virus could spread between humans 

4.) outrage over the detention of Dr. Li Wenliang and others 

Arguments one through three are largely inaccurate, while point four is a valid criticism but not evidence of a cover-up and not relevant to the global spread of coronavirus. Overall, China’s critics are holding China to a higher degree of competence and transparency than they are holding democratic countries. 

First, there is little evidence that China fabricated or intentionally undercounted deaths in most of the country, which is what a “cover-up” would describe. It is true that the official number of deaths in China, like every other country, almost certainly is missing some people who died at home or undiagnosed.

The New York Times reported in April that coronavirus cases across the country were not being counted because tests were lacking, and many likely coronavirus deaths in February and early March were attributed to the flu. Officials in California were able to confirm the deaths of coronavirus as early as February 6, three weeks before the first recorded death. Data on Florida’s coronavirus dashboard shows people reporting coronavirus-like symptoms as early as January 1. The manager who oversaw that data was fired after protesting an order to remove some of the data.

The dismissals of many officials who were propagating information their superiors did not want to be shared shows a commonality and difference between the political systems of the United States and China. Here, there have also been attempts to downplay or hide criticisms or negative information on the government’s response, but it is dealt with through firings, reassignments, and official rebukes. Dr. Rick Bright, for example, testified to the House of Representatives that he was removed from his position leading the team involved in creating a vaccine after warning about shortages of PPE and disagreeing with the administration’s promotion of hydroxychloroquine even for people who weren’t hospitalized.

Undercounting is taking place in Europe, too. In Madrid, over three thousand people had died in nursing homes without having been tested. The Economist reported in its April 18 issue, “France’s figures include deaths that occur in care homes—nearly half the total—white Britain’s do not.” Given what we know about how the elderly are most at risk and how nursing homes have become hotbeds everywhere, not counting deaths of their residents would have a significant impact and would be something a regime could do if it wanted to artificially limit its reported numbers.

The number of cases reported by different cities and regions in China shows a strong correlation with the amount of outbound travel from Wuhan to those regions, multiple papers have found. That would indicate that the numbers reported in each region were relatively accurate and not fabricated. If the numbers were fabricated, then there would not necessarily be expected to be any correlation between Wuhan migrants and cases reported. Because coronavirus originated in Wuhan, the regions with the highest number of migrants arriving from Wuhan had the highest numbers. 

Details about the situation in Wuhan itself are probably the most hazy and would be the most likely to have been intentionally manipulated, both because local officials early on (and before knowing the severity) might have felt motivated to keep it from hurting their careers and because the most egregious mistakes would have happened in Wuhan.

Reportedly, the CIA has concluded that China undercounted its numbers, and photos of urns piling up in Wuhan were cited as evidence that many more had died in the central China city. While the CIA report has not been publicly released, the Bloomberg article reporting on it cites that, “The Chinese government has repeatedly revised its methodology for counting cases, for weeks excluding people without symptoms entirely, and only on Tuesday added more than 1,500 asymptomatic cases to its total,” which would not make China’s numbers terribly different from those of many other countries. 

Icelandic data suggests that as many as half of people with coronavirus show no symptoms, which means that they would not be tested in most countries. The Catalonia region of Spain also revised its numbers upward, doubling them, in April. The Daily Beast reported on May 13 that the Trump administration is pressing the CDC to change its reporting methodology to exclude coronavirus deaths for which the victim was not tested. 

A study by Timothy Russell, a research fellow at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, found that China’s official numbers might have only documented one-third of all its coronavirus cases, but the same study found the UK, Italy, and Spain documented about 10 percent of their cases. Yet only China is being singled out with the “cover-up” label. 

Ex-post facto, we know that coronavirus was spreading in Wuhan in December, and, as of March, the first known case was traced back to November 17. Now athletes on the French and Spanish teams have said they fell sick with what they think could have been coronavirus at the Military Games held in Wuhan in October. At the time, they thought it was the flu, indicating the difficulty of discerning a rare, unknown-at-the-time disease, which has symptoms similar to other diseases. 

Doctors in Wuhan took note of the cluster of pneumonia cases in December but attributed it to an unknown cause as the coronavirus had not been discovered at that point. American doctors could not recognize that some of their patients had coronavirus in February and March, either.  

“When I was working before we had testing, we had a ton of patients with pneumonia. I remember thinking it was weird. I’m sure some of those patients did have it. But no one knew back then,” Geraldine Ménard, chief of general internal medicine at Tulane Medical Center in New Orleans, said to the New York Times. 

Dr. Li Wenliang messaged colleagues about the similarities to SARS on December 30. He was detained on January 3 and released the same day with a warning but no formal charges. Virus samples were shipped to Fudan University in Shanghai on January 5, and the results of the tests, that it was SARS-CoV2, or the coronavirus, were announced to the world on January 9.  

So the detention of Li did not impact the speed of China’s response nor the global spread of the virus. It might well have put Li and his colleagues at greater risk of contracting coronavirus. There was a concerted effort by Wuhan government officials and hospital officials to deny that healthcare workers were getting sick and to even prevent doctors and nurses from wearing masks at some hospitals. Li was clearly a victim. The Chinese government did issue an apology and criticize the Wuhan Public Security Bureau. Whether the apology is sincere or meant to appease local and international anger is another matter. Either way, China’s actions to Li do not explain the spread of the virus or absolve the rest of the world for their failures. 

The timeline of China’s response is all in Caixin Global’s article, the same article that has been cited by outlets such as The National Review to push the “cover-up” case. On January 3, according to Caixin Global, China’s National Health Commission “ordered labs to transfer any samples they had to designated testing institutions, or to destroy them.” The National Review’s Tobias Hoonhout describes this as a “gag order” (in January, not “late December). But the samples arrived at the facility two days later. Is taking one week to conduct the tests—as opposed to some hypothetical time frame in a different scenario—is a slow response? 

National governments, such as the U.S. government, have taken longer than one week to respond even after already knowing that coronavirus was a threat. Even in March, Trump was comparing the coronavirus to the flu. It took him twenty days to put any restrictions on flights from Italy after Italy began locking down cities. 

Finally, China was downplaying the potential for human transmission amongst people who showed symptoms. It was not until January 20, that they announced that the virus had been confirmed through study to be communicable, although most viruses, particularly a virus in the coronavirus group, should be assumed to be potentially communicable, barring evidence to the contrary, which is exactly why Taiwanese and Hong Kongese health officials were already working on that assumption before January 20.  

At the time, however, no doctors and scientists could have been expected to know that coronavirus spreads between people who do not show symptoms of being sick. By late January, there were apparent cases of asymptomatic transmission being observed, and China’s health ministry did issue a warning about asymptomatic transmission on January 31. But it took months for the United States CDC or the Surgeon General, or health organizations in other Western countries, to recommend widespread mask-wearing.  

That—and the high R0—were the main reasons coronavirus spread so quickly and so widely. The 2003 outbreak of SARS did not spread asymptomatically or pre-symptomatically. That, also, is likely why foreign governments did not respond quickly or deliberately enough.

It could be that governments are fallible, that no government could be expected to respond perfectly to even the most trivial challenges, let alone a crisis of unprecedented scale. It could be that coronavirus is the “disease x”—the disease that both spreads extremely quickly and kills at a relatively high rate.

To hold that China could have or should have been able to know from day one that these cases of pneumonia were actually coming from a new virus, or that it should have known the virus spread through the breath of apparently healthy people, and that it should have been able to track every case of the virus, is, somewhat ironically, to hold China to higher standards than the most developed democratic countries in the world. When China mishandles a pandemic, it is ascribed to malfeasance; when the United States and Europe do, it is the ordinary, expected incompetence.

It’s not only an inaccurate narrative, and one that is being used to absolve domestic leaders of responsibility for their mistakes, but it is also in a sense an anti-democracy narrative.

Mitchell Blatt is a former editorial assistant at the National Interest, Chinese-English translator, and lead author of Panda Guides Hong Kong. He has been published in USA Today, The Daily Beast, The Korea Times, Silkwinds magazine, and Areo Magazine, among other outlets. Follow him on Facebook at @MitchBlattWriter.

Image: Reuters

Lucia Husenicová

Security, Asia

Fire and fury or diplomacy?

Looking at the situation in the United States, given the coronavirus crisis, it is hard to foresee any significant change in U.S.-North Korean bilateral relations. It would be difficult to plan for another summit meeting in the current pandemic-focused world, even though it was suggested at the beginning of this year. It is hard to imagine how the American public would react if President Donald Trump were to leave the country in both a time of crisis and in the middle of presidential election season.

However, coming closer to the election, if Trump feels the need to show the voters a win, he might opt for a summit with North Korea’s Kim Jong-un. Since 2018, we know that the administration is very flexible when it comes to organizing a summit in a mere three-month period. But I would still rate the possibility of another summit as low, as North Korea’s leadership would also have a say in any plans related to a summit.

Looking at DPRK’s motivation to meet with Trump, there are two possible trajectories. In the first case, the idea of a summit would require Kim Jong-un foreseeing Trump as U.S. president for the next four years and being able to bring benefits to his country. The DPRK can evaluate how the summit could be reflected at the voters’ behaviour and decide upon that.

Alternatively, in the second case, as the previous two summits and meeting at the DMZ did not really bring any real benefit to the DPRK, the motivation for another such event would be low—especially when Kim got more out of meetings with Chinese president Xi Jinping.  

Another factor that could play a role in the DPRK leadership’s calculations is the timing of Kim Jong-un leaving the country for another summit (provided Trump is not able or willing to travel to Pyongyang), especially after the last round of rumours about his health issues and spots on his hand seen during his public reappearance on May 1.

Then there are considerations for lower level meetings. Currently it is difficult to judge how welcome Secretary of State Mike Pompeo would be in North Korea, given the most recent wave of criticism coming from Kim Jong-un’s sister, Kim Yo-jong. As for regular diplomatic meetings, there is currently a lack of information about to what extent the State Department uses the UN New York channel to talk to DPRK representatives, or what the state of Track 1.5 and 2 diplomacy meetings are.

Curveballs

At this point, I do not see a reason why the DPRK would conduct an ICBM nuclear test. In general, with previous tests they have either tried to attract the attention from the rest of the world, mainly the United States, and secure some benefit out of the whole affair, or, as was the case in 2017, testing to achieve a certain level of development and strengthen Kim Jong-un’s position internally.

A possible reason for testing is the September 9 anniversary of the country’s founding. However, again, the possible benefits of testing would need to be considered. Such a test could, for example, negatively impact Trump’s chances for re-election, as it will show to U.S. voters that the president’s only sort of foreign policy success—the positive relation with Kim—was anything but that.

However, we need to take into consideration the DPRK’s internal development factor in making a decision about testing. Here it would depend on how well the rumours regarding Kim’s health were contained in DPRK—it was reported that people did get some information about international news in April. A test, either of an ICBM or nuclear warhead, could be conducted in order to reassure North Korean people and some parts of the elite about the strength and decisiveness of the leader.

Naturally, looking at the existing pattern in nuclear testing, it is very possible that there would be a nuclear test sometime after the U.S. election in November or in the first half of 2021, regardless of who wins the election and is sworn in.

How will Trump seek to engage Kim—or not?

As suggested above, it is unlikely that President Trump will choose to engage Kim Jong-un as a possible part of his re-election strategy. However, that could change, depending on the polls and is not an important part of the presidential campaign. But I do admit that the president could use the Kim Jong-un card in an attempt to improve his chances.

Lucia Husenicová is lecturer at the Department of Security studies at the Faculty of Political Science and International Relations at the Matej Bel University. She is also a director of the Institute of Asian Studies.

Image: Reuters.

Teresa G. Carvalho

Health, North America

Trump said he has “heard a lot of good stories” about hydroxychloroquine, and incorrectly claimed there is no evidence of harmful side-effects from taking it.

The White House’s confirmation that US President Donald Trump has been taking hydroxychloroquine every day for the past two weeks, with his doctor’s blessing, has reignited the controversy over the drug. It has long been used against malaria but has not been approved for COVID-19.

Trump said he has “heard a lot of good stories” about hydroxychloroquine, and incorrectly claimed there is no evidence of harmful side-effects from taking it. His previous claims in March that the drug could be a “game changer” in the pandemic prompted many people, including Australian businessman and politician Clive Palmer, to suggest stockpiling and distribution of the drug to the public.

But the dangers of acting on false or incomplete health information were underlined by the death of an Arizona man in March after inappropriate consumption of the related drug chloroquine. It’s important to know the real science behind the touted health benefits.

How do these medicines work?

Hydroxychloroquine is an analogue of chloroquine, meaning both compounds have similar chemical structures and a similar mode of action against malaria. Both medications are administered orally and have common side-effects such as nausea, diarrhoea and muscle weakness. However, hydroxychloroquine is less toxic, probably because it is easier for the body to metabolise.

Chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine are listed by the World Health Organisation as an essential medicine. Both drugs have been used to treat malaria for more than 70 years, and hydroxychloroquine has also proved effective against auto-immune diseases such as systemic lupus erythematosus and rheumatoid arthritis. The US Food and Drug Administration has approved both chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine for treating malaria, but not for COVID-19.

We don’t know exactly how these drugs work to combat the malaria parasite. But we know chloroquine disrupts the parasite’s digestive enzymes by altering the pH inside the parasite cell, presumably effectively starving it to death.

Malaria parasites and coronaviruses are very different organisms. So how can the same drugs work against both? In lab studies, chloroquine hinders replication of the SARS coronavirus, apparently by changing the pH inside particular parts of human cells where the virus replicates.

This offers a glimmer of hope that these pH changes inside cells could hold the key to thwarting such different types of pathogens.

Is it OK to repurpose drugs like this?

Existing drugs can be extremely valuable in an emergency like a pandemic, because we already know the maximum dose and any potential toxic side-effects. This gives us a useful basis on which to consider using them for a new purpose. Chloroquine is also cheap to manufacture, and has already been widely used in humans.

But we shouldn’t be complacent. There are significant gaps in our understanding of the biology of SARS-CoV-2, which causes COVID-19, because it is a brand new virus. There is a 20% genetic difference between SARS-CoV-2 and the previous SARS coronavirus, meaning we should not assume a drug shown to act against SARS will automatically work for SARS-CoV-2.

Even in its primary use against malaria, long-term chloroquine exposure can lead to increased risks such as vision impairment and cardiac arrest. Hydroxychloroquine offers a safer treatment plan with reduced tablet dosages and lessened side-effects. But considering their potentially lethal cardiovascular side-effects, these drugs are especially detrimental to those who are overweight or have pre-existing heart conditions. Despite the urgent need to confront COVID-19, we need to tread carefully when using existing medicines in new ways.

Any medication that has not been thoroughly tested for the disease in question can have seriously toxic side-effects. What’s more, different diseases may require different doses of the same drug. So we would need to ensure any dose that can protect against SARS-CoV-2 would actually be safe to take.

The evidence so far

Although many clinical trials are under way, there is still not enough evidence chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine will be useful against COVID-19. The few trials completed and published so far, despite claiming positive outcomes, have been either small and poorly controlled or lacking in detail.

A recent hydroxychloroquine trial in China showed no significant benefits for COVID-19 patients’ recovery rate. A French hydroxychloroquine trial was similarly discouraging, with eight patients prematurely discontinuing the treatment after heart complications.

The fascination with chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine has also adversely affected other drug trials. Clinical trials of other possible COVID-19 treatments, including HIV drugs and antidepressants, have seen reduced enrolments. Needless to say, in a pandemic we should not be putting all our eggs in one basket.

Then there is the issue of chloroquine hoarding, which not only encourages dangerous self-medication, but also puts malaria patients at greater risk. With malaria transmission season looming in some countries, the anticipated shortage of chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine will severely impact current malaria control efforts.

Overall, despite their tantalising promise as antiviral drugs, there isn’t enough evidence chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine are safe and suitable to use against COVID-19. The current preliminary data need to be backed up by multiple properly designed clinical trials that monitor patients for prolonged periods.

During a pandemic there is immense pressure to find drugs that will work. But despite Trump’s desperation for a miracle cure, the risks of undue haste are severe.

Teresa G. Carvalho is a Senior Lecturer in Microbiology at La Trobe University.

This article was coauthored by Liana Theodoridis, an Honours student in Microbiology at La Trobe University.

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

Image: Reuters

Warfare History Network

History, Americas

The "anaconda strategy."

When the Civil War started in 1861, there were only two officers in the Union Army who had commanded a force in battle larger than a brigade. They were John E. Wool and Winfield Scott. At age 77, Wool was two years older than Scott and was showing the effects of his age. However, during the war, Wool served with distinction in the Eastern and Middle Departments. Winfield Scott was the general in chief of the army.

A major difficulty at this time was finding officers who were competent enough to organize, administer, and command large armies in combat. The vast majority of young officers—who had never seen a force larger than the 14,000-man assemblage Scott had commanded in the war with Mexico—had only limited experience in commanding small units. Most of these had attended West Point and, as a result, had been trained mainly in the areas of engineering, fortifications, and mathematics. Only a small portion of their schooling had been dedicated to strategic and tactical thought. At the same time, they received very little instruction on how to effectively administer an army or how to organize a group of officers for staff work.

As the Civil War slowly expanded into a major conflict, a number of officers began to demonstrate skills that allowed them to persevere through the early period of the war. Eventually the innate qualities that are so important for good leadership began to propel these men into significant positions of command. Ulysses S. Grant was one.

When Fort Sumter was attacked by the Confederates in April of 1861, Grant was a clerk in his family’s leather business in Galena, Ill. Within one week he began helping the local militia company organize its ranks, and he instructed its officers in proper drill procedures. He even designed the unit’s uniforms. But when the men in the company tried to elect him their company commander, he refused. Grant felt that the rank of militia captain was beneath him because he was a graduate of West Point and had been a captain in the regular army with an excellent combat record in the Mexican War. Realistically, he was holding out for something more worthy of his status.

Grant Receives His First Opportunity of the War

When the Galena company moved to the militia camp of instruction at Springfield, Ill., Grant followed them. He was told at Springfield that there were no command positions available in any of the newly formed regiments. As a result, he accepted the only position he could find, that of a clerk in Governor Yates’ office.

Within a short time, Grant received his first opportunity of the war. John Pope relinquished his command of the instructional camp when a brigade he had been raising did not elect him its commander. With Pope leaving, Governor Yates did not take long to appoint Grant as the new commander of the camp.

As the newly appointed camp commander, Grant performed his duties in fine fashion. In fact, he carried out his responsibilities so well that the officers of the 21st Illinois Volunteers were impressed. The 21st Illinois was a newly formed regiment. Its colonel was incompetent, and the men in his regiment ran rampant around Springfield stealing, drinking, and brawling. Things were so deplorable that Governor Yates was forced to step in. He appointed Grant colonel of the 21st. By June Grant had been promoted to the rank of Brigadier General.

General Grant shaped the 21st into good order in a short period. In July he received orders to take his regiment to the rescue of another Illinois regiment that had become surrounded by a Confederate force in Missouri. Grant did march to the rescue, but it turned out to be a case of wrong information. There was no enemy formation. Later, Grant wrote: “My sensations as we approached what I supposed might be ‘a field of battle’ were anything but agreeable. I had been in all the engagements in Mexico that it was possible for one person to be in; but not in command. If someone else had been colonel and I had been lieutenant-colonel I do not think I would have felt any trepidation.”

Experiencing the Anxiety of Command

Grant’s anxiety about being in command may be best understood by noting that the American Civil War was very different from wars previously fought. Huge armies and advancements in technology combined to cause a tremendous number of casualties on the battlefield. At the same time, the Civil War was very similar to other wars in many ways. One was that commanders were forced to cope with the responsibilities of ordering men into battle (moral courage). Although these same commanders may have possessed high levels of physical courage (leading men into battle), many found it very difficult to send their men against the enemy and remain back to command the field. The commanders along the Illinois-Missouri border—Grant among them—were no exception. They had to come to grips with the issue of moral courage.

In a couple of weeks the 21st Illinois received orders to march again. This time Grant was told to take his regiment and attack a suspected Rebel camp 25 miles away. The enemy assembly was commanded by Colonel Thomas Harris. As Grant marched his regiment toward the enemy, he did not know exactly what was waiting for him: “As we approached the brow of the hill from which it was expected we could see Harris’ camp, and possibly find his men ready formed to meet us, my heart kept getting higher and higher until if felt to me as though it was in my throat. I would have given anything then to have been back in Illinois, but I had not the courage to halt and consider what to do; I kept right on.”

At the end of his march, Grant found that Harris had abandoned his camp. This one march, which resulted in no engagement with the enemy, had a lasting effect on Grant. Because Harris had withdrawn his force, Grant speculated that Harris was “as afraid of him as he was of Harris.” This train of thought deeply affected Grant, and it changed the way he approached battle for the remainder of the war. He would write later, “From that event to the close of the war, I never experienced trepidation upon confronting an enemy.… I never forgot that he had as much reason to fear my forces as I had his.”

As Grant wrestled with these issues, President Lincoln tried to decide who he should appoint to command Union forces along the Mississippi River. In July he decided on John C. Fremont. “The Pathfinder” had limited military experience, but he was a noted explorer of the day. Fremont, who was very well educated, was a hero to millions of Americans because of his exploits in the West. He had discovered Lake Tahoe, scaled the Sierras, named the Golden Gate, and written a book about Mormons moving into the Salt Lake Valley.

With the appointment of Fremont, the Western Department was created. It stretched from Illinois to the Rockies including all states and territories. Initially, a portion of Kentucky was included as well.

The ‘Anaconda Plan’ Aims to Strangle the Confederacy

Within days, Fremont, President Lincoln, and General Scott decided that Fremont’s main strategic objective should be to clear Rebels from Missouri. Once that was accomplished, the next objective (in accordance with Lincoln and Scott’s Anaconda Plan of strangling the Confederacy by controlling its riverine and coastal ports) would be to advance down the Mississippi River and capture Memphis, Tenn.

Grant’s early efficiency and drive had impressed Fremont. Consequently, on August 28 Fremont gave Grant command of the District of Southeast Missouri and Southern Illinois with headquarters in Cairo, Ill. Fremont ordered Grant to eliminate all Confederate forces from southeast Missouri.

During the summer, Kentucky, a slave state, remained “neutral.” In other words, it had not seceded with the original seven slave states that had created the Confederacy before the war’s beginning. Nor had Kentucky left the Union following the attack on Fort Sumter. President Lincoln, not wanting to violate Kentucky’s neutrality, did not want to take any offensive action within her borders for fear of “pushing” her into the Confederacy.

As it turned out, Southern forces were the first to infringe upon Kentucky’s nonpartisan position. On September 3, 1861 General Leonidas Polk ordered General Gideon J. Pillow to capture Columbus, Ky. Many on both sides considered Columbus critical for control of the Mississippi River.

Grant had not even settled into his headquarters at Cairo when he learned of the Rebel occupation of Columbus. He became extremely alarmed by the close proximity of the enemy—Columbus was only 20 miles south of Cairo. At the same time Grant was afraid the rebels would attempt to occupy Paducah, Ky., strategically located east of Cairo where the Tennessee River empties into the Ohio River. If Paducah were occupied by the enemy, Grant knew that the Rebels would be able to interdict all Union shipping along the Ohio River.

By the evening of September 5, Grant had organized a force for advancing on Paducah. Without waiting for orders, Grant loaded two infantry regiments onto local steamships for the move on Paducah. When the Federals reached their target on the 6th, they landed unopposed. Leaving General Charles F. Smith in command, Grant returned to his headquarters to find the orders permitting him to advance on Paducah.

The Rebels Increased Their Strength Daily

Grant’s move to occupy Paducah was a masterful countermeasure to the Confederate occupation of Columbus. In response, Polk ordered Brig. Gen. Frank Cheatham to attack Paducah and drive all Union forces out. General A.S. Johnston countered the order, believing that this move would separate Rebel forces, thus making it too difficult to mass their strength when necessary. Grant believed the same thing, recalling: “They [Confederates] are fortifying strongly and preparing to resist a formidable attack, and have but little idea of risking anything upon a forward movement.”

Rebel strength at Columbus grew stronger each day. This bothered Grant, as it would any commander, but he believed that both his and Polk’s forces were equal in strength and felt that because both armies were similarly disorganized, undisciplined, and untested, the advantage would go to the commander who was the “most active.”

On September 8, Grant ordered the gunboat Lexington south from Cairo to make a reconnaissance of Confederate strength at Columbus. As the solitary Union gunboat steamed within range of the Rebel fortifications on the bluffs at Columbus, the defenders opened fire. Following an exchange of cannon fire, the Lexington withdrew northward back to Cairo.

During the weeks that followed, Grant continued to probe Rebel positions with naval and infantry forays along both banks of the Mississippi. His dislike of growing Confederate strength increased as fast as their reinforcements arrived. He wired Fremont in St. Louis for permission to strike Columbus and capture the Rebel stronghold.

140 Pieces of Artillery Trained on the River

On November 1, 1861, Grant received orders from Fremont. He was instructed to “demonstrate” against the Rebel stronghold at Columbus sufficiently to prevent Polk from sending any reinforcements to General Sterling Price in Missouri. From these orders, Grant decided to conduct full-scale offensive operations against the Confederate positions at Columbus.

Almost overnight, Columbus had grown into an overpowering Confederate position on the Mississippi River. The bluffs along the river soared nearly 150 feet high. Along the shoreline at the bottom of the bluffs, the Rebels had entrenched a number of 10-inch Columbiads and 11-inch howitzers. Halfway up the embankment the defenders had dug in a second line of artillery. On top of the heights, the Confederates had constructed a series of earthwork forts. One of the forts held the largest artillery piece in the Confederate arsenal, a 128-pound Whitworth rifled gun. The gun’s crew nicknamed the piece “Lady Polk.” These commanding bluffs became known as the “Gibraltar of the Mississippi.” There were nearly 140 pieces of artillery trained on the river, and the entire defensive position was garrisoned by 17,000 troops.

Grant’s gunboat forays against Columbus had given him a picture of his enemy’s strength. Owing to the rapid buildup, Grant decided to attack Belmont on the Missouri side of the river instead. Belmont was directly across from Columbus and was not nearly as well defended as the “Gibraltar of the Mississippi.” Grant hoped to surprise the small Confederate force there.

He decided to use two brigades of infantry for his primary attack. One brigade was under the command of Brig. Gen. John McClernand, and the other under Colonel Henry Dougherty. In support of the infantry were two companies of cavalry and a light battery of artillery. In order to transport his force down river, Grant gathered six steamers and two gunboats. In all, Grant’s force numbered 3,114 men.

Grant’s Gamble

Grant planned on implementing several secondary actions in order to try to confuse Polk. He realized he was dividing his command in the face of a formidable enemy, but he considered the reward worth the gamble.

On November 5, Grant put his plan into action. He cabled General Smith at Paducah ordering him to demonstrate toward Columbus. Grant wrote that a movement toward Columbus from Paducah “would probably keep the enemy from throwing over the river [Mississippi] much more force than they now have there, and might enable me to drive those they now have out of Missouri.” Grant believed Smith’s demonstration would prevent Polk from sending reinforcements across the river to fall upon his rear and cut his lines of communication with Cairo.

In order to coordinate his move with Grant’s, Smith prepared his command to move on the 6th. He sent one brigade commanded by Brig. Gen. Eleazer Paine toward Milburn, Ky. In order to cover Paine’s left flank, Smith directed one regiment under Colonel W.L. Sanderson to move toward Viola. Grant ordered a third diversionary force to move along the east bank of the river. These orders were sent to Colonel John Cook. His brigade was to demonstrate down the river but progress no closer than Elliott’s Mills.

On the west side of the river in Missouri, Colonel Richard Oglesby’s brigade was ordered to march his command from Sikeston south to New Madrid, which was located on the river south of Belmont. Grant directed Oglesby to “halt and communicate with me at Belmont from the nearest point on the road” as he marched toward New Madrid. To cover Oglesby’s left, Grant ordered Colonel William Wallace’s 11th Illinois to conduct the covering march.

All told, Grant’s total force numbered some 15,000 men. Virtually his entire command would be moving at once. Although his forces were separated, they were not divided so widely as to not be able to be massed together if the need arose. One thing was certain: The multiple columns that Grant put into motion certainly made it difficult for Polk to determine Grant’s main objective.

On the afternoon of the 6th, Grant prepared his force at Cairo for embarkation upon the steamboats that would transport his brigades to Belmont. By 3 pm, two of McClernand’s regiments, the 30th and 31st Illinois, began loading onto the steamer Aleck Scott. McClernand’s third regiment, the 27th Illinois, moved aboard the James Montgomery. Colonel Dougherty’s 7th Iowa loaded on the Montgomery with the 27th, and Dougherty’s second regiment, the 22nd Illinois, boarded the Keystone State. Grant’s artillery and cavalry loaded onto the steamers Chancellor and Rob Roy.

Green Soldiers Struggle to Sleep Before the Battle

Covering Grant’s waterborne force were the gunboats USS Lexington and USS Tyler. As Grant’s multiple diversionary units began to move toward their intended objectives, Grant’s force departed from Cairo for its journey south down the Mississippi.

The Union flotilla pressed south until 11 pm. Grant then decided to tie up along the eastern bank of the river about 11 miles above Columbus and wait out the night. He posted a strong guard on shore while the remainder of the men tried to sleep. Most of Grant’s men had never tasted battle; as a result, sleep for many was nearly impossible. To make matters worse, word had spread that they were on their way to assault the strong fortifications at Columbus.

On board the Belle Memphis, Grant received a message from Wallace, who was covering Oglesby’s eastern flank, that he “had learned from a reliable Union man that the enemy had been crossing troops from Columbus to Belmont the day before for the purpose of following after and cutting off the forces under Colonel Oglesby.” This message convinced Grant that he had made the correct decision in attacking Belmont.

In fact, Grant realized his campaign now had two objectives: protect Oglesby’s eastern flank and, as first understood, stop General Polk from reinforcing Price west of the Mississippi.

Grant immediately issued a Special Order. It read: “The troops composing the present expedition from this place, will move promptly at six o’clock this morning. The gunboats will take the advance and be followed by the 1st Brigade under the command of Brigadier General John A. McClernand, composed of all the troops from Cairo and Fort Holt. The 2nd Brigade, comprising the remainder of the troops of the expedition, commanded by Colonel John Dougherty, will follow. The entire force will debark at the lowest point on the Mississippi shore where a landing can be effected in security from the rebel batteries. The point of debarkation will be designated by Captain Walke, commanding Naval Forces.”

By 6:30 on the morning of November 7, the Union fleet released the lines holding them to the Kentucky shore and proceeded downriver toward the objective. Grant felt confident. He believed that any Rebel troops west of the river would be caught by surprise by his attack. If he was really lucky, Grant felt he might even take them in their flank. At the same time, Grant embraced the idea that his demonstration on the east side of the river (Paine and Sanderson) would prevent Polk from rushing too many troops across the river against him at Belmont.

Scattered Musket Shots Began Peppering Grant’s Men

As Grant’s naval force steamed southward, he went up to the pilothouse to inquire how close his landings could take place “out of sight of Columbus.” Pilot Scott replied, “About three miles north at a landing at Hunter’s Farm.” Scott emphasized, however, that the landing was out of sight, but it was not out of range of the guns at Columbus.

It was nearly 8 o’clock when the landing at Hunter’s Farm came into view, and the transports began tying up on the Missouri side of the river. Officers promptly began barking orders to disembark and form ranks on shore. Within minutes, scattered musket shots began peppering Grant’s men from a dense tree line. Heavy return fire from troops still on board the transports drove off the handful of enemy soldiers. As the unloading continued, Grant ordered Commander Henry Walke to proceed downriver with both gunboats in order to draw enemy fire away from the landings.

This Walke did by 8:30. Although heavily outgunned by the strong shore defenses, the Lexington and Tyler did draw some fire from shore. However, the majority of the Rebel fire was directed toward the transports. Concerned for the landing force, Walke withdrew back to Hunter’s Farm and ordered the transports out of range of Columbus’s guns as soon as the offloading was complete.

Soon Walke could hear firing from shore as the volume increased in intensity. He decided to make another run toward the “Iron Banks” at Columbus. This second attack lasted 20 minutes. The few shots his gunners fired at the hidden positions on shore were no match for the volume of fire Walke’s two gunboats received. Walke stated that it “would have been too hazardous to have remained long under [the enemy’s] fire with such frail vessals [sic].” Walke steamed upriver out of range once again.

The Battle of Belmont Begins

The beginning round of the Battle of Belmont had begun. Earlier in the morning, at 2 am, General Polk had been awakened and informed of Grant’s demonstrations east of the Mississippi. After dawn Polk was told that Union gunboats were on the river and that transports were unloading men on the west bank in “considerable force.” Polk decided to send General Pillow across the river with his division to “take charge of the situation.” But Polk remained convinced that the Union’s primary attack would be on the east side and that it would be directed at Columbus.

Fortunately for Pillow, there were a number of transports near Columbus available to ferry his men across the river to reinforce Colonel James Tappan, who commanded Camp Johnson at Belmont. Tappan had the 13th Arkansas, a battalion of cavalry, and a battery of artillery. Pillow was bringing across four regiments from Tennessee: the 12th, 13th, 21st, and 22nd. By 10:30 in the morning Pillow had all four of his regiments across and in formation. By that time Grant’s force had been on the move from Hunter’s Farm toward Belmont for nearly two hours.

Before moving on the Rebel camp, Grant quickly selected five companies of infantry from Dougherty’s Brigade to guard the landing and protect the line of communication. Grant had to position this force personally because he believed that he did not have a line officer with sufficient experience to command this “ad hoc” battalion.

Grant placed this group in an excellent spot. It protected his rear and flank from attack and provided cover from artillery fire from “Iron Banks.” Grant regarded this position as “a natural entrenchment” from which the battalion “could hold the enemy for a considerable time.”

Hoping that he could still achieve surprise, Grant formed his force for the march through the heavy timber and thick cornfields that stood between him and the enemy camp. As the Union forces moved through the warm morning sunshine toward Belmont, an occasional artillery round fired from “Iron Banks” would crash among the trees. Confederate gunners across the river were trying to find Grant’s column amid the dense river-bottom growth of forest and underbrush.

Except for the sporadic artillery fire, the march toward the enemy camp was fairly easy. Bits of marsh and swamp in the often-flooded terrain slowed the Union column at times; however, the road Grant’s men followed was in good shape overall.

As Captain James Dollins’ Union horsemen swept the line of march, Confederate cavalry from Lt. Col. John Miller’s 1st Mississippi Battalion engaged them and quickly broke away again. Dollins reported that the enemy seemed more interested in “observing than fighting.”

But as Grant’s force approached what appeared to be a large slough, Rebel defensive measures increased. Dollins reported that Confederate fire was heavier and that his men were seeing infantry for the first time, though he was continuing to push them as he advanced.

“My Heart Kept Getting Higher and Higher Until it Felt to Me as Though It was in My Throat.”

At this point, Grant met with McClernand and decided to deploy the column. A cornfield alongside the road was used to form the men into a battle line. At this location all that Grant’s men had to do was face left in order to face their intended objective, still about two miles away. Grant positioned Captain Ezra Taylor’s artillery pieces in the center and on the left flank of his line, which stretched for nearly half a mile.

Orders were then given to each regimental commander to deploy two companies forward as skirmishers. Specifically, they were “to seek out and develop the position of the enemy.” As the skirmishers advanced across the slough, they encountered thick woods on the opposite side. Confusion reigned. All of a sudden it became very difficult for officers to maintain alignment. Once inside the tangled woods, the inexperienced Union infantry began to hear the “long roll” of Confederate drums at the enemy camp ahead. Cautiously the Union line continued to move forward as best they could in the dense foliage. Grant himself remembered his feelings from July when he had maneuvered to attack Harris’s camp: “My heart kept getting higher and higher until it felt to me as though it was in my throat.”

The first portion of the Union line to receive heavy fire from the enemy was the right flank. Grant had assigned Colonel Napoleon Buford’s 27th Illinois to that section of the line. As the firing increased, McClernand ordered Colonel Philip Fouke’s 30th Illinois forward to support Buford’s 27th. Soon the firing became so heavy that Grant ordered his regiments on the left to alter their advance and move to “the sound of the firing.”

Within minutes, the firing became intense, despite the fact that owing to the dense underbrush and heavy woods, it remained very difficult for the armies to see each other. The fighting rapidly became very disjointed. Often command was maintained only within the smallest tactical unit within each company. Nevertheless, the nerves of Grant’s men “grew stronger” when they were told to “take trees and fight Indian fashion.”

Eventually, the fighting was so uncoordinated that McClernand stopped Buford’s advance and ordered him to maneuver farther to the right to “feel the enemy and engage him if found in that direction.” This left a gaping hole on the Union right, which was filled by the 22nd and 31st Illinois regiments and the 7th Iowa.

Pillow Attempts a Desperate Bayonet Charge

Although Pillow’s skirmishers held good positions in the dense woods, they were constantly being enveloped by the steadily advancing Yankees. By 11 in the morning Pillow’s men had all been forced to withdraw, reform their ranks, and rejoin the main Confederate defensive line along a low ridge between the heavy timber and Camp Johnson.

As the Union regiments began to advance out of the woods and toward the main enemy line, Confederate fire began to decrease. Pillow’s men began to run low on ammunition, especially along the Rebel right. As a result, Pillow ordered a bayonet charge.

General Pillow knew from his experiences in the Mexican War that the bayonet “had ultimately settled the issue on the battlefield.” But this time it did not; the Federals recoiled but did not flee. Following a brief Union withdrawal, Colonel John Logan’s 31st Illinois tried several times to turn the Confederate right flank. These determined Federal attacks forced the Rebels to drop back to their original line and forced them to use up more of their precious ammunition.

Slowly, the Union advance along the Confederate right began to push the defenders back toward their camp.

In the center of Grant’s attack, Colonel Jacob Lauman’s 7th Iowa and Fouke’s 30th began to break out of the heavy timber as well. This advance was answered by Lt. Col. Daniel Belzhoover’s Watson Battery. The Rebel artillery opened up on the advancing Union troops and forced them back into the tree line. Once back under cover, Lauman told his men to “fall on the ground.” He then shouted, “Crawl boys,” and the Union line began to advance again.

Because the Rebel artillery fire had only momentarily slowed the Union advance, Pillow rode up to the center of his line, held by Colonel Edward Pickett’s 21st Tennessee and Colonel Thomas J. Freeman’s 22nd Tennessee, and asked if “we could not charge and drive the rascals out.” The order of “Charge bayonets” filled the air.

In a rush, Rebel infantry charged the blue line and pushed them back into the woods. Although surprised and confused, the men of the 7th Iowa and 30th Illinois recovered and, through concentrated volley fire, forced the Rebels to withdraw in the center of their line.

Collapsing the Confederate Line

Beltzhoover’s guns raked the Union tree line, which allowed the 21st and 22nd to withdraw in good order. But just then Taylor’s Chicago Battery came up to the line. Within minutes, Rebel and Union artillery were engaged in a spirited exchange of gunfire that brought about the collapse of the entire Confederate line. With Pillow’s right already retiring, the heated artillery duel collapsed the remaining portion of the Confederate line.

As Pillow’s main line began to fall back into defensive positions at their camp, Buford’s 27th Illinois moved southward and came up on the extreme left flank of the Confederate camp in a classical envelopment maneuver. Slowing Buford’s advance momentarily was Company A, 13th Tennessee, which had been left back as a camp guard.

Pushing on, the 27th assaulted across the camp’s parade ground but then withdrew due to withering volley fire by the defenders. As Buford’s men prepared for another assault, the 7th Iowa and 22nd Illinois advanced and fixed themselves on his left. At the same time, Taylor positioned his battery in the center of Grant’s line and began to fire canister shot into the camp. Fouke’s 30th and Logan’s 31st advanced and began to envelop the camp on the north as well.

With Federals streaming into camp from three directions and a steady pounding by Taylor’s guns, Pillow had no choice but to order the retreat from Camp Johnson. Almost immediately, the entire camp began fleeing north along a lane that paralleled the river. As the retreating Rebels ran, they braved a gauntlet as “hundreds of Union muskets poured their deadly content.” Men from each of Grant’s five infantry regiments began chasing the Confederates in a loosely organized pursuit led by Colonel Lauman. It continued for nearly a quarter mile and then slowly stopped after Lauman was hit in a thigh by a musket ball as Rebel defensive fire increased along the riverbank.

Viewing the fight from across the river, Polk realized that he needed to send reinforcements quickly to support Pillow. One of the first units across the river was Colonel Knox Walker’s 2nd Tennessee, and it was Walker’s regiment that stopped the Union pursuit of the fleeing Rebels out of the camp. But as Walker began to pressure Logan’s 31st on the north end of the camp, Taylor’s guns came up once again and began to smash huge holes in Walker’s line of men. At the same time, Taylor’s guns began to pour their deadly fire into the Rebel steamers Prince, Hill, and Charm, which were all bringing reinforcements from Columbus.

By around 2 in the afternoon, all firing in and around the captured Rebel camp had stopped. Immediately, Grant’s men began celebrating their victory. All of a sudden, the atmosphere turned to one of hilarity with men running around searching for souvenirs, singing patriotic songs, and firing volleys into the air. General McClernand even found time to mount a tree stump and deliver an “impromptu victory speech.”

After Victory, the Union Troops Became an Uncontrollable Mob

As the minutes ticked by and the looting continued, Grant realized his fighting force had become an uncontrollable mob. In order to stop the looting and gain control once again, he ordered Camp Johnson to be burned. As the fires raged throughout the camp, officers began to organize their men into formations. Unfortunately for Grant, many of the burning tents contained sick and wounded Rebel soldiers who had gone unnoticed by Union torch bearers. Many of the Confederates burned to death. The horrible incident became a “rallying cry” for many Rebels for the remainder of the day.

On the heights across the river, General Polk had witnessed the Federal assault on Camp Johnson and the ensuing panic that had resulted in the hasty retreat northward along the river. After some thought, Polk decided to commit his reserves to the fight in order to somehow salvage the day. At the same time, he ordered a heavy bombardment upon the camp.

This accurate Confederate artillery fire from “Iron Banks” helped Grant to bring control to his force. Thinking that if they stayed around any longer, Rebel gunners from across the river would reduce their ranks in a short time, the men began to form their lines for the march out of the enemy camp.

To add to the reinforcements already sent, Polk ordered Brig. Gen. Frank Cheatham across the river with the 15th Tennessee and the 11th Louisiana in order to reinforce Pillow’s command. To avoid Taylor’s Chicago Battery, the Prince steamed upriver with Cheatham’s force to find a suitable landing somewhere between Camp Johnson and Hunter’s Farm.

“Anxious to Again Confront the Enemy”

Once across the river, Cheatham found that Pillow had organized a force, about brigade size, of elements from all his regiments. Cheatham had brought a large supply of ammunition with him, and it was quickly distributed throughout the ranks. All told, this “reconditioned” Rebel force numbered between 1,000 and 1,500 men, and they were “anxious to again confront the enemy.”

At Camp Johnson, Grant’s men were formed but still hiding in the trees from the gunners on “Iron Banks.” At a few minutes past 2 pm, a lieutenant from Fouke’s regiment reported to Grant that enemy transports were bringing reinforcements across the river. Grant, seeing the boats for himself, gave the orders to assemble and begin the march back to Hunter’s Farm.

Once assembled, McClernand’s Brigade took the lead followed by Dougherty’s Brigade. All at once, firing broke out on the Union right. The entire Federal column, almost to a man, was amazed that the Confederates could mount a determined counterattack since, only an hour before, they had been wildly running out of control along the river.

The spirited Confederate advance, organized by Cheatham, began to destroy McClernand’s hastily formed line. Shouts of “We are flanked” and “They’re surrounding us” began to ring out up and down the Union line. The 7th Iowa became nearly enveloped at the end of the Union column. Because Lauman was down with his thigh wound, Major Elliott W. Rice commanded the 7th and broke it out of the trap.

Grant Finds Himself Surrounded

Still trying to keep Rice pinned at the rear of the column, Cheatham swung his force around and tried to envelop the head of the Yankee column as well. Within minutes, cries of “Surrounded, Surrounded” filled the air throughout McClernand’s Brigade. It seemed like all eyes began to fall upon Grant. He simply stated, “We cut our way in so we can cut our way out.”

As Cheatham’s defense at the head of the Federal column stiffened, McClernand called up a battery of Taylor’s artillery. Within minutes, Taylor’s guns began pouring fire into the center of the Rebel line “with great spirit and effect.” Round after round of double canister was unleashed upon the enemy. McClernand shouted to Logan to take his regiment and “cut your way through.” With a flourish of his hat, Logan led his men forward, ordering the colors to the head of the column.

Logan’s 31st and Fouke’s 30th broke through the enemy line in good order. But as the Union men hurried onward, the column became fragmented. Grant rode to the head of the column at this point so he could personally alert the rear guard to action. They were nowhere to be found. As elements of the 30th and 31st began to hasten past, the rear guard had abandoned their position and had reembarked upon the waiting transports.

By this time, Cheatham’s men were cutting the 22nd Illinois and 7th Iowa to pieces at the end of the Union column. Taylor’s artillery tried in desperation to “make a stand” but they could not stop the pursuing enemy. Eventually, the 22nd and 7th were able to reach the Hunter’s Farm Road for their march back to the landing, but it was costly.

Most of Buford’s 27th Illinois left the retreating Union column and retraced its route from earlier in the day. Traveling on roads that the Rebels did not even know existed, Buford’s regiment came out of the woods three miles above Hunter’s Landing.

Across the river, Polk felt compelled to act further. He personally crossed the river and brought two more regiments with him to reinforce Cheatham. But not doing so earlier probably cost Polk the day. Although Cheatham and Polk got their men moving after the retreating Federals, it was not soon enough. The delay gave Grant the additional time he needed to embark his command at Hunter’s Landing.

“A Perfect Storm of Death”

But as the steamers began to pull away from the shore, the Rebels hotly increased their fire upon the departing vessels. In return the Lexington and Tyler came up and poured a murderous fire onto the bank. They “poured a perfect storm of death into the rebel masses.… whole ranks mowed down by a broadside.”

Onboard the Memphis, Grant heard the increase in fire and walked out on deck. All five transports were in line and the troops onboard were firing “with terrible effect” and “great spirit.” Even Taylor’s Chicago artillerymen had gotten into the action and were firing their guns from the deck of the Chancellor.

Except for picking up Buford’s 27th three miles upriver, the Battle of Belmont was over. During the dark trip back to Cairo, doctors onboard the transports treated the wounded as best they could. Many officers remembered the trip as “solemn.” Grant chose to remain by himself and “said not a word but to a waiter.” But when the Federal armada reached Cairo about 9:30 that night, the city was totally lit up in celebration. Later and into the next morning, Grant recalled all of his diversionary units from both sides of the Mississippi.

Both sides claimed victory following this battle along the Mississippi River. Discussions, arguments, and heated debate were to continue for many years about who won the fight.

Casualties on both sides were fairly even. Grant lost a total of 610 men killed, wounded, and missing. Polk lost 641.

Polk’s defense of Camp Johnson was deplorable. He left the most likely approaches to the camp almost totally unguarded and was not aware of other approaches used in Buford’s envelopment from the south.

There is little doubt that Grant obtained the element of surprise at Belmont. Many believe that Polk was completely confused by Grant’s diversions on both sides of the river. Whether by purpose or not, tying up on the east bank of the river the night before the attack was a masterful stroke by Grant. It was the main reason for the piecemeal reinforcement of Camp Johnson during the attack. Polk clung to the idea that Grant’s true objective was Columbus.

Artillery played a significant role. Although Beltzhoover’s Watson Battery did not distinguish itself on the field, Taylor’s Chicago Battery did. Taylor’s men demonstrated the advantage that may be gained from a highly mobile field artillery unit. During the battle, they seemed to be everywhere and were delivering decisive fire upon the enemy time and time again.

Reviewing Grant’s Mistakes

The Rebel guns at “Iron Banks” played an important role by keeping Walke’s gunboats away from supporting Grant’s attack on Camp Johnson. They also kept Walke’s gunboats from interfering while Polk sent boatload after boatload of reinforcements across the river into the fight.

Grant’s use of naval forces was good. Joint army and navy operations of transportation, embarkation, and disembarkation went as well as could be expected in these early days of the war. Perhaps the biggest mistake Grant made in the use of the navy was his failure to communicate effectively with Walke once Grant’s force had been put ashore at Belmont. If Grant had informed Walke of the heavy concentration of Rebel reinforcements coming across the river, Walke might have been able to disrupt this flow. In defense of Grant, however, Walke should have paid more attention to the fighting on shore and understood what the Confederates were doing.

Possibly the most significant outcome of the battle was bringing Grant’s name to the attention of President Lincoln. At a time when finding true leadership for his fighting forces was a definite concern, Lincoln was impressed with Grant’s initiative and speed of attack.

Grant did make mistakes, however. He violated a vital principle of the offense by not pushing through the objective (Camp Johnson) and then securing his prize. At the same time, Grant has been criticized for not maintaining tighter control over his command. For example, failing to utilize his boat guard (reserve) in the battle was a big mistake. And as already mentioned, tighter control of Walke’s gunboats could have been decisive. In addition, Dollins’ cavalry and Buford’s erratic maneuvers caused some concern during the battle. But again in Grant’s defense, Buford’s flanking move enveloped Pillow’s left at Camp Johnson and probably forced the Rebels to abandon their camp faster than any other aspect of the Union attack.

Preparing for Victory As Well As Defeat

Overall, Grant utilized his “volunteer” officers effectively, and they rose to the task many times during the battle.

General Grant came away from the Battle of Belmont with a better understanding of combined arms warfare. Although he made mistakes, he later proved he had learned from them. In addition, he discovered a new and profound understanding of himself, especially under the muzzle of his enemy’s muskets. But perhaps Grant’s greatest lesson was that a commander must always be just as prepared for victory as he is for defeat.

The battle of Belmont clearly indicated how important Columbus was. As long as the Rebels held the Iron Banks, they controlled the Mississippi. Belmont certainly served as a diversion that left the Rebels unprepared for General Grant’s attacks on Fort Henry and Fort Donelson.

When Fort Henry and Fort Donelson fell, Columbus became outflanked by the Union forces. As a result, the Confederates were forced to abandon their strong position at Columbus. Union forces moved in and occupied Columbus on March 4, 1862.

This article by Donald J. Roberts II first appeared in the Warfare History Network on October 1, 2015.

Image: Image from page 8 of "Generals and battles of the Civil War" (1891). Public domain.

Stephen Silver

Technology,

Can technology make up for a lack of native 8K content?

8K TV is one of the stranger product categories out there. It's the next generation of ultra-high-definition TVs, which have been rolled out at CES and other electronics shows since not long after 4K TVs were announced.

Several of the major TV manufacturers, including Sony, Samsung, and LG, have 8K TVs on the market at very high-end prices, with this year's 8K Sony TV, the Z8H, topping out at $10,000 for its 85-inch model.

However high-end 8K TVs may be, the fact about them remains that there's very little content available to watch on them. Cable and other pay TV providers don't provide streams in 8K, nor do streaming services, and there's not yet any type of physical media that broadcasts in that resolution. Movies aren't even being filmed in 8K yet, for the most part, although recent Marvel movies “Captain Marvel” and “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2” used 8K cameras for some scenes.

"It's great in theory, but right now you'll have a hard time finding 8K content, and there isn't much point in getting a new TV if you don't have a way to really show it off," PC Magazine wrote in January, as the latest models were rolling out at CES. "The same was true when 4K emerged, and if 8K follows a similar trajectory, you'll likely be limited to demo footage and nature documentaries for a few years before you see any of your favorite movies or shows in the format.”

Therefore, the big selling point of 8K models is their upconverting capability. And it's important to note that while most broadcast and streaming content is available not in 4K but lower resolution such as 1080p, so the leap is even larger. Also, some experts say the difference between 4k and 8K is only visible when the screens are a certain size.

"To present lower-resolution material on an 8k TV, the TV has to perform a process called upscaling," RTINGS wrote. "This process increases the pixel count of a lower-resolution image, allowing a picture meant for a screen with fewer pixels to fit a screen with many more. It’s important to remember that since the amount of information in the signal doesn’t change, there won’t be more detail present."

4K.com, meanwhile, cautions against buying an 8K TV, because "the extra visual quality these TVs deliver is wasted along with the extra money you’d spend on them." The site adds that "for you to even really distinguish a visual difference between 4K resolution and 8K resolution, you need to start looking at TV screens of at least 75 inches or more, and serious appreciation of the difference between the two only really fleshes out at around the 85 inch plus mark."

If the path of 4K is any indication, prices for 8K TVs will come down as the years pass, making them much more of a value proposition than they are currently.

Stephen Silver, a technology writer for The National Interest, is a journalist, essayist, and film critic, is also a contributor to Philly Voice, Philadelphia Weekly, the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, Living Life Fearless, Backstage magazine, Broad Street Review and Splice Today. The co-founder of the Philadelphia Film Critics Circle, Stephen lives in suburban Philadelphia with his wife and two sons. Follow him on Twitter at @StephenSilver

Image: Reuters.

Warfare History Network

History, Asia

Fire-bombing constituted the worst form of warfare imaginable.

The fire-bombing raids on Japan constituted all-out war on a civilian population.

It was a method of warfare that would have been anathema to Americans only a few short years before. A major reason for the development of high-altitude precision bombing was the belief among most Air Corps officers that deliberately attacking civilians was immoral. Even as the British turned toward area bombing of German cities, American strategists continued hazardous daylight bombing from high altitudes. Yet, many of these same officers enthusiastically embraced a policy of deliberately attacking Japanese civilians. What was their rationale for such a change in thinking?

Racism no doubt was a major factor—not to mention that quite a few high-ranking American officers were of German descent while none were Asian. Hatred of—or resentment toward—the Japanese for attacking Pearl Harbor was another, although it is important to recall that the Japanese targets in Hawaii had all been military. Fears of high casualties from an invasion was another factor, even though the costly battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa were still long in the future when the Twentieth Bomber Command began considering a change toward urban attack. Rationalization for war on civilians was also likely based on Japanese decisions to turn the entire country into an armed camp, with all Japanese males aged 17 to 60 and all women 17 to 45 subject to military service. The new policy rationalized that there were no more civilians in Japan.

Fire-bombing constituted the worst form of warfare imaginable, as incendiary bombs and napalm were dropped with the intention of creating mass conflagrations that would sweep through Japanese cities, sending thousands of men, women, and children to painful, horrible deaths. The results of the atomic bombs were even worse, compounded by the effects of radiation. “Civilized” war had become the most horrible form of warfare ever imagined and no one was off-limits to the destruction.

This article by Sam McGowan first appeared in the Warfare History Network on June 23, 2016.

Image: Boeing B-29A-45-BN Superfortress 44-61784 6 Bombardment Group G 24 BS - Incendiary Journey June 1,1945 mission to Osaka,Japan. (U.S. Air Force photo)

QUELLE PENSÉE STRATÉGIQUE APRÈS LA CRISE SANITAIRE ?

Article rédigé pour L'association des Jeunes de l'IHEDN

La crise sanitaire qui déferle sur le monde depuis le début de l’année 2020 contribue indéniablement à réécrire l’histoire de la pensée stratégique et à redéfinir un certain nombre de concepts des relations internationales. La vulnérabilité avérée d’un certain nombre de sociétés, plusieurs interrogations sur le rapport de force global qui sortira de cette crise, une compétition mondiale pour l’influence et la puissance, sont autant de signaux qui indiquent une reconfiguration importante.

En premier lieu, nous avons la confirmation selon laquelle la sécurité n’est pas seulement militaire, ni même économique, mais avant tout humaine. Dès lors, la capacité des États à assurer la sécurité à leurs populations est un facteur essentiel de leur crédibilité et donc un paramètre central de la définition de leur puissance. À partir du moment où la sécurité physique des populations est en jeu, à partir du moment également où la sécurité économique est en cause, c’est toute la notion de défense qui doit être repensée.

 

Par Frédéric CHARILLON,

 

 

La redéfinition de la sécurité

 

Les relations internationales ont vu progresser depuis plusieurs années le concept de sécurité humaine, qui tend à se superposer à celui de sécurité nationale, en mettant l’accent sur la préservation des populations, sur leur survie physique et économique, sur celle de leur mode de vie. On a pu constater à plusieurs reprises qu’une mise en danger de la sécurité humaine était l’un des facteurs de conflits les plus importants. La spirale « anxiété des populations, contraction économique, montée des nationalismes » est un phénomène connu.

La crise du covid-19 pourrait ne pas échapper à cette règle. Les répercussions économiques du confinement, les traces psychologiques que laissera cette pandémie au sein de populations désormais méfiantes à l’égard des échanges internationaux, pourraient provoquer un climat d’insécurité générale. Les tensions entre Pékin et Washington, les dissensions au sein de l’Union européenne, la tentative de plusieurs régimes autoritaires de tirer profit de cette crise pour faire avancer leur influence, montrent à quel point un enjeu initialement sanitaire peut devenir un enjeu de sécurité politique internationale. Bien plus encore que la situation provoquée il y a quelques années par le virus ebola en Afrique, qui n’a pas touché l’intégralité des échanges internationaux, la situation actuelle impose une réflexion stratégique sur le lien entre santé et sécurité mondiale.

 

 

La redéfinition de la puissance

 

Les critères pour mesurer la capacité d’un État à protéger sa population s’en trouvent également profondément modifiés. On savait déjà que la force militaire n’était pas en mesure de régler toute situation (et moins encore la détention de l’arme nucléaire). On constate aujourd’hui que la possibilité d’effectuer des tests sanitaires à une population entière, de lui fournir des équipements de protection (masques, gel hydroalcoolique…) sont des critères essentiels pour statuer à la compétence de l’État et au respect et de sa part du pacte hobbesien (assurer la sécurité d’une population en échange du renoncement de celle-ci à une partie de sa liberté). Donc des critères pour mesurer sa puissance.

La capacité d’un État à imposer sa force de négociation sur la scène internationale pour obtenir des masques fait soudainement figure d’indicateur important de son statut. Tout comme la capacité à anticiper, à augmenter une production stratégique, à monter en puissance sur le plan de politiques publiques sanitaires ou autres. L’Allemagne sort ainsi grandie de cette crise, même si son fonctionnement fédéral peut à terme lui compliquer la tâche. Plusieurs pays asiatiques ont également démontré une aptitude à gérer correctement la crise, notamment en innovant sur le plan technologique. Le fait qu’il s’agisse de démocraties (Taiwan, Corée du sud, le cas particulier de Hong Kong, et la démocratie dirigiste de Singapour) n’est pas sans conséquences politiques dans le rapport de force régional.

 

La redéfinition de la défense

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Michael Peck

History, Middle East

Militarily, the Anglo-Franco-Israeli plan was a success. Politically, it was a disaster.

Here's What You Need To Remember: Militarily, the Anglo-Franco-Israeli plan was a success. Politically, it was a disaster. Antiwar protests erupted in Britain from a public that was in no mood to die for the empire. Others were shocked by the sheet deceit and manipulation of the operation.

The war began with an imperialist invasion to seize the Suez Canal. It ended with the Soviet Union threatening to nuke Britain, France and Israel.

The 1956 British and French attack on Suez, and the parallel 1956 Israel-Egypt War, have to be among the strangest conflicts in history. The cast of characters includes two fading empires reluctant to admit their decline, a charismatic Arab dictator, a paranoid Jewish state, a semi-fake war and a superpower with nuclear weapons.

The crisis began over who just owned the Suez Canal, gateway between Europe and Asia. In July 1956, Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser announced he would nationalize the canal, which was controlled still by European shareholders even after Egypt achieved independence from Britain (the same situation would later apply to the United States and the Panama Canal). Nasser’s decision was prompted by the cutoff of American funding for the massive Aswan Dam, after Nasser had signed a huge arms deal with the Soviet bloc.

Nasser’s response was simple: if the Americans and British wouldn’t subsidize the Aswan Dam, then Egypt would nationalize the Suez Canal and use the toll revenues to build the dam itself. Unfortunately, he forgot a basic rule of history: there is nothing more dangerous than a declining empire.

Or two empires. In 1956, the sun had already set on the British and French imperiums, even if they couldn’t admit it to themselves. Battered and bankrupted by World War II, these former great powers were still coming to grips with the new reality of becoming supporting actors on a global stage dominated by America and Russia.

But for Britain, the Suez Canal was a symbol of imperial prestige, as well as a lifeline to its bases in the Middle East and Persian Gulf. For the French, the issue was less about the canal and more about Nasser, whom they accused of arming Algerian rebels fighting for independence from France. British prime minister Anthony Eden alluded to Munich, as if taking down Nasser would make up for not stopping Hitler in 1938.

Meanwhile, the Arab-Israeli conflict smoldered as it always does. After Israel’s victory in the 1948 War of Independence, Egypt sponsored Palestinian terrorist attacks from Sinai into Israel, to which Israel swiftly retaliated. The Israelis were convinced that another war was inevitable with Egypt, and they were eager to stop Egypt’s blockade of the Straits of Tiran, which kept Israeli ships from exiting the Red Sea to trade with Africa and Asia.

France, Britain and Israel eventually hatched a plan—the Protocol of Sèvres—breathtaking in its cynicism. First, Israel would invade the Egyptian-held Sinai Peninsula. Then, ostensibly to protect the Suez Canal, Britain and France would issue an ultimatum for Israel and Egypt to withdraw from the Canal Zone. When Egypt predictably refused, Anglo-French forces would invade and take over the canal. Nasser would be humiliated and overthrown, European control over the Suez Canal restored, and the good old days of nineteenth-century imperialism would be restored.

The war kicked off on October 29, 1956, with Israel’s Operation Kadesh, the brainchild of Chief of Staff Moshe Dayan. With typical ingenuity, Israeli P-51 Mustangs flew low over the Sinai to cut telephone wires with their propellers, severing Egyptian military communications. At the same time, Israeli paratroopers dropped on the strategic Mitla Pass through the Sinai mountains. Other paratroopers, led by Col. Ariel Sharon, raced across the desert to link up with them, as did other Israeli infantry and tank columns. Despite occasionally fierce fighting, Israel controlled the Sinai within a few days.

This gave Britain and France an excuse to issue their ultimatum. When Egypt ignored it, Operation Musketeer (Opération Mousquetaire to the French) commenced. A better name would have been Operation Mouseketeer, because the whole operation was Mickey Mouse. As pointed out by President Eisenhower, who knew more than most about planning invasions, the Anglo-French didn’t have a lot of troops compared to D-Day and other World War II landings. Some eighty thousand troops were involved, as well as more than two hundred warships (including five British and two French aircraft carriers) and hundreds of aircraft. While some of the British troops were unenthusiastic conscripts who couldn’t figure out why they were going to Egypt, the landings were spearheaded by elite British and French paratroopers and commandos.

After the Egyptian Air Force was destroyed in the opening hours of the invasion, paratroopers dropped on the Canal Zone, backed by Royal Marines coming in on amphibious landing craft. Troop-carrying helicopters from British carriers also conducted the world’s first ship-based helicopter assault.

Like the Israelis, the Anglo-French forces faced numerous but poorly trained and led Egyptian troops. Despite sporadic street fighting and sniper attacks—Nasser handed out guns to Egyptian civilians—the invasion was never really in doubt. The British suffered about a hundred casualties (compared to about four thousand at D-Day), the French lost about fifty men, and the Israelis around 1,100. Combined Egyptian losses to the dual invasions were on the order of eight thousand or so.

Militarily, the Anglo-Franco-Israeli plan was a success. Politically, it was a disaster. Antiwar protests erupted in Britain from a public that was in no mood to die for the empire. Others were shocked by the sheet deceit and manipulation of the operation.

However, what really mattered was the reaction of the superpowers. Soviet premier Nikolai Bulganin warned that the Soviet Union was ready to fire nuclear-armed ballistic missiles at Britain, France and Israel unless those nations withdrew. This, too, was a deception: the Soviet Union’s ICBM force was mostly propaganda at this time. Not to mention hypocritical, given that just a month before, Soviet tanks had brutally suppressed Hungarian rebels in Budapest.

Equally shocking was the reaction of the United States. Eisenhower and Secretary of State John Foster Dulles threatened economic sanctions against Israel if it failed to withdraw from the Sinai. It also threatened Britain’s oil supply (Saudi Arabia did embargo Britain and France) and considered selling off British bonds, which would have devastated the British economy. A UN resolution, spurred by the United States, called for a ceasefire and withdrawal of foreign forces.

The damage to the West was immense. U.S.-British relations were damaged, and Soviet prestige enhanced. Eden resigned as prime minister, while the British resigned themselves to no longer acting as an imperial power. The West Germans noted that the Soviets had threatened to attack Western Europe, and the United States had not protested. Israel grudgingly withdrew, and began preparing for the next war (which would come in 1967). Instead of being overthrown, Nasser became the hero of the Arab world; his comeuppance would also come in 1967.

Leaders such as Saddam Hussein and Muammar el-Qaddafi have left a bad taste in the mouth when it comes to Arab strongmen. And yet in this case, it’s hard not to sympathize a little with Nasser. Ultimately, the Suez Canal is Egyptian territory.

There have been other Western invasions since 1956, notably Iraq in 2003 and Libya in 2011. But for old-fashioned nineteenth-century imperialism, Suez was the last gap.

Michael Peck is a contributing writer for the National Interest. He can be found on Twitter and Facebook. This first appeared several years ago and is being reposted due to reader interest.

Image: Wikipedia.

Warfare History Network

History, Americas

Stonewall Jackson’s death in May 1863 is the stuff of legend, but its true cause remains a matter of medical dispute.

For the black-skinned, blue-clad soldiers deployed on the extreme left flank of the Union Army outside Nashville, Tennessee, the order to advance announced at dawn on December 15, 1864, was a long time coming. No unit of the United States Colored Troops (USCT), made up entirely of black enlisted men under the command of white officers, had been committed to major combat in the western theater since the bloody setback at Port Hudson, Louisiana, in May 1863. Now, almost 18 months later, two brigades of untested black troops were about to play a role in one of the most decisive battles of the Civil War.

Four miles south of the city, General John Bell Hood’s ill-fed, ill-clothed, and ill-shod veterans of the Confederate Army of Tennessee waited grimly in their defensive works. This once-proud and formidable force had never been in such dreadful condition. Still reeling from the horrendous physical and psychological trauma it had suffered in the catastrophic defeat at Franklin, Tennessee, two weeks earlier, the army was so thinned, in fact, that it had only managed to extend a line of partially completed works four miles below the city, leaving sizable gaps between both flanks and the Cumberland River.

Victory Seems to Slip Away from the Rebels

If the battle-hardened veterans under Hood could achieve victory—an increasingly remote possibility—their stalled offensive into their namesake state could be resurrected. Accustomed to facing heavy odds, the renowned Confederate infantry, if victorious, could drive their defeated foes from Nashville, reclaim the capital city, and gain access to the vast Federal supplies there. With his troops rested and refitted, Hood could then push north, threatening Kentucky and Ohio, his army’s ranks swelling with new recruits along the way. Union Maj. Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman might have to abandon his punishing march to the sea through Georgia and return to the defensive.

Threatened with removal from command of the Federal forces in Nashville for refusing to attack Hood immediately, Maj. Gen. George H. “Pap” Thomas nevertheless continued his meticulous preparations not only to defeat the Rebel host in his front but to utterly destroy it. Thomas needed time to organize and deploy his large and heterogeneous forces, find mounts for a third of his 12,000-man cavalry, and gather the necessary transports to conduct a vigorous pursuit of the enemy in the event they were driven back from the outskirts of the city.

It was now December 1. Maj. Gen. John Schofield, the victor of Franklin, was safely inside Nashville with his five divisions, 62 guns, and almost 800 wagons. Other units were arriving daily to fill out Thomas’s army. Hood had few options; he feared wholesale desertion if he retreated to regroup. He could attack Murfreesboro, 30 miles southeast of Nashville, where 9,000 Union troops under Maj. Gen. Lovell Rousseau were posted in strong works, but Thomas could reinforce Rousseau with more troops than Hood had in his whole army. Attacking Nashville, one of the most heavily fortified cities on the American continent, was out of the question. If Hood managed to bypass Nashville and push north, he risked attack from flank and rear.

“The Lines Looked More Like the Skirmish Line of a Regular Army”

When Hood arrived in front of Nashville, he adopted a tactic that Napoleon Bonaparte, the father of modern warfare, once called a form of deferred suicide: the passive defensive. Hood put his men to work putting up breastworks and waited for Thomas to attack him, while he prayed for the arrival of reinforcements. He implored his superiors in Richmond to get General Edmund Kirby Smith to send troops from the Trans-Mississippi Department, but the chances of substantial reinforcements arriving in time to help Hood were remote at best.

As the exhausted Confederate soldiers set about digging trenches and throwing up breastworks south of the city, to one private “the lines looked more like the skirmish line of a regular army, than a regular army itself.” Many of Hood’s veterans had no overcoats or blankets, and their uniforms were in tatters. Those who had shoes—and as many as one in five did not—wrapped their worn boots in rags or gunny sacks. After a fierce storm hit Nashville on December 9, many soldiers began leaving bloody footprints in the snow.

On paper, Hood’s army still looked formidable: three corps, nine divisions, 27 brigades. But after Franklin, the Confederate force in front of Nashville was down to about 23,000 infantry and 1,750 cavalry. Meanwhile, all the Federal units that would take part in the defense of Nashville had arrived safely. Three veteran divisions that made up Maj. Gen. A.J. Smith’s XVI Corps were welcomed when they arrived on November 30 after an arduous trek across Kansas from St. Louis. The garrison and quartermaster troops had now been augmented by militia units, new levees, convalescents, detached units, three corps of infantry from three separate commands, and finally by a provisional detachment under Maj. Gen. James Steedman that included two brigades of U.S. Colored Troops. Upon arrival by rail from Chattanooga, the 1st and 2nd Colored Brigades were assigned positions on Thomas’s extreme left flank along a front that stretched from Fort Negley east to the Lebanon Pike, close to the banks of the Cumberland River.

A “Great Danger in Delay”

Hood’s army had barely arrived when Thomas began receiving an almost daily barrage of telegrams from Maj. Gen. Henry Halleck in Washington and from Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, 500 miles away in City Point, Virginia, urging him to attack and destroy Hood immediately. On December 6, obviously not cognizant of the weakened condition of Hood’s army, Grant wired Thomas: “There is great danger in delay resulting in a campaign back to the Ohio.” He ordered him to attack at once. Thomas agreed, but the difficulties he faced convinced him that his army wasn’t adequately prepared, and he decided to delay until at least December 9 or 10.

Grant, worried that a Rebel thrust toward the Ohio River would embarrass him for allowing Sherman to march away from Hood’s army, decided to relieve Thomas, but then changed his mind. By that time, both armies were literally frozen in place and unable to move, the result of a fierce storm that had covered the ground with a blanket of ice and snow. The storm halted construction of a line of wood-and-earthen forts, or redoubts, that Hood had ordered built along both sides of the Hillsboro Pike to shore up his weak left flank.

On December 9, Halleck wired Thomas that Grant had “experienced much dissatisfaction at your delay in attacking the enemy.” In reply, Thomas told Halleck, “I feel conscious I have done everything in my power, and that the troops could not have been gotten ready before this. If Gen. Grant should order me to be replaced I will submit without a murmur.” Two days later, as the freezing temperatures continued to keep armies immobilized, Grant wired Thomas that he was still worried about the threat of a Rebel army moving toward the Ohio River. At that moment, Hood’s soldiers were shivering in their trenches and fortifications while bitterly cold winds howled around them and Union artillery shells rained down. The Confederates’ own artillery was silent, conserving ammunition for the battle to come. All along the line, vicious skirmishing and sharpshooting were taking place day and night.

Thomas Prepares His Attack

The weather finally took a turn for the better on December 13, and the morning of the 14th brought clear skies and a warm sun. The suffering of the Confederates in their trenches eased, but when the ice and snow began to melt, Hood’s army found itself mired in a sea of mud. Thomas was ready to launch his attack. He called his commanders together, told them the attack would begin on the morning of December 15, and meticulously explained the role of each corps. He would sally forth with a combined infantry and cavalry force of 54,000 men while leaving 9,000 to man the city’s defenses.

It would be none too soon. Grant was en route to Washington and planned to travel to Nashville by rail to personally assume command. Thomas chose a tactic favored by the other Union commanders. Steedman would move out at first light against the Rebel right and conduct a strong demonstration, tying down as many enemy units as possible in an attempt to mislead Hood about where the major attack would be made. On the far right, Brig. Gen. James Wilson’s entire body of cavalry, together with Smith’s infantry corps, would make a grand left wheel, assaulting and overlapping the enemy left. In the center, Brig. Gen. Thomas J. Wood’s corps would serve as the pivot for the wheel and threaten the enemy salient on Montgomery Hill, a mere quarter mile south of Thomas’s command post on Lawrence Hill. Schofield’s corps would be held in reserve between Smith and Wood, to be used according to developments on the battlefield. Apprised of the war council at the last second, Grant muttered to his staff, “Well, I guess we won’t go to Nashville,” and settled in to await word from the front.

The morning of December 15 broke warm and sunny, but a thick fog obscured the field until late morning. The fog and the uneven nature of the ground partially hid the first movements of Steedman’s units when they sallied forth on the left, two hours late owing to the fog. The Union vanguard consisted of the 1st Colored Brigade under Colonel Thomas Morgan, the 2nd Colored Brigade led by Colonel Charles Thompson, and a motley brigade of white convalescents, conscripts, and bounty jumpers under the command of Colonel Charles Grosvenor.

Hood’s right rested on a deep railroad cut between the Nolensville and Murfreesboro Turnpikes. Raines Hill, astride the former, was an imposing terrain feature held by veterans of Maj. Gen. Benjamin Cheatham’s corps. A concealed lunette just to the east, across the tracks of the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, was occupied by 500 survivors of the late Brig. Gen. Hiram Granbury’s Texas Brigade. From Nolensville Pike, Hood’s line ran west across Franklin Pike, past Granny White Pike, to where Redoubt 1, the true salient of Hood’s left, lay just east of Hillsboro Pike. From there the line “refused” at a right angle to Redoubt 2, also on the east side of the pike. The Confederate line stretched diagonally across the pike to Redoubts 3, 4, and 5. A division of Lt. Gen. A.P. Stewart’s corps was set behind a stone wall that ran parallel to Hillsboro Pike, constituting the extreme left flank of the Confederate works.

Morgan’s Troops Forced to Fall Back

A little after 8 am, Steedman’s three brigades, 7,600 strong and augmented by two batteries of artillery, advanced toward Cheatham’s works, driving back the Confederate skirmish line. The brigades of Grosvenor and Thompson advanced directly on the main works, while Morgan’s three regiments of 3,200 black troops moved out to the left directly toward the hidden lunette. When Grosvenor’s columns came within range, they were shredded by withering artillery and musket fire and fled in disarray out of range, where they were content to remain for the rest of the day.

Next came Thompson’s brigade, which received the same harsh reception and also stalled. The Confederate veterans waiting inside the lunette held their fire while Morgan’s troops continued forward. When the black troops moved onto the cut and within range, the Texans rose and delivered a terrible volley of musket fire into their ranks. Southern artillery then let loose a torrent of shells, and fire coming from the works west of the cut caught Morgan’s men in a deadly crossfire.

Under such a pounding, Morgan’s troops were forced to fall back. They quickly regrouped and reformed for another advance, as did the four regiments of Thompson’s brigade. The black troops came on once more, only to be halted again. This went on for a good two hours. At 11 am further advances were halted, but the attackers remained within musket range of the Confederate works and stayed in contact with Cheatham’s right flank for the remainder of the day’s fighting. The black units had done everything asked of them, suffering severe losses in the process.

On the Union right, the corps of Wilson and Smith were delayed for some time while several divisions of infantry were being aligned properly. At 10 am the commanders began moving their two corps, seven full divisions in all, out of their works to initiate the grand movement of the day. Wilson’s troopers, 9,000 mounted and 3,000 dismounted, moved out in a westerly direction, parallel to Charlotte Pike, then they wheeled to the left, crossed the pike, and moved southward toward Harding Pike. The first Rebel forces Wilson’s men encountered were the skirmishers of the understrength, 700-man brigade of Brig. Gen. Matthew Ector (who was not present, having lost a leg at Atlanta). Hood had placed the brigade behind Richland Creek, between Charlotte and Harding Pikes, to provide some help to General James R. Chalmers’s badly outnumbered cavalry brigades. Wilson’s troopers advanced rapidly on Ector’s small force, capturing a number of prisoners and wagons, but the bulk of the defenders fired off a couple of volleys and then headed back toward the main Confederate works on Hillsboro Pike as ordered. Chalmers’s outnumbered force put up a spirited defense on Charlotte Pike, holding back an entire division of Wilson’s troopers, but it was simply too small to be much of a factor in the rest of the day’s fighting.

Can the Fort Be Held?

Smith’s corps moved out simultaneously with Wilson’s men. Bearing left, the corps moved across Harding Pike and advanced toward the Rebel works strung out along both sides of Hillsboro Pike. When reports began streaming in to Stewart about large movements on his left, he was well aware of what was happening—the enemy was trying to turn his flank. He immediately requested reinforcements. Hood ordered Maj. Gen. Stephen D. Lee, whose corps had scarcely been touched, to send one division to Stewart and ordered Cheatham to dispatch Maj. Gen. William Bate’s division to the left as well.

As the two Union corps, more than 20,000 strong, moved forward across Harding Pike and approached the mile-long extension of the Confederate left along Hillsboro Pike, three of Hood’s Redoubts—3,4, and 5—nestled along the west side of the pike, came into view shortly before noon. Each of the forts boasted a four-gun battery of 12-pounder smoothbore Napoleons, fairly accurate up to about half a mile. Inside the works, 50 cannoneers and 100 dug-in riflemen had been told to hold their positions at all hazards.

Between noon and 1 pm, while in the Union center Wood was about to get the order to attack Montgomery Hill with his corps, Wilson and Smith opened fire with their rifled pieces on Redoubts 3, 4, and 5; after a good hour’s bombardment, the blue columns advanced again. The Confederates answered with volleys of double-shotted canister, halting the blue waves at least temporarily in front of Redoubts 3 and 4. Redoubt 5 was left exposed on Stewart’s far left. Hit from front and flank, Redoubt 5 fell fairly rapidly, with the loss of its four guns, overwhelmed by a brigade of Wilson’s dismounted troopers and a brigade of Smith’s infantry.

The captured fort’s guns were quickly turned on Redoubt 4, next in line, which was already being heavily shelled by the 16 guns placed in its front by Smith and Wilson. Inside Redoubt 4, Captain William Lumsden, a Virginia Military Institute graduate and former commandant of cadets at the University of Alabama, blazed away at the enemy with his gunners and 100 riflemen of the 29th Alabama. At 11 am, Lumsden called to the officers and asked them to stay and help him hold the small fort. They replied, “It can’t be done. There’s a whole army to your front.” It took almost three hours after the commencement of the initial artillery barrage before the attackers could finally overwhelm Lumsden and his garrison. When the end was near, Lumsden cried out, “Take care of yourselves, boys,” and scrambled back with the survivors to the main Confederate works west of Hillsboro Pike. It was by now almost 3 pm; with the reduction of Redoubts 4 and 5 complete, the Union batteries displaced forward to focus their attention on the stone wall running along the eastern side of the pike.

Wood’s Soldiers Anxious to Play Their Part

Hoping that Wilson could extend his attack even further against Hood’s flank and rear and possibly even gain a foothold on the vital Granny White Pike, Thomas ordered Schofield to move up with his two divisions, held in reserve near the Union salient on Lawrence Hill, into the pocket between Smith’s corps and Wilson’s cavalry. This movement went off without a hitch, and soon Schofield’s corps of about 12,000 men was in position to join the general attack threatening to bury Hood’s left along Hillsboro Pike.

By early afternoon it was almost time for Wood’s anxious soldiers to play their part in the massive left wheel. All morning, the men of Wood’s IV Corps, the largest in Thomas’s force at 16,645 strong, had waited near Lawrence Hill while Steedman’s corps moved out to their left and Smith and Wilson’s on their right. Almost all the men were veterans of Franklin, where Wood had assumed command after Maj. Gen. David S. Stanley was wounded. Still a brigadier, Wood was trying to erase what he felt was an unfair stain on his record dating back to the Battle of Chickamauga, 15 months earlier, when he had obeyed a faulty order to pull his men out of line immediately before the massive Confederate breakthrough. Now Wood’s corps advanced on the Rebel salient on Montgomery Hill, which was nothing more than a line of nearly empty works manned by a skeleton force of skirmishers.

From his post on the near side of the valley, Wood marveled at the imposing sight of his attackers. At about 1 pm, the pickets of Maj. Gen. William Loring’s division looked out from their trenches along the crest of the hill and spotted Wood’s blue lines coming up the slope toward them. The handful of butternut-clad infantrymen fired off a few volleys and then prudently headed for the rear. In a matter of minutes, Wood’s legions came up and over the parapets and into the barren line of works, capturing a small number of prisoners. The assault, although successful, had only driven out the advanced forces of Stewart’s corps; the main Rebel salient at Redoubt 1 was still intact.

Furious Shelling from Wood’s Men

While Wood was attacking, the fighting farther west continued unabated. Under an umbrella of artillery fire, Brig. Gen. John McArthur’s division advanced on the stone wall along Hillsboro Pike, routing the defenders with surprising ease. The two brigades there were reinforcements whom Hood had withdrawn at about noon from his center, and when they arrived they had been placed on Maj. Gen. Edward Walthall’s left opposite Redoubt 4. Walthall’s three brigades had been taking a terrible pounding for several hours from the Union artillery and had been holding firm, but when the units on their left collapsed, they began to give ground as well. By now, Stewart could see disaster looming. Two more brigades from Lee had come up, but they were little help holding back the blue wave that had breached Hillsboro Pike. A brigade of McArthur’s division advanced on Redoubt 3, and, although the defenders there greeted the attackers with a fierce blast of grapeshot and canister, the Federals pushed forward and carried the fort and its four guns. When they began taking fire from the defenders on Redoubt 2, McArthur’s men stormed that fort and took it as well.

After the success of his initial attack upon Montgomery Hill, Wood realized that Redoubt 1, on a high hill to his front, was the crucial Rebel position, and he brought up two batteries of six guns each to deliver a converging fire on the salient. The vital angle in Stewart’s line, with Walthall’s division to its left and Loring’s to its right, was being held by a brigade under the command of Brig. Gen. Claudius Sears. After a half hour of furious shelling, Wood ordered Brig. Gen. Washington Elliot to attack the salient. At 4:30 pm, angry because Elliot had delayed his attack, Wood ordered Brig. Gen. Nathan Kimball to do the honors instead. With darkness approaching, Kimball promptly sent his division forward, and within minutes it breached the crest of the hill from the northeast. The men of Elliot’s division were close behind, as well as a brigade of McArthur’s coming in from the west. Four guns and a number of prisoners were taken.

Hood Counts Up His Losses

Stewart, his left overlapped by Wilson and his line along Hillsboro Pike crumbling, saw the inevitable coming and ordered Walthall and Loring to fall back. He was establishing a new line near two hills that shielded Granny White Pike. While Stewart’s corps was withdrawing in fairly good order, Colonel David Coleman’s troops, cut off during the fighting along Hillsboro Pike, fell back to Shy’s Hill, where they were met by Hood, who told them to hold at all costs. Bate’s division, which had arrived after marching over from the right flank, was ordered into a defensive position on a hill north of Coleman’s brigade. A division of Schofield’s corps, hungry for action, came up and drove Bate’s division off the hill, but when night fell the fighting ended and both armies bivouacked in place.

After Hood ordered Lee and Cheatham to withdraw their corps, Stewart pulled his various units together into a fairly solid line that connected at its northern end with Lee’s unshaken left flank. Stewart’s task was made easier by confusion in the Union lines caused by wild celebrations of victory. The intermingled units of Smith, Wood, Schofield, and Wilson, whose dismounted troopers had skirted Stewart’s left and gained a foothold near Granny White Pike, halted for the night in the open fields.

Hood’s left had taken a frightful pounding. Lost were 16 artillery pieces and some 2,200 soldiers, more than half of whom were captured when the Confederate left caved in. Thomas, believing that Hood might retreat, made plans for a pursuit, but several officers who knew Hood well, including Schofield, assured their commander that the battle was far from over. That night Hood established a new line of works along a span of hills two miles south of his original position. His men feverishly threw up breastworks along the front and heavily fortified two hills that would anchor the new line, Shy’s Hill on the left and Overton Hill on the right.

Hood instructed Cheatham, whose corps moved from the right flank to the left, to have Bate’s division join Coleman’s depleted brigade on Shy’s Hill. When the alignments were made, Hood had some 5,000 infantry on his left, 1,500 of them on Shy’s Hill. Anticipating a repeat of the first day’s tactics by Thomas, Hood told his chief engineer, Colonel S.W. Prestman, to select a line on which the reformed defenses could adequately protect the army’s left flank. The line Prestman chose was not at the military crest of Shy’s Hill, but farther down the reverse slope. If the Union attackers detected this flaw, they would be able to mass large numbers of troops in front of the hill, shielded from direct rifle fire, for a massive assault.

Wood Advances His Troops At First Light

To complete his new line, Hood put Stewart’s exhausted corps in the center and Lee’s corps on the right. Two fresh divisions, those of Maj. Gens. Henry Clayton and Carter Stevenson, which had seen only light action on the previous day and hadn’t been committed at Franklin, dug in astride the Franklin Pike and on the crest of Overton Hill. The line on Lee’s right bent back sharply to the southeast of the pike. Thomas had decided to combine Wood’s corps with Steedman’s provisional division to batter Hood’s right, in hopes of turning Hood’s flank and gaining a foothold on the crucial Franklin Pike. The assault by Steedman’s brigades would be an all-out attack, unlike the demonstrations of the first day.

At first light on the 16th, Wood advanced his corps toward Franklin Pike, pushing back the lines of Rebel skirmishers. Wood put one division on the pike and one on its left. With his third in reserve, he began moving south toward the new Rebel line. About a half mile from Lee’s new works, Wood’s corps encountered a heavy enemy skirmish line in front of Overton Hill. He brought his reserve division into line, and the entire IV Corps advanced, three divisions abreast, driving Lee’s skirmishers back into their lines under heavy musket and artillery fire. Wood then halted the column to await the major assault set for later that afternoon.

At 6 am, Steedman had moved forward to find the Rebel works to his front abandoned. He continued along Nolensville Pike, feeling for the new Confederate front, and took up position between Nolensville Pike and the left of Wood’s corps. There he remained until early afternoon, when he was ordered by Thomas to connect with Wood’s left and prepare for an assault. Meanwhile, on the Union right, Wilson went into action at 9:30 am, intending to move his dismounted troopers forward, connect with Schofield’s right flank, and hit the Rebels on the hills to his front. But the wet, muddy terrain and unexpectedly fierce resistance halted Wilson almost immediately, and when Thomas rode over to confer, Wilson suggested that his entire body of cavalry move over to Hood’s right and have a go at it there. Thomas refused.

Time to Take Overton Hill

Other than the skirmishing on the Confederate right, no serious fighting took place until late in the afternoon. The morning hours were marked by an extremely accurate and continuous Union artillery barrage along the length of Hood’s new line, with Shy Hill and Overton Hill taking especially heavy punishment. The Confederate smoothbores, fewer in number, were no match for the more than 100 Union rifled pieces that tore into the breastworks the gray-clad infantry had worked so hard to throw up the night before. Bate’s division on Shy’s Hill suffered under a particularly galling crossfire from three directions. A short distance to their front, one of Maj. Gen. Darius Couch’s batteries was firing at them from almost point-blank range, and during the course of the day delivered a staggering 560 shells onto their works.

During the morning and early afternoon hours, the Union troops on Lee’s front launched a number of probing attacks. When it seemed that the fighting on his right might escalate, endangering his hold on Franklin Pike, Hood withdrew three brigades of Smith’s division from their positions left of Shy’s Hill and sent them to support Lee on the right. This decision would come back to haunt Hood—by the time these troops arrived, the attack on Overton Hill had been repulsed and there wasn’t enough time for them to get back into position on Bate’s left.

Lee’s front had been taking heavy and accurate artillery fire, but the bulk of Hood’s artillery at Lee’s rear answered back furiously. At about 3 pm, with light rain falling, Wood felt that the time was right to overrun Overton Hill. He sent his columns forward. The brigade of Colonel Sidney Post took the lead, with that of Colonel Abel Streight in support. Steedman’s two USCT brigades, seven regiments in all, moved up on Post’s left as the assault began.

Wood’s attackers reached the base of Overton Hill and moved steadily up the slope through a hail of Confederate musket, grapeshot, and canister fire. At the outer edge of the works, Post was wounded and Lee’s infantrymen rose in their trenches and delivered a terrible volley of musket fire that brought the advance to a sudden halt. Wood recalled later, “After the repulse our soldiers, white and colored, lay indiscriminately near the enemy’s works at the outer edge of the abatis.” Steedman’s 13th Regiment, made up primarily of contrabands, suffered heavy losses in its baptism of fire—55 killed and 165 wounded. Its loss of 40 percent of its strength constituted the greatest regimental loss of the two-day fight on either side.

“For God’s Sake, Drive the Yankee Cavalry From Our Left and Rear or All Is Lost”

Meanwhile, on the Union right, Wilson’s gamble paid off. With two mounted and two dismounted divisions, he had finally forced Chalmers to give ground and had strengthened his foothold on Granny White Pike. Wilson’s troopers captured a courier who was taking a message from Hood to Cheatham that read, “For God’s sake, drive the Yankee cavalry from our left and rear or all is lost.” Wilson now felt that victory was at hand. Once he had managed to gain Cheatham’s rear, he would join Schofield in a general attack.

For two solid hours, Wilson sent couriers to Schofield, urging him to begin his attack, and finally Wilson proceeded to Schofield’s headquarters in person. By this time, the attacks on Overton Hill were subsiding, and Thomas was en route to Schofield’s headquarters as well. Schofield was being strangely hesitant. Having already received one full division of reinforcements, he was now requesting another before he would begin his attack, fearing heavy losses if he attacked Hood’s breastworks. Thomas bluntly told him, “The battle must be fought, even if men are killed.”

While Thomas was imploring Schofield to begin his advance, the group of officers suddenly witnessed a brigade of McArthur’s division, under Colonel William McMillen, advancing toward Shy’s Hill without waiting for permission. Thomas turned to Schofield and said, “General Smith is attacking without waiting for you. Please advance your entire line.” With this direct order, Schofield finally advanced.

A Quick Collapse

Cheatham’s soldiers, battered by Union artillery, now faced corps-sized attacks to their front and flank. They could also see Wilson’s dismounted cavalrymen rushing over the hills to their rear. With his left under so much pressure, Cheatham brought up reinforcements and bent his far left flank into the shape of a fishhook, until he had one line of infantrymen firing to the south and another line firing to the north. Only 100 yards separated the two lines. Hood pulled Coleman’s brigade off Shy’s Hill to set up a front on the extreme left, on the east side of Granny White Pike, to hold off Wilson when he was reinforced by another brigade. Bate had to further thin his lines on the hill to cover the position vacated by Coleman’s troops.

The brigade on Bate’s extreme left, that of Brig. Gen. Daniel Govan, was driven back down the hill and into a field behind Bate’s division. Govan’s brigade was the only one left on Bate’s flank, the other three brigades having been sent to support Lee, and had been tasked with covering a front originally assigned to an entire division. Minutes later a fatal breach occurred. Union infantry had massed in strength, almost undetected, on the steep slope to the front of Shy’s Hill, and as they came up and over the hill they encountered the 20th Tennessee under Colonel William Shy. As other units began fading away, Shy and his men stood firm, and the fighting escalated into savage hand-to-hand combat. Shy’s men continued firing until they ran out of ammunition and were surrounded. Shy was shot in the head and killed, and almost half his unit was killed or wounded. The 37th Georgia, on Bate’s left, also fought savagely until it was overrun and virtually wiped out.

With Smith to their front, Schofield to their left, and Wilson coming up from the rear, Bate’s men were buried under the weight of overwhelming numbers; all three brigade commanders were captured. “The breach once made,” Bate recalled later, “the lines lifted from either side as far as I could see almost instantly and fled in confusion.” Panic began to spread among Cheatham’s units on the left and Stewart’s in the center. Soon the bulk of Bate’s three brigades turned and headed for the rear in full retreat. On the northeastern front, the men of Steedman’s and Wood’s corps, hearing the shouts of victory coming from the Union right, renewed their assaults without waiting for orders, capturing 14 guns and hundreds of prisoners.

The Confederate artillery commander, Maj. Gen. Edward Johnson, was captured along with almost all of his division and the remaining guns. The collapse came so quickly that the batteries’ teams of horses couldn’t be brought up quickly enough to draw away the guns. Watching from horseback, Hood was astonished. Only an hour earlier his lines had been holding, his men in the center and right waving their battle flags in defiance. He had even decided on a plan to achieve victory the next morning—he would withdraw his entire army during the night and attack the Union left at dawn. Now, with full darkness approaching, Cheatham and Stewart had caved in, their men fleeing en masse for Franklin Pike, the only remaining avenue of retreat. Hood, Cheatham, and other officers tried to rally the panic-stricken troops, but it was useless. Everywhere the woods were full of fleeing soldiers, many of whom dropped their weapons and packs to lighten their loads as they ran.

Further Hardships After the Fighting for Both Sides

When the blue legions approached Lee’s corps along the pike and on Overton Hill, one division wavered and broke, and a second faltered. Lee heroically rallied a group of retreating soldiers for a stand behind the center of his line, and this small force checked the blue columns long enough to allow Clayton to withdraw his division and form it in the woods astride Franklin Pike, half a mile away. Both armies were now in motion, heading south. The drizzle turned into driving rain, mixing with the snow on the ground. Franklin Pike quickly became clogged with thousands of shaken soldiers, abandoned wagons, and riderless horses. Hood later wrote, “I beheld for the first and only time a Confederate army abandon the field in confusion.”

With the battle lost, Hood’s task was to save as much of his army as he could. He sent Chalmers with his two depleted brigades to set up a barrier near Granny White Pike. Soon Wilson’s four divisions arrived, and vicious, hand-to-hand fighting ensued in the rain and darkness, lasting long enough to enable Hood to get the bulk of his army safely onto Franklin Pike and headed south. Thomas arrived on the scene, miles in advance of the infantry. “Dang it to hell, Wilson!” cried the normally unflappable commander. “Didn’t I tell you we could lick ‘em? Didn’t I tell you we could lick ‘em if only they would let us alone?”

After two days of heavy fighting, both armies faced further hardships. In the coldest winter in Tennessee in decades, Hood’s ragged army slogged through the rain, sleet, and snow, followed closely by Wood’s infantry and Wilson’s cavalry in a race for the Tennessee River. In his retreat Hood was aided by three factors: inclement weather that turned the roads to mud; lack of forage for the Union pursuers; and the excellent rearguard actions of Lee, Chalmers, and the redoubtable Forrest, who rejoined the army at Columbia. Just as Thomas had been badgered to attack Hood without delay in the first days of December, now he was urged by his superiors hundreds of miles away to mount a vigorous pursuit to complete the destruction of the fleeing enemy. Grant, as usual, had nothing good to say—it wasn’t long before he was telling his subordinates that Thomas was “too slow to attack, not vigorous enough in pursuit.”

When Hood’s dispirited army finally crossed the Tennessee River into Alabama on the night of December 25-26, Thomas called a halt to his pursuit. The Confederate invasion of Tennessee was over, and the gallant Army of Tennessee would never again take the field as an effective fighting force. Despite what Grant and Halleck said—and would continue to say—about his alleged “case of the slows,” Thomas had won one of the most decisive victories of the entire war.

 

This article by John Walker first appeared in the Warfare History Network on September 6, 2015.

Image: Stonewall Jackson. Library of Congress/David Bendann.

Warfare History Network

History, Europe

The Soviet Army liberated the Taman Peninsula during a month of hard fighting in the autumn of 1943.

The charred remains of men and machines scattered through the Kursk salient in July 1943 signified the death knell of the last attempt by the German Wehrmacht to regain the initiative on the Eastern Front. On the extreme southern flank of the front, Hitler still clung to the hope of breaking through to the great oil fields of Baku on the Caspian Sea. The Taman Peninsula, wedged between the Azov and Black Seas, was the westernmost location in an area called Kuban, north and west of the Caucasus Mountains. This peninsula was conveniently positioned for the Germans as the springboard in case another offensive toward the Caucasus Mountains became possible. It also barred the back door to the Crimea, vital for holding countries of the western Black Sea rim in Hitler’s sphere of influence.

While waiting for their opportunity to materialize, the Germans turned the Taman Peninsula into a seemingly impregnable position. The Seventeenth Field Army, under General of Engineers Erwin Jaeneke, occupied the line in the vicinity of Torres Verdes. To the Soviets, these defensive positions became known as the “Blue Line.”

The 400,000 Defenders of the Blue Line

The Seventeenth Army was composed of the V and XLIV Infantry Corps, XLIX Mountain Corps, and the V Romanian Cavalry Corps, a total strength of 18 divisions and four separate regiments. The Seventeenth was one of the strongest German field armies, numbering approximately 400,000 men, 2,860 cannon and mortars, more than 100 tanks and assault guns, and 300 combat aircraft.

The landscape of the Taman Peninsula was ideally suited for defensive operations against an enemy attacking from the east. Its northern flank is anchored on the shore of the Azov Sea, east of Kurchanski Bay. It continues through a series of inlets and then follows the Kurka River south, branching off from the Kuban River. Along the roughly 35 miles that the Blue Line followed the line of the Kurka River, the Germans built a high earthen berm on the western side of the river. After crossing the Kuban River, the Blue Line briefly followed the Adagum River, a tributary of the Kuban. There the position was anchored on strongly fortified Kievskaya village. This northern sector of German defenses was fronted by a wide swath of rivers, marshes, and flooded lowlands, making frontal attack practically impossible.

The central sector of the Blue Line, approximately 20 miles long, was characterized by a low plateau, easily accessible by Soviet tanks. Therefore, the Germans paid particular attention to fortifying this region. The defensive network here consisted of two heavily fortified lines anchored on villages and low hillocks. In front of each defensive line and in the empty spaces between strongpoints, there were extensive barbed wire emplacements, minefields, and concrete bunkers bristling with guns.

The southern sector of the Blue Line ran along 15 miles of difficult mountainous terrain, terminating at the large port city of Novorossiysk located at Tsemess Bay on the Black Sea. The Germans turned whole districts of the city into miniature fortresses. Many streets were barricaded. A network of interconnected basements fortified with concrete, bricks, and timber was set up to establish in-depth defensive zones. German combat engineers blew up many buildings and built bunkers in the rubble, reminiscent of Stalingrad. The streets and the suburbs were extensively mined as well.

Fifteen to 20 miles behind the forward defensive line were multiple defensive positions, prepared with maximum utilization of advantageous terrain and narrow avenues of approach. These shorter defensive lines were given names such as Bucharest, Berlin, Munich, Breslau, Stuttgart, and Ulm. The most forward of them, running from the city of Temryuk on the Azov Sea coast southwest to the Black Sea coast and then west along it, was called the Little Gothic Line (Kleine Gotten Stellung).

The Soviet’s “Little Land”

Early in February 1943, the Soviet forces launched a general offensive to liberate the Kuban region. After several months of fighting, the Soviet Army advanced almost 400 miles before finally grinding to a halt at the Blue Line. The difficult nature of the terrain limited Soviet maneuverability, and combat actions degenerated into a costly process of pushing the Germans out rather than surrounding and destroying them.

The retreating German forces systematically destroyed bridges and railroads, collapsed wells and mined roads, using every means available to slow down the Soviet pursuit. As the Germans retreated west, their defensive lines became shorter, allowing them to create local reserves and utilize internal lines of communication. In turn, the Soviet front lines became wider, decreasing troop density.

On February 4, a small force of Soviet soldiers and sailors from the Eighteenth Army landed in the immediate vicinity of Novorossiysk and established a beachhead. Despite determined German efforts to liquidate this threat, the Soviets stubbornly hung on and slowly expanded the beachhead. By the time the general offensive ground to a halt in the first week of June 1943, the Soviet beachhead was an impregnable network of trenches and bunkers.

This small sliver of shoreline became known as the “Little Land” in the Soviet Union. In this campaign, future Soviet premier Leonid Brezhnev served as the chief political officer of the Eighteenth Army. Long after the war, Brezhnev authored a book called The Little Land, depicting the seven-month campaign on the beachhead. In his book, Brezhnev claimed to have been present on The Little Land on several occasions and in the thick of the fighting.

This book raised a large amount of controversy, which lasted for years. Many Soviet veterans claimed that Brezhnev never got any closer to The Little Land than the opposite shore of Tsemess Bay. However, until the fall of communist rule in the Soviet Union, it was unhealthy to voice this point of view.

A Campaign to Take the Taman Peninsula

While both the Germans and the Soviets took advantage of a lull in the fighting, the Soviet high command began planning a new offensive to completely clear the Taman Peninsula of German forces.

The military council of the North Caucasus front, headed by Col. Gen. I.E. Petrov, made the decision to launch the new offensive in the south against Novorossiysk. The terrain in the north of the peninsula was simply too forbidding to allow any maneuver by large forces, and the center of the Blue Line was too strongly fortified. Neither Petrov nor any of his subordinates had any illusions that Novorossiysk would be an easy nut to crack. One major factor in deciding to move against Novorossiysk was the assistance of the Soviet Black Sea Fleet with its ability to move along the southern coast of the peninsula and provide the advancing Soviet Army forces with naval gunfire.

The Soviet North Caucasus front was composed of four land armies (the Ninth, Eighteenth, Fifty-Sixth, and Fifty-Eighth), and one air army, the Fourth. The Fifty-Eighth Army was assigned to defend the shores of the Azov Sea. The other ground armies, composed of 20 infantry divisions and four naval infantry brigades, would directly participate in the attack against the Taman Peninsula. The Eighteenth Army, under Lt. Gen. K.N. Leselidze, was assigned the all-important task of liberating Novorossiysk. The Ninth Army, under Lt. Gen. Alexey A. Grechkin, was operating in the north, and the Fifty-Sixth Army, under Lt. Gen. Andrey A. Grechko, was given the central sector.

During this stage of the war, while the Soviet Air Force did not have complete air superiority, its numerical advantage over the German combat aircraft in the vicinity was daunting. Opposing the 300 German aircraft on the Taman Peninsula, the Soviet Fourth Air Army and the air assets of the Black Sea Fleet amassed more than 1,000 planes.

Fighting among the Fourth Air Army was the famed 46th Guards Night Bomber Regiment. Every single person in this unit, from cook to mechanic to pilot, was a woman, usually barely into her 20s. Flying old plywood and canvas PO-2 trainer biplanes converted into night bombers, the Soviet female fliers proudly wore the nickname “Night Witches” given to them by Germans.

The Soviet female pilots fully earned the coveted and honored “Guards” designation, paying their dues in blood. Their sacrifices were epitomized by one harrowing night mission when the slow-moving biplanes were ambushed by a German night fighter. Four Soviet aircraft were sent burning to the ground, taking eight young women fliers to their fiery deaths.

As if having a premonition of events to come, Hitler on September 3 allowed Field Marshal Erich von Manstein, commander of Army Group South, to begin the evacuation of the Taman Peninsula. The next day the orders were relayed to the Seventeenth Army, which now had only a few days to begin an orderly evacuation. Originally, the German commanders allocated eight weeks for the total evacuation of their forces from the Taman Peninsula. Coming events were to cut that time in half.

A Slow Start to the Offensive

The Soviet offensive began at 2 am on September 10, 1943. Under cover of massive artillery barrages from more than 200 cannon and air strikes by 150 combat aircraft, several small detachments of Soviet torpedo boats raced into the port of Novorossiysk and fired their torpedoes directly at jetties and German positions on the piers. Immediately following them, a small flotilla of cutters began disembarking three battalion-sized assault parties.

At 3:15 am, the main forces of the Eighteenth Army went on the offensive from two separate directions. The western group attacked from the Myskhako beachhead on the western side of Tsemess Bay. The eastern group went into action over the rugged mountainous terrain north of Novorossiysk. By now, the German and Romanian defenders were putting up a very strong defense, and the Soviet units could not make significant progress.

Throughout September 10, the Germans rushed reinforcements to the contested areas of Novorossiysk. Two of the Soviet assault groups, composed of naval infantrymen and NKVD (Soviet secret police), were fragmented and largely destroyed. Only the third group, consisting of men from the 1339th Rifle Regiment, hung onto their minor gains. It was reinforced by its sister, the 1337th Rifle Regiment, and by troops from the 318th Rifle Division during the night of September 11.

By then, the 1339th Regiment was in dire straits. The jetties and piers were recaptured by the Germans. They closed the ring around the 1339th, and the 1337th had to fight ashore. Fortunately for them, the Germans did not have time to reestablish strong defenses and the 1st Battalion of the 1337th Regiment soon linked up with the men from the 1339th.

The German Evacuation Begins

Attacking in the early morning of September 11, the eastern group of forces of the Soviet Eighteenth Army, reinforced with tanks, broke through German defenses in the vicinity of the October Cement Factory by 6 am. This allowed them to link up with the 1337th and 1339th Regiments that were advancing toward them.

At 7 am on the same day, the Soviet Ninth Army went onto its own offensive in the northern sector of the Blue Line. Limited to narrow lanes of attack, the units of the Ninth Army were not able to breach the German defenses. Still, its offensive tied down German reserves in the north and prevented them from being shifted south against the Eighteenth Army.

The Soviet Fifty-Sixth Army, deployed against the central sector of the Blue Line, conducted only limited probing attacks during September 11-13.

While the battle for Taman swung into high gear, the German Seventeenth Army began an orderly, if somewhat hurried, evacuation of the peninsula. German naval vessels were making shuttle runs from the towns of Anapa, Temryuk, and Taman to the city of Kerch on the eastern side of the Crimean Peninsula. Soviet aircraft harassed German vessels across the Kerch Straits, but the majority of the Soviet planes were busy supporting the ground forces, and the German evacuation was conducted with minimal losses in naval craft.

Fighting For the Red House

Throughout September 12-13, the Soviet command continued feeding reserves into the Eighteenth Army’s area of operations, including a division-sized tank force. In contrast, the Germans defenses, lacking further significant reserves, began showing signs of weakening.

Advancing along the northern rim of the Tsemess Bay from the October Cement Factory, the forward units of the Eighteenth Army ran into determined German resistance in Mefodievski, a northern suburb of Novorossiysk. Fighting from well-prepared positions, German defenders took heavy toll on attacking Soviet Army infantrymen. When the Soviet gunners attempted to manhandle their cannons into direct fire positions, accurate German fire caused heavy casualties among Soviet Army gun crews.

Finally, Soviet tanks and self-propelled artillery swung the balance in their favor. Methodically, the Soviet armor reduced the German strongholds to rubble and the Soviet infantrymen hunted down the German survivors among the ruins.

The German defenders put up a particularly strong fight around a large bunker complex dubbed the “Red House.” The Germans hung on for two days, subjected to point-blank fire from Soviet tanks and self-propelled artillery. The Soviets had to first reduce outlying positions in neighboring buildings before starting on the Red House proper.

At first, the Soviet cannon systematically suppressed the German heavy weapons on the lower floors. The Soviet Army infantry cleared the lower floors of the building, providing cover for their combat engineers, placing explosive charges around the main bunker. The collapse of the Red House signified the end of German resistance in Mefodievski, and by September 13 Soviet forces were in firm control of the suburb.

Defense at Wolf’s Gate Pass

On the following day came the Fifty-Sixth Army’s turn to assume the offensive. After a heavy artillery barrage at 7 am, it had the unenviable task of frontally assaulting heavily fortified and capably defended German positions. The Soviet tanks steadily advanced in the face of direct German artillery fire. They were halted just short of German forward trenches protected by extensive minefields. While the Soviet tanks traded fire with German antitank artillery, the Soviet combat engineers cleared a narrow passage in a minefield. Several tanks immediately charged through. However, just as the valiant Soviet machines exited the minefield, they were knocked out by German artillery and set on fire. The Soviet infantry was cut off from its armor early in the attack and could not make any headway.

The fighting renewed in earnest with the dawning of September 15. After a day of grinding fighting, the Soviet armor breached the forward German trenches. Soviet infantry, which this time was able to stay close to its tanks, steadily cleared the first trench line.

The Eighteenth Army was attacking on that day as well. Its western section, attacking from the Cape Myskhako area, achieved minor gains, pushing the Germans back approximately two kilometers. On the other hand, the eastern group, reinforced with tanks, captured the area of Sugar Head Mountain, opening the way into the city of Novorossiysk.

Parts of the German 4th Mountain Division defending the city were partially cut off, and the whole division was threatened with being encircled. It began falling back in the afternoon, hard-pressed by the jubilant Soviet Army. Late on September 16, the city of Novorossiysk was liberated by the Soviet Army and the Black Sea Fleet. As the German forces began withdrawing from the city, the Red Army advanced close on their heels, attempting to cut off and destroy straggling German units. A Soviet tank brigade positioned itself north of the city, ready to begin rolling up the German right flank the next day. Soviet partisan detachments, operating mainly in the forested terrain in the southwest of the peninsula, began attacking retreating German units, attempting to delay them and create panic.

As the Soviets continued pressing westward, they began running into well-prepared German defensive lines anchored on lagoons, marshes, and other difficult terrain. The German and Romanian soldiers of the Seventeenth Army put up a tenacious defense around Wolf’s Gate Pass. The Soviet offensive was slowed for two days as they had to overcome extensive defensive works placed along steep ravines. Romanian mountain infantrymen and dismounted cavalrymen gave particularly good accounts of themselves.

The Capture of Temryuk

On September 20, Soviet tanks from the Eighteenth Army reached the small town of Anapa on the coast. The Black Sea Fleet aided the ground forces by providing extensive naval gunfire support and by landing assault parties behind German lines. On the morning of September 21, the Soviet soldiers broke into Anapa, clearing it of German defenders by nightfall. The Fifty-Sixth Army continued pressing frontally and attempting flanking attacks, often bringing infantry right up to the firing lines in trucks.

All the while, the Black Sea Fleet was landing small parties along the coast to cut the narrow roads running between lagoons and marshes. After nightfall on September 25, a larger assault force of almost 8,500 men with artillery and mortars landed near Salt Lake. Its mission was to capture the city of Taman, after which the whole peninsula was named, and to cut off German avenues of retreat. The next day, supported by two regiments of combat aircraft from the Black Sea Fleet, the Soviets battled for Taman. They were not able to break through for several days.

At the same time, the Ninth Army was steadily advancing on Temryuk. This town, situated on the south shore of the Azov Sea, was a key link in German shipping between the Taman Peninsula and Crimea. Soggy ground prevented the Soviet forces from using tanks and bringing up heavy artillery. The majority of the fighting was conducted by small groups of infantrymen, fighting in a nightmarish network of marshes and lagoons studded with minefields, wire emplacements, and bunkers. To overcome the problem of moving through the chest-high water, Soviet forces used large numbers of small, flat-bottomed boats. One field- expedient solution was the use of inflated inner tubes worn by individual men as they moved through the marshes.

Again, the Soviet forces resorted to tactical naval landings behind German lines. Before dawn on September 25, more than 1,600 Soviet Army and Navy men landed in two places west of Temryuk. They were supported by cutters from the Azov Sea Flotilla and the Soviet Fourth Air Army. Simultaneously, the main forces of the Ninth Army attacked from the east. After two days of heavy fighting, Temryuk fell on September 27.

255,000 Axis Soldiers Escape

While the fighting raged on land, the Germans continued evacuating their personnel and equipment from the Taman Peninsula. Strangely, they were almost unhindered by the Soviet Air Force. Instrumental in this evacuation effort was the German 3rd Minesweeping Flotilla. This flotilla was moved to the region in 1942 from the Baltic Sea. The monumental task of moving a whole flotilla overland involved the use of special 64-wheeled transports.

By the time the last German and Romanian soldiers pulled out of the Taman Peninsula on October 9, the 3rd Minesweeping Flotilla, aided by locally procured transports, had ferried more than 255,000 Axis soldiers, 21,000 vehicles, 1,800 guns, and 74,000 horses to temporary safety. Significant amounts of war materiel and other supplies were moved out as well.

The last Axis units to leave the Taman Peninsula were the German 97th Light and 4th Mountain Divisions from the XLIX Mountain Corps. German heavy artillery placed on the Crimean Peninsula covered the pullback of the rear guard by firing heavy barrages across the Kerch Straits. General Rudolf Konrad, commander of the XLIX Mountain Corps, and General Jaeneke were among the last men to evacuate.

In 1977, a movie called Cross of Iron premiered. It starred James Coburn as the battle-hardened German Sergeant Steiner. Coburn’s character was pitted against an overzealous Captain Stransky, played by Maximilian Schell, who was out to win the highest German decoration, the Iron Cross, at all costs. This film portrayed the events of the fighting on the Taman Peninsula. Several scenes show the extensive German defensive positions and the close-in nature of fighting that developed there.

The “Kuban Shield”

The tough fighting throughout the Taman Peninsula was exemplified by an interesting feature not often seen on the Eastern Front: minimal involvement of armored forces on both sides. Difficult terrain precluded the Soviet Army from the extensive use of heavy combat vehicles, and combat operations mainly involved infantry supported by massed artillery and air attacks.

The sailors and vessels of the Soviet Black Sea Fleet and Azov Sea Flotilla proved invaluable in liberating the Taman Peninsula. Continuous amphibious landings behind German lines kept the defenders off balance. The Soviet doctrine of combined arms utilization was coming to maturity.

After the Taman operation was over, both sides could tally up successes and shortcomings. While the Soviet forces liberated a significant portion of their territory and eliminated the possibility of future German operations against the Trans-Caucasian oil fields, they failed to trap and eliminate the German Seventeenth Army.

In turn, while losing the strategically important territory, the Wehrmacht preserved the combat capability of the Seventeenth Army and prevented large stocks of supplies from falling into Soviet hands. Even before the operation was over, Hitler recognized the accomplishments of his soldiers who served on the Taman Peninsula from February 1 to October 9, 1943, by authorizing the wearing of the “Kuban Shield” shoulder patch.

“Where the Iron Crosses Grow”

German commanders placed their casualties during the Taman operation of September 10 to October 9, 1943, at more than 10,000 killed, including four division commanders, 36,000 wounded, and 3,500 missing in action. Romanian casualties were placed at 1,600 killed, 7,200 wounded, and 800 missing. Various sources estimate total Soviet casualties around 114,000 men, including more than 40,000 killed.

Neither side lacked valor. In the words of James Coburn’s Sergeant Steiner, the Taman Peninsula was the place “where the Iron Crosses grow.”

Victor Kamenir writes from his home in Sherwood, Oregon.

This article first appeared at the Warfare History Network.

Image: Wikipedia.

Warfare History Network

History, Americas

He did try.

Key point: The South was in bad shape. Lee had only a few more chances to push back the Union troops, but he was unsuccessful.

By the early spring of 1865, the Southern Confederacy was on the cusp of extinction. In every theater of the four-year-old Civil War, the gray-clad Rebels were getting the worst of things. In the West, the hard-fighting but poorly led Army of Tennessee had been literally eviscerated by General John Bell Hood’s useless taking of life at the battles of Franklin and Nashville. After the loss of its namesake state, Hood’s army had virtually ceased to exist as a functional military unit.

In the deep South, Maj. Gen. William Sherman’s Union army had cut a relentless swath of destruction 60 miles wide through Georgia, and was now wreaking even more havoc as it marched northward through the Carolinas to unite with General Ulysses S. Grant and the Army of the Potomac somewhere in Virginia. Confederate General Joseph Johnston, commanding the forces opposed to Sherman, admitted in a letter to General Robert E. Lee that he could do no more than “annoy” Sherman’s progress.

In the East, conditions were deteriorating just as rapidly for the Confederates. In January 1865, Fort Fisher, guardian of the port of Wilmington, N.C., fell to a combined Union naval-land assault, effectively closing off the South’s last access to the outside world.

Meanwhile, in the squalid trenches around Petersburg, Va., a key railroad center 20 miles due south of the Confederate capital of Richmond, Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia and Grant’s Army of the Potomac continued the embrace of death they had started the previous summer at the Battle of the Wilderness. Grimly and gamely the Confederates clung to their defenses, but hunger, disease, and desertion were taking an ever-increasing toll on the army’s strength, if not its continued willingness to fight. Grant’s Army of the Potomac, better fed and equipped, and increasingly confident of victory, tightened its death grip around the enemy. Each passing day brought renewed pressure as the Federals continued to extend their lines west of Petersburg in an effort to cut off the railroads supplying Lee’s nearly destitute Confederates.

The Confederacy Faces Harsh Realities

The South’s growing desperation and need for manpower led the Confederate Congress in mid-March 1865 to pass a bill that allowed the arming of slaves to fight for the Confederacy. The move, surprisingly, had the grudging support of many Southern officers. One senior officer in Lt. Gen. Jubal Early’s II Corps wrote, “I have the honor to report that the officers and men of this corps are decidedly in favor of the voluntary enlistment of the negroes as soldiers.” The measure, however, was much too little and far too late to appreciably improve the Confederacy’s chances for survival.

For Robert E. Lee, the time had come to make a painful decision. While Lee and the men who remained with him were still full of fight, and Confederate President Jefferson Davis was equally anxious to continue the struggle, military realities told both men that the end could not be far off unless something drastic was done, and quickly. What course of action offered the most promise of success? For a brief period there was hope that peace with the North might still be negotiated. Francis P. Blair, Sr., a prominent Maryland politician with connections to the Lincoln administration, visited Richmond in January 1865 on his own authority to see if some sort of accommodation could be found that would satisfy both sides. From these discussions evolved an initiative by which a delegation of three Confederate representatives met personally with President Abraham Lincoln and Secretary of State William Seward at Hampton Roads, Va., in February. The Southern delegates, however, were unwilling to accede to Lincoln’s terms for peace—complete military surrender and formal recognition of emancipation for all slaves—and in the end nothing came of the eleventh-hour discussions.

The collapse of the peace talks left Lee with a hellish, unresolved dilemma. What was his duty to the army that was literally falling apart in front of him? In an attempt to resolve this question, Lee turned to his youngest corps commander, Maj. Gen. John B. Gordon. With Lt. Gen. James Longstreet, Lee’s ever-dependable “Old War Horse,” off covering Richmond’s defenses north of the James River, and Lt. Gen. A.P. Hill, Lee’s other senior commander, increasingly indisposed due to illness, there was nowhere else for Lee to turn. Knowing Gordon to be a superior combat commander, Lee also considered him tough-minded as well as courageous. Leading the defense of the Bloody Lane at Antietam, Gordon had been wounded five times, the final wound a bullet to the face. Only the fact that his cap had a bullet hole in it kept him from drowning in his own blood. Gordon had returned from the Shenandoah Valley in December 1864, and Lee’s confidence in the young general grew even stronger as he came to personally know the 32-year-old Georgian.

“To Stand Still was Death”

On a bone-chilling morning in early March, Lee summoned Gordon to his quarters at the Turnbull House in Petersburg to discuss the deteriorating military situation. Before Gordon arrived, Lee had spread across a table all the various reports he had received from the front. These reports accurately described the parlous condition of the Confederate troops and the overwhelming enemy force arrayed against them. Lee asked Gordon to review all the documents and offer an opinion.

After reading the dispiriting documents, Gordon advised Lee that he saw only three options, which he proceeded to list in the order he felt they should be considered: make the best terms with the enemy that could honorably be obtained; abandon Richmond and Petersburg and, by rapid marches, unite with Johnston’s forces in North Carolina and strike Sherman before he and Grant could combine; or strike Grant immediately at Petersburg.

Lee concurred fully with Gordon’s assessments. Since a negotiated peace was no longer possible and the authorities in Richmond were still reluctant to abandon the capital, the only remaining option was to strike at Grant. “To stand still was death,” Lee reasoned. He directed Gordon to devise a plan by which such a blow could be struck.

A Plan of Fantasy?

Gordon and his staff spent the next several days studying the Union entrenchments around Petersburg, seeking a weak spot in the Union line. After surveying the enemy works, Gordon decided that the most promising point for a Southern attack was at Fort Stedman (named after Union Colonel Griffin A. Stedman, who had died of wounds received at the Battle of the Crater in July, 1864). It was about 100 yards from the forward Confederate position known as Colquitt’s Salient, and the picket lines were even closer, a mere 50 yards apart. Gordon was bolstered in his opinion that this was the best place for his attack when, during his survey of the Union trenches, he asked one of his subordinate officers if his forces could hold their position against a Union attack. The officer replied that he didn’t think he could hold off such an attack because of the closeness of the lines. Nevertheless, he added, “I can take their front line any morning before breakfast.”

Gordon’s plan of operation, as he proposed it to Lee, was to conduct an attack in the early-morning darkness, with a quick rush across no-man’s-land between the lines. The Union pickets would be quickly and silently overwhelmed, and 50 handpicked men with keen-edged axes would proceed to cut paths through the chevaux-de-frise, wooden obstructions with sharpened stakes laid out by Union engineers. These 50 men would be followed by three companies of 100 men each who would bypass Fort Stedman, leaving it for other supporting troops to capture, and hurry on to the second line of Union trenches. Each man in these companies would wear a white strip of cloth across his breast to identify him as friendly fire in the darkness.

When the select companies made it into the second line, they would identify themselves as Union troops fleeing a Rebel attack, using the name of a Union officer known to be serving in that sector. They would then overpower the Federals and capture three redoubts believed to be located within the works. This would serve to widen the breach in the Union lines and cause consternation among the Union troops. At this point, if all was successful, Confederate cavalry, waiting in reserve, would charge through the gap thus created and make for the Union supply and railroad lines, destroying as many men and supplies as possible.

The chief benefit of attacking in darkness, a tactic not often used during the war, would be the utter surprise of the enemy. In addition to sowing panic in the Union lines, the predawn attack would leave the Yankees confused as to exactly where and how many Confederate troops were actually involved in the assault. It would also prevent Union artillery from firing on the Confederates for fear of killing their own men.

It was hoped that the seizure of Fort Stedman and the works in its rear would convince Grant that his army was in imminent danger of being cut in half and would accordingly force him to constrict his lines. This, in turn, would allow Lee to shorten his own lines and release some of his troops to join Johnston’s army in North Carolina.

From the distant vantage of 139 years, Gordon’s plan seems like the height of fantasy, given the disparate resources and manpower of the opposing sides. At the time, however, it was believed that only an act of true desperation would have any realistic chance of success. Lee, for his part, readily approved the plan, and to carry it off he assigned the three divisions of Gordon’s corps (now reduced to about 8,000 men) and added several brigades from other units, including a division of cavalry, to exploit the hoped-for Confederate breakthrough. All told, Gordon would have at his disposal almost half the remaining strength of Lee’s army. As the ground in the rear of Fort Stedman had undoubtedly changed from its presiege appearance, Gordon requested that Lee furnish him with knowledgeable guides to lead the three assault companies over the ground. Lee agreed. The date for the attack was set for March 25.

“Look Out; We are Coming”

At 4 am on a cold, dark morning, Gordon stood on the Confederate breastworks, a single soldier by his side. The previous night all debris lying in front of the Confederate works was supposed to have been removed so that unobstructed lanes could be used by the assaulting columns. However, as Gordon stood on the breastworks he could see that some debris still remained. He ordered it cleared. The noise made by this work alerted a nearby Union picket, who called out a peremptory challenge: “What are you doing over there, Johnny? Answer quick or I’ll shoot!” Months of living in close proximity had led to an unspoken gentlemen’s agreement whereby pickets would refrain from firing at each other unless it was deemed unavoidable. Gordon hesitated when he heard the challenge, not knowing exactly what to say to allay suspicion. The quick-thinking private at his side met the unforeseen threat by replying: “Never mind, Yank. Lie down and go to sleep. We are just gathering a little corn. You know rations are mighty short over here.” The Union guard answered right away, “All right, Johnny, go ahead and get your corn. I’ll not shoot at you while you are drawing your rations.”

While this exchange was taking place, the last of the debris was cleared from the Confederate front, and the attack was set to commence. Gordon ordered the soldier to fire his musket to signal the assault. A pang of conscience tugged at the veteran—he thought it unfair, even in war, to have lied to a man who would allow him to pick his rations. Gordon, unhampered by such distinctions, repeated the order.

Before firing, however, the soldier called out to his considerate foe, “Hello, Yank! Wake up; we are going to shell the woods. Look out; we are coming.”

With that brief warning, the soldier fired his musket and the offensive began. Rebel pickets, who had crept close to their Union counterparts, overpowered them so quickly that no warning shots could be fired. Some Union reports claimed later that the Confederates had employed the ruse of pretending to be deserters, only to turn on their would-be captors. As soon as the Union pickets were rendered harmless, the 50 axmen leaped over the Rebel breastworks, closely followed by the three 100-man companies, and made haste for the bristling chevaux-de-frise. Clearings were hewn through the wooden obstructions with quick, strong blows from razor-sharp ax heads.

As the three lead companies made their way to the Union rear, the rest of the assault force, following on the heels of the spearhead, rushed Fort Stedman. Fanning out along both sides of the fort, they poured withering fire into the works. Union defenders managed to put up some resistance, firing a few shots of their own at the oncoming Rebels, but the swiftness of the onslaught and the early-morning darkness helped to neutralize any real defense.

The attack was more successful than Gordon could have hoped. Besides Fort Stedman, the Confederates were able to capture three enemy batteries on the north and south sides of the fort. These batteries were unenclosed works housing both cannon and mortars, and quick-thinking cannoneers in the attacking columns turned the guns around and began shelling Federal positions in all directions. In addition to the redoubts and guns, about 500 yards of trench line on both sides of Fort Stedman were taken, as well as some 500 Federal prisoners, including the area commander, Brig. Gen. Napoleon Bonaparte McLauglen.

Battery 9 Holds Firm

Success, however was not complete. Battery 9, north of Fort Stedman, put up stout resistance and halted the Confederate advance in that direction. Similar Confederate assaults against Fort Haskell, south of Battery 12, were also repulsed with much bloodshed. Adding to Gordon’s troubles, word soon came back from one of the commanders of the select companies that he was unable to find the redoubt in the Union rear that he had been assigned to capture as his guide had been lost in the attack. The other two companies reported a similar lack of success.

These unexpected failures jeopardized the entire operation. Without the capture of the additional works and the guns in them, Gordon would not be able to widen the breach and threaten the Union rear. This would also doom any attempts by the Southern cavalry to further exploit the breakthrough and strike Union supply lines.

As Fort Stedman and the adjoining works were being taken, the alarm was sounded in the Union lines. As luck would have it, Maj. Gen. George Meade, commander of the Army of the Potomac, was not immediately available to his men. He was away at City Point conferring with Grant, and the Rebels had cut the telegraph lines between the two points. At this point the Rebels’ luck stopped. Command of the army devolved on Maj. Gen. John G. Parke, a West Point graduate who commanded the IX Corps. Parke, a much-tested veteran of both the eastern and western theaters of the war, kept calm in the face of confused reports from the front. He immediately ordered Brig. Gen. Orlando Willcox to organize a counterattack against the Rebels. Parke also called upon Brig. Gen. John F. Hartranft’s 3rd Division, which was in reserve near the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the IX Corps, to reenforce Willcox.

John F. Hartranft: Grizzled Veteran

The Rebels could not have asked for a worse foe than Hartranft. A native Pennsylvanian like Meade and Parke, Hartranft was also a tough, battle-tested veteran. Like Gordon, he had been at Antietam, where he led the 51st Pennsylvania in its famous charge over Burnside Bridge. He also led part of the attack into the Crater the previous July. Hartranft may have been as surprised as anyone at the audacious Confederate attack, but he would not panic and he would not run.

Hartranft’s division was made up of two brigades of six Pennsylvania regiments. He knew he had enough men, about 6,000 in all, to assist in a counterattack, but he may have had some doubts as to how his men would perform. They were all one-year enlistees who had only recently joined the army, and they were still undergoing training when the Confederates attacked Fort Stedman. Green or not, these troops were all Hartranft had to work with, and events would soon test their mettle.

The immediate problem was how best to contain the Confederate attack. While the Union generals may not have known it at the time, this had already been accomplished by the defenders of Battery 9 and Fort Haskell. Not only had they repulsed the initial Confederate assaults, but their cannon fire was deadly and accurate enough to compel the Rebels to confine their forces to the ground already taken.

Years later Hartranft would comment that “great credit is justly due to the garrison of these two points [Battery 9 and Fort Haskell] for their steadiness in holding them in the confusion and nervousness of a night attack … if they had been lost, the enemy would have had sufficient safe ground on which to recover and form their ranks.”

The Yankee Counterattack

With his flanks secured, Parke could concentrate on regaining the ground the army had lost. This was the mission he now gave Willcox.

Troop movements were quickly initiated for a Union counterattack. On the left side of the line, near Fort Haskell, Hartranft placed the 208th Pennsylvania. The 100th Pennsylvania and the 3rd Michigan extended the line to the north. Connecting with these troops toward the Prince George’s Court House Road (the road to the rear of Fort Stedman that Gordon likely would have used to penetrate the rear of the Union lines) were the 207th and 205th Pennsylvania.

On the other side of the line, starting from Battery 9, the 17th and 20th Michigan hooked up with the right of the 209th Pennsylvania. Close to the center of the crescent-shaped line was the 200th Pennsylvania, along with the remnants of the 57th Massachusetts, whose camp had been overrun in the initial Confederate attack. Artillery under the command of Brevet Brig. Gen. John C. Tidball was set up behind the Union lines. In conjunction with the guns from Battery 9 and Fort Haskell, these guns began playing havoc on the Rebel troops.

As the Union infantry moved into line, Hartranft conferred with Willcox. They noticed increased musket fire coming from the Rebel lines, an indication that the enemy was again getting ready to advance. Hartranft, taking personal command of the counterattack, immediately ordered the 200th Pennsylvania and 57th Massachusetts to move against the enemy troops now advancing up the Prince George’s Court House Road. The Federals quickly attacked and plowed through the enemy skirmish line, but soon found themselves facing more Rebels in the entrenched works surrounding Fort Stedman.

Confederate musket fire was severe and, supported by the captured guns of Fort Stedman, took a heavy toll on the Pennsylvanians, causing them to retreat a short distance. Hartranft, concerned that the Rebels would try to take advantage of this withdrawal, quickly rallied the men and attacked a second time, gaining and holding the ground for about 20 minutes before retreating to the Union works. The effect of these attacks was to halt any further Confederate advance and allowed the remaining Union troops to come up in support.

The last regiment of Hartranft’s division, the 211th Pennsylvania, now made its first appearance on the field, having rushed from its camp some miles to the rear. With their arrival, Hartranft’s counterattacking force was complete.

The Confederate Plan Crumbles

It was now about 7:30 am, and the morning sun was rising higher in the cold March sky. The Confederate advantages of surprise and darkness had long since disappeared. Parke ordered Hartranft to attack the Rebels again and recapture the lost ground. Hartranft passed the word to his subordinate commanders that the attack would begin in 15 minutes. The signal would be the advance of the 211th. The Southern troops could probably see what was coming, but now they could do nothing to stop it.

At the appointed time, the 600 men of the 211th Pennsylvania rose as one and charged toward the Rebel line. They were met by Confederate cannon and musket fire, but stoutly pushed on. The other regiments took their cue from their Keystone State comrades, and the whole Union line moved forward.

Just as the full attack began, however, Hartranft received orders to halt and await reinforcements from the VI Corps. Hartranft barely hesitated a second before disobeying the order. He was sure the countermanding order would not reach all the troops in time, and he firmly believed that victory was assured. “I saw the enemy had already commenced to waver,” he remembered, “and that success was certain.”

Hartranft’s battlefield judgment would prove correct. Acting not like the green troops they were but like gray-bearded veterans, the Pennsylvanians fought tenaciously and courageously. Despite the intensity of the combat, they soon drove the Confederates out of the recently captured works.

Hartranft later wrote, “The division charged with a will, in the most gallant manner, and in a moment Stedman, Batteries 11 and 12 and the entire line which had been lost, was recaptured with a large number of prisoners, battle-flags and small-arms.”

Gordon was convinced that continued fighting would be futile. He apprised Lee of the worsening situation, and around 8 am Lee gave Gordon permission to withdraw his troops.

Collapse of the Confederate Ranks

It was an order easier to give than to obey. By the time the withdrawal order reached the front, the increasingly confident Federals were pouring a veritable storm of shot and shell over the entire length of the Confederate retreat. The added fire from the Union infantry reoccupying Fort Stedman only made the retreat more difficult. Gordon himself was slightly wounded as he ran back to the Rebel line.

The effectiveness of the Union artillery shell fire was attested to by a Union medical officer, who wrote: “The great majority of the Rebel wounded fell into our hands, and the wounds were all very severe. An unusually large number of shell wounds of the thigh and legs, demanding amputation, were seen.” Confederate Brig. Gen. James A. Walker personally attested to the deadly dangers of the retreat. “I found myself crossing the stormswept space between us and our works. At first I made progress at a tolerably lively gait, but I wore heavy cavalry boots, the ground was thawing under the warm rays of the sun, and great cakes of mud stuck to my boots; my speed slackened to a slow trot, then into a slow walk, and it seemed as if I were an hour making that seventy-five yards…deadly minie balls were whistling and hurling as thick as hail. Every time I lifted my foot with its heavy weight of mud and boot, I thought my last step was taken. Out of a dozen men who started across that field with me, I saw at least half of them fall, and I do not believe more than one or two got over safely. When I reached our works and clambered over the top, I was so exhausted that I rolled down among the men, and one of them expressed surprise at seeing me by remarking: `Here is General Walker; I thought he was killed.’”

Seeing that death would be their probable fate, many Confederates refused to even try to make it back to their own lines, preferring to surrender where they stood. A large number of skulkers in the Rebel ranks refused to obey their officers on the field, no matter what order or entreaty was made.

One Union major captured earlier when Fort Stedman was overrun commented that “the numbers of stragglers and skulkers was astonishingly large, and I saw several instances where the authority of the officers who urged them on was set at defiance.”

A Losing War

Thus, an attack that had started with such promise ended in abysmal failure. More than 3,500 Confederates were casualties, including some 1,900 who were taken prisoner. Nine stands of colors were also captured. Later that day other Union commanders assaulted the Confederate lines to the southwest. While these attacks were halted short of the main Confederate trenches, a number of fortified picket lines were captured, bringing the Union army that much closer for a final grand assault and costing the Confederates another 2,000 sorely needed men.

Robert E. Lee, who had taken many successful gambles during the war, reluctantly realized that this last throw of the dice had completely failed. As he rode away from the scene of the defeat at Fort Stedman, he knew that the end of the war could not be long in coming. On his way back to the Turnbull House, he encountered his sons Rooney and Rob. Lee, who had always been careful not to outwardly display his emotions, could not hide his manifest disappointment at this latest turn of events. Rob noted all too clearly “the sadness of his face, its careworn expression.”

While brilliant in conception and initial execution, the ultimate failure of the attack on Fort Stedman accomplished nothing except to burnish the already-formidable reputation of Confederate valor and the equally proven stalwartness of their Union foes. It would take two more weeks and much additional bloodshed at Fort Gregg, Sayler’s Creek, and Five Forks for the war in the east finally to end. If Ulysses S. Grant had mounted the breastworks at Fort Stedman that morning and looked over the backs of the retreating Rebels, far off in the distance he might have been able to glimpse the small village of Appomattox Court House and the front parlor of Wilmer McLean’s red brick home.

This article by Joseph E. Lowry first appeared at the Warfare History Network.

Image: Wikimedia

Rachel Greszler

Politics, Americas

Federal assistance can help bridge a temporary gap in employment and incomes, but the only long-term solution is to let people get back to work.

With more than 1 in 5 Americans filing for unemployment benefits over the past eight weeks, policymakers’ top priority is clear: restoring conditions that allow workers to resume their previous jobs or find new ones.

Federal assistance can help bridge a temporary gap in employment and incomes, but the only long-term solution is to let people get back to work. After all, deficit-financed unemployment checks are no replacement for the valuable goods and services Americans produce.

Two bills, both introduced in Congress on Tuesday, take a very different approach to helping American workers.

The first, the Getting Americans Back to Work Act introduced by Reps. Ted Budd, R-N.C., and Ken Buck, R-Colo., would fix a highly problematic component of the CARES Act that Congress passed in March.

In addition to vastly expanding eligibility for unemployment benefits, CARES added an additional $600 a week on top of usual unemployment benefits. The Budd-Buck legislation would cap total unemployment benefits at 100% of workers’ previous wages.

Full income replacement is still a big increase from the usual 40% to 50% of workers’ wages that typical state unemployment benefit programs replace.

The CARES Act’s additional $600 per week in federal pandemic unemployment benefits is certainly generous. Too generous, in fact: It’s caused an overwhelming majority of unemployed Americans to receive more from unemployment benefits as from their previous paychecks. In many cases, workers are receiving at least twice their usual paychecks.

These excessive benefits are no doubt welcome to the newly unemployed workers. But in an ironic twist, businesses have factored those benefits into their decisions to furlough or lay off workers instead of keeping them on the payrolls. And those benefits are making it harder for businesses to reopen or ramp back up after temporary shutdowns and slowdowns.

In essence, businesses—especially hard-hit ones such as restaurants, hotels, and retailers—are having to compete with the federal government’s generous unemployment benefits.

When you consider that someone who usually makes $600 per week is receiving $900 from unemployment insurance, it’s not surprising that they might not want to go back to work. After all, the additional benefits amount to an extra $10,000 between April and July 31, when the $600 per week is set to expire.

Another bill, the House Democrats’ HEROES Act (a partisan laundry list that spans more than 1,800 pages), would extend those benefits through the end of next January, including additional extensions through March 31.

It’s too soon to know how long unemployment will remain highly elevated, but one thing is for sure: extending already excessive unemployment benefits won’t help. It will increase unemployment and reduce economic output.

According to a study by researchers at the New York Federal Reserve, the extension in unemployment benefit duration during the Great Recession resulted in a prolonged increase in unemployment, with 4.6 million more people unemployed in 2010 and 3.3 million more unemployed in 2011. And those consequences came with unemployment benefits averaging less than $400 per week as opposed to nearly $1,000 a week today.

Moreover, my colleague and I at The Heritage Foundation estimated that Congress’ provision of the additional $600 unemployment benefit through the end of July could increase unemployment by up to 13.9 million and reduce output by $955 billion and $1.49 trillion between May and September. An additional six- to nine-month extension would significantly exacerbate lost jobs and economic output.

It’s one thing to provide short-term and targeted unemployment benefits during forced shutdowns, but providing a year’s worth of unprecedented additional unemployment benefits—up to an extra $31,200 more per worker—would cripple small businesses as they try to get back on their feet.

It’s also incredibly unfair, and wholly un-American, to pay unemployed workers more than the hardworking Americans who continue to work each day.

Tacking the cost of excessive unemployment benefits onto future taxpayers is not only unfair, but also perilous, considering America’s already-unsustainable fiscal outlook. If unemployment averages 10%, these additional benefits could cost every household in America an extra $3,300 to $4,000 in taxes.

Policymakers should be focused on helping Americans get safely back to work, including granting new flexibilities to allow workplaces to adjust to the conditions of COVID-19.

Humans are hard-wired to be productive. They will be far better off if policymakers focus on enabling work opportunities—such as removing barriers to working, trading, innovating, and investing—than on incentivizing unemployment.

Tribune Content Agency

Originally published in the Chicago Tribune

 

This article by Rachel Greszler and Leave a comment first appeared in The Daily Signal on May 22, 2020.

Image: Reuters.

Ron Huisken

Security, Asia

Things seem likely to only get more intense.

Most cultures—especially, perhaps, those in Asia—regard cycles as one of the basic rhythms of life, including international life. Great Britain was recognised as the leading world power for more than a century from 1815. The United States roared into prominence over the few decades leading up to World War I and, after leading coalitions to victory in Europe and Asia in World War II, resolved to design and manage a thoroughly refurbished international system. By that time, it had long been clear that the UK wouldn’t contest being displaced in that role.

Over the past 2,500 years, China’s fortunes reached glittering heights on three occasions, usually separated by chaos, civil war or foreign conquest and occupation. Now China sees itself as on the cusp of a fourth age ranked among the world’s leading states and possibly—because it is for the first time intimately linked to the rest of the world—the first among equals. The remaining obstacle is the US, which is now itself deeply ambivalent about continuing to take on any kind of leadership responsibilities but which has also signalled its determination to resist China (and Russia), shifting the tone of the international system away from liberal democratic values in favour of more authoritarian guidelines and constraints.

In the months before his death in 1945, US President Franklin D. Roosevelt and his key advisers designed their system to address the root causes of the devastating turbulence in the first half of the 20th century—specifically, ultranationalism and protectionism. Roosevelt also determined that China, with its immense population (if little else in 1945), had to be part of an inner clique of large powers tasked with holding the system together.

The advent of the Cold War between the US and USSR around 1947, and China joining the socialist bloc in 1949, meant that the existential cleavage turned out to be ideology and associated philosophies of governance. The two systems had their first conflict just a year later, in Korea, with the US and China as the core adversaries. The US-led international order therefore got off to a somewhat confused start.

The Sino-Soviet alliance imploded in 1960, and in 1972 the US and China engineered a historic accommodation. Later, after Mao Zedong’s death, the Chinese Communist Party capitalised on the de facto American security blanket to abandon socialist thinking on resource allocation and switch progressively to a market system linked to the international trading community. China’s new leader, Deng Xiaoping, made much of the proposition that the constellation of forces driving the international system provided China with a ‘strategic window of opportunity’ to attempt this hazardous transformation in comparative safety: the US stalemated the USSR in security terms and was prepared to support China’s ‘reform and opening up’ by leaving the huge US market open to Chinese products.

A decade later came the spectacular collapse of the Soviet Union and a peaceful end to the Cold War. China’s economy was beginning to flourish, but the CCP also engaged in the stunningly brutal suppression of protesters seeking greater freedom. The Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989 led to strained relations with Washington for several years, but the White House’s core stance of protecting the accommodation with China survived.

One strand of logic in the American position was the broad contention that a free-market economy was likely to also have a liberalising influence politically and socially. Keeping the US economy open to countries utilising the market system therefore supported US interests. If Tiananmen Square tested this contention, so too did Japan’s emergence in the same timeframe as a state that could compete with the US even in high-technology products. Miraculously, however, although China was an order of magnitude larger than Japan and its adoption of liberal principles to guide the conduct of its affairs a much more problematic contention, the general wisdom of America’s posture towards China wasn’t really contested through the Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton administrations.

George W. Bush’s administration came to office in January 2001 with a (neo-conservative) mindset to reposition China as a strategic rival and proclaimed a sweeping pivot to Asia centred on this assessment. These policy settings were swept aside by the events of 11 September and Washington’s disastrous determination to put Iraq at the centre of America’s response to mass-casualty terrorism.

Not long after Iraq was confirmed as a historic blunder, China was again detecting a strategic window of opportunity to continue with its export-led growth model. The global financial crisis in 2008 confirmed that this window remained open. It may well have been the case that the GFC drove a shift in the relative stature of the US and China. Key pointers included Beijing’s preparedness to simply deflect US President Barack Obama’s repeated attempts to discourage state-sponsored theft of technology and other intellectual property and its decision in 2014 to implement well-prepared plans to construct seven artificial islands in the South China Sea to try to make its extensive claims there a fait accompli.

The broad posture of engaging with and accommodating China, which emerged in 1972, wasn’t formally terminated until 2017–18 when President Donald Trump’s administration recommitted the US to strategic competition with major powers that wanted ‘to shape a world antithetical to US values and interests’, specifically, China and Russia.

For 50 years, a disciplined and focused China feasted on the fruits of Western success to accelerate its reacquisition of major-power capacities. It secured relief from the Soviet threat, access to immense markets, enduring privileges as a ‘developing economy’ and a relaxed attitude to the theft of technology. This looked like another textbook example of how the US-designed ‘rules-based order’ was supposed to work in respect of states ‘not of the West’. No one saw merit in wondering whether the American-led order could embrace a China that could readily match the US in raw economic muscle and, in the fullness of time, dwarf it.

A little interrogation would have confirmed that the CCP regarded every basic principle of democratic governance as deeply threatening and would, early in the new century, label advocacy of them as treasonous.

China’s hard power continues to converge on that of the US and will exceed it in due course. At some point, a surfeit of hard power will compensate for shortcomings on the soft power front, but until then soft power means that global leadership cannot simply be seized, it must also be bestowed.

Soft power has contributed heavily to America’s standing and influence and, although China certainly recognises this, its own progress on this front has been stunted by its government’s deep aversion to transparency in any shape or form. Transparency is inescapably associated with spontaneity, which in turn threatens the control that the CCP clearly regards as crucial to its survival. This imperative, however, makes the CCP a poor communicator, presenting China as introverted, secretive, evasive and calculating—qualities that crush those associated with soft power: confidence, integrity, legitimacy, frankness and intimacy.

Despite the spectacular economic gains of the recent past, the CCP is not doing justice to China, an extraordinary country by any measure and one that has enriched and continues to enrich our world in so many ways. Tragically, it is likely to prove simply incapable of doing so.

Australia is still searching for a posture of engagement towards the government of China that endures—not least because it involves recognising that the CCP is very unlikely to change its outlook and expectations and the means it feels entitled to employ to achieve them.

Similarly, the Covid-19 experience has propelled the US–China relationship beyond ‘distant’ to overtly hostile. If the fallout from the pandemic includes the threat of a game-changing divergence in the economic trajectory of the two states—as it well might—the relationship could degenerate to instability and outright danger. Perhaps more likely is that the power struggle between these two giants will persist and that this struggle will be both prolonged and fraught with danger. Either way, those with the capacity to make a positive difference, whether alone or in coalitions, need to get to work.

This article by Ron Huisken first appeared in the Australian Strategic Policy Insitute’s The Strategist in 2020.

Image: Reuters

Warfare History Network

History, Europe

The two Allies didn't get along.

Early on the overcast afternoon of June 2, 1944, three white-starred Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses in V-formation roared over the Soviet air base at Poltava. Within moments, the entire countryside reverberated from 256 powerful Pratt & Whitney engines as flight after flight of the heavy bombers roared overhead. American ground crewmen standing in the light rain watched with open pride as the first silvery plane touched down on the steel mat runway. The name Yankee Doodle II was boldly painted on the fuselage just behind the plexiglass nose.

East Meets West In One Triumphant Moment

Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker, head of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces, climbed down from the four-engined bomber. The rugged 50-year-old Texan, a pioneer of post-World War I military aviation, had led the first U.S. heavy-bomber raid on Nazi-held Western Europe two years earlier. Accepting a bouquet of flowers from a buxom, smiling Russian female soldier, he passed around a handful of cigars before taking the welcoming hand of Soviet Maj. Gen. Alexei R. Perminov. Eaker also plucked a Legion of Merit medal from his pocket and pinned it on Perminov’s tunic. Greetings were exchanged with American Ambassador W. Averell Harriman and U.S. military mission chief Maj. Gen. John R. Deane, as well as with other Russian officers on hand for the occasion. Harriman’s daughter, Kathy, stood by holding a bouquet of roses.

The 64 B-17s at Poltava and 65 other bombers and 64 fighters of the U.S. Fifteenth Air Force that landed at two neighboring bases were the spearhead of Operation Frantic, America’s World War II effort to strike at enemy targets in Eastern Europe from England and Italy using bases in the Soviet Union to refuel and rearm. The concept of taking off from one airfield and landing at a second on the other side of otherwise unreachable targets was raised by U.S. planners early in the war. Since Hitler controlled most of continental Europe, air bases would have to be in the British Isles, the Mediterranean area, and the Soviet Union to make shuttle bombing fully effective. The first shuttle bombing mission was between Great Britain and Italy in 1943. Adding Russia was hoped to greatly enhance the concept.

Shuttle Bombing Both Strategic And Diplomatic

American leaders proposed the use of Russian bases with a number of general goals in mind: strategic and tactical bombing in distant Eastern Europe; stretching Nazi air-defense forces, especially prior to the Allied invasion of France; and demonstrating to the Soviets, who had no long-range bombing force, the sincerity and effectiveness of the U.S. war effort, thereby improving Soviet-American relations and the exchange of information. It was also hoped that shuttle bombing in the European Theatre would lead to the use of bases in Siberia to strike Japan.

What would become Operation Frantic was proposed in mid-1942 to the Soviets, who received the idea coolly. Aptly named, the operation was destined to be a short-lived child of a questionable marriage. The subject of shuttle bombing was again broached at the Moscow Conference in October 1943, when the newly arrived chief of the U.S. military mission to Russia, General Deane, discussed it with Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov. Once more the response was inconclusive. It took President Franklin D. Roosevelt to break the log jam by talking to Russia’s paranoid dictator, Josef Stalin, at the November 1943 Teheran Conference. But even then, it was not until February 2, 1944, that Stalin told Ambassador Harriman, “We favor it,” at a Kremlin meeting. The operation, initially named Baseball, possibly in expectation of the team playing it would foster, was renamed Frantic in March 1944.

Realty Falls Short Of Initial Hopes

The reality, however, immediately fell short of the American hope for six airfields manned by more than 2,000 men. There would be only three bases, Poltava, Mirgorod (50 miles to the west), and Piryatin (another 50 miles west) situated on the flat farmland of the east central Ukraine in a southeast-to-northwest line about 450 miles southwest of Moscow, and about half as many ground crewmen as proposed. The bases were much farther east than desired and in almost unusable shape, but it was a question of take it or leave it. Deane was to have administrative control of the operation, while Lt. Gen. Carl A. Spaatz, Commander of U.S. Strategic Air Forces in Europe, would be in charge of operations. On-site supervision of the freshly created Eastern Command fell to Maj. Gen. Robert L. Walsh when it became fully operational on June 1, 1944.

Poltava was selected as U.S.-Soviet headquarters for the eastern terminus of the shuttle bombing program. It was at Poltava that the overconfident Swedes under Charles XII were bloodied 235 years earlier by the Russian forces of Peter the Great, thereby establishing Russia as a world power. In 1941 the area was occupied by Hitler’s Wehrmacht, which found itself welcomed by a significant part of the populace. When the Nazis retreated, they leveled virtually every building except for private dwellings. The postoccupation attitude of the Poltavans, however, was illustrated by a photograph they eagerly showed the Americans. It depicted the mayor who had ruled during the German occupation with an alpenstock smashed into his skull.

Runway Highlight Of Makeshift Russian Airfield

Engineers from the United States, working with mostly Russian labor and virtually all American materiel and supplies, lengthened the Poltava runway assigned to them to over a mile and covered it with pierced-steel matting. Taxi strips, hardstands, and storage areas were set up. The Russian flightline, at the end of a 4,500-foot-long concrete runway, was situated on the other side of several damaged buildings from the American one. Among the red-starred aircraft parked there were American-built Douglas C-47 transports and Russian-made, single-engine Yakovlev Yak-9s of the 210th Fighter Interceptor Division. Across a road from their flightline, the Americans oversaw the erection of some 150 pyramidal tents for the ground and bomber crews. The mess hall and hospital tents were sandwiched into this section, whose extremity was marked by a series of twisting trenches for use as air-raid shelters.

The U.S. command staff and its Russian counterpart were quartered across the road from the Russian flightline in a damaged multi-storied, U-shaped building that also served as base headquarters. A wider road winding between the building and the American tents ran southward roughly two miles to the town of Poltava. Modifications were also made to the two other bases.

Allied Command Relents To Russian Objectives

By mid-1944, Frantic was ready to go. A U.S. communications center overseen by the Soviets was functioning. The ground support personnel, their entry into the Soviet Union closely controlled by Moscow, were in place. Even the initial targets—aircraft factories at Riga in Latvia or at Mielec, Poland—had been chosen. Since the Eighth Air Force based in England was already deeply involved in the bombing of Germany and preparations for the imminent invasion of Normandy, the honor of inaugurating Operation Frantic went to the Italy-based Fifteenth Air Force. The Soviets dismayed the Americans by vetoing the target selection. Bomb Romania or Hungary instead, they countered. It was pointed out that those countries were within range of bases in Italy.

The Russians, more interested in tactical objectives to support their advance than in strategic matters, were adamant. Deane and Spaatz decided in the Soviets’ favor because, in the reluctant Eaker’s words, “It is imperative that we gain the full confidence and respect of the Russians by starting our collaboration with an … operation of immediate significance to them.”

At 6:55 am on June 2, 1944, Frantic Joe, the first combat mission of the new shuttle program, took to the air from airfields in Italy. Four groups of B-17 bombers and one group of the checker-tailed North American P-51 Mustang fighters from the 5th Combat Wing droned northeastward in clear weather, their aiming point the rail hub of Debrecen, Hungary. Three hours later, bomb bay doors yawned wide to disgorge over a thousand 500-pounders on the enemy railroad yards. The escorting P-51 pilots scanned the cumulus-speckled sky in vain for intercepting fighters.

Impressed Russians Consent To Factory Targets

The only loss was a Flying Fortress that exploded in midair. While General Eaker and his airmen were being welcomed with flowers at Poltava, the other bombers landed at Mirgorod. The fighters, after initial trouble finding the base, landed at Piryatin. Following the airfield ceremonies and a short meeting at the Poltava headquarters, Eaker, the Harrimans, and Deane went on to Moscow in a Russian C-47. There, the Americans again raised the question of aircraft plant targeting. Surprisingly, this time the Soviets consented. Eaker was elated until he talked to his meteorologists. Bad weather over the targets, they reported. The big bombers, ready and loaded, sat waiting at the Russian bases.

When the weather over east-central Europe failed to clear by June 6, the day Allied armies were storming ashore in France, Eaker sent most of his planes on a side mission against the Galati airfield in Romania. Two P-51s went down during the mission. The Germans lost, in addition to aircraft destroyed on the ground, a possible eight fighters, the first U.S. air victories on the Eastern Front.

Initial Success Bodes Well For Future American-Soviet Operations

Five days later, still foiled by bad weather from hitting the originally targeted Heinkel plant in Poland, Eaker led his groups back to Italy. They bombed the Focsani air base in eastern Romania on the way. The initial Frantic mission was completed. The ground crews at the three Russian bases were commended for their contribution. “The first American task force ever to operate from Russian soil has returned to its bases.…” the commendation read in part. “The cooperation and understanding displayed in working with our Russian allies set an example for future American-Soviet operations.”

Wednesday, June 21, 1944, was a special day for the Americans stationed at the Soviet installations. A lot of old friends were in the Eighth Air Force air crews making the first England-to-Russia shuttle raid. Twenty bomb groups of heavy bombers and 23 fighter groups, almost 2,500 aircraft in the war’s largest attack on the Berlin area, dropped over 2,000 tons of bombs on factories, railroad yards, and a synthetic oil plant. As the massive aerial armada swung back toward Great Britain, more than 140 Fortresses and 65 Mustangs comprising Frantic II continued eastward. Touching down at Poltava after an 11-hour flight, 70 B-17s of the 45th Bomb Wing were directed to disperse as best they could on the cramped eastern end of the field. Ground crewmen exuberantly greeted the newcomers, who were checked by Russian border guards before being shown to a tent for debriefing by intelligence officers and for the customary double-hooker of scotch. The exhausted airmen were then fed and assigned temporary quarters. The accompanying 13th Bomb Wing alit at Mirgorod. Five bombers, running out of fuel, had landed near Kiev, about 140 miles northwest of Poltava. The P-51s, except for two lost, came to ground at Piryatin.

Sniffing Out The Soviet-American Airfield

The Americans at Poltava would have been less jubilant had they known that they had been followed by a Heinkel He-177 piloted by Sergeant Hans Muller. The multiengined reconnaissance bomber circled high above the base taking pictures before turning back toward its base. As the German plane overflew Mirgorod, an American officer who spotted it wanted to radio Piryatin to send up Mustangs to shoot it down. The Soviets, making no effort to intercept the intruder themselves, denied permission. It was also later reported that the enemy had recovered maps and photographs of the Poltava base from a shuttle bomber that crashed during the June 11 raid on Focsani.

American complacency made the situation even riper for disaster. The newly arrived bombers, their silver-colored skins making them conspicuous targets, were poorly dispersed. Fifty-five-gallon drums of high-octane fuel, 500,000 gallons in all, were stashed around the edge of the field. Ammunition was piled in open-air revetments. The slit trenches dug to provide emergency shelter could accommodate approximately 300 people. Most of the Americans, Eighth Air Force men, had become accustomed to the relative security of their English bases. Furthermore, the Americans had been promised around-the-clock fighter protection by their hosts. By 11:15 pm, most of the ground crews, having refueled and rearmed the B-17s, were either in bed or engaged in poker games and bull sessions. The bomber crews were nearly all asleep in Poltava’s large tent city. Not surprisingly, when an air-raid warning came minutes later, the tired men, in the words of one, “merely turned over and cussed because they had been awakened.”

A Surprise Nighttime Attack

Things changed in less than an hour when about 150 bombers of German General Rudolph Meister’s 4th Flying Corps arrived. Antiaircraft guns, 85mm and 37mm, barked to life, followed by the chatter of smaller weapons. The sirens recently given to the Russians added their plaintive howl to the growing noise. Searchlight beams fingered the night sky.

At almost precisely 12:30 that morning of June 22, a swastika-marked plane buzzed the field. Flares whooshed into blinding blue-white blossoms in its wake. Men were fleeing their tents in confusion, uncertain where to go when the bombs came. It was a hellish cacophony of shrill whistling, body-crushing detonations, and concussion waves accompanied by sprays of fragments. One airman reportedly complained, as he ran in his underwear, that he had never been in an air raid before. “I’ve always been on the other end—dropping the bombs.” Ground crewmen directed newcomers to the trenches. One cockpit crew sought safety behind a pile of bricks. A bomb exploding about a dozen feet away killed the copilot and mortally wounded the pilot.

German Air Force Deals Devastating Blow In Under Two Hours

Most of the Luftwaffe bombers, twin-engined Heinkel He-111s and Junkers Ju-88s, pounded Poltava between 12:35 and 1:45. After a brief lull, broken by exploding aircraft and munitions, the rest swooped in at a lower level, machine guns blazing. Their loads included thousands of small antipersonnel mines called Butterflies. They fluttered down on stubby wings that opened up to arm them. At 2:20 am, adding insult to injury, flash bombs lit up the airfield anew for a reconnaissance plane to photograph the damage. Although the last of the aircraft engine noise faded to the west just before 2:30, Russian antiaircraft guns continued firing for another 15 minutes. In all, gunners shot off over 28,000 rounds of ammunition. Yet all of the German aircraft returned to their base near German-occupied Minsk. Not one Allied fighter had risen to challenge them.

In a period of just over a hundred minutes, the Luftwaffe bombers had ravaged Poltava airfield with over 110 tons of high explosives and fragmentation and incendiary bombs. According to the Eastern Command damage report, 47 B-17s, two C-47s, and a Lockheed F-5 (photo-reconnaissance version of the P-38 Lightning fighter) were “destroyed or damaged beyond economical repair.” Every other Fortress and two F-5s received some form of damage.

Miraculously, only two Americans died, Lieutenants Raymond Estle, the pilot, and Joseph Lukacek. Six enlisted men were wounded. Nearly 2,000 bombs and 400,000 rounds of 50-caliber ammunition were obliterated. Over 200,000 gallons of aviation fuel brought halfway around the world went up in flames. Six vehicles were totaled. The Russians reported 34 fatalities and over 60 wounded. They lost a C-47 and 25 fighters and trainers.

Poltava: One Of Göring’s Finest Moments

Aside from adding to the commotion with target practice and peppering the tents with shell fragments, the Soviets had nothing to show for their defensive effort. It was the most costly air raid the U.S. Army Air Force had suffered since the Japanese caught Douglas MacArthur’s aircraft on the ground in the Philippines on December 8, 1941. After the war, an American general told Hitler’s air chief that Poltava was the best attack the Luftwaffe made against U.S. aviation. Luftwaffe chief Hermann Göring replied, “Yes, those were wonderful times.”

There was no questioning Russian heroism, however. Soviet soldiers, with only one firetruck and two fire trailers, hurried toward the blazing aircraft even as bombs were falling. More, male and female, were scouring the field to collect and detonate the deadly butterfly mines, often with sticks or by picking them up and throwing them. Other mines exploded when soldiers stepped on them. The primitive mine clearing would take weeks to complete and nearly double the Soviet casualties. To the Americans it demonstrated a shocking disregard for human life. Ironically, the Butterfly subsequently entered Moscow’s military inventory as the PFM-1 antipersonnel mine. It is also called the Green Parrot because of its color, and it maimed many Afghan children after the Soviet invasion of that country in 1979.

After the raid, stunned Americans emerged from whatever shelter they had found to stare at the Dante-esque scene. Kept away from the field by the Russians, they gradually returned to their quarters, which German precision had spared. A short, phlegmatic pilot was quoted as telling one group of men, “It’s amazing how calm a person can be in the face of death. When the raid started, I got up, dressed as calmly as I do every day.” This was apparently accepted with due respect until one listener looked at the officer’s boots. They were on the wrong feet.

Carbon Copy Raid On Mirgorod Airfield

Later that June 22, beneath drifting clouds of smoke, with fires still blazing and explosives occasionally going off, the Poltava base belatedly closed the proverbial barn door. The hospital tent was moved to a patch of towering sunflowers several miles away. Surviving bombers, incongruous among the twisted skeletons of the destroyed aircraft, were widely dispersed preparatory to being patched up and flown out. Ground crewmen vultured the wreckage for salvageable parts.

The bombers at Mirgorod, spared that fateful night by a German navigational error, were evacuated to bases farther east. On the night of June 22, the Luftwaffe finally found Mirgorod. The raid was nearly a carbon copy of the Poltava attack, less than two hours of bombing and strafing with absolutely no interference from Russian interceptors.

Nearly 200,000 gallons of gasoline and an undetermined number of bombs erupted in a miniature Vesuvius. Only Piryatin was untouched, but only because the German raiders sent to bomb it missed their target by about three miles. A half-dozen C-47 transports flew in several days later to take the air crews of the destroyed and disabled aircraft to Iran en route to Britain. Seventy-two B-17s, just over half of those that had flown in, and 57 P-51s roared off the Russian bases on June 26 and struck the oil refinery at Drohobycz, Poland, before landing in Italy. There were no losses.

Soviet-American Relations Deteriorate After Raid

The Poltava disaster cast a pall over the entire Frantic operation. Morale among the bases’ permanent personnel never fully recovered and was to grow worse with time, contributing to increasing friction between Americans and Russians. This friction was aggravated by the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, acting on Moscow’s orders to discourage fraternization. On another level, U.S. commanders were concerned about Soviet inability to adequately protect American aircraft. Strategically, Frantic’s raison d’être was also being called into question. The Red Army’s westward advance was overrunning targets that previously had been out of range of bases in Britain and Italy. Further, American island-hopping in the Pacific was evaporating the need for bases in Russia’s eastern maritime provinces.

In an effort to keep Frantic alive, for continued U.S.-Soviet contact if for no other reason, American planners decided to continue the shuttle flights, but with one major difference. Since the Americans were denied permission to establish an effective radar-controlled defense system for the bases and because supplies there were low after the German raids, no heavy bombers were to be used. On July 22, Frantic III’s Fifteenth Air Force P-38s and P-51s attacked targets in Romania and flew on to Russia. From there, the three fighter groups involved finally brought the war to Mielec, Poland, one of the targets on Frantic Joe’s wish list.

Next Rounds Of Operation Frantic Commence

The return to Italy was accomplished in two increments, both in response to Soviet requests for tactical sorties to support the Russian advance. Most of the fighter-bombers hit airfields in Romania on July 26. The rest attacked bases in Hungary.

Frantic IV consisted of two fighter groups of the Fifteenth Air Force. They left Italy on July 31 and ran into bad weather, but reached Russia nevertheless. At the request of their hosts they strafed the airfield at Focsani, Romania, on August 4 and one in the Bucharest-Ploesti area of Romania en route back to Italy two days later. Each side lost half a dozen aircraft.

The August 4 mission provided one of the most remarkable tales of the entire Frantic saga. A P-38 of the 82nd Fighter Group left Poltava with one pilot and returned with two. As it was strafing the Focsani air base with its nose guns, one Lightning, a single-seat fighter, was hit by ground fire. Both its engines disabled, it bellied into a field. The pilot, 1st Lt. Richard E. Willsie, was able to get out despite a head injury. A fellow pilot radioed a “cover me” to other group P-38s and bumped to a landing alongside the downed aircraft.

Lieutenant Richard T. Andrews discarded his parachute to make room and helped Willsie into the cockpit. Riding tandem on the bucket seat with a minimum of comfort and a maximum of cooperation, the duo took off. It apparently was not the first time this feat was accomplished. An account from the earlier North African campaign tells of a South African Hawker Hurricane pilot forced down behind Axis lines and similarly saved by a fellow flier.

Soviet Gunfire Posed Greater Risk To Americans Than German Pilots

Frantic’s operational goals, which required the use of heavy bombers, had been ignored by the last two shuttle missions. It was therefore decided to make Frantic V a B-17 mission. On August 6, Flying Fortresses from two bombardment groups and P-51s from a fighter group of the Eighth Air Force joined a huge formation of aircraft sent against German targets. The 76 B-17s and 64 P-51s of Frantic V broke away to lambaste an aircraft plant near Gdynia, Poland, and go on to the Russian airfields. The only aircraft combat losses were German, a Focke-Wulf Fw-190 fighter and a Ju-88.

On the whole, German pilots on the Eastern Front were inferior to those in the West. In fact, many of the American airmen felt their greatest danger was Soviet gunfire. At least seven F-5s assigned to photograph targets for the bombers were attacked by the Soviets, with one actually being shot down in June. Relieved that there was no repetition of the Poltava debacle, the fighter-escorted B-17s of Frantic V completed a local assignment against an oil refinery in Poland. The aircraft then flew to Italy, focusing their attention, at Soviet request, on Romanian airfield targets en route. They then bombed a German air base near Toulouse, France, before returning to Britain, completing their triangular itinerary on August 12.

Pilots And Ground Crews Also Bravely Fought Boredom

American planners, despite realizing that Frantic was militarily unviable, were determined to see the program through. While bilateral talks, including discussion of the use of Siberian bases against Japan, dragged on in Moscow, the men and women at Poltava, Mirgorod, and Piryatin found the late summer depressingly dull. They chased the blues as best they could through increasingly difficult personal fraternization or attending parties and shows.

There were occasional side trips to Moscow and Teheran. During one trip to the Soviet capital, Frantic enlisted men experienced the psychological discomfort of sharing the Hotel Metropole dining room with the Japanese ambassador to the Soviet Union. It would be another year before the Soviet Union declared war on an almost completely prostrate Japan. Whatever their diversions, the men and women shared the common denominator of boredom. Letters from home were read until they fell apart. Paperback books split from constant reading. Decks of cards became soft and dog-eared. Bottles of vodka were filled and emptied at a prodigious rate. One happy moment came toward the end of the operation when two officers married, the woman being one of the Poltava hospital unit nurses.

American Bounty Fueled Soviet War Effort

Their limited travel in Russia impressed the Americans with the wealth of war materiel being sent from the United States. Between October 1, 1941, and May 31, 1945, some 2,660 ships sailed from U.S. ports with 16,529,791 tons of supplies for Russia. A price tag on this materiel, which included 14,795 aircraft and 375,883 trucks, read $11.3 billion. This excluded supplies reaching the Soviet Union by other routes, and contributions from Great Britain. Stalin himself admitted at the Teheran Conference that the war would have been lost without American production. Yet the average Russian was never informed of this fact.

With the Red Army about to knock Romania out of the war, the Americans were asked on August 22 to immediately send a Frantic mission against railroad yards there. Bad weather interfered, however, and the Russian offensive overtook the request. When Frantic VI finally got off the ground from England on September 11, it bombed an arms factory in Chemnitz, Germany.

Two days later, the mission’s B-17s and P-51s concentrated on steel works in Diosgyor, Hungary, and returned to Britain via Italy. By this time, Moscow saw little need to continue Operation Frantic. On August 25, Foreign Minister Molotov had told Harriman and Deane that Russia needed its three shuttle fields back. The Americans asked if they could keep one base open for continued photo-reconnaissance flights and to be ready for resumed shuttle flights after the approaching Russian winter.

Poles Rise Up With Promise Of Red Army Support

In the meantime, while fighter raids were keeping shuttle bombing alive, the Armija Krajowa (AK, Home Army), 35,000 strong, in Poland’s capital prepared to rise up against the Nazi occupiers. A military arm of the Polish government-in-exile in London, the anti-Communist AK wanted to liberate Warsaw before the approaching Soviet Army. Moscow actually encouraged an uprising through its radio broadcasts.

The victorious Red armies will be in Warsaw in a matter of days, an announcer said. “People of Warsaw, take up your arms.…” On August 1, 1944, with the thunder of Soviet guns audible in the distance, the Poles attacked the German occupation forces. The Russian juggernaut abruptly halted at the city’s eastern suburbs, although it continued to advance north and south of Warsaw. While there is still controversy over why the Soviets stopped, there can be no question that the turn of events suited their postwar purposes. The beleaguered AK radioed for help. Although the Poles had taken two-thirds of the city, they knew that they could not hold out against the more heavily armed Germans.

On August 15, a message from Washington urged Allied Supreme Commander General Dwight Eisenhower to have arms and supplies flown to Warsaw. Prohibitively long round-trip flights from Western Europe were ruled out, and heavy British losses had already demonstrated the risk of sorties from Italy. That left Frantic. Stalin’s answer, in the words of U.S. diplomat George Kennan, “was a snarling no.”

Final Step In Soviet Takeover Of Poland

The dictator’s initial step in absorbing Poland into Communist orbit had occurred when the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany divided Poland in 1939. Eliminating thousands of the country’s future leaders, the Soviets established a puppet Polish regime in Moscow. Stalin then obtained concessions over Poland from the U.S. and British leaders at the Teheran and Yalta conferences. The Warsaw uprising was icing on the Russian cake. It gave the Soviets the opportunity to let the Nazis liquidate more of the potential leaders of the stubbornly nationalistic country.

On September 9, the Kremlin belatedly consented to limited mercy flights. The Red Air Force itself made some supply runs over the doomed city, dropping mismatched weapons and ammunition without parachutes from small planes. On September 18, delayed by operational and weather problems, Frantic VII was set into motion as over a hundred fighter-escorted B-17s left England on their 11-hour flight to Russia. In their bomb bays were 1,284 containers of weapons, food, and medical supplies.

Only about 10 percent of these, parachuted over Warsaw, were recovered by the Poles in their shrinking defense perimeter. Stalin had ensured the outcome. One bomber and two fighters were lost to the intensive German reaction; 49 other B-17s were damaged, some heavily. Promised Soviet assistance—bombing nearby German airfields and helping escort the bombers—never materialized. The next day, 93 B-17s and 55 P-51s left the Russian bases to strike the railroad yards at Szolnok, Hungary.

“The Forgotten Bastards Of The Ukraine”

Frantic VIII, a second Warsaw supply mission, never got off the ground because Stalin denied the Americans the use of the Ukrainian bases. On October 5, Polish General Tadeusz Bor-Komorowski surrendered to the Nazis. Between 215,000 and 250,000 Poles, most of them noncombatants, had died in the two months of fighting while the Red Army sat on the other side of the Vistula River from the capital.

Frantic, too, was gasping its last breath. It was with little regret that the main body of Americans began leaving the three Russian bases on the wet, chilly morning of October 5, 1944. The caretaker “volunteers,” 29 officers and 126 enlisted men, who remained at Poltava to keep the Frantic door ajar received best wishes and a large supply of vodka from their departing comrades. The stay-behinds quickly dubbed themselves “the forgotten bastards of the Ukraine.” Those leaving were given written instructions to refrain from “comments derogatory to the Soviets.” Under Point No. 4 was the following ironic statement: “The Russians are not trying to run our country—lets [sic] not criticize theirs. We are fighting for the right of all people to govern themselves as the majority sees fit.”

In any case, the Allied victories on all fronts rendered Frantic obsolete. On April 19, 1945, having finally realized that Stalin had no intention of approving a U.S. presence in Siberia, the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff informed the Kremlin that Russian bases were no longer necessary. Nazi Germany surrendered on May 7, and the last Americans left Poltava on June 22, a year after the crippling German air raid.

A Strategic Failure And Preview Of the Cold War

What had Operation Frantic accomplished? Strategically it was a failure. The Americans had good reason to regret having nagged Stalin into accepting it. Aside from being virtually superfluous at a time when Allied advances were speeding up, the operation flew too few sorties to truly affect the war effort. The hoped-for bases in the eastern maritime provinces of Russia never materialized. And despite limited success on personal levels, relations between the Soviet Union and the United States were not improved, especially after the Warsaw tragedy. Interestingly, the close contact between the top Soviet officers and the Americans may well have been the reason General Perminov and others disappeared after the war.

The Germans dismissed Frantic as “a demonstration to show how closely the Russians and Americans were collaborating” and “a mere propaganda stunt.” No Luftwaffe aircraft were redeployed from the West to deal with the shuttle bombing threat. The real winner was the Soviet Union, which used the operation as a bargaining chip for concessions elsewhere. Russia also gained aircraft and equipment, including a Norden bombsight, so secret that it was long denied to even the British; a high-altitude oxygen system; and an automatic pilot. Working side by side with the Americans, hundreds of rotated Russians were trained on the sophisticated techniques and equipment of strategic bombing, a capability they previously lacked.

One thing is certain, however. The disappointments of the Frantic program in no way detract from the courage and sacrifice of the personnel involved. Further, the operation, a little-known facet of World War II, was politically significant and provided a preview of the Cold War.

This article originally appeared on the Warfare History Network.

Image: Wikimedia

Joshua Aizenman

Health,

New research hints at why Germany’s death toll from COVID-19 was relatively low while Italy’s and America’s spiked.

If cities across the U.S. had moved just one week faster to shut down restaurants and businesses and order residents to stay home, they could have avoided over 35,000 coronavirus deaths by early May, new research suggests. If they had moved two weeks earlier, more than 50,000 people who died from the pandemic might still be alive.

Those U.S. estimates, from a modeling study released May 20 by researchers at Columbia University, came to similar conclusions that I and my colleagues from the University of Southern California found in assessing policies and death rates around the globe in response to the coronavirus pandemic.

Our latest research looked at 60 countries worldwide over the first 100 days of the pandemic and found several recurring themes.

Overall, countries that acted quickly and implemented stringent measures that kept most residents at home as the pandemic started to spread were able to reduce their daily COVID-19 death rate faster than countries with looser restrictions. Countries that had aggressive policy interventions in place before their first coronavirus death, such as Denmark and South Korea, tended to have fewer deaths.

We also found that countries with large vulnerable populations benefited more from fast, strict policy implementation than others. For example:

• Countries with older populations that quickly implemented stringent measures saw their death rates fall about 9% after two weeks, compared to death rates falling 3.5% in the youngest countries with similar rules.

• Similarly, countries in cooler climates, which offer more ideal circumstances for the virus to spread, benefited more from stringent measures than warmer countries near the equator.

• Countries with greater population density, more personal freedom and large numbers of residents working in jobs that leave them vulnerable to exposure also benefited more from quick action, but the difference wasn’t as stark as for those with older populations.

In general, countries with stricter rules saw their death numbers peak after about 40 days, compared to 50 days for countries that also acted quickly but had looser restrictions.

Italy vs. South Korea

These findings, published May 18 as a National Bureau of Economy Research working paper, might help explain the lower mortality rates in South Korea and Germany. Both countries invoked stringent policies early on and invested in upgrading their medical capabilities.

On the other hand, Italy’s high mortality reflects the absence of stringent policies in place prior to COVID-19’s explosive mortality wave there, along with the large share of seniors living in congested regions and extended family households. Germany’s percentage of residents over age 65 is only slightly lower than Italy’s, yet it had far fewer deaths per capita.

The numbers stand out. In April, South Korea’s daily mortality rate peaked at 0.1 deaths per million residents, while Germany and Denmark had rates of roughly 2.8 deaths per million people. Sweden did not fare as well, with 10.6 deaths per million, nor did Italy at 13.6 per million or Spain at 18.6 per million.

The much lower death rate in Denmark also reflects the stricter policies enacted there, as opposed to more relaxed policies in Sweden.

What’s next?

The key to ensuring social and economic stability during the COVID-19 pandemic is to remobilize workers, without risking a flood of new cases and strain on the medical system. In many cases, governments must balance the lives of their citizens against their livelihoods.

A country’s relative performance in the first phase of the pandemic does not guarantee its future performance, however, particularly in the case of a second wave of new cases.

Countries still need more and better-quality data to sharpen their understating of the pandemic’s dynamics and the role public policies play. The Columbia modeling study provides insight into how faster action could have saved lives in the U.S.; however, like our and many other studies explaining COVID-19, its findings were released before the usual peer review process.

Understanding the factors that might explain COVID-19 mortality rates is essential for allowing a gradual resumption of economic activities with greater safety. The sooner we can explain the patterns of the pandemic, the earlier the opening of schools, universities and key services.

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

Joshua Aizenman, Professor of International Relations and Economics, University of Southern California – Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Image: Reuters

Michael D. Tanner, David Hervey

Politics, Americas

Rent and eviction freezes can create more problems than they solve and can’t last forever. Failing to build more housing will ultimately make the pandemic’s toll worse.

For Californians who have long opposed building more housing in their communities, COVID-19 has provided a new and seemingly convincing argument: density is dangerous. Some have even suggested that the pandemic vindicates proponents of “single‐​family sprawl” or justifies a moratorium on new housing legislation, which are views these observers would likely hold regardless of the current crisis.

At first glance, the argument against density seems correct, but evidence suggests there are other factors at play. A virus that transmits person to person is much more likely to spread in areas where large numbers of people congregate. That’s one reason why urban centers like New York City, Chicago, Detroit, and Los Angeles have been hit hard. And, it is the logic behind social distancing. But, as with so many anti‐​housing arguments, there is less here than meets the eye.

Simply look at those Asian countries that have done a far better job of containing the virus than we have, despite extreme density. For example, Seoul, South Korea is about 50 percent denser than NYC but has had less than one percent as many cases per capita. Likewise, extremely dense Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taipei have held their infection rates to much lower levels than cities in this country. Undoubtedly, previous experience with infectious diseases like SARS improved not only governments’ responses to the current crisis but also individuals’ responses, vastly outweighing any effect density may have had.

Turning to Europe, we also find the link between density and infections to be weaker than expected. Berlin, for instance, is about four times as dense as France’s Ile‐​de‐​France region (which includes Paris) and only slightly less dense than London but has only about half as many COVID-19 cases as either, on a per capita basis. Density clearly wasn’t the central determinant here: other factors had a much bigger impact.

Even looking at New York City and its surrounding environs shows a muddled picture, with less dense Westchester and Suffolk counties showing higher infection rates than extremely dense Manhattan. And, in California, San Francisco has a lower infection rate than Los Angeles, despite being about six times denser. Perhaps even more surprisingly, San Francisco’s infection rate is about the same as Kansas’ (2.24 cases per thousand San Franciscans versus 2.54 cases per thousand Kansans).

In addition, we should remember that California’s lack of affordable housing creates its own kind of density, one that is even more conducive to the virus’s spread. There is a big difference between people in their own apartments in a dense multi‐​family structure and several roommates jammed together in a tiny space because it is all that is available or affordable.

A study of COVID-19 cases in New York showed that crowding (generally defined as more than one resident per bedroom) contributed to higher rates of COVID-19, while density, in general, did not. The data from California also indicates this: San Diego County, with about 7% of households living in crowded homes, has a lower rate of coronavirus infections than either Los Angeles or San Francisco counties, which have higher rates of crowding. Conversely, Los Angeles County, with a higher rate of crowding (about 11%) has the highest infection rate of the three counties. San Francisco’s crowding rate is only slightly higher than San Diego’s. at 7.1%, and this helps explain its similarly‐​low infection rate.

California’s lack of affordable housing also contributes to the state’s growing homelessness crisis. Yet, the homeless are both extremely vulnerable to infection and a potential source of spread to the population at large. In addition to makeshift efforts to get the homeless off the streets by housing them in hotels or other temporary fixes, California would be well‐​served by ensuring a bigger supply of affordable housing.

Moreover, the economic toll from the pandemic and “shelter in place” orders will fall most heavily on California’s poorest citizens, many of whom are already one missed paycheck away from homelessness. Rent and eviction freezes can create more problems than they solve and can’t last forever. Failing to build more housing will ultimately make the pandemic’s toll worse.

In turns out that the evidence of the impact of California’s excessive housing regulations is far stronger and more convincing than arguments about density and coronavirus. We know that strict zoning and density regulations prevent the construction of affordable housing in America’s urban areas. We also know that many of these laws are part of America’s history of institutional racism and segregation. The COVID-19 crisis does not change these facts.

Perceptions and expectations, whether they are accurate or not, have a way of shaping future behavior and policymaking. Housing affordability will remain a problem for America’s cities long after the current crisis subsides. We can’t afford to let misinterpretations of the pandemic’s causes get in the way of long‐​term efforts to relax the outdated restrictions that prevent affordable housing in so many of California’s cities.

This article by Michael D. Tanner first appeared in CATO on May 20, 2020.

Image: Reuters.

Dagmar Paulus

Politics, Germany

German chancellor Angela Merkel does not use war imagery when talking about the coronavirus. In fact, she hardly uses any metaphors at all.

Many political leaders around the world have reached for the imagery of conflict to describe the coronavirus pandemic. In France, President Emmanuel Macron said his nation was at war with an invisible enemy. Over in the US, President Donald Trump positively revels in the idea of being a “wartime president”. In the UK, Prime Minister Johnson has spoken of the virus as an “enemy” and even said that “we must act like any wartime government” to protect the economy.

But in Germany this kind of language is not circulating. The virus is not an “enemy”, and the process of containing it is not a war. Perhaps there’s a tendency among German politicians to avoid war metaphors for historical reasons. There may be a feeling that it does not go down well nationally and internationally if German political leaders speak about war, even metaphorically.

This is particularly the case because the far-right AfD party has been trying to expand the limits of what is acceptable in Germany. One of its leaders recently lamented Germany’s loss of territory after the second world war – a position that has been condemned by many, including the Central Council of Jews in Germany.

So German chancellor Angela Merkel does not use war imagery when talking about the coronavirus. In fact, she hardly uses any metaphors at all. Her first major public interaction during the crisis was a televised address on March 18. Merkel’s words to describe the crisis were simple and straightforward. She spoke of “this situation”, “a historical task”, and a “great challenge” ahead.

When Merkel alluded to the past, it was to express a desire not to return to it. She referred to her own history growing up in the GDR when emphasising that the decision to curtail democratic freedoms had not been taken lightly.

In a speech to the German parliament on April 23, Merkel again used few metaphors. She called the current situation a “real test”, “serious times”, a “dramatic crisis”, a “gigantic challenge”. The only figurative expressions she used were “thin ice” and “long-distance run”. These metaphors evoke challenge, but not combat.

It’s true that drastic words and passionate statements were never Merkel’s style, but other German politicians have taken a similar approach. Among the 16 regional leaders, two have been especially prominent in the debate about the coronavirus: Bavarian leader Markus Söder and Armin Laschet, of North Rhine-Westphalia.

Like the chancellor, Söder mostly uses straightforward vocabulary to describe the virus: it’s “an exponential development”, a “crisis”, and a “task”.

Laschet, too, has been been vocal in the debates about the coronavirus, possibly because he aspires to be Merkel’s successor as chancellor and may therefore feel the need to make his mark. He used rather more dramatic language but still stops short of going to war. He speaks of an “adversary” (but not an “enemy”) and has warned that people have to make sacrifices. By the end of April, he also had gone back to more neutral expressions: the “situation”, the “event”.

While speeches by German politicians have mostly been easy to follow and unambiguous, there has been some confusion, too. Different states across the country’s federal structure decided on different rules at the beginning of the lockdown. For example, when Lower Saxony closed DIY stores in March, there was an exodus of people to neighbouring states where they were still open, causing Lower Saxony to backtrack.

Low death rate

Overall it looks like Germany has done comparatively well so far. The German government imposed containment measures on March 17, at a fairly early stage in the pandemic. At the time of writing, there were 179,000 cases and 8,300 deaths in Germany, which is far fewer than in many other European countries.

The response from the German public has been mostly positive. Approval ratings for Merkel and her party, the centre-right CDU, went up in recent weeks.

However, a small but vocal minority of protesters has been demanding an end to the measures. Paradoxically, they are gaining traction at the moment, now that the lockdown has been relaxed, and although the measures in Germany were fairly mild compared to Spain, Italy, or France.

The protesters are a rather strange alliance – some are worried about their democratic rights or about the economy, but others are members of the extreme right, conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers, and anti-Semites. The financial crisis of 2008 had in all probability contributed to the rise of the AfD. Now, with another massive economic slump on the horizon, the threat of right-wing extremism is likely to increase.

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

Dagmar Paulus, Senior Teaching Fellow in German Studies, UCL

Image: Reuters

Warfare History Network

History, Americas

“It is the cause of by far the greatest part of the disorders which are examined by court-martial.”

Union General Benjamin Butler was baffled. Every night a picket guard went to an outpost 1½ miles from Fort Monroe, Virginia. The soldiers departed for their shift perfectly sober, yet when they returned to the post the next morning they caused trouble “on account of being drunk.” Investigations failed to reveal the source of their whiskey. Searches of canteens and gear turned up nothing suspicious. But there was one odd thing about the detachment: someone in Butler’s command noticed that the men always held their muskets straight up in a peculiar manner. The mystery unraveled when their muskets were examined. “Every gun barrel,” wrote Butler, “was found to be filled with whiskey.”

Excessive drinking was a constant problem in both armies during the Civil War. “No one evil agent so much obstructs this army as the degrading vice of drunkenness,” wrote Union Maj. Gen. George B. McClellan in February 1862. “It is the cause of by far the greatest part of the disorders which are examined by court-martial.” The complete abolition of alcohol, he believed, “would be worth fifty thousand men to the armies of the United States.” And across the Mason-Dixon Line, the Norfolk Day-Book complained that Confederate enlisted men and officers in the vicinity were drinking whiskey “in quantities which would astonish the nerves of a cast-iron lamp-post, and of a quality which would destroy the digestive organs of an ostrich.”

Whiskey the Drink of Choice for Most Soldiers

Many if not most soldiers were already well acquainted with alcohol from the antebellum era. Whiskey was far and away the most popular drink in 1861. Often made from corn instead of grain, it was distilled at countless locations across the country. Popular nondistilled drinks included cider and beer. Cider, made from apples, was more common, but beer was quickly growing in favor, its rise fueled by the steady German immigration into Northern states.

Low-grade whiskey carried with it the threat of poisoning the drinker, so makers might start with clear alcohol, water it down, and then doctor the mixture to simulate the color and flavor of the real thing. Chewing tobacco, for example, helped approximate the amber tint of whiskey or brandy. Harsher ingredients added the bite that drinkers expected in their whiskey. An 1860 inspection of liquor samples in Cincinnati found whiskey containing sulfuric acid, red pepper, caustic, soda, potassium, and strychnine. It was no wonder that “rotgut” was the most prevalent nickname for cheap liquor during the era.

Countering the growth of alcohol consumption was the temperance movement, which sought to make all forms of alcoholic beverages illegal. Maine enacted a prohibition law in 1851. Several other states or territories passed dry laws in the following years. In most cases, these laws were repealed or overturned within a short time. Per capita consumption peaked in 1830 at an equivalent of 7.1 gallons of alcohol annually. A swift decline followed, with the annual per capita figure dropping to 2.53 gallons by 1860.

“Spirit Rations” Abolished

Alcohol still had an official presence in the U.S. Army in 1861. A daily spirit ration for American soldiers had been abolished in 1832, but officers were permitted to issue special servings of whiskey to relieve fatigue and exposure. Soldiers, naturally, had countless sneaky ways to obtain whiskey. While diligent officers could restrict the flow of whiskey into camp, soldiers could still drink when they received a pass to leave camp. In the Confederate Army, the phrase “running the blockade” meant slipping in and out of camp for illicit purposes, usually involving alcohol.

On February 27, 1862, the Confederate Congress passed a law allowing President Jefferson Davis to suspend habeas corpus and declare martial law in areas threatened by the enemy. Immediately, martial law was declared in Portsmouth and Norfolk, Virginia, followed by Richmond on March 1. Richmond came under control of the provost guards commanded by Brig. Gen. John H. Winder, who prohibited the manufacture of liquor and closed the city’s saloons. By then liquor sales had caused so much trouble and crime among Confederate soldiers and civilian that many in Richmond welcomed martial law. Winder also barred rail shipments of whiskey into the Confederate capital. Apothecaries were allowed to dispense liquor only with a doctor’s prescription.

Martial law did not stop the distribution of whiskey, but merely drove it underground. There were still countless cases of drunk and disorderly behavior, as well as arrests for illegal sales of alcohol. Corruption flourished among the provost guards, some of whom forged prescriptions for alcohol. After obtaining the liquor, they then arrested the apothecaries who had dispensed it, thus adding insult to injury.

A ‘Creature Comfort’ Care Package From Home

A great deal of whiskey was sent to army camps on both sides by well-meaning relatives back home. It was a common practice, especially among the Union soldiers, for families to send their loved ones packages of fresh, canned, or smoked food and other small creature comforts. Commanding officers quickly realized that a great deal of whiskey was also being smuggled into camp inside these care packages. General Butler later testified before Congress that a search of an Adams Express Company depot yielded 150 different packages of liquor in crates and boxes on their way to his command.

Every parcel intended for a soldier had to be opened and inspected by officers of his regiment or brigade. Union Private John D. Billings, in his classic memoir Hardtack and Coffee, recalled, “There was many a growl uttered by men who lost their little pint or quart bottle of some choice stimulating beverage, which had been confiscated from a box as contraband of war.” Billings noted some ingenious ways that innocent-looking gifts concealed whiskey. One favorite ruse was hiding a bottle of whiskey inside a well-roasted turkey. Whiskey bottles also came into Billings’ camp in tin cans of small cakes or in loaves of bread with holes cut in the bottom.

Smuggling whiskey in legitimate-looking containers with false labels was a common practice. A helpful sutler showed Butler several little bottles that supposedly contained hair oil packaged by a New York City firm. Instead, each bottle contained half a pint of whiskey, with a little olive oil on top. The bottles were sold wholesale at eight cents each, but soldiers paid 25 cents for them in camp. The distributor claimed to have sold thousands of such bottles at Fort Monroe.

Alcohol Restrictions Lead to Officer Impersonation

In February 1863, the Union guard boat Jacob Bell searched the supply schooner Mail at Alexandria, Virginia. Aboard the schooner were 428 dozen cans labeled “milk drink” packaged by Numsen, Carroll & Company, a Baltimore firm. Upon closer inspection, Lt. Cmdr. E.P. McCrea learned that the milk drink was actually “villainous eggnog.” Commodore Andrew Harwood noted that the cans were not soldered in the usual way. The top and bottom had been heated with a resinous substance and the edges bent over so that the cover at either end could be removed to convert the can into a drinking cup. Harwood issued orders to the Potomac Flotilla to seize any vessel caught smuggling alcohol.

Sutlers were in a good position to profit from liquor sales. Regulations prohibited them from selling liquor to enlisted personnel, but many of the officially licensed merchants evaded the rules. Sutlers could openly stock whiskey because they were still allowed to sell it to officers. Brassy enlisted men frequently borrowed a pair of officers’ shoulder straps and purchased whiskey in the shops. Others stole bottles from sutler huts, wagons, or tents.

Impersonating an officer was only one of the many ways that Union and Confederate soldiers managed to get around the rules restricting their drinking. Assignment to guard duty also provided opportunities for mischief. In eastern North Carolina in April 1862, several men in the 51st Pennsylvania were ordered to guard the commissary tent in which a newly arrived shipment of whiskey barrels was stored. One night the guards took the barrels off their muskets. After unscrewing the breech plugs, each soldier had a long iron straw, which he inserted into the bung-hole of a whiskey cask and sucked himself into intoxication.

Among the busiest routes for smuggling alcohol to the Union Army was the Long Bridge, which crossed the Potomac River, linking Washington, D.C., to Virginia. On November 23, 1863, all contraband liquor seized on the bridge was turned over to the Army Medical Museum, located not far from the Washington end of the bridge. At the time, tissue specimens saved for the museum were wrapped in cloth and preserved in a keg of alcohol or whiskey. Each specimen was identified by a small wooden block, with a description written on it in pencil so that the alcohol would not dissolve the writing. Confiscated liquor was distilled again by the museum into uniform grade 70 percent alcohol, which was deemed perfect for preserving specimens.

Liquor Smuggling Gets More Sophisticated

Surgeon John H. Brinton recalled that ground around the museum was piled high with “kegs, bottles, demijohns, and cases, to say nothing of an infinite variety of tins, made so as to fit unperceived on the body, and thus permit the wearer to smuggle alcohol into camp.” Another medical officer, Acting Assistant Surgeon Ralph S.L. Walsh, marveled at the ingenuity of liquor smugglers. Goods confiscated for the museum, ranging from blackberry wine to straight alcohol, were packed in many peculiar vessels. Frequently women were arrested with belts under their skirts to which were fastened tin cans holding between a quart and a gallon of whiskey. In a number of cases the women sported false breasts, each holding a quart or more of contraband liquor. Guards seized so much alcohol at Long Bridge during the war that the Army Medical Museum had enough alcohol for its specimens until 1876.

In many camps sutlers were allowed to sell patent medicines. Often these remedies were nothing more than liquor flavored and tinted with herbal concoctions. Countless posters and newspapers touted the healing power of bitters, liquor strongly flavored with herbs. Some medicinal bitters were served as drinks in saloons. The highly advertised Drake’s Plantation Bitters, which blended herbs with St. Croix rum, was enormously popular at sutler tents.

“Snake Smuggling”?

Lieutenant Luther Tracy Townshend, the adjutant of the 16th Vermont, was also the president of the regimental temperance society. Once, in the absence of the regiment’s sutler, it fell to Townshend to order a shipment of necessities and luxuries for the troops. Some of the men persuaded Townshend to order several cases of Hostetter’s Bitters to help soldiers who were suffering from chills. The merchandise soon arrived in their camp in Louisiana. As Townshend reported, “Some of the men, who were more chilly than the others, took overdoses and in consequence became staggeringly drunk.” Only then did the mortified adjutant learn that Hostetter’s Bitters was almost pure whiskey.

An exception to the ban on sutler sales of alcohol to enlisted personnel existed in some German units of the Union Army. Brig. Gen. Louis Blenker, for one, ordered sutlers to sell beer to the soldiers of his brigade, who were predominantly German immigrants, to keep up their morale. His orders caused resentment among non-German units, although this was mollified by sutlers selling beer to soldiers outside the brigade.

Perhaps the most creative dodge was used by a soldier of the 11th Ohio, who killed a snake and, in the words of a marveling comrade, “carefully dissecting the varmint obtained a long, white cartilage, which he carefully cleaned and coiled up. Proceeding to the hospital, he politely requested a small quantity of spirits in which to preserve the curiosity (which he represented as a tape worm). The surgeon not only agreed, but complimented the man highly for the interest he manifested in natural science!”

Whiskey abuse was not confined to land-based armies. Both Union and Confederate navies faced abuses of their own. In the 18th century the British Royal Navy routinely issued a ration of spirits, usually rum, to enlisted personnel. Originally the ration was eight ounces of distilled spirits per day. Naval rum was diluted with water, resulting in the traditional drink called grog. The practice was associated with Admiral Edward Vernon, a famed officer of the mid-1700s whose service nickname was “Old Grog” because he wore a coat made of grogham cloth. (Laurence Washington, George Washington’s older brother, served with Vernon. When Laurence died, George inherited his plantation Mount Vernon, which had been named for the admiral.)

Alcohol Smuggling in the Continental Navy

The Continental Navy, as well as the early U.S. Navy, adopted the British ration of half a pint of grog per day. Before the War of 1812, imported rum from Britain’s Caribbean colonies was dropped in favor of American-made whiskey. Despite the switch, sailors and the general public continued calling the naval ration grog. On land, lower class saloons were called grog-shops or groggeries. Aboard ship, the crew’s barrels of whiskey and the officers’ private stores of liquors and wines were kept locked up in the “spirit room.” At the captain’s discretion, extra rations of spirits were doled out before and after action, or even during a battle. During the long fight with CSS Virginia, the crew of USS Monitor was braced by a special issue of two ounces of whiskey per crewman.

Captains also issued extra liquor as a reward for hard work such as the tedious and backbreaking job of loading coal aboard steam warships. Confederate sailors outfitting Sea King, which was secretly being converted at sea into CSS Shenandoah, received a serving of grog every two hours. Mariners saw the spirit ration as well-deserved compensation for their long months of hard work and isolation at sea. With some reason, temperance advocates saw it instead as a severe problem and focused considerable effort on luring sailors away from the bottle. In 1832 reformers persuaded Congress to cut the naval ration to one gill, or four ounces, daily. Sailors under the age of 21 and anyone who chose not to draw a spirit ration received instead a small cash commutation, which had risen to five cents a day by 1861.

After reducing the naval grog ration, Congress debated but did not act further on the temperance movement’s demands for tighter restrictions. A chance to end the grog ration arose again when Southern members of Congress left the nation’s capital after the beginning of the war. Northern representatives and senators were more sympathetic to the temperance cause, and with Southern seats now vacant, there were enough Northern votes to abolish the naval spirit rations. A July 14, 1862, act of Congress set August 31 of that same year as the last day for the grog ration. A correspondent aboard an unnamed vessel wrote to the Philadelphia Press that Congress had made a great mistake. He warned that ending the spirit ration would drive all the old seamen out of the service. Aboard the receiving ship North Carolina in New York City harbor, the men met the restriction with muttered growls, but no signs of incipient mutiny were readily apparent.

Kegs Auctioned Off & Turned In To Medical Staff

Spirit kegs remained under lock and key until naval vessels returned to port. About 3,000 kegs were auctioned off and others were turned over to the naval medical service for hospital use. Excess whiskey in the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron was stored aboard the aptly named ship Brandywine. As compensation for the loss of the spirit ration, the Navy added five cents per day to sailors’ pay, a raise of between 8 and 10 percent. Despite the banning of grog, there was still some alcohol aboard Union naval vessels. “Distilled spirituous liquors” were allowed on board ship as medical stores. And officers, trusted by Congress more than common sailors, were still allowed to have private stores of liquors and wines.

Grog was served in the Confederate Navy as well. Rebel tars were entitled to one gill of spirits or half a pint of wine per day. As in the Union Navy, a small cash commutation was paid to sailors not taking their spirit ration. Confederate Navy officials had considerable trouble obtaining enough spirituous liquor for rations and hospital use. Naval requirements clashed with state regulations that reserved corn and grain for food rather than distillation of spirits. Eventually a distillery was set up in Augusta, Georgia, to produce whiskey for naval use. Despite the trouble in obtaining liquor, the Confederate Navy never got around to banning its spirit ration, and it remained on the books until the war ended in 1865.

Illicit alcohol resulted in a number of embarrassing incidents at sea. Midshipman James Morris Morgan, in his memoir Recollections of a Rebel Reefer, wrote about an alcohol-fueled riot on the cruiser CSS Georgia in October 1863. Sailors slipped into a coal bunker and bored through a thin bulkhead separating the coal from the spirit room. Then they drilled a hole into the head of a barrel of liquor and inserted a lead pipe. The pilfered grog was distributed among the crew, said Morgan, “and soon there was a battle royal going on the berth deck which the master-at-arms was unable to stop.” Georgia’s first lieutenant went below and induced most of the men to give themselves up for punishment. One holdout defied the officers, but Morgan tackled him and the master-at-arms handcuffed him. Several crewmen were placed in irons and sentenced to a spell in the brig on bread and water.

Whiskey As Spoils of War

The British blockade-running schooner Sting Ray, under the command of a Captain McCloskey, was captured in the Gulf of Mexico by USS Kineo on May 22, 1864. An acting ensign with a prize crew of seven men took charge of the vessel and followed in Kineo’s wake. McCloskey produced a stash of whiskey and offered it to the prize crew. By the time Acting Ensign Paul Borner realized what had happened his men were so drunk that they were unable to get back on deck without assistance.

Borner locked the hatch to keep the men from getting any more whiskey, but McCloskey and his crew jumped Borner, took his pistol, and reclaimed the ship. Union sailor William Morgan fell overboard, and McCloskey tossed a spar into the sea as an improvised life preserver. Another man jumped into a ship’s boat, cut the painter, and escaped. The Confederates followed Kineo for a time before changing course and making a dash for shore. Seeing Sting Ray change course, Lt. Cmdr. John Watters of Kineo opened fire with a 20-pounder gun. McCloskey managed to beach the vessel after dodging several Union shells. Borner and five of his sailors were captured by the 13th Texas. Only two of Borner’s crew avoided capture and were picked up later by Kineo. Morgan, according to Watters, was “in a beastly state of intoxication, crazy drunk and howling.”

Doctors at the time incorrectly believed that alcohol was a stimulant, so they prescribed it to treat sick or wounded soldiers. Some drugs were soluble in alcohol, and patients received them in doses with whiskey or brandy. One treatment for diphtheria was a dose of brandy mixed with ammonia. Alcohol itself was seen as having curative powers for some illnesses. Laudanum, a mixture of alcohol and opium, was a widely prescribed painkiller. Ether was made by distilling alcohol and sulfuric acid, called “spirits of nitre.” A purer form of alcohol called alcohol fortius was used to make ether and to dissolve various compounds.

A Prized Commodity in Medical Treatment

Whiskey or brandy, either alone or mixed with other ingredients, were routinely used to treat patients suffering from wounds or illnesses. Usually whiskey was prescribed in frequent but small doses, perhaps one ounce or one tablespoon every few hours. Sometimes it was administered by itself, but it might also be mixed in eggnog or milk punch. One example concerned the case of Private Augustus C. Falls of the 1st New York Heavy Artillery. Falls was admitted to Douglas Hospital in Washington with diarrhea on August 5, 1864. A surgeon prescribed 11/2 ounces of whiskey each day at dinner. Three days later the dosage was raised to two ounces of whiskey three times a day. On September 29, the dosage was again increased to three ounces of whiskey every four hours. Despite the special treatment, Falls died on October 5.

One of the few effective drugs of the era, quinine, could prevent malaria or ease symptoms for patients who already had the disease. Soldiers often balked at taking their malaria medicine, though, because of its markedly bitter taste. To cajole soldiers into taking quinine, some surgeons mixed it with whiskey. This created the opposite problem; some soldiers enjoyed the quinine-whiskey dose so much that they sneaked through the line for a second prescription. While stationed at New Bern, North Carolina, the men of the 44th Massachusetts found that their medical officers took precautions to limit the soldiers to one dose each. Instead of serving quinine in whiskey, the drug came blended with medical alcohol, water, and cayenne pepper. “No soldier,” wrote a veteran of the regiment, “is known to have acquired a dangerous hankering for the mixture.”

Guilty on Charges of Drunkenness

Southern medical officers struggled to obtain sufficient quantities of medicinal alcohol. Surgeon General Samuel P. Moore established distilleries in Montgomery, Columbia, Salisbury, and Macon to produce medicinal alcohol. Volunteer committees gathered food, clothing, medicines, and creature comforts from civilians and shipped them to military hospitals. On November 22, 1861, the Charleston Mercury highlighted the first quarterly report of the city’s Ladies’ Christian Association. Among numerous shipments sent by the association to hospitals in Virginia were 34 boxes or crates of alcoholic beverages, including wine, brandy, blackberry brandy, claret, Madeira, port, whiskey, ale, bay rum, and additional alcohol in the form of medicines and bitters.

Drunkenness could be overlooked if it occurred when a soldier was off duty and did not compound his offense with other crimes. Court-martial of officers charged with drunkenness was handled differently from those of enlisted men. Officers found guilty could be cashiered with forfeiture of pay. In addition to dismissal, a Confederate law of 1862 allowed a public reprimand of officers convicted of drunkenness. An officer dismissed from the Confederate service could also be conscripted back into the ranks as an enlisted man. Enlisted personnel found guilty of drunkenness usually faced some form of confinement, corporal punishment, or public shaming. Penalties varied depending on the degree of the soldier’s offense and the policies of his commanding officer. Common punishments for drunken enlisted men included confinement in a guard tent or guardhouse, wearing a barrel with a placard noting that the culprit was a drunk, extra duty, or a spell carrying a log or marching with a knapsack filled with rocks.

Generals were not immune from abusing alcohol. Indeed, their vast responsibilities encouraged such abuse. Most notoriously, rumors of alcoholism dogged Union General Ulysses S. Grant. After Grant’s capture of Vicksburg, several gentlemen warned President Lincoln that Grant drank to excess. Lincoln was said to have asked what sort of whiskey Grant drank, because “if it makes him win victories like this Vicksburg, I will send a demijohn of the same kind to every general in the army.”

Generals Just As Guilty As Their Soldiers

A serious instance of generals drinking on duty contributed to the Union defeat at the Battle of the Crater on July 30, 1864. After successfully detonating a huge explosion in a tunnel dug under the Confederate lines outside Petersburg, Union forces moved in to exploit the break in the Rebel defenses. Brig. Gens. James H. Ledlie and Edward Ferrero remained behind the lines drinking liquor in a bombproof while their neglected divisions floundered without guidance from their commanders. The attack, which had the potential of taking Petersburg and shortening the war, bogged down, and the Union regiments were devastated by Confederate counterattacks. After investigations into their drinking and dereliction of duty, Ledlie was allowed to resign from the army, but Ferrero escaped serious penalty. He even managed to be brevetted to major general before the end of the war.

Offenses were not limited to line officers. Confederate hospital matron Phoebe Yates Pember wrote of one case in which a drunken surgeon treated a patient whose ankle had been crushed by a train. After the injuries were set and bandaged, the soldier remained in excruciating pain and his condition worsened. Checking the patient, Pember found that the bandaged leg was perfectly healthy, while the other leg was “swollen, inflamed, and purple.” The attending surgeon had been so drunk that he set the wrong leg. Fever set in and the patient died at the hospital.

Plagued with food shortages, inflation, and transportation problems, Southern soldiers and civilians dealt with severe shortages of alcohol caused by state legislatures restricting the use of grain, corn and foodstuffs for distilled liquor. Private distilling took a blow after the Federal capture of Chattanooga in September 1863 and advancing Union forces captured copper mines desperately needed by the South. Not only did their loss crimp production of brass artillery pieces, it also threatened the manufacture of percussion caps and artillery friction primers. The Confederate Ordnance Bureau confiscated scores of copper whiskey stills in western North Carolina. Metal from the stills went into many of the South’s percussion caps made during the remainder of the war.

Persimmon Brandy & Other Homemade Recipes

Southern blockade runners brought wine, whiskey, brandy and other potables from Europe. Less popular than wine and brandy, but still showing up in blockade runner holds, were rum, gin, Scotch whisky, champagne, ale, porter, and schnapps. Occasionally one might even find imported cut glass decanters to serve the imported liquors. Pure alcohol, intended as medical supplies, also passed through the blockade. Blockade-run liquor was beyond the financial means of most Confederates, forcing many people to turn to home-made substitutes. Despite wartime laws, some corn and grain found their way into whiskey. When these standard ingredients were not available, distillers turned to sweet potatoes, rice, sorghum seeds, and persimmons.

On October 21, 1863, the Charleston Courier published a recipe for persimmon brandy. Mashed by a pestle or simply with one’s hands, persimmons were mixed with warm water and left to ferment for five or six days. Then the mash was ready for distillation. In thrifty fashion, the writer suggested saving the persimmon seeds. They could be used for buttons, or parched and mixed with dried sweet potatoes to make a coffee substitute. Beer and wine were simpler to make at home than whiskey, as they needed no distilling apparatus. Newspapers published numerous recipes for persimmon beer. Wine and brandy were made from any kind of available fruit, including peaches, pears, cherries, blackberries, plums, and even watermelons.

F.P. Porcher’s 1863 work Resources of Southern Fields and Forests listed uses for hundreds of plants that grew in the Confederacy. He gave recipes for making beer from corn, persimmons, and boiled sassafras shoots. Blackberries could also be used to make wine, and with the addition of spices and whiskey, a healthy cordial could be concocted. Porcher also mentioned dozens of medicines that could be prepared from native herbs added to whiskey, wine, or brandy. Another way of coping with the lack of alcohol was to make a joke of it. By early 1864, “starvation parties” were becoming a fad in Richmond. Attendees wore the best finery they could manage. Unlike antebellum parties, there were no imported wines or liquors. The fine punchbowls and glassware remaining from the days before the war held only water from the James River.

Robert E. Lee once remarked that it was not possible to have an army without music. He might just as well have said that it was not possible to have an army without whiskey. Whether serving as an innocent aid to relaxation, medication to treat wounds or disease, or a lure to the evils of vice and desertion, whiskey and other types of alcoholic beverages were firmly rooted in the armies of the 1860s. The many creative ways alcohol found its way to soldiers and sailors, and the methods used to control its influence, are intertwined with the story of battles, generals, regiments, and ships of war.

Offenses were not limited to line officers. Confederate hospital matron Phoebe Yates Pember wrote of one case in which a drunken surgeon treated a patient whose ankle had been crushed by a train. After the injuries were set and bandaged, the soldier remained in excruciating pain and his condition worsened. Checking the patient, Pember found that the bandaged leg was perfectly healthy, while the other leg was “swollen, inflamed, and purple.” The attending surgeon had been so drunk that he set the wrong leg. Fever set in and the patient died at the hospital.

For Some, Private Distilling Filled the Gap

Plagued with food shortages, inflation, and transportation problems, Southern soldiers and civilians dealt with severe shortages of alcohol caused by state legislatures restricting the use of grain, corn and foodstuffs for distilled liquor. Private distilling took a blow after the Federal capture of Chattanooga in September 1863 and advancing Union forces captured copper mines desperately needed by the South. Not only did their loss crimp production of brass artillery pieces, it also threatened the manufacture of percussion caps and artillery friction primers. The Confederate Ordnance Bureau confiscated scores of copper whiskey stills in western North Carolina. Metal from the stills went into many of the South’s percussion caps made during the remainder of the war.

Southern blockade runners brought wine, whiskey, brandy and other potables from Europe. Less popular than wine and brandy, but still showing up in blockade runner holds, were rum, gin, Scotch whisky, champagne, ale, porter, and schnapps. Occasionally one might even find imported cut glass decanters to serve the imported liquors. Pure alcohol, intended as medical supplies, also passed through the blockade. Blockade-run liquor was beyond the financial means of most Confederates, forcing many people to turn to home-made substitutes. Despite wartime laws, some corn and grain found their way into whiskey. When these standard ingredients were not available, distillers turned to sweet potatoes, rice, sorghum seeds, and persimmons.

 

This article by David A. Norris first appeared in the Warfare History Network on September 20, 2015.

Image: Political cartoon satirizing the inauguration of Jefferson Davis as President of the Confederate States of America. From Harper's Weekly, 8 March 1862. Public domain.

Warfare History Network

History, Asia

Ralph Coyne fought across the South Pacific with the Australian 2/4 Commandos.

“We shall not be content with a defensive war,” stated British Prime Minister Winston Churchill during his speech to the House of Commons immediately after the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Forces from Dunkirk on June 4, 1940. That same afternoon, he wrote to General Sir Hastings Ismay, his right- hand man in the War Cabinet Secretariat, “We should immediately set to work to organize self contained, thoroughly equipped raiding units. Enterprises must be prepared with specially trained troops of the hunter class who can develop a reign of terror down the enemy coasts leaving a trail of German corpses behind them.” With pressure from Churchill, the famous British Commando units were born.

Commandos in the Pacific

Negotiations began secretly between Australia and Britain to establish special units similar to the British Commando model. A British military mission arrived in Australia in November 1940 to set up a training scheme in secret. The training was to be conducted by Australian and New Zealand officers specially detailed for the task. Each soldier had to be a volunteer, be physically fit, possess individual initiative, and be of above average intelligence. They were trained to accept responsibility far in excess of their rank and to be able to fend for themselves under the most severe conditions. British Commandos were trained to carry out sudden sneak attacks and then withdraw back to their bases, whereas the Australians were taught to stay behind, live off the land, and carry out guerrilla warfare against an attacking enemy. They were called Independent Companies and were not officially known as Commandos until 1943.

Twenty-year-old Ralph Coyne was training in the Australian Imperial Forces (AIF) to be a signaler during March 1941 and was expecting to be posted to the Middle East. “One day on parade, a Major asked for volunteers to serve in a small group to operate in enemy territory,” he remembered. “Of the 500 on parade, 12 of us stepped forward. We were immediately put on a truck and taken to a secret training area at Wilsons Promontory in Victoria. The next morning we were told we were going to receive very tough training and at the end of a month, those who are not suitable or didn’t wish to stay could return to their original units without shame. At the month’s end, one third had returned to their units and those of us who completed the course were issued British uniforms. And, as I was in the 2/4 Independent Company, I proudly attached the dark blue double blue diamond colour shoulder patch to my new uniform. We had three infantry platoons, each of 67 men, a signals section of 36, 20 engineers, 11 medical and a company HQ of 12. We were transferred to the top part of Western Australia and split up into platoons so we could patrol the major rivers of the Northern Territory stretching from the Western Australian border to the Gulf of Carpentaria.”

The Japanese Invasion of Timor

Before the war, the island of Timor, about 300 miles from the northwest corner of Australia, had been politically divided by two colonial powers. The western half of Timor was part of the Dutch East Indies with Koepang the capital. The eastern half, with Dili as its capital, was a Portuguese colony. The island was of strategic interest to the Japanese.

Pearl Harbor was only the beginning of Japanese military expansion in Southeast Asia and the Pacific. The Japanese Army invaded Hong Kong and the Philippines and landed troops on the northeast coast of Malaya on December 8, 1941, sweeping all before them and capturing Singapore, the last bastion of British rule and prestige in Asia.

Fearing possible Japanese activity in the region, Australia sent to Timor on December 12, 1941, the 2/40 Battalion AIF with supporting units of the newly trained 2/2 Independent Company and Lockheed Hudson bombers from No. 2 Squadron RAAF (Royal Australian Air Force) to bolster the Dutch forces around Koepang. An arrangement was made with the neutral Portuguese to unofficially allow most of the 2/2 to be stationed near Dili. Code-named Sparrow Force, the troops were soon to see action.

Japanese forces continued their seemingly unstoppable advance and on January 23, 1942, overwhelmed the small Australian garrison at Rabaul on the island of New Britain, which was the capital of the Australian-controlled territory of New Guinea. In early February 1942, Australian and Dutch forces surrendered the island of Ambon, another Dutch East Indies possession. Control of the nearby island of Timor by the Japanese would bring them within easy striking distance of Australia.

From Admiral Chuichi Nagumos’s aircraft carriers in the Timor Sea and from the 21st Air Flotilla base at Kendari in the Celebes, 188 Japanese aircraft struck a crippling blow against the major northern Australian port of Darwin in early February. Shortly afterward, the Japanese began their invasion of Timor on February 19-20, with landings on the northern coast of Portuguese territory and the southern coast of Dutch territory. Sparrow Force defended Koepang as best it could but was soon out of supplies and ammunition. With many wounded, most of the troops were forced to surrender on February 23.

Most of those who survived the battles and surrendered died from brutal treatment in Japanese POW camps. In Dili, the 2/2 and some Dutch troops along with remnants of the 2/4 were given the equally impossible task of overcoming a large, well-equipped Japanese force. The outcome was inevitable, forcing the survivors to retreat into the mountains with approximately 8,000 Japanese searching for them. The survivors of Sparrow Force were limited to carrying out hit-and-run ambushes, and as time passed their health suffered through lack of decent food, exhaustion, and sickness. They had to rely on whatever food they could get from the natives. During the fighting, they lost their only radio. Unable to communicate with Australia, they were presumed captured or dead.

“One night in mid-April 1942, two months after the rumored loss of Sparrow Force on Timor, our signalers were told to listen for radio calls claiming to be Australian coming from Timor,” remembered Coyne. “Although weak, we were able to pick up their signal, and after they answered a lot of personal questions we were able to identify them as the remnants of the 2/2 Independent Company in Timor. Their signal was being transmitted by a radio pieced together from scrap material and powered by an old car battery. The battery was being charged by a generator driven by a rope connected to a wheel turned by a native. The radio became known as ‘Winnie the War Winner’ after the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. HQ realized it was most imperative a reliable transmitter/receiver be sent to them as soon as possible.”

Landing on Timor

The Royal Australian Navy landed a party at night at a prearranged rendezvous, and several small vessels followed, landing ammunition, weapons, medical supplies, food, clothing, and radio equipment. They also evacuated the sick and wounded.

With the Japanese capture of New Britain, it was now even more vital that Allied HQ in Australia be informed of the enemy movements in Timor, and urgent arrangements were made for the 2/4 Independent Company to be withdrawn from its existing patrol areas. They were re-equipped with rifles, submachine guns, grenades, ammunition, sleeping bags, new uniforms, and other assorted stores that were being sent to reinforce the 2/2 Company on Timor. Late on the afternoon of September 22, 1942, Corporal Coyne and the men of the dark blue double diamond 2/4 Company boarded the World War I-vintage destroyer HMAS Voyager for the 30-hour trip to Timor. She was a small ship, and with approximately 14 tons of stores on her deck there was barely enough room for the 250 soldiers. They made themselves as comfortable as possible. It was a dark, moonless tropical night and most tried to sleep, as soldiers throughout the centuries have done when given the opportunity.

“At some point during the night,” said Coyne, “everyone on board became aware the engines had stopped and the main gun was being trained. The ship’s forward movement also stopped, and she began to roll listlessly with the waves. The dreaded word ‘submarine’ was quietly whispered amongst sailors and soldiers alike. The silence was eerie as the ship drifted in the darkness for about 20 minutes before the throb of the engines resumed and Voyager was underway again.

“We reached the south coast of East Timor at a beach called Betano in late evening on 23 September,” he continued, “and the Voyager’s captain, knowing the men had to scramble down nets slung over the side heavily loaded with equipment, tried to get as close to shore as possible. Each soldier carried a pack weighing approximately 80 pounds plus his rifle or machine gun, belts or magazines of ammunition, grenades, and a water bottle. Clambering down nets on the side of a swaying ship and stepping into a canvas boat in heaving surf was no easy task. Boxes of ammunition, grenades, heavy long-range radio sets, car batteries (to power the sets), battery chargers the size of a small car engine, gasoline, medical supplies, demolition charges, and Australian silver currency to pay the natives who were able to sell food.

“The destroyer lay with her port side parallel to the beach, and some of the soldiers were disembarking into the boats just above the ship’s port propeller. Suddenly, the alarm as raised as the heavy surf had caused the ship to swing on her anchor and was in danger of running aground hard ashore. The captain, Lieutenant Commander R.C. Robison, could have saved his ship with the use of both his engines, but it would have meant a horrible death for many of the soldiers above the port propeller. With no time to lose, the captain opted to leave the port propeller idle and went astern on the starboard screw, but unfortunately Voyager hit the beach. Once the soldiers and their stores had disembarked safely, the ship’s company worked desperately to free the ship embedded in the sand. To make matters worse, a strong southeast wind created large waves that forced the ship further ashore. Voyager was now stuck fast and left with no alternative. The decision was made to abandon the ship and destroy her using demolition charges.”

The next day, the Voyager was sighted by a Japanese reconnaissance bomber escorted by a Zero fighter and, defiant to the end, the destroyer’s crew shot the bomber down. By mid-afternoon, a series of Japanese bombing raids completed the Voyager’s destruction. Two days later, the stranded officers and crew were safely evacuated by two Australian Navy ships and returned to Australia.

500 Men

The 2/4 Company quickly moved inland and joined the remainder of the 2/2. The combined force totaled 500 men, and they began frequent and effective ambushes against the Japanese. Two observation posts were established overlooking Dili, so the arrival of enemy convoys could be reported to HQ in Australia. Reports such as the number of ships and naval escorts, troops and military equipment being unloaded, and where the troops were being quartered were transmitted to Australia. This information allowed General Douglas MacArthur at General Headquarters South West Pacific Area (GHQ, SWPA) in Australia to allocate RAAF bombers to strike specific targets identified by the Commandos.

“We traveled single file away from the beach in the darkness,” recalled Coyne. “No one spoke. Around 1400 hours, word was passed down the line we were to camp, as it turned out, at an abandoned Portuguese military quarters at Hata Udu. Our platoon lieutenant wanted to send a coded message to HQ, so I unpacked our transmitter and took it into a nearby native grass hut and set up the radio (about the size of a large loaf of bread), put up the antenna and made contact with HQ in cipher and Morse code. A few minutes later, I could hear a Jap fighter in the vicinity. Moments later, there was the harsh rattle of machine gun fire, the bullets stitching a straight line across the hut floor and across the wooden table I was using, just missing the radio. I completed the message after the fighter had gone.

“Shortly after, the platoon moved westward to a small town called Ainaro nestled near high mountains,” he related. “There was a small simple church there, and we were told that the two Portuguese priests, Fathers Roberto and Peres, had been murdered by the Japanese for supplying the Australians with information. One had been doused with petrol and set on fire at his altar. For those of us new to war, this information gave us an insight into the type of enemy we were fighting. We followed a native track up into the mountains, and it was here we met native boys who approached the soldiers asking if we would take ‘criados,’ meaning a native servant for each soldier. We looked at the mountains and our heavy packs and agreed with enthusiasm. By late afternoon we all had a criados freeing us of our packs and allowing us to cope with the heavier military equipment. My criados was a young lad who I called Dicky.

“As time passed, we found it risky using other natives or mountain ponies. If we were attacked, the horses would bolt and the natives would drop the equipment and run away. We couldn’t afford to lose anything. Because most of our cross country walking was over mountain ranges up to 9,000 feet high, we had to discard some unnecessary equipment. Each native village we came to was thickly infested with fleas, and as we walked through the village, they rose up in a cloud smothering our legs and clothes. Initially, they drove us crazy, but after a while we got used to it just as the natives had. The beards we had grown were a haven for them.”

“Just to Survive”

Allied military commanders expected the Commandos to live off the land and had no idea that the primitive native farmers were accustomed to barely meeting their own food requirements and that supplying others was almost beyond their capacity. The local staple diet consisted of maize, some rice, and wild pig, which had excessive fat and little meat. To the Australian palate, the pig tasted revolting. The situation was made even more difficult as the Japanese placed a ruthless and heavy demand on the natives for food as well. They paid for it in a special printed currency, which was quite worthless. The natives knew it was worthless, but refusal risked punishment and possibly death.

The Commandos paid in Australian silver currency for what they could get; the money was prized by the natives. The Timorese feared the Japanese because of their brutality but liked the Aussie soldier, who was always friendly, and admired the Aussies’ fighting ability. They seemed to suddenly rise up out of the grass, and in usually short, sharp exchanges ambush the Japanese and disappear, leaving a trail of death behind them. In nearby Papua, New Guinea, the Imperial Japanese Army suffered another setback from November 1942, to January 1943, when Australian and American troops attacked and defeated them at Buna and Gona.

For almost four months, the 2/2 and 2/4 Independent Companies were able to engage two Japanese divisions. The combined effect of bombing by the RAAF and the constant ambushing by the small force of Australian soldiers hit the Japanese hard. In response, they increased their strength to approximately 20,000. Outnumbered and outgunned, the net began to close on the Australians. The Japanese launched a massive campaign against Sparrow Force, combining bribery and savage butchery of natives who were, or were thought to be, the major source of intelligence and suppliers of food to the Australian soldiers. This tactic proved successful, and in early December 1942, the 2/2 Company, deprived of the resources necessary to carry on effectively, had to finally be evacuated by the Dutch destroyer Tjerk Hiddes. This also forced 2/4 Company to abandon its coast watch, which greatly reduced the intelligence information available to GHQ, SWPA in Australia. The men of 2/4 retired to the mountains to carry out guerrilla warfare.

“We were fighting for our lives just to survive,” Coyne remembered. “The natives had been wonderful, frequently risking their lives to supply us with what they could in food, information and shelter. Unfortunately, the food was irregular and of such poor quality, our health began to deteriorate. In the limited time we had been here, a strong bond of friendship and mutual respect had developed between the Australians and the Timorese. Late one afternoon my section stayed in a deserted mountain village. As usual, we went to sleep in our sleeping bags fully dressed, boots and weapons beside us. At daybreak we awoke to find all the other huts occupied by native men, women and children. Our section was not even aware they had arrived.

“It was established the village had a curse or hoodoo on it and the fact we stayed there lifted the curse and they could come back to their village,” he said. “This was a great event for them, and a celebration feast in their traditional style was organized. We were asked to shoot four water buffalo for the feast. We argued against this as shots could be heard by the enemy and our position would be compromised. After much discussion, we agreed to shoot only two. To the primitive Timorese, sacrificing these valuable animals was meant as a great honour. The unfortunate creatures were led into the village and shot, but strangely, the villagers just left the dead buffalo in the hot tropical sun. The next day they began to bloat. We had expected a feast almost straight away but it wasn’t until midday on the fourth day the villagers plunged their knives into the carcasses. The stench was awful. Then, something occurred we least expected. The entrails were removed and brought to us with much bowing and gesturing. The soldardos (soldiers) were being honored. Everything was being passed by hand. We were trapped. We were each given a piece of the revolting mess and watched with expectancy. We couldn’t refuse without offending them. My stomach churned, but I smiled and ate my piece. Satisfied, the villagers turned their attention to the animals and began their feast while our stomachs turned cartwheels.”

“Patrolling, Ambushing or Being Ambushed”

Coyne saw his share of combat during his time on Timor, as evidenced by one encounter with the Japanese. “One day we ambushed a group of 30 Jap soldiers, killing a number of them,” he commented. “Invariably, our ambushes were watched by natives hiding in the scrub. After the clash was over, natives rushed out with machetes and decapitated the dead or wounded Japanese. The heads were taken back to their village and placed on totem poles. I remember thinking those heads could quite easily have been Australian. After another ambush, a native came up to me holding two Japanese heads by the hair and offered them to me as presents. Naturally, I refused. A few minutes later, the men and boys formed a large circle in the village and began clapping and chanting while the women and girls began playing football with the two heads for about 20 minutes.

“We were constantly on the move, patrolling, ambushing or being ambushed. We practiced ‘Tetum,’ the native language which was spoken by half the population of East Timor and understood by a quarter of the remaining people. Our criados tried speaking English.”

Evacuation

As Corporal Coyne and the men of his section harassed the Japanese in short, sharp, and bloody ambushes, the military situation for the various sections of 2/4 operating in East Timor was fast becoming untenable owing to pressure from the Japanese forces and their native sympathizers. It was decided by HQ in Australia to evacuate all the 2/4, and a secret order was issued to every section leader to assemble at Quicras beach approximately 16 miles east of the original landing beach at Betano. All movement was to be in complete secrecy.

“After days of marching east, our criados began to suspect something was wrong,” said Coyne. “Somehow they suspected we were going back to Australia. They pleaded with us to take them with us when we left. We couldn’t answer them as we didn’t know what was happening ourselves. All we knew was we had to get to a rendezvous point by a certain date. Some time on 9 January, the sky began to darken, indicating a storm was brewing. We came to a large jungle swamp and waded across single file with water up to our waist. On the other side was the beach at Quicras. Waiting there were other sections of the 2/4. Once we were all assembled, the commanding officer, Major Mac Walker, announced that even before the evacuation of the 2/2 Company a month earlier all our sections had been under increasing attack. Our ops over Dili had to be abandoned, and our strength was now down to 250 men. And, as we were slowly being surrounded it was time to leave Timor. He also explained that General Douglas MacArthur had asked for a small volunteer force to remain behind to continue sending whatever intelligence they could to HQ in Australia. Thirteen men responded and moved back into the jungle to continue sending information. They were code named S-Force.

“Also on the beach were a group of Portuguese women, children and two men who were to be evacuated as well. The criados appealed to us to take them with us, but we were told by Major Walker this was not possible. We built a bonfire, and we lit it at 2230 hours as prearranged. The destroyer HMAS Arunta sent two boats through the raging surf to begin the evacuation. Imagine our feelings. We were glad to be leaving Timor, but to leave our faithful criados behind was very emotional and distressing. Many tough soldiers had tears in their eyes when they said goodbye. I gave Dicky my army pullover and any money I had. It was all I had to give.”

The women and children went in the boats first, and they were assisted beyond the strong surf. The night was passing quickly, but eventually all the civilians were aboard except the two Portuguese men. The storm was making it too dangerous to attempt further landings, and the ship’s captain signalled, “Am sending final lot of boats with orders to stand-to outside breakers. Swim for it. Time does not permit sending any more boats.” The captain had to leave before it was light enough for any Japanese reconnaissance aircraft to spot the ship. As it was, the last of the soldiers boarded just 45 minutes before daylight.

“We were ordered to throw our weapons into the swamp, and section by section we waded into the ocean and swam out to the waiting navy boats beyond the surf,” recalled Coyne. “They pulled us aboard and took us to the ship. We discovered later the two Portuguese men had shot themselves instead of coming with us. The sailors gave us clothing and as much food as we could eat but not being used to decent food and with the rising and falling of the ship as she raced through the waves towards Australia, most of us became seasick. Even sailors with many years experience at sea were sick.”

A Month of Rehabilitation

Below deck, the crockery was crashing down, toilets were blocked, and vomit was everywhere but somehow the crew managed to get the ship cleaned up before arriving back in Darwin in the late afternoon. A welcoming committee of approximately 200 smartly uniformed Army, Navy, and Air Force personnel waited at the wharf. They were shocked at the sight of virtually naked, bearded, unkempt, thin, and wild- eyed soldiers disembarking. To the men, all that mattered was they were back home in Australia and alive.

The members of 2/4, who had so proudly worn the dark blue double diamond shoulder patch, began a month of rehabilitation. Some were hospitalized, and all were given a month leave and then reassembled for training for service in New Guinea.

The members of S-Force were only able to remain in East Timor for a short while. Japanese forces had finally made it too difficult for them to operate, and on February 10 the remaining soldiers were evacuated by the American submarine USS Gudgeon. With the departure of S-Force, the Australian campaign in Timor ended. For almost 12 months the Australian soldiers had harassed the Japanese, killing an estimated 1,500 with a loss of 48 of their own. Most importantly, their activities led the Japanese to believe that Allied forces were going to attempt to retake the island. Battle- hardened troops from the 48th Division were diverted to defend Timor against possible invasion. The Timorese were to pay a heavy price for their support of the Australians. Many criados were murdered by pro-Japanese natives. Hundreds of loyal natives were imprisoned, tortured, or killed.

More Failed Missions

In Australia, General MacArthur was still anxious for more information about Japanese activity on Timor, so it was decided that small groups of three or four men would be dropped by air onto the island as required. Radio contact was arranged in Melbourne, and a special cipher was to be used. No message would be regarded as authentic unless it was first preceded by a code word. Over a two-year period between 1943 and 1945, nine parties were dropped by air or put ashore by submarine. The first party was captured complete with radio and cipher. The signaler was tortured and forced to send messages prepared by the Japanese. To warn those in Australia that the operation had been compromised, the signaler omitted the code word.

Unbelievably, this was ignored by the recipients and another drop date was made. This gross negligence was to cost the lives of many brave men. The second party was met by the Japanese at the drop zone and killed. Six more parties were sent and lost, but when the ninth one was being arranged, the team leader, Captain Arthur Stevenson, who had been a 2/4 corporal on Timor in 1942, received a warning about a possible Japanese ambush at the drop zone. He arrived a day earlier than arranged and approached the area to check if the information they had received was correct. He found the Japanese were waiting in ambush.

The Australian presence was soon discovered by the Japanese, and the Australians had to be evacuated by submarine. Timor remained under Japanese control until the war ended.

In 1973, Ralph Coyne and a party of former 2/4 members and their wives returned to Timor to meet their criados. News had been broadcast by Radio Dili that the Solardo Australie were returning. Some criados walked for three days to reach the towns the Australians were to visit. Sadly, Coyne’s criados, Dicky, was not among them.

Japan Turns to New Guinea

After returning from Timor, Corporal Coyne and his fellow 2/4 members enjoyed their leave. “It was so good to be home away from the war and amongst friends and relatives but like all good things, it had to end,” he said. “There was still a war on so we were eventually recalled to duty, reformed, and sent to Canungra in Queensland, where we joined 9 Division, recently returned from North Africa, and commenced jungle training. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were going to be attached to 9 Division, 26 Brigade. It would be seven months before we were back in action again.”

While the Timor survivors were training in Australia, the Japanese had turned their military might toward New Guinea and had originally planned a two pronged attack, one by sea attacking the Port Moresby area, and the second over the Owen Stanley Mountains and along the Kokoda Track. Japanese losses at the Battle of the Coral Sea ended plans for the seaborne invasion of Port Moresby, but the overland attack began on July 21, 1942, when the first 2,000 Japanese troops, including Maj. Gen. Tomitaro Horii’s battle-hardened elite South Seas Detachment and engineers, began landing at Buna and Gona at the northern end of the Kokoda Track, a rugged mountainous jungle path covered in barely penetrable rain forest and kunai, a tall bladed grass.

Some of the mountain ridges soar to heights of 1,640 feet before plunging sharply back down to sea level. The humidity is oppressive, and sudden tropical downpours can turn jungle streams into raging torrents within a few minutes. Dangerous animals, reptiles, and insects, especially malaria-carrying mosquitoes, teem in the lush growth of the jungle. It is one of the most inhospitable places on earth. The actual track winds its way approximately 186 miles over the Owen Stanley Range and connects the north coast of New Guinea with Port Moresby on the south coast. If New Guinea fell, a direct invasion of Australia was possible.

“Chocos” Defending Port Moresby

The defense of this nightmarish track initially fell to the poorly equipped and trained militia of the Australian 39 Battalion, whose soldiers averaged only 18 years of age and had just finished basic training. They were derisively called “chocos” by the regular soldier, meaning they were like chocolate and would melt in the sun. However, these young soldiers, after a series of battles and through their sustained gallantry, held on long enough for units of the battle- hardened 7 Division just returned from the Middle East to join them.

The militia had been weakened by the jungle, the Japanese, malaria, and hunger. Many of them looked gray, old, and ill as they stood wearily in their stinking waterlogged foxholes, expressionless eyes deep in their sockets. They could hardly walk, let alone fight, but they and the 7 Division had taken on an invading Japanese force vastly superior in both numbers and firepower. Forty years later, one regular soldier remarked, “We were the real soldiers and they were just the bloody chocos, but Christ, they were brave.”

“The lethargic flow of the brackish water had also borne the incomplete, maggot-infested Japanese corpses to softly nudge them or float slowly past,” remembered another soldier. “You took your socks off only when clean socks arrived. And hungry! Just one feed a day. To all who fought here, this was a bastard of a place.”

The battle flowed back and forth with brutal savagery, the Japanese slowly forcing the Australians into what could loosely be described as a series of small offensives during the course of a withdrawal. Many times, the combat was hand to hand. Rifle butts smashed skulls, entrenching tools sliced open throats, and bayonets were rammed into stomachs with violent thrusts, twisted, and withdrawn. Men fought to stay alive or died gouging, clawing, and hacking at each other. Very rarely were prisoners taken by either side. Eventually, bolstered by reinforcements, the Australians dug in at Imita Ridge and waited for the Japanese to attack. A Japanese victory here would bring them within sight of their objective, Port Moresby.

While the fighting was taking place along the Kokoda Track, a Japanese naval convoy landed 2,700 troops supported by several tanks at Milne Bay on the northernmost tip of New Guinea. Facing them were 8,824 combined Australian and American troops. This was the first time Australian militia, regular AIF, and Americans fought together. After 11 days of heavy fighting, they beat a common enemy. On September 5, Japanese ships evacuated what remained of their troops. They had suffered their first defeat, losing 311 dead and wounded, with 700 missing. The victory bolstered the confidence of the Allies and shattered the myth of Japanese invincibility.

Unfortunately, any jubilation was tempered by evidence of unparalleled brutality by the Japanese against the local natives and prisoners. These atrocities hardened the Australian and American attitudes toward taking any prisoners themselves. This was embodied in the phrase, “The only good Jap is a dead one.”

“Take Buna or Don’t Come Back Alive”

At Imita Ridge, the Australians waited 10 days, but the Japanese seemed unwilling or unable to attack. Tired of waiting, the Australians cautiously advanced on September 27, across a valley to Ioribaiwa where the enemy had reportedly dug in. All they found was an abandoned camp. On the very doorstep of the town they had fought so hard to reach, the Japanese had abandoned their position and were withdrawing over the Owen Stanley Mountains. Owing to their losses during the Battle of the Coral Sea, the Japanese Navy could no longer resupply the troops, and to make matters worse, the high command in Tokyo had decided to concentrate supplies and men on defending Guadalcanal in the Solomons against attacking U.S. forces at a time when the outcome of the battle on New Guinea hung in the balance. Maj. Gen. Horii was ordered to take what remained of his troops and return to Buna. It was a crushing psychological blow to the Japanese, but the order had to be obeyed. Horii died along with many of his troops during the retreat.

On November 2, the Australian flag was hoisted above the Kokoda plateau, but three more months of bloody fighting lay ahead before the Australians, joined at last by American troops, pushed on toward Buna and Gona. The Japanese soldiers received their last reinforcements and supplies at Buna, and they knew this was their last stand. Surrender or evacuation was out of the question.

The Japanese were militarily finished, and tactically it would have been less costly in lives to contain them and simply leave them to wither on the vine, but General MacArthur insisted on urgent offensive action and sent in more American troops. The Australians once again had to go on the attack, only this time with a less than enthusiastic American ally. This caused the campaign to bog down, and MacArthur sent his trusted subordinate, General Robert Eichelberger, to sort things out.

Eichelberger’s orders were chillingly simple. MacArthur said in part, “Bob, I want you to go out there and take Buna or don’t come back alive.” The Australians took Gona, but the Americans were stymied at Buna and were forced to seek help from the Australians. Finally, the Allies took Buna on January 2, 1943. MacArthur was delighted and played one of his many political and propaganda strategies by issuing a press release claiming American forces singlehandedly had taken Buna and won the campaign. Apart from completely ignoring the Australian effort, he disgracefully left out any reference to General Eichelberger.

Landing Near Lae

With their training completed at Canungra, the Australian troops of 2/4 and 9 Division joined 26 Brigade. “In August 1943, seven months after returning from Timor, we were on our way to New Guinea,” remembered Coyne, who by then was promoted to sergeant. “We landed at Milne Bay, the scene of fierce fighting and Japan’s land defeat back in August-September 1942. Although we didn’t know it at the time, we were to take part in an amphibious landing near Lae.”

The troops of 26 Brigade engaged in training exercises, firing and testing weapons, patrols, unloading stores, lectures, and physical exercises. For relaxation, the troops packed into the makeshift open-air picture theater and watched the only film available, Seven Sweethearts, starring Kathryn Grayson.

On September 4, the day of departure for Lae, Coyne was attached to A Platoon. He found his unit divided into three sections, and he boarded along with other troops of the brigade. As their ship, the American LST 471, cleared Milne Bay, they joined Rear Admiral Daniel E. Barbey’s Task Force 76. Code-named Operation Postern, the task force comprised 12 destroyers, 50 transports, and three minesweepers with the U.S. Fifth Air Force and RAAF providing fighter protection and support for the landing.

The Allied planning for the capture of Lae involved a drive by the Australian 9 Division westward along the coastal plains from selected beaches approximately 16 miles east of the objective together with a thrust by the Australian 7 Division southeast from Nadzab along the Markham Valley to Lae. The estimated strength of enemy troops in the Lae area was between 6,400 and 7,250 with a further 7,000 believed to be in the Salamaua area.

The men resigned themselves to the heat, humidity, and cramped conditions aboard the transports ploughing a course around the eastern tip of New Guinea, through the Solomon Sea, and onto the landing beaches just east of Lae. The U.S. 503rd Parachute Infantry Regiment was to capture and develop the landing strips in the Nadzab area in preparation for airborne operations. Some of the Australians were no doubt aware they were taking part in the first opposed amphibious landing by Australian troops since World War I.

Aerial Raid

“It was a sunny, calm afternoon,” Coyne remarked. “At lunch we were told that we would be landing for the attack near Lae that afternoon and were advised to rest. We were quartered in the crew’s quarters and directly below us was the ship’s magazine. We lay on the bunks, reading, sleeping, writing letters and trying not to think of the task ahead. We hadn’t been there long when there was a shattering explosion, and the ship seemed to lift right out of the water. I was hurled against a steel bulkhead. Shaken and dazed but otherwise unhurt, I rose to my feet; I looked about me and saw death everywhere. The place was a shambles. The bunks were in tiers of three, and they had collapsed and were wedged together at weird angles. My mates were lying on the bunks—dead. Of the 48 troops, only 11 of us were alive: four of those were wounded.

“Our ship had stopped, and on the top deck the crew were frantically trying to put out a fire, man the antiaircraft guns and seal the bulkhead,” he continued. “We had been hit by a Japanese aerial torpedo, which had gone straight into the ship’s magazine underneath us, detonating the lot. The stern of the vessel was curled up like a scorpion’s tail, the stern gun pointing straight up. The overall scene was bedlam. The sky seemed studded with weaving Jap and Allied aircraft, some taking evasive action, the Japs on bombing runs or firing cannon or machine guns at the convoy. U.S. Naval escort ships were maneuvering at high speed around the troopships, and every available gun in the convoy was firing. I found some of my wounded colleagues on the top deck and was able to administer morphine I got from the ship’s captain’s apartment.”

Nearby, another transport was also hit. According to the ship’s deck log, the convoy was attacked by 18 Japanese planes. They were identified as six Mitsubishi Betty bombers and six twin-tailed torpedo planes thought to be Thelmas, with a fighter escort. The wounded were transferred to the destroyers USS Conyngham and USS Drayton..

Taking Lae

The 2/4 unit’s diary records the landing of the troops from the undamaged LST’s at Red Beach at 11 pm on September 4. “All those faces of dead Japanese soldiers who had been buried in the sand … the tide had washed away the sand and exposed the faces,” recalled one soldier. “I’ll never forget that. Later, we were going along further and someone yelled, ‘Look out for snipers.’ I have never forgotten the sight of one. They had shot him, and he was still hanging there by his belt on the tree. You are going through the jungles like that at night, without sleep, your nerves are all on edge.”

Aboard the damaged LST, Coyne arrived at Morobe Bay in the darkness, transferred to another transport, and was then taken to join his comrades already ashore at Red Beach. “I remember stepping off the LST landing ramp into water up to my waist,” he said. “A firm hand gripped my arm. ‘You’re ok Aussie,’ said a warm, reassuring American voice. ‘Thanks Yank,’ I replied. ‘We should thank you boys,’ he said quietly. And that was the end of my meeting with a stranger, also far from home, whose face I couldn’t see, whom I would never recognize, but offered me friendship and support in a time of need.

“We walked throughout the night without sleep, looking for our unit, our nerves on edge as the enemy could be anywhere in the jungle or in the high kunai grass, which was very dense and makes a very effective screen to hide in. We finally found the unit just after daybreak, and brigade assigned us to be flank cover and scout for Jap positions. When the brigade attacked, we were to eliminate any that escaped the initial onslaught. Being the wet season, the rain came down in sheets and turned the ground into a sea of thick mud, and rivers flooded. Our jungle green uniforms were permanently wet. We slept in the mud with our waterproof ground sheets strung overhead between two trees in a futile attempt to keep the rain off us. A couple of our platoons had gone upstream and came to the Kunda suspension bridge crossing the turbulent Busu River.”

The river and continuous rain delayed 9 Division’s advance to Lae. The B Platoon was ordered to secure the east bank of the Busa, the bridge, and the tracks leading north and west from the bridge, but not to cross the span.

There were no signs of Japanese forces on the other side, and it was in the Australians’ interest to cross before the river rose any further and the enemy arrived. A signal was sent to Brigade HQ for permission to cross, but this was refused.

By the time permission to cross was received, a small number of Japanese had arrived near the bridge on the west bank and had been made painfully aware who was in control of the east bank. Eighteen men were detailed to cross first with covering fire. As the men began crossing the bridge, the Japanese, who were not yet in position, opened up with machine guns, killing and wounding several of the Australians. Some fell into the river and drowned; some became tangled in the cane structure as it was cut up by the enemy fire. The ones who made it across had no choice but to attack the Japanese before they could become well established. The bridge collapsed, and reinforcements were forced to wade across.

Tarakan and Sadau

With the capture of Lae and other successful campaigns, the Allies had forced the Japanese to retreat, but still they fought ferociously. During the course of the war, the Japanese military had sent approximately 150,000 troops to New Guinea. Now, the ability to resupply them by sea was lost. They were abandoned to their own fate.

In 1945, the taking of Tarakan Island was the most ambitious operation undertaken by Australian forces in the entire Pacific War. The Australians also suffered their highest percentage of casualties during the war. The military value of the campaign continues to be debated. On March 21, General MacArthur ordered 26 brigade to seize and hold the oil-producing island. Enemy strength was estimated at 1,500 to 2,000 troops. Twenty-four hours before the attack, the 2/4 Commando Squadron landed on the adjoining island of Sadau.

“Again, we were transported by an LST,” said Coyne. “Whilst sailing between Morotai and Borneo, we were accompanied by two American Kitty Hawk fighters. I happened to be on deck and saw one of the planes suddenly dive into the sea. The other plane circled the spot, and our LST turned and searched the area but nothing was found. We landed on Sadau Island and had with us a battery of 25-pounder field guns to help cover the main brigade landing the next day. To our surprise there were no Japs on Sadau.

“On May 1, the 26 Infantry Brigade Group backed by artillery and a naval bombardment fought their way ashore against fanatical Japanese counter forces. On May 3, the 2/4 Commandos sailed from Sadau Island to assist the brigade in another rendezvous with danger and death. The 2/4 joined the brigade after its troops had stormed ashore. We were given a job to capture Tarakan Hill, the highest point on the island. It was a sharp feature about 200 feet above the flat oilfields alongside. What upset us was that a battalion of 700 men had spent the previous day attacking it and were repulsed.

“It was now the task of our 250 troops,” he continued. “We soon found that the hill had tunnels with steel door entrances. Originally built by the Dutch as a hospital retreat in the event of an oilfield fire, there were exit shafts emerging at different points around the hill. Initially, no Japs were seen, but as soon as our patrols moved out into clear ground and crossed a creek near the base of the hill, their machine guns opened up and killed several of our boys. Tanks were called in to blast the steel doors. Our lads began climbing the hillside from different directions, dropping grenades down shafts. Rifle and machine gun exchanges were fierce. By nightfall, our sections were spread out on the hill, and the arrival of a moonless night reduced the shooting to tension- filled, intermittent exchanges throughout the darkness.

“By the third day, the entrances to the tunnels and the shafts had been sealed by demolition charges, and the hill was ours. Next, we moved onto Snags Track, a primitive one-lane vehicle track across the island bordered on the sides by low jungle scrub and overhead trees. Resistance was fanatical. Jap snipers had tied themselves to the tree branches and concealed machine gun entrenchments were built into jungle ridges covering the track. Hidden by logs leaving only slits as targets to attack, they could mow down approaching patrols. Throughout the Tarakan campaign, this was typical of the Japanese defensive system. As I moved along Snags Track rolling out a telephone cable, an explosion immediately in front of me made me turn quickly. One of the boys was blown to pieces. He had stood on a land mine.”

Short of supplies and their numbers severely depleted, the Japanese were broken by June 1, and the survivors retreated to the north and northeast of the island, where they were eventually hunted down by Australian patrols. In two months of fierce fighting, 26 Brigade had achieved its main objectives and had killed approximately 1,540 Japanese with a loss of 225 Australian dead.

Victory Over Japan

On August 14, 1945, President Harry Truman announced the unconditional surrender of Japan, and this was confirmed the following day by the Australian government. An issue of three bottles of beer per man helped the troops to celebrate in a proper manner. The 26 Brigade Group remained as an occupational force on Tarakan Island until December 2.

By December 18, most members of the 2/4 Commando unit, with their dark blue double diamond shoulder patch, had finally returned to Australia. On January 8, 1946, the unit was officially disbanded. The 2/4 was the only Australian infantry unit to have fought in each of the New Guinea and Borneo campaigns.

Ken Wright lives and works in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

This article first appeared at the Warfare History Network.

Image: Reuters.